[
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1736, "culture": " English\n", "content": "[Illustration: _E. Kirkall fec._]\n                    _For first or last, as all must die,_\n                    _So \u2019tis as much decreed above,_\n                    _That first or last, we all must Love._\n                      The Fourth EDITION Corrected.\n        Printed for D. BROWNE _jun._ at the _Black Swan_ without\n[Illustration]\nTO\nMrs. ELIZ. HAYWOOD,\nON HER\nNOVEL\nCALL\u2019D\n_Love in Excess_, &c.\n    _Fain wou\u2019d I here my vast Ideas raise,_\n    _To paint the Wonders of ELIZA\u2019s praise;_\n    _But like young Artists where their Stroaks decay,_\n    _I shade those Glories which I can\u2019t display._\n    _Thy Prose in sweeter Harmony refines,_\n    _Than Numbers flowing thro\u2019 the Muse\u2019s Lines;_\n    _What Beauty ne\u2019er cou\u2019d melt, thy Touches fire,_\n    _And raise a Musick that can Love inspire;_\n    _Soul-thrilling Accents all our Senses wound,_\n    _And Strike with softness, whilst they Charm with sound!_\n    _When thy COUNT pleads, what Fair his Suit can flye?_\n    _Or when thy Nymph laments, what Eyes are dry?_\n    _Ev\u2019n Nature\u2019s self in Sympathy appears,_\n    _Yeilds Sigh for Sigh, and melts in equal Tears;_\n    _For such Descriptions thus at once can prove_\n    _The Force of Language, and the Sweets of Love._\n      _The Myrtle\u2019s Leaves with those of Fame entwine,_\n    _And all the Glories of that Wreath are thine?_\n    _As Eagles can undazzl\u2019d view the Force_\n    _Of scorching PH\u0152BUS in his Noon-day Course;_\n    _Thy Genius to the God its Luster plays,_\n    _Meets his fierce Beams, and darts him Rays for Rays!_\n    _Oh Glorious Strength! Let each succeeding Page_\n    _Still boast those Charms and luminate the Age;_\n    _So shall thy beamful Fires with Light divine_\n    _Rise to the Sphere, and there triumphant Shine._\n[Illustration]\n[Illustration]\nBy an unknown Hand.\nTo the most Ingenious Mrs HAYWOOD, on her NOVEL Entitled,\n_Love in Excess:_\n    _A Stranger Muse, an Unbeliever too,_\n    _That Womens Souls such Strength of Vigour knew!_\n    _Nor less an Atheist to Love\u2019s Power declar\u2019d,_\n    _Till YOU a Champion for the Sex appear\u2019d!_\n    _A Convert now, to both, I feel that Fire_\n    _YOUR Words alone can paint! YOUR Looks inspire!_\n    _Resistless now, Love\u2019s shafts new pointed fly,_\n    _Wing\u2019d with YOUR Flame, and blazing in YOUR Eye._\n    _With sweet, but pow\u2019rful Force, the Charm-shot Heart_\n    _Receives th\u2019 Impression of the Conqu\u2019ring Dart,_\n    _And ev\u2019ry Art\u2019ry huggs the Joy-tipt Smart!_\n      _No more of PH\u0152BUS, rising vainly boast,_\n    _Ye tawny Sons of a luxuriant Coast!_\n    _While our blest Isle is with such Rays replete,_\n    _BRITAIN shall glow with more than Eastern Heat!_\n[Illustration]\nVERSES\nWrote in the Blank Leaf of\nMrs. _Haywood_\u2019s NOVEL.\n    _Of all the Passions given us from above,_\n    _The Noblest, Truest, and the Best, is Love;_\n    _\u2019Tis Love awakes the Soul, informs the Mind,_\n    _And bends the stubborn Temper to be kind,_\n    _Abates the Edge of ev\u2019ry poi\u2019nant Care_\n    _Succeeds the Wishes of the trembling Fair,_\n    _And ravishes the Lover from Despair._\n    _\u2019Tis Love ELIZA\u2019s soft Affections fires,_\n    _ELIZA writes, but Love alone inspires;_\n    _\u2019Tis Love, that gives D\u2019ELMONT his manly Charms,_\n    _And tears AMENA from her Father\u2019s Arms;_\n    _Relieves the Fair one from her Maiden Fear,_\n    _And gives MELLIORA all her Soul holds dear,_\n    _A generous Lover, and a Bliss sincere._\n      _Receive, my Fair, the Story, and approve,_\n    _The Cause of HONOUR, and the Cause of LOVE;_\n    _With kind Concern, the tender Page peruse,_\n    _And aid the Infant Labours of the Muse._\n    _So never may those Eyes forget to shine,_\n    _And bright MELLIORA\u2019s Fortune be as Thine;_\n    _On thy best Looks, an happy D\u2019ELMONT feed,_\n    _And all the Wishes of thy Soul succeed._\n[Illustration]\nLOVE in EXCESS:\nOR, THE\nFATAL ENQUIRY.\nPART the FIRST.\nIn the late War between the _French_ and the _Confederate_ Armies, there\nwere two BROTHERS, who had acquir\u2019d a more than ordinary Reputation,\nunder the Command of the great and intrepid LUXEMBOURGH. But the\nConclusion of the Peace taking away any further Occasions of shewing\ntheir Valour, the Eldest of \u2019em, whose Name was COUNT D\u2019ELMONT, return\u2019d\nto PARIS, from whence he had been absent two Years, leaving his Brother\nat St. OMER\u2019s, \u2019till the Cure of some slight Wounds were perfected.\nThe Fame of the _Count_\u2019s brave Actions arriv\u2019d before him, and he\nhad the Satisfaction of being receiv\u2019d by the KING and COURT, after\na Manner that might gratify the Ambition of the proudest. The Beauty\nof his Person, the Gayity of his Air, and the unequal\u2019d Charms of his\nConversation, made him the Admiration of both Sexes; and whilst those of\nhis _own_ strove which should gain the largest share in his Friendship;\nthe _other_ vented fruitless Wishes, and in secret, curs\u2019d that Custom\nwhich forbids Women to make a Declaration of their Thoughts. Amongst the\nNumber of these, was ALOVISA, a Lady descended (by the Father\u2019s Side)\nfrom the Noble Family of the D\u2019 LA TOURS formerly Lord of BEUJEY, and (by\nher Mothers) from the equally Illustrious House of MONTMORENCY. The late\nDeath of her Parents had left her Coheiress (with her Sister,) of a vast\nEstate.\nALOVISA, if her Passion was not greater than the rest, her Pride, and\nthe good Opinion she had of her self, made her the less able to support\nit; she sigh\u2019d, she burn\u2019d, she rag\u2019d, when she perceiv\u2019d the Charming\nD\u2019ELMONT behav\u2019d himself toward her with no Mark of a distinguishing\nAffection. What (said she) have I beheld without Concern a Thousand\nLovers at my Feet, and shall the only Man I ever endeavour\u2019d, or wish\u2019d\nto Charm, regard me with Indifference? Wherefore has the agreeing World\njoin\u2019d with my deceitful Glass to flatter me into a vain Belief I had\ninvincible Attractions? D\u2019ELMONT sees \u2019em not! D\u2019ELMONT is insensible.\nThen would she fall into Ravings, sometimes cursing her own want of\nPower, sometimes the Coldness of D\u2019ELMONT. Many Days she pass\u2019d in these\nInquietudes, and every time she saw him (which was very frequently)\neither at Court, at Church, or publick Meetings, she found fresh Matter\nfor her troubled Thoughts to work upon: When on any Occasion he happen\u2019d\nto speak to her, it was with that Softness in his Eyes, and that engaging\ntenderness in his Voice, as would half persuade her, that, that God had\ntouch\u2019d his Heart, which so powerfully had Influenc\u2019d hers; but if a\nglimmering of such a Hope gave her a Pleasure inconceivable, how great\nwere the ensuing Torments, when she observ\u2019d those Looks and Accents were\nbut the Effects of his natural Complaisance, and that to whomsoever he\nAddress\u2019d, he carried an equality in his Behaviour, which sufficiently\nevinc\u2019d, his Hour was not yet come to feel those Pains he gave; and if\nthe afflicted fair Ones found any Consolation, it was in the Reflection,\nthat no Triumphant Rival could boast a Conquest, each now despair\u2019d of\ngaining. But the impatient ALOVISA disdaining to be rank\u2019d with those,\nwhom her Vanity made her consider as infinitely her Inferiors, suffer\u2019d\nher self to be agitated almost to Madness, between the two Extreams of\nLove and Indignation; a thousand _Chimeras_ came into her Head, and\nsometimes prompted her to discover the Sentiments she had in his Favour:\nBut these Resolutions were rejected, almost as soon as form\u2019d, and she\ncould not fix on any for a long time; \u2019till at last, Love (ingenious in\nInvention,) inspir\u2019d her with one, which probably might let her into the\nSecrets of his Heart, without the Shame of revealing her own.\nThe Celebration of Madam the Dutchess of BURGUNDY\u2019s Birth-day being\nSolemniz\u2019d with great Magnificence; she writ this _Billet_ to him on the\nNight before.\n    [Illustration]\n    To Count D\u2019ELMONT.\n    _Resistless as you are in War, you are much more so in Love;\n    Here you conquer without making an Attack, and we Surrender\n    before you Summons; the Law of Arms obliges you to show Mercy\n    to an yielding Enemy, and sure the Court cannot inspire less\n    generous Sentiments than the Field. The little God lays down\n    his Arrows at your Feet, confesses your superior Power, and\n    begs a Friendly Treatment; he will appear to you to morrow\n    Night at the Ball, in the Eyes of the most passionate of\n    all his Votresses; search therefore for him in Her, in whom\n    (amongst that bright Assembly) you would most desire to find\n    Him; I am confident you have too much Penetration to miss of\n    him, if not bypass\u2019d by a former Inclination, and in that Hope,\n    I shall (as patiently as my Expectations will let me) support,\n    \u2019till then, the tedious Hours._\nThis she sent by a trusty Servant, and so disguis\u2019d, that it was\nimpossible for him to be known, with a strict Charge to deliver it to\nthe _Count_\u2019s own Hands, and come away before he had read it; the Fellow\nperform\u2019d her Orders exactly, and when the _Count_, who was not a little\nsurpriz\u2019d at the first opening it, ask\u2019d for the Messenger, and commanded\nhe should be stay\u2019d; his Gentleman (who then was waiting in his Chamber,)\ntold him he ran down Stairs with all the speed imaginable, immediately\non his Lordship\u2019s receiving it. D\u2019ELMONT having never experienc\u2019d\nthe Force of Love, could not presently comprehend the Truth of this\nAdventure; at first he imagin\u2019d some of his Companions had caus\u2019d this\nLetter to be wrote, either to sound his Inclinations, or upbraid his\nlittle Disposition to Gallantry; but these Cogitations soon gave Place\nto others; and tho\u2019 he was not very vain, yet he found it no difficulty\nto perswade himself to an Opinion, that it was possible for a Lady to\ndistinguish him from other Men. Nor did he find any thing so unpleasing\nin that Thought as might make him endeavour to repell it; the more he\nconsider\u2019d his own Perfections, the more he was confirm\u2019d in his Belief,\nbut who to fix it on, he was at a Loss as much as ever; then he began\nto reflect on all the Discourse, and little Railleries that had pass\u2019d\nbetween him and the Ladies whom he had convers\u2019d with since his Arrival,\nbut cou\u2019d find nothing in any of \u2019em of Consequence enough to make him\nguess at the Person: He spent great part of the Night in Thoughts very\ndifferent from those he was accustom\u2019d to, the Joy which naturally rises\nfrom the Knowledge \u2019tis in one\u2019s Power to give it, gave him Notions which\ntill then he was a Stranger to; he began to consider a Mistress as an\nagreeable, as well as fashionable Amusement, and resolv\u2019d not to be Cruel.\nIn the mean time poor ALOVISA was in all the Anxiety imaginable, she\ncounted every Hour, and thought \u2019em Ages, and at the first dawn of Day\nshe rose, and calling up her Women, who were amaz\u2019d to find her so\nuneasy, she employ\u2019d \u2019em in placing her Jewels on her Cloaths to the best\nAdvantage, while she consulted her Glass after what Manner she should\nDress, her Eyes, the gay; the languishing, the sedate, the commanding,\nthe beseeching Air, were put on a thousand times, and as often rejected;\nand she had scarce determin\u2019d which to make use of, when her Page brought\nher Word, some Ladies who were going to Court desir\u2019d her to accompany\nthem; she was too impatient not to be willing to be one of the first,\nso went with them immediately, arm\u2019d with all her Lightnings, but full\nof unsettled Reflections. She had not been long in the Drawing Room,\nbefore it grew very full of Company, but D\u2019ELMONT not being amongst \u2019em,\nshe had her Eyes fix\u2019d towards the Door, expecting every Moment to see\nhim enter; but how impossible is it to represent her Confusion, when he\nappear\u2019d, leading the young AMENA, Daughter to Monsieur _Sanseverin_, a\nGentleman, who tho\u2019 he had a very small Estate, and many Children, had\nby a partial Indulgence, too common among Parents, neglecting the rest,\nmaintain\u2019d this Darling of his Heart in all the Pomp of Quality. The\nBeauty and Sweetness of this Lady was present-Death to ALOVISA\u2019s Hope\u2019s;\nshe saw, or fancy\u2019d she saw an usual Joy in her Eyes, and dying Love in\nhis; Disdain, Despair, and Jealousie at once crowded into her Heart, and\nswell\u2019d her almost to bursting; and \u2019twas no wonder that the violence of\nsuch terrible Emotions kept her from regarding the Discourses of those\nwho stood by her, or the Devoirs that D\u2019ELMONT made as he pass\u2019d by, and\nat length threw her into a Swoon; the Ladies ran to her assistance, and\nher charming Rival, being one of her particular Acquaintance, shew\u2019d an\nextraordinary assiduity in applying Means for her Relief, they made what\nhast they cou\u2019d to get her into another Room, and unfasten her Robe,\nbut were a great while before they could bring her to herself; and when\nthey did, the Shame of having been so disorder\u2019d in such an Assembly,\nand the Fears of their suspecting the Occasion, added to her former\nAgonies, had rack\u2019d her with most terrible Revulsions, every one now\ndespairing of her being able to assist at that Night\u2019s Entertainment, she\nwas put into her Chair, in order to be carry\u2019d Home; AMENA who little\nthought how unwelcome she was grown, would needs have one call\u2019d, and\naccompany\u2019d her thither, in spight of the Intreaties of D\u2019ELMONT, who had\nbefore engag\u2019d her for his Partner in Dancing; not that he was in Love\nwith her, or at that time believ\u2019d he cou\u2019d be touch\u2019d with a Passion\nwhich he esteem\u2019d a Trifle in it self, and below the Dignity of a Man of\nSense; but Fortune (to whom this Lady no less enamour\u2019d than ALOVISA)\nhad made a thousand Invocations, seem\u2019d to have allotted her the glory\nof his first Addresses; she was getting out of her Chariot just as he\nalighted from his, and offering her his Hand, he perceiv\u2019d hers trembled,\nwhich engaging him to look upon her more earnestly than he was wont, he\nimmediately fancy\u2019d he saw something of that languishment in her Eyes,\nwhich the obliging Mandate had describ\u2019d: AMENA was too lovely to make\nthat Belief disagreeable, and he resolv\u2019d on the Beginnings of an Amour,\nwithout giving himself the trouble of considering the Consequences; the\nEvening being extreamly pleasant, he ask\u2019d if she wou\u2019d not favour him so\nfar as to take a turn or two within the Palace-Garden; She who desir\u2019d\nnothing more than such a particular Conversation, was not at all backward\nof complying; he talk\u2019d to her there for some time, in a manner as could\nleave her no room to doubt he was entirely Charm\u2019d, and \u2019twas the Air\nsuch an Entertainment had left on both their Faces, as produc\u2019d those sad\nEffects in the jealous ALOVISA. She was no sooner led to her Apartment,\nbut she desir\u2019d to be put to Bed, and the good natur\u2019d AMENA, who really\nhad a very great kindness for her, offer\u2019d to quit the Diversions of the\nBall, and stay with her all Night; but the unfortunate ALOVISA was not\nin a Condition to endure the Presence of any, especially her, so put\nher off as civilly as her Anxiety would give her leave, chusing rather\nto suffer her to return to the Ball, than retain so hateful an Object\n(as she was now become) in her sight; and \u2019tis likely the other was not\nmuch troubled at her Refusal. But how, (when left alone, and abandon\u2019d\nto the whirlwinds of her Passion,) the desperate ALOVISA behav\u2019d, none\nbut those, who like her, have burn\u2019d in hopeless Fires can guess, the\nmost lively Description wou\u2019d come far short of what she felt; she\nrav\u2019d, she tore her Hair and Face, and in the extremity of her Anguish\nwas ready to lay violent Hands on her own Life. In this Tempest of Mind,\nshe continu\u2019d for some time, till at length rage beginning to dissipate\nit self in Tears, made way for cooler Considerations; and her natural\nVanity resuming its Empire in her Soul, was of no little Service to\nher on this Occasion. Why am I thus disturb\u2019d? Mean Spirited as I am!\nSaid she, D\u2019ELMONT is ignorant of the Sentiments I am possess\u2019d with\nin his favour; and perhaps \u2019tis only want of Incouragement that has so\nlong depriv\u2019d me of my Lover; my Letter bore no certain Mark by which\nhe might distinguish me, and who knows what Arts that Creature might\nmake use of to allure him. I will therefore (persu\u2019d she, with a more\ncheerful Countenance) direct his erring Search. As she was in this\nThought (happily for her, who else might have relaps\u2019d) her Women who\nwere waiting in the next Room, came in to know if she wanted any thing;\nyes, answer\u2019d she, with a Voice and Eyes wholly chang\u2019d, I\u2019ll rise, one\nof you help me on with my Cloaths, and let the other send CHARLO to me,\nI have instant Business with him. \u2019Twas in vain for \u2019em to represent to\nher the Prejudice it might be to her Health to get out of her Bed at so\nunseasonable an Hour, it being then just Midnight: They knew her too\nabsolute a Mistress not to be obey\u2019d, and executed her Commands, without\ndisputing the Reason. She was no sooner ready, than CHARLO was introduc\u2019d\nwho being the same Person that carry\u2019d the Letter to D\u2019ELMONT, guess\u2019d\nwhat Affair he was to be concern\u2019d in, and shut the Door after him. I\ncommend your Caution, said his Lady, for what I am now going to trust you\nwith, is of more concernment than my Life. The Fellow bow\u2019d, and made a\nthousand Protestations of an eternal Fidelity. I doubt it not, resum\u2019d\nshe, go then immediately to the _Court_, \u2019tis not impossible but in this\nhurry you may get into the Drawing Room; but if not, make some pretence\nto stay as near as you can \u2019till the Ball be over; listen carefully to\nall Discourses where you hear COUNT D\u2019ELMONT mention\u2019d, enquire who he\nDances with, and above all, watch what Company he comes out with, and\nbring me an exact Account. Go, continu\u2019d she hastily, these are all the\nOrders I have for you to Night, but to Morrow I shall employ you farther.\nThen turning to her _Escritore_, she sat down, and began to prepare a\nsecond Letter, which she hop\u2019d wou\u2019d be more lucky than the former. She\nwas not long writing, Love and Wit, suggested a World of passionate and\nagreeable Expressions to her in a Moment: But when she had finish\u2019d\nthis so full a Discovery of her Heart, and was about to sign her Name\nto it; not all that Passion which had inspir\u2019d her with a Resolution to\nscruple nothing that might advance the compassing her Wishes, nor the\nvanity which assur\u2019d her of Success, were forcible enough to withstand\nthe shock it gave her Pride; No, let me rather die! Said she, (starting\nup and frighted at her own Designs) than be guilty of a Meanness which\nwou\u2019d render me unworthy of Life, Oh Heavens! To offer Love, and poorly\nsue for Pity! \u2019tis insupportable! What bewitch\u2019d me to harbour such a\nThought as even the vilest of my Sex wou\u2019d blush at? To pieces then\n(added she, tearing the Paper) with this shameful Witness of my Folly,\nmy furious Desires may be the destruction of my Peace, but never of my\nHonour, that shall still attend my Name when Love and Life are fled. She\ncontinu\u2019d in this Temper (without being able to compose herself to rest)\ntill Day began to appear, and CHARLO returned with News which confirmed\nher most dreaded Suspicions. He told her that he had gain\u2019d admittance to\nthe Drawing Room several Times, under pretence of delivering Messages to\nsome of the Ladies; that the whole Talk among \u2019em was, that D\u2019ELMONT, was\nno longer insensible of Beauty; that he observ\u2019d that Gentleman in very\nparticular Conference with AMENA, and that he waited on her Home in his\nChariot, her own not being in the way, I know it, said ALOVISA (walking\nabout in a disorder\u2019d Motion) I did not doubt but that I was undone, and\nto my other Miseries, have that of being aiding to my Rival\u2019s Happiness:\nWhatever his Desires were, he carefully conceal\u2019d \u2019em, till my cursed\nLetter prompted a Discovery; tenacious as I was, and too, too confident\nof this little Beauty! Here she stop\u2019d, and wiping away some Tears which\nin spight of her ran down her Cheeks, gave CHARLO leave to ask if she had\nany more Commands for him. Yes (answer\u2019d she) I will write once more to\nthis undiscerning Man, and let him know, \u2019tis not AMENA that is worthy of\nhim; that I may do without prejudicing my Fame, and \u2019twill be at least\nsome Easement to my Mind, to undeceive the Opinion he may have conceiv\u2019d\nof her Wit, for I am almost confident she passes for the Authoress of\nthose Lines which have been so fatal to me; in speaking this, without any\nfurther Thought, she once more took her Pen, and wrote these Words.\n    [Illustration]\n    _To Count_ D\u2019ELMONT.\n    _If Ambition be a Fault, \u2019tis only in those who have not a\n    sufficient stock of Merit to support it; too much Humility is a\n    greater in you, whose Person and Qualities are too admirable,\n    not to render any Attempt you shall make justifiable, as\n    well as successful. Heaven when it distinguish\u2019d you in so\n    particular a Manner from the rest of Mankind, design\u2019d you\n    not for vulgar Conquests, and you cannot without a manifest\n    Contradiction to its Will, and an irreparable Injury to your\n    self, make a present of that Heart to AMENA, when one, of\n    at least an equal Beauty, and far superior in every other\n    Consideration, would Sacrifice all to purchase the glorious\n    Trophy; continue then no longer in a wilful Ignorance, aim\n    at a more exalted flight, and you will find it no difficulty\n    to discover who she is that languishes, and almost dies for\n    an Opportunity of confessing (without too great a breach of\n    Modesty) that her Soul, and all the Faculties of it, are, and\n    must be_,\nThis she gave to CHARLO, to deliver with the same Caution as the former;\nbut he was scarce got out of the House before a new Fear assaulted her,\nand she repented her uncircumspection. What have I done, cry\u2019d she! Who\nknows but D\u2019ELMONT may shew these Letters to AMENA, she is perfectly\nacquainted with my Hand, and I shall be the most expos\u2019d and wretched\nWoman in the World. Thus Industrious was she in forming Notions to\nTorment herself; nor indeed was there any thing of Improbability in\nthis Conjecture. There are too many ungenerous enough to boast such an\nAdventure; but D\u2019ELMONT tho\u2019 he would have given good Part of his Estate\nto satisfy his Curiosity, yet chose rather to remain in a perpetual\nIgnorance, than make use of any Means that might be disadvantagious to\nthe Lady\u2019s Reputation. He now perceiv\u2019d his Mistake, and that it was\nnot AMENA who had taken that Method to engage him, and possibly was not\ndisgusted to find she had a Rival of such Merit, as the Letter intimated.\nHowever, he had said too many fine Things to her to be lost, and thought\nit as inconsistent with his Honour as his Inclination to desist a\nPursuit in which he had all the Reason in the World to assure himself of\nVictory; for the young AMENA (little vers\u2019d in the Art of Dissimulation,\nso necessary to her Sex) cou\u2019d not conceal the Pleasure she took in\nhis Addresses, and without even a seeming reluctancy, had given him a\nPromise of meeting him the next Day in the _Tuilleries_; nor could all\nhis unknown Mistress had writ, perswade him to miss this Assignation, nor\nlet that be succeeded with another, and that by a third, and so on, \u2019till\nby making a shew of Tenderness; he began to fancy himself really touch\u2019d\nwith a Passion he only design\u2019d to represent. \u2019Tis certain this way of\nFooling rais\u2019d Desires in him little different from what is commonly\ncall\u2019d Love; and made him redouble his Attacks in such a Manner, as AMENA\nstood in need of all her Vertue to resist; but as much as she thought her\nself oblig\u2019d to resent such Attempts, yet he knew so well how to excuse\nhimself, and lay the Blame on the Violence of his Passion, that he was\nstill too Charming, and too Dear to her not to be forgiven. Thus was\nAMENA (by her too generous and open Temper) brought to the very brink of\nRuin, and D\u2019ELMONT was possibly contriving Means to compleat it, when her\nPage brought him this Letter.\n    [Illustration]\n    To Count D\u2019ELMONT.\n    _Some Malicious Persons have endeavour\u2019d to make the little\n    Conversation I have had with you, appear as Criminal; therefore\n    to put a stop to all such Aspersions, I must for the future\n    deny my self the Honour of your Visits, unless Commanded to\n    receive \u2019em by my Father, who only has the Power of disposing\nThe Consternation he was in at the reading these Lines, so very different\nfrom her former Behaviour, is more easily imagin\u2019d than express\u2019d, \u2019till\ncasting his Eyes on the Ground, he saw a small Note, which in the opening\nof this, had fallen out of it, which he hastily took up, and found it\ncontain\u2019d these Words.\n    _I guess the Surprize my lovely Friend is in, but have not time\n    now to unriddle the Mystery: I beg you will be at your Lodgings\n    towards the Evening, and I will invent a Way to send to you._\n\u2019Twas now that D\u2019ELMONT began to find there were _Embarrassments_ in\nan Intrigue of this Nature, which he had not foreseen, and stay\u2019d at\nHome all Day, impatiently expecting the clearing of an Affair, which at\npresent seem\u2019d so ambiguous. When it grew a little Duskish, his Gentleman\nbrought in a Young Woman, whom he immediately knew to be: ANARET, an\nAttendant on AMENA; and when he had made her sit down, told her he hop\u2019d\nshe was come to make an _Eclaircissment_, which would be very obliging to\nhim, and therefore desir\u2019d she wou\u2019d not defer it.\nMy Lord, said she, \u2019tis with an unspeakable Trouble I discharge that\nTrust my Lady has repos\u2019d in me, in giving you a Relation of her\nMisfortunes; but not to keep you longer in suspence, which I perceive\nis uneasy to you; I shall acquaint you, that soon after you were gone,\nmy Lady came up into her Chamber, where, as I was preparing to undress\nher, we heard Monsieur SANSEVERIN in an angry Tone ask where his Daughter\nwas, and being told she was above, we immediately saw him enter, with a\nCountenance so inflam\u2019d, as put us both in a mortal Apprehension. An ill\nuse (said he to her) have you made of my Indulgence, and the Liberty I\nhave allow\u2019d you! Could neither the Considerations of the Honour of your\nFamily, your own Reputation, nor my eternal Repose, deter you from such\nimprudent Actions, as you cannot be ignorant must be the inevitable Ruin\nof \u2019em all. My poor Lady was too much surpriz\u2019d at these cruel Words,\nto be able to make any Answer to \u2019em, and stood trembling, and almost\nfainting, while he went on with his Discourse. Was it consistent with the\nNiceties of your Sex, said he, or with the Duty you owe me, to receive\nthe Addresses of a Person whose Pretensions I was a Stranger to? If the\nCount D\u2019ELMONT has any that are Honourable, wherefore are they conceal\u2019d?\nThe Count D\u2019ELMONT! (cry\u2019d my Lady more frighted than before) never made\nany Declarations to me worthy of your Knowledge, nor did I ever entertain\nhim otherwise, than might become your Daughter. \u2019Tis false (interrupted\nhe furiously) I am but too well inform\u2019d of the contrary; nor has the\nmost private of your shameful Meetings escap\u2019d my Ears! Judge, Sir,\nin what a Confusion my Lady was in at this Discourse; \u2019twas in vain,\nshe muster\u2019d all her Courage to perswade him from giving Credit to an\nIntelligence so injurious to her; he grew the more enrag\u2019d, and after a\nthousand Reproaches, flung out of the Room with all the Marks of a most\nviolent Indignation, But tho\u2019 your Lordship is too well acquainted with\nthe mildness of AMENA\u2019S Disposition, not to believe she could bear the\nDispleasure of a Father (who had always most tenderly lov\u2019d her) with\nindifference; yet \u2019tis impossible for you to imagine in what an excess of\nSorrow she was plung\u2019d, she found every Passage of her ill Conduct (as\nshe was pleas\u2019d to call it) was betray\u2019d, and did not doubt but whoever\nhad done her that ill Office to her Father, wou\u2019d take care the Discovery\nshould not be confin\u2019d to him alone. Grief, Fear, Remorse, and Shame by\nturns assaulted her, and made her incapable of Consolation; even the soft\nPleas of Love were silenc\u2019d by their Tumultuous Clamours, and for a Time\nshe consider\u2019d your Lordship in no other view than that of her Undoer.\nHow! cry\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT (interrupting her) cou\u2019d my AMENA, who I thought\nall sweetness, judge so harshly of me. Oh! my Lord, resum\u2019d ANARET,\nyou must forgive those first Emotions, which as violent as they were,\nwanted but your Presence to dissipate in a Moment; and if your Idea had\nnot presently that Power, it lost no Honour by having Foes to struggle\nwith, since at last it put \u2019em all to flight, and gain\u2019d so entire a\nVictory, that before Morning, of all her Troubles, scarce any but the\nFears of losing you remain\u2019d. And I must take the Liberty to assure your\nLordship, my Endeavours were not wanting to establish a Resolution in her\nto despise every thing for Love and you. But to be as brief as I can in\nmy Relation; the Night was no sooner gone, than Monsieur her Father came\ninto the Chamber, with a Countenance, tho\u2019 more compos\u2019d, than that with\nwhich he left us, yet with such an Air of Austerity, as made my timerous\nLady lose most of the Spirit she had assum\u2019d for this Encounter. I come\nnot now AMENA, said he, to upbraid or punish your Disobedience, if you\nare not wholly abandon\u2019d by your Reason, your own Reflections will be\nsufficiently your Tormentors. But to put you in a way, (if not to clear\nyour Fame, yet to take away all Occasion of future Calumny,) you must\nwrite to Count D\u2019ELMONT.\nI will have no denials continu\u2019d he, (seeing her about to speak) and\nleading her to her Escritore, constrain\u2019d her to write what he dictated,\nand you receiv\u2019d; just as she was going to Seal it, a Servant brought\nword that a Gentleman desir\u2019d to speak with Monsieur SANSEVERIN, he\nwas oblig\u2019d to step into another Room, and that absence gave her an\nOpportunity of writing a Note, which she dextrously slip\u2019d into the\nLetter, unperceiv\u2019d by her Father at his return, who little suspecting\nwhat she had done, sent it away immediately. Now, said he, we shall\nbe able to judge of the sincerity of the Count\u2019s Affections, but till\nthen I shall take care to prove my self a Person not disinterested in\nthe Honour of my Family. As he spoke these Words, he took her by the\nHand, and conducting her, thro\u2019 his own, into a little Chamber (which\nhe had order\u2019d to be made ready for that purpose) shut her into it; I\nfollow\u2019d to the Door, and seconded my Lady in her Desires, that I might\nbe permitted to attend her there; but all in vain, he told me, he doubted\nnot but that I had been her Confident in this Affair, and ordered me\nto quit his House in a few Days. As soon as he was gone out, I went\ninto the Garden, and saunter\u2019d up and down a good while, hoping to get\nan Opportunity of speaking to my Lady through the Window, for I knew\nthere was one that look\u2019d into it; but not seeing her, I bethought me of\ngetting a little Stick, with which I knock\u2019d gently against the Glass,\nand engag\u2019d her to open it. As soon as she perceiv\u2019d me, a Beam of Joy\nbrighten\u2019d in her Eyes, and glisten\u2019d tho\u2019 her Tears. Dear ANARET, said\nshe, how kindly do I take this proof of thy Affection, \u2019tis only in thy\nPower to alleviate my Misfortunes, and thou I know art come to offer thy\nAssistance. Then after I had assur\u2019d her of my willingness to serve her\nin any command, she desir\u2019d me to wait on you with an Account of all that\nhad happen\u2019d, and to give you her Vows of an eternal Love. My Eyes, said\nshe weeping, perhaps may ne\u2019er behold him more, but Imagination shall\nsupply that want, and from my Heart he never shall be Absent. Oh! do not\ntalk thus, cry\u2019d the Count, extreamly touch\u2019d at this Discourse. I must,\nI will see her, nothing shall hold her from me. You may, answer\u2019d ANARET,\nbut then it must be with the Approbation of Monsieur SANSEVERIN, he will\nbe proud to receive you in Quality of a Suitor to his Daughter, and \u2019tis\nonly to oblige you to a publick Declaration that he takes these Measures.\nD\u2019ELMONT was not perfectly pleas\u2019d with these Words: he was too quick\nsighted not to perceive immediately what Monsieur SANSEVERIN drove at,\nbut as well as he lik\u2019d AMENA, found no inclination in himself to Marry\nher; and therefore was not desirous of an Explanation of what he resolv\u2019d\nnot to seem to understand. He walk\u2019d two or three turns about the Room,\nendeavouring to conceal his Disgust, and when he had so well overcome\nthe shock, as to banish all visible Tokens of it, I would willingly said\nhe coldly, come in to any proper Method for the obtaining the Person of\nAMENA, as well as her Heart; but there are certain Reasons for which I\ncannot make a Discovery of my Designs to her Father, \u2019till I have first\nspoken with her. My Lord, reply\u2019d the subtle ANARET (easily guessing at\nhis Meaning) I wish to Heaven there were a possibility of your Meeting;\nthere is nothing I would not risque to forward it, and if your Lordship\ncan think of any way in which I may be serviceable to you, in this short\nTime I am allow\u2019d to stay in the Family, I beg you would command me. She\nspoke this with an Air which made the Count believe she really had it in\nher Power to serve him in this Occasion, and presently hit on the surest\nMeans to bind her to his Interest. You are very obliging, said he, and\nI doubt not but your Ingenuity is equal to your good Nature, therefore\nwill leave the Contrivance of my happiness entirely to you, and that you\nmay not think your Care bestow\u2019d on an ungrateful Person, be pleas\u2019d\n(continu\u2019d he, giving her a Purse of _Lewis-Dor_\u2019s) to accept this small\nEarnest of my future Friendship. ANARET, like most of her Function, was\ntoo mercinary to resist such a Temptation, tho\u2019 it had been given her to\nbetray the Honour of her whole Sex; and after a little pause, reply\u2019d,\nYour Lordship is too generous to be refus\u2019d, tho\u2019 in a Matter of the\ngreatest Difficulty, as indeed this is; for in the strict Confinement\nmy Lady is, I know no way but one, and that extreamly hazardous to her;\nhowever, I do not fear but my Perswasions, joyn\u2019d with her own Desires,\nwill influence her to attempt it. Your Lordship knows we have a little\nDoor at the farther End of the Garden, that opens into the _Tuillerys_. I\ndo, cry\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT interrupting her. I have several times parted from my\nCharmer there, when my Entreaties have prevail\u2019d with her to stay longer\nwith me than she wou\u2019d have the Family to take notice of. I hope to order\nthe Matter so, resum\u2019d ANARET, that it shall be the Scene this Night of a\nmost happy Meeting. My Lady unknown to her Father, has the Key of it, she\ncan throw it to me from her Window, and I can open it to you, who must be\nwalking near it, about Twelve or One a Clock, for by that time every body\nwill be in Bed. But what will that avail, cry\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT hastily; since\nshe lies in her Father\u2019s Chamber, where \u2019tis impossible to pass Without\nalarming him. You Lovers are so impatient rejoyn\u2019d ANARET smiling, I\nnever design\u2019d you should have Entrance there, tho\u2019 the Window is so low,\nthat a Person of your Lordship\u2019s Stature and Agility might mount it with\na Galliard step, but I suppose it will turn to as good an Account, if\nyour Mistress by my Assistance stets out of it. But can she, interrupted\nhe; will she, dost thou think? Fear not, my Lord, reply\u2019d she, be but\npunctual to the Hour, AMENA, shall be yours, if Love, Wit and Opportunity\nhave power to make her so. D\u2019ELMONT was transported with this Promise,\nand the Thoughts of what he expected to possess by her Means, rais\u2019d\nhis Imagination to so high a pitch, as he cou\u2019d not forbear kissing and\nembracing her with such Raptures, as might not have been very pleasing\nto AMENA, had she been witness of \u2019em. But ANARET who had other things in\nher Head than Gallantry, disengag\u2019d her self from him as soon she cou\u2019d,\ntaking more Satisfaction in forwarding an Affair in which she propos\u2019d so\nmuch Advantage, than in the Caresses of the most accomplish\u2019d Gentleman\nin the World.\nWhen she came Home, she found every thing as she cou\u2019d wish, MONSIEUR\nAbroad, and his Daughter at the Window, impatiently watching her\nreturn, she told her as much of the Discourse she had with the COUNT\nas she thought proper, extolling his Love and Constancy, and carefully\nconcealing all she thought might give an umbrage to her Vertue. But\nin spight of all the Artifice she made use of, she found it no easie\nMatter to perswade her to get out of the Window; the fears she had of\nbeing discover\u2019d, and more expos\u2019d to her Father\u2019s Indignation, and the\nCensure of the World, damp\u2019d her Inclinations, and made her deaf to the\neager Solicitations of this unfaithful Woman. As they were Disputing,\nsome of the Servants happ\u2019ning to come into the Garden, oblig\u2019d \u2019em to\nbreak off; and ANARET retir\u2019d, not totally dispairing of compassing her\nDesigns, when the appointed Hour should arrive, and AMENA should know the\ndarling Object of her Wishes was so near. Nor did her Hopes deceive her,\nthe Resolutions of a Lover, when made against the Interest of the Person\nbelov\u2019d, are but of a short duration; and this unhappy Fair was no sooner\nleft alone, and had leisure to Contemplate on the Graces of the Charming\nD\u2019ELMONT, but Love plaid his part with such Success, as made her repent\nshe had chid ANARET for her Proposal, and wish\u2019d for nothing more than an\nOpportunity to tell her so. She pass\u2019d several Hours in Disquietudes she\nhad never known before, till at last she heard her Father come into the\nnext Room to go to Bed, and soon after some Body knock\u2019d softly at the\nWindow, she immediately open\u2019d it, and perceiv\u2019d by the Light of the Moon\nwhich then shone very bright, that it was ANARET, she had not Patience\nto listen to the long Speech the other had prepar\u2019d to perswade her,\nbut putting her Head as far as she could, to prevent being heard by her\nFather. Well ANARET, said she, where is this Adventrous Lover, what is it\nhe requires of me? Oh! Madam, reply\u2019d she, overjoy\u2019d at the compliable\nHumour she found her in, he is now at the Garden Door, there\u2019s nothing\nwanting but your Key to give him Entrance; what farther he requests,\nhimself shall tell you. Oh Heavens! cry\u2019d AMENA, searching her Pockets,\nand finding she had it not; I am undone, I have left it in my Cabinet in\nthe Chamber where I us\u2019d to lie. These Words made ANARET at her Wits end,\nshe knew there was no possibility of fetching it, there being so many\nRooms to go thro\u2019, she ran to the Door, and endeavour\u2019d to push back the\nLock, but had not Strength; she then knew not what to do, she was sure\nD\u2019ELMONT was on the other side, and fear\u2019d he would resent this usage\nto the disappointment of all her mercenary Hopes, and durst not call to\nacquaint him with his Misfortune for fear of being heard. As for AMENA,\nshe was now more sensible than ever of the violence of her Inclinations,\nby the extream vexation this Disappointment gave her: Never did People\npass a Night in greater uneasiness, than these three; the _Count_ who was\nnaturally impatient, could not bear a balk of this nature without the\nutmost chagrin. AMENA languish\u2019d, and ANARET fretted to Death, tho\u2019 she\nresolv\u2019d to leave no Stone unturn\u2019d to set all right again. Early in the\nMorning she went to his Lodgings, and found him in a very ill Humour,\nbut she easily pacify\u2019d him, by representing with a great deal of real\nGrief, the Accident that retarded his Happiness, and assuring him there\nwas nothing cou\u2019d hinder the fulfilling it the next Night. When she had\ngain\u2019d this Point, she came Home and got the Key into her possession,\nbut could not find an opportunity all Day of speaking to her Lady,\nMonsieur SANSEVERIN did not stir out of Doors, and spent most of it with\nhis Daughter; in his Discourse to her, he set the Passion the COUNT had\nfor her in so true a light, that it made a very great alteration in her\nSentiments; and she began to reflect on the Condescensions she had given\na Man, who had never so much as mention\u2019d Marriage to her, with so much\nshame, as almost overwhelm\u2019d her Love, and she was now determin\u2019d never\nto see him, till he should declare himself to her Father in such a manner\nas would be for her Honour.\nIn the mean time ANARET waited with a great deal of Impatience for the\nFamily going to Bed; and as soon as all was hush, ran to give the COUNT\nAdmittance; and leaving him in an ALLEY on the farther side of the\nGarden, made the accustom\u2019d Sign at the Window. AMENA presently open\u2019d\nit, but instead of staying to hear what she would say, threw a Letter\nout, Carry that, said she, to COUNT D\u2019ELMONT, let him know the Contents\nof it are wholly the result of my own Reason. And as for your part, I\ncharge you trouble me no farther on this Subject; then shutting the\nCasement hastily, left ANARET in a strange Consternation at this suddain\nChange of her Humour; however she made no delay, but running to the Place\nwhere the COUNT waited her return, deliver\u2019d him the Letter, but advis\u2019d\nhim (who was ready enough of himself) not to obey any Commands might be\ngiven him to the hindrance of his Designs. The Moon was then at the full,\nand gave so clear a Light, that he easily found it contain\u2019d these Words.\n    [Illustration]\n    _To Count_ D\u2019ELMONT.\n    _Too many Proofs have I given you of my weakness not to make\n    you think me incapable of forming or keeping any Resolution\n    to the Prejudice of that Passion you have inspir\u2019d me with:\n    But know, thou undoer of my Quiet, tho\u2019 I have Lov\u2019d and\n    still do Love you with a Tenderness, which I fear will be\n    Unvanquishable; yet I will rather suffer my Life, than my\n    Virtue to become its Prey. Press me then no more I conjure you,\n    to such dangerous Interviews, in which I dare neither Trust\n    my Self, nor You, if you believe me worthy your real Regard,\n    the way thro\u2019 Honour is open to receive You; Religion, Reason,\n    Modesty, and Obedience forbid the rest._\nD\u2019ELMONT knew the Power he had over her too well, to be much discourag\u2019d\nat what he read, and after a little consultation with ANARET, they\nconcluded he should go to speak to her, as being the best Sollicitor\nin his own Cause. As he came down the Walk, AMENA saw him thro\u2019 the\nGlass, and the sight of that beloved Object, bringing a thousand past\nEndearments to her Memory, made her incapable of retiring from the\nWindow, and she remain\u2019d in a languishing and immoveable Posture, leaning\nher Head against the Shutter, \u2019till he drew near enough to discern she\nsaw him. He took this for no ill Omen, and instead of falling on his\nKnees at an humble Distance, as some Romantick Lovers would have done,\nredoubled his Pace, and Love and Fortune which on this Occasion were\nresolv\u2019d to befriend him, presented to his View a large Rolling-Stone\nwhich the Gardiner had accidentally left there; the Iron-work that held\nit was very high, and strong enough to bear a much greater weight than\nhis, so he made no more to do, but getting on the top of it, was almost\nto the Waste above the bottom of the Casement. This was a strange Trial,\nfor had she been less in Love, good Manners would have oblig\u2019d her to\nopen it; however she retain\u2019d so much of her former Resolution, as to\nconjure him to be gone, and not expose her to such Hazards; that if her\nFather should come to know she held any clandestine Correspondence with\nhim, after the Commands he had given her, she were utterly undone, and\nthat he never must expect any Condescensions from her, without being\nfirst allow\u2019d by him. D\u2019ELMONT, tho\u2019 he was a little startled to find her\nso much more Mistress of her Temper than he believ\u2019d she could be, yet\nresolv\u2019d to make all possible use of this Opportunity, which probably\nmight be the last he shou\u2019d ever have, look\u2019d on her as she spoke,\nwith Eyes so piercing, so sparkling with Desire, accompany\u2019d with so\nbewitching softness, as might have thaw\u2019d the most frozen reservedness,\nand on the melting Soul stamp\u2019d Love\u2019s Impression. \u2019Tis certain they were\ntoo irresistable to be long withstood, and putting an end to AMENA\u2019S\ngrave Remonstrances, gave him leave to reply to \u2019em in this manner. Why\nmy Life, my Angel, said he, my everlasting Treasure of my Soul, shou\u2019d\nthese Objections now be rais\u2019d? How can you say you have given me your\nHeart? Nay, own you think me worthy that inestimable Jewel, yet dare\nnot trust your Person with me a few Hours: What have you to fear from\nyour adoring Slave? I want but to convince you how much I am so, by a\nthousand yet uninvented Vows. They may be spar\u2019d, cry\u2019d AMENA, hastily\ninterrupting him, one Declaration to my Father, is all the Proof that he\nor I demands of your Sincerity. Oh! Thou Inhuman and Tyrannick Charmer,\nanswer\u2019d he, (seizing her Hand, and eagerly kissing it) I doubt not\nbut your faithful ANARET has told you, that I could not without the\nhighest Imprudence, presently discover the Passion I have for you to the\nWorld. I have, my Lord, said that cunning Wench who stood near him, and\nthat \u2019twas only to acquaint her with the Reasons why, for some Time,\nyou would have it a Secret, that you much desir\u2019d to speak with her.\nBesides (rejoyn\u2019d the COUNT) consider my Angel how much more hazardous\nit is for you to hold Discourse with me here, than at a farther distance\nfrom your Father; your denying to go with me is the only way to make\nyour Fears prove true; his jealousie of you may possibly make him more\nwatchful than ordinary, and we are not sure but that this Minute he may\ntear you from my Arms; whereas if you suffer me to bear you hence, if\nhe should happen to come even to your Door, and hear no noise, he will\nbelieve you sleeping, and return to his Bed well satisfy\u2019d. With these\nand the like Arguments she was at last overcome, and with the assistance\nof ANARET, he easily lifted her down. But this rash Action, so contrary\nto the Resolution she thought herself a few moments before so fix\u2019d in,\nmade such a confusion in her Mind, as render\u2019d her insensible for some\nTime of all he said to her. They made what haste they could into the\n_Tuilleries_, and D\u2019ELMONT having plac\u2019d her on one of the most pleasant\nSeats, was resolv\u2019d to loose no time; and having given her some Reasons\nfor his not addressing to her Father, which tho\u2019 weak in themselves, were\neasily believ\u2019d by a Heart so willing to be deceiv\u2019d as hers, he began\nto press for a greater confirmation of her Affection than Words; and\n\u2019twas now this inconsiderate Lady found herself in the greatest Strait\nshe had ever yet been in; all Nature seem\u2019d to favour his Design, the\npleasantness of the Place, the silence of the Night, the sweetness of the\nAir, perfum\u2019d with a thousand various Odours, wafted by gentle Breezes\nfrom adjacent Gardens, compleated the most delightful Scene that ever\nwas, to offer up a Sacrifice to Love; not a breath but flew wing\u2019d with\ndesire, and sent soft thrilling Wishes to the Soul; CYNTHIA herself, cold\nas she is reported, assisted in the Inspiration, and sometimes shone with\nall her brightness, as it were to feast their ravish\u2019d Eyes with gazing\non each others Beauty; then veil\u2019d her Beams in Clouds, to give the\nLover boldness, and hide the Virgins blushes. What now could poor AMENA\ndo, surrounded with so many Powers, attack\u2019d by such a charming Force\nwithout, betray\u2019d by tenderness within: Virtue and Pride, the Guardians\nof her Honour, fled from her Breast, and left her to her Foe, only a\nmodest Bashfulness remain\u2019d, which for a time made some Defence, but with\nsuch weakness as a Lover less impatient than D\u2019ELMONT, would have little\nregarded. The heat of the Weather, and her Confinement having hindred her\nfrom dressing that Day; she had only a thin silk Night Gown on, which\nflying open as he caught her in his Arms, he found her panting-Heart\nbeat measures of Consent, her heaving Breast swell to be press\u2019d by his,\nand every Pulse confess a wish to yeild; her Spirits all dissolv\u2019d, sunk\nin a Lethargy of Love; her snowy Arms, unknowing, grasp\u2019d his Neck, her\nLips met his half way, and trembled at the touch; in fine, there was\nbut a Moment betwixt her and Ruin; when the tread of some Body coming\nhastily down the Walk, oblig\u2019d the half-bless\u2019d Pair to put a stop to\nfarther Endearments. It was ANARET, who having been left Centinel in\nthe Garden, in order to open the Door when her Lady should return, had\nseen Lights in every Room in the House, and heard great Confusion, so\nran immediately to give \u2019em notice of this Misfortune. These dreadful\nTidings soon rous\u2019d AMENA from her Dream of Happiness, she accus\u2019d the\ninfluence of her Amorous Stars, upbraided ANARET, and blam\u2019d the Count\nin Terms little differing from distraction, and \u2019twas as much as both of\n\u2019em could do to perswade her to be calm. However, \u2019twas concluded that\nANARET should go back to the House, and return to \u2019em again, as soon as\nshe had learn\u2019d what accident had occasion\u2019d this Disturbance. The Lovers\nhad now a second Opportunity, if either of \u2019em had been inclin\u2019d to make\nuse of it, but their Sentiments were entirely chang\u2019d with this Alarm;\nAMENA\u2019s Thoughts were wholly taken up with her approaching Shame, and\nvow\u2019d she wou\u2019d rather die than ever come in to her Father\u2019s Presence, if\nit were true that she was miss\u2019d; the Count, who wanted not good Nature,\nseriously reflecting on the Misfortunes he was likely to bring on a young\nLady, who tenderly lov\u2019d him, gave him a great deal of real Remorse,\nand the Consideration that he should be necessitated, either to own an\ninjurious Design, or come into Measures for the clearing of it, which\nwould in no way agree with his Ambition, made him extreamly pensive, and\nwish AMENA again in her Chamber, more earnestly than ever he had done, to\nget her out of it; they both remain\u2019d in a profound Silence, impatiently\nwaiting the approach of ANARET; but she not coming as they expected, and\nthe Night wearing away apace, very much encreas\u2019d the Trouble they were\nin; at length the Count, after revolving a thousand Inventions in his\nMind, advis\u2019d to walk toward the Garden, and see whether the Door was yet\nopen. \u2019Tis better for you, Madam, said he, whatsoever has happen\u2019d, to\nbe found in your own Garden, than in any Place with me. AMENA comply\u2019d,\nand suffer\u2019d herself to be led thither, trembling, and ready to sink\nwith Fear and Grief at every Step; but when they found all fast, and\nthat there was no hopes of getting Entrance, she fell quite senseless,\nand without any signs of Life, at her Lover\u2019s Feet; he was strangely at\na loss what to do with her, and made a thousand Vows if he got clear of\nthis Adventure, never to embark in another of this Nature; he was little\nskill\u2019d in proper Means to recover her, and \u2019twas more to her Youth and\nthe goodness of her Constitution that she ow\u2019d the Return of her Senses,\nthan his awkard Endeavours; when she reviv\u2019d, the piteous Lamentations\nshe made, and the perplexity he was in how to dispose of her, was very\nnear reducing him to as bad a Condition as she had been in; he never till\nnow having had occasion for a Confident, render\u2019d him so unhappy as not\nto know any one Person at whose House he cou\u2019d, with any Convenience,\ntrust her, and to carry her to that where he had Lodgings, was the way to\nbe made the talk of all _Paris_. He ask\u2019d her several times if she would\nnot command him to wait on her to some Place where she might remain free\nfrom Censure, till she heard from her Father, but cou\u2019d get no Answer but\nupbraidings from her. So making a Virtue of Necessity, he was oblig\u2019d to\ntake her in his Arms, with a design to bring her (tho\u2019 much against his\nInclinations) to his own Apartment: As he was going thro\u2019 a very fair\nStreet which led to that in which he liv\u2019d, AMENA cry\u2019d out with a sort\nof Joy, loose me, my Lord, I see a Light in yonder House, the Lady of\nit is my dearest Friend, she has power with my Father, and if I beg her\nProtection, I doubt not but she will afford it me, and perhaps find some\nway to mitigate my Misfortunes; the _Count_ was overjoy\u2019d to be eas\u2019d\nof his fair Burthen, and setting her down at the Gate, was preparing\nto take his leave with an indifference, which was but too visible to\nthe afflicted Lady. I see, my Lord, said she, the pleasure you take in\ngetting rid of me, exceeds the trouble for the Ruin you have brought upon\nme; but go, I hope I shall resent this Usage as I ought, and that I may\nbe the better enabled to do so, I desire you to return the Letter I writ\nthis fatal Night, the Resolution it contain\u2019d will serve to remind me of\nmy shameful Breach of it.\nMadam (answer\u2019d he coldly, but with great Complaisance) you have said\nenough to make a Lover less obedient, refuse; but because I am sensible\nof the Accidents that happen to Letters, and to shew that I can never\nbe repugnant even to the most rigorous of your Commands, I shall make\nno scruple in fulfilling this, and trust to your Goodness for the\nre-settling me in your Esteem, when next you make me so happy as to see\nyou. The formality of this Compliment touch\u2019d her to the Quick, and the\nthought of what she was like to suffer on his account, fill\u2019d her with\nso just an Anger, that as soon as she got the Letter, she knock\u2019d hastily\nat the Gate, which being immediately open\u2019d, broke off any further\nDiscourse, she went in, and he departed to his Lodging, ruminating on\nevery Circumstance of this Affair, and consulting with himself how he\nshou\u2019d proceed. ALOVISA (for it was her House which AMENA by a whimsical\neffect of Chance had made choice of for her Sanctuary) was no sooner told\nher Rival was come to speak with her, but she fell into all the Raptures\nthat successful Malice could inspire, she was already inform\u2019d of part of\nthis Night\u2019s Adventure; for the cunning CHARLO who by her Orders had been\na diligent Spy on Count D\u2019ELMONT\u2019S Actions, and as constant an Attendant\non him as his shadow, had watch\u2019d him to Monsieur SANSEVERIN\u2019S Garden,\nseen him enter, and afterwards come with AMENA into the _Tuilleries_;\nwhere perceiving \u2019em Seated, ran Home, and brought his Lady an Account;\nRage, Jealousie and Envy working their usual Effects in her; at this\nNews, made her promise the Fellow infinite Rewards if he would invent\nsome Stratagem to separate \u2019em, which he undertaking to do, occasion\u2019d\nher being up so late, impatiently waiting his return; she went down to\nreceive her with great Civility, mix\u2019d with a feign\u2019d surprize to see\nher at such an Hour, and in such a Dishabilee; which the other answering\ningeniously, and freely letting her into the whole Secret, not only of\nher Amour, but the coldness she observ\u2019d in D\u2019ELMONT\u2019S Behaviour at\nparting, fill\u2019d this cruel Woman with so exquisite a Joy, as she was\nhardly capable of dissembling; therefore to get liberty to indulge it,\nand to learn the rest of the particulars of CHARLO, who she heard was\ncome in, she told AMENA she would have her go to Bed, and endeavour to\ncompose her self, and that she would send for Monsieur SANSEVERIN in\nthe Morning, and endeavour to reconcile him to her. I will also added\nshe, with a deceitful smile, see the Count D\u2019ELMONT, and talk to him\nin a manner as shall make him truly sensible of his Happiness; nay,\nso far my Friendship shall extend, that if there be any real Cause for\nmaking your Amour a Secret, he shall see you at my House, and pass for\na Visitor of mine; I have no body to whom I need be accountable for\nmy Actions and am above the Censures of the World. AMENA, thank\u2019d her\nin Terms full of gratitude, and went with the Maid, whom ALOVISA had\norder\u2019d to conduct her to a Chamber prepar\u2019d for her; as soon as she\nhad got rid of her, she call\u2019d for CHARLO, impatient to hear by what\ncontrivance this lucky Chance had befallen her. Madam, said, he, tho\u2019 I\nform\u2019d a thousand Inventions, I found not any so plausible, as to alarm\nMonsieur SANSEVERIN\u2019S Family, with an out-cry of Fire. Therefore I rang\nthe Bell at the fore-gate of the House, and bellow\u2019d in the most terrible\naccent I could possible turn my Voice to, Fire, Fire, rise, or you will\nall be burnt in your Beds. I had not repeated this many times, before\nI found the Effect I wish\u2019d; the Noises I heard, and the Lights I saw\nin the Rooms, assur\u2019d me there were no Sleepers left; then I ran to the\n_Tuilleries_, designing to observe the Lover\u2019s proceedings, but I found\nthey were appriz\u2019d of the Danger they were in, of being discover\u2019d, and\nwere coming to endeavour an entrance into the Garden. I know the rest,\ninterrupted ALOVISA, the Event has answer\u2019d even beyond my Wishes, and\nthy Reward for this good Service shall be greater than thy Expectations.\nAs she said these Words she retir\u2019d to her Chamber, more satisfy\u2019d than\nshe had been for many Months. Quite different did poor AMENA pass the\nNight, for besides the grief of having disoblig\u2019d her Father, banish\u2019d\nher self his House, and expos\u2019d her Reputation to the unavoidable\nCensures of the unpitying World; for an ungrateful, or at best an\nindifferent Lover. She receiv\u2019d a vast addition of Afflictions, when\ntaking out the Letter which D\u2019ELMONT had given her at parting, possible\nto weep over it; and accuse her self for so inconsiderately breaking\nthe noble Resolution she had form\u2019d, when it was writ. She found it was\nALOVISA\u2019S Hand, for the _Count_ by mistake had given her the second he\nreceiv\u2019d from that Lady, instead of that she desir\u2019d him to return. Never\nwas Surprize, Confusion, and Dispair at such a height, as in AMENA\u2019S Soul\nat this Discovery; she was now assur\u2019d by what she read, that she had\nfled for Protection to the very Person she ought most to have avoided;\nthat she had made a Confident of her greatest Enemy, a Rival dangerous\nto her Hopes in every Circumstance. She consider\u2019d the High Birth and\nvast Possessions that ALOVISA was Mistress of in opposition to her\nFather\u2019s scanted Power of making her a Fortune. Her Wit and Subtilty\nagainst her Innocence and Simplicity: her Pride, and the respect her\ngrandeur commanded from the World, against her own deplor\u2019d and wretch\u2019d\nState, and look\u2019d upon her self as wholly lost. The violence of her\nSorrow is more easily imagin\u2019d than express\u2019d; but of all her melancholy\nReflections, none rack\u2019d her equal to the belief she had that D\u2019ELMONT\nwas not unsensible by this time whom the Letter came from, and had only\nmade a Court to her to amuse himself a while, and then suffer her to fall\na Sacrifice to his Ambition, and feed the Vanity of her Rival; a just\nIndignation now open\u2019d the Eyes of her Understanding, and considering\nall the Passages of the _Count_\u2019s Behaviour, she saw a thousand Things\nwhich told her, his Designs on her were far unworthy of the Name of\nLove. None that were ever touch\u2019d with the least of those Passions which\nagitated the Soul of AMENA, can believe they would permit Sleep to enter\nher Eyes: But if Grief and Distraction kept her from repose; ALOVISA\nhad too much Business on her Hands to enjoy much more; She had promis\u2019d\nAMENA to send for her Father, and the _Count_, and found there were not\ntoo many Moments before Morning, to contrive so many different forms of\nBehaviour, as should deceive \u2019em all three, compleat the Ruin of her\nRival, and engage the Addresses of her Lover; as soon as she thought it\na proper Hour, she dispatch\u2019d a Messenger to Count D\u2019ELMONT, and another\nto Monsieur SANSEVERIN, who full of Sorrow as he was, immediately obey\u2019d\nher Summons. She receiv\u2019d him in her Dressing-room, and with a great deal\nof feign\u2019d Trouble in her Countenance, accosted him in this manner. How\nhard is it, said she, to dissemble Grief, and in spite of all the Care,\nwhich I doubt not you have taken to conceal it, in consideration of your\nown, and Daughter\u2019s Honour, I too plainly perceive it in your Face to\nimagine that my own is hid: How, Madam, cry\u2019d the impatient Father, (then\ngiving a loose to his Tears) are you acquainted then with my Misfortune?\nAlas, answer\u2019d she, I fear by the Consequences you have been the last to\nwhom it has been reveal\u2019d. I hop\u2019d that my Advice, and the daily Proofs\nthe _Count_ gave your Daughter of the little regard he had for her, might\nhave fir\u2019d her to a generous Disdain, and have a thousand Pardons to ask\nof you for Breach of Friendship, in concealing an Affair so requisite\nyou should have known: Oh! Madam resum\u2019d he, interrupting her, I conjure\nyou make no Apologies for what is past, I know too well the greatness\nof your goodness, and the favour you have always been pleas\u2019d to Honour\nher with; not to be assur\u2019d she was happy in your Esteem, and only beg\nI may no longer be kept in Ignorance of the fatal Secret. You shall be\ninform\u2019d of all, said she, but then you must promise me to Act by my\nAdvice; which he having promis\u2019d, she told him after what manner AMENA\ncame to her House, the coldness the _Count_ express\u2019d to her, and the\nviolence of her Passion for him. Now, said she, if you should suffer\nyour rage to break out in any publick Manner against the _Count_, it\nwill only serve to make your Daughter\u2019s Dishonour the Table-Talk of\nall _Paris_. He is too great at Court, and has too many Friends to be\ncompell\u2019d to any Terms for your Satisfaction; besides, the least noise\nmight make him discover by what means he first became acquainted with\nher, and her excessive, I will not say troublesome fondness of him,\nsince; which should he do, the shame wou\u2019d be wholly her\u2019s, for few wou\u2019d\ncondemn him for accepting the offer\u2019d Caresses of a Lady so young and\nbeautiful as AMENA. But is it possible, cry\u2019d he (quite confounded at\nthese Words) that she should stoop so low to offer Love. Oh Heavens! Is\nthis the Effect of all my Prayers, my Care, and my Indulgence. Doubt not,\nresum\u2019d ALOVISA, of the Truth of what I say, I have it from herself, and\nto convince you it is so, I shall inform you of something I had forgot\nbefore. Then she told him of the Note she had slip\u2019d into the Letter he\nhad forc\u2019d her to write, and of sending ANARET to his Lodgings, which\nshe heighten\u2019d with all the aggravating Circumstances her Wit and Malice\ncou\u2019d suggest; till the old Man believing all she said as an Oracle, was\nalmost senseless between Grief and Anger; but the latter growing rather\nthe most predominant, he vow\u2019d to punish her in such a manner as should\ndeter all Children from Disobedience. Now, said ALOVISA, it is, that I\nexpect the performance of your Promise; these threats avail but little to\nthe retrieving your Daughter\u2019s Reputation, or your quiet; be therefore\nperswaded to make no Words of it, compose your Countenance as much as\npossible to serenity, and think if you have no Friend in any Monastry\nwhere you could send her till this Discourse, and her own foolish Folly\nbe blown over. If you have not, I can recommend you to one at _St._\nDENNIS where the Abbess is my near Relation, and on my Letter will use\nher with all imaginable Tenderness. Monsieur was extreamly pleas\u2019d at\nthis Proposal, and gave her those thanks the seeming kindness of her\noffer deserv\u2019d. I would not, resum\u2019d she, have you take her Home, or\nsee her before she goes; or if you do, not till all things are ready\nfor her Departure, for I know she will be prodigal of her _Promises_\nof Amendment, \u2019till she has prevail\u2019d with your Fatherly Indulgence\nto permit her stay at _Paris_, and know as well she will not have the\nPower to _keep_ \u2019em in the same Town with the _Count_. She shall, if\nyou please, remain conceal\u2019d in my House, \u2019till you have provided for\nher Journey, and it will be a great Means to put a stop to any farther\nReflections the malicious may make on her; if you give out she is\nalready gone to some Relations in the Country. As she was speaking,\nCHARLO came to acquaint her, one was come to visit her. She made no doubt\nbut \u2019twas D\u2019ELMONT, therefore hasten\u2019d away Monsieur SANSEVERIN, after\nhaving fix\u2019d him in a Resolution to do every thing as she advis\u2019d. It was\nindeed Count D\u2019ELMONT that was come, which as soon as she was assur\u2019d of,\nshe threw off her dejected and mournful Air, and assum\u2019d one all Gaiety\nand good Humour, dimpl\u2019d her Mouth with Smiles, and call\u2019d the laughing\nCupids to her Eyes.\nMy Lord, said she, you do well by this early visit to retrieve your Sexes\ndrooping fame of Constancy, and prove the nicety of AMENA\u2019S discernment,\nin conferring favours on a Person, who to his excellent Qualifications,\nhas that of assiduity to deserve them; as he was about to reply, the\nrush of somebody coming hastily down the Stairs which faced the Room\nthey were in, oblig\u2019d \u2019em to turn that way. It was the unfortunate\nAMENA, who not being able to endure the Thoughts of staying in her\nRivals House, distracted with her Griefs, and not regarding what should\nbecome of her, as soon as she heard the Doors were open, was preparing\nto fly from that detested Place. ALOVISA was vex\u2019d to the Heart at the\nsight of her, hoping to have had some Discourse with the _Count_ before\nthey met; but she dissembled it, and catching hold of her as she was\nendeavouring to pass, ask\u2019d where she was going, and what occasion\u2019d the\nDisorder she observ\u2019d in her. I go, (answer\u2019d AMENA) from a false Lover,\nand a falser Friend, but why shou\u2019d I upbraid you (continu\u2019d she looking\nwildly sometimes on the _Count_, and sometimes on ALOVISA) Treacherous\nPair, you know too well each others Baseness, and my Wrongs; no longer\nthen, detain a Wretch whose Presence, had you the least Sense of\nHonour, Gratitude, or even common Humanity, wou\u2019d fill your Consciences\nwith Remorse and Shame; and who has now no other wish, than that of\nshunning you for ever. As she spoke this, she struggled to get loose\nfrom ALOVISA\u2019S Arms, who, in spite of the Amazement she was in, still\nheld her. D\u2019ELMONT was no less confounded, and intirely ignorant of the\nMeaning of what he heard, was at a loss how to reply, \u2019till she resum\u2019d\nher reproaches in this manner: Why, ye Monsters of barbarity, said she,\ndo you delight in beholding the Ruins you have made? Is not the knowledge\nof my Miseries, my everlasting Miseries, sufficient to content you? And\nmust I be debarr\u2019d that only Remedy for Woes like mine? Death! Oh cruel\nReturn for all my Love, my Friendship! and the confidence I repos\u2019d in\nyou. Oh! to what am I reduc\u2019d by my too soft and easie Nature, hard fate\nof tenderness, which healing others, only wounds it\u2019s self.-----Just\nHeavens!------here she stopp\u2019d, the violence of her Resentment,\nendeavouring to vent it self in sighs, rose in her Breast with such an\nimpetuosity as choak\u2019d the Passage of her Words, and she fell in a Swoon.\nTho\u2019 the _Count_, and ALOVISA were both in the greatest Consternation\nimaginable, yet neither of \u2019em were negligent in trying to Recover her;\nas they were busi\u2019d about her, that fatal Letter which had been the Cause\nof this Disturbance, fell out of her Bosom, and both being eager to take\nit up (believing it might make some discovery) had their Hands on it at\nthe same time; it was but slightly folded, and immediately shew\u2019d \u2019em\nfrom what source AMENA\u2019S despair proceeded: Her upbraidings of ALOVISA,\nand the Blushes and Confusion which he observed in that Ladies Face, as\nsoon as ever she saw it open\u2019d, put an end to the Mistery, and one less\nquick of Apprehension than D\u2019ELMONT, wou\u2019d have made no difficulty in\nfinding his unknown Admirer in the Person of ALOVISA: She, to conceal\nthe Disorder she was in at this Adventure as much as possible, call\u2019d\nher Women, and order\u2019d \u2019em to Convey AMENA into another Chamber where\nthere was more Air; as she was preparing to follow, turning a little\ntowards the _Count_. but still extreamly confus\u2019d, you\u2019ll Pardon, me, my\nLord, said she, if my concern for my Friend obliges me to leave you. Ah\nMadam, reply\u2019d he, forbear to make any Apologies to me, rather Summon\nall your goodness to forgive a Wretch so blind to happiness as I have\nbeen: She either cou\u2019d not, or wou\u2019d not make any answer to these Words,\nbut seeming as tho\u2019 she heard \u2019em not, went hastily into the Room where\nAMENA was, leaving the _Count_ full of various and confus\u2019d Reflections;\nthe sweetness of his Disposition made him regret his being the Author\nof AMENA\u2019S Misfortunes, but how miserable is that Woman\u2019s Condition,\nwho by her Mismanagement is reduc\u2019d to so poor a Comfort as the pity of\nher Lover; that Sex is generally too Gay to continue long uneasy, and\nthere was little likelihood he cou\u2019d be capable of lamenting Ills, which\nhis small Acquaintance with the Passion from which they sprung, made\nhim not comprehend. The pleasure the Discovery gave him of a Secret he\nhad so long desir\u2019d to find out, kept him from being too much concern\u2019d\nat the Adventure that occasion\u2019d it; but he could not forbear accusing\nhimself of intollerable Stupidity, when he consider\u2019d the Passages of\nALOVISA\u2019S Behaviour, her swooning at the Ball, her constant Glances, her\nfrequent Blushes when he talk\u2019d to her, and all his Cogitations whether\non ALOVISA, or AMENA, were mingled with a wonder that Love should have\nsuch Power. The diversity of his Thoughts wou\u2019d have entertain\u2019d him much\nlonger, if they had not been interrupted by his Page, who came in a great\nhurry, to acquaint him, that his Brother, the young Chevalier BRILLIAN\nwas just come to Town, and waited with Impatience for his coming Home:\nAs much a Stranger as D\u2019ELMONT was to the Affairs of Love, he was none\nto those of Friendship, and making no doubt but that the former ought\nto yield to the latter in every respect; contented himself with telling\none of ALOVISA\u2019S Servants, as he went out, that he wou\u2019d wait on her\nin the Evening, and made what hast he cou\u2019d to give his beloved Brother\nthe welcome he expected after so long an absence; and indeed the manner\nof their Meeting, express\u2019d a most intire and sincere Affection on both\nsides. The _Chevalier_ was but a Year younger than the _Count_, they had\nbeen bred together from their Infancy, and there was such a sympathy in\ntheir Souls, and so great a Resemblance in their Persons, as very much\ncontributed to endear \u2019em to each other with a Tenderness far beyond that\nwhich is ordinarily found among Relations. After the first Testimonies of\nit were over, D\u2019ELMONT began to Question him how he had pass\u2019d his Time\nsince their Separation, and to give him some little Reproaches for not\nwriting so often as he might have Expected. Alas! my dearest Brother,\nreply\u2019d the _Chevalier_, such various Adventures have hap\u2019ned to me\nsince we parted, as when I relate \u2019em, will I hope excuse my seeming\nNegligence; these Words were accompany\u2019d with Sighs, and a Melancholly\nAir immediately overspreading his Face, and taking away great part of the\nVivacity, which lately sparkled in his Eyes, rais\u2019d an impatient Desire\nin the _Count_ to know the Reason of it, which when he had express\u2019d, the\nother (after having engag\u2019d him, that whatever Causes he might find to\nridicule his Folly, he wou\u2019d suspend all appearance of it till the end of\nhis Narration) began to satisfy in this Manner.\n[Illustration]\n    [Illustration]\n    THE STORY OF THE Chevalier BRILLIAN.\n    At St. _Omers_, where you left me, I happen\u2019d to make an\n    Acquaintance with one Monsieur BELPINE, a Gentleman who was\n    there on some Business; we being both pretty much Strangers\n    in the Place, occasion\u2019d an Intimacy between us, which the\n    disparity of our Tempers, wou\u2019d have prevented our Commencing\n    at _Paris_; but you know I was never a lover of Solitude, and\n    for want of Company more agreeable, was willing to encourage\n    his. He was indeed so obliging as to stay longer at St. _Omers_\n    then his Affairs required, purposely to engage me to make\n    _Amiens_ in my way to _Paris_. He was very Vain, and fancying\n    himself happy in the esteem of the fair Sex, was desirous I\n    should be witness of the Favours they bestow\u2019d on him. Among\n    the Number of those he used to talk of, was Madamoiselle\n    ANSELLINA de la TOUR, a _Parisian_ Lady, and Heiress of a\n    great Estate, but had been some time at _Amiens_ with Madam\n    the Baroness _de_ BERONVILLE her God-Mother. The Wonders he\n    told me of this young Lady\u2019s Wit, and Beauty, inclin\u2019d me to a\n    desire of seeing her; and as soon as I was in a Condition to\n    Travel, we took our Way towards _Amiens_, he us\u2019d me with all\n    the Friendship he was capable of expressing; and soon after we\n    arriv\u2019d, carry\u2019d me to the _Baronesses_: But oh Heavens! How\n    great was my Astonishment when I found ANSELLINA as far beyond\n    his faint Description, as the Sun Beams the Imitation of Art;\n    besides the regularity of her Features, the delicacy of her\n    Complexion, and the just Simmetry of her whole Composition, she\n    has an undescribable Sweetness that plays about her Eyes and\n    Mouth, and softens all her Air: But all her Charms, dazling\n    as they are, would have lost their captivating Force on me,\n    if I had believ\u2019d her capable of that weakness for BELPINE,\n    that his Vanity would have me think. She is very Young and\n    Gay, and I easily perceiv\u2019d she suffer\u2019d his Addresses more\n    out of Diversion then any real Regard she had for him; he held\n    a constant Correspondence at _Paris_, and was continually\n    furnish\u2019d with every thing that was _Novel_, and by that means\n    introduc\u2019d himself into many Companies, who else wou\u2019d not\n    have endured him; but when at any time I was so happy as to\n    entertain the lovely ANSELLINA alone, and we had Opportunity\n    for serious Discourse, (which was impossible in his Company)\n    I found that she was Mistress of a Wit, Poynant enough to be\n    Satyrical, yet it was accompanied with a Discretion as very\n    much heighten\u2019d her Charms, and compleated the Conquest that\n    her Eyes begun. I will confess to you, Brother, that I became\n    so devoted to my Passion, that I had no leisure for any other\n    Sentiments. Fears, Hopes, Anxities, jealous Pains, uneasie\n    Pleasures, all the Artillery of Love, were garrison\u2019d in my\n    Heart, and a thousand various half form\u2019d Resolutions fill\u2019d my\n    Head. ANSELLINA\u2019s insensibility among a Crow\u2019d of Admirers, and\n    the disparity of our Fortunes, wou\u2019d have given me just Causes\n    of Despair, if the Generosity of her Temper had not dissipated\n    the one, and her Youth, and the hope her Hour was not yet come,\n    the other. I was often about letting her know the Power she had\n    over me, but something of an awe which none but those who truly\n    Love can guess at, still prevented my being able to utter it,\n    and I believ\u2019d should have languish\u2019d \u2019till this Moment in an\n    unavailing silence, if an accident had not hapen\u2019d to embolden\n    me: I went one Day to visit my Adorable, and being told she\n    was in the Garden, went thither in hopes to see her, but being\n    deceiv\u2019d in my Expectation, believ\u2019d the Servant who gave\n    me that Information was mistaken, and fancying she might be\n    retir\u2019d to her Closet, as she very often did in an Afternoon,\n    and the pleasantness of the Place inducing me to stay there\n    till she was willing to admit me. I sat down at the Foot of\n    a DIANA, curiously carv\u2019d in Marble, and full of melancholy\n    Reflections without knowing what I did, took a black lead Pen\n    out of my Pocket, and writ on the Pedestal these two Lines.\n        _Hopeless, and Silent, I must still adore,_\n        _Her Heart\u2019s more hard than Stone whom I\u2019d implore._\n    I had scarce finish\u2019d \u2019em, when I perceiv\u2019d ANSELLINA at a good\n    distance from me, coming out of a little Arbour; the respect I\n    had for her, made me fear she should know I was the Author of\n    \u2019em, and guess, what I found, I had not gain\u2019d Courage enough\n    to tell her. I went out of the Alley, as I imagin\u2019d, unseen,\n    and design\u2019d to come up another, and meet her, before she cou\u2019d\n    get into the House. But tho\u2019 I walk\u2019d pretty fast, she had left\n    the Place before I cou\u2019d attain it; and in her stead (casting\n    my Eyes toward the Statue with an Intention to rub out what I\n    had writ) I found this Addition to it.\n        _You wrong your Love, while you conceal your Pain,_\n        _Flints will dissolve with constant drops of Rain._\n    But, my dear Brother, if you are yet insensible of the\n    wonderful Effects of Love, you will not be able to imagine what\n    I felt at this View; I was satisfy\u2019d it could be writ by no\n    Body but ANSELLINA, there being no other Person in the Garden,\n    and knew as well she could not design that Encouragement for\n    any other Man, because on many Occasions she had seen my\n    Hand; and the Day before had written a Song for her, which\n    she desir\u2019d to learn, with that very Pen I now had made use\n    of; and going hastily away at the sight of her, had forgot\n    to take with me. I gaz\u2019d upon the dear obliging Characters,\n    and kiss\u2019d the Marble which contain\u2019d \u2019em, a thousand times\n    before I cou\u2019d find in my Heart to efface \u2019em; as I was in\n    this agreeable Amazement, I heard BELPINE\u2019S Voice calling to\n    me as he came up the walk, which oblig\u2019d me to put an end to\n    it, and the Object which occasion\u2019d it. He had been told as\n    well as I, that ANSELLINA was in the Garden, and expressing\n    some wonder to see me alone, ask\u2019d where she was, I answer\u2019d\n    him with a great deal of real Truth, that I knew not, and that\n    I had been there some Time, but had not been so happy as to\n    Entertain her. He seem\u2019d not to give Credit to what I said,\n    and began to use me after a Fashion as would have much more\n    astonish\u2019d me from any other Person. I would not have you, said\n    he, be concern\u2019d at what I am about to say, because you are\n    one of those for whom I am willing to preserve a Friendship;\n    and to convince you of my Sincerity, give you leave to address\n    after what manner you please to any of the Ladies with whom I\n    have brought you acquainted, excepting ANSELLINA. But I take\n    this Opportunity to let you know, I have already made choice\n    of her, with a design of Marriage, and from this time forward,\n    shall look on any Visits you shall make to her, as injurious\n    to my Pretensions. Tho\u2019 I was no Stranger to the Vanity and\n    Insolence of BELPINE\u2019S Humour, yet not being accustomed to\n    such arbitrary Kind of Treatment, had certainly resented it\n    (if we had been in any other Place) in a very different Manner\n    than I did, but the consideration that to make a Noise there,\n    would be a Reflection, rather than a Vindication on ANSELLINA\u2019S\n    Fame; I contented myself with telling him he might be perfectly\n    easie, that whatever Qualifications the Lady might have that\n    should encourage his Addresses, I should never give her any\n    Reason to boast a Conquest over me. These Words might have born\n    two Interpretations, if the disdainful Air with which I spoke\n    \u2019em, and which I could not dissemble, and going immediately\n    away had not made him take \u2019em, as they were really design\u2019d,\n    to affront him; He was full of Indignation and Jealousy (if\n    it is possible for a Person to be touch\u2019d with that Passion,\n    who is not capable of the other, which generally occasions\n    it) but however, having taken it into his Head to imagine I\n    was better receiv\u2019d by ANSELLINA than he desired; Envy, and\n    a sort of a Womanish Spleen transported him so far as to go\n    to ANSELLINA\u2019s Apartment, and rail at me most profusely (as I\n    have since been told) and threaten how much he\u2019d be reveng\u2019d,\n    if he heard I ever should have the assurance to Visit there\n    again. ANSELLINA at first laugh\u2019d at his Folly, but finding\n    he persisted, and began to assume more Liberty than she ever\n    meant to afford him; instead of list\u2019ning to his Entreaties,\n    to forbid me the Privilege I had enjoy\u2019d of her Conversation;\n    she pass\u2019d that very Sentence on him, and when next I waited of\n    her, receiv\u2019d me with more Respect than ever; and when at last\n    I took the boldness to acquaint her with my Passion; I had the\n    Satisfaction to observe from the frankness of her Disposition,\n    that I was not indifferent to her; nor indeed did she, even in\n    Publick, affect any reservedness more than the decencies of\n    her Sex and Quality requir\u2019d; for after my Pretensions to her\n    were commonly talk\u2019d of, and those who were intimate with her,\n    wou\u2019d rally her about me; she pass\u2019d it off with a Spirit of\n    Gaity and good Humour peculiar to her self, and bated nothing\n    of her usual freedom to me; she permitted me to Read to her,\n    to Walk and Dance with her, and I had all the Opportunities\n    of endeavouring an encrease of her Esteem that I cou\u2019d wish,\n    which so incens\u2019d BELPINE, that he made no scruple of reviling\n    both her and me in all Companies wherever he came; saying, I\n    was a little worthless Fellow, who had nothing but my Sword to\n    depend upon; and that ANSELLINA having no hopes of Marrying\n    him, was glad to take up with the first that ask\u2019d her. These\n    scandalous Reports on my first hearing of \u2019em had assuredly\n    been fatal to one of us, if ANSELLINA had not commanded me by\n    all the Passion I profess\u2019d, and by the Friendship she freely\n    acknowledged to have for me, not to take any Notice of \u2019em.\n    I set too high a Value on the favours she allow\u2019d me, to be\n    capable of Disobedience; and she was too nice a Judge of the\n    Punctillio\u2019s of our Sexes Honour, not to take this Sacrifice\n    of so just a Resentment, as a very great proof how much I\n    submitted to her will, and suffer\u2019d not a Day to pass without\n    giving me some new mark how nearly she was touch\u2019d with it. I\n    was the most contented and happy Person in the World, still\n    hoping that in a little time, (she having no Relations that\n    had Power to contradict her Inclinations) I should be able to\n    obtain every thing from her that an honourable Passion could\n    require; \u2019till one Evening coming Home pretty late from her, my\n    Servant gave me a Letter, which he told me was left for me, by\n    one of BELPINE\u2019S Servants; I presently suspected the Contents,\n    and found I was not mistaken; it was really a Challenge to meet\n    him the next Morning, and must confess, tho\u2019 I long\u2019d for an\n    Opportunity to Chastise his Insolence, was a little troubled\n    how to excuse my self to ANSELLINA but there was no possibility\n    of evading it, without rendering my self unworthy of her, and\n    hop\u2019d that Circumstance wou\u2019d be sufficient to clear me to\n    her. I will not trouble you, Brother, with the particulars of\n    our Duel, since there was nothing material, but that at the\n    third pass (I know not whether I may call it the effect of my\n    good or evil Fortune) he receiv\u2019d my Sword a good depth in\n    his Body, and fell with all the Symptoms of a Dying-Man. I\n    made all possible hast to send a Surgeon to him. In my way I\n    met two Gentlemen, who it seems he had made acquainted with\n    his Design (probably with an intention to be prevented). They\n    ask\u2019d me what Success, and when I had inform\u2019d \u2019em, advis\u2019d me\n    to be gone from _Amiens_ before the News should reach the Ears\n    of BELPINE\u2019S Relations, who were not inconsiderable in that\n    Place. I made \u2019em those Retributions their Civilities deserv\u2019d;\n    but how eminent soever the Danger appear\u2019d that threatned me,\n    cou\u2019d not think of leaving _Amiens_, without having first seen\n    ANSELLINA. I went to the _Baronesses_, and found my Charmer\n    at her Toylet, and either it was my Fancy, or else she really\n    did look more amiable in that Undress, than ever I had seen\n    her, tho\u2019 adorn\u2019d with the utmost Illustrations. She seem\u2019d\n    surpriz\u2019d at seeing me so early, and with her wonted good\n    Humour, asking me the reason of it, put me into a mortal Agony\n    how to answer her, for I must assure you, Brother, that the\n    fears of her Displeasure were a thousand times more dreadful\n    to me, than any other apprehensions; she repeated the Question\n    three or four times before I had Courage to Reply, and I\n    believe she was pretty near guessing the Truth by my Silence,\n    and the disorder in my Countenance before I spoke; and when I\n    did, she receiv\u2019d the account of the whole Adventure with a\n    vast deal of trouble, but no anger; she knew too well, what I\n    ow\u2019d to my Reputation, and the Post his Majesty had honour\u2019d me\n    with, to believe, I cou\u2019d, or ought to dispence with submitting\n    to the Reflections which must have fallen on me, had I acted\n    otherwise than I did. Her Concern and Tears, which she had not\n    Power to contain at the thoughts of my Departure, joyn\u2019d with\n    her earnest Conjurations to me to be gone, let me more than\n    ever into the Secrets of her Heart, and gave me a Pleasure as\n    inconceivable as the necessity of parting did the contrary.\n    Nothing cou\u2019d be more moving than our taking leave, and when\n    she tore her self half willing, and half unwilling, from\n    my Arms, had sent me away inconsolable, if her Promises of\n    coming to _Paris_, as soon as she could, without being taken\n    notice of, and frequently writing to me in the mean time,\n    had not given me a Hope, tho\u2019 a distant one, of Happiness.\n    Thus Brother, have I given you, in as few Words as I cou\u2019d, a\n    Recital of every thing that has happen\u2019d to me of Consequence\n    since our Separation, in which I dare believe you will find\n    more to Pity than Condemn. The afflicted Chevalier cou\u2019d not\n    conclude without letting fall some Tears; which the _Count_\n    perceiving, ran to him, and tenderly embracing him, said all\n    that cou\u2019d be expected from a most affectionate Friend to\n    mitigate his Sorrows, nor suffered him to remove from his Arms\n    \u2019till he had accomplish\u2019d his Design; and then believing the\n    hearing of the Adventures of another, (especially one he was\n    so deeply interested in) would be the surest Means to give a\n    Truce to the more melancholy Reflections on his own; related\n    every thing that had befallen him since his coming to _Paris_.\n    The Letters he receiv\u2019d from a Lady _Incognito_, his little\n    Gallantries with AMENA, and the accident that presented to his\n    View, the unknown Lady in the Person of one of the greatest\n    Fortunes in all _France_. Nothing cou\u2019d be a greater Cordial\n    to the Chevalier, than to find his Brother was belov\u2019d by the\n    Sister of ANSELLINA; he did not doubt but that by this there\n    might be a possibility of seeing her sooner than else he cou\u2019d\n    have hop\u2019d, and the two Brothers began to enter into a serious\n    consultation of this Affair, which ended with a Resolution\n    to fix their Fortunes there. The _Count_ had never yet seen\n    a Beauty formidable enough to give him an Hours uneasiness\n    (purely for the sake of Love) and would often say, _Cupid_\u2019s\n    Quiver never held an Arrow of force to reach his Heart; those\n    little Delicacies, those trembling aking Transports, which\n    every sight of the belov\u2019d Object occasions, and so visibly\n    distinguishes a real Passion from a Counterfeit, he look\u2019d on\n    as the Chimera\u2019s of an idle Brain, form\u2019d to inspire Notions of\n    an imaginary Bliss, and make Fools lose themselves in seeking;\n    or if they had a Being; it was only in weak Souls, a kind of\n    a Disease with which he assur\u2019d himself he should never be\n    infected. Ambition was certainly the reigning Passion in his\n    Soul, and ALOVISA\u2019S Quality and vast Possessions, promising a\n    full Gratification of that, he ne\u2019er so much as wish\u2019d to know\n    a farther Happiness in Marriage.\n    But while the _Count_ and _Chevalier_ were thus Employ\u2019d,\n    the Rival Ladies past their Hours in a very different\n    Entertainment, the despair and bitter Lamentations that the\n    unfortunate AMENA made, when she came out of her swooning, were\n    such as mov\u2019d even ALOVISA to Compassion, and if any thing\n    but resigning D\u2019ELMONT cou\u2019d have given her Consolation, she\n    wou\u2019d willing have apply\u2019d it. There was now no need of further\n    Dissimulation, and she confessed to AMENA, that she had Lov\u2019d\n    the Charming _Count_ with a kind of Madness from the first\n    Moment she beheld him: That to favour her Designs on him, she\n    had made use of every Stratagem she cou\u2019d invent, that by her\n    means, the Amour was first discover\u2019d to _Monsieur_ SANSEVERIN,\n    and his Family Alarm\u2019d the Night before; and Lastly, that by\n    her Persuasions, he had resolv\u2019d to send her to a Monastry, to\n    which she must prepare her self to go in a few Days without\n    taking any leave even of her Father; have you (cry\u2019d AMENA\n    hastily interrupting her) have you prevail\u2019d with my Father to\n    send me from this hated Place without the Punishment of hearing\n    his upbraidings? Which the other answering in the Affirmative,\n    I thank you, resum\u2019d AMENA, that Favour has cancell\u2019d all your\n    Score of Cruelty, for after the Follies I have been guilty of,\n    nothing is so dreadful as the Sight of him. And, who wou\u2019d, oh\n    Heavens! (continued she bursting into a Flood of Tears) wish\n    to stay in a World so full of Falshood. She was able to utter\n    no more for some Moments, but at last, raising herself on the\n    Bed where she was laid, and endeavouring to seem a little\n    more compos\u2019d: I have two Favours, Madam, yet to ask of you\n    (rejoin\u2019d she) neither of \u2019em will, I believe, seem difficult\n    to you to grant, that you will make use of the Power you have\n    with my Father, to let my Departure be as sudden as possible,\n    and that while I am here, I may never see Count D\u2019ELMONT. It\n    was not likely that ALOVISA shou\u2019d deny Requests so suitable\n    to her own Inclinations, and believing, with a great deal of\n    Reason, that her Presence was not very grateful, left her to\n    the Care of her Women, whom she order\u2019d to attend her with the\n    same Diligence as herself. It was Evening before the Count\n    came, and ALOVISA spent the remainder of the Day in very\n    uneasie Reflections; she knew not, as yet, whether she had\n    Cause to rejoyce in, or blame her Fortune in so unexpectedly\n    discovering her Passion, and an incessant vicissitude of Hope\n    and Fears, rack\u2019d her with most intollerable Inquietude, till\n    the darling Object of her Wishes appear\u2019d; and tho\u2019 the first\n    sight of him, added to her other Passions, that of Shame, yet\n    he manag\u2019d his Address so well, and so modestly and artfully\n    hinted the Knowledge of his Happiness, that every Sentiment\n    gave place to a new Admiration of the Wonders of his Wit; and\n    if before she lov\u2019d, she now ador\u2019d, and began to think it a\n    kind of Merit in herself, to be sensible of his. He soon put\n    it in her Power to oblige him, by giving her the History of\n    his Brother\u2019s Passion for her Sister, and she was not at all\n    backward in assuring him how much she approv\u2019d of it, and that\n    she wou\u2019d write to ANSELLINA by the first Post, to engage her\n    coming to _Paris_ with all imaginable Speed. In fine, there\n    was nothing He cou\u2019d ask, refus\u2019d, and indeed it would have\n    been ridiculous for her to have affected Coyness, after the\n    Testimonies she had long since given him of one of the most\n    violent Passions that ever was; this fore-Knowledge sav\u2019d\n    abundance of Dissimulation on both Sides, and she took care\n    that if he should be wanting in his kind Expressions after\n    Marriage, he should not have it in his Power to pretend (as\n    some Husbands have done) that his Stock was exhausted in a\n    tedious Courtship. Everything was presently agreed upon, and\n    the Wedding Day appointed, which was to be as soon as every\n    thing cou\u2019d be got ready to make it Magnificent; tho\u2019 the\n    _Count\u2019s_ good Nature made him desirous to learn something of\n    AMENA, yet he durst not enquire, for fear of giving an Umbrage\n    to his intended Bride; but she, imagining the Reason of his\n    Silence, very frankly told him, how she was to be dispos\u2019d\n    of, this Knowledge made no small Addition to his Contentment,\n    for had she stay\u2019d in _Paris_, he could expect nothing but\n    continual Jealousies from ALOVISA; besides, as he really\n    wish\u2019d her happy, tho\u2019 he could not make her so, he thought\n    Absence might banish a hopeless Passion from her Heart, and\n    Time and other Objects efface an Idea, which could not but be\n    destructive to her Peace. He stay\u2019d at ALOVISA\u2019S House \u2019till it\n    was pretty late, and perhaps they had not parted in some Hours\n    longer, if his impatience to inform his Brother his Success,\n    had not carried him away. The young _Chevalier_ was infinitely\n    more transported at the bare Hopes of being something nearer\n    the Aim of all his Hopes, than D\u2019ELMONT was at the Assurance\n    of losing his in Possession, and could not forbear rallying\n    him for placing the ultimate of his Wishes on such a Toy, as\n    he argu\u2019d Woman was, which the _Chevalier_ endeavouring to\n    confute, there began a very warm Dispute, in which, neither of\n    \u2019em being able to convince the other, Sleep at last interpos\u2019d\n    as Moderator. The next Day they went together to visit ALOVISA,\n    and from that time were seldom asunder: But in Compassion to\n    AMENA, they took what Care they could to conceal the Design\n    they had in Hand, and that unhappy Lady was in a few Days,\n    according to her Rival\u2019s Contrivance, hurried away, without\n    seeing any of her Friends. When she was gone, and there was no\n    farther need of keeping it a Secret, the News of this great\n    Wedding was immediately spread over the whole Town, and every\n    one talk\u2019d of it as their particular Interests or Affections\n    dictated. All D\u2019ELMONT\u2019S Friends were full of Joy, and he\n    met no inconsiderable Augmentation of it himself, when his\n    Brother receiv\u2019d a Letter from ANSELLINA, with an Account,\n    that BELPINE\u2019S Wound was found not Dangerous, and that he was\n    in a very fair way of Recovery. And it was concluded, that as\n    soon as the Wedding was over, the _Chevalier_ should go in\n    Person to AMIENS, and fetch his belov\u2019d ANSELLINA, in order\n    for a Second, and as much desir\u2019d Nuptial. There was no Gloom\n    now left to Cloud the Gaiety of the happy Day, nothing could\n    be more Grand than the Celebration of it, and ALOVISA now\n    thought her self at the end of all her Cares; but the Sequel\n    of this glorious Beginning, and what Effect the Despair and\n    Imprecations of AMENA (when she heard of it) produc\u2019d, shall,\n    with the continuance of the _Chevalier_ BRILLIAN\u2019S Adventures,\n    be faithfully related in the next Part.\nEnd of the FIRST PART.\n[Illustration]\n              _Each Day we break the bond of Humane Laws_\n              _For Love, and vindicate the common Cause._\n              _Laws for Defence of civil Rights are plac\u2019d;_\n              _Love throws the Fences down, and makes a gen\u2019ral waste_\n              _Maids, Widows, Wives, without distinction fall,_\n              _The sweeping deluge Love, comes on and covers all._\n                 Printed for W. CHETWOOD, J. WOODMAN, D.\n[Illustration]\nLOVE in EXCESS:\nOR, THE\nFATAL ENQUIRY.\nPART the SECOND.\nThe Contentment that appear\u2019d in the Faces of the new Married Pair,\nadded so much to the Impatience of the _Chevalier_ BRILLIAN to see his\nbelov\u2019d ANSELLINA, that in a few Days after the Wedding, he took leave\nof them, and departed for _Amiens_: But as human Happiness is seldom of\nlong continuance, and ALOVISA placing the Ultimate of _her\u2019s_ in the\nPossession of her Charming Husband, secure of that, despis\u2019d all future\nEvents, \u2019twas time for _Fortune_, who long enough had smil\u2019d, now to turn\nher Wheel, and punish the presumption that defy\u2019d her Power.\nAs they were one Day at Dinner, a Messenger came to Acquaint _Count_\nD\u2019ELMONT that _Monsieur_ FRANKVILLE was taken, suddenly, so violently\nIll, that his Physicians despair\u2019d of his Life; and that he beg\u2019d to\nspeak with him immediately: This Gentleman had been Guardian to the COUNT\nduring his Minority, and the Care and Faithfulness with which that Trust\nhad been Discharg\u2019d, made him, with Reason, to regret the danger of\nlosing so good a Friend: He delay\u2019d the Visit not a Moment, and found him\nas the Servant had told him, in a Condition which cou\u2019d cherish no hopes\nof Recovery, as soon as he perceiv\u2019d the COUNT come into the Chamber, he\ndesir\u2019d to be left alone with him, which Order being presently obey\u2019d,\nMy dear Charge, (said he taking him by the Hand, and pressing to his\ntrembling Bosom) you see me at the point of Death, but the knowledge of\nyour many Virtues, and the Confidence I have that you will not deny me\nthe request I am about to ask, makes me support the Thoughts of it with\nModeration. The other assuring him of his readiness to serve him in any\nCommand, encourag\u2019d the old Gentleman to prosecute his Discourse in this\nmanner: You are not Ignorant, my Lord (Rejoin\u2019d He) that my Son (the only\none have) is on his Travels, gone by my Approbation, and his own Desires\nto make the Tour of _Europe_; but I have a Daughter, whose Protection I\nwou\u2019d entreat you to undertake; her Education in a Monastery has hitherto\nkept her intirely unacquainted with the Gayeties of a Court, or the\nConversation of the _Beau Monde_, and I have sent for her to _Paris_\npurposely to Introduce her into Company, proper for a young Lady, who I\nnever design\u2019d for a Recluse; I know not whether she will be here time\nenough to close my Eyes, but if you will promise to receive her into\nyour House, and not suffer her artless and unexperienc\u2019d Youth to fall\ninto those Snares which are daily laid for Innocence, and take so far a\nCare, that neither she, nor the Fortune I leave her, be thrown away upon\na Man unworthy of her, I shall dye well satisfy\u2019d. D\u2019ELMONT answer\u2019d\nthis Request, with repeated assurances of fulfilling it, and frankly\noffer\u2019d, if he had no other Person in whom he rather wou\u2019d confide, to\ntake the management of the whole Estate he left behind him, till young\nFRANKVILLE should return----The anxious Father was transported at this\nFavour, and thank\u2019d him in Terms full of Gratitude and Affection; they\nspent some Hours in settling this Affair, and perhaps had not ended it so\nsoon, if Word had not been brought that the young Lady his Daughter was\nalighted at the Gate; \u2019tis impossible to express the Joy which fill\u2019d the\nold Gentleman\u2019s Heart at this News, and he began afresh to put the COUNT\nin mind of what he had promis\u2019d concerning her: As they were in this\nendearing, tho\u2019 mournful Entertainment, the matchless MELLIORA enter\u2019d,\nthe Surprize and Grief for her Father\u2019s Indisposition (having heard of\nit but since she came into the House) hindered her from regarding any\nthing but him, and throwing herself on her Knees by the Bed-side, wash\u2019d\nthe Hand which he stretch\u2019d out to raise her with, in a flood of Tears,\naccompany\u2019d with Expressions, which, unstudy\u2019d and incoherent as they\nwere, had a delicacy in \u2019em, that show\u2019d her Wit not inferiour to her\nTenderness; and that no Circumstance cou\u2019d render her otherwise than\nthe most lovely Person in the World; when the first transports of her\nSorrow were over, and that with much ado she was persuaded to rise from\nthe Posture she was in: The Affliction I see thee in my Dear Child,\n(said her Father) wou\u2019d be a vast addition to the Agonies I feel, were I\nnot so happy as to be provided with Means for a mitigation of it, think\nnot in losing me thou wilt be left wholly an Orphan, this worthy Lord\nwill dry thy Tears. Therefore, my last Commands to thee shall be, to\noblige thee to endeavour to deserve the Favours he is pleas\u2019d to do us\nin accepting thee for---He wou\u2019d have proceeded, but his Physicians (who\nhad been in Consultation in the next Room) coming in prevented him, and\n_Count_ D\u2019ELMONT taking the charming MELLIORA by the Hand, led her to\nthe Window, and beginning to speak some Words of Consolation to her,\nthe softness of his Voice, and graceful Manner with which he deliver\u2019d\nhimself (always the inseparable Companions of his Discourse, but now more\nparticularly so) made her cast her Eyes upon him; but alas, he was not\nan Object to be safely gaz\u2019d at, and in spight of the Grief she was in,\nshe found something in his Form which dissipated it; a kind of painful\nPleasure, a mixture of Surprize, and Joy, and doubt, ran thro\u2019 her in an\ninstant; her Fathers Words suggested to her Imagination, that she was in\na possibility of calling the charming Person that stood before her, by a\nName more tender than that of Guardian, and all the Actions, Looks, and\nAddress of D\u2019ELMONT serv\u2019d but to confirm her in that Belief. For now it\nwas, that this insensible began to feel the Power of Beauty, and that\nHeart which had so long been Impregnable, surrender\u2019d in a Moment; the\nfirst sight of MELLIORA gave him a Discomposure he had never felt before,\nhe Sympathiz\u2019d in all her Sorrows, and was ready to joyn his Tears with\nhers, but when her Eyes met his, the God of Love seem\u2019d there to have\nunited all his Lightnings for one effectual Blaze, their Admiration of\neach others Perfections was mutual, and tho\u2019 he had got the start in\nLove, as being touch\u2019d with that Almighty Dart, before her Affliction had\ngiven her leave to regard him, yet the softness of her Soul made up for\nthat little loss of time, and it was hard to say whose Passion was the\nStrongest; she listned to his Condolements, and assurances of everlasting\nFriendship, with a pleasure which was but too visible in her Countenance,\nand more enflam\u2019d the COUNT. As they were exchanging Glances, as if each\nvyed with the other who should dart the fiercest Rays, they heard a sort\nof ominous Whispering about the Bed, and presently one of those who\nstood near it, beckon\u2019d them to come thither; the Physicians had found\n_Monsieur_ FRANKVILLE in a much worse Condition than they left him in,\nand soon after perceiv\u2019d evident Symptoms in him of approaching Death,\nand indeed there were but a very few Moments between him and that other\nunfathomable World; the use of Speech had left him, and he cou\u2019d take\nno other leave of his dear Daughter than with his Eyes; which sometimes\nwere cast tenderly on her, sometimes on the COUNT, with a beseeching\nLook, as it were, to Conjure him to be careful of his Charge; then up to\nHeaven, as witness of the Trust he reposed in him. There cou\u2019d not be a\nScene more Melancholly than this dumb Farewell, and MELLIORA, whose soft\nDisposition had never before been shock\u2019d, had not Courage to support so\ndreadful a one as this, but fell upon the Bed just as her Father Breath\u2019d\nhis last, as motionless as he. It is impossible to represent the Agony\u2019s\nwhich fill\u2019d the Heart of D\u2019ELMONT at this View, he took her in his Arms,\nand assisted those who were endeavouring to recover her, with a wildness\nin his Countenance, a trembling Horror shaking all his Fabrick in such a\nmanner, as might have easily discover\u2019d to the Spectators (if they had\nnot been too busily employ\u2019d to take notice of it) that he was Actuated\nby a Motive far more powerful than that of Compassion. As soon as she\ncame to herself, they forc\u2019d her from the Dead Body of her Father (to\nwhich she Clung) and carried her into another Room, and it being judg\u2019d\nconvenient that she should be remov\u2019d from that House, where every thing\nwou\u2019d serve but to remind her of her Loss, the COUNT desir\u2019d the Servants\nof _Monsieur_ FRANKVILLE shou\u2019d be call\u2019d, and then in the presence of\n\u2019em all, declar\u2019d their Master\u2019s last Request, and order\u2019d an Account of\nall Affairs shou\u2019d be brought to his House, where he wou\u2019d immediately\nConduct their young Lady, as he had promis\u2019d to her Father. If MELLIORA\nhad been without any other cause of Grief, this Eclaircissment had been\nsufficient to have made her Miserable: She had already entertained a\nmost tender Affection for the COUNT, and had not so little discernment\nas not to be sensible she had made the like Impression on him; but now\nshe wak\u2019d as from a Dream of promis\u2019d Joys, to certain Woes, and the same\nHour which gave Birth to her Passion, commenc\u2019d an adequate Despair, and\nkill\u2019d her Hopes just budding.\nIndeed there never was any Condition so truly deplorable as that of this\nunfortunate Lady; she had just lost a dear and tender Father, whose\nCare was ever watchful for her, her Brother was far off, and she had no\nother Relation in the World to apply her self to for Comfort, or Advice;\nnot even an Acquaintance at _Paris_, or Friend, but him who but newly\nwas become so, and whom she found it dangerous to make use of, whom she\nknew it was a Crime to Love, yet cou\u2019d not help Loving; the more she\nthought, the more she grew Distracted, and the less able to resolve on\nany Thing; a thousand Times she call\u2019d on Death to give her ease, but\nthat pale Tyrant flies from the Pursuer, she had not been yet long enough\nacquainted with the ills of Life, and must endure (how unwilling soever)\nher part of Sufferings in common with the rest of human kind.\nAs soon as D\u2019ELMONT had given some necessary Directions to the Servants,\nhe came to the Couch, where she was sitting in a fix\u2019d and silent Sorrow\n(tho\u2019 inwardly toss\u2019d with various and violent Agitations) and offering\nher his Hand, entreated her to permit him to wait on her from that House\nof Woe. Alas! Said she, to what purpose shou\u2019d I remove, who bear my\nMiseries about me? Wretch that I am!---a flood of Tears, here interpos\u2019d,\nand hindred her from proceeding, which falling from such lovely Eyes,\nhad a Magnetick Influence to draw the same from every beholder; but\nD\u2019ELMONT who knew that was not the way to Comfort her, dry\u2019d his as soon\nas possible, and once more beg\u2019d she wou\u2019d depart; suffer my return then\n(answer\u2019d she) to the Monastery, for what have I to do in _Paris_ since\nI have lost my Father? By no means, Madam (resum\u2019d the _Count_ hastily)\nthat were to disappoint your Fathers Designs, and contradict his last\nDesires; believe most lovely MELLIORA (continu\u2019d he taking her by the\nHand and letting fall some Tears which he cou\u2019d not restrain, upon it)\nthat I bear at least an equal Share in your Affliction, and lament for\nyou, and for my self: Such a regard my grateful Soul paid _Monsieur_\nFRANKVILLE for all his wondrous Care and Goodness to me, that in his\nDeath methinks I am twice an Orphan. But Tears are fruitless to reinspire\nhis now cold Clay, therefore must transmit the Love and Duty I owed him\nliving, to his Memory Dead, and an exact performance of his Will; and\nsince he thought me worthy of so vast a Trust as MELLIORA, I hope she\nwill be guided by her Fathers Sentiments, and believe that D\u2019ELMONT (tho\u2019\na Stranger to her) has a Soul not uncapable of Friendship. Friendship!\nDid I say? (rejoyn\u2019d he softning his Voice) that term is too mean to\nexpress a Zeal like mine, the Care, the Tenderness, the Faith, the fond\nAffection of Parents,---Brothers, ---Husbands,---Lovers, all Compriz\u2019d\nin one! One great Unutterable! Comprehensive Meaning, is mine! for\nMELLIORA! She return\u2019d no Answer but Sighs, to all he said to her; but\nhe renewing his Entreaties, and urging her Father\u2019s Commands, she was at\nlast prevail\u2019d upon to go into his Chariot, which had waited at the Door\nall the Time of his being there.\nAs they went, he left nothing unsaid that he believ\u2019d might tend to\nher Consolation, but she had Griefs which at present he was a Stranger\nto; and his Conversation, in which she found a thousand Charms, rather\nEncreas\u2019d, than Diminish\u2019d the trouble she was in: Every Word, every Look\nof his, was a fresh Dagger to her Heart, and in spight of the Love she\nbore her Father, and the unfeign\u2019d Concern his sudden Death had given\nher, she was now convinc\u2019d that COUNT D\u2019ELMONT\u2019S Perfections were her\nseverest Wounds.\nWhen they came to his House, He presented her to ALOVISA, and giving her\na brief Account of what had happened, engag\u2019d that Lady to receive her\nwith all imaginable Demonstrations of Civility and Kindness.\nHe soon left the two Ladies together, pretending Business, but indeed to\nsatisfie his Impatience, which long\u2019d for an opportunity to meditate on\nthis Adventure. But his Reflections were now grown far less pleasing than\nthey used to be; real Sighs flew from his Breast uncall\u2019d: And MELLIORA\u2019S\nImage in dazling Brightness! In terrible Array of killing Charms; Fir\u2019d\nHim with (impossible to be attain\u2019d) Desires: he found by sad Experience\nwhat it was to Love, and to Despair. He Admir\u2019d! Ador\u2019d! And wish\u2019d, even\nto Madness! Yet had too much Honour, too much Gratitude for the Memory\nof Monsieur FRANKVILLE; and too sincere an Awe for the lovely Cause of\nhis Uneasiness, to form a Thought that cou\u2019d encourage his new Passion.\nWhat wou\u2019d he not have given to have been Unmarried? How often did he\nCurse the Hour in which ALOVISA\u2019S fondness was discover\u2019d? And how much\nmore his own Ambition, which prompted him to take Advantage of it, and\nhurry\u2019d him Precipitately to a Hymen, where Love, (the noblest Guest) was\nwanting? It was in these racks of Thought, that the unfortunate AMENA was\nremembr\u2019d, and he cou\u2019d not forbear acknowledging the Justice of that\nDoom, which inflicted on him, these very Torments he had given her. A\nsevere Repentance seiz\u2019d on his Soul, and ALOVYSA for whom he never had\nany thing more than an Indifferency; now began to seem Distasteful to his\nFancy, he look\u2019d on her, as indeed she was, the chief Author of AMENA\u2019S\nMisfortunes, and abhorr\u2019d her for that Infidelity. But when he consider\u2019d\nher, as the Bar \u2019twixt Him and MELLIORA she appear\u2019d like his ill Genius\nto him, and he cou\u2019d not support the Thoughts of being oblig\u2019d to love\nher (or at least to seem as if he did) with Moderation. In the midst of\nthese Reflections his Servant came in and deliver\u2019d a Letter to him which\nhad been just left by the Post. The COUNT immediately knew the Hand to be\nAMENA\u2019S, and was cover\u2019d with the utmost Confusion and Remorse when he\nread these Lines.\n    [Illustration]\n    To the too Charming and Perfidious D\u2019ELMONT.\n    _Now Hopes, and Fears, and Jealousies are over! Doubt is no\n    more! You are for ever lost! And my unfaithful, happy Rival!\n    Triumphs in your Arms, and my Undoing!----I need not wish\n    you Joy, the haste you made to enter into Hymen\u2019s Bonds, and\n    the more than ordinary Pomp with which that Ceremony was\n    Celebrated, assures me you are highly satisfied with your\n    Condition; and that any future Testimonies of the Friendship\n    of so wretched a Creature as AMENA, wou\u2019d be receiv\u2019d by you,\n    with the same Disregard, as those she has given you of a more\n    tender Passion.----Shameful Remembrance! Oh that I cou\u2019d Blot\n    it out!----Erace from the Book of Time those fond deluded\n    Hours! Forget I ever saw the Lovely false D\u2019ELMONT! Ever\n    listned to his soft persuasive Accents! And thought his love\n    a mighty Price for Ruin------My Father writes that you are\n    Married, Commands my Return to Paris, and assume an Air as Gay,\n    and Chearful as that with which I used to appear.----Alas! How\n    little does he know his Daughters Heart? And how impossible\n    is it, for me to Obey him, can I look on you as the Husband\n    of ALOVYSA, without remembring you were once the Lover of\n    AMENA? Can Love like mine, so fierce, so passionately, tender,\n    e\u2019re sink to a calm, cold Indifference? Can I behold the fond\n    Endearments of your bridal Joys (which you\u2019d not be able to\n    Restrain, even before me) and not burst with Envy? No, the\n    Sight wou\u2019d turn me quite Distracted, and I shou\u2019d commit some\n    Desperate Violence that wou\u2019d Undoe us all.---Therefore, I hide\n    my self for ever from it, bid an everlasting Adieu to all the\n    gay Delights and Pleasures of my Youth.-----To all the Pomp\n    and Splendor of the Court.-----To all that the mistaken World\n    calls Happiness.---To Father, Friends, Relations, all that\u2019s\n    Dear----But your Idea, and that, not even these consecrated\n    Walls, nor Iron Gates keep out; Sleeping or Waking you are\n    ever with me, you mingle with my most solemn Devotions; and\n    while I Pray to Heaven that I may think on you no more, a\n    guilty Pleasure rises in my Soul, and contradicts my Vows! All\n    my Confessions are so many Sins, and the same Breath which\n    tells my Ghostly Father I abjure your Memory, speaks your dear\n    Name with Transport. Yes----Cruel! Ungrateful!---Faithless\n    as you are, I still do Love you----Love you to that infinite\n    degree, that now, methinks fir\u2019d with thy Charms (repenting\n    all I\u2019ve said) I cou\u2019d wish even to renew those Moments of my\n    Ruin!----Pity me D\u2019ELMONT, if thou hast Humanity.-----Judge\n    what the rackings of my Soul must be, when I resolve, with all\n    this Love, this Languishment about me; never to see you more._\n    _Every thing is preparing for my Reception into holy Orders,\n    (how unfit I am Heaven knows) and in a few Days I shall put on\n    the Vail which excludes me from the World for ever; therefore,\n    if these distracted Lines are worth an Answer, it must be\n    Speedy, or it will not come to my Hands. Perhaps not find me\n    Living.-----I can no more-----Farewel (thou dear Destroyer of\n    my Soul)_\n    _P.S._ _I_ do not urge you to write, _Alovisa_ (I wish I\n    cou\u2019d not say your Wife) will perhaps think it too great\n    a Condescention, and not suffer you so long from her\n    Embraces.----Yet if you can get loose.----But you know best\n    what\u2019s proper to be done----Forgive the restlesness of a\n    dispairing Wretch, who cannot cease to Love, tho\u2019 from this\n    Moment she must cease to tell you so---Once more, and for Ever,\nHad this Letter came a Day sooner, \u2019tis probable it wou\u2019d have had but\nlittle Effect on the Soul of D\u2019ELMONT, but his Sentiments of Love were\nnow so wholly chang\u2019d, that what before he wou\u2019d but have laugh\u2019d at, and\nperhaps despis\u2019d, now fill\u2019d him with Remorse and serious Anguish. He\nread it over several Times, and found so many Proofs in it of a sincere\nand constant Affection, that he began to pity Her, with a Tenderness like\nthat of a Relation, but no more: The charming MELLIORA had Engross\u2019d all\nhis fonder Wishes; else it is not impossible but that ALOVISA might have\nhad more Reason to fear her Rivalship after Marriage, than before. That\nLady having been without the presence of her dear Husband some Hours,\nhad not patience to remain any longer without seeing Him, and making an\nexcuse to MELLIORA for leaving her alone, came running to the Closet\nwhere he was; how unwelcome she was grown, the Reader may imagine, he\nreceiv\u2019d her, not as he was wont; the Gaity which used to sparkle in his\nEyes, (at once declaring, and creating Amorous desires) now gave Place to\na sullen Gloominess, he look\u2019d not on her, or if by chance he did; \u2019twas\nmore with Anger than with Love, in spite of his endeavours to conceal it,\nshe was too quick sighted (as all are that truly Love) not to be sensible\nof this Alteration. However she took no notice of it, but Kissing\nand Embracing him (according to her Custom whenever they were alone)\nbeg\u2019d him to leave his solitary Amusement, and help her to Comfort the\nafflicted Lady he brought there. Her Endearments serv\u2019d but to encrease\nhis Peevishness, and heighten her Surprize at his Behaviour; and indeed,\nthe Moment that she enter\u2019d the Closet was the last of her Tranquility.\nWhen with much perswasions she had prevail\u2019d with him to go with her into\nthe Room where MELLIORA was, he appeared so disorder\u2019d at the second\nSight of that Charmer, as wou\u2019d certainly have let ALOVYSA into the\nsecret of his Passion, had she not been retir\u2019d to a Window to recover\nherself from the Confusion her Husbands coldness had thrown her in,\nand by that fortunate disregard of his Looks at that critical Instant,\ngiven him (who never wanted presence of Mind) leave to form both his\nCountenance and manner of Address, so as to give no suspicion of the\nTruth.\nThis little Company was very far from being Entertaining to one another;\nevery one had their particular Cogitations, and were not displeas\u2019d not\nto be Interrupted in them. It growing late, ALOVYSA conducted MELLIORA to\na Chamber which she had order\u2019d to be prepar\u2019d for her, and then retir\u2019d\nto her own, hoping that when the COUNT shou\u2019d come to Bed, she might be\nable to make some Discovery of the Cause of his Uneasiness. But she was\ndeceiv\u2019d, he spoke not to her, and when by a thousand little Inventions\nshe urg\u2019d him to reply to what she said, it was in such a fashion as\nonly let her see, that he was extreamly troubled at something, but cou\u2019d\nnot guess at what. As soon as Day broke, he rose, and shutting himself\ninto his Closet, left her in the greatest Consternation imaginable; she\ncou\u2019d not think it possible that the Death of _Monsieur_ FRANKVILLE\nshou\u2019d work this Transformation, and knew of no other Misfortune that had\nhappened. At last she remembred she had heard one of the Servants say, a\nLetter was brought to their Master by the Post, and began to reflect on\nevery Thing (in the power of _Fortune_ to determine) that cou\u2019d threaten\na Disturbance, yet was still as ignorant as ever. She lay not long in\nBed, but putting on her Cloaths with more Expedition than usual went\nto the Closet, resolving to speak to him in a manner as shou\u2019d oblige\nhim to put an end to the uncertainty she was in, but finding the Door\nlock\u2019d, her Curiosity made her look thro\u2019 the Keyhole, and she saw him\nsometimes very intirely reading a Letter, and sometimes writing, as tho\u2019\nit were an Answer to it. A sudden Thought came into her Head, and she\nimmediately went softly from the place where she was, without knocking\nat the Door, and stay\u2019d in a little Chamber adjacent to it, where none\ncould pass to, or from the Closet without being perceiv\u2019d by her; she had\nnot waited long, before she heard the _Count_ Ring, and presently saw a\nServant enter, and soon after return with a Letter in his Hand; she wou\u2019d\nnot speak to him then, for fear of being over heard by her Husband, but\nfollowed him down Stairs, and when he came towards the bottom, call\u2019d\nto him in a low Voice to tarry \u2019till she came to him; the Fellow durst\nnot but Obey, and there being no body near \u2019em, commanded him to deliver\nher the Letter: But he either afraid or unwilling to betray his Trust,\nexcus\u2019d himself from it as well as he cou\u2019d, but she was resolv\u2019d to have\nit; and when Threats wou\u2019d not avail, condescended to Entreaties, to\nwhich she added Bribes, which last Article join\u2019d to the promise she made\nof never revealing it, won him to her Purpose. She had scarce patience\nto forbear opening it before she got to her Chamber: The Superscription\n(which she saw was for AMENA) fir\u2019d her with Disdain and Jealousie, and\nit is hardly possible to imagine, much less to describe the Torrent of\nher Indignation, when she found that it contain\u2019d these Words.\n    [Illustration]\n    To the Lovely AMENA.\n    _You accuse me of Cruelty, when at the same Time you kill\n    me with yours: How Vile! How despicable, must I be grown in\n    your Opinion, when you believe I can be Happy, when you are\n    Miserable?---Can I enjoy the Pleasures of a Court, while you\n    are shut within a Cloyster?----Shall I suffer the World to\n    be depriv\u2019d of such a Treasure as AMENA? For the Crime of\n    worthless D\u2019ELMONT-----No, no Fair, injur\u2019d Softness, Return,\n    and bless the Eyes of every Beholder! Shine out again in your\n    native Lustre, uneclips\u2019d by Grief, the Star of Beauty and\n    the guide of Love.---And, if my unlucky Presence will be a\n    Damp to the Brightness of your Fires, I will for ever quit the\n    Place.----Tho\u2019 I cou\u2019d wish, you\u2019d give me leave sometimes to\n    gaze upon you, and draw some hop\u2019d Presages of future Fortune\n    from the Benignity of your Influence,---Yes, AMENA, I wou\u2019d\n    sigh out my Repentance at your Feet, and try at least to obtain\n    a Pardon for my Infidelity.----For, \u2019tis true, what you have\n    heard,----I am Marry\u2019d---But oh AMENA! Happiness is not always\n    an Attendant on HYMEN.--However, I yet may call you Friend--I\n    yet may Love you, tho\u2019 in a different way from what I once\n    pretended to; and believe me, that the Love of Souls, as it\n    is the most uncommon, especially in our Sex, so \u2019tis the most\n    refin\u2019d and noble of all Passions, and such a Love shall be\n    for ever yours. Even ALOVISA (who has robb\u2019d you of the rest)\n    cannot justly resent my giving you that part,----You\u2019ll wonder\n    at this Alteration in my Temper, but \u2019tis sincere, I am no\n    more the Gay, the Roving D\u2019ELMONT, and when you come to PARIS,\n    perhaps you will find me in a Condition more liable to your\n    Pity than Indignation. What shall I say AMENA? My Crime is my\n    Punishment, I have offended against Love, and against you, and\n    am, if possible, as Miserable, as Guilty: Torn with Remorse,\n    and Tortur\u2019d with----I cannot----must not Name it----but \u2019tis\n    something which can be term\u2019d no other than the utmost severity\n    of my Fate.---Haste then to Pity me, to comfort, to advise\n    me, if (as you say) you yet retain any remains of your former\n    Tenderness for this Ungrateful Man_,\nUngrateful indeed! Cry\u2019d ALOVISA (Transported with Excess of Rage and\nJealousie) Oh the Villain!---What Miseries! What Misfortunes are these\nthou talk\u2019st of? What Unhappiness has waited on thy _Himen_? \u2019Tis I alone\nam wretched! base Deceiver!\nThen, as if she wanted to discover something farther to heighten the\nIndignation she was in, she began to read it over again, and indeed the\nmore she consider\u2019d the meaning of what she read, the more her Passions\nswell\u2019d, \u2019till they got at last the entire Dominion of her Reason: She\ntore the Letter in a thousand pieces, and was not much less unmerciful\nto her Hair and Garments. \u2019Tis possible, that in the Violence of her\nFury, she might have forgot her promise to the Servant, to vent some part\nof it on her Husband, if her Woman coming into the Room to know if she\nwas ready to dress, had not prevented her, by telling her the _Count_\nwas gone abroad, and had left Word, that he shou\u2019d not return \u2019till\nthe Evening. ALOVISA had thrown herself on the Bed, and the Curtains\nbeing drawn discover\u2019d not the disorder she was in, and which her Pride\nmade her willing shou\u2019d be still a Secret, therefore dismist her with\nsaying, she wou\u2019d call her when she wanted any thing. Tho\u2019 ALOVISA\nwas too apt to give a loose to her Passions on every occasion, to the\nDestruction of her own Peace, yet she knew well enough how to disguise\n\u2019em, when ever she found the Concealing of them wou\u2019d be an Advantage\nto her Designs: And when the Transports of her Rage was so far over, as\nto give her Liberty of Reflection, and she began to Examine the State\nof her Affection to the _Count_, she soon perceiv\u2019d it had so much the\nbetter of all other Considerations, that in spite of the injustice she\nthought him guilty of to her, she cou\u2019d not perswade her self to do any\nthing that might give him a pretence to Quarrel with her. She thought\nshe had done enough in Intercepting this Letter, and did not doubt but\nthat AMENA wou\u2019d take his not writing to her so much to Heart, as to\nprevent her ever returning to _Paris_, and resolv\u2019d to omit nothing of\nher former Endearments, or make a shew of being in the least disoblig\u2019d;\nthis sort of Carriage she imagin\u2019d wou\u2019d not only lay him more open and\nunguarded to the diligent watch she design\u2019d to make on all his Words\nand Actions, but likewise awaken him to a just Sense of her Goodness,\nand his own Ingratitude.-----She rightly judg\u2019d that when People are\nMarry\u2019d, Jealousie was not the proper Method to revive a decay\u2019d Passion,\nand that after Possession it must be only Tenderness, and constant\nAssiduity to please, that can keep up desire, fresh and gay: Man is too\nArbitrary a Creature to bear the least Contradiction, where he pretends\nan absolute Authority, and that Wife who thinks by ill humour and\nperpetual Taunts, to make him weary of what she wou\u2019d reclaim him from,\nonly renders her self more hateful, and makes that justifiable which\nbefore was blameable in him. These, and the like Considerations made\nALOVYSA put on a Countenance of Serenity, and she so well acted the part\nof an Unsuspecting Wife, that D\u2019ELMONT was far from imagining what she\nhad done: However he still behav\u2019d with the same Caution as before, to\nMELLIORA; and certainly never did People disguise the Sentiments of their\nSouls more artfully than did these three---MELLIORA vail\u2019d her secret\nLanguishments, under the Covert of her grief for her Father, the COUNT\nhis Burning anguish, in a gloomy Melancholy for the Loss of his Friend;\nbut ALOVYSA\u2019S Task was much the hardest, who had no pretence for grief\n(raging, and bleeding with neglected Love, and stifled Pride) to frame\nher Temper to a seeming Tranquility----All made it their whole study\nto deceive each other, yet none but ALOVYSA was intirely in the dark;\nfor the _Count_ and MELLIORA had but too true a guess at one another\u2019s\nmeaning, every look of his, for he had Eyes that needed no Interpreter,\ngave her Intelligence of his Heart, and the Confusion which the\nunderstanding those looks gave her, sufficiently told him how sensible\nshe was of \u2019em.----Several Days they liv\u2019d in this Manner, in which time\n_Monsieur_ FRANKVILLE was Interr\u2019d. Which Solemnity, the _Count_ took\ncare shou\u2019d be perform\u2019d with a Magnificence suitable to the Friendship\nhe publickly profest to have born him, and the secret Adoration his Soul\npaid to his Remains.\nNothing happned of Moment,\u2019till a Day or two after the Funeral, a\nGentleman newly arriv\u2019d at _Paris_, came to visit the _Count_, and gave\nhim an Account of AMENA\u2019S having taken the Habit; how, (said D\u2019ELMONT\nInterrupting him) is it possible?----Has she then profest? Yes, answer\u2019d\nthe Gentleman, having a Sister whom I always tenderly lov\u2019d at the\nMonastery at St. _Dennis_, my affection oblig\u2019d me to make it in my way\nto visit her. AMENA was with her at the Grate, when she receiv\u2019d me;\nI know not how, among other Discourses, we hapned to talk of the fine\nGentlemen of _Paris_, which it was Impossible to do, without mentioning\nCount D\u2019ELMONT, the COUNT answer\u2019d not this Complement as he wou\u2019d have\ndone at another time, but only bowing with an humble Air, gave him\nLiberty to prosecute his Discourse; the moment (resum\u2019d he) that AMENA\nheard your Name, the Tears run from her fair Eyes; in such abundance, and\nshe seem\u2019d opprest with so violent a Grief, that she was not able to stay\nany longer with us. When she was gone, my Sister whom she had made her\nConfidant, gave me the History of her Misfortunes, and withal, told me,\nthat the next Day she was to be Initiated into Holy Orders: My Curiosity\nengag\u2019d me to stay at St. _Dennis_, to see the Ceremony perform\u2019d, which\nwas Solemn; but not with that Magnificence which I expected; it seems it\nwas AMENA\u2019S desire that it should be as private as possible, and for that\nReason, none of her Relations were there, and several of the Formalities\nof Entrance omitted: After it was over, my Sister beckon\u2019d me to come to\nthe Grate, where I saw her before, and Conjur\u2019d me in the Name of her\nnew Sister, to give this to your Hands; in speaking these Words, he took\na Letter out of his Pocket, which the COUNT immediately opening, to his\ngreat surprise, found it contain\u2019d, as follows.\n    To the Inhuman D\u2019ELMONT.\n    _To be pity\u2019d by you, and that you shou\u2019d tell me so, was all\n    the recompence I ask\u2019d for Loss of Father, Friends, Reputation,\n    and Eternal Peace; but now, too late, I find that the fond\n    Maid who scorns the World for Love, is sure to meet for her\n    reward the scorn of him she Loves----Ungrateful Man! Cou\u2019d you\n    not spare one Moment from that long Date of Happiness, to give\n    a last farewel to her you have undone? What wou\u2019d not this\n    Barbarous Contempt have drawn upon you, were I of ALOVISA\u2019S\n    Temper? Sure I am, all that disdain and rage, cou\u2019d Inspire\n    Malice with, had been Inflicted on you, but you well know my\n    Soul is of a another Stamp.----Fool that I was, and little\n    vers\u2019d in the base Arts of Man, believ\u2019d I might by tenderness,\n    and faithful Friendship, gain esteem; tho\u2019 Wit and Beauty the\n    two great Provocatives to create Love were wanting. But do not\n    think that I am yet so mean as to desire to hear from you; no,\n    I have put all future Correspondence with you out of my Power,\n    and hope to drive it even from my wish: Whether your disdain,\n    or the Holy Banner I am listed under, has wrought this Effect,\n    I know not, but methinks I breath another Air, think on you\n    with more Tranquility, and bid you without dying,_\n    _P.S._ Let ALOVISA know I am no more her Rival, Heaven has my\n    Soul, and I forgive you both.\nD\u2019ELMONT was strangely fir\u2019d at the reading these Lines, which left him\nno Room to doubt that his Letter had miscarried, he could not presently\nimagine by what means, but was resolv\u2019d if possible, to find it out.\nHowever, he dissembled his Thoughts \u2019till the Gentleman had taken his\nleave; then calling for the Servant, whom he had entrusted with the\ncarrying it, he took him by the Throat, and holding his drawn Sword\ndirectly to his Breast, swore that Moment should be his last, if he did\nnot immediately confess the Truth; the poor Fellow, frighted almost\nto Death, trembling, and falling on his Knees, implor\u2019d Forgiveness,\nand discover\u2019d all. ALOVISA who was in the next Chamber, hearing her\nHusband call for that Servant, with a Tone somewhat more imperious than\nwhat he was accustom\u2019d to, and a great Noise soon after, imagin\u2019d some\nAccident had happen\u2019d to betray her, and ran in to know the Certainty,\njust as the _Count_ had discharg\u2019d the Servant, at once from his Service\nand his Presence. You have done well Madam (said D\u2019ELMONT, looking on\nher with Eyes sparkling with Indignation) you have done well, by your\nimpertinent Curiosity and Imprudence, to rouze me from my Dream of\nHappiness, and remind me, that I am that wretched Thing a Husband! \u2019Tis\nwell indeed (answer\u2019d ALOVISA, who saw now that there was no need of\nfarther Dissimulation) that any thing can make you remember, both what\nyou are, and what I am. You, (resum\u2019d he, hastily interrupting her)\nhave taken an effectual Method to prove your self a Wife!----a very\nWife!----Insolent---Jealous---and Censorious!---But Madam (continued he\nfrowning) since you are pleas\u2019d to assert your Priveledge, be assur\u2019d, I\ntoo shall take my turn, and will exert the---Husband! In saying this, he\nflung out of the Room in spite of her Endeavours to hinder him, and going\nhastily through a Gallery which had a large Window that looked into the\nGarden, he perceived MELLIORA lying on a green Bank, in a melancholy,\nbut a charming Posture, directly opposite to the Place where he was; her\nBeauties appear\u2019d, if possible, more to Advantage than ever he had seen\nthem, or at least, he had more Opportunity thus unseen by her, to gaze\nupon \u2019em; he in a Moment lost all the Rage of Temper he had been in, and\nhis whole Soul was taken up with softness; he stood for some Moments\nfix\u2019d in silent Admiration, but Love has small Dominion in a Heart, that\ncan content it self with a distant Prospect, and there being a Pair of\nback-Stairs at the farther end of the Gallery, which led to the Garden.\nHe either forgot, or not regarded what Construction ALOVISA might make on\nthis private Interview, if by Chance, from any of the Windows she should\nbe Witness of it.\nMELLIORA was so intent on a Book she had in her Hand, that she saw not\nthe _Count_ \u2019till he was close enough to her to discern what was the\nSubject of her Entertainment, and finding it the Works of _Monsieur_\nL\u2019FONTENELLE; Philosophy, Madam, at your Age (said he to her with an Air,\nwhich exprest surprize) is as wond\u2019rous as your other Excellencies; but\nI am confident, had this Author ever seen MELLIORA, his Sentiments had\nbeen otherwise than now they seem to be, and he would have been able to\nwrite of nothing else but Love and her. MELLIORA blush\u2019d Extremely at his\nunexpected Presence, and the Complement he made Her; but recollecting\nher self as soon as she cou\u2019d; I have a better Opinion of _Monsieur_\nL\u2019FONTENELLE, (answer\u2019d she) but if I were really Mistress of as many\nCharms as you wou\u2019d make me believe, I should think my self little\nbeholding to Nature, for bestowing them on me, if by their means I were\ndepriv\u2019d of so choice an Improvement as this Book has given me. Thank\nHeaven, then Madam, (resum\u2019d he) that you were born in an Age successive\nto that which has produc\u2019d so many fine Treatises of this kind for your\nEntertainment; since (I am very Confident) this, and a long space of\nfuture Time will have no other Theme, but that which at present you seem\nso much averse to. MELLIORA found so much difficulty in endeavouring to\nConceal the disorder she was in at this Discourse, that it rendered her\nunable to reply; and He, (who possibly guest the occasion of her silence)\ntaking one of her Hands and tenderly pressing it between his, look\u2019d so\nfull in her Eyes, as heighten\u2019d her Confusion, and discover\u2019d to his\nravish\u2019d View, what most he wish\u2019d to find: Ambition, Envy, Hate, Fear,\nor Anger, every other Passion that finds Entrance in the Soul; Art, and\nDiscretion, may Disguise, but Love, tho\u2019 it may be feign\u2019d, can never be\nConceal\u2019d, not only the Eyes (those true and most Perfect Intelligencers\nof the Heart) but every Feature, every Faculty betrays it! It fills the\nwhole Air of the Person possest with it; it wanders round the Mouth!\nPlays in the Voice! trembles in the Accent! And shows it self a thousand\ndifferent, nameless ways! Even MELLIORA\u2019S Care to hide it, made it more\napparent, and the Transported D\u2019ELMONT not considering where he was, or\nwho might be a witness of his Rapture, cou\u2019d not forbear catching her\nin his Arms, and grasping her with an Extasie, which plainly told her\nwhat his thoughts were, tho\u2019 at that time he had not Power to put \u2019em\ninto Words; and indeed there is no greater proof of a vast and elegant\nPassion, than the being uncapable of Expressing it:-----He had perhaps\nheld her in this strict embrace, \u2019till some Accident had discover\u2019d and\nseparated him from her; if the Alarm this manner of Proceeding gave her\nModesty, had not made her force her self from him.---They both stood in\na silent Consternation, nor was he much less disorder\u2019d at the Temerity,\nthe violence of his ungovernable Passion had made him guilty of, than\nshe was at the Liberty he had taken; he knew not how to Excuse, nor she,\nto Reproach; Respect (the constant Attendant on a sincere Affection)\nhad tyed his Tongue, and shame mixed with the uncertainty after what\nmanner she shou\u2019d resent it, Hers. At last, the Natural Confidence of\nhis Sex Encourag\u2019d him to break this mute Entertainment,--There are\nTimes Madam (said he) in which the wisest have not Power over their own\nActions---If therefore I have offended, impute not the Crime to me, but\nthat unavoidable impulse which for a Moment hurry\u2019d me from my self;\nfor be assured while D\u2019ELMONT can Command his Thoughts, they shall be\nmost obedient to your Wishes----As MELLIORA was about to reply, she saw\na Servant coming hastily to speak to the COUNT, and was not a little\nglad of so favourable an opportunity to retire without being oblig\u2019d to\ncontinue a Discourse in which she must either lay a severe Punishment on\nher Inclinations by making a quarrel with him, or by forgiving him too\neasily, Trespass against the strict Precepts of Virtue she had always\nprofess\u2019d: She made what haste she cou\u2019d into her chamber, and carry\u2019d\nwith her a World of troubled Meditations, she now no longer doubted of\nthe COUNT\u2019S Passion, and trembled with the Apprehension of what he might\nin time be prompted to; but when she Reflected how dear that Person she\nhad so much cause to fear, was to her, she thought her self, at once the\nmost unfortunate and most Guilty of her Sex.\nThe Servant who gave \u2019em this seasonable Interruption delivered a Letter\nto his Master, which he opening hastily, knowing that it came from his\nBrother by the Seal, found the Contents as follows.\n    _I hop\u2019d (my Dearest Friend, and Brother) by this day to have\n    Embrac\u2019d you, but Fortune takes delight to disappoint our\n    wishes, when highest rais\u2019d, and nearest to their Aim.----The\n    Letter I carry\u2019d from her, whom I think it my Happiness to\n    call Sister, joyn\u2019d with my own Faith, Love, and Assiduity; at\n    length Triumph\u2019d over all the little niceties and objections\n    my Charmer made against our Journey, and she Condescended to\n    order every thing requisite for our departure from AMIENS\n    shou\u2019d be got ready.----But how shall I Express the Grief, the\n    Horrour, the Distraction of my Soul, when the very Evening\n    before the Day we shou\u2019d have set out, as I was sitting with\n    her, a sudden, but terrible Illness, like the Hand of Death\n    seiz\u2019d on her, she fell (oh! my Brother) Cold, and Speechless\n    in my Arms------Guess, what I endur\u2019d at that Afflicting\n    Moment, all that I had of Man, or Reason left me; and sure\n    had not the Care of the Baroness and some other Ladies (whom\n    my Cries drew in to her Assistance) in a little time recover\u2019d\n    her, I had not now surviv\u2019d to give you this Account: Again,\n    I saw the Beauties of her Eyes! again, I heard her Voice, but\n    her Disorder was yet so great, that it was thought convenient\n    she should be put to Bed; the Baroness seeing my Despair,\n    desired me not to quit her House, and by that Means I had\n    News every Hour, how her Fevor encreas\u2019d, or abated, for the\n    Physicians being desir\u2019d to deal freely, assur\u2019d us, that was\n    her Distemper: For several Days she continued in a Condition\n    that could give us no Hopes of her Recovery; in which Time,\n    as you may imagine, I was little capable of Writing.-----The\n    wildness of my unruly Grief, made me not be permitted to come\n    into her Chamber; but they cou\u2019d not, without they had made\n    use of Force, hinder me from lying at her Door: I counted all\n    her Groans, heard every Sigh the Violence of her Pain drew\n    from her, and watch\u2019d the Countenance of every Person who came\n    out of her Chamber, as Men who wou\u2019d form a Judgment of future\n    Consequences, do the Signs in Heaven.----But I trouble you with\n    this tedious recital, she is now, if there is any Dependance\n    on the Doctors Skill, past Danger, tho\u2019 not fit to Travel,\n    at least this Month, which gives no small Aleviation to the\n    greatness of my Joys (which otherwise wou\u2019d be unbounded) for\n    her Recovery, since it occasions so long a Separation from the\n    best of Brothers, and of Friends: Farewell, may all your Wishes\n    meet Success, and an Eternal round of Happiness attend you; to\n    add to mine, I beg you\u2019ll write by the first Post, which, next\n    to seeing you, is the greatest I can Taste. I am, my Lord, with\n    all imaginable Tenderness and Respect, your most Affectionate\n    Brother and Humble Servant,_\nThe _Count_ judg\u2019d it proper that ALOVISA shou\u2019d see this Letter, because\nit so much concern\u2019d her Sister, and was ordering the Servant to carry\nit to her, (not being himself willing to speak to her) just as she was\ncoming towards him: She had receiv\u2019d a Letter from the _Baroness_ DE\nBERONVILL, at the same time that the _Chevalier_ BRILLIAN\u2019S was brought,\nand was glad to take the Opportunity of Communicating the Contents of\nit, in hopes by this Conversation, to be reconcil\u2019d to her Husband: But\nthe gloomy Sullenness of the Humour he had left her with, return\u2019d at\nSight of her, and after some little Discourse of Family Affairs, which\nhe could not avoid answering, walk\u2019d carelesly away: She follow\u2019d him at\na distance, \u2019till he was got up to the Gallery, and perceiving he went\ntoward his Closet, mended her Pace, and was close to him when he was\ngoing in. My Lord, (said she) with a Voice but half assured, and which\nwould not have given her leave to utter more, if he had not interrupted\nher, by telling her he would be alone, and shutting the Door hastily upon\nher, but she prevented his Locking of it, by pushing against it with all\nher Force, and he, not exerting his, for fear of hurting her, suffer\u2019d\nher Entrance: But look\u2019d on her with a Countenance so forbidding, as in\nspite of the natural Haughtiness of her Temper, and the Resolution she\nhad made to speak to him, render\u2019d her unable for some Moments to bring\nforth a Word; but the silent Grief, which appear\u2019d in her Face, pleaded\nmore with the good Nature of the _Count_, than any thing she could have\nsaid: He began to pity the unhappiness of her too violent Affection, and\nto wish himself in a Capacity of returning it, however, he (like other\nHusbands) thought it best to keep up his Resentments, and take this\nOpportunity of Quelling all the _Woman_ in her Soul, and humbling all\nthe little Remains of Pride that Love had left her. Madam, (resum\u2019d he)\nwith an Accent, which tho\u2019 something more softned, was still imperious\nenough, if you have any Thing of Consequence to impart to me, I desire\nyou will be as brief as you can, for I would be left to the Freedom of\nmy Thoughts---ALOVISA cou\u2019d not yet answer, but letting fall a Shower\nof Tears, and throwing her self on the Ground, Embrac\u2019d his Knees with\nso Passionate a Tenderness, as sufficiently exprest her Repentance for\nhaving been guilty of any thing to disoblige him: D\u2019ELMONT was most\nsensibly touch\u2019d at this Behaviour, so vastly different from what he\ncou\u2019d have expected from the greatness of her Spirit, and raising her\nwith an obliging Air. I am sorry (said he) that any thing should happen\nto occasion this Submission, but since what\u2019s past, is out of either of\nour Powers to recall: I shall endeavour to think of it no more, provided\nyou\u2019ll promise me, never for the future to be guilty of any thing which\nmay give me an uneasiness by the sight of yours----\u2019Tis impossible to\nrepresent the Transport of ALOVISA at this kind Expression, she hung upon\nhis Neck, kissed the dear Mouth which had pronounc\u2019d her Pardon, with\nRaptures of unspeakable Delight, she sigh\u2019d with Pleasure, as before\nshe had done with Pain, she wept, she even dy\u2019d with Joy!----No, no, my\nLord, my Life, my Angel, (cry\u2019d she, as soon as she had Power to speak)\nI never will Offend you more, no more be Jealous, no more be doubtful of\nmy Happiness! You are!--you will be only mine, I know you will----Your\nkind Forgiveness of my Folly, assures me that you are mine, not more by\nDuty than by Love! A Tye far more valuable than that of Marriage. The\n_Count_ conscious of her Mistake, had much ado to conceal his Disorder\nat these Words, and being unwilling she should proceed; as soon as he\ncould (without seeming unkind or rude) disingag\u2019d himself from her Arms,\nand took a Pen in his Hand, which he told her he was about to employ in\nanswering the _Chevalier_ BRILLIAN\u2019S Letter; ALOVISA who now resolv\u2019d an\nentire Obedience to his Will, and remembring he had desired to be alone,\nwithdrew, full of the Idea of an imagin\u2019d Felicity----Her Heart was now\nat ease, she believ\u2019d, that if her Husband had any Remains of Passion for\nAMENA, the impossibility of ever seeing her again, would soon extinguish\nthem, and since she was so happily reconcil\u2019d, was far from repenting her\nintercepting of his Letter: But poor Lady, she did not long enjoy this\nPeace of Mind, and this Interval of Tranquility serv\u2019d but to heighten\nher ensuing Miseries.\nThe _Count\u2019s_ secret Passion for MELLIORA grew stronger by his\nendeavouring to suppress it, and perceiving that she carefully avoided\nall Opportunities of being alone with him one Moment, since his Behaviour\nto her in the Garden, he grew almost Distracted with the continual\nRestraint he was forc\u2019d to put on all his Words and Actions: He durst not\nSigh nor send an amorous Glance, for fear of offending her, and alarming\nhis Wive\u2019s Jealousy, so lately lull\u2019d to Sleep: He had no Person in whom\nhe had Confidence enough to trust with his Misfortune, and had certainly\nsunk under the Pressure of it, if ALOVISA, who observing an Alteration\nin his Countenance and Humour, fearing he was really indispos\u2019d (which\nwas the excuse he made for his Melancholly) had not perswaded him to go\ninto the Country, hoping that change of Air might do him good: He had a\nvery fine Seat near _Anjerville_ in the Province of _Le Beausse_, which\nhe had not been at for some Years, and he was very willing to comply with\nALOVISA\u2019S Desires of passing the remainder of the Summer in a Solitude,\nwhich was now become agreeable to him; the greatest Difficulty was, in\nperswading MELLIORA to accompany them thither; he guess\u2019d by her reserv\u2019d\nBehaviour, that she only waited an Opportunity to leave the Place where\nhe was, and was not mistaken in his Conjecture: One Day as they were\ntalking of it, she told them she was resolv\u2019d to return to the Monastery\nwhere she had been Educated, that the World was too noisy a Place for\none of her Taste, who had no relish for any of the Diversions of it:\nEvery Word she spoke, was like a Dagger to D\u2019ELMONT\u2019S Heart; yet, he so\nartfully manag\u2019d his Endeavours, between the Authority of a Guardian,\nand the Entreaties of a Friend, that she was at last overcome. \u2019Tis\nhard for the severest Virtue to deny themselves the Sight of the Person\nbelov\u2019d, and whatever Resolutions we make, there are but few, who like\nMELLIORA might not by such a Lover be prevail\u2019d upon to break them.\nAs soon as their coming into the Country was spread abroad, they were\nvisited by all the Neighbouring People of Quality, but there was none\nso welcome to D\u2019ELMONT as the _Baron_ D\u2019ESPERNAY; they had before the\nCOUNT\u2019S going into the Army been very intimate Acquaintance, and were\nequally glad of this opportunity to renew a Friendship, which Time and\nAbsence had not entirely erac\u2019d. The _Baron_ had a Sister young, and very\nagreeable, but gay even to Coquetry; they liv\u2019d together, being both\nsingle, and he brought her with him, hearing the _Count_ was Married,\nto visit his Lady: There were several other young Noble Men and Ladies\nthere, at the same time, and the Conversation grew so delightfully\nEntertaining, that it was impossible for Persons less prepossest than\nthe COUNT and MELLIORA, to retain their _Chagrin_; but, tho\u2019 there were\nscarce any in the Company that might not have list\u2019ned with a pleas\u2019d\nAttention, to what those two admirable Persons were capable of saying,\nyet their secret Sorrows kept them both in silence, \u2019till MELANTHA, for\nthat was the Name of the _Barons_ Sister, took upon her to divert the\nCompany with some Verses on Love; which she took out of her Pocket-Book\nand read to \u2019em: Every Body extoll\u2019d the softness of the Stile, and\nthe Subject they were upon. But MELLIORA who was willing to take all\nopportunities of Condemning that Passion, as well to conceal it in her\nself as to check what ever hopes the _Count_ might have, now discovered\nthe force of her Reason, the Delicacy of her Wit, and the Penetration\nof her Judgment, in a manner so sweetly surprizing to all that were\nStrangers to her, that they presently found, that it was not want of\nNoble, and truly agreeable Thoughts or Words to express \u2019em, that had\nso long depriv\u2019d them of the Pleasure of hearing her; she urg\u2019d the\nArguments she brought against the giving way to Love, and the Danger of\nall softning Amusements, with such a becoming fierceness, as made every\nBody of the Opinion that she was born only to create Desire, not be\nsusceptible of it her self. The _Count_ as he was most Concern\u2019d, took\nthe most particular Notice of all she said, and was not a little alarm\u2019d\nto see her appear so much in earnest, but durst not answer, or Endeavour\nto confute her, because of ALOVYSA\u2019S presence: But it was not long before\nhe had an opportunity, a few Days after he met with one, as full as he\ncou\u2019d wish. Returning one Evening from the _Baron_ D\u2019ESPERNAY\u2019S, whom he\nhad now made the Confident of his Passion, and who had Encourag\u2019d him in\nit, he was told that ALOVYSA was gone out to take the Air, and hearing\nno mention of MELLIORA\u2019S being with her, he stay\u2019d not to enquire, but\nrunning directly to her Chamber, made his Eyes his best Informers: He\nfound her lying on a Couch in a most charming Dissabillee, she had but\nnewly come from Bathing, and her Hair unbraided, hung down upon her\nShoulders with a negligence more Beautiful than all the Aids of Art cou\u2019d\nform in the most exact _Decorum_ of Dress; part of it fell upon her Neck\nand Breast, and with it\u2019s Lovely Shadiness, being of a Delicate dark\nBrown, set off to vast Advantage, the matchless whiteness of her Skin:\nHer Gown and the rest of her Garments were white, and all ungirt, and\nloosely flowing, discover\u2019d a Thousand Beauties, which Modish Formalities\nconceal. A Book lay open by her, on which she had reclin\u2019d her Head, as\nif been tir\u2019d with Reading, she Blush\u2019d at sight of the _Count_, and\nrose from off the Couch with a Confusion which gave new Lustre to her\nCharms, but he not permitting her to stir from the place she was in, sat\ndown by Her, and casting his Eyes on the Book which lay there, found it\nto be _Ovid\u2019s-Epistles_, How Madam (cry\u2019d he, not a little pleas\u2019d with\nthe Discovery) dare you, who the other Day so warmly inveigh\u2019d against\nWritings of this Nature, trust your self with so Dangerous an Amusement?\nHow happens it, that you are so suddenly come over to our Party? Indeed\nmy Lord (answer\u2019d she, growing more disorder\u2019d) it was Chance rather than\nChoice, that directed this Book to my Hands, I am yet far from approving\nSubjects of this Kind, and believe I shall be ever so: Not that I can\nperceive any Danger in it, as to my self, the Retirement I have always\nliv\u2019d in, and the little Propensity I find to entertain a Thought of that\nuneasie Passion, has hitherto secur\u2019d me from any Prepossession, without\nwhich, _Ovid_\u2019s Art is Vain. Nay, Madam, reply\u2019d the _Count_, now you\nContradict your former Argument, which was, that these sort of Books\nwere, as it were, Preparatives to Love, and by their softning Influence,\nmelted the Soul, and made it fit for amorous Impressions, and so far, you\ncertainly were in the right, for when once the Fancy is fixed on a real\nObject, there will be no need of Auxillary Forces, the Dear Idea will\nspread it self thro\u2019 every Faculty of the Soul, and in a Moment inform\nus better, than all the Writings of the most Experienc\u2019d Poets, cou\u2019d do\nin an Age. Well, my Lord, (said she endeavouring to Compose her self) I\nam utterly unambitious of any Learning this way, and shall endeavour to\nretain in Memory, more of the Misfortunes that attended the Passion of\n_Sappho_, than the Tender, tho\u2019 never so Elegant Expressions it produc\u2019d:\nAnd if all Readers of Romances took this Method, the Votaries of _Cupid_\nwou\u2019d be fewer, and the Dominion of Reason more Extensive. You speak\n(Answer\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT) as tho\u2019 Love and Reason were Incompatible, there is\nno Rule (said she) my Lord, without Exception, they are indeed sometimes\nunited, but how often they are at Variance, where may we not find Proofs,\nHistory is full of them, and daily Examples of the many Hair-brain\u2019d\nMatches, and slips, much less excusable, sufficiently evince how little\nReason has to do in the Affairs of Love, I mean (continu\u2019d she, with a\nvery serious Air) that sort of Love, for there are two, which hurries\nPeople on to an immediate Gratification of their Desires, tho\u2019 never so\nprejudicial to themselves, or the Person they pretend to Love. Pray Madam\n(said the _Count_ a little nettled at this Discourse) what Love is that\nwhich seems at least to Merit the Approbation of a Lady so extreamly\nnice? It has many Branches (reply\u2019d she) in the first Place that which we\nowe to Heaven, in the next to our King, our Country, Parents, Kindred,\nFriends, and Lastly, that which Fancy inclines, and Reason guides us to,\nin a Partner for Life, but here every Circumstance must agree, Parity\nof Age, of Quality, of Fortune, and of Humour, Consent of Friends, and\nEqual Affection in each other, for if any one of these particulars fail,\nit renders all the rest of no Effect. Ah, Madam (cry\u2019d the _Count_ not\nable to suffer her to proceed). What share of Pity then can you afford to\na Man who, loves where almost all these Circumstances are wanting, and\nwhat Advice wou\u2019d you give a wretch so Curst? I wou\u2019d have him _think_,\n(said she more Gravely than before) How Madam, (resum\u2019d he) think did\nyou say? Alas! \u2019Tis Thought that has undone him, that\u2019s very possible\n(answer\u2019d she) but yet \u2019tis want of thinking justly, for in a Lovers Mind\nIllusions seem Realities, and what at an other time wou\u2019d be look\u2019d on\nas Impossible, appears easie then: They indulge, and feed their new-born\nFolly with a prospect of a Hope, tho\u2019 ne\u2019re so distant a one, and in the\nvain pursuit of it, fly Consideration, \u2019till dispair starts up in the\nmidway, and bar\u2019s their promis\u2019d View; whereas if they gave way to due\nReflection, the Vanity of the Attempt wou\u2019d presently be shown, and the\nsame cause that bid \u2019em cease to hope, wou\u2019d bid \u2019em cease to wish: Ah\nMadam (said he) how little do you know of that Passion, and how easily\ncou\u2019d I disprove you by the Example of my Friend; despair and Love are\nof an equal Age in him, and from the first Moment he beheld his Adorable\nCharmer, he has Languished without the least mixture of a flattering\nHope. I Grant the Flames with which our Modern Gallants are ordinarily\nanimated, cannot long subsist without Fewel, but where Love is kindled\nin a Generous Heart by a just Admiration of the real Merits of the Object\nbelov\u2019d, Reason goes Hand in Hand with it, and makes it lasting as our\nLife. In my Mind (answer\u2019d MELLIORA Coldly) an Esteem so Grounded may\nmore properly be ascribed to Friendship, then be it so Madam, (rejoyn\u2019d\nthe _Count_ briskly) Friendship and Love, where either are sincere, vary\nbut little in their meaning, there may indeed be some Distinctions in\ntheir Ceremonies, but their Essentials are still the same: And if the\nGentleman I speak of were so happy as to hope his Friendship wou\u2019d be\nacceptable, I dare promise that he never wou\u2019d complain his Love were\nnot so. You have a strange way (said she) to Confound Idea\u2019s, which in\nmy Opinion are so vastly different, that I shou\u2019d make no Difficulty in\ngranting my Friendship to as many of my Acquaintance, as had Merit to\ndeserve it; but if I were to Love in that general Manner, \u2019twould be a\nCrime wou\u2019d justly render me Contemptible to Mankind: Madam (replyed the\n_Count_) when I spoke of the Congruity of Love and Friendship, I did\nnot mean that sort, which to me, seems unworthy of the Name of either,\nbut that Exalted one, which made _Orestes_ and _Pilades_, _Theseus_ and\n_Perithous_ so Famous. That, which has no Reserve, no separate Interest,\nor divided Thoughts, That which fills all,----gives all the Soul, and\nesteems even Life a Trifle, to prove it self sincere----What can Love\ndo more than yield every thing to the object Belov\u2019d? And Friendship\nmust do so too, or it is not Friendship! Therefore take heed fair\nAngel (continu\u2019d he, taking her Hand, and kissing it) how you Promise\nFriendship, where you ne\u2019re mean to Love: And observing she was Silent,\nyour Hand, (said he) your Lip, your Neck, your Breast, your All.----All\nthis whole Heaven of Beauty must be no longer in your own Disposal----All\nis the Prize of Friendship! As much Confus\u2019d as MELLIORA was, at these\nWords, which gave her sufficient Reason to fear he wou\u2019d now declare\nhimself more fully than she desir\u2019d; she had Spirit and Resolution\nenough to withdraw her Hand from his, and with a look, that spoke her\nMeaning but too plainly for the repose of the Enamour\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT: I shall\ntake care my Lord (said she) how I Commence a Friendship with any Person\nwho shall make use of it to my Prejudice.\nThe _Count_ was now sensible of his Error in going so far, and fearing he\nhad undone himself in her Esteem by his rash Proceeding, thought it was\nbest at once to throw off a Disguise which, in spight of his Endeavours\nwou\u2019d fall off, of itself, and by making a bold and free Confession of\nhis real Sentiments, oblige her to a Discovery of hers.----I do not\ndoubt your Caution, Madam, (answer\u2019d he) in this point: Your Reserved\nBehaviour, even to me, convinces me, but too fully, how little you are\ndisposed to give, or receive any Proofs of Friendship: But perhaps\n(continu\u2019d he, with a deep sigh) my too presuming Eyes have rendred me a\nsuspected Person, and while you find in me the Wretch I have discrib\u2019d,\nyou find nothing in me worthy of a happier Fortune; you are worthy every\nthing my Lord, (said MELLIORA quite beside her self at these Words) nor\nare you less happy than you deserve to be, and I wou\u2019d rather that these\nEyes shou\u2019d loose their sight than view you otherwise than now I see\nyou, blest in every Circumstance, the Darling of the World, the Idol of\nthe Court, and Favourite of Heaven! Oh stop! (Cry\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT hastily\nInterrupting her) forbear to Curse me farther, rather Command my Death,\nthan wish the Continuance of my present Miseries. Cruel MELLIORA too\nwell, alas, you know what I have endur\u2019d from the first fatal Moment I\nbeheld you, and only feign an Ignorance to distract me more: A Thousand\ntimes you have read my Rising wishes, sparkling in my Eyes, and glowing\non my Cheeks, as often seen my Virtue struggling in silent Tremblings,\nand Life-wasting Anguish to suppress desire. Nay, Madam (said he\nCatching fast hold of both her Hands, seeing her about to rise) by all\nmy sleepless Nights, and restless Days, by all my countless burning\nAgonies; by all the Torments of my gall\u2019d, bleeding Heart, I swear,\nthat you shall hear me: I have heard too much (cry\u2019d MELLIORA not able\nto contain her self) and tho\u2019 I am unwilling to believe you have any\nfarther aim in this Discourse than your Diversion, yet I must tell your\nLordship, that there are Themes more proper for it, than the Daughter\nof your Friend, who was entrusted to your Care with a far different\nOpinion of your Behaviour to her. What have I done (resum\u2019d the almost\nthe Distracted _Count_, falling at her Feet, and grasping her Knees) what\nhave I done, Inhuman MELLIORA! To deserve this Rigour? My Honour has\nhitherto prevail\u2019d above desire, fierce, and raging as it is, nor had I\nany other hopes by making this Declaration, than to meet that pity my\nMisfortunes merit; and you cannot without Ingratitude deny: Pity, even\nto Criminals is allow\u2019d, and sure, where the offence is unvoluntary,\nlike mine, \u2019tis due: \u2019Tis impossible to guess the Conflict in MELLIORA\u2019S\nBreast at this Instant, she had heard a most Passionate Declaration of\nLove from a married Man, and by Consequence, whatever his Pretences were,\ncou\u2019d look on his Designs no otherwise than aim\u2019d at the Destruction\nof her Honour, and was fir\u2019d with a virtuous Indignation. But then she\nsaw in this married Man, the only Person in the World, who was capable\nof Inspiring her with a tender Thought, she saw him reduc\u2019d to the last\nExtremity of Despair for her sake: She heard his sighs, she felt his\nTremblings as he held her, and cou\u2019d not refrain shedding some Tears,\nboth for him, and for her self, who indeed suffer\u2019d little less; but\nthe _Count_ was not so happy as to be Witness of this Testimony of her\nCompassion: He had reclin\u2019d his Head on her Lap, possibly to hide those\nthat forc\u2019d their way thro\u2019 his Eyes, at the same time; and ALOVISA\u2019S\nVoice which they heard below, giving them both an Alarm; they had no\nfurther opportunity for Speech, and the _Count_ was but just gone out of\nthe Room, and MELLIORA laid on the Couch in the same careless Possture\nwhich he had found her in; when ALOVISA enter\u2019d the Chamber, and after\nhaving a little pleasantly Reproach\u2019d her, for being so lazy as not to\naccompany her in the Walk she had been taking, ask\u2019d her if she had not\nseen the _Count_, who she had been told was come home: Poor MELLIORA\nhad much ado to conceal the Disorder she was in at this Question, but\nrecovering her self as well as she could, answer\u2019d in the Affirmative;\nbut that he had not staid there longer than to enquire where she was\ngone, and that she knew not but he might be gone in search of her: This\nwas enough to make ALOVISA take her leave, impatient for the Sight of her\ndear Lord, a Happiness she had not enjoy\u2019d since Morning, but she was\ndisappointed of her Hope. The _Count_, as late as it was in the Evening,\nwent into his Chaise, which had not been set up since he came from the\n_Baron_ D\u2019ESPERNAY\u2019S and drove thither again with all the Speed he could.\nThe _Baron_ was extreamly surpriz\u2019d at his sudden Return, and with so\nmuch Confusion and Melancholy in his Countenance. But much more so, when\nhe had given him an Account of what had pass\u2019d between him and MELLIORA\nand cou\u2019d not forbear rallying him excessively on the Occasion. What,\nsaid he, a Man of Wit, and Pleasure like _Count_ D\u2019ELMONT a Man, who\nknows the Sex so well, could he let slip so favourable an Opportunity\nwith the finest Woman in the World; One, for whose Enjoyment he wou\u2019d\nDie.----Cou\u2019d a Frown, or a little angry Coyness, (which ten to one was\nbut affected) have Power to freeze such fierce Desires. The _Count_ was\nnot at present in a Humour to relish this Merriment, he was too seriously\nin Love to bear that any thing relating to it, should be turn\u2019d into\nRidicule, and was far from repenting he had done no more, since what\nhe had done, had occasion\u2019d her Displeasure: But the _Baron_, who had\nDesigns in his Head, which he knew cou\u2019d not by any means be brought\nto succeed, but by keeping the _Count\u2019s_ Passion warm, made Use of all\nthe Artifice he was Master of, to embolden this respective Lover, to\nthe Gratification of his Wishes: And growing more grave than he had\nbeen, My Lord, said he, you do not only injure the Dignity of our Sex in\ngeneral, but your own Merits in particular, and perhaps even MELLIORA\u2019S\nsecret Inclinations, by this unavailing distant Carriage: and causeless\nDespair.----Have you not confess\u2019d that she has look\u2019d on you with a\nTenderness, like that of Love, that she has blush\u2019d at your Sight, and\ntrembled at your Touch?----What would you more that she should do, or\nwhat indeed, can she do more, in Modesty, to prove her Heart is yours?\nA little Resolution on your side would make her all yours----Women are\ntaught by Custom to deny what most they covet, and to seem Angry, when\nthey are best Pleas\u2019d; believe me, D\u2019ELMONT, that the most rigid Virtue\nof \u2019em all, never yet hated a Man for those Faults, which Love occasions:\nAll this answer\u2019d the _Count_, is what I readily agree to:---But O her\nFather\u2019s Memory! My Obligation to him! Her Youth and Innocence are\nDaggers to my cool Reflections---Wou\u2019d it not be Pity (_D\u2019espernay!_\ncontinued he with a deep Sigh) even if she shou\u2019d consent, to ruin so\nmuch Sweetness? The _Baron_ could not forbear laughing at these Words,\nand the _Count_ who had started these Objections, only with the Hope of\nhaving them remov\u2019d, easily suffer\u2019d himself to be perswaded to follow\nhis Inclinations; and it was soon concluded betwixt them, that on the\nfirst Opportunity, MELLIORA should fall a Sacrifice to Love.\nThe _Count_ came not Home \u2019till the next Morning, and brought the _Baron_\nwith him, for they were now become inseparable Friends: At his return, he\nfound ALOVISA in a very ill Humour for his being abroad all Night, and\nin spite of the Resolution she had made of shewing a perfect Resignation\nto her Husband\u2019s Will, could not forbear giving him some Hints, how\nunkindly she took it, which he but little regarded, all his Thoughts\nwere now bent on the gaining MELLIORA. But that Lady alarm\u2019d at his late\nBehaviour, and with Reason, doubting her own Power of resenting it as she\nought, or indeed resisting any future Attempts he might make, feign\u2019d the\nnecessity of performing some private Rules of Devotion, enjoyn\u2019d her as a\nPennance, and kept her Chamber that she might not see him.\nThe Disquietudes of D\u2019ELMONT for being forc\u2019d to live, but for three\nor four Days without the happiness of beholding her, convinc\u2019d him how\nimpossible it was for him to overcome his Passion, tho\u2019 he should never\nso vigorously endeavour it, and that whatever Method he shou\u2019d make use\nof to satisfy it, might be excus\u2019d by the Necessity.\nWhat is it that a Lover cannot accomplish when Resolution is on his Side?\nD\u2019ELMONT after having formed a Thousand fruitless Inventions, at last\npitch\u2019d on One, which promis\u2019d him an assurance of Success: In MELLIORA\u2019S\nChamber there was a little Door that open\u2019d to a Pair of Back Stairs,\nfor the Convenience of the Servants coming to clean the Room, and at the\nBottom of that Descent, a Gate into the Garden. The _Count_ set his Wits\nto work, to get the Keys of those two Doors; that of the Garden stood\nalways in it, nor cou\u2019d he keep it without its being miss\u2019d at Night,\nwhen they shou\u2019d come to fasten the Gate, therefore he carefully took\nthe Impression in Wax, and had one made exactly like it: The other he\ncou\u2019d by no means compass without making some excuse to go to MELLIORA\u2019S\nChamber, and she had desired that none might visit her: But he overcome\nthis Bar to his Design at last; there was a Cabinet in it, where he told\nALOVISA he had put some Papers of great Concern, which now he wanted to\nlook over, and desired she would make an Apology for his coming in, to\nfetch them. MELLIORA imagin\u2019d this was only a Pretence to see her, but\nhis Wife being with him, and he saying nothing to her, or taking any\nfurther notice than what common Civility required, was not much troubled\nat it. While ALOVISA was paying a Complement to the Recluse, he was\ndext\u2019rous enough to slip the Key out of the Door, unperceiv\u2019d by either\nof them.\nAs soon as he had got the Passport to his expected Joys in his\nPossession, he order\u2019d a couple of Saddle Horses to be made ready, and\nonly attended by one Servant, rid out, as if to take the Air; but when\nthey were got about two or three Miles from his House, Commanded him to\nreturn and tell his Lady, that he should lye that Night at the _Baron_\nD\u2019ESPERNAY\u2019S, the Fellow obey\u2019d, and clapping Spurs to his Horse, was\nimmediately lost in a Cloud of Dust.\nD\u2019ELMONT had sent this Message to prevent any of the Family sitting\nup expecting him, and instead of going to the _Barons_, turn\u2019d short,\nand went to _Angerville_, where meeting with some Gentlemen of his\nAcquaintance, he pass\u2019d the Hours \u2019till between Twelve and One, as\npleasantly as his Impatience to be with MELLIORA would give him leave:\nHe had not much above a Furlong to ride, and his Desires made him not\nspare his Horse, which he ty\u2019d by the Bridle, hot and foaming as he was,\nto a huge Oak, which grew pretty near his Garden; it was incompass\u2019d\nonly with a Hedge, and that so low, that he got over it without any\nDifficulty; he look\u2019d carefully about him, and found no Tell-tale Lights\nin any of the Rooms, and concluding all was as hush\u2019d as he cou\u2019d wish,\nopen\u2019d the first Door, but the encreasing Transports of his Soul, as he\ncame up Stairs, to be so near the end of all his Wishes, are more easily\nimagin\u2019d than express\u2019d; but as violent as they were, they presently\nreceiv\u2019d a vast Addition, when he came into the happy Chamber, and by a\nmost delightfull Gloom, a Friend to Lovers, (for it was neither Dark nor\nLight), he beheld the lovely MELLIORA in her Bed, and fast asleep, her\nHead was reclin\u2019d on one of her Arms; a Pillow softer and whiter far than\nthat it lean\u2019d on, the other was stretch\u2019d out, and with its extension\nhad thrust down the Bed-cloths so far, that all the Beauties of her Neck\nand Breast appear\u2019d to View. He took an inexpressible Pleasure in gazing\non her as she lay, and in this silent Contemplation of her thousand\nCharms, his Mind was agitated with various Emotions, and the resistless\nPosture he beheld her in, rouz\u2019d all that was honourable in him, he\nthought it Pity even to wake her, but more to wrong such Innocence; and\nhe was sometimes prompted to return and leave her as he found her.\nBut whatever Dominion, Honour and Virtue may have over our waking\nThoughts, \u2019tis certain that they fly from the clos\u2019d Eyes, our Passions\nthen exert their forceful Power, and that which is most Predominant in\nthe Soul, agitates the Fancy, and brings even Things impossible to pass:\nDesire, with watchful Diligence repell\u2019d, returns with greater Violence\nin unguarded Sleep, and overthrows the vain Efforts of Day. MELLIORA in\nspite of her self, was often happy in Idea, and possess\u2019d a Blessing\nwhich Shame and Guilt deter\u2019d her from in reality. Imagination at this\nTime was active, and brought the charming Count much nearer than indeed\nhe was, and he, stooping to the Bed, and gently laying his Face close\nto hers, (possibly designing no more than to steal a Kiss from her,\nunperceiv\u2019d) that Action concurring at that Instant with her Dream, made\nher throw her Arm (still slumbering) about his Neck, and in a soft and\nlanguishing Voice, cry out, O! D\u2019ELMONT, cease, cease to Charm, to such a\nheight----Life cannot bear these Raptures!---And then again Embracing him\nyet closer,---O! too, too lovely _Count_---Extatick Ruiner!\nWhere was now the Resolution he was forming some Moments before? If he\nhad now left her, some might have applauded an Honour so uncommon, but\nmore wou\u2019d have condemn\u2019d his Stupidity, for I believe there are very\nfew Men, how Stoical soever they pretend to be, that in such a tempting\nCircumstance would not have lost all Thoughts, but those, which the\npresent Opportunity inspir\u2019d. That he did, is most certain, for he tore\nopen his Wastecoat, and joyn\u2019d his panting Breast to hers, with such a\ntumultuous Eagerness! Seiz\u2019d her with such a rapidity of transported\nHope-crown\u2019d Passion, as immediately wak\u2019d her from an imaginary\nFelicity, to the Approaches of a solid one. Where have I been (said she,\njust opening her Eyes) where am I?---(And then coming more perfectly\nto her self) Heaven! What\u2019s this?--I am D\u2019ELMONT (cry\u2019d the o\u2019erjoy\u2019d\n_Count_) the happy D\u2019ELMONT! MELLIORA\u2019S, the charming MELLIORA\u2019S\nD\u2019ELMONT! Oh, all ye Saints, (resum\u2019d the surpriz\u2019d, trembling Fair) ye\nministring Angels! Whose Business it is to guard the Innocent! Protect\nand shield my Virtue! O! say, how came you here, my Lord? Love, said\nhe, Love that does all, that Wonder-working Power has sent me here, to\ncharm thee, sweet Resister, into yielding. O! hold, (cry\u2019d she, finding\nhe was proceeding to Liberties, which her Modesty could not allow of)\nforbear, I do conjure you, even by that Love you plead, before my Honour\nI\u2019ll resign my Life! Therefore, unless you wish to see me dead, a Victim\nto your cruel, fatal Passion, I beg you to desist, and leave me:---I\ncannot---must not (answer\u2019d he, growing still more bold) what, when I\nhave thee thus! Thus naked in my Arms, trembling, defenceless, yielding,\npanting with equal Wishes, thy Love confess\u2019d, and every Thought, Desire!\nWhat could\u2019st thou think if I should leave thee? How justly would\u2019st\nthou scorn my easy Tameness; my Dulness, unworthy the Name of Lover, or\neven of Man!--Come, come, no more Reluctance (continued he, gathering\nKisses from her soft Snowy Breast at every Word) Damp not the Fires thou\nhast rais\u2019d with seeming Coyness! I know thou art mine! All mine! And\nthus I--yet think (said she, interrupting him, and struggling in his\nArms) think what \u2019tis that you wou\u2019d do; nor, for a Moment\u2019s Joy, hazard\nyour Peace for ever. By Heaven, cry\u2019d he, I will this Night be Master of\nmy Wishes, no matter what to Morrow may bring forth: As soon as he had\nspoke these Words, he put it out of her Power either to deny or reproach\nhim, by stopping her Mouth with Kisses, and was just on the Point of\nmaking good what he had vow\u2019d, when a loud knocking at the Chamber Door,\nput a stop to his beginning Extacy, and chang\u2019d the sweet Confusion\nMELLIORA had been in, to all the Horrors, of a Shame and Guilt-distracted\nApprehension: They made no Doubt but that it was ALOVISA, and that they\nwere betray\u2019d; the _Count\u2019s_ greatest Concern was for MELLIORA, and the\nKnocking still continuing louder, all he cou\u2019d do in this Exigence,\nwas to make his Escape the Way he came: There was no time for taking\nleave, and he could only say, perceiving she was ready to faint with\nher Fears-----Be comforted my Angel, and resolute in your Denials, to\nwhatever Questions the natural Insolence of a Jealous Wife may provoke\nmine to ask you; and we shall meet again (if D\u2019ELMONT survives this\nDisappointment) without Danger, of so quick, so curst a Separation.\nMELLIORA was in too much Distraction to make any Answer to what he said,\nand he had left the Room some Moments, before she cou\u2019d get Spirit enough\nto ask who was at the Door? But when she did, was as much surpriz\u2019d\nto find it was MELANTHA, who desir\u2019d to be let in, as before she was\nfrighted at the Belief it was ALOVISA, however, she immediately slipt on\nher Night-Gown and Slippers, and open\u2019d the Door.\nYou are a sound Sleeper indeed (Cry\u2019d MELANTHA laughing) that all the\nNoise I have made cou\u2019d not wake you. I have not been all this time\nasleep (answer\u2019d MELLIORA) but not knowing you were in the House, cou\u2019d\nnot imagine who it was that gave me this Disturbance. I heartily ask your\nPardon (said MELANTHA) and I know, my Dear, you are too good Natur\u2019d to\nrefuse it me, especially when you know the Occasion, which is so very\nWhimsical, that as grave as you are, you cannot help being diverted with\nit----But come (continu\u2019d she) get on your Cloaths, for you must go\nalong with me. Where, said MELLIORA, Nay, nay, ask no Questions (resum\u2019d\nMELANTHA) but make haste, every Minute that we Idle away here, loses us\nthe Diversion of an Age. As she spoke these Words, she fell into such an\nexcessive Laughter, that MELLIORA thought her Mad, but being far from\nSympathizing in her Gaiety; it has always (said she) been hitherto my\nCustom to have some Reason for what I do, tho\u2019 in never so trifling an\nAffair, and you must excuse me, if I do not break it now. Pish (cry\u2019d\nMELANTHA) you are of the oddest Temper,----but I will give you your Way\nfor once,-----provided you\u2019ll get your self ready in the mean time. I\nshall certainly put on my Cloaths (said MELLIORA) lest I should take\ncold, for I expect you\u2019ll not permit me to sleep any more this Night.\nYou may be sure of it (rejoyn\u2019d MELANTHA.) But to the Purpose,-----You\nmust know, having an Hour or two on my hands, I came this Evening to\nvisit ALOVYSA, and found her in the strangest Humour!----Good God! What\nunaccountable Creatures these married Women are?----her Husband it seems\nhad sent her Word that he wou\u2019d lye at my Brothers, and the poor loving\nSoul cou\u2019d not bear to live a Night without him. I stay\u2019d to condole\nwith her, (tho\u2019 on my Life, I cou\u2019d scarce forbear Laughing in her Face)\n\u2019till it was too late to go Home.----About twelve a Clock she yawn\u2019d,\nstretch\u2019d, and grew most horridly out of Temper; rail\u2019d at Mankind\nprodigiously, and curs\u2019d Matrimony as heartily as one of Fourscore cou\u2019d\ndo, that had been twice a Widow, and was left a Maid!----With much\nado, I made her Women thrust her into Bed, and retired to a Chamber\nwhich they shew\u2019d me, but I had no Inclination to sleep, I remember\u2019d\nmy self of five or six _Billet-Doux_ I had to answer,----a Lover, that\ngrowing foolishly troublesome, I have some thoughts of discharging to\nMorrow----Another that I design to Countenance, to pique a third----a new\nSuit of Cloaths, and Trimmings for the next Ball----Half a hundred new\nSongs---and---a thousand other Affairs of the utmost Consequence to a\nyoung Lady, came into my Head in a Moment; and the Night being extreamly\npleasant, I set the Candle in the Chimney, open\u2019d the Window, and fell\nto considering---But I had not been able to come to a conclusion what I\nshould do in any one thing I was thinking of, before I was interrupted\nin my Cogitations, with a noise of something rushing hastily thro\u2019 the\nMyrtles under my Window, and presently after, saw it was a Man going\nhastily along toward the great Alley of the Garden.----At first I was\ngoing to cry out and Alarm the Family, taking it for a Thief; But,\nDear MELLIORA, how glad am I that I did not?----For who do you think,\nwhen I look\u2019d more heedfully, I perceiv\u2019d it was? Nay, how should I\nknow? (cry\u2019d MELLIORA peevishly, fearing the _Count\u2019s_ Inadvertency\nhad expos\u2019d himself and her to this foolish Woman\u2019s Curiosity) It was\n_Count_ D\u2019ELMONT (resum\u2019d MELANTHA) I\u2019ll lay my Life, that he has been\non some Intreague to Night: And met with a Disappointment in it, by his\nquick Return.---But prithee make hast, for I long to rally him about\nit. What wou\u2019d you do Madam? (said MELLIORA) you wou\u2019d not sure go to\nhim? Yes, (answer\u2019d MELANTHA): I will go down into the Garden, and so\nshall you.---I know you have a back Way from your Chamber---Therefore\nlay aside this unbecoming Demureness, and let us go, and talk him to\nDeath. You may do as you please, (said MELLIORA) but for my part, I am\nfor no such Frolicks. Was ever any thing so young, so Formal as you are!\n(Rejoyn\u2019d MELANTHA) but I am resolv\u2019d to Teaze you out of a humour so\ndirectly opposite to the _Beau-Monde_, and, if you will not Consent to go\ndown with me: I will fetch him up to your Chamber----Hold! Hold, (cry\u2019d\nMELLIORA perceiving she was going) what do you mean, for Heavens sake\nstay, what will ALOVYSA think?---I care not, reply\u2019d the other; I have\nset my Heart on an hours Diversion with him and will not be baulk\u2019d,\nif the repose of the World, much less, that of a Jealous, silly Wife,\ndepended on it.\nMELLIORA saw into the Temper of this Capricious young Lady too well not\nto believe she wou\u2019d do, as she had said, and perhaps, was not over\nwilling to venture her with the _Count_ alone, at that Time of Night,\nand in the Humour she knew he was, therefore putting on an Air more\nchearful than that she was Accustom\u2019d to wear, well (said she) I will\nAccompany you into the Garden, since it will so much oblige you; but if\nthe _Count_ be wise, he will, by quitting the Place, as soon as he sees\nus, disappoint you worse than I shou\u2019d have done, if I had kept you here.\nWith these Words she took her by the Hand, and they went down the Stairs,\nwhere the _Count_ was but just past before them.\nHe had not Power to go away, without knowing who it was, that had given\nhim that Interruption, and had stood all this Time, on the upper Step\nbehind the inner Door. His Vexation, and Disdain when he heard it was\nMELANTHA gave him as much Pain, as his Concern while he believ\u2019d it\nALOVYSA, and he cou\u2019d not forbear muttering a thousand Curses on her\nImpertinence. He always despis\u2019d, but now abhor\u2019d her: She had behav\u2019d\nher self to him in a Fashion, as made him sufficiently Sensible she was\ndesirous of engaging him, and he resolv\u2019d to Mortifie by the bitterest\nSlights, both her Pride, and Love, if \u2019tis proper, to call that sort of\nliking which Agitates the Soul of _Coquet_, by that Name.\nThe Ladies walk\u2019d in the Garden for some time, and MELANTHA search\u2019d\nevery Bush, before she found the _Count_ who stood Conceal\u2019d in the\nPorch, which being cover\u2019d with _Jessamin_, and _Fillaree_, was Dark\nenough to hide him from their View, tho\u2019 they had pass\u2019d close to him\nas they came out. He had certainly remain\u2019d there \u2019till Morning, and\ndisappointed MELANTHA\u2019S search in part of the Revenge he ow\u2019d her, if his\nDesires to be with MELLIORA, on any Terms, had not prevail\u2019d, even above\nhis Anger to the other. But he cou\u2019d not see that Charmer of his Soul,\nand imagine there might be yet an opportunity that Night of stealing a\nKiss from her (now he believ\u2019d resistless Lips) of Touching her Hand!\nHer Breast! And repeating some farther Freedoms which his late Advantage\nover her had given him, without being fill\u2019d with Wishes too Fiery and\ntoo Impatient to be restrain\u2019d. He watch\u2019d their turning, and when he saw\nthat they were near an Ally which had another that led to it, he went\nround and met them.\nMELANTHA was overjoy\u2019d at sight of him, and MELLIORA, tho\u2019 equally\npleas\u2019d, was Cover\u2019d with such a Confusion, at the Remembrance of what\nhad pass\u2019d, that it was happy for her that her Companion\u2019s Volubility\ngave her no room for Speech. There is nothing more certain, than that\nLove, tho\u2019 it fills the mind with a thousand charming Ideas, which those\nuntouch\u2019d by that Passion, are not capable of conceiving, yet it entirely\ntakes away the Power of Utterance, and the deeper Impression it had\nmade on the Soul, the less we are able to express it, when willing to\nindulge and give a loose to Thought; what Language can furnish us with\nWords sufficient, all are too poor, all wanting both in Sublimity, and\nSoftness, and only Fancy! A lovers Fancy! can reach the Exalted soaring\nof a Lovers Meaning! But, if so impossible to be Describ\u2019d, if of so\nVast, so Wonderful a Nature as nothing but it\u2019s self can Comprehend, how\nmuch more impossible must it be, entirely to conceal it! What Strength of\nboasted Reasons? What Force of Resolution? What modest Fears, or cunning\nArtifice can correct the Fierceness of its fiery Flashes in the Eyes,\nkeep down the struggling Sighs, command the Pulse, and bid trembling\ncease? Honour and Virtue may distance Bodies, but there is no Power\nin either of those Names, to stop the Spring, that with a rapid Whirl\ntransports us from our selves, and darts our Souls into the Bosom of the\ndarling Object. This may seem strange to many, even of those who call,\nand perhaps believe that they are Lovers, but the few who have Delicacy\nenough to feel what I but imperfectly attempt to speak, will acknowledge\nit for Truth, and pity the Distress of MELLIORA.\nAs they were passing thro\u2019 a Walk of Trees on each Side, whose\nintermingling Boughs made a friendly Darkness, and every thing\nUndistinguishable, the Amorous D\u2019ELMONT throwing his eager Arms round the\nWaist of his (no less transported) MELLIORA, and Printing burning Kisses\non her Neck, reap\u2019d painful Pleasure, and created in her a racking kind\nof Extasie, which might perhaps, had they been now alone, prov\u2019d her\nDesires were little different from his.\nAfter MELANTHA had vented part of the Raillery, she was so big with, on\nthe _Count_, which he but little regarded, being wholly taken up with\nother Thoughts, she propos\u2019d, going into the Wilderness, which was at\nthe farther end of the Garden, and they readily agreeing to it. Come, my\nLord, (said she) to the _Count_, you are Melancholly, I have thought of a\nway which will either indulge the Humour you are in, or divert it, as you\nshall chuse: There are several little Paths in this Wilderness, let us\ntake each a separate one, and when we meet, which shall be here, where we\npart, agree to tell an entertaining Story, which, whoever fails in, shall\nbe doom\u2019d to the Punishment of being left here all Night: The _Count_\nat these Words, forgot all his Animosity, and was ready to hug her for\nthis Proposal. MELLIORA did a little oppose it; but the others were too\nPowerful, and she was forc\u2019d to submit: Thou art the dullest Creature,\nI\u2019ll lay my Life, (my Lord, cry\u2019d MELANTHA, taking hold of the Count in a\ngay manner) that it falls to her Lot to stay in the Wilderness. Oh Madam,\n(reply\u2019d the _Count_) you are too severe, we ought always to suspend our\nJudgment \u2019till after the Tryal, which I confess my self so pleas\u2019d with,\nthat I am Impatient for its coming on: Well then, (said she, laughing)\nfarewel for half an Hour. Agreed (cry\u2019d the _Count_) and walk\u2019d away:\nMELANTHA saw which way he went, and took another Path, leaving MELLIORA\nto go forward in that, in which they were, but I believe the Reader will\neasily imagine that she was not long to enjoy the Priviledge of her\nMeditations.\nAfter the _Count_ had gone some few Paces, he planted himself behind\na Thicket, which, while it hid him, gave the Opportunity of observing\nthem, and when he found the Coast clear, rush\u2019d out, and with unhurting\nGripe, seiz\u2019d once more on the unguarded Prey. Blest turn of Fortune,\n(said he in a Rapture,) Happy, happy Moment!---Lost, lost MELLIORA, (said\nshe) most unhappy Maid!---Oh why, my Lord, this quick Return? This is no\nPlace to answer thee, (resum\u2019d he, taking her in his Arms, and bearing\nher behind that Thicket, where he himself had stood) \u2019twas in vain for\nher to resist, if she had had the Power over her Inclinations, \u2019till he,\nsitting her softly down, and beginning to Caress her in the manner he\nhad done when she was in Bed, she assum\u2019d Strength enough to raise her\nself a little, and catching hold of his Transgressing Hands, laid her\nFace on them, and Bath\u2019d them in a shower of Tears: O! D\u2019ELMONT (said\nshe) Cruel D\u2019ELMONT! Will you then take Advantage of my Weakness? I\nconfess I feel for you, a Passion, far beyond all, that yet, ever bore\nthe Name of Love, and that I can no longer withstand the too powerful\nMagick of your Eyes, nor deny any Thing that charming Tongue can ask; but\nnow\u2019s the Time to prove your self the Heroe! subdue your self, as you\nhave Conquer\u2019d me! be satisfied with Vanquishing my Soul, fix there your\nThrone, but leave my Honour free! Life of my Life (cry\u2019d he) wound me no\nmore by such untimely Sorrows: I cannot bear thy Tears, by Heaven they\nsink into my Soul, and quite unman me, but tell me (continu\u2019d he tenderly\nKissing her) coud\u2019st thou, with all this Love, this charming----something\nmore than softness-----cou\u2019dst thou I say, consent to see me Pale and\nDead, stretch\u2019d at thy Feet, consum\u2019d with inward Burnings, rather than\nblest, than rais\u2019d by Love, and thee, to all a Deity in thy Embraces?\nFor O! Believe me when I swear, that \u2019tis impossible to live without\nthee. No more, no more (said she letting her Head fall gently on his\nBreast) too easily I guess thy sufferings by my own. But yet, D\u2019ELMONT\n\u2019tis better to die in Innocence, than to live in Guilt. O! Why (Resum\u2019d\nhe, sighing as if his Heart wou\u2019d burst) shou\u2019d what we can\u2019t avoid,\nbe call\u2019d a Crime? Be Witness for me Heaven! How much I have struggl\u2019d\nwith this rising Passion, even to Madness struggl\u2019d!---but in vain, the\nmounting Flame blazes the more, the more I wou\u2019d suppress it---my very\nSoul\u2019s on Fire---I cannot bear it---Oh MELLIORA! Didst thou but know the\nthousandth Part, of what this Moment I endure, the strong Convulsions of\nmy warring Thoughts, thy Heart steel\u2019d as it is, and Frosted round with\nVirtue, wou\u2019d burst it\u2019s icy Shield, and melt in Tears of Blood, to pity\nme. Unkind and Cruel! (answer\u2019d she) do I not partake them then?----Do\nI not bear, at least, an equal share in all your Agonies? Have---you\nno Charms---or have not I a Heart?---A most susceptible and tender\nHeart?----Yes, you may feel it Throb, it beats against my Breast, like\nan Imprison\u2019d Bird, and fain wou\u2019d burst it\u2019s Cage! to fly to you, the\naim of all it\u2019s Wishes!--Oh D\u2019ELMONT!--With these Words she sunk wholly\ninto his Arms unable to speak more: Nor was he less dissolv\u2019d in Rapture,\nboth their Souls seem\u2019d to take Wing together, and left their Bodies\nMotionless, as unworthy to bear a part in their more elevated Bliss.\nBut D\u2019ELMONT at his returning Sense, repenting the Effects of the violent\nTransport, he had been in was now, preparing to take from the resistless\nMELLIORA, the last, and only remaining Proof that she was all his own,\nwhen MELANTHA (who had contriv\u2019d this separation only with a Design to be\nalone with the _Count_, and had carefully observ\u2019d which way he took) was\ncoming towards them. The rustling of her Cloaths among the Bushes, gave\nthe disappointed Couple leave to rise from the Posture they were in, and\nMELLIORA to abscond behind a Tree, before she could come near enough to\ndiscern who was there.\nMELANTHA, as soon as she saw the _Count_, put on an Air, of Surprize, as\nif it were but by Chance, that she was come into his walk, and Laughing\nwith a visible Affectation, bless me! You here, my Lord! (said she) I vow\nthis has the look of Assignation, but I hope you will not be so vain as\nto believe I came on purpose to seek you. No Madam (answer\u2019d he coldly)\nI have not the least Thought of being so happy. Lord! You are strangely\ngrave (Rejoyn\u2019d she) but suppose I really had come with a Design to meet\nyou, what kind of Reception might I have expected? I know no Reason Madam\n(said he) that can oblige me to entertain a Supposition so unlikely.\nWell then (resum\u2019d she) I\u2019ll put it past a Supposition, and tell you\nplainly, that I did walk this way on purpose to divert your Spleen. I\nam sorry (reply\u2019d he, tir\u2019d to Death with her Impertinence) that you\nare disappointed; for I am not in a Humour at present, of receiving\nany Diversion. Fie (said she) is this an answer for the gay, Gallant,\nengaging _Count_ D\u2019ELMONT, to give a Lady who makes a Declaration of\nadmiring him----who thinks it not too much to make the first Advances,\nand who wou\u2019d believe her self fully recompenc\u2019d for breaking thro\u2019 the\nnice Decorums of her Sex, if he receiv\u2019d it kindly---Madam (said he, not\na little amaz\u2019d at her Imprudence) I know of no such Person, or if I did,\nI must confess, shou\u2019d be very much puzled how to behave in an Adventure\nso uncommon: Pish (answer\u2019d she, growing vext at his coldness) I know\nthat such Adventures are not uncommon with you: I\u2019m not to learn the\nStory of ALOVYSA, and if you had not been first Address\u2019d, perhaps might\nhave been \u2019till now unmarried. Well Madam (said he, more out of humour)\nput the Case that what you say were true, I am married; and therefore,\n(interrupted she) you ought to be better acquainted with the Temper of\nour Sex, and know, that a Woman, where she says she Loves, expects a\nthousand fine things in Return. But there is more than a possibility\n(answer\u2019d he) of her being disappointed, and methinks Madam, a Lady of\nyour Gaity shou\u2019d be conversant enough with Poetry, to remember those too\nLines of a famous English Poet.\n    _All naturally fly, what does Pursue_\n    _\u2019Tis fit Men shou\u2019d be Coy, when Women Woe._\nMELANTHA was fretted to the Heart to find him so insensible, but not\nbeing one of those who are apt to repent any thing they have done, she\nonly pretended to fall into a violent fit of Laughter, and when she came\nout of it, I confess (said she) that I have lost my Aim, which was, to\nmake you believe I was dying for Love of you, raise you to the highest\nDegree of Expectation, and then have the pleasure of baulking you at\nonce, by letting you know the jest.----But your Lordship is too hard for\nme, even at my own Weapon, ridicule! I am mightly obliged to you Madam\n(answer\u2019d he, more briskly than before) for your Intention, however; but\n\u2019tis probable, if I cou\u2019d have been drawn into a Belief that you were in\nearnest, I might, at such a Time, and such a Place as this, have taken\nsome Measures which wou\u2019d have sufficiently reveng\u2019d me on you----but\ncome Madam, (continu\u2019d he) the Morning begins to break, if you please we\nwill find out MELLIORA, and go into the House: As he spoke these Words,\nthey perceiv\u2019d her coming towards them, who had only taken a little round\nto meet \u2019em, and they all three made what hast they cou\u2019d in: _Count_\nD\u2019ELMONT asked a formal leave of MELLIORA to go thro\u2019 her Chamber, none\nof the Servants being yet stirring, to let him into the House any other\nway, which being granted, he cou\u2019d not help sighing as he passed by\nthe Bed, where he had been lately so cruelly disappointed, but had no\nopportunity to speak his Thoughts at that time to MELLIORA.\nThe _Count_ rung for his Gentleman to rise to undress him, and order\u2019d\nhim to send somebody to take care of his Horse, and went to Bed,\nALOVYSA was very much surpriz\u2019d at his return from the _Baron_\u2019s at so\nunseasonable an Hour, but much more so, when in the Morning, MELANTHA\ncame laughing into the Chamber, and told her, all that she knew of the\nAdventure of the Night before; her old fit of Jealousie now resum\u2019d\nit\u2019s Dominion in her Soul, she cou\u2019d not forbear thinking, that there\nwas something more in it, than MELANTHA had discover\u2019d: And presently\nimagin\u2019d that her Husband stay\u2019d not at the _Baron_\u2019s, because she\nwas abroad; but she was more confirm\u2019d in this Opinion, when MELANTHA\ncalling for her Coach to go home; the _Count_ told her that he wou\u2019d\naccompany her thither, having urgent Business with her Brother. \u2019Tis\nalmost impossible to guess the rage ALOVYSA was in, but she dissembled\nit \u2019till they were gone, then going to MELLIORA\u2019s Chamber, she vented\npart of it there, and began to question her about their Behaviour in the\nWilderness. Tho\u2019 MELLIORA was glad to find, since she was jealous, that\nshe was jealous of any Body rather than her self, yet she said all that\nshe cou\u2019d, to perswade her, that she had no Reason to be uneasie.\nBut ALOVYSA was always of too fiery a Nature to listen patiently to any\nthing that cou\u2019d be offer\u2019d, to alter the Opinion she had taken up, tho\u2019\nit were with never so little an appearance of Reason, but much more now,\nwhen she thought her self, in a manner Confirm\u2019d: Forbear (said she)\nDear MELLIORA to take the part of perfidy: I know he hates me, I read\nit in his Eyes, and feel it on his Lips, all Day he shuns my Converse,\nand at night, colder than Ice, receives my warm Embraces, and when, (oh\nthat I cou\u2019d tear the tender folly from me Heart) with Words as soft\nas Love can Form, I urge him to disclose the Cause of his Disquiet, he\nanswers but in sighs, and turns away: Perhaps (reply\u2019d MELLIORA) his\nTemper naturally is gloomy, and love it self, has scarce the Power to\nalter Nature. Oh no, (Interrupted ALOVYSA) far from it: Had I ne\u2019er\nknown him otherwise, I cou\u2019d forgive what now I know, but he was once as\nkind as tender Mothers to their new born Babes, and fond as the first\nWishes of desiring Youth: Oh! With what eagerness has he approach\u2019d\nme, when absent but an Hour!---Hadst thou \u2019ere seen him in those Days\nof Joy, even, thou, cold Cloyster\u2019d Maid, must have ador\u2019d him What\nMajesty, then sat upon his Brow?-----What Matchless Glories shone around\nhim!----Miriads of _Cupids_, shot resistless Darts in every Glance,---his\nVoice when softned in amorous Accents, boasted more Musick, than the\nPoet _Orpheus!_ When e\u2019re he spoke, methought the Air seem\u2019d Charm\u2019d,\nthe Winds forgot to blow, all Nature listn\u2019d, and like ALOVISA melted\ninto Transport----but he is chang\u2019d in all----the Heroe, and the Lover\nare Extinct, and all that\u2019s left, of the once gay D\u2019ELMONT, is a dull\nsenceless Picture: MELLIORA was too sensibly Touch\u2019d with this Discourse,\nto be able presently to make any Answer to it, and she cou\u2019d not forbear\naccompanying her in Tears, while ALOVYSA renew\u2019d her Complaints in this\nmanner; his Heart (said she) his Heart is lost, for ever Ravish\u2019d from\nme, that Bosom where I had Treasur\u2019d all my Joys, my Hopes, my Wishes,\nnow burns and pants, with longings for a rival Curst! Curst, MELANTHA,\nby Heaven they are even impudent in Guilt, they Toy, they Kiss, and make\nAssignations before my Face, and this Tyrant Husband braves me with his\nfalsehood, and thinks to awe me into Calmness, but, if I endure it---No\n(continu\u2019d she stamping, and walking about the Room in a disorder\u2019d\nMotion) I\u2019ll be no longer the tame easie wretch I have been---all\n_France_ shall Eccho with my Wrongs---The ungrateful Monster!---Villain,\nwhose well nigh wasted Stream of Wealth had dry\u2019d, but for my kind of\nsupply, shall he enslave me!--Oh MELLIORA shun the Marriage Bed, as thou\nwoud\u2019st a Serpents Den, more Ruinous, more Poysonous far, is Man.\n\u2019Twas in vain that MELLIORA endeavour\u2019d to pacifie her, she continu\u2019d in\nthis Humour all Day, and in the Evening receiv\u2019d a considerable Addition\nto her former Disquiet: The _Count_ sent a Servant of the _Barons_\n(having not taken any of his own with him) to acquaint her, that he\nshou\u2019d not be at home that Night. \u2019Tis well (said she ready to burst with\nRage) let the _Count_ know that I can change as well as he, and shall\nexcuse his Absence tho\u2019 it lasts to all Eternity, (go continu\u2019d she,\nseeing him surpriz\u2019d) deliver this Message, and withal, assure him, that\nwhat I say, I mean. She had scarce made an end of these Words, when she\nflung out of the Room, unable to utter more, and lock\u2019d her self into her\nChamber, leaving MELLIORA no less distracted, tho\u2019 for different Reasons,\nto retire to her\u2019s.\nShe had not \u2019till now, had a moments Time for reflection since her\nAdventure in the Wilderness, and the Remembrance of it, joyn\u2019d with the\nDespair, and Grief of ALOVISA, which she knew her self the sole occasion\nof, threw her into most terrible Agonies. She was ready to die with\nshame, when she consider\u2019d how much the secret of her Soul was laid open\nto him, who of all the World she ought most to have conceal\u2019d it from,\nand with remorse, for the Miseries her fatal Beauty was like to bring on\na Family for whom she had the greatest Friendship.\nBut these Thoughts soon gave way to another, equally as shocking, she was\npresent when the Servant brought Word the _Count_ wou\u2019d lie abroad, and\nhad all the Reason imaginable to believe that Message was only a feint,\nthat he might have an opportunity to come unobserv\u2019d to her Chamber,\nas he had done the Night before. She cou\u2019d not presently guess by what\nmeans he had got in, and therefore was at a loss how to prevent him,\n\u2019till recollecting all the Circumstances of that tender interview, she\nremembred that when MELANTHA had surpriz\u2019d them, he made his escape by\nthe back Stairs into the Garden, and that when they went down, the Door\nwas lock\u2019d: Therefore concluded it must be by a Key, that he had gain\u2019d\nadmittance: And began to set her Invention to Work, how to keep this\ndangerous Enemy to her Honour, from coming in a second Time. She had no\nKeys that were large enough to fill the Wards, and if she had put one in,\non the inside, it wou\u2019d have fallen out immediately on the least touch,\nbut at last, after trying several ways, she tore her Handkerchief into\nsmall pieces, and thrust it into the hole with her Busk, so hard, that it\nwas impossible for any Key to enter.\nMELLIORA thought she had done a very Heroick Action, and sate her self\ndown on the Bed-side in a pleas\u2019d Contemplation of the Conquest, she\nbeliev\u2019d her Virtue had gain\u2019d over her Passion: But alas, How little did\nshe know the true State of her own Heart? She no sooner heard a little\nnoise at the Door, as presently after she did, but she thought it was the\n_Count_, and began to tremble not with fear, but desire.\nIt was indeed _Count_ D\u2019ELMONT, who had borrow\u2019d Horses and a Servant of\nthe _Baron_, and got into the Garden as before, but with a much greater\nAssurance now of making himself entirely happy in the Gratification of\nhis utmost Wishes. But \u2019tis impossible to represent the greatness of\nhis vexation and surprize, when all his Efforts to open the Door, were\nin vain: He found something had been done to the Lock, but cou\u2019d not\ndiscover what, nor by any means remove the obstacle which MELLIORA had\nput there. She, on the other hand, was in all the confusion imaginable:\nSometimes prompted by the violence of her Passion, she wou\u2019d run to the\nDoor, resolving to open it; and then, frighted with the apprehension of\nwhat wou\u2019d be the Consequence, as hastily fly from it: If he had stay\u2019d\nmuch longer, \u2019tis possible love wou\u2019d have got the better of all other\nConsiderations, but a light appearing on the other side of the Garden,\noblig\u2019d the thrice disappointed Lover, to quit his Post. He had sent\naway the Horses by the Servant who came with him, and had no opportunity\nof going to the _Barons_ that Night, so came to his own Fore-gate, and\nthunder\u2019d with a force, suitable to the fury he was possest with; it was\npresently open\u2019d, most of the Family being up. ALOVISA had rav\u2019d her self\ninto Fits, and her disorder created full Employment for the Servants,\nwho busily running about the House with Candles fetching things for her,\noccasion\u2019d that reflection which he had seen.\nThe _Count_ was told of his Lady\u2019s Indisposition, but he thought he had\nsufficient pretence not to come where she was, after the Message she had\nsent him by the _Baron_\u2019s Servant, and order\u2019d a Bed to be made ready for\nhim in another Chamber.\nALOVISA soon heard he was come in, and it was with much ado, that her\nWomen prevail\u2019d on her not to rise and go to him that moment, so little\ndid she remember what she had said. She pass\u2019d the Night in most terrible\nInquietudes, and early in the Morning went to his Chamber, but finding it\nshut, she was oblig\u2019d to wait, tho\u2019 with a World of impatience, \u2019till she\nheard he was stirring, which not being till towards Noon, she spent all\nthat Time in considering how she shou\u2019d accost him.\nAs soon as the Servant whom she had order\u2019d to watch, brought her Word\nthat his Lord was dressing, she went into the Room, there was no body\nwith him but his Gentleman, and he withdrawing out of respect, imagining\nby both their Countenances, there might something be said, not proper\nfor him to hear. I see (said she) my Presence is unwish\u2019d, but I have\nlearn\u2019d from you to scorn Constraint, and as you openly avow your\nfalshood, I shall my Indignation, and my just Disdain! Madam (answer\u2019d\nhe suddenly) if you have any thing to reproach me with, you cou\u2019d not\nhave chose a more unlucky Time for it, than this, nor was I ever less\ndispos\u2019d to give you Satisfaction. No, barbarous cold Insulter! (resum\u2019d\nshe) I had not the least hope you wou\u2019d, I find that I am grown so low\nin your Esteem, I am not worth pains of an Invention.----By Heaven, this\ndamn\u2019d indifference is worse than the most vile Abuse!---\u2019Tis plain\nContempt!----O that I cou\u2019d resent it as I ought----then Sword, or Poison\nshou\u2019d revenge me---why am I so Curst to Love you still?---O that those\nFiends (continu\u2019d she, bursting into Tears) that have deform\u2019d thy Soul,\nwou\u2019d change thy Person too, turn every Charm to horrid Blackness, grim\nas thy Cruelty, and foul as thy Ingratitude, to free that Heart, thy\nPerjury has ruin\u2019d. I thought Madam (said he, with an Accent maliciously\nIronical) that you had thrown off, even the appearances of Love for me,\nby the Message you sent me Yesterday---O thou Tormenter (interrupted\nshe) hast thou not wrong\u2019d me in the tenderest Point, driven me to the\nlast Degree of Misery! To Madness!---To Despair? And dost thou----can\u2019st\nthou Reproach me for complaining?---Your coldness; your unkindness stung\nme to the Soul, and then I said, I know not what---but I remember well,\nthat I wou\u2019d have seem\u2019d careless, and indifferent like you. You need\nnot (reply\u2019d he) give your self the trouble of an Apology, I have no\ndesign to make a quarrel of it: And wish, for both our Peace, you cou\u2019d\nas easily moderate your Passions, as I can mine, and that you may the\nbetter do so, I leave you to reflect on what I have said, and the little\nReason I have ever given you for such intemperance. He left the Chamber\nwith these Words, which instead of quelling, more enflam\u2019d ALOVYSA\u2019s\nRage. She threw her self down into an Elbow Chair that stood there, and\ngave a loose to the Tempest of her Soul, Sometimes she curst, and vow\u2019d\nthe bitterest Revenge: Sometimes she wept, and at others, was resolv\u2019d\nto fly to Death, the only Remedy for neglected Love: In the midst of\nthese confus\u2019d Meditations, casting her Eye on a Table by her, she saw\nPaper, and something written on it, which hastily taking up, found it the\n_Count_\u2019s Character, and read (to her inexpressible Torment) these Lines.\n    [Illustration]\n    The Dispairing D\u2019ELMONT to his Repenting Charmer.\n    _What Cruel Star last Night, had Influence over my\n    Inhumane Dear? Say, to what Cause must I ascribe my Fatal\n    Disappointment? For I wou\u2019d fain believe I owe it not to\n    Thee!----Such an Action, after what thou hast confest, I cou\u2019d\n    expect from nothing but a Creature of_ MELANTHA\u2019s _Temper---no,\n    \u2019tis too much of the vain Coquet, and indeed too much of the\n    Jilt, for my Adorable to be guilty of--and yet---Oh how shall I\n    excuse thee? when every thing was hush\u2019d, Darkness my Friend,\n    and all my Wishes rais\u2019d, when every Nerve trembled with fierce\n    Desires, and my Pulse beat a call to Love, or Death,----(For\n    if I not enjoy thee, that will soon arrive) then, then what,\n    but thy self, forgetting all thy Vows, thy tender Vows of the\n    most Ardent Passion, cou\u2019d have destroyed my Hopes?---Oh where\n    was then that Love which lately flatter\u2019d my fond doating Soul,\n    when sinking, dying in my Arms, my Charmer lay! And suffer\u2019d\n    me to reap each Prologue favour to the greatest Bliss----But\n    they are past, and rigid Honour stands to Guard those joys,\nThere was no more written, but there needed no more to make ALOVYSA,\nbefore half distracted, now quite so. She was now convinc\u2019d that she had\na much more dangerous Rival than MELANTHA, and her Curiosity who it might\nbe, was not much less troublesome to her than other Passions.\nShe was going to seek her Husband with this Testimony of his Infidelity\nin her Hand, when he, remembring he had left it there, was coming hastily\nback to fetch it. The Excess of Fury which she met him with, is hardly\nto be imagin\u2019d, she upbraided him in such a Fashion as might be called\nreviling, and had so little regard to good Manners, or even decency in\nwhat she said, that it dissipated all the confusion he was in at first,\nto see so plain a Proof against him in her Hands, and rouz\u2019d him to a\nrage not much Inferior to her\u2019s. She endeavour\u2019d (tho\u2019 she took a wrong\nMethod) to bring him to a Confession, he had done amiss; and he, to lay\nthe Tempest of her Tongue, by storming louder, but neither succeeded in\ntheir wish: And he, stung with the bitterness of her Reproaches, and\ntired with Clamour, at last flung from her with a solemn Vow never to\neat, or Sleep with her more.\nA Wife if equally haughty and jealous, if less fond than ALOVYSA will\nscarce be able to comprehend the greatness of her Sufferings: And it is\nnot to be wonder\u2019d at, that she, so violent in all her Passions, and\nagitated by so many, at once, committed a thousand Extravagancies, which\nthose who know the force but of one, by the Aid of Reason, may avoid.\nShe tore down the _Count_\u2019s Picture which hung in the Room, and stamp\u2019d\non it, then the Letter, her own Cloaths, and Hair, and whoever had seen\nher in that Posture, wou\u2019d have thought she appear\u2019d more like what the\nFuries are represented to be, than a Woman.\nThe _Count_ when he took leave the Night before of the _Baron_\nD\u2019ESPERNAY, had promis\u2019d to return to him in the Morning, and give him\nan Account of his Adventure with MELLIORA, but the vexation of his\ndisappointment, and quarrel with his Wife, having hindred him all this\ntime, the _Baron_ came to his House, impatient to know the Success of an\nAffair on which his own hopes depended. He was told by the Servants that\ntheir Lord was above, and running hastily without Ceremony, the first\nPerson he saw was ALOVISA, in the condition I have describ\u2019d.\nThe _Baron_ had passionately lov\u2019d this Lady from the first Moment he had\nseen her, but it was with that sort of Love, which considers more it\u2019s\nown gratification, than the Interest, or quiet, of the object beloved.\nHe imagin\u2019d by the Wildness of ALOVYSA\u2019s Countenance and Behaviour, that\nthe _Count_ had given her some extraordinary occasion of distaste, and\nwas so far from being troubled at the Sorrow he beheld her in, that he\nrejoyc\u2019d in it, as the advancement of his Designs. But he wanted not\ncunning to disguise his Sentiments, and approaching her with a tender,\nand submissive Air, entreated her to tell him the Cause of her disorder.\nALOVYSA had always consider\u2019d him as a Person of worth, and one who\nwas entitled to her Esteem by the vast respect he always paid her, and\nthe Admiration, which in every opportunity, he exprest for her Wit and\nBeauty. She was not perhaps far from guessing the Extent of his Desires,\nby some Looks, and private Glances he had given her, and, notwithstanding\nher Passion, for the _Count_, was too vain to be offended at it. On the\ncontrary, it pleas\u2019d her Pride, and confirm\u2019d her in the good Opinion\nshe had of her self, to think a Man of his Sense shou\u2019d be compell\u2019d\nby the force of her irresistible Attractions to adore and to despair,\nand therefore made no Difficulty of disburthening all the anguish of her\nSoul, in the Bosom of this, as she believ\u2019d, so faithful Friend.\nThe _Baron_ seem\u2019d to receive this Declaration of her Wrongs, with all\nimaginable concern: And accus\u2019d the _Count_ of Stupidity in so little\nknowing the value of a Jewel he was Master of, and gave her some hints,\nthat he was not unsensible who the Lady was, that had been the Cause of\nit, which ALOVISA presently taking hold on, O speak her Name (said she)\nquick, let me know her, or own thy Friendship was but feign\u2019d to undo\nme, and that thou hatest the wretched ALOVISA. O far (resum\u2019d he) far be\nsuch thoughts, first let me Die, to prove my Zeal---my Faith, sincere\nto you, who only next to Heaven, are worthy Adoration---but forgive me,\nif I say, in this, you must not be obey\u2019d. O why, said she? Perhaps,\n(answer\u2019d he) I am a trusted Person---A confident, and if I should reveal\nthe secret of my Friend, I know, tho\u2019 you approv\u2019d the Treachery, you\nwou\u2019d detest the Traytor. O! Never (rejoyn\u2019d she impatiently) \u2019twou\u2019d\nbe a Service, more than the whole Study of my Life can pay----am I not\nRack\u2019d,----Stab\u2019d---and Mangled in Idea, by some dark Hand shaded with\nNight and Ignorance? And shou\u2019d I not be grateful for a friendly Clue\nto guide me from this Labyrinth of Doubt, to a full Day of Certainty,\nwhere all the fiend may stand expos\u2019d before me, and I have Scope to\nExecute my Vengeance? Besides, (continu\u2019d she, finding he was silent and\nseemingly extreamly mov\u2019d at what she said) \u2019tis joyning in the Cause\nof Guilt to hide her from me----come, you must tell me---your Honour\nsuffers else---both that, and pity, plead the Injur\u2019d\u2019s Cause. Alas (said\nhe) Honour can ne\u2019er consent to a Discovery of what, with solemn Vows I\nhave promis\u2019d to Conceal; but Oh!---There is something in my Soul, more\nPowerful, which says, that ALOVYSA must not be deny\u2019d. Why then (cry\u2019d\nshe) do you delay? Why keep me on the Rack, when one short Word wou\u2019d\nease me of my Torment? I have consider\u2019d (answer\u2019d he after a pause)\nMadam, you shall be satisfied, depend on it you shall, tho\u2019 not this\nMoment, you shall have greater Proofs than Words can give you----Occular\nDemonstration shall strike denial Dumb. What mean you? Interrupted she;\nyou shall behold (said he) the guilty pair, link\u2019d in each others Arms.\nOh ESPERNAY (rejoyn\u2019d she) coud\u2019st thou do that?---\u2019Tis easie (answer\u2019d\nhe) as I can order Matters---but longer Conferrence may render me\nsuspected---I\u2019ll go seek the _Count_, for he must be my Engine to betray\nhimself---In a Day or two, at farthest you shall enjoy all the Revenge\nDetection can bestow.\nALOVYSA wou\u2019d fain have perswaded him to have told her the Name of her\nRival, in part of that full Conviction he had promis\u2019d her, but in vain,\nand she was oblig\u2019d to leave the Issue of this Affair entirely to his\nManagement.\nThe _Baron_ was extreamly pleas\u2019d with the Progress he had made, and\ndid not doubt, but for the purchase of this secret he shou\u2019d obtain\nevery thing he desired of ALOVYSA. He found _Count_ D\u2019ELMONT full of\ntroubled and perplexed Thoughts, and when he had heard the History of\nhis disappointment: I am sorry to hear (said he) that the foolish Girl\ndoes not know her own mind---but come (my Lord continued he, after\na little pause) do not suffer your self to sink beneath a Caprice,\nwhich all those who converse much with that Sex must frequently meet\nwith---I have a Contrivance in my Head, that cannot fail to render all\nher peevish Virtue frustrate: And make her happy in her own despite. Oh\nESPERNAY! (reply\u2019d the _Count_) thou talkest as Friendship prompts thee,\nI know thou wishest my Success, but alas! So many, and such unforeseen\nAccidents have happen\u2019d hitherto to prevent me, that I begin to think\nthe Hand of Fate has set me down for lost. For shame my Lord (Interrupted\nthe _Baron_) be not so poor in Spirit----Once more I tell you that she\nshall be yours---a Day or two shall make her so---and because I know you\nLovers are unbelieving, and impatient----I will Communicate the Means. A\nBall, and Entertainment shall be provided at my House, to which, all the\nNeighbouring People of Condition shall be invited, amongst the number,\nyour self, your Lady, and MELLIORA; it will be late before \u2019tis done,\nand I must perswade your Family, and some others who live farthest off,\nto Countenance the Design to stay all Night; all that you have to do,\nis to keep up your Resentment to ALOVYSA, that you may have a pretence\nto sleep from her: I shall take care to have MELLIORA plac\u2019d where no\nImpediment may bar your Entrance. Impossible Suggestion! (cry\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT\nshaking his Head) ALOVYSA is in too much Rage of Temper to listen to\nsuch an Invitation, and without her, we must not hope for MELLIORA.\nHow Industrious are you (resum\u2019d the _Baron_) to create difficulties\nwhere there is none: Tho\u2019 I confess this may have, to you, a reasonable\nAppearance of one. But know, my Friendship builds it\u2019s hopes to serve you\non a sure Foundation---this jealous furious Wife, makes me the Confident\nof her imagin\u2019d Injuries, Conjures me to use all my Interest with you for\na reconcilement, and believes I am now pleading for her----I must for a\nwhile rail at your Ingratitude, and Condemn your want of Taste, to keep\nmy Credit with her, and now and then sweeten her with a doubtful Hope\nthat it may be possible at last to bring you to acknowledge, that you\nhave been in an Error; this at once confirms her, that I am wholly on her\nside, and engages her to follow my Advice.\nTho\u2019 nothing Palls desire so much as too easie an Assurance of Means to\ngratifie it, yet a little hope is absolutely necessary to preserve it.\nThe fiery Wishes of D\u2019ELMONT\u2019S Soul, before chill\u2019d by despair, and half\nsupprest with clouding Griefs, blaz\u2019d now, as fierce, and vigorous as\never, and he found so much probability in what the _Baron_ said, that he\nwas ready to adore him for the Contrivance.\nThus all Parties, but MELLIORA, remain\u2019d in a sort of a pleas\u2019d\nExpectation. The COUNT doubted not of being happy, nor ALOVISA of having\nher curiosity satisfy\u2019d by the _Baron\u2019s_ Assistance, nor himself of the\nreward he design\u2019d to demand of her for that good Service, and each\nlong\u2019d impatiently for the Day, or rather Night, which was to bring this\ngreat Affair to a Period. Poor MELLIORA was the only Person, who had no\ninterval of Comfort. Restrain\u2019d by Honour, and enflam\u2019d by Love, her very\nSoul was torn: And when she found that COUNT D\u2019ELMONT made no attempt\nto get into her Chamber again, as she imagin\u2019d he wou\u2019d, she fell into\na Despair more terrible than all her former Inquietudes; she presently\nfancy\u2019d that the disappointment he had met with the Night before, had\ndriven the hopeless Passion from his Heart, and the Thoughts of being no\nlonger beloved by him, were unsupportable. She saw him not all that Day,\nnor the next, the quarrel between him and ALOVISA having caus\u2019d separate\nTables, she was oblig\u2019d in Decency, to eat at that where she was, and had\nthe Mortification of hearing her self Curs\u2019d every Hour, by the enrag\u2019d\nWife, in the Name of her unknown Rival, without daring to speak a Word in\nher own Vindication.\nIn the mean time the _Baron_ diligent to make good the Promises he had\ngiven the COUNT and ALOVISA, for his own Ends, got every thing ready, and\ncame himself to D\u2019ELMONT\u2019S House, to entreat their Company at his. Now\nMadam (said he) to ALOVISA the time is come to prove your Servants Faith:\nThis Night shall put an end to your uncertainty: They had no opportunity\nfor further Speech; MELLIORA came that Moment into the Room, who being\nask\u2019d to go to the Ball, and seeming a little unwilling to appear at any\npublick Diversion, by Reason of the late Death of her Father, put the\n_Baron_ in a Mortal Apprehension for the Success of his Undertaking: But\nALOVYSA joyning in his Entreaties, she was at last prevail\u2019d upon: The\nCOUNT went along with the _Baron_ in his Chariot: And the Ladies soon\nfollow\u2019d in an other.\nThere was a vast deal of Company there, and the _Count_ danc\u2019d with\nseveral of the Ladies, and was extreamly gay amongst them: ALOVYSA\nwatch\u2019d his Behaviour, and regarded every one of them, in their Turn,\nwith Jealousie, but was far from having the least Suspicion of her whom\nonly she had Cause.\nTho\u2019 MELLIORA\u2019S greatest Motive to go, was, because she might have the\nhappiness of seeing her admir\u2019d _Count_; a Blessing, she had not enjoy\u2019d\nthese two Days, yet she took but little Satisfaction in that View,\nwithout an opportunity of being spoke to by him. But that uneasiness\nwas remov\u2019d, when the serious Dances being over, and they all joyning\nin a grand Ballet: He every now and then, got means to say a Thousand\ntender Things to her, press\u2019d her Hand whenever he turn\u2019d her, and wou\u2019d\nsometimes, when at a distance from ALOVISA, pretend to be out, on purpose\nto stand still, and talk to her. This kind of Behaviour banish\u2019d part of\nher Sufferings, for tho\u2019 she cou\u2019d consider both his, and her own Passion\nin no other View, than that of a very great Misfortune to them both,\nyet there are so many Pleasures, even in the Pains of Love. Such tender\nthrillings, such Soul-ravishing Amusements, attend some happy Moments of\nContemplation, that those who most Endeavour, can wish but faintly to be\nfreed from.\nWhen it grew pretty late, the Baron made a sign to the Count to follow\nhim into a little Room joyning to that where they were, and when he had,\nnow my Lord, (said he) I doubt not but this Night will make you entirely\nPossessor of your Wishes: I have prolonged the Entertainment, on purpose\nto detain those, who \u2019tis necessary for our Design, and have ordered\na Chamber for MELLIORA, which has no Impediment to Bar your Entrance:\nO! Thou best of Friends, (answer\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT) how shall I requite thy\nGoodness? In making (resum\u2019d the Baron) a right Use of the Opportunity\nI give you, for if you do not, you render fruitless all the Labours of\nmy Brain, and make me wretched, while my Friend is so. Oh! fear me not\n(cry\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT in a Rapture) I will not be deny\u2019d, each Faculty of\nmy Soul is bent upon Enjoyment, tho\u2019 Death in all its various Horrors\nglar\u2019d upon me, I\u2019d scorn \u2019em all in MELLIORA\u2019S Arms---O! the very Name\ntransports me---New fires my Blood, and tingles in my Veins---Imagination\npoints out all her Charms--Methinks I see her lie in sweet\nConfusion--Fearing--Wishing--Melting---Her glowing Cheeks--Her closing\ndying Eyes--her every kindling--Oh \u2019tis too vast for Thought! Even Fancy\nflags, and cannot reach her Wonders! As he was speaking, MELANTHA, who\nhad taken notice of his going out of the Room, and had follow\u2019d him with\na Design of talking to him, came time enough to hear the latter part of\nwhat he said, but seeing her Brother with him, withdrew with as much\nhaste as she came, and infinitely more uneasiness of Mind; she was now\nbut too well assur\u2019d that she had a greater difficulty than the Count\u2019s\nMatrimonial Engagement to get over, before she could reach his Heart, and\nwas ready to burst with Vexation to think she was supplanted: Full of a\nThousand tormenting Reflections she return\u2019d to the Ball Room, and was so\nout of Humour all the Night, that she could hardly be commonly Civil to\nany Body that spoke to her.\nAt last, the Hour so much desired by the Count, the Baron, and ALOVISA\n(tho\u2019 for various Reasons) was arriv\u2019d: The Company broke up; those who\nliv\u2019d near, which were the greatest part, went home, the others being\nentreated by the Baron, stay\u2019d. When they were to be conducted to their\nChambers, he call\u2019d MELANTHA, and desired she would take care of the\nLadies as he should direct, but above all, charg\u2019d to place ALOVISA and\nMELLIORA in two Chambers which he shewed her.\nMELANTHA was now let into the Secret she so much desired to know, the\nName of her Rival, which she had not come time enough to hear, when she\ndid the Count\u2019s Rapturous Description of her. She had before found out,\nthat her Brother was in Love with ALOVYSA, and did not doubt, but that\nthere was a double Intrigue to be carry\u2019d on that Night, and was the\nmore confirm\u2019d in that Opinion, when she remembred, that the _Baron_\nhad order\u2019d the Lock that Day to be taken off the Door of that Chamber\nwhere MELLIORA was to be lodg\u2019d. It presently came into her Head, to\nbetray all she knew to ALOVISA, but she soon rejected that Resolution for\nanother, which she thought would give her a more pleasing Revenge: She\nconducted all the Ladies to such Chambers as she thought fit, and ALOVISA\nto that her Brother had desired, having no design of disappointing him,\nbut MELLIORA she led to one where she always lay her self, resolving to\nsupply her Place in the other, where the Count was to come: Yes, (said\nshe to her self) I will receive his Vows in MELLIORA\u2019S Room, and when\nI find him rais\u2019d to the highest pitch of Expectation, declare who I\nam, and awe him into Tameness; \u2019twill be a charming Piece of Vengeance,\nbesides, if he be not the most ungrateful Man on Earth, he must Adore my\nGenerosity in not exposing him to his Wife, when I have him in my Power,\nafter the Coldness he has us\u2019d me with. She found something so pleasing\nin this Contrivance, that no Considerations whatever, could have Power to\ndeter her from pursuing it.\nWhen the Baron found every thing was silent and ready for his Purpose,\nhe went softly to Count D\u2019ELMONT\u2019S Chamber, where he was impatiently\nexpected; and taking him by the Hand, led him to that, where he had\nordered MELLIORA to be Lodg\u2019d. When they were at the Door, you see my\nLord, (said he) I have kept my Promise; there lies the Idol of your Soul,\ngo in, be bold, and all the Happiness, you wish attend you. The Count was\nin too great a hurry of disorder\u2019d Thoughts to make him any other Answer\nthan a passionate Embrace, and gently pushing open the Door which had no\nfastning to it, left the Baron to prosecute the remaining part of his\ntreacherous Design.\nALOVISA had all the time of her being at the Baron\u2019s, endur\u2019d most\ngrievous Racks of Mind, her Husband appear\u2019d to her that Night, more\ngay and lovely, if possible than ever, but that Contentment which sat\nupon his Face, and added to his Graces, stung her to the Soul, when she\nreflected how little Sympathy there was between them: Scarce a Month\n(said she to her self) was I bless\u2019d with those looks of Joy, a pensive\nsullenness has dwelt upon his Brow e\u2019er since, \u2019till now; \u2019tis from my\nRuin that his Pleasure flows, he hates me, and rejoyces in a Pretence,\ntho\u2019 never so poor a one, to be absent from me. She was inwardly toss\u2019d\nwith a Multitude of these and the like perturbations, tho\u2019 the Assurance\nthe Baron had given her of Revenge, made her conceal them tolerably well,\nwhile she was in Company, but when she was left alone in the Chamber, and\nperceiv\u2019d the Baron did not come so soon as she expected. Her Rage broke\nout in all the Violence imaginable: She gave a loose to every furious\nPassion, and when she saw him enter, Cruel _D\u2019Espernay_ (said she) where\nhave you been!---Is this the Friendship which you vow\u2019d? To leave me here\ndistracted with my Griefs, while my perfidious Husband, and the cursed\nshe, that robs me of him, are perhaps, as happy, as their guilty Love can\nmake them? Madam (answer\u2019d he) \u2019tis but a Moment since they are met: A\nMoment! (interrupted she) a Moment is too much, the smallest Particle of\nundivided Time, may make my Rival blest, and vastly recompence for all\nthat my Revenge can do. Ah Madam (resum\u2019d the Baron) how dearly do you\nstill Love that most ungrateful Man: I had hopes that the full Knowledge\nof his Falshood might have made you scorn the scorner, I shall be able by\nto Morrow (reply\u2019d the Cunning ALOVISA who knew his drift well enough)\nto give you a better account of my Sentiments than now I can:---But why\ndo we delay (continued she impatiently) are they not together?---The\nBaron saw this was no time to press her farther, and therefore taking\na Wax Candle which stood on the Table, in one Hand, and offering the\nother to lead her, I am ready Madam (said he) to make good my Promise,\nand shall esteem no other Hours of my Life happy, but those which may be\nserviceable to you: They had only a small part of a Gallery to go thro\u2019,\nand ALOVISA had no time to answer to these last Words, if she had been\ncompos\u2019d enough to have done it, before they were at the Door, which as\nsoon as the Baron had brought her to, he withdrew with all possible Speed.\nTho\u2019 the _Count_ had been but a very little time in the Arms of his\nsuppos\u2019d MELLIORA, yet he had made so good use of it, and had taken\nso much Advantage of her complying Humour, that all his Fears were at\nan End, he now thought himself the most Fortunate of all Mankind; and\n_Melantha_ was far from repenting the Breach of the Resolution she\nhad made of discovering her self to him. His Behaviour to her was all\nRapture, all killing extacy, and she flatter\u2019d her self with a Belief,\nthat when he shou\u2019d come to know to whom he ow\u2019d that bliss he had\npossess\u2019d, he would not be ungrateful for it.\nWhat a confus\u2019d Consternation must this Pair be in, when ALOVYSA rush\u2019d\ninto the Room;---\u2019tis hard to say, which was the greatest, the _Count\u2019s_\nconcern for his imagin\u2019d MELLIORA\u2019S Honour, or MELANTHA\u2019S for her own;\nbut if one may form a Judgment from the Levity of the one\u2019s Temper, and\ngenerosity of the other\u2019s, one may believe that his had the Preheminence:\nBut neither of them were so lost in Thought, as not to take what measures\nthe Place and Time wou\u2019d permit, to baffle the Fury of this Incens\u2019d\nWife: MELANTHA slunk under the Cloaths and the COUNT started up in the\nBed at the first Appearance of the Light, which ALOVYSA had in her Hand,\nand in the most angry Accent he cou\u2019d turn his Voice to, ask\u2019d her the\nReason of her coming there: Rage, at this sight (prepar\u2019d and arm\u2019d for\nit as she was) took away all Power of utterance from her; but she flew\nto the Bed, and began to tear the Cloaths (which MELANTHA held fast over\nher Head) in so violent a manner, that the _Count_ found the only way to\nTame her, was to meet Force with Force; so jumping out, he seiz\u2019d on her,\nand throwing her into a Chair, and holding her down in it, Madam, Madam\n(said he) you are Mad, and I as such shall use you, unless you promise to\nreturn quietly, and leave me. She cou\u2019d yet bring forth no other Words,\nthan Villain,----Monster! And such like Names, which her Passion and\nInjury suggested, which he but little regarding but for the noise she\nmade; for shame (resum\u2019d he) expose not thus your self and me, if you\ncannot command your Temper, at least confine your Clamours---I will not\nstir (said she, raving and struggling to get loose) \u2019till I have seen\nthe Face that has undone me, I\u2019ll tear out her bewitching Eyes---the\ncurst Adultress! And leave her Mistress of fewer Charms than thou canst\nfind in me: She spoke this with so elevated a Voice, that the _Count_\nendeavour\u2019d to stop her Mouth, that she might not alarm the Company that\nwere in the House, but he cou\u2019d not do it time enough to prevent her\nfrom shrieking out Murder.---Help! Or the barbarous Man will kill me! At\nthese Words the _Baron_ came running in immediately, full of Surprize and\nRage at something he had met with in the mean time: How came this Woman\nhere, cry\u2019d the _Count_ to him: Ask me not my Lord (said he) for I can\nanswer nothing, but every thing this cursed Night, I think, has happened\nby Enchantment; he was going to say something more, but several of his\nGuests hearing a noise, and cry of Murder, and directed by the Lights\nthey saw in that Room, came in, and presently after a great many of the\nServants, that the Chamber was as full as it cou\u2019d hold: The _Count_ let\ngo his Wife on the sight of the first stranger that enter\u2019d; and indeed,\nthere was no need of his confining her in that Place (tho\u2019 he knew not so\nmuch) for the violence of so many contrary Passions warring in her Breast\nat once, had thrown her into a Swoon, and she fell back when he let go\nhis hold of her, Motionless, and in all appearance Dead. The _Count_ said\nlittle, but began to put on his Cloaths, asham\u2019d of the Posture he had\nbeen seen in; but the BARON endeavour\u2019d to perswade the Company, that it\nwas only a Family Quarrel of no Consequence, told them he was sorry for\nthe disturbance it had given them, and desir\u2019d them to return to their\nRest, and when the Room was pretty clear, order\u2019d two or three of the\nMaids to carry ALOVYSA to her Chamber, and apply Things proper for her\nRecovery; as they were bearing her out, MELLIORA who had been frighted as\nwell as the rest, with the noise she heard, was running along the Gallery\nto see what had happen\u2019d, and met them; her Trouble to find ALOVYSA in\nthat Condition, was unfeign\u2019d, and she assisted those that were employ\u2019d\nabout her, and accompany\u2019d them where they carry\u2019d her.\nThe _Count_ was going to the Bed-side to comfort the conceal\u2019d Fair,\nthat lay still under the Cloaths, when he saw MELLIORA at the Door:\nWhat Surprize was ever equal to his, at this View?-----He stood like\none transfix\u2019d with Thunder, he knew not what to think, or rather cou\u2019d\nnot think at all, confounded with a seeming Impossibility. He beheld\nthe Person, whom he thought had lain in his Arms, whom he had enjoy\u2019d,\nwhose Bulk and Proportion he still saw in the Bed, whom he was just\ngoing to Address to, and for whom he had been in all the Agonies of Soul\nimaginable, come from a distant Chamber, and unconcern\u2019d, ask\u2019d cooly,\nhow ALOVISA came to be taken ill! He look\u2019d confusedly about, sometimes\non MELLIORA, sometimes towards the Bed, and sometimes on the Baron; am I\nawake, (said he) or is every thing I see and hear, Illusion? The Baron\ncould not presently resolve after what manner he should answer, tho\u2019\nhe perfectly knew the Truth of this Adventure, and who was in the Bed;\nfor, when he had conducted ALOVISA to that Room, in order to make the\nDiscovery he had promised, he went to his Sister\u2019s Chamber, designing to\nabscond there, in case the Count should fly out on his Wife\u2019s Entrance,\nand seeing him there, imagine who it was that betray\u2019d him; and finding\nthe Door shut, knock\u2019d and call\u2019d to have it opened; MELLIORA, who began\nto think she should lye in quiet no where, ask\u2019d who was there, and\nwhat he would have? I would speak with my Sister, (reply\u2019d he, as much\nastonish\u2019d then, to hear who it was that answer\u2019d him, as the Count was\nnow to see her) and MELLIORA having assur\u2019d him that she was not with\nher, left him no Room to doubt, by what means the Exchange had been\nmade: Few Men, how amorous soever themselves, care that the Female part\nof their Family should be so, and he was most sensibly mortify\u2019d with\nit, but reflecting that it could not be kept a Secret, at least from the\nCount, my Lord, (said he, pointing to the Bed) there lies the Cause of\nyour Amazement, that wicked Woman has betray\u2019d the Trust I repos\u2019d in\nher, and deceiv\u2019d both you and me; rise, continued he, throwing open the\nCurtains, thou shame of thy Sex, and everlasting Blot and Scandal of the\nNoble House thou art descended from; rise, I say, or I will stab thee\nhere in this Scene of Guilt; in speaking these Words, he drew out his\nSword, and appear\u2019d in such a real Fury, that the Count, tho\u2019 more and\nmore amaz\u2019d with every thing he saw and heard, made no doubt but he wou\u2019d\ndo as he said, and ran to hold his Arm.\nAs no Woman that is Mistress of a great share of Wit, _will_ be a Coquet,\nso no Woman that has not a little, _can_ be one: MELANTHA, tho\u2019 frighted\nto Death with these unexpected Occurrences, feign\u2019d a Courage, which she\nhad not in reality, and thrusting her Head a little above the Cloaths,\nBless me Brother (said she) I vow I do not know what you mean by all\nthis Bustle, neither am I guilty of any Crime: I was vex\u2019d indeed to be\nmade a Property of, and chang\u2019d Beds with MELLIORA for a little innocent\nRevenge; for I always design\u2019d to discover my self to the Count, time\nenough to prevent Mischief. The Baron was not so silly as to believe\nwhat she said, tho\u2019 the Count, as much as he hated her, had too much\nGenerosity to contradict her, and keeping still hold of the Baron, come\n_D\u2019Espernay_, (said he) I believe your Sisters Stars and mine, have from\nour Birth been at Variance, for this is the third Disappointment she has\ngiven me; once in MELLIORA\u2019S Chamber, then in the Wilderness, and now\nhere; but I forgive her, therefore let us retire and leave her to her\nRepose. The Baron was sensible that all the Rage in the World could not\nrecall what had been done, and only giving her a furious Look, went with\nthe Count out of the Room, without saying any thing more to her at that\nTime.\nThe Baron with much Entreating, at last prevail\u2019d on Count D\u2019ELMONT to\ngo into his Bed, where he accompany\u2019d him; but they were both of them\ntoo full of troubled Meditations, to Sleep: His Sister\u2019s Indiscretion\nvex\u2019d the Baron to the Heart, and took away great part of the Joy, for\nthe fresh Occasion the Count had given ALOVISA to withdraw her Affection\nfrom him. But with what Words can the various Passions that agitated\nthe Soul of D\u2019ELMONT be described? The Transports he had enjoy\u2019d in an\nimaginary Felicity, were now turn\u2019d to so many real Horrors; he saw\nhimself expos\u2019d to all the World, for it would have been Vanity to the\nlast Degree, to believe this Adventure would be kept a Secret, but what\ngave him the most bitter Reflection, was, that MELLIORA when she should\nknow it, as he could not doubt but she immediately wou\u2019d be told it by\nALOVISA, wou\u2019d judge of it by the Appearance, and believe him, at once,\nthe most vicious, and most false of Men. As for his Wife, he thought not\nof her, with any Compassion for his Sufferings, but with Rage and Hate,\nfor that jealous Curiosity, which he suppos\u2019d had led her to watch his\nActions that Night; (for he had not the least Suspicion of the Baron.)\nMELANTHA he always despised, but now detested, for the Trick she had put\nupon him; yet thought it would be not only unmanly, but barbarous to let\nher know he did so: It was in vain for him to endeavour to come to a\nDetermination after what manner he should behave himself to any of them,\nand when the Night was past, in forming a thousand several Resolutions,\nthe Morning found him as much to seek as before: He took his Leave early\nof the Baron, not being willing to see any of the Company after what had\nhappened, \u2019till he was more Compos\u2019d.\nHe was not deceiv\u2019d in his Conjectures concerning MELLIORA, for\nALOVISA was no sooner recover\u2019d from her Swoon, than, she, with\nbitter Exclamations, told her what had been the Occasion, and put that\nastonish\u2019d Fair one into such a visible Disorder, as had she not been too\nfull of Misery, to take Notice of it, had made her easily perceive that\nshe was deeply interested in the Story: But whatever she said against\nthe Count, as she could not forbear something, calling him Ungrateful,\nPerjur\u2019d, Deceitful, and Inconstant, ALOVISA took only, as a Proof of\nFriendship to her self, and the Effects of that just Indignation all\nWomen ought to feel for him, that takes a Pride in Injuring any one of\nthem.\nWhen the Count was gone, the Baron sent to ALOVISA to enquire of her\nHealth, and if he might have leave to visit her in her Chamber, and being\ntold she desired he shou\u2019d, resolv\u2019d now to make his Demand. MELLIORA had\nbut just parted from her, in order to get herself ready to go Home, and\nshe was alone when he came in. As soon as the first Civilities were over,\nshe began afresh to conjure him to let her know the Name of her Rival,\nwhich he artfully evading, tho\u2019 not absolutely denying, made her almost\ndistracted; the Baron carefully observ\u2019d her every Look and Motion, and\nwhen he found her Impatience was rais\u2019d to the highest degree; Madam\n(said he, taking her by the Hand, and looking tenderly on her) you cannot\nblame a Wretch who has lavish\u2019d all he had away to one poor Jewel,\nto make the most he can of that, to supply his future Wants: I have\nalready forfeited all pretence to Honour, and even common Hospitality,\nby betraying the Trust that was repos\u2019d in me, and exposing under my\nown Roof, the Man who takes me for his dearest Friend, and what else I\nhave suffer\u2019d from that unavoidable Impulse which compell\u2019d me to do all\nthis, your self may judge, who too well know, the Pangs and Tortures of\nneglected Love---Therefore, (continued he with a deep Sigh) since this\nlast reserve is all my Hopes dependance, do not, Oh Charming ALOVISA,\nthink me Mercinary, if I presume to set a Price upon it, which I confess\ntoo high, yet nothing less can Purchase: No Price (reply\u2019d ALOVISA, who\nthought a little Condescension was necessary to win him to her purpose)\ncan be too dear to buy my Peace, nor Recompence too great for such a\nService: What, not your Love, said the Baron, eagerly kissing her Hand?\nNo (resum\u2019d she, forcing herself to look kindly on him) not even that,\nwhen such a Proof of yours engages it; but do not keep me longer on the\nRack, give me the Name and then.---She spoke these last Words with such\nan Air of Languishment, that the Baron thought his Work was done, and\ngrowing bolder, from her Hand he proceeded to her Lips, and answer\u2019d her\nonly in Kisses, which distastful as they were to her, she suffer\u2019d him to\ntake, without Resistance, but that was not all he wanted, and believing\nthis the Critical Minute, he threw his Arms about her Waist, and began\nto draw her by little and little toward the Bed; which she affected to\npermit with a kind of an unwilling Willingness; saying, Well, if you\nwou\u2019d have me able to deny you nothing you can ask, tell me the Name I\nso much wish to know: But the Baron was as cunning as she, and seeing\nthro\u2019 her Artifice, was resolv\u2019d to make sure of his Reward first: Yes,\nyes, my adorable ALOVISA (answer\u2019d he, having brought her now very near\nthe Bed) you shall immediately know all, thy Charms will force the Secret\nfrom my Breast, close as it is lodg\u2019d within my inmost Soul.---Dying\nwith Rapture I will tell thee all.---If that a Thought of this injurious\nHusband, can interpose amidst Extatick Joys. What will not some Women\nventure, to satisfy a jealous Curiosity? ALOVISA had feign\u2019d to consent\nto his Desires, (in hopes to engage him to a Discovery) so far, and had\ngiven him so many Liberties, that now, it was as much as she cou\u2019d do\nto save herself, from the utmost Violence, and perceiving she had been\noutwitted, and that nothing but the really yielding up her Honour, cou\u2019d\noblige him to reveal what she desired. Villain, said she, (struggling\nto get loose from his Embrace) dare thy base Soul believe so vilely of\nme? Release me from thy detested Hold, or my Cries shall force thee to\nit, and proclaim thee what thou art, a Monster! The Baron was not enough\ndeluded by her pretence of Kindness, to be much surpriz\u2019d at this sudden\nturn of her Behaviour, and only cooly answer\u2019d, Madam, I have no design\nof using Violence, but perceive, if I had depended on your Gratitude, I\nhad been miserably deceiv\u2019d. Yes (said she, looking contemptibly on him)\nI own thou would\u2019st; for whatsoever I might say, or thou could\u2019st hope, I\nlove my Husband still, with an unbated Fondness, doat upon him! Faithless\nand Cruel as he is, he still is lovely! His Eyes lose nothing of their\nbrightness, nor his Tongue its softness! His very Frowns have more\nAttraction in them than any others Smiles! and canst thou think! Thou,\nso different in all from him, that thou seemest not the same Species of\nHumanity, nor ought\u2019st to stile thy self a Man since he is no more: Canst\nthou, I say, believe a Woman, bless\u2019d as ALOVISA has been, can e\u2019er blot\nout the dear Remembrance, and quit her Hopes of re-gain\u2019d Paradise in\nhis Embrace, for certain Hell in Thine? She spoke these Words with so\nmuch Scorn, that the Baron skill\u2019d as he was in every Art to tempt, cou\u2019d\nnot conceal the Spite he conceiv\u2019d at them, and letting go her Hand,\n(which perforce he had held) I leave you Madam (said he) to the Pleasure\nof enjoying your own Humour; neither that, nor your Circumstances are\nto be envy\u2019d, but I\u2019d have you to remember, that you are your own\nTormentor, while you refuse the only means can bring you Ease. I will\nhave Ease another way (said she, incens\u2019d at the Indignity she imagin\u2019d\nhe treated her with) and if you still persist in refusing to discover to\nme the Person who has injur\u2019d me, I shall make no difficulty of letting\nthe Count know how much of his Secrets you have imparted, and for what\nReason you conceal the other: You may do so (answer\u2019d he) and I doubt\nnot but you will---Mischief is the darling Favourite of Woman! Blood is\nthe Satisfaction perhaps, that you require, and if I fall by him, or he\nby me, your Revenge will have its aim, either on the Unloving or the\nUnlov\u2019d; for me, I set my Life at nought, without your Love \u2019tis Hell;\nbut do not think that even dying, to purchase Absolution, I\u2019d reveal one\nLetter of that Name, you so much wish to hear, the Secret shall be buried\nwith me.----Yes, Madam (continued he, with a malicious Air) that happy\nFair unknown, whose Charms have made you wretched, shall undiscover\u2019d,\nand unguess\u2019d at, Triumph in those Joys you think none but your Count can\ngive. ALOVISA had not an Opportunity to make any Answer to what he said;\nMELLIORA came that Moment into the Room, and ask\u2019d if she was ready to\ngo, and ALOVISA saying that she was, they both departed from the Baron\u2019s\nHouse, without much Ceremony on either side.\nALOVISA had not been long at home before a Messenger came to acquaint\nher, that her Sister having miss\u2019d of her at _Paris_, was now on her\nJourney to _Le Beausse_, and wou\u2019d be with her in a few Hours: She\nrejoyc\u2019d as much at this News, as it was possible for one so full of\ndisquiet to do, and order\u2019d her Chariot and Six to be made ready again,\nand went to meet her.\nD\u2019ELMONT heard of ANSELLINA\u2019S coming almost as soon as ALOVISA, and his\nComplaisance for Ladies, join\u2019d with the extream desire he had of seeing\nhis Brother, whom he believ\u2019d was with her, wou\u2019d certainly have given\nhim Wings to have flown to them with all imaginable Speed, had not the\nlate Quarrel between him and his Wife, made him think it was improper\nto join Company with her on any Account whatever: He was sitting in\nhis Dressing-Room Window in a melancholly and disturb\u2019d Meditation,\nruminating on every Circumstance of his last Nights Adventure, when\nhe perceiv\u2019d a couple of Horsemen come galloping over the Plain, and\nmake directly toward his House. The Dust they made, kept him from\ndistinguishing who they were, and they were very near the Gate before\nhe discover\u2019d them to be the _Chevalier_ BRILLIAN, and his Servant: The\nSurprize he was in to see him without ANSELLINA was very great, but\nmuch more so, when running down, as soon as he saw he was alighted, and\nopening his Arms eagerly to Embrace him; the other drawing back, No,\nmy Lord (said he) since you are pleas\u2019d to forget I am your Brother,\nI pretend no other way to merit your Embraces: Nor can think it any\nHappiness to hold him in my Arms, who keeps me distant from his Heart.\nWhat mean you (cry\u2019d D\u2019ELMONT, extreamly astonish\u2019d at his Behaviour)\nyou know so little (resum\u2019d the _Chevalier_) of the power of Love, your\nself, that perhaps, you think I ought not to resent what you having done\nto ruin me in mine: But, however Sir, Ambition is a Passion which you\nare not a Stranger to, and have settled your own Fortune according to\nyour Wish, methinks you shou\u2019d not wonder that I take it ill, when you\nendeavour to prevent my doing so to: The _Count_ was perfectly Confounded\nat these Words, and looking earnestly on him; Brother (said he) you seem\nto lay a heavy Accusation on me, but if you still retain so much of that\nformer Affection which was between us, as to desire I shou\u2019d be clear\u2019d\nin your Esteem, you must be more plain in your Charge, for tho\u2019 I easily\nperceive that I am wrong\u2019d, I cannot see by what means I am so. My Lord,\nyou are not wrong\u2019d (cry\u2019d the _Chevalier_ hastily) you know you are\nnot: If my Tongue were silent, the despair that sits upon my Brow, my\nalter\u2019d Looks, and grief-sunk Eyes, wou\u2019d proclaim your Barbarous---most\nunnatural Usage of me. Ungrateful BRILLIAN (said the COUNT, at once\ninflam\u2019d with Tenderness and Anger) is this the Consolation I expected\nfrom your Presence? I know not for what Cause I am upbraided, being\nInnocent of any, nor what your Troubles are, but I am sure my own\nare such, as needed not this Weight to overwhelm me. He spoke this so\nfeelingly, and concluded with so deep a sigh as most sensibly touch\u2019d\nthe Heart of BRILLIAN. If I cou\u2019d believe that you had any (reply\u2019d he)\nit were enough to sink me quite, and rid me of a Life which ANSELLINA\u2019S\nloss has made me hate. What said you, (interrupted the _Count_)\nANSELLINA\u2019S loss? If that be true, I pardon all the wildness of your\nunjust Reproaches, for well I know, despair has small regard to Reason,\nbut quickly speak the Cause of your Misfortune:---I was about to enquire\nthe Reason that I saw you not together, when your unkind Behaviour drove\nit from my Thoughts. That Question (answer\u2019d the _Chevalier_) ask\u2019d by\nyou some Days since, wou\u2019d have put me past all the Remains of Patience,\nbut I begin to hope I am not so unhappy as I thought, but still am blest\nin Friendship, tho\u2019 undone in Love----but I\u2019ll not keep you longer in\nsuspence, my Tale of Grief is short in the Repeating, tho\u2019 everlasting in\nits Consequence. In saying this, he sat down, and the _Count_ doing the\nlike, and assuring him of Attention, he began his Relation in this manner.\nYour Lordship may remember that I gave you an Account by Letter, of\nANSELLINA\u2019S Indisposition, and the Fears I was in for her; but by the\ntime I receiv\u2019d your Answer, I thought my self the happiest of Mankind:\nShe was perfectly recover\u2019d, and every Day I receiv\u2019d new Proofs of her\nAffection: We began to talk now of coming to _Paris_, and she seem\u2019d\nno less Impatient for that Journey than my self, and one Evening, the\nlast I ever had the Honour of her Conversation; she told me, that in\nspite of the Physicians Caution, she wou\u2019d leave _Amiens_ in three or\nfour Days; You may be sure I did not disswade her from that Resolution;\nbut, how great was my Astonishment, when going the next Morning to the\n_Baronesses_, to give the Ladies the _Bonjour_, as I constantly did\nevery Morning, I perceiv\u2019d an unusual coldness in the Face of every\none in the Family; the _Baroness_ herself spoke not to me, but to tell\nme that ANSELLINA wou\u2019d see no Company: How, Madam, said I, am I not\nexcepted from those general Orders, what can this sudden alteration in\nmy Fortune mean? I suppose (reply\u2019d she) that ANSELLINA has her Reasons\nfor what she does: I said all that despair cou\u2019d suggest, to oblige her\nto give me some light into this Mistery, but all was in vain, she either\nmade me no Answers, or such as were not Satisfactory, and growing weary\nwith being Importun\u2019d, she abruptly went out of the Room, and left me\nin a confusion not to be Express\u2019d: I renew\u2019d my visit the next Day,\nand was then deny\u2019d admittance by the Porter: The same, the following\none, and as Servants commonly form their Behaviour, according to that of\nthose they serve, it was easy for me to observe I was far from being a\nwelcome Guest: I writ to ANSELLINA, but had my Letter return\u2019d unopen\u2019d:\nAnd that Scorn so unjustly thrown upon me, tho\u2019 it did not absolutely\ncure my Passion, yet it stirr\u2019d up so much just Resentment in me, that\nit abated very much of its Tenderness: About a Fortnight I remain\u2019d in\nthis perplexity, and at the end of it was plung\u2019d into a greater, when I\nreceiv\u2019d a little _Billet_ from ANSELLINA, which as I remember, contain\u2019d\nthese Words.\n    [Illustration]\n    ANSELLINA to the _Chevalier_ BRILLIAN.\n    _I sent your Letter back without Perusing, believing it might\n    contain something of a Subject which I am resolv\u2019d to encourage\n    no farther: I do not think it proper at present to acquaint you\n    with my Reasons for it; but if I see you at PARIS, you shall\n    know them: I set out for thence to Morrow, but desire you not\n    to pretend to Accompany me thither, if you wou\u2019d preserve the\n    Esteem of_,\nI cannot but say, I thought this manner of proceeding very odd, and\nvastly different from that openness of Nature, I always admir\u2019d in\nher, but as I had been always a most obsequious Lover; I resolv\u2019d not\nto forfeit that Character, and give a Proof of an implicite Obedience\nto her Will, tho\u2019 with what Anxiety of Mind you may imagine. I stood\nat a distance, and saw her take Coach, and as soon as her Attendants\nwere out of sight, I got on Horseback, and follow\u2019d; I several Times\nlay at the same Inn where she did, but took care not to appear before\nher: Never was any sight more pleasing to me, than that of _Paris_,\nbecause I there hop\u2019d to have my Destiny unravell\u2019d; but your being out\nof Town, preventing her making any stay, I was reduc\u2019d to another tryal\nof Patience; about Seven Furlongs from hence, hap\u2019ning to Bait at the\nsame _Cabaret_ with her, I saw her Woman, who had been always perfectly\nobliging to me, walking alone in the Garden; I took the liberty to show\nmy self to her, and ask her some Questions concerning my future Fate, to\nwhich she answer\u2019d with all the Freedom I cou\u2019d desire, and observing\nthe Melancholly, which was but too apparent in my Countenance: Sir, said\nshe, tho\u2019 I think nothing can be more blame-worthy than to betray the\nSecrets of our Superiors, yet I hope I shall stand excus\u2019d for declaring\nso much of my Lady\u2019s as the Condition you are in, seems to require; I\nwou\u2019d not therefore have you believe that in this Separation, you are\nthe only Sufferer, I can assure you, my Lady bears her part of Sorrow\ntoo.----How can that be possible (cry\u2019d I) when my Misfortune is brought\nupon me, only by the change of her Inclination? Far from it (answer\u2019d\nshe) you have a Brother--he only is to blame, she has receiv\u2019d Letters\nfrom _Madam_ D\u2019ELMONT which have---as she was speaking, she was call\u2019d\nhastily away, without being able to finish what she was about to say,\nand I was so Impatient to hear: Her naming you in such a manner, planted\nten thousand Daggers in my Soul!----What cou\u2019d I imagine by those Words,\n_You have a Brother, he only is to Blame_, and her mentioning Letters\nfrom that Brother\u2019s Wife; but that it was thro\u2019 you I was made wretched?\nI repeated several times over to my self, what she had said, but cou\u2019d\nwrest no other Meaning from it, than that you being already possess\u2019d\nof the Elder Sister\u2019s Fortune, were willing to Engross the other\u2019s too,\nby preventing her from Marrying: Pardon me, my Lord, if I have Injur\u2019d\nyou, since I protest, the Thoughts of your designing my undoing, was, if\npossible, more dreadful to me than the Ill it self.\nYou will, reply\u2019d the _Count_, be soon convinc\u2019d how little Hand I had\nin those Letters, whatever they contain\u2019d, when you have been here a few\nDays. He then told him of the disagreement between himself and ALOVISA,\nher perpetual Jealousy, her Pride, her Rage, and the little probability\nthere was of their being ever reconcil\u2019d, so as to live together as they\nought, omitting nothing of the Story, but his Love for MELLIORA, and\nthe Cause he had given to create this uneasiness. They both concluded,\nthat ANSELLINA\u2019S alteration of Behaviour was entirely owing to something\nher Sister had written, and that she wou\u2019d use her utmost endeavour\nto break off the Match wholly in Revenge to her Husband: As they were\ndiscoursing on means to prevent it, the Ladies came to the Gate; they saw\nthem thro\u2019 the Window, and ran to receive them immediately: The _Count_\nhanded ANSELLINA out of the Coach, with great Complaisance, while the\n_Chevalier_ wou\u2019d have done the same by ALOVISA, but she wou\u2019d not permit\nhim, which the _Count_ observing, when he had paid those Complements to\nher Sister, which he thought civility requir\u2019d, Madam (said he, turning\nto her and frowning) is it not enough, you make me wretched by your\ncontinual Clamours, and Upbraidings, but that your ill Nature must extend\nto all, whom you believe I love? She answer\u2019d him only with a disdainful\nLook, and haughty Toss, which spoke the Pleasure she took in having it in\nher Power to give him Pain, and went out of the Room with ANSELLINA.\nD\u2019ELMONT\u2019S Family was now become a most distracted one, every Body was\nin confusion, and it was hard for a disinterested Person, to know how\nto behave among them: The _Count_ was ready to die with Vexation, when\nhe reflected on the Adventure at the BARON\u2019S with MELANTHA, and how\nhard it wou\u2019d be to clear his Conduct in that point with MELLIORA: She,\non the other Hand, was as much tormented at his not attempting it. The\n_Chevalier_, was in the height of despair, when he found that ANSELLINA\ncontinued her Humour, and still avoided letting him know the occasion of\nit: And ALOVISA, tho\u2019 she contented herself for some Hours with relating\nto her Sister, all the Passages of her Husband\u2019s unkind usage of her,\nyet when that was over, her Curiosity return\u2019d, and she grew so madly\nZealous to find out, who her rival was, that she repented her Behaviour\nto the _Baron_, and sent him the next Day privately, a _Billet_, wherein\nshe assur\u2019d him, that she had acquainted the _Count_ with nothing that\nhad pass\u2019d between them, and that she desir\u2019d to speak with him. \u2019Tis\neasy to believe he needed not a second Invitation; he came immediately,\nand ALOVISA renew\u2019d her Entreaties in the most pressing manner she was\ncapable of, but in vain, he told her plainly, that if he cou\u2019d not\nhave her Heart, nothing but the full Possession of her Person shou\u2019d\nExtort the Secret from him. \u2019Twould swell this Discourse beyond what I\ndesign, to recount her various Starts of Passions, and different Turns\nof Behaviour, sometimes louder than the Winds she rav\u2019d! Commanded!\nThreatned! Then, still as _April_ Showers, or Summer Dews she wept, and\nonly whisper\u2019d her Complaints, now dissembling Kindness, then declaring\nunfeign\u2019d Hate; \u2019till at last, finding it impossible to prevail by any\nother means, she promis\u2019d to admit him at Midnight into her Chamber:\nBut as it was only the force of her too passionate Affection for her\nHusband, which had work\u2019d her to this pitch of raging Jealousie, so she\nhad no sooner made the Assignation, and the _Baron_ had left her (to seek\nthe _Count_ to prevent any suspicion of their long Conversation) but\nall D\u2019ELMONT\u2019S Charms came fresh into her Mind, and made the Thoughts\nof what she had promis\u2019d, Odious and Insupportable; she open\u2019d her\nMouth more than once to call back the _Baron_, and Recant all that she\nhad said; but her ill Genius, or that Devil, Curiosity, which too much\nhaunts the Minds of Women, still prevented Her: What will become of me,\n(said she to her self) what is it I am about to do? Shall I foregoe my\nHonour---quit my Virtue,---sully my yet unspotted Name with endless\nInfamy---and yield my Soul to Sin, to Shame, and Horror, only to know\nwhat I can ne\u2019er Redress? If D\u2019ELMONT hates me now, will he not do so\nstill?---What will this curs\u2019d Discovery bring me but added Tortures, and\nfresh weight of Woe: Happy had it been for her if these Considerations\ncou\u2019d have lasted, but when she had been a Minute or two in this Temper,\nshe wou\u2019d relapse and cry, what! must I tamely bear it then?---Endure\nthe Flouts of the malicious World, and the contempt of every saucy\nGirl, who while she pities, scorns my want of Charms--Shall I neglected\ntell my Tale of Wrongs, (O, Hell is in that Thought) \u2019till my despair\nshall reach my Rival\u2019s Ears, and Crown her Adulterous Joys with double\nPleasure.---Wretch that I am!--Fool that I am, to hesitate, my Misery\nis already past Addition, my everlasting Peace is broke! Lost even to\nhope, what can I more endure?---No, since I must be ruin\u2019d, I\u2019ll have\nthe Satisfaction of dragging with me to Perdition, the Vile, the Cursed\nshe that has undone me: I\u2019ll be reveng\u2019d on her, then die my self, and\nfree me from Pollution. As she was in this last Thought, she perceiv\u2019d\nat a good distance from her, the _Chevalier_ BRILLIAN and ANSELLINA in\nDiscourse; the sight of him immediately put a new contrivance into her\nHead, and she compos\u2019d her self as she cou\u2019d, and went to meet them.\nANSELLINA having been left alone, while her Sister was Entertaining the\n_Baron_, had walk\u2019d down into the Garden to divert her self, where the\n_Chevalier_, who was on the watch for such an opportunity, had follow\u2019d\nher; he cou\u2019d not forbear, tho\u2019 in Terms full of Respect, taxing her\nwith some little Injustice for her late Usage of him, and Breach of\nPromise, in not letting him know her Reasons for it: She, who by Nature\nwas extreamly averse to the disguising her Sentiments, suffer\u2019d him not\nlong to press her for an _Eclaircissment_, and with her usual Freedom,\ntold him what she had done, was purely in compliance with her Sister\u2019s\nRequest; that she cou\u2019d not help having the same Opinion of him as ever,\nbut that she had promis\u2019d ALOVISA to defer any Thoughts of marrying him,\ntill his Brother shou\u2019d confess his Error: The obliging things she said\nto him, tho\u2019 she persisted in her Resolution, dissipated great part of\nhis Chagreen, and he was beginning to excuse D\u2019ELMONT, and persuade her\nthat her Sister\u2019s Temper was the first occasion of their quarrel, when\nALOVISA interrupted them. ANSELLINA was a little out of Countenance\nat her Sister\u2019s Presence, imagining she wou\u2019d be Incens\u2019d at finding\nher with the _Chevalier_; but that distressed Lady was full of other\nThoughts, and desiring him to follow her to her Chamber, as soon as they\nwere set down, confess\u2019d to him, how, fir\u2019d with his Brother\u2019s Falshood,\nshe endeavour\u2019d to revenge it upon him, that she had been his Enemy, but\nwas willing to enter into any Measures for his Satisfaction, provided\nhe wou\u2019d comply with one, which she should propose, which he faithfully\npromising, after she had sworn him to Secrecy, discover\u2019d to him every\nCircumstance, from her first Cause of Jealousy, to the Assignation she\nhad made with the _Baron_; now, said she, it is in your Power to preserve\nboth your Brother\u2019s Honour, and my Life (which I sooner will resign than\nmy Vertue) if you stand conceal\u2019d in a little Closet, which I shall\nconvey you to, and the Moment he has satisfy\u2019d my Curiosity, by telling\nme her Name that has undone me, rush out, and be my Protector. The\n_Chevalier_ was infinitely Surpriz\u2019d at what he heard, for his Brother\nhad not given him the least hint of his Passion, but thought the request\nshe made, too reasonable to be deny\u2019d.\nWhile they were in this Discourse, MELLIORA, who had been sitting\nindulging her Melancholly in that Closet which ALOVISA spoke of, and\nwhich did not immediately belong to that Chamber, but was a sort of an\nEntry, or Passage, into another, and tir\u2019d with Reflection, was fallen\nasleep, but on the noise which ALOVYSA and the _Chevalier_ made in\ncoming in, wak\u2019d, and heard to her inexpressible trouble, the Discourse\nthat pass\u2019d between them: She knew that unknown Rival was herself, and\ncondemn\u2019d the _Count_ of the highest Imprudence, in making a confidant,\nas she found he had, of the _Baron_; she saw her Fate, at least that of\nher Reputation was now upon the Crisis, that, that very Night she was\nto be expos\u2019d to all the Fury of an enrag\u2019d Wife, and was so shook with\napprehension, that she was scarce able to go out of the Closet time\nenough to prevent their discovering she was there; what cou\u2019d she do in\nthis Exigence, the Thoughts of being betray\u2019d, was worse to her than a\nthousand Deaths, and it was to be wondred at, as she has since confest,\nthat in that height of Desparation, she had not put an end to the\nTortures of Reflection, by laying violent Hands on her own Life: As she\nwas going from the Closet hastily to her own Appartment, the _Count_ and\n_Baron_ pass\u2019d her, and that sight heightening the distraction she was\nin, she stept to the _Count_, and in a faultring, scarce intelligible\nAccent, whisper\u2019d, for Heaven\u2019s Sake let me speak with you before Night,\nmake some pretence to come to my Chamber, where I\u2019ll wait for you. And\nas soon as she had spoke these Words, darted from him so swift, that he\nhad no opportunity of replying, if he had not been too much overwhelm\u2019d\nwith Joy at this seeming Change of his Fortune to have done it; he\nmisunderstood part of what she said, and instead of her desiring to speak\nwith him _before Night_, he imagin\u2019d, she said _at Night_. He presently\ncommunicated it to the _Baron_, who congratulated him upon it; and never\nwas any Night more impatiently long\u2019d for, than this was by them both.\nThey had indeed not many Hours of Expectation, but MELLIORA thought\nthem Ages; all her hopes were, that if she cou\u2019d have an opportunity of\ndiscovering to _Count_ D\u2019ELMONT what she had heard between his Wife and\nBrother, he might find some means to prevent the _Baron\u2019s_ Treachery\nfrom taking Effect. But when Night grew on, and she perceiv\u2019d he came\nnot, and she consider\u2019d how near she was to inevitable Ruin, what Words\ncan sufficiently express her Agonies? So I shall only say, they were\ntoo violent to have long kept Company with Life; Guilt, Horrour, Fear,\nRemorse, and Shame at once oppress\u2019d her, and she was very near sinking\nbeneath their Weight, when somebody knock\u2019d softly at the Door; she\nmade no doubt but it was the _Count_, and open\u2019d it immediately, and he\ncatching her in his Arms with all the eagerness of transported Love, she\nwas about to clear his Mistake, and let him know it was not an amourous\nEntertainment she expected from him; when a sudden cry of Murder, and the\nnoise of clashing Swords, made him let go his hold, and draw his own, and\nrun along the Gallery to find out the occasion, where being in the dark,\nand only directed by the noise he heard in his Wife\u2019s Chamber, something\nmet the point, and a great shriek following it, he cry\u2019d for Lights but\nnone coming immediately; he stepping farther stumbled at the Body which\nhad fallen, he then redoubled his outcrys, and MELLIORA, frighted as\nshe was, brought one from her Chamber, and at the same Instant that\nthey discover\u2019d it was ALOVISA, who coming to alarm the Family, had by\nAccident run on her Husband\u2019s Sword, they saw the _Chevalier_ pursuing\nthe _Baron_, who mortally wounded, dropt down by ALOVISA\u2019S side; what\na dreadful View was this? The _Count_, MELLIORA, and the Servants, who\nby this time were most of them rowz\u2019d, seem\u2019d without Sence or Motion,\nonly the _Chevalier_ had Spirit enough to speak, or think, so stupify\u2019d\nwas every one with what they saw. But he ordering the Servants to take\nup the Bodies, sent one of \u2019em immediately for a Surgeon, but they\nwere both of them past his Art to cure; ALOVISA spoke no more, and the\n_Baron_ liv\u2019d but two Days, in which time the whole Account, as it was\ngather\u2019d from the Mouths of those chiefly concern\u2019d, was set down, and\nthe Tragical part of it being laid before the KING, there appear\u2019d so\nmuch of Justice in the _Baron\u2019s_ Death, and Accident in ALOVISA\u2019S, that\nthe _Count_ and _Chevalier_ found it no difficult matter to obtain their\nPardon. The _Chevalier_ was soon after Married to his beloved ANSELLINA;\nbut MELLIORA look\u2019d on herself as the most guilty Person upon Earth, as\nbeing the primary Cause of all the Misfortunes that had happen\u2019d, and\nretir\u2019d immediately to a Monastery, from whence, not all the entreaties\nof her Friends, nor the implorations of the Amorous D\u2019ELMONT cou\u2019d bring\nher, she was now resolv\u2019d to punish, by a voluntary Banishment from all\nshe ever did, or cou\u2019d love; the Guilt of Indulging that Passion, while\nit was a Crime. He, not able to live without her, at least in the same\nClimate, committed the Care of his Estate to his Brother, and went to\nTravel, without an Inclination ever to return: MELANTHA who was not of a\nHumour to take any thing to Heart, was Married in a short Time, and had\nthe good Fortune not to be suspected by her Husband, though she brought\nhim a Child in Seven Months after her Wedding.\n                _Success can then alone your Vows attend,_\n                _When Worth\u2019s the Motive, Constancy the End._\n                             EPILOGUE to the _Spartan_ Dame.\n                 Printed for W. CHETWOOD, J. WOODMAN, D.\n[Illustration]\nLOVE in EXCESS:\nOR, THE\nFATAL ENQUIRY.\nThe Third and Last PART.\nTho\u2019 Count _D\u2019elmont_ never had any tenderness for _Alovisa_, and her\nExtravagance of Rage and Jealousie, join\u2019d to his Passion for _Melliora_,\nhad every Day abated it, yet the manner of her Death was too great a\nshock to the sweetness of his Disposition, to be easily worn off; he\ncou\u2019d not remember her Uneasiness, without reflecting that it sprung only\nfrom her too violent Affection for him; and tho\u2019 there was no possibility\nof living happily with her, when he consider\u2019d that she died, not only\nfor him, but by his Hand, his Compassion for the Cause, and Horror for\nthe unwish\u2019d, as well as undesign\u2019d Event, drew Lamentations from him,\nmore sincere, perhaps, than one of those Husbands, who call themselves\nvery loving ones, wou\u2019d make.\nTo alleviate the troubles of his Mind, he had endeavour\u2019d all he cou\u2019d,\nto persuade _Melliora_ to continue in his House; but that afflicted Lady\nwas not to be prevail\u2019d upon, she look\u2019d on her self, as in a manner,\naccessary to _Alovisa_\u2019s Death, and thought the least she ow\u2019d to her\nReputation was to see the _Count_ no more, and tho\u2019 in the forming this\nResolution, she felt Torments unconceivable, yet the strength of her\nVirtue enabled her to keep it, and she return\u2019d to the Monastery, where\nshe had been Educated, carrying with her nothing of that Peace of Mind\nwith which she left it.\nNot many Days pass\u2019d between her Departure, and the _Count_\u2019s; he took\nhis way towards _Italy_, by the Persuasions of his Brother, who, since he\nfound him bent to Travel, hop\u2019d that Garden of the World might produce\nsomething to divert his Sorrows; he took but two Servants with him, and\nthose rather for conveniency than State: _Ambition_, once his darling\nPassion, was now wholly extinguish\u2019d in him by these Misfortunes, and he\nno longer thought of making a Figure in the World; but his _Love_ nothing\ncou\u2019d abate, and \u2019tis to be believ\u2019d that the violence of that wou\u2019d have\ndriven him to the use of some fatal Remedy, if the _Chevalier Brillian_,\nto whom he left the Care of _Melliora_\u2019s and her Brother\u2019s Fortune as\nwell as his own, had not, tho\u2019 with much difficulty, obtain\u2019d a Promise\nfrom her, of conversing with him by Letters.\nThis was all he had to keep hope alive, and indeed it was no\ninconsiderable Consolation, for she that allows a Correspondence of that\nKind with a Man that has any Interest in her Heart, can never persuade\nherself, while she does so, to make him become indifferent to her.\nWhen we give our selves the liberty of even talking of the Person we\nhave once lov\u2019d, and find the least pleasure in that Discourse, \u2019tis\nridiculous to imagine we are free from that Passion, without which, the\nmention of it would be but insipid to our Ears, and the remembrance\nto our Minds, tho\u2019 our Words are never so Cold, they are the Effects\nof a secret Fire, which burns not with less Strength for not being\nDilated. The _Count_ had too much Experience of all the Walks and Turns\nof Passion to be ignorant of this, if _Melliora_ had endeavour\u2019d to\ndisguise her Sentiments, but she went not so far, she thought it a\nsufficient vindication of her Virtue, to withold the rewarding of his\nLove, without feigning a coldness to which she was a stranger, and he\nhad the satisfaction to observe a tenderness in her Stile, which assur\u2019d\nhim, that her _Heart_ was unalterably his, and very much strengthen\u2019d his\nHopes, that one Day her Person might be so too, when time had a little\neffac\u2019d the Memory of those Circumstances, which had obliged her to put\nthis constraint on her Inclinations.\nHe wrote to her from every Post-Town, and waited till he receiv\u2019d\nher Answer, by this means his Journey was extreamly tedious, but no\nAdventures of any moment, falling in his way \u2019till he came to _Rome_, I\nshall not trouble my Readers with a recital of particulars which cou\u2019d be\nno way Entertaining.\nBut, how strangely do they deceive themselves, who fancy that they are\nLovers, yet on every little turn of Fortune, or Change of Circumstance,\nare agitated, with any Vehemence, by Cares of a far different Nature?\n_Love_ is too jealous, too arbitrary a Monarch to suffer any other\nPassion to equalize himself in that Heart where he has fix\u2019d his Throne.\nWhen once enter\u2019d, he becomes the whole Business of our Lives, we\nthink----we Dream of nothing else, nor have a Wish not inspir\u2019d by him:\nThose who have the Power to apply themselves so seriously to any other\nConsideration as to forget him, tho\u2019 but for a Moment, are but Lovers in\nConceit, and have entertain\u2019d Desire but as an agreeable Amusement, which\nwhen attended with any Inconvenience, they may without much difficulty\nshake off. Such a sort of Passion may be properly enough call\u2019d _Liking_,\nbut falls widely short of _Love_. _Love_, is what we can neither resist,\nexpel, nor even alleviate, if we should never so vigorously attempt it;\nand tho\u2019 some have boasted, _Thus far will I yield and no farther_, they\nhave been convinc\u2019d of the Vanity of forming such Resolutions by the\nimpossibility of keeping them. _Liking_ is a flashy Flame, which is to\nbe kept alive only by ease and delight. _Love_, needs not this fewel\nto maintain its Fire, it survives in Absence, and disappointments, it\nendures, unchill\u2019d, the wintry Blasts of cold Indifference and Neglect,\nand continues its Blaze, even in a storm of Hatred and Ingratitude,\nand Reason, Pride, or a just sensibility of conscious Worth, in vain\noppose it. _Liking_, plays gaily round, feeds on the Sweets in gross,\nbut is wholly insensible of the Thorns which guard the nicer, and more\nrefin\u2019d Delicacies of Desire, and can consequently give neither Pain, nor\nPleasure in any superlative degree. _Love_ creates intollerable Torments!\nUnspeakable Joys! Raises us to the highest Heaven of Happiness, or sinks\nus to the lowest Hell of Misery.\nCount _D\u2019elmont_ experienc\u2019d the Truth of this Assertion; for neither\nhis just concern for the manner of _Alovisa_\u2019s Death cou\u2019d curb the\nExuberance of his Joy, when he consider\u2019d himself belov\u2019d by _Melliora_,\nnor any Diversion of which _Rome_ afforded great Variety, be able to make\nhim support being absent from her with Moderation. There are I believe,\nbut few modern Lovers, how Passionate and constant soever they pretend to\nbe, who wou\u2019d not in the _Count_\u2019s Circumstances have found some matter\nof Consolation; but he seem\u2019d wholly dead to Gaiety. In vain, all the\n_Roman_ Nobility courted his acquaintance; in vain the Ladies made use\nof their utmost Artifice to engage him: He prefer\u2019d a solitary Walk, a\nlonely Shade, or the Bank of some purling Stream, where he undisturb\u2019d\nmight contemplate on his belov\u2019d _Melliora_, to all the noisy Pleasures\nof the Court, or the endearments of the inviting Fair. In fine, he shun\u2019d\nas much as possible all Conversation with the Men, or Correspondence with\nthe Women; returning all their _Billet-Doux_, of which scarce a Day past,\nwithout his receiving some, unanswer\u2019d.\nThis manner of Behaviour in a little time deliver\u2019d him from the\nPersecutions of the Discreet; but having receiv\u2019d one Letter which he had\nus\u2019d as he had done the rest, it was immediately seconded by another;\nboth which contain\u2019d as follows:\n    [Illustration]\n    LETTER I.\n    To the never Enough Admir\u2019d COUNT D\u2019ELMONT.\n    _In your Country, where Women are allow\u2019d the priveledge of\n    being seen and Address\u2019d to, it wou\u2019d be a Crime unpardonable\n    to Modesty, to make the first Advances. But here, where rigid\n    Rules are Bar\u2019s, as well to Reason, as to Nature: It wou\u2019d be\n    as great one, to feign an Infidelity of your Merit. I say,\n    feign, for I look on it, as an impossibility really to behold\n    you with Indifferency: But, if I cou\u2019d believe that any of my\n    Sex were in good earnest so dull, I must confess, I shou\u2019d Envy\n    that happy Stupidity, which wou\u2019d secure me from the Pains\n    such a Passion, as you create, must Inflict; unless, from the\n    Millions whom your Charms have preach\u2019d; you have yet a corner\n    of your Heart Unpreposess\u2019d; and an Inclination willing to\n    receive the Impression of_,\n                    Your most Passionate and Tender,\n              (but \u2019till she receives a favourable Answer)\n    [Illustration]\n    LETTER II.\n    To the Ungrateful D\u2019ELMONT.\n    _Unworthy of the Happiness design\u2019d you! Is it thus, That\n    you return the Condescention of a Lady? How fabulous is\n    Report, which speaks those of your Country, warm and full\n    of amorous Desires?--Thou, sure, art colder than the bleak\n    northern Islanders--dull, stupid Wretch! Insensible of every\n    Passion which give Lustre to the Soul, and differ Man from\n    Brute!--Without Gratitude--Without Love--Without Desire--Dead,\n    even to Curiosity!--How I cou\u2019d despise Thee for this\n    narrowness of Mind, were there not something in thy Eyes and\n    Mein which assure me, that this negligent Behaviour is but\n    affected; and that there are within thy Breast, some Seeds\n    of hidden Fire, which want but the Influence of Charms, more\n    potent perhaps, than you have yet beheld, to kindle into Blaze.\n    Make hast then to be Enliven\u2019d, for I flatter my self \u2019tis in\n    my Power to work this wonder, and long to inspire so Lovely a\n    Form with Sentiments only worthy of it.--The Bearer of this,\n    is a Person who I dare Confide in--Delay not to come with him,\n    for when once you are Taught what \u2019tis to Love; you\u2019ll not be\n    Ignorant that doubtful Expectation is the worst of Racks, and\n    from your own Experience. Pity what I feel, thus chill\u2019d with\n    Doubt, yet burning with Desire._\nThe _Count_ was pretty much surpriz\u2019d at the odd Turn of this _Billet_;\nbut being willing to put an End to the Ladies Trouble, as well as his\nown; sat down, and without giving himself much Time to think, writ these\nLines in Answer to Hers.\n    [Illustration]\n    To the Fair INCOGNITA.\n    MADAM,\n    _If you have no other design in Writing to me, than your\n    DIVERSION, methinks my Mourning Habit, to which my Countenance\n    and Behaviour are no way Unconformable, might inform you, I am\n    little dispos\u2019d for Raillery. If in EARNEST you can find any\n    thing in me which pleases you, I must confess my self entirely\n    unworthy of the Honour, not only by my personal Demerits, but\n    by the Resolution I have made, of Conversing with none of your\n    Sex while I continue in ITALY. I shou\u2019d be sorry however to\n    incurr the Aspersion of an unmannerly Contemner of Favours,\n    which tho\u2019 I do not DESIRE, I pretend not to DESERVE. I\n    therefore beg you will believe that I return this, as I did\n    your Former, only to let you see, that since I decline making\n    any use of your Condescentions to my Advantage; I am not\n    ungenerous enough to do so to your Prejudice, and to all Ladies\n    deserving the regard of a Disinterested Well-wisher; shall be\nThe _Count_ order\u2019d one of his Servants to deliver this Letter to the\nPerson who brought the other; but he return\u2019d immediately with it in his\nHand, and told his Lordship that he cou\u2019d not prevail on the Fellow to\ntake it; that he said he had business with the _Count_, and must needs\nsee him, and was so Importunate, that he seem\u2019d rather to _Demand_, than\n_Entreat_ a Grant of his Request. D\u2019ELMONT was astonish\u2019d, as well he\nmight, but commanded he should be admitted.\nNothing cou\u2019d be more comical than the appearance of this Fellow, he\nseem\u2019d to be about three-score Years of Age, but Time had not been the\ngreatest Enemy to his Face, for the Number of Scars, was far exceeding\nthat of Wrincles, he was tall above the common Stature, but so lean,\nthat, till he spoke, he might have been taken for one of those Wretches\nwho have pass\u2019d the Hands of the Anatomists, nor wou\u2019d his Walk have\ndissipated that Opinion, for all his Motions, as he enter\u2019d the Chamber,\nhad more of the Air of Clock-work, than of Nature; his Dress was not\nless particular; he had on a Suit of Cloaths, which might perhaps have\nbeen good in the Days of his Great Grand-father, but the Person who they\nfitted must have been five times larger about the Body than him who wore\nthem; a large broad buff Belt however remedy\u2019d that Inconvenience, and\ngirt them close about his Waste, in which hung a Faulchion, two Daggers,\nand a Sword of a more than ordinary Extent; the rest of his Equipage was\na Cloak, which buttoning round his Neck fell not so low as his Hips, a\nHat, which in rainy weather kept his Shoulders dry much better than an\n_Indian_ Umbrella, one Glove, and a formidable pair of Whiskers. As soon\nas he saw the _Count_, my Lord, said he, with a very impudent Air, my\nOrders were to bring your self, not a Letter from you, nor do I use to be\nemploy\u2019d in Affairs of this Nature, but to serve one of the richest and\nmost beautiful Ladies in _Rome_, who I assure you, it will be dangerous\nto disoblige. _D\u2019elmont_ ey\u2019d him intentively all the time he spoke,\nand cou\u2019d scarce, notwithstanding his Chagreen, forbear Laughing at the\nFigure he made, and the manner of his Salutation. I know not, answer\u2019d\nhe, Ironically, what Employments you have been us\u2019d to, but certainly you\nappear to me, one of the most unfit Persons in the World for what you\nnow undertake, and if the Contents of the Paper you brought me, had not\ninform\u2019d me of your Abilities this Way, I should never have suspected you\nfor one of _Cupid_\u2019s Agents: You are merry, my Lord, reply\u2019d the other,\nbut I must tell you, I am a Man of Family and Honour, and shall not put\nup an Affront; but, continued he, shaking the few Hairs which frequent\nSkirmishes had left upon his Head, I shall defer my own satisfaction\n\u2019till I have procur\u2019d the Ladies; therefore, if your Lordship will\nprepare to follow, I shall walk before, at a perceivable Distance, and\nwithout St. _Peter_\u2019s Key, open the Gate of Heaven. I should be apt (said\nthe _Count_, not able to keep his Countenance at these Words) rather to\ntake it for the other Place; but be it as it will; I have not the least\nInclination to make the Experiment, therefore, you may walk as soon as\nyou please without expecting me to accompany you. Then you absolutely\nrefuse to go (cry\u2019d the Fellow, clapping his Hand on his Forhead, and\nstaring at him, as if he meant to scare him into Compliance!) Yes\n(answer\u2019d the _Count_, laughing more and more) I shall neither go, nor\nwaste any farther time or Words with you, so wou\u2019d advise you not to be\nsaucy, or tarry till my Anger gets the better of my Mirth, but take the\nLetter and be gone, and trouble me no more. The other, at these Words\nlaid his Hand on his Sword, and was about to make some very impudent\nReply, when _D\u2019elmont_, growing weary of his Impertinence, made a Sign\nto his Servants, that they should turn him out, which he perceiving,\ntook up the Letter without being bid a second time, and muttering some\nunintelligible Curses between his Teeth, march\u2019d out, in the same\naffected Strut, with which he enter\u2019d.\nThis Adventure, tho\u2019 surprizing enough to a Person so entirely\nunacquainted with the Character and Behaviour of these _Bravo_\u2019s, as\n_D\u2019elmont_ was, gave him but very little matter of Reflection, and it\nbeing the time for Evening Service at St. _Peter_\u2019s, he went, according\nto his Custom, to hear _Vesper_\u2019s there.\nNothing is more Common, than for the Nobility and Gentry of _Rome_,\nto divert themselves with Walking, and talking to one another in the\n_Collonade_ after Mass, and the _Count_, tho\u2019 averse to all other publick\nAssemblies, wou\u2019d sometimes spend an Hour or two there.\nAs he was walking there this Evening, a Lady of a very gallant Mein\npass\u2019d swiftly by him, and flurting out her Handkerchief with a careless\nAir, as it were by Chance, drop\u2019d an _Agnus Dei_ set round with Diamonds\nat his Feet, he had too much Complaisance to neglect endeavouring to\novertake the Lady, and prevent the Pain he imagin\u2019d she wou\u2019d be in,\nwhen she shou\u2019d miss so rich a Jewel: But she, who knew well enough what\nshe had done, left the Walk where the Company were, and cross\u2019d over\nto the Fountain, which being more retir\u2019d was the most proper for her\nDesign: She stood looking on the Water, in a thoughtful Posture, when\nthe _Count_ came up to her, and bowing, with an Air peculiar to himself,\nand which all his Chagreen could not deprive of an irresistable Power of\nattraction, Presented the _Agnus Dei_ to her. I think my self, Madam,\nsaid he, highly indebted to Fortune, for making me the means of your\nrecovering a Jewel, the Loss of which wou\u2019d certainly have given you\nsome disquiet: Oh Heavens! cry\u2019d she, receiving it with an affected Air\nof Surprize, could a Trifle like this, which I knew not that I had let\nfall, nor perhaps shou\u2019d have thought on more, cou\u2019d this, and belonging\nto a Woman too, meet the Regard of him, who prides in his Insensibility?\nHim! Who has no Eyes for Beauty, nor no Heart for Love! As she spoke\nthese Words she contriv\u2019d to let her Vail fall back as if by Accident,\nand discover\u2019d a Face, Beautiful even to Perfection! Eyes black and\nsparkling, a Mouth form\u2019d to Invite, a Skin dazlingly white, thro\u2019 which\na most delightful Bloom diffus\u2019d a chearful Warmth, and glow\u2019d in amorous\nBlushes on her Cheeks. The _Count_ could not forbear gazing on her\nwith Admiration, and perhaps, was, for a Moment, pretty near receeding\nfrom that Insensibility she had reproach\u2019d him with; but the Image of\nMELLIORA, yet unenjoy\u2019d, all ravishingly Kind and Tender, rose presently\nin his Soul, fill\u2019d all his Faculties, and left no Passage free for\nrival Charms. Madam, said he after a little Pause, the _Italian_ Ladies\ntake care to skreen their too dazling Lustre behind a Cloud, and, if I\ndurst take that Liberty, have certainly reason to Tax your Accusation\nof Injustice; he, on whom the Sun has never vouchsafed to shine, ought\nnot to be condemn\u2019d for not acknowledging its brightness; yours is the\nfirst Female Face I have beheld, since my Arrival here, and it wou\u2019d have\nbeen as ridiculous to have feign\u2019d my self susceptible of Charms which\nI had never seen, as it wou\u2019d be Stupidity, not to confess those I now\ndo, worthy Adoration. Well, resum\u2019d she smiling, if not the _Lover_\u2019s,\nI find, you know how to Act the _Courtier_\u2019s Part, but continued she,\nlooking languishingly on him, all you can say, will scarce make me\nbelieve, that there requires not a much brighter Sun than mine, to Thaw\na certain Frozen _Resolution_, you pretend to have made. There need no\nmore to confirm the _Count_ in the Opinion he had before conceiv\u2019d, that\nthis was the Lady from whom he had receiv\u2019d the two Letters that Day,\nand thought he had now the fairest Opportunity in the World to put an\nEnd to her Passion, by assuring her how impossible it was for him ever\nto return it, and was forming an Answer to that purpose; when a pretty\ndeal of Company coming toward them, she drew her Vail over her Face, and\nturning hastily from him, mingled with some Ladies, who seem\u2019d to be of\nher Acquaintance.\nThe _Count_ knew by experience, the unutterable Perturbations of\nSuspence, and what agonizing Tortures rend an amorous Soul, divided\nbetwixt Hope and Fear: Despair itself is not so Cruel as Uncertainty,\nand in all Ills, especially in those of Love, it is less Misery to\n_Know_, than _Dread_ the worst. The Remembrance of what he had suffer\u2019d\nthus agitated, in the Beginning of his Passion for _Melliora_, made him\nextreamly pity the unknown Lady, and regret her sudden Departure; because\nit had prevented him from setting her into so much of his Circumstances,\nas he believ\u2019d were necessary to induce her to recall her Heart. But\nwhen he consider\u2019d how much he had struggled, and how far he had been\nfrom being able to repel Desire, he began to wonder that it cou\u2019d ever\nenter into his Thoughts that there was even a possibility for _Woman_, so\nmuch stronger in her Fancy, and weaker in her Judgment, to suppress the\nInfluence of that powerful Passion; against which, no Laws, no Rules, no\nForce of Reason, or Philosophy, are sufficient Guard.\nThese Reflections gave no small Addition to his Melancholy; _Amena_\u2019s\nRetirement from the World; _Alovisa_\u2019s Jealousy and Death; _Melliora_\u2019s\nPeace of Mind and Reputation, and the Despair of several, whom he was\nsensible, the Love of him, had rendred miserable, came fresh into his\nMemory, and he look\u2019d on himself as most unhappy, in being the occasion\nof making others so.\nThe Night which succeeded this Day of Adventures, chancing to be abroad\npretty late; as he was passing thro\u2019 a Street, he heard a Clashing of\nSwords, and going nearer to the place where the Noise was, he perceiv\u2019d\nby some Lights which glimmer\u2019d from a distant Door, a Gentleman defending\nhimself with much Bravery against Three, who seem\u2019d eager for his Death.\n_D\u2019elmont_ was mov\u2019d to the highest Indignation at the sight of such\nBaseness; and drawing his Sword, flew furiously on the Assassins, just as\none of them was about to run his Sword into the Breast of the Gentleman;\nwho, by the breaking of his own Blade, was left unarm\u2019d. _Turn Villain_,\ncry\u2019d D\u2019elmont, _or while you are acting that Inhumanly, receive the\njust Reward of it from me_. The Ruffian fac\u2019d about immediately, and made\na Pass at him, while one of his Comrades did the same on the other side;\nand the third was going to execute on the Gentleman, what his fellows\nSurprize had made him leave undone: But he now gain\u2019d Time to pull a\nPistol out of his Pocket, with which he shot him in a Moment dead, and\nsnatching his Sword from him as he fell, ran to assist the _Count_, who\n\u2019tis likely wou\u2019d have stood in need of it, being engag\u2019d with two, and\nthose the most desparate sort of _Bravo\u2019s_, Villains that make a Trade\nof Death. But the Noise of the Pistol made them apprehensive there was a\nfarther Rescue, and put \u2019em to flight. The Gentleman seem\u2019d agitated with\na more than ordinary Fury; and instead of staying to Thank the _Count_,\nor enquire how he had escap\u2019d, ran in pursuit of those who had assaulted\nhim, so swiftly, that it was in vain for the _Count_, not being well\nacquainted with the Turnings of the Streets, to attempt to follow him, if\nhe had a Mind to it: But seeing there was a Man kill\u2019d, and not knowing\neither the Persons who fought, or the occasion of their Quarrel, he\nrightly judg\u2019d, that being a Stranger in the place, his Word wou\u2019d not be\nvery readily taken in his own Vindication; therefore thought his wisest\nCourse wou\u2019d be to make off, with what Speed he cou\u2019d, to his Lodging.\nWhile he was considering, he saw something on the Ground which glitter\u2019d\nextreamly; and taking it up, found that it was part of the Sword which\nthe assaulted Gentleman had the Misfortune to have broke: The Hilt was of\na fine Piece of Agate, set round on the Top with Diamonds, which made him\nbelieve the Person whom he had preserv\u2019d, was of considerable Quality, as\nwell as Bravery.\nHe had not gone many Paces from the place where the Skirmish happened,\nbefore a Cry of Murder met his Ears, and a great Concourse of People\nhis Eyes: He had receiv\u2019d two or three slight Wounds, which, tho\u2019 not\nmuch more than Skin-deep, had made his Linnen bloody, and he knew wou\u2019d\nbe sufficient to make him be apprehended, if he were seen, which it was\nvery difficult to avoid: He was in a narrow Street, which had no Turning,\nand the Crowd was very near him, when looking round him with a good deal\nof Vexation in his Thoughts, he discern\u2019d a Wall, which in one part of\nit seem\u2019d pretty low: He presently resolv\u2019d to climb it, and trust to\nFortune for what might befall him on the other side, rather than stay\nto be expos\u2019d to the Insults of the Outrageous Mob; who, ignorant of\nhis Quality, and looking no farther than the outside of Things, wou\u2019d\ndoubtless have consider\u2019d him no otherwise, than a Midnight _Rioter_.\nWhen he was got over the Wall, he found himself in a very fine Garden,\nadorn\u2019d with Fountains, Statues, Groves, and every Ornament, that Art,\nor Nature, cou\u2019d produce, for the Delight of the Owner: At the upper End\nthere was a Summer-house, into which he went, designing to stay \u2019till the\nSearch was over.\nBut He had not been many Moments in his Concealment before he saw a Door\nopen from the House, and two Women come out; they walk\u2019d directly up to\nthe place where he was; he made no doubt but that they design\u2019d to enter,\nand retir\u2019d into the farthest Corner of it: As they came pretty near,\nhe found they were earnest in Discourse, but cou\u2019d understand nothing\nof what they said, \u2019till she, who seem\u2019d to be the Chief, raising her\nVoice a little higher than she had done: Talk no more, _Brione_ said\nshe, if e\u2019re thy Eyes are Blest to see this Charmer of my Soul, thou\nwil\u2019t cease to wonder at my Passion; great as it is, \u2019tis wanting of\nhis Merit.----Oh! He is more than Raptur\u2019d Poets feign, or Fancy can\ninvent! Suppose Him so, (_cry\u2019d the other_,) yet still he wants that\nCharm which shou\u2019d Endear the others to you---Softness,---Heavens! To\nReturn your Letters! To Insult your Messenger! To slight such Favours as\nany Man of Soul wou\u2019d die to obtain! Methinks such Usage shou\u2019d make\nhim odious to you,---even I shou\u2019d scorn so spiritless a Wretch. Peace,\nthou Prophaner, _said the Lady in an angry Tone_, such Blasphemy deserves\na Stab----But thou hast never heard his Voice, nor seen his Eyes, and I\nforgive Thee. Have you then spoke to him, _interrupted the Confidant_,\nYes, _answer\u2019d the Lady_, and by that Conversation, am more undone than\never; it was to tell thee this Adventure, I came to Night into this\nagreeable Solitude. With these Words they came into the Summer-house,\nand the Lady seating her self on a Bench; Thou know\u2019st, _resum\u2019d she_, I\nwent this Evening to Saint _Peter_\u2019s, there I saw the glorious Man; saw\nhim in all his Charms; and while I bow\u2019d my Knee, in show to Heaven, my\nSoul was prostrate only to him. When the Ceremony was over, perceiving\nhe stay\u2019d in the _Collonade_, I had no power to leave it, but stood,\nregardless who observ\u2019d me, gazing on him with Transports, which only\nthose who Love like me, can guess!---God! With what an Air he walk\u2019d!\nWhat new Attractions dwelt in every Motion---And when he return\u2019d the\nSalutes of any that pass\u2019d by him, how graceful was his Bow! How lofty\nhis Mein, and yet, how affable!----A sort of an inexpressible awful\nGrandeur, blended with tender Languishments, strikes the amaz\u2019d Beholder\nat once with Fear and Joy!---Something beyond Humanity shines round him!\nSuch looks descending Angels wear, when sent on Heavenly Embassies to\nsome Favourite Mortal! Such is their Form! Such Radient Beams they dart;\nand with such Smiles they temper their Divinity with Softness!---Oh! With\nwhat Pain did I restrain my self from flying to him! from rushing into\nhis Arms! From hanging on his Neck, and wildly uttering all the furious\nWishes of my burning Soul!-----I trembled-----panted----rag\u2019d with inward\nAgonies. Nor was all the Reason I cou\u2019d muster up, sufficient to bear me\nfrom his Sight, without having first spoke to him. To that end I ventur\u2019d\nto pass by him, and drop\u2019d an _Agnus Dei_ at his Feet, believing that\nwou\u2019d give him an Occasion of following me, which he did immediately, and\nreturning it to me, discover\u2019d a new Hoard of unimagin\u2019d Charms----All my\nfond Soul confess\u2019d before of his Perfections, were mean to what I now\nbeheld! Had\u2019st thou but seen how he approach\u2019d me--with what an awful\nReverence---with what a soft beseeching, yet commanding Air, he kiss\u2019d\nthe happy Trifle, as he gave it me, thou would\u2019st have envy\u2019d it as\nwell as I! At last he spoke, and with an Accent so Divine, that if the\nsweetest Musick were compar\u2019d to the more Celestial Harmony of his Voice,\nit wou\u2019d only serve to prove how vastly _Nature_ do\u2019s excell all _Art_.\nBut, Madam, _cry\u2019d the other_, I am impatient to know the End of this\nAffair; for I presume you discover\u2019d to him both what, and who you were?\nMy Face only, reply\u2019d the Lady, for e\u2019re I had opportunity to do more,\nthat malicious Trifler, _Violetta_, perhaps envious of my Happiness,\ncame toward us with a Crowd of Impertinents at her Heels. Curse on the\nInterruption, and broke off our Conversation, just at that Blest, but\nIrrecoverable Moment, when I perceiv\u2019d in my Charming Conqueror\u2019s Eyes,\na growing Tenderness, sufficient to encourage me to reveal my own.\nYes, _Brione_, those lovely Eyes, while fix\u2019d on mine, shone, with a\nLustre, uncommon, even to themselves---A livelier Warmth o\u2019erspread his\nCheeks----Pleasure sat smiling on his Lips----those Lips, my Girl, which\neven when they are silent, speak; but when unclos\u2019d, and the sweet Gales\nof balmy Breath blow on you, he kills you in a Sigh; each hurry\u2019d Sense\nis ravish\u2019d and your Soul glows with Wonder and Delight. Oh! To be forc\u2019d\nto leave him in this Crisis, when new desire began to dawn; when Love its\nmost lively Symptoms was apparent, and seem\u2019d to promise all my Wishes\ncovet, what Separation ever was so cruel? Compose your self, dear Madam,\nsaid _Brione_, if he be really in Love; as who so Insensible as not to be\nso, that once has seen your Charms? That _Love_ will teach him speedily\nto find out an opportunity as favourable as that which you have lately\nmiss\u2019d; or if he shou\u2019d want Contrivance to procure his own Happiness,\n\u2019tis but your writing to appoint a Meeting. He must---He shall be mine!\nCry\u2019d the Lady in a Rapture, My Love, fierce as it was before, from Hope\nreceives Addition to its Fury; I rave---I burn---I am mad with wild\nDesires---I die, _Brione_, if I not possess him. In speaking these Words,\nshe threw her self down on a Carpet which was spread upon the Floor; and\nafter sighing two or three times, continued to discover the Violence of\nher impatient Passion in this manner: Oh that this Night, said she, were\npast,---the Blisful Expectation of to morrows Joys, and the distracting\nDoubts of Disappointment, swell my unequal beating Heart by turns, and\nrack me with Vicissitudes of Pain-----I cannot live and bear it----soon\nas the Morning breaks, I\u2019ll know my Doom----I\u2019ll send to him----but\n\u2019tis an Age till then----Oh that I cou\u2019d sleep---Sleep might perhaps\nanticipate the Blessing, and bring him in Idea to my Arms----but \u2019tis in\nvain to hope one Moment\u2019s cool Serenity in Love like mine--my anxious\nThoughts hurry my Senses in Eternal Watchings!---Oh _D\u2019elmont! D\u2019elmont!_\nTranquill, Cold, and Calm _D\u2019elmont!_ Little doest thou guess the Tempest\nthou hast rais\u2019d within my Soul, nor know\u2019st to pity these consuming\nFires!\nThe _Count_ list\u2019ned to all this Discourse with a World of Uneasiness and\nImpatience; and tho\u2019 at the first he fancy\u2019d he remember\u2019d the Voice, and\nhad Reason enough from the beginning, especially when the _Agnus Dei_ was\nmention\u2019d, to believe it cou\u2019d be no other than himself, whom the Lady\nhad so passionately describ\u2019d; yet he had not Confidence to appear till\nshe had nam\u2019d him; but then, no consideration was of force to make him\nneglect this opportunity of undeceiving her; his good Sense, as well as\ngood Nature, kept him from that Vanity, too many of his Sex imitate the\nweaker in, of being pleas\u2019d that it was in his Power to create Pains,\nwhich it was not in his Power, so devoted as he was, to Ease.\nHe stept from his Retirement as softly as he cou\u2019d, because he was\nloath to alarm them with any Noise, \u2019till they shou\u2019d discover who it\nwas that made it, which they might easily do, in his advancing toward\nthem never so little, that part of the Bower being much lighter than\nthat where he had stood; but with his over-caution in sliding his Feet\nalong, to prevent being heard, one of them tangled in the Corner of the\nCarpet, which happened not to lie very smooth, and not being sensible\npresently what it was that Embarrass\u2019d him: He fell with part of his\nBody cross the Lady, and his Head in _Brione_\u2019s Lap, who was sitting\non the Ground by her. The Manner of his Fall was lucky enough, for it\nhinder\u2019d either of them from rising, and running to alarm the Family,\nas certainly in such a fright they wou\u2019d have done, if his Weight had\nnot detain\u2019d them; they both gave a great Shriek, but the House being\nat a good distance, they cou\u2019d not easily be heard; and he immediately\nrecovering himself, beg\u2019d Pardon for the Terror he had occasion\u2019d them;\nand addressing to the Lady, who at first was dying with her Fears, and\nnow with Consternation: _D\u2019elmont_, Madam, said he, cou\u2019d not have had\nthe Assurance to appear before you, after hearing those undeserv\u2019d\nPraises your Excess of Goodness has been pleas\u2019d to bestow upon him, but\nthat his Soul wou\u2019d have reproach\u2019d him of the highest Ingratitude, in\npermitting you to continue longer in an Error, which may involve you in\nthe greatest of Misfortunes, at least I am----As he was speaking, three\nor four Servants with Lights came running from the House; and the Lady,\ntho\u2019 in more Confusion than can be well exprest, had yet Presence of\nMind enough to bid the _Count_ retire to the place where he had stood\nbefore, while she and _Brione_ went out of the Summer-house to learn\nthe Cause of this Interruption: Madam, cry\u2019d one of the Servants,\nas soon as he saw her, the Officers of Justice are within; who being\nrais\u2019d by an Alarm of Murther, come to beg your Ladyships Permission\nto search your Garden, being, as they say, inform\u2019d that the Offender\nmade his Escape over this Wall. \u2019Tis very improbable, reply\u2019d the Lady,\nfor I have been here a considerable Time, and have neither heard the\nleast Noise, nor seen any Body: However they may search, and satisfy\nthemselves----go you, and tell them so. Then turning to the _Count_, when\nshe had dismiss\u2019d her Servants; My Lord, said she Trembling, I know not\nwhat strange Adventure brought you here to Night, or whether you are the\nPerson for whom the Search is made; but am sensible, if you are found\nhere, it will be equally injurious to your Safety, and my Reputation; I\nhave a Back-door, thro\u2019 which you may pass in Security: But, if you have\nHonour, (continu\u2019d she) Sighing, Gratitude, or good Nature, you will let\nme see you to morrow Night. Madam, (reply\u2019d he,) assure your self that\nthere are not many things I more earnestly desire than an opportunity to\nconvince you, how sensibly I am touch\u2019d with your Favours, and how much\nI regret my want of Power to---you, (interrupted she,) can want nothing\nbut the _Will_ to make me the happiest of my Sex---but this is no Time\nfor you to _Give_, or me to _Receive_ any Proofs of that Return which I\nexpect----Once more I conjure you to be here to morrow Night at Twelve,\nwhere the Faithful _Brione_ shall attend to admit you. Farewell---be\npunctual and sincere--\u2019Tis all I ask---when I am not, (answer\u2019d he,) may\nall my Hopes forsake me. By this time they were come to the Door, which\n_Brione_, opening softly, let him out, and shut it again immediately.\nThe _Count_ took care to Remark the place that he might know it again,\nresolving nothing more than to make good his Promise at the appointed\nHour, but cou\u2019d not help being extreamly troubled, when he consider\u2019d\nhow unwelcome his Sincerity wou\u2019d be, and the Confusion he must give\nthe Lady, when instead of those Raptures the Violence of her mistaken\nPassion made her hope, she shou\u2019d meet with only cold Civility, and the\nkilling History of the Pre-engagement of his Heart. In these and the\nlike melancholly Reflections he spent the Night; and when Morning came,\nreceiv\u2019d the severest Augmentation of them, which Fate cou\u2019d load him\nwith.\nIt was scarce full Day when a Servant came into his Chamber to acquaint\nhim, that a young Gentleman, a Stranger, desir\u2019d to be admitted, and\nseem\u2019d so impatient till he was, That, said the Fellow, not knowing of\nwhat Consequence his Business may be, I thought it better to Risque your\nLordship\u2019s Displeasure for this early Disturbance, than by dismissing\nhim, fill you with an unsatisfy\u2019d Curiosity. The _Count_ was far from\nbeing Angry, and commanded that the Gentleman should be brought up, which\nOrder being immediately obey\u2019d, and the Servant withdrawn out of Respect:\nPutting his Head out of the Bed, he was surpriz\u2019d with the Appearance of\none of the most beautiful _Chevaliers_ he had ever beheld, and in whose\nFace, he imagin\u2019d he trac\u2019d some Features not Unknown to him. Pardon,\nme Sir, said he, throwing the Curtains more back than they were before,\nthat I receive the Honour you do me, in this manner---but being ignorant\nof your Name, Quality, the Reason of your desire to see me, or any thing\nbut your Impatience to do so, in gratifying that, I fear, I have injur\u2019d\nthe Respect, which I believe, is due, and which, I am sure, my Heart\nis inclinable to pay to you. Visits, like mine, reply\u2019d the Stranger,\nrequire but little Ceremony, and I shall easily remit that Respect you\ntalk of, while I am unknown to you, provided you will give me one Mark of\nit, that I shall ask of you, when you do. There are very few, reply\u2019d\n_D\u2019elmont_, that I cou\u2019d refuse to one, whose Aspect Promises to deserve\nso many. First then, cry\u2019d the other pretty warmly, I demand a Sister\nof you, and not only her, but a Reparation of her Honour, which can be\ndone no otherwise than by your Blood. It is impossible to represent the\n_Count_\u2019s astonishment at these Words, but conscious of his Innocence\nin any such Affair: I shou\u2019d be sorry _Seignior_, said he cooly, that\nPrecipitation should hurry you to do any Action you wou\u2019d afterwards\nRepent; you must certainly be mistaken in the Person to whom you are\ntalking--Yet, if I were rash like you, what fatal Consequences might\nensue; but there is something in your Countenance which engages me to\nwish a more friendly Interview than what you speak of: Therefore wou\u2019d\npersuade you to consider calmly, and you will soon find, and acknowledge\nyour Mistake; and, to further that Reflection, I assure you, that I am\nso far from Conversing with any Lady, in the Manner you seem to hint,\nthat I scarcely know the Name, or Face of any one.---Nay, more, I give\nyou my Word, to which I joyn my Honour, that, as I never _have_, I never\n_will_ make the least Pretensions of that kind to any Woman during the\nTime of my Residence here. This poor Evasion, reply\u2019d the Stranger\nwith a Countenance all inflam\u2019d, ill suits a Man of Honour.---This is\nno _Roman_, no, _Italian Bono-Roba_, who I mean----but _French_ like\nyou----like both of us.----And if your Ingratitude had not made it\nnecessary for your Peace, to erace all Memory of _Monsieur Frankville_,\nyou wou\u2019d before now, by the near resemblance I bear to him, have known\nme for his Son, and that \u2019tis _Melliora_\u2019s---the fond---the lost---the\nruin\u2019d _Melliora_\u2019s Cause which calls for Vengeance from her Brother\u2019s\nArm! Never was any Soul agitated with more violent Emotions, than that of\nCount _D\u2019elmont_ at these Words. Doubt, Grief, Resentment, and Amazement,\nmade such a Confusion in his Thoughts, that he was unable for some\nMoments to answer this cruel Accusation; and when he did, the Brother\nof _Melliora_ said he with a deep Sigh, wou\u2019d certainly have been, next\nto her self, the most welcome Person upon Earth to me; and my Joy to\nhave Embrac\u2019d him as the dearest of my Friends, at least have equall\u2019d\nthe Surprize I am in, to find him without Cause, my Enemy.---But, Sir,\nif such a Favour may be granted to an unwilling Foe, I wou\u2019d desire to\nknow, Why you joyn _Ruin_ to your Sisters Name? Oh! Give me Patience\nHeaven, cry\u2019d young _Frankville_ more enrag\u2019d; is this a Question fit\nfor you to ask, or me to Answer? Is not her Honour Tainted---Fame\nbetray\u2019d.---Her self a Vagabond, and her House abus\u2019d, and all by you;\nthe unfaithful Guardian of her injur\u2019d Innocence?---And can you ask the\nCause?----No, rather rise this Moment, and if you are a Man, who dare\nmaintain the ill you have done, defend it with your Sword; not with vain\nWords and Womanish Excuses: All the other Passions which had warr\u2019d\nwithin _D\u2019elmont_\u2019s Breast, now gave way to Indignation: Rash young\nMan, said he, jumping hastily out of the Bed, and beginning to put his\nCloaths on: Your Father wou\u2019d not thus have us\u2019d me; nor, did he Live,\ncou\u2019d blame me, for vindicating as I ought my wounded Honour----That I\ndo Love your Sister, is as True, as that you have wrong\u2019d me---Basely\nwrong\u2019d me. But that her Virtue suffers by that Love, is false! And I\nmust write the Man that speaks it, _Lyar_, tho\u2019 in her Brother\u2019s Heart.\nMany other violent Expressions to the same Effect, pass\u2019d between them,\nwhile the _Count_ was dressing himself, for he wou\u2019d suffer no Servant to\ncome in, to be Witness of his Disorder. But the steady Resolution with\nwhich he had attested his Innocence, and that inexpressible sweetness of\nDeportment, equally Charming to both Sexes, and which, not even _Anger_\ncou\u2019d render less graceful, extreamly cool\u2019d the Heat _Frankville_ had\nbeen in a little before, and he in secret, began to recede very much\nfrom the ill Opinion he had conceiv\u2019d, tho\u2019 the greatness of his Spirit\nkept him from acknowledging he had been in an Error; \u2019till chancing to\ncast his Eyes on a Table which stood in the Chamber, he saw the hilt of\nthe broken Sword which _D\u2019elmont_ had brought home the Night before,\nlying on it; he took it up, and having first look\u2019d on it with some\nConfusion in his Countenance. My Lord, said he, turning to the _Count_,\nI conjure you, before we proceed further, to acquaint me truely, how\nthis came into your Possession, Tho\u2019 _D\u2019elmont_ had as great a Courage,\nwhen any laudable Occasion appear\u2019d to call it forth, as any Man that\never liv\u2019d, yet his natural Disposition had such an uncommon Sweetness\nin it, as no Provocation cou\u2019d sowre; it was always a much greater\nPleasure to him to _Forgive_ than _Punish_ Injuries; and if at any time\nhe was _Angry_, he was never _Rude_, or _Unjust_. The little starts of\nPassion, _Frankville_\u2019s rash Behaviour had occasion\u2019d, all dissolv\u2019d\nin his more accustomary Softness, when he perceiv\u2019d the other growing\nCalm. And answering to his Question, with the most obliging Accent in\nthe World: It was my good Fortune, (said he) to be instrumental last\nNight, in the Rescue of a Gentleman who appear\u2019d to have much Bravery,\nand being Attack\u2019d by odds, behav\u2019d himself in such a Manner, as wou\u2019d\nhave made him stand but little in need of my Assistance, if his Sword\nhad been equal to the Arm which held it; but the breaking of that, gave\nme the Glory of not being unserviceable to him. After the Skirmish was\nover, I took it up, hoping it might be the means sometime or other of\nmy discovering who the Person was, who wore it; not out of Vanity of\nreceiving Thanks for the little I have done, but that I shou\u2019d be glad of\nthe Friendship of a Person, who seems so worthy my Esteem. Oh far! (cry\u2019d\n_Frankville_, with a Tone and Gesture quite alter\u2019d,) infinitely far from\nit--It was my self whom you preserv\u2019d; that very Man whose Life you but\nlast Night so generously redeem\u2019d, with the hazard of your own, comes\nnow prepar\u2019d to make the first use of it against you---Is it possible\nthat you can be so heavenly good to Pardon my wild Passions Heat? Let\nthis be witness, with what Joy I do, answer\u2019d the _Count_, tenderly\nEmbracing him, which the other eagerly returning; they continu\u2019d lock\u2019d\nin each others Arms for a considerable Time, neither of them being able\nto say more, than---And was it _Frankville_ I Preserv\u2019d!----And was it to\n_D\u2019elmont_ I owe my Life!\nAfter this mutual Demonstration of a perfect Reconcilement was over: See\nhere, my Lord, said _Frankville_, giving a Paper to the _Count_, the\noccasion of my Rashness, and let my just concern for a Sisters Honour,\nbe at least some little Mittigation of my Temerity, in accosting your\nLordship in so rude a Manner. _D\u2019elmont_ made no Answer, but looking\nhastily over the Paper found it contain\u2019d these Words.\n    [Illustration]\n    To Monsieur FRANKVILLE.\n    _While your Sisters Dishonour was known but to few, and the\n    injurious Destroyer of it, out of the reach of your Revenge;\n    I thought it would ill become the Friendship I have always\n    profess\u2019d to your Family, to disquiet you with the Knowledge of\n    a Misfortune, which it was no way in your Power to Redress._\n    _But Count D\u2019elmont, having by the Solicitation of his Friends,\n    and the remembrance of some slight Services, obtain\u2019d a Pardon\n    from the KING, for the Murder of his Wife; has since taken but\n    little care to conceal the Reasons which induc\u2019d him to that\n    barbarous Action; and all PARIS is now sensible that he made\n    that unhappy Lady\u2019s Life a Sacrifice to the more attractive\n    Beauties of MELLIORA, in bloody Recompence for the Sacrifice\n    she had before made him of her Virtue._\n    _In short, the Noble Family of the Frankvilles is for ever\n    dishonour\u2019d by this Unfaithful GUARDIAN; and all who wish you\n    well, rejoice to hear that his ill Genius has led him to a\n    place which, if he knew you were at, certainly Prudence wou\u2019d\n    make him of all others most avoid; for none believes you will\n    so far degenerate from the Spirit of your Ancestors, as to\n    permit him to go unpunish\u2019d._\n    _In finding the COUNT, you may probably find your Sister too;\n    for tho\u2019, after the Death of ALOVISA, shame made her retire to\n    a Monastry, she has since privately left it without acquainting\n    the ABBESS, or any of the Sisterhood, with her Departure; nor\n    is it known to any one, where, or for what Cause she absconds;\n    but most People imagine, as indeed it is highly reasonable,\n    that the Violence of her guilty Passion for D\u2019ELMONT has\n    engag\u2019d her to follow him._\n    _I am not unsensible how much I shock your Temper by this\n    Relation, but have too much real concern for your Honour, to\n    endure you shou\u2019d, thro\u2019 Ignorance of your Wrongs, remain\n    Passive in such a Cause, and perhaps hug the Treacherous Friend\n    in your most strict Embrace? Nor can I forbear, tho\u2019 I love\n    not Blood, urging you to take that just Revenge, which next to\n    Heaven you have the greatest Claim to._\n                    I am, Sir, with all due Respect,\nThe _Count_ swell\u2019d with Indignation at every Paragraph of this malicious\nLetter; but when he came to that, which mention\u2019d _Melliora_\u2019s having\nwithdrawn her self from the Monastry, he seem\u2019d to be wholly abandon\u2019d\nby his Reason; all Endeavours to represent his Agonies wou\u2019d be vain,\nand none but those who have felt the same, can have any Notion of what\nhe suffer\u2019d. He read the fatal Scroll again and again, and every time\ngrew wilder than before; he stamp\u2019d, bit his Lips, look\u2019d furiously\nabout him, then, starting from the place where he had stood, measur\u2019d\nthe Room in strange, disorder\u2019d, and unequal Paces; all his Motions,\nall his Looks, all his Air were nothing but Distraction: He spoke not\nfor some time, one Word, either prevented by the rising Passions in\nhis Soul, or because it was not in the Power of Language to express\nthe greatness of his Meaning; and when, at last, he open\u2019d his Mouth,\nit was but to utter half Sentences, and broken Complainings: Is it\npossible, he cry\u2019d,----gone,---left the Monastry unknown---and then\nagain----false----false Woman?----Wretched----wretched Man! There\u2019s no\nsuch Thing on Earth as Faith---is this the Effect of all her tender\nPassion?--So soon forgot---what can be her Reason?---This Action suits\nnot with her Words, or Letters. In this manner he rav\u2019d with a Thousand\nsuch like Breathings of a tormented Spirit, toss\u2019d and confounded between\nvarious Sentiments.\nMonsieur _Frankville_ stood for a good while silently observing him; and\nif before, he were not perfectly assur\u2019d of his Innocence, the Agonies he\nnow saw him in, which were too natural to be suspected for Counterfeit,\nentirely convinc\u2019d him he was so. When the first gust of Passion was\nblown over, and he perceiv\u2019d any likelyhood of being heard, he said a\nThousand tender and obliging Things to perswade him to Moderation, but\nto very little Effect, till finding, that that which gave him the most\nstinging Reflection was, the Belief that _Melliora_ had forsook the\nMonastry, either because she thought of him no more, and was willing to\ndivert her enfranchis\u2019d Inclination with the Gaieties of the Town, or\nthat some happier Man had supplanted him in her Esteem. Judge not, my\nLord, (said he) so rashly of my Sister\u2019s Fidelity, nor know so little of\nyour own unmatch\u2019d Perfections, as to suspect that she, who is Blest with\nyour Affection, can consider any other Object as worthy her Regard; For\nmy part, since your Lordship _knows_, and I firmly _believe_, that this\nLetter contains a great many Untruths, I see no Reason why we should not\nimagine it all of a piece: I declare I think it much more improbable that\nshe should leave the Monastry, unless sollicited thereto by you, than\nthat she had the Power to deny you any thing your Passion might request.\nThe _Count_\u2019s Disorder visibly abated at this Remonstrance; and stepping\nhastily to his Cabinet, he took out the last Letter he receiv\u2019d from\n_Melliora_, and found it was dated but two Days before that from Monsieur\n_Sanseverin_; he knew she had not Art, nor was accustom\u2019d to endeavour\nto disguise her Sentiments; and she had written so many tender things in\nthat, as when he gave himself leave to consider, he could not, without\nbelieving her to be either the most Dissembling, or most fickle of her\nSex, continue in the Opinion which had made him, a few Moments before,\nso uneasy, that she was no longer, what she always subscrib\u2019d her self,\n_Entirely His_.\nThe Tempest of Rage and Grief being hush\u2019d to a little more Tranquillity,\nCount _D\u2019elmont_, to remove all Scruples which might be _yet_ remaining\nin the Breast of Monsieur _Frankville_, entertain\u2019d him with the whole\nHistory of his Adventures, from the Time of his Gallantry with _Amena_,\nto the Misfortunes which had induc\u2019d him to Travel, disguising nothing\nof the Truth, but some part of the Discourses which had pass\u2019d between\nhim and _Melliora_ that Night when he surpriz\u2019d her in her Bed, and in\nthe Wilderness: For tho\u2019 he freely confess\u2019d the Violence of his own\nunbounded Passion, had hurry\u2019d him beyond all Considerations but those of\ngratifying it; yet he was too tender of _Melliora_\u2019s Honour, to relate\nanything of her, which her Modesty might not acknowledge, without the\nExpence of a Blush.\n_Frankville_ list\u2019ned with abundance of Attention to the Relation he made\nhim, and could find very little in his Conduct to accuse: He was himself\ntoo much susceptible of the Power of Love, not to have Compassion for\nthose that suffer\u2019d by it, and had too great a share of good Sense not to\nknow that, that Passion is not to be Circumscrib\u2019d; and being not only,\nnot _Subservient_, but absolutely _Controller_ of the _Will_, it would be\nmeer Madness, as well as ill Nature, to say a Person was Blame-worthy for\nwhat was unavoidable.\nWhen Love once becomes in our Power, it ceases to be worthy of that\nName; no Man really possest with it, _can_ be Master of his Actions;\nand whatever Effects it may Enforce, are no more to be Condemn\u2019d, than\nPoverty, Sickness, Deformity, or any other Misfortune incident to Humane\nNature. Methinks there is nothing more absur\u2019d than the Notions of some\nPeople, who in other Things are wise enough too; but wanting Elegance of\nThought, Delicacy, or Tenderness of Soul, to receive the Impression of\nthat harmonious Passion, look on those to be mad, who have any Sentiments\nelevated above their own, and either Censure, or Laugh, at what they are\nnot refin\u2019d enough to comprehend. These _Insipids_, who know nothing of\nthe Matter, tell us very gravely, that we _ought_ to Love with Moderation\nand Discretion,---and take Care that it is for our Interest,--that we\nshould never place our Affections, but where Duty leads, or at least,\nwhere neither Religion, Reputation, or Law, may be a Hindrance to our\nWishes.---Wretches! We know all this, as well as they; we know too,\nthat we both do, and leave undone many other Things, which we ought\nnot; but Perfection is not to be expected on this side the Grave: And\nsince \u2019tis impossible for Humanity to avoid Frailties of some kind or\nother, those are certainly least blamable, which spring only from a too\ngreat Affluence of the nobler Spirits. _Covetousness_, _Envy_, _Pride_,\n_Revenge_, are the Effects of an Earthly, Base, and Sordid Nature,\n_Ambition_, and _Love_, of an Exalted one; and if they are Failings, they\nare such as plead their own Excuse, and can never want Forgiveness from\na generous Heart, provided no indirect Courses are taken to procure the\nEnds of the _former_, nor Inconstancy, or Ingratitude, stain the Beauty\nof the _latter_.\nNotwithstanding all that Monsieur _Frankville_ could say, the _Count_,\ntho\u2019 not in the Rage of Temper he had been in, was yet very melancholly;\nwhich the other perceiving, Alas, my Lord, said he Sighing, if you were\nsensible of the Misfortunes of others, you would think your own more\neasy to be born: You Love, and are Belov\u2019d; no Obstacle remains between\nyou and your Desires; but the Formality of Custom, which a little time\nwill Remove, and at your return to _Paris_ you will doubtless be happy,\nif \u2019tis in my Sister\u2019s Power to make you so: You have a sure Prospect of\nFelicity to _come_, but mine is _past_, never, I fear, to be retriev\u2019d.\nWhat mean you? Cry\u2019d the _Count_ pretty much surpriz\u2019d at his Words,\nand the Change which he observ\u2019d in his Countenance; I am in Love!\nReply\u2019d He, Belov\u2019d! Nay, have Enjoy\u2019d----Ay, there\u2019s the Source of my\nDespair----I know the Heaven I have lost, and that\u2019s my Hell.----The\nInterest _D\u2019elmont_ had in his Concerns, as being Son to the Man whom he\nhad loved with a kind of filial Affection, and Brother to the Woman whom\nhe ador\u2019d above the World, made him extreamly desirous to know what the\nOccasion of his Disquiet was, and having exprest himself to that purpose;\nI shall make no Difficulty, reply\u2019d _Frankville_, to reveal the Secret\nof my Love, to him who is a Lover, and knows so well, how to pity, and\nforgive, the Errors which that Passion will sometimes lead us into. The\n_Count_ was too impatient to hear the Relation he was about to give him,\nto make any other Answer to these Words than with a half Smile; which\nthe other perceiving, without any farther Prelude, began to satisfy his\nCuriosity in this manner.\n_The History of Monsieur_ FRANKVILLE.\nYou know, my Lord, said he, that I was bred at _Rheims_ with my Uncle,\nthe Bishop of that Place, and continu\u2019d with him, till after, prompted\nby Glory, and hope of that Renown you have since so gallantly acquir\u2019d;\nyou left the Pleasures of the _Court_ for the Fatigues and Dangers of the\nField: When I came home, I never ceas\u2019d solliciting my Father to permit\nme to Travel, \u2019till weary\u2019d with my continual Importunies, and perhaps,\nnot much displeas\u2019d with my Thirst of Improvement, he at last gave\nleave. I left _Paris_ a little before the Conclusion of the Peace, and\nby that means remain\u2019d wholly a Stranger to your Lordship\u2019s Person, tho\u2019\nperfectly acquainted with those admirable Accomplishments which Fame is\nevery where so full of.\nI have been in the Courts of _England_, _Spain_, and _Portugal_, but\nnothing very material hapning to me in any of those Places, it would\nbe rather Impertinent, than Diverting, to defer, for Trifles, the main\nBusiness of my Life, that of my Love, which had not a Being \u2019till I came\ninto this City.\nI had been here but a little Time before I had a great many Acquaintance,\namong the Number of them, was Seignior _Jaques Honorius Cittolini_: He,\nof all the rest, I was most intimate with; and tho\u2019 to the Generality\nof People he behav\u2019d himself with an Air of Imperiousness, he was to\nme, all free, and easy; he seem\u2019d as if he took a Pleasure in Obliging\nme; carry\u2019d me every where with him; introduc\u2019d me to the best Company:\nWhen I was absent he spoke of me, as of a Person who he had the highest\nEsteem for; and when I was present, if there were any in Company whose\nrank oblig\u2019d him to place them above me in the _Room_; he took care to\ntestify that I was not below them in his _Respect_; in fine, he was never\nmore happy than when he was giving me some Proof how much he was my\nFriend; and I was not a little satisfy\u2019d that a Man of almost twice my\nYears should believe me qualify\u2019d for his Companion in such a manner as\nhe made me.\nWhen the melancholly Account of my Fathers Death came to my Ears, he\nomitted nothing to persuade me to sell my Estate in _France_, and settle\nin _Rome_; he told me he had a Daughter, whose Heart had been the aim of\nthe chiefest Nobility; but that he wou\u2019d buy my Company at that Price and\nto keep me here, wou\u2019d give me her. This Proposition was not altogether\nso pleasing to me, as perhaps, he imagin\u2019d it wou\u2019d be: I had heard much\nTalk or this Lady\u2019s Beauty, but I had never seen her; and at that Time,\nLove was little in my Thoughts, especially that sort which was to end in\nMarriage. However, I wou\u2019d not absolutely refuse his Offer, but evaded\nit, which I had the better pretence for, because _Violetta_, (so was\nhis Daughter call\u2019d) was gone to _Vitterbo_ to Visit a sick Relation,\nand I cou\u2019d not have the opportunity of seeing her. In the mean time,\nhe made me acquainted with his deepest Secrets; among many other Things\nhe told me, that tho\u2019 their Family was one of the greatest in _Rome_,\nyet by the too great Liberality of his Father, himself and one Sister\nwas left with very little to Support the Grandeur of their Birth; but\nthat his Sister who was acknowledg\u2019d a Woman of an uncommon Beauty, had\nthe good Fortune to appear so, to Seignior _Marcarius Fialasco_: he\nwas the possessor of immense Riches, but very Old; but the young Lady\nfound Charms enough in his Wealth to ballance all other Deficiencies;\nShe Married, and Buried him in a Month\u2019s Time, and he dy\u2019d so full of\nfondness to his lovely Bride; that he left her Mistress of all he had\nin the World; giving only to a Daughter he had by a former Wife, the\nFortune which her Mother had brought him, and that too, and herself to be\ndispos\u2019d of, in Marriage, as this Triumphant Widow should think fit; and\nshe, like a kind Sister, thought none worthy of that Alliance, but her\nBrother; and in a few Days he said, he did not doubt but that I shou\u2019d\nsee him a Bridegroom. I ask\u2019d him if he was happy enough to have made\nan Interest in the young Lady\u2019s Heart; and he very frankly answer\u2019d,\nThat he was not of a Humour to give himself much uneasiness about it,\nsince it was wholly in his Sister\u2019s Power to make him Master of her\nPerson, and she resolv\u2019d to do that, or Confine her in a Monastry for\never. I cou\u2019d not help feeling a Compassionate concern for this Lady,\ntho\u2019 she was a Stranger to me, for I cou\u2019d not believe, so Beautiful\nand accomplish\u2019d a Woman, as he had often describ\u2019d her to be, cou\u2019d\nfind any thing in her design\u2019d Husband which cou\u2019d make this Match\nagreeable. Nothing can be more different from Graceful, than the Person\nof _Cittolini_; he is of a black swarthy Complexion, hook\u2019d-Nos\u2019d, wall\nEy\u2019d, short of Stature; and tho\u2019 he is very Lean, the worst shap\u2019d Man\nI ever saw; then for his Temper, as friendly as he behav\u2019d to me, I\ndiscern\u2019d a great deal of Treachery, and Baseness in it to others; a\nperpetual peevishness and Pride appear\u2019d in his Deportment to all those\nwho had any dependance on him: And I had been told by some who knew him\nperfectly well, that his cruel Usage of his first Lady had been the means\nof her Death; but this was none of my Business, and tho\u2019 I pity\u2019d the\nLady, yet my gratitude to him engag\u2019d me to wish him Success in all his\nUndertakings. \u2019Till one Day, unluckily both for him and me, as it has\nsince prov\u2019d; he desir\u2019d me to Accompany him to the House of _Ciamara_,\nfor so is his Sister call\u2019d, being, willing I suppose, that I shou\u2019d\nbe a Witness of the extraordinary State she liv\u2019d in; and indeed, in\nall the Courts I had been at, I never saw any thing more Magnificent\nthan her Apartments; the vast quantity of Plate; the Richness of the\nFurniture; and the number of Servants attending on Her, might have\nmade her be taken rather for a Princess, than a private Woman. There\nwas a very noble Collation, and she sat at Table with us her self, a\nparticular Favour from an _Italian_ Lady: She is by many Years younger\nthan her Brother, and extreamly Handsome; but has, I know not what, of\nfierceness in her Eyes, which renders her, at least to me, a Beauty,\nwithout a Charm. After the Entertainment, _Cittolini_ took me into\nthe Gardens, which were answerable to what I had seen within, full of\nCuriosities; at one end there was a little Building of Marble, to which\nhe led me, and entering into it, see here, _Monsieur_, said he, the Place\nwhere my Sister spends the greatest part of her Hours, and tell me if\n\u2019tis in this kind of Diversion that the _French_ Ladies take Delight.\nI presently saw it was full of Books, and guess\u2019d those Words were\ndesign\u2019d as a Satyr on our Ladies, whose disposition to Gallantry seldom\naffords much time for Reading; but to make as good a Defence for their\nHonour as I was able. _Seignior_, reply\u2019d I, it must be confest, that\nthere are very few Ladies of any Nation, who think the _Acquisition_ of\nKnowledge, worth the Pains it must cost them in the _Search_, but that\nours is not without some Examples, that all are not of that Mind; our\nfamous _D\u2019anois_, and _D\u2019acier_ may evince. Well, Well, interrupted he\nlaughing; the propensity which that Sex bears to Learning is so trifling,\nthat I shall not pretend to hold any Argument on its Praise; nor did\nI bring you here so much to engage you to Admire my Sisters manner of\nAmusement, as to give you an Opportunity of diverting your self, while\nI go to pay a Compliment to my Mistress; who, tho\u2019 I have a very great\nConfidence in you, I dare not trust with the sight of so accomplish\u2019d a\n_Chevalier_. With these Words he left me, and I, designing to do as he\nhad desir\u2019d; turn\u2019d to the Shelves to take down what Book I cou\u2019d find\nmost suitable to my Humour; but good God! As I was tumbling them over,\nI saw thro\u2019 a Window which look\u2019d into a Garden behind the Study; tho\u2019\nboth belonging to one Person: A Woman, or rather Angel, coming down a\nWalk directly opposite to where I was, never did I see in one Person\nsuch various Perfections blended, never did any Woman wear so much of\nher Soul in her Eyes, as did this Charmer: I saw that moment in her\nLooks, all I have since experienc\u2019d of her Genius, and her Humour; Wit,\nJudgment, good Nature and Generosity are in her Countenance, conspicuous\nas in her Actions; but to go about to make a Description, were to wrong\nher; She has Graces so peculiar, that none without knowing her, can be\nable to conceive; and tho\u2019 nothing can be finer than her Shape, or more\nregular than her Features; yet those, our Fancy or a _Painters_ Art may\nCopy: There is something so inexpressibly striking in her Air; such a\ndelightful Mixture of awful and attractive in every little Motion, that\nno Imagination can come up to. But if Language is too poor to paint her\nCharms, how shall I make you sensible of the Effects of them on me! The\nSurprize---the Love---the Adoration which this fatal View involv\u2019d me\nin, but by that which, you say, your self felt at the first Sight of\n_Melliora_. I was, methought all Spirit,---I beheld her with Raptures,\nsuch as we imagine Souls enjoy when freed from Earth, they meet each\nother in the Realms of Glory; \u2019twas Heaven to gaze upon her: But Oh! The\nBliss was short, the Envious Trees obscur\u2019d her Lustre from me.---The\nMoment I lost Sight of her, I found my _Passion_ by my _Pain_, the _Joy_\nwas vanish\u2019d, but the _Sting_ remain\u2019d---I was so bury\u2019d in Thought, that\nI never so much as stirr\u2019d a Step to endeavour to discover which way she\nwent; tho\u2019 if I had consider\u2019d the Situation of the Place, it would have\nbeen easy for me to have known, there was a Communication between the two\nGardens, and if I had gone but a few Paces out of the Study, must have\nmet her; but Love had for the present depriv\u2019d me of my Sences; and it\nbut just enter\u2019d into my Head that there was a Possibility of renewing\nmy Happiness, when I perceiv\u2019d _Cittolini_ returning. When he came\npretty near; Dear _Frankville_, said he, pardon my Neglect of you; but\nI have been at _Camilla_\u2019s Apartment, and am told she is in the lower\nGarden; I will but speak to her, snatch a Kiss and be with you again: He\nwent hastily by me without staying for any Answer, and it was well he\ndid so, for the Confusion I was in, had made me little able to reply.\nHis Words left me no room to hope it was any other than _Camilla_ I had\nseen, and the Treachery I was guilty of to my Friend, in but wishing to\ninvade his Right, gave me a Remorse which I had never known before: But\nthese Reflections lasted not long; Love generally exerts himself on these\nOccasions, and is never at a loss for means to remove all the Scruples\nthat may be rais\u2019d to oppose him. Why, said I to my self, should I be\nthus Tormented? She is not yet married, and \u2019tis almost impossible she\ncan with Satisfaction, ever yield to be so, to him. Could I but have\nopportunity to Talk to her, to let her know my Passion,---to endeavour\nto deliver her from the Captivity she is in, perhaps she would not\ncondemn my Temerity: I found a great deal of Pleasure in this Thought,\nbut I was not suffer\u2019d to enjoy it long; _Honour_ suggested to me, that\n_Cittolini_ lov\u2019d me, had Oblig\u2019d me, and that to supplant him would be\nBase and Treacherous: But would it not be more so, cry\u2019d the Dictates\nof my _Love_, to permit the Divine _Camilla_ to fall a Sacrifice to one\nso every way undeserving of her; one who \u2019tis likely she abhors; one\nwho despises her Heart, so he may but possess her Fortune to support\nhis Pride, and her Person to gratify a Passion far unworthy of the Name\nof _Love_; One! who \u2019tis probable, when Master of the one, and satiated\nwith the other, may treat her with the utmost Inhumanity. Thus, for a\ntime, were my Thoughts at Strife; but Love at length got the Victory,\nand I had so well compos\u2019d my self before _Cittolini_\u2019s Return that he\nsaw nothing of the Disorder I had been in; but it was not so with him,\nhis Countenance, at the best displeasing enough, was now the perfect\nRepresentative of Ill Nature, Malice, and Discontent. _Camilla_ had\nassur\u2019d him, that nothing could be more her Aversion, and that she was\nresolv\u2019d, tho\u2019 a Monastick Life was what she had no Inclination to, yet\nshe would fly to that Shelter, to avoid his Bed. You may imagine, my\nLord, I was Transported with an Excess of Joy, when he told me this; but\nLove taught me to dissemble it, \u2019till I had taken leave of him, which I\nmade an Excuse to do, as soon as possible.\nNow all that troubled me was to find an Opportunity to declare my\nPassion; and, I confess, I was so dull in Contrivance, that tho\u2019 it took\nup all my Thoughts, none of them were to any purpose: Three or four\nDays I spent in fruitless Projections, the last of which I met with a\nnew Embarrassment; _Cittolini_\u2019s Daughter was return\u2019d, he renew\u2019d his\nDesires of making me his Son, and invited me the next Evening to his\nHouse, where I was to be entertain\u2019d with the sight of her; I could not\nwell avoid giving him my Promise to be there, but resolv\u2019d in my Mind\nto behave my self in such a manner as should make her disapprove of me.\nWhile I was thus busied in Contriving how to avoid _Violetta_, and engage\n_Camilla_, a Woman wrapt up very closely in her Vail came to my Lodgings,\nand brought me a Note, in which I found these Words.\n    [Illustration]\n    _To Monsieur_ FRANKVILLE.\n    _My Father is resolv\u2019d to make me Yours; and if he has your\n    Consent, mine will not be demanded; he has Commanded me to\n    receive you to morrow, but I have a particular Reason to desire\n    to see you sooner; I am to pass this Night with CAMILLA at my\n    Aunt CIAMARA\u2019s; there is a little Wicket that opens from the\n    Garden, directly opposite to the Convent of St. FRANCIS, if you\n    will favour me so far as to come there at Ten a Clock to Night,\n    and give Seven gentle Knocks at the Gate: You shall know the\n    Cause of my Entreating this private Interview, which is of more\n    Moment than the Life of_\nNever had I been more pleasingly surpriz\u2019d, than at the Reading these\nLines; I could not imagine the Lady could have any other Reason for\nseeing me in private, than to confess that her Heart was pre-engag\u2019d, and\ndisswade me from taking the Advantage of her Father\u2019s Authority, a secret\nHope too, sprung within my Soul, that my Adorable _Camilla_ might be with\nher; and after I had dismiss\u2019d the Woman, with an Assurance that I would\nattend her Lady, I spent my Time in vast Idea\u2019s of approaching Happiness\n\u2019till the appointed Hour arriv\u2019d.\nBut how great was my Disappointment, when being admitted, I cou\u2019d\ndistinguish, tho\u2019 the Place was very dark, that I was receiv\u2019d but\nby one, and accosted by her, in a manner very different from what\nI expected: I know not, _Monsieur_, said she, how you interpret\nthis Freedom I have taken; but whatever we pretend, our Sex, of all\nIndignities, can the least support those done to our Beauty; I am not\nvain enough of mine to assure my self of making a Conquest of your\nHeart; and if the World should know you have _seen_, and _refus\u2019d_ me,\nmy slighted Charms would be the Theme of _Mirth_ to those whose _Envy_\nnow they are: I therefore beg, that if I am dislik\u2019d, none but my self\nmay know it; when you have seen my Face, which you shall do immediately,\ngive me your Opinion freely; and if it is not to my Advantage, make some\npretence to my Father to avoid coming to our House. I protest to you, my\nLord that I was so much surpriz\u2019d at this odd kind of proceeding, that\nI knew not presently how to Reply, which she imagining by my Silence:\nCome, come, _Monsieur_, said she, I am not yet on even Terms with you,\nhaving often seen _your_ Face, and you wholly a Stranger to _mine_: But\nwhen our Knowledge of each other is Mutual, I hope you will be as free in\nyour Declaration as I have been in my Request. These Words I thought were\nas proper for my purpose as I cou\u2019d wish, and drawing back a little, as\nshe was about to lead me: Madam, said I, since you have that Advantage,\nmethinks it were but just, you shou\u2019d reveal what sort of Sentiments the\nsight of me has inspir\u2019d, for I have too much Reason from the Knowledge\nof my Demerit, to fear, you have no other design in exposing your Charms,\nthan to Triumph in the Captivating a Heart you have already doom\u2019d to\nMisery; I will tell you nothing, answer\u2019d she, of _my_ Sentiments \u2019till\nI have a perfect knowledge of _yours_. As she spoke this, she gave me\nher Hand to conduct me out of that Place of Darkness; as we went, I\nhad all the Concern at the apprehension of being too much approv\u2019d of\nby this young Lady, as I shou\u2019d have had for the contrary, if I had\nimagin\u2019d who it was I had been talking with, for as soon as we came out\nof the Grotto, I saw by the light of the Moon, which shone that Night,\nwith an uncommon Lustre, the Face which in those Gardens had before so\nCharm\u2019d me, and which had never since been absent from my Thoughts. What\nJoy, what a mixture of Extacy and Wonder, then fill\u2019d my raptur\u2019d Soul\nat this second view, I cou\u2019d not presently trust my Eyes, or think my\nHappiness was real: I gaz\u2019d, and gaz\u2019d again, in silent Transport, for\nthe big Bliss, surpass\u2019d the reach of Words. What _Monsieur_, said she,\nobserving my Confusion, are you yet Dumb, is there any thing so dreadful\nin the form of _Violetta_, to deprive you of your Speech? No Madam,\nreply\u2019d I, \u2019tis not _Violetta_ has that Power, but she, who unknowing\nthat she did so, caught at first sight the Victory o\u2019re my Soul; she!\nfor whom I have vented so Sighs! she for whom I languish\u2019d and almost\ndy\u2019d for; while _Violetta_ was at _Vitterbo_: She! The Divine _Camilla_\nonly cou\u2019d inspire a Passion such as mine!--Oh Heavens! cry\u2019d she, and\nthat instant I perceiv\u2019d her lovely Face all crimson\u2019d o\u2019re with Blushes;\nis it then possible that you know me, have seen me before, and that I\nhave been able to make any Impression on you? I then told her of the\nVisit I had made to _Ciamara_ with _Cittolini_, and how by his leaving\nme in the Marble-Study, I had been blest with the sight of her; and from\nhis Friend became his Rival: I let her know the Conflicts my Honour and\nmy Obligations to _Cittolini_ had engag\u2019d me in; the thousand various\nInventions Love had suggested to me, to obtain that Happiness I now\nenjoy\u2019d, the opportunity of declaring my self her Slave; and in short,\nconceal\u2019d not the least Thought, tending to my Passion, from Her. She,\nin requital, acquainted me, that she had often seen me from her Window,\ngo into the Convent of St. _Francis_, walking in the _Collonade_ at St.\n_Peter_\u2019s, and in several other Places, and, prompted by an extravagance\nof good Nature, and Generosity, confess\u2019d, that her Heart felt something\nat those Views, very prejudicial to her Repose: That _Cittolini_,\nalways disagreeable, was now grown Odious; that the Discourse she had\nheard of my intended Marriage with his Daughter, had given her an alarm\nimpossible to be express\u2019d, and that, unable longer to support the Pangs\nof undiscover\u2019d Passion, she had writ to me in that Ladies Name, who she\nknew I had never seen, resolving, if I lik\u2019d her as _Violetta_, to own\nher self _Camilla_, if not, to go the next Day to a Monastry, and devote\nto Heaven those Charms which wanted force to make a Conquest where alone\nshe wish\u2019d they shou\u2019d.\nI must leave it to your Lordship\u2019s imagination to conceive the wild\ntumultuous hurry of disorder\u2019d Joy which fill\u2019d my ravish\u2019d Soul at this\nCondescention; for I am now as unable to describe it, as I was then to\nthank the Dear, the tender Author of it; but what _Words_ had not Power\nto do, _Looks_ and _Actions_ testified: I threw myself at her Feet,\nEmbrac\u2019d her Knees, and kiss\u2019d the Hand she rais\u2019d me with, with such\na Fervor, as no false Love cou\u2019d feign; while she, all softness, all\ndivinely Kind, yielded to the pressure of my glowing Lips, and suffer\u2019d\nme to take all the freedom which Honour and Modesty wou\u2019d permit. This\ninterview was too felicitous to be easily broken off, it was almost\nbroad Day when we parted, and nothing but her Promise, that I shou\u2019d be\nadmitted the next Night, cou\u2019d have enabled me to take leave of her.\nI went away highly satisfy\u2019d, as I had good Reason, with my Condition,\nand after recollecting all the tender Passages of our Conversation; I\nbegan to consider after what manner I shou\u2019d proceed with _Cittolini_:\nTo Visit and Address his Daughter, I thought, wou\u2019d be Treacherous and\nDeceitful to the last degree; and how to come off, after the Promise\nI made of seeing her that Evening. I cou\u2019d not tell; at last, since\nNecessity oblig\u2019d me to one I resolv\u2019d of, the two Evils to chuse\nthe least, and rather to seem _Rude_, then _Base_, which I must have\nbeen, had I by counterfeiting a Desire to engage _Violetta_, left\nroom for a possibility of creating one in her. I therefore, writ, to\n_Cittolini_ an Excuse for not waiting on Him and his Daughter, as I\nhad promis\u2019d, telling him that I, on more serious Reflection found it\nwholly inconsistent, either with my Circumstances, or Inclinations,\nto think of passing all my Life in _Rome_; that I thank\u2019d him for\nthe Honour he intended me, but that it was my Misfortune, not to be\ncapable of accepting it. Thus, with all the Artifice I was Master of,\nI endeavour\u2019d to sweeten the bitter Pill of Refusal, but in vain; for\nhe was so much Disgusted at it, that he visited me no more: I cannot\nsay, I had Gratitude enough to be much concern\u2019d at being compell\u2019d to\nuse him in this Fashion; for, since I had beheld, and Ador\u2019d _Camilla_,\nI cou\u2019d consider him no longer as a Friend, but as the most dangerous\nEnemy to my Hopes and me. All this time I spent the best part of the\nNights with _Camilla_; and in one of them, after giving, and receiving\na thousand Vows of everlasting Faith, I snatch\u2019d a lucking Moment, and\nobtain\u2019d from the Dear, melting Charmer, all that my Fondest, and most\neager Wishes cou\u2019d aspire to. Yes, my Lord, the soft, the trembling Fair,\ndissolv\u2019d in Love; yielded without Reserve, and met my Transports with an\nequal Ardor; and I truly protest to your Lordship, that what in others,\n_palls_ Desire, added fresh _Force_ to mine; the more I knew, the more\nI was Inflam\u2019d, and in the highest Raptures of Enjoyment, the Bliss was\ndash\u2019d with Fears, which prov\u2019d alas, but too Prophetick, that some curst\nChance might drive me from my Heaven: Therefore, to secure it mine for\never, I press\u2019d the lovely Partner of my Joys, to give me leave to bring\na Priest with me the next Night; who by giving a Sanction to our Love,\nmight put it past the Power of Malice to Disunite us: Here, I experienc\u2019d\nthe greatness of her Soul, and her almost unexampled Generosity; for in\nspite of all her Love, her Tenderness, and the unbounded Condescentions\nshe had made me, it was with all the difficulty in the World, that I\npersuaded her to think of Marrying me without a Fortune; which by her\nFather\u2019s _Will_, was wholly in the Disposal of _Ciamara_, who it wou\u2019d\nhave been Madness to Hope, wou\u2019d ever bestow it upon me. However, my\nArguments at last prevail\u2019d; I was to bring a Fryar of the Order of St.\n_Francis_, who was my intimate Friend, the next Night to join our Hands;\nwhich done, she told me, she wou\u2019d advise to leave _Rome_ with what speed\nwe cou\u2019d, for she doubted not but _Cittolini_ wou\u2019d make use of any\nmeans, tho\u2019 never so base or Bloody, to Revenge his Disappointment. This\nProposal infinitely pleas\u2019d me, and after I had taken leave of her, I\nspent the remainder of the Night, in contriving the means of our Escape:\nEarly in the Morning I secur\u2019d Post-Horses, and then went to the Convent\nof St. _Francis_; a Purse of _Lewis D\u2019ors_ soon engag\u2019d the Fryar to my\nInterest, and I had every thing ready in wonderful Order, considering\nthe shortness of the Time, for our Design: When returning Home towards\nEvening, as well to take a little rest after the Fatigue I had had, as\nto give some other necessary Directions, concerning the Affair to my\nServants, when one of them gave me a Letter, which had been just left for\nme.\n_Monsieur Frankville_ cou\u2019d not come to this Part of his Story, without\nsome Sighs, but suppressing them as well as he was able, he took some\nPapers out of his Pocket, and singling out one, read to the _Count_ as\nfollows.\n    [Illustration]\n    To Monsieur FRANKVILLE.\n    _With what Words can I represent the greatness of my\n    Misfortune, or Exclaim against the Perfidy of my Woman?\n    I was oblig\u2019d to make her the Confidant of my Passion,\n    because without her Assistance, I cou\u2019d not have enjoy\u2019d the\n    Happiness of your Conversation, and \u2019tis by her that I am now\n    Betray\u2019d----undone,---lost to all hopes of ever seeing you\n    more---What have I not endur\u2019d this Day, from the upbraidings\n    of CIAMARA and CITTOLINI, but that I shou\u2019d despise, nay,\n    my own Ruin too, if you were safe----But Oh! their Malice\n    aims to wound me most, through you----Bravo\u2019s are hir\u2019d, the\n    Price of your Blood is paid, and they have sworn to take your\n    Life---Guard it I conjure you, if you wou\u2019d preserve that of\n    CAMILLA\u2019s. Attempt not to come near this House, nor walk alone,\n    when Night may be an Umbrage to their Designs.---I hear my\n    cruel Enemies returning to renew their Persecutions, and I have\n    Time to inform you no more, than that \u2019tis to the Generous\n    VIOLETTA you are indebted for this Caution: She, in pity of my\n    Agonies, and to prevent her Father from executing the Crime he\n    intends; conveys this to you, slight it not, if you wou\u2019d have\n    me believe you Love,_\nWhat a turn was here (continu\u2019d he, sadly) in my Fortune? How on a sudden\nwas my Scene of Happiness chang\u2019d to the blackest Despair?---But not\nto tire your Lordship, and spin out my Narration, which is already too\nlong with unavailing Complainings. I every Day expected a Challenge from\n_Cittolini_, believing he wou\u2019d, at least, take that Method at first,\nbut it seems he was for chusing the _surest_, not the _fairest_ way: And\nI have since prov\u2019d, that my Dear _Camilla_ had too much Reason for the\nCaution she gave me. Ten Days I lingred out without being able to invent\nany means, either to see her, or write to Her; at the end of which,\nI receiv\u2019d another Letter from Her, which, if I were to tell you the\nSubstance of, wou\u2019d be to wrong her; since no Words but her own are fit\nto Express her Meaning, and \u2019tis for that Reason only, I shall Read it.\n    [Illustration]\n    _To Monsieur_ FRANKVILLE.\n    _Of all the Woes which wait on humane Life, sure there is none\n    Equal to that a Lover feels in Absence; \u2019tis a kind of Hell,\n    an earnest of those Pains, we are told, shall be the Portion\n    of the Damn\u2019d----Ten whole Nights, and Days, according to the\n    vulgar Reckoning, but in mine, as many Ages, have roll\u2019d their\n    tedious Hours away since last I saw you, in all which time, my\n    Eyes have never known one Moments cessation from my Tears, nor\n    my sad Heart from Anguish; restless I wander thro\u2019 this hated\n    House---Kiss the clos\u2019d Wicket---stop, and look at every Place\n    which I remember your dear steps have blest, then, with wild\n    Ravings, think of past Joys, and curse my present Woes---yet\n    you perhaps are Calm, no sympathizing Pang invades your Soul,\n    and tells you what mine suffers, else, you wou\u2019d, you must have\n    found some Means to ease your self and me--\u2019tis true, I bid you\n    not attempt it--but Oh! If you had lov\u2019d like me, you cou\u2019d not\n    have obey\u2019d----Desire has no regard to Prudence, it despises\n    Danger, and over-looks even Impossibilities---but whither am I\n    going?---I say, I know not what---Oh, mark not what Distraction\n    utters! Shun these detested Walls!---\u2019tis Reason now commands!\n    fly from this House, where injur\u2019d Love\u2019s enslav\u2019d, and Death\n    and Treachery reign---I charge thee come not near, nor prove\n    thy Faith so hazardous a way---forgive the little Fears, which\n    ever dwell with Love---I know thou art all sincerity!---all\n    God-like Truth, and can\u2019st not change---yet, if thou\n    shouldst,---tormenting Thought!----Why then, there\u2019s not a\n    Heaven-abandon\u2019d Wretch, so lost---so Curst as I---What shall\n    I do to shake off Apprehension? in spite of all thy Vows---thy\n    ardent Vows, when I but think of any Maid, by Love, and fond\n    Belief undone, a deadly cold runs thro\u2019 my Veins, congeals\n    my Blood, and chills my very Soul!---Gazing on the Moon last\n    Night, her Lustre brought fresh to my Memory those transporting\n    Moments, when by that Light I saw you first a Lover, and, I\n    think Inspired me, who am not usually fond of Versifying, to\n    make her this Complaint._\n    [Illustration]\n    [Illustration]\n    The Unfortunate CAMILLA\u2019s Complaint to the _Moon_, for the\n    Absence of her Dear HENRICUS FRANKVILLE.\n        _Mild Queen of Shades! Thou sweetly shining Light!_\n        _Once, more than Ph\u0153bus, welcome to my Sight:_\n        _\u2019Twas by thy Beams I first HENRICUS saw_\n        _Adorn\u2019d with softness, and disarm\u2019d of awe!_\n        _Never did\u2019st thou appear more fair! more bright!_\n        _Than on that Dear, that Cause-remembred Night!_\n        _When the dull Tyes of Friendship he disclaim\u2019d,_\n        _And to Inspire a tend\u2019rer Passion aim\u2019d:_\n        _Alas! he cou\u2019d not long, in vain, implore_\n        _For that, which tho\u2019 unknown, was his before;_\n        _Nor had I Art the Secret to Disguise,_\n        _My Soul spoke all her Meaning thro\u2019 my Eyes,_\n        _And every Glance bright\u2019ned with glad Surprize!_\n        _Lost to all Thought, but His Transporting Charms,_\n        _I sunk, unguarded! Melting in his Arms!_\n        _Blest at that lavish rate, my State, that Hour_\n        _I\u2019d not have Chang\u2019d for all in fortune\u2019s Pow\u2019r,_\n        _Nay, had descending Angel\u2019s from on High_\n        _Spread their bright Wings to waft me to the Sky,_\n        _Thus clasp\u2019d! C\u0153lestial Charms had fail\u2019d to move_\n        _And Heav\u2019n been slighted, for HENRICUS Love._\n        _How did I then thy happy Influence Bless?_\n        _How watch each joyful Night, thy Lights encrease?_\n        _But Oh! How alter\u2019d since---Despairing now,_\n        _I View thy Lustre with contracted Brow:_\n        _Pensive, and sullen from the Rays wou\u2019d hide,_\n        _And scarce the glimmering Star\u2019s my Griefs abide,_\n        _In Death-like darkness wou\u2019d my Fate deplore,_\n        _And wish Thee to go down, to Rise no more!_\n    _Pity the Extravagance of a Passion which only Charms\n    like thine cou\u2019d Create, nor too severely chide this soft\n    Impertinence, which I cou\u2019d not refrain sending you, when I\n    can neither see you, nor hear from you: to write, gives some\n    little respite to my Pains, because I am sure of being in your\n    Thoughts, while you are Reading my Letters. The Tender Hearted\n    VIOLETTA, preferring the Tyes of Friendship to those of Duty,\n    gives me this happy opportunity, but my Ill-fortune deprives me\n    too of her, she goes to Morrow to her Fathers VILLA, and Heaven\n    knows when I shall find means to send to you again._\n    _Farewel, Thou Loveliest, Dearest, and Divine Charmer---Think\n    of me with a Concern full of Tenderness, but that is not\n    enough; and you must pardon me, when I confess, that I cannot\n    forbear wishing you might feel some of those Pains, impatient\n    longing brings.---All others be far away, as far, as Joy is,\n    when you are Absent from_\n    P.S. _Since I writ this, a Fancy came into my Head, that if\n    you cou\u2019d find a Friend Trusty enough to confide in, and one\n    unknown to our Family, he might gain admittance to me in\n    CITTOLINI\u2019s Name, as sent by him, while he is at the VILLA. I\n    flatter my self you will take as much pleasure in endeavouring\n    to let me hear from you, as I do in the hope of it. Once more\n    ADIEU._\nYour Lordship may judge, by what I have told you of the Sincerity of my\nPassion, how glad I should have been to have comply\u2019d with her Request,\nbut it was utterly impossible to find any body fit for such a Business: I\npass\u2019d three or four Days more, in Disquietudes too great to be exprest;\nI saunter\u2019d up and down the Street where she liv\u2019d, in hopes to see her\nat some of the Windows, but Fortune never was so favourable to me, thus I\nspent my Days, and left the sight of those dear Walls at Nights, but in\nobedience to the Charge she had given me of preserving my Life.\nThus, my Lord, has the business of my Love engrossed my Hours, ever\nsince your Lordships arrival, and tho\u2019 I heard that you were here, and\nextreamly wish\u2019d to kiss your Hands, yet I cou\u2019d never get one Moment\ncompos\u2019d enough to wait on you in, \u2019till what my Desires cou\u2019d not do,\nthe rashness of my Indignation effected: Last Night, being at my Bankers\nwhere all my Bills and Letters are directed, I found this, from Monsieur\n_Sanseverin_, the Rage which the Contents of it put me in, kept me from\nremembring that Circumspection, which _Camilla_ had enjoyn\u2019d, and I\nthought of nothing but revenging the injury I imagin\u2019d you had done me:\nAs I was coming Home, I was attack\u2019d as you saw, when you so generously\npreserv\u2019d me, the just Indignation I conceiv\u2019d at this base procedure of\n_Cittolini_\u2019s transported me so far, as to make me forget what I owed\nto my Deliverer, to run in pursuit of those who assaulted me, but soon\nlost sight of them, and returning, as Gratitude and Honour call\u2019d me,\nto seek, and thank you for your timely Assistance, I found a Throng of\nPeople about the Body of the Villain I had killed, some of them were\nfor Examining me, but finding no Wounds about me, nor any marks of the\nEngagement I had been in, I was left at my Liberty.\nThus, my Lord, have I given you, in as brief a manner as the Changes\nof my Fortune wou\u2019d permit, the Account of my present melancholly\nCircumstances, in which, if you find many things blameable, you must\nacknowledge there are more which require Compassion.\nI see no Reason, answer\u2019d the Count, either for the one or the other,\nyou have done nothing but what any Man who is a Lover, wou\u2019d gladly have\nit in his Power to do, and as for your Condition, it certainly is more\nto be envy\u2019d than pity\u2019d: The Lady loves, is Constant, and doubtless\nwill some way or other, find means for her Escape,----Impossible! Cry\u2019d\n_Frankville_, interrupting him, she is too strictly watch\u2019d to suffer\nsuch a Hope. If you will prepare a Letter, resum\u2019d _D\u2019elmont_, my self\nwill undertake to be the Bearer of it; I am entirely a Stranger to the\nPeople you have been speaking of, or if I should chance to be known\nto them, cannot be suspected to come from you, since our Intimacy, so\nlately born, cannot yet be talk\u2019d of, to the prejudice of our Design; and\nhow do you know, continu\u2019d he smiling, but, if I have the good Fortune\nto be introduc\u2019d to this Lady, that I shall not be able to assist her\nInvention to form some Scheme, for both your future Happiness. This offer\nwas too agreeable to be refus\u2019d, _Frankville_ accepted it with all the\nDemonstrations of Gratitude and Joy imaginable, and setting himself down\nto the _Count_\u2019s Scrutore, was not long Writing the following _Billet_\nwhich he gave him to read before he seal\u2019d it.\n    To the most Lovely and Adorable CAMILLA.\n    \u201cIf to consume with inward Burnings, to have no Breath but\n    Sighs, to wish for Death, or Madness to relieve me from the\n    racks of Thought, be Misery consummate, such is mine! And yet\n    my too unjust CAMILLA thinks I feel no Pain, and chides my cold\n    Tranquility; cou\u2019d I be so, I were indeed a Wretch deserving\n    of my nate, but far unworthy of your Pity or Regard. No, no,\n    thou Loveliest, Softest, most angelic Creature, that Heaven, in\n    lavish Bounty, ever sent to charm the adoring World; he that\n    cou\u2019d know one Moments stupid Calm in such an _Absence_, ought\n    never to be blest with those unbounded Joys thy _Presence_\n    brings: What wou\u2019d I not give, what wou\u2019d I not hazard but\n    once more to behold thee, to gaze upon thy Eyes, those Suns\n    of kindling Transports! to touch thy enlivening Hand! to feed\n    upon the ravishing sweetness of thy Lips! Oh the Imagination\u2019s\n    Extacy! Life were too poor to set on such a Cast, and you\n    shou\u2019d long e\u2019re this, have prov\u2019d the little Value I have\n    for it, in competition with my Love if your Commands had not\n    restrain\u2019d me. _Cittolini_\u2019s Malice, however, had last Night\n    been gratify\u2019d, if the Noble Count _D\u2019elmont_ had not been\n    inspir\u2019d for my Preservation, it is to him I am indebted, not\n    only for my Life, but a much greater Favour, that of conveying\n    to you the Assurance, how much my Life, my Soul, and all the\n    Faculties of it are eternally Yours. Thank him, my _Camilla_,\n    for your _Frankville_, for Words like thine are only fit to\n    Praise, as it deserves, such an exalted Generosity; \u2019tis with\n    an infinite deal of Satisfaction I reflect how much thy Charms\n    will justify my Conduct when he sees thee, all that excess of\n    Passion, which my fond Soul\u2019s too full of to conceal, that\n    height of Adoration, which offer\u2019d to any other Woman wou\u2019d be\n    Sacriledge, the wonders of thy Beauty and thy Wit, claim as\n    their due, and prove _Camilla_, like _Heaven_, can never be too\n    much Reverenc\u2019d! Be too much Lov\u2019d!----But, Oh! How poor is\n    Language to express what \u2019tis I think, thus Raptur\u2019d with thy\n    Idea, thou best, thou Brightest----thou most Perfect----thou\n    something more than Excellence it self--thou far surpassing all\n    that Words can speak, or Heart, unknowing thee, conceive: yet\n    I cou\u2019d dwell for ever on the Theme, and swell whole Volumes\n    with enervate, tho\u2019 well-meaning Praises, if my Impatience, to\n    have what I have already writ, be with you, did not prevent my\n    saying any more than, that but in you I live, nor cou\u2019d support\n    this Death-like absence, but for some little intervals of Hope,\n    which sometimes flatter me, that Fortune will grow weary of\n    persecuting me, and one Day re-unite my Body to my Soul and\n    make both inseparably Yours,\nThese new made Friends having a fellow-feeling of each others Sufferings,\nas proceeding from one Source, pass\u2019d the time in little else but amorous\nDiscourses, till it was a proper Hour for the Count to perform his\nPromise, and taking a full Direction from _Frankville_ how to find the\nHouse, he left him at his Lodgings to wait his return from _Ciamara_\u2019s,\nforming, all the way he went, a thousand Projects to communicate to\n_Camilla_ for her Escape, he was still extreamly uneasy in his Mind\nconcerning _Melliora_, and long\u2019d to be in _Paris_ to know the Truth of\nthat Affair, but thought he cou\u2019d not in Honour leave her Brother in\nthis Embarrassment, and resolv\u2019d to make use of all his Wit and Address\nto perswade _Camilla_ to hazard every thing for Love, and was not a\nlittle pleas\u2019d with the Imagination, that he should lay so considerable\nan obligation on _Melliora_, as this Service to her Brother wou\u2019d be.\nFull of these Reflections he found himself in the _Portico_ of that\nmagnificent House he was to enter, and seeing a Crowd of Servants about\nthe Door, desir\u2019d to be brought to the presence of _Donna Camilla\nFialaso_, one of them, immediately conducted him into a stately Room, and\nleaving him there, told him, the Lady shou\u2019d be made acquainted with his\nRequest; presently after came in a Woman, who, tho\u2019 very Young, seem\u2019d to\nbe in the nature of a _Duenna_, the _Count_ stood with his Back toward\nher as she enter\u2019d, but hearing somebody behind him, and turning hastily\nabout, he observ\u2019d she startled at sight of him, and appear\u2019d so confus\u2019d\nthat he knew not what to make of her Behaviour, and when he ask\u2019d if he\nmight speak with _Camilla_, and said he had a Message to deliver from\n_Cittolini_, she made no other Answer than several times, with an amaz\u2019d\nAccent, Ecchoing the names of _Camilla_ and _Cittolini_, as if not able\nto comprehend his Meaning; he was oblig\u2019d to repeat his Words over and\nover before she cou\u2019d recollect herself enough to tell him, that she\nwou\u2019d let him know her Lady\u2019s pleasure instantly. She left him in a good\ndeal of Consternation, at the Surprize he perceiv\u2019d the Sight of him had\nput her into, he form\u2019d a thousand uncertain Guesses what the occasion\nshou\u2019d be, but the Mistery was too deep for all his Penetration to\nfathom, and he waited with abundance of Impatience for her return, or the\nappearance of her Lady, either, of which, he hop\u2019d, might give a Solution\nto this seeming Riddle.\nHe attended a considerable time, and was beginning to grow excessive\nuneasy, at this Delay, when a magnificent _Anti-porta_ being drawn up,\nhe saw thro\u2019 a Glass Door, which open\u2019d into a Gallery, the _Duenna_\napproaching: She had now entirely compos\u2019d her Countenance, and with an\nobliging Smile told him, she wou\u2019d conduct him to her Lady. She led him\nthro\u2019 several Rooms, all richly furnish\u2019d and adorn\u2019d, but far inferior\nto the last he came into, and in which he was again left alone, after\nbeing assur\u2019d that he should not long be so.\n_Count D\u2019elmont_ cou\u2019d not forbear giving Truce to his more serious\nReflections, to admire the Beauties of the Place he was in; where e\u2019er\nhe turn\u2019d his Eyes, he saw nothing but was splendidly Luxurious, and all\nthe Ornaments contriv\u2019d in such a manner, as might fitly be a Pattern,\nto Paint the Palace of the Queen of Love by: The Ceiling was vastly\nhigh and beautify\u2019d with most curious Paintings, the Walls were cover\u2019d\nwith Tapestry, in which, most artificially were woven, in various\ncolour\u2019d Silk, intermix\u2019d with Gold and Silver, a great number of Amorous\nStories; in one Place he beheld a Naked _Venus_ sporting with _Adonis_,\nin another, the Love transform\u2019d _Jupiter_, just resuming his Shape, and\nrushing to the Arms of _Leda_; there, the seeming Chast _Diana_ Embracing\nher entranc\u2019d _Endimion_; here, the God of soft Desires himself, wounded\nwith an Arrow of his own, and snatching Kisses from the no less enamour\u2019d\n_Psiche_: betwixt every one of these Pieces hung a large Looking-Glass,\nwhich reach\u2019d to the top of the Room, and out of each sprung several\ncrystal Branches, containing great Wax-Tapers, so that the number of\nLights vy\u2019d with the Sun, and made another, and more glorious Day, than\nthat which lately was withdrawn. At the upper End of this magnificent\nChamber, there was a Canopy of Crimson Velvet, richly emboss\u2019d, and\ntrim\u2019d with Silver, the Corners of which were supported by two golden\n_Cupids_, with stretch\u2019d out Wings, as if prepar\u2019d to fly; two of their\nHands grasp\u2019d the extremity of the _Valen_, and the other, those nearest\nto each other, joyn\u2019d to hold a wreath of Flowers, over a Couch, which\nstood under the Canopy. But tho\u2019 the Count was very much taken at first\nwith what he saw, yet he was too sincere a Lover to be long delighted\nwith any thing in the absence of his Mistress: How Heavenly (said he to\nhimself Sighing) wou\u2019d be this Place, if I expected _Melliora_ here! But\nOh! how preferable were a Cottage blest with her, to all this Pomp and\nGrandeur with any other; this Consideration threw him into a deep Musing,\nwhich made him forget either where he was, or the Business which brought\nhim there, till rous\u2019d from it by the dazling Owner of this sumptuous\nApartment. Nothing could be more glorious than her Appearance; she was\nby Nature, a Woman of a most excellent Shape, to which, her desire of\nPleasing, had made her add all the aids of Art; she was drest in a Gold\nand Silver stuff Petticoat, and a Wastcoat of plain blew Sattin, set\nround the Neck and Sleeves, and down the Seams with Diamonds, and fastned\non the Breast, with Jewels of a prodigeous largeness and lustre; a Girdle\nof the same encompass\u2019d her Waste; her Hair, of which she had great\nquantity, was black as Jet, and with a studied Negligence, fell part of\nit on her Neck in careless Ringlets, and the other was turn\u2019d up, and\nfasten\u2019d here and there with Bodkins, which had pendant Diamonds hanging\nto \u2019em, and as she mov\u2019d, glittered with a quivering Blaze, like Stars\ndarting their fires from out a sable Sky; she had a Vail on, but so thin,\nthat it did not, in the least, obscure the shine of her Garments, or her\nJewels, only she had contriv\u2019d to double that part of it which hung over\nher Face, in so many folds, that it serv\u2019d to conceal her as well as a\n_Vizard_ Mask.\nThe Count made no doubt but this was the Lady for whom he waited, and\nthrowing off that melancholly Air he had been in, assum\u2019d one, all gay\nand easy, and bowing low, as he advanc\u2019d to meet her; Madam, said he,\nif you are that incomparable _Camilla_, whose Goodness nothing but her\nBeauty can equalize, you will forgive the intrusion of a Stranger, who\nconfesses himself no other way worthy of the Honour of your Conversation,\nbut by his Desires to serve him who is much more so: A Friend of\n_Cittolini_\u2019s, answer\u2019d she, can never want admittance here, and if you\nhad no other Plea, the Name you come in, is a sufficient Warrant for your\nkind Reception: I hope, resum\u2019d he in a low Voice, and looking round\nto see if there were no Attendants in hearing, I bring a Better, from\n_Frankville_, Madam, the adoring _Frankville_, I have these Credentials\nto Justify my Visit; in speaking this, he deliver\u2019d the Letter to her,\nwhich she retiring a few Paces from him to read, gave him an opportunity\nof admiring the Majesty of her Walk, and the agreeable loftiness of her\nMein, much more than he had time to do before.\nShe dwelt not long on the Contents of the Letter, but throwing it\ncarelesly down on a Table which stood near her, turn\u2019d to the Count, and\nwith an Accent which express\u2019d not much Satisfaction; and was it to you,\nmy Lord! said she, that Monsieur _Frankville_ ow\u2019d his Preservation? I\nwas so happy, reply\u2019d he, to have some little hand in it, but since I\nhave known how dear he is to you, think my self doubly blest by Fortune\nfor the means of acting any thing conducive to your Peace: If you imagine\nthat this is so, resum\u2019d she hastily, you are extreamly mistaken, as you\nwill always be, when you believe, where Count _D\u2019elmont_ appears, any\nother Man seems worthy the regard of a discerning Woman; but, continu\u2019d\nshe, perceiving he look\u2019d surpriz\u2019d, to spare your suspence, and my self\nthe trouble of repeating what you know already, behold who she is, you\nhave been talking to, and tell me now, if _Frankville_ has any Interest\nin a Heart to which this Face belongs? With these Words she threw off\nher Vail, and instead of lessening his Amazement, very much encreas\u2019d\nit, in discovering the Features of the Lady, with whom he had discoursed\nthe Night before in the Garden, He knew not what to think, or how to\nreconcile to Reason, that _Camilla_, who so lately lov\u2019d, and had granted\nthe highest Favours to _Frankville_, shou\u2019d on a sudden be willing,\nuncourted, to bestow them on another, nor cou\u2019d he comprehend how the\nsame Person shou\u2019d at once live in two several Places, for he conceiv\u2019d\nthe House he was in, was far distant from the Garden which he had been in\nthe Night before.\nThey both remain\u2019d for some Moments in a profound Silence, the Lady\nexpecting when the Count shou\u2019d speak, and he endeavouring to recollect\nhimself enough to do so, \u2019till she, at last, possibly guessing at his\nThoughts, resum\u2019d her Discourse in this manner: My Lord, said she,\nwonder not at the Power of Love, a Form like yours might soften the most\nrugged Heart, much more one, by Nature so tender as is mine.----Think\nbut what you are, continu\u2019d she sighing, and making him sit down by her\non the Couch, and you will easily excuse whatever my Passion may enforce\nme to commit. I must confess Madam, answer\u2019d he very gravely, I never\nin my Life wanted presence of mind so much as at this juncture, to see\nbefore me here, the Person, who, I believ\u2019d, liv\u2019d far from hence, who,\nby Appointment, I was to wait on this Night at a different Place.----To\nfind in the Mistress of my Friend, the very Lady, who seems unworthily\nto have bestow\u2019d her Heart on me, are Circumstances so Incoherent, as\nI can neither account for, or make evident to _Reason_, tho\u2019 they are\ntoo truly so to _Sense_: It will be easy, reply\u2019d she, to reconcile\nboth these seeming Contradictions, when you shall know that the Gardens\nbelonging to this House, are of a very large Extent, and not only that,\nbut the turning of the Streets are so order\u2019d, as make the Distance\nbetween the fore, and back Door appear much greater than really it is:\nAnd for the other, as I have already told you, you ought to be better\nacquainted with your self, than to be surpriz\u2019d at Consequences which\nmust infallibly attend such Charms: In saying this, she turn\u2019d her Head a\nlittle on one side, and put her Handkerchief before her Face, affecting\nto seem confus\u2019d at what she spoke; but the Count redned in good Earnest,\nand with a Countenance which express\u2019d Sentiments, far different from\nthose she endeavour\u2019d to Inspire: Madam, said he, tho\u2019 the good Opinion\nyou have of me is owing entirely to the _Error_ of your _Fancy_, which\ntoo often, especially in your Sex, blinds the _Judgment_, yet, \u2019tis\ncertain, that there are not many Men, whom such Praises, coming from a\nMouth like yours, wou\u2019d not make Happy and Vain; but if I was ever of\na Humour to be so, it is now wholly mortify\u2019d in me, and \u2019tis but with\nthe utmost regret, that I must receive the Favours you confer on me to\nthe prejudice of my Friend: And is that, interrupted she hastily, is\nthat the _only_ Cause? Does nothing but your Friendship to _Frankville_\nprevent my Wishes? That, of itself, answer\u2019d he, were a sufficient Bar to\nsunder us for ever, but there\u2019s another, if not a greater, a more tender\none, which, to restore you to the Path, which Honour, Gratitude, and\nReason call you to, I must inform you of, yes, I must tell you, Madam,\nall lovely as you are, that were there no such Man as _Frankville_, in\nthe World,----were you as free as Air, I have a defence within, which all\nyour Charms can never pierce, nor softness melt---I am already bound,\nnot with the weak Ties of Vows or formal Obligations, which confine no\nfarther than the Body, but Inclination!----the fondest Inclination! That\never swell\u2019d a _Heart_ with Rapturous Hopes: The Lady had much ado to\ncontain herself till he had done speaking; she was by Nature extreamly\nHaughty, Insolent of her Beauty, and impatient of any thing she thought\nlook\u2019d like a flight of it, and this open Defyance of _her_ Power, and\nacknowledging _anothers_, had she been less in Love wou\u2019d have been\ninsupportable to her: Ungrateful and uncourtly Man, said she, looking\non him with Eyes that sparkled at once with Indignation and Desire, you\nmight have spar\u2019d yourself the trouble of Repeating, and me the Confusion\nof hearing, in what manner you stand Engag\u2019d, it had been enough to have\ntold me you never cou\u2019d be mine, without appearing transported at the\nRuin which you make; if my too happy Rival possesses Charms, I cannot\nboast, methinks your _good Manners_ might have taught you, not to insult\nmy Wants, and your _good Nature_, to have mingled _Pity_ with your\n_Justice_; with these Words she fell a Weeping, but whether they were\nTears of Love or Anger, is hard to determine, \u2019tis certain that both\nthose Passions rag\u2019d this Moment in her Soul with equal Violence, and\nif she had had it in her Power, wou\u2019d doubtless have been glad to have\nhated him, but he was, at all times, too lovely to suffer a possibility\nof that, and much more so at this, for in spite of the Shock, that\nInfidelity he believ\u2019d her guilty of to _Frankville_, gave him; he was\nby Nature so Compassionate, he _felt_ the Woes he _saw_, or _heard_ of,\neven of those who were most indifferent to him, and cou\u2019d not now behold\na Face, in which all the Horrors of Despair were in the most lively\nmanner represented, without displaying a Tenderness in his, which in\nany other Man, might have been taken for Love; the dazling Radience of\nhis Eyes, gave place to a more dangerous, more bewitching softness, and\nwhen he sigh\u2019d, in Pity of her Anguish, a Soul Inchanting Languishment\ndiffus\u2019d itself thro\u2019 all his Air, and added to his Graces; she presently\nperceiv\u2019d it, and forming new Hopes, as well from that, as from his\nSilence, took hold of his Hand, and pressing it eagerly to her Bosom,\nOh my Lord! resum\u2019d she, you cannot be ungrateful if you wou\u2019d,----I\nfeel you cannot----Madam, interrupted he, shaking off as much possible\nthat show of Tenderness, which he found had given her Incouragement; I\nwish not to convince you how nearly I am touch\u2019d, with what you suffer,\nlest it shou\u2019d _encrease_ an Esteem, which, since prejudicial to your\nRepose, and the Interest of my Friend; I rather ought to endeavour to\n_lessen_.----But, as this is not the Entertainment I expected from\n_Camilla_, I beg to know an Answer of the Business I came upon, and what\nyou decree for the unfortunate _Frankville_: If the Lady was agitated\nwith an extremity of Vexation at the _Count_\u2019s Declaration of his Passion\nfor another, what was she now, at this Disappointment of the Hopes she\nwas so lately flatter\u2019d with! instead of making any direct reply to what\nhe said, she rag\u2019d, stamp\u2019d, tore her Hair, curs\u2019d _Frankville_, all\nMankind, the World, and in that height of Fury, scarce spar\u2019d Heaven\nitself; but the violence of her Pride and Resentment being a little\nvented, Love took his turn, again she wept, again she prest his Hand, nay\nshe even knelt and hung upon his Feet, as he wou\u2019d have broke from her,\nand beg\u2019d him with Words as eloquent as Wit cou\u2019d Form, and desperate\ndying Love Suggest, to pity and relieve her Misery: But he had now\nlearn\u2019d to dissemble his Concern, lest it shou\u2019d a second time beguile\nher, and after raising her, with as careless and unmov\u2019d an Air, as he\nwas capable of putting on: My Presence, Madam, said he, but augments your\nDisorder, and \u2019tis only by seeing you no more, that I am qualify\u2019d to\nconduce to the recovery of your Peace: With these Words he turn\u2019d hastily\nfrom her, and was going out of the Room, when she, quick as Thought,\nsprung from the Place where she had stood, and being got between him and\nthe Door, and throwing her self into his Arms, before he had time to\nprevent her; you must not, shall not go, she cry\u2019d, till you have left\nme dead: Pardon me, Madam, answer\u2019d he fretfully, and struggling to get\nloose from her Embrace, to stay after the Discovery you have made of your\nSentiments, were to be guilty of an Injustice almost equal to your\u2019s,\ntherefore I beg you\u2019d give me liberty to pass.----Hear me but speak,\nresum\u2019d she, grasping him yet harder; return but for a Moment,----lovely\nBarbarian,----Hell has no torments like your Cruelty. Here, the different\nPassions working in her Soul, with such uncommon Vehemence, hurry\u2019d\nher Spirits beyond what Nature cou\u2019d Support; her Voice faulter\u2019d in\nthe Accent, her trembling Hands by slow degrees relinquish\u2019d what so\neagerly they had held, every Sense forgot its Use, and she sunk, in all\nappearance, lifeless on the Floor. The Count was, if possible, more glad\nto be releas\u2019d, than griev\u2019d at the occasion, and contented himself with\ncalling her Women to her Assistance, without staying to see when she\nwou\u2019d recover.\nHe went out of that House with Thoughts much more discompos\u2019d than those\nwith which he had entered it, and when he came Home, where _Frankville_\nimpatiently waited his Return, he was at the greatest loss in the World,\nhow to discover his Misfortune to him; the other observing the trouble\nof his Mind, which was very visible in his Countenance; my Lord, said\nhe, in a melancholly Tone, I need not ask you what Success, the gloom\nwhich appears on your Brow, tells me, my ill Fortune has deny\u2019d you the\nmeans of speaking to _Camilla_? Accuse not Fortune, answer\u2019d _D\u2019elmont_,\nbut the influence of malicious Stars which seldom, if ever, suits our\nDispositions to our Circumstances; I have seen _Camilla_, have talk\u2019d\nto her, and \u2019tis from that Discourse that I cannot forbear reflection\non the Miseries of Humanity, which, while it mocks us with a show of\n_Reason_, gives us no Power to curb our _Will_, and guide the erring\nAppetites to Peace. Monsieur _Frankville_ at these Words first felt a\njealous Pang, and as \u2019tis natural to believe every Body admires what we\ndo, he presently imagin\u2019d Count _D\u2019elmont_ had forgot _Melliora_ in the\npresence of _Camilla_, and that it was from the Consciousness of his own\nWeakness and Inconstancy, that he spoke so feelingly: I wonder not my\nLord, said he coldly, that the Beauties of _Camilla_ shou\u2019d inspire you\nwith Sentiments, which, perhaps, for many Reasons, you wou\u2019d desire to\nbe free from, and I ought, in Prudence, to have consider\u2019d, that tho\u2019\nyou are the most excellent of your Kind, you are still a _Man_, and not\nhave the Passions incident to _Man_, and not have expos\u2019d you to those\nDangers the sight of _Camilla_ must necessarily involve you in: I wish\nto Heaven answer\u2019d the Count, easily guessing what his Thoughts were, no\ngreater threatned you, and that you cou\u2019d think on _Camilla_ with the\nsame indifference as I can, or she of me with more; then, in as brief\na manner as he cou\u2019d, he gave him the Substance of what had happen\u2019d.\n_Frankville_, whose only Fault was rashness, grew almost wild at the\nRecital of so unexpected a Misfortune, he knew not for a good while what\nto believe, loath he was to suspect the Count, but loather to suspect\n_Camilla_, yet flew into extremities of Rage against both, by turns: The\nCount pitied, and forgave all that the violence of his Passion made him\nutter, but offer\u2019d not to argue with him, \u2019till he found him capable of\nadmitting his Reasons, and then, that open Sincerity, that honest noble\nAssurance which always accompany\u2019d his Sweetness, and made it difficult\nto doubt the Truth of any thing he said, won the disorder\u2019d Lover to\nan entire Conviction; he now concludes his Mistress false, repents the\ntenderness he has had for her, and tho\u2019 she still appears as lovely to\nhis _Fancy_ as ever, she grows odious to his _Judgment_, and resolves to\nuse his utmost Efforts to banish her Idea from his Heart.\nIn this Humour he took leave of the Count, it growing late, and his last\nNights Adventure taught him the danger of Nocturnal Walks, but how he\nspent his time till Morning, those can only guess, who have loved like\nhim, and like him, met so cruel a Disappointment.\nThe Count pass\u2019d not the Night in much less Inquietude than _Frankville_,\nhe griev\u2019d the powerful Influence of his own Attractions, and had\nthere not been a _Melliora_ in the World, he wou\u2019d have wish\u2019d himself\nDeform\u2019d, rather than have been the Cause of so much Misery, as his\nLoveliness produc\u2019d.\nThe next Morning the Count design\u2019d to visit _Frankville_, to strengthen\nhim in his Resolution of abandoning all Thoughts of the unconstant\n_Camilla_, but before he cou\u2019d get drest, the other came into his\nChamber: My Lord, said he, assoon as they were alone, my perfidious\nMistress, failing to make a Conquest of your Heart, is still willing to\npreserve that she had attain\u2019d over mine, but all her Charms and her\nDelusions are but vain, and to prove to your Lordship that they are so, I\nhave brought the Letter I receiv\u2019d from her, scarce an Hour past, and the\ntrue Copy of my Answer to it.\n    [Illustration]\n    To Monsieur FRANKVILLE.\n    _Tho\u2019 nothing proves the value of our Presence, so much as the\n    Pangs our absence occasions, and in my last I rashly wish\u2019d\n    you might be sensible of mine, yet on examining my Heart, I\n    presently recall\u2019d the hasty Prayer, and found I lov\u2019d with\n    that extravagance of Tenderness, that I had rather you return\u2019d\n    it too little than too much, and methinks cou\u2019d better bear to\n    represent you to my Fancy, careless and calm as common Lovers\n    are, than think, I saw you, Burning,--Bleeding,---Dying, like\n    me, with hopeless Wishes, and unavailing Expectations; but Ah!\n    I fear such Apprehensions are but too un-necessary----You think\n    not of me, and, if in those happy days, when no cross Accident\n    interven\u2019d to part me from your Sight, my Fondness pleas\u2019d,\n    you now find nothing in CAMILLA worth a troubled Thought, nor\n    breath one tender sigh in memory of our Transports past.----If\n    I wrong your Love, impute it to Distraction, for Oh! \u2019tis sure,\n    I am not in my Senses, nor know to form one regular Desire: I\n    act, and speak, and think, a thousand Incoherent things, and\n    tho\u2019 I cannot forbear Writing to you, I write in such a manner,\n    so wild, so different from what I wou\u2019d, that I repent me of\n    the Folly I am guilty of, even while I am committing it; but\n    to make as good a Defence as I am able for these, perhaps,\n    unwelcome Lines, I must inform you that they come not so much\n    to let you know my Sentiments, as to engage a Discovery of\n    yours: CIAMARA has discharg\u2019d one of her Servants from her\n    Attendance, who no longer courting her Favour or regarding her\n    Frowns, I have prevail\u2019d upon, not only to bring this to you,\n    but to convey an Answer back to me, by the help of a String\n    which I am to let down to him from my Window, therefore, if\n    you are but as Kind, as he has promis\u2019d to be Faithful, we\n    may often enjoy the Blessing of this distant Conversation;\n    Heaven only knows when we shall be permitted to enjoy a nearer.\n    CITTOLINI is this Evening return\u2019d from his VILLA, and nothing\n    but a Miracle can save me from the necessity of making my\n    Choice of him, or a Monastery, either of which is worse than\n    Death, since it must leave me the Power to wish, but take away\n    the means, of being what I so oft have swore to be_\nThe Count could not forbear lifting up his Eyes and Hands in token of\nAmazement, at the unexampled Falshood this Woman appeared guilty of, but\nperceiving Monsieur _Frankville_ was about to read the following Answer,\nwou\u2019d not Interrupt him, by asking any Questions \u2019till he had done.\n    [Illustration]\n    To _Donna_ CAMILLA.\n    _If Vows are any constraint to an Inclination so addicted to\n    Liberty as Yours, I shall make no difficulty to release you of\n    all you ever made to me! Yes Madam, you are free to dispose\n    both of your Heart and Person wheresoever you think fit, nor\n    do I desire you shou\u2019d give your self the pains of farther\n    Dissimulation. I pay too entire an Obedience to your Will, to\n    continue in a Passion which is no longer pleasing: Nor will, by\n    an ill tim\u2019d and unmannerly Constancy, disturb the serenity of\n    your future Enjoyments with any happier Man than_\nYou see, my Lord, said he with a sigh, that I have put it out of her\nPower to Triumph over my Weakness, for I confess my Heart still wears her\nChains, but e\u2019er my Eyes or Tongue betray to her the shameful Bondage,\nthese Hands shou\u2019d tear them out; therefore I made no mention of her\nBehaviour to you, nor of my sending any Letter by you, not only because\nI knew not if your Lordship wou\u2019d think it proper, but lest she shou\u2019d\nimagine my Resentment proceeded from Jealousy, and that I lov\u2019d her\nstill.----No, she shall ne\u2019er have Cause to guess the truth of what I\nsuffer.----Her _real perfidy_ shall be repaid with _seeming Inconstancy_\nand Scorn---Oh! How \u2019twill sting her Pride,----By Heaven, I feel a gloomy\nkind of Pleasure in the Thought, and will indulge it, even to the highest\ninsults of Revenge.\nI rather wish, reply\u2019d the Count, you cou\u2019d in _earnest_ be indifferent,\nthan only _feign_ to be so, her unexampled Levity Deceit, renders her\nas unworthy of your Anger as your Love, and there is too much Danger\nwhile you preserve the _one_, that you will not be able to throw off the\n_other_.----Oh! I pretend not to it, cry\u2019d _Frankville_, interrupting\nhim, she has too deep a root within my Soul ever to be remov\u2019d---I boast\nno more than a concealment of my Passion, and when I dress the horrors\nof a bleeding, breaking Heart, in all the calm of cold Tranquility;\nmethinks, you shou\u2019d applaud the _Noble_ Conquest: Time, said the\n_Count_, after a little Pause, and a just Reflection how little she\ndeserves your Thoughts, will teach you to obtain a _Nobler_; that of\nnumbering your Love, among things that _were_, but _are_ no more, and\nmake you, with me, acknowledge that \u2019tis as great an argument of _Folly_\nand _meanness of Spirit_ to continue the same Esteem when the Object\nceases to deserve, which we profess\u2019d before the discovery of that\nunworthiness, as it wou\u2019d be of _Villany_ and _Inconstancy of Mind_, to\nchange, without an Efficient Cause: A great deal of Discourse pass\u2019d\nbetween them to the same Effect, and it was but in vain that Count\n_D\u2019elmont_ endeavour\u2019d to perswade him to a real forgetfulness of the\nCharmer, tho\u2019 he resolv\u2019d to seem as if he did so.\nWhile they were disputing, one of _D\u2019elmont\u2019s_ Servants gave him a\nLetter, which, he told him, the Person who brought it, desir\u2019d he wou\u2019d\nanswer immediately; he no sooner broke it open, and cast his Eye over\nit, than he cry\u2019d out in a kind of Transport, Oh, _Frankville_, what has\nFate been doing! You are Happy.----_Camilla_ is Innocent, and perhaps the\nmost deserving of her Sex; I only am Guilty, who, by a fatal Mistake have\nwrong\u2019d her Virtue, and Tormented you; but Read, continu\u2019d he, giving him\nthe Letter, Read, and Satisfy your self.\nMonsieur _Frankville_ was too much astonish\u2019d at these Words to be able\nto make any reply, but immediately found the Interpretation of them in\nthese Lines.\n    [Illustration]\n    To the dear cruel Destroyer of my Quiet, the never too much\n    Admir\u2019d _Count_ D\u2019ELMONT.\n    \u201c\u2019Tis no longer the Mistress of your Friend, a perjur\u2019d and\n    unjust _Camilla_, who languishes and dies by your Contempt, but\n    one, whom all the Darts of Love had strove in vain to reach,\n    \u2019till from your Charms they gain\u2019d a God-like Influence, and\n    un-erring Force! One, who tho\u2019 a Widow, brings you the Offering\n    of a Virgin Heart.\n    \u201cAs I was sitting in my Closet, watching the progress of the\n    lazy Hours, which flew not half so swift as my Desires to bring\n    on the appointed time in which you promis\u2019d to be with me in\n    the Garden; my Woman came running in, to acquaint me, that\n    you were in the House, and waited to speak with _Camilla_:\n    Surprize, and Jealousy at once Assaulted me, and I sunk beneath\n    the Apprehension that you might, by some Accident, have seen\n    her, and also loved her, to ease my self of those tormenting\n    Doubts I resolv\u2019d to appear before you, in her stead, and kept\n    my Vail over my Face, \u2019till I found that hers was unknown to\n    you:-----You are not Ignorant what follow\u2019d, the Deceit pass\u2019d\n    upon you for Truth, but I was sufficiently punish\u2019d for it, by\n    the severity of your Usage: I was just going to discover who\n    I was, when the violence of my Love, my Grief, and my Despair\n    threw me into that Swoon, in which, to compleat your Cruelty,\n    you left me; \u2019twou\u2019d be endless to endeavour to represent the\n    Agonies of my Soul, when I recovered, and heard you were gone,\n    but all who truly Love, as they _fear much_, so they _hope\n    much_, my Tortures at length abated, at least, permitted me to\n    take some intervals of Comfort, and I began to flatter my self\n    that the Passion you seem\u2019d transported with, for a nameless\n    Mistress, was but a _feint_ to bring me back to him you thought\n    I was oblig\u2019d to Love, and that there was a possibility, that\n    my Person and Fortune might not appear despicable to you, when,\n    you shou\u2019d know, I have no Ties but those of Inclination, which\n    can be only yours while I am\n    \u201c_P.S._ If you find nothing in me worthy of your Love, my\n    Sufferings are such, as justly may deserve your Pity; either\n    relieve or put an end to them I conjure you---Free me from the\n    ling\u2019ring Death of Doubt, at once decree my Fate, for, like\n    a God, you rule my very Will, nor dare I, without your Leave,\n    throw off this wretched Being; Oh then, permit me once more to\n    behold you, to try at least, to warm you into Kindness with my\n    Sighs, to melt you with my Tears,---to sooth you into softness\n    by a thousand yet undiscover\u2019d Fondnesses---and, if all fail to\n    die before your Eyes.\u201d\nThose who have experienc\u2019d the force of Love, need not to be inform\u2019d\nwhat Joy, what Transport swell\u2019d the Heart of Monsieur _Frankville_,\nat this unexpected _Eclaircissment_ of his dear _Camilla\u2019s_ Innocence;\nwhen every thing concurs to make our Woes seem real, when Hopes are\ndead, and even Desire is hush\u2019d by the loud Clamours of Despair and\nRage, then,---then, to be recall\u2019d to Life, to Light, to Heaven and Love\nagain, is such a torrent of o\u2019re powering Happiness,--such a surcharge of\nExtacy, as Sense can hardly bear.\nWhat now wou\u2019d _Frankville_ not have given that it had been in his Power\nto have recall\u2019d the last Letter he sent to _Camilla_? his Soul severely\nreproach\u2019d him for so easily believing she cou\u2019d be False; tho\u2019 his\nExperience of the sweetness of her Disposition, made him not doubt of a\nPardon from her, when she shou\u2019d come to know what had been the Reason\nof his Jealousy; his impatience to see her, immediately put it into his\nHead, that as _Ciamara_ had been the occasion of the mis-understanding\nbetween them, _Ciamara_ might likewise be made the property to set all\nright again; to this end, he entreated the Count to write her an answer\nof Compliance, and a promise to come to her the next Day, in which Visit,\nhe wou\u2019d, in a Disguise attend him, and being once got into the House, he\nthought it wou\u2019d be no difficulty to steal to _Camilla\u2019s_ Apartment.\nBut he found it not so easy a Task as he imagin\u2019d, to persuade Count\n_D\u2019elmont_ to come into this Design, his generous Heart, averse to all\nDeceit, thought it base and unmanly to abuse with Dissimulation the real\ntenderness this Lady had for him, and tho\u2019 press\u2019d by the Brother of\n_Melliora_, and conjur\u2019d to it, even by the Love he profess\u2019d for her, it\nwas with all the reluctance in the World, that he, at last, consented,\nand his Servant came several times into the Room to remind him that the\nPerson who brought the Letter, waited impatiently for an Answer, before\nhe cou\u2019d bring himself into a Humour to write in the manner Monsieur\n_Frankville_ desir\u2019d; and tho\u2019, scarce any Man ever had so sparkling a\nFancy, such a readiness of Thought, or aptitude of Expression, when the\ndictates of his Soul, were the Employment of his Tongue or Pen, yet he\nnow found himself at a loss for Words, and he wasted more time in these\nfew Lines, than a Thousand times as many on any other Subject wou\u2019d have\ncost him.\n    [Illustration]\n    To the Beautiful and Obliging CIAMARA.\n    _Madam_,\n    \u201cIf I did not Sin against Truth when I assur\u2019d you that I had\n    a Mistress to whom I was engag\u2019d by Inclination, I certainly\n    did, when I appear\u2019d guilty of a harshness which was never in\n    my Nature; the Justice you do me in believing the Interest of\n    my Friend was the greatest Motive for my seeming Unkindness I\n    have not the Power sufficiently to acknowledge, but, cou\u2019d you\n    look into my Soul, you wou\u2019d there find the Effects of your\n    Inspiration, something so tender, and so grateful, as only\n    favours, such as you confer, cou\u2019d merit or create.\n    \u201cI design to make my self happy in waiting on you to Morrow\n    Night about Eleven, if you will order me admittance at that\n    Back-gate, which was the Place of our first Appointment, \u2019till\n    then, I am the lovely _Ciamara_\u2019s\n    \u201c_P.S._ There are some Reasons why I think it not safe to come\n    alone, therefore beg you\u2019ll permit me to bring a Servant with\n    me, on whose secrecy I dare rely.\u201d\nWhen the Count had sent away this little Billet, Monsieur _Frankville_\ngrew very gay on the hopes of his Design succeeding; and laughing,\nmy Lord said he, I question whether _Melliora_ wou\u2019d forgive me, for\nengaging you in this Affair; _Ciamara_ is extreamly handsome, has Wit,\nand where she attempts to Charm, has doubtless, a thousand Artifices to\nobtain her wish; the Count was not in a temper to relish his Raillery,\nhe had a great deal of Compassion for _Ciamara_, and thought himself\ninexcusable for deceiving her, and all that _Frankville_ cou\u2019d do to\ndissipate the Gloom that reflection spread about him, was but vain.\nThey spent the greatest part of this Day together, as they had done the\nformer; and when the time came that _Frankville_ thought it proper to\ntake Leave, it was with a much more chearful Heart, than he had the Night\nbefore; but his Happiness was not yet secure, and in a few Hours he found\na considerable alteration in his Condition.\nAs soon as it was dark enough for CAMILLA to let down her String to the\nFellow whom she had order\u2019d to wait for it, he receiv\u2019d another Letter\nfasten\u2019d to it, and finding it was Directed as the other, for Monsieur\n_Frankville_, he immediately brought it to him.\nIt was with a mixture of Fear and Joy, that the impatient Lover broke it\nopen, but both these Passions gave Place to an adequate Despair, when\nhaving un-seal\u2019d it, he read these Lines.\n    [Illustration]\n    _To Monsieur_ FRANKVILLE.\n    \u201cI have been already so much deceiv\u2019d, that I ought not to\n    boast of any skill in the Art of Divination, yet, I fancy,\n    \u2019tis in my Power to form a juster Guess than I have done,\n    what the Sentiments of your Heart will be when you first open\n    this----Methinks, I see you put on a scornful Smile, resolving\n    to be still unmov\u2019d, either at Upbraidings or Complaints;\n    for to do one of these, I am satisfied, you imagine is the\n    reason of my troubling you with a Letter: But Sir, I am not\n    altogether silly enough to believe the tenderest Supplications\n    the most humble of my Sex cou\u2019d make, has efficacy to restore\n    Desire, once Dead, to Life; or if it cou\u2019d, I am not so mean\n    Spirited as to accept a return thus caus\u2019d; nor wou\u2019d it\n    be less impertinent to Reproach; to tell you that you are\n    Perjur\u2019d---Base---Ungrateful, is what you know already, unless\n    your Memory is so Complaisant as not to remind you of either\n    Vows or Obligations: But, to assure you, that I reflect on\n    this sudden Change of your Humour without being fir\u2019d with\n    Rage, or stupify\u2019d with Grief, is perhaps, what you least\n    expect.----Yet, strange as it may seem, it is most certain,\n    that she, whom you have found the Softest, Fondest, Tenderest\n    of her Kind, is in a moment grown the most Indifferent, for\n    in spight of your Inconstancy, I never shall deny that I have\n    Lov\u2019d you,---Lov\u2019d you, even to Dotage, my Passion took birth\n    long before I knew you had a thought of feigning one for\n    me, which frees me from that Imputation Women too frequently\n    deserve, of _loving_ for no other Reason than because they are\n    _beloved_, for if you ne\u2019er had _seem\u2019d_ to love, I shou\u2019d have\n    continu\u2019d to do so in _Reality_. I found a thousand Charms\n    in your Person and Conversation, and believ\u2019d your Soul no\n    less transcending all others in excellent Qualities, than I\n    still confess your Form to be in Beauty; I drest you up in\n    vain Imagination, adorn\u2019d with all the Ornaments of Truth,\n    Honour, good Nature, Generosity, and every Grace that raise\n    mortal Perfection to the highest pitch, and almost reach\n    Divinity,---but you have taken care to prove your self, meer\n    _Man_, to like, dislike, and wish you know not what, nor why!\n    If I never had any Merits, how came you to think me worthy the\n    pains you have taken to engage me? And if I had, how am I so\n    suddenly depriv\u2019d of them?---No, I am still the same, and the\n    only reason I appear not so to you, is, that you behold me\n    now, no more, with Lover\u2019s Eyes; the few Charms, I am Mistress\n    of, look\u2019d lovely at a distance, but lose their Lustre, when\n    approach\u2019d too near; your Fancy threw a glittering Burnish o\u2019re\n    me, which free Possession has worn off, and now, the _Woman_\n    only stands expos\u2019d to View, and I confess I justly suffer for\n    the guilty Folly of believing that in your Sex Ardors cou\u2019d\n    survive Enjoyment, or if they cou\u2019d, that such a Miracle was\n    reserv\u2019d for me; but thank Heaven my Punishment is past, the\n    Pangs, the Tortures of my bleeding Heart, in tearing your Idea\n    thence, already are no more! The fiery Tryal is over, and\n    I am now arriv\u2019d at the Elizium of perfect Peace, entirely\n    unmolested by any warring Passion; the Fears, the Hopes, the\n    Jealousies, and all the endless Train of Cares which waited\n    on my hours of Love and fond Delusion, serve but to endear\n    re-gain\u2019d Tranquility; and I can cooly _Scorn_, not _hate_ your\n    Falshood; and tho\u2019 it is a Maxim very much in use among the\n    Women of my Country, that, _not to Revenge, were to deserve\n    Ill-usage_, yet I am so far from having a wish that way, that\n    I shall always esteem your _Virtues_, and while I pardon, pity\n    your _Infirmities_; shall praise your flowing Wit, without\n    an Indignant remembrance how oft it has been employ\u2019d for my\n    undoing; shall acknowledge the brightness of your Eyes, and not\n    in secret Curse the borrow\u2019d softness of their Glances, shall\n    think on all your past Endearments, your Sighs, your Vows, your\n    melting Kisses, and the warm Fury of your fierce Embraces, but\n    as a pleasing Dream, while Reason slept, and with not to renew\n    at such a Price.\n    \u201cI desire no Answer to this, nor to be thought of more, go on\n    in the same Course you have begun, Change \u2019till you are tir\u2019d\n    with roving, still let your Eyes Inchant, your Tongue Delude,\n    and Oaths Betray, and all who look, who listen, and believe, be\n    ruin\u2019d and forsaken like\nThe calm and resolute Resentment which appear\u2019d in the Stile of this\nLetter, gave _Frankville_ very just Grounds to fear, it would be no small\nDifficulty to obtain a Pardon for what he had so rashly Written; but when\nhe reflected on the seeming Reasons, which mov\u2019d him to it, and that he\nshould have an Opportunity to let her know them, he was not altogether\nInconsolable, he pass\u2019d the Night however in a World of Anxiety, and as\nsoon as Morning came, hurried away, to communicate to the _Count_ this\nfresh Occasion of his Trouble.\nIt was now _D\u2019elmont_\u2019s turn to Rally, and he laugh\u2019d as much at those\nFears, which he imagin\u2019d Causeless, as the other had done, at the\nAssignation he had perswaded him to make with _Ciamara_, but tho\u2019 as most\nof his Sex are, he was pretty much of the _Count_\u2019s Opinion, yet, the\nRe-instating himself in _Camilla_\u2019s Esteem, was a Matter of too great\nImportance to him, to suffer him to take one Moment\u2019s ease \u2019till he was\nperfectly Assur\u2019d of it.\nAt last, the wish\u2019d for Hour arriv\u2019d, and he, disguis\u2019d so, as it was\nimpossible for him to be known, attended the _Count_ to that dear Wicket,\nwhich had so often given him Entrance to _Camilla_; they waited not long\nfor Admittance, _Brione_ was ready there to Receive them; the Sight of\nher, inflam\u2019d the Heart of Monsieur _Frankville_ with all the Indignation\nimaginable, for he knew her to be the Woman, who, by her Treachery to\n_Camilla_, had gain\u2019d the Confidence of _Ciamara_, and involv\u2019d him in\nall the Miseries he had endur\u2019d! but he contain\u2019d himself, \u2019till she\ntaking the _Count_ by the Hand, in order to lead him to her Lady, bad him\nwait her Return, which she told him should be immediately, in an outer\nRoom which she pointed him to.\nIn the mean Time she conducted the _Count_ to the Door of that\nmagnificent Chamber, where he had been receiv\u2019d by the suppos\u2019d\n_Camilla_, and where he now beheld the real _Ciamara_, drest, if\npossible, richer than she was the Night before, but loose as wanton\nFancy cou\u2019d invent; she was lying on the Couch when he enter\u2019d, and\naffecting to seem as if she was not presently Sensible of his being\nthere, rose not to receive him \u2019till he was very near her; they both\nkept silence for some Moments, she, waiting till he should speak,\nand he, possibly, prevented by the uncertainty after what manner he\nshould Form his Address, so as to keep an equal Medium between the two\nExtreams, of being Cruel, or too Kind, till at last the Violence of her\nimpatient Expectation burst out in these Words,----Oh that this Silence\nwere the Effect of Love!----and then perceiving he made no Answer; tell\nme, continu\u2019d she, am I forgiven for thus intruding on your _Pity_\nfor a Grant, which _Inclination_ would not have allow\u2019d me? Cease\nMadam, reply\u2019d he, to encrease the Confusion which a just Sense of your\nFavours, and my own Ingratitude has cast me in: How can you look with\nEyes so tender and so kind, on him who brings you nothing in Return?\nRather despise me, hate me, drive me from your Sight, believe me as I\nam, unworthy of your Love, nor squander on a Bankrupt Wretch the noble\nTreasure: Oh Inhuman! interrupted she, has then that Mistress of whose\nCharms you boasted, engross\u2019d all your stock of Tenderness? and have you\nnothing, nothing to repay me for all this waste of Fondness,----this\nlavish Prodigality of Passion, which forces me beyond my Sexes Pride, or\nmy own natural Modesty, to sue, to Court, to kneel and weep for Pity:\nPity, resum\u2019d the _Count_ wou\u2019d be a poor Reward for Love like yours, and\nyet alas! continu\u2019d he Sighing, \u2019tis all I have to give; I have already\ntold you, I am ty\u2019d by Vows, by Honour, Inclination, to another, who\ntho\u2019 far absent hence, I still preserve the dear Remembrance of! My Fate\nwill soon recall me back to her, and _Paris_; yours fixes you at _Rome_,\nand since we are doom\u2019d to be for ever separated, it wou\u2019d be base to\nCheat you with a vain Pretence, and lull you with Hopes pleasing Dreams a\nwhile, when you must quickly wake to added Tortures, and redoubled Woe:\nHeavens, cry\u2019d she, with an Air full of Resentment, are then my Charms so\nmean, my Darts so weak, that near, they cannot intercept those, shot at\nsuch a Distance? And are you that dull, cold Platonist, which can prefer\nthe visionary Pleasures of an _absent_ Mistress, to the warm Transports\nof the Substantial _present_: The _Count_ was pretty much surpriz\u2019d at\nthese Words, coming from the Mouth of a Woman of Honour, and began now\nto perceive what her Aim was, but willing to be more confirm\u2019d, Madam,\nsaid he, I dare not hope your Virtue wou\u2019d permit.----Is this a Time\n(Interrupted she, looking on him with Eyes which sparkled with wild\nDesires, and left no want of further Explanation of her meaning) Is\nthis an Hour to preach of Virtue?----Married,----betroth\u2019d, engag\u2019d by\nLove or Law, what hinders but this Moment you may be mine, this Moment,\nwell improv\u2019d, might give us Joys to baffle a whole Age of Woe; make us,\nat once, forget our Troubles past, and by its sweet remembrance, scorn\nthose to come; in speaking these Words, she sunk supinely on _D\u2019elmont_\u2019s\nBreast; but tho\u2019 he was not so ill-natur\u2019d, and unmannerly as to repel\nher, this sort of Treatment made him lose all the Esteem, and great part\nof the Pity he had conceiv\u2019d for her.\nThe Woes of Love are only worthy Commiseration, according to their\nCauses; and tho\u2019 all those kinds of Desire, which the difference of Sex\ncreates, bear in general, the name of Love, yet they are as vastly wide,\nas Heaven and Hell; that Passion which aims chiefly at Enjoyment, in\nEnjoyment ends, the fleeting Pleasure is no more remembred, but all the\nstings of Guilt and Shame remain; but that, where the interiour Beauties\nare consulted, and _Souls_ are Devotees, is truly Noble, Love, _there_\nis a Divinity indeed, because he is immortal and unchangeable, and if\nour earthy part partake the Bliss, and craving Nature is in all obey\u2019d;\nPossession thus desired, and thus obtain\u2019d, is far from satiating,\n_Reason_ is not here debas\u2019d to _Sense_, but _Sense_ elevates itself to\n_Reason_, the different Powers unite, and become pure alike.\nIt was plain that the Passion with which _Ciamara_ was animated, sprung\nnot from this last Source; she had seen the Charming Count, was taken\nwith his Beauty, and wish\u2019d no farther than to possess his lovely\n_Person_, his _Mind_ was the least of her Thoughts, for had she the least\nAmbition to reign there, she wou\u2019d not have so meanly sought to obtain\nthe one, after he had assured her, the other, far more noble part of him\nwas dispos\u2019d of. The Grief he had been in, that it was not in his Power\nto return her Passion, while he believ\u2019d it meritorious, was now chang\u2019d\nto the utmost Contempt, and her Quality, and the State she liv\u2019d in, did\nnot hinder him from regarding of her, in as indifferent a manner, as he\nwou\u2019d have done a common _Courtezan_.\nLost to all Sense of Honour, Pride or Shame, and wild to gratify her\nfurious Wishes, she spoke, without reserve, all they suggested to her,\nand lying on his Breast, beheld, without concern, her Robes fly open, and\nall the Beauties of her own expos\u2019d, and naked to his View: Mad at his\nInsensibility, at last she grew more bold, she kiss\u2019d his Eyes,---his\nLips, a thousand times, then press\u2019d him in her Arms with strenuous\nEmbraces,----and snatching his Hand and putting it to her Heart, which\nfiercely bounded at his Touch, bid him be witness of his mighty Influence\nthere.\nTho\u2019 it was impossible for any Soul to be capable of a greater, or more\nconstant Passion than his felt for _Melliora_, tho\u2019 no Man that ever\nliv\u2019d, was less addicted to loose Desires,----in fine, tho\u2019 he really\nwas, as _Frankville_ had told him, the most excellent of his Kind, yet,\nhe was still a _Man!_ And, \u2019tis not to be thought strange, if to the\nforce of such united Temptations, Nature and Modesty a little yielded;\nwarm\u2019d with her fires, and perhaps, more mov\u2019d by Curiosity, her\nBehaviour having extinguish\u2019d all his respect, he gave his Hands and Eyes\na full Enjoyment of all those Charms, which had they been answer\u2019d by a\nMind worthy of them, might justly have inspir\u2019d the highest Raptures,\nwhile she, unshock\u2019d, and unresisting, suffer\u2019d all he did, and urg\u2019d him\nwith all the Arts she was Mistress of, to more, and it is not altogether\nimprobable, that he might not entirely have forgot himself, if a sudden\nInterruption had not restor\u2019d his Reason to the consideration of the\nBusiness which had brought him here.\nMonsieur _Frankville_ had all this time been employ\u2019d in a far different\nmanner of Entertainment; _Brione_ came to him, according to her promise,\nassoon as she had introduc\u2019d the _Count_ to _Ciamara_, and having been\ncommanded by that Lady to Discourse with the supposed Servant, and get\nwhat she cou\u2019d out of him, of the _Count_\u2019s Affairs, she sat down and\nbegan to talk to him with a great deal of Freedom; but he who was too\nimpatient to lose much time, told her he had a Secret to discover, if the\nplace they were in was private enough to prevent his being over-heard,\nand she assuring him that it was, he immediately discover\u2019d who he was,\nand clap\u2019d a Pistol to her Breast, swearing that Moment shou\u2019d be the\nlast of her Life, if she made the least Noise, or attempted to intercept\nhis passage to _Camilla_: The terror she was in, made her fall on her\nKnees, and conjuring him to spare her Life, beg\u2019d a thousand Pardons for\nher Infidelity, which she told him was not occasion\u2019d by any particular\nMalice to him; but not being willing to leave _Rome_ herself, the fear\nof being expos\u2019d to the revenge of _Ciamara_ and _Cittolini_, when they\nshou\u2019d find out that she had been the Instrument of _Camilla_\u2019s Escape,\nprevail\u2019d upon her timerous Soul to that Discovery, which was the only\nmeans to prevent what she so much dreaded: _Frankville_ contented himself\nwith venting his Resentment in two or three hearty Curses, and taking\nher roughly by the Arm, bid her go with him to _Camilla_\u2019s Apartment,\nand discover before her what she knew of _Ciamara_\u2019s Entertaining Count\n_D\u2019elmont_ in her Name, which she trembling promis\u2019d to obey, and they\nboth went up a pair of back Stairs which led a private way to _Camilla_\u2019s\nChamber; when they enter\u2019d, she was sitting in her night Dress on the\nBed-side, and the unexpected sight of _Brione_, who, till now, had never\nventured to appear before her, since her Infidelity, and a Man with\nher whom she thought a Stranger, fill\u2019d her with such a surprize, that\nit depriv\u2019d her of her Speech, and gave _Frankville_ time to throw\noff his Disguise, and catch her in his Arms, with all the Transports\nof unfeign\u2019d Affection, before she cou\u2019d enough recover her self to\nmake any resistance, but when she did, it was with all the Violence\nimaginable, and indeavouring to tear herself away; Villain, said she,\ncomest thou again to triumph o\u2019re my Weakness,----again to Cheat me\ninto fond Belief? There needed no more to make this obsequious Lover\nrelinquish his Hold, and falling at her Feet, was beginning to speak\nsomething in his Vindication; when she, quite lost in Rage, prevented\nhim, by renewing her Reproaches in this manner; have you not given me up\nmy Vows? Resum\u2019d she, have you not abandon\u2019d me to ruin,---to Death--to\nInfamy,----to all the stings of self-accusing Conscience and Remorse?\nAnd come you now, by your detested Presence, to alarm Remembrance,\nand new point my Tortures?-----That Woman\u2019s Treachery, continu\u2019d she,\nlooking on _Brione_, I freely Pardon, since by that little Absence it\noccasion\u2019d, I have discovered the wavering disposition of your Soul,\nand learn\u2019d to scorn what is below my Anger. Hear me but speak, cry\u2019d\n_Frankville_, or if you doubt my Truth, as I confess you have almighty\nCause, let her inform you, what seeming Reasons, what Provocations urg\u2019d\nmy hasty Rage to write that fatal,----that accursed Letter. I will hear\nnothing, reply\u2019d _Camilla_, neither from you nor her,----I see the base\nDesign, and scorn to joyn in the Deceit,--You had no Cause,----not even\nthe least Pretence for your Inconstancy but one, which, tho\u2019 you all\nare guilty of, you all Disown, and that is, being lov\u2019d too well.----I\nLavish\u2019d all the fondness of my Soul, and you, unable to reward, despiz\u2019d\nit:--But think not that the rage, you now behold me in, proceeds from\nmy Despair--No, your Inconstancy is the Fault of Nature, a Vice which\nall your Sex are prone to, and \u2019tis we, the fond Believers only, are to\nblame, _that_ I forgave, my Letter told you that I did----but thus to\ncome----thus Insolent in Imagination, to dare to hope I were that mean\nSoul\u2019d Wretch, whose easy Tameness, and whose doating Love, with Joy\nwould welcome your return, clasp you again in my deluded Arms, and swear\nyou were as dear as ever, is such an affront to my Understanding, as\nmerits the whole Fury of Revenge! as she spoke these Words, she turn\u2019d\ndisdainfully from him with a Resolution to leave the Room, but she\ncould not make such hast to go away, as the despairing, the distracted\n_Frankville_ did to prevent her, and catching hold of her Garments,\nstay Madam, said he, wildly, either permit me to clear my self of this\nbarbarous Accusation, or, if you are resolv\u2019d, Unhearing, to Condemn me,\nbehold me, satiate all your Rage can wish, for by Heaven, continued he,\nholding the Pistol to his own Breast, as he had done a little before to\n_Brione_\u2019s, by all the Joys I have Possest, by all the Hell I now endure,\nthis Moment I\u2019ll be receiv\u2019d your _Lover_, or expire your _Martyr_. These\nWords pronounc\u2019d so passionately, and the Action that accompany\u2019d them,\nmade a visible alteration in _Camilla_\u2019s Countenance, but it lasted\nnot long, and Resuming her fierceness; your Death, cry\u2019d she, this way\nwould give me little Satisfaction, the World would judge more Noble of\nmy Resentment, if by my Hand you fell----Yet, continu\u2019d she, snatching\nthe Pistol from him, and throwing it out of the Window, which happen\u2019d\nto be open, I will not---cannot be the Executioner.--No, Live! And let\nthy Punishment be, in _Reality_, to endure what thou well _Dissemblest_,\nthe Pangs, the racking Pangs, of hopeless, endless Love!--May\u2019st thou\n_indeed_, Love _Me_, as thou a thousand Times hast falsely sworn,---for\never _Love_, and I, for ever _Hate!_ In this last Sentence, she flew\nlike Lightning to her Closet, and shut her self in, leaving the amaz\u2019d\nLover still on his Knees, stupify\u2019d with Grief and Wonder, all this\nwhile _Brione_ had been casting about in her Mind, how to make the best\nuse of this Adventure with _Ciamara_, and encourag\u2019d by _Camilla_\u2019s\nBehaviour and taking advantage of _Frankville_\u2019s Confusion, made but one\nStep to the Chamber Door, and running out into the Gallery, and down\nStairs, cry\u2019d Murder,----Help, a Rape----Help, or _Donna Camilla_ will\nbe carry\u2019d away.---She had no occasion to call often, for the Pistol\nwhich _Camilla_ threw out of the Window chanc\u2019d to go off in the fall,\nand the report it made, had alarm\u2019d some of the Servants who were in an\nout-House adjoyning to the Garden, and imagining there were Thieves, were\ngathering to search: some arm\u2019d with Staves, some with Iron Bars, or any\nthing they could get in the Hurry they were in, as they were running\nconfusedly about, they met Monsieur _Frankville_ pursuing _Brione_, with\na design to stop her Mouth, either by Threatnings or Bribes, but she was\ntoo nimble for him, and knowing the ways of the House much better than he\ndid, went directly to the Room where _Ciamara_ was Caressing the Count in\nthe manner already mention\u2019d: Oh Madam, said she, you are impos\u2019d on, the\nCount has deceiv\u2019d your Expectations, and brought Monsieur _Frankville_\nin Disguise to rob you of _Camilla_. These Words made them both, tho\u2019\nwith very different Sentiments, start from the posture they were in, and\n_Ciamara_ changing her Air of Tenderness for one all Fury, Monster! Cry\u2019d\nshe to _D\u2019elmont_, have you then betray\u2019d me? This is no time, reply\u2019d\nhe, hearing a great Bustle, and _Frankville_\u2019s Voice pretty loud without,\nfor me to answer you, my Honour calls me to my Friend\u2019s assistance; and\ndrawing his Sword, run as the Noise directed him to the Place where\n_Frankville_ was defending himself against a little Army of _Ciamara_\u2019s\nServants, she was not much behind him, and enrag\u2019d to the highest degree,\ncry\u2019d out, kill, kill them both! But that was not a Task for a much\ngreater Number of such as them to Accomplish, and tho\u2019 their Weapons\nmight easily have beat down, or broke the Gentlemens Sword; yet their\nFears kept them from coming too near, and _Ciamara_ had the Vexation to\nsee them both Retreat with Safety, and her self disappointed, as well in\nher Revenge, as in her Love.\nNothing cou\u2019d be more surpriz\u2019d, than Count _D\u2019elmont_ was, when he got\nHome, and heard from _Frankville_ all that had pass\u2019d between him and\n_Camilla_, nor was his Trouble less, that he had it not in his Power to\ngive him any Advice in any Exigence so uncommon: He did all he cou\u2019d\nto comfort and divert his Sorrows, but in vain, the Wounds of bleeding\nLove admit no Ease, but from the Hand which gave them; and he, who was\nnaturally rash and fiery, now grew to that height of Desparation and\nviolence of Temper, that the Count fear\u2019d some fatal Catastrophe, and\nwou\u2019d not suffer him to stir from him that Night, nor the next Day,\ntill he had oblig\u2019d him to make a Vow, and bind it with the most solemn\nImprecations, not to offer any thing against his Life.\nBut, tho\u2019 plung\u2019d into the lowest depth of Misery, and lost, to all\nHumane probability, in an inextricable Labyrinth of Woe, _Fortune_ will\nfind, at last some way, to raise, and disentangle those, whom she is\npleas\u2019d to make her Favourites, and that Monsieur _Frankville_ was one,\nan unexpected Adventure made him know.\nThe third Day from that, in which he had seen _Camilla_, as he was\nsitting in his Chamber, in a melancholly Conversation with the Count, who\nwas then come to Visit him, his Servant brought him a Letter, which he\nsaid had been just left, by a Woman of an extraordinary Appearance, and\nwho the Moment she had given it into his Hand, got from the Door with so\nmuch speed, that she seem\u2019d rather to vanish than to walk.\nWhile the Servant was speaking, _Frankville_ look\u2019d on the Count with a\nkind of a pleas\u2019d Expectation in his Eye, but then casting them on the\nDirection of the Letter, Alas! Said he, how vain was my Imagination, this\nis not _Camilla\u2019s_, but a Hand, to which I am utterly a Stranger; these\nWords were clos\u2019d with a sigh, and he open\u2019d it with Negligence which\nwou\u2019d have been unpardonable, cou\u2019d he have guess\u2019d at the Contents,\nbut assoon as he saw the Name of Violetta at the bottom, a flash of Hope\nre-kindled in his Soul, and trembling with Impatience he Read.\n    [Illustration]\n    To Monsieur FRANKVILLE.\n    _I think it cannot be call\u2019d Treachery, if we betray the\n    Secrets of a Friend, only when Concealment were an Injury, but\n    however I may be able to answer this breach of Trust, I am\n    about to make to my self, \u2019tis your Behaviour alone, which can\n    absolve me to CAMILLA, and by your Fidelity she must judge of\n    MINE._\n    _Tho\u2019 Daughter to the Man she hates, she finds nothing in me\n    Unworthy of her Love and Confidence, and as I have been privy,\n    ever since your mutual Misfortunes, to the whole History of\n    your Amour, so I am now no Stranger to the Sentiments, your\n    last Conversation has inspir\u2019d her with--She loves you still,\n    MONSIEUR--with an extremity of Passion loves you,----But, tho\u2019\n    she ceases to believe you unworthy of it, her Indignation for\n    your unjust Suspicion of her will not be easily remov\u2019d--She is\n    resolv\u2019d to act the HEROINE, tho\u2019 to purchase that Character\n    it shou\u2019d cost her Life: She is determin\u2019d for a Cloyster, and\n    has declared her Intention, and a few Days will take away all\n    Possibility of ever being yours; but I, who know the conflicts\n    she endures, wish it may be in your Power to prevent the\n    Execution of a Design, which cannot, but be fatal to her: My\n    Father and CIAMARA, I wish I cou\u2019d not call her Aunt, were last\n    Night in private Conference, but I over heard enough of their\n    Discourse, to know there has been some ungenerous Contrivance\n    carry\u2019d on to make you, and CAMILLA appear guilty to each\n    other, and \u2019tis from that Knowledge I derive my Hopes, that\n    you have Honour enough to make a right Use of this Discovery,\n    if you have anything to say, to further the Intercessions I\n    am imploy\u2019d in, to serve you; Prepare a Letter, which I will\n    either prevail on her to READ, or oblige her, in spite of the\n    Resolution she has made, to HEAR: But take care, that in the\n    least, you hint not that you have receiv\u2019d one from me, for I\n    shall perswade her that the Industry of your Love has found\n    means of conveying it to me, without my Knowledge: Bring it\n    with you this Evening to St. PETER\u2019S, and assoon as Divine\n    Service is over, follow her who shall drop her Handkerchief as\n    she passes you, for by that Mark you shall distinguish her whom\n    you yet know, but by the Name of_\n    P.S. _One thing, and indeed not the least, which induc\u2019d me\n    to write, I had almost forgot, which is, that your Friend the\n    Accomplish\u2019d Count D\u2019ELMONT, is as much endangered by the\n    Resentment of CIAMARA, as your self by that of my Father, bid\n    him beware how he receives any Letter, or Present from a Hand\n    unknown, lest he should Experience, what he has doubtless heard\n    of, our ITALIAN Art of Poysoning by the smell._\nWhen Monsieur _Frankville_ had given this Letter to the Count to read,\nwhich he immediately did, they both of them broke into the highest\nEncomiums on this young Lady\u2019s Generosity, who contrary to the custom of\nher Sex, which seldom forgives an affront of that kind, made it her study\nto serve the Man who had refus\u2019d her, and make her Rival blest.\nThese Testimonies of a grateful Acknowledgement being over, _Frankville_\ntold the Count, he believ\u2019d the most, and indeed the only effectual\nMeans to extinguish _Camilla\u2019s_ Resentment wou\u2019d be entirely to remove\nthe Cause, which cou\u2019d be done no other way, than by giving her a full\nAccount of _Ciamara\u2019s_ behaviour, while she pass\u2019d for her: _D\u2019elmont_\nreadily consented, and thought it not at all inconsistent with his\nHonour to Expose that of a Woman who had shewn so little Value for it\nherself: And when he saw that _Frankville_ had finish\u2019d his Letter,\nwhich was very long, for Lovers cannot easily come to a Conclusion, he\noffer\u2019d to write a Note to her, enclos\u2019d in the other, which shou\u2019d serve\nas an Evidence of the Truth of what he had alledged in his Vindication:\n_Frankville_ gladly embrac\u2019d the kind Proposal, and the other immediately\nmade it good in these Words.\n    [Illustration]\n    To _Donna_ CAMILLA.\n    Madam,\n    _If the Severity of your Justice requires a VICTIM, I only am\n    Guilty, who being Impos\u2019d upon my self, ENDEAVOUR\u2019D, for I\n    cannot say I cou\u2019d ACCOMPLISH it, to involve the Unfortunate\n    FRANKVILLE in the same fatal Error, and at last, prevail\u2019d on\n    him to WRITE, what he cou\u2019d not be brought, by all my Arguments\n    to THINK._\n    _Let the Cause which led me to take this Freedom, excuse the\n    Presumption of it, which, from one so much a Stranger, wou\u2019d be\n    else unpardonable: But when we are conscious of a Crime, the\n    first reparation we can make to Innocence, is, to acknowledge\n    we have offended; and, if the Confession of my Faults, may\n    purchase an Absolution for my Friend, I shall account it the\n    noblest Work of Supererogation._\n    _Be assur\u2019d, that as inexorable as you are, your utmost Rigour\n    wou\u2019d find its Satisfaction, if you cou\u2019d be sensible of what I\n    suffer in a sad Repentance for my Sin of injuring so Heavenly\n    a Virtue, and perhaps, in time be mov\u2019d by it, to Pity and\n    Forgive_\n                         The Unhappily deceiv\u2019d\nThe time in which they had done Writing, immediately brought on that of\n_Violetta_\u2019s Appointment, and the Count wou\u2019d needs accompany Monsieur\n_Frankville_ in this Assignation, saying, he had an acknowledgment to\npay to that Lady, which he thought himself oblig\u2019d, in good Manners and\nGratitude, to take this Opportunity to do; and the other being of the\nsame Opinion, they went together to St. _Peter_\u2019s.\nWhen Prayers were done, which, \u2019tis probable, _One_ of these Gentlemen,\nif not _Both_, might think too tedious, they stood up, and looking round,\nimpatiently expected when the promis\u2019d Signal shou\u2019d be given; but among\nthe great Number of Ladies, which pass\u2019d by them, there were very few,\nwho did not stop a little to gaze on these two Accomplish\u2019d _Chevaliers_,\nand they were several times Tantaliz\u2019d with an _imaginary_ Violetta,\nbefore the _real_ one appear\u2019d. But when the Crowd were almost dispers\u2019d,\nand they began to fear some Accident had prevented her coming, the long\nexpected Token was let fall, and she who threw it, trip\u2019d hastily away\nto the farther end of the _Collonade_, which hapned to be entirely void\nof Company: The Count and his Companion, were not long behind her, and\nMonsieur _Frankville_ being the Person chiefly concern\u2019d, address\u2019d\nhimself to her in this manner; With what Words, Madam, said he, can a Man\nso infinitely Oblig\u2019d, and so desirous to be Grateful, as _Frankville_,\nsufficiently make known his admiration of a Generosity like yours? Such\nan unbounded Goodness, shames all Discription! Makes Language vile, since\nit affords no Phrase to suit your Worth, or speak the mighty Sense my\nSoul has of it. I have no other Aim, reply\u2019d she, in what I have done,\nthan Justice; and \u2019tis only in the proof of your sincerity to _Camilla_,\nthat I am to be thank\u2019d. _Frankville_ was about to answer with some\nassurances of his Faith, when the Count stepping forward, prevented him:\nMy Friend, Madam, said he bowing, is most happy in having it in his Power\nto obey a Command, which is the utmost of his Wishes; but how must I\nacquit my self of any part of that Return which is due to you, for that\ngenerous Care you have been pleas\u2019d to express for the preservation of my\nLife? There needs no more, interrupted she, with a perceivable alteration\nin her Voice, than to have _seen_ Count _D\u2019elmont_, to be interested in\nhis Concerns--she paus\u2019d a little after speaking these Words, and then,\nas if she thought she had said too much, turn\u2019d hastily to _Frankville_,\nthe Letter, _Monsieur_, continu\u2019d she, the Letter,---\u2019tis not impossible\nbut we may be observ\u2019d,---I tremble with the apprehension of a Discovery:\n_Frankville_ immediately deliver\u2019d it to her, but saw so much Disorder in\nher Gesture, that it very much surpriz\u2019d him: She trembled indeed, but\nwhether occasioned by any danger she perceiv\u2019d of being taken notice of,\nor some other secret Agitation she felt within, was then unknown to any\nbut herself, but whatever it was, it transported her so far, as to make\nher quit the Place, without being able to take any other Leave than a\nhasty _Curtisie_, and bidding _Frankville_ meet her the next Morning at\n_Mattins_.\nHere was a new Cause of Disquiet to _D\u2019elmont_; the Experience he had of\nthe too fatal influence of his dangerous Attractions, gave him sufficient\nReason to fear this young Lady was not insensible of them, and that his\nPresence was the sole Cause of her Disorder; however, he said nothing of\nit to _Frankville_ \u2019till the other mentioning it to him, and repeating\nher Words, they both joyn\u2019d in the Opinion, that Love had been too busy\nin her Heart, and that it was the feeling the Effects of it in herself,\nhad inclined her to so much Compassion for the Miseries she saw it\ninflicted upon others. The Count very well knew that when Desires of\nthis Kind are springing in the Soul, every Sight of the beloved Object,\nencreases their growth, and therefore, tho\u2019 her generous manner of\nProceeding had created in him a very great Esteem, and he wou\u2019d have\nbeen pleas\u2019d with her Conversation, yet he ceas\u2019d to wish a farther\nAcquaintance with her, lest it should render her more Unhappy, and\nforbore going the next Day to Church with _Frankville_, as else he wou\u2019d\nhave done.\nVIOLETTA fail\u2019d not to come as she had promis\u2019d, but instead of dropping\nher Handkerchief, as she had done the Evening before, she knelt as close\nto him as she cou\u2019d, and pulling him gently by the Sleeve, oblig\u2019d him to\nregard her, who else, not knowing her, wou\u2019d not have suspected she was\nso near, and slip\u2019d a Note into his Hand, bidding him softly, not take\nany farther notice of her: He obey\u2019d, but \u2019tis reasonable to believe,\nwas too impatient to know what the Contents were, to listen with much\nAttention and Devotion to the remainder of the Ceremony; as soon he was\nreleas\u2019d, he got into a Corner of the _Cathedral_, where, unobserv\u2019d he\nmight satisfy a Curiosity, which none who Love, will condemn him for, any\nmore than they will for the thrilling Extacy which fill\u2019d his Soul at the\nReading these Lines.\n[Illustration]\n    [Illustration]\n    To Monsieur FRANKVILLE.\n    _For fear I should not have an Opportunity of speaking to you,\n    in safety, I take this Method to inform you, that I have been\n    so Successful in my Negotiation, as to make CAMILLA repent\n    the Severity of her Sentence, and wish for nothing more than\n    to recall it: you are now entirely justified in her Opinion,\n    by the Artifice which was made use of to Deceive you, and she\n    is, I believe, no less enrag\u2019d at CIAMARA, for depriving her\n    of that Letter you sent by the COUNT, than she was at you for\n    that unkind one, which came to her Hands. She is now under less\n    restraint, since BRIONE\u2019s Report of her Behaviour to you, and\n    the everlasting Resentment she vow\u2019d, and I have prevail\u2019d on\n    her to accompany me in a Visit I am to make, to morrow in the\n    Evening, to DONNA CLARA METTELINE, a Nun, in the Monastery of\n    St. AUGUSTINE, and if you will meet us there, I believe it not\n    impossible but she may be brought to a Confession of all I have\n    discover\u2019d to you of her Thoughts._\n    _The COUNT\u2019S Letter was of no small Service to you, for tho\u2019\n    without that Evidence she wou\u2019d have been convinc\u2019d of your\n    Constancy, yet she wou\u2019d hardly have acknowledged she was so!\n    and if he will take the Pains to come with you to morrow I\n    believe his Company will be acceptable, if you think it proper;\n    you may let him know as much from_\n    P.S. _I beg a thousand Pardons both of you and the COUNT, for\n    the abruptness of my Departure last Night; something happen\u2019d\n    to give me a Confusion from which I cou\u2019d not at that time\n    recover, but hope for the future to be more Mistress of my\n    self._\nMonsieur _Frankville_ hasted to the _Count_\u2019s Lodgings, to communicate\nhis good Fortune, but found him in a Humour very unfit for\nCongratulations; the Post had just brought him a Letter from his Brother,\nthe Chevalier _Brillian_, the Contents whereof were these.\n    [Illustration]\n    _To Count_ D\u2019ELMONT.\n    MY LORD,\n    _\u2019Tis with an inexpressible Grief that I obey the Command you\n    left me, for giving you from Time to time an exact Account\n    of MELLIORA\u2019s Affairs, since what I have now to acquaint you\n    with, will make you stand in Need of all your Moderation to\n    support it. But, not to keep your Expectation on the Rack, loth\n    as I am, I must inform you, that MELLIORA is, by some unknown\n    Ravisher stolen from the Monastery----The manner of it, (as I\n    have since learn\u2019d from those who were with her) was thus: As\n    she was walking in the Fields, behind the Cloyster Gardens,\n    accompanied by some young Lady\u2019s, Pensioners there as well as\n    her self, four Men well mounted, but Disguis\u2019d and Muffled,\n    rode up to them, three of them jump\u2019d off their Horses, and\n    while one seiz\u2019d on the defenceless Prey; and bore her to\n    his Arms, who was not alighted, the other two caught hold of\n    her Companions, and prevented the Out-cries they would have\n    made, \u2019till she was carry\u2019d out of sight, then Mounting again\n    their Horses, immediately lost the amaz\u2019d Virgins all Hopes of\n    recovering her._\n    _I conjure my dearest Brother to believe there has been nothing\n    omitted for the Discovery of this Villany, but in spite of all\n    the Pains and Care we have taken in the search; None of us have\n    yet been happy enough to hear the least Account of her: That my\n    next may bring you more welcome News, is the first wish of_\n          Your Lordship\u2019s most Zealously Affectionate Brother,\n    P.S. _There are some People here, Malicious enough to Report,\n    that the Design of carrying away MELLIORA, was contriv\u2019d by\n    you, and that it is in ROME she only can be found. It wou\u2019d be\n    of great Advantage to my Peace, if I cou\u2019d be of the Number of\n    those who believe it, but I am too well acquainted with your\n    Principles to harbour such a Thought. Once more, my dear Lord,\n    for this Time, ADIEU._\nAfter the Count had given this Letter to _Frankville_ to read, he told\nhim, he was resolv\u2019d to leave _Rome_ the next Day, that nobody had so\ngreat an Interest in her Recovery as himself, that he would Trust the\nSearch of her to no other, and swore with the most dreadful Imprecations\nhe could make, never to rest, but wander, _Knight-Errand_ like, over the\nwhole World \u2019till he had found her.\nTho\u2019 Monsieur _Frankville_ was extreamly concern\u2019d at what had happen\u2019d\nto his Sister, yet he endeavour\u2019d to disswade the Count from leaving\n_Rome_, \u2019till he knew the result of his own Affair with _Camilla_; but\nall his Arguments were for a long time ineffectual, \u2019till, at last,\nshowing him _Violetta_\u2019s Letter, he prevail\u2019d on him to defer his Journey\n\u2019till they had first seen _Camilla_, on Condition, that if she persisted\nin her Rigour, he shou\u2019d give over any further fruitless Solicitations,\nand accompany him to _Paris_: This _Frankville_ promis\u2019d to perform, and\nthey pass\u2019d the time in very uneasy and impatient Cogitations, \u2019till the\nnext Day about Five in the Evening they prepar\u2019d for the Appointment.\nCount _D\u2019elmont_ and his longing Companion, were the first at the\nRendezvous, but in a very little while they perceiv\u2019d two Women coming\ntowards them: The Idea of _Camilla_ was always too much in _Frankville_\u2019s\nThoughts, not to make him know her, by that charming Air (which he so\nmuch ador\u2019d her for) tho\u2019 she was Veil\u2019d never so closely, and the\nMoment he had sight of them, Oh Heaven (cry\u2019d he to _D\u2019elmont_) yonder\nshe comes, that,----that my Lord, is the divine _Camilla_, as they came\npretty near, she that indeed prov\u2019d to be _Camilla_, was turning on one\nSide, in order to go to the Grate where she expected the _Nun_. Hold!\nHold _Donna Camilla_, cry\u2019d _Violetta_, I cannot suffer you shou\u2019d pass\nby your Friends with an Air so unconcern\u2019d, if Monsieur _Frankville_ has\ndone any thing to merit your Displeasure, my Lord the Count certainly\ndeserves your Notice, in the Pains he has taken to undeceive you. One\nso much a Stranger as Count _D\u2019elmont_ is, answer\u2019d she, may very well\nexcuse my Thanks for an explanation, which had he been acquainted with\nme he would have spar\u2019d. Cruel _Camilla!_ Said _Frankville_, is then the\nknowledge of my Innocence unwelcome?---Am I become so hateful, or are you\nso chang\u2019d, that you wish me guilty, for a justification of your Rigour?\nIf it be so, I have no Remedy but Death, which tho\u2019 you depriv\u2019d me of,\nthe last time I saw you, I now can find a Thousand means to compass; he\npronounc\u2019d these Words in so Tender, yet so resolv\u2019d an Accent; that\n_Camilla_ cou\u2019d not conceal part of the Impression they made on her, and\nputting her Handkerchief to her Eyes, which in spite of all she had done\nto prevent it, overflow\u2019d with Tears; talk not of Death, said she, I am\nnot Cruel to that degree, Live _Frankville_, Live!----but Live without\n_Camilla!_ Oh, \u2019tis impossible! Resum\u2019d he, the latter part of your\nCommand entirely destroys the first.---Life without your Love, would be a\nHell, which I confess my Soul\u2019s a Coward, but to think of.\nThe Count and _Violetta_ were Silent all this Time, and perceiving they\nwere in a fair way of Reconciliation, thought the best they cou\u2019d do to\nforward it, was to leave \u2019em to themselves, and walking a few Paces from\nthem; You suffer my Lord, said the, for your Generosity in accompanying\nyour Friend, since it condemns you to the Conversation of a Person, who\nhas neither _Wit_, nor _Gaiety_ sufficient to make her self Diverting.\nThose, reply\u2019d he, who wou\u2019d make the Excellent _Violetta_ a Subject of\nDiversion, ought never to be blest with the Company of any, but such\nWomen who merit not a serious Regard: But you indeed, were your Soul\ncapable of descending to the Follies of your Sex, wou\u2019d be extreamly\nat a Loss in Conversation so little Qualify\u2019d as mine, to please the\nVanities of the Fair; and you stand in need of all those more than\n_Manly_ Virtues you possess, to pardon a _Chagreen_, which even your\nPresence cannot Dissipate: If it cou\u2019d, interrupted she, I assure your\nLordship, I shou\u2019d much more _rejoice_ in the happy Effects of it on\nyou, than _Pride_ my self in the Power of such an Influence--And yet\ncontinu\u2019d she with a Sigh, I am a very Woman, and if free from the usual\nAffectations and Vanities of my Sex, I am not so from Faults, perhaps,\nless worthy of forgiveness: The Count cou\u2019d not presently resolve what\nreply to make to these Words; he was unwilling she should believe he\nwanted Complaisance, and afraid of saying any thing that might give room\nfor a Declaration of what he had no Power of answering to her wish; but\nafter the consideration of a Moment or two, Madam, said he, tho\u2019 I dare\nnot Question your Sincerity in any other Point, yet you must give me\nleave to disbelieve you in this, not only, because, in my Opinion, there\nis nothing so contemptibly ridiculous as that self sufficiency, and vain\ndesire of pleasing, commonly known by the Name of _Coquetry_, but also,\nbecause she who escapes the Contagion of this Error, will not without\nmuch difficulty be led into any other: Alas my Lord, cry\u2019d _Violetta_,\nhow vastly wide of Truth is this Affection? That very foible, which\nis most pernicious to our Sex, is chiefly by _Coquetry_ prevented: I\nneed not tell you that \u2019tis Love I mean, and as blamable as you think\nthe _one_, I believe the _other_ wou\u2019d find less favour from a Person\nof your Lordship\u2019s Judgment: How Madam, interrupted the Count, pretty\nwarmly, have I the Character of a Stoick?---Or do you, imagine that my\nSoul, is compos\u2019d that course Stuff, not to be capable of receiving,\nor approving a Passion, which, all the Brave, and generous think it\ntheir glory to Profess, and which can only give refin\u2019d delight, to\nMinds enobled.----But I perceive, continu\u2019d he growing more cool, I am\nnot happy enough in your Esteem, to be thought worthy the Influence of\nthat God. Still you mistake my Meaning, said _Violetta_, I doubt not of\nyour Sensibility, were there a possibility of finding a Woman worthy\nof Inspiring you with soft Desires; and if that shou\u2019d ever happen,\nLove wou\u2019d be so far from being a weakness, that it wou\u2019d serve rather\nas an Embelishment to your other Graces; it\u2019s only when we stoop to\nObjects below our Consideration, or vainly wing our wishes to those\nabove our Hopes, that makes us appear ridiculous or contemptible; but\neither of these is a Folly which,----which the incomparable _Violetta_,\ninterrupted _D\u2019elmont_, never can be guilty of: You have a very good\nOpinion of my Wit resum\u2019d she, in a melancholly Tone, but I shou\u2019d be\nmuch happier than I am, if I were sure I cou\u2019d secure my self from doing\nany thing to forfeit it: I believe, reply\u2019d the Count there are not many\nthings you have less Reason to apprehend than such a Change; and I am\nconfident were I to stay in _Rome_ as many _Ages_, as I am determin\u2019d\nto do but _Hours_, I shou\u2019d, at last, leave it, with the same Esteem\nand Admiration of your singular Vertues, as I now shall do. _Violetta_\ncou\u2019d not prevent the Disorder these Words put her into, from discovering\nit self in the Accent of her Voice, when, How! My Lord, said she, are\nwe then to lose you?---Lose you in so short a Time? As the Count was\nabout to answer, _Frankville_ and _Camilla_ joyn\u2019d them, and looking on\n_Frankville_, if any Credit, said he, may be given to the Language of\nthe Eyes, I am certain yours speak Success, and I may congratulate a\nHappiness you lately cou\u2019d not be persuaded to hope; had I a thousand\nEyes, cry\u2019d the transported Lover, a thousand Tongues, they all wou\u2019d be\nbut insignificant to express the Joy!----the unbounded Extacy, my Soul\nis full of,----but take the mighty Meaning in one Word,----_Camilla_\u2019s\nmine---for ever mine!---the Storm is past, and all the sunny Heaven\nof Love returns to bless my future Days with ceaseless Raptures: Now,\nmy Lord, I am ready to attend you in your Journey, this Bright! This\nbeauteous Guardian Angel, will partake our Flight! And we have nothing\nnow to do, but to prepare with secrecy and speed fit means for our\nEscape. As soon as _Frankville_ had left off speaking, Count _D\u2019elmont_\naddressing himself to _Camilla_, made her abundance of Retributions, for\nthe happiness she gave his Friend, which she receiving with a becoming\nChearfulness, and unaffected Gaiety, I am afraid said she, your Lordship\nwill think a Woman\u2019s Resolution is, henceforth, little worth regarding;\nbut, continu\u2019d she, taking _Violetta_ by the Hand, I see well, that this\nunfaithful Creature, has betray\u2019d me, and to punish her Infidelity, will,\nby leaving her, put it out of her Power to deceive my Confidence again:\n_Violetta_ either did not hear, or was not in a condition to return her\n_Raillery_, nor the Praises which the Count and Monsieur _Frankville_\nconcurr\u2019d in of her Generosity, but stood motionless and lost in Thought,\ntill _Camilla_ seeing it grow towards Night, told the Gentlemen, she\nthought it best to part, not only to avoid any Suspicion at Home of their\nbeing out so long, but also that the others might order every thing\nproper for their Departure, which it was agreed on between _Frankville_\nand her, should be the next Night, to prevent the Success of those\nmischievous Designs she knew _Ciamara_ and _Cittolini_ were forming,\nagainst both the Count and Monsieur _Frankville_.\nMatters being thus adjusted to the entire Satisfaction of the Lovers, and\nnot in a much less proportion to the Count, they all thought it best to\navoid making any more Appointments till they met to part no more; which\nwas to be at the Wicket at dead of Night. When the Count took leave of\n_Violetta_, this being the last time he cou\u2019d expect to see her; she was\nhardly able to return his Civilities, and much less to answer those which\n_Frankville_ made her, after the Count had turn\u2019d from her to give him\nway; both of them guess\u2019d the Cause of her Confusion, and _D\u2019elmont_ felt\na concern in observing it, which nothing but that for _Melliora_ cou\u2019d\nsurpass.\nThe next Day found full Employment for them all; but the Count, as\nwell as _Frankville_, was too impatient to be gone, to neglect any\nthing requisite for their Departure, there was not the least particular\nwanting, long before the time they were to wait at the Wicket for\n_Camilla_\u2019s coming forth: The Count\u2019s Lodging being the nearest, they\nstay\u2019d there, watching for the long\u2019d for Hour; but a little before it\narriv\u2019d, a Youth, who seem\u2019d to be about 13 or 14 Years of Age, desir\u2019d\nto be admitted to the Count\u2019s presence, which being granted, pulling a\nLetter out of his Pocket, and blushing as he approach\u2019d him: I come my\nLord, said he, from _Donna Violetta_, the Contents of this will inform\nyou on what Business; but lest the Treachery of others, shou\u2019d render me\nsuspected, permit me to break it open, and prove it carries no Infection:\nThe Count look\u2019d earnestly on him while he spoke, and was strangely\ntaken with the uncommon Beauty and Modesty which he observ\u2019d in him: You\nneed not give your self the trouble of that Experiment, answer\u2019d he,\n_Donna Violetta_\u2019s Name, and your own engaging Aspect, are sufficient\nCredentials, if I were liable to doubt; in saying this, he took the\nLetter, and full of Fears that some Accident had happen\u2019d to _Camilla_,\nwhich might retard their Journey, hastily read over these Lines.\n    [Illustration]\n    _To the Worthy_ Count D\u2019ELMONT.\n    My LORD,\n    _If any Part of that Esteem you Profess\u2019d to have for me, be\n    real, you will not deny the Request I make you to accept this\n    Youth, who is my Relation, in Quality of a Page: He is inclin\u2019d\n    to Travel, and of all Places, FRANCE is that which he is most\n    desirous of going to: If a diligent CARE, a faithful Secresy,\n    and an Unceasing watchfulness to please, can render him\n    acceptable to your Service, I doubt not but he will, by those,\n    Recomend himself, hereafter: In the mean Time beg you will\n    receive him on my Word: And if that will be any Inducement to\n    prejudice you in his Favour, I assure you, that tho\u2019 he is one\n    degree nearer in Blood to my Father, he is by many in Humour\n    and Principles to_\n    P.S. _May Health Safety and Prosperity attend you in your\n    Journey, and all the Happiness you wish for, crown the End._\nThe Young _Fidelio_, for so he was call\u2019d, cou\u2019d not wish to be receiv\u2019d\nwith greater Demonstrations of Kindness than those the Count gave him:\nAnd perceiving that _Violetta_ had trusted him with the whole Affair\nof their leaving _Rome_ in private, doubted not of his Conduct, and\nconsulted with him, who they found knew the Place perfectly well, after\nwhat manner they should Watch, with the least danger of being discover\u2019d,\nfor _Camilla_\u2019s opening the Wicket: _Frankville_ was for going alone,\nlest if any of the Servants shou\u2019d happen to be about, one Person would\nbe less liable to suspicion, than it a Company were seen; the Count\nthought it most proper to go all together, remembring _Frankville_\nof the danger he had lately scap\u2019d, and might again be brought into;\nbut _Fidelio_ told them, he wou\u2019d advise that they two should remain\nconceal\u2019d in the _Portico_, of the Convent of St. _Francis_, while\nhimself wou\u2019d watch alone at the Wicket for _Camilla_, and lead her\nto them, and then afterwards they might go altogether to that Place\nwhere the Horses and Servants shou\u2019d attend them; the Page\u2019s Counsel\nwas approv\u2019d by both of them, and the time being arriv\u2019d, what they had\ncontriv\u2019d was immediately put in Execution.\nEvery thing happen\u2019d according to their Desire, _Camilla_ got safely to\nthe Arms of her impatient Lover, and they all taking Horse, rode with\nsuch Speed, as some of them wou\u2019d have been little able to bear, if any\nthing less than Life and Love had been at Stake.\nTheir eager wishes, and the goodness of their Horses brought them, before\nDay-break many Miles from _Rome_; but tho\u2019 they avoided all high Roads,\nand travell\u2019d cross the Country to prevent being met, or overtook by any\nthat might know them, yet their desire of seeing themselves in a Place of\nSecurity was so great that they refus\u2019d to stop to take any Refreshment\n\u2019till the next Day was almost spent; but when they were come into the\nHouse where they were to lye that Night, not all the fatigue they had\nendur\u2019d, kept the Lovers from giving and receiving all the Testimonies\nimaginable of mutual Affection.\nThe sight of their Felicity added new Wings to Count _D\u2019elmont_\u2019s\nimpatience to recover _Melliora_, but when he consider\u2019d the little\nprobability of that hope, he grew inconsolable, and his new Page\n_Fidelio_, who lay on a _Pallet_ in the same Room with him, put all\nhis Wit, of which he had no small Stock, upon the stretch to divert\nhis Sorrows, he talk\u2019d to him, sung to him, told him a hundred pretty\nStories, and, in fine, made good the Character _Violetta_ had given him\nso well, that the Count look\u2019d on him as a Blessing sent from Heaven to\nlessen his Misfortunes, and make his Woes sit easy.\nThey continu\u2019d Travelling with the same Expedition as when they first\nset out, for three or four Days, but then, believing themselves secure\nfrom any Pursuit, began to slacken their Pace, and make the Journey more\ndelightful to _Camilla_ and _Fidelio_, who not being accustomed to ride\nin that manner, wou\u2019d never have been able to support it, if the strength\nof their _Minds_, had not by far, exceeded that of their _Bodies_.\nThey had gone so much about, in seeking the By-roads, that they made it\nthree times as long before they arriv\u2019d at _Avigno_, a small Village on\nthe Borders of _Italy_, as any, that had come the direct way wou\u2019d have\ndone; but the Caution they had observ\u2019d, was not altogether needless, as\nthey presently found.\nA Gentleman who had been a particular Acquaintance of Monsieur\n_Frankville_\u2019s, overtook them at this Place, and after expressing\nsome Amazement to find \u2019em no farther on their Journey, told Monsieur\n_Frankville_ he believ\u2019d he cou\u2019d inform him of some things which\nhad happen\u2019d since his Departure, and cou\u2019d not yet have reach\u2019d his\nKnowledge, which the other desiring him to do, the Gentleman began in\nthis manner.\nIt was no sooner Day, said he, than it was nois\u2019d over all the City,\nthat Donna _Camilla_, Count _D\u2019elmont_, and your self, had privately\nleft _Rome_; every Body spoke of it, according to their Humour; but\nthe Friends of _Ciamara_ and _Cittolini_ were outragious, a Complaint\nwas immediately made to the _Consistory_, and all imaginable Deligence\nus\u2019d, to overtake, or stop you, but you were so happy as to Escape, and\nthe Pursuers return\u2019d without doing any thing of what they went about:\nTho\u2019 _Cittolini_\u2019s disappointment to all appearance, was the greatest,\nyet _Ciamara_ bore it with the least Patience, and having vainly rag\u2019d,\noffer\u2019d all the Treasure she was Mistress of, and perhaps spent the best\npart of it in fruitless means to bring you back, at last she swallow\u2019d\nPoison, and in the raving agonies of Death, confess\u2019d, that it was not\nthe loss of _Camilla_, but Count _D\u2019elmont_ which was the Cause of her\nDespair: Her Death gave a fresh occasion of Grief to _Cittolini_, but\nthe Day in which she was interr\u2019d, brought him yet a nearer; he had sent\nto his _Villa_ for his Daughter _Violetta_ to assist at the Funeral, and\nthe Messenger return\u2019d with the surprizing Account of her not having\nbeen there as she pretended she was, nothing was ever equal to the Rage,\nthe Grief, and the Amazement of this distracted Father, when after the\nstrictest Enquiry, and Search that cou\u2019d be made, she was no where to be\nfound or heard of, it threw him into a Fever, of which he linger\u2019d but a\nsmall Time, and dy\u2019d the same Day on which I left _Rome_.\nThe Gentleman who made this recital, was entirely a Stranger to any\nof the Company but Monsieur _Frankville_, and they were retired into\na private Room during the time of their Conversation, which lasted\nnot long; _Frankville_, was impatient to communicate to Camilla and\n_D\u2019elmont_ what he had heard, and as soon as Civility wou\u2019d permit, took\nleave of the Gentleman.\nThe Count had too much Compassion in his Nature not to be extreamly\ntroubled when he was told this melancholly Catastrophe; but _Camilla_\nsaid little; the ill usage of _Ciamara_, and the impudent, and\ninterested Pretensions of _Cittolini_ to her, kept her from being so\nmuch _concern\u2019d_ at their Misfortunes, as she wou\u2019d have been at any\nother Persons, and the generosity of her Temper, or some other Reason\nwhich the Reader will not be ignorant of, hereafter, from expressing\nany _Satisfaction_ in the Punishment they had met: But when the Count,\nwho most of all lamented _Violetta_, express\u2019d his Astonishment and\nAffliction, at her Elopement, she joyn\u2019d with him in the Praises of that\nyoung Lady, with an eagerness which testify\u2019d, she had no part in the\nHatred she bore her Father.\nWhile they were discoursing, _Camilla_ observ\u2019d, that _Fidelio_ who was\nall this while in the Room, grew very pale, and at last saw him drop\non the Ground, quite Senseless, she run to him, as did his Lord, and\nMonsieur _Frankville_, and after, by throwing Water in his Face, they\nbrought him to himself again, he appear\u2019d in such an Agony that they\nfear\u2019d his Fit wou\u2019d return, and order\u2019d him to be laid on a Bed, and\ncarefully attended.\nAfter they had taken a short Repast, they began to think of setting\nforward on their Journey, designing to reach _Piedmont_ that Night: The\nCount went himself to the Chamber where his Page was laid, and finding\nhe was very ill, told him he thought it best for him to remain in that\nPlace, that he wou\u2019d order Physicians to attend him, and that when he was\nfully recover\u2019d, he might follow them to _Paris_ with Safety. _Fidelio_\nwas ready to faint a second time at the hearing these Words, and with\nthe most earnest Conjurations, accompany\u2019d with Tears, begg\u2019d that he\nmight not be left behind: I can but die, said he, if I go with you, but\nI am sure, that nothing if I stay can _save_ me: The Count seeing him so\npressing, sent for a _Litter_, but there was none to be got, and in spite\nof what _Camilla_ or _Frankville_ cou\u2019d say to diswade him, having his\nLord\u2019s Leave, he ventured to attend him as he had done the former part of\nthe Journey.\nThey Travell\u2019d at an easy rate, because of _Fidelio_\u2019s Indisposition, and\nit being later than they imagin\u2019d, Night came upon \u2019em before they were\naware of it, Usher\u2019d in, by one of the most dreadful Storms that ever\nwas; the Rain, the Hail; the Thunder, and the Lightning, was so Violent\nthat it oblig\u2019d \u2019em to mend their Pace to get into some Place of shelter,\nfor there was no House near: But to make their Misfortune the greater,\nthey miss\u2019d the Road, and rode considerably out of their way, before\nthey perceiv\u2019d that they were wrong; the darkness of the Night, which\nhad no Illumination than, now and then, a horrid flash of Lightning,\nthe wildness of the Desart, which they had stray\u2019d into, and the little\nHopes they had of being able to get out of it, at least till Day, were\nsufficient to have struck Terror in the boldest Heart: _Camilla_ stood in\nneed of all her Love, to Protect her from the Fears which were beginning\nto Assault her; but poor _Fidelio_ felt an inward Horror, which, by this\ndreadful Scene encreas\u2019d, made him appear wholly desparate: Wretch that I\nam, cry\u2019d he, \u2019tis for me the Tempest rises! I justly have incurr\u2019d the\nwrath of Heaven,---and you who are Innocent, by my accurs\u2019d Presence are\ndrawn to share a Punishment only due to Crimes like Mine! In this manner\nhe exclaim\u2019d wringing his Hands in bitter Anguish, and rather _Exposing_\nhis lovely Face to all the Fury of the Storm, than any way endeavouring\nto _Defend_ it: His Lord, and the two generous Lovers, tho\u2019 Harass\u2019d\nalmost to Death themselves, said all they cou\u2019d to comfort him; the Count\nand Monsieur _Frankville_ consider\u2019d his Words, rather as the Effects of\nhis Indisposition, and the fatigue he endur\u2019d, than remorse for any Crime\nhe cou\u2019d have been guilty of, and the pity they had for one so young and\ninnocent, made the cruelty of the Weather more insupportable to them.\nAt last, after long wandring, and the Tempest still encreasing, one\nof the Servants, who was before, was happy enough to explore a Path,\nand cry\u2019d out to his Lord with a great deal of Joy, of the Discovery\nhe had made; they were all of Opinion that it must lead to some House,\nbecause the Ground was beat down, as if with the Feet of Passengers, and\nentirely free from Stubble, Stones and stumps of Trees, as the other part\nof the Desart they come thro\u2019 was Encumber\u2019d with.\nThey had not rode very far before they discern\u2019d Lights, the Reader may\nimagine the Joy this Sight produc\u2019d, and that they were not slow in\nmaking their approach, Encourag\u2019d by such a wish\u2019d for Signal of Success:\nWhen they came pretty near, they saw by the Number of Lights, which were\ndispers\u2019d in several Rooms distant from each other, that it was a very\nlarge and magnificent House, and made no doubt, but that it was the\nCountry-Seat of some Person of great Quality: The wet Condition they\nwere in, made them almost asham\u2019d of appearing, and they agreed not to\nDiscover who they were, if they found they were unknown.\nThey had no sooner knock\u2019d, than the Gate was immediately open\u2019d by\na Porter, who asking their Business, the Count told him they were\nGentlemen, who had been so Unfortunate to mistake the Road to _Piedmont_,\nand desir\u2019d the Owners leave for Refuge in his House, for that Night;\nthat is a Curtesy, said the Porter, which my Lord never refuses; and in\nConfidence of his Assent, I may venture to desire you to alight, and\nbid you welcome: They all accepted the Invitation, and were conducted\ninto a stately Hall, where they waited not long before the Marquess\n_De Saguillier_, having been inform\u2019d they appear\u2019d like People of\nCondition, came himself to confirm the Character his Servant had given\nof his Hospitality. He was a Man perfectly well Bred, and in spite of\nthe Disadvantages their Fatigue had subjected them to, he saw something\nin the Countenance of these Travellers, which commanded his Respect, and\nengag\u2019d him to receive them with a more than ordinary Civility.\nAlmost the first thing the Count desir\u2019d, was, that his Page might be\ntaken care of; he was presently carry\u2019d to Bed, and _Camilla_ (to whom\nthe Marquess made a thousand Apologies, that being a Batchellor, he cou\u2019d\nnot Accommodate her, as he cou\u2019d the Gentlemen) was show\u2019d to a Chamber,\nwhere some of the Maid Servants attended to put her on dry Cloaths.\nThey were splendidly Entertain\u2019d that Night, and when Morning came,\nand they were preparing to take Leave, the Marquess, who was strangely\nCharm\u2019d with their Conversation, Entreated them to stay two or three\nDays with him, to recover themselves of the Fatigue they had suffer\u2019d:\nThe Count\u2019s impatience to be at _Paris_, to enquire after his Dear\n_Melliora_, wou\u2019d never have permitted him to consent, if he had not\nbeen oblig\u2019d to it, by being told, that _Fidelio_ was grown much worse,\nand not in a Condition to Travel; _Frankville_ and _Camilla_ had said\nnothing, because they wou\u2019d not Oppose the _Count_\u2019s Inclination, but\nwere extreamly glad of an Opportunity to rest a little longer, tho sorry\nfor the Occasion.\nThe Marquess omitted nothing that might make their Stay agreeable; but\ntho\u2019 he had a longing Inclination to know the Names, and Quality of\nhis Guests, he forbore to ask, since he found they were not free to\ndiscover themselves: The Conversation between these accomplish\u2019d Persons\nwas extreamly Entertaining, and _Camilla_, tho\u2019 an _Italian_, spoke\n_French_ well enough to make no inconsiderable part of it; the Themes of\ntheir Discourse were various, but at last happning to mention Love, the\nMarquess spoke of that Passion so feelingly, and express\u2019d himself so\nvigorously when he attempted to excuse any of those Errors, it leads its\nVotaries into, that it was easy to Discover, he felt the Influence he\nendeavour\u2019d to represent.\nNight came on again, _Fidelio_\u2019s Distemper encreas\u2019d to that degree,\nthat they all began to despair of his Recovery, at least they cou\u2019d not\nhope it for a long Time, if at all, and Count _D\u2019elmont_ fretted beyond\nmeasure at this unavoidable delay of the progress of his Journey to\nthat Place, where he thought there was only a possibility of hearing of\n_Melliora_: As he was in Bed, forming a thousand various Idea\u2019s, tho\u2019 all\ntending to one Object, he heard the Chamber Door unlock, and opening his\nCurtains perceiv\u2019d somebody come in; a Candle was burning in the next\nRoom, and gave Light enough at the opening the Door, to show it was a\nWoman, but what Sort of one he cou\u2019d not Discern, nor did he give himself\nthe trouble of asking who was there, believing it might be one of the\nServants come in to fetch something she wanted, \u2019till coming pretty near\nthe Bed, she cry\u2019d twice in a low Voice, are you a Sleep, no, answer\u2019d\nhe, a little surpriz\u2019d at this Disturbance; what wou\u2019d you have? I come\nsaid she, to talk to you, and I hope you are more a _Chevalier_, than to\nprefer a little Sleep, to the Conversation of a Lady, tho\u2019 she Visits you\nat Midnight: These words made _D\u2019elmont_ believe he had met with a second\n_Ciamara_, and lest he shou\u2019d find the same Trouble with this as he had\ndone with the former, he resolv\u2019d to put a stop to it at once, and with\nan Accent as peevish as he cou\u2019d turn his Voice to, the Conversation of\nLadies reply\u2019d he, is a Happiness I neither Deserve, nor much Desire at\nany Time, especially at this; therefore whoever you are, to oblige me,\nyou must leave me to the freedom of my Thoughts, which at present afford\nme matter of Entertainment more suitable to my Humour than any thing\nI can find here! Oh Heavens! Said the Lady, is this the Courtly, the\nAccomplish\u2019d Count _D\u2019elmont_? So fam\u2019d for Complaisance and Sweetness?\nCan it be he, who thus rudely Repels a Lady, when she comes to make him\na Present of her Heart? The Count was very much amaz\u2019d to find he was\nknown in a Place where he thought himself wholly a Stranger, I perceive,\nanswer\u2019d he, with more Ill-humour if possible, than before, you are very\nwell acquainted with my Name, which I shall never deny (tho\u2019 for some\nReasons I conceal\u2019d it) but not at all with my Character, or you wou\u2019d\nknow, I can esteem the Love of a Woman, only when \u2019tis _Granted_, and\nthink it little worth acceptance, _Proffer\u2019d_. Oh unkind! Said she, but\nperhaps the sight of me, may inspire you with Sentiments less Cruel: With\nthese Words she went hastily out of the Room to fetch the Candle she\nhad left within; and the Count was so much surpriz\u2019d and vex\u2019d at the\nImmodesty and Imprudence he believ\u2019d her Guilty of, that he thought he\ncou\u2019d not put a greater affront upon her, than her Behaviour deserv\u2019d,\nand turn\u2019d himself with his Face the other way, designing to deny her\nthe satisfaction even of a look; she return\u2019d immediately, and having\nset down the Candle pretty near the Bed, came close to it her self, and\nseeing how he was laid; this is unkind indeed, said she, \u2019tis but one\nlook I ask, and if you think me unworthy of another, I will for ever shun\nyour Eyes: The Voice in which these Words were deliver\u2019d, for those she\nspoke before were in a feign\u2019d Accent, made the Heart-ravish\u2019d _D\u2019elmont_\nturn to her indeed, with much more hast, than he had done to avoid her;\nthose Dear, those well-remember\u2019d sounds infus\u2019d an Extacy, which none\nbut _Melliora_\u2019s cou\u2019d create; he hear\u2019d---he saw,---\u2019twas she, that very\nshe, whose Loss he had so much deplor\u2019d, and began almost to despair of\never being able to Retrieve! Forgetting all Decorum, he flew out of the\nBed, catch\u2019d her in his Arms, and almost stifl\u2019d her with Kisses; which\nshe returning with pretty near an equal eagerness, you will not chide\nme from you now she cry\u2019d? Those who have Experienc\u2019d any part of that\nTransport, _D\u2019elmont_ now was in, will know it was impossible for him to\ngive her any other Answer, than repeating his Caresses; Words were too\npoor to Express what \u2019twas he felt, nor had he time to spare for Speech,\nemploy\u2019d in a far dearer, softer Oratory, than all the force of Language\ncou\u2019d come up to!\nBut, when at last, to gaze upon her with more freedom, he releas\u2019d her\nfrom that strict Embrace he had held her in, and she blushing, with down\ncast Eyes, began to reflect on the Effects of her unbounded passion, a\nsudden pang seiz\u2019d on his Soul, and trembling, and convuls\u2019d between\nextremity of _Joy_, and extremity of _Anguish_, I find thee _Melliora_,\ncry\u2019d he; but Oh, my Angel! Where is it thou art found?---in the House\nof the young Amorous _Marquess D\u2019Sanguillier!_ Cease, cease, interrupted\nshe, your causeless Fears,----where ever I am found, I am,----I can be\nonly yours.----And if you will return to Bed, I will Inform you, not\nonly what Accident brought me hither, but also every particular of my\nBehaviour since I came.\nThese Words first put the Count in mind of the Indecency his Transport\nhad made him Guilty of, in being seen in that manner, and was going\nhastily to throw on his Night Gown, when _Melliora_ perceiving his\nIntent, and fearing he wou\u2019d take cold, told him she wou\u2019d not stay a\nMoment, unless he granted her Request of returning to his Bed, which he,\nafter having made her sit down on the Side of it, at last consented to:\nAnd contenting himself with taking one of her Hands, and pressing it\nbetween his, close Prisoner in his Bosom, gave her Liberty to begin in\nthis Manner, the Discovery she had Promis\u2019d.\nAfter the sad Accident of _Alovysa_\u2019s Death, said she, at my return\nto the Monastry I found a new _Pensioner_ there; it was the young\n_Madamoselle Charlotta D\u2019Mezray_, who being lately left an Orphan, was\nentrusted to the Care of our _Abbess_, being her near Relation \u2019till\nher time of Mourning was expir\u2019d, and she shou\u2019d be married to this\nMarquess _D\u2019Sanguillier_, at whose House we are; they were Contracted\nby their Parents in their Infancy, and nothing but the sudden Death\nof her Mother, had put a stop to the Consummation of what, _then_,\nthey both wish\u2019d with equal Ardour: But alas! Heaven which decreed the\nlittle Beauty I am Mistress of, shou\u2019d be pernicious to my own repose,\nordain\u2019d it so, that this unfaithful Lover, seeing me one Day at the\n_Grate_ with _Charlotta_, shou\u2019d fancy he found something in _Me_ more\nworthy of creating a Passion, than he had in her, and began to wish\nhimself releas\u2019d from his Engagement with her, that he might have\nLiberty to enter into another, which he imagin\u2019d wou\u2019d be more pleasing:\nNeither she, nor I had the least suspicion of his Sentiments, and we\nhaving commenc\u2019d a very great Friendship, she wou\u2019d for the most part,\ndesire me to partake in the Visits he made her: He still continu\u2019d to\nmake the same protestations of Affection to her as ever; but if on any\noccasion, she but turn\u2019d her Head, or cast her Eyes another way, he wou\u2019d\ngive me such looks, as, tho\u2019 I then but little regarded, I have since\nunderstood the meaning of, but too well; in this manner he proceeded\nfor some Weeks, \u2019till at last he came one Day extreamly out of Humour,\nand told _Charlotta_ the occasion of it was, that he had heard she gave\nEncouragement to some other Lover; she, amaz\u2019d, as well she might, Avow\u2019d\nher Innocence, and endeavour\u2019d to Undeceive him, but he, who resolv\u2019d\nnot to be convinc\u2019d, at least not to seem as if he was, pretended to be\nmore enrag\u2019d at what he call\u2019d weak Excuses; said, he was satisfy\u2019d she\nwas more Guilty, even than he wou\u2019d speak,----that he knew not if it\nwere consistent with his Honour, ever to see her more.---And in short,\nbehav\u2019d himself in so unaccountable a manner, that there was no room to\nDoubt that he was either the most _Impos\u2019d_ on, or most _Base_ of Men:\nIt wou\u2019d be endless for me to endeavour to represent poor _Charlotta_\u2019s\naffliction. So I shall only say, it was answerable to the Tenderness she\nhad for him, which, cou\u2019d by nothing be exceeded, but by that, continu\u2019d\nshe Sighing, and looking Languishingly on him, which contrary to all the\nResolutions I had made, brings _me_ to seek the Arms of my Enchanting\n_D\u2019elmont_, to rouze Remembrance of his former Passion! To strengthen my\nIdea in his Heart! And Influence him a new with Love and Softness! This\nkind Digression made the Count give Truce to his _Curiosity_, that he\nmight Indulge the Raptures of his _Love_, and raising himself in Bed, and\npressing her slender fine proportioned Body close to his, wou\u2019d permit\nher no otherwise, than in this Posture to continue her Discourse.\nSeveral Days resum\u2019d _Melliora_, were past, and we heard nothing of the\nMarquess, all which, as he has since told me, were spent in fruitless\nProjections to steal me from the Monastry; but at last, by the means of\na _Lay Sister_, he found means to convey a Letter to me; the Contents of\nit, as near as I can remember, were these.\n    [Illustration]\n    _To the Divine_ MELLIORA.\n    _\u2019Tis not the falshood of CHARLOTTA, but the Charms of MELLIORA\n    have produc\u2019d this Change in my Behaviour, do not therefore,\n    at the reading this, affect a surprize at Effects, which I\n    am sure cannot be uncommon to such Excellence! Nor accuse an\n    Inconstancy, which I rather esteem a Virtue than a Vice: To\n    Change from you indeed wou\u2019d be the highest Sin, as well as\n    Stupidity: but to Change for you, is what all must, and ought\n    to do, who boast a Capacity of distinguishing. I love you, Oh\n    Divinest MELLIORA, I burn, I languish for you in unceasing\n    Torments, and you wou\u2019d find it impossible for you to condemn\n    the boldness of this Declaration, if you cou\u2019d be sensible of\n    the Racks which force me to it, and which must shortly End me,\n    if not happy enough to be receiv\u2019d_\n\u2019Tis impossible for me to express the Grief, and Vexation this Letter\ngave me, but I forbore showing it to _Charlotta_, knowing how much it\nwould encrease her Anguish, and resolv\u2019d when next I saw him, as I made\nno doubt but I should quickly do, to use him in such a fashion, as in\nspite of his Vanity, shou\u2019d make him know I was not to be won in such\na manner; for I confess, my dear _D\u2019elmont_, that his Timerity gave no\nless a shock to my _Pride_, than his Infidelity to her I really lov\u2019d,\ndid to my _Friendship_. The next Day I was told, a Gentleman enquir\u2019d\nfor me, I presently imagin\u2019d it was he, and went to the Grate, with a\nHeart full of Indignation; I was not deceiv\u2019d in my Conjecture, it was\nindeed the Marquess, who appear\u2019d on the other side, but with so much\nHumility in his Eyes, and awful fear, for what he saw in Mine, as half\ndisarm\u2019d my Anger for what concern\u2019d my self, and had his Passion not\nproceeded from his Inconstancy, I might have been drawn to _pity_ what\nwas not in my Power to Reward; but his base Usage of a Woman so deserving\nas _Charlotta_, made me Express my self in Terms full of Disdain and\nDetestation, and without allowing him to Reply, or make any Excuses,\npluck\u2019d the Letter he had sent me out of my Pocket, with a design to\nreturn it him, just at that Moment when a _Nun_ came hastily to call me\nfrom the Grate: Some body had over-heard the beginning of what I said,\nand had told the _Abbess_, who, tho\u2019 she was not displeas\u2019d at what she\nheard of my Behaviour to him, yet she thought it improper for me to\nhold any Discourse with a Man, who declar\u2019d himself my Lover: I did\nnot, however, let her know who the Person was, fearing it might come to\n_Charlotta_\u2019s Ears, and encrease an Affliction, which was already too\nviolent: I was vext to miss the Opportunity of giving back his Letter,\nbut kept it still about me, not in the least Questioning, but that\nboldness which had encourag\u2019d him to make a discovery of his Desires,\nwou\u2019d again lead him to the Prosecution of them in the same manner, but\nI was deceiv\u2019d, his Passion prompted him to take other, as he believ\u2019d,\nmore effectual Measures: One Day, at least a Fortnight after I had seen\nthe _Marquess_, as I was walking in the Garden with _Charlotta_, and\nanother young _Pensioner_, a Fellow who was imploy\u2019d in taking away\nRubbish, told us there were some Statues carry\u2019d by the Gate, which\nopen\u2019d into the Fields, which were the greatest Master-pieces of Art that\nhad ever been seen: They are going, said he, to be plac\u2019d in the _Seiur\nValiers_ Garden, if you step but out, you may get a Sight of them: We,\nwho little suspected any Deceit, run without Consideration, to satisfie\nour Curiosity, but instead of the Statues we expected to see, four Living\nMen disguis\u2019d, muffl\u2019d, and well Mounted, came Galloping up to us, and,\nas it were surrounded us, before we had Time to get back to the Gate we\ncame out at: Three of them alighting, seiz\u2019d me and my Companions, and I,\nwho was the destin\u2019d Prey, was in a Moment thrown into the Arms of him\nwho was on Horseback, and who no sooner receiv\u2019d me, than as if we had\nbeen mounted on a _Pegasus_, we seem\u2019d rather to _fly_ than _Ride_; in\nvain I struggl\u2019d, shriek\u2019d, and cry\u2019d to Heaven for help, my Prayers were\nlost in Air, as quickly was my Speech, surprize, and rage, and dread,\no\u2019rewhelm\u2019d my sinking Spirits, and unable to sustain the Rapidity of\nsuch violent Emotions, I fell into a Swoon, from which I recover\u2019d not,\ntill was at the Door of some House, but where I yet am ignorant; the\nfirst thing I saw, when I open\u2019d my Eyes, was one of those Men who had\nbeen Assistant in my carrying away, and was now about to lift me from\nthe Horse: I had not yet the power to Speak, but when I had, I vented\nall the Passions of my Soul in terms full of Distraction and Despair: By\nwhat means the People of the House were gain\u2019d to my Ravishers Interest,\nI know not, but they took little Notice of the Complaints I made, or my\nImplorations for Succour: I had now, not the least shadow of a Hope,\nthat any thing but Death cou\u2019d save me from Dishonour, and having vainly\nRag\u2019d, I at last sate down meditating by what means I shou\u2019d Compass that\nonly Relief from the worse Ruin which seem\u2019d to threaten me: While my\nThoughts were thus employ\u2019d, he who appear\u2019d the chief of that insolent\nCompany, making a Sign that the rest shou\u2019d withdraw, fell on his Knees\nbefore me, and plucking off his Vizard, discover\u2019d to me the Face of\nthe Marquess _D\u2019Sanguillier_. Heavens! How did this Sight inflame me?\nMild as I am, by Nature, I that Moment was all Fury!----Till now I had\nnot the least Apprehension who he was, and believ\u2019d \u2019twas rather my\n_Fortune_ than my _Person_, which had prompted some daring Wretch to\ntake this Method to obtain it; but now, my Woes appear\u2019d, if possible,\nwith greater Horror, and his Quality and Engagement with _Charlotta_\nmade the Act seem yet more Base. I blame you not, said he, Oh Divinest\n_Melliora!_ The Presumption I am guilty of, is of so high a Nature, as\njustly may deserve your utmost Rigour!-----I know, and confess my Crime;\nNay, hate my self for thus offending you.--But Oh? \u2019Tis unavoidable.---be\nthen, like Heaven, who when Injured most, takes most delight to pardon:\nCrimes unrepented, answer\u2019d I, can have no plea for Mercy, still to\npersist, and still to ask forgiveness, is _Mocking_ of the Power we seem\nto _Implore_, and but encreases Sin.----Release me from this Captivity,\nwhich you have betray\u2019d me into, Restore me to the Monastry----And for\nthe _future_, cease to shock my Ears with Tales of violated Faith,\ndetested Passion! Then, I perhaps, _may_ pardon what is _past_. His reply\nto all this was very little to the Purpose, only I perceiv\u2019d he was so\nfar from complying with my Request, or repenting what he had done, that\nhe resolv\u2019d to proceed yet further, and one of his Associates coming\nin, to tell him that his Chariot, which it seems he had order\u2019d to meet\nhim there, was ready, he offer\u2019d to take me by the Hand to lead me to\nit, which I refusing, with an Air which testify\u2019d the Indignation of my\nSoul, Madam, said he, you are not here less in my Power, than you will\nbe in a Place, where I can Accommodate you in a manner more suitable to\nyour Quality, and the Adoration I have for you: If I were capable of a\nbase Design on you, what hinders but I now might perpetrate it? But be\nassur\u2019d, your Beauties are not of that kind, which inspire Sentiments\ndishonourable; nor shall you ever find any other Treatment from me, than\nwhat might become the humblest of your Slaves; my Love, fierce as it is,\nshall know it\u2019s Limits, and never dare to Breath an Accent less Chast\nthan your own Virgin Dreams, and Innocent as your Desires.\nTho\u2019 the boldness he had been guilty of, and still persisted in, made\nme give but little Credit to the latter part of his Speech, yet the\nBeginning of it awak\u2019d my Consideration to a reflection, that I cou\u2019d not\nindeed be any where in a greater danger of the Violence I fear\u2019d, than\nwhere I was; but on the contrary, it might so happen, that in leaving\nthat Place, I might possibly meet some Persons who might know me, or\nat least be carry\u2019d somewhere, whence I might with more likelihood,\nmake my Escape: In this last Hope, I went into the Chariot, and indeed,\nto do him justice, neither in our Journey, nor since I came into his\nHouse, has he ever violated the Promise he made me; nothing can be with\nmore Humility than his Addresses to me, never Visiting me without first\nhaving obtain\u2019d my leave! But to return to the particulars of my Story,\nI had not been here many Days, before a Servant-Maid of the House, being\nin my Chamber doing something about me, ask\u2019d me if it were possible I\ncou\u2019d forget her; the Question surpriz\u2019d me, but I was much more so,\nwhen looking earnestly in her Face, which I had never done before, I\nperfectly distinguish\u2019d the Features of _Charlotta_: Oh Heavens! cry\u2019d I,\n_Charlotta_! The very same, said she, but I dare not stay now to unfold\nthe Mistery, lest any of the Family take Notice; at Night when I undress\nyou, you shall know the History of my Transformation.\nNever any Day seem\u2019d so long to me as that, and I feign\u2019d my self\nindispos\u2019d, and rung my Bell for some body to come up, several Hours\nbefore the time I us\u2019d to go to Bed, _Charlotta_ guessing my impatience,\ntook care to be in the way, and as soon as she was with me, not staying\nfor my Requesting it of her, begun the Information she had promis\u2019d, in\nthis manner.\nYou see, said she, forcing her self to put on a half smile, your unhappy\nRival follows to interrupt the Triumph of your Conquest; but I protest\nto you, that if I thought you esteem\u2019d my perjur\u2019d Lover\u2019s Heart an\noffering worthy your Acceptance, I never wou\u2019d have disturb\u2019d your\nhappiness, and \u2019tis as much the Hopes of being able to be Instrumental\nin serving you in your Releasment, as the prevention of that Blessing\nthe injurious _D\u2019Sanguillier_ aims at, which has brought me here: Of all\nthe Persons that bewail\u2019d your being carry\u2019d away, I was the only one\nwho had any Guess at the Ravisher, nor had I been so wise, but that the\nvery Day on which it happen\u2019d, you drop\u2019d a Letter, which I took up,\nand knowing it the _Marquess_\u2019s Hand, made no scruple of Reading it. I\nhad no opportunity to upbraid you for the concealment of his falshood,\nbut the manner of your being seiz\u2019d, convinc\u2019d me you were Innocent of\nfavouring his Passion, and his Vizard flipping a little on one Side, as\nhe took you in his Arms, discover\u2019d enough of that Face, I have so much\nador\u2019d, for me to know who it was, that had took this Method to gain you:\nI will not continu\u2019d she, weeping, trouble you with any Recital of what\nI endur\u2019d from the Knowledge of my Misfortune, but you may judge it by\nmy Love, however, I bore up against the Oppressive weight, and resolv\u2019d\nto struggle with my Fate, even to the Last; I made an Excuse for leaving\nthe Monastry the next Day, without giving any suspicion of the Cause,\nor letting any body into the Secret of the Marquess, and Disguis\u2019d as\nyou see, found means to be receiv\u2019d by the House-keeper, as a Servant, I\ncame here in three Days after you, and have had the opportunity of being\nconfirm\u2019d by your Behaviour, of what I before believ\u2019d, that you were far\nfrom being an Assistant in his Design.\nHere the sorrowful _Charlotta_ finish\u2019d her little Account, and I\ntestify\u2019d the Joy I felt in seeing her, by a thousand Embraces, and all\nthe Protestations of Eternal Friendship to her, that I could make: All\nthe times we had any opportunity of Talking to each other, were spent\nin forming Schemes for my Escape, but none of them appear\u2019d feasible;\nhowever the very Contrivance was a kind of Pleasure to me, for tho\u2019 I\nbegan to banish all my Fears of the Marquess\u2019s offering any violence\nto my Virtue, yet I found his Passion wou\u2019d not permit him to suffer\nmy Departure, and I was almost Distracted when I had no Hopes of being\nin a Capacity of hearing from you, or writing to you: In this fashion,\nmy dearest _D\u2019elmont_ have I liv\u2019d, sometimes flattering my self with\nvain Projects, sometimes desponding of being ever free: But last Night,\n_Charlotta_ coming up, according to her Custom, told me in a kind of\nRapture, that you, and my Brother were in the House, she, it seems\nknew you at _Paris_ while her Mother was yet Living, and to make her\nentirely easy as to the Marquess, I had now made her the Confidant of\nmy Sentiments concerning you: I need not tell you the Extacy this News\ngave me, you are too well acquainted with my Heart, not to be able to\nconceive it more justly than Language can Express; but I cannot forbear\nInforming you of one thing, of which you are ignorant, tho\u2019 had Prudence\nany share in this Love-directed Soul, I shou\u2019d conceal it: My impatience\nto behold you, was almost equal to my Joy to think you were so near,\nand transported with my eager wishes, by _Charlotta_\u2019s Assistance, I\nlast Night found the way into your Chamber: I saw you, Oh _D\u2019elmont_! My\nlonging Eyes enjoy\u2019d the satisfaction they so much desir\u2019d, but yours\nwere clos\u2019d, the Fatigue of your Journey had laid you fast a Sleep, so\nfast, that even Fancy was unactive, and no kind Dream, alarm\u2019d you with\none Thought of _Melliora_!\nShe cou\u2019d not pronounce these last Words very Intelligibly, the greedy\nCount devour\u2019d \u2019em as she spoke, and tho\u2019 Kisses had made many a\nParenthesis in her Discourse, yet he restrain\u2019d himself as much as\npossible, for the Pleasure of hearing her; but perceiving she was come to\na Period, he gave a loose to all the furious Transports of his ungovern\u2019d\nPassion: A while their Lips were Cemented! Rivetted together with Kisses,\nsuch Kisses! As Collecting every Sence in one, exhale the very Soul, and\nmingle Spirits! Breathless with bliss, then wou\u2019d they pause and gaze,\nthen joyn again, with Ardour still encreasing, and Looks, and Sighs, and\nstraining Grasps were all the Eloquence that either cou\u2019d make use of:\nFain wou\u2019d he now have obtain\u2019d the aim of all his Wishes, strongly he\npress\u2019d, and faintly she repuls\u2019d: Dissolv\u2019d in Love, and melting in his\nArms, at last she found no Words to form Denials, while he, all fire,\nimprov\u2019d the lucky Moment, a thousand Liberties he took.----A thousand\nJoys he reap\u2019d, and had infallibly been possest of all, if _Charlotta_,\nwho seeing it broad Day, had not wonder\u2019d at _Melliora_\u2019s stay, and come\nand knock\u2019d at the Chamber Door, which not being fasten\u2019d, gave way to\nher Entrance, but she made not such hast, but that they had time enough\nto Disengage themselves from that close Embrace they had held each other\nin: Heavens! _Melliora_, cry\u2019d the careful Interrupter, what mean you\nby this stay, which may be so prejudicial to our Designs; the Marquess\nis already stirring, and if he shou\u2019d come into this Room, or send to\nyours, what might be the Consequence: I come, I come, said _Melliora_,\nalarm\u2019d at what she heard, and rising from the Bed-side: Oh, you will\nnot, said the Count in a Whisper, and tenderly pressing her Hand, you\nmust not leave me thus! A few Hours hence, answer\u2019d she aloud, I hope\nto have the Power to own my self all yours, nor can the Scheme we have\nlaid fail of the Effects we wish, if no Discovery happens to Postpone it:\nShe was going with _Charlotta_ out of the Chamber, with these Words, but\nremembring her self, she turn\u2019d hastily back, let not my Brother, Resum\u2019d\nshe, know my Weakness, and when you see me next, feign a surprize equal\nto his own.\nIt is not to be suppos\u2019d that after she was gone, _D\u2019elmont_, tho\u2019 kept\nawake all Night, cou\u2019d suffer any Sleep to enter his Eyes; excess of Joy\nof all the Passions, hurries the Spirits most, and keeps \u2019em longest\nbusied: _Anger_ or _Grief_, rage violently at first, but quickly flag,\nand sink at last into a Lethargy, but _Pleasure_ warms, exhillerates the\nSoul, and every rapturous Thought infuses new Desires, new Life, and\nadded Vigour.\nThe Marquess _D\u2019Sanguillier_ was no less happy in imagination than the\nCount, and it was the force of that Passion which had rouz\u2019d him so early\nthat Morning, and made him wait impatiently for his Guests coming out\nof their Chambers, for he wou\u2019d not disturb them: As soon as they were\nall come into the Drawing-Room, I know not Messiures, said he, with a\nVoice and Eyes wholly chang\u2019d from those he wore the Day before, whether\nyou have ever Experienc\u2019d the force of Love to that Degree that I have,\nbut I dare believe you have Generosity enough to rejoyce in the good\nFortune I am going to be possess\u2019d of; and when I shall inform you how\nI have long languish\u2019d in a Passion, perhaps, the most extravagant that\never was, you will confess the Justice of that God, who soon or late,\nseldom suffers his faithful Votaries to miss their Reward: The Count\ncou\u2019d not force himself to a Reply to these Words, but _Frankville_ and\n_Camilla_, who were entirely Ignorant of the Cause of them, heartily\nCongratulated him. I am Confident, resum\u2019d the Marquess, that Despair\nhas no Existance but in weak and timerous Minds, all Women may be won\nby Force or Stratagem, and tho\u2019 I had, almost, invincible Difficulties\nto struggle with, Patience, Constancy, and a bold and artful Management\nhas at length surmounted them: Hopeless by Distant Courtship to obtain\nthe _Heart_ of my Adorable, I found means to make my self Master of her\n_Person_, and by making no other use of the Power I had over her, than\nhumbly Sighing at her Feet, convinc\u2019d her my Designs were far from being\nDishonourable; and last Night, looking on me, with more kindness than\nshe had ever done before: My Lord, said she, your Usage of me has been\ntoo Noble, not to vanquish what ever Sentiments I may have been possest\nwith to your Prejudice, therefore since you have Company in the House,\nwho may be Witness of what I do, I think I cannot chuse a fitter time,\nthan this, to bestow my self, before them, on him who most Deserves me:\nI will not now, continu\u2019d he, delay the Confirmation of my Happiness so\nlong, as to go about to describe the Extacy I felt, for this so wish\u2019d,\nand so unhop\u2019d a Condescension, but when, hereafter, you shall be told\nthe whole History of my Passion, you will be better able to conceive\nit; the Marquess had scarce done speaking, when his Chaplain came into\nthe Room, saying, he believ\u2019d it was the Hour his Lordship order\u2019d him\nto attend; it is! it is, cry\u2019d the transported Marquess. Now my worthy\nGuests you shall behold the lovely Author of my Joys; with these Words\nhe left them, but immediately return\u2019d, leading the intended Bride:\nMonsieur _Frankville_, tho\u2019 he had not seen his Sister in some Years,\nknew her at the first Glimpse, and the Surprize of meeting her----Meeting\nher in so unexpected a manner was so great, that his Thoughts were\nquite confounded with it, and he cou\u2019d no otherwise Express it, than\nby throwing his Eyes wildly, sometimes on her, sometimes on the Count,\nand sometimes on the Marquess; the Count tho\u2019 appris\u2019d of this, felt a\nConsternation for the Consequence little inferior to his, and both being\nkept silent by their different Agitations, and the Marquess, by the\nsudden Change, which he perceiv\u2019d in their Countenances, _Melliora_ had\nliberty to explain her self in this manner. I have kept my Word, my Lord,\nsaid she to the Marquess, this Day shall give me to him who best deserves\nme; but who that is, my Brother and Count _D\u2019elmont_ must determine,\nsince Heaven has restor\u2019d them to me, all Power of disposing of my self\nmust cease; \u2019tis they must, henceforth, rule the will of _Melliora_, and\nonly their consent can make me yours; all Endeavours wou\u2019d be vain to\nrepresent the Marquess\u2019s confusion at this sudden Turn, and \u2019tis hard to\nsay whether his Astonishment, or Vexation was greatest; her Brother he\nwou\u2019d little have regarded, not doubting but his Quality, and the Riches\nhe was possest of, wou\u2019d easily have gain\u2019d his Compliance; but Count\n_D\u2019elmont_, tho\u2019 he knew him not (having, for some disgust he receiv\u2019d\nat Court, been many Years absent from _Paris_,) yet he had heard much\ntalk of him; and the Passion he had for _Melliora_, by the Adventure\nof _Alovysa_\u2019s Death, had made too great a Noise in the World not to\nhave reach\u2019d his Ears; he stood Speechless for some time, but when he\nhad a little recover\u2019d himself, have you then Deceiv\u2019d me, Madam, Said\nhe? No, answer\u2019d she, I am still ready to perform my promise, whenever\nthese Gentlemen shall command me.----The one my Brother, the other my\nGuardian, obtain but their Consent, and----Mine, he can never have,\nInterrupted _Frankville_ hastily, and laying his Hand on his Sword. Nor\nmine, cry\u2019d the Count, while I have Breath to form Denials, or my Arm\nstrength to Guard my Beauteous Charge; hold Brother,----Hold, my Lord,\nsaid _Melliora_, fearing their Fury wou\u2019d produce some fatal Effects, the\n_Marquess_ has been so truly Noble, that you rather ought to Thank, than\nresent his Treatment of me, and tho\u2019 I see Rage in _your_ Eyes, and all\nthe Stings of disappointment glowing fierce in _his_, yet I have Hopes, a\ngeneral Content may Crown the End.----Appear! Continu\u2019d she, raising her\nVoice, appear! Thou lovely faithful Maid! Come forth and Charm thy roving\nLovers Heart again to Constancy, to Peace, and thee! She had no sooner\nspoke, then _Charlotta_ entred, drest like a Bride indeed, in a Suit of\nCloaths, which she had brought with her, in case any happy Opportunity\nshou\u2019d arise for her to discover herself: If the _Marquess_ was before\nconfounded, how much more so was he now? That injur\u2019d Ladies Presence,\njust at this juncture, and the Surprize by what means she came there,\nmade him utterly unable to resolve on any thing, which she observing,\nand taking advantage of his Confusion, run to him, and catching hold\nof his Hand; wonder not my Lord, said she, to see _Charlotta_ here,\nnothing is impossible to Love like mine, tho\u2019 slighted and abandon\u2019d\nby you, still I pursue your Steps with Truth, with Tenderness, and\nConstancy untir\u2019d!---Then, perceiving he still was silent, come, my\nLord, continu\u2019d she, you must at last take Pity on my Sufferings, my\nRival, Charming as she is, wants a just sensibility of your Deserts,\nand is by that, less worthy even than I; Oh, then remember, if not to\nme, what \u2019tis you owe your self your own exhalted Merits, and you will\nsoon determine in my Favour, and confess that she, who knows you best,\nought most to have you; she spoke these Words in so moving an Accent,\nand they were accompany\u2019d with so many Tears, that the most rocky Heart\nmust have relented, and that the Marquess was sensibly touch\u2019d with \u2019em,\nhis Countenance Testify\u2019d, when sighing, and turning his Head a little\naway, not with disdain, but Remorse, for the Infidelity he had been\nguilty of: Oh, cease, said he, this Flood of Softness, it gives me Pains\nI never felt before, for \u2019tis impossible you can forgive---Oh Heaven!\ncry\u2019d the transported _Charlotta_, all you have done, or ever can do of\nUnkindness, is by one tender Word made full amends for; see at your Feet,\n(continued she, falling on her Knees) thus in this humble Posture, which\nbest becomes my prostrate Soul, I beg you to accept the Pardon which I\nbring, to banish from your Mind all Thoughts that you have injured me,\nand leave it free from all the generous Joys, the making others happy,\nmust create: This Action of _Charlotta_\u2019s, join\u2019d to the Reflection, how\nstrangely every Thing happen\u2019d to prevent his Designs on the other, won\nhim entirely, and raising her with a tender Embrace, put it out of her\nPower to regret his ever being False, since his Return gave her a Taste\nof Joys, which are not, but in Reconciliation to be found.\nThe Count, Monsieur _Frankville_, and the two Ladies who had waited all\nthis while in an impatient Expectation for the end of this Affair, now\npaid their several Congratulations, all highly applauding the Constancy\nof _Charlotta_, and the timely Repentance of the Marquess: These\nCeremonies being over, the Marquess desir\u2019d _Charlotta_ to acquaint him\nby what means she had gain\u2019d Admittance to his House unknown to him;\nwhich Curiosity she immediately satisfying, engag\u2019d a new, the Praises of\nthe whole Company, and more endear\u2019d herself to her belov\u2019d Marquess\u2019s\nAffections.\nTranquility now reign\u2019d in those Hearts, which lately heav\u2019d with various\nand disturb\u2019d Emotions, and Joy sate smiling upon every Cheek, entirely\nhappy in their several Wishes: They could now talk of past Woes with\nPleasure, and began to enter into a very delightful Conversation, when\n_Frankville_ on a sudden missing _Camilla_, and asking for her, one of\nthe Servants told him she was gone to the Sick Page\u2019s Chamber, this News\ngave him some little alarm, and the rather, because he had observ\u2019d she\nexpressed a more than ordinary Tenderness and Care for this Page, all\nthe Time of their Journey; he ran immediately to the Room where he heard\nshe was, and found her lying on the Bed, with her Arms round _Fidelio_\u2019s\nNeck, and her Face close to his; this shocking Sight had certainly\ndriven the Rashness of his Temper to commit some Deed of Horror, if the\nAmazement he was in had not prevented it; he drew his Sword half out, but\nthen, as if some Spell had charm\u2019d his Arm, remain\u2019d in that Posture,\nfix\u2019d and motionless as Marble: _Camilla_ half blinded with the Tears\nwhich fell from her Eyes, saw not the Confusion he was in, nor considered\nthe seeming Reason he had to be so, but raising her Head a little to see\nwho it was that came into the Chamber, Oh _Frankville_! said she, see\nhere the Ruins of Love, behold the Tyranny of that fatal Passion in this\nexpiring Fair! But haste, contin\u2019d she, finding him ready to faint, let\nCount _D\u2019elmont_ know, the faithful, generous _Violetta_! Dies---she dies\nfor him, and asks no other Recompence, than a last Farewell--_Violetta_!\ninterrupted _Frankville_, what means _Camilla_? This, this is _Violetta_,\nresum\u2019d she, who like a Page disguis\u2019d, has followed the too lovely\nCount, and lost herself: The Rage which at his first Entrance had possest\nthe Heart of _Frankville_, now gave Way to Grief, and coming near the\nBed, he began to testify it, by all the Marks which an unfeign\u2019d Concern\ncou\u2019d give; but this unfortunate Languisher, finding her Strength decay,\nprevented him from making any long Speeches, by renewing that Request\nwhich _Camilla_ had already made known, of seeing her dear Lord before\nshe dy\u2019d, which _Frankville_ making haste to fulfil, she call\u2019d to him\nas loud as her Weakness would permit to come back, and as soon as he\nwas, _Camilla_, said she, has inform\u2019d me of my Lord\u2019s good Fortune in\nmeeting with the Charmer of his Soul, I would not deprive him of a\nMoments Happiness. I therefore beg she\u2019d give a dying Rival, leave to\nwish her Joy, and as neither my Death, nor the Cause of it can be a\nSecret to any of the Company here, I desire they all may be Witnesses,\nwith what Pleasure I welcome it; _Frankville_, Fiery as he was, had a\nvast deal of Compassion in his Nature, and could not see so beautiful a\nyoung Lady, and one whom he had so many Obligations to, on the Account\nof his Affair with _Camilla_, in this despairing and dying Condition,\nwithout being seiz\u2019d with an Anguish inexpressible; but all the Pangs\nhe felt were nothing when compar\u2019d to those he gave _D\u2019elmont_ in the\nDelivery of her Message; he ran into the Room like a Man distracted,\nand in the Hurry of his Grief forgot even the Complaisance he ow\u2019d\nto _Melliora_, but she was too generous to disapprove his Concern,\nimmediately followed with her Brother, the Marquess and _Charlotta_:\nWhat is it that I hear Madam, cry\u2019d the Count, throwing himself on the\nBed by her? Can it be possible that the admir\u2019d _Violetta_ cou\u2019d forsake\nher Father,---Country,---Friends,---forego her Sexes Pride,---the Pomp\nof Beauty,---gay Dresses, and all the Equipage of State and Grandeur;\nto follow in a mean Disguise, a Man unworthy her Thoughts? Oh! no more,\nsaid she, weeping, you are but too, too worthy Adoration; nor do I yet\nbelieve my Love a Crime, tho\u2019 the Consequence is so: I might in _Rome_,\nwith Honour and Innocence have died, but by my shameful Flight, I was the\nMurderer of my Father---that---that\u2019s a Guilt, which all these Floods of\nPenitence can never wash away---Yet, bear me Witness Heaven, how little\nI suspected the sad Event, when first, unable to support your Absence,\nI contriv\u2019d this Way, unknown, to keep for ever in your Sight; I lov\u2019d,\n\u2019tis true, but if one unchaste Wish, or an impure Desire e\u2019er stain\u2019d my\nSoul, then may the purging Fire to which I am going, miss its Effect,\nmy Spots remain, and not one Saint vouchsafe to own me: Here the Force\nof her Passion, agitating her Spirits with too much Violence for the\nWeakness of her Body, she sunk fainting in the Bed: And tho\u2019 the Count\nand _Camilla_ felt the most deeply her Afflictions, the one because they\nproceeded from her Love to him, and the other as having long been her\nFriend, and Partner of her Secrets, yet those in the Company who were\nmost Strangers to her, participated in her Sufferings, and commiserated\nthe Woes they could not heal; and as soon as she recovered from her\nSwoon, the generous _Melliora_ (not in the least possest with any of\nthose little Jealousies, which Women of narrow Souls harbour on such\nOccasions) came nearer to the Bed, and taking her kindly by the Hand,\nLive and be comforted, said she, a Love so innocent shall never give me\nany Disquiet.---Live and Enjoy the Friendship of my Lord, and if you\nplease to favour me with yours, I shall esteem it as it deserves, a\nBlessing. No Madam, answered the now almost Expiring _Violetta_, Life,\nafter this shameful Declaration, wou\u2019d be the worst of Punishments, but,\nnot to be Ungrateful to so generous an Offer, for a few Moments I accept\nit, and like Children, placing their darling Play things on their Pillow,\nand then contented to go to Sleep, so I would keep your Lord, would view\nhim still while I awake to Life, then drop insensibly into a Slumber of\neternal Peace. This mournful Tenderness pierc\u2019d _D\u2019elmont_, to the very\nSoul, and putting his Arm gently under her Head, which, he perceiv\u2019d she\nwas too weak to raise when she endeavoured it, and laying his Face on one\nof her Hands, cou\u2019d not forbear washing it in Tears, she felt the cordial\nDrops, and, as if they gave her a new Vigour, exerting her Voice to the\nutmost of her Strength; this is too kind, said she, I now can feel none\nof those Agonies which render Death the King of Terrors, and thus, thus\nhappy in your Sight,------your Touch------your tender Pity, I can but be\nTranslated from one Heaven to another, and yet, forgive me Heaven, if it\nbe a Sin, I cou\u2019d wish, methinks, to know no other Paradise than you,\nto be permitted to hover round you, to Form your Dreams, to sit upon\nyour Lips all Day, to mingle with your Breath, and glide in unfelt Air\ninto your Bosom: She wou\u2019d have proceeded, but her Voice faultered in the\nAccent, and all she spoke distinguishable was, Oh _D\u2019elmont_! receive in\nthis one Sigh, my latest Breath-----it was indeed her last, she died that\nMoment, died in his Arms, whom more than Life she priz\u2019d, and sure there\nare none who have liv\u2019d in the Anxieties of Love, who wou\u2019d not envy such\na Death!\nThere was not in this noble Company, one whose Eyes were dry, but Count\n_D\u2019elmont_ was for some Time inconsolable, even by _Melliora_; he forbore\nthe celebrating of his so eagerly desired Nuptials, as did the Marquess\nand Monsieur _Frankville_ theirs, in Complaisance to him, \u2019till after\n_Violetta_ was interr\u2019d, which the Count took Care should be in a Manner\nbecoming her Quality, her Merit, and the Esteem he profess\u2019d to have born\nher: But when this melancholly Scene was past, a Day of Joy succeeded,\nand one happy Hour confirm\u2019d the Wishes of the three longing Bridegrooms;\nthe Weddings were all kept in a splendid Manner at the Marquess\u2019s, and\nit was not with out a great deal of Reluctance, that he and _Charlotta_\nsuffered the Count, Monsieur _Frankville_, and their Ladies to take\nleave of them. When they came to _Paris_, they were joyfully received by\nthe Chevalier _Brillian_ and _Ansellina_, and those, who in the Count\u2019s\nAbsence had taken a Liberty of censuring and condemning his Actions, aw\u2019d\nby his Presence, and in Time, won by his Virtues, now swell his Praises\nwith an equal Vehemence: Both he and _Frankville_ are still living, blest\nwith a numerous and hopeful Issue, and continue with their fair Wives,\ngreat and lovely Examples of conjugal Affection.\n_FINIS._\n[Illustration]\nBOOKS Printed for, and Sold by D. BROWNE, without _Temple-Bar_\n1. A Collection of Poems on various Subjects. By Sir _Richard Blackmore_,\nKt. M. D. Fellow of the Royal Colledge of Physicians.\n2. The Art of _English_ Poetry. Containing, 1st, Rules for making Verses.\n2d, A Collection of the most natural, agreeable, and sublime Thoughts,\n_viz._ Allusions, Similies, Descriptions and Characters of Poems and\nThings that are to be found in the best _English_ Poets. 3d, A Dictionary\nof Rhymes. By _Edward Byshe_, Gent. The 6th Edition Corrected and\nEnlarged, in 2 Vol. 120.\n3. A Collection of Poems, _viz._ The Temple of Death, by the Marquis of\n_Normandy_, an Epistle to the Earl of _Dorset_: By _Charles Mountague_,\nLord _Halifax_; the Duel of the Stags by Sir _Robert Howard_. With\nseveral Original Poems never before Printed; By the Earl of _Roscommon_,\nthe Earl of _Rochester_, the Earl of _Orrery_, the Lord _Lansdowne_, Sir\n_Charles Lesley_, Sir _George Etheredge_, Mr. _Stepney_, Mr. _Dryden_,\n4. The Dramatick and Poetical Works of _Nicholas Rowe_, Esq; late Poet\nLaureat; Containing all his Plays and Poems, in three neat Pocket\nVolumes, with Cutts.\n5. The Works of Mr. _John Oldham_, together with his Remains, in 2 Vol.\nin 120. To this Edition are added, Memoirs of his Life and explanatory\nNotes upon some obscure Passages of his Writings, adorn\u2019d with Cutts.\nPrice 6 _s._\n6. The Poetical Works of _Samiel Daniel_, Author of the _English_\nHistory. To which is prefix\u2019d Memoirs of his Life and Writing, in 2 Vol.\n7. Poems by the Earl of _Roscommon_, to which is added an Essay on Poetry\nby the Earl of _Mulgrave_, now Duke of _Buckingham_, together with Poems.\nBy Mr. _Rich. Duke_.\n8. Letters of Gallantry. By M. de _Fontenelle_; translated into\n_English_. By Mr. _Ozell_.\n9. The Lover and Reader. By Sir _Richard Steele_. The Second Edition.\nBOOKS Printed for _W. Chetwood_.\n1. The Voyages, Travels, and dangerous Adventures of Capt. _Richard\nFalconer_. Containing the Laws, Customs and Manners of the _Indians_,\nin several Parts of _America_, his Shipwrecks, his being left on Shore\non the Island of _Dominica_, where to save his Life, he was obliged to\nMarry an _Indian_ Wife; his narrow Escape from thence after his Wife was\nKill\u2019d; Intermix\u2019d with the Voyages of _Thomas Randal_, a West _Indian_\nPilot, his being cast away in the _Baltick_, &c., being the only Man\nsav\u2019d upon an uninhabited Island, _&c._ With a curious Frontispiece Bound\n2. The Seige of _Damascus_: A Tragedy. By the late Mr. _Hughes_.\n3. Spartan Dame, a Tragedy, by Mr. _Southern_. Price 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n4. Ximena, or the Heroick Daughter, Written by Mr. _Cibber_, Dedicated to\nSir _Richard Steele_. 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n5. Bond-man, or Love and Liberty, a Tragedy, 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n6. Earl of _Warwick_, or the British Exile, a Tragedy. 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n7. Love in a Veil, a Comedy, by Mr. Savage. 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n8. Traytor, a Tragedy. 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n9. Two Harlequins in _French_ and _English_, a Comedy. 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n10. Fair of St. Germains, a Comedy. 1 _s._\n11. Antiochus and Stratonice, a Novel, by Mr. _Theobald_. Bound 2 _s._\n12. _Crawford_\u2019s Novels Compleat, Bound 2 _s._ 6 _d._\n13. Orpheus and Eurydice, by Mr. _Weaver_. 1 _s._\n14. The Chevalier de St. _George_, a Heroick-comical Poem. 1 _s._\n15. Cynegetica, or the Force and Pleasure of Hunting, by Mr. _Morgan_. 1\n16. Richard the Third, a Tragedy, by Mr. _Cibber_. 1 _s._\n17. Distress\u2019d Mother by Mr. _Ambrose Philips_. 1 _s._\n18. Sir Walter Raleigh by Mr. _Sewel_. 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n19. Jane Shore, a Tragedy, by Mr. _Rowe_. 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n20, Jane Gray by the same Author. 1 _s._\n21. The Spaniard, or don Zara del Fogo, a Novel. 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n22. Amorous Widow, or the wanton Wife. 1 _s._\n23. The most entertaining History of _Hyppolito_ and _Aminta_, being a\nCollection of delightful Novels. Price Bound 2 _s._ 6 _d._\n24. The Pastoral Amours of Daphnis and Chloe, with Cutts curiously\n25. _Steel_\u2019s Christian Heroe. 1 _s._\n26. Amours and Letters of Abelard and Heloise. 1 _s._ 6 _d._\n27. _Etheridge_\u2019s Plays Compleat or Single.\n28. _Rowe_\u2019s Works Compleat, in 3 Vol. with Cutts. Bound 10 _s._\n29. Letters of Love and Gallantry, in 2 Vol. with Cutts. 5 _s._\nBOOKS Printed for _S. Chapman_.\n1. Fables and Dialogues of the Dead; Written in _French_ by the late\nArchbishop of _Cambray_, Author of _Telemachus_, and done into _English_\nfrom the _Paris_ Edition of 1718. Then Corrected and Revised, with the\nAuthors own Original Manuscript.\n    _Fabula Narratur_.-----\n2. _Roma Illustrata_, or a Description of the most beautiful pieces of\nPainting, Sculpture and Architecture, Antique and Modern, at and near\n_Rome_.\n3. The fair _Circassian_, a Dramatick Performance; Done from the Original\nby a Gentleman Commoner of _Oxford_,---_Sine me, liber, ibis in urbem_.\nOvid. The Second Edition corrected: To which are added, the following\nPoems by the same Author.\nThe _Midsummer_ Wish. _Sylvia_ to _Sylvia_. Heathen Priestcraft. The\nnaked Truth. On _Florida_, seen while she was Bathing.\n4. The pastoral Amours of _Daphnis_ and _Chloe_; Translated from the\n_Greek of Longus_, with nine curious Cutts.\n5. _Plautus_, three Comedies; Translated by Mr. _Echard_.\n6. The Spartan Dame by Mr. _Southern_, the Fifth Edition; to which is\nadded above 400 Lines left out in the Representation. The 1st Edition.\n7. _Sophonisba_; or _Hannibal_\u2019s Overthrow. A Tragedy; by Mr. _N. Lee_.\n8. The Country Wit, or Sir Mannerly Shallow, a Comedy; by Mr. _Crown_.\n9. Don _Carlos_, a Tragedy. _Venice_ preserv\u2019d, a Tragedy; the Orphan, or\nthe unhappy Marriage, a Tragedy. By Mr. _Otway_.\n10. The Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh and Twelfth Parts of the _Arabian_ Nights\nEntertainment, in 2 Vol. in 12\u1d52. never before Translated into _English_.\n11. Sir _Walter Rawleigh_, a Tragedy: By Mr. _Sewell_.\n12. _Les Deux_ Harlequins, a Comedy in _French_ and _English_, being one\nof the most admir\u2019d of the _French_ Plays, and Recommended by the most\nEminent Masters of _London_, for the use of those who desire to attain to\nthe perfection of the _French_ Language.\n_With all Sorts of Plays, Novels_, &c.\n_FINIS._", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Love in Excess\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1736, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Richard Cohen and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net).\n[Transcriber's Note:\n+ Original spellings and inconsistent hyphenation have been kept,\n  except that ...\n+ Obvious corrections have been made silently. The original text\n  can be found in the HTML or the XML version.\n+ Educated guesses have been made for unclear text. The original\n  text can be found in the HTML or the XML version.\n+ Hyphens caused by a line break have been removed.\n+ Italics were used widely in the original, and have been retained\n  in the HTML file. In this text file, they have only been kept when\n  used for _emphasis_, or for 'direct speech'.\nThe late great Demand for the FORTUNATE FOUNDLINGS, occasioning it to\nbe out of Print sooner than was expected; this is to advertise the\nPublic, that a new Edition of that Book is now in the Press, and will\nbe published the Beginning of next Month.\nLIFE's\nPROGRESS\nTHROUGH THE\nPASSIONS:\nOR, THE\nADVENTURES\nOF\nNATURA.\nBy the Author of\nThe FORTUNATE FOUNDLINGS.\n[Illustration: Portrait of the printer]\nLONDON:\nPrinted by T. Gardner, and Sold at his Printing-Office, at Cowley's\nHead, opposite St. Clement's Church, in the Strand.\nM,DCC,XLVIII.\nJust Published by T. Gardner,\nIn Four Beautiful Pocket Volumes,\n(Price Twelve Shillings bound.)\nCorrectly printed from the Octavo Edition,\n(With New Engraved Frontispieces,)\nThe FEMALE SPECTATOR,\nCOMPLEAT.\n  'The great Encomiums bestowed on this Work by some of the most\n  distinguished Judges, have been so frequently inserted in all the\n  public Papers, that it is presumed no one can be unacquainted with\n  them, and therefore are thought needless here to be\n  particularized: But that so useful a Work may be more universally\n  read, (especially by the younger and politer Sort of Ladies, for\n  whom it is more peculiarly adapted,) it is now printed in the\n  above-mentioned Size, which will be less cumbersome to them, and\n  the Expence being reduced to one half of what the Octavo Edition\n  sells at, it may be more easily purchased The great Encomiums\n  bestowed on this Work by some of the most distinguished Judges,\n  have been so frequently inserted in all the public Papers, that it\n  is presumed no one can be unacquainted with them, and therefore\n  are thought needless here to be particularized: But that so useful\n  a Work may be more universally read, (especially by the younger\n  and politer Sort of Ladies, for whom it is more peculiarly\n  adapted,) it is now printed in the above-mentioned Size, which\n  will be less cumbersome to them, and the Expence being reduced to\n  one half of what the Octavo Edition sells at, it may be more\n  easily purchased'\nThe above Work is printed in a larger Letter, in Octavo, Price 1l. 4s.\nbound.\nCONTENTS.\nINTRODUCTION, Page 1.\nBOOK the First.\nCHAP. I.\nShews, in the example of Natura, how from our very birth, the\npassions, to which the human soul is incident, are discoverable in us;\nand how far the organs of sense, or what is called the constitution,\nhas an effect over us, Page 4.\nCHAP. II.\nContains some proofs by what swift degrees the passions gain an\nascendant over the mind, and grow up in proportion with our reason,\nPage 7.\nCHAP. III.\nThe early influence which the difference of sex excites, is here\nexemplified, in the fond, but innocent affection of Natura and Delia,\nPage 21.\nCHAP. IV.\nShews, that till we arrive at a certain age, the impressions made on\nus are easily erased; and also that when those which bear the name of\nlove are once rooted in the mind, there are no lengths to which we may\nnot be transported by that passion, if great care is not taken to\nprevent its getting the ascendant over reason, Page 27.\nCHAP. V.\nThat to indulge any one fault, brings with it the temptation of\ncommitting others, is demonstrated by the behaviour of Natura, and the\nmisfortunes and disgrace, which an ill-judged shame had like to have\ninvolved him in, Page 39.\nCHAP. VI.\nShews the great force of natural affection, and the good effects it\nhas over a grateful mind, Page 51.\nBOOK the Second.\nCHAP. I.\nThe inconsideration and instability of youth, when unrestrained by\nauthority, is here exemplified, in an odd adventure Natura embarked in\nwith two nuns, after the death of his governor, Page 63.\nCHAP. II.\nThe pleasures of travelling described, and the improvement a sensible\nmind may receive from it: with some hints to the censorious, not to be\ntoo severe on errors, the circumstances of which they are ignorant of,\noccasioned by a remarkable instance of an involuntary slip of nature,\nPage 99.\nCHAP. III.\nThe uncertainty of human events displayed in many surprizing turns of\nfortune, which befel Natura, on his endeavouring to settle himself in\nthe world: with some proofs of the necessity of fortitude, as it may\nhappen that actions, excited by the greatest virtue, may prove the\nsource of evil, both to ourselves and others, Page 108.\nCHAP. IV.\nThe power of fear over a mind, weak either by nature, or infirmities\nof body: The danger of its leading to despair, is shewn by the\ncondition Natura was reduced to by the importunities of priests of\ndifferent perswasions. This chapter also demonstrates, the little\npower people have of judging what is really best for them, and that\nwhat has the appearance of the severest disappointment, is frequently\nthe greatest good, Page 135.\nCHAP. V.\nShews that there is no one human advantage to which all others should\nbe sacrificed:--the force of ambition, and the folly of suffering it\nto gain too great an ascendant over us:--public grandeur little\ncapable of atoning for private discontent; among which jealousy,\nwhether of love or honour, is the most tormenting, Page 154.\nBOOK the Third.\nCHAP. I.\nShews in what manner anger and revenge operate in the mind, and how\nambition is capable of stifling both, in a remarkable instance, that\n_private injuries_, how great soever, may seem of no weight, when\n_public grandeur_ requires they should be looked over, Page 168.\nCHAP. II.\nShews at what age men are most liable to the passion of grief: the\nimpatience of human nature under affliction, and the necessity there\nis of exerting reason, to restrain the excesses it would otherwise\noccasion, Page 178.\nCHAP. III.\nThe struggles which different passions occasion in the human breast,\nare here exemplified; and that there is no one among them so strong,\nbut may be extirpated by another, excepting _revenge_, which knows no\nperiod, but by gratification, Page 185.\nCHAP. IV.\nContains a further definition of _revenge_, its force, effects, and\nthe chasm it leaves on the mind when once it ceases. The tranquility\nof being entirely devoid of all passions; and the impossibility for\nthe soul to remain in that state of inactivity is also shewn; with\nsome remarks on human nature in general, when left to itself, Page\nCHAP. V.\nContains a remarkable proof, that tho' the passions may operate with\ngreater velocity and vehemence in youth, yet they are infinitely more\nstrong and permanent, when the person is arrived at maturity, and are\nthen scarce ever eradicated. Love and friendship are then, and not\ntill then, truly worthy of the names they bear; and that the _one_\nbetween those of different sexes, is always the consequence of the\n_other_, Page 206.\nCHAP. VI.\nHow the most powerful emotions of the _mind_ subside, and grow weaker\nin proportion as the strength of the _body_ decays, is here\nexemplified; and that such passions as remain after a certain age, are\nnot properly the incentives of nature but of example, long habitude,\nor ill humour, Page 224.\nLIFE's\nPROGRESS\nTHROUGH THE\nPASSIONS.\nINTRODUCTION.\nI have often heard it observed by the readers of biography, that the\ncharacters are generally too high painted; and that the _good_ or\n_bad_ qualities of the person pretended to be faithfully represented,\nare displayed in stronger colours than are to be found in nature. To\nthis the lovers of hyperbole reply, that _virtue_ cannot be drawn too\nbeautiful, nor _vice_ too deformed, in order to excite in us an\nambition of imitating the _one_, and a horror at the thoughts of\nbecoming any way like the _other_.--The argument at first, indeed,\nseems to have some weight, as there is nothing, not even precept\nitself, which so greatly contributes whether to rectify or improve the\nmind, as the prevalence of example: but then it ought to be\nconsidered, that if the pattern laid down before us, is so altogether\nangelic, as to render it impossible to be copied, emulation will be in\ndanger of being swallowed up in an unprofitable admiration; and, on\nthe other hand, if it appears so monstrously hideous as to take away\nall apprehensions of ever resembling it, we might be too apt to\nindulge ourselves in errors which would seem small in comparison with\nthose presented to us.--There never yet was any one man, in whom all\nthe _virtues_, or all the _vices_, were summed up; for, though reason\nand education may go a great way toward curbing the passions, yet I\nbelieve experience will inform, even the _best_ of men, that they will\nsometimes launch out beyond their due bounds, in spite of all the care\ncan be taken to restrain them; nor do I think the very _worst_, and\nmost wicked, does not feel in himself, at some moments, a propensity\nto good, though it may be possible he never brings it into practice;\nat least, this was the opinion of the antients, as witness the poet's\nwords:\n  All men are born with seeds of _good_ and _ill_;\n    And each shoot forth, in more or less degree:\n  _One_ you may cultivate with care and skill,\n    But from the _other_ ne'er be wholly free.\nThe human mind may, I think, be compared to a chequer-work, where\nlight and shade appear by turns; and in proportion as either of these\nis most conspicuous, the man is alone worthy of praise or censure; for\nnone there are can boast of being wholly bright.\nI believe by this the reader will be convinced he must not expect to\nsee a faultless figure in the hero of the following pages; but to\nremove all possibility of a disappointment on that score, I shall\nfarther declare, that I am an enemy to all _romances_, _novels_, and\nwhatever carries the air of them, tho' disguised under different\nappellations; and as it is a _real_, not _fictitious_ character I am\nabout to present, I think myself obliged, for the reasons I have\nalready given, as well as to gratify my own inclinations, to draw him\nsuch as he was, not such as some sanguine imaginations might with him\nto have been.\nI flatter myself, however, that _truth_ will appear not altogether\nvoid of charms, and the adventures I take upon me to relate, not be\nless pleasing for being within the reach of probability, and such as\nmight have happened to any other as well as the person they did.--Few\nthere are, I am pretty certain, who will not find some resemblance of\nhimself in one part or other of his life, among the many various and\nsurprizing turns of fortune, which the subject of this little history\nexperienced, as also be reminded in what manner the passions operate\nin every stage of life, and how far the constitution of the _outward\nframe_ is concerned in the emotions of the _internal faculties_.\nThese are things surely very necessary to be considered, and when they\nare so, will, in a great measure, abate that unbecoming vehemence,\nwith which people are apt to testify their admiration, or abhorrence\nof actions, which it very often happens would lose much of their\n_eclat_ either way, were the secret springs that give them motion,\nseen into with the eyes of philosophy and reflection.\nBut this will be more clearly understood by a perusal of the facts\nherein contained, from which I will no longer detain in the attention\nof my reader.\nBOOK the First.\nCHAP. I.\n  Shews, in the example of Natura, how from our very birth, the\n  passions, to which the human soul is incident, are discoverable in\n  us; and how far the organs of sense, or what is called the\n  constitution, has an effect over us.\nThe origin of Natura would perhaps require more time to trace than the\nbenefit of the discovery would attone for: it shall therefore suffice\nto say, that his ancestors were neither of the highest rank:--that if\nno extraordinary action had signalized the names of any of them, so\nnone of them had been guilty of crimes to entail infamy on their\nposterity: and that a moderate estate in the family had descended from\nfather to son for many generations, without being either remarkably\nimproved or embezzled.--His immediate parents were in very easy\ncircumstances, and he being their first son, was welcomed into the\nworld with a joy usual on such occasions.--I never heard that any\nprodigies preceded or accompanied his nativity; or that the planets,\nor his mother's cravings during her pregnancy, had sealed him with any\nparticular mark or badge of distinction: but have been well assured he\nwas a fine boy, sucked heartily of his mother's milk, and what they\ncall a thriving child. His weaning, I am told, was attended by some\nlittle ailments, occasioned by his pining after the food to which he\nhad been accustomed; but proper means being found to make him lose the\nmemory of the breast, he soon recovered his flesh, increased in\nstrength, and could go about the room at a year and some few months\nold, without the help of a leading-string.\nHitherto the passions, those powerful abettors, I had almost said sole\nauthors of all human actions, operated but faintly, and could shew\nthemselves only in proportion to the vigour of the animal frame. Yet\nlatent as they are, an observing eye may easily discover them in each\nof their different propensities, even from the most early infancy. The\neyes of Natura on any new and pleasing object, would denote by their\nsparkling a sensation of joy:--_Fear_ was visible in him by clinging to\nhis nurse, and endeavouring to bury himself as it were in her bosom, at\nthe sound of menaces he was not capable of understanding:--That\n_sorrow_ has a place among the first emotions of the soul, was\ndemonstrable by the sighs which frequently would heave his little\nheart, long before it was possible for him either to know or to imagine\nany motives for them:--That the seeds of _avarice_ are born with us, by\nthe eagerness with which he catched at money when presented to him,\nhis clinching it fast in his hand, and the reluctance he expressed on\nbeing deprived of it:--That _anger_, and impatience of controul, are\ninherent to our nature, might be seen in his throwing down with\nvehemence any favourite toy, rather than yield to resign it; and that\nspite and revenge are also but too much so, by his putting in practice\nall such tricks as his young invention could furnish, to vex any of the\nfamily who had happened to cross him:--Even those tender inclinations,\nwhich afterwards bear the name of _amorous_, begin to peep out long\nbefore the difference of sex is thought on; as Natura proved by the\npreference he gave the girls over the boys who came to play with him,\nand his readiness to part with any thing to them.\nIn a word, there is not one of all the various emotions which agitate\nthe breast in maturity, that may not be discerned almost from the\nbirth, _hope_, _jealousy_, and _despair_ excepted, which, tho' they\nbear the name in common with those other more natural dispositions of\nthe mind, I look upon rather as consequentials of the passions, and\narising from them, than properly passions themselves: but however that\nbe, it is certain, that they are altogether dependant on a fixation of\nideas, reflection, and comparison, and therefore can have no entrance\nin the soul, or at least cannot be awakened in it, till some degree of\nknowledge is attained.\nThus do the dispositions of the _infant_ indicate the future _man_;\nand though we see, in the behaviour of persons when grown up, so vast\na difference, yet as all children at first act alike, I think it may\nbe reasonably supposed, that were it not for some change in the\nconstitution, an equal similitude of will, desires, and sentiments,\nwould continue among us through maturity and old age; at least I am\nperfectly perswaded it would do so, among all those who are born in\nthe same climate, and educated in the same principles: for whatever\nmay be said of a great genius, and natural endowments, there is\ncertainly no real distinction between the _soul_ of the man of _wit_\nand the _ideot_; and that disproportion, which we are apt to behold\nwith so much wonder, is only in fact occasioned by some or other of\nthose innumerable and hidden accidents, which from our first coming\ninto the world, in a more or less degree, have, an effect upon the\norgans of sense; and they being the sole canals through which the\nspirit shews itself, according as they happen to be extended,\ncontracted, or obstructed, the man must infallibly appear.\nCHAP. II.\n  Contains some proofs by what swift degrees the passions gain an\n  ascendant over the mind, and grow up in proportion with our reason.\nNatura had no sooner quitted the nursery, than he was put under the\ndirection of the school, to which at first he was every day conducted\neither by a man or maid-servant; but when thought big enough to be\ntrusted alone, would frequently play the truant, for which he\ngenerally received the discipline necessary on such occasions.--He\ntook his learning notwithstanding as well as could be expected;--he\nhad read the testament through at five years old, about seven was put\ninto Latin, and began the rudiments of Greek before he had attained\nthe age of nine.\nAs his understanding increased, the passions became stronger in\nproportion: and here is to be observed the wonderful wisdom of nature,\nor rather of the Great Author of nature, in the formation of the human\nsystem, that the passions given to us, especially those of the worst\nsort, are, for the most part, such opposites, that the one is a\nsufficient check upon the other.--The _pride_ of treating those\nbeneath us with contempt, is restrained by the _fear_ of meeting the\nsame usage from those above us.--A _sordid covetousness_ is controlled\nby _ostentation_.--_Sloth_ is roused by _ambition_, and so of the\nrest.--I have been told that when Natura, by the enticements of his\ncompanions, and his own eagerness to pursue the sports suitable to his\nyears, had been drawn in to neglect his studies, he had often ran home\non a sudden, and denied himself both food and sleep, till he had not\nonly finished the task assigned him by his school-master, but also\nexceeded what was expected from him, instigated by the ambition of\npraise, and hope of being removed to a higher form.--But at other\ntimes again his love of play has rendered him totally forgetful of\nevery thing besides, and all emulation in him absorbed in\npleasure.--Thus hurried, as the different propensities prevailed, from\none extreme to the other;--never in a medium, but always doing either\nmore or less than was required of him.\nIn like manner was his _avarice_ moderated by his _pity_;--an instance\nof which was this;--One morning having won at chuck-farthing, or some\nsuch game, all the money a poor boy was master of, and which he said\nhad been given him to buy his breakfast, Natura was so much melted at\nhis tears and complaints, that he generously returned to him the whole\nof what he had lost.--Greatly is it to be wished, the same sentiments\nof compassion would influence some of riper years, and make them scorn\nto take the advantage chance sometimes affords of ruining their\nfellow-creatures; but the misfortune is, that when we arrive at the\nstate of perfect manhood, the _worst_ passions are apt to get the\nbetter of the more _noble_, as the prospect they present is more\nalluring to the eye of sense: all men (as I said before) being born\nwith the same propensities, it is _virtue_ alone, or in other words, a\nstrict _morality_, which prevents them from actuating alike in\nall.--But to return to the young Natura.\nHe was scarce ten years old when his mother died; but was not sensible\nof the misfortune he sustained by the loss of her, though, as it\nafterwards proved, was the greatest could have happened to him: the\nremembrance of the tenderness with which she had used him, joined to\nthe sight of all the family in tears, made him at first indeed utter\nsome bitter lamentations; but the thoughts of a new suit of mourning,\na dress he had never yet been in, soon dissipated his grief, and the\nsight of himself before the great glass, in a habit so altogether\nstrange, and therefore pleasing to him, took off all anguish for the\nsad occasion.--So early do we begin to be sensible of a satisfaction\nin any thing that we imagine is an advantage to our persons, or will\nmake us be taken notice of.--How it grows up with us, and how\ndifficult it is to be eradicated, I appeal even to those of the most\nsour and cynical disposition.\nMr. Dryden admirably describes this propensity in human nature in\nthese lines:\n  Men are but children of a larger growth,\n  Our appetites as prone to change as theirs,\n  And full as craving too, and full as vain.\nA fondness for trifles is certainly no less conspicuous in age than\nyouth; and we daily see it among persons of the best understanding,\nwho wholly neglect every essential to real happiness in the pursuit of\nthose very toys which children cry to be indulged in; even such as a\nbit of ribband, or the sound of a monosyllable tacked to the name;\nwithout considering that those badges of distinction, like bells about\nan ideot's neck, frequently serve only to render their folly more\nremarkable, and expose them to the contempt of the lookers on, who\nperhaps too, as nature is the same in all, want but the same\nopportunity to catch no less eagerly at the tawdry gewgaw.\nNatura felt not the loss of his dear mother, till he beheld another in\nher place. His father entered into a second marriage before much more\nthan half his year of widowhood was expired, with a lady, who, though\npretty near his equal in years, had yet remains enough of beauty to\nrender her extremely vain and affected, and fortune enough to make her\nno less proud.--These two qualities occasioned Natura many rebuffs, to\nwhich he had not been acoustomed, and he felt them the more severely,\nas the name of mother had made him expect the same proofs of\ntenderness from this, who had the title, as he had remembered to have\nreceived from her who had been really so.\nHe endeavoured at first to insinuate himself into her favour by all\nthose little flattering artifices which are so becoming in persons of\nhis tender years, and which never fail to make an impression on a\ngentle and affable disposition; but finding his services not only\nrejected, but also rejected with scorn and moroseness, his spirit was\ntoo great to continue them for any long time; and all the assiduity he\nhad shewn to gain her good-will, was on a sudden converted into a\nbehaviour altogether the reverse: he was sure to turn the deaf ear to\nall the commands she laid upon him, and so far from doing any thing to\nplease her, he seemed to take a delight in vexing her. This\noccasioning many complaints to his father, drew on him very severe\nchastisements both at home and abroad; but though while the smart\nremained, he made many promises of amendment in this point, the hatred\nhe had now conceived against her, would not suffer him to keep them.\nHis sister, who was five years older than himself, and a girl of great\nprudence, took a good deal of pains to convince him how much it was\nboth his interest and his duty to pay all manner of respect to a lady\nwhom their father had thought fit to set over them; but all she could\nsay on that head was thrown away, and he still replied, that since he\ncould not make her love him, he should always hate her.\nThis young lady had perhaps no less reason than her brother to be\ndissatisfied with the humour of their stepmother; and it was only the\ntender affection she had for him which made her feign a contentment at\nthe treatment both of them received, in order to keep him within any\nmanner of bounds.\nIt may be reckoned among the misfortunes of Natura, that he so soon\nlost the benefit of these kind remonstrances: his fair adviser having\na considerable fortune, independent on her father, left her by a\ngrandmother, who had also answered for her at the _font_, was courted\nby a gentleman, to whom neither herself nor family having any thing to\nobject, she became a bride in a very few months, and went with her\nhusband to a seat he had at a considerable distance in the country.\nThis poor youth was now without any one, either to prevent him from\ndoing a fault, or to conceal it when committed; on the contrary, his\nmother-in-law, having new-modelled all the family, and retained only\nsuch servants as thought it their duty to study nothing but to humour\nher, every little error in him was exaggerated, and he was represented\nto his father as incorrigible, perverse, and all that is disagreeable\nin nature.\nI will not take upon me to determine whether, or not, the old\ngentleman had altogether so ill an opinion of his son, as they\nendeavoured to inspire him with; but it is certain, that whatever his\nthoughts were on the matter, he found himself obliged for a quiet life\nto use him with a good deal of severity, which, either because he\nbelieved it unjust, or that it was disagreeable to his own\ndisposition, he grew very weary of in a short time, and to put an end\nto it, resolved to send the child to a boarding-school, tho' he had\nalways declared against that sort of education, and frequently said,\nthat though these great schools might improve the learning, they were\napt to corrupt the morals of youth.\nFinding himself, however, under a kind of necessity for so doing,\nnothing remained but the choice of a convenient place. The wife\nproposed some part of Yorkshire, not only as the cheapest, but also\nthat by reason of the distance, she should not have the trouble of him\nat home in the holidays; but to this it was not in her power to\nprevail on his father to consent, and after many disputes between them\non it, Eton was at length pitched upon.\nNatura heard of his intended removal with a perfect indifference:--if\nthe thoughts of parting from his father gave him any pain, it was\nbalanced by those of being eased of the persecuting of his stepmother;\nbut when all things were prepared for his journey, in which he was to\nbe accompanied by an old relation, who was to give the necessary\ncharge with him to those into whose care he should be committed, he\nwas taken suddenly ill on the very day he had been to take leave of\nhis kindred, and other friends in town.\nHis distemper proved to be the small-pox, but being of a very\nfavourable sort, he recovered in a short time, and lost nothing of his\nhandsomeness by that so-much-dreaded enemy to the face: there\nremained, however, a little redness, which, till intirely worn off, it\nwas judged improper he should be sent where it was likely there might\nbe many young gentlemen, who having never experienced the same, would\ntake umbrage at the sight.\nDuring the time of his indisposition he had been attended by an old\nnurse, who had served in the same quality to his mother, and several\nothers of her family.--The tenderness this good creature shewed to\nhim, and the care she took to humour him in every thing, not only\nwhile he continued in a condition, in which it might have been\ndangerous to have put his spirits into the least agitation, but after\nhe was grown well enough to walk abroad, had made him become extremely\npettish and self-willed; which shews, that an over-indulgence to\nyouth, is no less prejudicial, than too much austerity.--Happy is it\nfor those who are brought up in a due proportion between these two\nextremes; for as nature will be apt to fall into a dejection, if\npressed down with a constant, and uninterrupted severity, so it will\ninfallibly become arrogant and assuming, if suffered always to pursue\nits own dictates.--Nothing is more evident, than that most of the\nirregularities we see practised in the world, are owing originally to\na want of the medium I have been speaking of, in forming the mind\nwhile it is pliable to impression.\nThis was not, however, the case of Natura; and though he would\ndoubtless have been what we call a spoiled child, had he been for any\nlength of time permitted to do just what he pleased, yet the nurse\nbeing discharged, he fell again under the jurisdiction of his\nmother-in-law, who had now more excuse than ever for treating him with\nseverity.\nHis father did not want understanding, but was a good deal more\nindolent than befits a parent.--He had always been accustomed to live\nat ease, and his natural aversion to all kinds of trouble, made him\nnot inspect into the manners or temperament of his son, with that care\nhe ought to have done. Whenever any complaints were made concerning\nhis behaviour, he would chide, and sometimes beat him, but seldom\nexamined how far he really merited those effects rather of others\nresentment than his own. Sometimes he would ask him questions on his\nprogress in learning, and praise or dispraise, as he found occasion;\nbut he never discoursed with him on any other topics, nor took any\npleasure in instructing him in such things as are not to be taught in\nschools, but which much more contribute to enlarge the mind; so that\nhad not Natura's own curiosity led him to examine into the sources,\nfirst causes, and motives of what he was obliged to read, he would\nhave reaped no other benefit from his Greek and Latin authors, than\nmeerly the knowledge of their language.\nHere I cannot help taking notice, that whatever inconveniences it may\noccasion, curiosity is one of the greatest advantages we receive from\nnature; it is that indeed from which all our knowledge is\nderived.--Were it not for this propensity in ourselves, the sun, the\nmoon, and all the darling constellations which adorn the hemisphere,\nwould roll above our heads in vain: contented to behold their shine,\nand feel their warmth, but ignorant of their motion and influence on\nall beneath, half that admiration due to the Divine Architect, would\nlye dormant in us.--Did not curiosity excite us to examine into the\nnature of vegetables, their amazing rise, their progress, their deaths\nand resurrections in the seasons allotted for these alternatives, we\nshould enjoy the fruits of the earth indeed, but enjoy them only in\ncommon with the animals that feed upon it, or perhaps with less relish\nthan they do, as it is agreed their organs of sensation have a greater\nshare of poignancy than ours.--What is it but _curiosity_ which\nrenders study either pleasing or profitable to us?--The facts we read\nof would soon slip through the memory, or if they retained any place\nin it, could be of little advantage, without being acquainted with the\nmotives which occasioned them. By _curiosity_ we _examine_, by\n_examining_ we _compare_, and by _comparing_ we are alone enabled to\nform a right _judgment_, whether of things or persons.\nWe are told indeed of many jealousies, discontents, and quarrels,\nwhich have been occasioned by this passion, among those who might\notherwise have lived in perfect harmony; and a man or woman, who has\nthe character of being too inquisitive, is shunned as dangerous to\nsociety.--But what commendable quality is there that may not be\nperverted, or what _virtue_ whose extreme does not border on a\n_vice_?--Even _devotion_ itself should have its bounds, or it will\nlaunch into _bigotry_ and _enthusiasm_;--_love_, the most _generous_\nand _gentle_ of all the passions, when ill-placed, or unprescribed,\ndegenerates into the very _worst_;--_justice_ may be pursued till it\nbecomes _cruelty_;--_emulation_ indulged till it grows up to\n_envy_;--_frugality_ to the most sordid _avarice_; and _courage_ to a\nbrutal _rashness_;--and so I am ready to allow that _curiosity_, from\nwhence all the _good_ in us originally arises, may also be productive\nof the _greatest mischiefs_, when not, like every other emotion of the\nsoul, kept within its due limits, and suffered to exert itself only on\nwarrantable objects.\nIt should therefore be the first care of every one to regulate this\npropensity in himself, as well as of those under whose tuition he may\nhappen to be, whether parents or governors.--Nature, and the writings\nof learned men, who from time to time have commented on all that has\nhappened in nature, certainly afford sufficient matter to gratify the\nmost enquiring mind, without descending to such mean trifling\ninquisitions, as can no way improve itself, and may be of prejudice to\nothers.\nI have dwelt the longer on this head, because it seems to me, that on\nthe _well_, or _ill direction_ of that curiosity, which is inherent to\nus all, depends, in a great measure, the peace and happiness of\nsociety.\nNatura, like all children, uncircumscribed by precept, had not only a\ndesire of prying into those things which it was his advantage to know,\nbut also into those which he had much better have been totally\nignorant of, and which the discovery of his being too well skilled in,\nfrequently occasioned him much ill will, especially when he was found\nto have too far dived into those little secrets which will ever be\namong servants in large families. But reason was not ripe enough in\nhim to enable him to distinguish between what were proper subjects for\nthe exercise of this passion, and what were not so.\nThat impediment, however, which had hitherto retarded his departure\nbeing removed, he now set out for Eton, under the conduct of the\nabovementioned kinsman, who placed him in a boarding-house very near\nthe school, and took his leave, after having given him such\nadmonitions as he thought necessary for a person of his years, when\nmore intrusted to himself than he before had been.\nBut Natura was not yet arrived at an age wherein it could be expected\nhe should reap much benefit from advice. A settled resolution, and the\npower of judging what is our real interest to do, are the perfections\nof maturity, and happy is it for the few who even then attain\nthem.--_Precept_ must be constantly and artfully instilled to make any\nimpression on the mind, and is rarely fixed there, till experience\nconfirms it; therefore, as both these were wanting to form his\nbehaviour, what could be hoped from it, but such a one as was\nconformable to the various passions which agitate human nature, and\nwhich every day grow stronger in us, at least till they have attained\na certain crisis, after which they decay, in proportion as they\nincreased.\nAs _wrath_ is one of the most violent emotions of the soul, so I think\nit is one of the first that breaks out into effects: it owes its birth\nindeed to _pride_; for we are never angry, unless touched by a real,\nor imaginary insult; but, by the offspring chiefly is the parent seen.\n_Pride_ seldom, I believe it may be said, _never_, wholly dies in us,\ntho' it may be concealed; whereas _wrath_ diminishes as our _reason_\nincreases, and seems intirely evaporated after the heat of youth is\nover: when a man therefore has divested himself of the _one_, no\ntokens are left to distinguish the _other_.--Sometimes, indeed, we\nshall see an extreme impetuosity, even to old age, but then, it is out\nof the ordinary course of nature, and besides, the person possessed of\nit must be endued with a small share of sound understanding, to give\nany marks of such a propensity remaining in him.\nIt is with the utmost justice, that by the system of the _christian_\nreligion, _pride_ is intitled the original sin, not only as it was\nthat of the fallen angels, but also as it is certainly the\nfountain-head from which all our other vices are derived.--It is by\nthe dictates of this pernicious passion we are inflamed with _wrath_,\nand wild ambition,--instigated to covetousness,--to envy,--to revenge,\nand in fine, to stop at nothing which tends to self-gratification, be\nour desires of what kind soever.\nDuring the school hours, Natura, as well as the other young gentlemen,\nwas under too much awe of the master to give any loose to his temper;\nbut when these were over, and they went together into the fields, or\nany other place to divert themselves, frequent quarrels among them\nensued; but above all between those who boarded in the same house;\nlittle jealousies concerning some imaginary preference given to the\none more than the other, occasioned many bitter taunts and fleers,\nwhich sometimes rose to blows and bloody noses; so that the good\npeople with whom they were, had enough to do, to keep them in any\ntolerable decorum.\nThere is also another branch of _pride_ which is visible in all youth,\nbefore consideration takes place, and that is, treating with contempt\nwhoever seems our inferior.--A boy who was allowed less money, or wore\nplainer cloaths, was sure to be the jest of all the rest. Natura was\nequally guilty of this fault with his companions; but when the\nsarcasms became too severe, and the object of them appeared any way\ndejected, his generosity often got the better of his arrogance, and he\nwould take part with the weakest side, even till he drew on himself\npart of those reflections he averted from the other; but this never\nhappened without his resenting it with the utmost violence; for\npatience and forbearance were virtues not to be expected in this stage\nof life.\nHe was a great lover of gaming, whether of chucking, tossing up for\nmoney, or cards, and extremely ill-humoured and quarrelsome whenever\nluck was not on his side; which shews, that whatever people may\npretend, avarice is at the bottom, and occasions all the fondness so\nmany testify for play.\nAs for the other ordinary diversions of youth, none could pursue them\nwith more eagerness, nor was less deterred by any ill accident which\nbefel either himself, or any of his companions; one of whom having\nbeen near drowning before his face, as they were swimming together,\nthe sight did not hinder him from plunging into the same stream every\nday; nor could he be prevailed upon from ringing, as often as he had\nan opportunity, though he had been thrown one day by the breaking of\nthe bell-rope, a great height from the ground, and in the fall\ndislocated his shoulder, and bruised his body all over.--But it is not\nto be wondered at, that boys should remember the misfortunes their\npleasures have brought on them no longer than the smart continues,\nwhen men of the ripest, and sometimes most advanced years, are not to\nbe warned from the gratification of their passions, by the worst, and\nmost frequently repeated ills.\nHe, notwithstanding, made a very good progress in those things in\nwhich he was instructed, which as yet were only Latin and Greek; and\nwhen the time of breaking up arrived, and he returned to his father's\nhouse, none who examined him concerning his learning, could suspect\nthere was either any want of application in himself, or care in his\nmaster.\nHis three months of absence having rendered him a kind of stranger at\nhome, his mother-in-law used him with somewhat more civility, and his\nfather seemed highly satisfied with him; all his kindred and friends\ncaressed him, and made him many little presents of such things as\nbefitted his years; but that which crowned his felicity, was the\ncompany of a young girl, a near relation of his stepmother's, who was\ncome to pass some time with her, and see London, which she had never\nbeen in before.\nCHAP. III.\n  The early influence which the difference of sex excites, is here\n  exemplified in the fond but innocent affection of Natura and Delia.\nNatura being much of the same age with Delia (for so I shall call her)\nand both equally playful, spirituous, and good-natured, it is hard to\nsay which of them took the greatest delight in the society of the\nother. Natura was never well out of the presence of Delia, nor Delia\ncontented but when Natura was with her.\nIn walking, dancing, playing at cards, these amiable children were\nalways partners; and it was remarkable, that in the latter of these\ndiversions, Natura was never uneasy at losing his money to Delia, nor\nresented any little railleries she treated him with on account of his\nill luck, or want of skill in the game, as he had been accustomed to\ndo whenever he received the like from any of his companions.--So\nforcibly does the difference of sex operate, even before that\ndifference is considered.\nNatura was yet too young by much, to know wherefore he found in\nhimself this complaisance, or how it came to pass, that he so much\npreferred a beautiful and good-humoured girl, to a boy possessed of\nthe same qualifications; but he was not ignorant that he did so, and\nhas often wondered (as he afterwards confessed) what it was that made\nhim feel so much pleasure, whenever, in innocently romping together,\nhe happened to catch hold of her in his arms; and what strange impulse\nit was, that rendered him so reluctant to part with her out of that\nposture, that she was obliged to struggle with all her strength to\ndisengage herself.\nHence it is plain, that the passion of love is part of our\ncomposition, implanted in the soul for the propagation of the world;\nand we ought not, in my opinion, to be too severe on the errors which,\nmeerly and abstracted from any other motive than itself, it sometimes\ninfluences us to be guilty of.--The laws, indeed, which prohibit any\namorous intercourse between the sexes, unless authored by the\nsolemnities of marriage, are without all question, excellently well\ncalculated for the good of society, because without such a\nrestriction, there would be no such thing as order in the world. I am\ntherefore far from thinking lightly of that truly sacred institution,\nwhen I say, that there are some cases, in which the pair so offending,\nmerit rather our pity, than that abhorrence which those of a more\nrigid virtue, colder constitution, or less under the power of\ntemptation, are apt to testify on such occasion.\nRarely, however, it happens, that love is guilty of any thing capable\nof being condemned, even by the most austere; most of the faults\ncommitted under that sanction, being in reality instigated by some\nother passion, such as avarice and ambition in the one sex, and a\nflame which is too often confounded and mistaken for a pure affection\nin the other.--Yet such is the ill-judging, or careless determination\nof the world, that without making any allowances for circumstances, it\ncensures all indiscriminately alike.\nThe time prefixed for Natura's remaining with his father being but\nfourteen days, as they grew near expired, the family began to talk of\nhis going, and orders were given to bespeak a place for him in the\nstage-coach: he had been extremely pleased with Eton, nor had he met\nwith any cause of disgust, either at the school or house where he was\nboarded, yet did the thoughts of returning thither give him as much\ndisquiet as his young heart was capable of conceiving.--The parting\nfrom Delia was terrible to him, and the nearer the cruel moment\napproached, the more his anxiety increased.--She seemed also grieved\nto lose so agreeable a companion, and would often tell him she wished\nhe was to stay as long as she did.\nThough nothing could be more innocent than these declarations on both\nsides, yet what she said had such an effect on Natura, that he\nresolved to delay his return to Eton as long as possible; and that\npassion which he already felt the symptoms of, though equally ignorant\nof their nature or end, being always fertile in invention, put a\nstratagem into his head, which he flattered himself would succeed for\na somewhat farther continuance of his present happiness.\nThe day before that prefixed for his going, he pretended a violent\npain in his head and stomach, and to give the greater credit to his\npretended indisposition, would eat nothing; and as it drew toward\nevening, cried out he was very sick, and must go to bed.--His father,\nwho had the most tender affection for him, could not think of sending\nhim away in that condition.--He went in the morning to his bedside,\nand finding him, as he imagined, a little feverish, presently ordered\na physician, who did not fail to countenance the young gentleman's\ncontrivance, either that he really thought him out of order, or that\nhe had rendered himself so in good earnest, through abstaining from\nfood, a thing very uncommon with him. A prescription was sent to the\napothecary for him, and a certain regimen directed.\nBut poor Natura soon found this did not answer his purpose:--he was in\nthe same house indeed with his beloved Delia, but had not the pleasure\nof her company, nor even that of barely seeing her, she being forbid\ngoing near his chamber, on account of the apprehensions they had that\nhis complaint might terminate in a fever, and endanger her health.\nThis, however, was more than he knew, and resentment for her supposed\nindifference, joined with the weariness of living in the manner he\ndid, made him resolve to grow well again, and chuse to go to Eton,\nrather than suffer so much for one who seemed so little to regard him.\nAccordingly, when they brought him something had been ordered for him\nto take, he refused it, saying, he had not occasion for any more\nphysic, and immediately got up, and dressed himself, in spite of all\nthe servant that attended him could do to prevent it.--Word being\ncarried to his father of what he was doing, he imagined him delirious,\nand immediately got up, and went into his room, nor though he found\nhim intirely cool, could be perswaded from his first opinion.--The\ndoctor was again sent for, who unwilling to lose his perquisite, made\na long harangue on the nature of internal fevers, and very learnedly\nproved, or seemed to prove, that they might operate so far as to\naffect the brain, without the least outward symptom.\nNatura could not forbear laughing within himself, to hear this great\nman so much mistaken; but when they told him he must take his physic,\nand go to bed, or at least be confined to his chamber, he absolutely\nrefused both, and said he was as well as ever he was in his life.--All\nhe said, however, availed nothing, and his father was about to make\nuse of his authority to force him to obedience to the doctor's\nprescription, when finding no other way to avoid it, he fell on his\nknees, and with tears in his eyes, confessed he had only counterfeited\nsickness, to delay being sent to Eton again; begged his father to\nforgive him; said he was sorry for having attempted to deceive him,\nbut was ready to go whenever he pleased.\nThe father was strangely amazed at the trick had been put upon him;\nand after some severe reprimands on the occasion, asked what he had to\ncomplain of at Eton, that had rendered him so unwilling to return.\nNatura hesitated at this demand, but could not find in his heart to\nforge any unjust accusation concerning his usage at that place, and at\nlast said, that indeed it was only because he had a mind to stay a\nlittle longer at home with him. On which he told him he was an idle\nboy, but he must not expect that wheedle would serve his turn; for\nsince he was not sick, he must go to school the next day: Natura\nrenewed his intreaties for pardon, and assured him he now desired\nnothing more than to do as he commanded.\nThis story made a great noise in the family, and the mother-in-law did\nnot fail to represent it in its worst colours to every one that came\nto the house; but Natura having obtained forgiveness from his father,\ndid not give himself much trouble as to the rest.--Delia seemed\nrejoiced to see him come down stairs again, but he looked shy upon\nher, and told her he could not have thought she would have been so\nunkind as not to have come to see him; but on her acquainting him with\nthe reason of her absence, and protesting it was not her fault, he\ngrew as fond of her as ever; and among a great many other tender\nexpressions, 'I wish,' said he, 'I were a man, and you a\nwoman.'--'Why?' returned she; 'because,' cried he, 'we would be\nmarried.'--'O fye,' answered the little coquet, 'I should hate you, if\nyou thought of any such thing; for I will never be married.' Then\nturned away with an affected scornfulness, and yet looked kindly\nenough upon him from the corner of one eye.--'I am sure,' resumed he,\n'if you loved me as well as I do you, you would like to be married to\nme, for then we should be always together.'--He was going on with\nsomething farther in this innocent courtship, when some one or other\nof the family, coming into the room, broke it off; and whether it was\nresumed afterwards, or not, I cannot pretend to determine, nor whether\nhe had opportunity to take any particular leave of her before his\ndeparture, which happened, as his father had threatened, the\nsucceeding day.\nCHAP. IV.\n  Shews, that till we arrive at a certain age, the impressions made on\n  us are easily erased; and also that when those which bear the name\n  of love are once rooted in the mind, there are no lengths to which\n  we may not be transported by that passion, if great care is not\n  taken to prevent its getting the ascendant over reason.\nThe change of scene did not make any change in the sentiments of our\nyoung lover: Delia was always in his head, and none of the diversions\nhe took with his companions could banish her from his thoughts; yet\ndid she not so wholly engross his attention, as to render him remiss\nin his studies; his ambition, as I said before, would not suffer him\nto neglect the means of acquiring praise, and nothing was so\ninsupportable to him as to find at any time another boy had merited a\ngreater share of it: by which we may perceive that this very passion,\nunruly as it is, and in spite of the mischiefs it sometimes occasions,\nis also bestowed upon us for our emolument; and when properly\ndirected, is the greatest excitement to all that is noble and\ngenerous, Natura seldom had the mortification of seeing any of the\nsame standing with himself placed above him; and whenever such an\naccident happened, he was sure to retrieve it by an extraordinary\nassiduity.\nBut to shew that love and business are not wholly incompatible, his\nattachment to Delia did not take him off his learning, nor did his\napplication to learning make him forgetful of Delia. He frequently\nthought of her, wished to see her, and longed for the next\nbreaking-up, that he might re-enjoy that satisfaction, as he knew she\nintended to stay the whole winter at his father's; but now arrived the\ntime to prove the inconstancy of human nature: he became acquainted\nwith some other little misses, and by degrees found charms in them,\nwhich made those he had observed in Delia appear less admirable in his\neyes; the fondness he had felt for her being in reality instigated\nchiefly by being the only one of his own age he had conversed with, a\nmore general acquaintance with others not only wore off the impression\nshe had made, but also kept him from receiving too deep a one from the\nparticular perfections of any of those he now was pleased with:--it is\nlikely, however, that the sight of her might have revived in him some\npart of his former tenderness, had he found her, as he expected he\nshould, on his next coming to London: but an elder sister she had in\nthe country, happening to die, she was sent for home, in order to\nconsole their mother for that loss; so that he had not any trial on\nthat account; and tho' he thought he should have been glad of her\nsociety, during his stay in town, yet her absence gave him small\nanxiety; and the variety of company which came to the house on account\nof the baptism of a little son his mother-in-law had lately brought\ninto the world, very well atoned for the want of Delia.\nNothing material happening to him during his stay in town at this\ntime, nor in any other of the many visits he made his father while he\ncontinued at Eton, I shall pass over those years, and only say, that\nas he grew nearer to manhood, his passions gathered strength in\nproportion; and tho' he increased in knowledge, yet it was not that\nsort of knowledge which enables us to judge of the emotions we feel\nwithin ourselves, or to set curbs on those, which to indulge renders\nus liable to inconveniences.\nAll those propensities, of which he gave such early indications, and\nwhich I attempted to describe in the beginning of this book, now\ndisplayed themselves with greater vigour, and according as exterior\nobjects presented, or circumstances excited, ruled with alternate\nsway: sparing sometimes to niggardliness, at others profusely\nliberal;--now pleased, now angry;--submissive this moment, arrogant\nand assuming the next;--seldom in a perfect calm, and frequently\nagitated to excess.--Hence arose contests and quarrels, even with\nthose whose company in some humours he was most delighted\nwith;--insolence to such whose way of thinking did not happen to tally\nwith his own, and as partial an attachment to those who either did, or\npretended to enter into his sentiments.\nBut as it was only in trivial matters, and such as were meerly boyish,\nhe yet had opportunity of exercising the passions, his behaviour only\nserved to shew what man would be, when arrived at maturity, if not\nrestrained by precept.\nHe had attained to little more than sixteen years of age, when he had\ngone through all the learning of the school, and was what they call\nfit for the university, to which his father not intending him for the\nstudy of any particular science, did not think it necessary to send\nhim, but rather to bestow on him those other accomplishments, which\nare immediately expected from a gentleman of an estate; such as\nfencing, dancing, and music, and accordingly provided masters to\ninstruct him in each, as soon as he came home, which was about the\ntime of life I mentioned.\nAs he was now past the age of being treated as a meer child, and also\nknew better how it would become him to behave to the wife of his\nfather, his mother-in-law seemed to live with him in harmony enough,\nand the family at least was not divided into parties as it had been,\nand eighteen or nineteen months past over, without any rub in our\nyoung gentleman's tranquility.\nSince his childish affection for Delia, he had not been possessed of\nwhat could be called a strong inclination for any particular female;\nthough, as many incidents in his life afterwards proved, he had a no\nless amorous propensity than any of his sex, and was equally capable\nof going the greatest lengths for its gratification.\nHe was but just turned of nineteen, when happening to pass by the\nplayhouse one evening, he took it into his head to go in, and see the\nlast act of a very celebrated tragedy acted that night.--But it was\nnot the poet's or the player's art which so much engaged his\nattention, as the numerous and gay assembly which filled every part of\nthe house.--He was in the back bench of one of the front boxes, from\nwhich he had a full prospect of all who sat below:--but in throwing\nhis eyes around on every dazzling belle, he found none so agreeable to\nhim as a young lady who was placed in the next division of the\nbox:--her age did not seem to exceed his own, and tho' less splendid\nin garb and jewels than several who sat near her, had something in her\neyes and air, that, in his opinion, at least, infinitely exceeded them\nall.\nWhen the curtain dropt, and every one was crowding out as fast they\ncould, he lost not sight of her; and finding when they came out to the\ndoor, that she, and a companion she had with her, somewhat older than\nherself, seemed distressed for chairs, which by reason of the great\nconcourse, seemed difficult to be got, he took the opportunity, in a\nvery polite manner, to offer himself for their protector, as he\nperceived they had neither friend nor servant with them. They accepted\nit with a great deal of seeming modesty, and he conducted them through\na passage belonging to the house which he knew was less thronged, and\nthence put them into a hackney coach, having first obtained their\npermission to attend them to their lodgings, or wherever else they\npleased to be set down.\nWhen they arrived at the place to which they gave the coachman a\ndirection, he would have taken leave of them at the door; but they\njoined in entreating him, that since he had been at the pains of\nbringing them safe home, he would come in and refresh himself with\nsuch as their apartment could supply: there required little invitation\nto a thing his heart so sincerely wished, tho' his fears of being\nthought too presuming, would not suffer him to ask it.\nHe went up stairs, and found rooms decently furnished, and a\nmaid-servant immediately spread the table with a genteel cold\ncollation; but what he looked upon as the most elegant part of the\nentertainment, was the agreeable chit-chat during the time of supper,\nand a song the lady who had so much attracted him, gave him, at her\nfriend's request, after the cloth was taken away.\nIt growing late, his fears of offending where he already had such an\ninclination to oblige, made him about to take his leave; but could not\ndo it without intreating permission to wait on them the next day, to\nreceive pardon, as he said, for having by his long stay, broke in upon\nthe hours should have been devoted to repose. Tho' this compliment,\nand indeed all the others he had made, were directed to both, the\nregard his eyes paid to the youngest, easily shewed the preference he\nsecretly gave to her; and as neither of these women wanted experience\nin such affairs, knew very well how to make the most of any advantage.\n'If this lodging were mine,' replied the eldest briskly, 'I should\nhave anticipated the request you make; but as I am only a guest, and\ntake part of my friend's bed to-night on account of the hour, will\ntake upon me to say, she ought not to refuse greater favours to so\naccomplished a gentleman, and from whom we have received so much\ncivility.'\nNatura did not fail to answer this gallantry in a proper manner, and\ndeparted highly satisfied with his adventure; tho' probably could find\nless reasons for being so, than those with whom he thought it the\ngreatest happiness of his life to have become acquainted.\nWonderful are the workings of love on a young heart: pleasure has the\nsame effect as pain, and permits as little rest: it was not in the\npower of Natura to close his eyes for a long time after he went to\nbed.--He recollected every thing the dear creature had said;--in what\nmanner she looked, when speaking such or such a thing;--how inchanting\nshe sang, and what a genteelness accompanied all she did:--when he\nfell into a slumber, it was only to bring her more perfectly into his\nmind; whatever had past in the few hours he had been with her,\nreturned, with additional graces on her part, and her idea had in\nsleep all the effect her real presence could have had in waking.\nWith what care did he dress himself the next day:--what fears was he\nnot possessed of, lest all about him should not be exact:--never yet\nhad he consulted the great glass with such assiduity;--never till now\nexamined how far he had been indebted to nature for personal\nendowments.\nHis impatience would have carried him to pay a morning visit, but he\nfeared that would be too great a freedom, and therefore restrained\nhimself till after dinner, though what he eat could scarce be called\nso; the food his _mind_ languished for, being wanting, the body was\ntoo complaisant to indulge itself.--After rising from table, not a\nminute passed without looking on his watch, and at the same time\ncursing the tedious seconds, which seemed to him increased from sixty\nto six hundred.--The hour of five at length put an end to his\nsuspence, and he took his way to the dear, well-remembered mansion of\nhis adorable.\nHe found her at home, and in a careless, but most becoming\ndishabillee; the other lady was still with her; and told him she had\ntarried thus long with Miss Harriot, for so she called her, meerly to\nparticipate of the pleasure of his good company. Harriot, in a gay\nmanner, accused her of envy, and both having a good share of wit, the\nconversation might have been pleasing enough to a man less\nprepossessed than Natura.\nThe tea equipage was set, and the ceremony of that being over, cards\nwere proposed; as they were three, Ombre was the game, at which they\nplayed some hours, and Natura was asked to sup.--After what I have\nsaid, I believe the reader has no occasion to be told that he complied\nwith a pleasure which was but too visible in his eyes.--The time\npassed insensibly on, or at least seemed to do so to the friend of\nHarriot, till the watchman reminding her it was past eleven, she\nstarted up, and pretending a surprize, that the night was so far\nadvanced, told Natura that she must exact a second proof of that\ngallantry he had shewn the night before, for she had not courage to go\neither in a chair or a coach alone at that late hour:--this doubtless\nwas what he would have offered, had she been silent on the occasion;\nand a coach being ordered to the door, he took leave of miss Harriot,\nthough not till he had obtained leave to testify his respects in some\nfuture visits.\nHad Natura appeared to have more experience of the town, the lady he\ngallanted home would certainly not have entertained him with the\ndiscourse she did; but his extreme youth, and the modest manner of his\nbehaviour on the first sight of him, convinced them he was a person\nsuch as they wished to have in their power, and to that end had\nconcerted measures between themselves, to perfect the conquest which,\nit was easy to perceive, one of them had begun to make over him.\nHarriot being the person with whom they found he was enamoured, it was\nthe business of the other to do for her what, it may be supposed, she\nwould have done for her on the like occasion.--Natura was no sooner in\nthe coach with her, than she began to magnify the charms of her fair\nfriend, but above all extolled her virtue, her prudence, and good\nhumour:--then, as if only to give a proof of her patience and\nfortitude, that her parents dying when she was an infant, had left her\nwith a vast fortune in the hands of a guardian, who attempting to\ndefraud her of the greatest part, she was now at law with him, 'and is\nobliged to live, till the affair is decided,' said this artful woman,\n'in the narrow manner you see,--without a coach,--without any\nequipage; and yet she bears it all with chearfulness:--she has a\nmultiplicity of admirers,' added she, 'but she assures all of them,\nthat she will never marry, till she knows what present she shall be\nable to give with herself to the man she shall make choice of.'\nTill now Natura had never asked himself the question how far his\npassion for Harriot extended, or with what view he should address her;\nbut when he heard she was a woman of condition, and would have a\nfortune answerable to her birth, he began to think it would be happy\nfor him if he could obtain her love on the most honourable terms.\nIt would be too tedious to relate all the particulars of his\ncourtship; so I shall only say, that humble and timid as the first\nemotions of a sincere passion are, he was emboldened, by the\nextraordinary complaisance of Harriot, to declare it to her in a few\ndays.--The art with which she managed on this occasion, might have\ndeceived the most knowing in the sex; it is not, therefore,\nsurprizing, that he should be caught in a snare, which, though ruinous\nas it had like to have been, had in it allurements scarce possible to\nbe withstood at his time of life.\nIt was by such degrees as the most modest virgin need not blush to\nown, that she confessed herself sensible of an equal tenderness for\nhim; and nothing is more strange, than that in the transport he was\nin, at the condescensions she made him, that he did not immediately\npress for the consummation of his happiness by marriage; but tho' he\nwished for nothing so much, yet he was with-held by the fears of his\nfather, who he thought would not approve of such a step, as the\nfortune he imagined she had a right to, was yet undetermined, and\nhimself, tho' an elder son, and the undoubted heir of a very good\nestate, at present wholly dependant on him.--He communicated his\nsentiments to Harriot on this head with the utmost sincerity,\nprotesting at the same time that he should never enjoy a moment's\ntranquility till he could call her his own.\nShe seemed to approve of the caution he testified;--said it was such\nas she had always resolved religiously to observe herself; 'tho' I\nknow not,' cried she, looking on him with the most passionate air,\n'how far I might have been tempted to break thro' all for your sake;\nbut it is well one of us is wise enough to foresee and tremble at the\nconsequences of a marriage between two persons whose fortunes are\nunestablished.'--Then, finding he made her no other answer than some\nkisses, accompanied with a strenuous embrace, she went on; 'there is a\nway,' resumed she, 'to secure us to each other, without danger of\ndisobliging any body; and that is by a contract: I never can be easy,\nwhile I think there is a possibility of your transferring your\naffection to some other, and if you love me with half that degree of\ntenderness you pretend, you cannot but feel the same anxiety.'\nNatura was charmed with this proposition, and it was agreed between\nthem, that her lawyer should draw up double contracts in form, which\nshould be signed and delivered interchangeably by both parties.\nAccordingly, the very next day, the fatal papers were prepared, and he\nsubscribed his name to that which was to remain in her custody, as she\ndid her's to that given to him. Each being witnessed by the woman with\nwhom he first became acquainted with her, and another person called\ninto the room for that purpose.\nNatura now considering her as his wife, thought himself intitled to\ntake greater liberties than he had ever presumed to do before, and she\nhad also a kind of a pretence for permitting them, till at last there\nremained nothing more for him to ask, or her to grant.\nEnjoyment made no abatement in his passion; his fondness was rather\nincreased by it, and he never thought himself happy, but when with\nher; he went to her almost every night, and sometimes passed all night\nwith her, having made an interest with one of the servants, who let\nhim in at whatever hour he came:--so totally did she engross his mind,\nthat he seemed to have not the least attention for any thing beside:\nnor was the time he wasted with her all the prejudice she did\nhim:--all the allowance made him by his father for cloaths and other\nexpences, he dissipated in treats and presents to her, running in debt\nfor every thing he had occasion for.\nBut this was insufficient for her expectations; she wanted a sum of\nmoney, and pretending that her law-suit required a hundred guineas\nimmediately, and that some remittances she was to have from the\ncountry would come too late, told him he must raise it for her some\nway or other.\nThis demand was a kind of thunder-stroke to Natura; not but he doated\non her enough to have sacrificed infinitely more to her desires, if in\nhis power; but what she asked seemed so wholly out of reach, that he\nknew not any way by which there was the least probability of attaining\nit. The embarrassment that appeared in his countenance made her see it\nwas not so easy for him to grant, as it was for her to ask. 'I should\nhave wanted courage,' said she, 'to have made you this request, had I\nnot considered that what is mine must one day be yours, and it will be\nyour own unhappiness as well as mine, should my cause miscarry for\nwant of means to carry it on.'--'Severe necessity!' added she, letting\nfall some tears, 'that reduces me to intreat favours where I could\nwish only to bestow them.'\nThese words destroyed all the remains of prudence his love had left in\nhim; he embraced her, kissed away her tears, and assured her that\nthough, as he was under age, and had but a small allowance from his\nfather, it was not at this time very easy for him to comply with her\ndemand, yet she might depend upon him for the money the next day, let\nit cost what it would, or whatever should be the consequence.\nHe left her that night much sooner than was his custom, in order to\nconsult within himself on the means of fulfilling his promise to her,\nwhich, to have failed in, would have been more terrible to him than\ndeath.\nCHAP. V.\n  That to indulge any one fault, brings with it the temptation of\n  committing others, is demonstrated by the behaviour of Natura, and\n  the misfortunes and disgrace which an ill-judged shame had like to\n  have involved him in.\nNever had Natura experienced so cruel a night; a thousand stratagems\ncame into his head, but for some reason or other all seemed alike\nimpracticable, and the morning found him in no more easy a\nsituation.--He put on his cloaths hastily, and resolved to go to all\nthe acquaintance he had in the world, and try the friendship of each,\nby borrowing what sums he thought they might be able to spare: but\nfirst, going into his father's closet, as was his custom every morning\nto pay his duty to him, he found a person with him who was paying him\na large sum of money: the sight of what he so much wanted filled him\nwith inexpressible agitations:--he would have given almost a limb to\nhave had in his possession so much of that shining ore as Harriot\nexpected from him; and wished that some sudden accident, even to the\nfalling of the house, would happen, that in the confusion he might\nseize on some part of the treasure he saw before him.\nThe person, after the affair which brought him there was over, took\nleave of the father of Natura, who having thrown the money into his\nbureau, to a large heap was there before, waited on him down stairs,\nwithout staying to lock the drawer.\nOften had Natura been present when his father received larger sums\nthan this, and doubtless had the same opportunity as now to make\nhimself master of some part, or all of it; but never till this unhappy\nexigence had the least temptation to do so.--It came into his head\nthat the accident was perfectly providential, and that he ought not to\nneglect the only means by which he could perform his promise;--that\nhis father could very well spare the sum he wanted, and that it was\nonly taking before the time what by inheritance must be his own\nhereafter.--In this imagination he opened the drawer, and was about to\npursue his intention, when he recollected that the money would\ncertainly be missed, and either the fault be laid upon some innocent\nperson, who might suffer for his crime; or he himself would be\nsuspected of a thing, which, in this second thought, he found so mean\nand wicked, that he was shocked almost to death, for having been\ncapable of even a wish to be guilty of it.--He shut the drawer\nagain,--turned himself away, and was in the utmost confusion of mind,\nwhen his father returned into the room; which shews that there is a\nnative honesty in the human nature, which nothing but a long practice\nof base actions can wholly eradicate: and I dare believe that even\nthose we see most hardened in vice, have felt severe struggles within\nthemselves at first, and have often looked back upon the paths of\nvirtue, wishing, tho' fruitlesly, to return.\nNatura, however, did not give over his pursuit of the means of\nperforming his promise: on the contrary, he thought himself obliged by\nall the ties of love, honour, and even self-interest, to do it; but\ndifficult as he believed the task would be, he found it much more so\nthan he could even have imagined: his intimacy being only with such,\nas being much of his own age, and like him were at an allowance from\ntheir parents or guardians, it was not in the power of any of them to\ncontribute a large sum toward making up that he wanted; the most he\ngot from any one being no more than five guineas, and all he raised\namong the whole amounted to no more than twenty, and some odd pounds.\nDistracted with his ill fortune, he ventured to go to an uncle he had\nby the mother's side, and after many complaints of his father's\nparsimony, told him, that having been drawn into some expences, which,\nthough not extravagant, were more than his little purse could supply,\nhe had broke into some money given him to pay his taylor, whom he\nfeared would demand it of his father, and he knew not how far the\nill-will of his mother-in-law might exaggerate the matter; concluding\nwith an humble petition for twenty guineas, which he told him he would\nfaithfully return by degrees.\nAs Natura had the character of a sober youth, the good old gentleman\nwas moved by the distress he saw him in, and readily granted his\nrequest, tho' not without some admonitions to confine for the future\nhis expences to his allowance, be it ever so small.\nThus Natura having with all his diligence not been able to raise quite\nhalf of the sum in question, was quite distracted what to do, and as\nhe afterwards owned, more than once repented him of those scruples\nwhich had prevented him from serving himself at once out of his\nfather's purse; tho' had the same opportunity again presented itself,\nit is scarce possible to believe by the rest of his behaviour, that he\nwould have made use of it, or if he had, that he could have survived\nthe shame and remorse it would have caused in him.\nIn his desperation he ran at last to the house of a noted\nmoney-scrivener, a great acquaintance of the family, and in his whose\nhands his father frequently reposed his ready cash: to this man he\ncommunicates his distress, and easily prevails with him to let him\nhave fifty pounds, on giving him a note to pay him an hundred for it\nwhen he should come of age, his father having said he would then make\na settlement on him.\nThis, however, was still somewhat short of what Harriot had demanded;\nbut he left his watch at a pawn-broker's for the rest; and having\ncompleated the sum, went transported with joy, and threw it into the\nlap of that idol of his soul; after which, he was for some days\nperfectly at ease, indulging himself with all he at present wished\nfor, and losing no time in thought of what might happen to interrupt\nhis happiness.\nBut while he battened in the sun-shine of his pleasures, storms of\nvexation were gathering over his head, which, when he least expected\nsuch a shock, poured all their force upon him.\nThe first time his uncle happened to see his father, he fell on the\ntopic of the necessity there was for young gentlemen born to estates,\nand educated in a liberal manner, to be enabled to keep his equals\ncompany; adding, that if the parsimony of a parent, denied them an\nallowance, agreeable to their rank, it might either drive them to ill\ncourses, or force them to associate themselves only with mean,\nlow-bred people, among whom they might lose all the politeness had\nbeen inculcated into them. The father of Natura, well knowing he had\nnothing to answer for on this account, never suspected this discourse\nwas directed to him in particular, and joined in his brother-in-law's\nopinion, heartily blaming those parents, who, by being too sparing to\ntheir children, destroyed all natural affection in them, and gave them\nsome sort of an excuse for wishing for their death:--he thanked God he\nwas not of that disposition, and then told him what he allowed per\nquarter to Natura, 'with which,' added he, 'I believe he is intirely\nsatisfied.' The other replying, that indeed he thought it more than\nsufficient, the conversation dropped; but what sentiments he now began\nto conceive of his nephew it is easy to conceive; the father however\nthought no farther of this, till soon after the scrivener came to wait\non him:--he was a perfect honest man, and had lent Natura the money\nmeerly to prevent his applying to some other person, who possibly\nmight have taken advantage of his thoughtlessness, so far as even to\nhave brought on his utter ruin, too many such examples daily happening\nin the world: to deter him also from going on in this course, he\ndemanded that exorbitant interest for his money abovementioned, which,\nnotwithstanding, as he assured his father, in relating to him the\nwhole transaction, he was far from any intention to make him pay.\nNever was astonishment greater than that in which the father of Natura\nwas now involved;--the discourse of his brother-in-law now came fresh\ninto his mind, and he recollected some words which, tho' he did not\nobserve at the time they were spoken, now convinced him had a meaning\nwhich he could not have imagined there was any room for.--He had no\nsooner parted from the scrivener, than he flew to that gentleman, and\nhaving related to him what had passed between him and the scrivener,\nconjured him, if he could give him any farther lights into the affair,\nnot to keep him in ignorance: on which the other thought it his duty\nto conceal nothing, either of the complaints, or request had been made\nhim by his nephew:--after some exclamations on the extravagance and\nthoughtlessness of youth, the afflicted father went in search of more\ndiscoveries, which he found it but too easy to make among the\ntradesmen, all of whom he found had been unpaid for some time.\nIt would be needless to go about to make any description of the\nconfusion of mind he was in:--he shut himself in his closet, uncertain\nfor some time how he should proceed; at last, as he considered there\nwas not a possibility of reclaiming his son from whatever vice had led\nhim thus all at once into such extravagancies, without first knowing\nwhat kind of vice it was; he resolved to talk to him, and penetrate,\nif possible, into the source of this evil.\nAccordingly the next morning he went into the chamber where Natura was\nyet in bed; and began to entertain him in the manner he had proposed\nto himself:--first, he let him know, that he was not unacquainted with\nevery step he had taken for raising a sum, which he could not conceive\nhe had any occasion for, as well as his having with-held the money he\nhad given him to discharge his tradesmen's bills:--then proceeded to\nset before his eyes the folly and danger of having hid, at his years,\nany secrets from a parent; concluding with telling him, he had yet a\nheart capable or forgiving what was past, provided he would behave in\na different manner for the future.\nWhat Natura felt at finding so much of what he had done revealed to\nhis father, was greatly alleviated, by perceiving that the main thing,\nhis engagement with Harriot, was a secret to him:--he did not fail to\nmake large promises of being a better oeconomist, nor to express the\nmost dutiful gratitude for the pardon the good old gentleman so\nreadily offered; but this he told him was not sufficient to deserve a\nre-establishment in his favour, he must also give him a faithful\naccount by what company, and for what purposes he had been induced to\nsuch ill husbandry; 'for,' added he, 'without a sincere confession of\nthe motives of our past transactions, there can be little assurances\nof future amendment.'\nNatura to this only answered, that it was impossible to recount the\nparticulars of his expences, and made so many evasions, on his\nfather's still continuing to press his being more explicit, that he\neasily perceived there would be no coming at the truth by gentle\nmeans; and therefore, throwing off at once a tenderness so\nineffectual, he assumed all the authority of an offended parent, and\ntold the trembling Natura, that since he knew not how to behave as a\n_son_, he should cease to be a _father_, in every thing but in his\nauthority:--'be assured,' said be, 'I shall take sure measures to\nprevent you from bringing either ruin or disgrace upon a family of\nwhich you are the first profligate:--this chamber must be your prison,\ntill I have considered in what fashion I shall dispose of you.'\nWith these words he flung out of the room, locking the door after him;\nso that when Natura rose, as he immediately did, he found himself\nindeed under confinement, which seemed so shameful a thing to him, that\nhe was ready to tear himself in pieces:--it was not the grief of having\noffended so good a father, but the disgrace of the punishment inflicted\non him, which gave him the most poignant anguish, and far from feeling\nany true contrition, he was all rage and madness, which having no means\nto vent in words, discovered itself in sullenness:--when the servant to\nwhom he intrusted the key came in to bring him food, he refused to eat,\nand could scarce restrain himself from throwing in the man's face what\nhe had brought.\nIt is certain, that while under this circumstance, he was agitated at\nonce by every different unruly passion:--pride, anger, spleen,\nthinking himself a man, at finding the treatment of a _boy_, made him\nalmost hate the person from whom he received it.--The apprehensions\nwhat farther meaning might be couched in the menace with which his\nfather left him, threw him sometimes into a terror little different\nfrom convulsive;--but above all, his impatience for seeing his dear\nHarriot, and the surprize, the grief, and perhaps the resentment, he\nimagined she must feel on his absenting himself, drove him into a kind\nof despair.\nIn fine, unable to sustain the violence of his agitations, on the\nthird night, regardless of what consequences might ensue from giving\nthis additional cause of displeasure to his father, he found means to\npush back the lock of his chamber, and flew down stairs, and out at\nthe street-door with so much speed, that it would have been impossible\nto have stopped him, had any one heard him, which none happened to do,\nit being midnight, and all the family in a sound sleep.\nThat he went directly to the lodgings of Harriot, I believe my reader\nwill make no doubt; but perhaps her character does not yet enough\nappear, to give any suspicion of the reception he found there.\nIn effect, she was no other than one of those common creatures, who\nprocure a miserable subsistance by the prostitution of their charms;\nand as nature had not been sparing to her on that score, and she was\nyet young, though less so than she appeared thro' art, she wanted not\na number of gallants, who all contributed, more or less, to her living\nin the manner she did: several of these had happened to come when\nNatura was with her; but she having had the precaution to acquaint\nthem with her design of drawing in this young spark for a husband,\nthey took the cue she gave them, each passing before him either for a\ncousin, or one of the lawyers employed in her pretended suit.\nIt was with one of these equally happy, tho' less deluded rivals of\nNatura, that finding he did not come, she had agreed to pass this\nnight; and her maid, as the servants of such women, for the most part,\nimitate their mistresses, happened to be at the door, either about to\nintroduce, or let out a lover of her own;--the sight of a man at that\ntime of night, with one who belonged to his beloved, immediately fired\nNatura with jealousy:--he seized the fellow by the collar, and in a\nvoice hoarse with rage, asked him what business he had there? To which\nthe other replied only with a blow on the face, the wench shrieked out,\nbut Natura was either stronger or more nimble than his competitor; he\npresently tripped up his heels, and ran up stairs.--Harriot and her\nlover hearing somewhat of a scuffle, the latter started out of bed, and\nopened the chamber-door, in order to listen what had occasioned it,\njust as Natura had reached the stair-case.--If his soul was inflamed\nbefore, what must it now have been, to see a man in his shirt, and just\nrisen from the arms of Harriot, who still lay trembling in bed:--he\nflew upon him like an incensed lion; but the other being more robust,\nsoon disengaged himself and snatching his sword, which lay on a table\nnear the door, was going to put an end to the life of his disturber;\nwhen Harriot cried out, 'Hold! hold!--for heaven's sake!--It is my\nhusband!'--Natura having no weapon wherewith he might defend himself,\nor hurt his adversary, revenge gave way to self-preservation; and only\nsaying, 'husband, no;--I will die rather than be the husband of so vile\na woman,' run down with the same precipitation he had come up.\nImpossible it is to describe the condition of his mind when got into\nthe street:--his once violent affection was now converted into the\nextremest hatred and contempt;--he detested not only Harriot, and the\nwhole sex, but even himself, for having been made the dupe of so\nunworthy a creature, and could have tore out his own heart, for having\njoined with her in deceiving him.--Having wandered about some time,\ngiving a loose to his fury, the considerations of what he should do,\nat last took their turn:--home he could not go, the servant who used\nto admit him knew nothing of his being out, and he durst not alarm the\nfamily by knocking at the door, having passed by several times, and\nfound all fast.\nIn this perplexity, as he went through a street he had not been used\nto frequent, he saw a door open, and a great light in a kind of hall,\nwith servants attending:--he asked one of them to whom it belonged,\nand was told it was a gaming-house, on which he went in, not with any\ndesire of playing, but to pass away some time; finding a great deal of\ncompany there, he notwithstanding engaged himself at one of the\ntables, and tho' he was not in a humour which would permit him to\nexert much skill, he won considerably.\nThe company did not break up till five in the morning, and he then\ngrowing drowsy, and yet unable to find any excuse to make to his\nfather, he could not think of seeing his face, so went to a bagnio to\ntake that repose he had sufficient need of, the fatigues of his mind\nhaving never suffered him to enjoy any sound sleep, since his father's\ndiscovery of the extravagance he had been guilty of.\nOn his awaking, the transaction of the preceding night returned to his\nremembrance with all its galling circumstances, and the more he\nreflected on his disobedience to his father, the less he could endure\nthe thoughts of coming into his presence:--in fine, that shame which\nso often prevents people from doing amiss, was now the motive which\nrestrained him from doing what he ought to have done.--Had he\nimmediately gone home, thrown himself at his father's feet, and\nconfessed the truth, his youthful errors had doubtless merited\nforgiveness; but this, though he knew it was both his duty, and his\ninterest, he could not prevail on himself to do; and to avoid the\nrebukes he was sensible were due to his transgressions, he resolved to\nhide himself as long as he could from the faces of all those who had a\nright to make them.\nIn fine, he led the life of a perfect vagabond, sculking from one\nplace to another, and keeping company with none but gamesters, rakes,\nand sharpers, falling into all manner of dissolution; and whenever his\nreason remonstrated any thing to him on these vicious courses, he\nwould then, to banish remorse for one fault, fly to others, yet worse,\nand more destructive.\nIt is true, he often looked back upon his _former_ behaviour, and was\nstruck with horror at comparing it with the _present_;--the reflection\ntoo how much his mother-in-law might take advantage of the just\ndispleasure of his father against him, to prejudice him in his future\nfortune, even to cause him to be disinherited, sometimes most cruelly\nalarmed him; yet, not all this, nor the wants he was plunged in on an\nill run at play, (which was the sole means by which he subsisted) were\nsufficient to bring him to do that which he now even wished to do,\ntired with the conversation of those profligates, and secretly shocked\nat the scenes of libertinism he was a daily witness of.\nHis thoughts thus divided and perplexed, he at length fell into a kind\nof despair; and not caring what became of himself, he resolved to\nenter on board some ship, and never see England again, unless fortune\nshould do more than he had reason to hope for in his favour.\nCHAP. VI.\n  Shews the great force of natural affection and the good effects it\n  has over a grateful mind.\nIf children could be sensible of parental tenderness, or knew what\nracking cares attend every misdoing of an offending offspring, the\nheart of Natura would have been so much touched with what his father\nendured on his account, as to have enabled him to have got the better\nof that guilty shame, which alone hindered him from submitting to him;\nbut conscious of deferring only the severest reproofs, he could not\nflatter himself there was a hope of ever being reinstated in that\naffection he had once possessed, and was too proud to content himself\nwith less.\nThat afflicted parent being informed of his son's flight, spared no\ncost or pains to find out the place of his retreat; but all his\nenquiries were in vain, and he was wholly in the dark, till it came\ninto his head to search a little escritore which stood in his chamber,\nand of which he had taken away the key: on breaking it open, he found\nthe counterpart of his contract with Harriot, and by that discovery\nwas no longer at a loss for the motives which had obliged his son to\nraise money, not doubting but the woman was either extremely indigent;\nor a jilt: but to think the heir of his estate had been so weak as to\nenter into so solemn and irretrievable an engagement, with a person of\neither of these characters, gave him an inexpressible disquiet. All\nhis endeavours were now bent on finding her out, not in the least\nquestioning but his son was with her: the task was pretty difficult,\nthe contract discovering no more of her than her name, and the parish\nin which she lived; yet did the emissaries he employed at last\nsurmount it: they brought him word not only of the exact place where\nshe lodged, but also of her character, as they learned it from the\nneighbours; they heard also that a young gentleman, whose description\nanswered that of Natura, had been often seen with her, and that she\nhad given out she was married to him.\nThe father having received this information, consulted with his\nbrother-in-law what course was to be taken, and both being of opinion,\nthat should any enquiry be made concerning Natura, it would only\noblige them to quit their lodgings, and fly to some place where,\nperhaps, it would be more difficult to trace them; it was agreed to\nget a lord chief justice's warrant, and search her lodgings, without\ngiving any previous alarm.\nThis was no sooner resolved than put in execution: the father and\nuncle, attended by proper officers, burst into the house, and examined\ncarefully every part of it; but not finding him, they sought, and\nperfectly perswaded Harriot could give intelligence of him, they\nthreatened her severely, and here she displayed herself in her proper\ncolours;--nothing ever behaved with greater impudence:--she told them,\nthat she knew nothing of the fool they wanted; but if she could find\nhim, would make him know what the obligations between them exacted\nfrom him: in fine, it was easy for them to perceive, there was nothing\nsatisfactory to be obtained from her, and they departed with akeing\nhearts, but left not the street without securing to their interest a\nperson in the neighbourhood, who promised to keep a continual eye upon\nher door, and if they ever saw the young gentleman go in, to send them\nimmediate notice.\nIt is needless to acquaint the reader how fruitless this precaution\nwas: Natura was far from any inclination ever more to enter that\ndetested house, and in that desponding humour, already mentioned, had\ncertainly left the kingdom, and compleated his utter undoing, if\nProvidence had not averted his design, by the most unexpected means.\nHe was at Wapping, in the company of some persons who used the sea, in\norder to get into some ship, he cared not in what station, when a\nyoung man, clerk to an eminent merchant of his father's acquaintance,\nhappened to come in, to enquire after the master of a vessel, by whom\nsome goods belonging to his master were to be shipped: he had often\nseen Natura, and though much altered by his late way of living, knew\nhim to be the person whom he had heard so great a search had been made\nafter: he took no notice of him however, as he found the other bent\nearnestly in discourse did not observe him, but privately informed\nhimself of all he could relating to his business there, and as soon as\nhe came home acquainted his master with the discovery he had made, who\ndid not fail to let his father know it directly.\nIt is hard to say, whether joy at hearing of his son, or grief at\nhearing he was in so miserable a condition, was most predominant in\nhim; but the first emotions of both being a little moderated, the\nconsideration of what was to be done, took place:--the clerk having\nfound out that he was lodged in an obscure house at that place, in\norder to get on board the first ship that sailed, the father would\nneeds go himself, and the merchant offering to accompany him in their\nlittle journey, a plan of proceeding was formed between them, which\nwas executed in the following manner.\nThey went together into a tavern, and sent to the house the clerk had\ndirected, under pretence, that hearing a young man was there who had\nan inclination for the sea, a master of a ship would be glad to treat\nwith him on that affair.--Natura, happily for him, not having yet an\nopportunity of engaging himself, obeyed the summons, and followed the\nmessenger:--his father withdrew into another room, but so near as to\nhear what passed, and there was only the merchant to receive him; but\nthe sight of one he so little expected in that place, and whom he knew\nwas so intimate in their family, threw him into a most terrible\nconsternation. He started back, and had certainly quitted the house,\nif the merchant, aware of his intention, had not catched hold of him,\nand getting between him and the door, compelled him to sit down while\nhe talked to him.\nHe began with asking what had induced him to think of leaving England\nin the manner he was going to do;--reminded him of the estate to which\nhe was born, the family from which he was descended, and the education\nwhich he had received; and then set before his eyes the tenderness\nwith which his father had used him, the grief to which he had exposed\nhim, and above all the madness of his present intentions:--Natura knew\nall this as well as he that remonstrated to him; but as he had not\nbeen capable of listening to his own reflections on that head, all\nthat was said had not the least effect upon him, and the merchant\ncould get no other answer from him, than that as things had happened,\nhe had no other course to take.\nThe truth was, that as he could not imagine by what means the merchant\nwas apprized of his design, he thought his father was also not\nignorant of it; and as he did not vouchsafe either to come in person,\nor send any message to him from himself, and perhaps was even ignorant\nthat the merchant had any intention of reclaiming him, he looked upon\nit as a confirmation of his having intirely thrown off all care of\nhim, and in this supposition he became more resolute than ever in his\nmind, to go where he never might be heard of more.\n'What though,' said the merchant, 'you have been guilty of some\nyouthful extravagancies, I am perfectly assured there requires no more\nthan your submitting to intreat forgiveness, to receive: come,'\ncontinued he, 'I will undertake to be your mediator, and dare answer I\nshall prevail.'--'No, sir,' replied Natura, 'I am conscious of having\noffended beyond all possibility of a pardon;--nor can I ever bear to\nsee my father again.'\nThe merchant laboured all he could to overcome this mingled pride and\nshame, which he perceived was the only obstacle to his return to duty;\nbut to no purpose, Natura continued obstinate and inflexible, till his\nfather, having no longer patience to keep himself concealed, rushed\ninto the room, and looking on his son with a countenance which, in\nspite of all the severity he had endeavoured to assume, betrayed only\ntenderness and grief.--'So, young man,' said he, 'you think it then my\nplace to seek a reconciliation, and are perhaps too stubborn to accept\nforgiveness, even though I should condescend to offer it.'\nNatura was so thunderstruck at the appearance of his father, and the\nmanner in which he accosted him, that he was far from being able to\nspeak one word, but threw himself at his feet, with a look which\ntestified nothing but confusion: that action, however, denoting that\nhe had not altogether forgot himself, melted the father's heart; he\nraised him, and forcing him to sit down in a chair close by him;\n'Well, Natura,' said he, 'you have been disobedient to an excess; I\nwish it were possible for your distresses to have given you a remorse\nin proportion;--I am still a _father_, if you can be a _son._'--He\nwould have proceeded, but was not able:--the meagre aspect, dejected\nair, and wretched appearance of a son so dear to him, threw him into a\ncondition which destroyed all the power of maintaining that reserve\nwhich he thought necessary to his character.\nNatura, on the other hand, was so overcome with the unhoped-for\ngentleness of his behaviour, that he burst into a flood of\ntears.--Filial gratitude and love, joined with the thoughts of what he\nhad done to deserve a far different treatment, so overwhelmed his\nheart, that he could express himself no other way than by falling on\nhis knees a second time, and embracing the legs of his father, with a\ntransport, I know not whether to say of grief or joy; continued in\nthat posture for a considerable time, overwhelmed at once with shame,\nwith gratitude, and love:--at length, gaining the power of\nutterance,--'O sir,' cried he, 'how unworthy am I of your\ngoodness!'--but then recollecting as it were somewhat more; 'yet\nsure,' pursued he, 'it is not possible you can forgive me all.--I have\nbeen guilty of worse than, perhaps, you yet have been informed of:--I\nam a wretch who have devoted myself to infamy and destruction, and you\ncannot, nay ought not to forgive me.'\nThe father was indeed very much alarmed at this expression, as fearing\nit imported his distresses had drove him to be guilty of some crime of\nwhich the law takes cognizance.--'I hope,' said he, 'your having\nsigned a contract with an abandoned prostitute, is the worst action of\nyour life?'\nIt is impossible to describe the pleasure with which Natura found his\nfather was apprized of this affair, without being obliged to relate it\nhimself, as he was now determined to have done:--all his obduracy\nbeing now intirely vanquished, and converted into the most tender,\naffectionate, and dutiful submission.\n'Can there be a worse?' replied he, renewing his embraces, 'and can\nyou know it, and yet vouchsafe to look on me as your son!'--'If your\npenitence be sincere,' said the good old gentleman, 'I neither can,\nnor ought refuse to pardon all:--but rise,' continued he, 'and freely\ngive this worthy friend and myself, the satisfaction we require;--a\nfull confession of all your misbehaviour, is the only attonement you\ncan make, and that I can expect from you:--remember I have signed your\npardon for all that is past, but shall not include in it any future\nacts of disobedience, among which, dissimulation, evasion or\nconcealment, in what I demand to be laid open, I shall look upon as of\nthe worst and most incorrigible kind.'\nHe needed not have laid so strong an injunction on the now truly\ncontrite Natura;--he disguised nothing of what he had done, even to\nthe mean arts of gaming, to which he had been obliged to have recourse\nafter his voluntary banishment from all his friends; and then painted\nthe horrors he conceived at the things he daily saw, and the despair\nwhich had induced him to leave England, in such lively colours, that\nnot only his father, but the merchant, were affected by it, even to\nthe letting fall some tears.\nBut not to be too tedious in this part of my narration, never was\nthere a more perfect reconciliation:--the father till now knew not how\nmuch he loved his son, nor the son before felt half that dutiful\naffection and esteem for his father.\nIt now remained to conclude how the forgiven youth was to be\ndisposed:--there were two reasons which rendered it imprudent for him\nto go home; first, on the score of his mother-in-law, who being better\ninformed than her husband could have wished, of the errors of his son,\nhe feared would have behaved to him in a fashion which, he easily\nforesaw, would be attended with many inconveniences; even perhaps to\nthe driving him back into his late vicious courses; and secondly, on\nthat of the contract, which it would be more difficult to get Harriot\nto relinquish, if Natura were known to be re-established in his\nfather's favour, than if concealed and supposed still in disgrace with\nhim.--The generous merchant made an offer of an apartment in his\nhouse; but Natura, who had not seen his sister of a long time,\nproposed a visit to her; as thinking the society of that dear and\nprudent relation, would not only console, but establish him in virtue.\nThe father listened to both, and after some little deliberation, told\nhis son, that he approved of his going to his sister for a month or\ntwo, or three, at his own option; 'but,' said he, 'it is not fit a\nyoung man like you should bury yourself for any long time in the\ncountry;--you are now of a right age to travel, and I would have you\nenlarge your understanding by the sight of foreign manners and\ncustoms:--I would, therefore, have you make a short visit to my\ndaughter, after which, accept of my friend's invitation, and in the\nmean time I shall prepare things proper for your making the tour of\nEurope, under a governor who may keep you in due limits.'\nHad Natura never offended his father, the utmost he could have wished\nfrom his indulgence, was a proposal of this kind:--he was in a perfect\nextasy, and knew not how sufficiently to express his gratitude and\nsatisfaction; on talking, however, more particularly on the affair, it\nwas agreed he should go first to the merchant's, in order to be new\ncloathed, and recover some part of those good looks his late dissolute\nway of life had so much impaired.\nEvery thing being settled so much to the advantage of Natura, even a\nfew hours made some alteration in his countenance; so greatly does the\nease of the mind contribute to the welfare of the body!--he parted not\ntill night from this indulgent parent, when he went home with the\nmerchant, and had the next day tradesmen of all kinds sent for, who\nhad orders to provide, in their several ways, every thing necessary\nfor a young gentleman born to the estate he was.--As youth is little\nregardless of futurity, he forgot, for a time, what consequences might\npossibly attend his contract with Harriot, and was as perfectly at\nease, as if no such thing had ever happened. When fully equipped, he\nwent down into that country where his sister lived, and if the least\nthought of his former transactions remained in him, they were now\nintirely dissipated, by the kind reception he there met with, and the\nentertainments made for him by the neighbouring gentry.\nBut his heart being bent on his travels, and receiving a letter from\nhis father, wherein he acquainted him that all things were ready for\nhis departure, he took leave of the country, after a stay of about\nnine weeks, and returned to the merchant's, where his father soon came\nto see him, and told him, he had provided a governor for him, who had\nserved several of the sons of the nobility in that capacity, and was\nperfectly acquainted with the languages and manners of the countries\nthrough which they were to pass.\nThis tender parent moreover acquainted him, that having consulted the\nlawyers, on the score of that unhappy obligation he had laid himself\nunder to Harriot, and finding they had given it as their assured\nopinion, that it was drawn up in the most binding and authentic\nmanner, he had offered that creature a hundred guineas to give up her\nclaim; but she had obstinately rejected his proposal, and seemed\ndetermined to compel him to the performance of his contract; or in\ncase he married any other woman, to prosecute him for the moiety of\nwhatever portion he should receive with her.\nThe mention of this woman, who had given Natura so much disquiet, and\nwho indeed had been the primary cause of all his follies and\nmisfortunes, together with the thoughts of what future inconveniencies\nshe might involve him in, both on the account of his fortune and\nreputation, made him relapse into his former agitations, and\nafterwards rendered him extremely pensive, and he could not forbear\ncrying out, that he would chuse rather to abandon England for ever,\nand, pass the whole remainder of his days in foreign climates, than\nyield to become the prey any way of so wicked, so infamous a wretch,\n'whom,' said he, 'I shall never think on, without hating myself for\nhaving ever loved.'\nThe good-natured merchant, as well as his father, perceiving these\nreflections began to take too much root in him, joined in endeavouring\nto alleviate the asperity of them, by telling him, that it was their\nopinion, as indeed it seemed highly probable, that when he was once\ngone, she would be more easily prevailed upon; especially as the\nreconciliation between him and his father was to be kept an inviolable\nsecret. The old gentleman also added, in order to make him easy, that\nhow exorbitant soever she might be in her demands, and whatever it\nshould cost, though it were the half of his estate, he would rid him\nof the contract; which second proof of paternal affection, renewed in\nNatura, as well it might, fresh sentiments of love, joy, and duty; and\nthe same promise being again and again reiterated, he soon resumed his\nformer chearfulness, and thought of nothing but the new scenes he was\ngoing to pass through.\nIn fine, not many days elapsed before he departed, with his governor\nand one footman, who had been an antient servant in the family.--As\ntheir first route was to France, they went in the Dover stage, and\nthence embarked for Calais, without any thing material happening,\nexcept it were, that on sight of the ocean, Natura was fired with a\ndevout rhapsody at the thoughts of finding himself upon it, in a\nmanner so vastly different from that in which, but a few months since,\nhis despair had led him to project; and the resolution he made within\nhimself never to be guilty of any thing hereafter, which should\noccasion a blush on his own face, or incur the displeasure of a\nfather, to whom he looked upon himself as much more indebted, for the\nforgiveness he had received, than for being the author of his\nexistence.\nSo great an effect has mercy and benevolence over a heart not hardened\nby a long practice of vice! How far Natura persevered in these good\nintentions, we shall hereafter see; but the very ability of forming\nthem, shews that there is a native gratitude and generosity in the\nhuman mind, which, in spite of the prevalence of unruly passions,\nwill, at sometimes, shine forth, even in the most thoughtless and\ninconsiderate.\nBOOK the Second.\nCHAP. I.\n  The inconsideration and instability of youth; when unrestrained by\n  authority, is here exemplified, in an odd adventure Natura embarked\n  in with two nuns, after the death of his governor.\nNovelty has charms for persons of all ages, but more especially in\nyouth, when manhood is unripened by maturity, when all the passions\nare afloat, and reason not sufficiently established in her throne by\nexperience and reflection, the mind is fluctuating, easily carried\ndown the stream of every different inclination that invites, and\nseldom or never has a constant bent.\nFrom seventeen or eighteen to one or two and twenty, I look upon to be\nthat season of life in which all the errors we commit, will admit of\nmost excuse, because we are then at an age to think ourselves men,\nwithout the power of acting as becomes reasonable men. It was in the\nmidst of this dangerous time, that Natura set out in order to make the\ntour of Europe, and his governor dying soon after their arrival in\nParis, our young traveller was left to himself, and at liberty to\npursue whatever he had a fancy for.\nThe death of this gentleman was in effect a very great misfortune to\nNatura; but as at his time of life we are all too apt to be impatient\nunder any restraint, tho' never so mild and reasonable, he did not\nconsider it in that light; and therefore less lamented his loss, than\nhis good nature would have made him do, had he been the companion of\nhis travels in any other station than that of governor, the very name\nof which implied a right of direction over his behaviour, and a power\ndelegated by his father of circumscribing every thing he did. I\nbelieve, whoever looks back upon himself at that age, will be\nconvinced by the retrospect, that there was nothing wonderful in\nNatura's imagining he had now discretion enough to regulate his\nconduct, without being under the controul of any person whatever; and\ncould not, for that reason, be much afflicted at being eased of a\nsubordination not at all agreeable to his humour, and which he thought\nhe had not the least occasion for.\nThe baron d' Eyrac had often invited him to pass some days with him,\nat a fine villa he had about some ten leagues from Paris; but his\ngovernor not having approved that visit, he had hitherto declined\nit.--He now, however, took it into his head to go, and as the distance\nwas so short, went on horseback, attended by his footman, with a\nportmanteau containing some linnen and cloaths, his intention being to\nremain there while the baron stayed, which, as he was informed, would\nbe three weeks, or a month;--it being then the season for hunting, and\nthat part of the country well suited for the diversion.\nHe had been on a party of pleasure a considerable way on this road\nbefore, so thought he had no occasion for a guide, and that he should\neasily be directed to the house; but it so happened that being got\nabout twenty miles from Paris he missed his route, and took one the\ndirect contrary, and which at last brought him to the entrance of a\nvery thick wood:--there was not the least appearance of any human\ncreature, nor the habitation of one, and he was beginning to consult\nwith his servant whether to go back, or proceed till they should\narrive at some town or village for refreshment, when all at once there\nfell the most terrible shower of hail and rain, accompanied with\nthunder, that ever was heard;--this determined them to go into the\nwood for shelter:--the storm continued till night, and it was then so\ndark, that they could distinguish nothing:--they wandered, however,\nleading their horses in their hands, for it was impossible to ride,\nhoping to find some path, by which they might extricate themselves out\nof that horrid labyrinth.\nSome hours were passed in this perplexed situation, and Natura\nexpected no better than to remain there till morning, when he heard a\nvoice at a little distance, cry, 'Who goes there?' Never had any music\nbeen half so pleasing to the ears of Natura. 'Friends,' replied he,\n'and travellers, that have lost their way.' On this the person who had\nspoke, drew nearer, and asked whither they were bent. Natura told him\nto the villa of the baron d' Eyrac. 'The baron d' Eyrac,' said the\nother, 'he lives twelve miles on the other side the wood, and that is\nfive miles over.'--He then asked if there were no town near, to which\nhe could direct them.--'No,' replied the other, 'but there is a little\nvillage where is one inn, and that is above half a league off:--you\nwill never find your way to it; but if you will pay me, I will guide\nyou.' Natura wished no more, and having agreed with him for his hire,\nfollowed where he led.\nNothing that was ever called an inn, had so much the shew of\nwretchedness; nor could it be expected otherwise, for being far from\nany great road, it was frequented only by shepherds, and others the\nmeanest sort of peasants, who worked in the adjacent grounds, or\ntended the cattle.\nIn this miserable place was Natura obliged to take up his lodging:--he\nlay down, indeed, on the ragged dirty mattress, but durst not take off\nhis cloaths, so noisome was every thing about him:--fatigued as he\nwas, he could not close his eyes till towards day, but had not slept\nabove two hours before the peasant who had served him as a guide, and\nhad also stayed at the inn, came into his room, and waked him\nabruptly, telling him the lady abbess desired to speak with\nhim.--Natura was much vexed at this disturbance, and not sufficiently\nawaked to recollect himself, only cried peevishly, 'What have I to do\nwith abbesses,' and then turned to sleep again.\nOn his second waking, his footman acquainted him, that a priest waited\nto see him:--Natura then remembered what the peasant had said, but\ncould not conceive what business these holy people had with him; he\nwent down however immediately, and was saluted by a reverend\ngentleman, who told him, that the lady abbess of a neighbouring\nmonastery (whose almoner he was) hearing from one of her shepherds the\ndistress he had been in, had sent to intreat he would come, and\nrefresh himself with what her convent afforded.\nNatura was now ashamed of having been so rough with the peasant, but\nwell atoned for it by the handsome apology he now made; after which he\ntold the almoner, that he would receive the abbess's commands as soon\nas he was in a condition to be seen by her.--This was what good\nmanners exacted from him, tho' in truth he had no inclination for a\nvisit, in which he proposed so little satisfaction.\nHe then made his servant open the portmanteau, and give him such\nthings as were proper to equip him for this visit; and while he was\ndressing, was informed by his host, that this abbess was a woman of\nquality, very rich, and owned the village they were in, and several\nothers, which brought her in more rent.\nIf the vanity so natural to a young heart, made Natura, on this\ninformation, pleased and proud of the consideration such a lady had\nfor him while unknown, how much more cause had he to be so, when being\nshewn by the same peasant into the monastery, he was brought into a\nparlour, magnificently furnished, and no sooner had sat down, than a\nvery beautiful woman, whom he soon found was the lady abbess, appeared\nbehind the grate, and welcomed him with the most elegant compliments.\nHe had never been in a monastery before, and had a notion that all the\nnuns, especially the abbesses, were ill-natured old women: he was\ntherefore so much surprized at the sight of this lady, that he had\nscarce power to return the politeness she treated him with.--Her age\nexceeded not twenty-four; she was fair to an excess, had fine-turned\nfeatures, and an air which her ecclesiastic habit could not deprive of\nits freedom; but the enchanting manner of her conversation, her wit,\nand the gaiety that accompanied all she said, so much astonished and\ntransported him, that he cried out, without knowing that he did so,\n'Good God!--is it possible a monastery can contain such charms!'--She\naffected to treat the admiration he expressed, as no other than meer\nbagatelle; but how serious a satisfaction she took in it, a very\nlittle time discovered.\n'A monastery,' said she, 'is not so frightful a solitude as you, being\na stranger to the manners of this country, have perhaps painted to\nyourself:--I have companions in whom I believe you will find some\nagreements.'--She then rung a bell, and ordered an attending nun, or\nwhat they call a lay-sister, to call some of the sisterhood, whose\nnames she mentioned; and presently came two nuns, with a third lady in\na different habit; the least handsome of these might have passed for a\nbeauty, but she that was the most so I shall call Elgidia; she was\nsister to the abbess, but wanted a good many of her years, and being\nintended for a monastic life by their parents, had been sent there as\na pensioner, till she should be prevailed upon to take the veil.\nThe abbess, having learned from Natura that he was from England, told\nthem, in a few words, what she knew of him, and the motive of the\ninvitation she had made him; then desired they would entertain him\ntill her return, having some affair, which called her thence for a\nsmall time.\nAs Elgidia appeared by her dress to be more a woman of this world than\nher companions, he directed his discourse chiefly to her; but whether\nit were that she had less gaiety in her temper, or that she was that\nmoment taken up with some very serious thought, Natura could not be\ncertain, but he found her much less communicative, than either of\nthose, whose profession seemed to exact greater reserve.\nAs Natura spoke French perfectly well, and delivered all he said with\na great deal of ease, they were very much pleased with his\nconversation; and yet more so, when, at the return of the abbess, that\nwit and spirit they before found in him, seemed to have gained an\nadditional vigour.\nThe truth is, the first sight of this beautiful abbess had very much\nstruck him; and a certain prepossession in her favour, had rendered\nhim not so quick-sighted as he might otherwise have been to the charms\nof her sister:--not that he was absolutely in love with her, nor\nentertained the least wish in prejudice to the sanctity of her order;\nit was rather an _admiration_ he was possessed with on her account,\nwhich the surprize, at finding her person and manner so widely\ndifferent from what he had expected, contributed very much to excite\nin him.\nThe breakfast, which consisted of chocolate, tea, coffee, rich cakes,\nand sweetmeats, was served upon the Turnabout; but the abbess told\nhim, that their monastery had greater privileges than any other in\nFrance; for they were not restrained from entertaining their kindred\nand friends, tho' of a different sex, within the grate; 'as you shall\nexperience,' said she, with the most obliging air, 'if you will favour\nus with your company at dinner.'\nNothing could be more pleasing to Natura than this invitation, and it\ncannot, therefore, be supposed he hesitated much to comply with it;\nhowever, as the hour of their devotion drew nigh, and forms must be\nobserved, he was desired to take a tour round about the village till\ntwelve, at which time they told him dinner would be on the table.\nHe was still in so much amazement at what he had seen and heard, that\nhe was not sorry at having an opportunity of being alone, to reflect\non all had passed; but the deeper he entered into thought, the more\nstrange it still seemed to him; till happening accidentally to fall\ninto some discourse with a gentleman in the village, he was told by\nhim, that the nunnery they were in sight of, was called, Le Convent de\nRiche Dames; that none but women of condition entered themselves into\nit, and that they enjoyed liberties little different from those that\nlive in the world:--'It is true,' said this person, 'the gay manner in\nwhich they behave, has drawn many reflections on their order, yet I\nknow not but they may be equally innocent with those of the most\nrigid.'\nThis was enough to shew Natura, that the civilities he received, were\nonly such as any stranger, who appeared of some rank, might be treated\nwith, as well as himself; and served to abate that little vanity\nwhich, without this information, might have gained ground in his\nheart; at least it did so for the present: what reasons he founds\nafterwards for the indulging it, the reader will anon be enabled to\njudge.\nHe was not, however, without a good deal of impatience for the hour\nappointed for his return, which being arrived, the portress admitted\nhim into a fine room behind the grate, where he found the abbess,\nElgidia, the two nuns he had seen in the morning, and another, which,\nit seems, were all the abbess thought proper should be present.\nThe table was elegantly served, and the richness of the wines, helped\nvery much to exhilerate the spirits of the company.--Elgidia alone\nspoke little, tho' what she said was greatly to the purpose, and\ndiscovered that it was not for want either of sentiment or words she\nretained so great a taciturnity.--Natura saying somewhat, that shewed\nhe took notice how singular she was in this point, the abbess replied,\nthat her sister did not like a convent, that the comedy, the opera,\nand ball, had more charms for her than devotion. On which Natura made\nsome feint attempts to justify a go\u00fbte for those public diversions,\nbut was silenced by the abbess, who maintained the only true\nfelicities of life were religion and friendship. 'What then do you\nmake of love, madam?' cried he briskly: 'love, the first command of\nHeaven, and the support of this great universe:--love, which gives a\nrelish to every other joy, and'--he was going on, but the abbess\ninterrupted him, 'Hold!--Hold!' said she, 'this is not a discourse fit\nfor these sacred precincts.'--But these words were uttered in a sound,\nand accompanied with a look, which wholly took away their austerity,\nand it was easy for Natura to perceive by the manner in which they\nwere spoke, as well as by a sigh, which escaped Elgidia at the same\ntime, that neither of these ladies were in reality enemies to the\npassion he was defending.\nSome little time after dinner was over, Natura was about to take his\nleave; but the abbess told him, that she had formed a design to punish\nhim for pretending to espouse the cause of love; 'and that is,' said\nshe, 'by detaining you in a place, where you must never speak, nor\nhear a word, in favour of it':--'we have,' continued she, 'a little\napartment adjoining to the monastery, tho' not in it, which serves to\naccommodate such friends as visit us, and are too far from home to\nreturn the same day:--you must not refuse to pass at least one night\nin it; and I dare promise you, that you will not find yourself worse\nlodged, than the preceding one:--your servant may also lie in the same\nhouse, and I will send your horses to a neighbouring farmer; who will\ntake care of them.'\nThe manner in which this request was urged, had somewhat in it too\nobliging, for Natura to have denied, in good manners, even if his\ninclinations had been opposite; but indeed he was too much charmed\nwith the conversation of the lovely abbess, and her fair associates,\nto be desirous of quitting it.--He not only stayed that night, but\nalso, on their continuing to ask it, many succeeding ones.--He lay in\nthe apartment above-mentioned, breakfasted, dined, and supped in the\nconvent, as if a pensioner in the place, always in the same company,\nand ambitious of no other.\nThe gallantries with which he treated the abbess, were as tender as\ninnocence would permit; nor did he presume to harbour any views of\nbeing happier with her than he was at present.\nBut see! the strange caprice of love! It was not through a coldness of\nconstitution, nor any confederations of her quality and function,\nwhich rendered him so content with enjoying no more of her than her\nconversation; nor that hindered him from taking advantage of many\nadvances she made him, whenever they were alone, of becoming more\nparticular; but it was the progress Elgidia every day made in his\nesteem:--the more he saw that beautiful young lady, the more he\nthought her charming; and every time she spoke discovered to him a new\nfund of wit, and sweetness of disposition:--it was not in her power to\nerase the first impression her sister had made on him, but it was to\nstop the admiration he had for her from growing up into a\npassion:--whenever he saw either of them alone, he thought her most\namiable he was with; and when they were together, he was divided\nbetween both.\nFor upwards of a month did he continue in the same place, and in the\nsame situation of mind; but then either the abbess's own good sense,\nor the advice of some friend, remonstrating to her, that so long a\nstay of a young gentleman, who was known to be not of her kindred,\nmight occasion discourses to her disreputation, and that of the\nmonastery in general; she took the opportunity one day, when he was\nmaking an offer of going, as he frequently did, to speak to him in\nthis manner:\n'I know not how,' said she, 'to part with you, and I flatter myself\nyou think of going, rather because you imagine your tarrying here for\nany length of time, might be inconvenient for us, than because you are\ntired of the reception you have found here.'\n'Ah madam!' cried he, 'be assured I could live for ever here;--and\nthat I only grieve that such a hope is impossible.--If what you now\nsay is sincere,' answered she, 'you may at least prolong the happiness\nwe at present enjoy:--but I shall put you to the proof,' continued\nshe, looking on him with eyes in which the most eager passion was\nvisibly painted,--'to hush the tongue of censure, you shall remove to\na town about seven miles distant, where there are many good houses, in\none of which you may lodge, under pretence of liking the air of this\ncountry, and visit us, as other of our friends do, as frequently as\nyou please, without endangering any remarks, even though you should\nstay with us three or four nights at a time.'\nNatura was so ravished at this proposal, and the kind, almost fond\nmanner, in which it was made, that he catched hold of her hand, and\nkissed it, with a vehemence not conformable to a Platonic\naffection:--she seemed, however, far from being offended at his\nboldness, which had perhaps proceeded to greater lengths, had not\nElgidia at that instant come into the room.--The abbess was a little\ndisconcerted, but to conceal it as well as she could, 'sister,' said\nshe, 'I have made our guest the proposal I mentioned to you this\nmorning, and leave you to second it': with these words she withdrew.\nElgidia appeared in little less confusion than her sister had done;\nbut Natura was in infinitely more than either of them.--The sudden\nsight of her who possessed at least half of his affections, just in\nthe moment he was in a kind of rapture with another, struck him like\nthe ghost of a departed mistress; and tho' he had never made any\ndeclaration of love either to the one or the other, yet his heart\nreproached him with a secret perfidy, and he durst scarce lift his\neyes to her face, when with a timid voice he at last said, 'Madam, may\nI hope you take any interest in what your sister has been speaking\nof?'--'You may be sure I do,' replied she, 'in all that concerns the\nabbess; as to my farther sentiments on your staying or going, they can\nbe of no consequence to you.'--'How, madam!' resumed he, by this time\na little re-assured, 'of no consequence! You know nothing of my heart,\nif you know it not incapable of forming the least wish but to please\nyou.'\nHe said many other tender and gallant things to her, in order to\nengage her to add her commands to those of the abbess; but, either the\nbelief that he was wholly devoted to that lady, or the natural reserve\nof her temper, would suffer her to let him draw no more from her, than\nthat she should share in the happiness her sister proposed to herself,\nin his continuing so near them.\nBut tho' Elgidia could command her words, she could not have so much\npower over her eyes as to keep them from betraying a tenderness not\ninferior to that of her sister; and Natura had the satisfaction of\nfinding he was beloved by both these amiable women, without thinking\nhimself so far attached to either, as not to be able to break off\nwhenever he pleased.\nBut to what end tended all this gallantry! to what purpose was all\nthis waste of time, in an amour, which either had no aim in view, or\nif it had, must be such a one, as must turn to the confusion of the\npersons concerned in it!--These indeed are questions any one might\nnaturally ask, but could not have been resolved by Natura, who took a\npleasure in prosecuting the adventure, and neither examined what he\nproposed by it himself, or considered what consequences might ensue;\nand herein he but acted as most others do of his age, who rarely give\nthemselves the pains of consulting what _may_, or _will be_, when\npleased with what _is_.\nHe went to the place the abbess had directed, but imagined he should\nbe very much at a loss for amusement, being wholly a stranger to every\nbody. He would doubtless have been so, had his retreat been in any\nother country than France; but as it is the peculiar characteristic of\nthat nation to entertain at first sight with the same freedom and\ncommunicativeness of a long acquaintance, he soon found himself\nneither without company nor diversion:--whether he had an inclination\nto hunt, or dance, or play, he always met with persons ready to join\nin the party, so that the intervals he passed there, between his\nvisits to the monastery, seemed not at all tedious to him.\nThe ladies, however, were far from being forgotten by him; ten days\nhad not elapsed, before he returned to renew, or rather to improve,\nthe impression he had both given and received.--The abbess appeared\nall life and spirit at his return, but Elgidia was more melancholly\nthan when he left her; but it was a melancholly which had in it\nsomewhat of a soft languor, which was very engaging to Natura,\nespecially as he had reason to believe, by several looks and\nexpressions, which in some unguarded moments fell from her, that he\nhad the greatest interest in it.\nThe oftener he saw her, the more he was confirmed in this conjecture;\nbut as he could not be assured of it, never treated her in a manner\nwhich should give her room to guess what his thoughts were, for fear\nof meeting with a rebuff, which would have been too mortifying to his\nvanity:--but as the belief of being beloved by her, rendered her\ninsensibly more dear to him; the regards he paid her, and the sighs\nwhich frequently issued from his breast when he approached her, did\nnot escape the notice of the quick-sighted abbess; and disdaining a\ncompetitorship in a heart she thought she had wholly engrossed,\nresolved to be more plain than hitherto she had been, in order to\nbring him to declare himself.\nWith this view she led him one day into the garden, and being seated in\na close arbour, where there was no danger of being overheard,--'Natura,'\nsaid she, 'I doubt not but you may perceive, by the civilities I have\ntreated you with, that you are not indifferent to me; but as you cannot\nbe sensible to how great a degree my regard for you extends, it remains\nthat I confess to you there is but one thing wanting to compleat the\nintire conquest of my heart'; 'and that is,' continued she, fixing her\neyes intently on his face, 'that you will cease for the future to pay\nthose extraordinary assiduities to Elgidia you have lately done.'\nHow much soever Natura was transported at the beginning of this\ndiscourse, the closure of it gave him an inexpressible shock, insomuch\nthat he was wholly unable to make any reply, to testify the sense he\nhad of the obligation she conferred on him. 'I see,' said she, 'the\ntoo great influence my sister has over you leaves me no room to hope\nany thing from you:--I did not think the sacrifice I exacted from you\nso great, that the purchase of my heart would not have atoned for it;\nbut since I find it is otherwise, I repent I put you to the trial.'\nIn speaking these words she rose up, and flew out of the arbour: the\nconfusion Natura was in, prevented him from endeavouring to detain\nher; and before he could resolve with himself how to behave in so\ncritical a conjuncture, she was out of sight.--Whatever tenderness he\nhad for the other, he could not bear the thoughts of having offended\nthis lady: the confession she had just made him, seemed to deserve all\nhis gratitude; and tho' the price she demanded for her heart was too\nexcessive for him to comply with, yet he resolved to make his peace\nwith her the first time he found her alone, on the best terms he\ncould.\nThis was an opportunity, however, not so easily attained as he had\nimagined:--the abbess conceived so much spite at the little\ninclination he had testified to comply with her demand, that she kept\none or other of the nuns with her the whole remainder of that day, and\nhe could only tell her by his eyes how desirous he was of coming to an\neclaircisement.\nBut as if this was a day destined to produce nothing but extraordinary\nevents, perceiving the abbess industriously avoided speaking to him,\nhe had retired into the parlour to ruminate on the affair, when\nElgidia came in to him, and with somewhat more gaiety than she was\naccustomed to, cried, 'What, alone, Natura! but I suppose you attend\nmy sister, and I will not be any interruption'; and then turned to go\nout of the room. All the discontent he was in for the displeasure he\nfound he had given the abbess, could not keep him from getting between\nher and the door:--'I have no other way to convince you of the\ninjustice of your suspicion,' said he, 'than to detain you here; tho'\nperhaps,' added he, looking on her with an unfeigned tenderness,\n'while I am clearing myself in one article, it may not be in my power\nto prevent betraying my guilt in another, which it may be you will\nfind yet less worthy of forgiveness.'\n'I know not,' replied she, with a smile too enchanting to be resisted,\n'that I ever gave you any tokens of a rigid disposition; and besides,\nI am inclined to have so good an opinion of you, that I look on your\ngiving me any cause of offence, as one of the things out of your\npower.'\nEmboldened by these words, 'Suppose, madam,' returned he, 'I should\nconfess to you that I was indulging the most passionate tenderness for\nthe beautiful Elgidia!--that her sweet idea is always present with me,\nand that I sometimes am presuming enough to cherish the hopes of not\nbeing hated by her':--'tell me,' continued he, 'what punishment does\nthis criminal deserve?'\n'To be treated in the same manner,' answered she blushing, 'if he is\nsincere; and to be made know that he cannot have formed any designs\nupon the heart of Elgidia, which Elgidia has not equally harboured\nupon that of Natura.'--A declaration so unexpected might very well\ntransport a young man, even beyond himself, and all considerations\nwhatever:--forgetful of the respect due to her quality and virtue, and\nregardless of the place they were in, he seized her in his arms, and\nalmost smothered her with kisses, before she could disengage herself;\nat length, breaking from him, 'It is not by such testimonies as\nthese,' said she, 'that I expected you should repay the acknowledgment\nI have made; but by a full laying open your bosom, as to what passes\nin it, in regard to my sister:--I know very well she loves you, and am\napt to believe she has not been more discreet than myself in\nconcealing it from you; but am altogether at a loss as to the returns\nyou may have made her passion.'\nNatura now really loving her, hesitated not to do as she desired;\nneither making any secret of the admiration which the abbess had\nraised in him at first sight, nor the discourse she had lately\nentertained him with, and the injunction she had laid upon him.\nElgidia took this as so great a proof of his affection, that she made\nno scruple to ratify the confession she had made him by all the\nendearments that innocence would permit:--after which, they consulted\ntogether how he should behave to the abbess, whose temper being\nviolent, it was not proper to drive to extremes; and it was therefore\nagreed between them, that he should continue to treat her with a shew\nof tenderness: Elgidia even proposed, that he should renounce her, in\ncase the other continue to insist upon it; but Natura could not\nconsent his insincerity should go so far.\nThey parted, mutually content with each other; and Natura himself\nbelieved his inclinations were now fixed, by the assurance Elgidia had\ngiven him of the most true and perfect passion that ever was: but how\nlittle do we know of our own hearts at his years! the next time he saw\nthe abbess alone, he relapsed into the same fluctuating state as\nbefore, and found too much charms in the kindness she expressed for\nhim, to be able to withdraw himself intirely from her.\nThat lady, who loved to an excess, could not be any long time without\naffording him the means of reconciliation; and the next morning, as\nsoon as breakfast was over, descended alone into the garden, giving\nhim a look at the same time, which commanded him to follow:--he did\nso, and perceiving she took her way to the same arbour they had been\nin before, he went in soon after her, affecting, rather than feeling,\na timidity in approaching her. 'Well, Natura,' said she, 'have you yet\nexamined your heart sufficiently, to know whether the full possession\nof mine, can atone for your breaking with my sister';--to which he\nreplied, that as he had no engagements with Elgidia, nor had ever any\nother thoughts of her, than such as were excited by that respect due\nto her sex and rank, he was wholly ignorant in what manner it was\nexacted from him to behave:--'but,' added he, 'if vowing that from the\nfirst moment I beheld your charms, I became absolutely devoted to you,\nmay deserve any part of that affection you are pleased to flatter me\nwith, I am ready to give you all the assurances in the power of\nwords.'\nThis asseveration could not be called altogether false, because he had\nreally a latent inclination in him towards her, which all the\ntenderness he had for Elgidia could not eradicate; and this it was\nthat gave all he said such an air of sincerity as won upon the abbess,\nto believe her jealousy had misinterpreted the looks she had sometimes\nseen him give her sister, and at length made her desist from\nreproaching him on that score.\nThe tranquility of her mind being restored, she gave a loose to the\nviolence of her passion, in such caresses as might well make the\nperson who received them forgetful of all other obligations:--in these\ntransporting moments the lovely abbess had his whole soul:--he now,\nunasked, abjured not only Elgidia, but all the sex beside, and even\nwondered at himself for having ever entertained a wish beyond the\nhappiness he enjoyed at present.\nThe abbess was too well versed in the affairs of love, not to be\nhighly satisfied with the proofs he gave of his, than which, it is\ncertain, nothing for the time could be more sincere or ardent; death\nwas it to them both to put an end to this inchanting scene, but as\nthey were seen to go into the garden soon after one another, and too\nlong a stay together might occasion a suspicion of the cause, they\nwere obliged to separate, though not without a promise of meeting in\nthe same place at night, after the nuns were all retired to their\nrespective chambers.\nThe abbess passed through a back-way into the chapel, it being near\nthe time of prayers, and Natura returned by the great walk into the\noutward cloister, where Elgidia seeing him at a distance, and alone,\nwaited his coming, to know of him how he had proceeded with her\nsister.--Natura, yet full of the abbess and the favours he had\nreceived from her, would have gladly dispenced with this interview;\nbut she was too near, before he perceived her, for him to draw back\nwith decency.\nFar from suspecting any change in him, and judging of his integrity by\nher own, 'I was impatient,' said she, 'to hear the event of your\nconversation with the abbess; tell me therefore in a few words, for\nthe bell rings to chapel, whether you have succeeded so far as to\nstifle all jealousies of me?' 'Yes, madam,' replied he, recovering\nhimself as well as he could from his confusion, 'we may be easy for\nthe future, as to that particular.'--'I long for the particulars of\nyour discourse' resumed she, 'but cannot now stay to be informed; meet\nme in the garden after the sisterhood are in bed'; 'this,' continued\nshe, putting a key into his hand, 'will admit you by the gate that\nleads to the road:--do not fail to be there at nine.'--The haste she\nwas in to be gone, would not have permitted him time to make any\nanswer, if he had been provided with one, and he could only just kiss\nher hand as she turned from him.\nBut what was the dilemma he was now involved in! the hour, and place\nshe appointed, were the very same in which he was to meet the abbess!\nimpossible was it for him to gratify both, and not very easy to\ndeceive either:--he went back into the garden, ruminating what course\nhe should take in so intricate an affair; at first he thought of\nwriting a little billet, and slipping it into Elgidia's hand,\nacquainting her that the abbess had commanded him to attend her in the\ngarden at the time she mentioned, and telling her that he thought it\nnecessary to obey, to prevent all future suspicion:--but he rejected\nthis design, not only as that young lady might possibly have the\ncuriosity to conceal herself behind the arbour, and would then be a\nwitness of things it was no way proper she should be informed of, but\nalso because his heart reproached him for having already done more\nthan he could answer, and forbad him to deceive her any farther; in\nfine, that he might be guilty of perfidy to neither, he resolved to\nquit both, at least for that night, but knew not yet on what he should\ndetermine for the future.\nDivine service being over, he repaired to the parlour, where, after\nthey were sat down to dinner, he said, addressing himself to the\nabbess, that having sent his servant that morning to his lodgings, he\nhad received letters of the utmost importance, which required\nimmediate answers; and that he must be obliged for that reason to take\nhis leave; 'though with what regret,' added he, 'it is easy to\nperceive, by the long stay I always make here.'\nThe abbess insisted upon it, that he should not go;--told him he might\nwrite what he pleased there without interruption; and that his man\nmight carry his dispatches to the post: but all she urged could not\nprevail, and both that lady and her sister had the mortification to\nhear him give orders that his own horse should be got ready with all\nexpedition; as for his servant he was left behind for a few hours, on\nthe account of packing up some things he had brought him in the design\nof staying a longer time.\nIn fine, he went away, with a promise of returning in a short time.\nThe abbess was inwardly fretted at the disappointment, but imagined it\nwas only occasioned by the motive he pretended, till a young nun who\nwas her confidante in all things, and had happened to cross the\ncloyster when Natura and Elgidia were talking together before prayers,\nand had seen him kiss her hand, informed her of this passage, and\nadded, of her own conjecture, that the abrupt departure of Natura was\nowing to somewhat that lady had said to him:--there needed no more to\ninflame the passionate and jealous abbess; she doubted not of being\nbetrayed, and flew directly to her sister's chamber, accused her of\nbeing guilty of the most criminal intercourse with a stranger, and\nthreatened if she did not confess the whole truth to her, and swear\nnever to see him more, she would send an account of her behaviour to\ntheir parents, who would not fail to thrust her into a less commodious\nconvent, and compel her to take the veil directly.\nThe mild and timid disposition of Elgidia, could not sustain this\nshock; she immediately fainted away, and help being called to bring\nher to herself, in opening her bosom a paper fell out of it, which the\nabbess snatching up, ran to her chamber to examine, and found it\ncontained these words:\n  'To prevent my dear angel from being surprized at my sudden\n  departure, know that it is to avoid the abbess, who obliged me to\n  give her a promise of meeting her this night in the garden:--at my\n  next visit you shall be informed at full of all that passed\n  between us in the morning. Adieu.\nAs Natura had no opportunity to make an excuse to Elgidia, he had\nslipt this billet into her hand on taking leave; and though no more\nwas meant by it than to make her easy till his return, there was\nsufficient in the expression not only to convince the abbess that her\nsister was indeed her rival, but also to make her think herself had\nbeen the dupe to their amour.--Impossible would it be to describe the\nforce of those passions, which, in this dreadful instant, overwhelmed\nher soul; so I shall only say, it was as great as woman could sustain,\nand which the impatience of venting on their proper object, put it\ninto her head to go to him in a disguise, and upbraid his perfidy. As\nshe seldom listened to any dictates, but those of her passion, this\ndesign was no sooner formed than preparations were made for the\nexecution, nor could all her confidante urged, on the danger and\nscandal of the attempt, deter her from it.\nThere was a fellow who was frequently employed about the monastery, in\nwhom she could confide:--him she sent to a farmer, with orders to hire\nthree horses, one for herself, another for her confidante, who, in\nspite of all her apprehensions on that account, she would needs make\naccompany her, and the third for the man, who was to attend them as a\nvalet, the little road they had to travel. This fellow was directed to\nbring the horses about ten o'clock at night, at which time it would be\ndark, to the corner of a wall at the farther end of the garden, when\nshe and her companion were to mount, and away on this wild expedition.\nBut while the abbess was busy on her project, Elgidia had also\nanother, though of somewhat a less desperate kind; her sister's temper\ngave her but too much reason to believe she would revenge herself on\nher by all the ways in her power; and trembling at the thoughts of\nbeing exposed to her parents, and the censure of the world, as the\nother had threatened, which she knew no way to avoid, but by Natura\nmaking up this quarrel; and tho' she knew it could only be done by his\nrenouncing all pretensions to herself, yet she rather chose to lose\nthe man she loved, than her reputation. As she knew not whether the\nabbess would delay the gratification of her malice any longer than the\nnext morning, she resolved to send for Natura that same night, in\norder to engage him to a second reconciliation with her sister, let\nthe terms be never so cruel to herself.\nShe had no sooner laid this plot, than she ran to see if the servant\nhe had left behind was yet gone, and finding he was not, bad him wait\na little, that she might send a letter by him to his master. The\ncontents of her epistle were as follow:\n  'Something has happened, which lays me under a necessity of\n  speaking to you this night:--the only consolation I have under the\n  severest of all afflictions, is, that I did not take back the key\n  I gave you in the morning: I beg you will make use of it, and let\n  me find you in the close arbour as soon as the darkness will\n  permit your entrance unobserved:--fail not, if you have any regard\n  for the honour, the peace, and even the life of the unfortunate\nNatura had no sooner received this billet from the hands of his\nservant, than all his tenderness for the fair authoress of it revived\nin him, which, joined to his impatient curiosity for the knowledge of\nthe accident she mentioned, easily determined him to do as she\ndesired.\nHe set out at the close of day; but the moon rising immediately after,\nshone so extremely bright as proved her, no less than the sun, an\nenemy to the design he was at present engaged in; he was therefore\nobliged to wait till that planet had withdrawn her light, before he\ndurst approach the convent.\nThe abbess and her companion having dressed themselves in riding\nhabits, went at the above-mentioned hour to the gate where they\nexpected the man and horses were attending their coming; but there was\nnot the least appearance of any.--the abbess, emboldened by her\nimpatience and despair, would needs venture out some paces beyond the\ngate, to listen if she could hear any sound of what she wanted, but\nhad not long continued in that posture, before she discovered by the\ntwinkling light of the stars, two men on horseback, galloping directly\nto the place where she stood:--impossible was it for her to discern\nwhat sort of persons they were, but easy to know, as there were two\nmen, and no more than two horses, that they were not those she looked\nfor; on which she ran with all the haste she could back into the\ngarden, and clapping the gate after her, in her fright stopped not\ntill she was almost at the entrance of the cloyster:--both she and her\ncompanion were out of breath; but when they had a little recovered it,\nthe latter took the liberty of railying her on the terror she had been\nin, at the sight of two persons, who were, doubtless, only pursuing\ntheir own affairs, without any thought or notice of them:--the abbess\nacknowledged the pleasantry was just, and returned again to the gate,\nwhich having opened, they found two horses tied to a tree, at a little\ndistance from it, without any person to look after them. She imagined\nthey belonged to the farmer, but could not guess wherefore there was\nnot a third, or how it happened that the man was not with them.--The\ntwo lady-adventurers waited in hopes of seeing their attendant with\nanother horse, till the abbess, fearing the night would be too far\nspent for the execution of her design, and grown quite wild with rage\nand vexation, resolved to go without a guide; and accordingly she, and\nthe young nun that was with her, mounted the horses they found there,\nand rode away.\nLittle did this distracted woman imagine to whom she was indebted for\nthe means of conveying herself where she wished to be; for in effect\nthese horses were Natura's, and it was no other than himself, attended\nby his man, who had put her into that fright, which occasioned her\nrunning so far back into the garden, as gave him time to enter,\nwithout being either seen or heard by her:--he was no sooner within\nthe gate, than his servant tied the horses to a tree, as has been\nrelated, and retired to a more convenient place, either to lye down to\nsleep, or on some other occasion.--Thus did an accident which had like\nto have broken all Elgidia's measures, turn wholly to the advantage of\nthem, and she found as much satisfaction, as a person in her situation\ncould possibly take, in finding Natura so punctual to the summons she\nhad sent:\nIt was with a flood of tears she related to him all that had passed\nbetween the furious abbess and herself after his departure, and\nconcluded her discourse with beseeching him to see her in the morning,\nand omit nothing that might pacify her, 'even,' said she, 'to forswear\never speaking to me more.'\nNatura was touched to the very soul at the grief he saw her in, and\nequally with the tender consideration she had for him; and now more\ndevoted to her than ever, would have done any thing to prove the\nsincerity of his passion, but that which she demanded of him:--it was\nin vain she urged the impossibility of keeping a correspondence\ntogether under the same roof with a rival who had all the power in her\nown hands; or that she represented how much better it would be for\nboth to break off so dangerous an intercourse of themselves, before\nthe rage of the abbess should put her upon doing it, in a manner which\nmight involve them all in destruction:--all the arguments she made use\nof, only served to render him more amorous, and consequently less able\nto part with her.--The difference he found between these two sisters;\nthe outrageous temper of the one, compared with the prudence,\nsweetness, and gentleness of the other, rendered the comparison almost\nodious to him; and as he could not but acknowledge the impractibility\nof maintaining a conversation with the latter, without the\nparticipation of the former; nor though he should even consent to\ndivide himself between them, would either of them be content, he told\nElgidia, that the only way to solve these difficulties, was, for her\nto fly from the monastery, and be the partner of his fortune, as she\nwas the mistress of his heart.\nSuch a proposition made her start!--to abandon all her friends, and\nput herself wholly in the power of a stranger, of whose fortune,\nfamily, or fidelity, she could not be assured, gave her very just\nalarms; but whatever was her reluctance at the first mention of such\nan enterprize, the extreme passion she had for him, rendered all her\napprehensions, by degrees, less formidable:--he told her he had no\nother wishes, than such as were dictated by honour;--that he would\nmarry her as soon as they should arrive at a place where the ceremony\ncould be performed with safety:--that he was heir to a considerable\nestate after his father's death, that on his return to England he\nshould have a handsome settlement out of it, and that his present\nallowance was sufficient to keep them above want.--People easily\nbelieve what they wish, especially from the mouth of a beloved\nperson.--Natura indeed had uttered no untruths as to his\ncircumstances, but as to the main point, his marrying her, it is\nimpossible to judge whether in that he was sincere, because he knew\nnot himself whether he was so, tho' in the vehemence of his present\ninclinations he might imagine he did so, and at that time really meant\nas he said.\nBe that as it may, Elgidia suffered herself to be won by his\nperswasions; and being so, the present opportunity was not to be\nlost.--He had horses at the gate, could conduct her, he said, where\nshe might be concealed till they got quite out of the reach of her\nkindred, and failed not to remonstrate, that if she delayed, but even\ntill the next morning, not only the jealousy of the abbess, but a\nthousand other accidents, might separate them for ever.\nAs the lovers past their time in this manner, the distracted abbess\nwas prosecuting her journey, in quest of him she had left behind: as\nthe way she had to go was so short, there was no great danger of any\nmischief attending it, neither did any happen; but how great was her\nconfusion! when arriving at the house where Natura lodged, she was\ntold he went out in the evening, on the receipt of a billet brought\nhim by his servant.--This disappointment destroyed all the remains of\ntemperance had been left in her; she presently guessed the billet came\nfrom no other than Elgidia, doubted not but they were together, and\nfigured in her mind a scene of tenderness between them so cruel to her\nimagination, that frenzy itself scarce exceeded what she endured:--she\nrode back with even more precipitation than she had set out, and being\nalighted at the gate thro' the great walk, supposing Elgidia had\nbrought him into her chamber, where, if she found them, thought of\nnothing, but sacrificing one or both of them to her resentment.\nIn this situation of mind, it cannot be imagined she had any thought\nabout the horses; but her companion having more the power of\nreflection, and judging them to be the farmer's, thought it best to\ntye them to a tree within the garden, that so they might be secured,\nand sent to him in the morning; which having done, and shut the gate,\nshe was going to follow the abbess, when she met her coming back:--'I\nhave considered,' said she, 'that my perfidious sister would rather\nchuse the close arbour for her rendezvous, than her own chamber, where\nthere would be more danger of being overheard by the nuns who lie near\nher;--go you therefore,' continued she, 'and wait me in my apartment,\nwhile I search the garden.'\nThe nun obeyed, glad to be eased of this nocturnal attendance, and the\nabbess drew near, as softly as she could, to the arbour; and standing\nbehind the covert of the greens of which it was composed, heard the\nconsent Elgidia gave to accompany Natura, and saw her quit him, with a\npromise of returning, as soon as she had put on a habit somewhat more\nproper for travelling.\nHad she followed the first dictates of her passion in this stabbing\ncircumstance, she had either pursued her sister, and inflicted on her\nall that vindictive malice could suggest, or run into the arbour, and\ndischarged some part of her fury on Natura:--each alike shared her\nresentment, but divided between both, lost its effects on either:--a\nrevenge more pleasing, and less unbecoming of a female mind, at length\ngot the better of those furious resolves;--she thought, that as every\nthing favoured such a design, and she was equipped for the purpose, to\ntake the place of her sister, would afford her an exquisite triumph\nover the disappointment she should occasion them: accordingly, after\nstaying long enough to encourage the deception, she came round the\narbour, and entered at the passage by which Elgidia had gone\nout:--Natura, not doubting but it was his beloved, took her in his\narms, saying, 'How transporting is the expedition you have made in\nyour return; and indeed we had need of it, for the night is far\nexhausted, and it is necessary you should be out of this part of the\ncountry before day-break.'\nThe abbess answered not to what he said, but gave him her hand; on\nwhich he led her towards the gate, entertaining her with the most\nendearing expressions as they walked, to all which she was still dumb.\nNatura was not surprized at it, as imagining she was too much\nengrossed by the thoughts of what she was about to do, to be able to\nspeak:--but how great was his mortification, when having opened the\ngate, he found his servant, who having missed the horses, was just\ncome back from a fruitless search of them.--He drew his sword, and had\nnot the fellow stept nimbly aside, had certainly killed him:--while he\nwas venting his passion in the severest terms, the abbess shut the\ngate upon him, and locked it with her own key, which, leaving in the\nlock, the one he had made use of, could now be of no service.--A\ncaprice he had so little reason to expect in Elgidia, might very well\nsurprize him, especially at a time when both had so much cause to be\nmore grave!--he called to her, he complained, he even reproached the\nunkindness, and ill-manners of this treatment, while the abbess\nindulged on the other side the most spiteful pleasure in his vexation.\nShe left him railing at fate and womankind, without convincing him of\nhis error, when as she was going to the monastery, she met Elgidia\njust coming out, and directing her steps towards the arbour:--they\nwere in the same path, and facing each other:--Elgidia, full of the\nfears which usually attend actions of the nature she was about to do,\nno sooner perceived the form of a woman, and habited in the same\nmanner as herself, than she took it for a spirit; and terrified almost\nto death, cried out, 'a ghost! a ghost!' and ran, shrieking, with all\nher force to the cloyster, resolved, as much as it then was in her\npower to resolve on any thing, to desist from her enterprise.--She\nmade no stop, till she got into her chamber, where she threw herself\non the bed, in a condition not to be described.\nThe abbess was so well satisfied with the success of this last\nstratagem, that it greatly abated the thoughts of taking any further\nrevenge:--she went laughing to her confidante, and told her the whole\nstory, who congratulated her upon it, and said, that in her opinion,\nshe might take it as a peculiar providence of Heaven, that had\ndisappointed her first design, which could only have increased her\nconfusion, and probably brought a lasting scandal on the order. The\nabbess wanted not reason, when her passion would permit her to exert\nit, and could not help confessing the truth of what the other\nremonstrated:--she now easily saw they were Natura's horses they had\nmade use of, but how it came to pass that those she had bespoke, or\nthe man she had ordered to bring them, happened to fail, remained a\npoint yet to be discussed:--the morning, however, cleared it up;--the\nfellow acquainted her, that the farmer had no horses at home, and that\nas he was coming to let her know it, he saw two men at the gate, one\nof whom entered, so that he imagined she had provided herself\nelsewhere:--she then bad him turn out Natura's horses, which the nun\nhaving said how she had disposed of them, not thinking herself obliged\nto take any care of what belonged to a man, who had treated her with\nso much ingratitude.\nNatura was all this time in the utmost perplexity, not only at the\nusage he imagined had been given him by Elgidia, but also for the loss\nof his horses; and at being told when he came home, that two women, in\nriding habits, well mounted, but without any attendants, had been to\nenquire for him:--all these things, the meaning of any one of which he\nwas not able to fathom, so filled his head, that he could not take any\nrepose:--pretty early in the morning, a letter was brought him from\nElgidia, which he hastily opened, but found nothing in it, but what\nserved to heighten his amazement and discontent.\nShe told him that she could not dispense with letting him know the\noccasion of her breach of promise; that intending nothing more than to\nperform it, she was hastening to the arbour, when, in the middle of\nthe garden, she was met by an apparition, which, as near as she could\ndiscern, had the resemblance of herself;--that the terror she was in\nhad obliged her to retire; and that as she could look on what she had\nseen, as no other than a warning from Heaven, she had determined to\nuse her utmost endeavours for extinguishing a passion obnoxious to its\nwill; to which end she desired he would make no farther attempts to\nengage her to an act so contrary to her duty, or even ever to see her\nmore.\nNatura had so little notion of spirits and ghosts, that at first he\ntook this story only as a pretence, to cover a levity he had not\nsuspected her to be guilty of; but when he reflected on the silence of\nthe person he had taken for her, and the description of those who had\nbeen to enquire for him, he began to imagine, as he had not the least\nthought of the abbess, that something supernatural had indeed walked\nthe garden that night, and had also been at his own lodgings in order\nto perplex him more:--a thousand little tales he had been told in his\ninfancy, concerning the tricks played on mortals by those shadowy\nbeings, now came fresh into his mind; and as the belief of what\nElgidia had wrote gained ground in him, was not far from being of her\nopinion, that it was a warning from Providence, and to repent of\nhaving attempted to snatch from the altar a woman devoted to it.\nIt is doubtless accidents such as this, that have given rise to so\nmany stories of apparitions, as have been propagated in the world; and\nhad not Natura been afterwards informed of the whole truth, it is\nlikely he would have been as great a defender of these ideas, as any\nwho are accounted superstitious:--but however that might have been, it\nwrought so strongly on his mind at present, that joined with the\nconsiderations of those perpetual perplexities which must infallibly\nattend an ecclesiastical intrigue; besides, those which the abbess\nwould involve him in, made him resolve to obey Elgidia's commands, and\npursue the matter no farther, but go directly to the baron d' Eyrac's,\nwho he heard was still at his country-house.\nThe loss of his horses, however, very much vexed him; he bought them,\nbecause he preferred that way of travelling to a post-chaise: they had\ncost him forty louis d'ores in Paris, and knew not whether the country\nhe was in would afford him any so fit for his purpose:--he was just\nsending his man to enquire where others were to be had, when his own\nwere at the door, without the least damage done either to themselves\nor saddles:--the farmer who had the care of them while he was at the\nmonastery, found them wandering in the field, and easily knowing to\nwhom they belonged, brought them home.\nThis was some consolation to him for the loss of his mistresses; and\nhe began to resolve seriously on his departure; but thinking it would\nbe the highest ungenerosity to quit the convent, without acknowledging\nthe favours he had received there, he wrote a letter to the abbess,\nfull of gratitude and civility, telling her, that tho' the necessity\nof his affairs required he should take an eternal leave of that place,\nhe should always preserve the memory of those honours he had received\nin it.--To Elgidia he wrote in much the same strain she had done to\nhim, and concluded with desiring her to believe it was to Heaven alone\nhe could resign her. Those letters he sent by his man, and ordered him\nto leave them with the portress, to avoid any answers which might have\ndrawn him into a longer correspondence than he desired, or perhaps\neven have occasioned a revival of those inclinations in him, which he\nwas now convinced of the folly and danger of.\nThis was the first proof he gave of a firmness of resolution, and was\nindeed as great a one as could have been expected from a man of the\nage he was:--it must be owned, that at that time love is the strongest\npassion of the soul, and as neither Elgidia nor the abbess wanted\ncharms to inspire it, and he had been but too sensible of the force of\nboth, to be able, I say, to tear himself away in the manner he now\ndid, was a piece of heroism, which I with every one in the like\ncircumstance may have power to imitate.\nHe hired another horse and guide, that he might not lose his way a\nsecond time, and departed the same day for the baron's, where he was\nreceived by that young nobleman with the utmost kindness as well as\npoliteness, and found so much in his conversation, and those who came\nto visit him, and the continual amusements of that place, as made him\nsoon forget all he had partook in the monastery:--he remained there\nwhile the baron stayed, and then came with him to Paris.\nOn his return he frequented the same company, and pursued the same\npleasures he had done before; but as nothing extraordinary befel him,\nI shall not enter into particulars, my design being only to relate\nsuch adventures as gave an opportunity for the passions to exert\nthemselves in influencing the conduct of his life.\nCHAP. II.\n  The pleasures of travelling described, and the improvement a\n  sensible mind may receive from it: with some hints to the\n  censorious, not to be too severe on errors, the circumstances of\n  which they are ignorant of, occasioned by a remarkable instance of\n  an involuntary slip of nature.\nOf all the countries Natura intended to see, Italy was that of which\nhe had entertained the most favourable idea:--his curiosity led him to\nconvince himself whether it really deserved to be intitled _the garden\nof the world_; and therefore it was thither he resolved to make his\nnext progress.--Being told that in so long a journey he would find an\nexcessive expence, as well as incommodity, in travelling on horseback,\nby reason he must be obliged to hire a guide from one place to\nanother, he sold his horses, and after having hired a post-chaise,\ntook leave of his acquaintance, and of a place where he had enjoyed\nall the pleasures agreeable to a youthful taste.\nHe went by the way of Burgundy, and passing through Dijon proceeded to\nLyons, where the sight of the ruins of some Roman palaces yet\nremaining there, the fine churches, and beautiful prospect that city\naffords, being situated at the confluence of the rivers Rhone and\nSoane, tempted him to stay some days.--He was one evening sitting with\nhis landlord in the inn-yard, when a post-chaise came in, out of which\nalighted a gentleman and a lady, just by the place where they\nwere.--The man got up with all the obsequiousness of persons of his\ncalling, to bid them welcome, and shew them into a room:--the lady, in\npassing, looked earnestly at Natura, and his eyes were no less\nattached on her: he thought he saw in her face features he was\nperfectly acquainted with, but could not, at that instant, recollect\nwhere he had been so. Not so with her, she easily remembered him, and\nin less than half an hour he received an invitation by his name from\nthese new guests to sup with them, which he accepted of with great\npoliteness, but said at the same time, he could not imagine to whom he\nwas obliged for that honour.--On his coming into the room, 'Difference\nof habit,' said the lady, smiling, 'joined with the little probability\nthere was of meeting me in this place, may well disguise me from your\nknowledge; but these impediments to remembrance, are not on your\naccount; monsieur Natura is the same in person at Lyons, as at the\nconvent of Riche Dames, though perhaps,' added she, 'somewhat changed\nin mind.' There needed no more to make him know she was one of the two\nnuns who always dined, when he was there, with the abbess, and was her\nparticular confidante.--'By what miracle, madam, are you here?' cried\nhe: 'by such another,' answered she, 'as might have brought Elgidia\nhere, had not an unlucky spirit put other thoughts into her head.'\nShe then proceeded to inform him, that loving, and being equally\nbeloved by the gentleman who was with her, she had made her escape\nwith him from the monastery, and was going with him into one of the\nProtestant cantons of Switzerland, of which he was a native, and where\nthey were certain of being safe from any prosecutions, either from her\nkindred, or the church.\nNatura, after having made his compliments to the gentleman on the\noccasion, enquired of her concerning the abbess and Elgidia; on which\nshe informed him of all the particulars related in the preceding\nchapter; adding, that after the receipt of the two letters he had\nsent, the sisters came to a mutual understanding, each confessed her\nfoible to the other, and the cause of their quarrel being for ever\nremoved, a sincere reconciliation between them ensued.\nAs gratitude is natural to the soul, and never is erased but by the\nworst passions that can obtrude upon the human mind, Natura had enough\nfor these ladies to make him extremely glad no worse consequences had\nattended their acquaintance with him, but was extremely merry, as they\nwere all indeed, at the story of the supposed spirit:--they passed the\nbest part of the night together in very entertaining discourses, and\nthe next day the two lovers proceeded on their journey to Switzerland,\nas Natura the following one did his to Avignon.\nHere again he halted for some time, to feast his eyes, and give\nsubject for future contemplation, on the magnificent buildings, fine\ngardens, churches, and other curiosities, which he was told of, gave\nhim a sample, tho' infinitely short, of what he would find in\nRome;--the grandeur in which the nobility lived, the elegance and\npoliteness in the houses of even the lowest rank of gentry, and the\nmasquerades, balls, and other public diversions, which every night\nafforded, made him already see that neither the pleasures, nor the\ndelicacies of life were confined to Paris.\nThe desire of novelty is inherent to a youthful heart, and nothing so\nmuch gratifies that passion as travelling:--variety succeeds\nvariety;--whether you climb the craggy mountains, or traverse the\nflowery vale;--whether thick woods set limits to the light, or the\nwide common yields unbounded prospect;--whether the ocean rolls in\nsolemn state before you, or gentle streams run purling by your side,\nnature in all her different shapes delights; each progressive day\nbrings with it fresh matter to admire, and every stage you come to\npresents at night customs and manners new and unknown before.\nThe stupendous mountains of the Alps, after the plains and soft\nembowered recesses of Avignon, gave perhaps a no less grateful\nsensation to the mind of Natura: he wanted indeed such a companion as\ndeath had deprived him of in his good governor, to instruct him how to\nimprove contemplation, and to moralize on the amazing and different\nobjects he beheld; yet as his thoughts were now wholly at liberty, and\nhis reason unclouded by any passions of what kind soever, he did not\nfail to make reflections suitable to the different occasions.\nWhoever has seen Rome will acknowledge he must find sufficient there\nto exercise all his faculties; but though the architecture, and the\npaintings which ornament that august city might have engrossed his\nwhole attention, the many venerable reliques which were shewn him of\nold Rome, appeared yet more lovely in his eyes; which shews the charms\nantiquity has for persons even of the most gay dispositions: but this,\naccording to my opinion, is greatly owing to the prejudice of\neducation, which forces us as it were to an admiration of the\nantients, meerly because they are so, and not that they are in any\nessential respect always deserving that vast preference given them\nover the moderns:--this may be easily proved by the exorbitant prices\nsome of our virtuoso's give for pieces of old copper, which are\nreckoned the most valuable, as the inscriptions or figures on them are\nleast legible.\nNatura, however, was not so absorbed in his admiration of the ruined\ncorner of a bath, or the half-demolished portico of an amphitheatre,\nas to neglect those entertainments which more affect the senses, and\nconsequently give the most natural delight;--the exquisite music\nperformed at the churches, carried him there much oftener than\ndevotion would have done, and rarely did he fail the opera at night.\nAs the Romans are allowed to be the best bred people upon earth,\nespecially to strangers, be they of what country or perswasion soever,\nneither the being an Englishman or a Protestant hindered him from\nmaking very good acquaintance, and receiving the greatest civilities\nfrom them; but the person to whom he was most obliged, and who indeed\nhad taken a particular fancy to him, was the younger son of the family\nof Caranna: this nobleman, knowing his taste for music, would\nfrequently take him with him to his box at the opera-house, most\npersons of condition having little closets or boxes to themselves, of\nwhich every one keeps his own key, and none can be admitted but by\nit:--nothing can be more indulging, as there are curtains to draw\nbefore them, and the seats are made in such a manner that the person\nmay lie down at his ease.\nThe signior of Caranna being otherwise engaged one night, when a\ncelebrated piece was to be performed, he lent his key to Natura,\nunknowing that his wife, who had also one, had made a compliment of\nher's to a young lady of her acquaintance.\nNatura by some accident being delayed from going till after the opera\nbegan, on entering was surprized to find a very beautiful young person\nthere, stretched on the sopha:--as he had been told the box would be\nintirely empty, he knew not whether he ought to retire or go forward\nand seat himself by her:--this consideration kept him some minutes in\nthe posture he was in, and perceiving she was too much taken up with\nthe music, either to have heard him open the door, or see him after he\ncame in, he had the opportunity of feasting his eyes, with gazing on\nthe thousand charms she was mistress of; all which were displayed to a\ngreat advantage by the shadowy light which gleamed from the stage\nthro' a thin crimson taffety curtain, which she had drawn before her,\nto the end she might neither be seen by others, nor see any thing\nherself which might take off her attention from the music.\nIn fine, he drew near, and had placed himself close by her before she\nobserved him; but no sooner did so, than she started, and appeared in\nsome confusion: he made a handsome apology for the intrusion, which he\nassured her, with a great deal of truth, was wholly owing to chance,\nand said he would withdraw, if his presence would be any interruption\nto the pleasure she proposed:--she seemed obliged to him for the\noffer, but told him she would not abuse the proof he gave of his\ncomplaisance by accepting it; on which he bowed, and continued in his\nplace.\nBoth the music, and the words, seemed intended to lull the soul into a\nforgetfulness of all beside, and fill it only with soft ideas:--it had\nat least this effect upon the lady, who had closed her eyes, and was\nin reality lost to every other sense than that of hearing.--Natura,\neither was, or pretended to be, equally transported, and sunk\ninsensibly upon her bosom, without any opposition on her part:--she\nhad possibly even forgot she was not alone, and when an air full of\nthe most inchanting tenderness was singing, was so much dissolved in\nextasy, that crying out, 'O God, 'tis insupportable!' she threw her\narms over Natura's neck, who was still in the same posture I just\nmentioned;--he spoke not a word, but was not so absorbed in the\ngratification of one faculty, as to let slip the gratification of the\nothers:--he seized the lucky moment;--he pressed her close, and in\nthis trance of thought, this total absence of mind, stole himself, as\nit were, into the possession of a bliss, which the assiduity of whole\nyears would perhaps never have been able to obtain.\nReason and thought at last returned; she opened her eyes, she knew to\nwhat the rapture she had been in had exposed her, and was struck with\nthe most poignant shame and horror:--she broke with all her force from\nthat strict embrace in which he had continued to hold her; and being\nwithdrawn to the farther corner of the closet,--'What have I done,'\ncried she, 'What have I done!'--these words she repeated several\ntimes, and accompanied them with tears, wringing her hands, and every\ntestimony of remorse.--It was in vain for him to attempt to pacify\nher, much less to prevail on her to suffer any second proofs of his\ntenderness;--she would not even give him leave to touch her hand, and\non his offering it, pushed him back, saying, 'No, stranger! you have\ntaken the advantage of my _insensibility_ but shall never triumph over\nmy _reason_, which enables me to hate you,--to fly from you for ever,\nas from a serpent.'\nNatura said every thing that love and wit could inspire, to reconcile\nher to what had past; but she remained inflexible, and only\ncondescended to request him to leave the place before the opera was\nended, that they might not be seen coming out together, and that he\nwould tell signior Carrana, that having unexpectedly found a lady in\nthe box, he had withdrawn without entering.--He then begged she would\nentertain a more favourable opinion of an action, which her beauty,\nthe bewitching softness of the entertainment, and the place they were\nin, had all concurred to make him guilty of; but she would listen to\nnothing on that head, insisted on his never taking the least notice of\nher, wherever they might chance to meet; and only told him, that tho'\nshe was unalterably fixed in this resolution, yet he might depend upon\nit she hated him less than she did herself.\nFinding she was not to be moved, he obeyed her commands, and straight\nwent out of the box, more amazed at the oddness of the adventure, than\ncan be well expressed; and yet more so, when he afterwards heard she\nwas the wife of a person of great condition, was in the first month of\nher marriage with him, and had the reputation of a woman of strict\nvirtue.\nAs this false step was meerly accidental, wholly unpremeditated on\neither side, and by what can be judged by the character of the lady,\nand her behaviour afterwards, was no more on her part than a surprize\non the senses, in which the mind was not consulted, and had not the\nleast share, I know not whether it may not more justly be called a\nslip of unguarded nature, than a real crime in her; and as for Natura,\nthough certainly the most guilty of the two, whoever considers his\nyouth, his constitution, and above all the greatness of the\ntemptation, which presented itself before him, will allow, that he\nmust either have been _more_, or _less_, than _man_, to have behaved\notherwise than he did.\nLet the most severely virtuous, who happily have never fallen into the\nsame error, but figure to themselves the circumstances of this\ntransgressing pair, and well consider in what manner nature must\noperate, when thus powerfully excited, and if they are not rendered\ntotally incapable of any soft sensations, by an uncommon frigidity of\nconstitution, they will cease either to wonder at, or too cruelly\ncondemn, the effects of so irresistible an impulse.\nWere it not for the precepts of religion and morality, the fears of\nscandal, and shame of offending against law and custom, man would\nundoubtedly think himself intitled to the same privileges which the\nbrute creation in this point enjoy above him; and it is not therefore\nstrange, that whenever reason nods, as it sometimes will do, even in\nthose who are most careful to preserve themselves under its\nsubjection, that the senses ever craving, ever impatient for\ngratification, should readily snatch the opportunity of indulging\nthemselves, and which it is observable they ordinarily do to the\ngreater excess, by so much the longer, and the more strictly they have\nbeen kept under restraint.\nCHAP. III.\n  The uncertainty of human events displayed in many surprizing turns\n  of fortune, which befel Natura, on his endeavouring to settle\n  himself in the world: with some proofs of the necessity of\n  fortitude, as it may happen that actions, excited by the greatest\n  virtue, may prove the source of evil, both to ourselves and others.\nNatura stayed but six months in Rome, and then passed on to Florence,\nwhere having seen all the curiosities that place afforded, he only\nwaited to receive some remittances from his father, after which he\nintended to cross the Appenines to Bolognio, then proceed to Venice,\nand so through the Tirolose to Vienna, and flattered himself with\nhaving time enough to visit all the different courts which compose the\nmighty empire of Germany.\nThese remittances were delayed much longer than he had expected, and\nwhen they arrived, were accompanied by a positive command from his\nfather to put an end to his travels, and return to England with all\nthe expedition he could.--His surprize at so unlooked for an order,\nwould have been equal to the mortification it gave him, if he had not\nreceived a letter from his sister at the same time, which informed\nhim, that his being so suddenly recalled was wholly owing to the\nmisfortunes in which their family was at present involved:--that soon\nafter his departure, their father had discovered an intercourse\nbetween his wife and a person who pretended to be a relation, no way\nto the honour of either of them;--that frequent quarrels had at length\nseparated them;--that he was engaged in a law-suit with her, and also\nin several others, with people to whom she, in revenge, as it was\nsupposed, had given bonds, dated before marriage, for very great sums\nof money, pretended to have been borrowed of them by her;--that tho'\nthe imposition was too gross not to be easily seen through, yet the\nforms of the courts of judicature could not be dispensed with, and the\ncontinual demands made upon him had laid him under such\ninconveniencies as obliged him even to lessen the number of his\nservants, and retrench his table:--she added, that he spoke of his\ndear Natura with the utmost tenderness, and was under a very great\nconcern that the necessity of his affairs would not permit to send him\nany more such supplies as were requisite for the prosecution of his\ntravels.\nNatura at first felt a very great shock at this account; but it is the\npeculiar blessing of youth, not to be for any length of time affected\nwith misfortunes; his melancholly soon dissipated, and he thought of\nnothing more than compliance with the command he had received, and\nalso to perform it in the cheapest manner he could.--On speaking of\nhis intentions of returning home, he was advised to go to Leghorn,\nwhich being a very great port, it would be no difficulty to find a\nship bound for Holland or England, in which he might take his passage\nat an easy rate. He had certainly taken this method, but meeting with\nan English gentleman, who was on his travels, and had not yet been at\nRome, was perswaded by him to go back, on his offering to bear the\nwhole expences of that route, for the pleasure of his company.--After\na stay of two or three months there, they pursued their journey to\nParis, where Natura renewed all the former acquaintance he had\nthere:--the baron d' Eyrac, with whom he had contracted an intimate\nfriendship, and from whom he concealed nothing of his affairs, was\nextremely concerned to hear the occasion of his being recalled so much\nsooner than he had expected, and made him an offer which suited very\nwell with Natura's inclination to accept: it was this.\nThat an old officer in the army having obtained leave to dispose of\nhis commission, Natura should become the purchaser; and to enable him\nto do so, the baron would advance a sum of money, to be returned at\nseveral easy payments, as he received the profits arising from his\ntroop.\nLove and gallantry had already had their turns with Natura; ambition,\nand the pride of being in an independent state, began now to work in\nhim:--as France was in alliance with England, there was neither shame\nnor danger in entering into her service:--besides, he considered, that\nas his father was no longer in a condition to supply him with money\nabroad, he could not expect any settlement to be made on him at home\nthat would be answerable to his former expectations;--and that by a\ncaptain's pay, joined to some assistance he might hope to receive\nsometimes from England, he should be enabled to make a very good\nfigure in the world, till the misfortunes of his family should be\nretrieved, and if they never were so, he should at least have a\nprovision for life, in a country he was not weary of.\nHe therefore made no hesitation of accepting this proof of the baron's\nfriendship, who immediately went about making good his promise; and\nwhat with his money, and the great interest he had, both with the\ncourt and army, Natura was dispensed with, for not having been in the\nservice before; and in a very few days saw himself at the head of a\ntroop of horse.\nHis father, to whom he wrote an account of the step he had taken, with\nhis motives for it, was far from being offended at it; tho' he told\nhim it added to his trouble, to think his eldest son should be\ncompelled, by his having entered into a second marriage, to have\nrecourse to any avocation whatever for bread; but concluded with\ntelling him, that in the severe necessity of their present\ncircumstances, he could not have pitched on any thing more agreeable\nto his inclinations, or more honourable in itself.\nThis letter served to compose all the disquiets Natura had of\ndisobliging a parent, for whom he retained the most tender, as well as\ndutiful regard, ever since the kind forgiveness be received from him\nat Wapping, which shews the great effect of lenity over a mind, where\ngratitude and generosity are not wholly extinguished; which, as I\nbefore observed, they never are, but by a long habitude of vice.\nHe was now as happy as he had any need to wish to be, enjoying all the\npleasures of life in a reasonable way, and rarely transgressing the\nbounds of moderation; and when at any time, through the prevalence of\nexample, or the force of his own passions, he was hurried to some\nlittle excesses, they were never such as could incur the censure of\ndishonourable or mean. He was punctual to his payments with the baron,\nand had the satisfaction of seeing himself intirely out of debt at\nthree years end; which manner of behaviour so endeared him to that\ngentleman, that few friendships are to be found more sincere, than\nthat which subsisted between them.\nBut as good sometimes arises out of evil, so what is in itself a real\nhappiness, is not always without consequences altogether the reverse;\nas it proved to Natura, who from the most contented situation, all\nowing to the baron's friendship, was, on a sudden, by that very\nfriendship, thrown into one of the greatest trouble and danger.\nOne morning, as he was dressing, the baron entered his chamber, with a\ncountenance which before he spoke, denoted he had somewhat of\nimportance to communicate:--Natura easily perceived it, and to put him\nout of pain, ordered his valet to leave the room; on which the other\nimmediately told him, he was come to desire a proof of that sincere\ngood-will he had professed for him.--'I should,' replied he, 'be the\nmost unworthy of mankind, if I had not in reality much more than is in\nthe power of words to express, and not look on an opportunity given by\nyou of testifying it, equal to any favour you have bestowed on me.'\nThe baron was at present in too much agitation of spirit to answer\nthis compliment as he would have done at another time; and made haste\nto inform him, that the countess d' Ermand, who on some\nmisunderstanding with her husband, had been confined in a monastery\nfor several months, without any hopes of obtaining her release, had\nfound means to convey a letter to him, earnestly requesting he would\nassist her in her escape:--'she has acquainted me,' continued he,\n'with the plot she has laid;--there is nothing impracticable in it;\nbut I cannot do what she desires without the help of some trusty\nfriend, and it is you alone I dare rely upon, in a business, which, if\nnot carefully concealed, as well as resolutely acted, may be of very\nill consequence.'\nNatura did not greatly relish this piece of knight-errantry; but as he\nthought he ought to refuse nothing to the baron, hesitated not to\nassure him of the most ready compliance; on which the other told him,\nhe must get two or three of his soldiers, who, disguised like\npeasants, but well mounted, and their swords concealed under their\ncloaths, must attend the expedition, and be at hand in case they\nshould meet with any resistance, which, however, he said he did not\napprehend, it being but ten small miles to the monastery, the road but\nlittle frequented, and the time agreed upon for the execution of the\nproject twelve at night; so there was no great danger of any\ninterruption, unless some unfortunate accident should happen.--'The\nlady,' continued he, 'informs me she has observed the place where the\nportress constantly hangs up the key of the outer gate every night,\nand when the nuns are gone into the chapel to their midnight\ndevotions, can easily slip out:--we have only therefore to be there\nexactly at the time, and be ready to receive her; and as for the rest,\nI have already provided a place where she may remain undiscovered,\ntill something can be done for her.'\nThe baron added many things concerning the ill treatment she had\nreceived; but Natura did not give himself any trouble to examine into\nthe merits of the cause, it was sufficient for him to do what he\nrequested of him; and that night being the same had been appointed by\nthe lady for the business to be done, he went immediately about\npreparing for it.\nAccordingly, he selected from out of his troop three who seemed most\nproper to be employed in such an enterprize, and after having sworn\nthem to secrecy in whatever they saw, or should happen, though without\nacquainting them with the main of the affair, or mentioning the baron\nd' Eyrac, told them in what manner they were to disguise themselves,\nand ordered they should attend him at the Fauxbourg, a little after\nten o'clock the same night.\nRejoiced at an opportunity of obliging their officer, especially as\nthey doubted not of being well gratified, each gave a thousand oaths\ninstead of the one required of him, to be both punctual and faithful\nin the discharge of the trust reposed in him.\nIn fine, all was conducted with a care and caution becoming of the\ngratitude and esteem Natura had for the baron, and as if he had\nhimself approved of this undertaking, which, as I before observed, he\ncould not do in his heart.\nThe two gentlemen, muffled up in their cloaks and vizarded, repaired\nto the Fauxbourg, at the appointed time, where they found the soldiers\non the post allotted for them by their officer; on which they all rode\noff together, and arrived before the walls of the monastery some few\nminutes before twelve, at which hour precisely the gate was opened,\nand a woman appeared at it.--To prevent the loss of time, it had been\nconcluded, that the baron should not dismount, but Natura perform the\noffice of an equerry, in placing her behind him: just as he had\nalighted, and taken her in his arms, in order to perform that office,\na great noise was heard; and in an instant, our adventurers found\nthemselves surrounded by more than a dozen armed men, who rushed upon\nthem from the covert of a wood:--the lady shrieked, and ran back into\nthe convent, on Natura's letting her go, in order to draw his sword\nagainst these antagonists, who seemed resolute, either to kill or take\nhim and his associates prisoners:--the fight was obstinate on both\nsides, tho' the baron finding his design defeated, had not entered\ninto it at first, but trusted to the goodness of his horse for his\nescape, if his consideration for Natura, who being on foot, must have\nbeen immediately seized, had not prevented him.--At length, however,\nhaving received two or three wounds, and convinced of the\nimpossibility of maintaining their ground against such an inequality\nof numbers, self-preservation prevailed; he broke thro' those that\nencompassed him, and setting spurs to his horse, had the good fortune\nto avoid the mischief which he knew must inevitably befal those he\nleft behind.\nThe three troopers gallantly defended their captain for some time, nor\nwas he idle in making those who approached him too near, feel the\nsharpness of his sword; but not being able to get on horseback, all\nhis courage, or that of his men, could not prevent him, and them, from\nbeing made prisoners. Several of the conquering party being officers\nof justice, they conducted them to Paris, where the soldiers were\ndisposed of in the common goal, but Natura who was known, was\ncommitted to the care of an exempt, who treated him with the good\nmanners his station demanded; he had received a pretty deep wound in\nthe shoulder, and a surgeon was presently sent for; but no artery nor\nsinew being touched, no ill consequence was like to attend it.\nIt may be imagined he passed the remainder of this night in a good\ndeal of disquiet, as having lived long enough in France to know that\nan attempt of the nature he had been engaged in would find little\nmercy from the law.--A good part of the next day was passed, before\nthey carried him to the magistrate, whose office it was to examine\ninto such causes, his adversaries not having prepared their\naccusation; the heads of which were, that he had attempted a rape upon\na married woman of quality; that he had contrived, with other persons,\nto take her out of the monastery, and had come with an armed force for\nthat purpose. These articles having been deposed upon oath, the\nmagistrate told him his crime was of a double nature, that he had\nviolated both the civil and ecclesiastic laws; but as his office\nextended no farther than the former, he had only to demand of him what\ndefence he had to make for himself in that part.\nNatura had no other remedy than to deny all that was laid to his\ncharge:--he protested, as he might truly do, that he was so far from\nentertaining any criminal designs on any lady in that monastery, that\nhe did not so much as know the face of any one of them; and pretended,\nthat being only riding out for the benefit of the air, he found\nhimself attacked by persons unknown, with whom he confessed he had\nfought in his own defence.\nBut this availed not at all to his justification:--his own soldiers,\nwho had been examined before himself, had confessed, that they were\ncommanded by their officer to attend him on a certain enterprize, in\nwhich they were to behave with secresy and resolution; but said, they\ndid not know of what sort it was, till they saw a woman come to the\ngate of the monastery, whom their captain presently took in his arms,\nbut with what intent they could not pretend to say.\nA letter also was produced, which madame d' Ermand had dropt, and\nwhich had occasioned this discovery of the intrigue, as it contained\nthe whole method by which she was to be taken away; and tho' there was\nno name subscribed, appearances were strong against Natura as the\nauthor, and tho' he offered to bring many witnesses to prove it was a\nhand very different from what he wrote, yet it served at least to\nprove that it was sent by some one person in the company, and that if\nhe were not the principal in this conspiracy, yet being the agent and\nabettor, as it was plain he was, by his bringing his own soldiers, he\ncould not be judged less guilty.\nAfter a long examination he was remanded to the exempt's house, till\nthe sitting of the judges, which they told him would be in eight days;\nin which interval he was allowed to prepare what defence he had to\nmake, and for that purpose advocates were allowed to come to him, but\nno other person whatever, not even his own servant, and he received\nattendance from those belonging to the exempt, who also fetched from\nhis lodgings change of apparel, and all such necessaries as he had\noccasion for; care being taken to search every thing before it came to\nhis hands, in order to prevent any letters being conveyed to him that\nway.\nIn this melancholly situation did he pass his time; but that was\nlittle in regard to his apprehensions of the future:--as his case\nstood there was little expectation of any thing less than a shameful\ndeath, perhaps ushered in by tortures worse than even that:--his\nadvocates, however, and it is likely his accusers too, were of opinion\nthat he had been in reality no more than an agent in this business,\nand therefore gave him to understand, that if he laid open the whole\ntruth, and declared the name of the person chiefly concerned, it would\ngreatly mitigate the severity of the laws in such cases; but this he\nwould by no means be prevailed upon to do, resolving rather to suffer\nevery thing they could inflict upon him, than be guilty of so mean and\ndishonourable an action as breach of trust, even to a person\nindifferent, but to a friend villainous in the most superlative\ndegree: alike unmoved by arguments, as inflexible to menaces or\nperswasions, he persisted in answering, that he was ignorant of what\nthey aimed at:--that he knew nothing of madame d' Ermand himself, was\nan intire stranger to her, and equally so to the ill designs on her\nthey mentioned, either on his own account, of that of any other\nperson.\nHe was neither so weak nor vain as to flatter himself his positiveness\nin denying what could be proved by so many witnesses, would be of any\nservice at his trial; but as it was expected he should say something\nin his defence, and could say nothing else, without giving up his\nfriend, he was determined not to depart from what he had alledged at\nfirst.\nThe count d' Ermand, who possibly had a suspicion of the truth, as it\nseems he long had entertained some jealous thoughts of the baron d'\nEyrac, who had taken all opportunities of testifying an uncommon\ngallantry to his wife, would have given almost a limb to satiate his\nrevenge against that gentleman:--the soldiers had been re-examined\nseveral times concerning that other person who was with them at the\nmonastery, and had made his escape; but as they had neither seen his\nface, nor heard his name, it was impossible for them to make any\ndiscoveries:--these poor wretches were afterwards put to the torture,\nbut that had, nor indeed could have, any other effect, than to make\nthem curse their officer, who had been the cause of their sufferings.\nIn fine, monsieur d' Ermand, and the kindred of his wife, joined with\nthe instigations of the clergy, who thought they had an equal right\nfor revenge in this point, prevailed so far upon the civil\nmagistrates, as to procure an order, that Natura should himself\nundergo the same tortures his soldiers had done, thereby to extort\nthat confession from him they could no otherwise procure:--this,\nnotwithstanding, they had the lenity to inform him of, the day before\nthat which was prefixed for the execution, thinking perhaps, that the\nmenace of what he was condemned to endure, would be sufficient: but\ntho' human nature could not but shrink under such apprehensions, yet\ndid his fortitude remain unshaken, and he thought of nothing but how\nto arm himself, so as to bear all should be inflicted on him with\ncourage.\nBut there were no more than a few hours in which he had to meditate on\nwhat he had to do, when his affairs took a very different turn, and by\nthe most unthought-of means imaginable: It was towards the close of\nday, when the wife of the exempt came into his chamber, and having\nlocked the door, 'I am come, captain,' said she, 'to offer you life,\nliberty, and what is yet more, to put it in your power to avoid those\ndreadful tortures, which are preparing for you!--what would you do to\ngratify your preserver?'--The surprize Natura was in, did not hinder\nhim from replying, that there was nothing with which he would not\npurchase such a deliverance, provided the terms were not inconsistent\nwith his honour:--'No,' resumed she, 'I know by your behaviour since\nin custody, and the resolution with which you have withstood all the\ntemptations laid before you, for the unravelling an affair, you have,\nit is the opinion of every one, been led into only by your friendship\nto some person, that you regard nothing so much as honour; what I have\nto propose will be no breach of it';--'but,' continued she, 'time is\nprecious, and opportunities of speaking to you are scarce; therefore\nknow, in a few words, that I am weary of my husband's ill usage,\ndesire nothing so much as to go where I may never see him more; and if\nyou will make me the companion of your flight, and swear to take care\nof me till I shall otherwise dispose of myself; I have disguises for\nboth of us prepared, and this night you shall be free.'\nNatura had little need to hesitate if he should accept this\nproposal:--he saw there was at least a chance for escaping the dangers\nto which he was exposed; and should the woman's plot miscarry, and he\ndetected of being an accomplice in it, his condition could not, even\nthen, be worse than it was at present; he therefore embraced her with\na fervor which she seemed very well pleased with, and assured her in\nthe most solemn manner he would return all the obligations she\nconferred on him, by such ways as should be most agreeable to her. She\nthen told him she had not slept for some time in the same bed with her\nhusband, and therefore might easily come to him again as soon as the\nfamily were gone to their respective apartments; and having said this,\nwent out of the room hastily, tho' not without returning his salute,\nand telling him he was worthy of greater risques than those she was\nabout to run.\nHe was no sooner left alone, than he began to reflect: on the\ncapriciousness of his destiny, which to preserve him from suffering\nfor a crime he was innocent of, was about to make him in reality\nguilty of one of the very same nature: it is likely, however, he was\nnot troubled with many scruples on this head; or if any arose in his\nmind, they were soon dissipated in the consideration of what he owed\nto his own safety, which he yet could not greatly flatter himself with\nthe hope of, as he was not ignorant how difficult it was for a\ndelinquent to elude the diligence of those sent in search of him. The\nchance of such a thing notwithstanding was not to be neglected; and he\nwaited with an impatience adequate to the occasion, for the hour in\nwhich he expected his deliverance.\nIt was little more than eleven o'clock, when she came into the chamber\nin the habit of a country fellow, which so intirely disguised her,\nthat till she spoke, he took her for one of those who attend the\nprisoners in the circumstances he then was, and imagined some accident\nhad prevented the execution of her plot; but he was soon convinced of\nhis error, by her speaking, and at the same time presenting him with a\ncoat, wig, and every thing proper to make him pass for such as she\nappeared herself:--the reader may suppose he wasted not much time in\nequipping himself, or in making any idle compliments; it was scarce\nmidnight, when they both got safely out of the house, the door of\nwhich she shut softly after her.\nShe then proposed to him to go to the Fauxbourg, whence they might,\nwithout any suspicion, as passing for poor countrymen, get into the\nopen road before day-break; but he would needs stop at the baron d'\nEyrac's, judging with good reason that they might be more securely\nconcealed in his house, till the search should be over, than to\npretend to travel in any shape whatever. She, who knew not what\nobligations the baron had to be faithful to him in this point, at\nfirst opposed it; but he at length prevailed, and they went boldly to\nthe door; the family not being all in bed, it was immediately opened,\nbut in the dress they were, found some difficulty to be admitted to\nthe baron, who, the servant told them, was asleep; but Natura, with an\nadmirable presence of mind, replied, that he had brought a letter from\na friend in the country of the utmost importance, and must be\ndelivered into the baron's own hands directly; on which he was at last\nwon to let them come into the hall, while he sent to let his lord\nknow.\nWhether the baron had any suspicion of the truth, or not, is\nuncertain, but he ordered the men should be brought up; Natura,\nhowever, thought it most proper to speak to him alone, therefore left\nhis companion below:--never was surprize greater than that of this\nnobleman, when the other discovered himself to him, and the means by\nwhich he had been set free. After the first demonstrations of joy and\ngratitude for the integrity he had shewn in resolving to endure every\nthing, rather than betray the trust reposed in him, it was judged\nnecessary to send for his deliverer, to whom on her coming up, the\nbaron made many compliments.\nOn discoursing on what method was best for them to take, in order to\nprevent discovery, the baron would by no means suffer them to pursue\nthat of endeavouring to quit France till the search would be made\nshould be entirely over; he told them, he had a place where he could\nanswer with his life for their concealment, which indeed was that he\nhad provided for the countess d' Ermand, in case they had not been\ndisappointed in their designs.--'There,' said he, 'you may remain, and\nbe furnished with all things necessary;--I can come frequently to you,\nand inform you what passes, and when you may depart with safety, after\nwe have contrived the means.'\nThe exempt's wife, as well as Natura, highly approved of this offer;\nand the baron knowing any stay in his house might be dangerous both to\nhimself and them, presently dressed himself, and went with them to the\nhouse he mentioned, where having seen them safe lodged, took his leave\nfor that night, but seldom let a day pass without seeing them.\nThis was doubtless the only asylum which could have protected them\nfrom the strict search was made the next day, the house of every\nperson, with whom either Natura or the woman had the least\nacquaintance, was carefully examined; but this scrutiny was soon over\nin that part, they supposed them to have left the city, and officers\nwere sent in pursuit of them every road they could be imagined to\ntake; so that had they fled, they must unavoidably have been taken.\nBut not to be too tedious, it was five weeks before the baron could\nthink it safe for them to leave Paris; and then hearing their enemies\nhad lost all hope of finding them, and that the general opinion was,\nthat they were quite got off, he told Natura that he believed they now\nmight venture to go, taking proper precautions. On taking leave, he\ncompelled Natura to accept of bills to the value of his commission,\nwhich, as he said, being lost meerly on his account, it was his duty\nto re-imburse:--nothing could be more tender than the parting of these\ntwo faithful friends;--necessity, however, must be obeyed;--they\nseparated, after having settled every thing between them, and mutually\npromised to keep a correspondence by letters.\nIt was judged best, and safest for them, to keep still in the same\ndisguise till they should be entirely out of the French dominions,\nwhich happily at length they were, without the least ill accident\nbefalling them, none suspecting them for other than they appeared,\nthough the search after them was very strict, and a great reward\noffered for apprehending them.--As soon as they arrived at Dover, both\nthrew off their borrowed shapes; Natura was again the fine gentleman,\nand his companion a very agreeable woman, who was so well satisfied\nwith what she had done, and the behaviour of Natura towards her, that\nshe had lost nothing of her good looks by the fatigue of her journey.\nHere they waited some time for the arrival of his servant, who knew\nnothing what was become of his master, since he had made his escape\nfrom the exempt, till he was entirely out of the kingdom, but had, all\nthis while, been kept in good heart by the baron, who still had told\nhim he was safe and well, and that he should soon hear news of him to\nhis satisfaction; this faithful domestic, whom they had no pretensions\nto detain, now came with all his baggage, and Natura returned to\nLondon, in an equipage, not at all inferior to that in which he had\nleft it.\nThe first thing he did was to place the exempt's wife in a handsome\nlodging, and then went to wait upon his father, who had been much\nalarmed at not having received any letter from him for a much longer\ntime than he had been accustomed to be silent. The old gentleman was\nrejoiced to see him, after an absence of near six years, but sorry for\nthe occasion, as his affairs were greatly perplexed, on account of the\nlaw-suits before mentioned, which being most of them in chancery, were\nlike to be spun out to a tedious length; but Natura soon informed him\nthat he was in a condition, which at present did not stand in need of\nany assistance from him, and that he was determined to enter into some\nbusiness for his future support.\nBut in the midst of these determinations, the remembrance of his\nunhappy contract with Harriot came into his mind; he thought he had\nreason to fear some interruption in his designs from the malice and\nwickedness of that woman: but being loth to renew the memory of his\nformer follies, he forbore making any mention of it to his father,\ntill that tender parent, not doubting but it would be a great\nsatisfaction to him, to know himself entirely freed from all claims of\nthe nature she had pretended to have on him, acquainted him, that\nafter he was sent away, the first step he had taken, was to get the\ncontract out of her hands.\nThe transported Natura no sooner heard he had done so, than he cried\nout, 'By what means, dear sir, was she prevailed upon to relinquish a\ntitle, by which she certainly hoped to make one day a very great\nadvantage?'\n'Indeed,' said the father, 'I know not whether all the efforts I made\nfor that purpose, would have been effectual, if fortune had not\nseconded my design:--she withstood all the temptations I laid in her\nway, rejected the sum I offered, and only laughed at the menaces I\nmade, when I found she was not to be won by gentle means; and I began\nto despair of success, so much as to give over all attempts that way,\nwhen I was told she was in custody of an officer of the _compter_, on\naccount of some debts she had contracted:--on this your uncle put it\ninto my head to charge her with several actions in fictitious names;\nso that being incapable of procuring bail, and going to be carried to\nprison, when I sent a person to her with an offer to discharge her\nfrom all her present incumbrances, on condition she gave up the\ncontract, which I assured her, at the same time, she would not be the\nbetter for, it being my intention you should settle abroad for life.'\n'This,' continued he, 'in the exigence she then was, she thought it\nbest to accept of, and I got clear of the matter, with much less\nexpence than I had expected; her real debts not amounting to above\nhalf what I had once proposed to give her.'\nNatura was charmed to find himself delivered from all the scandal, and\nother vexations, with which he might otherwise have been persecuted\nhis whole life long, both by herself and the emissaries she had always\nat hand, might have employed against him: nor was he much less\ndelighted to hear that she had also received some part of the\npunishment her crimes deserved, in the disappointment of all her\nimpudent and high-raised expectations.\nHaving nothing now to disturb him in the prosecution of his purpose,\nhe set about it with the utmost diligence; and as he had a\nconsiderable quantity of ready money by him to offer either by way of\npr\u00e6mium, or purchase, there was not, indeed, any great danger of his\ncontinuing long without employment, nor that, so qualified, he might\nnot also be able to chuse out of many, one which should be most\nagreeable to his inclinations.\nAccordingly he in a little time hearing of a genteel post under the\ngovernment that was to be disposed on, he laid out part of his money\nin the purchase of it, and with the remainder set up the exempt's wife\nin a milliner's shop, in which, being a woman of a gay polite\nbehaviour, she soon acquired great business, especially as she\npretended to have left France on the score of religion, and went\nconstantly every day to prayers, after having formally renounced the\nerrors of the church of Rome: Natura visited her very often out of\ngratitude, and perhaps some sparks of a more warm passion; and they\nhad many happy hours together, which the talk of their past adventures\ncontributed to heighten, as afflictions once overcome, serve to\nenhance present happiness.\nSeveral matches were now proposed to Natura, but he rejected them all;\nwhether it were that he had not seen the face capable of fixing his\nheart, or whether he was willing to wait the determination of his\nfather's affairs, in order to marry to greater advantage, it is hard\nto say; tho' probably the latter was the true reason; for ambition now\nbegan to display itself in his bosom, and by much got the better of\nthose fond emotions which a few years past had engrossed him: he now\nbegan to think that grandeur had charms beyond beauty, though far from\nbeing insensible of that too, he was not without other amours than\nthat he still continued with the French woman: the raising his fortune\nwas, however, his principal view, and for that purpose he neglected\nnothing tending to promote it; he made his court to those of the great\nmen, who he knew could be serviceable to him with so much success,\nthat he had many promises of their interest for a better post, as soon\nas opportunity presented.\nFortune for a while seemed inclined to favour him in a lavish manner;\nhis mother-in-law died, and with her many of the vexatious suits\ndropped, and others were compromised at an easy rate, so that his\nfather was soon in a condition to make a settlement upon him\nsufficient to qualify him for a seat in parliament, which, on the\nfirst vacancy, thro' favour, he got into, though at that time the\nhouse was not crowded with placemen, as it since has been: in fine, he\nwas beloved and caressed by persons of the highest rank, and every one\nlooked upon him as a man who, in time, would make a very considerable\nfigure in the world.\nHis friends remonstrating that as he was twenty-nine, it was time for\nhim to think of marriage, and a proposal being made on that account\nwith a young lady, of an ancient and honourable family, who, besides a\nlarge fortune in her own hands, had the reputation of every other\nrequisite to render that state agreeable, he hesitated not to embrace\nit:--he made his addresses to her, she accepted of them, and in as\nshort a time as could be expected, consented to give him her\nhand;--the kindred on both sides were very well pleased, and tho' her\nfamily had some advantages in point of birth over his, yet as he\nseemed in a fair way of doing honour to it, there was not the least\nobjection made; but articles were drawn, and a day appointed for the\nwedding.\nBut how little dependance is to be placed on fortune! how precarious\nare the smiles of that uncertain goddess, when most secure of her\npromised favours, and just upon the point, as we imagine, of receiving\nall we have to wish from her, she often snatches away the expected\ngood, and showers upon us the worst of mischiefs treasured in her\nstore-house!--Some few days before that which was to crown his hopes,\nhe happened in company to be discoursing of his travels, and\nmentioning some things he had seen in France, a gentleman who imagined\nhe spoke too favourably of the chevalier St. George, and pretended he\nhad also been there, took upon him to contradict almost all he said\nconcerning that place and person: Natura knowing himself in the right,\nand being a little heated with wine, maintained the truth of what he\nalledged, with more impetuosity than policy perhaps would have\nsuffered him to have done at another time; and the other no less\nwarmly opposing, passion grew high on both sides;--the lie was given\nand returned;--each was no less quick with his sword than his\nrepartee, several passes were made, but the company parted them: and\nthough they stayed together, neither of them was reconciled, nor in\ngood humour for what was past.\nIn going home Natura and one gentleman kept together, as their way\nhappened to be the same, when, see the wild effects of party-rage! all\non a sudden, the person who had been his antagonist, and, it seems,\nhad followed, came up to them, with his sword drawn, and told Natura\nhe was a scoundrel, and a fool, for what he had said; his words, and\nthe sight of his weapon, made him put himself immediately in a posture\nof defence, which indeed he had need of; for had he been less nimble,\nhe had received the sword of the other in his body, before the\ngentleman who was with him could do any thing to separate them; nor\nwere his efforts for that purpose sufficient to prevent them from\nengaging with a vehemence, which permitted neither of making use of\nmuch skill: it was however the chance of Natura to give his adversary\na wound, which made him fall, as he imagined, dead; on which the\ndisinterested person made the best of his way, as being afraid of\nbeing taken up by the watch, who were then just coming by:--Natura did\nthe same, and thinking it improper to go home, went to the house of a\nfriend, in whom he could confide, and who, on enquiry the next day,\nbrought him an account, that the person with whom he had fought was\ndead, but had lived long enough to acquaint those who took him up, by\nwhom he had received his hurt; and that warrants were already out for\napprehending the murderer, as he was now called.\nWhat now was to be done! Natura found himself under the necessity of\ngoing directly out of the way, and by that means endanger the loss of\nhis employment, and also of his intended bride; or by staying expose\nhimself to a shameful trial at the Old Bailey, which, he had reason to\nfear, would not end in his favour, the deceased having many friends\nand relations at the bar; and the very person who had been witness of\ntheir combat, somewhat a-kin to him:--it was therefore his own\ninclination, as well as the advice of his friends, that prevailed on\nhim to make his escape into some foreign part, while they were looking\nfor him at home; which he accordingly did that same hour, taking post\nfor Harwich, where, through the goodness of his horse, he arrived that\nnight, and immediately embarked in a fishing-smack, which carried him\ninto Holland.\nHe had leisure now to reflect on his late adventure, which afforded\nthe most melancholly retrospect; the happy situation he had been in,\nand the almost assured hopes of being continued in for life, made his\npresent one appear yet worse, than in reality it was: he now looked on\nhimself as doomed to be a vagrant all his days, driven from his native\ncountry for ever, and the society of all his friends, and torn beyond\neven a possibility of recovering, from a lady, to whom he was so near\nbeing united for ever, whom he loved, and whose fortune and kindred\nhad given him just expectation of advancement in the world.\nThese gloomy thoughts took him wholly up for some days, but he was not\nyet arrived at those years, in which misfortunes sink too deeply on\nthe soul; these vexatious accidents by degrees lost much of their\nferocity, and he began to consider how much beneath a man of courage\nit was to give way to despair at any event whatever, and that he ought\nto look forward, and endeavour to _retrieve_, not _lament_, the\nmischief that was past. He wrote to his father an exact account of\nevery thing, and intreated his advice: he sent also a letter to the\nyoung lady, full of the most tender expressions, and pressures for the\ncontinuance of her affection; though this latter was more for the sake\nof form than any hope he had of being granted what he asked, or as he\nwas circumstanced, any benefit he could have received from it, if\nobtained.\nThe answer his father sent, gave him both pain and pleasure; it\ninformed him, that the wounds he had given the person with whom he\nfought, were not mortal; that it was only the vast effusion of blood\nwhich had thrown him into a fainting, which occasioned the report of\nhis death, and that he was now in a fair way of recovery; so that he,\nNatura, might return as soon as he pleased, there being no danger on\naccount of the rencounter; but that the occasion of that quarrel being\na party-affair, and represented in its worst colours by some private\nenemies, it had reached the ears of the ministry, who, looking on him\nas a disaffected person, had already disposed of his employment; he\nalso informed him, that he must not flatter himself with being able\never hereafter to be thought qualified to hold any place or office\nunder the government:--he also added, that the friends of his intended\nbride were so incensed against him, that they protested, they would\nsooner see her in her coffin, than in the arms of a man who had\nincurred the odious appellation of a _Jacobite_; and that she herself\nexpressed her detestation of the principles he was now accused of,\nwith no less virulence and contempt;--had torn the letter he had sent\nto her in a thousand pieces; and to shew how much she was in earnest,\nhad accepted the addresses of a gentleman, who had been long his\nrival, and to whom it was expected she would soon be married.\nIf Natura rejoiced to find himself cleared of having been the death of\na fellow-creature, he was equally mortified at having rendered himself\nobnoxious to those who alone were capable of gratifying his ambition:\nas for the change in the lady's sentiments concerning him, he was\nunder much less concern; he thought the affection she professed for\nhim must have been very small, when a difference of opinion in\nstate-affairs, and that too but supposed, could all at once erace it,\nand rather despised, than lamented, the bigotry of party-zeal, which\nhad occasioned it:--his good sense made him know, that to deny all the\ngood qualities of a person, meerly because those good qualities were\nnot ornamented with the favours of fortune, was both unjust and mean;\nand the proof she gave of her weakness and ungenerosity in this point,\nintirely destroyed all the passion he once had for her, and\nconsequently all regret for the loss of her.\nHe could not, however, think of returning to England yet a while; his\nfather's letter had given some hints, as if there was a design on\nfoot, and he was confirmed soon after of the truth of it, for\nexpelling him the house; and he thought it was best to spare his\nenemies that labour, and quit it of his own accord: and in this he\nfound himself intirely right, when on writing to some persons of\ncondition, with whom he had been most intimate, he found by their\nanswers, that it was now known he had been in the French service,\nwhich both himself and his father had kept a secret, even from their\nnearest kindred; not there was any thing in it which could be\nconstrued into a crime, as the nations were then in alliance, but\nbecause as he could not possibly enjoy a commission there, without\nconforming to the ceremonies of the Romish church, it must infallibly\nbe a hindrance to his advancement in a Protestant country. It is\ncertain, Natura was of a temper to make good the proverb, _That when\none is at Rome, one must do as they do at Rome_:--and though he had\ngone to hear _mass_, because it was his interest, and the necessity of\nhis affairs obliging him in a manner to seek his bread at that time,\nyet was he far from approving the superstitions of that church; all\nthat he could write, however, or his friends urge for him on this\nhead, was ineffectual; he passed for a _papist_ and _jacobite_ with\nevery body: pursuant therefore to his resolution of continuing abroad,\ntill these discourses should be a little worn out, he wrote again to\nhis father, and settled his affairs so as to receive remittances of\nmoney, at the several places to which he intended to go.\nCHAP. IV.\n  The power of fear over a mind, weak either by nature, or infirmities\n  of body: The danger of its leading to despair, is shewn by the\n  condition Natura was reduced to by the importunities of priests of\n  different perswasions. This chapter also demonstrates, the little\n  power people have of judging what is really best for them, and that\n  what has the appearance of the severest disappointment, is\n  frequently the greatest good.\nAs to lose the memory of his disgrace, or at least all those gloomy\nreflections it had occasioned, was the chief motive which had made\nNatura resolve to travel a second time, it was a matter of\nindifference to him which way he went. He first took care to make\nhimself master of all that was worth observation in Holland, where he\nfound little to admire, except the Stadthouse, and the magnificence\nwith which king William, after his accession to the crown of these\nkingdoms, had ornamented his palace at Loo; but the rough, unpolite\nbehaviour of the people, disgusted him so much, that he stayed no\nlonger among them than was necessary to see what the place afforded,\nand then passed on to Brussels, Antwerp, and, in fine, left no great\ncity, either in Dutch or French Flanders unvisited; thence went into\nGermany, where his first route was to Hanover, having, it seems, a\ncuriosity of seeing a prince, whose brows were one day to be incircled\nwith the crown of England; but this country was, at that time, in so\nlow and wretched a condition, that whether he looked on the buildings,\nthe lands, or the appearance of the inhabitants, all equally presented\na scene of poverty to his eyes; he therefore made what haste he could\nout of it, having found nothing, except the Elector himself, that gave\nhim the least satisfaction. He was also at several other petty courts,\nall which served to inspire in him not the most favourable idea of\nGermany.\nAt length he arrived at Vienna, a city pompous enough to those who had\nnever seen Rome and Paris; but however it may yield to them in\nelegance of buildings, gardening, and other delicacies of life, it was\nyet more inferior in the manners of the people;--he perceived among\nthe persons of quality, an affectation of grandeur, a state without\ngreatness, and in the lower rank of gentry, a certain stiffness, even\nto the meanest, and an insufferable pride, which came pretty near\nferocity:--the costly, but ill-contrived parades frequently made,\ndiscovered less their riches than their bad taste, and appeared the\nmore ridiculous to Natura, as they were extolled for their\nmagnificence and elegance; but, even here, as indeed all over Germany,\nthe courts of Berlin and Dresden excepted, you see rather an _aim_ of\nattracting admiration and respect, than the _power_ of it. These,\nhowever, were the sentiments of Natura, others perhaps may judge\ndifferently.\nBut whatever may be the deficiencies of Germany in matters of genius,\nwit, judgment, and manners, there is none in good eating, and good\nwine; and though their fashion of cookery is not altogether so polite,\nnor so agreeable to the palates of others as their own, yet it must be\nconfessed, that in their way, they are very great epicures; but though\nthey generally eat voraciously, they drink yet more; and so nimbly do\nthey send the glass about, that a stranger finds it no small\ndifficulty to maintain his sobriety among them.\nNatura's too great compliance with their intreaties in this point, had\nlike to have proved fatal to him:--the strength of the wines, and\ndrinking them in a much larger quantity than he had been accustomed\nto, so inflamed his blood, that he soon fell into a violent fever,\nwhich for some days gave those that attended him, little hopes of his\nrecovery; but by the skill of his physician, joined to his youth, and\nthe goodness of his constitution, the force of the distemper at last\nabated, yet could not be so intirely eradicated, as not to leave a\ncertain pressure and debility upon the nerves, by some called a fever\non the spirits, which seemed to threaten either an atrophy or\nconsumption; his complexion grew pale and livid, and his strength and\nflesh visibly wasted; and what was yet worse, the vigour of his mind\ndecayed, in proportion with that of his external frame, insomuch that,\nfalling into a deep melancholy, he considered himself as on the brink\nof the grave, and expected nothing but dissolution every hour.\nWhile he continued in this languishing condition, he was frequently\nvisited by the priests, who in some parts of Germany, particularly at\nVienna, are infinitely more inveterate against Protestantism than at\nParis, or even at Rome, though the _papal_ seat; as indeed any one may\njudge, who has heard of the many and cruel persecutions practised upon\nthe poor Protestants by the emperors, in spite of the repeated\nobligations they have had to those powers who profess the doctrines of\nCalvin and Luther; but gratitude is no part of the characteristic of a\nGerman.\nThese venerable distracters of the human mind, were perpetually\nringing hell and damnation in his ears, in case he abjured not, before\nhis death, the errors in which he had been educated, and continued in\nso many years, and by acts of penance and devotion, reconcile himself\nto the mother church; they pleaded the antiquity of their faith,\nbrought all the fathers they could muster up, to prove that alone was\ntruly orthodox, and that all dissenting from it was a sin not to be\nforgiven.\nOn the other hand, the English ambassador's chaplain, who knew well\nenough what they were about, omitted nothing that might confirm him in\nthe principles of the reformation, and convince him that the church of\nEngland, as by law established, had departed only from the errors\nwhich had crept into the primitive church, not from the church itself,\nand that all the superstitious doctrines now preached up by the Romish\npriests, were only so many impositions of their own, calculated to\ninrich themselves, and keep weak minds in awe.\nNatura, who had till now contented himself with understanding moral\nduties, and had never examined into matters of controversy between the\ntwo religions, now found both had so much to say in defence of their\ndifferent modes of worship, that he became very much divided in his\nsentiments; and each remonstrating to him by turns, the danger of\ndying in a wrong belief, wrought so far upon the present weakness of\nhis intellects, as to bring him into a fluctation of ideas, which\nmight, in time, either have driven him into despair, or made him\nquestion the very fundamentals of a religion, the merits of which its\nprofessors seemed to place so much in things of meer form and\nceremony.\nBy this may be seen how greatly _christianity_ suffers by the unhappy\ndivisions among the professors of it:--much it is to be wished, though\nlittle to be hoped, that both sides would be prevailed upon to recede\na little from their present stiffness in opinion, or be at least less\nvirulent in maintaining it; since each, by endeavouring to expose and\nconfute what they look upon as an absurdity in the other, join in\ncontributing to render the truth of the whole suspected, and not only\ngive a handle to the avowed enemies, of depreciating and ridiculing\nall the sacred mysteries of religion, but also stagger the faith of a\ngreat many well-meaning people, and afford but a too plausible\npretence for that sceptism which goes by the name of _free-thinking_,\nand is of late so much the fashion.\nIn another situation, perhaps, Natura would have been little affected\nwith any thing could have been said on this score; but health and\nsickness make a wide difference in our way of thinking:--when\nsurrounded by the gay pleasures of life, and in the full vigour and\ncapacity of enjoying them, we either do not reflect at all, or but\ncursorily on the evil day; but when cold imbecility steals upon us,\neither through age or accidents, and death and eternity stare us in\nthe face, we have quite other sentiments, other wishes:--whoever\nfirmly believes, that in leaving this life, we but step into another,\neither of happiness or misery, and that which ever it proves, will be\nwithout end, or possibility of change, and that the whole of future\nwelfare depends on the road we take in going out of this world, will\nbe very fearful lest he should chuse the wrong; and it is not\ntherefore strange, that while, with equal force, the _papist_ pulled\none way, and the _protestant_ another, the poor penitent should be\ninvolved in the most terrible uncertainty.\nHappy, therefore, was it, both for the recovery of his mind and body,\nthat his physicians finding all their recipes had little effect,\nadvised him to seek relief from the waters of the Spa, and as it was\ntheir opinion, they would be of more efficacy, when drank upon the\nspot, he accordingly took his journey thither, but by reason of his\nweakness, was obliged to be carried the whole way in a litter.\nIt is very probable, that being eased of the perplexities the\nincessant admonitions of the priests of different opinions had given\nhim, contributed as much as the waters to his amendment; but to which\never of these causes it may be imputed, it is certain that he every\nday became better, and as his strength of body returned, so did that\nof his mind, in proportion; with his apprehensions of death, his\ndisquiets about matters of religion subsided also, and whenever any\nthing of that kind came cross his thoughts, it was but by starts, and\nwas soon dissipated with other ideas, which many objects at this place\npresented him with.\nBut that to which he was chiefly indebted for the recovery of his\nformer gaiety of temper, was meeting with an English family, with whom\nhe had been extremely intimate; the lady had come thither for the same\npurpose he had done, her husband being very tender of her, would needs\naccompany her, and they brought with them their only daughter, a young\nlady of great beauty, and not above eighteen, in hopes, as they said,\nof alleviating a certain melancholly, to which she was addicted,\nwithout any cause, at least any that was visible, for it.\nNatura had often seen the amiable Maria (for so she was called) but\nhad never felt for her any of those pleasing, and equally painful,\nemotions, which a nearer conversation with her now inspired him\nwith:--he had always thought her very handsome, but she now appeared\nperfectly adorable in his eyes:--the manner of her behaviour, that\nmodest sweetness which appeared through her whole deportment, and\nseemed, as it were, a part of her soul, had for him irresistible\ncharms; and as he very well knew the circumstances of her family, such\nas his friends could make no reasonable objections against, nor his\nown such as could be thought contemptible by those of her kindred, he\nattempted not to repel the satisfaction which he felt, in the hopes of\nbeing one day able to make an equal impression on her heart.\nThe very first use he made of his intire recovery from his late\nindisposition, was an endeavour to convince her how much her presence\nhad contributed to it, and that the supremest wish his soul could\nform, was to enjoy it with her in the nearest, and most tender union,\nas long as life continued.--She received the declarations he made her\nof his passion with great reserve, and yet more coldness; and affected\nto take them only for the effects of a gallantry, which she told him\nwas far from being agreeable to a person of her humour: but he\nimputing her behaviour only to an excess of that extreme modesty which\naccompanied all her words and actions, was so far from being rebuffed\nat it, that he acquainted her parents with his inclination, and, at\nthe same time, intreated their permission for prosecuting his\naddresses to her.\nBoth of them heard his proposals with a joy which it was impossible\nfor either, especially the mother of that lady, to conceal:--each\ncried out, almost at the same time, that the sentiments he expressed\nfor their daughter, was an honour they hoped she had too much good\nsense not to accept with the utmost satisfaction, and added, that they\nwould immediately lay their commands upon her, to receive him in the\nmanner she ought to do.\nAs their families and fortunes were pretty equivalent, and Maria,\nbesides her being an heiress, had beauty enough to expect to marry,\neven above her rank, Natura could not keep himself from being a little\nastonished at the extravagance of pleasure they testified at the offer\nhe had made: parents generally take some time to consider, before they\ngive their assent to a proposal of this sort; and as he knew they were\nvery well acquainted with the occasion of his leaving England this\nsecond time, and were of a party the most opposite that could be to\nthat he was suspected to have favoured, their extreme readiness to\ndispose of their only daughter, and with her their whole estate, to\nhim seemed the more strange, as he had been, ever since he conceived a\npassion for Maria, in the most terrible apprehension of meeting with a\ndifferent reception from them, meerly on the account of his supposed\nprinciples.\nThe transport, however, that so unexpected a condescension gave him,\nprevented him from examining too deeply what might be the motives that\ninduced them to it, and he gave himself wholly up to love, gratitude,\nand the delightful thoughts of being in a short time possessed of all\nhe at present wished, or imagined he ever should ask of Heaven.\nBut how were all these rapturous expectations dashed, when soon after\ngoing to visit Maria, he found her lovely eyes half drowned in tears,\nand her whole frame in the utmost disorder:--'What, madam,' cried he,\nwith a voice which denoted both grief and surprize, 'can have\nhappened, to give you any cause of the disquiet I see in you!'--'You,'\nreplied she, snatching away her hand, which he had taken, 'you alone\nare the cause;--what encouragement did I ever give you,' continued\nshe, 'that should make you imagine the offers you have made my parents\nwould be agreeable to me?--Did I ever authorize you to ask a consent\nfrom them, which I was determined never to grant myself, and which, I\nwill suffer a thousand deaths rather than ratify.'\nThe confusion Natura was in at these words was so great, that it\nprevented him from making any answer; but he looked on her in such a\nmanner as made her ashamed of what she had said, and perhaps too of\nthe passion that had so far transported her; and perceiving he still\ncontinued silent, 'I own myself obliged for the affection you express\nfor me,' resumed she, with more mildness, 'though it is at present the\ngreatest misfortune could have happened to me. Could I have thought\nyou would have declared yourself in the manner you have done to my\nfather and mother, I would have convinced you how impossible it would\nbe for you to reap any advantage from it, and that by so doing you\nwould only make me the most wretched creature in the world; but all is\nnow too late, and I foresee the cruel consequence.'--Here her tears\ninterrupted the passage of her words, and Natura having recollected\nhimself, began to complain of the severity of his destiny, which\ncompelled him to _love_ with the most violent passion a person who\ncould only return it with an equal degree of hate.--'Love,' replied\nshe, with a deep sigh, 'is not in our power;--let me therefore conjure\nyou, by all that which you pretend to have for me, to proceed no\nfarther in this business, nor endeavour to prevail on my parents to\nforce an inclination, which no obligations to them, services from you,\nor length of time can ever influence in your favour; for be assured,\nthat if you do, you will only see the hand should be given you at the\naltar, employed in cutting my own throat, or plunging a dagger in my\nbreast.'\nWith these words, and an air that had somewhat of wildness in it, she\nflung out of the room, leaving him in a consternation impossible to\ndescribe, almost to conceive; her mother came in immediately after,\nand judging by his countenance how her daughter had behaved, told him\nhe must not regard the coyness of a young girl; that she doubted not\nbut Maria would soon be convinced what was her true happiness; and\nthat a little perseverance and assiduity on his side, and authority on\ntheirs, would remove all the scruples, bashfulness alone had created\nin her: 'No, madam,' answered he, with some impatience, 'there is\nsomewhat more than all this you have mentioned, against me;--there is\na rooted detestation to me in the very soul of Maria, which as I\ncannot but despair of being ever able to remove, common reason bids me\nattempt no farther.'\nThe mother of Maria appeared very much perplexed, and said a great\ndeal to perswade him that his apprehensions were without foundation;\nbut the young lady had expressed herself in terms too strong for him\nnot to be perfectly assured she was in earnest; and being willing to\nruminate a little on the affair, he took leave, though not without the\nother extorting a promise from him, of coming again the next day.\nNatura had not given himself much time to reflect, before he conceived\ngreat part of the truth:--he could not think either his person or\nqualifications so contemptible, as to inspire a heart unprepossessed\nby some other object, with an aversion such as Maria had expressed: he\ntherefore concluded, she had disposed of her affections before she\nknew of his: it also seemed plain to him that her parents were not\nignorant of her attachment, and being such as they could not approve\nof, it was that which had rendered them both so ready to snatch at his\nproposal, without any mention of those considerations they would\notherwise naturally have had of jointure, settlements, and all those\nthings, previous to marriage, between persons of condition.\nHe was the more confirmed in this belief, when the father came to his\nlodgings the next morning; and without seeming to know any thing of\nwhat had passed between him, either with his wife, or Maria, asked, in\na gay manner, how the latter had received his addresses? To which\nNatura answered in the same manner as he had done to her mother;\nadding only, that he could not avoid believing her heart was already\nengaged to some more worthy man, and was sorry his own unhappy passion\nhad occasioned any interruption. The father left nothing unsaid that\nmight dissipate such a conjecture, and affected to railly him on a\njealousy which, he said, was common to lovers; and then told him a\nlong story how himself had formerly suffered much by the same vain\nimagination. But all this was so far from making Natura doubt the\ntruth of his conjectures, that, seeing through the artifice, he was\nthe more convinced they were intirely right.\nHe went, notwithstanding, in the afternoon, either because he had\npromised to do so, or because he could not all at once resolve to\nbanish himself from a person he took so much pleasure in beholding,\nthough now without hopes of ever being able to obtain:--being left\nalone with Maria, both of them remained in a kind of sullen silence\nfor some minutes, till at last the force of his passion in spite of\nhimself made him utter some complaints on the cruelty of fortune, and\nhis own insensibility, which had denied him the opportunity of\ndiscovering the thousand charms he now found in her, till too late to\nhave his adoration of them acceptable to her. 'I have not less\nreason,' said she, 'to accuse the chance which at this time brought us\ntogether, than you can possibly have; since the love you profess for\nme, and which I once more assure you I can never return, has laid me\nunder the severest displeasure of my parents';--'but I had hopes,'\ncontinued she, 'after the declaration I made you yesterday, that you\nwould have renounced all pretensions to me, and had generosity enough\nin your nature, not to have taken the advantage of my father and\nmother's power over me, to force me into a compliance, which must be\nfatal to one or both of us.'\n'No, madam,' answered he, much surprized, 'I am far from even a wish\nof becoming guilty of what you accuse me with;--dear as I prize your\nperson, I would not attempt to purchase it at the expence of your\npeace of mind; nor could I be truly blessed in the enjoyment of the\n_one_, without the _other_;--it is only to Maria herself I would have\nbeen obliged, not to the authority of her parents.'\n'Will you then quit me,' cried she hastily, 'and let the act appear\nwholly your own?'--'I will,' replied he, after a pause, 'difficult as\nit is to do so, and irresolute and inconstant as it will make me\nseem.' 'That,' said she, 'will be an action truly deserving my esteem;\nand in return, know I am much more your friend in refusing your\naddresses, than either my parents in encouraging, or your own mistaken\nwishes in offering them':--'but,' pursued she, 'I beg you will enquire\nno farther, but leave me, and break off with my parents in the best\nmanner you can.'\nFain would he have obtained a farther explanation of words, which\nseemed to him to contain some mystery, as indeed they did; but she was\nno less inflexible to his intreaties on that score, than she had been\nto those of his love; and perceiving his presence gave her only pain,\nhe went out of the house with an aking and agitated heart, but\nresolved to do as she desired and he had promised, whatever pangs it\ncost him.\nHe had not gone above an hundred paces on his way home, before he was\naccosted by a man who seemed like an upper-servant in a gentleman's\nfamily, and who, with a low bow, delivered him a letter, which, on\nseeing directed to himself, he hastily opened, and found contained\nthese lines:\n  Sir,\n  \"If you have any thing in you of the gallantry, generosity, or\n  gratitude, for which your country is famed, come where the bearer\n  will conduct you, to a woman, who has suffered much on your\n  account, and can be extricated from an unhappy affair only by your\n  advice.\"\nNatura was little in a humour to pursue an adventure of the kind this\nseemed to be; but curiosity got the better of his spleen, and he bad\nthe fellow lead the way, and he would follow; which he accordingly\ndid, till they were out of the town, and from the sight of all the\nhouses.\nBeing come into a field which was a kind of an inclosure, and a\ntheatre proper enough for the tragedy intended to be acted on it, the\nfellow turned back, and drew a pistol, which he instantly discharged\nat the head of Natura, crying at the same time, 'Maria sends you\nthis.'--Heaven so directed the bullets, that the one passed by his\near, and the other only grazed upon his shoulder, without doing any\nfarther damage, than taking away a small piece of his sleeve. It is\neasy to judge of his surprize, yet was it not so great as to disable\nhim from drawing his sword in order to revenge himself on the\nassassin; but the wretch, in case his fire-arms should miscarry, had\nprovided a falchion concealed under his coat, with which, the same\ninstant, he ran furiously on Natura, and had certainly cleft him down,\ntho' perhaps in doing so, he might have received his own death's wound\nat the same time from the sword of his antagonist; but both these\nevents were happily prevented by the peculiar interposition of Divine\nProvidence: some reapers, who had lain asleep under an adjacent hedge,\nbeing roused with the noise of the pistol, ran to the combatants, and\nwith their hooks beat down both their weapons; while at the same\nfortunate crisis, two gentlemen attended by three servants, who\nhappening to cross a road which had a full prospect over the field,\nhad seen, at a distance, all that had passed, and came galloping up to\nthe assistance of Natura, who was then beginning to interrogate the\nvillain on the occasion of this attempt; but he refused to give any\nsatisfactory answer to what he said, so was dragged by the countrymen,\nand others, who by this time were gathered together, back into the\ntown, and carried immediately before a magistrate, who, on his\nobstinately refusing to make any confession, committed him to prison.\nNatura, who imagined nothing more certain, than that Maria had set\nthis fellow on to murder him, as the surest way to get rid of his\naddresses, went directly to the house where she lodged, full of a\nresentment equal to the detestable crime of which he thought her\nguilty;--he found her in the room with her father and mother, of whom\nhe took little notice, but stepped forwards to the place where she was\nsitting; and seeing her a little surprized, which indeed was\noccasioned only by his sudden return, and the abrupt manner in which\nhe entered:--'You find, madam,' said he, with a voice broke with rage,\n'your plot has miscarried;--Natura still lives, though it must be\nowned your emissary did all could be expected to obey your commands,\nfor my destruction.'\nIt is hard to say, whether Maria, or her parents, were in the greatest\nconsternation at these words; but he soon unravelled the mystery, by\nrelating the whole story, not omitting what the assassin said in\npresenting the pistol, and then as a confirmation throwed the letter\nhe had received into Maria's lap, and at the same time shewed the\npassage one of the bullets had made through the sleeve of his\ncoat:--the young lady no sooner cast her eyes upon the letter, than\nshe gave a great shriek, and crying out, 'O Humphry, Humphry! every\nway my ruin!' immediately fell fainting on the floor; her father,\nwithout regarding the condition she was in, snatched up the paper, the\nhand-writing of which he presently recollected, as having, it seems,\nintercepted several wrote by the same person;--'Abandoned, infamous\ncreature,' cried he;--'shame of thy sex and family,' added the mother,\nstriking her breast in the utmost agony:--in fine, never was such a\nscene of distraction and despair!--Natura, injured as he had been,\ncould not behold it without compassion;--he ran by turns to Maria,\nendeavouring to raise her,--then to her parents, beseeching them to\nmoderate their passion,--then to her again:--'You are too generous,'\nsaid the father, 'let her die, happy had it been if she had perished\nin the cradle':--Just as he spoke these words she revived, and lifting\nup her eyes, 'O, I am no murd'ress,' cried she, 'guilty as I am, in\nthis Heaven knows my innocence.'--'It is false, it is false,' said the\nfather; 'but were it true, canst thou deny, thou most abandoned\nwretch, that thou wert also ignorant that the villain who wrote this\nletter had followed us to Spaw, and bring a second shame upon\nus?'--She answered to this only with her tears, which assuring him she\nhad no defence to make on this article, his rage grew more inflamed;\nhe loaded her with curses, and could not keep himself from spurning\nher with his feet, as she still lay groveling on the ground, and might\nperhaps have proceeded to greater violences, had not Natura, by main\nforce, with-held him, while her mother, tho' little less incensed\nagainst her, dragged her in a manner out of the room, more dead than\nalive.\nThe unhappy object removed from his sight, the provoked father grew\nsomewhat more calm, and turning to Natura, 'You see now, sir,' said\nhe, 'how unworthy this wretched girl is of that affection with which\nyou once honoured her; but how shall I obtain your pardon for what the\ntoo great tenderness for an only child has made me guilty of to\nyou;--all I can say is, that I hoped she had been reclaimed, and so\nfar from even a wish to repeat her crimes, that she had only an utter\ndetestation for the villain that had seduced her.'\nNatura knew very well how he ought to judge of this affair; but as he\nhad an aversion to dissimulation, and was unwilling to add any thing\nto the affliction he was witness to, he said little in answer to the\nother's apology, but that he was extremely sorry for Maria, and the\nmisfortunes she had brought on the family; and then took his leave as\nsoon as decency would permit; but with a firm resolution to hold no\nfarther conversation, wherever they should hereafter happen to meet,\nwith persons who had all of them, in their several capacities, used\nhim so ill.\nThe assassin was soon after brought to a public trial, where tortures\nmaking him confess the truth, he acknowledged, that having been a\nservant in the family, the beauty of Maria had inspired him with\ndesires, unbefitting the disparity between them;--that emboldened by\nan extraordinary goodness she shewed to him, he had declared his\npassion, and met with all the returns he wished;--that she became\npregnant by him, and had made a vow to keep herself single, till the\ndeath of her father should leave her at liberty to marry him; but that\nan unlucky accident having discovered their amour, he was turned out\nof the house, and the grief Maria conceived at it occasioned an\nabortion; but that after her recovery she contrived means to meet him\nprivately, and to support him with money, that he might not be obliged\nto go to service any more; that she had acquainted him with their\ncoming to the Spa, and not only knew of his following them in disguise\nto that place, but contrived a rendezvous where they saw each other\noften, and he learned from her the addresses of Natura, and the\npositive commands laid on her by her parents of marrying him, in order\nto retrieve her honour and reputation; that as besides the extreme\nlove he had for her, his own interest obliged him to hinder the match,\nif by any means he could; and finding no other than the death of his\nrival, he had attempted it by the way already mentioned: but cleared\nMaria, however, of all guilt on this score, who, he assured the court,\nknew nothing of his intentions of murder.\nThe sentence passed on him was, to be hanged in chains, which was\naccordingly executed in a few days; though Natura, pitying his case,\nin consideration of the greatness of the temptation, laboured for a\nmitigation of his doom.--He never saw the unfortunate Maria\nafterwards, but heard she was in a condition little different from\nmadness, which making her parents think it improper she should return\nto England, they conveyed her to Liege, where they placed her as a\npensioner in the convent of English nuns, there to remain till time\nand reflection should make a change in her, fit to appear again in the\nworld; which proceeding in them shewed, that whatever aversion some\npeople have to _this_, or _that_ form of religion, they can\ncountenance, nay, pretend to approve it, when it happens to prove for\ntheir convenience to do so.\nNatura was now intirely cured of his passion, but could not avoid\nfeeling a very tender commiseration for her, who had been the unhappy\nobject of it; he found also, on meditating on every passage of this\nadventure, that she was infinitely less to blame, in regard to him,\nthan her parents had been; and that what he had accused, as cruel in\nher, was much more kind than the favour they had pretended for\nhim.--When he reflected on the gulph of misery he had so narrowly\nescaped, he was filled with the most grateful sentiments to that\nProvidence which had protected him; and also made sensible, that what\nwe often pray for, as the greatest of blessings, would, if obtained,\nprove the severest curse:--a reflection highly necessary for all who\ndesire any thing with too much ardency.\nCHAP. V.\n  Shews that there is no one human advantage to which all others\n  should be sacrificed:--the force of ambition, and the folly of\n  suffering it to gain too great an ascendant over us;--public\n  grandeur little capable of atoning for private discontent; among\n  which jealousy, whether of love or honour, is the most tormenting.\nThe desire of being well settled in the world is both natural and\nlaudable; but then great care ought to be taken to moderate this\npassion, in order to prevent it from engrossing the mind too much; for\nit is the nature of ambition, not only to stop at nothing that tends\nto its gratification, but also to be ever craving new acquisitions,\never unsatisfied with the former.--One favourite point is no sooner\ngained, than another appears in view, and is pursued with the same\neagerness:--what we once thought the _summum bonum_ of our happiness,\nseems nothing when we have attained to the possession of it, while\nthat which is unaccomplished, fires us with impatience, and robs us of\nevery enjoyment we might take in life.\nNatura having now been absent two years, thought the idle rumours\nconcerning him, as to his principles in party-matters, would be pretty\nmuch silenced, so began to think of returning to England; he was the\nmore encouraged to do so, as he found by his letters, that those in\nthe ministry, who had appeared with most virulence against him, had\nbeen removed themselves, and that a considerable change in public\naffairs had happened. Accordingly, he set forward with all the\nexpedition he could, feeling not the least regret for leaving a\ncountry he had never liked, nor where he had ever enjoyed any real\nsatisfaction, and had been so near being plunged into the worst of\nmisfortunes, that of an unhappy marriage:--no ill accident\nintervening, he arrived in England, and proceeded directly to London,\nwhere he was received with an infinity of joy by his father and\nsister, who happened at that time to come to town with her spouse, in\norder to place a young son they had at Westminster school.\nThe better genius of Natura now took its turn, and prevailed over his\nill one: the person whose turbulent zeal had occasioned his late\nmisfortune, had since, being detected in some mal practice in other\naffairs, been cashiered from an office he held under the government,\nand was in the utmost disgrace himself: every body was now assured,\nthat Natura had done no more than what became any man of spirit and\nhonour; and those who before had condemned, now applauded his\nbehaviour: in fine, every thing happened according to his wishes, and,\nto crown his happiness, he married about ten months after his arrival,\na young beautiful lady, of his father's recommendation, and who had\nindeed all the qualifications that can render the conjugal state\ndesirable.\nThe promotion of a member of parliament to the house of peers for that\ncounty in which their estate lay, happening soon after, he stood for\nthe vacant seat, and easily obtained it:--nothing now seemed wanting\nto compleat his perfect happiness, yet so restless is the heart of\nman, that gaining much, it yet craves for more; Natura had always a\ngreat passion for the court, meerly because it was a court, and gave\nan air of dignity to all belonging to it; he longed to make one among\nthe shining throng; he was continually solliciting it, with an anxiety\nwhich deprived him of any true enjoyment of the blessings of his life;\nnor could all the arguments his father used to convince him of the\nvanity of his desires, nor the soft society of a most endearing and\naccomplished wife, render him easy under the many disappointments he\nreceived in the prosecution of this favourite aim.\nThe death of his father soon after, however, filled his bosom with\nemotions which he had never felt before in any painful degree; he was\nfor some time scarce able to support the thoughts of having lost so\ntender and affectionate a parent: but as nothing is so soon forgot as\ndeath, especially when alleviated by the enjoyment of a greater\naffluence of fortune, his grief wore off by pretty swift degrees, and\nhe was beginning to renew his pursuits after preferment, with the same\nassiduity and ardency as ever, when his wife died in bringing into the\nworld a son. This second subject of sorrow struck indeed much more to\nhis heart than the former had done, as he now wanted that comforter he\nhad found in her.--All the consolation he had was in that little\npledge of their mutual affection she had left behind; and it was for\nthe sake of that dear boy, at least he imagined it so, that his\nambition of making a great figure in the world again, revived in him,\nif possible, with greater energy than ever.\nAs he was now in possession of a very fine estate, had an agreeable\nperson, rendered yet more so by all the advantages of education and\ntravel, and not quite six-and-thirty, when he became a widower, his\nyear of mourning was scarce expired, before all his friends and\nacquaintance began to talk to him of another wife, and few days past\nwithout proposals of that nature being made; but either the memory of\nthe former amiable partner of his bed, or the experience he had in his\nown family of the ill effects that second marriages sometimes produce,\nmade him deaf, for a long time, to any discourses on that head, though\nurged by those who, in other matters, had the greatest ascendant over\nhim.\nThough he was far from being arrived at those years which render a man\ninsensible of beauty, yet he was past those which had made him look on\nthe enjoyment of it as the supremest bliss:--the fond desires that\nonce engrossed him, had for some time given way to the more potent\nardors of ambition;--he now made not love his _business_ but\n_amusement_; the amours he had were only transient, and merely to fill\nthe vacancy of an idle hour: his thoughts were so wholly taken up with\nadvancing himself, and becoming a man of consequence in the world,\nthat it may be reasonably supposed, by his behaviour, and the manner\nin which he rejected all the offers made to him, that had he met with\na woman, in whom all the perfections of the sex were centered, she\nwould not have been able either to engage him to a serious attachment,\nor to have quitted those more darling pursuits, which the desire of\ngreatness fired him with.\nThus fortified by his present inclinations against all the charms of\nyouth, of wit, of beauty, there was but one temptation he had not the\npower of withstanding, and that one his ill fate at length presented\nto him. A certain great person, who at that time was at the head of\npublic affairs, had a neice, who for many private reasons, he found it\nnecessary to dispose of in marriage: Natura was the man he happened to\npitch upon, as one who seemed to him a very proper person, and\naccordingly made him the offer, accompanied with a promise of getting\nhim into a great post, which he knew he had been for a long time, and\nwas still, solliciting, though without any prospect of success,\nwithout his assistance.\nThe young lady was not ugly, yet far from being mistress of charms\ncapable of captivating a heart which had been filled with so many\nimages of different beauties; but, as I have already said, love was\nnot now the reigning passion of Natura's soul, and had she been much\nless amiable, the dowery she was to bring, sufficiently compensated\nfor all other deficiencies, according to his present way of judging.\nHe hesitated not a moment to accept the minister's proposal; and a\nlong courtship, as things were ordered between them, being needless,\nhe became again a husband, in a very few days, after the first mention\nhad been made of it, and at the same time was put in possession of\nwhat was much more welcome to him than his bride, even tho' she had\nbeen endowed with every virtue, every grace.\nAll for a time went smoothly on:--he saw himself in a rank and\nprecedence, his birth could never have expected:--his wife's uncle\nloaded him with favours; he procured a commission of lieutenant in the\nguards for his younger brother by his mother-in-law, whom, in spite of\nthe ill usage, with which both himself and his father had been treated\nby her, he had a very great affection for;--he also got employments\nfor several others of his kindred;--his house was the rendezvous of\nthe gay and titled world;--his friendship was courted by all his\nacquaintance, and his interest at court created him so many\ndependants, that his levee was little inferior to that of the minister\nhimself.\nThis full attainment of all he wished, and even more than he had ever\ndared to indulge the hope of, might well render him extremely\ncontented;--he was indeed pleased to excess, but the gladness of his\nheart was so far a virtue in him, as it prevented him at first from\nshewing any tokens of that pride, which a sudden variation of fortune\nfrequently excites.\nIt is certain, his behaviour was such as gained him an equal share of\nlove and respect; and he had this addition to his other blessings, of\nnot having his advancement envied; a thing pretty rare about a court,\nwhere there are so many gaping after every office that falls.\nThey say ambition is a lust that is never quenched; and that the\nenjoyment of much brings with it only an impatience for more; that\nfresh objects, and new acquisitions, still presenting themselves, the\nmind is ever restless, ever anxious in the endless pursuit.--It is\nvery likely this maxim might indeed have been verified in the mind of\nNatura, after the hurry of transport for what he had already obtained\nhad been a little worn off, and made way for other aims; but he had\nscarce given over congratulating himself on his success, before a\nstrange alteration, and such as he had least dreaded of, happened in\nhis humour, and rendered him wholly incapable of retaining the least\nrelish for all the blessings he possessed, and in which he so lately\nplaced the ultimate of his wishes.\nThe compliments paid to him on his promotion and marriage, the giving\nand receiving visits from all his kindred and friends, together with\nthe duties of his post, so much engrossed him for the first two or\nthree months, that he had not time to give any attention to his\ndomestic affairs, and happy would it have been for his peace if he had\nalways continued in a total negligence in this point, as the fatal\ninspection plunged him into such distractions, as required many long\nyears to compose.\nIn fine, he now discovered such dispositions to gallantry in his wife,\nas inflamed him with jealousy, to such a degree as it would be\nimpossible to describe;--not that he had ever been possessed of any\nextraordinary love or fondness on her account; but the injury which he\nimagined was offered to his honour, by the freedoms with which she\nentertained several of those young courtiers which frequented his\nhouse, made him in a short time become the most discontented man\nalive.\nUtterly impossible was it for him to conceal his disquiets; though the\nfears he had of displeasing the minister made him attempt it, as much\nas possible, and conscious of his ill dissimulation that way, the\nlittle notice she took of a chagrin he knew she could not but observe,\nvery much added to it, as it seemed a certain proof of her\nindifference for him; a behaviour so widely different from the amiable\ntenderness of his former wife, dissipated all the little affection he\nhad for her, and it was not long before she became even hateful to\nhim; his jealousy however abated not with his love, her dishonour was\nhis own, her person was his property by marriage, and the thoughts of\nany encroachment on his right were insupportable to him.\nWhether she was in fact as yet guilty of those violations of her duty,\nwhich his imagination incessantly suggested to him she was, neither\nhimself, nor the world, were ever able to prove; but it is certain her\nconduct was such, in every shape towards him, as gave but too much\nroom for suspicion in the least censorious, and which growing every\nday more disagreeable to him, he at length had not the power of\nfeigning an inattention to it.--He remonstrated to her the value every\nwoman, especially those in high life, ought to set on her\nreputation;--told her plainly, that the severest censures had been\npast upon her, and without seeming to believe them just himself,\nintreated her to act with more reserve for the future.\nAll this, though delivered in the most gentle terms he could invent,\nhad no other effect than to set her into an immoderate laughter:\nnothing could be more provoking, than the contempt with which she\ntreated his advice; and on his insisting at last, in terms which she\nmight think were somewhat too strong, on her being less frequently\nseen with some persons he mentioned to her, she answered in the most\ndisdainful tone, that when she came to his years, she might, perhaps,\nlook on the pleasures of life with the same eyes he did; but while\nyouth and good humour lasted, she should deny herself no innocent\nindulgencies, and was resolved, let him and the world say what they\nwould, not to anticipate old age and wrinkles.\nAs Natura was not yet forty, in perfect health, and consequently not\npast the prime of manhood, this reflection cast upon his years, could\nnot but add to his disgust of her that made it, and he replied with a\nspite which was very visible in his countenance, that whatever\ndisparity there was between their ages, it would soon diminish by the\ncourse of life she followed, and which, if she persisted in, would, in\na very little time, make her become an object below the voice of\ncensure.\nThey must know little of the sex, that do not know no affront can be\nso stinging as one offered to their beauty, even tho' conscious of\nhaving no great share of it; but the wife of Natura had heard too many\nflatteries, not to inspire her with the highest idea of her charms,\nwhich the little respect he now testified to have for them, did not at\nall abate, and only served to make her despise his stupidity, as she\ntermed it.\nNo measures after this were kept between them; she seemed to take a\npleasure in every thing that gave him pain; she coquetted before his\nface with every handsome man that came in her way, and in fine gave\nherself such airs as the most patient husband could not have permitted\nher long to persist in. Making use of the authority the laws had given\nhim, he, in a manner, forced her into the country, upwards of an\nhundred miles from London, though it was then in the depth of winter,\nand placed persons about her, with orders to prevent her from all\nmeans of returning, till he should judge it proper for her so to do.\nOn this she wrote to her uncle, complaining of the hard treatment she\nreceived, and beseeching him to take some measures to oblige her\nhusband to restore her liberty. The minister, who had at that time\nmuch greater concerns upon his hands on his own account, did not care\nto give himself any trouble about private family affairs; he only just\nmentioned to Natura the letter she had sent to him, and the purport of\nit; and on his relating to him the reasons that had compelled him to\nput this restraint on her behaviour, told him, he should not interfere\nbetween them; so that Natura found he had nothing to apprehend for\nwhat he had done.\nFinding this step had produced nothing for her purpose, she at last\ncondescended to submit to her justly offended husband; and on her\nsolemn and repeated promises of regulating her conduct for the future\nin such a manner as he should approve, he was prevailed upon by her\nseeming contrition, to consent to make trial how far her heart\ncorresponded with her professions:--it was agreed, to prevent the town\nfrom inspecting too deeply on what had passed, that she should pretend\nher absence from town had been the effect of her own choice, and for\ngiving the better colour, he went down himself, and brought her\nup.--They lived together, after this, much better than they had done\nfor some months before their quarrel, and were now, in appearance,\nperfectly reconciled; I say, in appearance, for all was outward shew,\nneither of them had in their hearts the least true affection, nor\ncould forgive the other for what had passed between them.\nThe excessive constraint which both put upon themselves, in order to\nconceal the real sentiments of their hearts from each other, as well\nas from the world, could not but be extremely painful:--Natura\nsuffered her as little as possible out of his sight, though he could\nhave wished a possibility of avoiding her for ever, and was obliged to\ndo all he could, to make that pass for a fondness of her presence,\nwhich was indeed only the effect of his jealousy of her behaviour in\nabsence:--she affected to think herself happy in his company, for no\nother reason, than to win him to an assurance of her reformation, as\nmight render him less observant than he had been of what she did, even\nat the time (as was afterwards discovered) when she seemed most sorry\nand angry with herself for having given him any cause of suspicion\nsince their marriage.\nBoth, in fine, endured all that could make marriage dreadful,\nespecially Natura, who having with his former wife experienced all the\nfelicity of that state, was the more wretched by the sad alternative;\nand as he could not sometimes forbear comparing the present with the\npast, fell frequently into perfect convulsions of grief and remorse,\nfor having plunged himself into it.\nA perpetual dissimulation is what human nature finds among the things\nwhich are impossible to perform;--and I am pretty certain, that the\nmost artful person that ever breathed, could not, at all times, and in\nall circumstances, restrain so far his real inclinations, as to give\nno indications of them to an observing eye; and it is scarce probable,\nbut that the very attempt in Natura and his wife, gave rise to as many\nreflections on their conduct in this point, as there was too much room\nto make on others.\nIt was indeed a kind of farce acted by this unhappy pair, in which\nboth played their parts so aukwardly, that the real character would\nfrequently peep out, and though each dissembled, yet neither was\ndeceived; but as I said before, this could not last for ever; and the\nice being once broke in some unguarded humour either on the one or the\nother side, I cannot pretend to affirm on which, the torrent of their\nmutual disgust burst out with the greater force, for having been so\nlong pent up: it is hard to tell which testified the most virulence,\nor expressed themselves in the most bitter terms:--all that can be\ndetermined is, that those of Natura shewed most of _rage_, and those\nhis wife made use of, most of _hatred_.\nAfter having fully vented all that was in their souls against each\nother, both became more calm; and agreed in this, as the only resource\nfor ease in their present unhappy situation, to banish for the future\nall deceit between them, and never more pretend the least kindness or\ngood-will to each other when in private, to lie in separate beds, and\nto be as seldom as possible alone together; but for the sake of both\ntheir reputations to continue in the same house, and before company to\nbehave with reciprocal politeness.\nThese terms rid Natura of a great part of that insupportable\nconstraint he had been under, but gave not the least satisfaction, as\nto his jealousy of honour; he doubted not but she would be guilty of\nmany things, injurious in the highest degree to their public\ncharacter, and which yet it would not so well become him to exert his\nauthority in opposing, and these reflections gave him the most\nterrible inquietude; which shews, that though _jealousy_ is called the\nchild of _love_, it is very possible to feel all the tortures of the\n_one_, without being sensible of any of the douceurs of the _other_\npassion.\nHow dearly now did Natura pay for the gratification of his\nambition!--What availed his grandeur, the respect paid him by his\nequals, and the homage of the inferior world!--What the pride of\nhaving it in his power to confer favours, when he had himself a heart\ntorn with the most fierce convulsions, and less capable of enjoying\nthe goods of fortune, than the most abject of those indigent\ncreatures, who petitioned for relief from him!--By day, by night,\nalone, or in company, he was haunted with ideas the most distracting\nto his peace.--A smile on the face of his wife, seemed to him to\nproceed from the joy of having made some new conquest; a grave or\nmelancholly look, from a disappointment on the account of a favourite\ngallant: yet as her person was the least thing he was tenacious of,\nthe behaviour of others gave him greater pain than any thing she could\ndo herself;--whoever spoke handsomely of her, he imagined insulted\nhim; and those who mentioned her not at all, he thought were sensible\nof her levity, and his misfortune:--every thing he saw or heard,\nseemed to him a sad memento of his dishonour; and though he could not\nassure himself she had in fact been guilty of a breach of her virtue,\nhe was very certain she had been so of that reserve and modesty which\nis the most distinguishable characteristic of it, and took from him\nthe power of vindicating her innocence, or his own honour even though\nhe had believed them safe, as becomes a husband, whose wife is more\ncautious of her conduct in this point.\nToo delicate of the censure of the world, it gave him the utmost\nanxiety how to carry himself, so as not to afford any room to have it\nsaid he was either a jealous, or a too credulous husband; yet in spite\nof all his care, he incurred both these characters:--those who had\nheard of his sending her into the country, without being acquainted\nwith the motives for his so doing, looked on him as the former; and\nthose who saw her manner of behaviour, and the seeming politeness of\nhis treatment of her, imagined him the latter:--so difficult is it for\nany one, who only sees the outside of things, to judge what they are\nin reality; yet the vanity of having it believed they are let into\nsecrets, makes a great many people invent circumstances, and then\nrelate for matters of fact, what are indeed no more than the\nsuggestions of imagination, or, what is yet worse, the coinage of\ntheir own brain, without believing themselves what they take upon them\nto report to others.\nThis undoubtedly happened on the score of Natura and his wife, and\noccasioned not only many idle stories at tea-table conversation, but\nalso many oblique hints to be sometimes given to himself, which,\nperhaps, there was not the least grounds for, but which greatly added\nto his disquiets; as when we think we have reason to believe part, we\nare ready to give credit to all we hear, especially in cases of this\nnature; it being the peculiar property of jealousy, to force the mind\nto grasp with eagerness, at every thing that tends to render it more\nafflicted and perplexed.\nBOOK the Third.\nCHAP. I.\n  Shews in what manner anger and revenge operate on the mind, and how\n  ambition is capable of stifling both, in a remarkable instance, that\n  _private injuries_, how great soever, may seem of no weight, when\n  _public grandeur_ requires they should be looked over.\nNothing is so violent as anger in its first emotions, it takes the\nfaculties by surprize, and rushes upon the soul like an impetuous\ntorrent, bearing down all before it: its strength, however, is owing\nto its suddenness; for being raised by some new and unexpected\naccident or provocation, reason has no warning of its approach, and\nconsequently is off her guard, and without any immediate power of\nacting: the sweetest, and most gentle disposition, is not always a\nsufficient defence for the mind, against the attacks of this furious\npassion, and may be hurried by it to deeds the most opposite to its\nown nature; but then as it is fierce, it is transient also; should its\nforce continue, it would lose its name, and be no longer anger, but\nrevenge; which, though the worst and most fiend-like propensity of a\nvicious inclination, is sometimes excited by circumstances, that seem\nin a great measure to alleviate the blackness of it:--repeated and\nunprovoked insults, friendship and love abused, injuries in our\nperson, our fortune, or reputation, will sour the softest temper, and\nare apt to make us imagine it is an injustice to our selves, not to\nretaliate in kind, the ill treatment we receive. Religion, indeed,\nforbids us to take our own parts thus far, and philosophy teaches,\nthat it is nobler to forgive, than punish wrongs; but every one is not\nso happy as to have either of these helps; and I do not find but those\nwho boast both of them in the most superlative degree, stand in need\nof something more, to enable them to restrain this prevailing impulse;\nand that it is not so much to the precepts they receive from others,\nas to some dictates from within, that many people are indebted for the\nreputation of patience and forbearance.\nIt is the peculiar providence of Heaven, as I took notice in the\nbeginning of this work, that the more ignoble passions of human\nnature, are, generally speaking, opposites, and by that means serve as\na curb to bridle the inordinancy of each other; so that, though _one\nalone_ would be pernicious to society, and render the person possessed\nof it obnoxious to the world, _many_ will prevent the hurt, and make\nthe man himself tolerable.\nThe adventure I am now going to relate, will prove that Natura had the\ngreatest excitements, and the greatest justification both for wrath\nand revenge that could possibly be offered to any one man: yet did\nanother passion, not more excusable than either of these, suppress all\nthe turbulent emotions of both, and quench the boiling flames within\nhis soul, insomuch as to make him appear all calmness and\ncontentedness.\nBut though I made use of the word passion to express the now\nprevailing propensity of Natura's soul, I do not think that ambition,\nstrictly speaking, can come under that denomination:--to me it rather\nseems the effect of an assemblage of other passions, than a passion\nsimple of itself, and natural to the mind of man; and I believe,\nwhoever examines it to the fountain head, will find it takes its\norigin from pride and envy, and is nourished by self-love, nor ever\nappears in any great degree, where these do not abound.--Were it born\nwith us, there would doubtless be some indications of it in\nchildhood, but it is observable, that not till man arrives at\nmaturity, and even not then, unless the sight of objects above himself\nexcites it, he discovers the least sensation of any such emotion.--In\nfine, it is an inclination rarely known in youth, ordinarily declines\nin age, and never exerts itself with vigour, as in the middle stage of\nlife, which I reckon to be from about five-and-twenty to fifty, or\nsomewhat more, according to the strength of the natural stamina, or\nconstitution.--But to go on with my history.\nSince Natura had been in what they call a settled state in the world,\nit had always been his custom to distinguish the anniversary of that\nday which gave him birth, by providing a polite entertainment for his\nfriends and kindred: he had now attained to his fortieth year, and\nthough it had been that in which he had known more poignant disquiets,\nthan in any one of his whole life before; yet thinking that to neglect\nthe observation of it now, would give occasion for remarks on his\nreasons for so doing, he resolved to treat it with the usual ceremony.\nIt was in that delightful season of the year, when nature, adorned\nwith all her charms, invites the senses to taste that regale in the\nopen air, which the most elegant and best concerted entertainments\nwithin doors cannot atone for the want of. After dinner was over, the\nwhole company which was pretty numerous, adjourned from the table to\nthe garden, a small, but well ordered spot of ground, at the lower end\nof which was a green-house, furnished with many curious exotic plants.\nWhile Natura was shewing this collection to those of his guests, who\nhad a taste that way, others were diverting themselves with walking in\nthe alleys, or set down in arbors, according as their different\nfancies inclined, as it is common for people to divide themselves into\nlittle parties, when there are too many for all to share in a general\nconversation.\nAs they were thus employed, the minister, who though he had not\nthought it beneath the dignity of his character to do honour to the\nbirth-day of the husband of his neice, yet had his mind taken up with\nother things than the amusements of the place, took Natura aside on a\nsudden, and asked him if he had not a paper in his custody, which he\nhad some time before put into his hands; to which the other answering\nin the affirmative, 'There are some things in it I do not well\nremember,' said the great man; 'and a thought just now occurs to me,\nin which they may be of use':--Natura then offered to fetch it; 'No,'\nreplied the other, 'I will go with you, and we will examine it\ntogether.'\nThere was no need of making any apology to the company, they being, as\nI have already said, dispersed in several parts of the garden; but had\nthey not been so, the statesman was absolute master wherever he came,\nand no one would have taken umbrage at Natura's following him.\nThey went hastily up stairs together, and the door of a room, thro'\nwhich they were to pass to Natura's study, being shut, he gave a push\nagainst it with his foot, and it being but slightly fastened,\nimmediately flew open, and discovered a sight no less unexpected than\nshocking to both;--the wife, and own brother of Natura, on a couch,\nand in a posture which could leave no room to doubt of the motive\nwhich had induced them to take the opportunity of the company\nseparating themselves, to retire, without being missed, which, but for\nthis accident, they probably would not have been.\nIt is easy to conceive what a husband must feel in so alarming a\ncircumstance, nor will any one wonder that Natura behaved in the\nmanner he did, in the first emotions of a rage, which might very well\nbe justified by the cause that excited it.--Not having a sword on, he\nflew to the chimney, on each side of which hung a pistol; he snatched\none off the hook, and was going to revenge the injury he had received\non one or both the guilty persons, when the minister, stepping\nbetween, beat down that arm which held the instrument of death, crying\nat the same time, 'What, are you a madman!--would you to punish them\nexpose yourself!'--The passion with which Natura was overwhelmed was\ntoo mighty for his breast; it stopped the passage of his words, and\nall he could bring out was 'villain!'--'whore'--while those he called\nso, made their escape from his fury, by running out of the room. In\nattempting to follow them he was still with-held; and the minister\nhaving with much ado got the pistol from him, began to expostulate\nwith him, in order to disarm his mind from pursuing any future\nrevenge, as he had done his hand from executing the present.\n'Consider,' said the statesman, 'that these are but slips of nature,\nthat there are in this town a thousand husbands in the same\nsituation:--indeed the affair happening with your own brother, very\nmuch enhances the crime and the provocation; but as the thing is done,\nand there is no remedy, it will but add to your disgrace to make it\npublic.'\nLittle would it have been in the power of all the arguments in the\nworld, if made use of by any other person, to have given a check to\nthat just indignation Natura was inflamed with: but as patience and\nmoderation were prescribed him by one to whom he was indebted for all\nthe grandeur he enjoyed, and by whose favour alone he could hope for\nthe continuance, of it, he submitted to the task, difficult as it was,\nand consented to make no noise of the affair. The minister assured him\nhe would oblige his brother to exchange the commission he was at\npresent possessed of, for one in a regiment that was going to\nGibraltar, 'which,' said he, 'will be a sufficient punishment for his\ncrime, and at the same time rid you of the sight of a person who\ncannot but be now detestable to you;--as to your wife, I expect you\nwill permit her to continue in your house, in consideration of her\nrelation to me, but shall not interfere with the manner of your living\ntogether;--that shall be at your own discretion.'\nAs neither of them imagined the lady, after what had happened, would\nhave courage enough to go down to the company, it was agreed between\nthem to make her excuse, by saying, a sudden disorder in her head had\nobliged her to absent herself.\nNatura cleared up his brow as much as it was possible for him to do in\nsuch a circumstance, and returned with the minister to his guests,\namong whom, as he supposed, he found neither his wife nor brother; as\nfor the latter, much notice was not taken of his absence, but the\nladies, by this time, were full of enquiries after her; on which he\nimmediately made the pretence above-mentioned; but unluckily, one of\nthe company having been bred to physic, urged permission to see her,\nin order to prescribe some recipe for her ailment.--Natura was now\nextremely at a loss what to do, till the minister, who never wanted an\nexpedient, relieved him, by telling the doctor, that his neice had\nbeen accustomed to these kind of fits from her infancy, that it was\nonly silence and repose which recovered her, which being now gone to\ntake, any interruption would be of more prejudice than benefit.\nThis passed very well, and no farther mention was made of her; but the\naccident occasioned the company to take leave much sooner than\notherwise they would have done, very much to the ease of Natura, who\nhad been in the most intolerable constraint, to behave so as to\nconceal the truth, and longed to be alone, to give a loose to the\ndistracting passions of his soul.\nThe more he ruminated on the wrongs he had sustained, the more\ndifficult he found it to preserve that moderation the minister had\nenjoined, and he had promised: he had long but too much reason to\nbelieve his wife was false; but the thought that she had entered into\na criminal conversation with his own brother, rendered the guilt\ndoubly odious in them both.--Had not his own eyes convinced him of the\nhorrid truth, he could have given credit to no other testimony, that a\nbrother, whom he had always treated with the utmost affection, and\nwhose fortune it had been his care to promote, should have dared to\nharbour even the most distant wish of dishonouring his wife. He\nseemed, in his eyes, the most culpable of the two, and thought the\nbanishment intended for him much too small a punishment for so\natrocious a crime. It is certain that this young gentleman had not\nonly broke through the bands of duty, honour, gratitude, and every\nsocial obligation, but had also sinned against nature itself, by\nadding incest to adultery.--Natura could not indeed consider him as\nany thing but a monster, and that as such he ought to be cut off from\nthe face of the earth; and neither reason nor humanity, could alledge\nany thing against the dictates of a revenge, which by the most\nunconcerned and disinterested person could not be called\nunjust.--Strongly did its emotions work within his soul, and he was\nmore than once on the point of going in search of him, in order to\nsatiate its most impatient thirst, but was as often restrained, by\nreflecting on the consequences.--'Suppose,' said he to himself, 'I\nshould escape that death the law inflicts for murder, in consideration\nof the provocation, I cannot hope to preserve my employments.--I must\nretire from the world, live an obscure life the whole remainder of my\ndays, and the whole shameful adventure being divulged, will render me\nthe common topic of table conversation, and entail dishonour and\ncontempt upon my son.'\nThus did ambition get the better of resentment;--thus did the love of\ngrandeur extirpate all regard of true honour, and the shame of private\ncontempt from the world lie stifled in the pride of public homage.\nThe minister in the mean time kept his word; he let the offending\nbrother know it was his pleasure he should dispose of his commission\nin the guards, and purchase one in a regiment he named to him, which\nwas very speedily to embark for Gibraltar: the young gentleman obeyed\nthe injunction, and doubtless was not sorry to quit a place, where\nsome accident or other, in spite of all the care he had resolved to\ntake, might possibly bring him to the sight of a brother he had so\ngreatly injured, the thoughts of whose just reproaches were more\nterrible to him, than any thing else that could befal him.\nThe wife of Natura being also privately admonished by her uncle how to\nbehave, kept her chamber for some days, not only to give the better\ncolour to the pretence had been made of her indisposition, but also to\navoid the presence of her husband, till the first emotions of his fury\nshould be a little abated;--he, on the other hand, profited by this\nabsence, to bring himself to a resolution how to behave, when the\nshock of seeing her should arrive:--as her crime was past recal,\nreproaches and remonstrances would be in vain to retrieve her honour,\nor his peace; and if they even should work her into penitence, what\nwould it avail? unless to soften him into a pity, which would only\nserve to render him more uneasy, as there was now no possibility of\nliving with her as a wife.--Having, therefore, well weighed and\nconsidered all these things, it seemed best to him to say nothing to\nher of what had happened, and indeed to avoid speaking to her at all,\nexcept in public.\nWhat she thought of a behaviour she had so little reason to expect,\nand what effect it produced on her future conduct, shall hereafter be\nrelated: I shall only say at present, that Natura gave himself no pain\nto consider what might be her sentiments on the occasion, as long as\nhe found her uncle was perfectly satisfied with his manner of acting\nin this point, which he had no reason to doubt of, not only by the\nassurances he gave him in words of his being so, but by a more\nconvincing and substantial proof, which was this; an envoy\nextraordinary being about to be sent to a foreign court, on a very\nimportant negociation, he had the honour of being recommended, as a\ngentleman every way qualified for the duties of that post.--The\nminister's choice of him was approved by the king and council, and he\nset out on his embassy, with an equipage and state, which, joined to\nthe attention he gave to what he was employed in, greatly dissipated\nthe chagrin of his private affairs, and he seemed to have forgot, for\na time, not only the injuries he had received, but also even the\npersons from whom he had received them.\nCHAP. II.\n  Shews at what age men are most liable to the passion of grief: the\n  impatience of human nature under affliction, and the necessity there\n  is of exerting reason, to restrain the excesses it would otherwise\n  occasion.\nThere are certain periods of time, in which the passions take the\ndeepest root within us; what at one age makes but a slight impression,\nand is easily dissipated by different ideas, at another engrosses all\nthe faculties, and becomes so much a part of the soul, as to require\nthe utmost exertion of reason, and all the aids of philosophy and\nreligion to eradicate.--Grief, for example, is one of those passions\nwhich, in extreme youth, we know little of, and even when we grow\nnearer to maturity, has rarely any great dominion, let the cause which\nexcites it be never so interesting, or justifiable: it may indeed be\npoignant for a time, and drive us to all the excesses imputed to that\npassion; but then it is of short continuance, it dwells not on the\nmind, and the least appearance of a new object of satisfaction,\nbanishes it entirely; we dry our tears, and remember no more what so\nlately we lamented, perhaps with the most noisy exclamations:--but it\nis not so when riper years give a solidity and firmness to the\njudgment;--then as we are less apt to grieve without a cause, so we\nare less able to refrain from grieving, when we have a real\ncause.--Grief may therefore be called a reasonable passion, tho' it\nbecomes not a reasonable man to give way to it;--this, at first sight,\nmay seem a paradox to many people, but may easily be solved, in my\nopinion, on a very little consideration;--as thus,--because to be\nsensible of our loss in the value of the thing for which we mourn, is\na proof of our judgment, as to refrain that mourning for what is past\nretrieving, within the bounds of moderation, is the greatest proof we\ncan give of our reason:--a dull insensibility is not a testimony,\neither of wisdom or virtue; we are not to bear afflictions like\n_statues_, but like men; that is, we are allowed to _feel_, but not to\n_repine_, or be _impatient_ under them:--few there are, however, who\nhave the power of preserving this happy medium, as I before observed,\ntho' they are such as have the assistance both of precept and\nexperience.\nIn a word, all that can be expected from the best of men, when pressed\nwith any heavy calamity, is to struggle with all his might to bear up\nbeneath the weight with decency and resignation; and as grief never\nseizes strongly on the mind, till a sufficient number of years gives\nreason strength to combat with it, that consideration furnishes matter\nfor praise and adoration of the all-wise and all-beneficent Author of\nour being, who has bestowed on us a certain comfort for all ills, if\nwe neglect not to make use of it; so that no man can be unhappy,\nunless he will be so.\nMotives for grief which happen on a sudden merit excuse for the\nextravagancies they sometimes occasion, because they surprize us\nunawares, reason is off her guard, and it cannot be expected we should\nbe armed against what we had no apprehensions of;--presence of mind is\nan excellent, but rare quality, and we shall see very few, even among\nthe wisest men, who are such examples of it, as to behave in the first\nshock of some unforeseen misfortune, with the same moderation and\ncalmness of temper, as they would have done, had they had previous\nwarning of what was to befal them.\nMuch, however, are the effects of this, as of all other passions,\nowing to constitution:--the robust and sanguine nature soon kindles,\nand is soon extinguished; whereas the phlegmatic is slow to be moved,\nand when so not easily settled into a calm: and tho' the difference of\nage makes a wide difference in our way of thinking, yet as there are\nold men at twenty, and boys at three-score, that rule is not without\nsome exceptions. But to take nature in the general, and allowing for\nthe different habits of body and complexion, we may be truly said to\nbe most prone to particular passions at particular ages:--as in youth,\nlove, hope, and joy;--in maturity, ambition, pride, and its attendant\nostentation;--when more advanced in years, grief, fear, and\ndespair;--and in old age, avarice, and a kind of very churlish dislike\nof every thing presented to us.\nBut to return to Natura, from whose adventures I have digressed; but I\nhope forgiveness for it, as it was not only the history of the man I\ntook upon me to relate, but also to point out, in his example, the\nvarious progress of the passions in a human mind.\nHe acquitted himself of the important trust had been reposed in him,\nwith all the diligence and discretion could be expected from him; and\nreturned honoured with many rich presents from the prince to whom he\nhad been sent, as a testimony of the sense he had of his abilities.\nBut scarce had he time to receive the felicitations of his friends on\nthis score, before an accident happened to him, which demanded a much\nmore than equal share of condolance from them.--His son, his only son,\nthe darling of his heart, was seized with a distemper in his head,\nwhich in a very few days baffled the art of medicine, and snatched\nhim from the world.--What now availed his honours, his wealth, his\nevery requisite for grandeur, or for pleasure?--He, for whose sake\nchiefly he had laboured to acquire them, was no more!--no second self\nremained to enjoy what he must one day leave behind him.--All of him\nwas now collected in his own being, and with _that_ being must\nend.--Melancholly reflection!--yet not the worst that this unhappy\nincident inflicted:--his estate, all at least that had descended to\nhim by inheritance, with the vast improvements he had made on it, must\nnow devolve on a brother he had so much cause to hate, and whose very\nname but mentioned struck horror to his heart.\nThe motives for his grief were great, it must be allowed, and such as\ndemanded the utmost fortitude to sustain;--he certainly exerted all he\nwas master of on this occasion; but, in spite of his efforts, nature\ngot the upper hand, and rendered him inconsolable:--he burst not into\nany violent exclamations, but the silent sorrow preyed on his vitals,\nand reduced him, in a short time, almost to the shadow of what he had\nbeen.\nOne of the most dangerous effects of melancholy is, the gloomy\npleasure it gives to every thing that serves to indulge it:--darkness\nand solitude are its delight and nourishment, and the person possessed\nof it, naturally shuns and hates whatever might alleviate it;--the\nsight of his best friends now became irksome to him;--he not only\nloathed, but grew incapable of all business;--he shut himself in his\ncloset, shunned conversation, was scarce prevailed on to take the\nnecessary supports of nature, and seemed as if his soul was buried in\nthe tomb of his son, and only a kind of vegetative life remained\nwithin him.\nHis sister, who loved him very affectionately, and for whom he had\nalways preserved the tenderest amity, being informed of his\ndisconsolate condition, came to town, flattering herself with being\nable to dissipate, at least some part of his chagrin. To this end she\nbrought with her all her children, some of whom he had never seen, and\nhad frequently expressed by letter, the desire he had of embracing\nthem, and the regret he had that the great affairs he was always\nconstantly engaged in, would not permit him time to take a journey\ninto the country where she lived.\nBut how greatly did she deceive herself;--he was too far sunk in the\nlethargy of grief, to be roused out of it by all her kind\nendeavours;--on the contrary, the sight of those near and dear\nrelatives she presented to him only added to his affliction, by\nreminding him in a more lively manner of his own loss; and the sad\neffect she found their presence had on him, obliged her to remove them\nimmediately from his eyes.\nShe could not, however, think of quitting him in a state so truly\ndeplorable, and so unbecoming of his circumstances and character:--she\nremained in his house, would pursue him wherever he retired, and as\nshe was a woman of excellent sense, as well as good-nature, invented a\nthousand little stratagems to divert his thoughts from the melancholly\ntheme which had too much engrossed them, but had not the satisfaction\nto perceive that any thing she could say or do, occasioned the least\nmovement of that fixed sullenness, which, by a long habit, appeared\nlike a second nature in him.\nThis poor lady found also other matters of surprize and discontent, on\nher staying in town, besides the sad situation of her brother's\nhealth:--as she had never been informed of the disunion between him\nand his wife, much less of the occasion of it, the behaviour of that\nlady filled her with the utmost astonishment:--to perceive she took no\npains to alleviate his sorrows, never came into the room where he was,\nor even sent her woman with those common compliments, which he\nreceived from all who had the least acquaintance with him, would have\nafforded sufficient occasion for the speculation of a sister; yet was\nthis manifest disregard, this failure in all the duties of a wife, a\nfriend, a neighbour, little worthy of consideration, when put in\ncomparison with her conduct in other points.\nAfter the adventure of her detection, finding the minister was\nresolved to support her, and that her husband durst not come to any\nopen breach with her, she immediately began to throw aside all regard\nfor decorum;--she seemed utterly to despise all sense of shame, and\neven to glory in a life of continual dissolution;--the company she\nkept of both sexes, were, for the most part, persons of abandoned\ncharacters: whether she indulged herself in a plurality of amours, is\nuncertain, though it was said she did so; but there was one man to\nwhom she was most particularly attached;--this was a person who had\nformerly enjoyed a post under the government, but was turned out on\nthe score of misbehaviour, and had now no other support than what he\nreceived from her:--with him she frequently passed whole nights, and\ntook so little care in concealing the place of their meeting, that the\nsister of Natura easily found it out.\nOn relating the discovery she had made to some of their relations,\nthey advised her to tell her brother, imagining this glaring insult on\nhis honour would effectually rouse him out of the stupidity he\nlanguished under:--she was of the same opinion, and took the first\nopportunity of letting Natura into the whole infamous affair, not\nwithout some apprehensions, that an excess of rage on hearing it,\nmight hurry him into a contrary extreme; but her terrors on this head\nwere presently dissipated, when having repeated many circumstances to\ncorroborate the truth of what she said, there appeared not the least\nemotion in his countenance; and on her urging him to take some\nmeasures to do himself justice, or at least to put a stop to this\nlicentiousness of a person whose dishonour was his own; all she could\nget from him was, that he had neither regard enough for her to take\nany pains for the reclaiming her, nor for the censure of the world on\nhimself, and desired she would not trouble him any farther on this\npoint.\nThis strange insensibility afforded cause to fear his faculties were\nall too deeply absorbed in melancholy, for him ever to become a man of\nthe world again, and as she truly loved him, gave both her, and all\nhis other friends, an infinite concern.\nCHAP. III.\n  The struggles which different passions occasion in the human breast,\n  are here exemplified; and that there is no one among them so strong,\n  but may be extirpated by another, excepting _revenge_, which knows\n  no period, but by gratification.\nThough it must be acknowledged, that the passions, generally speaking,\noperate according to the constitution, and seem, in a manner, wholly\ndirected by it, yet there is one, above all, which actuates alike in\nall, and when once entertained, is scarce ever extinguished:--it may\nindeed lie dormant, for a time, but then it easily revives on the\nleast occasion, and blazes out with greater violence than ever. I\nbelieve every one will understand I mean _revenge_, since there is no\nother emotion of the soul, but has its antedote: _grief_ and _joy_\nalternately succeed each other;--_hope_ has its period in\npossession;--_fear_ ceases, either by the cause being removed, or by a\nfatal certainty of some dreaded evil;--_ambition_ dies within us, on a\njust sense of the folly of pursuing it;--_hate_ is often vanquished by\ngood offices;--even greedy _avarice_ may be glutted; and _love_ is,\nfor the most part, fluctuating, and may be terminated by a thousand\naccidents.--_Revenge_ alone is implacable and eternal, not to be\nbanished by any other passion whatsoever;--the effects of it are the\nsame, invariable in every constitution; and whether the man be\nphlegmatic or sanguine, there will be no difference in his way of\nthinking in this point. The principles of religion and morality indeed\nmay, and frequently do, hinder a man from putting into action what\nthis cruel passion suggests, but neither of them can restrain him who\nhas revenge in his heart, from wishing it were lawful for him to\nindulge it.\nThis being so fixed a passion, it hardly ever gains entrance on the\nmind, till a sufficient number of years have given a solidity to the\nthoughts, and made us know for what we wish, and why we wish.--Every\none, however, does not experience its force, and happy may those be\naccounted who are free from it, since it is not only the most\nunjustifiable and dangerous, but also the most restless and\nself-tormenting emotion of the soul.\nThere are, notwithstanding, some kind of provocations, which it is\nscarce possible, nor indeed consistent with the justice we owe to\nourselves, to bury wholly in oblivion; and likewise there are some\nkinds of revenge, which may deserve to be excused; of these, that\nwhich Natura put in practice, as shall presently be shewn, may be\nreckoned of the number.\nI doubt not, but my readers, as well as all those who were acquainted\nwith him at that time, will believe, that in the situation I have\ndescribed, he was for ever lost to the sense of any other passion,\nthan that which so powerfully engrossed him, and from which all the\nendeavours hitherto made use of, had been ineffectual to rouse him.\nBut it often happens, that what we least expect, comes most suddenly\nupon us, and proves that all human efforts are in vain, without the\ninterposition of some supernatural power.\nI have already said, that the bad conduct of his wife had been\nrepeated over and over to him without his discovering the least\nemotion at it; yet would not his sister cease urging him to resent it\nas became a man sensible of his dishonour, that is, to rid himself, by\nsuch ways as the law puts it in the power of a husband so injured, to\nget rid of her; and imagining that an ocular demonstration of her\ncrime, would make a greater impression on him, than any report could\ndo, she set about contriving some way to bring him where his own eyes\nmight convince him of the truth of what he had been so often\ntold:--but how to prevail on him to go out of his house, which he had\nnot now seen the outside of for some months, was a difficulty not\neasily surmounted:--the obstinacy of grief disappointed all the little\nplots they laid for their purpose, and they were beginning to give\nover all thoughts of any future attempts, when chance accomplished the\nso-much desired work.\nHe had ordered a monument to be erected over the grave of his beloved\nson; which, being finished, and he told that it was so, 'I will see,'\nsaid he, 'if it be done according to my directions.' Two or three of\nhis kindred were present when he took this resolution, and one of them\nimmediately recollecting, how they might make it of advantage to their\ndesign, said many things in praise of the structure; but added, that\nthe scaffolding and rubbish the workmen had left, not being yet\nremoved, he would have him defer seeing it, till it was cleaned. To\nthis he having readily agreed, spies were placed, to observe the time\nand place, where the lady and her favourite lover had the next\nrendezvous. As neither of them had any great caution in their amour, a\nfull account was soon brought to the sister of Natura, who, with\nseveral of their relations, came into his chamber, and told him that\nthe tomb was now fit to be seen in all its beauty.\nOn this he presently suffered himself to be dressed, and went with\nthem; but they managed so well that, under pretence of calling on\nanother friend, who, they said, had desired to be of their company in\nthis melancholly entertainment, they led him to the house where his\nwife and enamorato were yet in bed. The sister of Natura having, by a\nlarge bribe, secured the woman of the house to her interest, they were\nall conducted to the very scene of guilt, and this much injured\nhusband had a second testimony of the perfidy of his wife; but alas!\nthe first had made too deep an impression on him to leave room for any\ngreat surprize; he only cooly turned away, and said to those who had\nbrought him there, that they needed not have taken all this pains to\nmake him a witness of what he was convinced of long before.\nHis wife, however, was frighted, if not ashamed, and hid herself under\nthe bedcloaths, while her gallant jumped, naked as he was, out of the\nwindow; but though Natura discovered very little emotion at all this,\nyet whether it was owing to the arguments of his friends, or that the\nair, after having been so long shut up from it, had an effect on him,\nthey could not determine, but had the satisfaction to find that he\nconsented an action in his name should be awarded against the lover,\nand proper means used for obtaining a bill of divorce from his wife.\nThe real motive of this change in him none of them, however, could\npenetrate:--grief had for a while obliterated the thoughts of the\ninjustice and ingratitude of his brother, but what he had now beheld\nreminding him of that shocking scene related in the first chapter of\nthis book, all his long stifled wishes for revenge returned with\ngreater force than ever; and thinking he could no way so fully gratify\nthem, as by disappointing him of the estate he must enjoy at his\ndecease, in case he died without issue, a divorce therefore would give\nhim liberty to marry again; and as he was no more than three-and-forty\nyears of age, had no reason to despair of having an heir, to cut\nentirely off the claim of so wicked a brother. Having once began to\nstir in the affair, it was soon brought to a conclusion.--The fact was\nincontestable, and proved by witnesses, whose credit left no room for\ncavil; a bill of divorce was granted on very easy terms, and the\ngallant fined in so large a penalty, that he was obliged to quit the\nkingdom, to avoid imprisonment for life.\nThus did revenge produce an effect, which neither the precepts of\nreligion, philosophy, or morality, joined with the most tender and\npressing remonstrances of his nearest and dearest friends, could ever\nhave brought about;--and this instance, in my judgment, proves to a\ndemonstration, that it is so ordered by the all-wise Creator, that all\nthe pernicious passions are at continual enmity, and, like\ncounter-poisons, destroy the force of each other: and tho' it is\ncertain, a man may be possessed of many passions at once, and those\nalso may be of different natures, and tend to different aims, yet will\nthere be a struggle, as it were, between them in the breast, and which\never happens to get predominance, will drive out the others in time,\nand reign alone sole master of the mind.\nCHAP. IV.\n  Contains a further definition of _revenge_, its force, effects, and\n  the chasm it leaves on the mind when once it ceases. The tranquility\n  of being entirely devoid of all passions; and the impossibility for\n  the soul to remain in that state of inactivity is also shewn; with\n  some remarks on human nature in general, when left to itself.\nI have already shewn, in the example of Natura, how not only\nresentment for injuries, but even the extremest and most justifiable\n_rage_, may be subjected to _ambition_, and afterwards how that\n_ambition_ may be quelled and totally extinguished by _grief_; and\nalso that _grief_ itself, how violent soever it appears, may subside\nat the emotions of _revenge_.--This last and worst passion alone finds\nnothing capable of overcoming it, while the object remains in being.\nIt is true, that we frequently in the hurry of resentment, threaten,\nand sometimes act every thing in our power, against the person who has\noffended us, yet on his submission and appearing sorry for what he has\ndone, we not only forgive, but also forget all has past, and no longer\nbear him the least ill will; but then, this passion, by which we have\nbeen actuated, is not properly _revenge_, but _anger_, of which I have\nalready sufficiently spoke, and, I flatter myself, proved how wide the\ndifference is between these two emotions.\nNatura had no sooner taken it into his head to revenge himself in the\nmanner above related, on his transgressing brother, than he resumed\ngreat part of his former chearfulness, conversed again in the world as\nhe had been accustomed; nor, though he perceived his interest with the\nminister fall off ever since he had been divorced from his neice, and\neasily foresaw, that he would, from his friend, become in time his\ngreatest enemy, yet it gave him little or no concern, so wholly were\nhis thoughts and desires taken up with accomplishing what he had\nresolved.\nHe was, however, for some time deliberating within himself to whom he\nshould direct his addresses on this score; the general acquaintance he\nhad in the world, brought many ladies into his mind, who seemed\nsuitable matches for him; but then, as they were of equal birth and\nfortunes with himself, he reflected, that a long formal courtship\nwould be expected, and he was now grown too indolent to take that\ntrouble, as he was not excited by inclination to any of them, and had\ndetermined to enter a third time into the bonds of matrimony, meerly\nthrough the hope of depriving his brother of the estate.\nBesides, the accidents which had lately happened to him, had very much\naltered his way of thinking, and though he had shaken off great part\nof the chagrin they had occasioned, yet there still remained a certain\nlanguor and inactivity of mind, which destroyed all the relish he\nformerly had of the noisy pleasures of life:--he began now to despise\nthat farce of grandeur he once testified so high a value for, and to\nlook on things as they really deserved;--he found his interest with\nthose at the helm of public affairs, was very much sunk, and he was so\nfar from taking any steps to retrieve it, that he seldom went even to\npay that court to them, which his station demanded from him;--he grew\nso weary of the post which he had, with the utmost eagerness, sought\nafter, and thought himself happy in enjoying, that he never rested\ntill he had disposed of it, which he did for a much less consideration\nthan it was really worth, meerly because he would be in a state of\nperfect independency, and at full liberty to speak and act, according\nto the dictates of his conscience, or his inclination.\nHe was no sooner eased of his attendance at court by this means, than\nhe retired to his country seat, in which he now thought he found more\nsatisfaction, than the town, with all its hurrying pleasures could\nafford; there he intended to pass the greatest part of the remainder\nof his days, with some woman of prudence and good nature, which were\nthe two chief requisites he now wished to find in a wife.--There were\nseveral well-jointured widows in the county where he resided, and also\nyoung ladies of family and fortune, but he never made the least\novertures to any of them, and behaved with that indifference to the\nsex, that it was the opinion of all who conversed with him, that he\nnever designed to marry again, when at the same time, he thought of\nnothing more than to find a partner in that state, such as promised to\nprove what he desired.\nTo this end he watched attentively the behaviour of all those he came\nin company with, and as he was master of a good deal of penetration,\nand also no small experience in the sex, and besides was not suspected\nto have any views that way, it is certain he had a good chance not to\nbe deceived.\nIt was not among the fine ladies, the celebrated beauties, nor the\ngreat fortunes, he sought himself a wife; but among those of a\nmiddling rank; he only wished to have one who might bring him\nchildren, and be addicted to no vice, or caprice, that should either\nscandalize him abroad, or render him uneasy at home, and in all his\ninspection, he found none who seemed so likely to answer his desires\nin every respect as a young maid called L\u00e6titia; she was the daughter\nof a neighbouring yeoman, not disagreeable in her person, or\nbehaviour, yet possessed of no accomplishments, but those which nature\nhad bestowed: her father was an honest plain man, he had four sons and\ntwo daughters, who had been married some time, and had several\nchildren; L\u00e6titia was his youngest, and promised to be no less\nfruitful than her sisters; and this last was the chief inducement\nwhich made Natura fix his choice upon her.\nHaving resolved to seek no farther, he frequently went to the old\nman's house, pretending he took delight in country affairs, would walk\nwith him about his grounds, and into his barns, and see the men who\nwere at work in them. One day he took an opportunity of going when he\nknew he was abroad, designing to break his mind to the young L\u00e6titia,\nwho, being her father's housekeeper, he did not doubt finding at home:\naccordingly she was so; and, after some previous discourse, a little\nboy of one of her sisters, being playing about the room, 'This it a\nfine child,' said he; 'when do you design to marry, pretty Mrs.\nL\u00e6titia?'--'Should you not like to be a mother of such diverting\nlittle pratlers?'--'It is time enough, sir,' replied she modestly,\n'for me to think of any such thing.'--'If you get a good husband,'\nresumed he, 'it cannot be too soon':--'Nor, if a bad one, too late,'\ncried she, 'as there are great odds on that side.'--'That is true,'\nsaid he, 'but I believe there are many ill husbands, who owe their\nbeing such, to the ill conduct of their wives':--'now I fancy,'\ncontinued he, 'whoever is so happy as to have you, will have no such\nexcuse; for I firmly believe you have in you all the requisites to\nmake the marriage state agreeable.' To this she only made a curtesy,\nand thanked him for his good opinion: 'I do assure you,' resumed he,\n'it is so sincere, that I should be glad to prove it, by making you my\nwife. What say you,' pursued he, 'could you be willing to accept of my\naddresses on that score?' With these words he took hold of her hand,\nand pressing it with a great deal of warmth, occasioned her to blush\nexcessively.--The inability she was in of speaking, through the shame\nthis question had excited in her, gave him an opportunity of\nprosecuting what he had begun, and saying many tender things, to\nconvince her he was in earnest; but when at last she gave him an\nanswer, it was only such as made him see she gave little credit to his\nprofessions.--Some people coming in on business to her father, and\nsaying they would wait till he came home, obliged Natura to take his\nleave for that time, well satisfied in his mind, that he had declared\nhimself, and not much doubting, but that in spite of this first\nshyness, she would easily be prevailed upon to correspond with his\ndesires, when his perseverance in them, should have assured her of\ntheir sincerity.\nHe was, notwithstanding, a good deal surprized, when, going several\ntimes after to the house, he could scarce see her, and never be able\nto exchange a word with her in private, so industriously did she avoid\ncoming into his presence.--Such a behaviour, he thought, could proceed\nonly from one of these two motives, either thro' an extraordinary\ndislike to his person, or through the fears of giving any indulgence\nto an inclination, which the disparity between them might make her\nmistake for a dishonourable one. Sometimes he was tempted to think the\none, sometimes the other; but not being of a humour to endure\nsuspense, he resolved to take effectual measures for coming at the\ncertainty.\nHe went one day about noon, and told the yeoman he was come to take a\ndinner with him, on which the other replied, that he did him a great\ndeal of honour; but should have been glad to have been previously\nacquainted with it, in order to have been prepared to receive a\ngentleman of his condition.--'No,' said Natura, 'I chose to come upon\nyou unawares, not only to prevent you from giving yourself any\nsuperfluous trouble on my account, but also because I would use a\nfreedom, which should authorize you to treat me with the same;--we are\nneighbours,' continued he, 'and neighbours should be friends, and love\none another.'\nSome other little chat on trivial affairs passed away the short time\nbetween the coming of Natura, and dinner being brought in; on which,\nthe yeoman intreated him to sit down, and partake of such homely food\nas he found there.--'That I shall gladly do,' answered Natura, 'but I\nwaited for your fair daughter; I hope we shall have her company. I do\nnot know,' said the yeoman, 'I think they told me she was not very\nwell, had got the head-ach, or some such ailment;--go, however,'\npursued he, to a servant, 'and see if L\u00e6titia can come down.'--'But,\nsir,' cried he, perceiving his guest discovered no inclination to\nplace himself at the table, 'do not let us wait for her.'\nNatura on this sat down, and they both began to eat, when the person\nwho had been sent to call L\u00e6titia returned, and said, she begged to be\nexcused, being very much indisposed, and unfit to be seen.--The old\nman seemed to take no notice, but pressed Natura to eat, and somewhat\nembarrassed him with the many apologies he made for the coarseness of\nhis entertainment; to all which he gave but short answers, till the\ncloth was taken away, and they were alone.--Then, 'I could not wish to\ndine more to my satisfaction,' said he, 'if the sweetness of your meat\nhad not been imbittered by your daughter's absence';--'to be plain,'\ncontinued he, 'I fear I am the disease which occasions her\nretirement.'--'You, sir!' cried the father, affecting a surprize,\nwhich he was not so well skilled in the art of dissimulation, to make\nappear so natural, but that Natura easily saw into the feint, and told\nhim with a smile, that he found the _country_ had its arts as well as\nthe _court:_--'but let us deal sincerely with each other,' pursued he,\n'I am very certain, it is from no other motive, than my being here,\nthat your daughter refused to come to table; and I also faithfully\nbelieve you are no stranger to that motive:--be therefore free with\nme; and to encourage you to be so, I shall acquaint you, that I have\nmade some overtures to Mrs. L\u00e6titia,--that I like her, and that my\nfrequent visits to you have been entirely on her account:--now, be as\nsincere with me, and let me know, whether the offers I made her will\nbe approved.'\nThe yeoman was a little dashed on Natura's speaking in this manner,\nand was some moments before he could recollect himself sufficiently to\nmake any reply; and, when at last he had, all he could bring out was,\n'Sir, my girl is honest, and I hope will always continue so.'\n'I am far from doubting her virtue in the least,' answered Natura\nhastily, 'but I think I cannot give a greater testimony of the good\nopinion I have of her, than by offering to make her my wife.'--'Ah,\nsir,' cried the yeoman, interrupting him, 'you must excuse me, if I\ncannot flatter myself you have any thoughts of doing us that\nhonour.--I am a mean man, of no parentage, and it is well known have\nbrought up a large family by the sweat of my brow.'--'L\u00e6titia is a\npoor country maid;--it is true, the girl is well enough, but has\nnothing,--nothing at all, alas! in her to balance for that vast\ndisparity of birth and fortune between you.'\n'Talk no more of that,' said Natura, taking him by the hand, 'such as\nshe is, I like her; and I once more assure you, that I never had any\ndishonourable intentions on her, but am ready to prove the contrary,\nby marrying her, as soon as she approves of me, and you agree to it.'\nThe old man looked very earnestly on him all the while he was\nspeaking, and knew not well whether he ought to give credit to what he\nsaid, or not,--Natura, perceiving his diffidence, continued, by\nsparing neither arguments, nor the most solemn imprecations, to remove\nit, till he was at last assured of a good fortune, which, as he said,\nhe had thought too extraordinary to happen in his family. He then told\nNatura he would acquaint his daughter with the happiness he intended\nfor her, and dispose her to receive it with that respect and gratitude\nthat became her. On which Natura took his leave till the next day,\nwhen he found L\u00e6titia did not make any excuse to avoid his presence,\nas she had lately done.--He addressed himself to her not in the same\nmanner he would have done to a woman of condition, but yet in very\ntender and affectionate terms:--her behaviour to him was humble,\nmodest, and obliging; and though she was not mistress of the politest\nexpressions, yet what she said discovered she wanted not a fund of\ngood sense and understanding, which, if cultivated by education, would\nhave appeared very bright. He easily perceived, she took a great deal\nof pains to disguise the joy she conceived at this prospect of raising\nher fortune, but was too little accustomed to dissimulation, to do it\neffectually, and both the one and the other gave him much\nsatisfaction.\nCircumstances being in the manner I related, it is not natural to\nsuppose any long sollicitation was required.--L\u00e6titia affected not an\nindifference she was free from, and Natura pressing for the speedy\nconsummation of his wishes, a day was appointed for the celebration of\nthe nuptials, and both the intended bride and bridegroom set\nthemselves about making the necessary preparations usual in such\ncases.\nBut see, how capable are our finest resolutions of being shaken by\naccidents!--the most assured of men may be compared to the leaf of a\ntree, which veers with every blast of wind, and is never long in one\nposition.--Had any one told Natura he had taken all this pains for\nnothing, and that he would be more anxious to get off his promise of\nmarrying L\u00e6titia, than ever he had been to engage one from her for\nthat purpose; he would have thought himself highly injured, and that\nthe person who said this of him was utterly a stranger to his\nsentiments or character; yet so it happened, and the poor Letitia\nfound all her hopes of grandeur vanish into air, when they seemed just\non the point of being accomplished.--The occasion of this strange and\nsudden transition was as follows:\nTwo days before that prefixed for his marriage, Natura received a\npacket from Gibralter, which brought him an account of the death of\nhis brother.--That unfortunate young gentleman, being convinced by his\nsufferings, and perhaps too by his own remorse, and stings of\nconscience of the foulness of the crime he had been guilty of, fell\ninto a languishing disorder, soon after his arrival in that country,\nwhich left those about him no expectations of his ever getting the\nbetter of.--Finding his dissolution near, he wrote a letter to Natura,\nfull of contrition, and intreaties for forgiveness. This epistle\naccompanied that which related his death, and both together plunged\nNatura into very melancholly thoughts.--The offence his brother had\nbeen guilty of, was indeed great; but, when he remembered that he had\nrepented, and was now no more, all resentment, all revenge, against\nhim ceased with his existence, and a tender pity supplied their\nplace:--what, while _living_, he never would have forgave, when _dead_\nlost great part of its atrocity, and he bewailed the fate of the\ntransgressor, with unfeigned tears and lamentations.\nThis event putting an end to the motive which had induced Natura to\nthink of marriage, put an end also to his desires that way;--he was\nsorry he had gone so far with L\u00e6titia, was loth to appear a deceiver\nin her eyes, or in those of her father; but thought it would be the\nextremest madness in him to prosecute his intent, as his beloved\nsister had a son, who would now be his heir, and only had desired to\nbe the father of one himself to hinder _him_ from being so, whose\ncrimes had rendered him unworthy of it.\nThe emotions of this revenge having entirely subsided, he now had\nleisure to consider how oddly the world would think and talk of him,\nif he perpetrated a marriage with a girl such as L\u00e6titia;--he almost\nwondered at himself, that the just displeasure he had conceived\nagainst his brother, should have transported him so far as to make him\nforgetful of what was owing to his own character; and when he\nreflected on the miseries, vexations, and infamy, his last marriage\nhad involved him in, he trembled to think how near he had been to\nentering into a state, which tho' he had a very good opinion of\nL\u00e6titia's virtue, might yet possibly, some way or other, have given\nhim many uneasinesses.\nHe was, however, very much embarrassed how to break with her\nhandsomely; and it must be confessed, that after what had passed, this\nwas no very easy matter to accomplish.--Make what pretence he would,\nhe could not expect to escape the censure of an unstable fluctuating\nman.--This is indeed a character, which all men are willing, nay\nindustrious, to avoid, yet what there are few men, but some time or\nother in their lives, give just reason to incur.--Natura very well\nknew, that to court a woman for marriage, and afterwards break his\nengagements with her, was a thing pretty common in the world; but\nthen, it was thing he had always condemned in his own mind, and looked\nupon as most ungenerous and base:--besides, though he had made his\naddresses to L\u00e6titia, meerly because he imagined she would prove a\nvirtuous, obedient, and fruitful wife, and was not inflamed with any\nof those sentiments for her which are called love; yet, designing to\nmarry her, he had set himself as much as possible to love her, and had\nreally excited in his heart a kind of a tenderness, which made him\nunable to resolve on giving her the mortification of being forsaken,\nwithout feeling great part of the pain he was about to inflict on her.\nAll he now wished was, that she might be possessed of as little warmth\nof inclination for him as he had known for her, and that the disparity\nof years between them, might have made her consent to the proposed\nmarriage, intirely on the motive of interest, without any mixture of\nlove, in order that the disappointment she was going to receive, might\nseem the less severe: as the regard he had for her made him earnestly\nwish this might be the case, he carefully recollected all the passages\nof her behaviour, her looks, her words, nay, the very accents of her\nvoice, were re-examined, in hope to find some tokens of that happy\nindifference, which alone could make him easy in this affair; but all\nthis retrospect afforded him no more than uncertain conjectures, and\nimaginations which frequently contradicted each other, and indeed\nserved only to increase his doubts, and add to his disquiets.\nThe mourning for his brother was, however, a very plausible pretence\nfor delaying the marriage; and as he was willing the disappointment\nshould come on by degrees, thinking by that means to soften the\nasperity of it, he contrived to let both father and daughter have room\nto guess the event before hand.--He seldom went to their house, and\nwhen he did, made very short visits, talked as if the necessity of his\naffairs would oblige him to leave the country, and settle again\nentirely in town:--rather avoided, than sought any opportunity of\nspeaking to L\u00e6titia in private, and in all his words and actions,\ndiscovered a coldness which could not but be very surprizing to them\nboth, though they took not the least notice that they were so before\nhim, but behaved towards him in the same manner, as when he appeared\nthe most full of affection.\nThis was a piece of prudence Natura had not expected from persons of\ntheir low education and way of life:--he had imagined, that either the\none or the other of them would have upbraided this change in him, and\nby avowing a suspicion, that he had repented him of his promises,\ngiven him an opportunity either of seeming to resent it, or by some\nother method, of breaking off: but this way of proceeding frustrated\nhis measures in that point, and he found himself under a necessity of\nspeaking first, on a subject no less disagreeable to himself, than he\nknew it would be to those to whom his discourse should be directed.\nHowever, as there was no remedy, and he considered, that the longer to\nkeep them in suspense, would only be adding to the cruelty of the\ndisappointment; he sent one morning for the yeoman to come to his\nhouse, and after ushering in what he was about to say, with some\nreflections on the instability of human affairs, told him that some\naccidents had happened, which rendered it highly inconvenient for him\nto think of marrying;--that he had the utmost respect and good will\nfor L\u00e6titia, and that if there were not indissoluble impediments to\nhinder him from taking a wife, she should be still his choice, above\nany woman he knew in the world;--that he wished her happy with any\nother man, and to contribute to making her so, as also by way of\natonement for his enforced leaving her, he would give her five hundred\npounds, as an addition to her fortune.\nThis was the substance of what he said; but though he delivered it in\nthe softest terms he could possibly make use of, he could find it was\nnot well received by the old man; his countenance, however, a little\ncleared up at the closure of it:--the five hundred pounds was somewhat\nof a sweetener to the bitter pill; and after expatiating, according to\nhis way, on the ungenerosity of engaging a young maid's affection, and\nafterwards forsaking her, he threw in some shrewd hints, that as\naccidents had happened to change his mind as to marriage, others might\nalso happen, which would have the same effect, in relation to the\npresent he now seemed to intend for her.\n'To prevent that,' cried Natura hastily, 'you shall take it home with\nyou'; and with these words turned to a cabinet, and took out the sum\nhe had mentioned; after counting it over, he put it into a bag, and\ndelivered it to the yeoman, saying at the same time, that though it\nmight not be so proper to come to his house, yet if he would send to\nhim in any exigence, he should find him ready to assist him; 'for you\nmay depend,' added he, 'that though I cannot be your son, I shall\nalways be your friend.'\nThese words, and the money together, rendered the yeoman more content\nthan Natura had expected he would be; and by that he hoped he knew his\ndaughter had not imbibed any passion for him, which she would find\nmuch difficulty in getting rid of, and that this augmentation to her\nportion, would very well compensate for the loss of a husband, of more\nthan twice her years.\nA small time evinced, that Natura had not been altogether mistaken in\nhis conjectures.--L\u00e6titia became the bride of a young wealthy grazier\nin a neighbouring town, with whom she removed soon after her marriage;\nand this event, so much desired by Natura, destroyed all the remains\nof disquiet, his nicety of honour, and love of justice, had occasioned\nin him.\nBeing now wholly extricated from an adventure, which had given him\nmuch pain, and no less free from the emotions of any turbulent\npassion, he passed his days and nights in a most perfect and\nundisturbed tranquility; a situation of mind to which, for a long\nseries of years, he had been an utter stranger.\nTo desire, or pursue any thing with too much eagerness, is undoubtedly\nthe greatest cruelty we can practise on ourselves; yet how impossible\nis it to avoid doing so, while the passions have any kind of dominion\nover us:--to _acquire_, and to _preserve_, make the sole business of\nour lives, and leave no leisure to _enjoy_ the goods of\nfortune:--still tost on the billows of passion, hurried from care to\ncare the whole time of our existence here, is one continued scene of\nrestlessness and variated disquiet.--Strange propensity in man!--even\nnature in us seems contradictory to herself!--we wish _long life_, yet\nshorten it by our own anxieties;--nothing is so dreadful as _death_,\nyet we hasten his approach by our intemperance and irregularity, and,\nwhat is more, we know all this, yet still run on in the same heady\ncourse.\nNatura had now, however, an interval, a happy chasm, between the\nextremes of pleasure and of pain;--contented with his lot, and neither\naiming at more than he possessed, nor fearful of being deprived of\nwhat he had. He, for a time, seemed in a condition such as all wise\nmen would wish to attain, tho' so few take proper methods for that\npurpose, that those who we see in it, may be said to owe their\nfelicity rather to chance, than to any right endeavours of their own.\nCHAP. V.\n  Contains a remarkable proof, that tho' the passions may operate with\n  greater velocity and vehemence in youth, yet they are infinitely\n  more strong and permanent, when the person is arrived at maturity,\n  and are then scarce ever eradicated. Love and friendship are then,\n  and not till then, truly worthy of the names they bear; and that the\n  _one_ between those of different sexes, is always the consequence of\n  the _other_.\nThe inclination we have, and the pleasure it gives us to think well of\nour abilities, leads us frequently into the most gross mistakes,\nconcerning the springs of action in our breasts. We are apt to ascribe\nto the strength of our reason, what is in reality the effect of one or\nother of the passions, sometimes even those of the worst kind, and\nwhich a sound judgment would most condemn, and endeavour to\nextirpate.--Man is a stranger to nothing, more than to himself;--the\nrecesses of his own heart, are no less impenetrable to him, than the\nworlds beyond the moon;--he is blinded by vanity, and agitated by\ndesires he knows not he is possessed of.\nIt was not _reason_ but _revenge_, which dissipated the immoderate\ngrief of Natura on the death of his son;--it was not _reason_ but\n_pride_, which made him see the inconveniences of marrying with\nL\u00e6titia;--and yet doubtless he gave the praise of these events to the\nstrength of his prudence: to that too he also ascribed the resolution\nhe now took of living single during the remainder of his life; whereas\nit was in truth only owing to his being at present acquainted with no\nobject capable of inspiring him with the tender passion.\nAs he was now entirely free from all business, or avocation of any\nkind whatsoever, it came into his head to go and pass some part of the\nsummer season with his sister:--he accordingly crossed the country to\nher seat, and was received with all imaginable demonstrations of joy,\nboth by herself and husband.\nHe found their family increased by the addition of a lady, who\npreferring a country to a town life, had desired to board with them,\nwhich was readily granted by the sister of Natura, not only as she was\na relation of her husband, but also for the sake of having a companion\nso perfectly agreeable as this lady was in every respect.\nCharlotte, for so she was called, had been left a widow within three\nmonths after her marriage, and had never entertained any thoughts of\nentering into a second engagement, though her person, jointure, and\naccomplishments, had attracted many sollicitations on that score. She\nwas about thirty years of age when Natura found her at his sister's;\nand through the chearfulness of her temper, and the goodness of her\nconstitution, had preserved in her countenance all the bloom of\nfifteen.--The charms of her person, however, made no impression on\nNatura at his first acquaintance with her; he thought her a fine\nwoman, as every one did who saw her, but her charms reached not his\nheart, nor gave him any emotions, either of pain or pleasure.\nBut it was not for any longtime he remained in this state of\ninsensibility.--Charlotte had graces which could not fail of conquest,\nsooner or later:--where those of her eyes wanted the power to move,\nher tongue came in to their assistance, and was sure of gaining the\nday:--there was something so resistless in her wit, and manner of\nconversation, that none but those by nature, or want of proper\neducation, were too dull and stupid to understand, but must have felt\nan infinity of satisfaction in it.\nBesides all this, there was a sympathy of humour between this lady and\nNatura, which greatly contributed to make them pleased with each\nother:--both were virtuous by nature, by disposition gay and\nchearful:--both were equally lovers of reading; had a smattering of\nphilosophy, were perfectly acquainted with the world, and knew what in\nit was truly worthy of being praised or contemned; and what rendered\nthem still more conformable, was the aversion which each testified to\nmarriage.--Natura's treatment from his wife, had made him speak with\nsome bitterness against a state, which had involved him in so many\nperplexities; and Charlotte, though so short a time a wife, having\nbeen married against her inclination, and to a man who, it seems, knew\nnot her real value, had found in it the beginning of disquiets, which\nprognosticated worse mischiefs, had not his death relieved her from\nthem, and made her too thankful for the deliverance, to endure the\nthoughts of venturing a second time to give up her freedom.\nThis parity of sentiments, inclinations, and dispositions, it was\nwhich, by degrees, endeared them to each other, without knowing they\nwere so.\nNatura became at last impatient out of the company of Charlotte, and\nCharlotte found a restlessness in herself whenever Natura was absent;\nbut this indeed happened but seldom:--the mutual desire they had of\nbeing together, made each of them industriously avoid all those\nparties of pleasure, in which both could not have a share:--Natura\nexcused himself from accompanying his brother-in-law in any of those\ndiversions where women were not admitted; and Charlotte always had\nsome pretence for staying at home when the sister of Natura made her\nvisits to the ladies of the country;--yet was this managed on both\nsides with such great decency and precaution, that neither the one nor\nthe other perceived the motive which occasioned their being so rarely\nseparated; much less had the family any notion of it.\nIt is certain, that never any two persons were possessed of a more\ntrue and delicate passion for each other:--the flame which warmed\ntheir breasts, was meerly spiritual, and platonic;--the difference of\nsex was never considered:--Natura adored Charlotte, not because she\nwas a lovely woman, but because he imagined somewhat angelic in her\nmind; and Charlotte loved Natura not because he had an agreeable\nperson, but because she thought she discovered more charms in his\nsoul, than in that of any other man or woman.\nThe acquaintance between them soon grew into an intimacy, and that\nintimacy, by degrees, ripened into a friendship, which is the height\nand very essence of love, though neither of them would allow\nthemselves to think it so: they made no scruple, however, of assuring\neach other, of their mutual esteem, and promised all the good offices\nin the power of either, with a freedom which they would not have done\n(especially Charlotte, who was naturally very reserved) had they been\nsensible to what lengths their present attachment might in time\nproceed.\nWinter now drew on, but Natura was too much rivetted to think of\ndeparting, and would doubtless have made some pretext for living\naltogether with his sister, had not an accident happened, which made\nhis going a greater proof of the regard he had for Charlotte, than his\nstaying could have done, and perhaps made him know the real sentiments\nhe was possessed of on her account, much sooner than he should without\nit.\nThat lady had some law-affairs, which required either herself, or some\nvery faithful and diligent friend to attend. Term was approaching, and\nthe brother-in-law of Natura had promised to take a journey to London\nfor that purpose; but he unfortunately had been thrown from his horse\nin a hunting match, and broke his leg, and Charlotte seemed in a good\ndeal of anxiety, who she should write to, in order to entrust with the\ncare of her business, which she justly feared would suffer much, if\nleft wholly to the lawyer's own management.\nNatura on this offered his service, and told her, if she would favour\nhim with her confidence in this point, he would go directly to London,\nwhere she might depend on his diligence and fidelity in the forwarding\nher business:--as she had not the least doubt of either, she accepted\nthis testimony of his friendship, with no other reluctance, than what\nthe being long deprived of his conversation occasioned.--Her good\nsense, notwithstanding, got the better of that consideration, which\nshe looked upon only at an indulgence to herself, and committed to his\ncare all the papers necessary to be produced, in case he succeeded so\nwell for her, as to bring the suit to a trial.\nThe manner of their taking leave was only such as might be expected\nbetween two persons, who professed a friendly regard for each other;\nbut Natura had no sooner set out on his journey, than he felt a\nheaviness at his heart, for having left the adorable Charlotte, which\nnothing but the consideration that he was employed on her business,\nand going to serve her could have asswaged.\nThis was, indeed, a sweet consolation to him, and on his arrival in\ntown, set himself to enquire into the causes of that delay she had\ncomplained of, with so much assiduity, that he easily found out she\nhad not been well treated by her lawyers, and that one of them had\neven gone so far as to take fees from her adversary;--he therefore put\nthe affair into other hands, and ordered matters so, that the trial\ncould not, by any means, be put off till another time.\nYet, in spite of all this diligence, it was the opinion of the\ncouncil, that there was an absolute necessity for the lady to appear\nherself:--it is hard to say, whether Natura was more vexed or pleased\nat this intelligence; he was sorry that he could not, of himself,\naccomplish what he came about, and spare her the trouble of a journey\nhe had found was very disagreeable to her, not only on account of her\naversion to the town, and the ill season of the year for travelling,\nbut also because the person she contended with was a near relation,\nand she was very sensible would engage many of their kindred to\ndisswade her from doing herself that justice she was resolute to\npersist in her attempts for procuring.--The thoughts of the perplexity\nthis would give her, it was that filled him with a good deal of\ntrouble; but then the reflection, that he should have the happiness of\nseeing her again, on this account, much sooner than he could otherwise\nhave done, gave him at least an equal share of satisfaction.\nThe gentlemen of the long robe employed in her cause, and whose\nveracity and judgment he was well assured of, insisting she must come,\nput an end to his suspense, and he wrote to her for that purpose: the\nnext post brought him an answer which, to his great surprize,\nexpressed not the least uneasiness on the score of this journey, only\nacquainted him, that she had taken a place in the stage, should set\nout next morning, and in three days be in London; against which time,\nshe begged he would be so good to provide her a commodious lodging,\nshe being determined to go to none of her kindred, for the reason\nabovementioned.\nBeing animated with exactly the same sentiments Natura was, that\ninclination which led him to wish her coming, influenced her also to\nbe pleased with it, and rendered the fatigue of the journey, and those\nothers she expected to find on her arrival, of no consequence, when\nbalanced against the happiness she proposed, in re-enjoying the\nconversation of her aimable and worthy friend.\nBut all this Natura was ignorant of; nor did his vanity suggest to him\nthe least part of what passed in his favour in the bosom of his lovely\nCharlotte; but he needed no more than the knowledge she was coming to\na place where he should have her company, with less interruption than\nhe had hitherto the opportunity of, to make him the most transported\nman alive. As he had no house of his own in town to accommodate her\nwith, he provided lodgings, and every thing necessary for her\nreception, with an alacrity worthy of his love, and the confidence she\nreposed in him; and went in his own coach to take her from the stage\nsome miles on the road. She testified her gratitude for the care he\ntook of her affairs, in the most obliging and polite acknowledgments;\nand he returned the thanks she gave him, with the sincerest\nassurances, that the thoughts of having it in his power to do her any\nlittle service, afforded him the most elevated pleasure he had ever\nknown in his whole life.\nWhat they said to each other, however, on this score, was taken by\neach, more as the effects of gallantry and good breeding, than the\nreal motives from which the expressions they both made use of, had\ntheir source:--equal was their tenderness, equal also was their\ndiffidence, it being the peculiar property of a true and perfect love,\nalways to fear, and never to hope too much.\nNatura had taken care to chuse her an apartment very near the place\nwhere he lodged himself, which luckily happened to be in an extreme\nairy and genteel part of the town; so that he had the pleasure of\nseeing her, not only every day, but almost every hour in the day, on\none pretext or other, which his industrious passion dictated; and this\nalmost continual being together, and, for the most part, without any\nother company, very much increased the freedom between them, though\nthat freedom never went farther, even in a wish, on either side, for a\nlong time at least, than that of a brother and sister.\nThough all imaginable diligence was used to bring the law-suit to an\nissue, those with whom Charlotte contested, found means to put it off\nfor yet one more term, she was obliged to stay that time; but neither\nfelt in herself, nor pretended to do so, any repugnance at it:--Natura\nhad enough to do to conceal his joy on this occasion; and when he\naffected a concern for her being detained in a place she had so often\ndeclared an aversion for, he did it so awkwardly, that had she not\nbeen too much taken up with endeavouring to disguise her own\nsentiments on this account, she could not but have seen into his.\nAs neither of them seemed now to take any delight in balls, plays,\noperas, masquerades, cards, or any of the town diversions, they passed\nall their evenings together, and, for the most part, alone, as I\nbefore observed;--their conversation was chiefly on serious topics,\nand such as might have been improving to the hearers, had any been\npermitted; and when they fell on matters which required a more gay and\nsprightly turn, their good humour never went beyond an innocent\nchearfulness, nor in the least transgressed the bounds of the\nstrictest morality and modesty.\nHow long this platonic intercourse would have continued, is uncertain;\nbut the second term was near elapsed, the suit determined in favour of\nCharlotte, and her stay in town necessary but a very days before\neither of them entertained any other ideas, than such as I have\nmentioned. Natura then began to regret the diminution of the happiness\nhe now enjoyed, and indeed of the total loss of it; for though he knew\nit would not be wondered at, that his complaisance should induce him\nto attend Charlotte in her journey to his sister's, yet he was at a\nloss for a pretence to remain there for any long time.--Charlotte, on\nthe other hand, considered on the separation which, in all appearance,\nmust shortly be between them, with a great deal of anxiety, and was\neven sorry the completion of her business had left her no excuse for\nstaying in town, since she could not expect it either suited with his\ninclinations, or situation of affairs, to live always in the country.\nThese cogitations rendered both very uneasy in their minds, yet\nneither of them took any steps to remedy a misfortune equally terrible\nto each; and the event had doubtless proved as they imagined, had not\nthe latent fires which glowed in both their breasts, been kindled into\na flame by foreign means, and not the least owing to themselves.\nOne of those gentlemen who had been council for Charlotte, and had\nbehaved with extraordinary zeal in her behalf, had been instigated\nthereto, more by the charms of her person, than the fees he received\nfrom her;--in fine, he was in love with her; but his passion was not\nof that delicate nature, which fills the mind with a thousand timid\napprehensions, and chuses rather to endure the pains of a long\nsmothered flame, than run the hazard of offending the adored object,\nby disclosing it.\nHe had enquired into her family and fortune, and finding there was\nnothing of disparity between them, he declared his passion to her, and\ndeclared it in terms which seemed not to savour of any great fears of\nbeing rejected.--He was in his prime of life, had an agreeable person,\nand a good estate, the consciousness of which, together with his being\naccustomed to plead with success at the bar, made him not much doubt,\nbut his eloquence and assurance would have the same effect on his\nmistress, as it frequently had on the judges: but the good opinion he\nhad of himself, greatly deceived him in this point; he met with a\nrebuff from Charlotte, which might have deterred some men from\nprosecuting a courtship she seemed determined never to encourage: but\nthough he was a little alarmed at it, he could not bring himself to\nthink she was enough in earnest to make him desist: in every visit he\npaid her, he interlarded his discourse on business with professions of\nlove, which at length so much teized her, that she told him plainly,\nshe would sooner suffer her cause to be lost, than suffer herself to\nbe continually persecuted with sollicitations, which she had ever\navoided since her widowhood, and ever should do so.\nNatura came in one day just as the counsellor was going out of her\napartment; he observed a great confusion in his face, and some\nemotions in her's, which shewed her mind a little ruffled from that\nhappy composure he was accustomed to find it in. On his testifying the\nnotice he took of this change in her countenance, 'It is strange\nthing,' said she, 'that people will believe nothing in their own\ndisfavour!--I have told this man twenty times, that if I were disposed\nto think of a second marriage, which I do not believe I ever shall,\nthe present sentiments I am possessed of, would never be reversed by\nany offer he could make me; yet will he still persist in his\nimpertinent declarations.'\nThere needed no more to convince Natura he had a rival; nor, as he\nknew Charlotte had nothing of coquetry in her humour, to make him also\nknow she was not pleased with having attracted the affections of this\nnew admirer: this gave him an inexpressible satisfaction; for tho', as\nyet, he had never once thought of making any addresses to her on the\nscore of love, death was not half so terrible to him, as the idea of\nher encouraging them from any other man.\n'Then, madam,' cried he, looking on her in a manner she had never seen\nhim do before, 'the councellor has declared a passion for you, and\nyou have rejected him?'--'is it possible?'--'Possible!' interrupted\nshe, 'can you believe it possible I should not do so, knowing, as you\ndo, the fixed aversion I have to entering into any second\nengagement!'--'but were it less so,' continued she, after a pause, 'his\nsollicitations would be never the more agreeable to me.'\nNatura asked pardon for testifying any surprize, which he assured her\nwas totally owing, either to this proof of the effect of her charms,\n'which,' said he, 'are capable of far greater conquests; or to your\nrefusal of the councellor's offer, after the declarations you have\nmade against a second marriage, but was excited in me meerly by the\nnovelty of the thing, having heard nothing of it before.'\n'This had not been among the number of the few things I conceal from\nyou,' answered she, 'if I had thought the repetition worthy of taking\nup any part of that time which I always pass with you on subjects more\nagreeable';--'besides,' continued she, 'it was always my opinion, that\nthose women, who talk of the addresses made to them, are secretly\npleased with them in their hearts, and like the love, tho' they may\neven despise the lover. For my part, I can feel no manner of\nsatisfaction in relating to others, what I had rather be totally\nignorant of myself.'\nNatura had here a very good opportunity of complimenting her on the\nexcellency of her understanding, which set her above the vanities of\nthe generality of her sex; and indeed he expressed himself with so\nmuch warmth on this occasion, that it even shocked her modesty, and\nshe was obliged to desire him to change the conversation, and speak no\nmore of a behaviour, which was not to be imputed to her good sense,\nbut to her disposition.\nNever had Natura found it more difficult to obey her than now;--he\ncould have expatiated for ever on the many and peculiar perfections\nboth of her mind and person; but he perceived, that to indulge the\ndarling theme, would be displeasing to her, and therefore forced\nhimself to put a stop to the utterance of those dictates, with which\nhis heart was now charged, even to an overflowing.\nSuch was the effect of this incident on both: Natura, who till now had\nthought he loved only the _soul_ of his mistress, found how dear her\nlovely _person_ was also to him, by the knowledge that another was\nendeavouring to get possession of it; and Charlotte, by the secret\nsatisfaction she felt on those indications Natura, in spite of his\nefforts to the contrary, had given of a more than ordinary admiration\nof her, discovered, for the first time, that he was indeed the only\nman whose love would not be displeasing to her.\nAfter Natura came home, and had leisure to meditate on this affair, he\nbegan with thinking how terrible it would be to him, to see Charlotte\nin the arms of a husband; and when he reflected, that such a thing\nmight be possible, even though he doubted not the sincerity of her\npresent aversion, the idea was scarce to be borne:--from this he\nnaturally fell on figuring to himself how great a blessing that man\nwould enjoy, who should always have the sweet society of so amiable a\ncompanion;--and this made him cry out, 'Why then, what hinders me from\nendeavouring to become that happy man?--If I resolved against any\nfuture marriage, it was when I knew not the adorable Charlotte, nor\nbelieved there was so excellent a woman in the world.'--In this\nrapturous imagination did he continue for a moment, but then the\nimprobability of succeeding in any such attempt, struck him with an\nadequate despair.--'Though the uncommon merit of the woman I adore,'\nsaid he, 'compels me to change the resolution I had taken, there is\nnot the same reason to prevail on her to recede from her's.--Past the\nbloom of life, and already twice a husband, can I flatter myself with\nthe fond hope she will not reject the proposals I should make with the\nsame scorn she did those of the councillor?'\nCharlotte, on the other hand, was engrossed by reflections vastly\ndifferent from those she was accustomed to entertain:--never woman was\nmore free from vanity, or thought less of the power of her charms, yet\nshe could not hinder herself from thinking there was somewhat in the\nbehaviour of Natura, in his last visit, that denoted a regard beyond\nan ordinary friendship for her.--This apprehension, at first, a little\nstartled her, or at least she imagined it did so, and she said to\nherself, 'If he should really harbour any inclinations for me of that\nsort, how unhappy should I be in being obliged to break off my\nacquaintance with a person so every way agreeable to me; and to\ncontinue it, would be to countenance a passion I have determined never\nto give the least attention to.'--'Yet wherefore did I determine?'\npursued she, with a sigh, 'but because I found the generality of men\nmere wandering, vague, inconstant creatures;--were guided only by\nfancy;--never consulted their judgment, whether the object they\npretended to admire, had any real merit or not, and often too treated\nthose worst who had the best claim to their esteem;--besides, one\nseldom finds a man whose person and qualifications are every way\nsuited to one's liking:--Natura is certainly such as I should wish a\nhusband to be, if I were inclined to marry again;--I have not taken a\nvow of celibacy, and have nobody to controul my actions':--'then,'\nsaid she again, 'what foolish imaginations comes into my head; perhaps\nhe has not the least thought of me in the way I am dreaming of;--no,\nno, he has suffered too much by the imprudence of one woman, to put it\nin the power of another to treat him in the same manner;--be trembles\nat marriage;--I have heard him declare it, and I am deviating into a\nvanity I never before was guilty of.'\nShe was debating in this fashion within herself, when Natura came to\npay his morning visit: she blushed at his approach, conscious of the\nmeditations she had been in on his account.--He, full of the\nsentiments I have described, saluted her with an air more grave and\ntimid than he had been accustomed, and which all who are judges of the\ntender passion, know to be the surest symptom of it.--They sat down,\nand on his beginning to renew some discourse concerning the\ncounsellor's pretensions, she desired him to forbear so disagreeable a\ntopic, telling him at the same time, he could say nothing else she\nwould not listen to with satisfaction.--'How, madam,' cried he, 'are\nyou sure of that?--Alas, you little know what passes in my heart, or\nyou would not permit me this toleration.' This might have been\nsufficient to make some women convinced of the truth; but Charlotte\neither fearful of being deceived by her own vanity, or willing he\nshould be more explicit, answered, 'I have too high an opinion of your\ngood sense, and too flattering an idea of your friendship to me, to\nimagine your heart will ever suggest any thing which would be\noffensive to me from your tongue.'\n'Suppose, madam,' said he, 'it should not be in my power to restrain\nmy wishes in those bounds prescribed by you, to all who have the\nhappiness of conversing with you; and that I were encroaching enough\nnot to be content with the marks of friendship you are pleased to\nhonour me':--'in fine,' continued he, 'suppose I were guilty of the\nvery same presumption, you have so severely censured in the\ncouncellor!'\n'That is impossible,' replied she, 'since you are a foe professed to\nmarriage, as well as myself';--she was about to add something more,\nbut was prevented by emotions, which she attempted, but in vain, to\nconceal; and Natura saw enough to keep him from despairing he had\nforfeited her _esteem_ by aiming at her _love_.\nHaving thus made a beginning, it was easy for him to prosecute a suit,\nwhich he soon discovered he had a friend in her bosom to plead in\nfavour of:--in a word, he left her not, till he had obtained her\npermission to entertain her on the same theme, and to use his\nendeavours to prevail on her to exchange the friendship she confessed\nfor him into a warmer passion.\nIt would be altogether needless to make any repetition of the\nparticulars of this courtship; the reader will easily believe, that\nboth parties being animated with the same sentiments I have described,\nit could not be very tedious;--love had already done his work in their\nhearts, and required little the labour of the tongue. Charlotte had\nentirely compleated every thing appertaining to her law-suit, yet she\nseemed not in a hurry to quit the town; a business of a more tender\nnature now detained her;--she had resolved, or rather she could not\nhelp resolving, to give herself to Natura, and the shame of doing what\nshe had so often, and so strenuously declared against, rendered the\nthoughts of returning into the country in a different state, from that\nwith which she had left it, insupportable to her.\nAfter having agreed to the sollicitations of her importunate lover,\nshe expressed her sentiments to him on this head; on which it was\nconcluded, that their nuptials should be solemnized as privately as\npossible in London, and that they should set out immediately after for\nhis country seat, where Charlotte, being utterly a stranger, would not\nbe subjected to any of those little railleries, she must have\nexpected, in a place where every one knew of the aversion she had\ntestified for a second marriage.\nNo cross accident intervening, what they designed was, in a short\ntime, carried into execution;--never were any pair united by more\nindelible bonds; those of friendship sublimed into the most pure and\nvirtuous tenderness, and a parity of principles, humours, and\ninclinations.\nThus does passion triumph over the most seemingly fixed and determined\nresolution; and though it must be confessed, that in this instance,\nboth had reason, from the real merits of the beloved object, to\njustify their choice, yet nature would certainly have had the same\nforce, and worked the same effect, if excited only by meer fancy, and\nimaginary perfections.\nA Platonic and spiritual love, therefore, between persons of different\nsexes, can never continue for any length of time. Whatever ideas the\n_mind_ may conceive, they will at last conform to the craving of the\n_senses_; and the _soul_, though never so elevated, find itself\nincapable of enjoying a perfect satisfaction, without the\nparticipation of the _body_.--As inclination then is not always guided\nby a right judgment, nor circumstances always concur to render the\nindulging an amorous propensity either convenient, or lawful, how\ncareful ought every one be, not to be deceived by a romantic\nimagination, so far as to engage in an affection which, sooner or\nlater, will bring them to the same point that Natura and Charlotte\nexperienced.\nCHAP. VI.\n  How the most powerful emotions of the _mind_ subside and grow weaker\n  in proportion, as the strength of the _body_ decays, is here\n  exemplified; and that such passions as remain after a certain age,\n  are not properly the incentives of nature, but of example, long\n  habitude or ill humour.\nThe bride and bridegroom were received by all the friends, tenants,\nand dependants of Natura, with the greatest demonstrations of joy; and\nthe behaviour of the amiable Charlotte was such as made every one\ncease to wonder that he had ventured again on marriage, after the\ndisquiets he had experienced in that state.\nThe kindred on neither side had nothing to condemn in the choice which\neach had made of the other; and though perhaps a motive of\nself-interest might make those nearest in blood, and consequently to\nthe estates they should leave at their decease, wish such an union had\nnot happened, yet none took the liberty to complain, or betray, by any\npart of their behaviour, the least dissatisfaction at it.--The sister\nand brother-in-law of Natura, it must be allowed, had the most cause,\nas they had a large family of children, who had a claim equally to the\neffects of both, in case they had died without issue; yet did not even\nthey express any discontent, though Charlotte, within the first year\nof her marriage, brought two sons into the world, and a third in the\nnext ensuing one, all which seemed likely to live, and enjoy their\nparents patrimony.\nWhat now was wanting to compleat the happiness of this worthy pair,\nequally loving and beloved by each other, respected by all who knew\nthem, in need of no favours from any one, and blessed with the power\nof conferring them on as many as they found wanted, or merited their\nassistance.--Charlotte lost no part of her beauty, nor vivacity, by\nbecoming a mother, nor did Natura find any decrease in the strength,\nor vigour, either of his mind or body, till he was past fifty-six\nyears of age.--The same happy constitution had doubtless continued a\nmuch longer time in him, as nature had not been worn out by any\nexcesses, or intemperance, if by unthinkingly drinking some cold\nwater, when he was extremely hot, he had not thrown himself into a\nsurfeit, which surfeit afterward terminated in an ague and fever,\nwhich remained on him a long time, and so greatly impaired all his\nfaculties, as well as person, that he was scarce to be known, either\nby behaviour, or looks, for the man who, before that accident, had\nbeen infinitely regarded and esteemed for the politeness of the _one_,\nand the agreeableness of the _other_.\nHis limbs grew feeble, his body thin, and his face pale and wan, his\ntemper sour and sullen, seldom caring to speak, and when he did it was\nwith peevishness and ill-nature;--every thing was to him an object of\ndisquiet; nothing of delight; and he seemed, in all respects, like one\nwho was weary of the world, and knew he was to leave it in a short\ntime.\nIt is so natural to feel repugnance at the thoughts of being what they\ncall _no more_; that is, no more as to the knowledge and affections of\nthis world; that even those persons who labour under the severest\nafflictions, wish rather to continue in them, than be eased by\ndeath:--they are pleased at any flattering hopes given of a\nprolongation of their present misery, and are struck with horror at\nthe least mention of their life and pains being drawing to a\nperiod.--More irksome, doubtless, it must still be to those, who\nhaving every thing they could wish for here, find they must soon be\ntorn from all the blessings they enjoy.--This is indeed a weakness;\nbut it is a weakness of nature, and which neither religion nor\nphilosophy are sufficient to arm us against; and the very endeavours\nwe make to banish, or at least to conceal our disquiets on this score,\noccasion a certain peevishness in the sweetest temper, and make us\nbehave with a kind of churlishness, even to those most dear to us.\nFew, indeed, care to confess this truth, tho' there are scarce any,\nwho do not shew it in their behaviour, even at the very time they are\nforcing themselves to an affectation of indifference for life, and a\nresignation to the will of Heaven.\nThe great skill of his physicians, however, and the yet greater care\nhis tender consort took to see their prescriptions obeyed with the\nutmost exactitude, at length recovered Natura from the brink of the\ngrave.--He was out of danger from the disease which had so long\nafflicted him; but though it had entirely left him, the attack had\nbeen too severe for a person at the age to which he was now arrived,\nto regain altogether the former man.--He had, in his sickness,\ncontracted habits, which he was unable to throw off in health, and he\ncould no more behave, than look, as he had done before.\nThe mind would certainly be unalterable, and retain the same vigour it\never had in youth, even to extreme old age, could the constitution\npreserve itself entire.--It is that perishable part of us, which every\nlittle accident impairs, and wears away, preparing, as it were, by\ndegrees, for a total dissolution, which hinders the nobler moiety of\nthe human species from actuating in a proper manner:--those organs,\nwhich are the vehicles, through which its meanings shoot forth into\naction, being either shrivelled, abraded by long use, or clogged up\nwith humours, shew the soul but in an imperfect manner, often disguise\nit wholly, and it is for want of a due consideration only, that we are\nso apt to condemn the _mind_, for what, in reality, is nothing but the\nincumbrances laid on it by the infirmities of the _body_.\nIt is true, that as we grow older, the passions naturally subside; yet\nthat they do so, is not owing to themselves, as I think may be easily\nproved by this argument.\nEvery one will acknowledge, because he knows it by experience, that\nwhile he is possessed of _passions_, his _reason_ alone has the power\nof keeping them within the bounds of moderation; if then we have less\nof the _passions_ in old age, or rather, if they seem wholly\nextinguished in us, we ought to have a greater share of _reason_ than\nbefore; whereas, on the contrary, _reason_ itself becomes languid in\nthe length of years, as well as the _passions_, it is supposed to have\nsubdued: it is therefore meerly the imbecility of the organical\nfaculties, and from no other cause, that we see the aged and infirm\ndead, in appearance, to those sensations, by which their youth was so\nstrongly influenced.\n_Avarice_ is, indeed, frequently distinguishable in old men; but this\nI do not look upon as a _passion_ but a _propensity_, arising from\nill-nature and self-love.--Gain, and the sordid pleasure of counting\nover money, and reckoning up rents and revenues, is the only lust of\nage; and since we cannot be so handsome, so vigorous, cannot indulge\nour appetites, like those who are younger, we take all manner of ways\nto be richer, and pride ourselves in the length of our bags, and the\nnumber of our tenants.\nI know it may be objected, that this vice is not confined to age, that\nyouth is frequently very avaritious, and grasps at money with a very\nunbecoming eagerness:--this, I grant, is true; but, if we look into\nthe conduct of such men in other respects, I believe we shall\ngenerally find their avarice proceeds from their prodigality;--they\nare lavish in the purchase of pleasures, and must therefore be\nparsimonious in acts of generosity and justice:--they are guilty of\nmeanness in some things, only for the sake of making a great figure in\nothers; and are not ashamed to be accounted niggards, where they ought\nto be liberal, in order to acquire the reputation of open-handedness,\nwhere it would better become them to be sparing.\nNatura, however, had never discovered any tendency to this vice,\neither in youth or age; yet did that peevishness, which the\ninfirmities of his body had occasioned, make him behave sometimes, as\nif he were tainted with it.\nCharlotte observed this alteration in her husband's temper with an\ninfinite concern; yet bore it with an equal patience;--making it her\nwhole study to divert and sooth his ill humour:--he was not so lost to\nlove and gratitude, and even reason too, as not to acknowledge the\ntender proofs he continually received of her unshaken affections, and\nwould sometimes confess the errors he was guilty of, in point of\nbehaviour towards her, and intreat her pardon; but then the least\ntrifle would render him again forgetful of all he had said, and make\nhim relapse into his former frowardness.\nIt is certain, notwithstanding, that his love for her was the same as\never, though he could not shew it in the same manner; and to what can\nthis be imputed, but to the effect which the ailments of his external\nframe had on his internal faculties.\nThough, as well as those about him, he found a decay within himself,\nwhich made him think he had not long to live; yet could he not be\nprevailed upon, for a great while, to settle his affairs after his\ndecease, by making any will; and whenever it was mentioned to him,\ndiscovered a dissatisfaction, which at last made every one desist from\nurging any thing on that score.\nIt was in vain that they had remonstrated to him, that the estate\nbeing to descend entire to his eldest son, the two youngest would be\nleft without any provision, and consequently must be dependants on\ntheir brother, by his dying intestate:--in vain they pleaded, that\ntaking so necessary a precaution for preserving the future peace of\nhis family, would no way hasten his death, but, on the contrary,\nrender the fatal hour, whenever it should arrive, less dreadful, he\nhad only either answered not at all, or replied in such a fashion, as\ncould give them no room to hope for his compliance.\nIn this unhappy disposition did he continue between two and three\nyears; but as his latter days came on, he grew much more calm and\nresigned, _reason_ began to recover its former dominion over him; and,\nwhen every one had left off all importunities on the account of his\nmaking a _will_, he, of himself, mentioned the necessity of it, and\nordered a lawyer to be sent for to that end.\nHaving settled all his affairs, relating to this world, in the most\nprudent manner, he began to prepare for another, with a zeal which\nshewed, that whatever notions people may have in health, concerning\nfuturity, they become more convinced, in proportion as they grow\nnearer their dissolution.\nHe finished his course in the sixty-third, or what is called the grand\nclimacteric year of life;--had the blessing to retain the use of all\nhis senses to the last; and as death had long before assailed, though\nnot totally vanquished him, he was too much decayed by continual\nwastings, to feel any of those pangs, which persons who die in their\nfull vigour must unavoidably go through, when the vital springs burst\nat once.\nHe took leave of his dear wife and children with great serenity and\ncomposure of mind; and afterwards turned himself from them, and passed\ninto eternity, as if falling into a gentle slumber.\nThus have I attempted to trace nature in all her mazy windings, and\nshew life's progress thro' the passions, from the cradle to the\ngrave.--The various adventures which happened to Natura, I thought,\nafforded a more ample field, than those of any one man I ever heard,\nor read of; and flatter myself, that the reader will find many\ninstances, that may contribute to rectify his own conduct, by pointing\nout those things which ought to be avoided, or at least most carefully\nguarded against, and those which are worthy to be improved and\nimitated.\nFINIS.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  Life's Progress Through the Passions; Or, The Adventures of Natura\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1736, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Delphine Lettau, Dianne Nolan and the Online\nTranscriber's Note: Italics are indicated by _underscores_.\n  THE HISTORY OF\n    MISS BETSY\n   THOUGHTLESS\n  ELIZA HAYWOOD\nCONTENTS\nVolume the First\n  Chapter III          14\n  Chapter VII          35\n  Chapter VIII         41\n  Chapter XII          67\n  Chapter XIII         75\n  Chapter XIV          82\n  Chapter XVI         100\n  Chapter XVII        106\n  Chapter XVIII       114\n  Chapter XIX         121\n  Chapter XXI         134\n  Chapter XXII        139\n  Chapter XXIII       145\nVolume the Second\n  Chapter III         165\n  Chapter VII         190\n  Chapter VIII        194\n  Chapter XII         219\n  Chapter XIII        223\n  Chapter XIV         229\n  Chapter XVI         242\n  Chapter XVII        250\n  Chapter XVIII       257\n  Chapter XIX         264\n  Chapter XXI         275\n  Chapter XXII        283\n  Chapter XXIII       289\nVolume the Third\n  Chapter III         312\n  Chapter VII         339\n  Chapter VIII        345\n  Chapter XII         369\n  Chapter XIII        374\n  Chapter XIV         379\n  Chapter XVI         395\n  Chapter XVII        401\n  Chapter XVIII       406\n  Chapter XIX         414\n  Chapter XXI         427\n  Chapter XXII        432\nVolume the Fourth\n  Chapter III         450\n  Chapter VII         472\n  Chapter VIII        476\n  Chapter XII         500\n  Chapter XIII        506\n  Chapter XIV         514\n  Chapter XVI         529\n  Chapter XVII        537\n  Chapter XVIII       544\n  Chapter XIX         552\n  Chapter XXI         564\n  Chapter XXII        573\n  Chapter XXIII       578\n  Chapter XXIV        586\nVOLUME THE FIRST\nCHAPTER I\n_Gives the reader room to guess at what is to ensue, though ten to one\nbut he finds himself deceived_\nIt was always my opinion, that fewer women were undone by love than\nvanity; and that those mistakes the sex are sometimes guilty of,\nproceed, for the most part, rather from inadvertency, than a vicious\ninclination. The ladies, however, I am sorry to observe, are apt to make\ntoo little allowances to each other on this score, and seem better\npleased with an occasion to condemn than to excuse; and it is not above\none, in a greater number than I will presume to mention, who, while she\npasses the severest censure on the conduct of her friend, will be at the\ntrouble of taking a retrospect on her own. There are some who behold,\nwith indignation and contempt, those errors in others, which, unhappily,\nthey are every day falling into themselves; and as the want of due\nconsideration occasions the guilt, so the want of due consideration also\noccasions the scandal: and there would be much less room either for the\none or the other, were some part of that time which is wasted at the\ntoilette, in consulting what dress is most becoming to the face,\nemployed in examining the heart, and what actions are most becoming of\nthe character.\nBetsy Thoughtless was the only daughter of a gentleman of good family\nand fortune in L----e, where he constantly resided, scarce ever going to\nLondon, and contented himself with such diversions as the country\nafforded. On the death of his wife, he sent his little favourite, then\nabout ten years old, to a boarding-school, the governess of which had\nthe reputation of a woman of great good sense, fine breeding, and every\nway qualified for the well-forming of the minds of those young persons\nwho were entrusted to her care.\nThe old gentleman was so well pleased with having placed his daughter\nwhere she was so likely to improve in all the accomplishments befitting\nher sex, that he never suffered her to come home, even at breaking-up\ntimes, when most of the other young ladies did so: but as the school was\nnot above seven or eight miles from his seat, he seldom failed calling\nto see her once or twice a week.\nMiss Betsy, who had a great deal of good-nature, and somewhat extremely\nengaging in her manner of behaviour, soon gained the affection not only\nof the governess, but of all the young ladies; but as girls, as well as\nwomen, have their favourites, to whom they may communicate their little\nsecrets, there was one who above all the others was distinguished by\nher. Miss Forward, for so she was called, was also very fond of Miss\nBetsy. This intimacy beginning but in trivial things, and such as suited\ntheir age, continued as they advanced nearer to maturity. Miss Forward,\nhowever, had two years the advantage of her friend, yet did not disdain\nto make her the confidante of a kind of amorous intrigue she had entered\ninto with a young lad, called Master Sparkish, the son of a neighbouring\ngentleman: he had fallen in love with her at church, and had taken all\nopportunities to convince her of his passion; she, proud of being looked\nupon as a woman, encouraged it. Frequent letters passed between them,\nfor she never failed to answer those she received from him, both which\nwere shewn to Miss Betsy; and this gave her an early light into the art\nand mystery of courtship, and consequently a relish for admiration. The\nyoung lover calling his mistress angel and goddess, made her long to be\nin her teens, that she might have the same things said to her.\nThis correspondence being by some accident discovered, the governess\nfound it behoved her to keep a strict eye upon Miss Forward: all the\nservants were examined concerning the conveying any letters, either to\nor from her: but none of them knew any thing of the matter; it was a\nsecret to all but Miss Betsy, who kept it inviolably. It is fit,\nhowever, the reader should not remain in ignorance.\nMaster Sparkish had read the story of Pyramus and Thisbe; he told his\nmistress of it, and in imitation of those lovers of antiquity, stuck his\nletters into a little crevice he found in the garden-wall, whence she\npulled them out every day, and returned her answers by the same friendly\nbreach, which he very gallantly told her in one of his epistles, had\nbeen made by the God of Love himself, in order to favour his suit: so\nthat all the governess's circumspection could not hinder this amour from\ngoing on without interruption; and could they have contented themselves\nwith barely writing to each other, they might probably have done so till\nthey both had been weary: but though I will not pretend to say that\neither of them had any thing in their inclinations that was not\nperfectly consistent with innocence, yet it is certain they both\nlanguished for a nearer conversation, which the fertile brain of Miss\nForward at last brought about.\nShe pretended, one Sunday in the afternoon, to have so violent a pain in\nher head, that she could not go to church; Miss Betsy begged leave to\nstay and keep her company, and told the governess she would read a\nsermon or some other good book to her: the good old gentlewoman, little\nsuspecting the plot concerted between them, readily consented.\nNobody being left in the house but themselves, and one maid-servant,\nyoung Sparkish, who had previous notice at what hour to come, was let in\nat the garden-door, the key being always in it. Miss Betsy left the\nlovers in an arbour, and went into the kitchen, telling the maid she had\nread Miss Forward to sleep, and hoped she would be better when she\nwaked. She amused the wench with one little chat or other, till she\nthought divine service was near over, then returned into the garden to\ngive her friends warning it was time to separate.\nThey had after this many private interviews, through the contrivance and\nassistance of Miss Betsy; who, quite charmed with being made the\nconfidante of a person older than herself, set all her wits to work to\nrender herself worthy of the trust reposed in her. Sometimes she made\npretences of going to the milliner, the mantua-maker, or to buy\nsomething in town, and begged leave that Miss Forward should accompany\nher; saying, she wanted her choice in what she was to purchase. Sparkish\nwas always made acquainted when they were to go out, and never failed to\ngive them a meeting.\nMiss Forward had a great deal of the coquette in her nature; she knew\nhow to play at fast-and-loose with her lover; and, young as she was,\ntook a pride in mingling pain with the pleasure she bestowed. Miss Betsy\nwas a witness of all the airs the other gave herself on this occasion,\nand the artifices she made use of, in order to secure the continuance of\nhis addresses: so that, thus early initiated into the mystery of\ncourtship, it is not to be wondered at, that when she came to the\npractice, she was so little at a loss.\nThis intercourse, however, lasted but a small time; their meetings were\ntoo frequent, and too little circumspection used in them not to be\nliable to discovery. The governess was informed that, in spite of all\nher care, the young folks had been too cunning for her: on which she\nwent to the father of Sparkish, acquainted him with what she knew of the\naffair, and intreated he would lay his commands on his son to refrain\nall conversation with any of the ladies under her tuition. The old\ngentleman flew into a violent passion on hearing his son had already\nbegun to think of love; he called for him, and after having rated his\nyouthful folly in the severest manner, charged him to relate the whole\ntruth of what had passed between him and the young lady mentioned by the\ngoverness. The poor lad was terrified beyond measure at his father's\nanger, and confessed every particular of his meetings with Miss Forward\nand her companion; and thus Miss Betsy's share of the contrivance was\nbrought to light, and drew on her a reprimand equally severe with that\nMiss Forward had received. The careful governess would not entirely\ndepend on the assurance the father of Sparkish had given her, and\nresolved to trust neither of the ladies out of her sight, while that\nyoung gentleman remained so near them, which she knew would be but a\nshort time, he having finished his school-learning, and was soon to go\nto the university. To prevent also any future strategems being laid\nbetween Miss Betsy and Miss Forward, she took care to keep them from\never being alone together, which was a very great mortification to them:\nbut a sudden turn soon after happened in the affairs of Miss Betsy,\nwhich put all I have been relating entirely out of her head.\nCHAPTER II\n_Shews Miss Betsy in a new scene of life, and the frequent opportunities\nshe had of putting in practice those lessons she was beginning to\nreceive from her young instructress at the boarding-school_\nThough it is certainly necessary to inculcate into young girls all\nimaginable precaution in regard to their behaviour towards those of\nanother sex, yet I know not if it is not an error to dwell too much upon\nthat topick. Miss Betsy might, possibly, have sooner forgot the little\nartifices she had seen practised by Miss Forward, if her governess, by\ntoo strenuously endeavouring to convince her how unbecoming they were,\nhad not reminded her of them: besides, the good old gentlewoman was far\nstricken in years; time had set his iron fingers on her cheeks, had left\nhis cruel marks on every feature of her face, and she had little remains\nof having ever been capable of exciting those inclinations she so much\ncondemned; so that what she said seemed to Miss Betsy as spoke out of\nenvy, or to shew her authority, rather than the real dictates of truth.\nI have often remarked, that reproofs from the old and ugly have much\nless efficacy than when given by persons less advanced in years, and who\nmay be supposed not altogether past sensibility themselves of the\ngaieties they advise others to avoid.\nThough all the old gentlewoman said, could not persuade Miss Betsy there\nwas any harm in Miss Forward's behaviour towards young Sparkish, yet she\nhad the complaisance to listen to her with all the attention the other\ncould expect or desire from her.\nShe was, indeed, as yet too young to consider of the justice of the\nother's reasoning; and her future conduct shewed, also, she was not of a\nhumour to give herself much pains in examining, or weighing in the\nbalance of judgment, the merit of the arguments she heard urged, whether\nfor or against any point whatsoever. She had a great deal of wit, but\nwas too volative for reflection; and as a ship without sufficient\nballast is tossed about at the pleasure of every wind that blows, so was\nshe hurried through the ocean of life, just as each predominant passion\ndirected.\nBut I will not anticipate that gratification which ought to be the\nreward of a long curiosity. The reader, if he has patience to go through\nthe following pages, will see into the secret springs which set this\nfair machine in motion, and produced many actions which were ascribed,\nby the ill-judging and malicious world, to causes very different from\nthe real ones.\nAll this, I say, will be revealed in time; but it would be as absurd in\na writer to rush all at once into the catastrophe of the adventures he\nwould relate, as it would be impracticable in a traveller to reach the\nend of a long journey, without sometimes stopping at the inns in his way\nto it. To proceed, therefore, gradually with my history.\nThe father of Miss Betsy was a very worthy, honest, and good-natured\nman, but somewhat too indolent; and, by depending too much on the\nfidelity of those he entrusted with the management of his affairs, had\nbeen for several years involved in a law-suit; and, to his misfortune,\nthe aversion he had to business rendered him also incapable of\nextricating himself from it; and the decision was spun out to a much\ngreater length than it need to have been, could he have been prevailed\nupon to have attended in person the several courts of justice the cause\nhad been carried through by his more industrious adversary. The\nexorbitant bills, however, which his lawyers were continually drawing\nupon him, joining with the pressing remonstrances of his friends, at\nlast rouzed him from that inactivity of mind which had already cost him\nso dear, and determined him not only to take a journey to London, but\nlikewise not to return home, till he had seen a final end put to this\nperplexing affair.\nBefore his departure, he went to the boarding-school, to take his leave\nof his beloved Betsy, and renew the charge he had frequently given the\ngoverness concerning her education; adding, in a mournful accent, that\nit would be a long time before he saw her again.\nThese words, as it proved, had somewhat of prophetick in them. On his\narrival in London, he found his cause in so perplexed and entangled a\nsituation, as gave him little hopes of ever bringing it to a favourable\nissue. The vexation and fatigue he underwent on this account, joined\nwith the closeness of the town air, which had never agreed with his\nconstitution even in his younger years, soon threw him into that sort of\nconsumption which goes by the name of a galloping one, and, they say, is\nthe most difficult of any to be removed. He died in about three months,\nwithout being able to do any great matters concerning the affair which\nhad drawn him from his peaceful home, and according to all probability\nhastened his fate. Being perfectly sensible, and convinced of his\napproaching dissolution, he made his will, bequeathing the bulk of his\nestate to him whose right it was, (his eldest son) then upon his travels\nthrough the greatest part of Europe; all his personals, which were very\nconsiderable in the Bank, and other public funds, he ordered should be\nequally divided between Francis his second son, (at that time a student\nat Oxford) and Miss Betsy; constituting, at the same time, as trustees\nto the said testament, Sir Ralph Trusty, his near neighbour in the\ncountry, and Mr. Goodman, a wealthy merchant in the city of London; both\nof them gentlemen of unquestionable integrity, and with whom he had\npreserved a long and uninterrupted friendship.\nOn the arrival of this melancholy news, Miss Betsy felt as much grief as\nit was possible for a heart so young and gay as hers to be capable of;\nbut a little time, for the most part, serves to obliterate the memory of\nmisfortunes of this nature, even in persons of a riper age; and had Miss\nBetsy been more afflicted than she was, something happened soon after\nwhich would have very much contributed to her consolation.\nMr. Goodman having lived without marrying till he had reached an age\nwhich one should have imagined would have prevented him from thinking of\nit at all, at last took it into his head to become a husband. The person\nhe made choice of was called Lady Mellasin, relict of a baronet, who\nhaving little or no estate, had accepted of a small employment about the\ncourt, in which post he died, leaving her ladyship one daughter, named\nFlora, in a very destitute condition. Goodman, however, had wealth\nenough for both, and consulted no other interest than that of his heart.\nAs for the lady, the motive on which she had consented to be his wife\nmay easily be guessed; and when once made so, gained such an absolute\nascendancy over him, that whatever she declared as her will, with him\nhad the force of a law. She had an aversion to the city; he immediately\ntook a house of her chusing at St. James's, inconvenient as it was for\nhis business. Whatever servants she disapproved, though of ever so long\nstanding, and of the most approved fidelity, were discharged, and\nothers, more agreeable to her, put in their places. In fine, nothing she\ndesired was denied; he considered her as an oracle of wit and wisdom,\nand thought it would be an unpardonable arrogance to attempt to set his\nreason against hers.\nThis lady was no sooner informed of the trust imposed in him, than she\ntold him, she thought it would be highly proper for Miss Betsy to be\nsent for from the school, and boarded with them, not only as her\ndaughter would be a fine companion for that young orphan, they being\nmuch of the same age, and she herself was more capable of improving her\nmind than any governess of a school could be supposed to be; but that,\nalso, having her under her own eye, he would be more able to discharge\nhis duty towards her as a guardian, than if she were at the distance of\nnear an hundred miles.\nThere was something in this proposal which had, indeed, the face of a\ngreat deal of good-nature and consideration for Miss Betsy, at least it\nseemed highly so to Mr. Goodman; but as Sir Ralph Trusty was joined with\nhim in the guardianship of that young beauty, and was at that time in\nLondon, he thought it proper to consult him on the occasion; which\nhaving done, and finding no objection on the part of the other, Lady\nMellasin, to shew her great complaisance to the daughter of her\nhusband's deceased friend, sent her own woman to bring her from the\nboarding-school, and attend her up to London.\nMiss Betsy had never seen this great metropolis; but had heard so much\nof the gay manner in which the genteel part of the world passed their\ntime in it, that she was quite transported at being told she was to be\nremoved thither. Mrs. Prinks (for so Lady Mellasin's woman was called)\ndid not fail to heighten her ideas of the pleasures of the place to\nwhich she was going, nor to magnify the goodness of her lady, in taking\nher under her care, with the most extravagant encomiums: it is not,\ntherefore, to be wondered at, that neither the tears of the good\ngoverness, who truly loved her, nor those of her dear Miss Forward, nor\nof any of those she left behind, could give her any more than a\nmomentary regret to a heart so possessed with the expectations of going\nto receive every thing with which youth is liable to be enchanted. She\npromised, however, to keep up a correspondence by letters; which she\ndid, till things, that seemed to her of much more importance, put her\nL----e acquaintance entirely out of her head.\nShe was met at the inn where the stage put up, by Mr. Goodman, in his\nown coach, accompanied by Miss Flora: the good old gentleman embraced\nher with the utmost tenderness, and assured her that nothing in his\npower, or in that of his family, would be wanting to compensate, as much\nas possible, the loss she had sustained by the death of her parents. The\nyoung lady also said many obliging things to her; and they seemed highly\ntaken with each other at this first interview, which gave the honest\nheart of Goodman an infinite satisfaction.\nThe reception given her by Lady Mellasin, when brought home, and\npresented to her by her husband, was conformable to what Mrs. Prinks had\nmade her expect; that lady omitting nothing to make her certain of being\nalways treated by her with the same affection as her own daughter.\nSir Ralph Trusty, on being informed his young charge was come to town,\ncame the next day to Mr. Goodman's to visit her: his lady accompanied\nhim. There had been a great intimacy and friendship between her and the\nmother of Miss Betsy, and she could not hold in her arms the child of a\nperson so dear to her without letting fall some tears, which were looked\nupon by the company as the tribute due to the memory of the dead. The\nconjecture, in part, might be true, but the flow proceeded from the\nmixture of another motive, not suspected--that of compassion for the\nliving. This lady was a woman of great prudence, piety, and virtue: she\nhad heard many things relating to the conduct of Lady Mellasin, which\nmade her think her a very unfit person to have the care of youth,\nespecially those of her own sex. She had been extremely troubled when\nSir Ralph told her that Miss Betsy was sent for from the country to live\nunder such tuition, and would have fain opposed it, could she have done\nso without danger of creating a misunderstanding between him and Mr.\nGoodman, well knowing the bigotted respect the latter had for his wife,\nand how unwilling he would be to do any thing that had the least\ntendency to thwart her inclinations. She communicated her sentiments,\nhowever, on this occasion, to no person in the world, not even to her\nown husband; but resolved, within herself, to take all the opportunities\nthat fell in her way, of giving Miss Betsy such instructions as she\nthought necessary for her behaviour in general, and especially towards\nthe family in which it was her lot to be placed.\nMiss Betsy was now just entering into her fourteenth year, a nice and\ndelicate time in persons of her sex; since it is then they are most apt\nto take the bent of impression, which, according as it is well or ill\ndirected, makes or mars the future prospect of their lives. She was\ntall, well-shaped, and perfectly amiable, without being what is called a\ncompleat beauty; and as she wanted nothing to render her liable to the\ngreatest temptations, so she stood in need of the surest arms for her\ndefence against them.\nBut while this worthy lady was full of cares for the well doing of a\nyoung creature who appeared so deserving of regard, Miss Betsy thought\nshe had the highest reason to be satisfied with her situation; and how,\nindeed, could it be otherwise? Lady Mellasin kept a great deal of\ncompany; she received visits every morning, from ten to one o'clock,\nfrom the most gay and polite of both sexes; all the news of the town was\ntalked on at her levee, and it seldom happened that some party of\npleasure was not formed for the ensuing evening, in all which Miss Betsy\nand Miss Flora had their share.\nNever did the mistress of a private family indulge herself, and those\nabout her, with such a continual round of publick diversions! The court,\nthe play, the ball, and opera, with giving and receiving visits,\nengrossed all the time that could be spared from the toilette. It\ncannot, therefore, seem strange that Miss Betsy, to whom all these\nthings were entirely new, should have her head turned with the\npromiscuous enjoyment, and the very power of reflection lost amidst the\ngiddy whirl; nor that it should be so long before she could recover it\nenough to see the little true felicity of such a course of life.\nAmong the many topicks with which this brilliant society entertained\neach other, it may easily be supposed that love and gallantry were not\nexcluded. Lady Mellasin, though turned of forty, had her fine things\nsaid to her; but both heaven and earth were ransacked for comparisons in\nfavour of the beauty of Miss Flora and Miss Betsy: but as there was\nnothing particular in these kind of addresses, intended only to shew the\nwit of those who made them, these young ladies answered them only with\nraillery, in which art Miss Betsy soon learned to excel. She had the\nglory, however, of being the first who excited a real passion in the\nheart of any of those who visited Lady Mellasin; though, being\naccustomed to hear declarations which had the appearance of love, yet\nwere really no more than words of course, and made indiscriminately to\nevery fine woman, she would not presently persuade herself that this was\nmore serious.\nThe first victim of her charms was the only son of a very rich alderman;\nand having a fortune left him by a relation, independent of his father,\nwho was the greatest miser in the world, he was furnished with the means\nof mingling with the _beau monde_, and of making one at every diversion\nthat was proposed.\nHe had fancied Miss Flora a mighty fine creature, before he saw Miss\nBetsy; but the imaginary flame he had for her was soon converted into a\nsincere one for the other. He truly loved her, and was almost distracted\nat the little credit she gave to his professions. His perseverance, his\ntremblings whenever he approached her, his transports on seeing her, his\nanxieties at taking leave, so different from what she had observed in\nany other of those who had pretended to lift themselves under the banner\nof her charms, at length convincing her of the conquest she had made,\nawakened in her breast that vanity so natural to a youthful mind. She\nexulted, she plumed herself, she used him ill and well by turns, taking\nan equal pleasure in raising or depressing his hopes; and, in spite of\nher good-nature, felt no satisfaction superior to that of the\nconsciousness of a power of giving pain to the man who loved her: but\nwith how great a mortification this short-lived triumph was succeeded,\nthe reader shall presently be made sensible.\nCHAPTER III\n_Affords matter of condolence, or raillery, according to the humour the\nreader happens to be in for either_\nWe often see, that the less encouragement is given to the lover's suit,\nwith the more warmth and eagerness he prosecutes it; and many people are\napt to ascribe this hopeless perseverance to an odd perverseness in the\nvery nature of love; but, for my part, I rather take it to proceed from\nan ambition of surmounting difficulties: it is not, however, my province\nto enter into any discussion of so nice a point; I deal only in matters\nof fact, and shall not meddle with definition.\nIt was not till after Miss Betsy had reason to believe she had engaged\nthe heart of her lover too far for him to recal it, that she began to\ntake a pride in tormenting. While she looked on his addresses as of a\npiece with those who called themselves her admirers, she had treated him\nin that manner which she thought would most conduce to make him really\nso; but no sooner did she perceive, by the tokens before mentioned, that\nhis passion was of the most serious nature, than she behaved to him in a\nfashion quite the reverse, especially before company; for as she had not\nthe least affection, or even a liking towards him, his submissive\ndeportment under the most cold, sometimes contemptuous, carriage, could\nafford her no other satisfaction, than, as she fancied, it shewed the\npower of her beauty, and piqued those ladies of her acquaintance, who\ncould not boast of such an implicit resignation and patient suffering\nfrom their lovers; in particular, Miss Flora, who she could not forbear\nimagining looked very grave on the occasion. What foundation there was\nfor a conjecture of this nature was nevertheless undiscoverable till a\nlong time after.\nAs this courtship was no secret to any of the family, Mr. Goodman\nthought himself obliged, both as the guardian of Miss Betsy, and the\nfriend of Alderman Saving, (for so the father of this young enamorato\nwas called) to enquire upon what footing it stood. He thought, that if\nthe old man knew and approved of his son's inclinations, he would have\nmentioned the affair to him, as they frequently saw each other; and it\nseemed to him neither for the interest nor reputation of his fair\ncharge, to receive the clandestine addresses of any man whatsoever. She\nhad a handsome fortune of her own, and he thought that, and her personal\naccomplishments, sufficiently entitled her to as good a match as Mr.\nSaving; but then he knew the sordid nature of the alderman, and that all\nthe merits of Miss Betsy would add nothing in the balance, if her money\nwas found too light to poise against the sums his son would be possessed\nof. This being the case, he doubted not but that he was kept in\nignorance of the young man's intentions; and, fearing the matter might\nbe carried too far, resolved either to put a stop to it at once, or\npermit it to go on, on such terms as should free him from all censure\nfrom the one or the other party.\nOn talking seriously to the lover, he soon found the suggestions he had\nentertained had not deceived him. Young Saving frankly confessed, that\nhis father had other views for him; but added, that if he could prevail\non the young lady to marry him, he did not despair but that when the\nthing was once done, and past recal, the alderman would by degrees\nreceive them into favour. 'You know, Sir,' said he, 'that he has no\nchild but me, nor any kindred for whom he has the least regard; and it\ncannot be supposed he would utterly discard me for following my\ninclinations in this point, especially as they are in favour of the most\namiable and deserving of her sex.'\nHe said much more on this head, but it had no weight with the merchant;\nhe answered, that if the alderman was of his way of thinking, all the\nflattering hopes his passion suggested to him on that score, might be\nrealized; but that, according to the disposition he knew him to be of,\nhe saw but little room to think he would forgive a step of this kind.\n'Therefore,' continued he, 'I cannot allow this love-affair to be\nprosecuted any farther, and must desire you will desist visiting at my\nhouse, till you have either conquered this inclination, or Miss Betsy is\notherwise disposed of.'\nThis was a cruel sentence for the truly affectionate Saving; but he\nfound it in vain to solicit a repeal of it, and all he could obtain\nfrom him, was a promise to say nothing of what had passed to the\nalderman.\nMr. Goodman would have thought he had but half compleated his duty, had\nhe neglected to sound the inclination of Miss Betsy on this account; and\nin order to come more easily at the truth, he began with talking to her\nin a manner which might make her look on him rather as a favourer of Mr.\nSaving's pretensions than the contrary, and was extremely glad to find,\nby her replies, how indifferent that young lover was to her. He then\nacquainted her with the resolution he had taken, and the discourse he\nhad just had with him; and, to keep her from ever after encouraging the\naddresses of any man, without being authorized by the consent of friends\non both sides, represented in the most pathetick terms he was able, the\ndanger to which a private correspondence renders a young woman liable.\nShe seemed convinced of the truth of what he said, and promised to\nfollow, in the strictest manner, his advice.\nWhether she thought herself, in reality, so much obliged to the conduct\nof her guardian in this, I will not take upon me to say; for though she\nwas not charmed with the person of Mr. Saving, it is certain she took an\ninfinite pleasure in the assiduities of his passion: it is, therefore,\nhighly probable, that she might imagine he meddled in this affair more\nthan he had any occasion to have done. She had, however, but little time\nfor reflection on her guardian's behaviour, an accident happening, which\nshewed her own to her in a light very different from what she had ever\nseen it.\nLady Mellasin had a ball at her house; there was a great deal of\ncompany, among whom was a gentleman named Gayland: he was a man of\nfamily--had a large estate--sung, danced, spoke French, dressed\nwell--frequent successes among the women had rendered him extremely\nvain, and as he had too great an admiration for his own person to be\npossessed of any great share of it for that of any other, he enjoyed the\npleasures of love, without being sensible of the pains. This darling of\nthe fair it was, that Miss Betsy picked out to treat with the most\npeculiar marks of esteem, whenever she had a mind to give umbrage to\npoor Saving; much had that faithful lover suffered on the account of\nthis fop; but the fair inflictor of his torments was punished for her\ninsensibility and ingratitude, by a way her inexperience of the world,\nand the temper of mankind in general, had made her far from\napprehending.\nWhile the company were employed, some in dancing, and others in\nparticular conversation, the beau found an opportunity to slip into Miss\nBetsy's hand a little billet, saying to her at the same time, 'You have\ngot my heart, and this little bit of paper will convey to you the\nsentiments it is inspired with in your favour.' She, imagining it was\neither a sonnet or epistle, in praise of her beauty, received it with a\nsmile, and put it in her pocket. After every body had taken leave, and\nshe was retired to her chamber, she examined it, and found, to her great\nastonishment, the contents as follows--\n     'Dear Miss,\n     I must either be the most ungrateful, or most consumedly dull\n     fellow upon earth, not to have returned the advances you have been\n     so kind to make me, had the least opportunity offered for my doing\n     so; but Lady Mellasin, her daughter, the fool Saving, or some\n     impertinent creature or other, has always been in the way, so that\n     there was not a possibility of giving you even the least earnest of\n     love: but, my dear, I have found out a way to pay you the whole sum\n     with interest; which is this--you must invent some excuse for going\n     out alone, and let me know by a billet, directed for me at White's,\n     the exact hour, and I will wait for you at the corner of the street\n     in a hackney-coach, the window drawn up, and whirl you to a pretty\n     snug place I know of, where we may pass a delicious hour or two\n     without a soul to interrupt our pleasures. Let me find a line from\n     you to-morrow, if you can any way contrive it, being impatient to\n     convince you how much I am, my dear creature, yours, &c. &c.\n     J. GAYLAND.'\nImpossible it is to express the mingled emotions of shame, surprize, and\nindignation, which filled the breast of Miss Betsy, on reading this bold\ninvitation; she threw the letter on the ground, she stamped upon it, she\nspurned it, and would have treated the author in the same manner, had he\nbeen present; but the first transports of so just a resentment being\nover, a consciousness of having, by a too free behaviour towards him,\nemboldened him to take this liberty, involved her in the utmost\nconfusion, and she was little less enraged with herself, than she had\nreason to be with him. She could have tore out her very eyes for having\naffected to look kindly upon a wretch who durst presume so far on her\nsupposed affection; and though she spared those pretty twinklers that\nviolence, she half drowned their lustre in a deluge of tears. Never was\na night passed in more cruel anxieties than what she sustained; both\nfrom the affront she had received, and the reflection that it was\nchiefly the folly of her own conduct which had brought it on her; and\nwhat greatly added to her vexation, was the uncertainty how it would\nbest become her to act on an occasion which appeared so extraordinary to\nher. She had no friend whom she thought it proper to consult; she was\nashamed to relate the story to any of the discreet and serious part of\nher acquaintance; she feared their reproofs for having counterfeited a\ntenderness for a man, which she was now sensible she ought, if it had\nbeen real, rather to have concealed with the utmost care both from him\nand all the world; and as for Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, though their\nconduct inspired her not with any manner of awe, yet she thought she saw\nsomething in those ladies which did not promise much sincerity, and\nshewed as if they would rather turn her complaints into ridicule, than\nafford her that cordial and friendly advice she stood in need of.\nThese were the reasons which determined her to keep the whole thing a\nsecret from every one. At first she was tempted to write to Gayland, and\ntestify her disdain of his presumption in terms which should convince\nhim how grossly his vanity had imposed upon him; but she afterwards\nconsidered that a letter from her was doing him too much honour, and\nthough ever so reproachful, might draw another from him, either to\nexcuse and beg pardon for the temerity of the former, or possibly to\naffront her a second time, by defending it, and repeating his request.\nShe despised and hated him too much to engage in a correspondence with\nhim of any kind, and therefore resolved, as it was certainly most\nprudent, not to let him have any thing under her hand, but when next she\nsaw him to shew her resentment by such ways as occasion should permit.\nHe came not to Mr. Goodman's, however, for three days, possibly waiting\nthat time for a letter from Miss Betsy; but on the fourth he appeared at\nLady Mellasin's tea-table. There were, besides the family, several\nothers present, so that he had not an opportunity of speaking in private\nto Miss Betsy; but the looks she gave him, so different from all he had\never seen her assume towards him, might have shewn any man, not blinded\nwith his vanity, how much she was offended: but he imagining her\nill-humour proceeded only from the want of means to send to him, came\nagain the next day, and happening to find her alone in the parlour,\n'What, my dear,' said he, taking her in a free manner by the hand, 'have\nyou been so closely watched by your guardian and guardianesses here,\nthat no kind moment offered for you to answer the devoirs of your\nhumble servant?'--'The surest guardians of my fame and peace,' replied\nshe, snatching her hand away, 'is the little share of understanding, I\nam mistress of, which I hope will always be sufficient to defend my\nhonour in more dangerous attacks, than the rude impertinences of an idle\ncoxcomb.'\nThese words, and the air with which they were spoke, one would think\nshould have struck with confusion the person to whom they were directed:\nbut Gayland was not so easily put out of countenance; and, looking her\nfull in the face--'Ah, child!' cried he, 'sure you are not in your right\nsenses today! \"Understanding--impertinences--idle coxcomb!\" Very\npleasant, i'faith! but, upon my soul, if you think these airs become\nyou, you are the most mistaken woman in the world!'--'It may be so,'\ncried she, ready to burst with inward spite at his insolence; 'but I\nshould be yet more mistaken if I were capable of thinking a wretch like\nyou worthy of any thing but contempt.' With these words she flung out of\nthe room, and he pursued her with a horse-laugh, till she was out of\nhearing, and then went into the dining room, where he found Lady\nMellasin, and several who had come to visit her.\nMiss Betsy, who had gone directly to her own chamber, sent to excuse\ncoming down to tea, pretending a violent headache, nor would be\nprevailed upon to join the company till she heard Gayland had taken his\nleave, which he did much sooner than usual, being probably a good deal\ndisconcerted at the shock his vanity had received.\nCHAPTER IV\n_Verifies the old proverb, that one affliction treads upon the heels of\nanother_\nAs Miss Betsy was prevented from discovering to any one the impudent\nattempt Gayland had made on her virtue, by the shame of having\nemboldened him to it by too unreserved a behaviour; so also the shame of\nthe disappointment and rebuff he had received from her, kept him from\nsaying any thing of what had passed between them; and this resolution on\nboth sides rendered it very difficult for either of them to behave to\nthe other, so as not to give some suspicion. Betsy could not always\navoid seeing him when he came to Lady Mellasin's, for he would not all\nat once desist his visits for two reasons; first, because it might give\noccasion for an enquiry into the cause; and, secondly, because Miss\nBetsy would plume herself on the occasion, as having, by her scorn,\ntriumphed over his audacity, and drove him from the field of battle. He\ntherefore resolved to continue his visits for some time; and to pique\nher, as he imagined, directed all the fine things his common-place-book\nwas well stored with, to Miss Flora, leaving the other wholly neglected.\nBut here he was little less deceived than he had been before in the\nsentiments of that young lady; the hatred his late behaviour had given\nher, and the utter detestation it had excited in her towards him, had\nfor a time extinguished that vanity so almost inseparable from youth,\nespecially when accompanied with beauty; and she rather rejoiced, than\nthe contrary, to see him affect to be so much taken up with Miss Flora,\nthat he could scarce say the least complaisant thing to her, as it freed\nher from the necessity of returning it in some measure. Her good sense\nhad now scope to operate; she saw, as in a mirror, her own late follies\nin those of Miss Flora, who swelled with all the pride of flattered\nvanity on this new imaginary conquest over the heart of the accomplished\nGayland, as he was generally esteemed, and perceived the errors of such\na way of thinking and acting in so clear a light, as, had it continued,\nwould doubtless have spared her those anxieties her relapse from it\nafterwards occasioned.\nIn these serious reflections let us leave her for a time, to see in what\nsituation Mr. Saving was, after being denied access to his mistress. As\nit was impossible for a heart to be more truly sincere and affectionate,\nhe was far from being able to make any efforts for the banishing Miss\nBetsy's image thence; on the contrary, he thought of nothing but how to\ncontinue a correspondence with her, and endeavour, by all the means in\nhis power, to engage her to a private interview. As his flame was pure\nand respectful, he was some days debating within himself how to proceed,\nso as not to let her think he had desisted from his pretensions, or to\ncontinue them in a manner at which she should not be offended. Love,\nwhen real, seldom fails of inspiring the breast that harbours it with an\nequal share of timidity; he trembled whenever he thought of soliciting\nsuch a meeting; yet, without it, how could he hope to retain any place\nin her memory, much less make any progress in gaining her affection! At\nlength, however, he assumed enough courage to write to her, and by a\nbribe to one of the servants, got his letter delivered to her, fearing\nif he had it sent by the post, or any publick way to the house, it would\nbe intercepted by the caution he found Mr. Goodman had resolved to\nobserve in this point.\nMiss Betsy knowing his hand by the superscription, was a little\nsurprized, as perhaps having never thought of him since they parted, but\nopened it without the least emotion either of pain or pleasure: she knew\nhim too well to be under any apprehensions of being treated by him as\nshe had been by Gayland, and was too little sensible of his merit to\nfeel the least impatience for examining the dictates of his affection;\nyet, indifferent as she was, she could not forbear being touched on\nreading these lines--\n     'Most adored of your sex,\n     I doubt not but you are acquainted with Mr. Goodman's behaviour to\n     me; but, oh! I fear you are too insensible of the agonies in which\n     my soul labours through his cruel caution. Dreadful is the loss of\n     sight, yet what is sight to me, when it presents not you! Though I\n     saw you regardless of my ardent passion, yet still I saw you--and\n     while I did so, could not be wholly wretched! What have I not\n     endured since deprived of that only joy for which I wish to live!\n     Had it not been improper for me to have been seen near Mr.\n     Goodman's house, after having been forbid entrance to it, I should\n     have dwelt for ever in your street, in hope of sometimes getting a\n     glimpse of you from one or other of the windows: this I thought\n     would be taken notice of, and might offend you; but darkness freed\n     me from these apprehensions, and gave me the consolation of\n     breathing in the same air with you. Soon as I thought all watchful\n     eyes were closed, I flew to the place, which, wherever my body is,\n     contains my heart and all it's faculties. I pleased myself with\n     looking on the roof that covers you, and invoked every star to\n     present me to you in your sleep, in a form more agreeable than I\n     can hope I ever appeared in to your waking fancy. Thus I have\n     passed each night; and when the morning dawned, unwillingly retired\n     to take that rest which nature more especially demands, when heavy\n     melancholy oppresses the heart. I slept--but how? Distracting\n     images swam in my tormented brain, and waked me with horrors\n     inconceivable. Equally lost to business, as to all social commerce,\n     I fly mankind; and, like some discontented ghost, seek out the most\n     solitary walks, and lonely shades, to pour forth my complaints. O\n     Miss Betsy! I cannot live, if longer denied the sight of you! In\n     pity to my sufferings, permit me yet once more to speak to you,\n     even though it be to take a last farewel. I have made a little kind\n     of interest with the woman at the habit-shop in Covent Garden,\n     where I know you sometimes go; I dread to intreat you would call\n     there to-morrow; yet, if you are so divinely good, be assured I\n     shall entertain no presuming hopes on the condescension you shall\n     be pleased to make me, but acknowledge it as the mere effect of\n     that compassion which is inherent to a generous mind. Alas! I must\n     be much more worthy than I can yet pretend to be, before I dare\n     flatter myself with owing any thing to a more soft emotion, than\n     that I have mentioned. Accuse me not, therefore, of too much\n     boldness in this petition, but grant to my despair what you would\n     deny to the love of your most faithful, and everlasting slave,\n     H. SAVING.\n     P. S. The favour of one line, to let me know whether I may expect\n     the blessing I implore, will add to the bounty of it. The same hand\n     that brings you this, will also deliver your commands to yours as\n     above.'\nMiss Betsy read this letter several times, and, the oftener she did so,\nthe more she saw into the soul of him that sent it. How wide the\ndifference between this and that she received from Gayland! 'Tis true,\nthey both desired a meeting, each made the same request; but the manner\nin which the former was asked, and the end proposed by the grant of it,\nshe easily perceived were as distant as heaven and hell. She called to\nmind the great respect he had always treated her with; she was convinced\nboth of his honour and sincerity, and thought something was due from her\non that account. In fine, after deliberating a little within herself,\nshe resolved to write to him in these terms--\n     Though it is my fixed determination to encourage the addresses of\n     no man whatever, without the approbation of my guardians, yet I\n     think myself too much obliged to the affection you have expressed\n     for me, to refuse you a favour of so trifling a nature as that you\n     have taken the pains to ask. I will be at the place you mention\n     to-morrow, some time in the forenoon; but desire you will expect\n     nothing from it but a last farewel, which you have promised to be\n     contented with. Till then, adieu.'\nAfter finishing this little billet, she called the maid, whom Saving had\nmade his confidante, into the chamber, and asked her, when she expected\nhe would come for an answer. To which the other replied, that he had\nappointed her to meet him at the corner of the street very early in the\nmorning, before any of the windows were open. 'Well, then,' said Miss\nBetsy, smiling, and putting the letter into her hands, 'give him this. I\ndo it for your sake, Nanny; for, I suppose, you will have a double fee\non the delivery.'--'The gentleman is too much in love,' answered she,\n'not to be grateful.'\nMiss Betsy passed the remainder of that day, and the ensuing night, with\nthat tranquillity which is inseparable from a mind unincumbered with\npassion; but the next morning, remembering her promise, while Lady\nMellasin and Miss Flora were engaged with the beaux and belles at their\nlevee, she slipped out, and taking a chair at the end of the street,\nwent to the milliner's according to appointment. She doubted not but the\nimpatience of her lover would have brought him there long before her,\nand was very much amazed to find herself the first comer. She knew not,\nhowever, but some extraordinary accident, unforeseen by him, might have\nhappened to detain him longer than he expected; and from the whole\ncourse of his past behaviour, could find no shadow of reason to suspect\nhim of a wilful remissness. She sat down in the shop, and amused herself\nwith talking to the woman on the new modes of dress, and such like\nordinary matters; but made not the least mention of the motive which had\nbrought her there that morning: and the other, not knowing whether it\nwould be proper to take any notice, was also silent on that occasion;\nbut Miss Betsy observed she often turned her head towards the window,\nand ran to the door, looking up and down the street, as if she expected\nsomebody who was not yet come.\nMiss Betsy could not forbear being shocked at a disappointment, which\nwas the last thing in the world she could have apprehended. She had,\nnotwithstanding, the patience to wait from a little past eleven till\nnear two o'clock, expecting, during every moment of that time, that he\nwould either come or send some excuse for not doing so; but finding he\ndid neither, and that it was near the hour in which Mr. Goodman usually\ndined, she took her leave of the woman, and went home full of\nagitations.\nThe maid, who was in the secret, happening to open the door, and Miss\nBetsy looking around and perceiving there was nobody in hearing, said to\nhear, 'Nanny, are you sure you delivered my letter safe into Mr.\nSaving's hand?'--'Sure, Miss!' cried the wench, 'yes, as sure as I am\nalive; and he gave me a good Queen Anne's guinea for my trouble. I have\nnot had time since to put it up,' continued she, taking it out of her\nbosom; 'here it is.'--'Well, then, what did he say on receiving it?'\nsaid Miss Betsy. 'I never saw a man so transported,' replied she; 'he\nput it to his mouth, and kissed it with such an eagerness, I thought he\nwould have devoured it.' Miss Betsy asked no farther questions, but went\nup to her chamber to pull off her hood, not being able to know how she\nought to judge of this adventure.\nShe was soon called down to dinner; but her mind was too much perplexed\nto suffer her to eat much.\nShe was extremely uneasy the whole day for an explanation of what at\npresent seemed so mysterious, and this gave her little less pain than\nperhaps she would have felt had she been possessed with an equal share\nof love; but in the evening her natural vivacity got the better, and not\ndoubting but the next morning she should receive a letter with a full\neclaircissement of this affair, she enjoyed the same sweet repose as if\nnothing had happened to ruffle her temper.\nThe morning came, but brought no billet from that once obsequious lover:\nthe next, and three or four succeeding ones, were barren of the fruit\nshe so much expected. What judgment could she form of an event so odd?\nShe could not bring herself to think Saving had taken pains to procure a\nrendezvous with her, on purpose to disappoint and affront her; and was\nnot able to conceive any probable means by which he could be prevented\nfrom writing to her. Death only, she thought, could be an excuse for\nhim, and had that happened she should have heard of it. Sometimes she\nfancied that the maid had been treacherous; but when she considered she\ncould get nothing by being so, and that it was, on the contrary, rather\nher interest to be sincere, she rejected that supposition. The various\nconjectures, which by turns came into her head, rendered her, however,\nexcessively disturbed, and in a situation which deserved some share of\npity, had not her pride kept her from revealing the discontent, or the\nmotives of it, to any one person in the world.\nCHAPTER V\n_Contains nothing very extraordinary, yet such things as are highly\nproper to be known_\nI think it is generally allowed that there are few emotions of the mind\nmore uneasy than suspense. Not the extreme youth of Miss Betsy, not all\nher natural cheerfulness, nor her perfect indifference for the son of\nAlderman Saving, could enable her to throw off the vexation in which his\nlate behaviour had involved her: had the motive been the most mortifying\nof any that could be imagined to her vanity, pride and resentment would\nthen have come to her assistance; she would have despised the author of\nthe insult, and in time have forgot the insult itself; but the\nuncertainty in what manner she ought to think of the man, and this last\naction of his, made both dwell much longer on her mind than otherwise\nthey would have done. As the poet truly says--\n    'When puzzling doubts the anxious bosom seize,\n    To know the worst, is some degree of ease.'\nThis is a maxim which will hold good, even when the strongest and most\nviolent passions operate; but Miss Betsy was possessed of no more than a\nbare curiosity, which as she had as yet no other sensation that demanded\ngratification, was sufficiently painful to her.\nIt was about ten or twelve days that she continued to labour under this\ndilemma; but, at the expiration of that time, was partly relieved from\nit by the following means.\nMr. Goodman, happening to meet Alderman Saving, with whom he had great\nbusiness, upon Change, desired he would accompany him to an adjacent\ntavern; to which the other complied, but with an air much more grave and\nreserved than he was accustomed to put on with a person whom he had\nknown for a great number of years, and was concerned with in some\naffairs of traffick, they went together to the Ship Tavern.\nAfter having ended what they had to say to each other upon\nbusiness--'Mr. Goodman,' said the alderman, 'we have long been friends;\nI always thought you an honest, fair-dealing man, and am therefore very\nmuch surprized you should go about to put upon me in the manner you have\nlately done.'--'Put upon you, Sir!' cried the merchant; 'I know not what\nyou mean; and am very certain I never did any thing that might call in\nquestion my integrity, either to you or to any one else.'--'It was great\nintegrity, indeed!' resumed the alderman, with a sneer, 'to endeavour to\ndraw my only son into a clandestine marriage with the girl you have at\nyour house.' Mr. Goodman was astonished, as well he might, at this\naccusation; and perceiving, by some other words that the alderman let\nfall, that he was well acquainted with the love young Saving had\nprofessed for Miss Betsy, frankly related to him all that he knew of the\ncourtship, and the method he had taken to put a stop to it. 'That was\nnot enough, Sir,' cried the alderman, hastily; 'you should have told me\nof it. Do you think young folks, like them, would have regarded your\nforbidding? No, no! I'll warrant you they would have found some way or\nother to come together before now; and the boy might have been ruined,\nif I had not been informed by other hands how things were carried on,\nand put it out of the power of any of you to impose upon me. The girl\nmay spread her nets to catch some other woodcock, if she can. Thanks to\nHeaven, and my own prudence, my son is far enough out of her reach!'\nMr. Goodman, though one of the best-natured men in the world, could not\nkeep himself from being a little ruffled at the alderman's discourse;\nand told him, that though he had been far from encouraging Mr. Saving's\ninclinations, and should always think it the duty of a son to consult\nhis father in every thing he did, especially in so material a point as\nthat of marriage, yet he saw no reason for treating Miss Betsy with\ncontempt, as she was of a good family, had a very pretty fortune of her\nown, and suitable accomplishments.\n'You take a great deal of pains to set her off,' said the alderman; 'and\nsince you married a court-lady not worth a groat, have got all the\nromantick idle notions of the other end of the town as finely as if you\nhad been bred there. A good family!--Very pleasant, i'faith. Will a good\nfamily go to market? Will it buy a joint of mutton at the butcher's, or\na pretty gown at the mercer's?--Then, a pretty fortune! you say--Enough,\nit may be, to squander away at cards or masquerades for a month or two.\nShe has suitable accomplishments too!--Yes, indeed, they are suitable\nones, I believe!--I suppose she can sing, dance, and jabber a little\nFrench; but I'll be hanged if she knows how to make a pye, or a pudding,\nor to teach her maid to do it!'\nThe reflection on Lady Mellasin, in the beginning of this speech, so\nmuch incensed Mr. Goodman, that he could scarce attend to the latter\npart of it: he forbore interrupting him, however; but, as soon as he had\ndone speaking, replied in terms which shewed his resentment. In fine,\nsuch hot words passed between them, as, had they been younger men, might\nhave produced worse consequence; but the spirit of both being equally\nevaporated in mutual reproaches, they grew more calm, and at last talked\nthemselves into as good harmony as ever. Mr. Goodman said he was sorry\nthat he had been prevailed upon, by the young man's intreaties, to keep\nhis courtship to Miss Betsy a secret; and the alderman begged pardon, in\nhis turn, for having said any thing disrespectful of Lady Mellasin.\nOn this they shook hands; another half-pint of sherry was called for;\nand, before they parted, the alderman acquainted Mr. Goodman, that to\nprevent entirely all future correspondence between his son and Miss\nBetsy, he had sent him to Holland some days ago, without letting him\nknow any thing of his intentions till every thing was ready for his\nembarkation. 'I sent,' said he, 'the night before he was to go, his\nportmanteau, and what other luggage I thought he would have occasion\nfor, to the inn where the Harwich stage puts up; and, making him be\ncalled up very early in the morning, told him he must go a little way\nout of town with me upon extraordinary business. He seemed very\nunwilling; said he had appointed that morning to meet a gentleman, and\nbegged I would delay the journey to the next day, or even till the\nafternoon. What caused this backwardness I cannot imagine, for I think\nit was impossible he could know my designs on this score; but, whatever\nwas in his head, I took care to disappoint it. I listened to none of his\nexcuses, nor trusted him out of my sight; but forced him to go with me\nto the coach, in which I had secured a couple of places. He was horribly\nshocked when he found where he was going, and would fain have persuaded\nme to repeal his banishment, as he called it. I laughed in my sleeve;\nbut took no notice of the real motive I had for sending him away, and\ntold him there was an absolute necessity for his departure; that I had a\nbusiness of the greatest importance at Rotterdam, in which I could trust\nnobody but himself to negociate; and that he would find, in his trunk,\nletters, and other papers, which would instruct him how to act.\n'In fine,' continued the alderman, 'I went with him aboard, staid with\nhim till they were ready to weigh anchor, then returned, and stood on\nthe beach till the ship sailed quite out of sight; so that if my\ngentleman had a thought of writing to his mistress, he had not the least\nopportunity for it.' He added, that he did not altogether deceive his\nson, having, indeed, some affairs to transact at Rotterdam, though they\nwere not of the mighty consequence he had pretended; but which he had,\nby a private letter to his agent there, ordered should be made appear as\nintricate and perplexing as possible, that the young gentleman's return\nmight be delayed as long as there was any plausible excuse for detaining\nhim, without his seeing through the reason of it.\nMr. Goodman praised the alderman's discretion in the whole conduct of\nthis business; and, to atone for having been prevailed upon to keep\nyoung Saving's secret from him, offered to make interest with a friend\nhe had at the post-office, to stop any letter that should be directed to\nMiss Betsy Thoughtless, by the way of Holland: 'By which means,' said\nhe, 'all communication between the young people will soon be put an end\nto; he will grow weary of writing letters when he receives no answers;\nand she of thinking of him as a lover, when she finds he ceases to tell\nher he is so.'\nThe alderman was ready to hug his old friend for this proposal, which,\nit is certain, he made in the sincerity of his heart; for they no sooner\nparted, then he went to the office, and fulfilled his promise.\nWhen he came home, in order to hinder Miss Betsy from expecting to hear\nany thing more of Mr. Saving, he told her he had been treated by the\nalderman pretty roughly, on account of the encouragement that had been\ngiven in his house to the amorous addresses which had been made to her\nby his son: 'And,' added he, 'the old man is so incensed against him,\nfor having a thought of that kind in your favour, that he has sent him\nbeyond sea--I know not to what part: but, it seems, he is never to come\nback, till he has given full assurance the liking he has for you is\nutterly worn off.'\n'He might have spared himself the pains,' said Miss Betsy, blushing\nwith disdain, 'his son could have informed him how little I was\ninclinable to listen to any thing he said, on the score of love; and I\nmyself, if he had asked me the question, would have given him the\nstrongest assurances that words could form, that if ever I changed my\ncondition, (which Heaven knows I am far from thinking on as yet) I\nshould never be prevailed upon to do it by any merits his son was\npossessed of.'\nMr. Goodman congratulated her on the indifference she expressed; and\ntold her, he hoped she would always continue in the same humour, till an\noffer which promised more satisfaction in marriage should happen to be\nmade.\nNothing more was said on this head; but Miss Betsy, upon ruminating on\nwhat Mr. Goodman had related, easily imagined, that the day in which he\nhad been sent away, was the same on which he had appointed to meet her,\nand therefore excused his not coming as a thing unavoidable; yet, as she\nknew not the precaution his father had taken, was not so ready to\nforgive him for not sending a line to prevent her waiting so long for\nhim at the habit-shop. She could not, however, when she reflected on the\nwhole tenor of his deportment to her, think it possible he should all at\nonce become guilty of wilfully omitting what even common good manners\nand decency required. She soon grew weary, however, of troubling herself\nabout the matter; and a very few days served to make her lose even the\nmemory of it.\nCHAPTER VI\n_May be of some service to the ladies, especially the younger sort, if\nwell attended to_\nMiss Betsy had now no person that professed a serious passion for her;\nbut, as she had yet never seen the man capable of inspiring her with the\nleast emotions of tenderness, she was quite easy as to that point, and\nwished nothing beyond what she enjoyed, the pleasure of being told she\nwas very handsome, and gallanted about by a great number of those who go\nby the name of very pretty fellows. Pleased with the praise, she\nregarded not the condition or merits of the praised, and suffered\nherself to be treated, presented, and squired about to all publick\nplaces, either by the rake, the man of honour, the wit, or the fool, the\nmarried as well as the unmarried, without distinction, and just as\neither fell in her way.\nSuch a conduct as this could not fail of laying her open to the censure\nof malicious tongues: the agreeableness of her person, her wit, and the\nmany accomplishments she was mistress of, made her envied and hated,\neven by those who professed the greatest friendship for her. Several\nthere were who, though they could scarce support the vexation it gave\nthem to see her so much preferred to themselves, yet chose to be as much\nwith her as possible, in the cruel hope of finding some fresh manner\nwherewith to blast her reputation.\nCertain it is, that though she was as far removed as innocence itself\nfrom all intent or wish of committing a real ill, yet she paid too\nlittle regard to the appearances of it, and said and did many things\nwhich the actually criminal would be more cautious to avoid. Hurried by\nan excess of vanity, and that love of pleasure so natural to youth, she\nindulged herself in liberties, of which she foresaw not the\nconsequences.\nLady Trusty, who sincerely loved her, both for her own sake, and that of\nher deceased mother, came more often to Mr. Goodman's than otherwise she\nwould have done, on purpose to observe the behaviour of Miss Betsy: she\nhad heard some accounts, which gave her great dissatisfaction; but, as\nshe was a woman of penetration, she easily perceived, that plain reproof\nwas not the way to prevail on her to reclaim the errors of her conduct;\nthat she must be insensibly weaned from what at present she took so much\ndelight in, and brought into a different manner of living, by ways which\nshould rather seem to flatter than check her vanity. She therefore\nearnestly wished to get her down with her into L----e, where she was\nsoon going herself; but knew not how to ask her without making the same\ninvitation to Miss Flora, whose company she no way desired, and whose\nexample, she was sensible, had very much contributed to give Miss Betsy\nthat air of levity, which rendered her good sense almost useless to her.\nThis worthy lady happening to find her alone one day, (a thing not very\nusual) she asked, by way of sounding her inclination, if she would not\nbe glad to see L----e again; to which she replied, that there were many\npeople for whom she had a very great respect; but the journey was too\nlong to be taken merely on the score of making a short visit; for she\nowned she did not like the country well enough to continue in it for any\nlength of time.\nLady Trusty would fain have persuaded her into a better opinion of the\nplace she was born in, and which most of her family had passed the\ngreatest part of their lives in; but Miss Betsy was not to be argued\ninto any tolerable ideas of it, and plainly told her ladyship, that what\nshe called a happy tranquil manner of spending one's days, seemed to her\nlittle better than being buried alive.\nFrom declaring her aversion to a country life, she ran into such\nextravagant encomiums on those various amusements which London every day\npresented, that Lady Trusty perceived it would not be without great\ndifficulty she would be brought to a more just way of thinking; she\nconcealed, however, as much as possible, the concern it gave her to hear\nher express herself in this manner; contenting herself with saying,\ncalmly, that London was indeed a very agreeable place to live in,\nespecially for young people, and the pleasures it afforded were very\nelegant; 'But then,' said she, 'the too frequent repetition of them may\nso much engross the mind as to take it off from other objects, which\nought to have their share in it. Besides,' continued she, 'there are but\ntoo frequent proofs that an innate principle of virtue is not always a\nsufficient guard against the many snares laid for it, under the shew of\ninnocent pleasures, by wicked and designing persons of both sexes; nor\ncan it be esteemed prudence to run one's self into dangers merely to\nshew our strength in overcoming them: nor, perhaps, would even the\nvictory turn always to our glory; the world is censorious, and seldom\nready to put the best construction on things; so that reputation may\nsuffer, though virtue triumphs.'\nMiss Betsy listened to all this with a good deal of attention; the\nimpudent attempt Gayland had made on her came fresh into her mind, and\nmade this lady's remonstrances sink the deeper into it. The power of\nreflection being a little awakened in her, some freedoms also, not\naltogether consistent with strict modesty, which others had offered to\nher, convinced her of the error of maintaining too little reserve; she\nthanked her kind adviser, and promised to observe the precepts she had\ngiven.\nLady Trusty, finding this good effect of what she had said, ventured to\nproceed so far as to give some hints that the conduct of Miss Flora had\nbeen far from blameless; 'And therefore,' pursued she, 'I should be\nglad, methinks, to see you separated from that young lady, though it\nwere but for a small time;' and then gave her to understand how great a\npleasure it would be to her to get her down with her to L----e, if it\ncould be any way contrived that she should go without Miss Flora.\n'As I have been so long from home,' said she, 'I know I shall have all\nthe gentry round the country to welcome me at my return; and if you\nshould find the company less polite than those you leave behind, it will\nat least diversify the scene, and render the entertainments of London\nnew to you a second time, when you come back.'\nMiss Betsy found in herself a strong inclination to comply with this\nproposal; and told Lady Trusty, she should think herself happy in\npassing the whole summer with her; and as to Miss Flora, the same offer\nmight be made to her without any danger of her accepting it. 'I am not\nof your opinion,' said the other: 'the girl has no fortune, but what Mr.\nGoodman shall be pleased to give her, which cannot be very considerable,\nas he has a nephew in the East Indies whom he is extremely fond of, and\nwill make his heir. Lady Mellasin would, therefore, catch at the\nopportunity of sending her daughter to a place where there are so many\ngentlemen of estates, among whom she might have a better chance for\ngetting a husband than she can have in London, where her character would\nscarce entitle her to such a hope. I will, however,' pursued she, 'run\nthe risque, and chuse rather to have a guest whose company I do not so\nwell approve of, than be deprived of one I so much value.'\nMiss Betsy testified the sense she had of her ladyship's goodness in the\nmost grateful and obliging terms; and Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora\ncoming home soon after, Lady Trusty said she was come on purpose to ask\npermission for Miss Flora and Miss Betsy to pass two or three months\nwith her down in L----e.\nLady Mellasin, as the other had imagined, seemed extremely pleased with\nthe invitation; and told her, she did her daughter a great deal of\nhonour, and she would take care things should be prepared for both the\nyoung ladies to attend her on her setting out. Lady Trusty then told her\nshe had fixed the day for it, which was about a fortnight after this\nconversation; and some other matters relating to the journey being\nregulated, took her leave, highly pleased with the thoughts of getting\nMiss Betsy to a place, where she should have an opportunity of using her\nutmost endeavours to improve the good she found in her disposition, and\nof weaning her, by degrees, from any ill habits she might have\ncontracted in that Babel of mixed company she was accustomed to at Lady\nMellasin's.\nCHAPTER VII\n_Is a medley of various particulars, which pave the way for matters of\nmore consequence_\nMiss Flora had now nothing in her head but the many hearts she expected\nto captivate when she should arrive in L----e; and Lady Mellasin, who\nsoothed her in all her vanities, resolved to spare nothing which she\nimagined would contribute to that purpose. Miss Betsy, who had the same\nambition, though for different ends, made it also pretty much her study\nto set off, to the best advantage, the charms she had received from\nnature. The important article of dress now engrossed the whole\nconversation of these ladies. The day after that in which Lady Trusty\nhad made the invitation to the two young ones, Lady Mellasin went with\nthem to the mercer's to buy some silks; she pitched on a very genteel\nnew-fashioned pattern for her daughter, but chose one for Miss Betsy\nwhich, though rich, seemed to her not well fancied; she testified her\ndisapprobation, but Lady Mellasin said so much in the praise of it, and\nthe mercer, either to please her, or because he was desirous of getting\nit sold, assured Miss Betsy that it was admired by every body; that it\nwas the newest thing he had in his shop, and had already sold several\npieces to ladies of the first quality. All this did not argue Miss Betsy\ninto a liking of it; yet between them she was over-persuaded to have it.\nWhen these purchases were made, they went home, only stopping at the\nmantua-maker's in their way, to order her to come that afternoon: Lady\nMellasin did no more than set them down, and then went in the coach to\nmake a visit.\nThe young ladies fell to reviewing their silks; but Miss Betsy was no\nway satisfied with hers: the more she looked upon it, the worse it\nappeared to her. 'I shall never wear it with any pleasure,' said she; 'I\nwish the man had it in his shop again, for I think it quite ugly.' Miss\nFlora told her, that she wondered at her; that the thing was perfectly\nhandsome, and that my lady's judgment was never before called in\nquestion. 'That may be,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but certainly every one\nought to please their own fancy in the choice of their cloaths: for my\npart, I shall never endure to see myself in it.'--'Not when their fancy\nhappens to differ from that of those who know better than themselves\nwhat is fit for them,' cried Miss Flora; 'and, besides, have the power\nover them.' She spoke this with so much pertness, that Miss Betsy, had\nhad a violent spirit, was highly provoked. 'Power over them!' cried she,\n'I do not know what you mean, Miss Flora; Mr. Goodman is one of my\nguardians, indeed; but I don't know why that should entitle his lady to\ndirect me in what I shall wear.'\nMr. Goodman, who happened to be looking over some papers in a little\ncloset he had within his parlour, hearing part of this dispute, and\nfinding it was like to grow pretty warm, came out, in hopes of\nmoderating it. On hearing Miss Betsy's complaint, he desired to see the\nsilk; which being shewn him, 'I do not pretend,' said he, 'to much\nunderstanding in these things; but, methinks, it is very handsome.'--'It\nwould do well enough for winter, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but it is\ntoo hot and heavy for summer; besides, it is so thick and clumsy, it\nwould make me look as big again as I am: I'll not wear it, I am\nresolved, in the country, whatever I do when I come to town, in the dark\nweather.'\n'Well,' said Mr. Goodman, 'I will speak to my lady to get it changed for\nsomething else.'--'Indeed, Sir,' cried Miss Flora, 'I am sure my mamma\nwill do no such thing, and take it very ill to hear it proposed.'--'You\nneed not put yourself in any heat,' replied Miss Betsy; 'I don't desire\nshe should be troubled any farther about it--but, Sir,' continued she,\nturning to Mr. Goodman, 'I think I am now at an age capable of chusing\nfor myself, in the article of dress; and as it has been settled between\nyou and Sir Ralph Trusty, that, out of the income of my fortune, thirty\npounds a year should be allowed for my board, twenty pounds for my\npocket expences, and fifty for my cloaths, I think I ought to have the\ntwo latter entirely at my own disposal, and to lay it out as I think\nfit, and not be obliged, like a charity-child, to wear whatever livery\nmy benefactor shall be pleased to order.' She spoke this with so much\nspleen, that Mr. Goodman was a little nettled at it, and told her, that\nwhat his wife had done was out of kindness and good-will; which since\nshe did not take as it was meant, she should have her money to do with\nas she would.\n'That is all I desire,' answered she, 'therefore be pleased to let me\nhave twenty guineas now, or, if there does not remain so much in your\nhands, I will ask Sir Ralph to advance it, and you may return it to him\nwhen you settle accounts.'--'No, no,' cried the merchant hastily, 'I see\nno reason to trouble my good friend, Sir Ralph, on such a frivolous\nmatter. You shall have the sum you mention, Miss Betsy, whether so much\nremains out of the hundred pounds a year set apart for your subsistence,\nor not, as I can but deduct it out of the next payment: but I would have\nyou manage with discretion, for you may depend, that the surplus of what\nwas at first agreed upon, shall not be broke into, but laid up to\nincrease your fortune; which, by the time you come of age, I hope will\nbe pretty handsomely improved.'\nMiss Betsy then assured him, that she doubted not of his zeal for her\ninterest, and hoped she had not offended him in any thing she had said.\n'No, no,' replied he, 'I always make allowances for the little\nimpatiences of persons of your sex and age, especially where dress is\nconcerned.' In speaking these words, he opened his bureau, and took out\ntwenty guineas, which he immediately gave her, making her first sign a\nmemorandum of it. Miss Flora was all on fire to have offered something\nin opposition to this, but durst not do it; and the mantua-maker that\ninstant coming in, she went up stairs with her into her chamber, leaving\nMiss Betsy and Mr. Goodman together; the former of whom, being eager to\ngo about what she intended, ordered a hackney-coach to be called, and\ntaking the silk with her, went directly to the shop where it was bought.\nThe mercer at first seemed unwilling to take it again; but on her\ntelling him she would always make use of him for every thing she wanted\nin his way, and would then buy two suits of him, he at last consented.\nAs she was extremely curious in everything relating to her shape, she\nmade choice of a pink-coloured French lustring, to the end, that the\nplaits lying flat, she would shew the beauty of her waist to more\nadvantage; and to atone for the slightness of the silk, purchased as\nmuch of it as would flounce the sleeves and the petticoat from top to\nbottom; she made the mercer also cut off a sufficient quantity of a rich\ngreen Venetian sattin, to make her a riding-habit; and as she came home\nbought a silver trimming for it of Point D'Espagne: all which, with the\nsilk she disliked in exchange, did not amount to the money she had\nreceived from Mr. Goodman.\nOn her return, she asked the footman, who opened the door, if the\nmantua-maker was gone; but he not being able to inform her, she ran\nhastily up stairs, to Miss Flora's chamber, which, indeed, was also her\nown, for they lay together: she was about to bounce in, but found that\nthe door was locked, and the key taken out on the inside. This very much\nsurprized her, especially as she thought she had heard Miss Flora's\nvoice, as she was at the top of the stair-case; wanting, therefore, to\nbe satisfied who was with her, she went as softly as she could into Lady\nMellasin's dressing-room, which was parted from the chamber but by a\nslight wainscot; she put her ear close to the pannel, in order to\ndiscover the voices of them who spoke, and found, by some light that\ncame through a crack or flaw in the boards, her eyes, as well as ears,\ncontributed to a discovery she little expected. In fine, she plainly\nperceived Miss Flora and a man rise off the bed: she could not at first\ndiscern who he was; but, on his returning to go out of the room, knew\nhim to be no other than Gayland. They went out of the chamber together\nas gently as they could; and though Miss Betsy might, by taking three\nsteps, have met them in the passage, and have had an opportunity of\nrevenging herself on Miss Flora for the late airs she had given herself,\nby shewing how near she was to the scene of infamy she had been acting,\nyet the shock she felt herself, on being witness of it, kept her\nimmoveable for some time; and she suffered them to depart without the\nmortification of thinking any one knew of their being together in the\nmanner they were.\nThis young lady, who though, as I have already taken notice, was of too\nvolatile and gay a disposition, hated any thing that had the least\ntincture of indecency, was so much disconcerted at the discovery she had\nmade, that she had not power to stir from the place she was in, much\nless to resolve how to behave in this affair; that is, whether it would\nbe best, or not, to let Miss Flora know she was in the secret of her\nshame, or to suffer her to think herself secure.\nShe was however, beginning to meditate on this point, when she heard\nMiss Flora come up stairs, calling at every step, 'Miss Betsy! Miss\nBetsy! where are you?' Gayland was gone; and his young mistress being\ntold Miss Betsy was come home, guessed it was she who had given an\ninterruption to their pleasures, by coming to the door; she, therefore,\nas she could not imagine her so perfectly convinced, contrived to\ndisguise the whole, and worst of the truth, by revealing a part of it;\nand as soon as she had found her, 'Lord, Miss Betsy!' cried she, with\nan unparalleled assurance, 'where have you been? how do you think I have\nbeen served by that cursed toad Gayland? He came up into our chamber,\nwhere the mantua-maker and I were, and as soon as she was gone, locked\nthe door, and began to kiss and touze me so, that I protest I was\nfrighted almost out of my wits. The devil meant no harm, though, I\nbelieve, for I got rid of him easy enough; but I wish you had rapped\nheartily at the door, and obliged him to open it, that we both might\nhave rated him for his impudence!--'Some people have a great deal of\nimpudence, indeed,' replied Miss Betsy, astonished at her manner of\nbearing it off. 'Aye, so they have, my dear,' rejoined the other, with a\ncareless air; 'but, pr'ythee, where have you been rambling by\nyourself?'--'No farther than Bedford Street,' answered Miss Betsy; 'you\nmay see on what errand,' continued she, pointing to the silks which she\nhad laid down on a chair. Miss Flora presently ran to the bundle,\nexamined what it contained, and either being in a better humour, or\naffecting to be so, than when they talked on this head in the parlour,\ntestified no disapprobation of what she had done; but, on the contrary,\ntalked to her in such soft obliging terms, that Miss Betsy, who had a\ngreat deal of good-nature, when not provoked by any thing that seemed an\naffront to herself, could not find in her heart to say any thing to give\nher confusion.\nWhen Lady Mellasin came home, and was informed how Miss Betsy had\nbehaved, in relation to the silk, she at first put on an air full of\nresentment: but finding the other wanted neither wit nor spirit to\ndefend her own cause, and not caring to break with her, especially as\nher daughter was going with her to L----e, soon grew more moderate; and,\nat length, affected to think no more of it. Certain it is, however, that\nthis affair, silly as it was, and, as one would think, insignificant in\nitself, lay broiling in the minds of both mother and daughter; and they\nwaited only for an opportunity of venting their spite, in such a manner\nas should not make them appear to have the least tincture of so foul and\nmean a passion; but as neither of them were capable of a sincere\nfriendship, and had no real regard for any one besides themselves, their\ndispleasure was of little consequence.\nPreparations for the journey of the young ladies seemed, for the\npresent, to employ all their thoughts, and diligence enough was used to\nget every thing ready against the time prefixed, which wanted but three\ndays of being expired, when an unforeseen accident put an entire stop to\nit.\nMiss Betsy received a letter from her brother, Mr. Francis Thoughtless,\naccompanied with another to Mr. Goodman, acquainting them, that he had\nobtained leave from the head of the college to pass a month in London;\nthat he should set out from Oxford in two days, and hoped to enjoy the\nsatisfaction of being with them in twelve hours after this letter. What\ncould she now do? it would have been a sin, not only against natural\naffection, but against the rules of common good manners, to have left\nthe town, either on the news of his arrival, or immediately after it:\nnor could Lady Trusty expect, or desire she should entertain a thought\nof doing so; she was too wise and too good not to consider the interest\nof families very much depended on the strict union among the branches of\nit, and that the natural affection between brothers and sisters could\nnot be too much cultivated. Far, therefore, from insisting on the\npromise Miss Betsy had made of going with her into the country, she\ncongratulated her on the happy disappointment; and told her, that she\nshould receive her with a double satisfaction, if, after Mr. Francis\nreturned to Oxford, she would come and pass what then remained of the\nsummer-season with her. This Miss Betsy assured her ladyship she would\ndo; so that, according to all appearance, the benefits she might have\nreceived, by being under the eye of so excellent an instructress were\nbut delayed, not lost.\nCHAPTER VIII\n_Relates how, by a concurrence of odd circumstances, Miss Betsy was\nbrought pretty near the crisis of her fate, and the means by which she\nescaped_\nMr. Francis Thoughtless arrived in town the very evening before the day\nin which Sir Ralph Trusty and his lady were to set out for L----e. They\nhad not seen this young gentleman since the melancholy occasion of his\nfather's funeral, and would have been glad to have spent some time with\nhim, but could no way put off their journey, as word was sent of the day\nin which they expected to be at home; Sir Ralph knew very well that a\ngreat number of his tenants and friends would meet them on the road, and\na letter would not reach them soon enough to prevent them from being\ndisappointed: they supped with him, however, at Mr. Goodman's, who would\nnot permit him to have any other home than his house during his stay in\ntown. Lady Trusty, on taking leave of Miss Betsy, said to her, she hoped\nshe would remember her promise when her brother was returned to Oxford;\non which, she replied, that she could not be so much an enemy to her own\nhappiness as to fail.\nMiss Betsy and this brother had always been extremely fond of each\nother; and the length of time they had been asunder, and the improvement\nwhich that time had made in both, heightened their mutual satisfaction\nin meeting.\nAll that troubled Miss Betsy now was, that her brother happened to come\nto London at a season of the year in which he could not receive the\nleast satisfaction: the king was gone to Hanover, all the foreign\nministers, and great part of the nobility attended him; and the rest\nwere retired to their country seats; so that an entire stop was put to\nall publick diversions worth seeing. There were no plays, no operas, no\nmasquerades, no balls, no publick shews, except at the Little Theatre in\nthe Hay Market, then known by the name of F----g's scandal shop, because\nhe frequently exhibited there certain drolls, or, more properly,\ninvectives against the ministry; in doing which it appears extremely\nprobably that he had two views; the one to get money, which he very much\nwanted, from such as delighted in low humour, and could not distinguish\ntrue satire from scurrility; and the other, in the hope of having some\npost given him by those whom he had abused, in order to silence his\ndramatick talent. But it is not my business to point out either the\nmerit of that gentleman's performances, or the motives he had for\nwriting them, as the town is perfectly acquainted both with his\nabilities and success; and has since seen him, with astonishment,\nwriggle himself into favour, by pretending to cajole those he had not\nthe power to intimidate.\nBut though there were none of the diversions I have mentioned, nor\nRanelagh at that time thought of, nor Vauxhall, Marybone, nor Cuper's\nGardens, in the repute they since have been, the young gentleman found\nsufficient to entertain him: empty as the town was, Lady Mellasin was\nnot without company, who made frequent parties of pleasure; and when\nnothing else was to be found for recreation, cards filled up the void.\nNothing, material enough to be inserted in this history, happened to\nMiss Betsy during the time her brother stayed; till one evening, as the\nfamily were sitting together, some discourse concerning Oxford coming on\nthe tapis, Mr. Francis spoke so largely in the praise of the\nwholesomeness of the air, the many fine walks and gardens with which the\nplace abounded, and the good company which were continually resorting to\nit, that Miss Betsy cried out, she longed to see it--Miss Flora said the\nsame.\nOn this the young gentleman gave them an invitation to go down with him\nwhen he went; saying, they never could go at a better time, as both the\nassizes and races were to be in about a month. Miss Betsy said, such a\njaunt would vastly delight her. Miss Flora echoed her approbation; and\nadded, she wished my lady would consent. 'I have no objection to make to\nit,' replied Lady Mellasin, 'as you will have a conductor who, I know,\nwill be very careful of you.' Mr. Goodman's consent was also asked, for\nthe sake of form, though every one knew the opinion of his wife was, of\nitself, a sufficient sanction.\nThough it is highly probable that Miss Betsy was much better pleased\nwith this journey than she would have been with that to L----e, yet she\nthought herself obliged, both in gratitude and good manners, to write to\nLady Trusty, and make the best excuse she could for her breach of\npromise; which she did in these terms.\n     'To Lady Trusty\n     Most dear and honoured madam,\n     My brother Frank being extremely desirous of shewing Miss Flora and\n     myself the curiosities of Oxford, has obtained leave from Mr.\n     Goodman, and Lady Mellasin, for us to accompany him to that place.\n     I am afraid the season will be too far advanced to take a journey\n     to L----e at our return; therefore flatter myself your ladyship will\n     pardon the indispensible necessity I am under of deferring, till\n     next spring, the happiness I proposed in waiting on you. All here\n     present my worthy guardian, and your ladyship, with their best\n     respects. I beg mine may be equally acceptable, and that you will\n     always continue to favour with your good wishes, her, who is, with\n     the most perfect esteem, Madam, your ladyship's most obliged, and\n     most obedient servant,\n     E. THOUGHTLESS.'\nThe time for the young gentleman's departure being arrived, they went\ntogether in the stage, accompanied by a footman of Mr. Goodman's, whom\nLady Mellasin would needs send with them, in order to give the young\nladies an air of dignity.\nThey found, on their arrival at that justly-celebrated seat of learning,\nthat Mr. Francis had given no greater eulogiums on it than it merited:\nthey were charmed with the fine library, the museum, the magnificence of\nthe halls belonging to the various colleges, the physick-garden, and\nother curious walks; but that which, above all the rest, gave the most\nsatisfaction to Miss Betsy, as well as to her companion, was that\nrespectful gallantry with which they found themselves treated by the\ngentlemen of the university. Mr. Francis was extremely beloved amongst\nthem, on account of his affability, politeness, and good-humour, and\nthey seemed glad of an opportunity of shewing the regard they had for\nthe brother, by paying all manner of civilities to the sister: he gave\nthe ladies an elegant entertainment at his own rooms, to which also some\nof those with whom he was the most intimate were invited. All these\nthought themselves bound to return the same compliment: the company of\nevery one present was desired at their respective apartments; and as\neach of these gentlemen had, besides, other particular friends of their\nown, whom they wished to oblige, the number of guests was still\nincreased at every feast.\nBy this means, Miss Betsy and Miss Flora soon acquired a very large\nacquaintance; and as, through the care of Mr. Francis, they were lodged\nin one of the best and most reputable houses in town, their families\nknown, and themselves were young ladies who knew how to behave, as well\nas dress, and receive company in the most elegant and polite manner,\nevery one was proud of a pretence for visiting them.\nThe respect paid to them would, doubtless, have every day increased\nduring the whole time they should have thought proper to continue in\nOxford, and on quitting it, have left behind them the highest idea of\ntheir merit, if, by one inconsiderate action, they had not at once\nforfeited the esteem they had gained, and rendered themselves the\nsubjects of ridicule, even to those who before had regarded them with\nveneration.\nThey were walking out one day, about an hour or two before the time in\nwhich they usually dined, into the park, where they were met by a\ngentleman-commoner and a young student, both of whom they had been in\ncompany with at most of the entertainments before mentioned. The sparks\nbegged leave to attend them, which was readily granted: they walked all\ntogether for some time; but the weather being very warm, the\ngentleman-commoner took an occasion to remind the ladies how much their\nbeauties would be in danger of suffering from the immoderate rays of\nPhoebus; and proposed going to some gardens full of the most beautiful\nalcoves and arbours, so shaded over that the sun, even in his meridian\nforce, could, at the most, but glimmer through the delightful gloom; he\npainted the pleasures of the place, to which he was desirous of leading\nthem, with so romantick an energy, that they immediately, and without\nthe least scruple or hesitation, consented to be conducted thither.\nThis was a condescension which he who asked it, scarce expected would be\ngranted; and, on finding it so easily obtained, began to form some\nconjectures no way to the advantage of those ladies reputations. It is\ncertain, indeed, that as he professed a friendship for the brother, he\nought not, in strict honour, to have proposed any thing to the sister\nwhich would be unbecoming her to agree to; but he was young, gay to an\nexcess, and in what he said or did took not always consideration for his\nguide.\nThey went on laughing, till they came to the place he mentioned, where\nthe gentlemen, having shewed their faire companions into the gardens, in\nwhich were, indeed, several recesses, no less dark than had been\ndescribed: on entering one of them, Miss Betsy cried, 'Bless me! this is\nfit for nothing but for people to do what they are ashamed of in the\nlight.'--'The fitter then, Madam,' replied the gentleman-commoner, 'to\nencourage a lover, who, perhaps, has suffered more through his own\ntimidity than the cruelty of the object he adores.' He accompanied these\nwords with a seizure of both her hands, and two or three kisses on her\nlips. The young student was no less free with Miss Flora: but neither of\nthese ladies gave themselves the trouble to reflect what consequences\nmight possibly attend a prelude of this nature, and repulsed the\nliberties they took in such a manner as made the offenders imagine they\nhad not sinned beyond a pardon.\nThey would not, however, be prevailed upon to stay, or even to sit down\nin that darksome recess, but went into a house, where they were shewn\ninto a very pleasant room which commanded the whole prospect of the\ngarden, and was sufficiently shaded from the sun by jessamine and\nhoneysuckles, which grew against the window: here wine, cakes, jellies,\nand such like things, being brought, the conversation was extremely\nlively, and full of gallantry, without the least mixture of indecency.\nThe gentlemen exerted all their wit and eloquence, to persuade the\nladies not to go home in the heat of the day; but take up with such\nentertainment as the place they were in was able to present them with.\nNeither of them made any objection, except that, having said they should\ndine at home, the family would wait in expectation of their coming: but\nthis difficulty was easily got over; the footman, who had attended Miss\nBetsy and Miss Flora, in their morning's walk, was in the house, and\nmight be sent to acquaint the people that they were not to expect them.\nAs they were neither displeased with the company, nor place they were\nin, they needed not abundance of persuasions; and the servant was\nimmediately dispatched. The gentlemen went out of the room, to give\norders for having something prepared, but staid not two minutes; and on\ntheir return, omitted nothing that might keep up the good-humour and\nsprightliness of their fair companions.\nPersons of so gay and volatile a disposition as these four, could not\ncontent themselves with sitting still, and barely talking; every limb\nmust be in motion, every faculty employed. The gentleman-commoner took\nMiss Betsy's hand, and led her some steps of a minuet, then fell into a\nrigadoon, then into the louvre, and so ran through all the\nschool-dances, without regularly beginning or ending any one of them, or\nof the tunes he sung; the young student was not less alert with Miss\nFlora; so that, between singing, dancing, and laughing, they all grew\nextremely warm. Miss Betsy ran to a window to take breath, and get a\nlittle air; her partner followed, and taking up her fan, which lay on a\ntable, employed it with a great deal of dexterity, to assist the wind\nthat came in at the casement for her refreshment. 'Heavens!' cried he,\n'how divinely lovely do you now appear! the goddess of the spring, nor\nVenus's self, was ever painted half so beautiful! What eyes! what a\nmouth! and what a shape!' continued he, surveying her, as it were, from\nhead to foot, 'How exquisitely turned! How taper! how slender! I don't\nbelieve you measure half a yard round the waist.' In speaking these\nwords, he put his handkerchief about her waist; after which he tied it\nround his head, repeating these lines of Mr. Waller's--\n    'That which her slender waist confin'd\n    Shall now my joyful temples bind;\n    No monarch but would give his crown,\n    His arms might do what this has done.'\n'O fie upon it!' said Miss Betsy, laughing, and snatching it from his\nhead, 'this poetry is stale; I should rather have expected from an\nOxonian some fine thing of his own extempore, on this occasion, which,\nperhaps, I might have been vain enough to have got printed in the\nmonthly magazine.'\n'Ah, Madam!' replied he, looking on her with dying languishments, 'where\nthe heart is deeply affected, the brain seldom produces any thing but\nincongruous ideas. Had Sacharissa been mistress of the charms you are,\nor had Waller loved like me, he had been less capable of writing in the\nmanner he did.'\nThe student perceiving his friend was entering into a particular\nconversation with Miss Betsy, found means to draw Miss Flora out of the\nroom, and left them together, though this young lady afterwards\nprotested she called to Miss Betsy to follow; but if she did it was in\nsuch a low voice that the other did not hear her, and continued her\npleasantry, raillying the gentleman-commoner on every thing he said,\ntill he finding the opportunity he had of being revenged, soon turned\nhis humble adoration into an air more free and natural to him. As she\nwas opening her mouth to utter some sarcasm or other, he catched her in\nhis arms, and began to kiss her with so much warmth and eagerness that\nsurprized her; she struggled to get loose, and called Miss Flora, not\nknowing she was gone, to come to her assistance. The efforts she made at\nfirst to oblige him to desist, were not, however, quite so strenuous as\nthey ought to have been on such an occasion; but finding he was about to\nproceed to greater liberties than any man before had ever taken with\nher, she collected all her strength, and broke from him; when looking\nround the room, and seeing nobody there, 'Bless me,' cried she, 'what is\nthe meaning of all this! Where are our friends!'--'They are gone,' said\nhe, 'to pay the debt which love and youth, and beauty challenge; let us\nnot be remiss, nor waste the precious moments in idle scruples. Come, my\nangel!' pursued he, endeavouring to get her once more into his arms,\n'make me the happiest of mankind, and be as divinely good as you are\nfair.'\n'I do not understand you, Sir,' replied she; 'but neither desire, nor\nwill stay to hear, an explanation.' She spoke this with somewhat of an\nhaughty air, and was making towards the door, but he was far from being\nintimidated; and, instead of suffering her to pass, he seized her a\nlittle roughly with one hand, and with the other made fast the door.\n'Come, come, my dear creature,' cried he, 'no more resistance; you see\nyou are in my power, and the very name of being so is sufficient to\nabsolve you to yourself, for any act of kindness you may bestow upon me;\nbe generous, then, and be assured it shall be an inviolable secret.'\nShe was about to say something, but he stopped her mouth with kisses,\nand forced her to sit down in a chair; where, holding her fast, her ruin\nhad certainly been compleated, if a loud knocking at the door had not\nprevented him from prosecuting his design.\nThis was the brother of Miss Betsy, who having been at her lodgings, on\nhis coming from thence met the footman, who had been sent to acquaint\nthe family the ladies would not dine at home; he asked where his sister\nwas, and, the fellow having told him, came directly to the place. A\nwaiter of the house shewed him to the room: on finding it locked he was\nstrangely amazed; and both knocked and called to have it opened, with a\ngreat deal of vehemence.\nThis gentleman-commoner knowing his voice, was shocked to the last\ndegree, but quitted that instant his intended prey, and let him enter.\nMr. Francis, on coming in, knew not what to think; he saw the gentleman\nin great disorder, and his sister in much more. 'What is the meaning of\nthis?' said he. 'Sister, how came you here?'--'Ask me no questions at\npresent,' replied she, scarce able to speak, so strangely had her late\nfright seized on her spirits; 'but see me safe from this cursed house,\nand that worst of men.' Her speaking in this manner made Mr. Francis\napprehend the whole, and perhaps more than the truth. 'How, Sir,' said\nhe, darting a furious look at the gentleman-commoner, 'what is it I\nhear?--Have you dared to--' 'Whatever I have dared to,' interrupted the\nother, 'I am capable of defending.'--'It is well,' rejoined the brother\nof Miss Betsy, 'perhaps I may put you to the trial: but this is not a\ntime or place.' He then took hold of his sister's hand, and led her down\nstairs: as they were going out, Miss Betsy stopping a little to adjust\nher dress, which was strangely disordered, she bethought herself of Miss\nFlora; who, though she was very angry with, she did not chuse to leave\nbehind at the mercy of such rakes, as she had reason to think those were\nwhom she had been in company with. Just as she was desiring of her\nbrother to send a waiter in search of that young lady, they saw her\ncoming out of the garden, led by the young student who, as soon as he\nbeheld Mr. Francis, cried, 'Ha! Frank, how came you here? you look out\nof humour.'--'How I came here, it matters not,' replied he sullenly;\n'and as to my being out of humour, perhaps you may know better than I\nyet do what cause I have for being so.'\nHe waited for no answer to these words; but conducted his sister out of\nthe house as hastily as he could: Miss Flora followed, after having\ntaken leave of her companion in what manner she thought proper.\nOn their coming home, Miss Betsy related to her brother, as far as her\nmodesty would permit, all the particulars of the adventure, and ended\nwith saying, that sure it was Heaven alone that gave her strength to\nprevent the perpetration of the villain's intentions. Mr. Francis, all\nthe time she was speaking, bit his lips, and shewed great tokens of an\nextraordinary disturbance in his mind; but offered not the least\ninterruption. When he perceived she had done, 'Well, sister,' said he,\n'I shall hear what he has to say, and will endeavour to oblige him to\nask your pardon.' And soon after took his leave.\nMiss Betsy did not very well comprehend his meaning in these words; and\nwas, indeed, still in too much confusion to consider on any thing; but\nwhat the consequences were of this transaction, the reader will\npresently be informed of.\nCHAPTER IX\n_Contains such things as might be reasonably expected, after the\npreceding adventure_\nWhen in any thing irregular, and liable to censure, more persons than\none are concerned, how natural is it for each to accuse the other; and\nit often happens, in this case, that the greatest part of the blame\nfalls on the least culpable.\nAfter Mr. Francis had left the ladies, in order to be more fully\nconvinced in this matter, and to take such measures as he thought would\nbest become him for the reparation of the affront offered to the honour\nof his family, Miss Flora began to reproach Miss Betsy for having\nrelated any thing of what had passed to her brother: 'By your own\naccount,' said she, 'no harm was done to you: but some people love to\nmake a bustle about nothing.'--'And some people,' replied Miss Betsy,\ntartly, 'love nothing but the gratification of their own passions; and\nhaving no sense of virtue and modesty themselves, can have no regard to\nthat of another.'--'What do you mean, Miss?' cried the other, with a\npert air. 'My meaning is pretty plain,' rejoined Miss Betsy: 'but since\nyou affect so much ignorance, I must tell you, that the expectations of\na second edition of the same work Mr. Gayland had helped you to compose,\nthough from another quarter, tempted you to sneak out of the room, and\nleave your friend in danger of falling a sacrifice to what her soul most\ndetests and scorns.' These words stung Miss Flora to the quick; her face\nwas in an instant covered with a scarlet blush, and every feature\nbetrayed the confusion of her mind: but recovering herself from it much\nsooner than most others of her age could have done; 'Good lack,' cried\nshe, 'I fancy you are setting up for a prude: but, pray, how came Mr.\nGayland into your head?--What! because I told you he innocently romped\nwith me one day in the chamber, are you so censorious as to infer any\nthing criminal passed between us?'--'Whatever I infer,' replied Miss\nBetsy, disdainfully, 'I have better vouchers for the truth of, than your\nreport; and would advise you, when you go home, to get the chink in the\npannel of the wainscot of my lady's dressing room stopped up, or your\nnext rendezvous with that gentleman may possibly have witnesses of more\nill-nature than myself.'--'That can scarcely be,' said Miss Flora, ready\nto burst with vexation: 'but don't think I value your little malice; you\nare only angry because he slighted the advances you made him, and took\nall opportunities to shew how much his heart and judgment gave the\npreferences to me.' These words so piqued the vanity of Miss Betsy,\nthat, not able to bear she should continue in the imagination of being\nbetter liked than herself, though even by the man she hated, told her\nthe solicitations he had made to her, the letter she had received from\nhim, and the rebuff she had given him upon it; 'So that,' pursued she,\n'it was not till after he found there was no hope of gaining me, that he\ncarried his devoirs to you.'\nMiss Flora was more nettled at this eclaircissement than she was at the\ndiscovery she now perceived the other had made of her intrigue: she\npretended, however, not to believe a word of what she had said; but\nwilling to evade all farther discourse on that head, returned to the\nadventure they had just gone through with the Oxonians. 'Never expect,'\nsaid she, 'to pass it upon any one of common sense, that if you had not\na mind to have been alone with that terrible man, as you now describe\nhim, you would have staid in the room after I was gone, and called to\nyou to follow.'\nIt was in vain that Miss Betsy denied she either heard her speak, or\nknew any thing of her departure, till some time after she was gone, and\nthe gentleman-commoner began to use her with such familiarities as\nconvinced her he was sensible no witnesses were present. This, though no\nmore than truth, was of no consequence to her justification, to one\ndetermined to believe the worst, or at least seem to do so: Miss Flora\ntreated with contempt all she said on this score, derided her\nimprecations; and, to mortify her the more, said to her, in a taunting\nmanner, 'Come, come, Miss Betsy, it is a folly to think to impose upon\nthe world by such shallow artifices. What your inclinations are, is\nevident enough: any one may see, that if it had not been for your\nbrother's unseasonable interruption, nobody would ever have heard a\nword of these insults you so heavily complain of.'\nPoor Miss Betsy could not refrain letting fall some tears at so unjust\nand cruel an inuendo: but the greatness of her spirit enabled her in a\nfew moments to overcome the shock it had given her; she returned\nreproaches with reproaches; and, as she had infinitely more of truth and\nreason on her side, had also much the better in this combat of tongues:\nnevertheless the other would not give out; she upbraided and exaggerated\nwith the most malicious comments on it every little indiscretion Miss\nBetsy had been guilty of, repeating every censure which she had heard\nthe ill-natured part of the world pass on her conduct, and added many\nmore, the invention of her own fertile brain.\nSome ladies they had made acquaintance with in town coming to visit\nthem, put an end to the debate; but neither being able presently to\nforget the bitter reflections cast on her by the other, both remained\nextremely sullen the whole night; and their mutual ill-humour might\npossibly have lasted much longer, but for an accident more material,\nwhich took off their attention, as it might have produced much worse\nconsequences than any quarrel between themselves could be attended with.\nIt happened in this manner.\nThe brother of Miss Betsy was of a fiery disposition; and though those\nwho were entrusted with the care of his education were not wanting in\ntheir pains to correct this propensity, which they thought would be the\nmore unbecoming in him, as he was intended for the pulpit, yet did not\ntheir endeavours for that purpose meet with all the success they wished.\nNature may be moderated, but never can be wholly changed: the seeds of\nwrath still remained in his soul; nor could the rudiments that had been\ngiven him be sufficient to hinder them from springing into action, when\nurged by any provocation. The treatment his sister had received from the\ngentleman-commoner, seemed to him so justifiable a one, that he thought\nhe ought not, without great submissions on the part of the transgresser,\nto be prevailed upon to put up with it.\nThe first step he took was to sound the young student, as to what he\nknew relating to the affair; who freely told him, as Miss Betsy had\ndone, where they met the ladies, and the manner in which they went into\nthe house; protesting, that neither himself, nor (according to the best\nof his belief) the gentleman-commoner, had at that time any designs in\nview but mere complaisance and gallantry.\n'How then, came you to separate yourselves?' cried Mr. Francis, with\nsome earnestness. 'That also was accidental,' replied the other; 'your\nsister's companion telling me she liked the garden better than the room\nwe were in, I thought I could do no less than attend her thither. I\nconfess I did not consult whether those we left behind had any\ninclination to follow us or not.'\nThe air with which he spoke of this part of the adventure, had something\nin it which did not give Mr. Francis the most favourable idea of Miss\nFlora's conduct; but that not much concerning him, and finding nothing\nwherewith he could justly reproach the student, he soon after quitted\nhim, and went to the gentleman-commoner, having been told he might find\nhim in his rooms.\nHad any one been witness of the manner in which these two accosted each\nother, they would not have been at a loss to guess what would ensue; the\nbrother of Miss Betsy came with a mind full of resentment, and\ndetermined to repair the affront which had been offered to him in the\nperson of a sister, who was very dear to him, by calling the other to a\nsevere account for what he had done. The gentleman-commoner was\ndescended of a noble family, and had an estate to support the dignity of\nhis birth, and was too much puffed up and insolent on the smiles of\nfortune: he was conscious the affront he had given demanded\nsatisfaction, and neither doubted of the errand on which Mr. Francis was\ncome, nor wondered at it; but could not bring himself to acknowledge he\nhad done amiss, nor think of making any excuse for his behaviour. Guilt,\nin a proud heart, is generally accompanied with a sullen obstinacy; for,\nas the poet says--\n    'Forgiveness to the injur'd does belong;\n    But they ne'er pardon who have done the wrong.'\nHe therefore received the interrogatories Mr. Francis was beginning to\nmake, with an air rather indignant than complying; which the other not\nbeing able to brook, such hot words arose between them as could not but\noccasion a challenge, which was given by Mr. Francis. The appointment to\nmeet was the next morning at six o'clock; and the place, that very field\nin which the gentleman-commoner and his friend had so unluckily happened\nto meet the ladies in their morning's walk.\nNeither of them wanted courage, nor communicated their rendezvous to any\none person, in hopes of being disappointed without danger of their\nhonour; but each being equally animated with the ambition of humbling\nthe arrogance of the other, both were secret as to the business, and no\nless punctual as to the time.\nThe agreement between them was sword and pistol; which both having\nprovided themselves with, they no sooner came within a proper distance,\nthan they discharged at each other the first course of this fatal\nentertainment: that of the gentleman-commoner was so well aimed, that\none of the bullets lodged in the shoulder, and the other grazing on the\nfleshy part of the arm of his antagonist, put him into a great deal of\npain. But these wounds rather increased than diminished the fury he was\npossessed of: he instantly drew his sword, and ran at the other with so\nwell-directed a force, that his weapon entered three inches deep into\nthe right-side of the gentleman-commoner. Both of them received several\nother hurts, yet still both continued the fight with equal vehemence;\nnor would either of them, in all probability, have receded, till one or\nother of them had lain dead upon the place, if some countrymen, who by\naccident were passing that way, had not, with their clubs, beat down the\nswords of both, and carried the owners of them, by mere force, into the\nvillage they were going to; where they were no sooner entered, than\nseveral people who knew them, seeing them pass by in this manner,\ncovered all over with their own blood, and guarded by a pack of\nrusticks, ran out to enquire what had happened; which being informed of,\nthey took them out of the hands of these men, and provided proper\napartments for them.\nBy this time they were both extremely faint through the anguish of their\nwounds, and the great effusion of blood that had issued from them.\nSurgeons were immediately sent for; who, on examining their hurts,\npronounced none of them to be mortal, yet such as would require some\ntime for cure.\nMr. Francis suffered extreme torture in having the bullet extracted from\nhis shoulder; yet, notwithstanding that, and the weak condition he was\nin, he made a servant support him in his bed while he scrawled out these\nfew lines to his sister; which, as soon as finished, were carried to her\nby the same person.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     My dear sister,\n     I have endangered my life, and am now confined to my bed by the\n     wounds I have received, in endeavouring to revenge your quarrel: do\n     not think I tell you this by way of reproach; for, I assure you,\n     would the circumstances of the affair have permitted it to have\n     been concealed, you never should have known it.\n     I should be glad to see you; but think it not proper that you\n     should come to me, till I hear what is said concerning this matter.\n     I shall send to you every day: and that you will be perfectly easy,\n     is the earnest request of, dear Betsy, your most-affectionate\n     brother, and humble servant,\n     F. THOUGHTLESS.'\nThe young ladies were that morning at breakfast in the parlour, with the\ngentlewoman of the house, when the maid came running in, and told her\nmistress she had heard, in a shop where she had been, of a sad accident\nthat had just happened: 'Two gentlemen,' cried she, 'of the university,\nhave been fighting, and almost killed one another; and they say,'\ncontinued she, 'it was about a young lady that one of them attempted to\nravish.'\nMiss Betsy and Miss Flora, at this intelligence, looked at each other\nwith a good deal of confusion, already beginning to suspect who the\npersons were, and how deeply themselves (one of them especially) were\ninterested in this misfortune. The gentlewoman asked her servant if she\nknew the names of those who fought. 'No, Madam,' answered she, 'I could\nnot learn that as yet: but the people in the street are all talking of\nit; and I doubt not but I shall hear the whole story the next time I go\nout.'\nThe good gentlewoman, little imagining how much her guests were\nconcerned in what she spoke, could not now forbear lamenting the\nungovernableness of youth; the heedless levities of the one sex, and the\nmad-brained passions of the other. The persons to whom she directed this\ndiscourse, would not, at another time, have given much ear to it, or\nperhaps have replied to it with raillery: but the occasion of it now put\nboth of them in too serious a temper to offer any interruption; and she\nwas still going on, inveighing against the follies and vices of the age,\nwhen Miss Betsy received the above letter from her brother, which\nconfirmed all those alarming conjectures the maid's report raised in her\nmind.\nThe mistress of the house perceiving the young man who brought the\nletter came upon business to the ladies, had the good-manners to leave\nthe room, that they might talk with the greater freedom. Miss Betsy\nasked a thousand questions; but he was able to inform her of no farther\nparticulars than what the letter contained.\nThe moment he was gone, she ran up to her chamber, threw herself upon\nthe bed, and in a flood of tears gave a loose to the most poignant\nvexation she had ever yet experienced. Miss Flora followed; and, seeing\nher in this condition, thought she could do no less, in decency, than\ncontribute everything in her power for her consolation.\nBy the behaviour of this young lady in other respects, however, the\nreader will easily perceive it was more through policy than real\ngood-nature, she treated her afflicted companion with the tenderness she\ndid now: she knew that it was not by an open quarrel with Miss Betsy she\ncould wreak any part of the spite she had conceived against her; and was\ntherefore glad to lay hold of this opportunity to be reconciled.\n'I was afraid, my dear,' said she, 'that it would come to this, and that\nput me in so great a passion with you yesterday, for telling Mr. Francis\nany thing of the matter: the men are such creatures, that there is no\ntrusting them with any thing. But come,' continued she, kissing her\ncheek, 'don't grieve and torment yourself in this manner; you find there\nis no danger of death on either side; and as for the rest, it will all\nblow off in time.' Miss Betsy said little to this; the sudden passion of\nher soul must have it's vent; but, when that was over, she began to\nlisten to the voice of comfort, and by degrees to resume her natural\nvivacity, not foreseeing that this unhappy adventure would lay her under\nmortifications which, to a person of her spirit, were very difficult to\nbe borne.\nCHAPTER X\n_Gives the catastrophe of the Oxford ramble, and in what manner the\nyoung ladies returned to London_\nIf the wounds Mr. Francis had received, had been all the misfortune\nattending Miss Betsy in this adventure, it is probable, that as she\nevery day heard he was in a fair way of recovery, the first gust of\npassion would have been all she had sustained; but she soon found other\nconsequences arising from it, which were no less afflicting, and more\ngalling to her pride.\nThe quarrel between the two young gentlemen, and the occasion of it, was\npresently blazed over the whole town: it spread like wild fire; every\none made their several comments upon it; and few there were who\nendeavoured to find any excuse for the share Miss Betsy and Miss Flora\nhad in it.\nThe ladies of Oxford are commonly more than ordinarily circumspect in\ntheir behaviour; as indeed, it behoves them to be, in a place where\nthere are such a number of young gentlemen, many of whom pursue pleasure\nmore than study, and scruple nothing for the gratification of their\ndesires. It is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that being from their\ninfancy trained up in the most strict reserve, and accustomed to be upon\ntheir guard against even the most distant approaches of the other sex,\nthey should be apt to pass the severest censures on a conduct, which\nthey had been always taught to look upon as the sure destruction of\nreputation, and frequently fatal to innocence and virtue.\nThis being pretty generally the characteristick of those ladies who were\nof any distinction in Oxford, Miss Betsy and Miss Flora immediately\nfound, that while they continued there, they must either be content to\nsit at home alone, or converse only with such as were as disagreeable to\nthem, as they had now rendered themselves to those of a more unblemished\nfame.\nThey had received several visits, all of which they had not yet had time\nor leisure to return; but now going to pay the debt, which complaisance\ndemanded from them, they were denied access at every place they went to;\nall the persons were either abroad or indisposed: but the manner in\nwhich these answers were given, easily convinced Miss Betsy and Miss\nFlora that they were no more than mere pretences to avoid seeing them.\nIn the publick walks, and in passing through the streets, they saw\nthemselves shunned even to a degree of rudeness: those of their\nacquaintance, who were obliged to meet them, looked another way, and\nwent hastily on without vouchsafing a salute.\nThis was the treatment their late unhappy adventure drew on them from\nthose of their own sex; nor did those of the other seem to behave to\nthem with greater tenderness or respect, especially the younger\nstudents, who all, having got the story, thought they had a fine\nopportunity of exercising their poetick talents: satires and lampoons\nflew about like hail. Many of these anonymous compositions were directed\nto Miss Betsy, and thrown over the rails into the area of the house\nwhere she lodged; others were sung under the windows by persons in\ndisguise, and copies of them handed about throughout the whole town, to\nthe great propagation of scandal, and the sneering faculty.\nNever, certainly, did pride and vanity meet with a more severe\nhumiliation, than what these witticisms inflicted on those who, by their\ninconsiderate behaviour, had laid themselves open to them. Neither the\nassurance of Miss Flora, nor the great spirit of Miss Betsy, could\nenable them to stand the shock of those continual affronts which every\nday presented them with. They dreaded to expose themselves to fresh\ninsults, if they stirred out of the doors; and at home they were\npersecuted with the unwearied remonstrances of their grave landlady: so\nthat their condition was truly pitiable.\nBoth of them were equally impatient to get out of a place where they\nfound their company was held in so little estimation: but Miss Betsy\nthought her brother would not take it well, should she go to London and\nleave him in the condition he then was. Miss Flora's importunities,\nhowever, joined to the new occasions she every day had for increasing\nher discontent on staying, got the better of her apprehensions; and she\nwrote to her brother in the following terms.\n     'To Mr. Francis Thoughtless.\n     Dear Brother,\n     Though I am not, to my great affliction, permitted to see you, or\n     to offer that assistance which might be expected from a sister in\n     your present situation; yet I cannot, without the extremest regret,\n     resolve to quit Oxford before you are perfectly recovered of those\n     hurts you have received on my account. However, as by your judging\n     it improper for me to come to you, I cannot suppose you are wholly\n     unacquainted with the severe usage lately given me, and must look\n     on every affront offered to me as an indignity to you. I am apt to\n     flatter myself you will not be offended, that I wish to remove from\n     a place where innocence is no defence against scandal, and the shew\n     of virtue more considered than the reality.\n     Nevertheless, I shall determine nothing till I hear your\n     sentiments; which, if I find conformable to mine, shall set out for\n     London with all possible expedition. I would very fain see you\n     before I go; and, if you consent, will come to you so muffled up as\n     not to be known by any who may happen to meet me. I shall expect\n     your answer with the utmost impatience; being, my dear brother, by\n     friendship, as well as blood, most affectionately yours,\n     E. THOUGHTLESS.'\nWhen this letter was dispatched, Miss Flora made use of all the\narguments she was mistress of, in order to persuade Miss Betsy to go for\nLondon, even in case her brother should not be altogether so willing for\nit as she wished he would. Miss Betsy, though no less eager than herself\nto be out of a place she now so much detested, would not be prevailed\nupon to promise any thing on this score; but persisted in her resolution\nof being wholly directed how to proceed, by the answer she should\nreceive from Mr. Francis.\nMiss Flora was so fretted at this perverseness, as she called it, that\nshe told her, in a very great pet, that she might stay if she pleased,\nand be the laughing-stock of the town; but, for her own part, she had\nmore spirit, and would be gone the next day. Miss Betsy coolly replied,\nthat if she thought proper to do so, she was doubtless at liberty; but\nbelieved Mr. Goodman, and even Lady Mellasin herself, would look on such\na behaviour as neither consistent with generosity nor common\ngood-manners.\nIt is, indeed, scarce possible, that the other had the least intention\nto do as she had said, though she still continued to threaten it, in the\nmost positive and peremptory terms; and this, if we consider the temper\nof both these young ladies, we may reasonably suppose, might have\noccasioned a second quarrel between them, if the servant, whom Mr.\nFrancis always sent to his sister, had not that instant come in, and put\nan end to the dispute, by delivering a letter to Miss Betsy; which she\nhastily opening, found it contained these lines.\n     'To Miss Thoughtless.\n     My dear sister,\n     It is with an inexpressible satisfaction that I find your own\n     inclinations have anticipated the request I was just about to make\n     you. I do assure you, the moment I received your letter, I was\n     going to write, in order to persuade you to do the very thing you\n     seem to desire. Oxford is, indeed, a very censorious place: I have\n     always observed it to be so; and have frequently told the ladies,\n     between jest and earnest, that I thought it was a town of the most\n     scandal, and least sin, of any in the world. I am pretty confident\n     some of those who pretend to give themselves airs concerning you\n     and Miss Flora, are as perfectly convinced of your innocence as I\n     myself am: yet, after all that has happened, I would not have you\n     think of staying; and the sooner you depart the better. You need be\n     under no apprehensions on account of my wounds: those I received\n     from the sword of my antagonist are in a manner healed; and that\n     with the pistol-shot in my shoulder is in as fine a way as can be\n     expected in so short a time. Those I had the fortune to give him,\n     are in a yet better condition; so that I believe, if it was not for\n     the over-caution of our surgeon, we might both quit our rooms\n     to-morrow. I hear that our grave superiors have had some\n     consultations on our duel, and that there is a talk of our being\n     both expelled: but, for my part, I shall certainly save them the\n     trouble, and quit the university of my own accord, as soon as my\n     recovery is compleated. My genius is by no means adapted to the\n     study of divinity: I think the care of my own soul more than\n     sufficient for me, without taking upon me the charge of a whole\n     parish; you may, therefore, expect to see me shortly at London, as\n     it is highly necessary I should consult Mr. Goodman concerning my\n     future settlement in the world. I should be extremely glad of a\n     visit from you before you leave Oxford; more especially as I have\n     something of moment to say to you, which I do not chuse to\n     communicate by letter; but cannot think it at all proper, for\n     particular reasons, that you should come to me, some or other of\n     the gentlemen being perpetually dropping into my chamber; and it is\n     impossible for you to disguise yourself so as not to be\n     distinguished by young fellows, whose curiosity would be the more\n     excited by your endeavours to conceal yourself. As this might\n     revive the discourse of an affair which I could wish might be\n     buried in an eternal oblivion, must desire you will defer the\n     satisfaction you propose to give me till we meet at London; to\n     which I wish you, and your fair companion, a safe and pleasant\n     journey. I am, with the greatest tenderness, my dear sister, your\n     affectionate brother,'\n     F. THOUGHTLESS.'\nThe receipt of this letter gave an infinity of contentment to Miss\nBetsy; she had made the offer of going to take her leave of him, chiefly\nwith the view of keeping him from suspecting she wanted natural\naffection; and was no less pleased with his refusing the request she\nmade him on that account, than she was with his so readily agreeing to\nher returning to London. Miss Flora was equally delighted: they sent\ntheir footman that instant to take places in the stagecoach; and early\nthe next morning set out from a place, which, on their entering into it,\nthey did not imagine they should quit either so soon, or with so little\nregret.\nCHAPTER XI\n_Lays a foundation for many events to be produced by time, and waited\nfor with patience_\nMiss Betsy and Miss Flora, on their coming home, were in some perplexity\nhow to relate the story of their Oxford adventure to Lady Mellasin and\nMr. Goodman; and it is very likely they would have thought it proper to\nhave kept it a secret, if the unlucky duel between Mr. Francis and the\ngentleman-commoner, which they were sensible would be a known thing, had\nnot rendered the concealment of the whole utterly impracticable.\nAs there was no remedy, Miss Flora took it upon her to lay open the\nmatter to her mamma; which she did with so much artifice, that if that\nlady had been as austere, as she was really the reverse, she could not\nhave found much to condemn, either in the conduct of her daughter or\nMiss Betsy: as to Mr. Goodman, he left the whole management of the young\nladies, in these particulars, entirely to his wife, so said little to\nthem on the score of the adventure; but was extremely concerned for the\npart Mr. Francis had in it, as he supposed it was chiefly owing to that\nunlucky incident, that he had taken a resolution to leave the college;\nand he very well knew, that a certain nobleman, who was a distant\nrelation of his family, and godfather to Mr. Francis, had always\npromised to bestow a large benefice in his gift upon him, as soon as he\nshould have compleated his studies.\nThis honest guardian thought he should be wanting in the duty of the\ntrust reposed in him, to suffer his charge to throw away that fine\nprospect in his view, if by any means he could prevent him from taking\nso rash and inconsiderate a step; and as to his being expelled, he\ndoubted not, but between him and Sir Ralph, interest might be made to\nthe heads of the university, to get the affair of the duel passed over.\nThe greatest difficulty he had to apprehend, in compassing this point,\nwas from the young gentleman himself, who he had observed was of a\ntemper somewhat obstinate, and tenacious of his own opinion; resolving,\nhowever, to try all means possible, he wrote immediately to him,\nrepresenting to him, in the strongest and most pathetick terms he was\nmaster of, the vast advantages the clergy enjoyed, the respect they had\nfrom all degrees of people; and endeavoured to convince him that there\nwas no avocation whatever, by which a younger brother might so easily\nadvance his fortune, and do honour to his family.\nHe also sent a letter to Sir Ralph Trusty, acquainting him with the\nwhole story, and earnestly requesting that he would write to Mr.\nFrancis, and omit nothing that might engage him to desist from doing a\nthing so contrary to his interest, and the intention of his deceased\nfather, as what he now had thoughts of doing was manifestly so. These\nefforts, by both the guardians, were often repeated, but without the\nleast success; the young gentleman found arguments to oppose against\ntheirs, which neither of them could deny to have weight, particularly\nthat of his having no call to take upon him holy orders. During these\ndebates, in which Miss Betsy gave herself no manner of concern, she\nreceived a letter from her brother, containing these lines.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     My dear sister,\n     Though I flatter myself all my letters afford you some sort of\n     satisfaction, yet by what little judgment I have been able to form\n     of the temper of your sex, have reason to believe, this I now send\n     will meet a double portion of welcome from you. It brings a\n     confirmation of your beauty's power; the intelligence of a new\n     conquest; the offer of a heart, which, if you will trust a\n     brother's recommendation, is well deserving your acceptance: but,\n     that I may not seem to speak in riddles, you may remember that the\n     first time I had the pleasure of entertaining you at my rooms, a\n     gentleman called Trueworth was with us, and that the next day when\n     you dined with that person, who afterwards treated you with such\n     unbecoming liberties, he made one of the company; since then you\n     could not see him, as he was obliged to go to his seat, which is\n     about thirty miles off, on an extraordinary occasion, and returned\n     not till the day after you left this town. He seemed more than\n     ordinarily affected on my telling him what had happened on your\n     account; and, after pausing a little, \"How unhappy was I,\" said he,\n     \"to be absent! had I been here there would have been no need for\n     the brother of Miss Betsy to have exposed his life to the sword of\n     an injurious antagonist, or his character to the censure of the\n     university. I would have taken upon myself to have revenged the\n     quarrel of that amiable lady, and either have severely chastised\n     the insolence of the aggressor, or lost the best part of my blood\n     in the attempt!\" I was very much surprized at these words, as well\n     as the emphasis with which they were delivered; but, recovering\n     myself as soon as I could, \"We are extremely obliged to you, Sir,\"\n     said I; \"but I know not if such a mistaken generosity might not\n     have been fatal to the reputation of us both. What would the world\n     have said of me to have been tamely passive, and suffer another to\n     revenge the affront offered to my sister? What would they have\n     thought of her, on finding her honour vindicated by one who had no\n     concern in it?\"--\"No concern!\" cried he, with the utmost eagerness;\n     \"yes, I have a concern, more deep, more strong, than that of\n     father, brother, or all the ties of blood could give; and that you\n     had before now have been convinced of it, had I not been so\n     suddenly and so unfortunately called hence.\"\n     Perceiving I looked very much confounded, as well I might, \"Ah,\n     Frank!\" cried he, \"I love your charming sister; my friends have,\n     for these six months past, been teazing me to think of marriage,\n     and several proposals have been made to me on that score; but never\n     till I saw the amiable Miss Betsy, did I behold the face for whom I\n     would exchange my liberty: in fine, 'tis she, and only she, can\n     make me blest; and I returned to Oxford full of the hopes of an\n     opportunity to lay my heart, my person, and my fortune, at her\n     It would require a volume, instead of a letter, to repeat half the\n     tender and passionate expressions he uttered in your favour. What I\n     have already said is enough to give you a specimen of the rest. I\n     shall only add, that being impatient to begin the attack he is\n     determined to make upon your heart, he is preparing to follow you\n     to London with all possible expedition. I once had thoughts of\n     accompanying him, but have since thought it proper to have Sir\n     Ralph Trusty's advice in something I have a mind to do, and for\n     that purpose shall take a journey into L----e, as soon as I receive\n     remittances from Mr. Goodman, to pay off some trifling debts I\n     have contracted here, and defray my travelling expences; so that if\n     things happen as I wish they may, my friend's passion will have\n     made a considerable progress before I see you.\n     Indeed, my dear sister, if you have not already seen a man whose\n     person you like better, you can never have an offer that promises\n     more felicity: he left the college soon after I came into it,\n     beloved and respected by all that knew him, for his discreet\n     behaviour, humanity, and affability; he went afterwards on his\n     travels, and brought home with him all the accomplishments of the\n     several countries he had been in, without being the least tainted\n     with the vices or fopperies of any of them; he has a much larger\n     estate than your fortune could expect, unincumbered with debts,\n     mortgages, or poor relations; his family is ancient, and, by the\n     mother's side, honourable; but, above all, he has sense, honour,\n     and good-nature--rare qualities, which, in my opinion, cannot fail\n     of making him an excellent husband, whenever he comes to be such.\n     But I shall leave him to plead his own cause, and you to follow\n     your own inclinations. I am, with the most unfeigned good wishes,\n     my dear sister, your affectionate brother, and humble servant,\n     F. THOUGHTLESS.\n     P.S. Mr. Trueworth knows nothing of my writing to you in his\n     behalf; so you are at liberty to receive him as you shall think\n     proper.'\nMiss Betsy required no less a cordial than this to revive her spirits,\npretty much depressed since her ill usage at Oxford.\nShe had not time, however, to indulge the pleasure of reflecting on this\nnew triumph, on her first receiving the news of it. Lady Mellasin had\nset that evening apart to make a grand visit to a person of her\nacquaintance, who was just married; the young ladies were to accompany\nher, and Miss Betsy was in the midst of the hurry of dressing when the\npost brought the letter, so she only looked it carelessly over, and\nlocked it in her cabinet till she should have more leisure for the\nexamination. They were all ready; the coach with the best hammer-cloth\nand harnesses was at the door, and only waited while Mrs. Prinks was\ndrawing on her lady's gloves, which happened to be a little too tight.\nIn this unlucky instant one of the footmen came running into the\nparlour, and told Lady Mellasin that there was a very ill-looking woman\nat the door, who enquired for her ladyship, and that she must needs\nspeak with her, and that she had a letter to deliver, which she would\ngive into nobody's hand but her own. Lady Mellasin seemed a little angry\nat the insolence and folly of the creature, as she then termed it; but\nordered she should be shewed into the back-parlour: they were not above\nfive minutes together before the woman went away, and Lady Mellasin\nreturned to the room where Miss Betsy and Miss Flora were waiting for\nher. A confusion not to be described sat on every feature in her face;\nshe looked pale, she trembled; and having told the young ladies\nsomething had happened which prevented her going where she intended,\nflew up into her dressing-room, followed by Mrs. Prinks, who appeared\nvery much alarmed at seeing her ladyship in this disorder.\nMiss Betsy and Miss Flora were also surprized; and doubtless had their\nown conjectures upon this sudden turn. It is not likely, however, that\neither of them, especially Miss Betsy, could hit upon the right: but,\nwhatever their thoughts were, they communicated them not to each other,\nand seemed only intent on considering in what manner they should dispose\nof themselves that evening, it not being proper they should make the\nvisit above-mentioned without her ladyship. As they were discoursing on\nthis head, Mrs. Prinks came down; and, having ordered the coach to be\nput up, and sent a footman to call a hack, ran up stairs again in a\ngreat hurry to her lady.\nIn less time than could almost be imagined, they both came down: Lady\nMellasin had pulled off her rich apparel, and mobbed herself up in a\ncloak and hood, that little of her face, and nothing of her air, could\nbe distinguished; the two young ladies stared, and were confounded at\nthe metamorphosis. 'Is your ladyship going out in that dress?' cried\nMiss Flora; but Miss Betsy said nothing. 'Aye, child,' replied the lady,\nsomewhat faltering in her speech, 'a poor relation, who they say is\ndying, has sent to beg to see me.' She said no more, the hackney-coach\nwas come, her ladyship and Mrs. Prinks stepped hastily into it; the\nlatter, in doing so, telling the coachman in so low a voice as nobody\nbut himself could hear, to what place he was to drive.\nAfter they were gone, Miss Flora proposed walking in the Park; but Miss\nBetsy did not happen to be in a humour to go either there or any where\nelse at that time; on which the other told her she had got the spleen:\n'But,' said she, 'I am resolved not to be infected with it, so you must\nnot take it ill, if I leave you alone for a few hours; for I should\nthink it a sin against common sense to sit moping at home without\nshewing myself to any one soul in the world, after having taken all\nthis pains in dressing.' Miss Betsy assured her, as she might do with a\ngreat deal of sincerity, that she should not at all be displeased to be\nentirely free from any company whatsoever, for the whole evening; and to\nprove the truth of what she said, gave orders that instant to be denied\nto whoever should come to visit her. 'Well,' cried Miss Flora, laughing,\n'I shall give your compliments, however, where I am going;' and then\nmentioned the names of some persons she had just then taken into her\nhead to visit. 'As you please for that,' replied Miss Betsy, with the\nsame gay air; 'but don't tell them it is because I am eaten up with the\nvapours, that I chuse to stay at home rather than carry my compliments\nin person; for if ever I find out,' continued she, 'that you are so\nmischievous, I shall contrive some way or other to be revenged on you.'\nThey talked to each other in this pleasant manner, till a chair Miss\nFlora had sent for was brought into the hall, in which she seated\nherself for her intended ramble, and Miss Betsy went into her chamber,\nwhere how she was amused will presently be shewn.\nCHAPTER XII\n_Is little more than a continuance of the former_\nMiss Betsy had no sooner disengaged herself from the incumbrance of a\nformal dress, and put on one more light and easy, _al fresco_, as the\nSpaniards phrase it, than she began to give her brother's letter a more\nserious and attentive perusal, than she had the opportunity of doing\nbefore.\nShe was charmed and elated with the description Mr. Francis had told\nher, she had inspired in the breast of his friend: she called to her\nmind the idea of those persons who were present at the entertainments he\nmentioned, and easily recalled which was most likely to be the lover,\nthough she remembered not the name; she very well now remembered there\nwas one that seemed both times to regard her with glances, which had\nsomewhat peculiar in them, and which then she had interpreted as the\ncertain indications of feeling something in his heart of the nature her\nbrother had described; but not seeing him afterwards, nor hearing any\nmention made of him, at least that she took notice of, the imagination\nwent out of her head.\nThis account of him, however, brought to her memory every thing she had\nobserved concerning him, and was very well convinced she had seen\nnothing, either in his person or deportment, that was not perfectly\nagreeable; yet, not withstanding all this, and the high encomiums given\nof him by a brother, who she knew would not deceive her, she was a\nlittle vexed to find herself pressed by one so dear and so nearly\nrelated to her, to think of him as a man she ever intended to marry: she\nthought she could be pleased to have such a lover, but could not bring\nherself to be content that he ever should be a husband. She had too\nmuch good sense not to know it suited not with the condition of wife to\nindulge herself in the gaieties she at present did; which though\ninnocent, and, as she thought, becoming enough in the present state she\nnow was, might not be altogether pleasing to one who, if he so thought\nproper, had the power of restraining them. In fine, she looked upon a\nserious behaviour as unsuitable to one of her years; and therefore\nresolved not to enter into a condition which demanded some share of it,\nat least for a long time; that is, when she should be grown weary of the\nadmiration, flatteries, and addresses of the men, and no longer find any\npleasure in seeing herself preferred before all the women of her\nacquaintance.\nThough it is certain that few young handsome ladies are without some\nshare of the vanity here described, yet it is to be hoped there are not\nmany who are possessed of it in that immoderate degree Miss Betsy was.\nIt is, however, for the sake of those who are so, that these pages are\nwrote, to the end they may use their utmost endeavours to correct that\nerror, as they will find it so fatal to the happiness of one who had\nscarce any other blameable propensity in her whole composition.\nThis young lady was full of meditation on her new conquest, and the\nmanner in which she should receive the victim, who was so shortly to\nprostrate himself at the shrine of her beauty, when she heard somebody\nrun hastily up stairs, and go into Lady Mellasin's dressing-room, which\nbeing adjacent, as has been already taken notice of on a very remarkable\noccasion, she stepped out of the chamber to see who was there, and found\nMrs. Prinks very busy at a cabinet, where her ladyship's jewels were\nalways kept: 'So, Mrs. Prinks,' said she, 'is my lady come home?'--'No,\nMiss,' replied the other; 'her ladyship is certainly the most\ncompassionate best woman in the world: her cousin is very bad indeed,\nand she has sent me for a bottle of reviving drops, which I am going\nback to carry.' With these words she shuffled something into her pocket,\nand having locked the cabinet again, went out of the room saying--'Your\nservant, Miss Betsy; I cannot stay, for life's at stake.'\nThis put Miss Betsy in the greatest consternation imaginable: she knew\nLady Mellasin could have no drops in that cabinet, unless they were\ncontained in a phial of no larger circumference than a thimble, the\ndrawers of it being very shallow, and made only to hold rings, croceats,\nnecklaces, and such other flat trinkets: she thought there was something\nvery odd and extraordinary in the whole affair. A strange woman coming\nin so abrupt a manner, her refusing to give the letter to any one but\nLady Mellasin herself, her ladyship's confusion at the receipt of it,\nher disguising herself, and going out with Prinks in that violent hurry,\nthe latter being sent home, her taking something out of the casket, and\nher going back again; all these incidents, I say, when put together,\ndenoted something of a mystery not easily penetrated into.\nMiss Betsy, however, was not of a disposition to think too much, or too\ndeeply, on those things which the most nearly concerned herself, much\nless on such as related entirely to other people; and Miss Flora coming\nhome soon after, and relating what conversation had passed in the visits\nshe had been making, and the dresses the several ladies had on, and such\nother trifling matters, diverted the other from those serious\nreflections, which might otherwise, perhaps, have lasted somewhat\nlonger.\nWhen Miss Flora was undressed, they went down together into the parlour,\nwhere they found Mr. Goodman extremely uneasy, that Lady Mellasin was\nnot come home. He had been told in what manner she went out, and it now\nbeing grown dark, he was frighted lest any ill accident should befal\nher, as she had no man-servant, nor any one with her but her woman,\nwhom, he said, he could not look on as a sufficient guard for a lady of\nquality, against those insults, which night, and the libertinism of the\nage, frequently produced.\nThis tender husband asked the young ladies a thousand questions,\nconcerning the possibility of guessing to whom, and to what part of the\ntown, she was gone, in order that he might go himself, or send a servant\nto conduct her safely home: but neither of them were able to inform him\nany thing farther than what has already been related; that she had been\nsent for to a sick relation, who, as it appeared to them, had been very\npressing to engage her ladyship to that charitable office.\nMr. Goodman then began to endeavour to recollect the names, and places\nof abode, of all those he had ever heard her say were of her kindred,\nfor she had never suffered any of them to come to the house, under\npretence that some of them had not behaved well, and that others being\nfallen to decay, and poor, might expect favours from her, and that she\nwould suffer nobody belonging to her to be burdensome to him.\nHe was, notwithstanding, about to send his men in search of his beloved\nlady, though he knew not where to direct them to go, when she and Mrs.\nPrinks came home: he received her with all the transports a man of his\nyears could be capable of, but gently chid her for the little care she\nhad taken of herself, and looking on her, as Mrs. Prinks was pulling off\nher hood, 'Bless me, my dear,' said he, 'what was your fancy for going\nout in such a dress?'--'My cousin,' replied she, 'is in very wretched\ncircumstances, lives in a little mean lodging, and, besides, owes money;\nif I had gone any thing like myself, the people of the house might have\nexpected great things from me. I am very compassionate, indeed, to every\none under misfortunes; but will never squander Mr. Goodman's money for\ntheir relief.'\n'I know thou art all goodness,' said the old gentleman, kissing her with\nthe utmost tenderness: 'but something,' continued he, 'methinks, might be\nspared.'--'Leave it to me, Mr. Goodman,' answered she; 'I know best;\nthey have not deserved it from me.' She then told a long story, how kind\nshe had been to this cousin, and some others of her kindred, in her\nfirst husband's time, and gave some instances of the ill use they had\nmade of her bounties. All she said had so much the appearance of truth,\nthat even Miss Betsy, who was far from having a high opinion of her\nsincerity, believed it, and thought no farther of what had passed; she\nhad, indeed, in a short time, sufficient businesses of her own to take\nup all her mind.\nMr. Goodman, the very next day, brought home a very agreeable young\ngentleman to dine with him; who, though he paid an extraordinary respect\nto Lady Mellasin, and treated her daughter with the utmost complaisance,\nyet in the compliments he paid to Miss Betsy, there was something which\nseemed to tell her she had inspired him with a passion more tender than\nbare respect, and more sincere than common complaisance.\nShe had very penetrating eyes this way, and never made a conquest\nwithout knowing she did so; she was not, therefore, wanting in all those\nlittle artifices she had but too much made her study, in order to fix\nthe impression she had given this stranger as indelible as possible:\nthis she had a very good opportunity for doing; he staid the whole\nafternoon, drank tea with the ladies, and left them not till a crowd of\ncompany coming in, he thought good manners obliged him to retire.\nMiss Betsy was filled with the most impatient curiosity to know the name\nand character of this person, whom she had already set down in her mind\nas a new adorer: she asked Miss Flora, when they were going to bed, as\nif it were a matter of indifference to her, and merely for the sake of\nchat, who that gentleman was who had dined with them, and made so long\na visit; but that young lady had never seen him before, and was as\nignorant of every thing concerning him as herself.\nMiss Betsy, however, lost no part of her repose that night, on this\naccount, as she doubted not but she should very soon be informed by\nhimself of all she wished to know: she was but just out of bed the next\nmorning, when a maid-servant came into the chamber and delivered a\nletter to her, which she told her was brought by a porter, who waited\nfor an answer.\nMiss Betsy's heart fluttered at the mention of a letter, flattering\nherself it came from the person who at present engrossed her thoughts;\nbut on taking it from the maid, found a woman's hand on the\nsuperscription, and one perfectly known to her, though at that instant\nshe could not recollect to whom it belonged: she was a good deal\nsurprized, when, on breaking the seal, she found it came from Miss\nForward, with whom, as well as the best of the boarding-school ladies,\nshe had ceased all correspondence for many months. The contents were\nthese.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Dear Miss Betsy,\n     Though, since I had the pleasure of seeing or hearing from you, so\n     many accidents and odd turns of fortune have happened to me, as\n     might very well engross my whole attention, yet I cannot be so far\n     forgetful of our former friendship as to be in the same town with\n     you, without letting you know, and desiring to see you. Were there\n     a possibility of my waiting on you, I certainly should have made\n     you the first visit; but, alas! at present there is not. Oh, Miss\n     Betsy! I have strange things to tell you; things fit only to be\n     trusted to a person whose generosity and good-nature I have\n     experienced. If, therefore, you are so good to come, I must intreat\n     you will bring no companion with you, and also that you will allow\n     me that favour the first leisure hour, because I am in some hopes\n     of returning to L----e in a short time. Please to enquire for the\n     house of one Mrs. Nightshade, in Chick Lane, near Smithfield; where\n     you will find her who, in spite of time, absence, and a thousand\n     perplexing circumstances, is, with the most tender regard, my dear\n     Miss Betsy, your very sincere, though unfortunate friend,\n     A. FORWARD.\n     P.S. Be so good to let me know, by a line, whether I may flatter\n     myself with the hopes of seeing you, and at what time.'\nThough Miss Betsy, through the hurry of her own affairs, had neglected\nwriting to this young lady for a considerable time, yet she was\nextremely pleased at hearing from her: she could not imagine, however,\nwhat strange turns of fortune they were she mentioned in her letter, and\nwhich she supposed had brought her to London. Equally impatient to\nsatisfy her curiosity in this point, as to see a person with whom she\nhad contracted her first friendship, she took pen and paper, and\nimmediately wrote this answer.\n     'To Miss Forward.\n     Dear Miss Forward,\n     The satisfaction of hearing you were so near me would be compleat,\n     were it not allayed by the hints you give, that some accidents, not\n     altogether pleasing, had occasioned it. I long to hear what has\n     happened to you since last we saw each other, and will not fail to\n     wait on you this afternoon. I know nothing of the part of the town\n     you are in, but suppose a hackney coach will be able to find it's\n     way. I will detain your messenger no longer than to tell you that I\n     am, with the most perfect amity, dear Miss Forward, your very\n     affectionate friend, and humble servant,\n     E. THOUGHTLESS.'\nMiss Flora had not been present when the maid delivered the letter to\nMiss Betsy; but coming into the chamber just as she had finished, and\nwas sealing up the answer to it, 'So,' said she, 'have I catched you?\nPray what new lover have you been writing to this morning?' It was in\nvain that Miss Betsy told her she never had yet seen the man she thought\nworthy of a letter from her on the score of love: the other persisted in\nher asseverations; and Miss Betsy, to silence her raillery, was obliged\nto shew her some part of the letter she had received from Miss Forward.\nIt being near breakfast-time they went down together into the parlour,\nand as they were drinking their coffee, 'Well, pretty lady,' said Mr.\nGoodman to Miss Betsy, with a smile, 'how did you like the gentleman\nthat dined here yesterday?' This question so much surprized her that she\ncould not help blushing. 'Like him, Sir!' replied she, 'I did not take\nany notice of him. I remember a stranger was here, and staid a good\nwhile, and that is all; for I neither observed any thing he said or did,\nor thought on him since.'--'The agreeable confusion,' cried Mr. Goodman,\ngaily, 'you are in at my mentioning him, makes me believe you remarked\nhim more than you are willing to acknowledge, and I am very glad of it:\nyou do him but justice, I assure you; for he is very much in love with\nyou.'\n'Lord, Sir!' said Miss Betsy, blushing still more, 'I cannot imagine\nwhat makes you talk so; I don't suppose the man thinks of me any more\nthan I do of him.'--'That may be,' rejoined he, laughing outright. Lady\nMellasin then took up the word, and told her husband he was very merry\nthis morning. 'Aye,' said he, 'the hurry of spirits I have put poor Miss\nBetsy in has made me so; for I can assure you the thing is very serious:\nbut,' continued he, 'you shall know the whole of it.'\nHe then proceeded to inform them, that the person he had been speaking\nof was the son of one who had formerly been a merchant; but who, having\nacquired a large fortune by his industry, had for several years past\nleft off business, and lived mostly in the country; that the young\ngentleman had seen Miss Betsy at St. Paul's Rehearsal, when they were\nall there to hear the musick; that the next day after, he had come to\nhim at a coffee-house, which it was known he frequented, and after\nasking many questions concerning Miss Betsy, and hearing she was not\nengaged, declared he was very much charmed with her, and entreated his\npermission, as being her guardian, to make his addresses to her. Mr.\nGoodman remembered the affront he had received from Alderman Saving on a\nlike occasion, and was determined not to lay himself open to the same\nfrom Mr. Staple, (for so he was called) and plainly told the young lover\nthat he would encourage nothing of that sort without the approbation of\nhis father; that after this he had a meeting with the old gentleman, who\nbeing fully satisfied by him of Miss Betsy's family, fortune, and\ncharacter, had no objections to make against his son's inclination.\n'Having this sanction,' continued Mr. Goodman, 'and believing it may be\na very proper match for both of you, I brought him home with me to\ndinner yesterday; and should be glad to know how far you think you can\napprove of the offer, before I give him my consent to make it.'\n'I have already told you, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy, 'that I took but\nlittle notice of the gentleman; or if I had, should never have asked\nmyself the question, whether I could like him or not; for, as to\nmarriage, I do assure you, Sir, it is a thing that has never yet\nentered into my head.'--'Nay, as to that,' returned he, 'it is time\nenough, indeed. A good husband, however, can never come unseasonably. I\nshall tell him he may visit you; and leave you to answer the addresses\naccording to the dictates of your heart.'\nMiss Betsy neither opposed nor gave consent to what her guardian said on\nthis score; but her not refusing seemed to him a sufficient grant: so\nthere passed nothing more, except some little pleasantries usual on such\nsubjects.\nCHAPTER XIII\n_Contains some part of the history of Miss Forward's adventures, from\nthe time of her leaving the boarding-school, as related by herself to\nMiss Betsy_\nMiss Betsy had now her head, though not her heart, full of the two new\nconquests she had made: Mr. Trueworth was strongly recommended by her\nbrother, Mr. Staple by her guardian; yet all the ideas she had of either\nof them, served only to excite in her the pleasing imagination, how,\nwhen they both came to address her, she should play the one against the\nother, and give herself a constant round of diversion, by their\nalternate contentment or disquiet. 'As the barometer,' said she to\nherself, 'is governed by the weather, so is the man in love governed by\nthe woman he admires: he is a mere machine--acts nothing of himself--has\nno will or power of his own, but is lifted up or depressed, just as the\ncharmer of his heart is in the humour. I wish,' continued she, 'I knew\nwhat day these poor creatures would come--though it is no matter--I have\ngot, it seems, possession of their hearts, and their eyes will find\ngraces in me, let me appear in what shape soever.'\nThese contemplations, however, enchanting as they were to her vanity,\ndid not render her forgetful of the promise she had made Miss Forward;\nand as soon as dinner was over, she ordered a hackney-coach to be\ncalled, and went to the place Miss Forward's letter had directed.\nIt is scarce possible for any one to be more surprized than she was, on\nentering the house of Mrs. Nightshade. The father of Miss Forward was a\ngentleman of a large estate, and of great consideration in the county\nwhere he lived, and she expected to have seen his daughter in lodgings\nsuitable to her birth and fortune; instead of which, she found herself\nconducted by an old ill-looked mean woman, who gave her to understand\nshe was the mistress of the house, up two pair of stairs, so narrow that\nshe was obliged to hold her hoop quite under her arm, in order to gain\nthe steep and almost perpendicular ascent: she was then shewed into a\ndirty little chamber, where, on a wretched bed, Miss Forward lay, in a\nmost melancholy and dejected posture. 'Here is a lady wants you,' said\nthe hag, who ushered in Miss Betsy. These words, and the opening of the\ndoor, made Miss Forward start from the bed to receive her visitor in the\nbest manner she could: she saluted, she embraced her, with all the\ndemonstrations of joy and affection; but Miss Betsy was so confounded at\nthe appearance of every thing about her, that she was almost incapable\nof returning her caresses.\nMiss Forward easily perceived the confusion her friend was in; and\nhaving led her to a chair, and seated herself near her, 'My dear Miss\nBetsy,' said she, 'I do not wonder you are alarmed at finding me in a\ncondition so different from what you might have expected: my letter,\nindeed, gave you a hint of some misfortunes that had befallen me; but I\nforbore letting you know of what nature they were, because the facts,\nwithout the circumstances, which would have been too long to communicate\nby writing, might have made me appear more criminal than I flatter\nmyself you will think I really am, when you shall be told the whole of\nmy unhappy story.'\nMiss Betsy then assured her she should take a friendly part in every\nthing that had happened to her, and that nothing could oblige her more\nthan the confidence she mentioned: on which the other taking her by the\nhand, and letting fall some tears, said, 'O Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! I\nhave suffered much; and if you find a great deal to blame me for, you\nwill find yet much more to pity.' Then, after having paused a little, as\nif to recollect the passages she was about to relate, began in this\nmanner.\n'You must remember,' said she, 'that when you left us to go for London,\nI was strictly watched and confined, on account of my innocent\ncorrespondence with Mr. Sparkish; but that young gentleman being sent to\nthe university soon after, I had the same liberty as ever, and as much\nas any young lady in the school. The tutoress who was with us in your\ntime, being in an ill state of health, went away, and one Mademoiselle\nGrenouille, a French woman, was put in her place: the governess had a\nhigh opinion of her, not only on the score of the character she had of\nher, but also for the gravity of her behaviour. But as demure, however,\nas she affected to be before her, she could be as merry and facetious as\nourselves when out of her sight, as you will soon perceive by what I\nhave to tell you.\n'Whenever any of us took an evening's walk, this was the person to whose\ncare we were entrusted, the governess growing every day more infirm, and\nindeed unable to attend us.\n'It was towards the close of a very hot day, that myself, and two more,\nwent with Mademoiselle Grenouille, to take a little air in the lane, at\nthe back side of the great road that leads up to Lord ----'s fine seat.\nWe were about in the middle of the lane, when we heard the sound of\nFrench horns, double curtalls, and other instruments of wind-musick:\nMademoiselle at this could not restrain the natural alertness of her\ncountry, but went dancing on till we came very near those that played.\n'You must know, my dear Miss Betsy,' continued she, 'that my Lord ----'s\npark-wall reaches to the bottom of this lane, and has a little gate into\nit: having, it seems, some company with him, he had ordered two tents to\nbe erected in that part of the park; the one for himself and friends,\nthe other for the musick, who sounded the instruments to the healths\nthat were toasted; but this we being ignorant of, and delighted with the\nharmony, wandered on till we came close to the little gate I mentioned,\nand there stood still listening to it. Some one or other of the\ngentlemen saw us, and said to the others, \"We have eve's-droppers!\" On\nwhich they quitted their seats, and ran to the gate. On seeing them all\napproach, we would have drawn back, but they were too quick for us; the\ngate was instantly thrown open, and six or seven gentlemen, of whom my\nlord was one, rushed out upon us. Perceiving we endeavoured to escape\nthem, they catched hold of us--\"Nay, ladies,\" said one of them, \"you\nmust not think to avoid paying the piper, after having heard his\nmusick.\"\n'Mademoiselle, on this, addressed herself to my Lord ----, with as much\nformality as she could assume, and told him we were young ladies of\ndistinction, who were placed at a boarding-school just by, and at\npresent were under her care; so begged no rudeness might be offered. His\nlordship protested, on his honour, none should; but insisted on our\ncoming into the park, and drinking one glass of whatever wine we\npleased; upon which--\"What say you, ladies?\" cried Mademoiselle; \"I\nbelieve we may depend on his lordship's protection.\" None of us opposed\nthe motion, as being as glad to accept it as herself. In a word, we went\nin, and were conducted to the tent in the midst of which were placed\nbottles, glasses, jellies, sweetmeats, pickles, and I know not what\nother things, to regale and quicken the appetite. Servants, who\nattended, cooled the glasses out of a silver fountain, on a little\npedestal at one end of the tent, and filled every one a glass with what\neach of us chose. One of the company perceiving our conductress was a\nFrench woman, talked to her in her own language, and led her a minuet\naround the table; and, in the mean time, the others took the opportunity\nof entertaining us: he that had hold of me, so plied me with kisses and\nembraces, that I scarce knew where I was. Oh! the differences between\nhis caresses and the boyish insipid salutes of Master Sparkish! The\nothers, I suppose, were served with the same agreeable robustness I was;\nbut I had not the power of observing them, any more than, as I\nafterwards found, they had of me.\n'In short, never were poor innocent girls so pressed, so kissed; every\nthing but the dernier undoing deed, and that there was no opportunity of\ncompleating, every one of us, our tutoress not excepted, I am certain\nexperienced.'\n'Heavens!' cried Miss Betsy, interrupting her, 'how I envied your\nhappiness a moment since, and how I tremble for you now!'\n'O Miss Betsy,' replied Miss Forward, 'every thing would have been done\nin that forgetful hour; but, as I have already said, there was not an\nopportunity. My lover, notwithstanding, (for so I must call him) would\nnot let me get out of his arms, till I had told him my name, and by what\nmeans he should convey a letter to me. I affected to make a scruple of\ngranting this request, though, Heaven knows, I was but too well pleased\nat his grasping me still faster, in order to compel me to it. I then\ngave him my name; and told him, that if he would needs write, I knew no\nother way by which he might be sure of my receiving his letter, but by\nslipping it into my hand as I was coming out of church, which he might\neasily do, there being always a great concourse of people about the\ndoor: on this he gave me a salute, the warmth of which I never shall\nforget, and then suffered me to depart with my companions; who, if they\nwere not quite so much engaged as myself, had yet enough to make them\nremember this night's ramble.\n'The tutoress knew well enough how to excuse our staying out so much\nlonger than usual; and neither the governess, nor any one in the\nfamily, except ourselves, knew any thing of what had passed. I cannot\nsay but my head ran extremely on this adventure. I heartily wished my\npretty fellow might keep his word in writing to me, and was forming a\nthousand projects how to keep up a correspondence with him. I don't tell\nyou I was what they call in love; but certainly I was very near it, and\nlonged much more for Sunday than ever I had done for a new gown. At\nlast, the wished-for day arrived--my gentleman was punctual--he came\nclose to me in the church-porch--I held my hand in a careless manner,\nwith my handkerchief in it behind me, and presently found something put\ninto it, which I hastily conveyed into my pocket; and, on coming home,\nfound a little three-cornered billet, containing these lines.\n     \"To the charming Miss Forward.\n     Most lovely of your sex,\n     I have not slept since I saw you--so deep an impression has your\n     beauty made on my heart, that I find I cannot live without you; nor\n     even die in peace if you vouchsafe not my last breath to issue at\n     your feet. In pity, then, to the sufferings you occasion, grant me\n     a second interview, though it be only to kill me with your frowns.\n     I am too much a stranger in these parts to contrive the means; be,\n     therefore, so divinely good to do it for me, else expect to see me\n     carried by your door a bleeding deathless corpse--the victim of\n     your cruelty, instead of your compassion to your most grateful\n     adorer, and everlasting slave,\n     R. WILDLY.\"\n'In a postscript to this,' pursued Miss Forward, 'he told me that he\nwould be in the church-porch in the afternoon, hoping to receive my\nanswer by the same means I had directed him to convey to me the dictates\nof his heart.\n'I read this letter over and over, as you may easily guess, by my\nremembering the contents of it so perfectly; but it is impossible for me\nto express the perplexity I was in how to reply to it. I do not mean how\nto excuse myself from granting the interview he so passionately\nrequested; for that, perhaps, I wished for with as much impatience as he\ncould do; but I was distracted at not being able to contrive any\npracticable method for our meeting.\n'O Miss Betsy, how did I long for you, or such a friend as you, to\nassist me in this dilemma! But there was not one person in the whole\nhouse I dared trust with such a secret: I could not eat a bit of dinner,\nnor scarce speak a word to any body, so much were my thoughts taken up\nwith what I should do. I was resolved to see him, and hear what he had\nto say, whatever should be the consequence: at last I hit upon a way,\ndangerous indeed in every respect, and shameful in a girl of my\ncondition; yet, as there was no other, the frenzy I was possessed of,\ncompelled me to have recourse to it.\n'You must remember, my dear Miss Betsy,' continued she, with a deep\nsigh, 'the little door at the farther end of the garden, where, by your\nkind contrivance, young Sparkish was introduced: it was at this door I\ndetermined to meet Mr. Wildly. This, you may be sure, could not be done\nby day without a discovery, some one or other being continually running\ninto the garden: I therefore fixed the rendezvous at night, at an hour\nwhen I was positive all the family would be in bed; and ordered it in\nthis manner.\n'Chance aided my ill genius in my undoing; I lay at that time alone;\nMiss Bab, who used to be my bedfellow, was gone home for a fortnight, on\naccount of a great wedding in their family; and I thought I could easily\nslip down stairs, when every body was asleep, and go through the\nkitchen, from which, you know, there is a passage into the garden. I\ntook no care for any thing, but to prevent the disappointment of my\ndesign; for I apprehended nothing of ill from a man who adored me, and\nof whose will and actions I foolishly imagined I had the sole command.\n'The settling this matter in my mind engrossed all my thoughts, till the\nbell began to ring for divine service; and I had only time to write\nthese lines in answer to his billet.\n     \"To Mr. Wildly.\n     I have always been told it was highly criminal in a young maid,\n     like me, to listen to the addresses of any man, without receiving\n     the permission of her parents for so doing; yet I hope I shall\n     stand excused, both to them and you, if I confess I am willing to\n     be the first to hear what so nearly concerns myself. I have but one\n     way of speaking to you; and, if your love be as sincere and fervent\n     as you pretend, you will not think it too much to wait between the\n     hours of eleven and twelve this night, at a green door in the wall\n     which encompasses our garden, at the farther end of the lane,\n     leading to that part of Lord ----'s park, where we first saw each\n     other. You will find me, if no cross accident intervenes, at the\n     time and place I mentioned: but impute this condescension to no\n     other motive than that compassion you implore. I flatter myself\n     your intentions are honourable; and, in that belief, am, Sir, your\n     humble servant,\n     A. FORWARD.\"'\nMiss Betsy, during the repetition of this letter, and some time before,\nshook her head, and shewed great tokens of surprize and disapprobation:\nbut offering no interruption, the other went on in her discourse in this\nmanner.\n'I protest to you, my dear Miss Betsy,' said she, 'that I had nothing in\nview by this letter but to secure him to me as a lover. I never had\nreason to repent of the private correspondence I carried on with Mr.\nSparkish; nor knew it was in the nature of man to take advantage of a\nmaid's simplicity: but I will not protract the narrative I promised, by\nany needless particulars. Every thing happened but too fortunately,\nalas! according to my wish: I found Mr. Wildly in the church-porch, gave\nhim the fatal billet, unperceived by any one. Night came on--all the\nfamily were gone to their repose--and I, unseen, unheard, and\nunsuspected, quitted my chamber; and, taking the route I told you of,\nopened the garden-door, where, it seems, the person I expected had\nwaited above half an hour.\n'His first salutations were the most humble, and withal the most\nendearing, that could be. \"My angel,\" said he, \"how heavenly good you\nare! Permit me thus to thank you.\" With these words he threw himself on\nhis knees, and taking one of my hands, kissed it with the extremest\ntenderness. But, oh! let no young woman depend on the first professions\nof her lover; nor in her own power of keeping him at a proper distance!'\nHere a sudden gush of tears prevented her, for some minutes, from\nprosecuting her discourse; and Miss Betsy found herself obliged to treat\nher with more tenderness than, in her own mind, she thought the nature\nof her case deserved.\nCHAPTER XIV\n_Concludes Miss Forward's narrative, and relates some farther\nparticulars of Miss Betsy's behaviour, on hearing a detail she so little\nexpected_\nHow sweet are the consolations of a sincere friend! How greatly do they\nalleviate the severest of misfortunes!--Miss Forward soon dried up her\ntears, on a soft commiseration she saw they excited in Miss Betsy; and\nstifling, as well as she could, the rising sighs with which her bosom\nheaved at the remembrance of what she was going to relate, resumed her\nmournful story in these terms.\n'You may very well suppose,' said she, 'that the garden-door was not a\nproper place to entertain my lover in: good manners forbade me to use\nhim in so coarse a manner; besides, late as it was, some passenger might\nhappen to come that way; I therefore led him into the arbour at the end\nof the terrace, where we sat down together on that broad bench under the\narch, where you so often used to loll, and call it your throne of state.\nNever was there a finer night; the moon, and her attendant stars, shone\nwith uncommon brightness; the air was all serene, the boisterous winds\nwere all locked in their caverns, and only gentle zephyrs, with their\nfanning wings, wafted a thousand odours from the neighbouring plants,\nperfuming all around. It was an enchanting scene! Nature herself seemed\nto conspire my ruin, and contributed all in her power to lull my mind\ninto a soft forgetfulness of what I owed myself--my fame--my\nfortune--and my family.\n'I was beginning to tell him how sensible I was, that to admit him in\nthis manner was against all the rules of decency and decorum, and that I\nhoped he would not abuse the good opinion I had of him, nor entertain\nthe worse of me for my so readily complying with his request, and\nsuch-like stuff: to which he gave little ear, and only answered me with\nprotestations of the most violent passion that ever was; swore that I\nhad more charms than my whole sex besides could boast of; that I was an\nangel!--a goddess!--that I was nature's whole perfection in one piece!\nthen, looking on me with the most tender languishments, he repeated\nthese lines in a kind of extasy--\n    \"In forming thee, Heav'n took unusual care;\n    Like it's own beauty it design'd thee fair,\n    And copied from the best-lov'd angel there.\"\n'The answers I made to these romantick encomiums were silly enough, I\nbelieve, and such as encouraged him to think I was too well pleased to\nbe much offended at any thing he did. He kissed, he clasped me to his\nbosom, still silencing my rebukes, by telling me how handsome I was, and\nhow much he loved me; and that, as opportunities of speaking to me were\nso difficult to be obtained, I must not think him too presuming if he\nmade the most of this.\n'What could I do!--How resist his pressures! The maid having put me to\nbed that night, as usual, I had no time to dress myself again after I\ngot up; so was in the most loose dishabille that can be imagined. His\nstrength was far superior to mine; there was no creature to come to my\nassistance; the time, the place, all joined to aid his wishes; and, with\nthe bitterest regret and shame, I now confess, my own fond heart too\nmuch consented.\n'In a word, my dear Miss Betsy, from one liberty he proceeded to\nanother; till, at last, there was nothing left for him to ask, or me to\ngrant!'\nThese last words were accompanied with a second flood of tears, which\nstreamed in such abundance down her cheeks, that Miss Betsy was\nextremely moved: her good-nature made her pity the distress, though her\nvirtue and understanding taught her to detest and despise the ill\nconduct which occasioned it; she wept and sighed in concert with her\nafflicted friend, and omitted nothing that she thought might contribute\nto assuage her sorrows.\nMiss Forward was charmed with the generosity of Miss Betsy, and composed\nherself as much as possible to make those acknowledgements it merited\nfrom her; and then proceeded to gratify her curiosity with that part of\nher adventures which yet remained untold.\n'Whenever I recollect,' resumed she, 'how strangely, how suddenly, how\nalmost unsolicited, I yielded up my honour, some lines, which I\nremember to have read somewhere, come into my mind, and seem, methinks,\nperfectly adapted to my circumstances. They are these--\n    \"Pleas'd with destruction, proud to be undone,\n    With open arms I to my ruin run,\n    And sought the mischiefs I was bid to shun:\n    Tempted that shame a virgin ought to dread,\n    And had not the excuse of being betray'd.\"\n'Alas! I see my folly now--my madness! But was blind to it too long. I\nupbraided not my undoer; I remonstrated not to him any of the ill\nconsequences that might possibly attend this transaction; nor mentioned\none word concerning how incumbent it was on him to repair the injury he\nhad done me by marriage. Sure never was there so infatuated a wretch!\nMorning began to break in upon us; and the pang of being obliged to\npart, and the means of meeting again, now took up all my thoughts.\nLetting him in at midnight was very dangerous, as old Nurse Winter, who,\nyou know, is very vapourish, often fancies she hears noises in the\nhouse, and rises to see if all the doors and windows are fast: besides,\nMr. Wildly told me it was highly inconvenient for him, being obliged to\nmake a friend of my Lord ----'s porter to fit it up for him.\n'I was almost at my wit's end; till he recovered me, by saying he\nbelieved there might be a more easy way for our intercourse than this\nnocturnal rendezvous. \"Oh, what is that!\" cried I, earnestly. \"The\nFrench woman,\" replied he, \"who lives here, is good-natured, and of a\nvery amorous complexion; at least, Sir John Shuffle, who toyed with her\nin my lord's park, tells me she is so. But,\" continued he, \"I dare take\nhis word: he knows your sex perfectly; and, I dare answer, if you will\nget her to go abroad with you, the consequence will be agreeable to us\nall.\"\n'\"What,\" said I, \"would you have me make her my confidante?\" \"Not\naltogether so,\" said he; \"at least, not till you are upon even terms\nwith her; I mean, till you have secret for secret.\"\n'\"How can that be?\" demanded I. \"Leave that to me,\" said he; \"do you only\nget her out to-morrow a walking: let me know, what time you think you\ncan best do it, and Sir John and I will meet you as if by chance.\" I\ntold him I would undertake to do it if the weather were fair, and that\nthey might meet us going towards the town; but it must be past five,\nafter she had given her French lesson to the ladies. This being agreed\nupon, we parted, though not without the extremest reluctance; at least,\nI am sure, on my side it was sincerely so. I then went back with the\nsame precaution I had gone out; locked all the doors softly, and got\ninto my chamber before any of the family were stirring.\n'I was more than ordinarily civil to Mademoiselle all the next day; I\nsaid every thing I could think on to flatter her: and, having got an\nopportunity of speaking to her alone, \"Dear Mademoiselle,\" said I, in a\nwheedling tone, \"I have a great favour to beg of you.\"--\"What is that,\nMiss?\" replied she. \"Any thing in my power you may command.\" I then told\nher I had got a whim in my head for a new tippet, and that I wanted her\nfancy in the choice of the colours. \"With all my heart,\" said she; \"and\nwhen we go out a walking this evening, we can call at the milliner's,\nand buy the ribbands.\"--\"That will not do,\" cried I; \"I would not have\nany of the ladies know any thing of the matter till I have made it, and\ngot it on; so nobody must go with us.\"--\"Well, well,\" answered she, \"it\nshall be so; but I must tell the governess. I know she will not be\nagainst humouring you in such a little fancy, and will send the other\ntutoress, or Nurse Winter, to wait upon the other ladies.\" I told her\nshe was very good, but enjoined her to beg the governess to keep it as a\nsecret; for my tippet would be mighty pretty, and I wanted to surprize\nthem with the sight of it.\n'The governess, however, was so kind as to let us go somewhat before the\ntime we expected, in order to prevent any one from offering to accompany\nus: but, early as it was, the two gentlemen were on the road. They\naccosted us with a great deal of complaisance: \"What, my Diana of the\nforest!\" said Sir John to Mademoiselle, \"am I so fortunate to see you\nonce again?\" What reply she made I do not know, being speaking to Wildly\nat the same time; but he also, by my instigations, made his chief court\nto Mademoiselle, and both of them joined to intreat she would permit\nthem to lead her to some house of entertainment: her refusals were very\nfaint, and, perceiving by my look, that I was not very averse, \"What\nshall we do, Miss?\" said she to me; \"there is no getting rid of these\nmen. Shall we venture to go with them? It is but a frolick.\"--\"I am\nunder your direction, Mademoiselle; but I see no harm in it; as, to be\nsure,\" replied I, \"they are gentlemen of honour.\"\n'In fine, we went into the first house that had the prospect of\naffording us an agreeable reception. It is not to be doubted but we were\ntreated with the best the place we were in could supply; Sir John\ndeclared the most flaming passion for Mademoiselle, and engrossed her\nso much to himself, that Wildly had the liberty of addressing me,\nwithout letting her see his choice gave me the preference.\n'Sir John, after using Mademoiselle with some freedoms, which I could\nperceive she did not greatly resent, told her, there was an exceeding\nfine picture in the next room; and asked her to go and look upon it. \"O\nyes!\" replied she, \"I am extravagantly fond of painting.--Are you not,\nMiss?\" continued she to me with a careless air. \"No,\" said I, \"I had\nrather stay here, and look out of the window: but I would not hinder\nthis gentleman,\" meaning Mr. Wildly; who replied, \"I have seen it\nalready, so will stay and keep you company.\"\n'I believe, indeed, we might have spared ourselves the trouble of these\nlast speeches, for our companions seemed as little to expect as to\ndesire we should follow them; but ran laughing, jumping, and skipping,\nout of the room, utterly regardless of those they left behind.\n'Thus, you see, my dear Miss Betsy,' continued she, 'Wildly had, a\nsecond time, the opportunity of triumphing over the weakness of your\nunhappy friend. Oh! had it been the last, perhaps I had not been the\nwretch I am: but, alas! my folly ceased not here; I loved, and every\ninterview made him still dearer to me.\n'On Mademoiselle's return, we began to talk of going home: \"Bless me,\"\ncried I, \"it is now too late to go into town. What excuse shall we make\nto the governess for not having bought the ribbands?\"--\"I have already\ncontrived that,\" replied she; \"I will tell her, that the woman had none\nbut ugly old-fashioned things, and expects a fresh parcel from London in\ntwo or three days.\"--\"Oh, that is rare,\" cried I; \"that will be a\ncharming pretence for our coming out again.\"--\"And a charming\nopportunity for our meeting you again,\" said Sir John Shuffle. \"If you\nhave any inclination to lay hold of it,\" rejoined Mademoiselle. \"And you\nhave courage to venture,\" cried he. \"You see we are no cowards,\"\nanswered she briskly. \"Well, then, name your day,\" said Wildly; \"if Sir\nJohn accepts the challenge, I will be his second: but I am afraid it\ncannot be till after Thursday, because my lord talks of going back to\n----, and we cannot be back in less than three days.\"\n'Friday, therefore, was the day agreed upon; and we all four were\npunctual to the appointment. I shall not trouble you with the\nparticulars of our conversation in this or any other of the meetings we\nhad together; only tell you, that by the contrivance of one or other of\nus, we found means of coming together once or twice every week, during\nthe whole time these gentlemen staid in the country, which was upwards\nof two months.\n'On taking leave, I pressed Wildly to write to me under cover of\nMademoiselle Grenouille, which he promised to do, and I was silly enough\nto expect. Many posts arriving, without bringing any letter, I was sadly\ndisappointed, and could not forbear expressing my concern to\nMademoiselle, who only laughed at me, and told me, I as yet knew nothing\nof the world, nor the temper of mankind; that a transient acquaintance,\nsuch as ours had been with these gentlemen, ought to be forgot as soon\nas over; that there was no great probability we should ever see one\nanother again; and it would be only a folly to keep up a correspondence\nby letters; and added, that by this time, they were, doubtless, entered\ninto other engagements. \"And so might we too,\" said she, \"if the place\nand fashion we live in did not prevent us.\"\n'I found by this, and some other speeches of the like nature, that it\nwas the sex, not the person, she regarded. I could not, however, be of\nher way of thinking. I really loved Mr. Wildly, and would have given the\nworld, had I been mistress of it, to have seen him again; but, as she\nsaid, indeed, there was no probability of my doing so; and therefore I\nattempted, through her persuasions, to make a virtue of necessity, and\nforget both him and all that passed between us. I should in the end,\nperhaps, have accomplished this point; but, oh! I had a remembrancer\nwithin, which I did not presently know of. In fine, I had but too much\nreason to believe I was pregnant; a thing which, though a natural\nconsequence of the folly I had been guilty of, never once entered my\nhead.\n'Mademoiselle Grenouille seemed now terribly alarmed, on my\ncommunicating to her my suspicions on this score: she cried 'twas very\nunlucky!--then paused, and asked what I would do, if it should really be\nas I feared. I replied, that I knew not what course to take, for if my\nfather should know it I was utterly undone: I added, that he was a very\naustere man; and, besides, I had a mother-in-law, who would not fail to\nsay every thing she could to incense him against me.\n'\"I see no recourse you have, then,\" said she, \"but by taking physick to\ncause an abortion. You must pretend you are a little disordered, and\nsend for an apothecary; the sooner the better, for if it should become\nvisible, all would infallibly be known, and we should both be ruined.\"\n'I was not so weak as not to see, that if any discovery were made, her\nshare in the intrigue must come out, and she would be directly turned\nout of doors; and that, whatever concern she pretended for me, it was\nchiefly on her own account: however, as I saw no other remedy, was\nresolved to take her advice.\n'Thus, by having been guilty of one crime, I was ensnared to commit\nanother of a yet fouler kind: one was the error of nature, this an\noffence against nature. The black design, however, succeeded not: I took\npotion after potion, yet still retained the token of my shame; which at\nlength became too perspicuous for me to hope it would not be taken\nnotice of by all who saw me.\n'I was almost distracted, and Mademoiselle Grenouille little less so. I\nwas one day alone in my chamber, pondering on my wretched state, and\nventing some part of the anguish of my mind in tears, when she came in;\n\"What avails all this whimpering?\" said she; \"you do but hasten what you\nwould wish to avoid. The governess already perceives you are strangely\naltered; she thinks you are either in a bad state of health, or some way\ndisordered in your mind, and talks of writing to your father to send for\nyou home.\" \"Oh Heaven!\" cried I. \"Home, did you say?--No; I will never\ngo home! The grave is not so hateful to me, nor death so terrible, as my\nfather's presence.\"--\"I pity you from my soul,\" said she: \"but what can\nyou do? There will be no staying for you here, after your condition is\nonce known, and it cannot be concealed much longer.\" These words, the\ntruth of which I was very well convinced of, drove me into the last\ndespair: I raved, I tore my hair, I swore to poison, drown, or stab\nmyself, rather than live to have my shame exposed to the severity of my\nfather, and reproaches of my kindred.'\n'\"Come, come,\" resumed she, \"there is no need of such desperate remedies;\nyou had better go to London, and have recourse to Wildly: who knows, as\nyou are a gentleman's daughter, and will have a fortune, but you may\npersuade him to marry you? If not, you can oblige him to take care of\nyou in your lying-in, and to keep the child: and when you are once got\nrid of your burden, some excuse or other may be found for your\nelopement.\"\n'\"But how shall I get to London?\" resumed I; \"how find out my undoer in a\nplace I know nothing of, nor ever have been at? Of whom shall I enquire?\nI am ignorant of what family he is, or even where he lives.\"--\"As to\nthat,\" replied she, \"I will undertake to inform myself of every thing\nnecessary for you to know; and, if you resolve to go, I will set about\nit directly.\" I then told her, I would do any thing rather than be\nexposed; on which she bid me assume as chearful a countenance as I\ncould, and depend on her bringing me some intelligence of Wildly before\nI slept.\n'The method she took to make good her promise was, it seems, to send a\nperson whom she could confide in to the seat of Lord ----, to enquire\namong the servants, where Mr. Wildly, who had lately been a guest there,\nmight be found. She told me that the answer they gave the man was, that\nthey knew not where he lodged, but that he might be heard of at any of\nthe coffee-houses about St. James's. As I was altogether a stranger in\nLondon, this information gave me but little satisfaction; but\nMademoiselle Grenouille, whose interest it was to hurry me away, assured\nme that she knew that part of the town perfectly well, having lived\nthere several months on her first arrival in England--that there were\nseveral great coffee-houses there, frequented by all the gentlemen of\nfashion, and that nothing would be more easy than to find Mr. Wildly at\none or other of them. My heart, however, shuddered at the thoughts of\nthis enterprize; yet her persuasions, joined to the terrors I was in of\nbeing exposed, and the certainty that a discovery of my condition was\ninevitable, made me resolve to undertake it.\n'Nothing now remained but the means how I should get away, so as to\navoid the pursuit which might, doubtless, be made after me; which, after\nsome consultation, was thus contrived and executed.\n'A flying-coach set out from H---- every Monday at two o'clock in the\nmorning; Mademoiselle Grenouille engaged the same man who had enquired\nat Lord ----'s for Mr. Wildly, to secure a place for me in it. The\nSunday before I was to go, I pretended indisposition to avoid going to\nchurch: I passed that time in packing up the best of my things in a\nlarge bundle; for I had no opportunity of taking a box or trunk with me.\nMy greatest difficulty was how to get out of bed from Miss Bab, who\nstill lay with me; I thought, however, that if she happened to awake\nwhile I was rising, I would tell her I was not very well, and was only\ngoing into the next room, to open the window for a little air: but I\nstood in no need of this precaution, she was in a sound sleep, and I\nleft my bed, put on the cloaths I was to travel in, and stole out of the\nroom, without her perceiving any thing of the matter. I went out by the\nsame way by which I had fulfilled my first fatal appointment with Mr.\nWildly. At a little distance from the garden-door, I found the friend of\nMademoiselle Grenouille, who waited for me with a horse and pillion; he\ntook my bundle before, and me behind him, and then we made the best of\nour way towards H----, where we arrived time enough for the coach. I\nalighted at the door of the inn, and he rode off directly to avoid being\nseen by any body, who might describe him, in case an enquiry should be\nmade.\n'I will not trouble you with the particulars of my journey, nor how I\nwas amazed on entering this great metropolis; I shall only tell you,\nthat it being dark when we came in, I lay that night at the inn, and the\nnext morning, following the directions Mademoiselle Grenouille had given\nme, took a hackney-coach, and ordered the man to drive into any of the\nstreets about St. James's, and stop at the first house where he should\nsee a bill upon the door for ready-furnished lodgings. It happened to be\nin Rider Street; the woman at first seemed a little scrupulous of taking\nme, as I was a stranger, and had no recommendation; but on my telling\nher I would pay her a fortnight beforehand, we agreed on the rate of\ntwelve shillings a week.\n'The first thing I did was to send a porter to the coffee-houses; where\nhe easily heard of him, but brought me the vexatious intelligence that\nhe was gone to Tunbridge; and it was not known when he would return.\nThis was a very great misfortune to me, and the more so as I had very\nlittle money: I thought it best, however, to follow him thither, which I\ndid the same week.\n'But oh! my dear Betsy, how unlucky every thing happened; he had left\nthat place the very morning before I arrived, and gone for London. I had\nnothing now to do but return; but was so disordered with the fatigues I\nhad undergone, that I was obliged to stay four days to compose myself.\nWhen I came back, I sent immediately to the coffee-house: but how shall\nI express the distraction I was in, when I was told he had lain but one\nnight in town, and was gone to Bath.\n'This second disappointment was terrible indeed; I had but half-a-crown\nremaining of the little stock I brought from the boarding-school, and\nhad no way to procure a supply but by selling my watch, which I did to a\ngoldsmith in the neighbourhood, for what he was pleased to give me, and\nthen set out for Bath by the first coach.\n'Here I had the good fortune to meet him; he was strangely surprized at\nthe sight of me in that place, but much more so when I told him what had\nbrought me there: he seemed extremely concerned at the accident. But\nwhen I mentioned marriage, he plainly told me I must not think of such a\nthing; that he was not in circumstances to support a family; that,\nhaving lost the small fortune left him by his friends at play, he was\nobliged to have recourse, for his present subsistence, to the very\nmeans by which he had been undone: in short, that he was a gamester. The\nname startled me: treated as I had always heard it, with the utmost\ncontempt, I could not reconcile how such a one came to be the guest and\ncompanion of a lord; though I have since heard that men of that\nprofession frequently receive those favours from the nobility, which are\ndenied to persons of more unblemished characters.\n'Wildly however, it is certain, had some notions of honour and\ngood-nature; he assured me he would do all in his power to protect me;\nbut added, that he had been very unfortunate of late, and that I must\nwait for a lucky chance, before he could afford me any supply.\n'I staid at Bath all the time he was there: he visited me every day; but\nI lived on my own money till we came to town, when my time being very\nnear, he brought me to the place you find me in, having, it seems,\nagreed with the woman of the house for a certain sum of money to support\nme during my lying-in, and keep the child as long as it should live. The\nmiseries I have sustained during my abode with this old hag, would be\ntoo tedious to repeat. The only joy I have is, that the wretched infant\ndied in three days after it's birth, so has escaped the woes which\nchildren thus exposed are doomed to bear. Wildly has taken his last\nleave of me, and I have wrote to an aunt, entreating her to endeavour to\nobtain my father's forgiveness. I pretended to her that I left L----e for\nno other reason than because I had an ardent desire to see London; and\nas I think nobody can reveal to him the true cause, have some hopes of\nnot being utterly abandoned by him.'\nHere this unfortunate creature finished her long narrative; and Miss\nBetsy saw her in too much affliction to express any thing that might\nincrease it: she only thanked her for reposing a confidence in her;\n'Which,' said she, 'may be of great service to me some time or other.'\nBefore they parted, Miss Forward said she had gone in debt to Mrs.\nNightshade, for some few things she wanted, over and above what is\ngenerally allowed in such cases, and had been affronted by her for not\nbeing able to discharge it; therefore intreated Miss Betsy to lend her\ntwenty shillings; on which the generous and sweet-tempered young lady\nimmediately drew her purse, and after giving her the sum she demanded,\nput two guineas more into her hand. 'Be pleased to accept this,' said\nshe; 'you may possibly want something after having paid your debt.' The\nother thanked her, and told her she doubted not but her aunt would send\nher something, and she would then repay it. 'I shall give myself no pain\nabout that,' said Miss Betsy: and then took her leave, desiring she\nwould let her know by a letter what success she had with her friends.\nMiss Forward told her she might depend not only on hearing from her, but\nseeing her again, as soon as she had any thing to acquaint her with.\nCHAPTER XV\n_Brings many things on the carpet, highly pleasing to Miss Betsy, in\ntheir beginning, and no less perplexing to her in their consequences_\nThe accounts of those many and dreadful misfortunes which the ill\nconduct of Miss Forward had drawn upon her, made Miss Betsy extremely\npensive. 'It is strange,' said she to herself, 'that a woman cannot\nindulge in the liberty of conversing freely with a man, without being\npersuaded by him to do every thing he would have her.' She thought,\nhowever, that some excuse might be made for Miss Forward, on the score\nof her being strictly debarred from all acquaintance with the other sex.\n'People,' cried she, 'have naturally an inclination to do what they are\nmost forbid. The poor girl had a curiosity to hear herself addressed;\nand having no opportunity of gratifying that passion, but by admitting\nher lover at so odd a time and place, was indeed too much in his power\nto have withstood her ruin, even if she had been mistress of more\ncourage and resolution than she was.'\nOn meditating on the follies which women are sometimes prevailed upon to\nbe guilty of, the discovery she had made of Miss Flora's intrigue with\nGayland came fresh into her mind. 'What,' said she, 'could induce her to\nsacrifice her honour? Declarations of love were not new to her. She\nheard every day the flatteries with which our sex are treated by the\nmen, and needed not to have purchased the assiduities of any one of them\nat so dear a rate. Good God! are innocence, and the pride on conscious\nvirtue, things of so little estimation, as to be thrown away for the\ntrifling pleasure of hearing a few tender protestations? perhaps all\nfalse, and uttered by one whose heart despises the early fondness he has\ntriumphed over, and ridicules the very grant of what he has so\nearnestly solicited!'\nIt is certain this young lady had the highest notions of honour and\nvirtue; and whenever she gave herself time to reflect, looked on every\nthing that had a tendency to make an encroachment on them with the most\nextreme detestation; yet had the good-nature enough to pity those faults\nin others, she thought it impossible for her to be once guilty of\nherself.\nBut, amidst sentiments as noble and as generous as ever heart was\npossessed of, vanity, that foible of her soul, crept in, and would have\nit's share. She had never been thoroughly attacked in a dishonourable\nway, but by Gayland, and the gentleman-commoner at Oxford; both which\nshe rebuffed with a becoming disdain. In this she secretly exulted, and\nhad that dependence on her power of repelling all the efforts, come they\nin what shape soever, that should be made against her virtue, that she\nthought it beneath her to behave so as not to be in danger of incurring\nthem.\nHow great a pity it is, that a mind endued with so many excellent\nqualities, and which had such exalted ideas of what is truly valuable in\nwomankind, should be tainted with a frailty of so fatal a nature, as to\nexpose her to temptations, which if she were not utterly undone, it must\nbe owing rather to the interposition of her guardian angel, than to the\nstrength of human reason: but of that hereafter. At present there were\nnone had any base designs upon her: we must shew what success those\ngentlemen met with, who addressed her with the most pure and honourable\nintensions. Of this number we shall speak first of Mr. Trueworth and Mr.\nStaple; the one, as has been already said, strenuously recommended by\nher brother, the other by Mr. Goodman.\nMr. Staple had the good fortune (if it may be called so) to be the first\nof these two who had the opportunity of declaring his passion; the\njourney of the other to London having been retarded two days longer than\nhe intended.\nThis gentleman having Mr. Goodman's leave, made a second visit at his\nhouse. Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora knowing on what business he was\ncome, made an excuse for leaving him and Miss Betsy together. He made\nhis addresses to her in the forms which lovers usually observe on the\nfirst declaration; and she replied to what he said, in a manner not to\nencourage him too much, nor yet to take from him all hope.\nWhile they were discoursing, a footman came in, and told her a gentleman\nfrom Oxford desired to speak with her, having some commands from her\nbrother to deliver to her. Mr. Staple supposing they had business, took\nhis leave, and Mr. Trueworth (for it was he indeed) was introduced.\n'Madam,' said he, saluting her with the utmost respect, 'I have many\nobligations to Mr. Thoughtless; but none which demands so large a\nportion of my gratitude, as the honour he has conferred upon me in\npresenting you with this letter.' To which she replied, that her brother\nmust certainly have a great confidence in his goodness, to give him this\ntrouble. With these words she took the letter out of his hand; and\nhaving obliged him to seat himself, 'You will pardon, Sir,' said she,\n'the rudeness which my impatience to receive the commands of so near and\ndear a relation makes me guilty of.' He made no other answer to these\nwords than a low bow; and she withdrew to a window, and found the\ncontents of her brother's letter were these.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     My dear sister,\n     I shall leave Oxford to-morrow, in order to cross the country for\n     the seat of Sir Ralph Trusty, as I suppose Mr. Goodman will inform\n     you, I having wrote to him by the post: but the most valuable of my\n     friends being going to London, and expressing a desire of renewing\n     that acquaintance he had begun to commence with you here, I have\n     taken the liberty of troubling him with the delivery of this to\n     you. He is a gentleman whose merits you are yet a stranger to; but\n     I have so good an opinion of your penetration, as to be confident a\n     very little time will convince you that he is deserving all the\n     esteem in your power to regard him with; in the mean time doubt not\n     but you will receive him as a person whose success, in every thing,\n     is much desired by him, who is, with the tenderest good wishes,\n     dear sister, your most affectionate brother,\n     F. THOUGHTLESS.'\nAs she did not doubt but by the stile and manner of this letter, that it\nhad been seen by Mr. Trueworth, she could not keep herself from\nblushing, which he observing as he sat, flattered himself with taking as\na good omen. He had too much awe upon him, however, to make any\ndeclarations of his passion at the first visit: neither, indeed, had he\nan opportunity of doing it; Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, thinking they\nhad left Mr. Staple and Miss Betsy a sufficient time together, came into\nthe room. The former was surprized to find he was gone, and a strange\ngentleman in his place; but Miss Flora remembering him perfectly well,\nthey saluted each other with the freedom of persons who were not entire\nstrangers: they entered into a conversation; and other company coming\nin, Mr. Trueworth had an opportunity of displaying the fine talents he\nwas master of. His travels--the observations he had made on the\ncuriosities he had seen abroad, particularly at Rome, Florence, and\nNaples, were highly entertaining to the company. On taking leave, he\ntold the ladies, he hoped they would allow him the favour of making one\nat their tea-table sometimes, while he remained in London; to which Lady\nMellasin and her daughter, little suspecting the motive he had for this\nrequest, joined in assuring him he could not come too often, and that\nthey should expect to see him every day: but Miss Betsy looking on\nherself as chiefly concerned in his admission, modestly added to what\nthey had said, only that a person so much, and she doubted not but so\njustly, esteemed by her brother, might be certain of a sincere welcome\nfrom her.\nEvery body was full of the praises of this gentleman; and Miss Betsy,\nthough she said the least of any one, thought her brother had not\nbestowed more on him than he really deserved. Mr. Goodman coming home\nsoon after, there appeared some marks of displeasure in his countenance,\nwhich, as he was the best humoured man in the world, very much surprized\nthose of his family: but the company not being all retired, none of them\nseemed to take any notice of it, and went on with the conversation they\nwere upon before his entrance.\nThe visitors, however, were no sooner gone, than, without staying to be\nasked, he immediately let them into the occasion of his being so much\nruffled; 'Miss Betsy,' said he, 'you have used me very ill; I did not\nthink you would have made a fool of me in the manner you have\ndone.'--'Bless me, Sir,' cried she, 'in what have I offended?'--'You\nhave not only offended against me,' answered he, very hastily, 'but also\nagainst your own reason and common understanding: you are young, it is\ntrue, yet not so young as not to know it is both ungenerous and silly to\nimpose upon your friends.'--'I scorn the thought, Sir, of imposing upon\nany body,' said she; 'I therefore desire, Sir, you will tell me what you\nmean by so unjust an accusation.'--'Unjust!' resumed he; 'I appeal to\nthe whole world, if it were well done of you to suffer me to encourage\nmy friend's courtship to you, when at the same time your brother had\nengaged you to receive the addresses of another.'\nMiss Betsy, though far from thinking it a fault in her to hear the\nproposals of a hundred lovers, had as many offered themselves, was yet a\nlittle shocked at the reprimand given her by Mr. Goodman; and not being\nable presently to make any reply to what he had said, he took a letter\nhe had just received from her brother out of his pocket, and threw it on\nthe table, with these words--'That will shew,' said he, 'whether I have\nnot cause to resent your behaviour in this point.' Perceiving she was\nabout to take it up, 'Hold!' cried he, 'my wife shall read it, and be\nthe judge between us.'\nLady Mellasin, who had not spoke all this time, then took the letter,\nand read aloud the contents, which were these.\n     'To Mr. Goodman.\n     This comes to let you know I have received the remittances you were\n     so obliging to send me. I think to set out to-morrow for L----e;\n     but shall not stay there for any length of time: my intentions for\n     going into the army are the same as when I last wrote to you; and\n     the more I consider on that affair, the more I am confirmed that a\n     military life is most suitable of any to my genius and humour. If,\n     therefore, you can hear of any thing proper for me, either in the\n     Guards, or in a marching-regiment, I shall be infinitely thankful\n     for the trouble you take in the enquiry: but, Sir, this is not all\n     the favours I have to ask of you at present. A gentleman of family,\n     fortune, and character, has seen my sister, likes her; and is going\n     to London on no other business than to make his addresses to her. I\n     have already wrote to her on this subject, and I believe she will\n     pay some regard to what I have said in his behalf. I am very well\n     assured she can never have a more advantageous offer, as to his\n     circumstances, nor be united to a man of more true honour,\n     morality, and sweetness of disposition; all of which I have had\n     frequent occasions of being an eyewitness of: but she is young,\n     gay, and, as yet, perhaps, not altogether so capable as I could\n     wish of knowing what will make for her real happiness. I therefore\n     intreat you, Sir, as the long experienced friend of our family, to\n     forward this match, both by your advice, and whatever else is in\n     your power, which certainly will be the greatest act of goodness\n     you can confer on her, as well as the highest obligation to a\n     brother, who wishes nothing more than to see her secured from all\n     temptations, and well settled in the world. I am, with the greatest\n     respect, Sir, your most humble, and most obedient servant,\n     F. THOUGHTLESS.\n     P.S. I had forgot to inform you Sir, that the name of the gentleman\n     I take the liberty of recommending with so much warmth, is\n     Trueworth; that he is descended from the ancient Britons by the\n     father's side, and by the mother's from the honourable and\n     well-known Oldcastles, in Kent.'\n'O fie, Miss Betsy!' said Lady Mellasin, 'how could you serve Mr.\nGoodman so? What will Mr. Staple say, when he comes to know he was\nencouraged to court a woman that was already pre-engaged?'--'Pre-engaged,\nMadam!' cried Miss Betsy, in a scornful tone; 'what, to a man I never\nsaw but three times in my whole life, and whose mouth never uttered a\nsyllable of love to me!' She was going on; but Mr. Goodman, who was\nstill in a great heat, interrupted her, saying, 'No matter whether he\nhas uttered any thing of the business, or not, it seems you are enough\nacquainted with his sentiments; and I doubt not but he knows you are, or\nhe would not have taken a journey to London on your account. You ought\ntherefore to have told me of his coming, and what your brother had\nwrote concerning him; and I should then have let Mr. Staple know it\nwould be to no purpose to make any courtship to you, as I did to another\njust before I came home, who I find has taken a great fancy to you: but\nI have given him an answer. For my part, I do not understand this way of\nmaking gentlemen lose their time.'\nIt is probable these last words nettled Miss Betsy more than all the\nrest he had said; she imagined herself secure of the hearts of both\nTrueworth and Staple, but was vexed to the heart to have lost the\naddresses of a third admirer, through the scrupulousness of Mr. Goodman,\nwho she looked upon to have nothing to do with her affairs in this\nparticular: she was too cunning, however, to let him see what her\nthoughts were on this occasion, and only said, that he might do as he\npleased--that she did not want a husband--that all men were alike to\nher--but added, that it seemed strange to her that a young woman who had\nher fortune to make, might not be allowed to hear all the different\nproposals that should be offered to her on that score; and with these\nwords, flung out of the room, and went up into her chamber, nor would be\nprevailed upon to come down again that night, though Miss Flora, and\nMr. Goodman himself, repenting he had said so much, called to her for\nthat purpose.\nCHAPTER XVI\n_Presents the reader with the name and character of Miss Betsy's third\nlover, and also with some other particulars_\nThough Lady Mellasin had seemed to blame Miss Betsy for not having\ncommunicated to Mr. Goodman what her brother wrote to her in relation to\nMr. Trueworth, yet in her heart she was far from being averse to her\nreceiving a plurality of lovers, because whenever that young lady should\nfix her choice, there was a possibility some one or other of those she\nrejected might transmit his addresses to her daughter, who she was\nextremely desirous of getting married, and had never yet been once\nsolicited on honourable terms: she therefore told her husband, that he\nought not to hinder Miss Betsy from hearing what every gentleman had to\noffer, to the end she might accept that which had the prospect of most\nadvantage to her.\nMr. Goodman in this, as in every thing else, suffered himself to be\ndirected by her judgment; and the next morning, when Miss Betsy came\ndown, talked to her with his usual pleasantry. 'Well,' said he, 'have\nyou forgiven my ill-humour last night? I was a little vexed to think my\nfriend Staple had so poor a chance for gaining you; and the more so,\nbecause Frank Thoughtless will take it ill of me that I have done any\nthing in opposition to the person he recommends: but you must act as you\nplease; for my part I shall not meddle any farther in these affairs.'\n'Sir,' replied Miss Betsy very gravely, 'I shall always be thankful to\nmy friends for their advice; and whenever I think seriously of a\nhusband, shall not fail to intreat yours in my choice: but,' continued\nshe, 'one would imagine my brother, by writing so pressingly to you,\nwanted to hurry me into a marriage whether I would or no; and though I\nhave as much regard for him as a sister can or ought to have, yet I\nshall never be prevailed upon by him to enter into a state to which at\npresent I have rather an aversion than inclination.'\n'That is,' said Mr. Goodman, 'you have rather an aversion than an\ninclination to the persons who address you on that score.'--'No, Sir,'\nanswered she, 'not at all; the persons and behaviour both of Mr.\nTrueworth and Mr. Staple appear to me to be unexceptionable: but sure\none may allow a man to have merit, and be pleased with his conversation,\nwithout desiring to be tacked to him forever. I verily believe I shall\nnever be in love; but if I am, it must be a long length of time, and a\nseries of persevering assiduities must make me so.'\nMr. Goodman told her these were only romantick notions, which he doubted\nnot but a little time would cure her of. What reply Miss Betsy would\nhave made is uncertain, for the discourse was interrupted by a footman\ndelivering a letter to her, in which she found these lines.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Fair creature,\n     I am no courtier--no beau--and have hitherto had but little\n     communication with your sex; but I am honest and sincere, and you\n     may depend on the truth of what I say. I have, Heaven be praised,\n     acquired a very large fortune, and for some time have had thoughts\n     of marrying, to the end I might have a son to enjoy the fruits of\n     my labours, after I am food either for the fishes or the worms--it\n     is no great matter which of them. Now I have been wished to several\n     fine, women, but my fancy gives the preference to you; and if you\n     can like me as well, we shall be very happy together. I spoke to\n     your guardian yesterday, (for I love to be above-board) but he\n     seemed to dour, or as we say at sea, to be a little hazy on the\n     matter, so I thought I would not trouble him any further, but write\n     directly to you. I hear there are two about you; but what of that?\n     I have doubled the Cape of Good Hope many a time, and never failed\n     of reaching my intended port; I therefore see no cause why I should\n     apprehend a wreck by land. I am turned of eight and forty, it is\n     true, which, may be, you may think too old: but I must tell you,\n     dear pretty one, that I have a constitution that will wear out\n     twenty of your washy pampered landmen of not half my age. Whatever\n     your fortune is, I will settle accordingly; and, moreover, will\n     secure something handsome to you at my decease, in case you should\n     chance to be the longest liver. I know you young women do not care\n     a man should have anything under your hand, so expect no answer;\n     but desire you will consider on my proposals, and let me know your\n     mind this evening at five o'clock, when I shall come to Mr.\n     Goodman's, let him take it how he will. I can weather out any storm\n     to come at you; and sincerely am, dear soul, your most faithful and\n     affectionate lover,\n     J. HYSOM.'\nThere were some passages in this letter that set Betsy Thoughtless into\nsuch immoderate fits of laughter, as made her a long time in going\nthrough it. Having finished the whole, she turned to Mr. Goodman, and\nputting it into his hands--'Be pleased, Sir, to read that,' said she;\n'you shall own, at least, that I do not make a secret of all my lovers\nto you.' Mr. Goodman soon looked it over; and, after returning it to\nher--'How troublesome a thing it is,' said he, 'to be the guardian to a\nbeautiful young lady! Whether I grant, or whether I refuse, the consent\nrequired of me, I equally gain ill-will from one side or the other.'\nLady Mellasin, who had all this morning complained of a violent\nheadache, and said nothing during this conversation, now cried out,\n'What new conquest is this Miss Betsy has made?'--'O Madam!' replied\nMiss Betsy, 'your ladyship shall judge of the value of it by the doughty\nepistle I have just received.' With these words, she gave the letter to\nMiss Flora, desiring her to read it aloud, which she did; but was\nobliged, as Miss Betsy herself had done, to stop several times and hold\nher sides, before she got to the conclusion; and Lady Mellasin, as\nlittle as she was then inclined to mirth, could not forbear smiling to\nhear the manner in which this declaration of love was penned. 'You are\nall very merry,' said Mr. Goodman; 'but I can tell you, Captain Hysom is\na match that many a fine lady in this town would jump at; he has been\ntwenty-five years in the service of the East India Company; has made\nvery successful voyages, and is immensely rich: he has lived at sea,\nindeed, the greatest part of his life, and much politeness cannot be\nexpected from him; but he is a very honest good-natured man, and I\nbelieve means well. I wish he had offered himself to Flora.'--'Perhaps,\nSir, I should not have refused him,' replied she, briskly; 'I should\nlike a husband prodigiously that would be abroad for three whole years,\nand leave me to bowl about in my coach and six, while he ploughed the\nocean in search of new treasures to throw into my lap at his return.'\n'Well, well,' said Miss Betsy, laughing still more, 'who knows but when\nI have teazed him a little, he may fly for shelter to your more clement\ngoodness!'--'Aye, aye,' cried Mr. Goodman, 'you are a couple of\nmad-caps, indeed; and, I suppose, the captain will be finely managed:\nbut, no matter, I shall not pity him, as I partly told him what he might\nexpect.'\nAfter this Mr. Goodman went out; and the young ladies went up to dress\nagainst dinner, diverting themselves all the time with the poor\ncaptain's letter. Miss Betsy told Miss Flora that, as he was for coming\nso directly to the point, she must use all her artifice in order to keep\nhim in suspense; 'For,' said she, 'if I should let him know any part of\nmy real sentiments concerning him, he would be gone at once, and we\nshould lose all our sport: I will, therefore,' continued she, 'make him\nbelieve that I dare not openly encourage his pretensions, because my\nbrother hath recommended one gentleman to me, and Mr. Goodman another;\nbut shall assure him, at the same time, that I am inclined to neither of\nthem; and shall contrive to get rid of them both as soon as possible.\nThis,' said she, 'will keep him in hopes, without my downright promising\nany thing particular in his favour.'\nMiss Flora told her she was a perfect Machiavel in love-affairs; and was\nabout to say something more, when a confused sound of several voices,\namong which she distinguished that of Lady Mellasin very loud, made her\nrun down stairs to see what was the occasion; but Miss Betsy staid in\nthe chamber, being busily employed in something belonging to her dress;\nor, had she be less engaged, it is not probable she would have troubled\nherself about the matter, as she supposed it only a quarrel between Lady\nMellasin and some of the servants, as in effect it was; and she, without\nasking, was immediately informed.\nNanny, the upper house-maid, and the same who had delivered Mr. Saving's\nletter to Miss Betsy, and carried her answer to him, coming up with a\nbroom in her hand, in order to sweep her lady's dressing-room, ran into\nthe chamber of Miss Betsy, and seeing that she was alone, 'Oh, Miss!'\nsaid she, 'there is the devil to do below.'--'I heard a sad noise,\nindeed,' said she, carelessly. 'Why, you must know, Miss,' cried the\nmaid, 'that my lady hath given John, the butler, warning; and so, his\ntime being up, Mrs. Prinks hath orders to pay him off this morning, but\nwould have stopped thirty shillings for a silver orange-strainer that is\nmissing. John would not allow it; and being in a passion, told Mrs.\nPrinks that he would not leave the house without his full wages; that,\nfor any thing he knew, the strainer might be gone after the diamond\nnecklace. This, I suppose, she repeated to my lady, and that put her in\nso ill a humour this morning, that if my master had not come down as he\ndid, we should all have had something at our heads. However,' continued\nthe wench, 'she ordered Mrs. Prinks to give him his whole money; but,\nwould you believe it, Miss! my master was no sooner gone out, than she\ncame down into the kitchen raving, and finding John there still, (the\npoor fellow, God knows, only staid to take his leave of us) she tore\nabout, and swore we should all go; accused one of one thing, and another\nof another.'--'Well, but what did the fellow mean about the diamond\nnecklace?' cried Miss Betsy, interrupting her. 'I will tell you the\nwhole story,' said she; 'but you must promise never to speak a word of\nit to any body; for though I do not value the place, nor will stay much\nlonger, yet they would not give one a character you know, Miss Betsy.'\nMiss Betsy then having assured her she would never mention it, the other\nshut the door, and went on in a very low voice, in this manner.\n'Don't you remember, Miss,' said she, 'what a flurry my lady and Mrs.\nPrinks were in one day? how her ladyship pulled off all her fine\ncloaths, and they both went out in a hackney-coach; then Mrs. Prinks\ncame home, and went out again?'--'Yes,' replied Miss Betsy, 'I took\nnotice they were both in a good deal of confusion.'--'Aye, Miss, well\nthey might,' said Nanny; 'that very afternoon John was gone to see a\ncousin that keeps a pawnbroker's shop in Thieving Lane; and as he was\nsitting in a little room behind the counter, that, it seems, shuts in\nwith glass doors, who should he see through the window but Mrs. Prinks\ncome in; she brought my lady's diamond necklace, and pledged it for a\nhundred and twenty, or a hundred and thirty guineas, I am not sure which\nhe told me, for I have the saddest memory: but it is no matter for that,\nJohn was strangely confounded, as you may think, but resolved to see\ninto the bottom; and when Mrs. Prinks was got into the coach, popped up\nbehind it, and got down when it stopped, which was at the sign of the\nHand and Tipstaff in Knaves Acre; so that this money was raised to get\nsomebody that was arrested out of the bailiffs hands, for John said it\nwas what they call a spunging-house that Mrs. Prinks went into. Lord!\nhow deceitful some people are! My poor master little thinks how his\nmoney goes: but I'll warrant our housekeeping must suffer for this.'\nThis gossipping young hussey would have run on much longer, doubtless,\nwith her comments on this affair; but hearing Miss Flora's foot upon the\nstairs, she left off, and opening the door, softly slipped into her\nlady's dressing-room, and fell to work in cleaning it.\nMiss Flora came up, exclaiming on the ill-behaviour of most servants,\ntelling Miss Betsy what a passion her mamma had been in. The other made\nlittle answer to what she said on that or any other score, having her\nthoughts very much taken up with the account just given her by Nanny:\nshe recollected that Lady Mellasin had never dressed since that day,\nalways making some excuse to avoid paying any grand visits, which she\nnow doubted not but it was because she had not her necklace. It very\nmuch amazed her, as she well knew her ladyship was not without a good\ndeal of ready cash, therefore was certain the sum must be large indeed\nfor which her friend was arrested, that it reduced her to the necessity\nof applying to a pawnbroker; and who that friend could be, for whom she\nwould thus demean herself, puzzled her extremely. It was not long,\nhowever, before she was let into the secret: but, in the mean time,\nother matters of more moment must be treated on.\nCHAPTER XVII\n_Is of less importance than the former, yet must not be omitted_\nLady Mellasin having vented her spleen on those who, by their stations,\nwere obliged to bear it, and the object of it removed out of the house,\nbecame extremely cheerful the remaining part of the day. The fashion in\nwhich it might be supposed Miss Betsy would be accosted by the tarpaulin\ninamorato, and the reception she would give his passion, occasioned a\ngood deal of merriment; and even Mr. Goodman, seeing his dear wife took\npart in it, would sometimes throw in his joke.\n'Well, well,' cried Miss Betsy, to heighten the diversion, 'what will\nyou say now, if I should take a fancy to the captain, so far as to\nprefer him to any of those who think it worth their while to solicit me\non the score of love?'\n'This is quite ungenerous in you,' cried Miss Flora; 'did you not\npromise to turn the captain over to me when you had done with\nhim?'--'That may not happen a great while,' replied the other; 'for, I\nassure you, I have seen him three or four times, when he has called here\non business to Mr. Goodman; and think, to part with a lover of his\nformidable aspect, would be to deprive myself of the most conspicuous of\nmy whole train of admirers. But suppose,' continued she, in the same gay\nstrain, 'I resign to you Mr. Staple or Mr. Trueworth, would that not do\nas well?'\n'Do not put me in the head of either of them, I beseech you,' said Miss\nFlora, 'for fear I should think too seriously on the matter, and it\nshould not be in your power to oblige me.'\n'All that must be left to chance,' cried Miss Betsy; 'but so far I dare\npromise you, as to do enough to make them heartily weary of their\ncourtship to me, and at liberty to make their addresses elsewhere.'\nAfter this, they fell into some conversation concerning the merits of\nthe two last-mentioned gentlemen. They allowed Mr. Staple to have the\nfinest face; and that Mr. Trueworth was the best shaped, and had the\nmost graceful air in every thing he did. Mr. Staple had an infinity of\ngaiety both in his look and behaviour: Mr. Trueworth had no less of\nsweetness; and if his deportment seemed somewhat too serious for a man\nof his years, it was well atoned for by the excellence of his\nunderstanding. Miss Flora, however, said, upon the whole, that both of\nthem were charming men; and Lady Mellasin added, that it was a great\npity that either of them should have bestowed his heart where there was\nso little likelihood of ever receiving any recompence. 'Why so, my\ndear?' cried Mr. Goodman. 'If my pretty charge is at present in a humour\nto make as many fools as she can in this world, I hope she is not\ndetermined to lead apes in another. I warrant she will change her mind\none time or other: I only wish she may not, as the old saying is,\noutstand her market.'\nWhile they were thus discoursing, a servant brought a letter from Mr.\nStaple, directed to Miss Betsy Thoughtless, which was immediately\ndelivered to her. On being told from whence it came, she gave it to Mr.\nGoodman, saying, 'I shall make no secret of the contents; therefore,\ndear guardian, read it for the benefit of the company.'\nMr. Goodman shook his head at the little sensibility she testified of\nhis friend's devoirs; but said nothing, being willing to gratify the\ncuriosity he doubted not but they were all in, Miss Betsy herself not\nexcepted, as careless as she affected to be; which he did by reading, in\nan audible voice, these lines.\n     'To the most amiable and most accomplished of her sex.\n     Madam,\n     If the face be the index of the mind, (as I think one of our best\n     poets takes upon him to assert) your soul must certainly be all\n     made up of harmony, and consequently take delight in what has so\n     great a similitude of it's own heavenly nature. I flatter myself,\n     therefore, you will not be offended that I presume to intreat you\n     will grace with your presence a piece of musick, composed by the so\n     justly celebrated Signior Bononcini; and, I hope, will have\n     justice done it in the performance, they being the best hands in\n     town that are employed.\n     I do myself the honour to inclose tickets for the ladies of Mr.\n     Goodman's family; and beg leave to wait on you this afternoon, in\n     the pleasing expectation, not only of being permitted to attend you\n     to the concert, but also of an opportunity of renewing those humble\n     and sincere professions I yesterday began to make of a passion,\n     which only charms such as yours could have the power of inspiring\n     in any heart; and can be felt by none with greater warmth, zeal,\n     tenderness, and respect, than by that of him who is, and ever must\n     be, Madam, your most passionate, and most faithful admirer,\n     T. STAPLE.\n     P.S. If there are any other ladies of your acquaintance, to whom\n     you think the entertainment may be agreeable, be pleased to make\n     the invitation. I shall bring tickets with me to accommodate\n     whoever you chuse to accompany you. Once more, I beseech you,\n     Madam, to believe me, as above, your, &c.'\nMr. Goodman had scarce finished reading this letter, when Lady Mellasin\nand her daughter both cried out at the same time, 'O Miss Betsy! how\nunlucky this happens! What will you do with the captain now?'\n'We will take him with us to the concert,' replied she: 'and, in my\nopinion, nothing could have fallen out more fortunately. The captain has\nappointed to visit me at five; Mr. Staple will doubtless be here about\nthat time, if not before, in order to usher us to the entertainment; so\nthat my tar cannot expect any answer from me to his letter, and\nconsequently I shall gain time.'\nThough Mr. Goodman was far from approving this way of proceeding, yet he\ncould not forbear smiling, with the rest, at Miss Betsy's contrivance;\nand told her, it was a pity she was not a man--she would have made a\nrare minister of state.\n'Well, since it is so,' said Lady Mellasin, 'I will have the honour of\ncomplimenting the captain with the ticket Mr. Staple intended for me.'\nBoth Miss Flora and Miss Betsy pressed her ladyship to be of their\ncompany; and Mr. Goodman likewise endeavoured to persuade her to go: but\nshe excused herself, saying, 'A concert was never among those\nentertainments she took pleasure in.' On which they left off speaking\nany farther on it: but Miss Betsy was not at a loss in her own mind to\nguess the true reason of her ladyship's refusal, and looked on it as a\nconfirmation of the truth of what Nanny had told her concerning the\ndiamond-necklace.\nThere seemed, notwithstanding, one difficulty still remaining for Miss\nBetsy to get over; which was, the probability of Mr. Trueworth's making\nher a visit that afternoon; she did not chuse to leave him to go to the\nconcert, nor yet to ask him to accompany them to it, because she thought\nit would be easy for a man of his penetration to discover that Mr.\nStaple was his rival; which she was by no means willing he should do\nbefore he had made a declaration to her of his own passion.\nShe was beginning to consider how she should manage in a point which she\nlooked upon as pretty delicate, when a letter from that gentleman eased\nher of all the apprehensions she at present had on this score. The\nmanner in which he expressed himself was as follows.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Madam,\n     I remember, (as what can be forgot in which you have the least\n     concern?) that the first time I had the honour of seeing you at\n     Oxford, you seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in the pretty\n     tricks of a squirrel, which a lady in the company had on her arm.\n     One of those animals (which, they tell me, has been lately catched)\n     happening to fall in my way, I take the liberty of presenting him\n     to you; intreating you will permit him to give you such diversion\n     as is in his power. Were the little denizens of the woods endued\n     with any share of human reason, how happy would he think himself in\n     the loss of his liberty, and how hug those chains which entitle him\n     to so glorious a servitude!\n     I had waited on you in person, in the hope of obtaining pardon for\n     approaching you with so trifling an offering; but am deprived of\n     that satisfaction by the pressing commands of an old aunt, who\n     insists on my passing this evening with her. But what need is there\n     to apologize for the absence of a person so little known to you,\n     and whose sentiments are yet less so! I rather ought to fear that\n     the frequency of those visits I shall hereafter make, may be looked\n     upon as taking too presuming an advantage of the permission you\n     have been so good to give me. I will not, however, anticipate so\n     great a misfortune, but endeavour to prevent it, by proving, by all\n     the ways I am able, that I am, with the most profound submission,\n     Madam, your very humble, obedient, and eternally devoted servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nMiss Betsy, after having read this letter, ordered the person who\nbrought it should come into the parlour; on which he delivered to her\nthe present mentioned in the letter, which she received with a great\ndeal of sweetness, gave the fellow something to drink her health, and\nsent her service to his master, with thanks, and an assurance she should\nbe glad to see him whenever it suited with his convenience.\nAll the ladies then began to examine the squirrel, which was, doubtless,\nthe most beautiful creature of it's kind that could be purchased. The\nchain, which fastened it to it's habitation, was gold, the links very\nthick, and curiously wrought. Every one admired the elegance of the\ndonor's taste.\nMiss Betsy herself was charmed to an excess, both with the letter and\nthe present; but as much as she was pleased with the respectful passion\nof Mr. Trueworth, she could not find in her heart to think of parting\nwith the assiduities of Mr. Staple, nor even the blunt addresses of\nCaptain Hysom, at least till she had exercised all the power her beauty\ngave her over them.\nAs the two last-mentioned gentlemen were the friends of Mr. Goodman, he\nwent out somewhat before the hour in which either of them was expected\nto come, chusing not to seem to know what it was not in his power to\namend, and determined, as he had promised Miss Betsy, not to interfere\nbetween her and any of those who pretended to court her.\nThese two lovers came to the door at the same time; and Mr. Staple\nsaying to the footman that opened the door, that he was come to wait on\nMiss Betsy--'I want to speak to that young gentlewoman, too,' cried the\ncaptain, 'if she be at leisure. Tell her my name is Hysom.'\nMr. Staple was immediately shewed up into the drawing-room, and the\ncaptain into the parlour, till Miss Betsy should be told his name. 'That\nspark,' said he to himself, 'is known here: I suppose he is one of those\nMr. Goodman told me of, that has a mind to Miss Betsy; but, as she knew\nI was to be here, I think she might have left some orders concerning me;\nand not make me wait till that young gew-gaw had spoke his mind to her.'\nThe fellow not coming down immediately, he grew very angry, and began to\ncall and knock with his cane against the floor; which, it may be easily\nimagined, gave some sport to those above. Miss Betsy, however, having\ntold Mr. Staple the character of the man, and the diversion she intended\nto make of his pretensions, would not vex him too much; and, to atone\nfor having made him attend so long, went to the top of the stairs\nherself, and desired him to walk up.\nThe reception she gave him was full of all the sweetness she could\nassume, and excused having made him wait, and laid the blame on the\nservant, who, she pretended, could not presently recollect his name.\nThis put him into an exceeding good-humour. 'Nay, fair lady,' said he,\n'as to that, I have staid much longer sometimes, before I could get to\nthe speech of some people, who I have not half the respect for as I have\nfor you. But you know,' continued he, giving her a kiss, the smack of\nwhich might be heard three rooms off, 'that I have business with\nyou--business that requires dispatch; and that made me a little\nimpatient.'\nAll the company had much ado to refrain laughing outright; but Miss\nBetsy kept her countenance to a miracle. 'We will talk of business\nanother time,' said she: 'we are going to hear a fine entertainment of\nmusick. You must not refuse giving us your company; Lady Mellasin has\ngot a ticket on purpose for you.'--'I am very much obliged to her\nladyship,' replied the captain; 'but I do not know whether Mr. Goodman\nmay think well of it or not; for he would fain have put me off from\nvisiting his charge here. I soon found, by his way of speaking, the wind\ndid not fit fair for me from that quarter; so tacked about, shifted my\nsails, and stood for the port directly.'\n'Manfully resolved, indeed!' said Mr. Staple; 'but I hope, captain, you\nhave kept a good look-out, in order to avoid any ship of greater burden\nthat might else chance to overset you.'--'Oh, Sir! as to that,' replied\nthe captain, 'you might have spared yourself the trouble of giving me\nthis caution; there are only two small pinks in my way, and they had\nbest stand clear, or I shall run foul on them.'\nThough Mr. Staple had been apprized before hand of the captain's\npretences, and that Miss Betsy intended to encourage them only by way of\namusement to herself and friends, yet the rough manner in which his\nrival had uttered these words, brought the blood into his cheeks; which\nLady Mellasin perceiving, and fearing that what was begun in jest might,\nin the end, become more serious than could be wished, turned the\nconversation; and, addressing herself to the captain on the score of\nwhat he had said concerning Mr. Goodman, made many apologies for her\nhusband's behaviour in this point; assured him, that he had not a more\nsincere friend in the world, nor one who would be more ready to serve\nhim, in whatever was in his power.\nThe captain had a fund of good-nature in his heart; but was somewhat too\nmuch addicted to passion, and frequently apt to resent without a cause;\nbut when once convinced he had been in the wrong, no one could be more\nready to acknowledge and ask pardon for his mistake. He had been bred at\nsea: his conversation, for almost his whole life, had been chiefly among\nthose of his own occupation; he was altogether unacquainted with the\nmanners and behaviour of the polite world, and equally a stranger to\nwhat is called genteel raillery, as he was to courtly complaisance. It\nis not, therefore, to be wondered at, that he was often rude, without\ndesigning to be so, and took many things as affronts, which were not\nmeant as such.\nLady Mellasin, who never wanted words, and knew how to express herself\nin the most persuasive terms whenever she pleased to make use of them,\nhad the address to convince the captain that Mr. Goodman was no enemy to\nhis suit, though he would not appear to encourage it.\nWhile the captain was engaged with her ladyship in this discourse, Miss\nBetsy took the opportunity of telling Mr. Staple that she insisted upon\nit, that he should be very civil to a rival from whose pretensions he\nmight be certain he had nothing to apprehend; and, moreover, that when\nshe gave him her hand to lead her into the concert-room, he should give\nhis to Miss Flora, without discovering the least marks of discontent:\nthe lover looked on this last injunction as too severe a trial of his\npatience; but she would needs have it so, and he was under a necessity\nof obeying, or of suffering much greater mortification from her\ndispleasure.\nSoon after this, they all four went to the entertainment in Mr.\nGoodman's coach, which Lady Mellasin had ordered to be got ready. The\ncaptain was mightily pleased with the musick, and had judgment enough in\nit to know it was better than the band he had on board his ship. 'When\nthey have done playing,' said he, 'I will ask them what they will have\nto go with me the next voyage.' But Mr. Staple told him it would be\naffront; that they were men who got more by their instruments than the\nbest officer either by sea or land did by his commission. This mistake,\nas well as many others the captain fell into, made not only the company\nhe was with, but those who sat near enough to hear him, a good deal of\ndiversion.\nNothing of moment happening either here or at Mr. Goodman's, where they\nall supped together, it would be needless to repeat any particulars of\nthe conversation; what has been said already of their different\nsentiments and behaviour, may be a sufficient sample of the whole.\nCHAPTER XVIII\n_Treats on no fresh matters, but serves to heighten those already\nmentioned_\nMr. Goodman had staid abroad till very late that night the concert had\nbeen performed, so was not a witness of any thing that had passed after\nthe company came home: but on Lady Mellasin's repeating to him every\nthing she remembered, was very well pleased to hear that she had\nreconciled the captain to him; though extremely sorry that the blunt\nill-judged affection of that gentleman had exposed him to the ridicule,\nnot only of Miss Betsy, but also of all her followers.\nThat young lady, in the mean time, was far from having any commiseration\nfor the anxieties of those who loved her; on the contrary, she triumphed\nin the pains she gave, if it can be supposed that she, who was\naltogether ignorant of them in herself, could look upon them as sincere\nin others. But, I am apt to believe, ladies of this cast regard all the\nprofessions of love made to them (as, indeed, many of them are) only as\nwords of course--the prerogative of youth and beauty in the one sex, and\na duty incumbent on the other to pay: they value themselves on the\nnumber and quality of their lovers, as they do upon the number and\nrichness of their cloaths; because it makes them of consideration in the\nworld, and never take the trouble of reflecting how dear it may\nsometimes cost those to whom they are indebted for indulging this\nvanity.\nThat this, at least, was the motive which induced Miss Betsy to treat\nher lovers in the manner she did, is evident to a demonstration, from\nevery other action of her life. She had a certain softness in her\ndisposition, which rendered her incapable of knowing the distress of\nany one, without affording all the relief that was in her power to give;\nand had she sooner been convinced of the reality of the woes of love,\nthe sooner she had left off the ambition of inflicting them, and,\nperhaps, have been brought to regard those who laboured under them,\nrather with too much than too little compassion. But of this the reader\nwill be able to judge on proceeding farther in this history.\nThere were now three gentlemen, who all of them addressed this young\nlady on the most honourable terms; yet did her giddy mind make no\ndistinction between the serious passion they had for her, and the idle\ngallantry she received from those who either had no design in making\nthem, or such as tended to her undoing.\nImpatient to hear in what manner Mr. Trueworth would declare himself,\nand imagining he would come the next day, as he had made so handsome an\napology for not having waited on her the preceding one, she told Mr.\nStaple and Captain Hysom, in order to prevent their coming, that she was\nengaged to pass that whole afternoon and evening with some ladies of her\nacquaintance. Neither the captain nor Mr. Staple suspected the truth of\nwhat she said; but the former was in too much haste to know some issue\nof his fate to be quite contented with this delay.\nMiss Betsy was not deceived in her expectations. Soon after dinner was\nover, she was told Mr. Trueworth had sent to know if she was at home,\nand begged leave to wait upon her. Lady Mellasin having a great deal of\ncompany that day in the dining-room, she went into an adjacent one to\nreceive him. He was charmed at finding her alone; a happiness he could\nnot flatter himself with on entering the house: he was assured, by the\nnumber of footman that he saw in the hall, that many visitors were there\nbefore him. This unexpected piece of good fortune (as he then thought\nit, especially as he found her playing with the squirrel he had sent to\nher the day before) so much elated him, that it brightened his whole\naspect, and gave a double share of vivacity to his eyes. 'May I hope\nyour pardon, Madam,' said he, 'for presuming to approach you with so\ntrifling a present as that little creature?'--'Oh, Mr. Trueworth!'\nanswered she, 'I will not forgive you if you speak slight of my\nsquirrel, though I am indebted to you for the pleasure he gives me. I\nlove him excessively! You could not have made me a more obliging\npresent.'\n'How, Madam!' cried he; 'I should be miserable, indeed, if I had nothing\nin my power to offer more worthy your acceptance than that animal. What\nthink you, Madam, of an adoring and passionately devoted heart?'\n'A heart!' rejoined she; 'oh, dear! a heart may be a pretty thing, for\naught I know to the contrary: but there is such an enclosure of flesh\nand bone about it, that it is utterly impossible for one to see into it;\nand, consequently, to know whether one likes it or not.'\n'The heart, Madam, in the sense I mean,' said he, 'implies the soul;\nwhich being a spirit, and invisible, can only be known by its effects.\nIf the whole services of mine may render it an oblation, such as may\nobtain a gracious reception from the amiable Miss Thoughtless, I shall\nbless the hour in which I first beheld her charms, as the most fortunate\none I ever had to boast of.' In ending these words he kissed her hand,\nwith a look full of the greatest respect and tenderness.\nShe then told him, the services of the soul must needs be valuable,\nbecause they were sincere; but, as she knew not of what nature those\nservices were he intended to render her, he must excuse her for not so\nreadily accepting them. On which, it is not to be doubted, but that he\nassured her they should be only such as were dictated by the most pure\naffections, and accompanied by the strictest honour.\nHe was going on with such protestations as may be imagined a man, so\nmuch enamoured, would make to the object of his wishes; when he was\ninterrupted by Miss Flora, who came hastily into the room, and told him\nthat her mamma, hearing that he was in the house, expected he would not\nleave it without letting her have the pleasure of seeing him; that they\nwere just going to tea, and that her ladyship intreated he would join\ncompany with those friends she had already with her.\nMr. Trueworth would have been glad to have found some plausible pretence\nfor not complying with this invitation; but as he could not make any\nthat would not be looked on as favouring of ill manners, and Miss Betsy\ninsisted on his going, they all went together into the dining-room.\nThe lover had now no farther opportunity of prosecuting his suit in this\nvisit; but he made another the next day, more early than before, and\nfound nobody but Mr. Goodman with Miss Betsy, Lady Mellasin and Miss\nFlora being gone among the shops, either to buy something they wanted,\nor to tumble over goods, as they frequently did, merely for the sake of\nseeing new fashions. Mr. Trueworth having never been seen by Mr.\nGoodman, Miss Betsy presented him to him with these words--'Sir, this\nis a gentleman from Oxford, an intimate friend of brother Frank's, and\nwho did me the favour to bring me a letter from him.' There needed no\nmore to make Mr. Goodman know, both who he was, and the business on\nwhich he was come. He received him with a great deal of good manners;\nbut, knowing his absence would be most agreeable, after some few\ncompliments, pretended he was called abroad by urgent business, and took\nhis leave.\nHow much it rejoiced the sincerely devoted heart of Mr. Trueworth, to\nfind himself once more alone with the idol of his wishes, may easily be\nconceived by those who have had any experience of the passion he so\ndeeply felt: but his felicity was of short continuance, and he profited\nbut little by the complaisance of Mr. Goodman.\nHe was but just beginning to pour forth some part of those tender\nsentiments, with which his soul overflowed, when he was prevented from\nproceeding, by a second interruption, much more disagreeable than the\nformer had been.\nMr. Staple, and Captain Hysom, for whom Miss Betsy had not left the same\norders she had done the day before, came both to visit her; the former\nhad the advantage of being there somewhat sooner than the other, and\naccosted her with an air which made the enamoured heart of Mr. Trueworth\nimmediately beat an alarm to jealousy. Mr. Staple, who had seen him\nthere once before, when he brought her brother's letter to her, did not\npresently know him for his rival, nor imagined he had any other intent\nin his visits, than to pay his compliments to the sister of his friend.\nThey were all three engaged in a conversation which had nothing\nparticular in it, when Miss Betsy was told Captain Hysom desired to\nspeak with her; on which she bid the fellow desire him to walk in. 'He\nis in the back-parlour, Madam,' replied he: 'I told him you had company,\nso he desires you will come to him there; for he says he has great\nbusiness with you, and must needs speak with you.' Both Miss Betsy and\nMr. Staple laughed immoderately at this message; but Mr. Trueworth, who\nwas not in the secret, looked a little grave, as not knowing what to\nthink of it. 'You would scarce believe, Sir,' said Mr. Staple to him,\n'that this embassy came from the court of Cupid; yet I assure you the\ncaptain is one of this lady's most passionate admirers.'--'Yes, indeed,'\nadded Miss Betsy; 'and threatens terrible things to every one who should\ndare to dispute the conquest of my heart with him.--But go,' continued\nshe to the footman, 'tell him I have friends with me whom I cannot be so\nrude to leave, and that I insist on his giving us his company in this\nroom.'\nThe captain, on this, was prevailed upon to come in, though not very\nwell pleased at finding himself obliged to do so by the positive\ncommands of his mistress. He paid his respects, however, in his blunt\nmanner, to the gentlemen, as well as Miss Betsy; and having drawn his\nchair as near her as he could, 'I hoped, Madam,' said he, 'you would\nhave found an opportunity of speaking to me before now; you must needs\nthink I am a little uneasy till I know what I have to depend\nupon.'--'Bless me, Sir!' cried she, 'you talk in an odd manner!--and\nthen,' continued she, pointing to Mr. Trueworth, 'this gentleman here,\nwho is a friend of my brother's, will think I have outrun my income, and\nthat you come to dun me for money borrowed of you.'--'No, no,' answered\nhe, 'as to that, you owe me nothing but good-will, and that I think I\ndeserve for the respect I have for you, if it were for nothing else:\nbut, Madam, I should be glad to know some answer to the business I wrote\nto you upon?'--'Lord, Sir!' replied she, 'I have not yet had time to\nthink upon it, much less to resolve on any thing.'--'That is strange,'\nresumed he; 'why, you have had three days; and sure that is long enough\nto think, and resolve too, on any thing.'--'Not for me, indeed,\ncaptain,' answered she, laughing: 'but come, here are just four of\nus--what think you, gentlemen, of a game of quadrille, to kill time?'\nMr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple told her at once, that they approved the\nnotion; and she was just going to call for cards and fishes, when the\ncaptain stopped her, saying, 'I never loved play in my life; and have no\ntime to kill, as mayhap these gentlemen have, who, it is likely, having\nnothing else to do than to dress and visit: I have a great deal of\nbusiness upon my hands; the ship is taking in her lading, and I do not\nknow but we may sail in six or seven days, so must desire you will fix a\nday for us to be alone together, that I may know at once what it is you\ndesign to do.'--'Fie, captain!' replied she, 'how can you think of such\na thing? I assure you, Sir,' added she, with an affected disdain, 'I\nnever make appointments with gentlemen.'\n'That I believe,' said he: 'but you should consider that I live a great\nway off; it is a long walk from Mile End to St. James's, and I hate your\njolting hackney-coaches: besides, I may come and come again, and never\nbe able to get a word with you in private in an afternoon, and all the\nmorning I am engaged either at the India House, or at Change; therefore\nI should think it is better for both of us not to stand shilly-shally,\nbut come to the point at once; for look ye, fair lady, if we happen to\nagree, there will be little enough time to settle every thing, as I am\nobliged to go soon.'--'Too little, in my opinion, Sir,' answered she;\n'therefore I think it best to defer talking any more of the matter till\nyou come back.'\n'Come back!' cried he; 'why, do you consider I shall be gone three\nyears?'--'Really, Sir,' said she, 'as I told you before, I have never\nconsidered any thing about it; nor can promise I shall be able to say\nany more to you at the end of twice the time you mention, than I can do\nat present, which I assure you is just nothing at all.'\nThough both Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple had too much good manners to do\nany thing that might affront the captain, yet neither of them could\nrestrain their laughter so well as to prevent some marks of the\ninclination they had for it, from being visible in their faces; and,\nwilling to contribute something on their parts to the diversion they\nperceived she gave herself with a lover so every way unsuitable to her,\none told her that it was a great pity she did not consult the captain's\nconvenience; the other said, that it must needs be a vast fatigue for a\ngentleman, who was accustomed only to walk the quarter-deck, to take a\nstretch of four miles at once. 'And all to no purpose,' cried he that\nhad spoken first.--'Pray, Madam, give him his dispatch.'\nAs little acquainted as the captain was with raillery, he had\nunderstanding enough to make him see, that Miss Betsy's behaviour to him\nhad rendered him the jest of all the company that visited her; and this\nhe took so ill, that all the liking he before had to her was now turned\ninto contempt. Finding they were going on in the ironical way they had\nbegun--'Look ye, gentlemen,' said he, with a pretty stern countenance,\n'I would advise you to meddle only with such things as concern\nyourselves; you have nothing to do with me, or I with you. If your\nerrand here be as I suspect it is, there sits one who I dare answer will\nfind you employment enough, as long as you shall think it worth your\nwhile to dance attendance.--As for you, Madam,' continued he, turning to\nMiss Betsy, 'I think it would have become you as well to have given me a\nmore civil answer; if you did not approve of my proposals, you might\nhave told me so at first: but I shall trouble neither you nor myself any\nfarther about the matter. I see how it is, well enough; and when next I\nsteer for the coast of matrimony, shall take care to look out for a port\nnot cumbered with rubbish: so, your servant!'\nAs he was going out of the house, he met Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora\njust entering, being returned from the ramble above-mentioned: they saw\nhe was very angry, and would fain have persuaded him to turn back;\ntelling him, that if any misunderstanding had happened between him and\nMiss Betsy, they would endeavour to make it up and reconcile them. To\nwhich he replied, that he thanked them for their love; but he had done\nwith Miss Betsy for good and all; that she was no more than a young\nflirt, and did not know how to use a gentleman handsomely--said, he\nshould be glad to take a bowl of punch with Mr. Goodman before he went\non his voyage; but would not come any more to his house, to be scoffed\nat by Miss Betsy, and those that came after her.\nMiss Flora told him, that it was unjust in him to deprive her mamma and\nherself of the pleasure of his good company for the fault of Miss Betsy;\nwho, she said, she could not help owning, was of a very giddy temper.\nLady Mellasin, to what her daughter had said, added many obliging\nthings, in order to prevail on him either to return, or renew his visits\nhereafter: but the captain was obstinate; and, persisting in his\nresolution of coming there no more, took his leave; and Miss Flora lost\nall hope of receiving any benefit from his being rejected by Miss\nBetsy.\nCHAPTER XIX\n_Will make the reader little the wiser_\nThe greatest part of the time that Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple staid\nwith Miss Betsy, was taken up with talking of Captain Hysom; his\npassion, his behaviour, and the manner in which he received his\ndismission, afforded, indeed, an ample field for conversation: Lady\nMellasin and Miss Flora, relating the answers he had given them on their\npressing him to come back, Mr. Trueworth said, that it must be owned,\nthat he had shewn a strength of resolution which few men in love could\nboast of.\n'Love, Sir, according to my notions of that passion,' replied Mr.\nStaple, 'is not one to be felt by every heart; many deceive themselves\nin this point, and take for it what is in reality no more than a bare\nliking of a beautiful object: the captain seems to me to have a soul, as\nwell as form, cast in too rough a mould to be capable of those refined\nand delicate ideas, which alone constitute and are worthy to be called\nlove.'\n'Yet,' said Lady Mellasin, 'I have heard Mr. Goodman give him an\nexcellent character; and, above all, that he is one of the best-natured\nmen breathing.'--'That may be, indeed, Madam,' resumed Mr. Staple; 'and\nsome allowances ought to be made for the manner in which he has been\nbred: though,' added he, 'I have known many commanders, not only of\nIndiamen, but of other trading-vessels, who have all their life-time\nused the sea, yet have known how to behave with politeness enough when\non shore.'\nMr. Trueworth agreed with Mr. Staple, that though the amorous\ndeclarations of a person of the captain's age, and fashion of bringing\nup, to one of Miss Betsy's, exposed him to the deserved ridicule of as\nmany as knew it, yet ought not his particular foible to be any\nreflection on his occupation, which merited to be held in the greatest\nveneration, as the strength and opulence of the nation was owing to its\ncommerce in foreign parts.\nThis was highly obliging to Mr. Staple, whose father had been a\nmerchant; and Mr. Trueworth being the first who took his leave,\nperceiving the other staid supper, he said abundance of handsome things\nin his praise; and seemed to have conceived so high esteem of him, that\nMiss Betsy was diverted in her mind to think how he would change his way\nof speaking, when once the secret of his rivalship should come out, as\nshe knew it could not fail to do in a short time.\nBut as easy as Mr. Staple was at present on this occasion, Mr. Trueworth\nwas no less anxious and perplexed: he was convinced that the other\nvisited Miss Betsy on no other score than that of love; and it appeared\nto him equally certain, by the freedom with which he saw him treated by\nthe family, that he was likewise greatly encouraged, if not by Miss\nBetsy herself, at least by her guardian.\nHis thoughts were now wholly taken up with the means by which he might\ngain the advantage over a rival, whom he looked upon as a formidable\none, not only for his personal accomplishments, but also for his having\nthe good fortune to address her before himself. All he could do was to\nprevent, as much as possible, all opportunities of his entertaining Miss\nBetsy in private, till the arrival of Mr. Francis Thoughtless, from\nwhose friendship, and the influence he had over his sister, he hoped\nmuch.\nHe waited on her the next day very early: Mr. Goodman happening to dine\nthat day later than ordinary, on account of some friends he had with\nhim, and the cloth not being drawn, Miss Betsy went and received him in\nanother room. Having this favourable opportunity, he immediately began\nto prepare for putting into execution one of those strategems he had\ncontrived for separating her from Mr. Staple. After some few tender\nspeeches, he fell into a discourse concerning the weather; said, he was\nsorry to perceive the days so much shortened--that summer would soon be\ngone; and added, that as that beautiful season could last but a small\ntime, the most should be made of it. 'I came,' said he, 'to intreat the\nfavour of you and Miss Flora, to permit me to accompany you in an airing\nthrough Brompton, Kensington, Chelsea, and the other little villages on\nthis side of London.'\nMiss Betsy replied, that she would go with all her heart, and believed\nshe could answer the same for Miss Flora, there being only two grave\ndons and their wives within, whom she would be glad to be disengaged\nfrom: 'But if not,' said she, 'I can send for a young lady in the\nneighbourhood, who will be glad to give us her company.'\nShe sent first, however, to Miss Flora, who immediately came in; and,\nthe proposal being made, accepted it with pleasure; and added, that she\nwould ask her mamma for orders for the coach to be got ready. 'It need\nnot, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth; 'my servant is here, and he shall get\none from Blunt's.' But Miss Flora insisted on their going in Mr.\nGoodman's; saying, she was certain neither he nor her mamma would go out\nthat day, as the company they had were come to stay; on which Mr.\nTrueworth complied.\nWhen she had left the room--'Ah, Madam!' said he to Miss Betsy, 'could I\nflatter myself with believing I owed this condescension to any other\nmotive than your complaisance, to a person who has some share in your\nbrother's friendship, I should be blessed indeed; but, ah! I see I have\na rival--a rival dangerous to my hopes, not only on the account of his\nmerits, but also as he had the honour of declaring his passion before\nme: the fortunate Mr. Staple,' added he, kissing her hand, 'may, perhaps\nhave already made some impression on that heart I would sacrifice my all\nto gain; and I am come too late.'\n'Rather too soon,' replied she, smiling; 'both of you equally too soon,\nadmitting his sentiments for me to be as you imagine; for I assure you,\nSir, my heart has hitherto been entirely my own, and is not very likely\nto incline to the reception of any guest of the nature you mean, for yet\na long--long time. Whoever thinks to gain me, must not be in a hurry,\nlike Captain Hysom.'\nMr. Trueworth was about to make some passionate reply, when Miss Flora\nreturned, and told them the coach would be ready immediately, for she\nherself had spoke to the coachman, and bid him put the horses to with\nall the haste he could; on which the lover expressed his sense of the\nobligation he had to her for taking this trouble in the politest terms.\nA person of much less discernment than this gentleman, might easily\nperceive, that the way to be agreeable to Miss Betsy, was not to be too\nserious; he therefore assumed all the vivacity he was master of, both\nbefore they went, and during the whole course of the little tour they\nmade, in which it is not to be doubted but he regaled them with every\nthing the places they passed through could furnish.\nThe ladies were so well pleased, both with their entertainment and the\ncompany of the person who entertained them, that they seemed not in\nhaste to go home; and he had the double satisfaction of enjoying the\npresence of his mistress, and of giving at least one day's\ndisappointment to his rival: he was confirmed in the truth of this\nconjecture, when, on returning to Mr. Goodman's, which was not till some\nhours after close of day, the footman who opened the door told Miss\nBetsy that Mr. Staple had been to wait upon her.\nAfter this it may be supposed he had a night of much more tranquillity\nthan the preceding one had afforded him. The next morning, as early as\nhe thought decency permitted, he made a visit to Miss Betsy, under the\npretence of coming to enquire if her health had not suffered by being\nabroad in the night air, and how she had rested. She received him with a\ngreat deal of sprightliness; and replied, she found herself so well\nafter it, as to be ready for such another jaunt whenever he had a fancy\nfor it. 'I take you at your word, Madam,' cried he, transported to hear\nshe anticipated what he came on purpose to intreat. 'I am ready this\nmoment, if you please,' continued he; 'and we will either take a barge,\nand go up the river, or a coach to Hampstead, just to diversify the\nscene: you have only to say which you chuse.'\nShe then told him there was a necessity of deferring their ramble till\nthe afternoon, because Miss Flora was abroad, and would not return till\ndinner-time. 'As to what route we shall take, and every thing belonging\nto it,' said she, 'I leave it entirely to you; I know nobody who has a\nmore elegant taste, or a better judgment.'--'I have taken care,' replied\nhe, 'to give the world a high opinion of me in both, by making my\naddresses to the amiable Miss Betsy: but, Madam,' pursued he, 'since we\nare alone, will you give me leave to tell you how I have employed my\nhours this morning?'--'Why--in dressing--breakfasting--and, perhaps, a\nlittle reading!' answered she. 'A small time, Madam, suffices for the\ntwo former articles with me,' resumed he; 'but I have, indeed, been\nreading: happening to dip into the works of a poet, who wrote near a\ncentury ago, I found some words so adapted to the situation of my heart,\nand so agreeable to the sense of the answer I was about to make\nyesterday to what you said, concerning the persistence of a lover, that\nI could not forbear putting some notes to them, which I beg you will\ngive me your opinion of.'\nIn speaking these words, he took a piece of paper out of his pocket, and\nsung the following stanza.\n    'The patriarch, to gain a wife\n      Chaste, beautiful, and young,\n    Serv'd fourteen years, a painful life,\n      And never thought it long.\n    Oh! were you to reward such cares,\n    And life so long would stay,\n    Not fourteen, but four hundred years,\n    Would seem but as one day.'\nMr. Trueworth had a fine voice, and great skill in musick, having\nperfected himself in that science from the best masters when he was in\nItaly. Miss Betsy was so charmed both with the words and the notes, that\nshe made him sing them several times over, and afterwards set them down\nin her musick-book, to the end that she might get them by heart, and\njoin her voice in concert with her spinnet.\nMr. Trueworth would not make his morning visit too long, believing it\nmight be her time to dress against dinner, as she was now in such a\ndishabille as ladies usually put on at their first rising: so, after\nhaving received a second promise from her of giving him her company that\nday abroad, took his leave, highly satisfied with the progress he\nimagined he had made in her good graces.\nThe wind happening to grow a little boisterous, though the weather\notherwise was fair and clear, made Mr. Trueworth think a land journey\nwould be more agreeable to the ladies, than to venture themselves upon\nthe water: he therefore procured a handsome livery-coach; and, attended\nby his two servants, went to Mr. Goodman's. The ladies were already in\nexpectation of him, and did not make him wait a moment.\nNothing extraordinary happening at this entertainment, nor at those\nothers, which, for several succeeding days, without intermission, Mr.\nTrueworth prevailed on his mistress to accept, it would be superfluous\nto trouble the reader with the particulars of them.\nMr. Staple all this time was very uneasy: he had not seen Miss Betsy for\na whole week; and, though he knew not as yet, that he was deprived of\nthat satisfaction, by her being engrossed by a rival, yet he now began\nto be sensible she had less regard for him than he had flattered\nhimself he had inspired her with; and this of itself was a sufficient\nmortification to a young gentleman, who was not only passionately in\nlove, but also could not, without being guilty of great injustice to his\nown merits, but think himself not altogether unworthy of succeeding.\nThis, however, was no more than a slight sample of the inquietudes which\nthe blind god sometimes inflicts on hearts devoted to him; as will\nhereafter appear in the progress of this history.\nCHAPTER XX\n_Contains an odd accident, which happened to Miss Betsy in the cloysters\nof Westminster Abbey_\nMr. Trueworth, who was yet far from being acquainted with the temper of\nthe object he adored, now thought he had no reason to despair of being\none day in possession of all he aimed to obtain; it seemed certain, to\nhim, at least, that he had nothing to apprehend from the pretensions of\na rival, who at first he had looked upon as so formidable, and no other\nat present interposed between him and his designs.\nMiss Betsy, in the mean while, wholly regardless of who hoped, or who\ndespaired, had no aim in any thing she did, but merely to divert\nherself; and to that end laid hold of every opportunity that offered.\nMr. Goodman, having casually mentioned, as they were at supper, that one\nMr. Soulguard had just taken orders, and was to preach his first sermon\nat Westminster Abbey the next day, she presently had a curiosity of\nhearing how he would behave in the pulpit; his over-modest, and, as they\ntermed it, sheepish behaviour in company, having, as often as he came\nthere, afforded matter of ridicule to her and Miss Flora. These two\nyoung ladies therefore, talking on it after they were in bed, agreed to\ngo to the cathedral, not doubting but they should have enough to laugh\nat, and repeat to all those of their acquaintance who had ever seen him.\nWhat mere trifles, what airy nothings, serve to amuse a mind to not\ntaken up with more essential matters! Miss Betsy was so full of the\ndiversion she should have in hearing the down-looked bashful Mr.\nSoulguard harangue his congregation, that she could think and talk of\nnothing else, till the hour arrived when she should go to experience\nwhat she had so pleasant an idea of.\nMiss Flora, who had till now seemed as eager as herself, cried all at\nonce, that her head ached, and that she did not care for stirring out.\nMiss Betsy, who would fain have laughed her out of it, told her, she had\nonly got the vapours; that the parson would cure her; and such like\nthings: but the other was not to be prevailed upon by all Miss Betsy, or\neven Lady Mellasin herself, could say; and answered, with some\nsullenness, that positively she would not go. Miss Betsy was highly\nruffled at this sudden turn of her temper, as it was now too late to\nsend for any other young lady of her acquaintance to go with her;\nresolving, nevertheless, not to baulk her humour, she ordered a chair to\nbe called, and went alone.\nNeither the young parson's manner of preaching, nor the text he chose,\nbeing in any way material to this history, I shall therefore pass over\nthe time of divine service; and only say, that after it was ended Miss\nBetsy passing towards the west gate, and stopping to look on the fine\ntomb, erected to the memory of Mr. Secretary Craggs, was accosted by Mr.\nBloomacre, a young gentleman who sometimes visited Lady Mellasin, and\nlived at Westminster, in which place he had a large estate.\nHe had with him, when he came up to her, two gentlemen of his\nacquaintance, but who were entire strangers to Miss Betsy: 'What,' said\nhe, 'the celebrated Miss Betsy Thoughtless! Miss Betsy Thoughtless! the\nidol of mankind! alone, unattended by any of her train of admirers, and\ncontemplating these mementos of mortality!'--'To compliment my\nunderstanding,' replied she, gaily, 'you should rather have told me I\nwas contemplating the mementos of great actions.'--'You are at the wrong\nend of the cathedral for that, Madam,' resumed he; 'and I don't remember\nto have heard anything extraordinary of the life of this great man,\nwhose effigy makes so fine a figure here, except the favours he received\nfrom the ladies.'\n'It were too much, then, to bestow them on him both alive and dead,'\ncried she; 'therefore we will pass on to some other.'\nMr. Bloomacre had a great deal of wit and vivacity; nor were his two\ncompanions deficient in either of these qualities: so that, between the\nthree, Miss Betsy was very agreeably entertained. They went round from\ntomb to tomb; and the real characters, as well as epitaphs, some of\nwhich are flattering enough, afforded a variety of observations. In\nfine, the conversation was so pleasing to Miss Betsy, that she never\nthought of going home till it grew too dark to examine either the\nsculpture, or the inscriptions; so insensibly does time glide on, when\naccompanied with satisfaction.\nBut now ensued a mortification, which struck a damp on the sprightliness\nof this young lady: she had sent away the chair which brought her, not\ndoubting but that there would be others about the church-doors. She knew\nnot how difficult it was to procure such a vehicle in Westminster,\nespecially on a Sunday. To add to her vexation, it rained very much, and\nshe was not in a habit fit to travel on foot in any weather, much less\nin such as this.\nThey went down into the cloisters, in order to find some person whom\nthey might send either for a coach or chair, for the gentlemen would\nhave been glad of such conveniences for themselves, as well as Miss\nBetsy: they walked round and round several times, without hearing or\nseeing any body; but, at last, a fellow, who used to be employed in\nsweeping the church-doors, offered his service to procure them what they\nwanted, in case there was a possibility of doing it: they promised to\ngratify him well for his pains; and he ran with all the speed he could,\nto do as he had said.\nThe rain and wind increased to such a prodigious height, that scarce\nwas ever a more tempestuous evening. Almost a whole hour was elapsed,\nand the man not come back; so that they had reason to fear neither\ncoach nor chair was to be got. Miss Betsy began to grow extremely\nimpatient; the gentlemen endeavoured all they could to keep her in\na good humour: 'We have a good stone roof over our heads, Madam,' said\none of them, 'and that at present shelters us from the inclemency of the\nelements.'--'Besides,' cried another, 'the storm cannot last always; and\nwhen it is a little abated, here are three of us, we will take you in\nour arms by turns, and carry you home.' All this would not make Miss\nBetsy laugh, and she was in the utmost agitation of mind to think what\nshe should do; when, on a sudden, a door in that part of the cloister,\nwhich leads to Little Dean's Yard was opened, and a very young lady, not\nexceeding eleven years of age, but very richly habited, came running\nout, and taking Miss Betsy by the sleeve, 'Madam,' said she, 'I beg to\nspeak with you.' Miss Betsy was surprized; but, stepping some paces from\nthe gentleman, to hear what she had to say, the other drawing towards\nthe door, cried, 'Please, Madam, to come in here!' On which she\nfollowed, and the gentlemen stood about some four or five yards distant.\nMiss Betsy had no sooner reached the threshold, which had a step down\ninto the hall, and pulling her gently down, as if to communicate what\nshe had to say with the more privacy, than a footman, who stood behind\nthe door, immediately clapped it to, and put the chain across, as if he\napprehended some violence might be offered to it. Miss Betsy was in so\nmuch consternation, that she was unable to speak one word; till the\nyoung lady, who still had hold of her hand, said to her, 'You may thank\nHeaven, Madam, that our family happened to be in town, else I do not\nknow what mischief might have befallen you.'--'Bless me!' cried Miss\nBetsy, and was going on; but the other interrupted her, saying, hastily,\nas she led her forward, 'Walk this way; my brother will tell you all.'\nMiss Betsy then stopped short, 'What means all this?' said she: 'Where\nam I, pray, Miss? Who is your brother?' To which the other replied, that\nher brother was the Lord Viscount ----, and that he at present was the\nowner of that house.\nThe surprize Miss Betsy had been put in by this young lady's first\naccosting her, was not at all dissipated by these words, but had now an\nequal portion of curiosity added to it: she longed to know the meaning\nof words, which at present seemed so mysterious to her, and with what\nkind of mischief she had been threatened, that she readily accompanied\nher young conductress into a magnificent parlour, at the upper end of\nwhich sat the nobleman she had been told of. 'I am extremely happy,'\nsaid he, as soon as he saw her enter, 'that Providence has put it in my\npower to rescue so fine a lady, from the villainy contrived against\nher.'\nMiss Betsy replied, that she should always be thankful for any favours\nconferred upon her; but desired to know of what nature they were, for\nwhich she was indebted to his lordship; he then told her, that the\npersons she had been with had the most base designs upon her; that he\nhad heard from a closet-window, where he was sitting, two of them lay a\nplot for carrying her off in a hackney-coach; and added, that being\nstruck with horror at the foul intention, he had contrived, by the means\nof his sister, to get her out of their power; 'For,' said he, 'I know\none of them to be so bloody a villain, that had I gone out myself, I\nmust have fallen a sacrifice to their resentment.'\nMiss Betsy was quite confounded; she knew not how to question the\nveracity of a nobleman, who could have no view or interest to deceive\nher; yet it was equally incongruous to her, that Mr. Bloomacre could\nharbour any designs upon her of that sort his lordship mentioned; she\nhad several times been in company with that gentleman, and he had never\nbehaved towards her in a manner which could give her room to suspect he\nhad any dishonourable intentions towards her: but then, the treatment\nshe had received from the gentleman-commoner at Oxford, reminded her,\nthat men of an amorous complexion want only an opportunity to shew those\ninclinations, which indolence, or perhaps indelicacy, prevents them from\nattempting to gratify by assiduities and courtship.\nAfter having taken some little time to consider what she should say, she\nreplied that she was infinitely obliged to his lordship for the care he\ntook of her, but might very well be amazed to hear those gentlemen had\nany ill designs upon her, two of whom were perfect strangers, and the\nother often visited at the house where she was boarded. As for the\nsending for a coach, she said it was by her own desire, if no chair\ncould be procured: and added, that if his lordship had no other reason\nto apprehend any ill was meant to her, she could not, without injustice,\nforbear to clear up the mistake.\nLord ---- was a little confounded at these words; but, soon recovering\nhimself, told her that she knew not the real character of the persons\nshe had been with; that Bloomacre was one of the greatest libertines in\nthe world; that, though she might agree to have a coach sent for, she\ncould not be sure to what place it would carry her; and that he heard\ntwo of them, while the third was entertaining her, speak to each other\nin a manner which convinced him the most villainous contrivance was\nabout to be practised on her.\nA loud knocking at the door now interrupted their discourse; both his\nlordship and his sister seemed terribly alarmed: all the servants were\ncalled, and charge given not to open the door upon any account, to bar\nup the lower windows; and to give answers from those above, to whoever\nwas there. The knocking continued with greater violence than it began,\nand Miss Betsy heard the gentlemen's voices talking to the servant; and,\nthough she could not distinguish what they said, found there were very\nhigh words between them. My lord's sister ran into the hall to listen;\nthen came back, crying, 'O what terrible oaths!--I am afraid they will\nbreak open the door!'--'No,' replied Lord ----; 'it is too strong for\nthat: but I wish we had been so wise as to send for a constable.' One of\nthe servants came down, and repeated what their young lady had said;\nadding, that the gentlemen swore they would not leave the place till\nthey had spoke with the lady, who they said had been trepanned into that\nhouse. On this, 'Suppose, my lord,' said Miss Betsy, 'I go to the door\nand tell them that I will not go with them.'--'No, Madam,' answered Lord\n----, 'I cannot consent my door should be opened to such ruffians;\nbesides that they would certainly seize and carry you off by force, I\nknow not what mischief they might do my poor men, for having at first\nrefused them entrance.' She then said she would go up to the window, and\nanswer them from thence; but he would not suffer her to be seen by them\nat all: and, to keep her from insisting on it, told her a great many\nstories of rapes, and other mischiefs, that had been perpetrated by\nBloomacre, and those he kept company with.\nAll this did not give Miss Betsy those terrors, which, it is very plain\nhis lordship and sister endeavoured to inspire her with; yet would she\nsay no more of appearing to the gentlemen, as she found he was so averse\nto it.\nAt length the knocking ceased; and one of the footmen came down, and\nsaid that those who had given his lordship this disturbance had\nwithdrawn from the door, and he believed they were gone quite out of the\ncloisters: but this intelligence did not satisfy Lord ----; he either\nwas, or pretended to be, in fear that they were still skulking in some\ncorner, and would rush in if once they saw the door opened. There was\nstill the same difficulty as ever, how Miss Betsy should get home; that\nis, how she should get safely out of the house; for, the rain being\nover, the servants said they did not doubt but they should be able to\nprocure a chair or coach: after much debating on this matter, it was\nthus contrived.\nLord ---- had a window that looked into the yard of one of the\nprebendaries; a footman was to go out of the window to the back-door of\nthat reverend divine, relate the whole story, and beg leave to go\nthrough his house: that request being granted, the footman went, and\nreturned in less than half an hour, with the welcome news that a chair\nwas ready, and waited in College Street. Miss Betsy had no way of\npassing, but by the same the footman had done, which she easily did, by\nbeing lifted by my lord into the window, and descending from it by the\nhelp of some steps placed on the other side by the servants of the\nprebendary.\nIt would be superfluous to trouble the reader with any speeches made by\nLord ----, and his sister, to Miss Betsy, or the replies she made to\nthem; I shall only say, that passing through his house, and the College\nGarden, at the door of which the chair waited, she went into it,\npreceded by Lord ----'s footman, muffled up in a cloak, and without a\nflambeau, to prevent being known, in case she should be met by\nBloomacre, or either of his companions: and with this equipage she\narrived safe at home, though not without a mind strangely perplexed at\nthe meaning of this adventure.\nCHAPTER XXI\n_Gives an explanation of the former, with other particulars, more\nagreeable to the reader in the repetition, than to the persons concerned\nin them_\nIt was near ten o'clock when Miss Betsy came home; and Mr. Goodman, who\nhad been very uneasy at her staying out so late, especially as she was\nalone, was equally rejoiced at her return; but, as well as Lady\nMellasin, was surprized on hearing by what accident she had been\ndetained--they knew not how to judge of it--there was no circumstance in\nthe whole affair which could make them think Mr. Bloomacre had any\ndesigns of the sort Lord ---- had suggested: yet did Mr. Goodman think\nhimself obliged, as the young lady's guardian, to go to that gentleman,\nand have some talk with him concerning what had passed. Accordingly, he\nwent the next morning to his house; but, not finding him at home, left\nword with his servant that he desired to speak with him as soon as\npossible: he came not, however, the whole day, nor sent any message to\nexcuse his not doing so; and this neglect gave Mr. Goodman, and Miss\nBetsy herself, some room to suspect he was no less guilty than he had\nbeen represented, since had he been perfectly innocent, it seemed\nreasonable to them to think he would have come, even of his own accord,\nto have learned of Miss Betsy the motive of her leaving him in so abrupt\nand odd a manner--but how much they wronged him will presently appear,\nand they were afterwards convinced.\nThere was an implacable animosity between Lord ---- and Mr. Bloomacre,\non account of the former's pretending a right to some lands which the\nother held, and could not be dispossessed of by law. As his lordship\nknew Mr. Bloomacre was not of a disposition to bear an affront tamely,\nhe had no other way to vent his spleen against him, than by villifying\nand traducing him in all companies he came into; but this he took care\nto do in so artful a manner, as to be enabled either to evade, or render\nwhat he said impossible to be proved, in case he were called to an\naccount for it.\nThe affair of Miss Betsy, innocent as it was, he thought gave him an\nexcellent opportunity of gratifying his malice: he went early the next\nmorning to the dean, complained of an insult offered to his house by Mr.\nBloomacre, on the score of his sister having brought in a young lady,\nwhom that gentleman had detained in the cloisters, and was going to\ncarry off, by the assistance of some friends he had with him, in a\nhackney-coach.\nThe dean, who was also a bishop, was extremely incensed, as well he\nmight, at so glaring a profanation of that sacred place; and the moment\nLord ---- had taken his leave, sent for Mr. Bloomacre to come to him.\nThat gentleman immediately obeying the summons, the bishop began to\nreprimand him in terms, which the occasion seemed to require from a\nperson of his function and authority: Mr. Bloomacre could not forbear\ninterrupting him, though with the greatest respect, saying nothing could\nbe more false and base, than such an accusation; that whoever had given\nsuch an information was a villain, and merited to be used as such. The\nprelate, seeing him in this heat, would not mention the name of his\naccuser; but replied coolly, that it was possible he might be wronged;\nbut to convince him that he was so, he must relate to him the whole\ntruth of the story, and on what grounds a conjecture so much to the\ndisadvantage of his reputation had been formed. On which Mr. Bloomacre\nrepeated every thing that had passed; and added, that he was well\nacquainted with the family where the young lady was boarded, and that he\nwas certain she would appear in person to justify him in this point, if\nhis lordship thought it proper. 'But,' said the bishop, 'I hear you\naffronted the Lord ----, by thundering at his door, and abusing his\nservants.'--'No, my lord,' answered Mr. Bloomacre, 'Lord ----, though\nfar from being my friend, will not dare to alledge any such thing\nagainst me. We were, indeed, a little surprized to see the young lady,\nwho was with us, snatched away in so odd a fashion by his sister, who we\neasily perceived had not the least acquaintance with her. We continued\nwalking, however, in the cloister, till the man whom we had sent for a\ncoach returned, and told us he had got one, and that it waited at the\ngate. We then, indeed, knocked at Lord ----'s door; and being answered\nfrom the windows by the servants, in a very impertinent manner, I\nbelieve we might utter some words not very respectful either of his\nlordship or his sister, whose behaviour in this affair I am as yet\nentirely ignorant how to account for.'\nThe bishop paused a considerable time; but on Mr. Bloomacre's repeating\nwhat he had said before, concerning bringing the young lady herself to\nvouch the truth of what he had related to his lordship, replied, that\nthere was no occasion for troubling either her or himself any farther;\nthat he believed there had been some mistake in the business, and that\nhe should think no more of it: on which Mr. Bloomacre took his leave.\nThough the bishop had not mentioned the name of Lord ---- to Mr.\nBloomacre, as the person who had brought this complaint against him, yet\nhe was very certain, by all circumstances, that he could be indebted to\nno other for such a piece of low malice; and this, joined to some other\nprovocations he had received from the ill-will of that nobleman, made\nhim resolve to do himself justice.\nHe went directly from the deanry in search of the two gentlemen who had\nbeen with him in the Abbey when he happened to meet Miss Betsy; and,\nhaving found them both, they went to a tavern together, in order to\nconsult on what was proper to be done, for the chastisement of Lord\n----'s folly and ill-nature.\nBoth of them agreed with Mr. Bloomacre, that he ought to demand that\nsatisfaction which every gentleman has a right to expect from any one\nwho has injured him, of what degree soever he be, excepting those of\nroyal blood. Each of them was so eager to be his second in this affair,\nthat they were obliged to draw lots for the determination of the choice:\nhe who had the ill-luck, as he called it, to draw the shortest cut,\nwould needs oblige them to let him be the bearer of the challenge, that\nhe might at least have some share in inflicting the punishment, which\nthe behaviour of that unworthy lord so justly merited.\nThe challenge was wrote--the place appointed for meeting was the field\nbehind Montague House: but the gentleman who carried it, brought no\nanswer back; his lordship telling him only that he would consider on the\nmatter, and let Mr. Bloomacre know his intentions.\nMr. Bloomacre, as the principal, and the other as his second, were so\nenraged at this, that the latter resolved to go himself, and force a\nmore categorical answer. He did so; and Lord ---- having had time to\nconsult his brother, and, as it is said, some other friends, told him\nhe accepted the challenge, and would be ready with his second at the\ntime and place appointed in it.\nMr. Bloomacre did not go home that whole day, therefore knew nothing of\nthe message that had been left for him by Mr. Goodman, till it was too\nlate to comply with it; but this seeming remissness in him was not all\nthat troubled the mind of that open and honest-hearted guardian of Miss\nBetsy. Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple had both been at his house the day\nbefore: the former, on hearing his mistress was abroad, left only his\ncompliments, and went away, though very much pressed to come in by Miss\nFlora, who seeing him through the parlour-window, ran to the door\nherself, and intreated he would pass the evening there. Mr. Staple came\nthe moment after, and met his rival coming down the steps that led up to\nthe door; Mr. Trueworth saluted him, in passing, with the usual\ncomplaisance, which the other returned in a very cool manner, and\nknocked hastily at the door. 'I imagine,' said he to the footman who\nopened it, 'that Miss Betsy is not at home, by that gentleman's having\nso early taken leave: but I would speak with Mr. Goodman, if he be at\nleisure.'\nHe was then shewed into the back-parlour, which was the room where Mr.\nGoodman generally received those persons who came to him upon business.\nOn hearing who it was that asked for him, he was a little surprized, and\ndesired he would walk up stairs: but Mr. Staple not knowing but there\nmight be company above, returned for answer, that he had no more than a\nword or two to say to him, and that must be in private; on which the\nother immediately came down to him.\nThis young lover having by accident been informed, not only that Mr.\nTrueworth made his addresses to Miss Betsy, but also that it was with\nhim she had been engaged during all that time he had been deprived of\nseeing her, thought it proper to talk with Mr. Goodman concerning this\nnew obstacle to his wishes. That worthy gentleman was extremely troubled\nto be questioned on an affair, on which he had given Miss Betsy his word\nnot to interfere: but finding himself very much pressed by a person\nwhose passion he had encouraged, and who was the son of one with whom he\nhad lived in a long friendship, he frankly confessed to him that Mr.\nTrueworth was indeed recommended to Miss Betsy by her brother; told him\nhe was sorry the thing had happened so, but had nothing farther to do\nwith it; that the young lady was at her own disposal, as to the article\nof marriage; that he was ignorant how she would determine; and that it\nmust be from herself alone he could learn what it was he might expect\nor hope.\nMr. Staple received little satisfaction from what Mr. Goodman had said;\nbut resolved to take his advice, and, if possible, bring Miss Betsy to\nsome eclaircissement of the fate he was to hope or fear. Accordingly, he\ncame the next morning to visit her; a liberty he had never taken, nor\nwould now, if he had not despaired of finding her in the afternoon.\nShe gave herself, however, no airs of resentment on that account: but\nwhen he began to testify his discontent concerning Mr. Trueworth, and\nthe apprehensions he had of his having gained the preference in her\nheart, though the last who had solicited that happiness, she replied, in\nthe most haughty tones, that she was surprized at the freedom he took\nwith her; that she was, and ever would be, mistress of her actions and\nsentiments, and no man had a right to pry into either; and concluded\nwith saying, that she was sorry the civilities she had treated him with,\nshould make him imagine he had a privilege of finding fault with those\nshe shewed to others.\nIt is not to be doubted but that he made use of all the arguments in his\npower to convince her, that a true and perfect passion was never\nunaccompanied with jealous fears. He acknowledged the merits of Mr.\nTrueworth: 'But,' added he, 'the more he is possessed of, the more\ndangerous he is to my hopes.' And then begged her to consider the\ntorments he had suffered, while being so long deprived of her presence,\nand knowing, at the same time, a rival was blessed with it.\nMiss Betsy was not at this time in a humour either to be persuaded by\nthe reasons, or softened by the submissions, of her lover: and poor Mr.\nStaple, after having urged all that love, wit, despair, and grief, could\ndictate, was obliged to depart more dissatisfied than he came.\nIn going out he saw Mr. Goodman in the parlour, who gave him the 'Good\nmorning!' as he passed. 'A sad one it has been to me,' answered he, with\nsomewhat of horror in his countenance: 'but I will not endure the rack\nof many such.' With these words he flung out of the house, in order to\ngo about what, perhaps, the reader is not at a loss to guess at.\nCHAPTER XXII\n_A duel begun, and another fought in the same morning, on Miss Betsy's\naccount, are here related, with the manner in which the different\nantagonists behaved to each other_\nWell may the God of Love be painted blind! Those devoted to his\ninfluence are seldom capable of seeing things as they truly are; the\nsmallest favour elates them with imaginary hopes, and the least coolness\nsinks then into despair: their joys, their griefs, their fears, more\nfrequently spring from ideal rather than effective causes. Mr. Staple\njudged not that Miss Betsy refused to ease his jealous apprehensions on\nthe score of Mr. Trueworth, because it was her natural temper to give\npain to those that loved her, but because she really had an affection\nfor that gentleman. Looking on himself, therefore, as now abandoned to\nall hope, rage and revenge took the whole possession of his soul, and\nchased away the softer emotions thence.\nHaving heard Mr. Trueworth say he lodged in Pall Mall, he went to the\nCocoa Tree; and there informing himself of the particular house where\nhis rival might be found, sat down and wrote the following billet.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     Both our wishes tend to the possession of one beautiful object;\n     both cannot be happy in the accomplishment: it is fit, therefore,\n     the sword should decide the difference between us, and put an end\n     to those pretensions on the one side or the other, which it is not\n     probable either of us will otherwise recede from. In confidence of\n     your complying with this proposal, I shall attend you in the Green\n     Park, between the hours of seven and eight to-morrow morning. As\n     the affair concerns only ourselves, I think it both needless and\n     unjust to engage any of our friends in it; so shall come alone, and\n     expect you will do the same to, Sir, your humble servant,\n     T. STAPLE.'\nMr. Trueworth was at home; and, on receiving this, immediately, and\nwithout the least hesitation, wrote and sent back, by the same\nmessenger, the following answer.\n     'To T. Staple, Esq.\n     Though I cannot but think the decision of our fate ought to be left\n     entirely to the lady herself, (to whom, whatever be the fortune of\n     the sword, it must at last be referred) yet, as I cannot, without\n     being guilty of injustice to my own honour and pretensions, refuse\n     you the satisfaction you require, shall not fail to meet you at the\n     time and place mentioned in yours; till when, I am, Sir, your\n     humble servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nBy the stile of this letter, it may be easily perceived that Mr.\nTrueworth was not very well pleased with this combat, though the\ngreatness of his courage and spirit would not permit him to harbour the\nleast thought of avoiding it: yet, whatever his thoughts were on this\noccasion, he visited Miss Betsy the same day, and discovered no part of\nthem in his countenance; his behaviour, on the contrary, was rather more\nsprightly than usual. He proposed to the two young ladies to go on some\nparty of pleasure. Miss Betsy replied, with her accustomed freedom, that\nshe should like it very well; but Miss Flora, who had been for three or\nfour days past very sullen and ill-humoured, said one minute she would\ngo, and the next that she would not; and gave herself such odd and\ncapricious airs, that Miss Betsy told her she believed her head was\nturned: to which the other replied, tartly, that if the distemper was\ncatching, it would be no wonder she should be infected, having it always\nso near her. Miss Betsy replied, that she knew no greater proof of\nmadness than to punish one's self in the hope of mortifying another:\n'But that shall never be my case,' continued she; 'as you will find.'\nThen turning to Mr. Trueworth, 'If you will accept of my company,\nwithout Miss Flora,' said she, laughing, 'we will take a walk into the\nPark.' It is not to be doubted but that the lover gladly embraced this\nopportunity of having his mistress to himself. 'It is like Miss Betsy\nThoughtless,' cried Miss Flora; 'and only like herself, to go abroad\nwith a man alone.' Miss Betsy regarded not this reproach; but, catching\nup her fan and gloves, gave Mr. Trueworth her hand, to lead her where\nshe had proposed, leaving the other so full of spite, that the tears\ngushed from her eyes.\nIt is likely the reader will be pretty much surprized, that Miss Flora,\nwho had always seemed more ready than even Miss Betsy herself, to accept\nof invitations of the sort Mr. Trueworth had made, should now, all at\nonce, become so averse: but his curiosity for an explanation of this\nmatter must be for a while postponed; others, for which he may be\nequally impatient, requiring to be first discussed.\nTwo duels having been agreed upon to be fought on the same morning, the\nrespect due to the quality of L----, demands we should give that\nwherein he was concerned, the preference in the repetition.\nThe hour appointed being arrived, Lord ---- and his brother came into\nthe field: Mr. Bloomacre and his friend appeared immediately after. 'You\nare the persons,' said Lord ----, in an exulting tone, 'who made the\ninvitation; but we are the first at table.'--'It is not yet past the\ntime,' replied Bloomacre, looking on his watch; 'but the later we come,\nthe more eagerly we shall fall to.' In that instant all their swords\nwere drawn; but they had scarce time to exchange one thrust, before a\nposse of constables, with their assistants, armed with staves and clubs,\nrushed in between them, beat down their weapons, and carried them all\nfour to the house of the high-bailiff of Westminster.\nThat gentleman, by virtue of his office, made a strict examination into\nwhat had passed; and, having heard what both parties had to say,\nseverely reprimanded the one for having given the provocation, and the\nother for the manner in which it was resented: he told them he had a\nright, in order to preserve the peace of Westminster, and the liberties\nof it, to demand, that they should find sureties for their future\nbehaviour; but, in regard to their quality and character, he would\ninsist on no more than their own word and honour that the thing should\nbe mutually forgot, and that nothing of the same kind, which now had\nbeen happily prevented, should hereafter be attempted.\nLord ---- submitted to this injunction with a great deal of readiness;\nand Mr. Bloomacre, seeing no other remedy, did the same: after which the\nhigh bailiff obliged them to embrace, in token of the sincerity of\ntheir reconciliation.\nThus ended an affair which had threatened such terrible consequences. It\nmade, however, a very great noise; and the discourse upon it was no way\nto the advantage of Lord ----'s character, either for generosity or\ncourage. Let us now see the sequel of the challenge sent by Mr. Staple\nto Mr. Trueworth.\nThese gentlemen met almost at the same time, in the place the challenger\nhad appointed: few words served to usher in the execution of the fatal\npurpose; Mr. Staple only said, 'Come on, Sir! Love is the word, and Miss\nBetsy Thoughtless be the victor's prize.' With these words he drew his\nsword; Mr. Trueworth also drew his; and, standing on his defence, seeing\nthe other was about to push, cried, 'Hold, Sir! your better fortune may\ntriumph over my life, but never make me yield up my pretensions to that\namiable lady: if I die, I die her martyr, and wish not to live but in\nthe hope of serving her.' These words making Mr. Staple imagine, that\nhis rival had indeed the greatest encouragement to hope every thing,\nadded to the fury he was before possessed of, 'Die, then, her martyr!'\nsaid he; and running upon him with more force than skill, received a\nslight wound in his own breast, while aiming to the other's heart.\nIt would be needless to mention all the particulars of this combat; I\nshall only say, that the too great eagerness of Mr. Staple, gave the\nother an advantage over him, which must have been fatal to him from a\nless generous enemy: but the temperate Mr. Trueworth seemed to take an\nequal care to avoid hurting his rival, as to avoid being hurt by him;\nseeing, however, that he was about to make a furious push at him, he ran\nin between, closed with him, and Mr. Staple's foot happening to slip, he\nfell at full-length upon the earth, his sword at the same time dropped\nout of his hand, which Mr. Trueworth took up. 'The victory is yours,'\ncried he; 'take also my life, for I disdain to keep it.'--'No,' replied\nMr. Trueworth, 'I equally disdain to take an advantage, which mere\nchance has given me: rise, Sir, and let us finish the dispute between\nus, as becomes men of honour.' With these words he returned to him his\nsword. 'I should be unworthy to be ranked among that number,' said Mr.\nStaple, on receiving it, 'to employ this weapon against the breast,\nwhose generosity restored it, were any thing but Miss Betsy at stake:\nbut, what is life! what is even honour, without the hope of her! I\ntherefore accept your noble offer; and death or conquest be my lot!'\nThey then renewed the engagement with greater violence than before:\nafter several passes, Mr. Trueworth's dexterity could not hinder him\nfrom receiving a wound on his left-side; but he gave the other, at the\nsame time, so deep a one in his right-arm, that it deprived him in an\ninstant of the power of continuing the fight; on which Mr. Trueworth\ndropping the point of his sword, ran to him, 'I am sorry, Sir,' said he,\n'for the accident that has happened; I see you are much hurt: permit me\nto assist you as well as I am able, and attend you where proper care may\nbe taken of you.'--'I do not deserve this goodness,' answered Mr.\nStaple; 'but it is the will of Heaven that you vanquish every way.'\nMr. Trueworth then seeing the blood run quite down upon his hand,\nstripped up the sleeve, and bound the wound from which it issued, as\ntight as he could with his handkerchief, after which they went together\nto an eminent surgeon near Piccadilly. On examination of his wounds,\nneither that in his arm, nor in his breast, appeared to be at all\ndangerous, the flesh being only pierced, and no artery or tendon\ntouched. Mr. Trueworth seemed only assiduous in his cares for the hurts\nhe had given his rival, without mentioning the least word of that which\nhe had received himself, till an elderly gentleman, who happened to be\nwith the surgeon when they came in, and had all the time been present,\nperceiving some blood upon the side of his coat, a little above the hip,\ncried out, 'Sir, you neglect yourself. I fear you have not escaped\nunhurt.'--'A trifle,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'a mere scratch, I believe; it\nis time enough to think of that.' Nor would he suffer the surgeon,\nthough he bled very fast, to come near him, till he had done with Mr.\nStaple. It was, indeed, but a slight wound which Mr. Trueworth had\nreceived, though happening among a knot of veins, occasioned the\neffusion of a pretty deal of blood; for the stopping of which the\nsurgeon applied an immediate remedy, and told him that it required\nlittle for a cure besides keeping it from the air.\nMr. Staple, who had been deeply affected with the concern this generous\nenemy had expressed for him, was equally rejoiced at hearing the wound\nhe had given him would be attended with no bad consequences. Every thing\nthat was needful being done for both, the old gentleman prevailed upon\nthem to go with him to a tavern a few doors off, having first obtained\nthe surgeon's leave; who told him a glass or two of wine could be of no\nprejudice to either.\nThis good-natured gentleman, who was called Mr. Chatfree, used to come\nfrequently to Mr. Goodman's house, had some knowledge of Mr. Staple;\nand, though he was wholly unacquainted with Mr. Trueworth, conceived so\ngreat an esteem for him, from his behaviour towards the person he had\nfought with, that he thought he could not do a more meritorious action,\nthan to reconcile to each other two such worthy persons. What effect his\nendeavours, or rather their own nobleness of sentiments produced, shall\npresently be shewn.\nCHAPTER XXIII\n_Among other things necessary to be told, gives an account of the\nsuccess of a plot laid by Mr. Chatfree, for the discovery of Miss\nBetsy's real sentiments_\nThough Mr. Goodman had as yet no intimations of the accidents of that\nmorning, yet was he extremely uneasy; the looks, as well as words of Mr.\nStaple, in going of his house the day before, were continually in his\nmind, and he could not forbear apprehending some fatal consequence\nwould, one time or another, attend the levity of Miss Betsy's behaviour\nand conduct, in regard to her admirers: he was also both surprized and\nvexed, that Mr. Bloomacre, from whom he expected an explanation of the\nWestminster Abbey adventure, had not come according to his request. This\nlast motive of his disquiet was, however, soon removed: Mr. Bloomacre,\nwho was no less impatient to clear himself of all blame concerning the\ntransactions of that night, had no sooner finished his affair with Lord\n----, and was dismissed by the high-bailiff, than he came directly to\nMr. Goodman's, and recited to him, and all the ladies, the whole of what\nhad passed.\nMiss Betsy laughed prodigiously; but Mr. Goodman shook his head, on\nhearing the particulars related by Mr. Bloomacre; and, after that\ngentleman was gone, reproved, as he thought it his duty to do, the\ninconsiderateness of her conduct: he told her, that as she was alone,\nshe ought to have left the Abbey as soon as divine service was ended;\nthat, for a person of her sex, age, and appearance, to walk in a place\nwhere there were always a great concourse of young sparks, who came for\nno other purpose than to make remarks upon the ladies, could not but be\nlooked on as very odd by all who saw her. 'There was no rain,' said he,\n'till a long time after the service was ended, and you might then, in\nall probability, have got a chair; or if not, the walk over the Park\ncould not have been a very great fatigue.'\nMiss Betsy blushed extremely, not through a conscious shame of imagining\nwhat she had done deserved the least rebuke, but because her spirit, yet\nunbroke, could not bear control: she replied, that as she meant no ill,\nthose who censured her were most in fault. 'That is very true,' answered\nMr. Goodman; 'but, my dear child, you cannot but know it is a fault\nwhich too many in the world are guilty of. I doubt not of your\ninnocence, but would have you consider, that reputation is also of some\nvalue; that the honour of a young maid, like you, is a flower of so\ntender and delicate a nature, that the least breath of scandal withers\nand destroys it. In fine, that it is not enough to be good, without\nbehaving in such a manner as to make others acknowledge us to be so.'\nMiss Betsy had too much understanding not to be sensible what her\nguardian said on this occasion was perfectly just; and also that he had\na right to offer his advice whenever her conduct rendered it necessary;\nbut could not help being vexed, that any thing she did should be liable\nto censure, as she thought it merited none: she made no farther reply,\nhowever, to what Mr. Goodman said, though he continued his\nremonstrances, and probably would have gone on much longer, if not\ninterrupted by the coming in of Mr. Chatfree. This gentleman having\nparted from the two wounded rivals, came directly to Mr. Goodman's, in\norder to see how Miss Betsy would receive the intelligence he had to\nbring her.\nAfter paying his compliments to Mr. Goodman, and the other ladies, he\ncame towards Miss Betsy; and looking on her with a more than ordinary\nearnestness in his countenance, 'Ah, Madam!' said he, 'I shall never\nhereafter see you without remembering what Cowley says of a lady who\nmight, I suppose, be like you--\n    \"So fatal, and withal so fair,\n    We're told destroying-angels are.\"'\nThough Miss Betsy was not at that time in a humour to have any great\nrelish for raillery, yet she could not forbear replying to what this old\ngentleman said, in the manner in which she imagined he spoke. 'You are\nat least past the age of being destroyed by any weapons I carry about\nme,' cried she: 'but, pray, what meaning have you in this terrible\nsimile?'--'My meaning is as terrible as the simile,' answered he; 'and\nthough I believe you to be very much the favourite of Heaven, I know not\nhow you will atone for the mischief you have been the occasion of this\nmorning: but it may be,' continued he, 'you think it nothing that those\nmurdering eyes of yours have set two gentlemen a fighting.'\nMiss Betsy, supposing no other than that he had heard of the quarrel\nbetween Mr. Bloomacre and Lord ----, replied merrily, 'Pray accuse my\neyes of no such thing; they are very innocent, I assure you.'--'Yes,'\ncried Mr. Goodman, and Lady Mellasin at the same time, 'we can clear\nMiss Betsy of this accusation.'\n'What!' rejoined Mr. Chatfree, hastily, 'were not Mr. Staple and Mr.\nTrueworth rivals for her love?'--'Mr. Staple and Mr. Trueworth!' said\nMiss Betsy, in a good deal of consternation; 'pray what of them?'--'Oh,\nthe most inveterate duel!' answered he; 'they fought above half an hour,\nand poor Mr. Staple is dead of his wounds.'--'Dead!' cried Miss Betsy,\nwith a great scream. Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora seemed very much\nalarmed; but Mr. Goodman was ready to sink from his chair, till Mr.\nChatfree, unseen by Miss Betsy, winked upon him, in token that he was\nnot in earnest in what he said.\nThe distraction in which this young lady now appeared, the concern she\nexpressed for Mr. Staple, and her indignation against Mr. Trueworth,\nwould have made any one think the former had much the preference in her\nesteem; till Mr. Chatfree, after having listened to her exclamations on\nthis score, cried out on a sudden, 'Ah, Madam! what a mistake has the\nconfusion I was involved in made me guilty of! Alas, I have deceived\nyou, though without designing to do so! Mr. Staple lives, it is Mr.\nTrueworth who has fallen a sacrifice to his unsuccessful passion for\nyou.' 'Trueworth dead!' cried Miss Betsy; 'O God! and does his murderer\nlive to triumph in the fall of the best and most accomplished man on\nearth? Oh! may all the miseries that Heaven and earth can inflict, light\non him!--Is he not secured, Mr. Chatfree?--Will he not be hanged?'\nMr. Chatfree could hold his countenance no longer; but bursting into a\nviolent fit of laughter, 'Ah, Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! I have caught you.\nMr. Trueworth, I find, then, is the happy man.'--'What do you mean, Mr.\nChatfree?' cried Miss Betsy, very much amazed. 'I beg your pardon,'\nanswered he, 'for the fright I have put you in; but be comforted, for\nMr. Trueworth is not dead, I assure you; and, I doubt not, lives as much\nyour slave as ever.'--'I do not care what he is, if he is not dead,'\nsaid Miss Betsy; 'but, pray, for what end did you invent this fine\nstory?'--'Nay, Madam,' resumed he, 'it is not altogether my own\ninventing neither; for Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple have had a duel this\nmorning, and both of them are wounded, though not so dangerously as I\npretended, merely to try, by the concern you would express, which of\nthem you were must inclined to favour; and I have done it i'faith--Mr.\nTrueworth is the man!'\nLady Mellasin, who had not spoke during all this conversation, now\ncried out, 'Aye, Mr. Chatfree, we shall soon have a wedding, I\nbelieve.'--'Believe, Madam!' said he, 'why your ladyship may swear it!\nfor my part, I will not give above a fortnight for the conclusion; and I\nwill venture to wish the fair bride joy on the occasion, for he is a\nfine gentleman--a very fine gentleman, indeed! and I think she could not\nhave made a better choice.' With these words he wiped his mouth, and\nadvanced to Miss Betsy, in order to salute her; but, pushing him\nscornfully back, 'None of your slights, good Mr. Chatfree,' said she;\n'if I thought you were in earnest, I would never see the face of Mr.\nTrueworth more.'\nThis did not hinder the pleasant old gentleman from continuing his\nraillery; he plainly told Miss Betsy that she was in love; that he saw\nthe marks of it upon her, and that it was vain for her to deny it. Lady\nMellasin laughed very heartily to see the fret Miss Betsy was in, at\nhearing Mr. Chatfree talk in this manner: but Miss Flora, to whom one\nwould imagine this scene would have been diverting enough, never opened\nher lips to utter one syllable; but made such grimaces, as had they been\ntaken notice of, would have shewn how little she was pleased with it.\nMr. Goodman had been so much struck with the first account given by Mr.\nChatfree, that he was not to be rouzed by any thing that gentleman said\nafterwards; he reflected, that though the consequences of the encounter\nbetween the two rivals had been less fatal than he had been made to\nimagine, yet it might have happened, and indeed been naturally expected;\nhe could not forbear, therefore, interrupting his friend's mirth, by\nremonstrating to Miss Betsy, in the most serious terms, the great error\nshe was guilty of, by encouraging a plurality of lovers at the same\ntime: he told her, that gentlemen of Mr. Trueworth's and Mr. Staple's\ncharacter and fortune, ought not to be trifled with. 'Suppose,' said he,\n'that one or both of them had indeed been killed, how could you have\nanswered to yourself, or to the world, the having been the sad\noccasion?'\n'Lord, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy, walking up and down the room in a good\ndeal of agitation, 'what would you have me do? I do not want the men to\nlove me; and if they will play the fool, and fight, and kill one\nanother, it is none of my fault.'\nIn fine, between Mr. Chatfree's raillery, and Mr. Goodman's admonitions,\nthis poor young lady was teazed beyond all patience; and, finding it\nimpossible to put a stop to either, she flew out of the room, ready to\ncry with vexation.\nShe was no sooner gone, than Mr. Goodman took Mr. Chatfree into his\ncloset; and, having learned from him all the particulars of the late\nduel, and consulted with him what was proper to be done to prevent any\nfarther mischief of the like sort, they went together to Mr. Staple's\nlodging, in order to use their utmost endeavours to prevail on that\ngentleman to desist the prosecution of his addresses to Miss Betsy.\nVOLUME THE SECOND\nCHAPTER I\n_Will satisfy the reader's curiosity in some points, and increase it in\nothers_\nThough Mr. Goodman, under whose care and in whose house Miss Betsy had\nbeen for upwards of a year, knew much more of that young lady's humour\nand disposition than Mr. Chatfree, who saw her but seldom, could\npossibly do, and could not be brought to think, as he did, that the\nmerits of Mr. Trueworth had made any effectual impression on her heart;\nyet he imagined, that to propogate such an opinion to Mr. Staple, would\nconduce very much to persuade him to break off his courtship, which was\na thing very much desired by Mr. Goodman, as he was certain the\ncontinuance of it would be attended with almost insurmountable\ndifficulties, and create many vexations and disputes, when Mr. Francis\nThoughtless came to town.\nThe two old gentlemen went on together, discoursing on this affair, till\nthey came to the lodgings of Mr. Staple; where they found him in an easy\nchair, leaning on a table, with papers and a standish before him. They\nperceived he had been writing, for the pen was not out of his hand when\nthey entered the room: he threw it down, however, as soon as he saw\nthem, and rose to receive them with a great deal of politeness, though\naccompanied with an air, which, in spite of his endeavours to conceal\nit, discovered he laboured under an extraordinary dejection of spirits.\n'I am glad,' said Mr. Chatfree, pointing to the pen, 'to see you are\nable to make use of that weapon, as I feared your arm had been too much\nprejudiced by another.'--'I have found some difficulty, indeed, in doing\nit,' replied the wounded gentleman; 'but something, which seemed to me a\ncase of necessity, obliged me to exert my utmost efforts for that\npurpose.'\nAfter the first civilities were over, and they were all seated, Mr.\nGoodman and Mr. Chatfree began to open the business upon which they\ncame. Mr. Goodman represented to him, in the most pathetick terms, the\ndeep concern he had been in, for having ever encouraged his addresses to\nMiss Betsy; and excused himself for having done so, by his ignorance, at\nthe time, that Mr. Trueworth had been previously recommended by her\nbrother. He then gave him some hints, that the civilities Miss Betsy had\ntreated him with, he feared, were rather owing to that little vanity\nwhich is generally the companion of youth and beauty, than to that real\nregard which his passion and person merited from her; and said, he\nheartily wished to see him withdraw his affections from an object, where\nhe could not now flatter him with the least hope of a suitable return.\n'No, no!' cried Mr. Chatfree, interrupting him hastily, 'you may take my\nword, she is as much in love as a girl of her temper can be with Mr.\nTrueworth; and I do not doubt but you will all see the effects of it as\nsoon as her brother comes to town.' Mr. Goodman, on this, took an\nopportunity of telling Mr. Staple, that the ascendant that young\ngentleman had over his sister, and the zeal he expressed for the\ninterest of his friend, would certainly go a great way in determining\nthe point; and added, that if it were true, as his friends suggested,\nthat she really had an inclination for Mr. Trueworth, she would then\navow it, and make a merit of it to her brother, as if done merely in\nregard to him.\nMany other arguments were urged by these two gentlemen, in order to\nconvince Mr. Staple of the little probability there was in succeeding\nwith Miss Betsy: all which he listened to attentively, never\ninterrupting what either of them said; till, perceiving they had ended\nall they had to offer on the subject, he made them this reply.\n'Gentlemen,' said he, 'I am infinitely obliged to you both for this\nvisit, and the friendly purpose of it; which, I perceive, was to give me\nthat advice which you might reasonably think I wanted. I have heard, and\nI believe have not lost one word, at least, I am sure, no part of the\nmeaning, of what you have delivered. I own there is a great justice in\nevery thing you have alledged; and am pleased to think the arguments you\nbring, are such as, before your coming here, I had myself brought\nagainst the folly of my own unhappy passion for Miss Betsy. But,\ngentlemen, it is not that I am capable of being deterred from\nprosecuting it, by any thing I might have to apprehend, either by her\nown inclinations or her brother's persuasions; but for other reasons,\nwhich at present, perhaps, you may be ignorant of, yet are such as to\nconceal I should but half be just. Be pleased, Sir,' he continued,\naddressing himself to Mr. Goodman, and giving him a paper, 'to read that\nletter, and see what my resolutions are, and the motives I have for\nthem.'\nMr. Goodman was beginning to look over the paper; but Mr. Staple\nrequested he would read it aloud, as he desired that Mr. Chatfree should\nbe partaker of the contents: on which he read, with an audible voice,\nthese lines.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     When I proposed the decision of our fate by force of arms, I\n     offered, at the same time, that the glory of serving Miss Betsy\n     should be the victor's triumph. This your too great modesty\n     declined: but, Sir, though you scorned to accept the advantage your\n     superior skill acquired, your generosity, in spite of you, has\n     gained. I love Miss Betsy; and would have maintained my claim\n     against all who should have dared dispute her with me, while\n     justice and while honour permitted me to do so: but though I am\n     unfortunate, I never can be base. My life, worthless as it is, has\n     twice been in your power; and I should be no less hateful to\n     myself, than contemptible to the world, should I offer to interrupt\n     the peace of him that gave it. May you be as successful in love as\n     you have been in fight, and the amiable object be convinced of her\n     own happiness in making yours! I desist for ever from the vain\n     hopes I once was flattered with; and the first wish my soul now\n     harbours is, to be worthy the title of your friend, as I am bound\n     to avow myself, with the greatest sincerity, Sir, your most obliged\n     and most humble servant,\n     T. STAPLE.'\n'Nothing,' said Mr. Goodman, as soon as he had done reading, 'can equal\nyour generosity in forming this resolution, but the wisdom in persisting\nin it; and if I find you do so, shall have more reason to congratulate\nyou upon it, than I should think I had on the success of your wishes in\nmarrying Miss Betsy.'\n'I should laugh now,' cried Mr. Chatfree, 'if Mr. Trueworth, in a fit of\ngenerosity too, should also take it into his head to resign his\npretensions, and chuse to wear the willow, instead of the\nmyrtle-garland, because you do so.'--'He has already proved his\ngenerosity,' replied Mr. Staple, with a sigh, which he was unable to\nrestrain, 'and has no need to give the severe testimony you mention, if\nhe is so happy as you seem to think he is: but,' continued he, 'it is\nnot my business to examine who yields, or who pursues, Miss Betsy. I am\nfixed in my determination to see her no more; and, as soon as I am\nrecovered from the hurts I have received on her account, will go into\nthe country, and seek a cure in absence for my unavailing passion.'\nNeither Mr. Goodman nor Mr. Chatfree were so old as to have forgot how\nhard it is for a youthful heart to give up it's darling wishes, and\nsacrifice desire to discretion. They said abundance of handsome things,\nomitting nothing which they imagined might add to the fortitude of his\npresent way of thinking. He, on the other hand, to take from them all\nremains of doubt concerning the sincerity of his intentions, sealed the\nletter he had wrote to Mr. Trueworth, and sent it to that gentleman,\nwhile they were in the room.\nMr. Goodman was extremely pleased in his mind, that an affair, which,\nfor some time past, had given him a good deal of anxiety, was in so fair\na way of being ended without farther mischief: he took no notice,\nhowever, on his return home, at least, not before Miss Betsy, of the\nvisit he had been making, or that he knew any thing more of Mr. Staple,\nthan what she had been told herself by Mr. Chatfree.\nIn the mean time, this young lady affected to appear more grave than\nordinary: I say, affected to be so; for as she had been at first shocked\nby Mr. Chatfree's report, and afterwards teazed by his raillery, and\nthen reprimanded on the score of her conduct by Mr. Goodman, she was not\ndispleased in her heart at the dangerous proof which the two lovers had\ngiven her of their passion.\nShe lost, however, great part of the satisfaction this adventure might\nhave afforded her, for want of a proper person to whom she might have\ntalked freely on it. She had, indeed, many acquaintances, in some of\nwhom she, doubtless, might have confided; but she did not chuse to be\nherself the reporter of this story to any one who had not heard of it\nfrom other hands; and Miss Flora, who knew the whole, and was her\ncompanion and bedfellow, was grown of late so sullen and peevish, as not\nto be capable of either giving or receiving any diversion in discourses\nof that nature.\nIt is certain, however, that there never was a more astonishing\nalteration in the temper of any one person in so short a time, than in\nthat of Miss Flora: her once gay and sprightly behaviour, which, without\nbeing a beauty, rendered her extremely agreeable, was now become all\ndull and gloomy. Instead of being fond of a great deal of company, she\nnow rather chose to avoid than covet the society of any one: she said\nbut little; and, when she spoke, it was only to contradict whatever she\nheard alledged by others. A heavy melancholy, mixed with an ill-natured\nfrown, perpetually loured upon her brow: in fine, if she had been a\nlittle older, she might have sat for the picture of Envy. Miss Betsy, by\nbeing most with her, felt most the effects of her bad humour; but as she\nthought she could easily account, the sweetness of her disposition made\nher rather pity than resent the change.\nA young linen-draper, of whom Lady Mellasin sometimes bought things, had\ntaken a great fancy to Miss Flora; and not doubting but she had a\nfortune in some measure answerable to the appearance she made, got a\nfriend to intercede with Lady Mellasin, for leave to pay his respects to\nher daughter. This being granted, he made several visits to the house,\nand was very well received by Miss Flora herself, as well as by those\nwho had the disposal of her; till, coming on the topick of fortune, Mr.\nGoodman plainly told him, that having many relations of his own to\nprovide for, the most he could spare to Miss Flora was five hundred\npounds. The draper's passion was very much damped on hearing his\nmistress's portion was like to be so small: he told Mr. Goodman, that\nthough he was very much charmed with the person and behaviour of the\nyoung lady, and should be proud of the honour of an alliance with such a\nfamily, yet as he was a young man, and but lately set up for himself, he\nwanted money to throw into trade, and could not think of marrying\nwithout more than three times the sum offered. He added, that a young\nlady of her birth, and bringing up, would expect to live as she had been\naccustomed, which he could no way promise she should do, without a\nfortune sufficient to defray the expence.\nMr. Goodman thought the reasons he gave were very just; and as he was\nunwilling to stretch his hand any farther than he had said, and was too\nhonest to promise more than he intended to perform, replied, with the\nsame freedom that the other had spoke, that in truth he did not think\nFlora would make a fit wife for a tradesman; that the girl was young\nenough, not ugly; and it was his opinion that she should wait till a\nmore suitable match should offer. In a word, Mr. Goodman's answer put a\nfinal stop to the courtship; and though Miss Flora affected to disdain\nthe mercenary views, as she termed them, of the draper, and never spoke\nof him but with the utmost contempt, yet her melancholy coming on soon\nafter he had desisted his addresses, made Miss Betsy think she had\nreason to impute it to no other cause; and therefore, in mere compassion\nto this imaginary mortification, was so far from retorting any of those\nlittle taunts and malicious innuendoes, with which she was continually\ntreated by the other, that she took all the pains she could to alleviate\nthe vexation she saw her in, and soothe her into a better humour.\nThe reader will probably think as Miss Betsy did: but the falsity of\nthis conjecture, and the cruel return the good-nature of that young lady\nmet with, will in due time and place appear.\nCHAPTER II\n_Contains some passages which, perhaps, may be looked upon as pretty\nextraordinary_\nAccording to the common rule of honour among gentlemen, Mr. Trueworth\nhad certainly behaved so, as not to have either that, or his good\nnature, called in question: but this was not enough to satisfy him; he\ncould not be easy under the reflection, that the obligations he had\nconferred gave a painful gratitude to the receiver.\nHe was deeply affected with Mr. Staple's letter; he doubted not but that\ngentleman, in forcing himself to resign his pretensions to Miss Betsy,\nmust suffer the extremest agonies; and heartily commiserating a case,\nwhich, had fortune so decreed, might have been his own, immediately\nwrote to him in the following terms.\n     'To T. Staple, Esq.\n     I am ashamed to find the little I have done so much over-rated by a\n     person, who, I am certain, is capable of the greatest things; but\n     should be involved in more confusion still, should any\n     consideration of me, or my happiness, prevail on you to become an\n     enemy to your own. I am altogether unacquainted with what kind of\n     sentiments either of us is regarded by the fair object of our\n     mutual wishes. It is highly probable her young heart may, as yet,\n     be quite insensible of those we have endeavoured to inspire it\n     with: for my own part, as I have yet no reason to despair, so I\n     have had also but little room for hope. You, Sir, have an equal\n     chance, for any thing I know, or can boast of to the contrary; and,\n     as you saw I refused to hazard my pretensions on the point of the\n     sword, neither justice nor honour requires you should forfeit\n     yours, though an accident gave me the advantage of you in the\n     field. It is by Miss Betsy herself our fate is to be judged. It is\n     yet a moot-point whether either of us will succeed in the attempt\n     of pleasing her. We may, perhaps, contend for an airy expectation;\n     while another, more fortunate, shall bear away the prize from both:\n     but if one of us is decreed to be the happy man, on which soever\n     the lot shall fall, he ought not to incur the hatred of the other.\n     I gladly embrace the offer of your friendship; and whatever is the\n     fortune of our love, should in that, as in all other events,\n     endeavour to prove, that I am, with an equal sincerity, Sir, your\n     very much obliged, and most humble servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nMr. Staple read this letter many times over; but received not all the\nsatisfaction which the author intended it should give him: although he\nacknowledged the generosity of his rival, yet he could not conceive\nthere was a possibility for a man in love to be easy under the addresses\nof another, without knowing himself secure of not being prejudiced by\nthem. He therefore concluded, that Mr. Chatfree was right in his\nconjecture; and that Miss Betsy only waited for her brother's coming to\ntown, to declare in favour of Mr. Trueworth.\nThis gentleman had a great share of spirit, and some pride; and these\nmaking him disdain to pursue a fruitless aim, and suffering himself to\nbe publickly overcome by Mr. Trueworth in love, as he had been in fight,\nvery much contributed to enable him to keep that resolution he had\nformed in the presence of Mr. Goodman and Mr. Chatfree.\nHe answered to Mr. Trueworth's letter, however, with the utmost\ncomplaisance; but without letting him know any part of his intentions in\nrelation to Miss Betsy, fearing lest any farther contest on this affair\nmight draw from that gentleman fresh proofs of a generosity to which\nalready he looked upon himself as too much obliged.\nMiss Betsy, little suspecting what had passed between her two lovers\nsince their meeting in the Green Park, received Mr. Trueworth, when he\ncame to visit her the same day, as usual, with a great deal of\ngood-humour. She took not any notice that she had heard of the duel,\nimagining that he would himself inform her of it; and he not thinking it\nwould become him to do so, as having the advantage of his rival, it is\nprobable there would have been no mention made of it, if Lady Mellasin\nhad not come into the room, and told him, that she would not have broke\nin upon his conversation with Miss Betsy, if it had been possible for\nher to have resisted the pleasure of congratulating him, not only on his\nsafety, but also on his coming off victor in the field of battle.\nThe modesty of Mr. Trueworth would not suffer him to hear these last\nwords without blushing; but, soon recovering himself, 'Fortune, Madam,'\nanswered he, 'is not always the most favourable to the most deserving:\nher partial smiles will never make me vain or happy; unless,' continued\nhe, looking tenderly on Miss Betsy, 'she would add to her indulgence\nhere, and give me room to hope my services to this lady might one day be\ncrowned with the same success as she this morning gave my sword.'--'The\none,' said Miss Betsy, smiling, 'has nothing to do with the other; and I\ndo not know how to think a man, who really wishes nothing so much as to\nappear agreeable in the eyes of his mistress, would run the hazard of\nmaking the contemptible figure of a culprit at the bar of a court of\njudicature.'\nThey then fell into some discourse on duelling; and Mr. Trueworth could\nnot help joining with the ladies, in condemning the folly of that\ncustom, which, contrary to the known laws of the land, and oftentimes\ncontrary to his own reason too, obliges the gentleman either to obey the\ncall of the person who challenges him to the field, or, by refusing,\nsubmits himself not only to all the insults his adversary is pleased to\ntreat him with, but also to be branded with the infamous character of a\ncoward by all that know him.\nNothing material enough to be related happened in this visit, except\nthat Miss Flora, who had been abroad when Mr. Trueworth came, and\nreturned home a short time before he went away, talked much more in half\nan hour than she had done for some whole days past; but it was in so\ncold a manner, sometimes praising, sometimes blaming, his conduct in\nregard to the transactions of that morning, that he could not well\ndetermine in his mind, whether she was a friend or an enemy to the\nsuccess of his passion. Miss Betsy herself was a little surprized; but\nnothing relating to that young lady dwelt much upon her mind, as she\nreally thought she had no design in any thing she said or did. The\nbehaviour of Mr. Staple ran much more in her head: she knew he was\npretty much wounded, and therefore might suppose him unable to wait on\nher in person; but having expected he would send his compliments to her,\neither by letter or message, and finding he did neither the whole day,\nit seemed to her a thing too strange to be accounted for. She was,\nhowever, eased of the suspense she was in on that score, by receiving\nfrom him, as she was at breakfast the next morning, the following\nepistle.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Madam,\n     A brother's recommendations, superior merit, and your own\n     inclination, have all united to plead my rival's cause, and gain\n     the verdict against unhappy me! I ought more early to have seen the\n     vanity of attempting to succeed where Mr. Trueworth was the\n     candidate; yet, hurried by the violence of my passion, I rushed\n     into an action, which, by adding to his glory, has shewn my\n     demerits in a more conspicuous light than ever.\n     It would be needless to repeat what happened yesterday: I cannot\n     doubt, Madam, but you are well acquainted with all the particulars\n     of my folly, and the just punishment it met with. I have only to\n     say, the generosity of my rival, and my conqueror, has restored me\n     to my lost reason, and convinced me, that whatever preference he\n     may be so happy as to have gained in your esteem, he is indebted\n     for it to the excellence of your good sense, and not to that\n     partial fancy, which frequently misguides the choice of persons of\n     your sex and age.\n     I would have waited on you in person, to take my everlasting leave;\n     but I am not certain how far I ought to depend on the strength of\n     my resolution in your presence. Permit, therefore, my pen to do\n     that which my tongue would falter in performing. Yes, Madam, I must\n     forego, renounce for ever, those glorious expectations with which\n     so lately I had flattered my fond heart; henceforth must think on\n     you as the fallen father of mankind did on the tree of life; the\n     merits of my too accomplished rival are the flaming swords which\n     drive me from my once hoped for paradise; and, while I mourn my\n     unhappy state, compel me to own it to be just. Farewel, O most\n     amiable of your sex! farewel, for ever! I have troubled you too\n     long, and have no excuse to make, but that it is the last you shall\n     receive from me. May the blessed guardians of the fair and good be\n     your constant directors, and shield you from all ills! Be assured,\n     that till I cease to exist, I shall not cease to be, with the\n     sincerest good wishes, Madam, your most faithful, though\n     unfortunate, humble servant,\n     T. STAPLE.'\nMiss Betsy was astonished to that degree, on reading so unexpected a\ndeclaration, that she could scarce believe she was awake for some\nmoments, and thought it all a dream--she broke off, and made several\npauses in the reading; crying out, 'Good God! It is impossible! What\ndoes the man mean! How came such stuff into his head? He is mad, sure!'\nMr. Goodman, who had some notion of what had put her into this ferment,\nand was willing to be more confirmed, asked her, in a pleasant way, what\nhad occasioned it. 'Indeed, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy, endeavouring to\ncompose herself, 'I have been so confounded, that I knew not where I\nwas, or who was in the room.--I ask your pardon; but this, I hope, will\nplead my excuse,' continued she, throwing the letter on the table; 'your\nfriend has given over his suit to me, which I am very glad of; but the\nmotives, which he pretends obliges him to it, are so odd and capricious,\nas not to be accounted for.'\n'Given over his suit!' cried Lady Mellasin, hastily. 'Oh! pray let us\nhear on what pretence!' On which Mr. Goodman read the letter aloud, the\nvery repetition of which renewed Miss Betsy's agitations. 'He has\nacted,' said Mr. Goodman, as soon as he had done reading, 'like a man of\nsense and resolution; and I see no cause why you should be disconcerted\nat the loss of a lover, whose pretensions you did not design to\nfavour.'--'He was very hasty, however,' cried Miss Betsy, scornfully,\n'in concluding for me. What! did the man think I was to be won at once?\nDid he imagine his merits were so extraordinary, that there required no\nmore to obtain, than barely to ask? But I give myself no concern on that\nscore, I assure you, Sir: it is the insolence of his accusing me of\nbeing in love that vexes me. Who told him, I wonder, or how came such a\nthing into his head, that Mr. Trueworth had the preference in my esteem?\nBy the manner in which he speaks of him in this letter, he has found\nmore perfections in him than ever I did, and would make one think he\nwere himself enamoured of his rival's merits.'\nIn answer to all this, he told her, with a serious air, that Mr. Staple\nwas bound, by all those ties which engage a noble mind, to act in the\nmanner he had done; that he had been twice indebted to Mr. Trueworth for\nhis life; and that the whole behaviour of that gentleman towards him,\nboth during the combat, and after it was over, demanded all the returns\nthat gratitude could pay.\nHe afterwards ran into a detail of all the particulars of what had\npassed between the two rivals, many of which the ladies were ignorant of\nbefore. Lady Mellasin joined with her husband in extolling the\ngreatness of soul which Mr. Trueworth had shewn on this occasion: but\nMiss Flora said little; and what she did, was rather in praise of Mr.\nStaple. 'Mr. Trueworth,' cried she, 'is a fine gentleman enough; but has\ndone no more than what any man of honour would do; and, for my part, I\nthink that Mr. Staple, in putting the self-denial he has now shewn in\npractice, discovers more of the hero and philosopher than the other has\ndone.'\nThe conversation on this topick lasted some time, and probably would not\nhave broke off so soon, if it had not been interrupted by two young\nladies coming in to ask Miss Betsy and Miss Flora if they were not for\nthe Park that morning. To which they having agreed, and promised to call\non them in their way, went up into their chamber, in order to prepare\nthemselves for the walk proposed.\nCHAPTER III\n_Discovers to Miss Betsy a piece of treachery she little expected to\nhear of_\nMiss Flora, who had been deterred from saying all she had a mind to do,\non the affair between Miss Betsy's two lovers, now took this opportunity\nof giving her tongue all the latitude it wanted. They were no sooner\ncome into the chamber, than, 'Lord, my dear,' cried she, with a tone\nvastly different from that in which she had spoke to her of late, 'how\nvexed am I for you! It will certainly go all about the town, that you\nare in love with Trueworth; and there will be such cabals, and such\nwhispering about it, that you will be plagued to death: I could tear him\nto pieces, methinks; for I am sure he is a vain fellow, and the hint\nmust come first from himself.'\n'I never saw any thing like vanity in him,' replied Miss Betsy; 'and I\nam rather inclined to believe Mr. Staple got the notion from the idle\nrattle of Mr. Chatfree.'--'Mr. Chatfree,' said Miss Flora, 'thought of\nno such thing himself, till he had been at the tavern with Mr.\nTrueworth; but, if I was in your place, I would convince Mr. Staple, and\nthe world, that I was not capable of the weakness imputed to me.'\n'Why, what would you have me do?' cried Miss Betsy. 'I would have you\nwrite to Mr. Staple,' answered the other, 'and let him know the\ndeception his rival has put upon him.' Miss Betsy, who had always an\naversion to any thing of this kind, and thought it too great a\ncondescension to write on any score to a man who had pretended love to\nher, shook her head at this proposal, and exclaimed against it with the\nutmost vehemence.\nMiss Flora made use of all the arguments she could think on, to bring\nher off from what she called so ill-judged a pride: among other things,\nshe told her, that, in compassion to the despair that gentleman had so\nfeelingly expressed in his letter, she ought to give him the consolation\nof knowing, that if he had not gained so far on her affections as he\nwished, it was not because his rival had gained more; and added, that\nthe steps she persuaded her to take, were such as common justice to her\nown character had a right to exact from her.\nMiss Betsy heard, but was not to be prevailed upon by all she could say\non this subject; but the other, who had a greater share of artifice than\nperhaps was ever known in one of her years, would not give over the\ndesign she had formed in her head; and, perceiving that the writing to a\nman was the greatest objection Miss Betsy had to letting Mr. Staple know\nshe was not so much attached to his rival as he imagined, took another\nway of working her to her purpose, which she thought would be less\nirksome.\n'Well, then, my dear Miss Betsy,' said she, in the most flattering\naccent, 'I will tell you the only method you can take, and I am glad I\nhave been so lucky to hit upon it: you shall let me go and make Mr.\nStaple a visit, as of my own accord; I shall take care not to drop a\nsyllable that may give him room to think you know of my coming; but yet,\nas he may suppose I am enough in your secrets to be mistress of this, or\nat least not altogether a stranger to it, he will, doubtless, say\nsomething to me concerning the matter; but if he should not, it will be\neasy for me, in the way of discourse, and as it were by chance, to\nexpress myself in such terms as will entirely clear you, and rid him of\nall the apprehensions he is under, of your being in love with Mr.\nTrueworth.'\nMiss Betsy was not in her heart at all averse to Mr. Staple's having\nthat eclaircissement Miss Flora had mentioned, and was much less shocked\nat this proposal than she had been at the former, offered to her\nconsideration for that purpose; yet did not seem to come into it, till\nthe other had lavished all the arguments that woman, witty and wilful to\nobtain her ends, could urge to prevail on her to do so; and at last\nconsented not to the execution, without exacting from Miss Flora the\nmost solemn vow of an inviolable secrecy.\nThis project being concluded on, and everything relating to it settled\nwhile they were dressing, they went together according to their promise,\nto the ladies who expected them, and then accompanied them into the\nPark: but as if this was to be a day of surprizes to Miss Betsy, she\nhere met with something which gave her, at least, an equal share with\nthat she had received from the letter of Mr. Staple.\nThey had not gone many yards in the Mall before they saw three gentlemen\ncoming towards them; one of whom, as they drew nearer to each other,\nMiss Betsy and Miss Flora presently knew to be the son of Alderman\nSaving, though he was grown fatter, more ruddy, and in many respects\nmuch altered from what he was when he visited at Mr. Goodman's.\nAs our young ladies had not heard of this gentleman's return to England,\nit was natural for them, especially Miss Betsy, after what had passed\nbetween them, to be in some little surprize at the sudden sight of him;\nhe was in some confusion too: but both parties had presence enough of\nmind to recover themselves, so as to salute as persons would do, who\nnever had any thing more than an ordinary acquaintance with each other.\nAfter the civilities common to people who thus meet by accident, Mr.\nSaving asked the ladies leave for himself and friends to join company;\nwhich being readily granted, they all walked up the Mall together; but\nthe place being pretty full, were obliged to divide themselves, and walk\nin couples, or as it happened. During this promenade, Mr. Saving found\nan opportunity of saying to Miss Betsy, unheard by any of the others,\n'Madam, I have something to acquaint you with, of great consequence to\nyourself: it is improper for me either to come or write to you at Mr.\nGoodman's, therefore wish you would appoint some place where I might\nspeak with you.'\nMiss Betsy was very much startled at his mentioning such a thing, and\nreplied, 'No, Mr. Saving, I do not make a practice of consenting to\nassignations with men; nor have yet forgot that which I consented to\nwith you.'--'I am very well able to clear myself of any fault on that\nscore,' said he: 'but, Madam, to ease you of those apprehensions, which\nmight, perhaps, make you think yourself obliged to keep me at a\ndistance, it is proper to acquaint you, that I am married, and that it\nis only through a friendly regard for your honour and peace, that I\nwould warn you against the perfidy of a pretended friend.' Perceiving\nshe started at these words, and repeated them two or three times over,\n'Yes, Madam,' resumed he; 'and if you will permit me to speak with you\nin a proper place, will bring with me an unquestionable proof of the\ntruth of what I say.'\nOne of the ladies happening to turn back to say something to Miss Betsy,\nprevented him from adding farther; but what he had already spoke, made\na very deep impression on her mind. She could not conceive who the false\nfriend should be that he had mentioned, unless it were Miss Flora; but\nthough she had seen many instances of her insincerity, was not able to\nform any conjecture what she could have been guilty of to her, that Mr.\nSaving, who had been so long absent, could possibly be made acquainted\nwith.\nThinking, however, that she ought not to deny herself the satisfaction\nof the eclaircissement he offered, especially as it was now to be given,\nnot by a lover, but a friend, she sought and found a moment before they\nleft the Mall, of saying to him without the notice of the company. 'Sir,\nI have considered on the hint you gave me; whatever concerns my honour,\nor my peace, must certainly merit my attention: I have an acquaintance\nin St. James's palace, whom I will visit as soon as dinner is over; if\nyou walk a turn or two in the gallery leading to the Chapel Royal, you\nwill see me pass that way between four and five o'clock.' To this Mr.\nSaving replied, that he would not fail to attend her there.\nMiss Flora, who had been informed by Miss Betsy, after they had parted\nfrom Mr. Saving, that he was married, was full of the news when she came\nhome: but Mr. Goodman, to whom the whole story of that affair had been\nrelated by the alderman, said, that the young gentleman had done very\nwisely, in complying with the commands of his father; and added, that\nthe lady had a very agreeable person, a large fortune, and, above all,\nwas extremely modest and discreet, so that there was no room to doubt\nhis happiness. There was some farther discourse at table, concerning\nthis new-wedded pair; but Miss Betsy took little part in it, as giving\nherself no pains for the interests of a person for whom she never had\nany thing but the most perfect indifference.\nShe was, notwithstanding, impatient enough for the account she expected\nto receive from him; and, without saying one word, either to Miss Flora,\nor any of the family, where she was going, went at the time prefixed to\nthe place she had appointed to meet him.\nMr. Saving, to avoid being accused of want of punctuality in the affairs\nof friendship, as he had been in those of love, came somewhat before his\ntime into the palace. As she ascended the great stairs, she saw him\nlooking through one of the windows, waiting her approach; which greatly\npleased her, as she would not have thought it proper to have walked\nthere alone, nor would have been willing to have departed without the\ngratification of that curiosity his words had excited in her.\nExcepting the time of divine service, and when the king, or any of the\nroyal family go to chapel, few places are more retired than this\ngallery; none, besides the officers of the household passing on business\ninto some of the apartments, scarce ever going into it; so that the\nchoice Miss Betsy made, in her appointment with Mr. Saving, was\nextremely judicious.\nAs the business on which they met, was of a nature very different from\nlove and gallantry, and time was precious to them both, they needed not\nmany compliments to usher in what Mr. Saving had to say: he only, to\nexcuse his behaviour to her, while he professed himself her lover, was\nbeginning to relate the sudden manner in which he had been forced\nabroad; but she stopped him from going on, by telling him she had heard\nthe whole story of that affair from Mr. Goodman, to whom the alderman\nhad made no secret of it.\n'I have only, then,' said he, 'to acquaint you, Madam, that soon after my\narrival in Holland, looking over some papers that my father had put into\nmy portmanteau for my instruction in the business I was sent to\nnegociate, I found among them a letter, which, doubtless, in the hurry\nhe was in, he had shuffled with the others through mistake, which, pray,\nMadam,' continued he, giving her a paper, 'be pleased to peruse, and\ntell me whether honour and justice did not oblige me to take the first\nopportunity of cautioning you against the baseness and malice of a\nperson you might otherwise, perhaps, confide in, on matters of more\nconsequence to your peace than any thing on my account could be.'\nMiss Betsy had no sooner taken the paper, and looked on the\nsuperscription, which was to Alderman Saving, than she cried out, with\ngreat amazement, 'Bless me! this is Miss Flora's hand.'--'I think,' said\nMr. Saving, 'that I might safely venture to affirm it upon oath, having\noften seen her writing; and have even some of it at this instant by me,\nin a song she copied for me, on my first acquaintance with her: but\nread, Madam,' pursued he, 'read the wicked scroll; and see the methods\nshe took to prevail on a father to banish from his presence, and the\nkingdom, an only son, and to traduce that innocence and virtue, which\nshe hated, because incapable of imitating.'\nOn this, Miss Betsy, trembling between a mixture of surprize and anger,\nhastily unfolded the letter, and found in it these lines, wrote in the\nsame hand with the superscription.\n     The real esteem I have for all persons of honesty and probity,\n     obliges me to give you this seasonable warning of the greatest\n     misfortune that can possibly befal a careful and a tender parent,\n     as I know you are: but, not to keep you in suspense; your son, Sir,\n     your only, your darling son! that son whom you have educated with\n     so much tenderness, and who is so deservedly dear to you, is on the\n     verge of ruin; his unhappy acquaintance with Mr. Goodman's family\n     has subjected him to the artifices of a young girl, whose little\n     affairs are in the hands of that gentleman. She is a great\n     coquette, if I had said jilt too, I believe the injustice I should\n     have done her character would not have been much; but as her share,\n     either of fortune or reputation, is very small, I cannot condemn\n     her for putting in practice all the strategems in her power of\n     securing to herself a future settlement by marriage. I should, Sir,\n     only be sorry that the lot should fall upon your son; as I know,\n     and the world acknowledges, him to be a gentleman of much more\n     promising expectations. It is, however, a thing I fear too near\n     concluded; he loves her to distraction, will venture every thing\n     for the gratification of his passion: she has a great deal of\n     cunning, though little understanding in things more becoming of her\n     sex; she is gay, vain, and passionately fond of gaming, and all the\n     expensive diversions of the town. A shocking and most terrible\n     composition for a wife! Yet such will she very speedily be made by\n     the poor infatuated Mr. Saving, if you, Sir, in your paternal\n     wisdom, do not find some way to put a stop to his intentions. The\n     original of the picture I have been representing, is called Miss\n     Betsy Thoughtless, a name well known among the gallant part of the\n     town. I hope you will take the above intelligence in good part, as\n     it is meant, with the greatest sincerity, and attachments to your\n     interests, by, Sir, your most humble, but unknown servant,\n     P.S. Sir, your son is every day at Mr. Goodman's; and if you will\n     take the trouble to set a watch over him, or send any person to\n     enquire in the neighbourhood, it will be easy for you to satisfy\n     yourself in the truth of what I have related.'\nThe consternation Miss Betsy was in on reading this cruel invective, was\nsuch as for some moments deprived her of the power of speaking. Mr.\nSaving could neither wonder at, nor blame, so just a resentment; yet,\nto mitigate it in part, he confessed to her a secret, which, till then,\nshe had been wholly ignorant of.\n'Though nothing, Madam,' said he, 'can excuse the crime she has been\nguilty of towards you, yet permit me to acquaint you, that the malice is\nchiefly levelled against me; and you are only wounded through my sides.'\n'How can that be?' cried she. 'She does justice to your character, while\nshe defames mine in the most barbarous manner.'--'Mere artifice, Madam,'\nanswered he, 'to work my father to her purpose, as I will presently\nconvince you.'\nHe then told her, that before he ever had the honour of seeing her, he\nhad treated Miss Flora with some gallantries; 'Which,' said he, 'her\nvanity made her take as the addresses of a serious passion, till those\nshe found I afterwards made to you convinced her to the contrary. This\nMadam,' continued he, 'I am well assured of by her laying hold of every\nopportunity to reproach my inconstancy, as she has termed it. Finding\nhow little I regarded all she said to me on that score, and still\npersisted in my devoirs to you, she doubtless had recourse to this most\nwicked strategem to cut me off from all hope, even though it had been in\nmy power to have inclined you to favour my suit.'\nMiss Betsy found this supposition so reasonable, and so conformable to\nthe temper of Miss Flora, that she agreed with Mr. Saving in it. She did\nnot now wonder at her wishing to be revenged on him; but could not brook\nwith patience the method she took for being so: and said, that if Mr.\nGoodman did not do her justice on the author of so infamous a libel, she\nwould immediately quit the house, and chuse another guardian.\n'Hold, Madam,' said he; 'I must intreat you will give me leave to remind\nyou of the consequences that may possibly attend your taking such a\nstep. I own, with you, that treachery and calumny, such as hers, cannot\nbe too severely exposed and punished: but, Madam, consider, that in\norder to do this, the accident which brought the letter into my\npossession, and the opportunity you have allowed me of presenting it to\nyou, must be made known; the latter of which, you may be confident, she\nwould not fail to make such representations of, as would not only hurt\nme, both with my father and my wife, but also furnish the malicious\nworld, too apt to judge by appearances, with some pretence for casting a\nblemish on your own reputation.'\nThese remonstrances has some part of the effect they were intended for\non the mind of Miss Betsy; yet, having an aversion to dissimulation, and\nnot knowing whether she could be able to conceal either her resentment,\nor the cause of it, she cried out hastily, without considering what she\nsaid, 'Why, then, did you let me know the injury done me, since it is\nimproper for me to do any thing that might extort a reparation?'\n'I could not, Madam,' replied he, 'behold you harbouring a snake in your\nbosom, without warning you of the sting. I am certain the easing you of\nmy troublesome addresses has been no cause of mortification; and it was\nnot that you should revenge what she has already done, but to put you\nupon your guard against any thing she may hereafter attempt to do, that\nI resolved to take the first opportunity of letting you see what she was\ncapable of.'\nMiss Betsy was by this time fully persuaded by his arguments; but could\nnot forbear complaining of the difficulties it would be to her to look,\nor speak civilly, to sleep in the same bed, or behave in any respect as\nshe had been accustomed, towards so unworthy a creature. She thanked\nhim, however, for his good intentions to her; and, before they parted,\npromised to follow his advice, if it were only, as she said, from the\nconsideration that to act in a different manner might be a prejudice to\nhis domestick peace.\nCHAPTER IV\n_Has very little in it, besides a collection of letters, some of which\nare much to the purpose, others less so_\nMiss Betsy, after having taken leave of Mr. Saving, went to the\napartment of her friend; where she staid supper, not because she was at\nthat time capable of being entertained either with the elegancies of the\ntable, or the company, which happened to be pretty numerous, but merely\nto amuse and recover herself from the shock which the late discovery of\nMiss Flora's infidelity had given her.\nOn her coming home, she found the family not yet gone to bed, though it\nwas then near one o'clock. Mr. Goodman was in high good-humour; and said\nto her, 'Miss Betsy, you have lost some hours of contentment by being\nabroad. Mr. Trueworth has been here, and did us the favour to pass the\nwhole evening with us: but that is not all; three letters have been left\nfor you. Two of them came by the post, and are, I know, by the\nsuperscriptions, from Mr. Francis Thoughtless and Lady Trusty; the\nother, I am informed, was left for you by a porter: but your curiosity\nmust wait for these--I have still better news for you. Your eldest\nbrother, Mr. Thomas Thoughtless, is coming home: I have received a\nletter from him, which tells me he has finished his tour, and we shall\nsoon have him among us. See,' continued he, 'what he says.'\nIn speaking these words, he took the letter out of his pocket, and gave\nher to read. It contained these lines.\n     'To Mr. Goodman.\n     Worthy Sir,\n     I have been for upwards of a month detained on a party of\n     pleasure, at the chateau of Monsieur le Marquis de St. Amand; so\n     was not so happy to receive yours of the seventh and twenty-second\n     instant till yesterday, when I returned to Paris. I thank you for\n     the long and particular account you give me of those affairs which\n     are entrusted to your care. As to what you tell me concerning my\n     brother Frank's having left the university, I am not sorry for it;\n     nor can at all wonder, that a young fellow of his metal should be\n     willing to exchange the hopes of a mitre for a truncheon. I have\n     not heard from him since I left Florence; but believe it is owing\n     to his want of knowing where to direct to me, my stages afterwards\n     having been pretty uncertain: but finding by yours that he is now\n     with Sir Ralph Trusty, shall accompany a letter I am obliged to\n     send to that gentleman with one to him. I forgive my sister's not\n     writing when you did, as you give me some hints she is likely soon\n     to become a bride; a matter, I confess, sufficient to engross the\n     whole thoughts of a young lady. Be pleased to assure her of my good\n     wishes in this, and all other events. As you say she has two very\n     advantageous offers, I flatter myself, through your good advice and\n     inspection, she will take the best.\n     In my last, I mentioned somewhat of a design I had to pass a few\n     months in the southern parts of this kingdom; but I have since\n     changed my mind, and am determined on returning to my native\n     country with all possible expedition. I believe you may expect me\n     in three or four weeks at farthest. If, Sir, you could within that\n     time hear of a house, agreeably situated, for my use, I should\n     esteem it as a considerable addition to the favours our family, and\n     myself in particular, have received from you since the death of our\n     dear father. I should approve of St. James's Square, if rents are\n     not too exorbitant; for, in that case, a house in any of the\n     adjoining streets must content me. I would not willingly exceed an\n     hundred, or an hundred and ten pounds, per annum; but would be as\n     near the Park and Palace as possible.\n     I kiss Lady Mellasin's and her fair daughter's hands; and am, with\n     very great respect, Sir, your most obliged, and most obedient\n     servant,\n     T. THOUGHTLESS.'\nMiss Betsy was very glad to find a brother, who had now been near five\nyears abroad, was at last coming home, and much more so, that he\nintended to set up housekeeping in London; because, as doubting not he\nwould be pleased to have her with him, she should have a fair pretence\nfor quitting Mr. Goodman's house, and the society of Miss Flora, who had\nnow rendered herself so irksome to her.\nThis did not hinder her, however, from reproaching Mr. Goodman for\nhaving mentioned to her brother any thing in relation to her lovers.\n'You see, Sir,' said she, 'that the one of them has already abandoned\nme; and you will also see, in a short time, that the other will be\nlittle the better for his rival's resignation.'\nTo this Mr. Goodman pleasantly replied, that whatever she pretended at\npresent, he believed better things from her good-sense, and the merits\nof Mr. Trueworth: to which Miss Betsy, unwilling to prolong the\nconversation, only told him he would find himself mistaken; and ran\nhastily up stairs, to examine the contents of those letters which, she\nhad heard, lay on her toilette, ready for her perusal. The first she\nbroke open was from Miss Forward; knowing it to be hers by the hand, and\neager to see the event of a fate, which, by the history she had given\nher, had appeared so doubtful.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Dear Miss Betsy,\n     Since I saw you I have been driven to the last despair. The kind\n     supply you left with me was quite exhausted; and I must infallibly\n     have perished, through want of the common necessaries of life, and\n     the cruel usage of my mercenary landlady, if my poor aunt in the\n     country had not sent me a little present, which, for a small space\n     of time, afforded relief; but accompanied with the melancholy\n     account that my father was inexorable to her persuasions, would not\n     hear of my return to L----e, and vowed never to see me more, or own\n     me for his child. Soon was I again reduced to the lowest ebb of\n     misery; had scarce sufficient to furnish the provisions of another\n     day, and was even threatened to be turned out of doors by the\n     inhuman hag; who, I very well remember, you said had her soul\n     pictured in her countenance. But, my dear friend, in the midst of\n     this distress, and when I thought no human help was near, my\n     affairs took a most sudden and unexpected turn. Fortune threw in my\n     way a kinsman of my mother's, whom I had never seen, or even heard\n     of before: he compassionated my calamitous condition, removed me\n     from that distant place, allows me a handsome maintenance, and has\n     promised to continue it, till nature, and the endeavours of my good\n     aunt, shall work my father to a more gentle temper.\n     I long to see you, and would have waited on you to return the\n     money you were so kind to lend me; but knew not whether it were\n     proper for me to do so, as I am wholly unacquainted with the family\n     where you are. A visit from you would, therefore, now be doubly\n     agreeable, as I am lodged in a house less unworthy to receive you,\n     than that wretched one to which I before took the liberty to make\n     you an invitation.\n     You may find me now at Mr. Screener's, the very next door to the\n     Bedford Head, in Tavistock Street, in Covent Garden; where, I\n     flatter myself, your good-nature will soon bring you to her, who is\n     impatient for that happiness, and will always be, dear Miss Betsy,\n     your very affectionate, and most humble servant,\n     A. FORWARD.\n     P.S. I had forgot to tell you that I am every Friday engaged at my\n     above-mentioned good cousin's; and should never have forgiven\n     myself, if, by this omission, you had lost your labour, and I the\n     pleasure of your company.'\nMiss Betsy, who little doubted the sincerity of this epistle, was very\nmuch touched with it, and resolved to comply with the invitation it\ncontained in a short time. She now began to grow pretty sleepy; and\nwould probably have deferred the persual of the other two letters till\nnext morning, if Miss Flora had not come up to go to bed. To avoid,\ntherefore, entering into any conversation with her, she took up the\nfirst that came to hand, and found the contents as follows.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     My dear sister,\n     As Mr. Goodman's endeavours for procuring me a commission, have not\n     yet been attended with the desired success, I have been prevailed\n     upon, by the solicitations of my friends, to give them my promise\n     of passing some part of the hunting season in L----e; so shall not\n     see you so soon as my last might make you expect. But I will not\n     dissemble so far as to tell you, that to give you this information\n     is the chief motive of my writing to you at present. No, my dear\n     Betsy! it is one of much more consequence that now directs my pen.\n     It is to give you such remonstrances, as, I fear, you stand but in\n     too much need of; to beware how you disregard the smiles of\n     fortune, and become the enemy of your own happiness. I received a\n     letter yesterday from Mr. Trueworth; he complains sadly of my\n     staying in the country, and seems to think my presence necessary\n     for the advancement of his courtship to you. I shall be always\n     glad to be obliged by you on any score; but extremely sorry to find\n     my interests with you, as a brother, should have more effect on you\n     than your own reason, and the merits of one of the most deserving\n     men on earth. I have no pretence to claim any authority over you by\n     the ties of blood; but may certainly flatter myself with having\n     some influence over you as a friend--enough, at least, I hope, to\n     prevail on you to consider seriously on this matter; and am\n     persuaded, that if you once bring yourself to do so, Mr. Trueworth\n     will want no other advocate to plead his cause than your own\n     understanding. I am willing to believe the assurance you gave me in\n     your last, of your heart being free from any impressions yet\n     endeavoured to be made upon it: did I think otherwise, I should be\n     entirely silent on this occasion. I would be far, my dear sister,\n     from opposing your inclinations; I would only wish to direct them\n     where there is a prospect of the most felicity. Let me conjure you,\n     therefore, to open your unprejudiced eyes, nor be wilfully blind to\n     the good intended for you by your better stars. As you can never\n     expect proposals of more advantage than those the love of Mr.\n     Trueworth has inclined him to make you, I may be pretty confident,\n     that you have not a friend in the world who would not highly\n     condemn your want of giving due attention to it. Forgive the warmth\n     with which I express myself, as it springs from the sincerest zeal\n     for the establishment of your interest and happiness, than which\n     nothing is more at the heart of him, who is, with the most tender\n     regard, dear sister, your very affectionate friend, and brother,\n     F. THOUGHTLESS.'\nWhile Miss Betsy was reading these letters, Miss Flora, who immediately\nfollowed her into the chamber, would fain have interrupted her by one\nimpertinent question or another: but receiving no answer to any thing\nshe said, gave over speaking, and went directly to bed; and Miss Betsy\nbreaking open the third and last letter she had to peruse, found it\ncontained as follows.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     My dear Miss Betsy,\n     I had wrote to you before, if I had not been prevented by an\n     inflammation in my eyes, which, for some time past, has rendered my\n     pen of no use to me; and I did not chuse to employ an amanuensis in\n     what I have to say to you; but now take the first opportunity,\n     being somewhat better, of giving you that advice, which, it may be\n     reasonably supposed, a person of your years and experience of the\n     world may stand in need of; or, if not so, will be of some service\n     in corroborating the good sentiments you are already inspired with.\n     It was with an extreme concern I heard what happened on your\n     account at Oxford; and hope you have so well reflected on the\n     danger you were in, the consequences that attended it, and how much\n     worse might probably have ensued, as to be ever since more\n     circumspect and careful with what company you trust yourself. I am\n     far from reproaching you with the effects of an accident altogether\n     unforeseen, and impossible to be even guessed at by you; but would\n     beg you to keep always in your mind, that what has been, may, some\n     time or other, be again; and that repeated inadvertencies may make\n     Heaven weary of continuing it's protection. But, my dear Miss\n     Betsy, it is not in my apprehensions of your own conduct, that the\n     greatest part of my fear for you consists: the world, alas! and\n     more particularly the place you live in, affords but too many\n     wretches, of both sexes, who make it their business to entrap\n     unwary innocence; and the most fair pretences are often the cover\n     to the most foul designs! There are so many daily instances of the\n     strictest caution not being always a sufficient security against\n     the snares laid for our destruction, that I look on it as half a\n     miracle, when a young woman, handsome, and exposed as you are,\n     escapes unprejudiced, either in her virtue or reputation. Consider,\n     my dear child, you who have no tender mother, whose precepts and\n     example might keep you steady in the paths of prudence: no father,\n     whose authority might awe the daring libertine from any injurious\n     attack; and are but too much mistress of yourself. In fine, thus\n     environed with temptations, I see no real defence for you but in a\n     good husband. I have ever condemned rushing too early into\n     marriage, and of risking, for the sake of one convenience, the\n     want, perhaps, of a thousand others; but when an offer happens to\n     be made, equally honourable and advantageous, and which affords an\n     almost assured prospect of every thing necessary to compleat the\n     happiness of that state, it cannot be too soon in life accepted. I\n     hear, with pleasure, that an offer, such as I have been describing,\n     is now presented to you; and it would give me an adequate concern\n     to hear that you had rejected it. I need not tell you I mean Mr.\n     Trueworth; for though there be many others who make their addresses\n     to you on the same score, yet I am entirely ignorant of every thing\n     relating to them; but I am well assured, not only by your brother's\n     testimony, but by several gentlemen of this county, that in the\n     fortune, person, and amiable qualities, of that gentleman, are\n     comprized all that you either can or ought to wish in a husband.\n     Trifle not, then, with a heart so deserving of you; scruple not to\n     become a wife, when merit, such as his, invites, and so many\n     reasons concur to urge you to consent. Believe me, there is more\n     true felicity in the sincere and tender friendship of one man of\n     honour, than in all the flattering pretensions of a thousand\n     coxcombs. I have much more to say to you on this head; but shall\n     defer, till you let me know with what kind of sentiments it is that\n     you regard the gentleman I have been speaking of; which I beg you\n     will do without disguise. Be satisfied that the secret of your real\n     inclinations will be as safe in my keeping as your own; and that I\n     am, with the most perfect amity, my dear Miss Betsy, your constant\n     friend, and humble servant,\n     M. TRUSTY.'\nThe time of night did not permit Miss Betsy to give these letters all\nthe attention which the writers of them, doubtless, desired she should\ndo; but she locked them carefully in her cabinet, resolving to consider\nthe purport of them more seriously before she returned any answer.\nCHAPTER V\n_Serves as a supplement to the former_\nThe next morning Miss Flora opened her lips almost as soon as she did\nher eyes, to talk to Miss Betsy on the design that had been agreed upon\nbetween them the day before, in relation to Mr. Staple. She told her she\nhad employed her whole thoughts about it ever since, and that she had\nfound out a way of introducing the discourse so as to give him no\nsuspicion that she came from her; yet, at the same time, take away all\nhis apprehensions of her being in love with Mr. Trueworth: and added,\nthat she would go to his lodgings immediately after breakfast.\n'Indeed,' replied Miss Betsy, sullenly, 'you shall do no such thing: I\ndo not care what his apprehensions are, or any one else's. The men may\nall think and do as they will; I shall not fill my mind with any stuff\nabout them.'--'Hey-day!' cried Miss Flora, a good deal shocked at this\nsudden turn, 'what whim has got possession of you now?'--'The whim you\nendeavoured to possess me with,' said Miss Betsy, scornfully, 'would\nhave been a very ridiculous one, I am sure; but I have considered better\non it, and despise such foolish fancies.'--'Good-lack!' returned the\nother, 'you are grown wonderous wise, methinks; at least, imagine\nyourself so: but I shall go to Mr. Staple for all this. I cannot bear\nthat he should think you are in love with Mr. Trueworth.'--'I know no\nbusiness,' said Miss Betsy, in a haughty tone, 'you have either with my\nlove or hate: and I desire, for the future, you will forbear troubling\nyour head in my affairs.'\nMiss Flora then told her, that what she had offered was merely in regard\nto her reputation; and than ran over again all the arguments she had\nurged, in order to prevail on her to come into the measures she\nproposed: but whatever she said, either in the wheedling or\nremonstrating accent, was equally ineffectual; the other remained firm\nin her resolution, and behaved in a manner so different from what Miss\nFlora had ever seen her do before, that she knew not what to think of\nit. Having her own reasons, however, to bring her, if possible, to a\nless grave way of thinking, she omitted nothing in the power of\nartifice, that she imagined might be conducive to that end. All the time\nthey were rising, all the time they were dressing, did she continue to\nlabour on this score, without being able to obtain any other answers to\nwhat she said, than such as were peremptorily in the negative.\nIt is certain, that Miss Betsy was of so soft and tractable a\ndisposition, that half the arguments Miss Flora had alledged, would, at\nanother time, have won her to consent to things of much greater\nconsequence than this appeared to be; but the discovery she had the day\nbefore made of her deceit, and the little good-will she had towards her,\ngave her sufficient reason to apprehend, that she had some farther\ndesigns than she pretended in this project, though of what nature it\ncould be was not in her power to conceive. The thing in dispute seemed\nto her extremely trifling in itself; but the eagerness with which she\nwas pressed to it by a person, of whose treachery she had so flagrant a\nproof, convinced her, that she ought not, on any account, to acquiesce.\nMiss Flora, on the other hand, was disconcerted, beyond measure, at this\nunexpected change in Miss Betsy's humour; of which she was as little\nable to divine the cause, as the other was to guess the design she had\nformed: but, determining to accomplish her point, if possible, at any\nrate, she endeavoured all she could to dissemble her chagrin, and still\naffected a mighty regard for the honour of Miss Betsy, telling her she\nwas resolved to serve her, whether she would or not; and that, how much\nsoever she disapproved it, she should pursue her first intention, and\nundeceive Mr. Staple in the opinion he had of her being so silly as to\nfall in love with Mr. Trueworth.\nMiss Betsy, on hearing this, and not doubting but she would do as she\nhad said, turned towards her; and, looking full upon her, with a\ncountenance composed enough, but which had yet in it somewhat between\nthe ironical and severe, replied in these terms: 'Since you are so much\nbent,' said she, 'on making a visit to Mr. Staple, far be it from me,\nMiss Flora, to deprive that gentleman of the favour you intend him,\nprovided you give me your promise, in the presence of Mr. Goodman, (and\nhe will be your security for the performance of it) that you will\nmention neither my name, nor that of Mr. Trueworth; and, above all, that\nyou will not pretend to have any knowledge of affairs you never have\nbeen trusted with.'\nHowever inconsiderate or incautious Miss Betsy may appear to the reader,\nas to her conduct in general, it must be acknowledged, that at this time\nshe shewed an uncommon presence of mind. This was, indeed, the only way\nto put a stop to, and quash at once, that scheme which her false friend\nhad formed to do her a real prejudice under the pretence of serving her.\nIt is not in words to express the confusion Miss Flora was in, on\nhearing Miss Betsy speak in this manner. Bold as she was by nature, and\nhabituated to repartee, she had not now the power of uttering one word.\nInnocence itself, when over-awed by authority, could not have stood more\ndaunted and abashed; while the other, with a careless air, added, 'As\nsoon as we go down stairs, I shall speak to Mr. Goodman about this\nmatter.'\nWhether Miss Betsy really intended to put this menace in execution, or\nnot, is uncertain; for Miss Flora recovering her spirits, and her\ncunning, at the same time, affected to burst into a violent fit of\nlaughter. 'Mr. Goodman!' said she; 'mighty pretty, indeed! You would\ntrouble Mr. Goodman with the little impertinences we talk on between\nourselves! But do so, if you think proper. I shall tell him the truth,\nthat I made this proposal to you only to try you, and but acted the\nsecond part of what Mr. Chatfree had begun. You did not imagine, sure,'\ncontinued she, with a malicious sneer, 'that I loved you so well, that,\nfor your sake, I would hazard my person and reputation, by going to see\na young gay fellow at his own lodgings!'\n'As for that,' cried Miss Betsy, with a look as contemptuous as she\ncould possibly assume, 'I am equally well acquainted with the modesty\nand sincerity of Miss Flora, and know how to set a just value upon\nboth.' In speaking these words, having now got on her cloaths, she flung\nout of the room without staying to hear what answer the other would have\nmade.\nAfter this, these two high spirits had little intercourse, never\nspeaking to each other, but on such common affairs as were unavoidable\nbetween persons who lived in the same house, eat at the same table, and\nlay in the same bed. How Miss Flora employed her thoughts will very\nshortly be seen; but we must first examine what effects these late\noccurrences had on the mind of Miss Betsy.\nYoung as she was, she might be said to have seen a great deal of the\nworld; and, as she had a fine understanding, and a very just notion of\nthings, wanted only to reflect on the many follies and deceits which\nsome of those who call themselves the beau monde are guilty of, to be\nenabled to despise them. The last letter she had received from Lady\nTrusty made a strong impression on her; and casting a retrospect on\nseveral past transactions she had been witness of, as well as those she\nhad been concerned in herself, began to wonder at, and condemn the\nvanity of, being pleased with such shadowy things--such fleeting,\nunsubstantial delights, accompanied with noise and hurry in the\npossession, and attended with weariness and vexation of spirit. A\nmultitude of admirers seemed now to her among this number: her soul\nconfessed, that to encourage the addresses of a fop, was both dangerous\nand silly; and to flatter with vain hopes the sincere passion of a man\nof honour, was equally ungenerous and cruel.\nThese considerations were very favourable to Mr. Trueworth: she ran\nthrough every particular of that gentleman's character and behaviour,\nand could find nothing which could make her stand excused, even to\nherself, for continuing to treat him with the little seriousness she had\nhitherto done.\n'What, then, shall I do with him?' said she to herself. 'Must I at once\ndiscard him--desire him to desist his visits, and tell him I am\ndetermined never to be his; or must I resolve to think of marrying him,\nand henceforward entertain him as the man who is really ordained to be\none day my husband? I have, at present, rather an aversion, than an\ninclination to a wedded state; yet if my mind should alter on this\npoint, where shall I find a partner so qualified to make me happy in it?\nBut yet,' continued she, 'to become a matron at my years is what I\ncannot brook the thoughts of: if he loves me, he must wait; it will be\nsufficient to receive the addresses of no other; but, then, how shall I\nrefuse those who shall make an offer of them, without giving the world\nroom to believe I am pre-engaged?'\nThus did she argue with herself; the dilemma appeared hard to her: but\nwhat was the result of her reasoning, will best appear in the answer she\nsent to Lady Trusty's letter, which was in the following terms.\n     'To Lady Trusty.\n     Madam,\n     I received the honour of yours, and sincerely thank you for the\n     good wishes and advice contained in it: be assured, Madam, I have a\n     just sense of the value I ought to set upon them, and shall\n     henceforth do the utmost in my power to deserve. I have, indeed, no\n     parent to direct, and but few faithful friends to guide me through\n     the perplexing labyrinth of life. I confess I have been too often\n     misled by the prevalence of example, and my own idle caprice; it\n     is, therefore, the highest charity to shew me to myself. I now see,\n     and am ashamed of, the many inadvertencies I have been guilty of.\n     The dangers which a young woman, like me, must necessarily be\n     continually exposed to, appear to me, from what you say of them, in\n     their proper colours, and convince me, that no person of\n     understanding would condemn me, if, to avoid so many threatened\n     ills, I flew to that asylum your ladyship has mentioned. I will own\n     to you yet farther, Madam; that I am not insensible of the merits\n     of Mr. Trueworth, nor of the advantages which would attend my\n     acceptance of his proposals: but, I know not how it is, I cannot\n     all at once bring myself into a liking of the marriage-state. Be\n     assured of this, that I never yet have seen any man whom my heart\n     has been more inclined to favour; and that, at present, I neither\n     receive, nor desire the addresses of any other. There is no\n     answering for events; but, in the way of thinking I now am, it\n     seems not improbable, that I shall one day comply with what my\n     friends take so much pains in persuading me to. In the mean time, I\n     beseech you to believe I shall regulate my conduct so as to ease\n     you of all those apprehensions you are so good to entertain on my\n     account. I am, with a profound respect, Madam, your ladyship's most\n     obliged and most devoted servant,\n     E. THOUGHTLESS.'\nMiss Betsy also answered her brother's letter at the same time; but the\npurport of it being much the same with that she wrote to Lady Trusty,\nthere is no occasion for inserting it.\nCHAPTER VI\n_Seems to bring things pretty near a conclusion_\nMiss Betsy was now in as happy a disposition as any of her friends, or\neven Mr. Trueworth himself, could desire: she listened to the\nconfirmations he was every day giving her of his passion, with the\ngreatest affability, and much more seriousness and attention than she\nhad been accustomed. The quarrel she had with Miss Flora making her\nwilling to avoid her as much as possible, he was frequently alone with\nher whole hours together, and had all the opportunities he could wish of\ncultivating the esteem she made no scruple of confessing she had for\nhim. As Mr. Staple was now gone out of town, pursuant to the resolution\nhe had taken, and no other rival, at least none encouraged by Miss\nBetsy, had as yet seconded him, he had all the reason in the world to\nflatter himself, that the accomplishment of his wishes were not far\ndistant.\nPlays, operas, and masquerades, were now beginning to come into vogue;\nand he had the satisfaction to see his mistress refuse whatever tickets\nwere offered her for those diversions, by any of the gentlemen who\nvisited Lady Mellasin; and at the same time readily agreed to accompany\nhim to those, or any other publick entertainments, whenever he requested\nthat favour of her.\nMiss Betsy's behaviour in this point, however, had more the air than the\nreality of kindness to Mr. Trueworth; for, in effect, it was not because\nshe would not accept of tickets from any other person than himself, but\nbecause they were offered by gentlemen of Lady Mellasin's acquaintance;\nand, consequently, in respect to her, Miss Flora had the same\ninvitation, with whom she was determined never more to be seen abroad.\nThis required some sort of contrivance, to be managed in such a fashion\nas to give no umbrage to Mr. Goodman or Lady Mellasin; for the former of\nwhich she had always a very great esteem, and did not chuse to afford\nthe latter any cause of complaint against her, while she continued to\nlive in the same house. The method she took, therefore, to avoid a thing\nso disagreeable to her, and at the same time to give no occasion of\noffence, was always to make choice of one diversion when she knew Miss\nFlora was pre-engaged to another.\nTo partake of these pleasures, which Mr. Trueworth, seeing into her\ntemper, was almost every day presenting, she invited sometimes one lady,\nsometimes another, of those she conversed with; but the person who most\nfrequently accompanied her, was Miss Mabel, a young lady, who lived in\nthe next street, and whom she had been acquainted with ever since her\ncoming to London, but had not been altogether so agreeable to her as she\nreally deserved, and otherwise would have been, if Lady Mellasin and\nMiss Flora had not represented her as a prying, censorious, ill-natured\ncreature; and, in fine, given her all the epithets which compose the\ncharacter of a prude.\nShe was, indeed, both in principles and behaviour, the very reverse of\nMiss Flora; she was modest, without affectation; reserved, without\nausterity; chearful, without levity; compassionate and benevolent in her\nnature; and, to crown all, was perfectly sincere. Miss Betsy had never\nwanted penetration enough to see, and to admire the amiable qualities of\nthis young lady, nor had been at all influenced by the character given\nof her by Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, but being herself of too gay and\nvolatile a temper, the more serious deportment of the other gave\nsomewhat of a check to hers, and for that reason rendered her society\nless coveted by her. The letter of Lady Trusty, however, joined to the\nlate accidents which had happened, having now given her a turn of mind\nvastly different from what it had been a very little time before, made\nher now prefer the conversation of Miss Mabel to most others of her\nacquaintance.\nThis young lady having been often in Mr. Trueworth's company, with Miss\nBetsy, saw enough into him to be assured the passion he professed for\nher was perfectly honourable and sincere; and as she had a real\naffection for her fair friend, and thought it a match greatly to her\nadvantage, was perpetually remonstrating to her, that she could not\ntreat with too much complaisance a lover so every way deserving of her.\nIt is certain, that what she said on this score had some weight with\nMiss Betsy: Mr. Goodman, also, was every day admonishing her in behalf\nof Mr. Trueworth, as he thought it his duty so to do, both as her\nguardian and her friend. In fine, never was a heart more beset, more\nforced, as it were, into tender sentiments than that of this young lady;\nfirst, by the merits and assiduities of the passionate invader, and,\nnext, by the persuasion of all those who she had any reason to believe\nhad her interest in view, and wished to see her happiness established.\nEnemy as she was, by nature, to serious reflection, on any account, much\nmore on that of marriage, everything now contributed to compel her to\nit; she could not avoid seeing and confessing within herself, that if\never she became a wife, the title could not be attended with more\nfelicity than when conferred on her by a person of Mr. Trueworth's\nfortune, character, and disposition.\nShe was one day alone, and in a very considerative mood, when a letter\nwas brought to her, which she was told came by the penny-post: as she\nwas not accustomed to receive any by that carriage, it pretty much\nsurprized her; but much more so when, having hastily opened it, she\nfound the contents as follows.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Madam,\n     It is with an inexpressible concern, that I relate to you a thing\n     which I am but too sensible will give you some disquiet, nor could\n     I have prevailed with myself on any terms to have done it, were it\n     not to preserve you from falling into much greater affliction than\n     the discovery I am about to make can possibly inflict: but, not to\n     keep you in suspense, you are courted by a gentleman whose name is\n     Trueworth; he is recommended by your brother, who, alas! knows him\n     much less than he imagines. He has, indeed, a large estate; and\n     does not want accomplishments to endear him to the fair-sex: I wish\n     he had as much intrinsick honour and sincerity to deserve, as he\n     has personal endowments to acquire, the favours so lavishly\n     bestowed on him. I hope, however, you have not been so much\n     deceived by the innocence of your own heart, and the fancied\n     integrity of his, as to be so distractedly in love with him as he\n     has the vanity to boast, and your companion and supposed friend,\n     Miss Mabel, reports you are: if his designs upon you are such as\n     they ought to be, he is at least ashamed to confess they are so;\n     and the lady I just mentioned, whispers it in all companies, that a\n     marriage with you is of all things in the world the farthest from\n     his thoughts. He plainly says, that he but trifles with you, till\n     your brothers come to town, and will then find some pretence to\n     break entirely with you--perhaps, on the score of fortune: but of\n     that I am not positive; I only repeat some part of those unhandsome\n     expressions his unworthy tongue has uttered.\n     But, Madam, as I have given you this intelligence, so I think it my\n     duty to offer you some advice for your behaviour in so nice and\n     critical a juncture. As he threatens to abandon you on the arrival\n     of your brothers, I should think, that if you forbid him your\n     presence till that time, it would not only be a sure touchstone of\n     his affection, but also be a means of clearing your reputation from\n     those blemishes it has received on his account. After what I have\n     said, I believe it would be needless to add, that the less freely\n     you converse with Miss Mabel, the less you will suffer, both in the\n     judgment of the world and your own future peace of mind.\n     Slight not this counsel because given behind the curtain; but be\n     assured it comes from one who is, with the sincerest attachment,\n     Madam, your most humble, though concealed servant.'\nIf Miss Betsy had received this letter a very small time before she did,\nit might probably have wrought on her all the effect it was intended\nfor; but she had scarce read it half through before the lucky discovery\nof Miss Flora's baseness, seasonably made to her by Mr. Saving, came\nfresh into her mind; and she was at no loss to guess at the malicious\npurpose, and the author of it, though wrote in a hand altogether a\nstranger to her.\nShe doubted not but it was a trick of Miss Flora's, to cause a\nseparation between her and Mr. Trueworth; but the motives which had\ninstigated her to do this, were not in her power to conceive.\n'Revenge for her disappointed expectations,' said she to herself, 'might\nmake her take the steps she did, on Mr. Saving's account: but what has\nMr. Trueworth done to her? He never pretended to love her; he neither\nflattered nor deceived her vanity; it must be, therefore, only a wicked\npropensity, an envious, unsocial disposition, a love of mischief\nimplanted in her nature, and uncorrected by reason or principle, that\nhas induced her to be guilty of this poor, low, enervate spite: but I am\nresolved to mortify it.'\nShe was not long considering in what manner she should proceed to do as\nshe had said; and I believe the reader will acknowledge she hit upon one\nas effectual for that end as could have been contrived.\nShe appeared extremely gay the whole time of dinner; and, as soon as it\nwas over, 'I will present you with a dessert, Sir,' said she to Mr.\nGoodman; 'I will shew you what pains has been taken to break off my\nacquaintance with Mr. Trueworth, by some wretch, who either envies me\nthe honour of his affections, or him the place they imagine he has in\nmine: but, I beseech you, read it,' continued she--'and I will appeal to\nyou, Lady Mellasin--and Miss Flora--if ever there was a more stupid\nplot.'\n'Stupid enough, indeed!' cried the honest merchant, as soon as he had\ndone reading; 'but it is yet more base. I am glad, however,' continued\nhe, 'to find your good sense prevents you from being imposed upon by\nsuch artifices.'--'This is so shallow a one,' answered she, 'that a very\nsmall share of understanding might serve to defend any one from being\ndeceived by it. I pity the weakness, while I despise the baseness, of\nsuch mean incendiaries: Mr. Trueworth, however, will fare the better for\nthis attempt against him; I will now make no scruple of prefering him to\nall mankind besides; and, perhaps, when my brothers arrive, shall\nconsent to every thing he desires.'\nLady Mellasin could not help applauding the spirit and resolution she\nshewed on this occasion, and Mr. Goodman was quite charmed with it; and\nboth of them joined in the severest exclamations against the folly and\nwickedness of the letter-writer: but Miss Flora said little; and, as\nsoon as she could quit the table with decency, went up into her chamber,\nsaying, she had a piece of work in her hand which she was in haste to\nfinish.\nIf Miss Betsy had wanted any confirmation of the truth of her\nsuspicions, the looks of Miss Flora, during this whole discourse, would\nhave removed all doubt in her; and the opportunity of venting the spleen\nshe had so justly conceived against her, without seeming to do so, gave\nher a most exquisite satisfaction.\nCHAPTER VII\n_Is the better for being short_\nMiss Flora retired to her chamber, indeed, not to employ herself in the\nmanner she pretended, but to give a loose to passions more inordinate\nand outrageous than it would naturally be believed could have taken\npossession of so young a heart.\nBut it is now high time to let the reader see into the secret springs\nwhich set her wicked wit in motion, and induced her to act in the manner\nshe had done.\nThrough the whole course of the preceding pages, many hints have been\ngiven, that the inclinations of this young lady were far from being\nunblameable; and it will not seem strange, that a person of the\ndisposition she has all along testified, should envy and malign those\ncharms she every day saw so much extolled, and preferred above her own;\nbut we do not ordinarily find one, who, all gay and free like her, and\nwho various times, and for various objects, had experienced those\nemotions which we call love, should all at once be inspired with a\npassion no less serious than it was violent, for a person who never made\nthe least addresses to her on that account.\nYet so in effect it was: Mr. Trueworth had been but a very few times in\nher company, before she began to entertain desires for the lover of her\nfair friend. Whenever she had an opportunity of speaking to him alone,\nshe made him many advances, which he either did not, or would not,\ninterpret in the sense she meant them. This coldness, instead of\nabating, did but the more inflame her wishes; and, looking on the\npassion he had for Miss Betsy, as the only impediment to the\ngratification of her inclinations, she cursed his constancy, and the\nbeauties which excited it. So true is that observation of Mr. Dryden--\n    'Love various minds does variously inspire;\n    He stirs in gentle natures gentle fire,\n    Like that of incense on the altar laid;\n    But raging flames tempestuous souls invade.\n    A fire which every windy passion blows;\n    With pride it mounts, and with revenge it glows.'\nMiss Flora was not of a temper, either to bear the pangs of hopeless\nlove in silent grief, or to give way too readily to despair. In spite of\nthe indifference she found herself treated with by Mr. Trueworth, she\nwas not without hope, that if she could by any means occasion a disunion\nbetween him and Miss Betsy, he would then be brought to cast his eyes on\nher, and return her flame with some degree of ardency.\nIt was for this end she had taken so much pains in endeavouring to\npersuade Miss Betsy either to write, or suffer her to go, to Mr. Staple,\nin order, as she pretended, to undeceive that gentleman in his opinion,\nthat she was in love with Mr. Trueworth; but her intentions, in reality,\nwere to make him believe that he himself was the favoured person, and\nhad much the advantage over his rival in the affections of his mistress.\nThis she doubted not, would make him quit his resolution of going into\nthe country, and encourage him to renew his courtship with the same\nfervency as ever. The pride she knew Miss Betsy took in a multiplicity\nof lovers, and the equality with which she had carried herself between\nhim and Mr. Trueworth, and which probably she would continue, seemed to\nafford her a fair prospect of giving Mr. Trueworth so much cause of\ndiscontent, as to make him break off with a woman who, after what had\npassed, made no distinction between him and the person he had twice\nvanquished in the field. She knew it would, at least, create a great\ndeal of perplexity among them, and delay, if not totally prevent, the\ncompletion of what she so much dreaded.\nBut this scheme being rendered abortive, by the seasonable discovery\nMiss Betsy had made of her perfidiousness, she set her wits to work for\nsome other new invention; and, believing that Miss Betsy's pride would\nimmediately take fire on the least suspicion of any insult being\noffered, either to her beauty or reputation, procured an agent to write\nthe above inserted letter, the effect of which has already been shewn.\nThis disappointment was the more grievous to her, as she had so little\nexpected it: she broke the sticks of her fan, tore every thing came in\nher way, flew about the room like a princess in a tragedy; wanting the\nmeans of venting the rage she was possessed of in great things, she\nexercised it in small. A fine petticoat of Miss Betsy's happening to\nhang on the back of a chair, she threw a standish of ink upon it, as if\nby accident; and it was no breach of charity to believe, would have\nserved the owner in a much worse manner, if her power had been equal to\nher will, and she could have done it without danger to herself.\nTo add to the fury and distraction of her mind, continuing still in her\nchamber, and happening to be pretty near the window, she saw Miss Betsy,\nMiss Mabel, and Mr. Trueworth, pass by in a landau, that gentleman\nhaving, it seems, invited these ladies on a party of pleasure: 'You\nshall not long enjoy this satisfaction,' cried she to herself, 'if it be\nin human wit to separate you!' But at this sight, the turbulent passions\nof her soul becoming more outrageous, 'O may the machine that conveys\nyou be thrown from off its wheels!' pursued she. 'May the wine you drink\nbe poisoned! May the first morsel you attempt to swallow, mistake its\nway, and choak you in the passage!'\nThus did she rave, not like one possessed with seven, but seven thousand\nfiends; and had perhaps remained in this wild way till her brain had\nbeen absolutely turned, if Lady Mellasin, having a great deal of\ncompany, had not positively commanded her to come down, after having\nsent several times in more mild terms to let her know what friends were\nthere.\nIt was some days before the unhappy, and more wicked, Miss Flora could\nrecollect her scattered senses enough for the contrivance of any farther\nmischief: but those evil spirits, to which she had yielded but too much\nthe mastery of her heart, and all its faculties, at length inspired her\nwith, and enabled her in the execution of, a design of the most\nbarbarous kind, and which for a time she saw had success even beyond her\nmost sanguine expectations.\nBut while she was ruminating on projects, which had neither virtue nor\ngenerosity for their patrons, Miss Betsy passed her days in that\nchearfulness which is the constant companion of uncorrupted innocence,\nand a mind uninfluenced by any tempestuous passions; but as it is\nnatural, even to the sweetest tempers, to take pleasure in the\nmortification of those who have endeavoured to injure us without cause\ngiven on our parts, she could not forbear being highly diverted to see\nthe pains Miss Flora took to conceal the inward disturbance of her soul:\nthe awkward excuses she made for the damage done her petticoat, gave her\nmore satisfaction than she should have felt vexation for the spoiling\nthe best thing she had in the world.\nMiss Mabel, to whom Miss Betsy had imparted the whole of this affair,\nwas not at all surprized at that part of the letter which related to\nherself, as she had often been informed, by several of her acquaintance,\nof the character given of her by that malicious girl; but neither of\nthese young ladies could be able to imagine, as they suspected not her\npassion for Mr. Trueworth, from what source this pretended enmity to him\nwas derived.\nIt would certainly have greatly contributed to the happiness of that\ngentleman, to have known in what manner his mistress had resented the\ninjustice had been done him; but Miss Betsy forbore to let him into the\nsecret, as being already sufficiently convinced of the sincerity of his\naffection, and would not put him to the trouble of giving her new proofs\nof it, by shewing him the ridiculous accusation anonymously formed\nagainst him.\nCHAPTER VIII\n_Contains some incidents which will be found equally interesting and\nentertaining, or the author is very much mistaken_\nMr. Trueworth had all the reason imaginable, from the whole deportment\nof Miss Betsy towards him, to believe that there wanted little more for\nthe conclusion of his marriage with her than the arrival of her two\nbrothers; she had often told him, whenever he pressed her on that score,\nthat she would give no definitive answer, till she had received the\nadvice and approbation of the elder Mr. Thoughtless.\nThat gentleman was now expected in a few days, and Mr. Francis\nThoughtless having intelligence of his being on his return, was also\npreparing to leave L----e, in order to meet him on his first arrival in\nLondon; but, during this short space of time, some events fell out,\nwhich put a great damp on the gaiety of those, who had with so much\nimpatience wished for their approach.\nMr. Trueworth had an aunt, who, besides being the nearest relation he\nhad living, and the only one in London, was extremely respected by him,\non account of her great prudence, exemplary virtue, and the tender\naffection she had always testified for him. This good lady thought\nherself bound by duty, as she was led by love, to make a thorough\nenquiry into the character of the young person her nephew was about to\nmarry; she was acquainted with many who had been in company with Miss\nBetsy, and were witnesses of her behaviour; she asked the opinion of\nthose among them, whom she looked upon as the most candid, concerning\nthe match now on the carpet, and was extremely troubled to find their\nanswers were no way conformable to the idea Mr. Trueworth had\nendeavoured to inspire her with of his mistress's perfections: they all,\nindeed, agreed that she was handsome, well-shaped, genteel, had a good\ndeal of wit, vivacity, and good-humour; but shook their heads when any\nof those requisites to make the married state agreeable were mentioned.\nPoor Miss Betsy, as the reader has had but too much opportunities to\nobserve, was far from setting forth to any advantage the real good\nqualities she was possessed of: on the contrary, the levity of her\nconduct rather disfigured the native innocence of her mind, and the\npurity of her intentions; so that, according to the poet--\n    'All saw her spots, but few her brightness took.'\nThe old lady not being able to hear any thing concerning her intended\nniece, but what was greatly to her dissatisfaction, was continually\nremonstrating to Mr. Trueworth, that the want of solidity in a wife was\none of the worst misfortunes that could attend a marriage-state; that\nthe external beauties of the person could not atone for the internal\ndefects of the mind; that a too great gaiety _du coeur_, frequently\nled women into errors without their designing to be guilty of them; and\nconjured him to consider well before the irrevocable words, 'I take you\nfor better and for worse,' were passed, how ill it would suit, either\nwith his honour, or his peace of mind, if she whom he now wished to make\nhis partner for life should, after she became so, behave in the same\nmanner she did now.\nMr. Trueworth listened to what she said, with all the attention she\ncould desire; but was too passionately in love to be much influenced by\nit: not that he did not see there were some mistakes in the conduct of\nMiss Betsy, which he could wish reformed, yet he could not look upon\nthem as so dangerous to her virtue and reputation, and therefore omitted\nno arguments, which he thought might justify his choice, and clear the\naccused fair one from all blame, in the eyes of a person whose\napprobation he was very desirous of obtaining.\nThe warmth with which he spoke, convinced his aunt, that to oppose his\ninclinations in this point was only warring with the winds; she desisted\nfrom speaking any more against the marriage, and contented herself with\ntelling him, that since he was bent on making Miss Betsy his wife, she\nshould be glad if, at least, he would remove her into the country, and\nprevent her returning to this town as long as possible.\nThis last council had a great deal of weight with Mr. Trueworth; he had\noften wished in his heart, when seeing her, as he often did,\nencompassed with a crowd of such whom his good understanding made him\ndespise, that if ever he became her husband, it might be in his power to\nprevail on her to break off acquaintance with the greatest part of those\nshe at present conversed with; and now being admitted to entertain her\nwith more freedom and seriousness than ever, he resolved to sound her\nsentiments on that score, and try to discover how far she could relish\nthe retirements of a country life.\nAccordingly, the next visit he made to her, he began to represent, in\nthe most pathetick terms he was able, the true felicity that two people,\nwho loved each other, might enjoy when remote from the noise and\ninterruption of a throng of giddy visitors. 'The deity of soft desires,'\nsaid he, 'flies the confused glare of pomp and publick shews; it is in\nthe shady-bowers, or on the banks of a sweet purling stream, he spreads\nhis downy wings, and wafts ten thousand nameless pleasures on the fond,\nthe innocent, and the happy pair.'\nHe was going on, but she interrupted him with a loud laugh; 'Hold,\nhold!' cried she, 'was there ever such a romantick description? I wonder\nhow such silly ideas come into your head? \"Shady bowers! and purling\nstreams!\" Heavens, how insipid! Well,' continued she, 'you may be the\nStrephon of the woods, if you think fit; but I shall never envy the\nhappiness of the Chloe that accompanies you in these fine recesses.\nWhat, to be cooped up like a tame dove, only to coo, and bill, and\nbreed? O it would be a delicious life indeed!'\nMr. Trueworth now perceived, to his no small vexation, the late\nseriousness he had observed in Miss Betsy, and which had given him so\nmuch satisfaction, was no more than a short-lived interval, a sudden\nstart of reason and recollection, soon dissipated, and that her temper,\nin reality, was still as light, as wild, and as inconsiderate as ever.\nThe ridicule with which she treated what he said, did not, however,\nhinder him from proceeding in the praise of a country life; but\nhappening to say, that innocence could no where else be so secure, she\npresently took up the word and with a disdainful air replied, that\ninnocence in any one but an idiot, might be secure in any place; to\nwhich he retorted, that reason was at some times absent, even in those\nwho had the greatest share of it at others.\nMany smart repartees passed between them on this subject, in most of\nwhich Miss Betsy had the better; but Mr. Trueworth, not willing to give\nup the point, reminded her that Solomon, the most luxuriant, and withal\nthe wisest of men, pronounced, that all the gaieties and magnificence of\nthe earth were vanity and vexation of spirit. 'He did so,' replied she,\nwith a scornful smile; 'but it was not till he had enjoyed them all, and\nwas grown past the power of enjoying yet farther: when I am so, it is\npossible I may say the same.'\nMr. Trueworth, finding she was pretty much stung at some things he had\nsaid, and conscious that in his discourse he had in some measure forgot\nthe respect due from a lover to his mistress, would not pursue the\ntopick any farther; but, as artfully as he could, turned the\nconversation on things more agreeable to Miss Betsy's way of thinking:\nhe could not, however, after they had parted, forbear ruminating on the\ncontempt she had shewn of a country life, and was not so easy as the\nsubmissiveness of his passion made him affect to be, on taking leave.\nThis was, however, a matter of light moment to him, when compared with\nwhat soon after ensued.\nI believe, that from the last letter of Miss Forward to Miss Betsy, the\nreader may suspect it was not by a kinsman she was maintained: but it is\nproper to be more particular on that affair, and shew how that\nunfortunate creature, finding herself utterly discarded by her father,\nand abandoned to the utmost distresses, accepted the offer made her by a\nrich Jew merchant, of five guineas a week to be his mistress.\nBut, as few woman who have once lost the sense of honour, ever recover\nit again, but, on the contrary, endeavour to lose all sense of shame\nalso, devote themselves to vice, and act whatever interest or\ninclination prompts them to; Miss Forward could not content herself with\nthe embraces nor allowances of her keeper, but received both the\npresents and caresses of as many as she had charms to attract.\nSir Bazil Loveit was a great favourite with her; and if, among such a\nplurality, one might be said to have the preference, it was he: this\nyoung baronet had been intimately acquainted with Mr. Trueworth abroad;\nthey had travelled together through the greatest part of Italy, and had\nbeen separated only by Mr. Trueworth's being called home on account of\nsome family affairs. Sir Bazil being but lately arrived, they had not\nseen each other since; till, meeting by accident in a coffee-house, they\nrenewed their former friendship. After the usual compliments, Mr.\nTrueworth proposed passing the evening together; to which Sir Bazil\nreplied, that he should be glad of the opportunity, but was engaged to\nsup with a lady: 'But,' said he, after a pause, 'it is where I can be\nfree, and you shall go with me.' To which the other having consented,\nSir Bazil told him, as they were going towards the house, that there\nwould be no occasion to use much ceremony; for it was only to a lady of\npleasure he was conducting him: but added, that she was a fine girl,\nseemed to have been well brought up, had been but lately come upon the\ntown, and behaved with more modesty than most of her profession.\nMr. Trueworth had never any great relish for the conversation of these\nsort of women; much less now, when his whole heart was taken up with an\nhonest passion for a person who, in spite of the little errors of her\nconduct, he thought deserving of his affections: yet, as he had given\nhis promise, he imagined that to go back on it would be too precise, and\nsubject him to the raillery of his less scrupulous friend.\nMiss Forward (for it was she to whom this visit was made) received\nthem in a manner which justified the character Sir Bazil had given\nof her. There was, however, a certain air of libertinism, both in\nher looks and gestures, which would have convinced Mr. Trueworth, if\nhe had not been told before, that she was one of those unhappy\ncreatures, who make traffick of their beauty. The gentlemen had not\nbeen there above a quarter of an hour, before a maid-servant came\ninto the room, and told Miss Forward, that a young lady, who said\nher name was Thoughtless, was at the door in a chair, and desired to\nsee her: 'O my dear Miss Betsy Thoughtless!' cried she, 'desire her to\nwalk up immediately.'--'This is lucky,' said Sir Bazil, 'I wanted a\ncompanion for my friend; now each man will have his bird.'--'Hush,'\ncried Miss Forward, 'I can assure you she is virtuous; take care what\nyou say.'\nMr. Trueworth was so much alarmed at hearing the name of Miss Betsy,\nthat, being retired to a window in order to recover himself from the\nconfusion, he heard not what Miss Forward had said to Sir Bazil: Miss\nBetsy presently entering the room, Miss Forward ran to embrace her,\nsaying, 'My dear Miss Betsy, how glad I am to see you!' To which the\nother returned, 'My dear Miss Forward, how ashamed am I to have been so\nlong absent! but one foolish thing or other has still prevented me\ncoming.'\nSir Bazil then saluted her with a great deal of politeness, though with\nless respect than doubtless he would have done, had he seen her in any\nother place. Mr. Trueworth, who by this time had resolved in what manner\nhe should act, now turned, and advanced towards the company; Miss Betsy,\non seeing him, cried out in some surprize, 'Mr. Trueworth! Good God! who\nthought of finding you here?'--'You did not, Madam, I dare answer,'\nreplied he, with a very grave air, 'and I as little expected the honour\nof meeting you here.'--'O you are acquainted, then,' said Sir Bazil,\nlaughing; 'this is merry enough; I find we are all right!'\nMr. Trueworth made no direct answer to this; but endeavoured to assume a\ngaiety conformable to that of the company he was in: after some little\ntime being passed in discoursing on ordinary affairs, Miss Forward took\nMiss Betsy into the next room to return the money she had been so kind\nto lend her at Mrs. Nightshade's; and told her, she had much to say to\nher, but could not be so rude to leave the gentlemen for any long time.\nWhile they were absent, which indeed was not above half a minute, 'This\nis a delicious girl,' said Sir Bazil to Mr. Trueworth, 'i'faith,\nCharles, you will have the best of the market to-night.' What reply Mr.\nTrueworth would have made is uncertain; the ladies returned that\ninstant, and the conversation became extremely sprightly, though, on Sir\nBazil's part, sometimes interspersed with expressions not altogether\nconsistent with that decorum he would have observed towards women of\nreputation.\nMiss Betsy, far from thinking any ill herself, took every thing as well\nmeant, and replied to whatever was uttered by this gay young gentleman,\nwith a freedom which, to those who knew her not perfectly, might justly\nrender liable to censure. Mr. Trueworth would fain have taken some\nshare, if possible, in this conversation, in order to conceal the\nperplexity of his thoughts, but all his endeavours were ineffectual; and\nthough his words were sometimes gay, the tone with which he spoke them\nplainly shewed, that his heart was very far from corresponding with his\nexpressions.\nSir Bazil having ordered a handsome supper, Miss Betsy staid till it was\nover, and then rose up, and took her leave; saying, she was obliged to\ngo home and write some letters. As none of them had any equipage there,\na hackney-coach was ordered to be called; and Mr. Trueworth offering to\naccompany her, Sir Bazil, on waiting on them down stairs, said to him\nsome merry things on the occasion; which, though Miss Betsy did not\ncomprehend, her lover understood the meaning of but too well for his\npeace of mind.\nCHAPTER IX\n_Is yet more interesting than the former_\nAny one may judge what a heart, possessed of so sincere and honourable a\nflame as that of Mr. Trueworth's, must feel, to see the beloved object\nso intimate with a common prostitute: it shall suffice, therefore, to\nsay, that his anxieties were such as prevented him from being able to\nrecover himself enough to speak to Miss Betsy on that subject as he\nwould do. He forbore mentioning it at all, and said very little to her\non any other, while they were in the coach: and, having seen her safe\ninto Mr. Goodman's house, took his leave, and went home; where he passed\na night of more vexation than he ever had before experienced.\nFain would he have found some excuse for Miss Betsy's conduct in this\npoint; fain would he have believed her as innocent as she was lovely;\nbut could not tell how to conceive there was a possibility for true\nvirtue to take delight in the company of vice: but, were there even such\na thing in nature, the shew of encouraging an infamous action he knew\nnot how to brook in a woman he intended to make his wife.\nHe now acknowledged the justice of his aunt's remonstrances; and, by\nwhat the levity of Miss Betsy made him at present endure, foresaw what\nhis honour and peace of mind must hereafter continually endure if he\nshould once become a husband. Never were thoughts so divided, so\nfluctuating, as his! His good understanding, and jealousy of honour,\nconvinced him there could be no lasting happiness with a person of Miss\nBetsy's temper; but then the passion he had for her, flattered him with\nthe hopes, that as all the faults she was guilty of, sprung rather from\nwant of consideration than design, she might be reasoned out of them,\nwhen once he had gained so far upon her affections, as to find he might\ntake the liberty of painting them to her in their proper colours.\nHe often asked himself the question, whether he could be able to break\nwith her or not; and finding, by the pangs which the very idea of an\nutter separation inflicted on him, that he could not, had no other\nmeasures to take than to submit with patience--to appear satisfied with\nevery thing that pleased her--and to contrive all the methods he could,\nwithout her perceiving he did so, of stealing, by gentle degrees, into\nher mind, a disrelish of such things as were unbecoming in her.\nHe had but just rose from a bed which that night had afforded him but\nlittle repose; when he was told Sir Bazil Loveit, to whom he had given\nhis directions the day before, was come to wait upon him. Mr. Trueworth\nwas very glad of it, being impatient to undeceive him in the opinion he\nfound he had entertained of Miss Betsy. They had not been three minutes\ntogether before the other gave him an opportunity, by some facetious\ninterrogatories concerning the transactions of the past night; and,\namong the rest, after looking round the room, asked how he had disposed\nof his pretty Betsy. To all which Mr. Trueworth replied, with a very\nserious air, 'Sir Bazil, though I must own there are many appearances to\njustify your mistake, yet I hope my word and honour will out-balance\nthem. I do assure you, Sir, that lady, whom you think and speak so\nlightly of, is a woman of fortune, family, and reputation.'--'I am\nsorry, then,' said Sir Bazil, very much surprized, 'I treated her in the\nmanner I did. My Nancy, indeed,' continued he, meaning Miss Forward,\n'told me she was virtuous, but I did not regard what she said on that\nscore; I know it is a trick among them to set off one another, to draw\nin us men. But, pr'ythee, dear Charles, are you in earnest?' Mr.\nTrueworth, then, after having made a second asseveration that he was\nsincere in what he said, proceeded to give him some account of Miss\nBetsy's family, circumstances, and manner of life; adding, that nothing\ncould be more surprizing to him, than to have met her in that place.\n'But,' said he, 'she must certainly be unacquainted with the character\nof the woman she came to visit.'\n'Such a thing might possibly happen,' replied Sir Bazil, 'and I think\nyou would do well to give her a hint of it.'--'Doubtless,' cried the\nother; 'I am doubly bound to do so; first, by my own honour; and, next,\nby the friendship I have for some of her kindred.' No farther discourse\npassed between them on this score; and the remaining time they were\ntogether being taken up on matters altogether foreign to the business of\nthis history, there is no occasion for making any mention of it.\nSir Bazil staid so long, that when he had taken his leave, it was too\nlate for Mr. Trueworth to make a morning visit to Miss Betsy, as he\nintended to have done, so was obliged to defer it till the afternoon;\nthough, since his first acquaintance with her, he had never felt more\nimpatience to see her.\nAs he had much in his head to say to her on the subject of the preceding\nday, he went as soon as he thought dinner was entirely over at Mr.\nGoodman's, in order to have an opportunity of talking with her before\nany other company came in. She was then in her chamber, dressing; but he\nwaited not long before she came down, and appeared more lovely and\ndazzling in his eyes than ever. This happened to be the first day of her\nputting on a very rich and extremely well-fancied gown; and, either\nbecause it was more becoming than any of those he had seen her in\nbefore, or because of the pleasure ladies of her age and humour\ngenerally feel on such occasions, a more than usual brightness shone in\nher eyes, and was diffused through all her air; and, after having made\nher some compliments on the elegance of her taste in dress, 'I suppose,\nMadam,' said he, 'thus set forth, and equipped for conquest, you do not\nmean to stay at home this evening?'--'No, indeed,' replied she; 'I am\ntold there is a new tragedy to be acted to-night at Lincoln's Inn\nFields, and I would not for the world miss the first night of a new\nplay.'\nOn this, Mr. Trueworth asked if he might have leave to wait upon her\nthere. 'With all my heart,' answered she. 'None of the gentlemen of my\nacquaintance know any thing of my going, so could not offer to gallant\nme; and there is only one lady goes with me.'--'Miss Mabel, I guess?'\ncried Mr. Trueworth. 'No,' answered Miss Betsy; 'she is engaged to the\nother house to-night; so I sent to desire the favour of that lady you saw\nme with last night to give me her company.'\n'You will have more, if you have hers, I doubt not,' said he: 'but sure,\nMadam, you cannot think of being seen with a woman of her fame, in a\nplace so publick as the play-house!' Miss Betsy was astonished to hear\nhim speak in this manner; and demanded of him, in somewhat of a haughty\ntone, what it was he meant. 'First, Madam,' resumed Mr. Trueworth,\n'give me leave to ask you how long since, and by what accident, your\nintimacy with this woman commenced?'--'Though your interrogatories,'\nreplied she, 'are made in such a manner as might well excuse me from\nanswering them, yet, for once, I may give you the satisfaction you\ndesire. Miss Forward and I were together at the boarding-school; we\nmutually took a liking to each other, (I believe from a parity of\nhumours and inclinations;) and, since her coming to London, have renewed\nthat friendship we began in our more tender years.'\n'Friendships begun in childhood, Madam,' answered he, with a very grave\nair, 'ought to be continued or broke off, according as the parties\npersevere in innocence, or degenerate into vice and infamy. This caution\nought to be more peculiarly observed in persons of your sex, as\nreputation in you, once lost, is never to be retrieved. Remember, Madam,\nwhat your favourite author, Mr. Rowe, says on this occasion--\n    \"In vain with tears her loss she may deplore;\n    In vain look back to what she was before;\n    She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more.\"'\nMiss Betsy was so piqued at these remonstrances, that she had scarce\npatience to contain herself till he had given over speaking. 'Good\nlack!' cried she, 'how sententious you are grown! But, I hope, you have\nnot the insolence to imagine I am guilty of any thing that might justly\ncall my reputation in question?'--'No, Madam,' replied he; 'far be it\nfrom me to suspect you of any thoughts but such as might become the\npurity of angels. But the more bright you are, the more we should lament\nto see the native lustre of your mind clouded and blemished by the\nfaults of others. Permit me, Madam, to tell you, that to continue an\nintimacy with a woman of Miss Forward's character, must infallibly draw\nyou into conveniences, which you want but to foresee to tremble at.'\n'If you have the affection for me you pretend,' said she, haughtily,\n'and could see the aversion I have to a censorious temper, it is\nyourself would have cause to tremble. I love Miss Forward, and neither\nknow, nor will believe, any ill of her. Whenever I am convinced that she\nis unworthy of my friendship, it must be by her own actions, not by the\nreport of others. Therefore, Mr. Trueworth, if you desire to continue on\ngood terms with me, you must forbear to interfere with what company I\nkeep, nor pretend to prescribe rules for my conduct, at least, till you\nhave more right to do so.'\n'I shall never, Madam, presume to prescribe,' replied he; 'but shall\nalways think it my duty to advise you in a matter which so nearly\nconcerns not only yourself, but all who have any relation to you, either\nby blood or affection.' Though these words, as well as all he had said\non this occasion, were uttered in the most respectful accents, yet Miss\nBetsy, who was not able to imagine the least contradiction suited with\nthe character of a lover, was offended beyond all measure. She\nfrowned--she rose hastily from her chair--walked about the room in a\ndisordered motion--told him, the nature of the acquaintance between them\ndid not authorize the liberties he took--that she would not bear it--and\ndesired that he would either leave her, or change the conversation to\nsomewhat more agreeable.\nMr. Trueworth, who as yet had said little, in comparison with what he\nintended to say on this subject, was so much shocked at the\nimpossibility he found of engaging her attention, that for some time he\nwas incapable of speaking one word. During this pause, a servant\npresented a letter to Miss Betsy. 'O!' cried she, as soon as she looked\non the superscription, 'it is from my dear Miss Forward. I hope nothing\nhas happened to prevent her going with me to the play.' She made this\nexclamation merely to vex Mr. Trueworth; and, for that purpose also read\nthe billet loud enough for him to hear what it contained, which was as\nfollows.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     My dear Miss Betsy,\n     Since I received your message, I got a person to secure places for\n     us in the box; so we need not go till six o'clock: but I am quite\n     alone; and, if you are disengaged, should be glad you would come\n     directly to her, who is ever, with the most perfect amity, my dear\n     Miss Betsy, your very much obliged, and humble servant,\n     A. FORWARD.'\n'Bid the messenger,' said Miss Betsy to the servant, 'tell the lady that\nI will wait upon her this moment; and then call me a chair.--I must\ncomply with the summons I have just received,' said she, turning to Mr.\nTrueworth; 'so you must excuse my leaving you; for I will not strain\nyour complaisance to accompany me where I am going: but shall be glad to\nsee you when you are in a better humour.'\n'I am ready, Madam, to attend you any where,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'even\nto Miss Forward's; and will pass the whole evening with you, if you\nplease, in her apartment: but, I beseech you, do not think of going to\nthe play with a woman of her class; do not expose yourself in a place\nwhere so many eyes will be upon you. Reflect, for Heaven's sake, what\nyour modesty will suffer, in seeing yourself gazed and pointed at by\nthose to whom she sells her favours! and reflect yet farther, what they\nwill judge of you!'--'You grow scurrilous, Sir!' cried she, ready to\nburst with passion; 'I will hear no more.' Then, running to the door,\nasked if the chair was come; and, being told it was, 'Farewel, Sir,'\nsaid she, as she was going into it; 'when I want a spy to inspect, or a\ngovernor to direct my actions, the choice may perhaps fall on you.'\nMr. Trueworth, who, at this treatment, was not quite master of himself,\nretorted with some warmth, and loud enough to be heard by her, as the\nchairmen were carrying her to the steps of the house, 'The choice,\nMadam, perhaps, may not be yours to make.' With these words he went\nhastily away, half resolving in his mind never to see her more.\nCHAPTER X\n_Cannot fail of exciting compassion in some readers, though it may move\nothers to laughter_\nThe few remonstrances Miss Betsy would vouchsafe to listen to from Mr.\nTrueworth, had a much greater effect upon her mind, than her pride, and\nthe excessive homage she expected from her lovers, would suffer to make\nshew of, or than he himself imagined. She had too much discernment,\nheedless as she was, not to know he was above any little malicious\ninuendoes; but, on the contrary, was extremely cautious in regard to the\ncharacter of whomsoever he spoke; she feared, therefore, he had but too\ngood grounds for the uneasiness he expressed for her continuing a\ncorrespondence with Miss Forward; she knew that she had been faulty, and\ncould not be assured she was not still so; and it was more owing to her\nimpatience to be ascertained of the truth, than to any real resentment\nshe had conceived against Mr. Trueworth, that she complied with the\ninvitation of her now suspected friend, and resolved to put the question\nhome to her, concerning her present manner of life, and the means by\nwhich she was supported: she had found her removed from the lowest\ndegree of penury and wretchedness, into a state equal to what she could\nhave been mistress of had she been re-established in the favour of her\nfather; and now, for the first time, began to think it strange she\nshould be so, from the mere bounty of a distant relation, to whom in her\nutmost distress she had never applied, nor even once mentioned in the\nrecital of her melancholy history: 'I will talk to her,' said she to\nherself; 'watch carefully, not only the replies she makes to what I say,\nbut also her very looks, unperceiving my suspicions; and, if I find the\nleast room to believe what Mr. Trueworth has insinuated, shall pity,\nbut will never see her more.'\nIn this prudent disposition did she enter the lodgings of Miss Forward;\nbut had no opportunity for the execution of her purpose, some company,\nwhich she herself thought, by their behaviour, to be not of the best\nsort, happening to be just come before her, and departed not till it was\ntime to go to the play. Miss Betsy was more than once about to tell Miss\nForward that she had changed her mind, and would not go; but her\ncomplaisance, as having been the person who made the first proposal, as\noften stopped her mouth.\nIn fine, they went; but the house being very full, and the fellow who\nhad been sent to keep places for them going somewhat too late, they were\nobliged to content themselves with sitting in the third row. This, at\nanother time, would have been a matter of some mortification to Miss\nBetsy; but, in the humour she now was, to shew herself was the least of\nher cares. Never had she entered any place of publick entertainment with\nso little satisfaction; Mr. Trueworth's words ran very much in her mind;\nshe had lost no part of them; and though she could not bring herself to\napprove of the freedom he had taken, yet, in her heart, she could not\nforbear confessing, that his admonitions testified the most zealous and\ntender care for her reputation; and, if given by any one except a lover,\nwould have demanded more of her thanks than her resentment.\nBut, alas! those serious considerations were but of short duration: the\nbrilliant audience; the musick; the moving scenes exhibited on the\nstage; and, above all, the gallantries with which herself and Miss\nForward were treated by several gay young gentleman, who, between the\nacts, presented them with fruits and sweetmeats, soon dissipated all\nthose reflections which it was so much her interest to have cherished,\nand she once more relapsed into her former self.\nTowards the end of the play, there were two rakes of distinction that\nstuck very close to them, and when it was ended, took the liberty to\ninvite them to sup at a tavern; Miss Betsy started at the motion, but\nwas very well pleased to find Miss Forward shewed an equal dislike to\nit. 'You will give us leave, then,' cried one of the gentlemen, 'to\nguard you safe home, ladies?'--'That I think, my dear,' said Miss\nForward to Miss Betsy, 'may be granted, for the sake of being protected\nfrom the insults of those who may know less how to behave towards our\nsex.'\nMiss Betsy making no opposition, they all four went into a\nhackney-coach to Miss Forward's lodgings, it being agreed upon between\nthem, that Miss Betsy should be set down there, and take a chair from\nthence to Mr. Goodman's. Nothing indecent, nor that could be any way\nshocking to the most strict modesty, being offered during their passage,\non their alighting from the coach at Mr. Screener's door, Miss Forward\nthought, that to ask them to come in would incur no censure from her\nfair friend, as they had behaved with so much civility and complaisance:\naccordingly she did so; and they, who expected no less, took each man\nhis lady by the hand, and immediately tripped up stairs.\nMiss Betsy did not presently make any offer to go home, because she\nthought it would appear very odd in her to leave her companion with two\nstrange gentlemen. She little guessed the designs they had in their\nheads, and doubted not but they would soon take leave; she did not,\nhowever, continue in this mistake for many minutes; for one of them\ndrawing Miss Forward to a window, in order to speak to her with more\nprivacy, the other, that he might have the better opportunity to do so,\naddressed himself to Miss Betsy, 'How killingly handsome you are!' said\nhe, taking her by both her hands, and looking full in her face; 'what a\npity you did not shine in the front to-night! By my soul you would have\nout-dazzled all the titled prudes about you!'\n'Pish!' replied she, 'I went to see the play, not to be seen\nmyself.'--'Not to be seen!' cried he; 'why then have you taken all this\npains to empty the whole quiver of Cupid's arrows to new-point those\ncharms you have received from nature? Why does the jessamine and the\nblooming violet play wanton in your hair? Why is the patch with so much\nart placed on the corner of this ruby lip, and here another to mark out\nthe arched symmetry of the jetty brow? Why does the glittering solitaire\nhang pendant on the snowy breast, but to attract and allure us poor men\ninto a pleasing ruin?'\nMiss Betsy answered this raillery in it's kind; and, as she had a great\ndeal of ready wit, would soon perhaps, had the same strain continued,\nhave left the beau nothing to say for himself: but Miss Forward and the\nother gentleman having finished what they had to say, coming towards\nthem, put an end to it. 'What do you think?' cried Miss Forward; 'this\ngentleman swears he won't go out of the house till I give him leave to\nsend for a supper.'--'You may do as you please,' said Miss Betsy; 'but I\nmust be excused from staying to partake of it.' Whether she was really\nin earnest or not, is not very material; but her refusal was looked\nupon only as a feint, and they pressed her to tarry in such a manner,\nthat she could not well avoid complying, even though she had been more\naverse, in effect, than for some time she pretended to be.\nThe conversation was extremely lively; and, though sprinkled with some\ndouble entendres, could not be said to have any thing indecent, or that\ncould raise a blush in the faces of women who were accustomed to much\ncompany. Miss Betsy had her share in all the innocent part of what was\nsaid, and laughed at that which was less so. But, not to dwell on\ntrifles, she forgot all the cautions given her by Mr. Trueworth,\nconsidering not that she was in company with two strange gentlemen, and\nof a woman whose character was suspected; and, though she had a watch by\nher side, regarded not how the hours passed on, till she heard the\nnighly monitor of time, cry, 'Past twelve o'clock, and a cloudy\nmorning!'\nAfter this she would not be prevailed upon to stay, and desired Miss\nForward to send somebody for a chair. 'A chair, Madam!' cried that\ngentleman who, of the two, had been most particular in his addresses to\nher; 'you cannot, sure, imagine we should suffer you to go home alone at\nthis late hour.'--'I apprehend no great danger,' said she; 'though I\nconfess it is a thing I have not been accustomed to.' He replied, that\nin his company she should not begin the experiment. On this a coach was\nordered. Miss Betsy made some few scruples at committing herself to the\nconduct of a person so little known to her. 'All acquaintance must have\na beginning,' said he; 'the most intimate friends were perfect strangers\nat first. You may depend on it I am a man of honour, and cannot be\ncapable of an ungenerous action.'\nLittle more was said on the occasion; and being told a coach was at the\ndoor, they took leave of Miss Forward and the other gentleman, and went\ndown stairs. On stepping into the coach, Miss Betsy directed the man\nwhere to drive; but the gentleman, unheard by her, ordered him to go to\nthe bagnio in Orange Street. They were no sooner seated, and the windows\ndrawn up to keep out the cold, than Miss Betsy was alarmed with a\ntreatment which her want of consideration made her little expect. Since\nthe gentleman-commoner, no man had ever attempted to take the liberties\nwhich her present companion now did: she struggled--she repelled with\nall her might, the insolent pressures of his lips and hands. 'Is this,'\ncried she, 'the honour I was to depend upon? Is it thus you prove\nyourself incapable of an ungenerous action?'--'Accuse me not,' said he,\n'till you have reason. I have been bit once, and have made a vow never\nto settle upon any woman while I live again; but you shall fare never\nthe worse for that, I will make you a handsome present before we part;\nand, if you can be constant, will allow you six guineas a week.'\nShe was so confounded at the first mention of this impudent proposal;\nthat she had not the power of interrupting him; but, recovering herself\nas well as she was able, 'Heavens!' cried she, 'what means all this?\nWhat do you take me for?'--'Take you for!' answered he, laughing;\n'pr'ythee, dear girl, no more of these airs: I take you for a pretty\nkind, obliging creature, and such I hope to find you, as soon as we come\ninto a proper place. In the mean time,' continued he, stopping her mouth\nwith kisses, 'none of this affected coyness.'\nThe fright she was in, aided by disdain and rage, now inspired her with\nan unusual strength: she broke from him, thrust down the window, and\nwith one breath called him 'Monster! Villain!' with the next screamed\nout to the coachman to stop; and, finding he regarded not her cries,\nwould have thrown herself out, if not forcibly witheld by the\ngentleman, who began now to be a little startled at her resolute\nbehaviour. 'What is all this for?' said he: 'would you break your neck,\nor venture being crushed to pieces by the wheels?'--'Any thing,' cried\nshe, bursting into tears, 'I will venture; suffer any thing, rather than\nbe subjected to insults, such as you have dared to treat me with.'\nThough the person by whom Miss Betsy was thus dangerously attacked was a\nlibertine, or, according to the more genteel and modish phrase, a man of\npleasure, yet he wanted neither honour, nor good sense: he had looked on\nMiss Betsy as a woman of the town, by seeing her with one who was so,\nand her too great freedom in conversation gave him no cause to alter his\nopinion; but the manner in which she had endeavoured to rebuff his more\nnear approaches, greatly staggered him. He knew not what to think, but\nremained in silent cogitation for some minutes; and, though he held her\nfast clasped round the waist, it was only to prevent her from attempting\nthe violence she had threatened, not to offer any towards her. 'Is it\npossible,' said he, after this pause, 'that you are virtuous?'--'I call\nHeaven to witness,' answered she, with a voice faltering through the\nexcess of terror and indignation, 'that I never have entertained one\nthought that was not strictly so! that I detest and scorn those wretched\ncreatures of the number of whom you imagine me to be one; and that I\nwould sooner die the worst of deaths, than live with infamy! Yes, Sir,\nbe assured,' continued she, gathering more courage, 'that whatever\nappearances may be this fatal night against me, I am of a family of some\nconsideration in the world, and am blessed with a fortune, which sets me\nabove the low temptations of designing men.'\nAs she had ended these words, they came to the bagnio; and, the coach\nimmediately stopping, two or three waiters came running to open the\ndoor; on which Miss Betsy, more terrified than ever, shrieked in a most\npiteous manner; 'O God!' cried she, 'What's here? Where am I? What will\nbecome of me?' and, at that instant recollecting that no help was near;\nthat she was in the power of a man whose aim was her eternal ruin; and\nthat it was by her own indiscretion alone this mischief had fallen on\nher; with so overcome with the dread, the shame, the horror, as she then\nsupposed, of her inevitable fate, that she was very near falling into a\nswoon.\nThe gentleman discovering, by the light of the lamps at the bagnio door,\nthe condition she was in, was truly touched with it. 'Retire,' said he\nhastily to the fellows, 'we do not want you.' Then throwing himself on\nhis knees before her, 'Let this posture, Madam,' continued he, 'obtain\nyour pardon; and, at the same time, ease you of all apprehensions on my\nscore.'--'May I believe you?' said she, still weeping. 'You may,'\nreplied he. Then rising, and placing himself on the seat opposite to\nher, 'I love my pleasures, and think it no crime to indulge the\nappetites of nature. I am charmed with the kind free woman, but I honour\nand revere the truly virtuous; and it is a maxim with me never to\nattempt the violation of innocence. These, Madam, are my principles in\nregard to your sex: but, to convince you farther--Here, fellow,'\ncontinued he to the coachman, who was walking backwards and forwards at\nsome distance, 'get up upon your box, and drive where you were first\ndirected.'\nMiss Betsy acknowledged the generosity of this behaviour; and, on his\nasking by what accident it had happened, that he found her in company\nwith a woman of Miss Forward's character, she told him ingenuously the\ntruth, that they knew each other when children in the country; but that\nshe had not seen her more than three times since their coming to London,\nand was entirely ignorant of her conduct from that time.\nHe then took the liberty of reminding her, that a young lady more\nendangered her reputation by an acquaintance of one woman of ill fame,\nthan by receiving the visits of twenty men, though professed libertines.\nTo which she replied, that for the future she would be very careful\nwhat company she kept of both sexes.\nThis was the sum of the conversation that passed between them during\ntheir little stage to Mr. Goodman's; where being safely arrived, after\nhaving seen her within the doors, he saluted her with a great deal of\nrespect, and took his leave.\nCHAPTER XI\n_Shews what effects the transactions of the preceding night had on the\nminds of Miss Betsy and Mr. Trueworth_\nMr. Goodman and Lady Mellasin were gone to bed when Miss Betsy came\nhome; but Miss Flora sat up for her, in complaisance, as she pretended,\nbut in reality to see who it was came home with her. This malicious\ncreature had been extremely fawning, for some days past, to Miss Betsy,\nbut this night was more so than usual; doubtless, in the hope of being\nable to draw something out of her, which her cruel wit might turn to her\ndisadvantage: but the other knew too well the disposition she had\ntowards her, to communicate anything to her, which she would not wish\nshould be made publick.\nNever did any one pass a night with greater inquietudes than this young\nlady sustained; and she felt them the more terribly, as she had no\nfriend to whom pride and shame would suffer her to impart the cause: she\nlooked back with horror on the precipice she had fallen into, and\nconsidered it as a kind of miracle, that she had recovered from it\nunhurt, she could not reflect on what had passed; that by the levity of\nher conduct she had been thought a common prostitute, had been treated\nas such, and preserved from irrecoverable ruin by the mere mercy of a\nman who was a perfect stranger to her; without feeling anew that\nconfusion which the most shocking moments of her distress inflicted. The\nmost bitter of her enemies could not have passed censure more severe\nthan she did on herself; and, in this fit of humiliation and repentance,\nwould even have asked Mr. Trueworth pardon for the little regard she had\npaid to his advice.\nThe agitations of her mind would not suffer her to take one moment of\nrepose for the whole night; nor did the morning afford any more\ntranquillity: the disturbance of her heart flew up into her head, and\noccasioned so violent a pain there, that she was as unable as unwilling\nto get out of bed. She lay till some hours after the time in which they\nusually breakfasted, nor would take any refreshment, though the tea was\nbrought to her bedside. Amongst the crowd of tormenting ideas, the\nremembrance that she owed all the vexation she laboured under entirely\nto the acquaintance she had with Miss Forward, came strong into her\nthoughts; and she had not rose the whole day, if not moved to it by the\nimpatience of venting her spleen on that unfortunate woman; which she\ndid, in a letter to her, containing these lines.\n     'To Miss Forward.\n     I am sorry that the compassion, which your feigned contrition for\n     one false step obliged me to take in your misfortunes, should make\n     you imagine I would continue any conversation with you, after\n     knowing you had abandoned yourself to a course of life, which I\n     blush to think any of my sex can descend to brook the thoughts of,\n     much more to be guilty of. If you had retained the least spark of\n     generosity or good-will towards me, you would rather have avoided\n     than coveted my company; as you must be sensible, that to be seen\n     with you must render me in some measure a partaker of your infamy,\n     though wholly innocent of your crimes. How base, how cruel, is such\n     behaviour; especially to one, who had a real regard for you, even\n     after you had confessed yourself unworthy of it! But I have been\n     often told, and now I find the observation just, that women of your\n     wretched principles, being lost to all hope of happiness\n     themselves, take a malicious pleasure in endeavouring to destroy it\n     in others.\n     But, for Heaven's sake, what could induce you to desire a\n     continuation of a correspondence with me? What did you take me for?\n     Did you imagine me so blind as not to see into the shameful means\n     by which you are supported, or so weak as to forfeit all the\n     reputation and respect I have in the world, merely to comply with\n     your request? No! your conduct is too bare-faced to give me even\n     the shadow of an excuse for ever seeing you again: do not,\n     therefore, go about to varnish over actions, whose foulness will\n     appear through all the colours you can daub them with. The\n     friendship I once had for you has already pleaded all that yourself\n     could urge in your defence; but the cause is too bad, and I must\n     leave you to the miseries which attend remorse, and which a little\n     time will infallibly bring on. Heavens! to be a common prostitute!\n     to earn precarious bread, by being the slave of every man's\n     licentious will. What is digging in the mines! What is begging!\n     What is starving, when compared to this! But the idea is too\n     shocking; modesty shudders at it. I shall drive both that and you\n     as distant from my thoughts as possible; so, be assured, this is\n     the last time you will ever hear from the much deceived, and\n     ill-treated,\n     B. THOUGHTLESS.'\nShe was going to seal up the above letter, when a sudden thought coming\ninto her head, she added, to what she had already wrote, this\npostscript.\n     'P.S. You may perhaps be instigated to answer this, either through\n     resentment for the reproaches it contains, or through some remains\n     of modesty, to attempt an apology for the occasion: but I would not\n     wish you should give yourself that trouble; for, be assured, I\n     shall read nothing that comes from you, and that whatever you send\n     will be returned to you again unopened.'\nShe immediately sent this away by a porter; and, having satisfied the\ndictates of her indignation against Miss Forward, she had now done with\nher, and resolved to think of her no more; yet was the confusion of her\nmind far from being dissipated. 'What will Mr. Trueworth say,' cried she\nto herself, 'if ever the ridiculous adventure of last night should reach\nhis ears, as nothing is more probable than that it may? What will my\nbrother Frank say, on hearing such a story? What will Mr. Goodman and\nLady Mellasin say? What a triumph for the envious Miss Flora! And what\ncan I answer for myself, either to my friends or enemies?'\nLittle care as this young lady had seemed to have taken of her\nreputation, it was, notwithstanding, very dear to her. Honour was yet\nstill more dear; and she could not reflect, that what she had done might\ncall the one into question, and how near she had been to having the\nother irrecoverably lost, without feeling the most bitter agonies: she\nwas not able to dress, or go down stairs that day; and gave orders to be\ndenied to whoever should come to visit her.\nIn this perplexed situation of mind let us leave her for a while, and\nsee with what sort of temper Mr. Trueworth behaved, after having seen\nher go to the very woman he had so much conjured her to avoid.\nAll the love he had for her would not keep him from resenting this last\nrebuff: he thought he had not deserved such usage; nor that his having\nprofessed himself her lover, gave her the privilege of treating him as\nher slave. The humour he was in making him unfit for company, he went\ndirectly to his lodgings; but had not been long there, before it came\ninto his head that, possibly, the manner in which she had behaved was\nonly a fit of contradiction; and that, after all, she might, when she\nwas out of hearing, have given counter-orders to the chairmen, and was\nneither gone to Miss Forward's, nor would accompany her to the play.\nWith such vain imaginations does love sometimes flatter its votaries;\nand the sincere and ardent flame which filled the heart of Mr.\nTrueworth, made him greedily catch at every supposition in favour of the\ndarling object.\nWilling, however, to be more assured, he bethought himself of a\nstrategem, which would either relieve all the doubts remaining in him of\nher obstinacy, or convince him they were but too just. He sent\nimmediately to his barber for a black perriwig; and, muffled up in a\ncloak, so as to render it almost an impossibility for him to be known by\nany one, went to the theatre; and, with a heart divided betwixt hope and\nfear, placed himself in a part of the middle gallery, which had the full\ncommand of more than half the boxes. He saw a very brilliant circle; but\nnot she, whom he so much dreaded to find, shine among them.\nHaving scrutinously examined all within the reach of his view, he\nquitted his present post, and removed to the other side of the house;\nwhere he soon discovered the persons he came in search of. He saw Miss\nForward earnest in discourse with a gentleman that sat behind her; and\nMiss Betsy receiving fruit from another, with the same freedom and\ngaiety of deportment she could have done if presented by himself. He saw\nthe nods, the winks, and the grimaces, which several in the pit made to\neach other, when looking towards these two ladies. Every moment brought\nwith it some fresh matter for his mortification; yet would not his\ncuriosity stop here. When the play was ended, he went hastily down\nstairs, and mingled with the crowd that stood about the door, in hopes\nof seeing Miss Betsy quit her company, take a chair, and go home. But\nhow cruel a stab was it to a man who loved as he did, to find her go\nwith a dissolute companion and two gentlemen, who, he had reason to\nbelieve, by the little he saw of their behaviour, were utter strangers\nto her, in a hackney-coach. He was once about to appear himself through\nhis disguise, and tell Miss Betsy, that he thought he had more right to\nthe honour of conducting her than those to whom she gave permission; but\nthe greatness of his spirit assisted his prudence in restraining him\nfrom so rash an action.\nAfter this sight, it is not in the power of words to represent what it\nwas he felt. Reason was too weak to combat against the force of such\nvarious emotions as for a time had the entire possession of his soul;\nthough he thought Miss Betsy unworthy of his love, yet still he loved\nher; and had she been witness of his present distracted state, she would\nhave seen the power she had over him, no less manifest in the moments of\nhis rage, than in those in which he had behaved with the greatest\ntenderness and respect.\nHis good-sense, however, at last convinced him, that as no solid\nhappiness could be expected with a woman of Miss Betsy's temper, he\nought to conquer his passion for her. This he resolved to attempt; yet\nthought, before he did so, it would become him to see her once more, to\nargue gently with her, and to try, at least, if there were not a\npossibility of making her see the errors she was guilty of.\nWith this intent he went the next day to visit her; but, being told she\ncould see no company that day, was going from the door; when Miss Flora,\nwho had watched for him at the parlour-window, came and desired him to\nwalk in. His complaisance would not permit him to refuse her request;\nand, after the usual compliments, said he was sorry Miss Betsy was so\nill. 'You need not be in much pain,' replied she, with a look which he\nthought had more than ordinary meaning in it; 'she is not greatly\nindisposed.'--'Perhaps,' cried Mr. Trueworth, with some warmth, 'she is\nonly so to me.'--'I cannot say anything to that,' returned Miss Flora;\n'but her orders were in general to all that came; and I believe, indeed,\nshe is not perfectly well. She came home extremely late last night, and\nseemed in a good deal of disorder.'--'Disorder, Madam!' interrupted Mr.\nTrueworth, impatiently. 'For Heaven's sake, on what occasion?'--'I wish\nI could inform you,' answered she; 'but at present I am not favoured\nwith her confidence, though there was a time when I was made partaker of\nher dearest secrets. I wish those she now intrusts them with may be no\nless faithful to her than I have been.'--'I hope,' said he, 'she has\nnone which, to be betrayed in, would give her pain.' With these words he\nrose up to go away. Miss Flora fain would have persuaded him to drink\ntea: but he excused himself, saying he was engaged; that he came only to\nenquire after the health of her fair friend, and could not have staid,\nif so happy as to have seen her.\nScarce could this passionate lover contain himself till he got out of\nthe house. The manner in which Miss Flora had spoke of Miss Betsy, added\nfresh fuel to the jealousies he was before possessed of: but, how great\nsoever his disturbance was, he found, on his return home, somewhat which\nmade all he had known before seem light and trifling.\nCHAPTER XII\n_Contains some passages which, it is probable, will afford more pain\nthan pleasure; yet which are very pertinent to the history, and\nnecessary to be related_\nThough the words which Miss Flora had let fall to Mr. Trueworth,\nconcerning Miss Betsy, seemed as if spoken by mere chance, there was\ncouched under them a design of the most black and villainous kind that\never entered the breast of woman, as will presently appear, to the\nastonishment of every reader.\nIn order to do this, we must relate an incident in Miss Betsy's life not\nhitherto mentioned, and which happened some little time before her going\nto Oxford with her brother Frank.\nOn her first coming to town, a woman had been recommended to her for\nstarching, and making up her fine linen. This person she had ever since\nemployed, and took a great fancy to, as she found her honest,\nindustrious, and very obliging. The poor creature was unhappily married;\nher husband was gone from her, and had listed himself for a soldier.\nBeing born in a distant country, she had no relations to whom she could\napply for assistance; was big with child, and had no support but the\nlabour of her hands. These calamitous circumstances so much touched the\ncommiserative nature of Miss Betsy, that she frequently gave her double\nthe sum she demanded for her work, besides bestowing on her many things\nshe left off wearing; which, though trifles in themselves, were very\nhelpful to a person in such distress.\nMiss Mabel, for whom she also worked at the same time, was no less her\npatroness than Miss Betsy. In fine, they were both extremely kind to\nher; insomuch as made her often cry out, in a transport of gratitude,\nthat these two good young ladies were worth to her all the customers\nshe had besides. They continued to prove themselves so indeed; for when\nher child was born, which happened to be a girl, they stood godmothers;\nand not only gave handsomely themselves, but raised a contribution among\ntheir acquaintance, for the support of the lying-in woman and her\ninfant: the former, however, did not long enjoy the blessing of two such\nworthy friends; she died before the expiration of her month; and the\nlatter, being wholly destitute, was about to be thrown upon the parish.\nSome well-disposed neighbour, who knew how kind Miss Mabel and Miss\nBetsy had been, came and acquainted them with the melancholy story: they\nconsulted together; and each reflecting that she had undertaken the\nprotection of this infant at the font, thought herself bound by duty to\npreserve if from those hardships with which children thus exposed are\nsometimes treated; they, therefore, as they were equally engaged, agreed\nto join equally in the maintenance of this innocent forlorn.\nThis was a rare charity indeed! and few there are, especially at their\nyears, who so justly consider the obligations of a baptismal covenant.\nIt was also the more to be admired, as neither of them had the incomes\nof their fortunes in their own hands, the one being under guardianship,\nand the other at the allowance of a father, who, though rich, was\nextremely avaricious.\nAs they were, therefore, obliged to be good oeconomists in this point,\nand nurses in the country are to be had at a much cheaper rate than in\nthe town, they got a person to seek out for one who would not be\nunreasonable in her demands, and at the same time do justice to her\ncharge. Such a one, according to the character given of her by\nneighbours, being found, the child, decently cloathed, was sent down to\nher habitation, which was in a little village about seventeen miles from\nLondon. For the sake of concealing the part Miss Mabel had in this\naffair from the knowledge of her father, it was judged proper that Miss\nBetsy should seem to take the whole upon herself, which she did; and the\nnurse's husband came up every month and received the money from her\nhands, as also whatever other necessaries the child wanted.\nWho would imagine that such a glorious act of benevolence should ever be\nmade a handle to traduce and vilify the author! Yet what cannot malice,\naccompanied with cunning, do! It can give the fairest virtue the\nappearance of the foulest vice, and pervert the just estimation of the\nworld into a mistaken scorn and contempt!\nMiss Flora, after receiving the disappointment, as related in the sixth\nchapter of this volume, was far from desisting from the wicked design\nshe had conceived of putting an end to the intercourse between Miss\nBetsy and Mr. Trueworth. Her fertile brain presented her with a thousand\nstrategems, which she rejected, either as they were too weak to\naccomplish what she wished, or too liable to discovery, till at last she\nhit upon the most detestable project of representing what proceeded from\nthe noblest propensity of Miss Betsy's nature, as the effect of a\ncriminal compulsion: in fine, to make it appear so feasible, as to be\nbelieved that the child, who owed half its maintenance to her charity,\nwas entirely kept by herself, and the offspring of her own body.\nHaving well weighed and deliberated on this matter, it seemed to her\nsuch as Mr. Trueworth, on the most strict examination, could not\ndiscover the deception of: she therefore resolved to pursue it, and\naccordingly wrote the following letter.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     The friendship I had for some of your family, now deceased, and the\n     respect due to your own character in particular, obliges me to\n     acquaint you with truths more disagreeable than perhaps you ever\n     yet have heard: but, before I proceed to the shocking narrative,\n     let me conjure you to believe, that in me your better angel speaks,\n     and warns you to avoid that dreadful gulph of everlasting misery\n     into which you are just ready to be plunged.\n     I am informed, by those who are most versed in your affairs, and on\n     whose veracity I may depend, that a treaty of marriage is on foot,\n     and almost as good as concluded, between you and Miss Betsy\n     Thoughtless. A young lady, I must confess, well descended;\n     handsome, and endued with every accomplishment to attract the\n     admiration of mankind; and if her soul had the least conformity\n     with her exterior charms, you doubtless might have been one of the\n     most happy and most envied men on earth: but, Sir, this seeming\n     innocence is all a cheat; another has been beforehand with you in\n     the joys you covet; your intended bride has been a mother without\n     the pleasure of owning herself as such. The product of a shameful\n     passion is still living; and though she uses the greatest caution\n     in this affair, I have by accident discovered, is now nursed at\n     Denham, a small village within two miles of Uxbridge, by a\n     gardener's wife, who is called, by the country people, Goody\n     Bushman. I give you this particular account, in order that you may\n     make what enquiry you shall think proper into a fact, which, I am\n     sorry to say, you will find but too real. I pity from my soul the\n     unfortunate seduced young lady; she must be doubly miserable, if,\n     by having lost her virtue, she loses a husband such as you: but if,\n     after this, you should think it fit to prosecute your pretensions,\n     I wish she may endeavour, by her future conduct, to atone for the\n     errors of the past; but, alas! her present manner of behaviour\n     affords no such promising expectations; and if you should set your\n     honour and fortune, and all that is dear to you, against so\n     precarious a stake as the hope of reclaiming a woman of her temper,\n     it must certainly fill all your friends with astonishment and\n     grief. But you are yourself the best judge of what it will become\n     you to do; I only beg, that you will be assured this intelligence\n     comes from one, who is, with the utmost sincerity, Sir, your\n     well-wisher, and most humble, though unknown servant.'\nShe would not trust the success of the mischief she intended by this\nletter, till she had examined and re-examined every sentence; and,\nfinding it altogether such as she thought would work the desired effect,\ngot one who was always her ready agent in matters of this kind, to copy\nit over, in order to prevent any accident from discovering the real\nauthor; and then sent it, as directed, by the penny-post.\nHow far the event answered her expectations shall very shortly be\nrelated; but incidents of another nature requiring to be first\nmentioned, the gratification of that curiosity, which this may have\nexcited, must for a while be deferred.\nCHAPTER XIII\n_Is the recital of some accidents, as little possible to be foreseen by\nthe reader as they were by the persons to whom they happened_\nIn youth, when the blood runs high, and the spirits are in full\nvivacity, affliction must come very heavy indeed, when it makes any deep\nor lasting impression on the mind. That vexation which Miss Betsy had\nbrought upon herself, by going to the play with Miss Forward, was severe\nenough the whole night, and the ensuing day. A great while, it must be\nconfessed, for a person of her volatile disposition; and when the more\nviolent emotions had subsided, the terror she had lately sustained, had,\nat least, this good effect upon her; it made her resolve to take all\npossible precautions not to fall into the like danger again. As she had\nan infinite deal of generosity in her nature, when not obscured by that\npride and vanity which the flatteries she had been but too much\naccustomed to, had inspired her with, she could not reflect how ill she\nhad treated Mr. Trueworth, and the little regard she had paid to the\ntender concern he had shewn for her reputation, without thinking she\nought to ask his pardon, and acknowledge she had been in the wrong. If\nMr. Trueworth could have known the humour she was at present in, how\nreadily would he have flown to her with all the wings of love and kind\nforgiveness! but as he had not the spirit of divination, and could only\njudge of her sentiments by her behaviour, it was not in his power to\nconceive how great a change had happened in his favour, through a just\nsensibility of her own error.\nShe, in the mean time, little imagined how he far he resented the\ntreatment she had given him; especially as she heard he had been to wait\nupon her the day in which she saw no company; and, after having passed\na night of much more tranquillity than the former had been, went down in\nthe morning to breakfast with her usual chearfulness. She had not been\nmany minutes in the parlour before she was agreeably surprized with the\nsight of her elder brother, Mr. Thomas Thoughtless, who, it seems, had\narrived the night before. After the first welcomes were over, Mr.\nGoodman asked him, wherefore he did not come directly to his house;\nsaying, he had always a spare bed to accommodate a friend; to which the\nother replied, that he had come from Paris with some company whom he\ncould not quit, and that they had lain at the Hummums. Miss Betsy was\nextremely transported at his return, and said a thousand obliging things\nto him; all which he answered with more politeness than tenderness: and\nthis young lady soon perceived, by this specimen of his behaviour to\nher, that she was not to expect the same affection from him, as she had\nreceived so many proofs of from her younger brother.\nHis long absence from England, and some attachments he had found abroad,\nhad indeed very much taken off that warmth of kindness he would\ndoubtless otherwise have felt for an only sister, and one who appeared\nso worthy of his love. As Mr. Goodman had acquainted him by letter, that\nhe had hired a house for him, according to his request, the chief of\ntheir conversation turned on that subject; and, as soon as breakfast was\nover, they took a walk together to see it. On their return, he seemed\nvery much pleased with the choice Mr. Goodman had made; and the little\ntime he staid was entirely taken up with consulting Lady Mellasin, his\nsister, and Miss Flora, concerning the manner in which he should\nornament it; for the honest guardian had taken care to provide all such\nfurniture as he thought would be necessary for a single gentleman.\nNo intreaties were wanting to prevail on him to make that house his\nhome, till his own was thoroughly aired, and in all respects fit for him\nto go into; but he excused himself, saying, he could not leave the\nfriends he had travelled with, till they were provided for as well as\nhimself; nor could all Mr. Goodman and the ladies urged, persuade him to\ndine with them that day.\nIt must be acknowledged, that this positive refusal of every thing that\nwas desired of him, had not in it all that complaisance which might have\nbeen expected from a person just come from among a people more famous\nfor their politeness than their sincerity.\nBut he had his own reasons, which the family of Mr. Goodman as yet were\nfar from suspecting, which made him act in the manner he now did; and it\nwas not, in reality, the want of French breeding, but the want of true\nold English resolution, that enforced this seeming negligence and\nabruptness.\nAfter he was gone, Mr. Goodman went to Change; but was scarce entered\ninto the walk, where he had appointed to meet some merchants, when he\nwas accosted by two rough, ill-looking fellows, who demanded his sword,\nand told him they had a writ against him; that he was their prisoner,\nand must go with them.\nMr. Goodman, who had as little reason as any man living to suspect an\ninsult of this nature, only smiled, and told them they were mistaken in\nthe person. 'No, no,' said one of them, 'we are right enough, if you are\nMr. Samuel Goodman!'--'My name is Samuel Goodman,' replied he; 'but I do\nnot know that it stands in any man's books for debt: but, pray,'\ncontinued he, 'at whose suit am I arrested?'--'At the suit of Mr. Oliver\nMarplus,' said the other officer. 'I have no dealings with any such\nperson,' cried Mr. Goodman: 'nor even ever heard the name of him you\nmention.' They then told him it was his business to prove that; they did\nbut do their duty, and he must obey the writ. Mr. Goodman, on this,\nknowing they were not the persons with whom this matter should be\ncontested, readily went where they conducted him, which was to a house\nbelonging to him who appeared to be the principal of the two. As they\nwere coming off Change, he bade his coachman drive his chariot home, and\ntell his lady, that he believed he should not dine with her that day;\nbut he kept his footman with him, to send on what messages he should\nfind convenient.\nThe officer, knowing his condition, and not doubting but he should have\na handsome present for civility-money, used him with a great deal of\nrespect when he had got him into his house; and, on his desiring to be\ninformed of the lawyer's name employed in the action, he immediately\ntold him, and also for what sum he was arrested, which was no less than\ntwo thousand five hundred and seventy-five pounds eight shillings. 'A\npretty parcel of money, truly!' said Mr. Goodman; 'I wonder in what\ndream I contracted this debt.' He then called for pen, ink, and paper;\nand wrote a line to his lawyer in the Temple, desiring him to go to the\nother who they said was concerned against him, and find out the truth of\nthis affair.\nThe honest old gentleman, having sent this letter by his servant,\ncalled for something to eat; and was extremely facetious and pleasant\nwith the officers, not doubting but that what had happened was\noccasioned through some mistake or other, and should immediately be\ndischarged when the thing was enquired into: but his present good-humour\nwas changed into one altogether the reverse, when his own lawyer,\naccompanied by him who was engaged for his adversary, came to him, and\ntold him there was no remedy but to give bail; that the suit commenced\nagainst him was on account of a bond given by Lady Mellasin to Mr.\nOliver Marplus, some few days previous to her marriage. It is hard to\nsay, whether surprize or rage was most predominant in the soul of this\nmuch-injured husband, at so shocking a piece of intelligence. He\ndemanded to see the bond; which request being granted, he found it not,\nas he at first flattered himself, a forgery, but signed with his wife's\nown hand, and witnessed by Mrs. Prinks, her woman, and another person\nwhom he knew not.\nIt is certain that no confusion ever exceeded that of Mr. Goodman's at\nthis time: he sat like one transfixed with thunder; and was wholly\nincapable of uttering one syllable. He appeared to the company as lost\nin thought; but was, indeed, almost past the power of thinking, till his\nlawyer roused him with these words--'Come, Sir,' said he, 'you see how\nthe case stands; there is no time to be lost; you must either pay the\nmoney down, or get immediate security; for I suppose you would not chuse\nto lie here to-night.' This seasonable admonition brought him a little to\nhimself: he now began to reflect on what it would best become him to do;\nand, after a pause of some moments, 'I believe,' said he, 'that I have\nnow in my house more than the sum in bills that would discharge this\nbond; but I would willingly hear what this woman has to say before I pay\nthe money, and will therefore give in bail.' Accordingly, he sent for\ntwo citizens of great worth and credit, to desire them to come to him;\nthey instantly complied with this summons; and the whole affair being\nrepeated to them, voluntarily offered to be his sureties.\nBail-bonds were easily procured; but it took up some time in filling\nthem up, and discharging the fees, and other consequential expences, so\nthat it was past one o'clock before all was over, and Mr. Goodman had\nliberty to return to his own habitation.\nIt was very seldom that Mr. Goodman staid late abroad; but whenever any\nthing happened that obliged him to do so, Lady Mellasin, through the\ngreat affection she pretended to have for him, would never go to bed\ntill his return. Mrs. Prinks for the most part was her sole companion in\nsuch cases; but it so fell out, that this night neither of the two young\nladies had any inclination to sleep: Miss Flora's head was full of the\nabove-mentioned plot, and the anxiety for it's success; the remembrance\nof the last adventure at Miss Forward's was not yet quite dissipated in\nMiss Betsy; the coldness with which she imagined herself treated by her\nelder brother, with whom she had flattered herself of living, and being\nvery happy under his protection, gave her a good deal of uneasiness. To\nadd to all these matters of disquiet, she had also received that\nafternoon a letter from Mr. Francis Thoughtless, acquainting her, that\nhe had the misfortune to be so much bruised by a fall he got from his\nhorse, that it was utterly impossible for him to travel, and she must\nnot expect him in town yet for some days.\nThe ladies were all together, sitting in the parlour, each chusing\nrather to indulge her own private meditations, than to hold discourse\nwith the others, when Mr. Goodman came home. Lady Mellasin ran to\nembrace him with a shew of the greatest tenderness; 'My dear Mr.\nGoodman,' cried she, 'how much I have suffered from my fear lest some\nill accident should have befallen you!'--'The worst that could have\nhappened has befallen me,' replied he, thrusting her from him; 'yet no\nmore than what you might very reasonably expect would one day or another\nhappen.'--'What do you mean, my dear?' said she, more alarmed at his\nwords and looks than she made shew of. 'You may too easily inform\nyourself what it is I mean,' cried he, hastily, 'on the retrospect of\nyour behaviour; I now find, but too late, how much I have been imposed\nupon. Did you not assure me,' continued he, somewhat more mildly, 'that\nyou were free from all incumbrances but that girl, whom, since our\nmarriage, I have tendered as my own?' And then perceiving she answered\nnothing, but looked pale, and trembled, he repeated to her the affront\nhe had received; 'Which,' said he, 'in all my dealings in the world,\nwould never have happened, but on your account.'\nThough Lady Mellasin had as much artifice, and the power of\ndissimulation, as any of her sex, yet she was at a loss thus taken\nunprepared. She hesitated, she stammered, and fain would have denied the\nhaving given any such bond; but, finding the proofs too plain against\nher, she threw herself at his feet, wept, and conjured him to forgive\nthe only deception she had practised on him: 'It was a debt,' said she,\n'contracted by my former husband, which I knew not of. I thought the\neffects he left behind him were more than sufficient to have discharged\nwhatever obligations he lay under, and foolishly took out letters of\nadministration. The demand of Marplus came not upon me till some time\nafter; I then inconsiderately gave him my own bond, which he, however,\npromised not to put in force without previously acquainting me.'\nThis excuse was too weak, as well as all the affection Mr. Goodman had\nfor her, to pacify the emotions of his just indignation. 'And pray,'\ncried he, in a voice divided between scorn and anger, 'of what advantage\nwould it have been to me your being previously acquainted with it? Could\nyou have paid the money without robbing or defrauding me? No, Madam!'\ncontinued he, 'I shall for the future give credit to nothing you can\nsay; and as I cannot be assured that this is the only misfortune I have\nto dread on your account, shall consider what steps I ought to take for\nmy defence.'\nIn speaking these words he rung the bell for a servant, and ordered that\nbed to which he had invited Mr. Thoughtless, should that instant be made\nready for himself. All the tears and intreaties of Lady Mellasin were in\nvain to make him recede from his resolution of lying alone that night;\nand, as soon as he was told his orders were obeyed, he flung out of the\nroom, saying, 'Madam, perhaps, we never more may meet between a pair of\nsheets!' Whether at that time he was determined to carry his resentment\nso far, or not, is uncertain; but what happened very shortly after left\nhim no other part to take than that which he had threatened.\nCHAPTER XIV\n_Gives a full explanation of some passages which hitherto have seemed\nvery dark and mysterious_\nThis was a night of great confusion in Mr. Goodman's family: Lady\nMellasin either was, or pretended to be, in fits; Miss Flora was called\nup soon after she went to bed; but Mr. Goodman himself would not be\nprevailed upon to rise, though told the condition his wife was in, and\nthat she begged with the utmost earnestness to see him.\nThis behaviour in a husband, lately so tender and affectionate, is a\nproof not only that the greatest love, once turned, degenerates into its\nreverse, but also that the sweetest temper, when too much provoked by\ninjuries, is not always the most easy to be reconciled. The perfect\ntrust he had put in Lady Mellasin, the implicit faith he had given to\nall she said, and the dependance he had on the love she had professed\nfor him, made the deception she was now convicted of appear in worse\ncolours than otherwise it would have done.\nThe more he reflected on this ugly affair, the more he was convinced of\nthe hypocrisy of his wife, in whom he had placed such confidence. 'We\nhave been married near five years,' said he to himself; 'how comes it to\npass, that the penalty of this bond was not in so long a time demanded?\nIt must be that she has kept it off by large interest and for-bearance\nmoney; and who knows how far my credit may be endangered for the raising\nof it? It is likely, that while I thought every thing necessary for my\nfamily was purchased with ready-money, I may stand indebted to all the\ntradesmen this wicked woman has had any dealings with; nay, I cannot\neven assure myself that other obligations of the same kind with this I\nhave already suffered for, may not some time or other call upon me for\ntheir discharge.'\nWith these disturbed meditations, instead of sleep, did he pass what was\nremaining of the night when he went to bed; yet he rose the next day\nfull as early as he was accustomed to do after having enjoyed the best\nrepose.\nThe first thing he did was to send for as many of those tradespeople, as\nhe either knew himself, or his servants could inform him, had at any\ntime sent goods into his house. On their presenting themselves before\nhim, he found, more to his vexation than surprize, (for he now expected\nthe worst) that all of them, even to those who had supplied his kitchen,\nhad bills of a long standing: he discharged all their several demands\ndirectly; and, having taken a receipt in full from each of them, desired\nthey would henceforth suffer no goods to be left within his doors\nwithout the value being paid on the delivery.\nMr. Goodman had just dispatched the last of these people, when he was\ntold a woman begged leave to speak with him: 'Another creditor, I\nsuppose,' said he; and then ordered she should come in. As soon as she\ndid so, 'Well, mistress,' cried he, seeing her a woman of a very plain\nappearance, 'what is it you require of me?'--'Nothing, Sir,' replied\nshe; 'but that you will permit me to acquaint you with a thing which it\nvery much concerns you to be informed of?'--'I should otherwise be an\nenemy to myself,' returned he; 'therefore, pray, speak what you have to\nsay.'\n'I am, Sir,' said she, 'the unfortunate wife of one of the most wicked\nmen upon earth, and by my being so, have been compelled to be in some\nmeasure accessary to the injustice you have sustained: but, I hope, what\nI have to reveal will atone for my transgression.' Mr. Goodman then\ndesired she would sit down, and without any farther prelude proceed to\nthe business she came upon.\n'The sum of what I have to relate,' rejoined she, 'is, that the bond on\nwhich you were yesterday arrested, and for the payment of which you have\ngiven security, is no more than an impudent fraud: but the particulars,\nthat prove it such cannot but be very displeasing to you; however, I\nshall make no apology for relating them, as the perfect knowledge of the\nwhole transaction may put you in a way to prevent all future injuries of\nthe like nature.\n'My husband, whose name is Oliver Marplus,' continued she, 'had the\nhonour of waiting on a nobleman belonging to court, when Sir Solomon\nMellasin had a post there: his lady, now unhappily yours, took a fancy\nto him, and entered into a criminal conversation with him, some time\nbefore her husband's death, and has ever since, unless very lately broke\noff, continued it. On my first discovering it, he begged me to be easy;\nand reminded me, that as he had nothing at present to depend upon,\nhaving lost his place, but her ladyship's bounty, I ought to wink at it,\nand be content that she should share his person, since I shared in the\nbenefits arising from their intercourse. I knowing his temper too well\nnot to know that any opposition I could make would be in vain, and\nseeing no other remedy, was obliged to feign a consent to what the love\nI then had for him rendered most terrible to me. Thus we went on, her\nladyship still supplying him with money, for our support; till he being\ninformed, that her marriage with you was near being consummated, he\nbethought himself of a strategem to prevent the change of her condition\nfrom depriving him of the continuance of her favour. It was this.\n'Their private meetings were always in the Savoy, at a house of my\nhusband's chusing for that purpose, the master of it being his intimate\nfriend and companion. Myself, and two men, whom he made privy to the\nplot, and were to personate officers of justice, were to be concealed in\nthe next room to the lovers, and as soon as we found they were in bed,\nburst open the door, rush in, and catch them in the very act of shame.\n'All this was executed according as it was contrived; my husband jumped\nout of bed, pretended to struggle with the sham constables, and swore he\nwould murder me: I acted my part, as they since told me, to the life;\nseemed a very fury; and said I did not care what became of me, if I was\nbut revenged upon my rival. Lady Mellasin tore her hair, wept, and\nentreated me in the most abject terms to forgive, and not expose a woman\nof her rank to publick scorn and infamy. To which I replied, that it was\nnot her quality should protect her! I loaded her with the most\ninveterate reproaches I could think of. Indeed, there required not much\nstudy for my doing so, for I heartily hated her. After some time passed\nin beseechings on her side, and railings on mine, one of the pretended\nconstables took me aside, as if to persuade me to more moderation; while\nthe other talked to her, and insinuated as if a sum of money might\ncompromise the matter. My husband also told her, that though he detested\nme for what I had done, yet he wished her ladyship, for her own sake,\nwould think of some way to pacify me; \"For,\" said he, \"a wife in these\ncases has great power.\"\n'The terror she was in of appearing before a civil-magistrate, and of\nbeing liable to suffer that punishment the law inflicts upon an\nadultress, and consequently the loss of all her hopes of a marriage with\nyou, Sir, made her readily agree to do any thing I should require. I\nseemed quite averse for a good while to listen to any terms of\naccommodation; but at length affected to be overcome by the persuasions\nof the men I brought with me, and her promise of allowing us a very\nhandsome support as soon as she became your wife, and should have it in\nher power. This I made slight on; and told her, that I would not depend\nupon her promise for any thing. It was then proposed, that she should\ngive a bond for a large sum of money to Mr. Marplus. \"That you may do\nwith safety,\" said he to her, \"as I shall have it in my own hands; and,\nyou may be assured, will never put it in force to your prejudice.\"\n'In fine, Sir,' continued Mrs. Marplus, 'she agreed to this proposal;\nand, as it was then too late for the execution of what she had promised,\non her making a solemn vow to fulfil it punctually the next day, I told\nher she was at liberty to go home that night, but that I would not\nwithdraw the warrant I pretended to have taken out against her till all\nwas over.\n'She was, indeed, too much rejoiced at the expectation of getting off\nfrom the imaginary prosecution, to think of breaking her word: my wicked\nhusband, however, had the success of his design more greatly at heart\nthan to give her any long time for reflection. Accordingly, we went\npretty early the next morning to her lodgings, accompanied by one of\nthose who had assumed the character of constable, and who in reality had\nformerly served the parish where he still lives in that capacity, and a\nlawyer, previously directed to fill up the bond in the strongest and\nmost binding terms that words could form. There was not the least demur\nor objection, on the part of her ladyship: she signed her name; and Mrs.\nPrinks, her woman, and the man we brought with us, set their hands as\nwitnesses.\n'You see, Sir,' pursued she, 'the drift of this contrivance; Lady\nMellasin was the instrument, but it was you that was ordained to suffer:\nthere was no fixed sum or sums stipulated for the support we were to\nreceive from her; but Marplus was so continually draining her purse,\nthat I have often been amazed by what arts she imposed on you to\nreplenish it. Whenever she began to make any excuse for not complying\nwith his demands, he presently threatened her with putting the bond in\nforce against you; by which means he extorted from her almost whatever\nhe required.\n'One time in particular, he pretended to be under an arrest for three\nhundred pounds; and she not having so much money by her, was obliged to\nsend Mrs. Prinks with her diamond necklace, to the pawnbroker's to make\nit up: yet, would you believe it, Sir, notwithstanding all he got from\nher ladyship, he kept me poor and mean, as you see; would not let me\nhave a servant, but made me wash his linen, and do all his drudgery,\nwhile he strutted about the town like a fine fellow, with his toupee\nwig, and laced waistcoat; and, if I made the least complaint, would tell\nme, in derision, that, as I had no children, I had nothing else to do\nbut to wait upon him. I bore all this, however, because I loved the\nvillain; and, indeed, did not then know he was so great a one to me as I\nnow find he is.\n'He pretended to me that he was heartily weary of Lady Mellasin, hated\nher, and could no longer bear the pain of dissembling with her. \"I will,\ntherefore,\" said he, \"demand a much larger sum of her than I know it is\nin her power to raise: her non-compliance will give me an excuse for\ncompelling her husband to pay the penalty of the bond; and, when I have\ngot the money, I will purchase an employment in some one or other of the\npublick offices, on which you and I may live comfortably together the\nremainder of our days.\"\n'Accordingly, at his next meeting with Lady Mellasin, he told her he had\na present occasion for a sum of money, and she must let him have five\nhundred pounds within four or five days at farthest. This, it seems,\nextremely alarmed her; she replied, that it was impossible for her to\nprocure so much at once--complained that he had been too pressing upon\nher--and told him, that he ought not to expect she could always supply\nhis extravagances in the manner she had lately done. High words arose\nbetween them on this account; she reproached him with the straits he had\nalready put her to; said he must wait till money came into her hands. He\nswore the present exigence of his affairs required an immediate supply;\nthat he saw no remedy but arresting you; and they parted in great anger.\n'The next day he sent me to her with a letter: neither she nor Mrs.\nPrinks was at home, and I did not judge it proper to leave it with the\nservants, so carried it back again; he did not happen to ask me for it,\nand I never thought of returning it, which I am now very glad of, as it\nmay serve to corroborate the truth of what I told you.'\nIn speaking this, she presented a paper to Mr. Goodman, which he took\nhastily out of her hands, and found it contained these words--\n     'To Lady Mellasin.\n     Madam,\n     Your excuses won't do with me. Money I must have; I know you may\n     raise it if you will, and I am amazed you should imagine I can\n     believe any thing you say to the contrary, when you have an old\n     fellow who, you yourself told me, knows no end to his wealth, and\n     that you married him only to make him my banker. Do not, therefore,\n     offer to trifle with me any longer; for if you do, by my soul I\n     shall put the bond in force! and then there will be an end of all\n     love and friendship between you and him, who has been for so many\n     years, your constant servant,\n     O. MARPLUS.'\n'Oh! wretched woman!' cried Mr. Goodman, as soon as he had done reading,\n'to how low, how contemptible a fate, has vice reduced her!' Mrs.\nMarplus, perceiving by his countenance the distraction of his mind,\nwould not prosecute her discourse, till he, recovering himself a little,\nbid her go on, if any thing yet remained to be related of this shocking\nnarrative.\n'I have told you, Sir,' resumed she, 'the preparations, the consequence\nyou are but too well acquainted with; I have only to assure you, that I\nhad not discovered my husband's baseness, but with a view of your doing\nyourself justice: you have no occasion to pay this bond; you can prove\nit a fraud by the joint evidence of myself his wife, and another person\nno less deeply concerned in the contrivance, and is ready to make his\naffidavit of every particular I have recited; but then, whatsoever is\ndone, must be done with expedition, or he will be past the reach either\nof you or me. I have just now learned, that, instead of purchasing an\nemployment, as he pretended to me, he is privately preparing to go over\nto Holland, Brussels, or some of those places, and settle there with a\nyoung hussey, who they say is with child by him, and will leave me here\nto starve. His lawyer, to whom he has assigned the bond, is to advance\nfifteen hundred pounds upon it, on condition he has the residue of it to\nhimself, when you shall discharge the whole. Now it is in your power,\nSir, to save yourself the payment of so much money, and relive a\nmuch-injured and distressed wife, by complaining to the Court of\nChancery of the imposition practised on you, and procure a _ne exeat\nregnum_ to prevent his escape.'\nHere she gave over speaking; and Mr. Goodman, after a short pause,\nreplied, that he could not at that instant resolve on any thing; but\nadded, that he would take some advice, and then let her know how far she\nmight be serviceable to him: on which she took her leave, after giving\nhim directions where she might be found.\nCHAPTER XV\n_Shews some part of the consequences produced by the foregoing\noccurrence_\nThough Mr. Goodman very easily perceived the wife of Marplus had not\nmade the discovery she had done through any principle of conscience, or\ntrue contrition for having been an accomplice in the base action she had\nrevealed, but merely in revenge of a husband, who had used her ill, and\nwas about to leave her, yet he thought it behoved him to draw all\nadvantages he could from the knowledge of so astonishing, and so\nalarming a secret.\nHe therefore wasted no time, either in unavailing reflections on his own\ninconsiderateness, in marrying, at his years, a woman such as Lady\nMellasin, nor in exclamations on her ingratitude and perfidiousness;\nbut, convinced beyond a doubt of the wrongs he had sustained, bent his\nwhole mind on doing himself justice, in as ample a manner as possible,\non the aggressors.\nThe lawyer, to whom he had applied the day before, was not only a person\nwho had transacted all the business he had in his way, but was also his\nacquaintance of a long standing, and very good friend; and it was no\ninconsiderable consolation, under so grievous a misfortune, that he was\nnot at a loss whom he should consult on an affair that required the\ngreatest integrity, as well as ability.\nThat gentleman, luckily for Mr. Goodman's impatience, came to enquire\nhow he did after his last night's shock, just as he was preparing to\nwait on him, in order to acquaint him with the more stabbing one he had\nsince received. This injured husband rejoiced, as much as the present\nunhappy circumstances of his mind would permit, at the sight of his\nfriend; and related to him, in as brief a manner as he could, the sum\nof the whole story he had received from Mrs. Marplus.\n'Good God!' said the lawyer, as soon as Mr. Goodman had given over\nspeaking, 'I am confounded: but, pray, Sir, how have you resolved to do?\nIn what way will you proceed?'--'That I must ask of you,' replied Mr.\nGoodman, hastily; 'you may be certain I shall not be passive in this\nmatter. I only want to know what course I am to steer?'--'Could you\nconsent,' cried the lawyer, after a pause, 'to be divorced from Lady\nMellasin?'--'Consent!' said Mr. Goodman, with more warmth than before;\n'the most terrible vexation I endure dwells in the consideration that\nshe is still my wife! Were that name once erased, I think I should be\neasy.'--'I hope then soon to see you so,' said the other; 'but the first\nthing we have to do is to get the affidavits of the two witnesses, and\nthen arrest Marplus. I shall order it so with his lawyer, whom I have\nunder my thumb, on account of some malpractices I have detected him in,\nthat he shall not dare to procure bail for this unworthy client. In a\nword, Sir,' continued he, 'I do not doubt, the case being so plain, but\nto relieve you from paying the penalty of the bond; but, in the mean\ntime, what will you do with Lady Mellasin? It is necessary she should be\nremoved out of the house.'--'The house is hell to me while she is in\nit!' said Mr. Goodman. They had some farther talk on this affair; and\nthe manner in which Mr. Goodman was to conduct himself being settled, a\nfootman was sent to bid Mrs. Prinks come down.\nThe confidant of all her lady's guilty secrets could not, now detected,\nbehold the face of Mr. Goodman without the extremest terror and\nconfusion: he perceived it, as she stood trembling scarce half within\nthe door, not daring to approach. 'Come near,' said he; 'you are a\nservant, and below the effects of my resentment, which otherwise you\nmight have cause to dread: I have a message to send by you to your lady;\ntake care you deliver it in the words I give it.' On which she ventured\nto advance a few steps farther into the room, and he went on, with a\nmore authoritative voice than she had ever heard him assume before, in\nthis manner.\n'Tell her,' said he, 'that for many reasons I find it wholly improper\nshe should remain any longer under the same roof with me; desire her\ntherefore to provide a lodging immediately for herself, and all\nbelonging to her: you must all depart this very night, so it behoves her\nto be speedy in her preparations.'--'To-night, Sir!' cried Mrs. Prinks.\n'I have said it,' rejoined he, fiercely: 'be gone! it is not your\nbusiness to reply, but to obey.' She spoke no more, but retired with\nmuch greater haste than she had entered.\nMr. Goodman and his lawyer were pursuing their discourse on the present\nmelancholy occasion, when the butler came in to lay the cloth for\ndinner. As soon as he had finished, and set all the necessary utensils\non the table, Mr. Goodman ordered him to go to Miss Betsy's chamber, and\ndesire her to come down to dinner.\nThat young lady had passed the morning in a very disagreeable manner:\nthe want of repose the night before had made her lie in bed till the day\nwas very far advanced. When she got up, good-manners, good-breeding, and\neven common civility, obliged her to enquire after Lady Mellasin's\nhealth; and being told that she was still in bed, the same motives\ninduced her to pay her compliments in person. On entering the chamber, a\nmournful scene presented itself to her eyes: Lady Mellasin sat up,\nsupported by her pillows, with all the tokens of despair and grief in\nevery feature of her face; Miss Flora had thrown herself on a carpet by\nthe bedside, her head leaning on the ruelle, and her eyes half drowned\nin tears; Mrs. Prinks stood at a little distance from them, pale and\nmotionless as a statue. The approach of Miss Betsy made some alteration\nin their postures, and seemed to awaken them from that lethargy of\nsilent woe: Lady Mellasin began to exclaim on the hardness of her fate,\nand the cruelty of Mr. Goodman; who, she said, seemed glad of a pretence\nto throw off that affection which she had flattered herself would have\nbeen as lasting as life; and bewailed herself in terms so tender and\npathetick, that in spite of the little respect that Miss Betsy in\nreality had for her, and the just indignation she had for some time\nconceived against Miss Flora, her gentle, generous heart, was touched\nwith the strongest emotions of pity and forgiveness.\nAs she was far from suspecting all the grounds Lady Mellasin had for\nthis immoderate grief, and in her soul believing that Mr. Goodman would\nsoon be brought to forgive both the affront and the damage his fortune\nhad suffered on her account, she begged her ladyship would not indulge\nthe dictates of despair, but reflect on the natural sweetness of Mr.\nGoodman's disposition; the great love he had for her; and, above all,\nhis strict adherence to those principles of religion, which forbid a\nlasting resentment; and, in short, reminded her of every thing she could\nthink of for her consolation.\nNone of them having yet breakfasted, she staid and drank coffee with\nthem; nor would her compassionate temper have permitted her to quit them\nso soon as she did, if she had not been called away to a milliner, who\nwas come with some things she had the day before ordered to be brought;\nand she had just dispatched this little affair, and got out of her\ndishabille, when she had received the above-mentioned message from Mr.\nGoodman.\nOn her coming into the parlour, where dinner was that moment serving\nup, 'I must request the favour of you, Miss Betsy,' said Mr. Goodman,\n'to do the honours of my table today.'--'I shall do the best I can,\nSir,' replied Miss Betsy modestly; 'but am very sorry for the occasion\nwhich obliges me to take upon me an office I am so little accustomed\nto.'--'You will be the better able to discharge it when it becomes\nyour duty!' said Mr. Goodman, with a faint smile; 'but I believe this\nis the only time I shall put you to it. I have a kinswoman, who I\nexpect will be so good as to take care of the affairs of my family\nhenceforward.'--'O Sir!' replied Miss Betsy, with a great deal of\nconcern, 'I hope Lady Mellasin has not for ever forfeited her place!'\nMr. Goodman was about to make some reply, when they heard the voice of\nthat lady whom Miss Betsy had just mentioned extremely loud upon the\nstairs. 'I will not be used in this manner,' cried she; 'if I must go,\nlet him tell me so himself.' On this, Mr. Goodman grew extremely red:\n'Go,' said he to the footman that waited at table, 'and tell Lady\nMellasin that I will not be disturbed.'--'Hold,' cried the lawyer;\n'permit me, Sir, to moderate this matter.' In speaking these words, he\nrose hastily; and, without staying to hear what Mr. Goodman would say,\nran to prevent Lady Mellasin from coming in. While he was gone, 'Yes,\nMiss Betsy,' said Mr. Goodman, 'you will lose your companion; Miss\nFlora, with her mother, leaves my house to-night.'\nMiss Betsy, who had gone out of Lady Mellasin's chamber before Mrs.\nPrinks brought her this piece of intelligence from Mr. Goodman, was\nprodigiously surprized to hear him speak in this manner. 'It is a sudden\nturn, indeed,' pursued he; 'but the reasons which urge me to this\nseparation will hereafter appear such as I neither could nor ought to\nhave resisted.' Miss Betsy only replying, that he was certainly the best\njudge of what he did, no farther discourse happened on the subject, nor,\nindeed, on any other, for some moments.\nAt last, however, Mr. Goodman taking notice that she looked more than\nordinarily serious, 'Perhaps,' said he, 'you may think my house too\nmelancholy for you when they are gone. The relation I intend to bring\nhome, though a perfect good woman, is pretty far advanced in years; and,\nI believe, receives but few visits, especially from the younger sort;\nbut as the house I have hired for Mr. Thoughtless will be ready in a day\nor two, I should imagine he would be glad to have you with him till you\nmarry: but this,' continued he, 'is at your own option; I do but mention\nit, because I would have you entirely easy in this point, and consider\nwhat it is will most contribute to make you so.'\nMiss Betsy had only time to thank him for his goodness before the lawyer\ncame down: that gentleman had found a more difficult talk than he had\nexpected, in bringing Lady Mellasin to submit to the injunctions she had\nreceived from her husband; not that she had the least spark of conjugal\naffection for him, as the reader may very well suppose, or would have\nwished ever to see him more, if she could have lived without him in the\nsame manner she did with him; but the thoughts of leaving her large and\nrichly-appointed house--her fine side-board of plate--her coach--her\nequipage, and all those other ensigns of opulence and state she now\nenjoyed, were insupportable to her, and, having in vain essayed what a\nfeigned penitence and tenderness could do, to work him to forgiveness,\nhad now resolved to try the effect of a more haughty and imperious\ndeportment. 'I will make him know I am his wife!' cried she; 'and\nwhatever he is possessed of, I am an equal sharer in: let him not\ntherefore think that, wherever he is master, I shall cease to be\nmistress.'\nThe lawyer then remonstrated to her, that though it were true, as she\nsaid, that she had a right to partake of his fortune, yet it was still\nin the power of a husband to oblige her to receive the benefit of that\nright in what manner, and in what place, he should think proper: he told\nher, Mr. Goodman was determined that she should quit his house, and that\nall applications made by her to the contrary would be fruitless, and\nexasperate him the more, and only serve to widen the unhappy breach\nbetween them. 'If Mr. Goodman,' said he, 'has no other complaint against\nyour ladyship, than simply his paying the penalty of the bond, and, it\nmay be, some other trifling debts, I cannot think he will, for any\nlength of time, persevere in his present inflexibility of temper.' These\narguments, and some others he made use of, enforced with all the\nrhetorick and art he was master of, at last convinced her, that it was\nbest for her to yield, with a seeming willingness, to the fate it was\nnot in her power to avoid; and she promised him to send Prinks directly\nto hire an apartment for her, at a house near Golden Square, with the\nmistress of which she had some small acquaintance.\nThe whole time this gentleman had been with Lady Mellasin, the meat was\nkept on the table, but he would not stay to eat. 'We have not a minute\nto lose,' said he to Mr. Goodman; 'let us go, Sir, and dispatch what we\nhave to do.' With these words, they both went hastily out of the doors,\nleaving Miss Betsy in a good deal of consternation at what they were\nabout.\nCHAPTER XVI\n_Is a kind of olio, a mixture of many things, all of them very much to\nthe purpose, though less entertaining than some others_\nLady Mellasin, who little expected that her husband was made so well\nacquainted, or even that he had the least thought of the worst part of\nher behaviour towards him, was ready enough to flatter herself, both\nfrom her experience of his uncommon tenderness for her, and from what\nhis lawyer had insinuated, in order to prevail upon her to go away with\nthe less noise, that when this gust of passion was blown over, he would\nbe reconciled, and consent to her return.\nThese imaginations made her carry it with a high hand before the\nservants; and as they were packing up her things, while Mrs. Prinks was\ngone to prepare a lodging for her--'Your master will be glad to fetch me\nhome again,' cried she; 'poor man! he has been strangely wrong-headed of\nlate. I suppose he will be ready to hang himself when he considers what\nhe has done; for he may be sure I shall not very easily forgive the\naffront he has put upon me.'\nHow truly amiable is an unblemished character, and how contemptible is\nthe reverse! Servants naturally love and respect virtue in those they\nlive with, and seldom or ever either flatter or conceal the vices they\ndo not greatly profit by. The airs Lady Mellasin gave herself on this\noccasion, were so far from making them believe her innocent, or their\nmaster blameable, that, as soon as they had gone out of her sight, they\nonly turned her pride, and the fall it was going to sustain, into\nridicule and grimace.\nMiss Betsy, however, could not see them depart in this manner, without\nfeeling a very deep concern: their misfortunes obliterated all the\nresentment she had at any time conceived against them; and she had never\nbefore been more angry, even with Miss Flora, for the treachery she had\nbeen guilty of to her, than she was now grieved at the sight of her\nhumiliation.\nShe was sitting alone, and full of very serious reflections on this\nsudden change in the family, when her brother Thoughtless came in: she\nwas glad of the opportunity of sounding his inclinations as to her\nliving with him, and now resolved to do it effectually: she began with\ntelling him the whole story of Lady Mellasin's and Miss Flora's removal;\nand then complained how dully she should pass the time with only Mr.\nGoodman, and an old gentlewoman who was to come to be his housekeeper.\n'I thought you were about marrying,' said he; 'and expected, from what\nMr. Goodman wrote to me, that my first compliment to you, on my arrival,\nwould have been to have wished you joy.--You are not broke off with the\ngentleman, are you?'\nThe careless air with which he spoke these words, stung Miss Betsy to\nthe quick; she took no notice, however, how much she was piqued at them,\nbut replied, that the whole affair was mere suggestion; that it was\ntrue, indeed, she had for some time received the addresses of a\ngentleman recommended by her brother Frank; that he, and some other of\nher friends, were very much for the match, and she supposed had spoke of\nit as a thing concluded on, because they wished it to be so: but, for\nher own part, she never had as yet entertained one serious thought about\nthe matter; and, at present, was far from having any disposition to\nbecome a wife; 'So that,' continued she, 'if I am doomed to stay in Mr.\nGoodman's house, till I am relieved that way, it is very probable I may\nbe moped to death, and married to my grave.'\n'Where is the necessity for that?' said he. 'Are there not places enough\nin town, where you may find good company to board or lodge\nwith?'--'Doubtless there are many such, Sir,' replied she, with some\nspirit; 'and if I am so unhappy as not to have any friend so kind to\nmake me an invitation, shall be obliged to seek an asylum amongst\nstrangers.'\nMr. Thoughtless looked a little confounded at these words: he had seen,\nfrom the beginning of her discourse, the aim to which it tended; and, as\nhe had his own reasons for not complying with her desire, would not seem\nto understand her; but she now spoke too plain, and he was somewhat at a\nloss what answer to make, so as not to give her any cause of accusing\nhis want of affection, and at the same time put her off from expecting\nhe would agree to what she would have him, in this point; when,\nfortunately for his relief, a letter, just brought by the post, was\npresented to Miss Betsy. 'From L----e!' said she, as soon as she took it\ninto her hand. 'From brother Frank, then, I suppose?' cried he. 'No,'\nanswered she, 'from Lady Trusty; you will excuse me, brother, while I\nlook over the contents.' She broke it open while she was speaking, and\nread to herself as follows.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     My dear Miss Betsy,\n     Sir Ralph received yesterday a letter from Mr. Thoughtless, dated\n     Calais, the third instant; so I doubt not but by this time I may\n     congratulate you on his safe arrival in London: but I am sorry to\n     acquaint you, that while you were embracing one brother, you were\n     in very great danger of losing another; but do not be too much\n     alarmed, I hope the worst is past. I believe he gave you an account\n     himself, that, by an unlucky fall from his horse, he was prevented\n     from going to London so soon as he had designed; but the mischief\n     done him by this accident was much greater than he imagined at the\n     time of his writing to you. What he took only for a common bruise,\n     proved to be a contusion; and, for want of proper care at first,\n     through the outrageousness of the pain, soon brought on a fever:\n     for two whole days we were in the utmost apprehensions for his\n     life; but now, thanks to the Author of all mercies, we are assured\n     by the physician that attends him, and who is esteemed the most\n     skilful this county affords, that he is in a fair way of doing\n     well. His delirium has quite left him; and he has recovered the use\n     of his reason so far as to entreat I would send the warmest wishes\n     of his heart to you, and to desire you will make the same\n     acceptable to his dear brother, if you are yet so happy as to see\n     him: he also enjoins you to pay his compliments to Mr. Trueworth,\n     in such words as are befitting the friendship you know he has for\n     him. I have much to say to you from myself, on the score of that\n     gentleman, and should be glad to add to the advice I have already\n     given you, but am deprived of that satisfaction by the arrival of\n     some company, who are come to pass a week or fortnight with us;\n     therefore must defer what I have to say till another opportunity.\n     Farewel! may Heaven keep you under it's protection, and your\n     guardian-angel never fail his charge! Be assured, that though I do\n     not write so long, nor so often to you, as I could wish, I am\n     always, with the greatest sincerity, my dear Miss Betsy, your very\n     affectionate friend, and humble servant,\n     M. TRUSTY.\n     P.S. I wrote the above this morning, because one of our men was to\n     have gone pretty early to town; but Sir Ralph having some letters\n     of his own, which were not then ready, detained him; and I have now\n     the pleasure to tell you, that the doctor, who is this moment come\n     from your brother's chamber, assures me that he has found him\n     wonderfully mended since his visit to him last night. Once more, my\n     dear, adieu.'\nMr. Thoughtless, perceiving some tears in the eyes of Miss Betsy while\nshe was reading, cried out, 'What is the matter, sister? I hope no ill\nnews from the country!'--'Be pleased to read that, Sir,' said she,\ngiving him the letter, 'and see if I had not cause to be affected with\nsome part of it.'\n'Poor Frank!' said he, as soon as he had done reading, 'I am sorry for\nthe accident that has happened to him; but more glad it is like to be\nattended with no worse consequences. Do not be melancholy, my dear\nsister; you find he is in a fair way of recovery, and I hope we shall\nsoon have him with us. I long very much to see him,' continued he; 'and\nthe more so, as I have spoke in his behalf to a general officer whom I\ncontracted an intimacy with at Paris, and who has promised me all the\nservice he can in procuring him a commission.'\nThey had some farther talk on family affairs; after which he told her he\nwas troubled to leave her alone, but was obliged to return to some\ncompany he had made an elopement from when he came there. At parting, he\nsaluted her with a great deal of affection--desired she would be\nchearful--and said, he dare believe she had too much merit ever to have\nany real cause to be otherwise.\nThis tenderness very much exhilarated her drooping spirits: she\nentertained fresh hopes of being in the house with a brother, who, she\nfound, designed to live in the most elegant and polite manner, which was\nwhat she had at present the most at heart of any thing in the world. She\nnow began to fancy he did not propose it to her, either because he did\nnot think she would approve of it, or because he feared, that to testify\nany desire of removing her might offend Mr. Goodman, as she had boarded\nwith him ever since she came to town; she, therefore, resolved to desire\nthe favour of that gentleman to mention it to him, as of his own\naccord, and let her know what answer he should make. This idea gave her\nsome pleasure for a while; but it was as soon dissipated: the thoughts\nof her brother Frank's misfortune, and the danger she could not be sure\nhe was yet perfectly recovered from, came again into her mind; but this\nalso vanished, on remembering the hopes Lady Trusty had given her: yet\nstill she was discontented, though she knew not well at what. In fine,\nshe was so little accustomed to reflect much on any thing, much less to\nbe alone, that it became extremely irksome to her. 'What a wilderness is\nthis house!' cried she to herself. 'What a frightful solitude! One would\nthink all the world knew Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora were gone, that\nnobody comes near the door. How still! how quiet, is every thing!' Then\nwould she start up from her chair, measure how many paces were in the\nroom--look at one picture, then on another--then on her own resemblance\nin the great glass. But all this would not do; she wanted somebody to\ntalk to--something new to amuse her with. 'I wonder,' said she, 'what is\nbecome of Trueworth!--I have not seen him these three days. Indeed, I\nused him a little ill at our last conversation: but what of that? If he\nloves me as well as he professes, he will not, sure, pretend to be\naffronted at any thing I do. My brother desires me to give his\ncompliments; but if the man will not come to receive them, it is none of\nmy fault. Yet, after all,' continued she, having paused a little, 'what\nprivilege has our sex to insult and tyrannize over the men? It is\ncertainly both ungenerous and ungrateful to use them the worse, for\nusing us, perhaps, better than we deserve. Mr. Trueworth is a man of\nsense; and, if I were in his place, I would not take such treatment from\nany woman in the world. I could not much blame him if he never saw me\nmore. Well--when next he comes, I will, however, behave to him with more\nrespect.'\nThus did the dictates of a truly reasonable woman, and the idle humour\nof a vain coquette, prevail by turns over her fluctuating mind. Her\nadventure at Miss Forward's came fresh into her head: she was in some\nmoments angry with Mr. Trueworth for offering his advice; in others,\nmore angry with herself, for not having taken it. She remained in this\nperplexity till a servant, finding it grew late, and that his master did\nnot sup at home, came in, and asked her if she would not please to have\nthe cloth laid; to which she answered, with all her heart: on which, the\ntable being immediately spread, she eat of something that was there, and\nsoon after went to bed; where, it is probable, she lost in sleep both\nall the pleasure and the pain of her past meditations.\nMr. Goodman was all this while, as well as for several succeeding days\nalso, busily employed on an affair no less disagreeable to him than it\nwas new to him; but, by the diligence and adroitness of his lawyer, he\ngot the affidavits, the warrant, and everything necessary for the\nintended prosecution of Marplus and Lady Mellasin, ready much sooner\nthan many others would have done, or he himself had expected.\nThe fatigue and perplexity he was under, was, indeed, very great, as may\nbe easily supposed; yet did it not render him neglectful of Miss Betsy.\nShe had desired him to speak to her brother on her account, and he did\nso the first opportunity; not as if the thing had been mentioned by her,\nbut as if he, in the present situation of his family, thought her\nremoval expedient.\nMr. Thoughtless, from what his sister had said, expecting he should one\ntime or other be spoke more plainly to upon that subject, had prepared\nhimself with an answer. He told Mr. Goodman, that nothing could have\nbeen more satisfactory to him than to have his sister with him, if her\nbeing so were any ways proper. Said he, 'As I am a single man, I shall\nhave a crowd of gay young fellows continually coming to my house; and I\ncannot answer that all of them would be able to behave with that strict\ndecorum, which I should wish to see always observed towards a person so\nnear to me. Her presence, perhaps, might be some check upon them, and\ntheirs no less disagreeable to her. In fine, Mr. Goodman,' continued he,\n'it is a thing wholly inconsistent with that freedom I propose to live\nin, and would not have her think on it.'\nIt was not that this gentleman wanted natural affection for his sister,\nthat he refused what he was sensible she so much desired; but he was at\npresent so circumstanced, that, to have complied, would, under a shew of\nkindness, have done her a real injury. He had brought with him a young\nand very beautiful mistress from Paris, of whom he was fond, and jealous\nto that extravagant degree, that he could scarce suffer her a moment\nfrom his sight: he had promised her the sole command of his house and\nservants, and that she should appear as his wife in all respects except\nthe name. How could he, therefore, bring home a sister, who had a right\nto, and doubtless would have claimed, all those privileges another was\nalready in possession of! And how would it have agreed with the\ncharacter of a virtuous young lady, to have lived in the same house\nwith a woman kept by her brother as his mistress!\nBut this was a secret Miss Betsy was as yet wholly unacquainted with;\nand when Mr. Goodman repeated to her what had passed between them on her\nscore, and the excuse her brother had made for not complying with the\nproposal, she thought it so weak, and withal so unkind, that she could\nnot forbear bursting into tears. The good-natured old gentleman could\nnot see her thus afflicted without being extremely concerned, and saying\nmany kind things to pacify her. 'Do not weep,' said he; 'I will make it\nmy business, nay my study, to procure some place where you may be\nboarded to your satisfaction.'--'I beg, Sir, that you will not mistake\nmy meaning. I do assure you, Sir, I am not wanting in sensibility of\nyour goodness to all our family, and to me in particular. I must,\nindeed, be strangely stupid not to think myself happy under the\nprotection of a gentleman of so humane and benign a disposition. No,\nSir, be persuaded there is no house in London, except that of an own\nbrother, I would prefer to yours. I will, therefore, with your\npermission, continue here; nor entertain the least thought of removing,\nunless some accident, yet unforeseen, obliges me to it.'\nMr. Goodman then told her, that he should be glad she would always do\nwhat was most for her own ease. This was all the discourse they had upon\nthis head; and when Miss Betsy began to consider seriously on the\nbehaviour of Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, she found there was little\nreason for her to regret the loss of their society; nor that she ought\nto think Mr. Goodman's house less agreeable for their being out of it.\nShe received all such as she approved of, who had come to visit them,\nand by doing so, were acquainted with her; and as to those who still\nvisited herself in particular, it was the same as ever. Mr. Goodman's\nkinswoman, now his housekeeper, was a well-bred, accomplished woman, and\na chearful, agreeable companion. She seemed studious to oblige her: all\nthe servants were ready to do every thing she desired; and it would have\nbeen difficult for her to have found any place where she could have been\nbetter accommodated, or have had more cause to be contented; and she\nwould doubtless have thought herself more happy than she had ever been\nsince her coming to Mr. Goodman's, if other things, of a different\nnature, had not given her some unquiet moments.\nBut, besides the unkindness of one brother, on whom she had built the\nmost pleasing hopes, and the indisposition of another, for whom she had\na very great affection, the late behaviour of Mr. Trueworth gave her\nmuch matter of mortification. She had not seen him for upwards of a\nweek: she imputed this absence to the rebuff she had given him at his\nlast visit; and, though she could not avoid confessing in her heart that\nshe had treated him neither as a gentleman nor a friend, yet her vanity\nhaving suggested, that he was capable of resenting any thing she did,\nreceived a prodigious shock by the disappointment it now sustained.\nCHAPTER XVII\n_Contains only such things as the reader might reasonably expect to have\nbeen informed of before_\nIt was the fate of Miss Betsy to attract a great number of admirers; but\nnever to keep alive, for any length of time, the flame she had inspired\nthem with. Whether this was owing to the inconstancy of the addressers,\nor the ill-conduct of the person addressed, cannot absolutely be\ndetermined; but it is highly probable that both these motives might\nsometimes concur to the losing her so many conquests. Mr. Trueworth had\nbeen the most assiduous, and also the most persevering, of all that had\never yet wore her chains. His love had compelled his judgment to pay an\nimplicit obedience to her will; he had submitted to humour all the\nlittle extravagances of her temper, and affected to appear easy at what\nhis reason could not but disapprove. He had flattered himself, that all\nthat was blame-worthy in her would wear off by degrees, and that every\nerror would be her last, till a long succession of repeated\ninadvertences made him first begin to fear, and then to be convinced,\nthat however innocent she might be in fact, her manner of behaviour\nwould ill suit with the character he wished should always be maintained\nby the woman he had made choice of for a wife.\nHis meeting her at Miss Forward's--her obstinately persisting in going\nto the play with that abandoned creature, after the remonstrances he had\nmade her on that score--her returning home so late, and in disorder,\nconducted by a stranger--in fine, what he saw himself, and had been\ntold, concerning the proceedings of that night, gave the finishing\nstroke to all his hopes, that she would ever, at least, while youth and\nbeauty lasted, be brought to a just sensibility of the manner in which\nshe ought to act.\nIf the letter, contrived and sent by the mischievous Miss Flora, had\nreached his hand but two days sooner, it would have had no other effect\nupon him than to make him spurn the invective scroll beneath his feet,\nand wish to serve the author in the same manner: but poor Miss Betsy\nhad, by her own mismanagement, prepared his heart to receive any\nimpressions to her prejudice; yet was the scandal it contained of so\ngross a kind, that he could not presently give into the belief of it:\n'Good God!' he cried, 'it is impossible! If she has so little sense of\nhonour or reputation, as the lightness of her behaviour makes some\npeople too ready to imagine, her very pride is sufficient to secure her\nvirtue: she would not, could not, condescend to the embraces of a man\nwho thought so meanly of her as to attempt the gaining her on any other\nscore than that of marriage! And yet,' pursued he, after a pause, 'who\nknows but that very pride, which seems to be her defence, may have\ncontributed to her fall? She has vanity enough to imagine she may act\nwith impunity what she would condemn in others. She might fancy, as the\npoet says--\n    \"That faultless form could act no crime,\n    But Heav'n, on looking on it, must forgive.\"\n'Why then,' continued he, 'should the foolish remains of the tenderness\nI once had for her, make me still hesitate to believe her guilty? No,\nno! the account before me has too much the face of truth; it is too\ncircumstantial to be the work of mere invention. No one would forge a\nlie, and at the same time present the means of detecting it to be so.\nHere is the village specified, the nurse's name, and a particular\ndirection how I may convince myself of the shameful truth. There is no\nroom to doubt!'\nTo strengthen the opinion he now had of her guilt, the words Miss Flora\nhad said to him, returned to his remembrance--that there was a time when\nMiss Betsy had trusted her with her dearest secrets.--'Her dearest\nsecrets!' cried he: 'what secrets can a virtuous young lady have, that\nshun the light, and require so much fidelity in the concealment of? No,\nno! it must be this Miss Flora meant by that emphatick expression. The\nother could not hide the consequence of her shameful passion from the\nfamily; Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora must know it, and perhaps many\nmore; who, while they were witnesses of the respect I paid her, laughed\nat the folly of my fond credulity.'\nThus at some times did he believe her no less guilty than the letter\nsaid; but, at others, sentiments of a different nature prevailed, and\npleaded in her favour; her adventure with the gentleman-commoner at\nOxford came into his head: 'If the too great gaiety of her temper,' said\nhe, 'led her into danger, she then had courage and virtue to extricate\nherself out of it.' He also recollected several expressions she had\ncasually let fall, testifying her disdain and abhorrence of every thing\nthat had the least appearance of indecency: but then relapsing into his\nformer doubts, 'Yet who,' cried he again, 'can account for accident? she\nmight, in one unguarded moment, grant what, in another, she would blush\nto think of.'\nHow terrible is the situation of a lover who endeavours all he can to\nreconcile his reason to his passion, yet to which side soever he bends\nhis thoughts, finds in them things so diametrically opposite and\nincompatible, that either the one or the other must be totally\nrenounced! Willing, therefore, to take the party which would best become\nhis honour and reputation, Mr. Trueworth resolved to banish from his\nmind all the ideas of those amiable qualities he had admired in Miss\nBetsy, and remember only those which gave him occasion for disgust.\nBut this was a task not so easy to be accomplished as he imagined; for\nthough the irregularity of Miss Betsy's conduct was of itself sufficient\nto deter him from a marriage with her, yet he found he stood in need of\nall helps to enable him to drive that once so pleasing object entirely\nfrom his mind.\nTo be therefore more fully confirmed how utterly unworthy she was of his\nregard, than could be made by this anonymous accusation, he went in\nperson down to Denham; where, following the directions given him in the\nletter, the cottage where Goody Bushman lived was presently pointed out\nto him by the first person he enquired of. 'So far, at least,' said he\nto himself, 'the letter-writer has told truth.' He then sent his\nservants with his horses to wait his return at a publick-house in the\nvillage, and walked towards the place he came in search of.\nHe found the honest countrywoman holding a child in her arms on one side\nof the fire, two rosy boys were sitting opposite to her, with each a\ngreat piece of bread and butter in his hand. At sight of a strange\ngentleman she got off her seat; and, dropping a low curtsey, cried, 'Do\nyou please to want my husband, Sir?'--'No,' said Mr. Trueworth; 'my\nbusiness is with you, if you are Mrs. Bushman.'--'Goody Bushman, an't\nplease you, Sir,' replied she. And then, bidding the boys get farther\nfrom the chimney, reached him the handsomest joint-stool her cottage\nafforded, for him to sit down.\nHe told her that he had a kinswoman, who had some thoughts of putting a\nchild to nurse in the country; that she had been recommended: 'But,'\nsaid he, 'can we have nothing to drink together? What sort of liquor\ndoes this part of the world afford?'--'Alack, Sir,' replied she, 'you\nfine gentlemen, mayhap, may like nothing but wine; and there is none to\nbe had any nearer than Uxbridge.'--'Nor cyder!' cried he. 'I am afraid\nnone good,' replied she; 'but there is pure good ale down the lane, if\nyour honour could drink that.'--'It is all one to me,' said Mr.\nTrueworth, 'if you like it yourself.' Then turning to him who seemed the\neldest of the two boys, 'I suppose, my lad,' continued he, 'you can\nprocure a tankard of this same ale.'--'Yes, Sir,' cried his mother,\nhastily--'Go to Philpot's, and bid them send a can of their best ale;\nand, do you hear, desire my dame to draw it herself.'--Mr. Trueworth\nthen gave the boy some money, and he went on his errand, prudently\ntaking with him a large slice of bread that happened to lay upon the\ndresser.\n'That is a fine child you have in your lap,' said Mr. Trueworth; 'is it\nyour own?'--'No,' answered she, 'this is a young Londoner.'--'Some\nwealthy citizen's, I suppose,' rejoined he. 'No, by my truly, Sir!' said\nshe; 'it has neither father nor mother, and belike must have gone to the\nparish, if a good sweet young lady had not taken pity of it, and given\nit to me to nurse; and, would you think it, Sir, is as kind to it, and\npays as punctually for it, as if it were her own. My husband goes up to\nLondon every month to receive the money, and she never lets him come\nhome without it, and gives him over and above sixpence or a shilling to\ndrink upon the road: poor man, he loves a sup of good ale dearly, that's\nall his fault, though I cannot say he ever neglects his business; he is\nup early and down late, and does a power of work for a little money. Sir\nRoger Hill will employ nobody but him; and, good reason, because he\nmakes him take whatever he pleases, and that is little enough, God\nknows; for he is a hard man: and if it were not for my nursing, we could\nnot make both ends meet, as the saying is; but he is our landlord, and\nwe dare not disoblige him.'\nThis innocent countrywoman would probably have run on with the whole\ndetail of her family affairs, if Mr. Trueworth, desirous of turning the\ntide of her communicative disposition into a channel more satisfactory\nto his curiosity, had not interrupted her.\n'This is a very extraordinary charity you have been telling me of,' said\nhe, 'especially in a young lady: she must certainly be somewhat of kin\nto the child.'--'None in the varsal world, Sir,' answered she, 'only her\ngodmother.' The boy now bringing in the ale, Mr. Trueworth was obliged\nto taste it, and testify some sort of approbation, as the good woman had\npraised it so much; but he made her drink a hearty draught of it; after\nwhich, 'And pray,' resumed he, 'what is the name of the child?'--'O,\nSir!' replied she, 'the lady has given it her own name, Betsy; she is\ncalled Miss Betsy Thoughtless herself, though she is a woman grown, and\nmight have had a child or two of her own; but you know, Sir, they are\nall called Miss till they are married.'\nMr. Trueworth, in the present disturbance of his thoughts, making no\nreply, she went on: 'She is a sweet young lady, I can tell you, Sir,'\nsaid she; 'I never saw her but once, and that was when I went to fetch\nthe child; she used me with so much familiarity, not a bit proud,\ncharged me to take care of her little Betsy, and told me, if she lived,\nI should keep her till she was big enough to go to school, and told me\nshe would have her learn to write and read, and work, and then she would\nput her apprentice to a mantua-maker, or a milliner, or some such pretty\ntrade; and then, who knows, Sir,' continued she, holding up the child at\narms-length, and dancing it, 'but some great gentleman or other may fall\nin love with my little Betsy, and I may live to see her ride in her\ncoach? I warrant she will make much of her old nurse.'\n'There are many strange things happen in the world, indeed!' said Mr.\nTrueworth, with a sigh. After which, thinking there was no farther\ndiscovery to be made, he rose up to go away; but seeing the change of\nthe money he had sent by the boy for the beer, lay upon the table, he\ngave it to him, saying, 'Here, my good boy, take this, and divide it\nwith your brother, to buy apples.' Then turning to the nurse, took his\nleave of her with this compliment, 'Well, Mrs. Bushman, I believe you\nare a very honest careful woman, and shall not fail to remember you\nwhenever it comes in my way. In the mean time,' added he, putting a\ncrown piece into her hands, 'take this, and make merry with your\nhusband.' The poor woman was so transported, that she knew not how to\nthank him sufficiently; she made twenty curtsies, crying, 'Heavens bless\nyou, Sir; you are a right noble gentleman, I am sure. Marry, such\nguests come not every day!' And with such like expressions of gratitude,\nfollowed him till he was quite out of hearing.\nWhat now could this enquiring lover think? Where was the least room for\nany conjecture in favour of Miss Betsy's innocence, to gain entrance\ninto his breast? He had seen the child, had heard by whom, and in what\nmanner it was delivered: the charge given with it, and the promises made\nfor its future protection; and whether the nurse was really so weak as\nto be imposed upon by this pretence of charity, or whether bribed to\nimpose it upon others, the facts, as related in the letter, appeared to\nbe so plain, from every circumstance, as to admit no possibility of a\ndoubt.\nA marriage with Miss Betsy was, therefore, now quite out of the question\nwith him: the manner of entirely breaking off with her, was the only\nthing that puzzled him. Loth was he to reproach her with the cause, and\nequally loth to be deemed so inconstant as to quit her without a\njustifiable one. He remained in this dilemma for the space of two days,\nat the expiration of which, after much debating with himself, he wrote,\nand sent to her, by a servant, the following epistle.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Madam,\n     The very ill success I have met with, in the only business which\n     brought me to this town, has determined me to quit it with all\n     possible expedition, and not to think of a return, till I find\n     myself in a disposition more capable of relishing its pleasures.\n     You have given me, Madam, too many instances how little agreeable\n     my presence has ever been, not to convince me, that I stand in no\n     need of an apology for not waiting on you in person, and that this\n     distant way of taking my leave will be less unwelcome to you than a\n     visit, which perhaps would only have interrupted your more gay\n     amusements, and broke in, for some moments, on that round of\n     pleasures, with which you are perpetually encompassed. May you long\n     enjoy all the felicities the manner you chuse to live in can\n     bestow, while I retire to solitude, and, lost in contemplation on\n     some late astonishing occurrences, cry out with the poet--\n         \"There is no wonder, or else all is wonder.\"\n     'If I speak in riddles, a very small retrospect on some remarkable\n     passages in your own conduct, will serve for the solution; but that\n     might probably be imposing on yourself too great a task. I shall\n     therefore trouble you no farther than to assure you, that though I\n     cease to see you, I shall never cease to be, with the most friendly\n     wishes, Madam, your very humble servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nMr. Trueworth having dispatched this letter, which he doubted not but\nwould finish all his concerns with Miss Betsy, thought he had nothing\nmore to do than to take leave of the friends he had in town, and retire\nto his seat in the country, and there endeavour to lose the remembrance\nof all that had been displeasing to him since he left it.\nCHAPTER XVIII\n_Is of very small importance, yet contains such things as the reader may\nexpect to hear_\nWhile Mr. Trueworth was employing himself in exploring the truth of Miss\nBetsy's imaginary crime, and hunting after secrets to render her more\nunworthy of his love, that young lady's head was no less taken up with\nhim, though in a widely different manner; she wanted not a just sense of\nthe merits, both of his person and passion; and though a plurality of\nlovers, the power of flattering the timid with vain hopes, and awing the\nproudest into submission, seemed to her a greater triumph than to be the\nwife of the most deserving man on earth, yet when she consulted her\nheart, she found, and avowed within herself, she could part with the\ntriumph with less reluctance in favour of Mr. Trueworth than of any\nother she yet had seen.\nHis absence, therefore, and the strange neglect he testified in not\nsending to acquaint her with the cause, gave her as much inquietude as a\nperson of her humour could be capable of feeling; but whether it\nproceeded in reality from the first shootings of a growing inclination,\nor from that vanity which made her dread the loss of so accomplished a\nlover, cannot be easily determined: but to which soever of these causes\nit was owing, I think we may be pretty certain, that had he visited her\nin the situation her mind then was, he would have had no reason to\ncomplain of his reception.\nShe never went abroad without flattering herself with the expectation of\nhearing, on her return home, that he had been there, or at least that\nsome letter or message from him had been left for her; and every\ndisappointment involved her in fresh perplexity. In short, if she had\nconsidered him with half that just regard, while he continued to think\nher worthy of his affections, as she was beginning to do when he was\nendeavouring to drive all favourable ideas of her from his mind, they\nmight both have been as happy as at present they were the contrary.\nShe had been with Miss Mabel, and two other ladies of her acquaintance,\nto see that excellent comedy, called the Careless Husband: she was very\nmuch affected with some scenes in it; she imagined she saw herself in\nthe character of Lady Betty Modish, and Mr. Trueworth in that of Lord\nMorelove; and came home full of the most serious reflections on the\nfolly of indulging an idle vanity, at the expence of a man of honour and\nsincerity. She was no sooner within the doors, than the letter\nabove-mentioned was put into her hands: as they told her it had been\nleft for her in the beginning of the evening, by one of Mr. Trueworth's\nservants, and she knew, both by the superscription, and device on the\nseal, that it came from that gentleman, she ran hastily up stairs to her\nchamber, in order to examine the contents; but what flutterings seized\nher heart--what an universal agitation diffused itself through all her\nframe, on reading even the first lines of this cruel epistle! 'Good\nHeaven!' cried she, 'going out of town, not to return!' And then,\nproceeding a little farther; 'What,' added she, 'not see me before he\ngoes! Sure the man is either mad, or I am in a dream.'\nSurprize, and some mixture of a tender remorse, were the first emotions\nof her soul: but when she came to that part of the letter which seemed\nto reflect upon her conduct, and the way in which she chose to live, her\nnative haughtiness re-assumed it's former power, and turned her all into\ndisdain and rage. 'No retrospect,' said she, 'on my own behaviour, can\never justify the audacious reproaches he treats me with. If I have been\nto blame, it is not his province to upbraid me with it.'\nAs she was entirely ignorant of the base artifice that had been put in\npractice against her, and was conscious of no fault Mr. Trueworth had to\naccuse her of, but that of her going with Miss Forward to the play,\nafter the warning he had given her of the danger, it must be confessed,\nshe had a right to think the provocation too slight to draw from him\nsuch resentful expressions, much less to induce him to abandon her.\n'Ungrateful man!' said she, bursting into tears of mingled grief and\nspite, 'to treat me thus, when I was just beginning to entertain the\nkindest thoughts of him! When I was ready to acknowledge the error I was\nguilty of, in not following his advice, and had resolved never to throw\nmyself into such inconveniences again. 'Tis plain he never loved me, or\nhe would not have taken so poor, so trifling, a pretence to break with\nme.'\nThus, for some moments, did she bewail, as it were, the ill-treatment\nshe thought she had received from him. Then looking over the letter\nagain, 'With what a magisterial air,' cried she, 'with what an\naffectation of superiority, does he conclude! \"With the most friendly\nwishes, my humble servant!\" Good lack! friendly! Let him carry his\nfriendly wishes to those he may think will receive them as a favour!'\nUpon revolving in her mind all the circumstances of her behaviour\ntowards Mr. Trueworth, she could find nothing, except what passed at his\nlast visit, that could give him any occasion of disgust, and even that\nshe looked upon as a very insufficient plea for that high resentment he\nnow expressed, much more for his resolving to throw off a passion he had\na thousand and a thousand times vowed should be as lasting as his life.\nThe anonymous letter sent her by Miss Flora, some time since, now came\nfresh into her head; that passage in it which insinuated that Mr.\nTrueworth had no real design of marrying her, that he but trifled with\nher, and on the arrival of her brothers would find some pretence or\nother to break entirely with her, seemed now to tally exactly with his\npresent manner of proceeding. 'The devil,' said she, 'may sometimes\nspeak truth; Mr. Trueworth has but too well verified the words of that\nmalicious girl; and what she herself then thought a falsehood is now\nconfirmed by fact: yet, wherefore,' cried she, 'did he take all this\npains; if he never loved me, never hoped any recompense for his\ndissimulation, what end could he propose by practicing it? What\nadvantage, what pleasure, could it give him to affront the sister of his\nfriend, and impose upon the credulity of a woman he had no design upon?'\nIt would be endless to repeat the many contradictory surmizes which rose\nalternately in her distracted mind; so I shall only say, she sought, but\nthe more she did so, the more she became incapable of fathoming, the\nbottom of this mysterious event.\nThe butler was laying the cloth in the parlour for supper when she came\nhome; Mr. Goodman had waited for her some time, thinking she might be\nundressing, and now sent to desire she would come down: but she begged\nto be excused, said she could not eat, and then called for Nanny, who\nwas the maid that usually attended her in her chamber, to come up and\nput her to bed.\nThis prating wench, who would always know the whole secrets of every\nbody in the family, whether they thought fit to entrust her with them or\nnot, used frequently to divert Miss Betsy with her idle stories: but it\nwas not now in her power, that young lady had no attention for any thing\nbut the object of her present meditations; which the other not happening\nto hit upon, was answered only with peevishness and ill-humour.\nBut as every little circumstance, if any was adapted to the passion we\nat that time are possessed of, touches upon the jarring string, and\nseems a missionary from fate, an accident, the most trifling that can be\nimagined, served to renew in Miss Betsy, the next morning, those\nanxieties which sleep had in some measure abated.\nA ballad singer happening to be in the street, the first thing she\nheard, on her waking, was these words, sung in a sonorous voice, just\nunder the window--\n    'Young Philander woo'd me long,\n    I was peevish, and forbade him;\n    I would not hear his charming song;\n    But now I wish, I wish I had him!'\nThough this was a song at that time much in vogue, and Miss Betsy had\ncasually heard it an hundred times; yet, in the humour she now was, it\nbeat an alarm upon her heart. It reminded her how inconsiderate she had\nbeen, and shewed the folly of not knowing how to place a just value on\nany thing, till it was lost, in such strong colours before her eyes, as\none could scarce think it possible an incident in itself so merely\nbagatelle could have produced.\nAgain she fell into very deep reveries; and, divesting herself of all\npassion, pride, and the prejudice her vanity had but too much inspired\nher with, she found, that though Mr. Trueworth had carried his\nresentment farther than became a man who loved to that degree he\npretended to have done; yet she could no way justify herself to her\nbrother Frank, Lady Trusty or any of those friends who had espoused his\ncause, for having given him the provocation.\nTo heighten the splenetick humour she was in, Mr. Goodman, who, having\nbeen taken up with his own affairs, had not mentioned Mr. Trueworth to\nher for some days, happened this morning, as they sat at breakfast, to\nask her how the courtship of that gentleman went on, and whether there\nwas like to be a wedding or not. Perceiving she blushed, hung down her\nhead, and made no answer, 'Nay, nay,' said he, 'I told you long ago I\nwould not interfere in these matters; and have less reason now than ever\nto do so, as your eldest brother is in town, and who is doubtless\ncapable of advising you for the best.' Miss Betsy was in a good deal of\nconfusion; she knew not as yet whether it would be proper for her to\nacquaint Mr. Goodman with what had passed between Mr. Trueworth and\nherself, or to be silent on that head, till she should see what a little\ntime might bring about. As she was thinking in what manner she should\nreply, Mr. Goodman's lawyer, luckily for her relief, came in, and put an\nend to a discourse which, in the present situation of her mind, she was\nvery unfit to bear a part in.\nBut, as if this was to be a day of continued admonitions to Miss Betsy,\nshe was no sooner dressed, and ready to quit her chamber, than she heard\nMiss Mabel's voice upon the stairs. As that young lady was not\naccustomed to make her any morning visits, she was a little surprized;\nshe ran, however, to meet her, saying, 'This is a favour I did not\nexpect, and therefore have the more cause to thank you.'--'I do not\nknow,' replied the other, as she entered the room, 'whether you will\nthink I deserve thanks or no, when you hear the business that brought\nme; for I assure you I am come only to chide you.'--'I think,' said Miss\nBetsy, with a sigh, 'that all the world takes the liberty of doing so\nwith me! but, pray, my dear,' continued she, 'how am I so unhappy as to\ndeserve it from you?'\n'Why, you must know,' replied Miss Mabel, 'that I have taken upon me\nto be the champion of distressed love; you have broken a fine\ngentleman's heart, and I am come to tell you, that you must either\nmake it whole again, as it was before he saw you, or repair the\ndamage he has sustained by giving him your own.'--'I plead Not Guilty,'\nsaid Miss Betsy, in a tone more sprightly than before: 'but, pray,\nwho has gained so great an influence over you, as to send you on so\ndoughty an errand?'--'No, my dear, you are quite mistaken in the\nmatter,' replied the other; 'I assure you I am not sent--I am only\nled by my own generosity, and the sight of poor Mr. Trueworth's\ndespair.'--'Trueworth!' cried Miss Betsy hastily; 'What do you\nmean?'--'I mean,' replied the other, 'to engage you, if the little\nrhetorick I am mistress of can prevail on you to consider, that while we\nuse a man of sense and honour ill, we do ourselves a real injury. The\nlove our beauty has inspired, may, for a time, secure our power; but it\nwill grow weaker by degrees, and every little coquette-air we give\nourselves, lessen the value of our charms. I know there is at present\nsome very great brul\u00e9e between you and Mr. Trueworth: he is a match\nevery way deserving of you; he has the approbation of all your friends;\nand, I have heard you acknowledge, you are not insensible of his merit.\nTo what end, then, do you study to perplex and give unnecessary pains to\na heart, which you, according to all appearances, will one day take a\npride in rendering happy?'\n'This is an extreme fine harangue, indeed!' replied Miss Betsy; 'but I\nwould fain know for what reason it is directed to me. If Mr. Trueworth\nimagines I have used him ill, I think it no proof of his understanding,\nto make a proclamation of it; but, for Heaven's sake! how came you to be\nthe confidante of his complaints?'\n'Indeed, I have not that honour,' said Miss Mabel: 'finding myself a\nlittle ill this morning, I thought the air would do me good; so went\ninto the Park, taking only a little girl with me, who lives next door,\nbecause I would not go quite alone. Being in the deshabille you see, I\ncrossed the grass, and was passing towards the back of the Bird Cage\nWalk, where who should I see among the trees but Mr. Trueworth, if I may\ncall the object that then presented itself to me by that name; for,\nindeed, Miss Betsy, the poor gentleman seems no more than the shadow of\nhimself. He saw me at a distance, and I believe would have avoided me;\nbut, perceiving my eyes were upon him, cleared his countenance as well\nas he was able, and accosted me with the usual salutations of the\nmorning. \"It is somewhat surprizing, Madam,\" said he, with an air of as\nmuch gallantry as he could assume, \"to find a lady so justly entitled to\nthe admiration of the world, as Miss Mabel is, shun the gay company of\nthe Mall, and chuse an unfrequented walk, like this!\"--\"I might retort\nthe same exclamation of surprize,\" replied I, \"at so unexpectedly\nmeeting with Mr. Trueworth here.\"\n'After this, as you know, my dear,' continued she, 'I have lately, on\nyour account, had the pleasure pretty often of Mr. Trueworth's company;\nI took the liberty to ask him where he had buried himself, that I had\nnot seen him for so many days: to which he answered, not without a\nconfusion, which I saw he attempted, though in vain, to conceal from\nme--\"Yes, Madam, I have indeed been buried from all pleasure, have been\nswallowed up in affairs little less tormenting than those of the grave:\nbut,\" added he, \"they are now over, and I am preparing to return to my\ncountry seat, where I hope to re-enjoy that tranquillity which, since my\nleaving it, has been pretty much disturbed.\"\n'Nothing could equal my astonishment at hearing him speak in this\nmanner: \"To your country-seat!\" cried I; \"not to continue there for any\nlong time?\"--\"I know not as yet, Madam,\" replied he; and then, after a\npause, \"perhaps for ever!\" added he. \"Bless me,\" said I, \"this is\nstrange, indeed! Miss Betsy did not tell me a word of it; and I saw her\nbut last night.\"--\"She might not then know it, Madam,\" answered he:\n\"but, if she had, I am not vain enough to imagine, she would think a\ntrifle, such as my departure, worth the pains of mentioning.\"\n'I then,' pursued Miss Mabel, 'endeavoured to rally him out of this\nhumour. After having told him I had a better opinion of your\nunderstanding and generosity, than to be capable of believing you\nthought so lightly of his friendship and affection, I added, that this\nwas only some little pique between you, some jealous whim: but he\nreplied to all I said on this subject with a very grave air, pretended\nbusiness, and took his leave somewhat abruptly for a man of that\npoliteness I had till now always observed in him.'\n'He carries it off with a high hand, indeed,' cried Miss Betsy: 'but it\nis no matter; I shall give myself no trouble whether he stays in town,\nor whether he goes into the country, or whether I ever see him more.\nWhat! does the man think to triumph over me?'\n'I do not believe that is the case with Mr. Trueworth,' said the\ndiscreet Miss Mabel; 'but I know it is the way of many men to\nrecriminate in this manner: and pray, when they do, who can we blame for\nit but ourselves, in giving them the occasion? For my part, I should\nthink it an affront to myself to encourage the addresses of a person I\ndid not look upon worthy of being treated with respect.'\nShe urged many arguments to convince Miss Betsy of the vanity and ill\nconsequences of trifling with an honourable and sincere passion; which,\nthough no more than what that young lady had already made use of to\nherself, and was fully persuaded in the truth of, she was not very well\npleased to hear from the mouth of another.\nThough these two ladies perfectly agreed in their sentiments of virtue\nand reputation, yet their dispositions and behaviour in the affairs of\nlove were as widely different as any two persons possibly could be: and\nthis it was, which, during the course of their acquaintance, gave\nfrequent interruptions to that harmony between them, which the mutual\nesteem they had for each other's good qualities, would otherwise have\nrendered perpetual.\nCHAPTER XIX\n_Is multum in parvo_\nThere is an unaccountable pride in human nature, which often gets the\nbetter of our justice, and makes us espouse what we know within\nourselves is wrong, rather than appear to be set right by any reason,\nexcept our own.\nMiss Betsy had too much of this unhappy propensity in her composition: a\nvery little reflection enabled her to see clearly enough the mistakes\nshe sometimes fell into; but she could not bear they should be seen by\nothers. Miss Mabel was not only in effect the most valuable of all the\nladies she conversed with, but was also the most esteemed and loved by\nher; yet was she less happy and delighted in her company, than in that\nof several others, for whom her good sense would not suffer her to have\nthe least real regard. The truth is, that though she was very well\nconvinced of her errors, in relation to those men who professed\nthemselves her admirers, yet she loved those errors in herself, thought\nthey were pretty, and became her; and therefore, as she could not as yet\nresolve to alter her mode of behaviour, was never quite easy in the\npresence of any one who acted with a prudence she would not be at the\npains to imitate.\nThere were two young ladies, who had an apartment at the palace of St.\nJames's, (their father having an office there) who exactly suited with\nher in the most volatile of her moments: they had wit, spirit, and were\ngay almost to wildness, without the least mixture of libertinism or\nindecency. How perfectly innocent they were, is not the business of this\nhistory to discuss; but they preserved as good a reputation as their\nneighbours, and were well respected in all publick places.\nThere it was Miss Betsy chiefly found an asylum from those perplexing\nthoughts which, in spite of her pride, and the indifference she had for\nmankind, would sometimes intrude upon her mind on Mr. Trueworth's\naccount; here she was certain of meeting a great variety of company;\nhere was all the news and scandal the town could furnish; here was\nmusick, dancing, feasting, flattery: in fine, here was every thing that\nwas an enemy to care and contemplation.\nAmong the number of those who filled the circle of those two court\nbelles, there was a gentleman named Munden: he appeared extremely\ncharmed with Miss Betsy at first sight; and after having informed\nhimself of the particulars of her family and fortune, took an\nopportunity, as he was conducting her home one night, to entreat she\nwould allow him to pay his respects to her where she lived. This was a\nfavour Miss Betsy was never very scrupulous of granting; and consented\nthe now more readily, as she thought the report of a new lover would\ngall Mr. Trueworth, who, she heard by some, who had very lately seen\nhim, was not yet gone out of town.\nMr. Munden, to testify the impatience of his love, waited on her the\nvery next day, as soon as he thought dinner would be over, at Mr.\nGoodman's: he had the satisfaction of finding her alone; but, fearing\nshe might not long be so, suffered but a very few minutes to escape\nbefore he acquainted her with the errand on which he came: the terms in\nwhich he declared himself her admirer, were as pathetick as could be\nmade use of for the purpose; but though this was no more than Miss Betsy\nhad expected, and would have been strangely mortified if disappointed by\nhis entertaining her on any other score, yet she affected, at first, to\ntreat it with surprize, and then, on his renewing his protestations, to\nanswer all he said with a sort of raillery, in order to put him to the\nmore expence of oaths and asseverations.\nIt is certain, that whoever pretended to make his addresses to Miss\nBetsy, stood in need of being previously provided with a good stock of\nrepartees, to silence the sarcasms of the witty fair, as well as fine\nspeeches to engage her to more seriousness. Mr. Munden often found\nhimself at his _ne plus ultra_, but was not the least disconcerted at\nit; he was a courtier; he was accustomed to attend at the levees of the\ngreat; and knew very well, that persons in power seldom failed to\nexercise it over those who had any dependance on them: and looking on\nthe case of a lover with his mistress, as the same with one who is\nsoliciting for a pension or employment, had armed himself with patience,\nto submit to every thing his tyrant should inflict, in the hope that it\nwould one day be his turn to impose those laws, according to the poet's\nwords--\n    'The humbled lover, when he lowest lies,\n    But kneels to conquer, and but falls to rise.'\nMiss Betsy was indeed a tyrant, but a very gentle one; she always\nmingled some sweet with the sharpness of her expressions: if in one\nbreath she menaced despair, in the next she encouraged hope; and her\nvery repulses were sometimes so equivocal, as that they might be taken\nfor invitations. She played with her lovers, as she did with her monkey;\nbut expected more obedience from them: they must look gay or grave,\naccording as she did so; their humour, and even their very motions, must\nbe regulated by her influence, as the waters by the moon. In fine, an\nexterior homage was the chief thing to be required; for, as to the\nheart, her own being yet untouched, she gave herself but little trouble\nhow that of her lovers stood affected.\nMr. Munden, with less love perhaps than any man who had addressed her,\nknew better how to suit himself to her humour: he could act over all the\ndelicacies of the most tender passion, without being truly sensible of\nany of them; and though he wished, in reality, nothing so much as\nattaining the affections of Miss Betsy, yet wishing it without those\ntimid inquietudes, those jealous doubts, those perplexing anxieties,\nwhich suspense inflicts on a more stolid mind, he was the more capable\nof behaving towards her in the way she liked.\nHe was continually inviting her to some party of pleasure or other; he\ngallanted her to all publick shews, he treated her with the most\nexquisite dainties of the season, and presented her with many curious\ntoys. Being to go with these ladies, at whose appointment he first\ncommenced his acquaintance with her, and some other company, to a\nmasquerade, he waited on her some hours before the time; and taking out\nof his pocket a ruby, cut in the shape of a heart, and illustrated with\nsmall brilliants round about, 'I beg, Madam,' said he, 'you will do me\nthe honour of wearing this to-night, either on your sleeve or breast, or\nsome other conspicuous place. There will be a great deal of company, and\nsome, perhaps, in the same habit as yourself: this will direct my\nsearch, prevent my being deceived by appearances, which otherwise I\nmight be, and prophanely pay my worship to some other, instead of the\nreal goddess of my soul.'\nThis was the method he took to ingratiate himself into the favour of\nhis mistress; and it had the effect, if not to make her love him, at\nleast to make her charmed with this new conquest, much more than she had\nbeen with several of her former ones, though ever so much deserving her\nesteem.\nIn the midst of these gay scenes, however, Mr. Trueworth came frequently\ninto her head. To find he was in town, made her flatter herself that he\nlingered here on her account; and that, in spite of all his resolution,\nhe had not courage to leave the same air she breathed in: she fancied,\nthat if she could meet him, or any accident throw him in her way, she\nshould be able to rekindle all his former flames, and render him as much\nher slave as ever. With this view she never went abroad without casting\nher eyes about, in search of him; nay, she sometimes even condescended\nto pass by the house where he was lodged, in hopes of seeing him either\ngoing in or out, or from some one or other of the windows: but chance\ndid not befriend her inclinations this way, nor put it in her power\nagain to triumph over a heart, the sincerity of which she had but too\nill treated, when devoted to her.\nIn the mean time, Mr. Goodman, in spite of the perplexities his own\naffairs involved him in, could not help feeling a great concern for\nthose of Miss Betsy; he knew that Mr. Trueworth had desisted his visits\nto her; that she had got a new lover, who he could not find had\nconsulted the permission of any one but herself to make his addresses to\nher; the late hours she kept, seldom coming home till some hours after\nthe whole family, except the servant who sat up for her, were in bed,\ngave him also much matter of uneasiness; and he thought it his duty to\ntalk seriously to her on all these points.\nHe began with asking her how it happened, that he had not seen Mr.\nTrueworth for so long a time: to which she replied, with the utmost\nindifference, that she took some things ill from that gentleman, and\nthat, perhaps, he might have some subject of complaint against her;\n'Therefore,' said she, 'as our humours did not very well agree, it was\nbest to break off conversation.'\nHe then questioned her concerning Mr. Munden. 'I hope,' said he, 'you\nhave taken care to inform yourself as to his character and\ncircumstances.'--'No, truly, Sir,' answered she, with the same careless\nair as before; 'as I never intend to be the better or the worse for\neither, I give myself no pain about what he is.' Mr. Goodman shook his\nhead; and was going to reason with her on the ill consequences of such\na behaviour, when some company coming in, broke off, for a time, all\nfarther discourse between them.\nCHAPTER XX\n_Shews Miss Betsy left entirely to her own management, and the cause of\nit, with some other particulars_\nMr. Goodman, who had been a little vexed at being interrupted in the\nremonstrances he thought so highly necessary should be made to Miss\nBetsy, took an opportunity of renewing them the next morning, in the\nstrongest expressions he was master of.\nMiss Betsy, with all her wit, had little to say for herself in answer to\nthe serious harangue made to her by Mr. Goodman on her present fashion\nof behaviour; her heart avowed the justice of his reproofs, but her\nhumour, too tenacious of what pleased itself, and too impatient of\ncontrol, would not suffer her to obey the dictates either of his or her\nown reason. She knew very well the tender regard he had for her, on the\naccount of her deceased father, and that all he spoke was calculated for\nher good; but then it was a good she was not at present ambitious of\nattaining, and thought it the privilege of youth to do whatever it\nlisted, provided the rules of virtue were unfringed; so that all he\ncould get from her was--that her amusements were innocent--that she\nmeant no harm in any thing she did--that it was dull for her to sit at\nhome alone; and, when in company, could not quit it abruptly on any\nconsideration of hours.\nMr. Goodman found, that to bring her to a more just sense of what was\nreally her advantage, would be a task impossible for him to accomplish;\nhe began heartily to wish she was under the care of some person who had\nmore leisure to argue with her on points so essential to her happiness:\nhe told her, that he indeed had feared his house would be too melancholy\na recess for her since the revolution that had lately happened in his\nfamily, and therefore wished some more proper place could be found for\nher. 'And for such a one,' said he, 'I shall make it my business to\nenquire; and there seems not only a necessity for my doing so, but that\nyou should also choose another guardian; for as soon as the present\nunlucky business I am engaged in shall be over, it is my resolution to\nbreak up housekeeping, leave my business to my nephew, Ned Goodman,\nwhom I expect by the first ship that arrives from the East Indies; and,\nhaving once seen him settled, retire, and spend the remainder of my days\nin the country.'\nThe melancholy accents with which Mr. Goodman spoke these words, touched\nMiss Betsy very much; she expressed, in terms the most affectionate, the\ndeep concern it gave her that he had any cause to withdraw from a way of\nlife to which he had so long been accustomed: but added, that if it must\nbe so, she knew no person so proper, in whose hands the little fortune\nshe was mistress of should be entrusted, as those of her brother\nThoughtless, if he would vouchsafe to take that trouble upon him.\n'There is no doubt to be made of that, I believe,' replied Mr. Goodman;\n'and I shall speak to him about it the first time I see him.' They had\nsome farther talk on Miss Betsy's affairs; and that young lady found he\nhad very largely improved the portion bequeathed her by her father; for\nwhich, in the first emotions of her gratitude, she was beginning to pour\nforth such acknowledgements as he thought it too much to hear, and\ninterrupted her, saying he had done no more than his duty obliged him to\ndo, and could not have answered to himself the omission of any part of\nit.\nIt is so natural for people to love money, even before they know what to\ndo with it, that it is not to be wondered at that Miss Betsy, now\narrived at an age capable of relishing all the delicacies of life,\nshould be transported at finding so considerable, and withal so\nunexpected, an augmentation of her fortune, which was no less than one\nthird of what her father had left her.\nThe innate pleasure of her mind, on this occasion, diffused itself\nthrough all her form, and gave a double lustre to her eyes and air; so\nthat she went with charms new pointed to a ball that night; for which\nthe obsequious Mr. Munden had presented her with a ticket: but though\nshe had all the respect in the world for Mr. Goodman, and indeed a kind\nof filial love for him, yet she had it not in her power to pay that\nregard to his admonitions she ought to have done. She came not home till\nbetween one and two o'clock in the morning; but was extremely surprized\nto find, that when she did so, the knocker was taken off the door; a\nthing which, in complaisance to her, had never before been done till she\ncame in, how late soever she staid abroad: she was, nevertheless, much\nmore surprized, as well as troubled, when, at the first rap her chairman\ngave, a footman, who waited in the hall for her return, immediately\nopened the door, and told her, with all the marks of sorrow in his\ncountenance, that his master had been suddenly taken ill, and that his\nphysician, as well as Mrs. Barns, the housekeeper, had given strict\norders there should be no noise made in the house, the former having\nsaid his life depended on his being kept perfectly quiet.\nIt is not to be doubted, but that, on this information, she went with as\nlittle noise as possible up to her chamber; where Nanny, as she was\nputting her to bed, confirmed to her what the footman had said; and\nadded, that she had heard the doctor tell Mrs. Barns, as he was going\nout, that he was very apprehensive his patient's disorder would not be\neasily remedied.\nDistempers of the body, which arise from those of the mind, are, indeed,\nmuch more difficult to be cured than those which proceed from mere\nnatural causes. Mr. Goodman's resentment for the ill usage he had\nsustained from a woman he had so tenderly loved, awhile kept up his\nspirits, and hindered him from feeling the cruel sting, which preyed\nupon his vitals, and insensibly slackened the strings of life: but the\nfirst hurry being over, and the lawyer having told him that every thing\nwas drawn up, and his cause would be brought before the Commons in a few\ndays, he sunk beneath the apprehensions; the thoughts of appearing\nbefore the doctors of the civil law, to several of whom he was known, to\nprove his own dishonour--the talk of the town--the whispers--the\ngrimaces--the ridicule, which he was sensible this affair would occasion\nwhen exposed--the pity of some--and the contempt he must expect from\nothers--all these things, though little regarded by him while at a\ndistance, now they came more near at hand, and just ready to fall upon\nhim, gave him such a shock, as all the courage he had assumed was not\nsufficient to enable him to resist.\nHe was seized at once with a violent fit of an apoplexy at a\ncoffee-house, where a surgeon being immediately sent for, he was let\nblood, as is common in such cases. This operation soon recovered him, so\nfar as speech and motion; but reason had not power to re-assume her seat\nin his distracted brain for many hours--he was brought home in a\nchair--the surgeon attended him--saw him put into bed, and sat by him a\nconsiderable time: but, finding him rather worse than better, told Mrs.\nBarns, he durst not proceed any farther, and that they must have\nrecourse to a physician; which was accordingly done.\nThis gentleman, who was esteemed the most skilful of his profession,\nhearing Mr. Goodman frequently cry out, 'My heart! my heart!' laid his\nhand upon his bosom; and found, by the extraordinary pulsations there,\nthat he had symptoms of an inward convulsion, wrote a prescription, and\nordered he should be kept extremely quiet.\nTowards morning, he grew more composed; and, by degrees, recovered the\nuse of his understanding as perfectly as ever: but his limbs were so\nmuch weakened by that severe attack the fit had made upon him, that he\ncould not sit up in his bed without support. The physician, however, had\ngreat hopes of him; said his imbecillity proceeded only from a fever of\nthe nerves, which he doubted not but to abate, and that he would be well\nin a few days. How uncertain, how little to be depended upon, is art, in\nsome cases! Mr. Goodman felt that within himself which gave the lye to\nall appearances; and, fully convinced that the hand of death had seized\nupon his heart, would not defer a moment putting all his affairs in such\na posture as should leave no room for contention among the parties\nconcerned, after his decease: he began with sending for Mr. Thoughtless;\nand consigned over to him the whole fortunes of Mr. Francis and Miss\nBetsy, the latter being obliged, as not being yet of age, to chuse him\nfor her guardian in form. Having thus acquitted himself, in the most\nhonourable manner, of the trust reposed in him for the children of his\nfriend, he considered what was best to be done in relation to those of\nhis own blood. By his death, the intended process against Lady Mellasin\nwould be prevented, and consequently the third part of his effects would\ndevolve on her, as being the widow of a citizen: he, therefore, having\nconsulted with his lawyer if such a thing were practicable, made a deed\nof gift to his nephew, Mr. Edward Goodman, of all his money in the Bank,\nstocks, and other publick funds. After this, he made his will; and the\nlawyer, perceiving he had left but few legacies, asked him how the\nresidue of what he was possessed of should be disposed: to which he\nreplied, 'greatly as I have been wronged by Lady Mellasin, I would not\nhave her starve; I have been calculating in my mind to what her dividend\nmay amount, and believe it will be sufficient to enable her to live in\nthat retired manner which best becomes her age and character.'\nMr. Goodman, thus having settled all his affairs in this world, began to\nmake such preparations for another as are necessary for the best of men.\nIn the mean time, as the least noise was disturbing to him, it was\njudged proper that Miss Betsy, who could not live without company,\nshould remove. No boarding-place to her mind being yet found, and having\ndone with all hopes of living with her brother, (as she was by this time\ninformed of the true reasons he had for her not doing so) took lodgings\nin Jermyn Street; and finding the interest of her fortune, through the\ngood management of her guardian, would allow it, hired a maid and\nfoot-boy to wait upon her.\nThe adieu she received from Mr. Goodman was the most tender and\naffectionate that could be; she was very much moved with it, and\nsincerely lamented the loss she should sustain of so honest and worthy a\nfriend: but her natural sprightliness would not suffer any melancholy\nreflections to dwell long upon her mind; and the hurry she was in of\nsending messages to all her acquaintance, with an account of the change\nof her situation, very much contributed to dissipate them. This\nimportant business was scarce over, and she well settled in her new\nhabitation, when one of Mr. Goodman's footmen brought her a letter from\nher brother Frank, which had been just left for her by the post. It\ncontained these lines.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     My dear sister,\n     I have been snatched from the brink of the grave, by the skill of\n     one of the best physicians in the world, and the tender, and, I may\n     say, maternal care of our most dear, and truly valuable friend, the\n     excellent Lady Trusty. The first use I make of my recovered health,\n     is to give an account of it to those whom, I flatter myself, will\n     be obliged by the intelligence. I thank you for the many kind\n     wishes you have sent me during the course of my illness, but hoped\n     to have seen, before now, another name subscribed to your letters\n     than that you received from your birth; and cannot help saying, I\n     am a little surprized, that in the two last you favoured me with,\n     you have been entirely silent on a subject you know I have always\n     had very much at heart. I have also very lately received a letter\n     from Mr. Trueworth, wherein he tells me, he is going to his\n     country-seat--expresses the most kind concern for me, but mentions\n     not the least syllable of you, or of his passion. I fear, my dear\n     sister, there is some misunderstanding between you, which would\n     very much trouble me, for your sake especially: but I shall defer\n     what I have to say to you till I have the pleasure of seeing you. I\n     am not yet judged fit to sit my horse for so long a journey; and\n     the places in the stagecoach are all taken for to-morrow, but have\n     secured one in Thursday's coach, and expect to be with you on\n     Saturday. I accompany this to you with another one to my brother,\n     and another to Mr. Goodman; so have no occasion to trouble you with\n     my compliments to either. Farewel! I think I need not tell you that\n     I am, with an unfeigned regard, my dear sister, your very\n     affectionate brother, and humble servant,\n     F. THOUGHTLESS.\n     P.S. Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty are both from home at this time, or\n     I am certain their good wishes, if no more, would have joined mine,\n     that you may never cease to enjoy whatever it becomes you to\n     desire! My dear Betsy, adieu!'\nThe joy which this letter would have afforded Miss Betsy had been\ncompleat, if not somewhat abated by the apprehensions of what her\nbrother would have to say to her when he should find she was indeed\nentirely broke off with Mr. Trueworth: but as the reader may probably\ndesire to know in what manner he passed his time after that event, and\nthe motives which induced him to stay in London, it is now highly proper\nto say something of both.\nCHAPTER XXI\n_The author is under some apprehensions, will not be quite pleasing to\nthe humour of every reader_\nIt is certain that Mr. Trueworth, at the time of his writing his last\nletter to Miss Betsy, was fully determined to go into the country; and\nwas already beginning to make such preparations as he found necessary\nfor his journey, when an accident of a very singular nature put a sudden\nstop to them, and to his intentions.\nHe was one day just dressed, and going out, in order to dine with some\ncompany, (for he now chose to be as little alone as possible) when one\nof his servants delivered a letter to him, which he said was brought by\na porter, who waited below for an answer. As the superscription was in a\nwoman's hand, and he was not accustomed to receive any billets from that\nsex, he broke it open with a kind of greedy curiosity, and found in it\nthese lines.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     I am a woman of fortune, family, and an unblemished character; very\n     young, and, most people allow, not disagreeable: you have done me\n     the greatest injury in the world without knowing it; but I take you\n     to be more a man of honour than not to be willing to make what\n     reparation is in your power. If the good opinion I have of you does\n     not deceive me, you will readily accept this challenge, and not\n     fail to meet me about eleven o'clock in the morning, at General\n     Tatten's bench, opposite Rosamond's Pond in St. James's Park; there\n     to hear such interrogatories as I shall think fit to make you; and\n     on your sincere answer to which depends the whole future peace, if\n     not the life of her, who at present can only subscribe herself, in\n     the greatest confusion, Sir, your unfortunate and impatient,\n     INCOGNITA.'\nMr. Trueworth was a good deal surprized; but had no occasion to consult\nlong with himself in what manner it would become a man of his years to\nbehave in such an adventure, and therefore sat down and immediately\nwrote an answer in these terms.\n     'To the fair Incognita.\n     Madam,\n     Though a challenge from an unknown antagonist might be rejected\n     without any danger of incurring the imputation of cowardice, and,\n     besides, as the combat to which I am invited is to be that of\n     words, in which your sex are generally allowed to excel, I have not\n     any sort of chance of overcoming; yet, to shew that I dare\n     encounter a fine woman at any weapon, and shall not repine at being\n     foiled, will not fail to give you the triumph you desire; and to\n     that end will wait on you exactly at the time and place mentioned\n     in yours: till when, you may rest satisfied that I am, with the\n     greatest impatience, the obliging Incognita's most devoted servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nThough Mr. Trueworth had not only heard of, but also experienced, when\non his travels abroad, some adventures of a parallel nature with this;\nyet, as it never had entered his head that the English ladies took this\nmethod of introducing themselves to the acquaintance of those they were\npleased to favour, the challenge of the Incognita--who she was--where\nshe had seen him--what particular action of his had merited her good\ngraces--and a thousand other conjectures, all tending to the same\nobject, very much engrossed his mind. Indeed, he was glad to encourage\nany thoughts which served to drive those of Miss Betsy thence; whose\nidea, in spite of all his endeavours, and her supposed unworthiness,\nwould sometimes intervene, and poison the sweets of his most jovial\nmoments among his friends.\nHis curiosity (for it cannot be said was as yet instigated by a warmer\npassion) rendered him, however, very careful not to suffer the hour\nmentioned in the lady's letter to escape: but though he was at the place\nsomewhat before the time, she was the first, and already waited his\napproach. As he turned by the corner of the pond, he began to reflect,\nthat as she had given him no signal whereby she might be known, he might\npossibly mistake for his Incognita some other, whom chance might have\ndirected to the bench; and was somewhat at a loss how to accost her in\nsuch a manner, as that the compliment might not make him be looked upon\nas rude or made, by a person who had no reason to expect it from him.\nBut the fair lady, who, it is likely, was also sensible she had been a\nlittle wanting in this part of the assignation, soon eased him of the\nsuspense he was in, by rising from her seat, as he drew near, and\nsaluting him with these words, 'How perfectly obliging,' said she, 'is\nthis punctuality! It almost flatters me I shall have no reason to repent\nthe step I have taken.'--'A person who is injured,' replied Mr.\nTrueworth, 'has doubtless a right to complain; and if I have, though\never so unwarily, been guilty of any wrong, cannot be too hasty, nor too\nzealous, in the reparation: be pleased, therefore, Madam, to let me know\nthe nature of my offence, and be assured that the wishes of my whole\nheart shall be to expiate it.'\nIn concluding these words, one of her gloves being off, he took hold of\nher hand, and kissed it with either a real or a seeming warmth. 'Take\ncare what you say,' cried she, 'lest I exact more from you than is in\nyour power to perform: but let us sit down,' pursued she, suffering him\nstill to keep her hand in his, 'and begin to fulfil the promise you have\nmade, by satisfying me in some points I have to ask, with the same\nsincerity as you would answer Heaven.'--'Be assured I will,' said he,\nputting her hand a second time to his mouth; 'and this shall be the book\non which I will swear to every article.'\n'First, then,' demanded she, 'are you married, or\ncontracted?'--'Neither, by all that's dear!' said he. 'Have you no\nattachment,' resumed she, 'to any particular lady, that should hinder\nyour engaging with another?'-'Not any, upon my honour!' answered he.\nI should before now have acquainted my reader, that the lady was not\nonly masqued, but also close muffled in her hood; that Mr. Trueworth\ncould discover no part even of the side of her face, which, growing\nweary of this examination, he took an opportunity to complain of. 'Why\nthis unkind reserve, my charming incognita?' said he: 'I have heard of\npenitents who, while confessing crimes they were ashamed of, kept their\nfaces hid; but I believe there never was a confessor who concealed\nhimself--permit me to see to whom I am laying open my heart, and I shall\ndo it with pleasure.'--'That cannot be,' answered she, 'even for the\nvery reason you have alledged: I have something to confess to you, would\nsink me into the earth with shame, did you behold the mouth that utters\nit. In a word, I love you! and after having told you so, can you expect\nI will reveal myself?'--'Else how can I return the bounty as I ought,'\ncried he, 'or you be assured you have not lavished your favours on an\ninsensible or ungrateful heart?'\n'Time may do much,' said she; 'a longer and more free conversation with\nyou may perhaps embolden me to make a full discovery of my face to you,\nas I have already done of my heart.' Mr. Trueworth then told her, that\nthe place they were in would allow but very few freedoms; and added,\nthat if he were really so happy as she flattered him he was, she must\npermit him to wait on her, where he might have an opportunity of\ntestifying the sense he had of so unhoped, and as yet so unmerited, a\nblessing.\n'Alas!' cried she, 'I am quite a novice in assignations of this\nsort--have so entire a dependance on your honour, that I dare meet you\nany where, provided you give me your solemn promise not to take any\nmeasures for knowing who I am, nor make any attempts to oblige me to\nunmask, till I have assumed courage enough to become visible of my own\nfree will.'\nMr. Trueworth readily enough gave her the promise she exacted from him,\nnot at all doubting but he should be easily able to find means to engage\nher consent for the satisfaction of his curiosity in these points.\n'Well, then,' said she, 'it belongs to you to name a place proper for\nthese secret interviews.'\nOn this, after a little pause, he answered, that since she judged it\ninconvenient for him to wait upon her at home, or any other place where\nshe was known, he would be about the close of day at a certain\ncoffee-house, which he named to her--'Where,' continued he, 'I will\nattend your commands; and on your condescending to stop at the door in a\nhackney-coach, will immediately come down and conduct you to a house\nsecure from all danger of a discovery.' She hesitated not a moment to\ncomply with his proposal; yet, in the same breath she did so, affected\nto be under some fears, which before she had not made the least shew\nof--said, she hoped he would not abuse the confidence she reposed in\nhim--that he would take no advantage of the weakness she had shewn--that\nthough she loved him with the most tender passion, and could not have\nlived without revealing it to him, yet her inclinations were innocent,\nand pure as those of a vestal virgin--and a great deal more stuff of\nthe like sort; which, though Mr. Trueworth could scarce refrain from\nsmiling at, yet he answered; with all the seriousness imaginable--'I\nshould be unworthy, Madam, of the affection you honour me with, were I\ncapable of acting towards you in a manner unbecoming of you, or of\nmyself; and you may depend I shall endeavour to regulate my desires, so\nas to render them agreeable to yours.'\nAfter some farther discourse of the like nature, she rose up and took\nher leave, insisting at parting, that he should not attempt to follow\nher, or take any method to find out which way she went; which injunction\nhe punctually obeyed, not stirring from the bench till she was quite out\nof sight.\nThis adventure prodigiously amused him; never, in his whole life, had he\nmet with any thing he knew so little how to judge of. She had nothing of\nthe air of a woman of the town; and, besides, he knew it was not the\ninterest of those who made a trade of their favours, to dispense them in\nthe manner she seemed to intend; nor could he think her a person of the\ncondition and character her letter intimated. He could not conceive,\nthat any of those he was acquainted with, would run such lengths for the\ngratification of their passion, especially for a man who had not taken\nthe least pains to inspire it. Sometimes he imagined it was a trick put\nupon him, in order to make trial how far his vanity would extend in\nboasting of it; it even came into his head, that Miss Betsy herself\nmight get somebody to personate the amorous incognita, for no other\npurpose than to divert herself, and disappoint his high-raised\nexpectation: but this last conjecture dwelt not long upon him; he had\nheard she now entertained another lover, which whom she was very much\ntaken up, and, consequently, would not give herself so much trouble\nabout one who had entirely quitted her. In fine, he knew not what to\nthink: as he could not tell how to believe he had made such an\nimpression upon any woman, without knowing it, as the incognita\npretended; he was apt to imagine he should neither see nor hear any more\nof her. This uncertainty, however, employed his mind the whole day; and\nhe was no less impatient for the proof, than he would have been, if\nactually in love with this invisible mistress.\nThe wished-for hour at last arrived; and he waited not long before he\nwas eased of one part of his suspense, by being told a lady in a\nhackney-coach enquired for him: he was extremely pleased to find, at\nlast, he had not been imposed upon by a trick of any of his frolicksome\ncompanions, and immediately flew to the coach-side; where, seeing it was\nindeed his incognita, he jumped directly in, with a transport which\ndoubtless was very agreeable to her.\nThough he had often heard some gentlemen speak of houses, where two\npersons of different sexes might at any time be received, and have the\nprivilege of entertaining each other with all the freedom and privacy\nthey could desire; yet, as he had never been accustomed to intrigues of\nthis nature, and thought he should have no occasion to make use of such\nplaces, he had not given himself the trouble of asking where they might\nbe found; therefore he had now no other recourse than either a tavern or\na bagnio, the latter of which he looked upon, for more reasons than one,\nas the most commodious of the two; so ordered the coachman to drive to\none in Silver Street: he excused himself, at the same time, to the lady,\nfor not having been able to provide a better asylum for her reception;\nbut she appeared perfectly content--told him she had put herself under\nhis care--relied upon his honour and discretion, and left all to his\ndirection.\nBeing come into the bagnio, they were shewn into a handsome large room,\nwith a bed-chamber in it. Mr. Trueworth had his eye on every thing in an\ninstant; and finding all was right, ordered a supper to be prepared, and\nthen told the waiter he would dispense with his attendance till it was\nready. As soon as he found himself alone with his incognita, 'Now, my\nangel,' said he, embracing her, 'I have an opportunity to thank you for\nthe affection you have flattered me with the hopes of; but, at the same\ntime, must complain of the little proofs you give me of it: the greatest\nstranger to your heart would be allowed the privilege of a salute; yet I\nam denied the privilege of touching those dear lips which have denounced\nmy happiness.'--'Do not reproach me,' answered she, 'with denying what\nis not yet in my power to grant: I cannot let you see my face; and you\nhave promised not to force me.'--'I have,' replied he, 'but that promise\nbinds me not from indulging my impatient wishes with things you have not\nstipulated: your neck, your breasts, are free, and those I will be\nrevenged upon.' With these words he took some liberties with her, which\nmay better be conceived than described!--she but faintly resisted; and,\nperhaps, would have permitted him to take greater, thus masked; but the\ndiscovery of her face was what he chiefly wanted: 'You might, at least,'\ncried he, 'oblige me with a touch of those lovely lips I am forbid to\ngaze upon; here is a dark recess,' continued he, pointing to the\ninner-room, 'will save your blushes.' He then raised her from the\nchair; and, drawing her gently towards the door, sung in a very\nharmonious voice, this stanza--\n    'Away with this idle, this scrupulous fear;\n      For a kiss in the dark,\n      Cry'd the amorous spark,\n    'There is nothing, no, nothing too dear!'\nHaving led her into the chamber, and seated her on the bed, which\nhappened to be so disposed that no gleam of light came upon it from the\ncandles in the next room, 'Now, my charmer,' said he, taking hold of her\nmask, 'you have no excuse for keeping on this invidious cloud.'--'How\nimpossible it is,' answered she, letting it fall into his hands, 'to\nrefuse you any thing!'\nWhat conversation after this passed between them, I shall leave to the\nreader's imagination; and only say, that the voice of the incognita\nbeing more distinguishable by the button of her mask being removed, Mr.\nTrueworth could not help thinking he had heard before accents very like\nthose with which he was now entertained; though where, or from what\nmouth they had proceeded, he was not able to recollect.\nThis conjecture, however, rendering him more impatient than ever for the\ndiscovery, he omitted nothing in his power, either by words or actions,\nto dissuade her from re-assuming her vizard when they should quit that\nscene of darkness. 'How gladly would I comply,' cried she, 'but that I\nfear--' 'Fear what!' cried Mr. Trueworth, eagerly interrupting her. 'I\nfear to lose you,' replied she, fondly embracing him: 'My face is\nalready but too well known to you; you have often seen it, but seen it\nwithout those emotions I endeavoured to inspire. How, then, can I now\nhope it will have the effect I wish!'--'Unkindly judged,' said he: 'with\nwhat indifference soever I may have regarded you, the endearing\nsoftness, the enchanting transports, you have now blessed me with, would\ngive new charms to every feature, and make me find perfections I never\nsaw before. Come then, my goddess,' continued he, raising her, 'shine\nwith full lustre on me, and fix me your adorer.'--'Well,' cried she,\n'you are not to be resisted, and I will venture.'\nThese words brought them to the chamber-door, and shewed the incognita\nto her amazed gallant to be no other than Miss Flora. 'Miss Flora\nMellasin! Good Heavens!' cried he. 'You seem surprized and shocked,'\nsaid she: 'alas! my apprehensions were too just.'--'Pardon me, Madam,'\nanswered he, 'I am indeed surprized, but it is through an excess of\njoy! Could I have ever thought the favours I have received were bestowed\nby the amiable Miss Flora Mellasin!'\nIt is certain, that his astonishment at first was very great; but\nrecovering himself from it in a short time, a thousand passages in Miss\nFlora's former behaviour towards him occurred to his remembrance, and\nmade him wonder at himself for not having sooner found her out in the\nperson of his incognita. They passed their time, till the night was\npretty far advanced, in a manner very agreeable to each other; nor\nparted without reciprocal assurance of renewing this tender intercourse\nthe next day, at the same place.\nCHAPTER XXII\n_Gives an account of a farther and more laudable motive to induce Mr.\nTrueworth to put off his intended journey into the country_\nThough it is impossible for a man of sense to have any real love for a\nwoman whom he cannot esteem, yet Mr. Trueworth found enough in the\nagreeable person and sprightly humour of Miss Flora, to dissipate those\nuneasy reflections which, in spite of him, had lurked in his mind on\nMiss Betsy's account: the amour with this fond girl afforded him a\npleasing amusement for a time; and, without filling his heart with a new\npassion, cleared it of those remains of his former one, which he had\ntaken so much pains to extirpate.\nWhenever he thought of Miss Betsy, as it was impossible a young lady he\nonce loved with so much tenderness should not sometimes come into his\nthoughts, it was only with a friendly concern for her imagined fall. 'It\nis no wonder,' would he often say to himself, 'that so young and lovely\na creature, under the tuition of a woman of Lady Mellasin's character,\nand the constant companion of one of Miss Flora's disposition, endued\nwith charms to excite the warmest wishes, and unprovided with sufficient\narms for her defence, should have yielded to the temptations of an\nunwarrantable flame.' In fine, he pitied her, but no more.\nThus entirely freed from all prepossession, and his heart almost in the\nsame situation as before he ever knew what it was to love, he was easily\npersuaded by his friends to give over all thoughts of going into the\ncountry, and stay to partake, in a moderate way, those pleasures of the\ntown, which the many uneasy moments he had sustained, during his\ncourtship with Miss Betsy, had kept him hitherto from having any relish\nfor.\nBut this state of indifference lasted not long; an object presented\nitself to him, inspiring him with a passion, which had so much of reason\nfor its guide, as made him think it rather his glory, than his\nmisfortune, to be a second time enslaved.\nAmong all the friends and acquaintance he had in town, there was none he\nmore valued and esteemed than Sir Bazil Loveit: they had been for some\ntime inseparable companions; but accidents, either on the one side or\nthe other, having hindered their meeting for several days, Mr. Trueworth\nwent one morning to visit him at his house. He found him at home, but\nthe hall so incumbered with trunks and boxes, that there was scarce a\npassage to the parlour-door. 'Welcome, my dear friend!' said Sir Bazil,\nwho, having seen him from a window, ran down stairs to receive him: 'you\nfind me in a strange disorder here; but I have got a couple of women out\nof the country; and that sex, I think, like a general officer, can never\nmove without a waggon-load of trumpery at their tail.'--'What, married!'\ncried Mr. Trueworth. 'No, 'faith,' said the other; 'but the arrival of\ntwo sisters last night from Staffordshire, gives me a sort of specimen\nof the hurry I am to expect when I become a husband.'\n'The hurry,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'you seem to complain of, must needs be\na very agreeable one; and I heartily congratulate you upon it. A single\nman, like you, makes but a very solitary figure in a great wild house:\nthese ladies will fill the vacuum, and give a double life to your\nfamily.'--'Nay,' resumed Sir Bazil, 'I shall not have them long with me;\nthey hate London, and never come but once in two years, to buy cloaths\nand see fashions: besides, one of them is married, and the other fond of\nher sister, that I believe she would not quit her to be a duchess.\nIndeed, it is not much to be wondered at; our mother dying when she was\nvery young, Harriot, for so she is called, was brought up under her\nsister, who is eight years older than herself, and they never have been\nasunder two days in their lives.'\nMr. Trueworth then expiated on the amiableness of such an harmony\nbetween persons of the same blood: to which Sir Bazil replied, that it\nwas more than ordinarily fortunate for his sisters; 'For,' said he, 'the\nelder of them being married just before my mother's death, my father\ncommitted to her the care of the younger, as she was reckoned a woman of\ngreater prudence than might be expected from her years. My brother\nWellair, (for that is the name of the gentleman she married) though a\nvery good husband in the main, is a great sportsman, takes rather too\nmuch delight in his hawks and hounds, and gives his wife but little of\nhis company in the day; so that, if it were not for Harriot, she would\npass her time uncomfortably enough. In short, the younger is improved by\nthe lessons of the elder, and the elder diverted by the sprightliness\nand good-humour of the younger.'\nSir Bazil, who had an extreme regard for his sisters, could not forbear\nentertaining Mr. Trueworth on this subject all the time he was there;\nand, at parting, told him he would not ask him to stay dinner that day,\nbecause he supposed they would be very busy in unpacking their things,\nand setting themselves in order; but engaged him to come on the\nfollowing.\nMr. Trueworth thought no farther on what had passed, than to remember\nhis promise, which he accordingly fulfilled. Sir Bazil received him with\nopen arms, and conducted him into the dining-room, where the two ladies\nwere sitting. They were both very handsome: the elder was extremely\ngraceful; and, at first glance, appeared to be the most striking beauty\nof the two; but, on a second, the younger had the advantage; she was not\naltogether so tall as her sister, nor had a skin of that dazzling\nwhiteness; but her shape was exquisite--her complexion clear--her eyes\nsparkling--all her features perfectly regular, and accompanied with a\nsweetness which had in it somewhat irresistibly attractive.\nAfter the first compliments were over, neither of them lost, by their\nmanner of conversation, any part of that admiration which their eyes had\ngained. Mrs. Wellair talked pretty much; yet so agreeably, that nobody\ncould be tired of hearing her. Miss Harriot spoke much less; but all she\nsaid discovered a delicacy of sentiment, and a judgment far above her\nyears. Sir Bazil had a large estate; he lived up to the height of it;\nhad a very elegant taste; and, in complaisance to his sisters, as well\nas to his friend, who had never dined with him before since he set up\nhousekeeping, had taken care that day to omit nothing in his bill of\nfare that could excite, or gratify, the most luxurious appetite; yet it\nwas the wit, spirit, and good-humour, of the company, especially of Miss\nHarriot, which, to Mr. Trueworth, made the most agreeable part of the\nentertainment.\nWhen the dessert was over, and the healths of absent friends toasted in\nTokay and Frontiniac, they all adjourned into the drawing-room; where\ncoffee and tea were soon brought in. Mrs. Wellair having been advised by\nher physicians to refrain from the use of any of those liquors, on\naccount of some disorder she had complained of, took this opportunity of\ndesiring leave to retire, in order to acquaint her husband, it being\npost-night, with her safe arrival in town.\nAgreeable as her conversation was, Mr. Trueworth found no miss of her,\nas the lovely Harriot was left behind: on the contrary, he was rather\nrejoiced, in the hope she would now give her tongue a greater latitude\nthan she had done in the presence of one whom, he easily perceived, she\nlooked upon as her superior in understanding; as well as years; and, to\nprovoke her to it, artfully introduced some discourse on the pleasures\nof the town; and said to Sir Bazil, it seemed to him a kind of miracle,\nthat so young and beautiful a lady as Miss Harriot could content herself\nwith the obscurity of a country life. 'Few of her age, indeed,' replied\nSir Bazil, 'could chuse to live in the manner she does; but though I\nshould, perhaps, not be of the same way of thinking, if I were a woman,\nand in her place, yet I cannot but say, my reason approves of her\nconduct in this point.'\n'London,' said she, 'is a very magnificent, opulent city; and those who\nhave their lot cast to live in it, may, doubtless, find sufficient to\ncontent them: but as for those amusements, which you gentlemen call the\npleasures of the town, and which so many people take every winter such\nlong journies merely to enjoy, I can see nothing in them which a\nreasonable person may not very well dispense with the want of.'\n'What do you think of the Court, Madam?' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'As of a\nplace I would always chuse to avoid,' replied she. 'I heartily pity the\nfatigue of those who are obliged to attend; and am tempted to laugh at\nthe stupidity of those who undertake it without necessity. I am amazed\nto think how any one of common-sense can be at so great an expence for\nrich cloaths, to go to a place where she must suffer as great pain in\nshewing them. Bless me! to stand, for two or three hours together, mute\nas a fish--upright as an arrow; and, when the scene is over, walk\nbackward like a crab, curtseying at every step, though their legs are so\ntired, they are scarce able to go through the ceremony!'\n'A masquerade, then?' resumed Mr. Trueworth, willing to try her farther.\n'What say you, Madam, to a masquerade? I hope you will allow no freedom\nof behaviour is wanting there?'--'I should like a masquerade extremely,'\nanswered she, 'if conducted in the same manner I have been told they are\nin Italy, and some other places, where only persons of condition are\nadmitted, and none presume to say that under a vizard, which he either\nwould or ought to be ashamed of when it is plucked off. But the venal\nones you have here, are my utter detestation; they seem to me to\nlicense, under a shew of innocent diversion, not only folly, but all\nkind of prophaneness and indecency.'\n'It must be owned, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'that your sentiments on\nboth these subjects are extremely just: but you can have no such\nobjection against a play or opera?'--'No, Sir,' answered she; 'I look\nupon a good play as one of the most improving, as well as agreeable,\nentertainments a thinking mind can take; and as for an opera--' 'Aye,\nsister!' cried Sir Bazil, interrupting her, 'the opera! Take care what\nyou say of the opera. My friend here is a passionate lover of musick;\nand, if you utter one syllable against his favourite science, you will\ncertainly pass in his opinion for a stoick.'--'I should deserve it,'\nsaid she; 'and be in reality as insensible as that sect of philosophers\naffect to be, if I were not capable of being touched by the charms of\nharmony.'\n'Then, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'there are two of the pleasures of\nLondon, which are so happy to receive your approbation?'--'Not only my\napprobation,' replied she, 'but my applause. I am, indeed, a very great\nadmirer of both; yet can find ways to make myself easy without being\npresent at either; and, at the distance of an hundred miles, enjoy in\ntheory all the satisfaction the representation could afford.'\n'This is somewhat extraordinary indeed, Madam,' cried Mr. Trueworth: 'be\nso good as to let us know by what method?'--'It is this, Sir,' answered\nshe: 'as for the plays, I have a very good collection of the old ones by\nme, and have all the new ones sent down to me as they come out. When I\nwas last in London, I was several times at the theatre; I observed how\nthe actors and actresses varied their voices and gestures, according to\nthe different characters they appeared in on the stage: and thus, whilst\nI am reading any play, am enabled to judge pretty near how it shews in\nrepresentation. I have, indeed, somewhat more difficulty in bringing the\nopera home to me; yet I am so happy as to be able to procure a shadow of\nit, at least. We have two or three gentlemen in the neighbourhood who\nplay to great perfection on the violin, and several ladies, who have\nvery pretty voices, and some skill in musick. My sister touches the\nbass-viol finely; and I play a little on the harpsichord. We have all\nour parts in score before us, which we execute to the best of our power.\nIt serves, however, to divert ourselves, and those friends who think it\nworth their while to come to hear us.'\nMr. Trueworth cried out, in a kind of rapture, as soon as she had done\nspeaking, 'Who would not think himself happy to be one of the audience\nat such a performance!' He was going on; but Mrs. Wellair returned, on\nwhich he directed the compliments he was about to make Miss Harriot,\nequally to the other; which she returned with a great deal of\npoliteness. The conversation afterwards turned on different subjects,\nand was very entertaining. Some other company coming in, Mr. Trueworth\nwould have taken leave; but Sir Bazil would not permit him. He staid the\nwhole evening; and, when he went home, carried such an idea of the\nlovely Harriot's perfection, that scarce any consideration would have\nbeen powerful enough to have made him quit the town while she continued\nin it.\nCHAPTER XXIII\n_Returns to Miss Betsy's adventures, from which the two former were but\na digression, though a very necessary one, as will hereafter appear_\nIf Miss Betsy had been made acquainted with the manner in which Mr.\nTrueworth passed his time, and the inducements he had to stay in London,\ndoubtless her vanity would have been highly piqued: but she had not as\nyet this subject for mortification; on the contrary, she rather imagined\nhe lingered here on her account; that it repented him of the letter he\nhad sent her, though his spirit was too great to acknowledge it\ndirectly, and waited the arrival of her brother Frank, in hopes of\nengaging him to make his peace.\nWith these suggestions did she please herself whenever he came into her\nmind: but, indeed, she had but little room for meditation on his\naccount; not only Mr. Munden plied her close with presents, treats, fine\nspeeches, and all the tokens of impatient love, but she had also another\nconquest of a more late, and consequently, to a young lady of her\nhumour, a more pleasing \u00e6ra.\nShe had been one day at her mantua-maker's, to consult on some matters\nrelating to her dress, and was a little surprized to see the woman come\nthe next morning, before she was out of bed, to her lodgings. 'Hey day,\nMrs. Modely!' cried she; 'what brings you here thus early?'--'Indeed,\nMadam,' answered she, 'I could not well come out; I have eight or nine\ngowns in the house now, which should all have been finished and sent\nhome today; the ladies will tear me to pieces about them: but I left all\nmy business, and run away to acquaint you with a thing you little dream\nof. Ah, Miss Betsy! such a fine gentleman! such a vast estate! but it is\nno wonder,' continued she, 'you are so pretty, that you make all the men\ndie for you.'--'What is it you are talking of?' cried Miss Betsy;\n'pr'ythee, dear Modely, explain.'--'Lord!' replied the other, 'I am so\ntransported that I know not how to contain myself! But I will tell you:\nyou were yesterday at my house; Sir Frederick Fineer, who lodges in my\nfirst floor--the sweetest and most generous gentleman that ever lived,\nto be sure! (but that is nothing to the purpose) he saw you from his\ndining-room window when you came out of your chair; and, would you\nbelieve it! was so struck, that he immediately fell down in a swoon: you\nwere but just gone when his valet de chambre (for he keeps three\nservants, two in livery, and one out) came down to me, and fetched me to\nhis master. \"Oh, Mrs. Modely!\" said he to me, \"what angel have you got\nbelow?--Tell me who she is? If she is not already married, I will give\nmy whole estate to obtain her. I ask not what her fortune is; if I could\nonce call that divine creature my wife, she should command all I am\nworth!\"\n'Indeed, Madam,' continued she, 'I was so much amazed, that I had not\nthe power of speaking; and he, I suppose, interpreting my silence as a\nrefusal of answering his demands, fell into such distractions, such\nravings, as frighted me almost out of my wits; and, at last, to quiet\nhim, I told him (I hope you will forgive me) your name, and where you\nlived, and that you were not married: on this he seemed pretty easy, and\nI left him; but, about two hours after, he sent for me again--desired I\nwould go directly to you--make you a declaration of love in his name,\nand beg you would give him leave to visit you in person.'\n'Bless me!' cried Miss Betsy; 'can the man neither speak nor write for\nhimself?'--'I told him, Madam,' resumed Mrs. Modely, 'that it would not\nbe well taken from me; but he was quite mad, would listen to no reason,\ntill I bethought myself of a strategem, which I fancy you will not\ndisapprove: I made him believe that there was no need of my going to\nyou; that you were to call upon me about a gown this afternoon; that I\nwould persuade you to stay and drink tea, and he might come into the\nroom, as if by chance, and entertain you with what discourse he thought\nproper. Now, I would fain have you come,' pursued she, 'for if you do\nbut like his person, such an offer is not to be rejected.'\n'I do not regard this offer,' said Miss Betsy; 'but I do not know but I\nmay come just to divert myself a little.'--'That is a dear good lady!'\ncried the other. 'About five, I believe, will be a proper time.'--'Aye,\nthereabout,' replied Miss Betsy: 'but, dear Modely, don't let him know\nyou have spoke a word to me concerning him.'--'No, no,' said she; 'I\nshall not tell him I have seen you.'\nDuring the whole time this woman staid, (which was, indeed, much longer\nthan might have been expected from a person of that extraordinary\nbusiness she pretended) nothing was talked of but Sir Frederick Fineer:\nshe told Miss Betsy, that to her certain knowledge, he was of one of the\nbest families in Cornwall; that he had a great estate in possession, and\nanother in reversion; and, besides, was the next of kin to a coronet;\nthat he kept company with nothing but lords and dukes, and that they\nwere always courting his company.\nThough Miss Betsy affected to treat all she said with indifference, yet\nshe had given an attentive ear to it; and, after she was gone, began to\nrummage over all her ornaments; tried one, and then another, to see\nwhich would become her best, in order to secure a victory, which she\nimagined would afford so much triumph. 'Whether I marry him or not,'\nsaid she to herself, 'the addresses of a man of his rank will make me of\nsome consideration in the world; and if ever I do become a wife, I\nshould like to be a woman of quality: they may say what they will, but a\ntitle has prodigious charms in it; the name Fineer also becomes it.\n\"Lady Fineer's servants there! Lady Fineer's coach to the door!\" would\nsound vastly agreeable at the play or opera.'\nShe also pleased herself with the thought, that being courted by a\nperson of Sir Frederick's quality and estate would immediately put to\nsilence all the reproaches and remonstrances she might otherwise have\nexpected to be persecuted with by her brother Frank, on Mr. Trueworth's\naccount; and this imagination was of itself sufficient to give her an\ninfinite satisfaction: in fine, she found so much in this new effect of\nher charms, to elevate and delight both her vanity and convenience, that\nshe longed with as much impatience for a sight of her admirer as Mrs.\nModely had told her he was under for a second interview with her.\nSome part of the tedious moments were, however, taken up in a manner she\nwas far from expecting; she was scarce risen from her toilette, when\nword was brought her that a young lady, who called herself Miss Flora\nMellasin, was come to wait upon her. As she had never seen her since her\nbeing driven from Mr. Goodman's, the visit a little surprized her, and\nshe would have been glad if common civility had dispensed with her\nreceiving it; for though the pity she then had felt for her misfortunes\nhad greatly effaced the memory of the injurious treatment she had met\nwith from her, yet she never desired to continue any correspondence\nwith her after they were once parted: besides, as she had no reason to\nlook upon her coming as any proof of her friendship or good-will, but\nrather with a design of doing her some private prejudice, she resolved\nto behave entirely reserved towards her.\nHer conjectures were not groundless: that complication of every worst\npassion that can fill the human heart, could not be perfectly satisfied,\neven amidst the most unbounded gratification of her amorous desires with\nthe man that had excited them; the dread of losing him embittered all\nthe transports of possession; she very well knew he had broke off with\nMiss Betsy, and doubted not but that event had happened through the\nartifice she had put in practice: yet, as there was a possibility that\nthe adventure of Denham should be unravelled, and the innocency of Miss\nBetsy cleared up, she trembled lest such an eclaircissement should renew\nall his former tenderness for that once so much-loved rival, and herself\nbe reduced to all the horrors of despair and shame. It was therefore to\nsound the inclinations of Miss Betsy, that alone brought her thither, in\nthe wicked hope, that if there was the least probability of a\nreconciliation between them, she might find some opportunity of\ntraversing all the steps that might be taken by either party for that\npurpose.\nBut Miss Betsy was too much upon her guard to give her any room to\ndiscover what her sentiments were in that point: she received her very\ncoolly; and, even on her first entrance, told her that she was obliged\nto go out that evening; but the other taking no notice of the little\npleasure Miss Betsy expressed on seeing her, told her she came out of\nfriendship to visit her; that she had been told Mr. Trueworth and she\nwere entirely parted; that if she had so great an affection for him as\nthe world had been pleased to say, she must certainly stand in need of\nall the consolation that could be given her. 'But, I hope, my dear,'\nsaid she, 'you have too much good sense not to despise him now. Nothing\nis more common than that men should be false. Remember what the poet\nsays--\n    \"Ingratitude's the sin, which, first or last,\n    Taints the whole sex, the catching court disease.\"'\nMiss Betsy was so provoked at being talked to in this manner, that she\nreplied, that there was neither falsehood nor ingratitude in the case:\nif Mr. Trueworth had desisted his visits, it was only because he was\nconvinced she desired not the continuance of them.\nIt is possible these words were more galling to the jealous heart of\nMiss Flora than any thing she could have said, though she spoke them\nwith no other intent than to clear herself of the imputation of having\nbeen forsaken; a thing she looked upon as the worst blemish that could\nbe cast upon her reputation. Miss Flora, finding no more was to be got\nout of her, took her leave for this time; resolving, however, in her own\nmind, to keep up an acquaintance with her, that seeming to her the most\nlikely way both to satisfy her curiosity, and prevent any effort of what\nthe extravagance of her passion made her apprehend.\nMiss Betsy did not give herself much trouble in reflecting on what Miss\nFlora had said; but as soon as her watch reminded her of the appointed\nhour, she bid her footman fly and get a chair; on her coming to the\nhouse, Mrs. Modely herself opened the door at the first rap, and desired\nher to walk in. 'No, no,' said Miss Betsy, still sitting in the chair,\n'I cannot stay; I only called to tell you that I will have the silver\nrobings put upon the green night-gown, and will buy a new trimming for\nthe pink.'--'I shall be sure to obey your orders, Madam,' replied the\nother: 'but I must intreat you will do me the honour to come in and\ndrink a dish of tea; the kettle boils, and I have just now had a present\nof a cannister of some of the finest Hyson in the world.'--'I must leave\nyou then as soon as I have tasted it,' said Miss Betsy, coming out of\nthe chair; 'for I have twenty visits to make this evening.'\nShe had not been three minutes in the parlour, when the person for whom\nall this ceremony was affected, entered the room in somewhat of an\nabrupt manner. 'I come, Mrs. Modely, to complain,' said he--'my servants\ntell me--' With these words he stopt short, and fixed his eyes full on\nMiss Betsy, with a kind of astonishment.--Mrs. Modely, pretending to be\nin a great fright, cried, 'For Heaven's sake, Sir Frederick! what is the\nmatter? I hope nothing in my house has given your honour any cause of\ncomplaint?'--'No, no! it is over now,' cried he; 'your house is become a\ntemple, and this is the divinity that honours it with her presence--this\nGr\u00e6cian Venus.' Miss Betsy was too much accustomed to company to be\neasily abashed; and answered briskly, 'If you mean the compliment to me,\nSir, the Gr\u00e6cian Venuses are all painted fat, and I have no resemblance\nof that perfection.'--'Only in your face, Madam,' returned he. 'Such\nsparkling eyes--such a complexion--such a mouth! In your shape you are\nHelen of Troy!'--'That Helen of Troy,' said Miss Betsy, with an ironical\nsmile, 'I think, was a Gr\u00e6cian princess, and must also be fat, or she\nwould not have been reputed a beauty there.'\nThe baronet, finding by this he had been guilty of an absurdity when he\nintended a fine speech, thought to salve up the matter by saying, 'Sure,\nyou are a Diana, then!'--'Worse and worse!' cried Miss Betsy. 'I beseech\nyou, Sir, compare me to no such boisterous goddess, that runs up and\ndown, bare-footed and bare-legged, hunting wild boars in the\nforest!'--'What shall I call you then?' resumed he. 'O, tell me by what\nname you will be worshipped?'--'The lady's name, Sir Frederick,' cried\nMrs. Modely, 'is Miss Betsy Thoughtless.'--'Betsy!' said he; 'then Betsy\nlet it be. Betsy shall henceforth become more famous than Cytherea was\nof old!'\nHe was going on with this fulsome stuff, in which he was often exposed\nby the ready wit of Miss Betsy, when a maid belonging to the house came\nin, and told her that a gentleman in a hackney-coach was at the door,\nand desired to speak with her. 'With me!' cried she, not able to guess\nwho should have followed her there. 'Pray, call my footman, and bid him\nask the person's name that enquires for me.' The maid did as she was\nordered; and Miss Betsy's servant presently after brought her this\nintelligence--'Mr. Munden, Madam,' said he, 'not finding you at home,\nhas taken the liberty to call on you here, in order to conduct you where\nyou are to pass the evening.'--'He must be a happy man, indeed, that\ndare take such liberties,' cried Sir Frederick, somewhat fiercely. 'Many\ntake more than they are allowed to do,' said Miss Betsy. 'Go,' continued\nshe to the fellow, 'and tell him my mind is changed; that I cannot leave\nthe company I am with, and will not go.' Mr. Munden having received this\nmessage, ordered the coachman to drive away, very much dissatisfied, as\nthe reader may easily suppose.\nMiss Betsy, the day before, had agreed to pass this evening with the\nladies at St. James's, and some others, to play at commerce; a game then\nvery much in vogue. Mr. Munden was to be one of the company; and calling\nat Miss Betsy's lodgings, in hopes of having some time with her before\nthis meeting, the maid, who had not lived long enough with her mistress\nto know her humour, presently told him, she was only gone to her\nmantua-maker's, and gave him directions to the house; he also thinking\nit no indecorum to call on her at the house of a woman of that\nprofession, had reason enough to be mortified at the repulse he met with\nfor so doing.\nAs to Miss Betsy, though she was a little angry at the freedom Mr.\nMunden had taken, yet she was in reality much more pleased; and this for\ntwo reasons: first, because she saw it gave her new lover some jealous\napprehensions; and, secondly, because it furnished her with a plausible\npretence for complying with his entreaties to stay; which, she\nprotested, she would not on any terms have been prevailed upon to do,\nbut to prevent either him or Mrs. Modely from suspecting she would go\nwhere Mr. Munden had desired.\nMrs. Modely went out of the room several times, as if called away by\nsome household affairs, that Sir Frederick might have an opportunity of\ndeclaring his passion to Miss Betsy; which he did in much the same\nrodomontade strain with which he had at first accosted her. A handsome\nsupper was served in; after which, she being about to take her leave, he\naffected to be in a great fret, that a fine new chariot which, he said,\nhe had bespoke, was not come home, that he might have seen her safe to\nher lodgings, with an equipage suitable to her merit, and the admiration\nhe had of it: he would needs, however, attend her in another chair;\nwhich piece of gallantry, after a few faint refusals, she accepted.\nVOLUME THE THIRD\nCHAPTER I\n_Relates only to such things as the reader may reasonably expect would\nhappen_\nAs much taken up as Miss Betsy was with the pleasure of having gained a\nnew admirer, she could not forbear, after she came home, making some\nreflection on the value of her conquest; she had found nothing agreeable\neither in his person or conversation: the first seemed to her stiff and\nawkward, and looked as if not made for his cloaths; and the latter,\nweak, romantick, and bombast: in fine, he was altogether such as she\ncould not think of living with as a husband, though the rank and figure\nshe was told he held in the world, made her willing to receive him as a\nlover. In short, though she could not consent to sacrifice herself to\nhis quality, she took a pride to sacrifice his quality to her vanity.\nNo overtures of marriage having been made to her since Mr. Munden began\nhis courtship, and that gentleman growing, as she fancied at least, a\nlittle too presuming, on finding himself the only lover, she was not a\nlittle pleased at the opportunity of giving him a rival whose quality\nmight over-awe his hopes. In this idea, she was far from repenting her\nbehaviour towards him the night before: but how little soever she\nregarded what mortification she gave the men, she always took care to\ntreat her own sex with a great deal of politeness; and reflecting that\nshe had been guilty of an omission, in not sending her servant to excuse\nherself to the ladies who expected her, went herself in the morning to\nmake her own apology.\nIn the mean time, Mr. Munden, who it is certain was very much out of\nhumour, and impatient to let her know some part of the sentiments her\nmessage had inspired him with, came to make her a morning visit, having\nsome business which he knew would detain him from waiting on her in the\nafternoon. On finding she was abroad, he desired the maid to favour him\nwith her lady's standish; which she accordingly bringing to him, he sat\ndown, and, without taking much consideration, wrote the following\nletter, and left for her on the table.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Madam,\n     Amidst the enchanting encouragement with which you have been\n     pleased to admit my services, I would not, without calling your\n     honour and generosity in question, be altogether void of hope, that\n     you intended to afford them one day a recompence for ample than a\n     bare acceptance.\n     Judge, then, of my surprize at the repulse I met with at Mrs.\n     Modely's door. I could not think it any breach of the respect I owe\n     you, to call on you at the house of your mantua-maker; I could not\n     imagine it possible for you to have any engagements at such a place\n     capable of preventing you from keeping those that you had made with\n     persons for whom you profess an esteem: on the contrary, I rather\n     expected you would have permitted me to conduct you thence, with\n     the same readiness you have done from most of the other places\n     where you have been, since I first had the honour of being\n     acquainted with you.\n     I know very well, that it is the duty of every lover to submit, in\n     all things to the pleasure of the beautiful object whose chains he\n     wears, yet, Madam, as you have hitherto made mine easy, you must\n     pardon me, when I say, that this sudden transition from gentleness\n     to cruelty, appears to me to contain a mystery, which, though I\n     dread, I am distracted for the explanation of.\n     Some business of great moment prevents my waiting on you this\n     afternoon, but shall attend your commands to-morrow at the usual\n     hour; when, I still flatter myself, you will relieve the anxieties,\n     and put an end to the suspense, of him who is, with the greatest\n     sincerity of heart, Madam, your most humble, and most faithfully\n     devoted servant,\n     G. MUNDEN.'\nMiss Betsy, at her return home, found also another billet directed for\nher, which they told her had been brought by a servant belonging to Sir\nFrederick Fineer: she gave that from Mr. Munden, however, the preference\nof reading first, not indeed through choice, but chance, that happening\nto be first put into her hands. As soon as she had looked it over, she\nlaughed, and said to herself, 'The poor man is jealous already, though\nhe knows not of whom, or why: what will become of him when he shall be\nconvinced? I suppose he was sure of having me, and it is high time to\nmortify his vanity.'\nShe then proceeded to Sir Frederick's epistle; in which she found\nherself more deified than ever she had been by all her lovers put\ntogether.\n     'To the most wonderful of her sex, the incomparable Miss Betsy\n     Thoughtless.\n     Divine charmer,\n     Though I designed myself the inexpressible pleasure of kissing your\n     fair hands this evening, I could not exist till then without\n     telling you how much I adore you: you are the empress of my heart,\n     the goddess of my soul! the one loves you with the most loyal and\n     obedient passion, the other regards you as the sole mover and\n     director of all its motions. I cannot live without you; it is you\n     alone can make me blest, or miserable. O then pronounce my doom,\n     and keep me not suspended between heaven and hell. Words cannot\n     describe the ardency of my flame; it is actions only that can do\n     it. I lay myself, and all that I am worth, an humble offering at\n     your feet. Accept it, I beseech you; but accept it soon; for I\n     consume away in the fire of my impatient wishes; and, in a very\n     short time, there will be nothing left for you but the shadow of\n     the man who is, with the most pure devotion, Madam, your beauty's\n     slave, and everlasting adorer,\n     F. FINEER.'\n'Good lack!' cried Miss Betsy, 'he is in a great haste, too; but I fancy\nhe must wait a while, as many of better sense have done. What a\nromantick jargon is here! One would think he had been consulting all the\nballads since fair Rosamond, and the Children in the Wood, for fine\nphrases to melt me into pity!'\nShe wondered, as indeed she had good reason, that a man of his birth,\nand who, it must be supposed, had an education suitable to it, should\nexpress himself in such odd terms; but then she was tempted to imagine,\nthat it was only his over-care to please her that had made him stretch\nhis wit beyond it's natural extent, and that if he had loved her less,\nhe would have been able to have told her so in a much better stile.\nPossessed with this fancy, 'What a ridiculous thing this love is!' said\nshe; 'What extravagancies does it sometimes make men guilty of! yet one\nnever sees this madness in them after they become husbands. If I were to\nmarry Sir Frederick, I do not doubt but he would soon recover his\nsenses.'\nHow does a mind, unbroke with cares and disappointments, entirely free\nfrom passion, and perfectly at peace with itself, improve, and dwell on\nevery thing that affords the least matter for its entertainment? This\nyoung lady found as much diversion in anticipating the innocent pranks\nshe intended to play with the authors of these two letters, as an infant\ndoes in first playing with a new baby, and afterwards plucking it to\npieces; so true is the observation of the poet, that--\n    'All are but children of a larger growth.'\nBut this sprightliness of humour in Miss Betsy soon received a sad and\nsudden interruption: having sent, as she constantly did every day, to\nenquire after the health of Mr. Goodman, her servant returned with an\naccount, that he had expired that morning. Though this was an event,\nwhich she, and all who knew him, had expected for some time, yet could\nshe not be told of the death of a gentleman, under whose care and\nprotection she so long had been, and who had behaved in all respects so\nlike a parent towards her, without being very deeply affected with the\nnews; she was then at dinner, but threw down her knife and fork, rose\nfrom the table, and retired to her chamber and wept bitterly: the more\nviolent emotions of grief were soon assuaged, but her melancholy and\ndejection of spirits continued much longer; and, while they did so, she\nhad the power of making the most just reflections on the vain pursuits,\nthe fleeting pleasures, and all the noise and hurry of the giddy world.\nLove, and all the impertinences which bear that name, now appeared only\nworthy of her contempt; and, recollecting that Sir Frederick had\nmentioned visiting her that evening, she sent a servant immediately to\nMrs. Modely's, desiring her to acquaint that gentleman, that she had\njust lost a very dear friend, and was in too much affliction to admit of\nany company.\nThis being the day on which Mr. Francis Thoughtless was expected to be\nin London, this affectionate sister perceiving, by his last letter to\nher, that his health was not perfectly established, was under a very\ngreat concern, lest he should be put to some inconvenience by Mr.\nGoodman's death, for a proper lodging on his first arrival; but she soon\nfound her tender fears, on this occasion, altogether groundless.\nThose objections which had hindered Mr. Thomas Thoughtless from taking\nher into his family, had not the same weight in relation to Mr. Francis,\nwhose sex set him above meddling with those domestick concerns, the\ncommand of which he had given to another; and his reputation would\nsuffer nothing by being under the same roof with the mistress of his\nbrother's amorous inclinations.\nHe went to the inn where he knew the L----e stage puts up, welcomed Mr.\nFrancis with open arms, as soon as he alighted from the coach, and gave\nhim all the demonstrations of brotherly affection that the place they\nwere in would admit of; then conducted him to his house, and insisted\nthat he should not think of any other home, till he was better provided\nfor, and settled in the world.\nA servant belonging to the elder Mr. Thoughtless was immediately\ndispatched to Miss Betsy, with a letter from the younger; and it was\nfrom this man that she received the agreeable intelligence, that the two\nbrothers were together. The terms in which Mr. Francis wrote to her were\nthese--\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     My dear sister,\n     Heaven be thanked, I am at last got safe to London; a place, which,\n     I assure you, some months ago I almost despaired of ever seeing\n     more. My brother has just given me an account of the death of\n     honest Mr. Goodman; and, as I doubt not but you are very much\n     concerned, as indeed we all have reason to be, for the loss of so\n     sincere and valuable a friend, I am very impatient to see you, and\n     give you what consolation is in my power; but the fatigue of my\n     journey, after so long an illness, requires my taking some\n     immediate repose; I shall, however, wait on you to-morrow morning;\n     till when, believe me, as ever, with the greatest sincerity, dear\n     sister, your affectionate brother, and humble servant,\n     F. THOUGHTLESS.\n     P.S. My brother purposes to come with me; but if any thing should\n     happen to prevent his visit, you may depend on one from me. Once\n     more, my dear sister, good night.'\nIn the present situation of Miss Betsy's mind, she could not have\nreceived a more sensible satisfaction, than what she felt on this young\ngentleman's arrival: but what ensued upon it will in due time and place\nappear.\nCHAPTER II\n_Contains only some few particulars of little moment in themselves, but\nserve to usher in matters of more importance_\nMr. Goodman, who, both living and dying, had sincerely at heart the\nwelfare of all with whom he had any concern, could not content himself\nto leave the world without giving to those who had been under his care\nsuch advice as he thought necessary for their future happiness.\nAccordingly, the day preceding that which happened to be his last, he\nsent for Mr. Thoughtless; and on his being come, and seated by his\nbedside, he took his hand, and began to remonstrate to him in the most\npathetick, though very gentle, terms, how unjustifiable to the eyes of\nHeaven, how disreputable to those of the world, it was to avow and\nindulge, in the publick manner he did, an unwarrantable flame.\n'I never was severe,' said he, 'in censuring the frailties of youth and\nnature; but think the claim they have to pardon consists chiefly in an\nendeavour to conceal them; when gloried in, they lose the name of\nfrailties, and become vices: besides, others by our example might be\nemboldened to offend; and, if so, what are we but accessary to their\nfaults, and answerable for them, as well as for our own? You are at\npresent,' continued he, 'the head of your family, have a large estate,\nare young, handsome, accomplished; in fine, have all the requisites to\nmake a shining character in life, and to be a service and an honour to\nyour country. How great a pity would it be, that such a stock of\nfortune's blessings, such present benefits, and such glorious\nexpectations, should all be squandered in the purchase of one guilty\npleasure!'\nHe then proceeded to a short discussion of the difference between a\nlawful and an unlawful communication between the sexes; he expatiated on\nthe wife and laudable institution of marriage; the solid comforts\narising from that state, in the choice of a worthy partner; the many\nadvantages of an honourable alliance; the serene and lasting pleasures\nto be found in the society of a faithful, discreet, and endearing\ncompanion. 'A wife,' said he, with a sigh, which the memory of his own\nhard fate drew from him, 'may sometimes be bad, but a mistress we are\nsure is never good; her very character denies all confidence to be\nreposed in her; it is the interest of a wife to secure the honour of her\nhusband, because she must suffer in his disgrace; a mistress, having no\nreputation of her own, regards not that of her keeper. It is the\ninterest of a wife to be frugal of her husband's substance, because she\nmust be a sharer in those misfortunes which the want of economy creates;\nbut is the interest of a mistress to sell her favours as dear as she\ncan, and to make the best provision she can for herself, because her\nsubsistence is precarious, and depends wholly on the will of him who\nsupports her. These, my dear friend,' continued he, 'are truths, which I\nhope you will not wait for experience to convince you of.'\nIt is probable Mr. Thoughtless did not relish this admonition; he\nseemed, however, to take it in good part, and returned for answer, that\nhe should ever retain the most grateful sense of the kind concern he\nexpressed for him; and added, that whatever inconveniences he might have\nbeen hurried into, by an inadvertent passion, he should always take care\nnot to become the dupe of any woman.\nMr. Goodman then fell into some discourse concerning the younger Mr.\nThoughtless; and the elder telling him, that, by his interest, he\nprocured a comission for him on very easy terms, that worthy old\ngentleman appeared very much pleased, and said, he hoped they would\nalways live together in that perfect amity which both good policy and\nnature demands between persons of the same blood.\n'And now,' continued he, 'I have but one more thing to recommend to you,\nand that is in relation to your sister Miss Betsy: I doubt not of her\ninnocence, but I fear her conduct; her youth, her beauty, the gaiety of\nher temper, and the little vanities of her sex, are every day exposing\nher to temptations fatal to reputation; I wish, therefore, she were well\nmarried; I know not how the courtship of Mr. Trueworth happened to be\nbroke off; perhaps on some trifling occasion either on the one or the\nother side: if so, it is likely Mr. Francis, when he comes to town, may\nbring about a reconciliation. According to my judgment of mankind, she\ncannot make a more deserving choice. There is another gentleman, who now\nmakes his addresses to her, whose name is Munden; but I know nothing of\nhis character; he never applied to me, nor did she consult me on the\naffair; it will, however, be a brother's part in you to enquire how far\nhe may be worthy of her.'\nPerceiving Mr. Thoughtless listened to him with a good deal of\nattention, he went on; 'I should also think it right,' said he, 'that\nwhile she remains in a single state, she should be boarded in some\nsocial, reputable family; I do not like this living by herself, her\nhumour is too volatile to endure solitude; she must have her amusements;\nand the want of them at home naturally carries her in search of them\nabroad: I could wish,' he added, 'that you would tell her what I have\nsaid to you on this subject; she is convinced I am her friend, I believe\nhas some regard for me, and, it may be, my dying admonitions will have\ngreater effect upon her than all she has heard from me before.'\nMr. Goodman, after this, beginning to grow extremely faint, and\naltogether unable to hold any farther discourse, the brother of Miss\nBetsy judged it convenient to retire; assuring the other, as he took his\nleave, that no part of what he had said should be lost upon him.\nThough the promise he had made Mr. Goodman was chiefly dictated by his\ncomplaisance, yet it was not wholly forgot after he had left him. As to\nwhat that worthy gentleman had said, in relation to his own manner of\nliving, he thought he had talked well, but he had talked like an old\nman, and that it was time enough for him to part with his pleasures when\nhe had no longer any inclination to pursue them; but what had been\nalledged to him, concerning his sister's conduct, made a much deeper\nimpression on his mind: he considered, that the honour of a family\ndepended greatly on the female part of it, and therefore resolved to\nomit nothing in his power to prevent Miss Betsy from being caught by any\nsnares that might be laid to entrap her innocence.\nHe communicated to Mr. Francis Thoughtless, on his arrival, all that Mr.\nGoodman had said to him on this score, and his own sentiments upon it:\nthat young gentleman was entirely of his brother's opinion in this\npoint; and they both agreed, that marriage was the only sure refuge for\na young woman of Miss Betsy's disposition and humour. They had a long\nand pretty serious conversation on this head, the result of which was,\nthat they should go together to her, and each exert all the influence he\nhad over her, in order to draw from her some farther eclaircissement of\nher intentions than could yet be gathered from her behaviour.\nMiss Betsy, who little suspected their designs, received them with all\nthe tenderness that could be expected from a sister, especially her\nbrother Frank; whose return, after so long an absence, gave her in\nreality an entire satisfaction: but she had scarce time to give him all\nthe welcomes with which her heart overflowed, before the elder Mr.\nThoughtless fell on the topick of Mr. Goodman, and the misfortune they\nsustained in the loss of so good a friend; after which, 'He has left you\na legacy, sister,' said he. 'A legacy!' cried she, 'pray, of what\nkind?'--'Such a one,' replied he, 'as perhaps you will not be very well\npleased in receiving; nor would I chuse to deliver it, but for two\nreasons: first, that the injunctions of a dying friend are not to be\ndispensed with; and, secondly, that it is of a nature, I fear, you stand\nin too much need of.'\nMiss Betsy, whose ready wit made her presently comprehend the meaning of\nthese words, replied with some smartness, that whatever she stood in\nneed of, she should certainly receive with pleasure, and that he might\nhave spared himself the trouble of a prelude, for any thing that could\nbe delivered by him, or bequeathed to her by Mr. Goodman.\nHe then told her, how that gentleman, the day before his death, had sent\nfor him; 'For no other purpose,' said he, 'than to talk to me on your\naccount, and to exhort me as your brother, and now your guardian, to\nhave a watchful eye over all your actions; to remind you of some\ninadvertencies of the past, and to warn you against falling into the\nlike for the future: sorry I am to find myself under a necessity of\nspeaking to you in this manner; but harsh as it may seem at present, I\ndoubt not, but you will hereafter own, is a proof of the greatest\naffection I could shew you.' He then repeated to her all that Mr.\nGoodman had said to him in relation to her; to which he also added many\nthings of his own, which he thought might serve to strengthen and to\nenforce the arguments made use of by the other.\nIt is impossible to describe the various and disturbed emotions which\ndiscovered themselves in the countenance of Miss Betsy during the whole\ntime her brother was speaking; she looked extremely grave at the manner\nin which he ushered what he had to deliver to her from Mr. Goodman;\nappeared confounded and perplexed at what she heard that gentleman had\nsaid concerning Mr. Trueworth; was quite peevish at the mention of Mr.\nMunden; but when told of the dangers to which she was exposed by living\nalone, and trusted with the management of herself, her eyes sparkled\nwith disdain and rage at a remonstrance she looked upon as so\nunnecessary and so unjust.\nIf this message had been sent to her by any other than Mr. Goodman,\nwhose memory, on account of the benefits she had received from him, was\nprecious to her; or had it been repeated by any other mouth than that of\nher brother, she had certainly vented the indignation she was possessed,\nin the most bitter terms; but gratitude, respect, and love, denying her\nthis remedy, she burst into tears. 'Good God!' cried she, 'what have I\ndone to raise such cruel suggestions in the heart of any friend? Which\nof my actions can malice construe into a crime? I challenge my worst of\nenemies to prove me guilty of any thing that might justly cast a blemish\non my reputation, much less to call my virtue into question.'\nThe two brothers seemed very much moved at the agonies that they saw her\nin, especially the elder; who, repenting he had gone so far, took her in\nhis arms, and, tenderly embracing her, 'My dear sister,' said he, 'you\nwrong your friends, while you imagine yourself wronged by them; your\nreputation, I hope, is clear; your virtue not suspected: it is not to\naccuse you of any guilt, but to prevent your innocence from becoming a\nprey to the guilt of others, that Mr. Goodman sent you his dying\nadmonition, or that I took upon me to deliver it.'\nMr. Francis Thoughtless seconded what the other had said; and both\njoining their endeavours to pacify the late tempest of her mind, she\nsoon recovered that good-humour and chearfulness which was too natural\nto her to be long suspended by any accident whatever.\n'I flattered myself,' said the younger of these gentlemen, 'that\ncautions of this kind would have been altogether unnecessary, and that\nbefore now you would have been disposed of to a man, under whose\nprotection all that is dear to your sex had been secure; I need not tell\nyou,' continued he, 'that I mean Mr. Trueworth.'\nMiss Betsy looking a little confused, and not making any reply, the\nelder Mr. Thoughtless immediately took up the word, and said he had\nheard so high a character of that gentleman's merit, that he had wished\nfor few things with more ardency than the honour of being allied to\nhim; and that he never could find out what objection his sister had to\naccept of an offer so every way to her advantage.\nTo this Miss Betsy made answer, though not without some disorder and\nhesitation in her speech, that she had never made any objection either\nto his person or qualifications; but that she did not care to marry yet\na while, and that he had not love enough to wait the event of her\nresolution in that point: that, besides, their humours did not suit, and\nthere was little likelihood they would agree better after marriage; that\nthere had been a little pique between them; that he gave himself airs of\nresenting something she had said, and thereupon had sent her a very\nimpertinent letter; since which she had never seen him: 'So that,' added\nshe, 'our breaking off acquaintance is wholly owing to himself.'\nMr. Francis, not doubting but this letter would explain what he so much\ndesired to know the truth of, cried out to her hastily to let him see\nit. Miss Betsy already repenting that she had mentioned such a thing, as\nshe was conscious there were some expressions in it which would greatly\ncountenance the disagreeable remonstrances she had just now received;\nbut she wanted artifice to pretend she had either lost or burnt it, and\nwent that instant to her cabinet; where easily finding it, she gave it\ninto her brother's hands, with these words 'He reproaches me,' said she,\n'with things I know nothing of, and in terms which, I think, do not very\nwell become the passion he pretended to have for me.'\n'That he once loved you,' said Mr. Francis, coolly, 'I am very certain.\nHow his sentiments may be changed, and the reasons of their being so,\nthis may, perhaps, give me room to guess.' He then read the letter\naloud; and, while he was doing so, several times cast a look at Miss\nBetsy, which shewed he was highly dissatisfied with her, for having\ngiven any cause for the reflections contained in it.\n'I see very well,' said he, returning her the letter, 'that he has done\nwith you, and that it is your own fault. I shall, however, talk to him\non the affair; and if there be a possibility of accommodating matters\nbetween you, shall endeavour it for your sake.'\nHere Miss Betsy's spirit rouzed itself, in spite of the respect she had\nfor her brothers. 'I beseech you, Sir,' said she to Mr. Francis, 'not to\ngo about to force your sister upon any man. If Mr. Trueworth, of his own\naccord, renews the professions he has made, I shall, on your account,\nreceive them as I did before any misunderstanding happened between us;\nbut as to changing my condition, either in favour of him or any other\nman, I know not when, or whether ever, I shall be in the humour to do\nit. You may, however, if you please,' continued she, 'hear what he has\nto say for himself, and what mighty matters against me, that can excuse\nthe abrupt manner of his quitting me.'\n'I know not as yet,' replied Mr. Francis, with some vehemence, 'whether\nI shall interfere any farther in the thing; and am heartily sorry I have\ngiven myself any trouble about it, since you so little consider your own\ninterest, or will follow the advice of those who are at the pains to\nconsider for you.'--'Come, come,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'you\nare both too fiery. I am confident my sister has too much good sense to\nsuffer any little caprice to impede her real happiness; therefore,\npr'ythee, Frank, let us drop this subject at present, and leave her to\nher own reflections.'\nTo which Miss Betsy answered, that there required but little reflection\nto instruct her what she ought to do; and that, though she could not\nconsent to be kept always in leading-strings, the love and respect she\nhad for her brothers would never permit her to do any thing without\ntheir approbation. There passed nothing more of consequence between them\nat this visit: but what had been said, served to engross pretty much the\nminds of each of them after they were separated.\nCHAPTER III\n_Has somewhat more business in it than the former_\nThough Miss Betsy was very conscious of the merits of Mr. Trueworth, and\nequally convinced of the friendship her brother Francis had for him, and\nhad, therefore, doubted not but, when that young gentleman should\narrive, he would reason strongly with her on the little regard she had\npaid to his recommendations, or the advantages of the alliance he had\nproposed; yet she did not expect the satisfaction of their first meeting\nwould have been embittered by a resentment such as, it seemed to her, he\nhad testified on the occasion.\nShe easily perceived the two brothers had consulted together, before\nthey come to her, in what manner they should behave towards her; and\nthis she looked upon as a sort of proof, that they intended to assume an\nauthority over her, to which they had no claim. 'The love I have for\nthem,' said she to herself, 'will always make me take a pleasure in\nobliging them, and doing every thing they desire of me; but they are\nentirely mistaken, if they imagine it in their power to awe me into\ncompliance with their injunctions.\n'And yet,' cried she again, 'what other aim than my happiness and\ninterest can they propose to themselves, in desiring to have me under\ntheir direction? Poor Frank has given me proofs that I am very dear to\nhim; and, I believe, my brother Thoughtless is not wanting in natural\naffection for me: why, then, should I reject the counsel of two friends,\nwhose sincerity there is not a possibility of suspecting? They know\ntheir sex, and the dangers to which ours are exposed, by the artifices\nof base designing men. I have had some escapes, which I ought always to\nremember enough to keep me from falling into the like ugly accidents\nagain. How near was I to everlasting ruin, by slighting the warning\ngiven me by Mr. Trueworth!'\nThis reflection bringing into her mind many passages of her behaviour\ntowards that gentleman, she could not forbear justifying his conduct,\nand condemning her own. 'I have certainly used him ill,' pursued she,\nwith a sigh; 'and if he should return, and forgive what is past, I think\nI ought, in gratitude, to reward his love!'\nShe was in this contemplating mood when her servant told her that Mrs.\nModely had been to wait upon her; but, on hearing her brothers were with\nher, went away, saying she would come again; which she now was, and\nbegged to speak with her.\nMiss Betsy was at this moment just beginning to feel some sort of\npleasure in the idea of Mr. Trueworth's renewing his addresses, and was\na little peevish at the interruption: she ordered, however, that the\nwoman should come up. 'Well, Mrs. Modely,' said she, as soon as she saw\nher enter, 'what stuff have you brought me now?'\n'Ah, charming Miss Betsy,' replied she, 'you fine ladies and great\nfortunes think you may do any thing with the men. Poor Sir Frederick\nwill break his heart, or run mad, that's to be sure, if you don't send\nhim a favourable answer to this letter.' In speaking these words, she\ndelivered a letter to Miss Betsy; which that young lady opened with a\ncareless air, and it contained these high-flown lines.\n     'This humbly to be presented to the most beautiful of all\n     beauties, the super-excellent Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Adorable creature,\n     I am grieved to the very soul to hear you have any subject for\n     affliction; but am very certain that, in being deprived of your\n     divine presence, I endure a more mortal stab than any loss you have\n     sustained can possibly inflict. I am consumed with the fire of my\n     passion; I have taken neither repose nor food since first I saw\n     you. I have lived only on the idea of your charms. Oh, nourish me\n     with the substance! Hide me in your bosom from the foul fiend\n     Despair, that is just ready to lay hold on me!\n     The passion I am possessed of for you is not like that of other\n     men. I cannot wait the tedious forms of courtship: there is no\n     medium between death and the enjoyment of you--the circle of your\n     arms, or a cold leaden shroud--the one or the other must very\n     shortly be my portion. But I depend upon the heaven of your mercy,\n     and hope you will permit me to pour forth the abundance of my soul\n     before you--to bask in the sunshine of your smiles; and to try, at\n     least, if no spark of that amorous flame, which burns me up, has\n     darted upon you, and kindled you into soft desires.\n     O, if any part of my impatient fires, by secret sympathy, should\n     happily have reached your breast, never was there a pair so\n     transcendently blest as we should be! The thought is rapture!\n     Extasy too big for words--too mighty for description! And I must,\n     therefore, for a few hours, defer any farther endeavours to\n     convince you; till when I remain, absorbed in the delightful image,\n     dear quintessence of joy, your most devoted, most obsequious, and\n     most adoring vassal,\n     F. FINEER.'\nIn spite of the serious humour Miss Betsy was in, she could not read\nthis without bursting into a violent fit of laughter; but soon composing\nherself, 'If I had not seen the author of this epistle,' said she to\nMrs. Modely, 'I should have thought it had been sent me by some\nschool-boy, and was the first essay of describing a passion he had heard\ntalked of, and was ambitious of being supposed capable of feeling. But,\nsure,' continued she, 'the man must be either mad, or most impudently\nvain, to write to me as if he imagined I was in love with him, and would\nhave him on his first putting the question to me.'\n'Ah, my dear Madam!' said Mrs. Modely, 'do you consider that a young\ngentleman of ten thousand a year in possession, as much more in\nreversion, and the expectation of a coronet, is not apt to think he may\nhave any body?'--'If he does, he may find himself mistaken,' replied\nMiss Betsy haughtily; and then in the same breath softening her voice,\n'But are you sure,' cried she, 'that he has so much?'--'Sure, Madam!'\nsaid Mrs. Modely, 'Aye, as sure that I am alive! I have heard it from\ntwenty people. They say he has a house in the country as big as a town,\nand above fifty servants in it; though he is but just come to London,\nand has not had time to settle his equipage as yet: but he has bespoke\nthe finest coach, and the genteelest chariot, you ever saw; all in a new\ntaste, and perfectly French; they are quite finished, all but the\npainting, and that only waits till he knows whether he may quarter your\narms or not.'\n'Bless me!' cried Miss Betsy, 'does he think to gain me in the time of\npainting a coach?'--'Nay, I don't know,' answered Mrs. Modely; 'but I\nthink such an offer is not to be trifled with. He is violently in love\nwith you, that is certain: he does not desire a penny of your fortune,\nand will settle upon you, notwithstanding, his whole estate, if you\nrequire it.'\nMiss Betsy made no answer, but paused for a considerable time, and\nseemed, as it were, in a profound reverie. At last, coming out of it,\n'He is for doing things in such a hurry,' said she; 'I have seen him no\nmore than once, and scarce know what sort of a person he is: how, then,\ncan I tell you whether I ever shall be able to bring myself to like him\nor not?'\n'You may give him leave to wait on you, however,' cried the other. Here\nMiss Betsy was again silent for some moments; but Mrs. Modely repeating\nher request, and enforcing it with some arguments, 'Well, then,' replied\nshe, 'I shall not go to church this afternoon, and will see him if he\ncomes. But, dear Modely,' continued she, 'don't let him assume on the\npermission I give him: tell him you had all the difficulty in the world\nto prevail on me to do it; for, in my mind, he already hopes too much,\nand fears too little, for a man so prodigiously in love.' Mrs. Modely on\nthis assured her, she might trust to her management; and took her leave,\nvery well pleased with the success of her negociation.\nWe often see the love of grandeur prevail over persons of the ripest\nyears and knowledge. What guilty lengths have not some men run to attain\nit, even among those who have been esteemed the wisest and most honest\nof their time; when once a title, a bit of ribband cross their shoulder,\nor any other gew-gaw trophy of the favour of a court, has been hung out,\nhow has their virtue veered and yielded to the temptation? It is not,\ntherefore, to be wondered at, that a young heart, unexperienced in the\nfallacy of shew, should be dazzled with the tinsel glitter: the good\nsense of Miss Betsy made her see, that this last triumph of her charms\nwas a vain, silly, and affected coxcomb; but then this coxcomb had a\nvast estate, and the enchanting ideas of the figure she should make, if\nin possession of it, in some measure out-balanced the contempt she had\nof the owner's person and understanding.\nThe glare of pomp and equipage, the pleasure of having it in her power\nof taking the upper-hand of those of her own rank, and of vying with\nthose of a more exalted one, it is certain had very potent charms for\nher, but then there was a delicacy in her nature, that would not suffer\nthe desire of attaining it to be altogether predominant: the thoughts of\nbeing sacrificed to a man for whom it was impossible for her to have\neither love or esteem; to be obliged to yield that, through duty, which\ninclinations shuddered at, struck a sudden damp to all the rising fires\nof pride and ambition in her soul, and convinced her, that greatness\nwould be too dearly purchased at the expence of peace.\nIn fine, she considered on these things so long, that she grew weary of\nconsidering at all; so resolved to let the matter rest, give herself no\nfarther pain, leave to chance the disposal of her fate, and treat all\nher lovers, as she hitherto had done, only as subjects of mere\namusement.\nShe was now beginning to please herself with thoughts of how Mr. Munden,\nwhom she expected that evening, would behave at the sight of his new\nrival, and how Sir Frederick Fineer would bear the preference of a man\nwhom she was resolved to shew him had the same pretensions as himself:\nbut though she happened to be disappointed in her expectation in this,\nshe did not want other sufficient matter for her diversion.\nSir Frederick, to shew the impatience of his passion, came very soon\nafter dinner: she received him with as grave an air as she could\npossibly put on; but it was not in her power, nor indeed would have been\nin any one else's, to continue it for any long time; his conversation\nwas much of a piece with his letters, and his actions even more\nextravagant.\nNever was such an Orlando Furioso in love: on his first approach, he\nhad indeed the boldness to take one of her hands, and put it to\nhis mouth; but, afterwards, whatever he said to her was on his knees.\nHe threw himself prostrate on the carpet before her, grasped her\nfeet, and tenderly kissed each shoe, with the same vehemence as he\ncould have done her lips, and as much devotion as the pilgrims at\nRome do the pantofle of his holiness!--'Darts!--Flames!--Immortal\njoys!--Death!--Despair!--Heaven!--Hell!--Ever-during woe!'--and all the\nepithets in the whole vocabulary of Cupid's legend, begun and ended\nevery sentence of his discourse. This way of entertaining her was so\nextraordinary, and so new to her, that she could not forbear sometimes\nreturning it with a smile; which, in spite of her endeavours to preserve\na serious deportment, diffused a gaiety through all her air.\nThose who had told Sir Frederick, that the way to please this lady, was\nto soothe her vanity, either knew not, or had forgot to inform him, she\nhad also an equal share of good sense; so that, mistaking the change he\nhad observed in her looks for an indication of her being charmed with\nhis manner of behaviour, he acted and re-acted over all his fopperies,\nand felt as much secret pride in repeating them, as a celebrated singer\non the stage does in obeying the voice of an encore.\nIt is probable, however, that he would have continued in them long\nenough to have tired Miss Betsy so much as to have made her give him\nsome demonstrative remark that the pleasantry he had seen her in,\nproceeded rather from derision than satisfaction, if, divine service\nbeing ended, some ladies, as they came from church, had not called to\nvisit her. The sound of company coming up stairs, obliged him to break\noff in the middle of a rhapsody, which he, doubtless, thought very fine;\nand he took his leave somewhat hastily, telling her, the passion with\nwhich he was inflamed, was too fierce to be restrained within those\nbounds which she might expect before witnesses, and that he would wait\non her the next day, when he hoped she would be at more liberty to\nreceive his vows.\nEased of the constraint which decency, and the respect which she thought\ndue to his quality, had laid her under while he was there, her natural\nsprightliness burst with double force. Mr. Munden, who came in soon\nafter, felt the effects of it: he, indeed, enjoyed a benefit he little\ndreamt of. The absurd conversation of a rival he as yet knew nothing of,\nserved to make all he said sound more agreeable than ever in the ears of\nhis mistress: in this excess of good-humour, she not only made a\nhandsome apology for the treatment he had received at Mrs. Modely's, (a\nthing she had never before vouchsafed to do to any of her lovers) but\nalso gave him an invitation to squire her to a country dancing, in which\nshe had engaged to make one the ensuing night.\nCHAPTER IV\n_If it were not for some particulars, might be as well passed over as\nread_\nMiss Betsy, one would think, had now sufficient matter to employ her\nmeditations on the score of those two lovers who at present laid close\nsiege to her, neither of whom she was willing to part with entirely, and\nto retain either she found required some management: Mr. Munden was\nbeginning to grow impatient at the little progress his long courtship\nhad made on her affections; and Sir Frederick Fineer, on the other hand,\nwas for bringing things to a conclusion at once; she was also every day\nreceiving transient addresses from many others; which, though not meant\nseriously by those who made them, nor taken so by her, served\noccasionally to fill up any vacuum in her mind; yet was it not in the\npower of love, gallantry, or any other amusement, to drive the memory of\nMr. Trueworth wholly out of her head; which shews, that to a woman of\nsense, a man of real merit, even though he is not loved, can never be\ntotally indifferent.\nBut she was at this time more than ordinarily agitated on that\ngentleman's account; she doubted not but her brother Frank either had,\nor would shortly have, a long conference with him, on the subject of his\ndesisting his visits to her, and could not keep herself from feeling\nsome palpitations for the event; for though she was not resolved to\nafford any recompence to his love, she earnestly wished he should\ncontinue to desire it, and that she might still preserve her former\ndominion over a heart which she had always looked upon as the most\nvaluable prize of all that her beauty had ever gained.\nThus unreasonable, and indeed unjust, was she in the affairs of love:\nin all others she was humane, benevolent, and kind; but here covetous,\neven to a greediness, of receiving all, without any intention of making\nthe least return. In fine, the time was not yet come when she should be\ncapable of being touched with that herself which she took so much pains\nto inspire in others.\nThough she could not love, she was pleased with being loved: no man, of\nwhat degree or circumstance soever, could offend her by declaring\nhimself her admirer; and as much as she despised Sir Frederick Fineer\nfor his romantick manner of expressing the passion he professed for her,\nyet to have missed him out of the number of her train of captives, would\nhave been little less mortification to her than the loss of a favourite\nlover would have been to some other woman.\nThat inamorato of all inamoratoes, would not, however, suffer the flames\nwhich he flattered himself with having kindled in her, to grow cool;\nand, ambitious also of shewing his talents in verse as well as prose,\nsent to her that morning the following epistle--\n     'To the bright goddess of my soul, the adorable Miss Betsy\n     Thoughtless.\n     Most divine source of joy!\n     To shew in what manner I pass the hours of absence from you, and at\n     the same time represent the case of a lover racked with suspense,\n     and tossed alternately between hopes and fears, I take the liberty\n     to inscribe to you the inclosed poem, which, I most humbly beseech\n     you to take as it is meant, the tribute of my duteous zeal, an\n     humble offering presented at the shrine of your all-glorious\n     beauty, from, lovely ruler of my heart, your eternally devoted, and\n     no less faithful slave,\n     F. FINEER.\n     A true picture of my heart, in the different stages of it's\n     worship; a poem, most humbly inscribed to the never-enough deified\n     Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n         When first from my unfinish'd sleep I start,\n         I feel a flutt'ring faintness round my heart;\n         A darksome mist, which rises from my mind,\n         And, like sweet sunshine, leaves your name behind.\n           When from your shadow to yourself I fly,\n         To drink in transport at my thirsty eye,\n         Each orb surveys you with a kindling sight,\n         And trembles to sustain the vast delight:\n         From head to foot, o'er all your heaven they stray,\n         Dazzled with lustre in your milky way:\n         At last you speak; and, as I start to hear,\n         My soul is all collected in my ear.\n           But when resistless transport makes me bold,\n         And your soft hand inclos'd in mine I hold,\n         Then flooding raptures swim through ev'ry vein,\n         And each swollen art'ry throbs with pleasing pain.\n           Fain would I snatch you to my longing arms,\n         And grasp in extasy your blazing charms:\n         O then, how vain the wish that I pursue!\n         I would lose all myself, and mix with you;\n         Involv'd--embodied, with your beauties join,\n         As fires meet fires, and mingle in their shine;\n         Absorb'd in bliss, I would dissolving lie,\n         Become all you, and soul and body die.\n           Weigh well these symptoms, and then judge, in part,\n         The poignant anguish of the bleeding heart\n         Of him, who is, with unutterable love, resplendent charmer,\n         Your hoping, fearing, languishing adorer,\n     F. FINEER.\n     P.S. I propose to fly to the feet of my adorable about five o'clock\n     this afternoon; do not, I beseech you, clip the wings of my\n     devotion, by forbidding my approach.'\nHow acceptable, to a vain mind is even the meanest testimony of\nadmiration! If Miss Betsy was not charmed with the elegance of this\noffering, she was at least very well pleased with the pains he took in\ncomposing it. In the humour she then was, she would perhaps have\nrewarded the labour of his brain, with giving him an opportunity of\nkissing her shoe a second time; but she expected her brother Frank about\nthe hour he mentioned, with some intelligence of Mr. Trueworth, and had\nengaged to pass the evening abroad, as has been already mentioned.\nShe sent, however, a very complaisant message by the servant who brought\nthe letter; she ordered he should come up into her dining-room, and\nthen, with a great deal of sweetness, desired him to tell his master,\nthat she was under a necessity of spending the whole day with some\nrelations that were just come to town, therefore entreated he would\ndefer the honour he intended her till some other time.\nMr. Francis Thoughtless did, indeed, call upon her, as she imagined he\nwould: he had been at the lodgings of Mr. Trueworth; but as that\ngentleman happened to be abroad at the time he went, and he was now\nobliged to go with his brother on some business relating to the\ncommission he was about to purchase, so he could not stay long enough\nwith her to enter into any conversation of moment.\nMiss Betsy had now full two hours upon her hands after her brother left\nher, to which she had appointed Mr. Munden to come to conduct her to the\ncountry-dancing; and as she had not seen Miss Mabel for a good while,\nand had heard that lady had made her several visits when she was not at\nhome to receive them, she thought to take this opportunity of having\nnothing else to do, to return part of the debt which civility demanded\nfrom her to her friend. Accordingly, she set out in a hackney-coach, but\nmet with an accident by the way, which not only disappointed her\nintentions, but likewise struck a strange damp on the gaiety of her\nspirits.\nAs they were driving pretty fast through a narrow street, a gentleman's\nchariot ran full against them, with such rapidity, that both received a\nvery great shock, insomuch that the wheels were locked; and it was not\nwithout some difficulty, and the assistance of several people, who\nseeing what had happened, ran out of their shops and houses, that the\ncoachmen were able to keep their horses from going on; which, had they\ndone, both the machines must inevitably have been torn to pieces: there\nwere two gentlemen in the chariot, who immediately jumped out; Miss\nBetsy screaming, and frighted almost to death, was also helped out of\nthe coach by a very civil tradesman, before whose door the accident had\nhappened; he led her into his shop, and made her sit down, while his\nwife ran to fetch a glass of water, and some hartshorn-drops.\nHer extreme terror had hindered her from discovering who was in the\nchariot, or whether any one was there; but the gentlemen having crossed\nthe way, and come into the same shop, she presently knew the one to be\nSir Bazil Loveit, and the other Mr. Trueworth; her surprize at the sight\nof the latter was such as might have occasioned some raillery, if it had\nnot been concealed under that which she had sustained before: Sir Bazil\napproached her with a very respectful bow, and made a handsome apology\nfor the fault his man had committed, in not giving way when a lady was\nin the coach; to which she modestly replied, that there could be no\nfault where there was no design of offending. Mr. Trueworth then\ndrawing near, with a very cold and reserved air, told her he hoped she\nwould receive no prejudice by the accident.\n'I believe the danger is now over,' said she, struck to the very heart\nat finding herself accosted by him in a manner so widely different from\nthat to which she had been accustomed: scarce had she the fortitude to\nbear the shock it gave her; but, summoning to her aid all that pride and\ndisdain could supply her with, to prevent him from perceiving how much\nshe was affected by his behaviour--'I could not, however,' pursued she,\nwith a tone of voice perfectly ironical, 'have expected to receive any\nconsolation under this little disaster from Mr. Trueworth; I imagined,\nsir, that some weeks ago you had been reposing yourself in the\ndelightful bowers, and sweet recesses, of your country-seat. How often\nhave I heard you repeat with pleasure these lines of Mr. Addison's--\n    \"Bear me, ye gods! t'Umbraia's gentle seats,\n    Or hide me in sweet Bayia's soft retreats?\"\n'Yet still I find you in this noisy, bustling town.' She concluded these\nwords with a forced smile; which Mr. Trueworth taking no notice of,\nreplied with the same gravity as before, 'I purposed, indeed, Madam, to\nhave returned to Oxfordshire; but events then unforeseen have detained\nme.'\nWhile they were speaking, Sir Bazil recollecting the face of Miss Betsy,\nwhich till now he had not done, cried, 'I think, Madam, I have had the\nhonour of seeing you before this?'--'Yes, Sir Bazil,' replied she,\nknowing very well he meant at Miss Forward's, 'you saw me once in a\nplace where neither you, nor anyone else, will ever see me again: but I\ndid not then know the character of the person I visited.' To which Sir\nBazil only replying, that he believed she did not, Mr. Trueworth\nimmediately rejoined, that the most cautious might be _once_ deceived.\nThe emphasis with which he uttered the word once, made Miss Betsy see\nthat he bore still in his mind the second error she had been guilty of\nin visiting that woman; but she had no time to give any other answer\nthan a look of scorn and indignation, Sir Bazil's footman telling him\nthe chariot was now at liberty, and had received no damage: on which the\ngentlemen took their leave of her, Mr. Trueworth shewing no more concern\nin doing so, than Sir Bazil himself, or any one would have done, who\nnever had more than a mere cursory acquaintance with her.\nShe would not be persuaded to go into the coach again, much less could\nshe think of going on her intended visit; but desired a chair to be\ncalled, and went directly home, in order to give vent to those emotions\nwhich may easier be conceived than represented.\nCHAPTER V\n_Seems to be calculated rather for the instruction than entertainment of\nthe reader_\nHow great soever was the shock Miss Betsy had sustained in this\ninterview with Mr. Trueworth, he did not think himself much indebted to\nfortune for having thrown her in his way; he had once loved her to a\nvery high degree; and though the belief of her unworthiness, the fond\nendearments of one woman, and the real merits of another, had all\ncontributed to drive that passion from his breast, yet as a wound but\nlately closed is apt to bleed afresh on every little accident, so there\nrequired no less than the whole stock of the beautiful and discreet Miss\nHarriot's perfections, to defend his heart from feeling anew some part\nof its former pain, on this sudden and unexpected attack.\nHappy was it for him, that his judgment concurred with his present\ninclination, and that he had such unquestionable reasons for justifying\nthe transition he had made of his affections from one object to another;\nelse might he have relapsed into a flame which, if ever it had been\nattended with any true felicity, must have been purchased at the expence\nof an infinity of previous disquiets.\nHe was now become extremely conversant with the family of Sir Bazil,\nvisited there almost every day, was well received by both the sisters,\nand had many opportunities of penetrating into the real sentiments and\ndispositions of Miss Harriot; which he found to be such as his most\nsanguine wishes could have formed for the woman to be blest with whom he\nwould make choice of for a wife. When he compared the steady temper, the\naffability, the ease, unaffected chearfulness, mixed with a becoming\nreserve, which that young lady testified in all her words and actions,\nwith the capricious turns, the pride, the giddy lightness, he had\nobserved in the behaviour of Miss Betsy, his admiration of the one was\nincreased by his disapprobation of the other.\nHow great a pity it is, therefore, that a young lady, like Miss Betsy,\nso formed by heaven and nature to have rendered any man compleatly happy\nin possessing her, inferior to her fair competitor neither in wit,\nbeauty, nor any personal or acquired endowment, her inclinations no less\npure, her sentiments as noble, her disposition equally generous and\nbenign; should, through her own inadvertency, destroy all the merit of\nso many amiable qualities; and, for the sake of indulging the wanton\nvanity of attracting universal admiration, forfeit, in reality, those\njust pretensions to which otherwise she had been entitled to from the\ndeserving and the discerning few!\nMr. Trueworth, as the reader may have observed, did not all at once\nwithdraw his affections from the first object of them, nor transmit them\nto the second but on very justifiable motives. The levity of Miss Betsy,\nand other branches of ill conduct, had very much weaned her from his\nheart before the wicked artifices of Miss Flora had rendered her quite\ncontemptible in his opinion, and had not wholly devoted himself to the\nbeauties of Miss Harriot, till he was quite convinced the perfections of\nher mind were such as could not fail of securing the conquest which her\neyes had gained.\nHe did not however presently declare himself; he saw the friendship\nbetween the two sisters would be somewhat of an obstacle to his hopes;\nhe had heard that Miss Harriot had rejected several advantageous\nproposals of marriage, merely because she would not be separated from\nMrs. Wellair; he also found, that Sir Bazil, though for what reason he\ncould not guess, seemed not very desirous of having his sister disposed\nof: the only probable way, therefore, he thought, of obtaining his\nwishes, was to conceal them till he found the means of insinuating\nhimself so far into the good graces both of the one and the other, as to\nprevent them from opposing whatever endeavours he should make to engage\ntheir sister to listen to his suit.\nThe strategem had all the effect for which it was put in practice: the\nintimacy he had long contracted with Sir Bazil now grew into so perfect\na friendship, that he scarce suffered a day to pass without an\ninvitation to his house. Mrs. Wellair expressed the highest esteem and\nliking of his conversation; and Miss Harriot herself, not imagining of\nwhat consequence every word that fell from her was to him, said a\nthousand obliging things on his account; particularly, one day, after\nthey had been singing a two-part song together, 'How often,' cried she\nto her sister, 'shall we wish for this gentleman, when we get into the\ncountry, to act the principal part in our little operas!'\nAll this he returned in no other manner than any man would have done who\nhad no farther aim than to shew his wit and gallantry: so much of his\nhappiness, indeed, depended upon the event, that it behoved him to be\nvery cautious how he proceeded; and it is likely he would not have\nventured to throw off the mask of indifference so soon as he did, if he\nhad not been emboldened to it by an unexpected accident.\nAmong the number of those who visited the sisters of Sir Bazil, there\nwas a young lady called Mrs. Blanchfield; she was born in the same town\nwith them, but had been some time in London, on account of the death of\nan uncle, who had left her a large fortune: she had a great deal of\nvivacity and good-humour, which rendered both her person and\nconversation very agreeable; she passed in the eyes of most people for a\nbeauty; but her charms were little taken notice of by Mr. Trueworth,\nthough she behaved towards him in a manner which would have been\nflattering enough to a man of more vanity, or who had been less\nengrossed by the perfections of another.\nBy what odd means does fortune sometimes bring about those things she is\ndetermined to accomplish! Who could have thought this lady, with whom\nMr. Trueworth had no manner of concern, and but a slight acquaintance,\nshould even, unknowing it herself, become the happy instrument of having\nthat done for him which he knew not very well how to contrive for\nhimself? yet so it proved, in effect, as the reader will presently\nperceive.\nHappening to call one morning on Sir Bazil while he was dressing 'O\nTrueworth!' said he, 'I am glad you have prevented me; for I was just\ngoing to your lodgings: I have something to acquaint you with, which I\nfancy you will think deserves your attention.'--'I suppose,' replied Mr.\nTrueworth, 'you would not tell me any thing that was not really so: but,\npray, what is it?'\n'What! you have made a conquest here, it seems,' resumed Sir Bazil; 'and\nmay say, with Caesar, \"Veni, vidi, vici!\" Did your guardian angel, or no\nkind tattling star, give you notice of your approaching happiness, that\nyou might receive the blessing with moderation?--Mr. Trueworth, not able\nto conceive what it was he meant, but imagining there was some mystery\ncontained in this raillery, desired him to explain; 'For,' said he, 'the\nhappiness you promise cannot come too soon.'\n'You will think so,' replied Sir Bazil, 'when I tell you a fine lady, a\ncelebrated toast, and a fortune of twenty thousand pounds in her own\nhands, is fallen in love with you.'--'With me!' cried Mr. Trueworth;\n'you are merry this morning, Sir Bazil?'--'No, faith, I am serious,'\nresumed the other; 'the lady I speak of is Mrs. Blanchfield. I have\nheard her say abundance of handsome things of you myself; such as, that\nyou were a very fine gentleman, that you had a great deal of wit, and\nsung well; but my sisters tell me, that when she is alone with them, she\nasks a thousand questions about you; and, in fine, talks of nothing\nelse: so that, according to this account, a very little courtship would\nserve to make you master both of her person and fortune. What say you?'\n'That I am neither vain enough to believe,' answered Mr. Trueworth, 'nor\nambitious enough to desire, such a thing should be real.'--'How!' cried\nSir Bazil, in some surprize; 'why, she is reckoned one of the finest\nwomen in town; has wit, good-nature; is of a good family, and an\nunblemished reputation. Then, her fortune! Though I know your estate\nsets you above wanting a fortune with a wife, yet I must tell you a\nfortune is a very pretty thing: children may come; and a younger brood\nmust be provided for.'\n'You argue very reasonably indeed,' replied Mr. Trueworth: 'but, pray,'\npursued he, 'as you are so sensible of this lady's perfections, how\nhappened it that you never made your addresses to her yourself?'--'I was\nnot sure she would like me so well as she does you,' said he; 'besides,\nto let you into the secret, my heart was engaged before I ever saw her\nface, and my person had been so too by this time, but for an unlucky rub\nin my way.'\n'What! Sir Bazil, honourably in love!' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'Aye,\nCharles! There is no resisting destiny,' answered he; 'I that have\nranged through half the sex in search of pleasure; doated on the beauty\nof one, the wit of another, admired by turn their different charms, have\nat last found one in whom all I could wish in woman is comprized, and to\nwhom I an unalterably fixed, beyond, even, I think, a possibility of\nchange.'\n'May I be trusted with the name of this admirable person', said Mr.\nTrueworth, 'and what impedes your happiness?'--'You shall know all,'\nreplied Sir Bazil: 'in the first place, she is called Miss\nMable.'--'What! Miss Mable of Bury Street!' cried Mr. Trueworth hastily.\n'The same,' replied Sir Bazil: 'you know her, then?'--'I have seen her,'\nsaid Mr. Trueworth, 'in company with a lady I visited some time ago; and\nbelieve she is, in reality, the original of that amiable picture you\nhave been drawing.'\n'It rejoices me, however, that you approve my choice,' said Sir Bazil:\n'but her father is, without exception, the most sordid, avaricious\nwretch, breathing; he takes more pleasure in counting over his bags than\nin the happiness of an only child; he seems glad of an alliance with\nme--encourages my pretensions to his daughter--is ready to give her to\nme to-morrow, if I please: yet refuses to part with a single shilling of\nher portion till he can no longer keep it; that is, he will secure to me\nten thousand pounds after his decease; and adds, by way of cajole, that,\nperhaps, he will then throw in a better penny; but is positively\ndetermined to make no diminution of his substance while he lives.\nThese,' continued he, 'are the only terms on which he will give his\nconsent; and this it is which has so long delayed my marriage.'\nMr. Trueworth could not here forbear making some reflections on the\ncruelty and injustice of those parents who, rather than divide any part\nof their treasures with their children, suffer them to let slip the only\ncrisis that could make their happiness. After which, Sir Bazil went on\nin his discourse.\n'It is not,' said he, 'that I would not gladly accept my charming girl\non the conditions the old miser offers, or even without any farther\nhopes of what he promises to do for her; but I am so unhappily\ncircumstanced as to be under a necessity of having ready-money with a\nwife: old Sir Bazil, my father, gave my elder sister six thousand pounds\non her marriage with Mr. Wellair; and, I suppose, to shew his affection\nto both his daughters was equal, bequeathed at his death the same sum to\nHarriot, and this to be charged on the estate, notwithstanding it was\nthen under some other incumbrances. She can make her demand, either on\ncoming of age, or on the day of marriage, which ever happens first: the\none, indeed, is three years distant, she being but eighteen; but who\nknows how soon the other may happen? It is true, she seems at present\nquite averse to changing her condition: but that is not to be depended\nupon; all young women are apt to talk in that strain; but when once the\nfavourite man comes into view, away at once with resolution and\nvirginity.'\nMr. Trueworth now ceased to wonder at the little satisfaction Sir Bazil\nhad shewn on any discourse, that casually happened concerning love or\nmarriage, to Miss Harriot; and nothing could be more lucky for him than\nthis discovery of the cause: he found by it that one obstacle, at least,\nto his hopes, might easily be removed; and that it was in his own power\nto convert entirely to his interest that which had seemed to threaten\nthe greatest opposition to it.\nA moment's consideration sufficed to make him know what he ought to do,\nand that a more favourable conjuncture could not possibly arrive for his\ndeclaring the passion he had so long concealed. 'Methinks, Sir Bazil,'\nsaid he, after a very short pause, 'there is not the least grounds for\nany apprehension of the inconvenience you mention: whoever has in view\nthe possession of Miss Harriot, must certainly be too much taken up with\nhis approaching happiness to think of any thing besides.'\n'Ah, friend!' cried Sir Bazil, 'you talk like one ignorant of the\nworld.'--'I talk like one who truly loves,' replied Mr. Trueworth, 'and\nis not ignorant of the merit of her he loves; and now,' continued he,\nperceiving Sir Bazil looked a little surprized, 'I will exchange secrets\nwith you; and, for the one you have reposed in me, will entrust you with\nanother which has never yet escaped my lips: I love your charming\nsister; the first moment I beheld her made me her adorer; her\naffability--her modest sweetness--her unaffected wit--her prudence--the\nthousand virtues of her mind--have since confirmed the impressions that\nher beauty made, and I am now all hers.'\nAs Sir Bazil had never discovered any thing in Mr. Trueworth's behaviour\nthat could give him the least cause to suspect what now he was so fully\ninformed of by his own confession, he was very much astonished. 'Is it\npossible!' cried he; 'are you in earnest? and do you really love\nHarriot?'--'Yes, from my soul I do!' replied Mr. Trueworth; 'and I wish\nno other blessing on this side Heaven than to obtain her. As to the six\nthousand pounds you speak of, I neither should demand, nor would accept\nit, till well assured the payment of it was quite agreeable to the\nsituation of your affairs.'\n'Would you then marry Harriot with nothing?' said Sir Bazil, 'or, what\nis tantamount to nothing, a small fortune, and that to be paid\ndiscretionary, rather than Mrs. Blanchfield, with twenty thousand pounds\nin ready specie?'--'Not only rather than Mrs. Blanchfield,' replied Mr.\nTrueworth, 'but than any other woman in the world, with all those\nthousands multiplied into millions!'\n'Amazing love and generosity!' cried Sir Bazil with some vehemence.\n'Could she be capable of refusing, she were unworthy of you: but this\nyou may be assured, that if all the influence I have over her can engage\nher to be yours, she shall be so.' Mr. Trueworth could testify the\ntransport this promise gave him no otherwise than by a warm embrace;\nsaying, at the same time, 'Dear Sir Bazil!'--'Yes,' rejoined that\ngentleman, 'to give my sister such a husband as Mr. Trueworth, I would\nput myself to a much greater inconvenience than the prompt payment of\nher fortune, and shall not abuse your generous offer by--' 'I will not\nhear a word on that head,' cried Mr. Trueworth, hastily interrupting\nhim; 'and if you would add to the favours you have already conferred\nupon me, do not ever think of it: pursue your inclinations with the\ndeserving object of them, and be as happy with her as I hope to be,\nthrough your friendly assistance, with the adorable Miss Harriot!'\nHere ensued a little contest between them; Sir Bazil was ashamed to\naccept that proof of friendship Mr. Trueworth made use of, joined to the\nconsideration of his own ease, at last prevailed: after which Sir Bazil\ntold him the ladies were gone to the shops, in order to make some\npurchases they wanted; but that he would take the first opportunity, on\ntheir return, to acquaint his sister with the sentiments he had for her;\nand appointed to meet him at the chocolate-house in the evening, to let\nhim know the success.\nCHAPTER VI\n_Shews the different operations of the same passion, in persons of\ndifferent principles and dispositions_\nSir Bazil had very much at heart the accomplishment of the promise he\nhad made to Mr. Trueworth; and, indeed, no one thing could have seemed\nmore strange than that of his being otherwise, when so many reasons\nconcurred to engage his integrity: he had a real friendship for the\nperson who desired his assistance; there were none among all his\nacquaintance for whom he had a greater regard, or who shared more of his\ngood wishes; the natural affection he had for his sister made him\nrejoice in the opportunity of seeing her so happily disposed of; and the\nparticular interest of his own passion might well render him not only\nsincere, but also zealous, in promoting an affair which would so fully\nanswer all these ends.\nThe first breaking the matter to Miss Harriot he looked upon as the\ngreatest difficulty; for he doubted not but when once a belief of Mr.\nTrueworth's inclinations was properly inculcated in her, his amiable\nperson, and fine qualities, would enable him to make his way, as a\nlover, into a heart, which had already a high esteem for him as an\nacquaintance.\nHe resolved, however, not to delay making the discovery; and his sisters\ncoming home soon after, he ran out of his dressing-room, and met them as\nthey were going up stairs into their own chamber, with a whole cargo of\nsilks, and other things they had been buying. 'Hold, hold!' cried he,\nnot suffering them to pass; 'pray, come in here, and let me see what\nbargains you have been making?'--'What understanding can you, that are a\nbatchelor, have in these things?' said Mrs. Wellair, laughing. 'I have\nthe more need then of being informed,' replied he, 'that I may be the\nbetter able to judge both of the fancy and frugality of my wife,\nwhenever I am so happy to get one.'\n'Well, well! I know all you men must be humoured,' said Mrs. Wellair, in\nthe same gay strain.--'Come, sister, let us unpack our bundles.' With\nthese words they both went in, and the servant, who followed them with\nthe things, having laid them down on a table, withdrew.\nThe ladies then began to open their parcels; and Sir Bazil gave his\nopinion first of one thing, and then of another, as they were shewn to\nhim; till Miss Harriot, displaying a roll of very rich white damask, 'To\nwhich of you does this belong?' said Sir Bazil. 'To me,' answered she.\n'Hah! I am glad on it, upon my soul!' rejoined he: 'this is an omen of\nmarriage, my dear sister. I will lay my life upon it, that you become a\nbride in this gown!'--'I must first find the man to make me so,' cried\nshe briskly. 'He is not very far to seek, I dare answer,' said Sir\nBazil. 'Why, then,' replied she, 'when he is found he must wait till my\nmind comes to me; and that, I believe, will not be in the wearing of\nthis gown.'\n'I am of a different way of thinking,' said he, somewhat more gravely\nthan before: 'what would you say if I should tell you that one of the\nfinest, most accomplished men in Europe, is fallen desperately in love\nwith you, and has engaged me to be his intercessor?'--'I should say\nnothing,' answered she, 'but that you have a mind to divert yourself,\nand put me out of humour with my new gown, by your converting it into a\nhieroglyphick.' In speaking these words she catched up her silk, and ran\nhastily up stairs, leaving Mrs. Wellair and her brother together.\n'Poor Harriot!' said Sir Bazil, after she was gone; 'I have put her to\nthe blush with the very name of matrimony--but I assure you, sister,'\ncontinued he to Mrs. Wellair, 'the thing I have mentioned is\nserious.'--'Indeed!' cried that lady in some surprize. 'Yes, upon my\nhonour,' resumed he; 'the gentleman I mean had not left me above a\nquarter of an hour before you came in, and I can tell you is one whom\nyou know.'--'If I know him,' replied she, after a pause, 'I fancy I need\nnot be at any loss to guess his name, by the description you have given\nme of him; for I have seen no man, since my coming to town, who so well\ndeserves those encomiums as Mr. Trueworth.'--'I am glad you think so,'\nsaid Sir Bazil; 'for I am certain your judgment will go a great way with\nHarriot: he is, in fact, the person I have been speaking of; and is so\nevery way deserving of my sister's affection, that she must not only be\nthe most insensible creature in the world, but also the greatest enemy\nto her own interest and happiness to refuse him.'\nHe then repeated to her all the conversation he had had that morning\nwith Mr. Trueworth--the answers that gentleman had given him on the\nproposition he had made on Mrs. Blanchfield's account--his declaration\nof his passion for Miss Harriot--and every other particular, excepting\nthat of the non-payment of her fortune; and that he concealed only\nbecause he would not be suspected to have been bribed by it to say more\nof his friend than he really merited.\nMrs. Wellair was equally charmed and astonished at this report; and, on\nSir Bazil's telling her that Mr. Trueworth was under some apprehensions\nthat the pleasure she took in having her sister with her would be an\nimpediment to his desires, she very gravely replied, that she was very\nsorry Mr. Trueworth should imagine she was so wanting in understanding,\nor true affection to her sister, as, for the self-satisfaction of her\ncompany, to offer any thing in opposition to her interest or happiness.\nAfter this they had a good deal of discourse together, concerning Mr.\nTrueworth's family and fortune, the particulars of both which Sir Bazil\nwas very well acquainted with; and Mrs. Wellair, being thoroughly\nconvinced, by what he said of the many advantages of the alliance\nproposed, assured him, in the strongest terms she was able, that she\nwould do every thing in her power to promote it.\n'I will entertain her on this subject while we are dressing,' said she:\n'your pleasantry on this white damask will furnish me with an excellent\npretence; I shall begin in the same strain you did, and then proceed to\na serious narrative of all you have been telling me relating to Mr.\nTrueworth; to which I shall add my own sentiments of the amiableness of\nhis person, parts, and accomplishments, and set before her eyes, in the\nlight it deserves, the generosity of his passion, in refusing so great a\nfortune as Mrs. Blanchfield for her sake, and the respectfulness of it,\nin not daring to declare himself till he had engaged the only two who\nmay be supposed to have any influence over her, in favour of his suit.'\n'I know,' said Sir Bazil, 'that you women are the fittest to deal with\none another; therefore, as I see you are hearty in the cause, shall\nwholly depend on your management: but, hark-ye, sister!' continued he,\nperceiving she was going out of the room, 'I have one more thing to\nadd; I am to meet Trueworth at the chocolate-house this evening; he will\nbe impatient for the success of the promise I have made him; now you\nknow we shall have a great deal of company at dinner to-day, and I may\nnot have an opportunity of speaking to you in private before the time of\nmy going to him; for that reason we must have some watch-word between\nus, that may give an intimation in general how Harriot receives what you\nhave said to her.'\n'Oh, that is easy,' cried Mrs. Wellair; 'as thus: you shall take an\noccasion, either at table, or any time when you find it most proper, to\nask me how I do; and by my answer to that question, you will be able to\njudge what success I have had.'--'Very right,' replied Sir Bazil; 'and I\nwill be sure to observe.' There passed no more between them; she went\ndirectly up stairs to do as she had said, and Sir Bazil to pay his\nmourning visit to Miss Mabel, as he usually did every day.\nThe humours of these two worthy persons were extremely well adapted to\nmake each other happy: Sir Bazil was gay, but he was perfectly sincere;\nMiss Mabel had a great deal of softness in her nature, but it was\nentirely under the direction of her prudence; she returned the passion\nof her lover with equal tenderness, yet would not permit the\ngratification of it till every thing that threatened an interruption of\ntheir mutual ease should be removed. Sir Bazil made no secret of his\naffairs to her; she knew very well that he desired no more at present of\nher father than the six thousand pounds charged on his estate for Miss\nHarriot's fortune; and as the old gentleman testified the highest esteem\nfor him, and satisfaction in the proposed match, she flattered herself\nthat he would at last consent to so reasonable a request; but, till he\ndid so, remained firm in her resolution of denying both her own and her\nlover's wishes.\nThe pleasure with which they always saw each other was now, however,\ngreatly enhanced by his acquainting her with the almost assured hope he\nhad, that the difficulty which had so long kept them asunder would be\nsoon got over; and he should have the inexpressible satisfaction of\ncomplying with the conditions her father had proposed, without the least\ndanger of incurring any inconvenience to himself.\nThe clock striking two, he was obliged to leave her, and go home to\nreceive the company he expected. He behaved among his friends with his\naccustomed vivacity; but casting his eyes frequently towards Miss\nHarriot, he imagined he saw a certain gloom upon her countenance, which\nmade him fearful for the effects of Mrs. Wellair's solicitations; till,\nrecollecting the agreement between him and that lady, he cried out\nhastily to her, 'How do you do, sister?' To which she answered, with a\nsmile, 'As well as can be expected, brother;' and then, to prevent Miss\nHarriot, or any one else, from wondering what she meant by so odd a\nreply, added, 'after the ugly jolt I have had this morning over London\nstones in a hackney-coach.'\nSir Bazil easily understood, that by the words 'As well as can be\nexpected,' his sister meant as much as could be hoped for from the first\nattack on a maid so young and innocent as Miss Harriot; and doubted not\nbut that so favourable a beginning would have as fortunate a conclusion.\nThose guests who had dined with him staid supper also; but that did not\nhinder him from fulfilling his engagement with Mr. Trueworth. He begged\nthey would excuse a short excursion which, he said, he was obliged to\nmake on extraordinary business; and accordingly went at the time\nappointed for the meeting that gentleman.\nMr. Trueworth received the intelligence he brought with him with\ntransports befitting the sincerity of his passion. He thought he had\nlittle to apprehend, since Mrs. Wellair vouchsafed to become his\nadvocate. 'It is certainly,' said Sir Bazil, 'as greatly in her power to\nforward the completion of your wishes, as it was to have obstructed\nthem. But, my dear friend,' continued he, 'there is no time to be lost:\nthe business that brought my sisters to town will soon be over; and Mrs.\nWellair will then be on the wing to get home to her husband and family.\nYou must dine with me to-morrow; I shall be able by that time to learn\nthe particulars of Harriot's behaviour, on her first hearing an account\nof the affection with which you honour her; and by that you may the\nbetter judge how to proceed.' This was the substance of all the\ndiscourse they had together at that time. Sir Bazil went home, and Mr.\nTrueworth adjourned to a coffee-house, where he met with something not\nvery pleasing to him. It was a letter from Miss Flora, containing these\nlines.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     My dear Trueworth,\n     For such you still are, and ever must be, to my fond doating heart;\n     though I have too much cause to fear you cease to wish it--else why\n     this cruel absence? I have not seen you these three days!--an age\n     to one that loves like me. I am racked to death with the\n     apprehensions of the motives of so unexpected a neglect! If my\n     person or passion were unworthy your regard, why did you accept\n     them with such enchanting softness? And if ever I had any place in\n     your affection, what have I done to forfeit it? But, sure, you\n     cannot think of abandoning me!--of leaving me to all the horrors of\n     despair and shame!--No! it is impossible! Ingratitude consists not\n     with that strict honour you pretend to; and that, I still flatter\n     myself, you are in reality possessed of. You may have had some\n     business: but how poor a thing is business when compared with love!\n     And I may reply, with our English Sappho, in one of her amorous\n     epistles--\n         \"Business you feign; but did you love like me,\n         I should your most important business be.\"\n     But whither does my hurrying spirits transport me! If I am still so\n     happy to retain any share of your heart, I have said too much; if I\n     am not, all I can say will be ineffectual to move you. I shall,\n     therefore, only tell you that I can live no longer without seeing\n     you, and will call on you at the coffee-house this evening about\n     eight; till when I am, though in the utmost distraction, my dear,\n     dear Trueworth, your passionately tender, and devoted servant,\n     F. MELLASIN.\n     P.S. Having heard you say letters were left for you at this place,\n     and that you stepped in once or twice every day, I thought it more\n     proper to direct for you here than at your own lodgings. Once more\n     adieu.--Do not fail to meet me at the hour.'\nScarce could the ghost of a forsaken mistress, drawing his curtains at\nthe dead of night, have shocked Mr. Trueworth more than this epistle. He\nhad, indeed, done no more than any man of his age and constitution would\nhave done, if tempted in the manner he had been; yet he reproached\nhimself severely for it. He knew how little this unhappy creature had\nher passions in subjection; and, though all the liking he ever had for\nher was now swallowed up in his honourable affections for Miss Harriot,\nyet he was too humane and too generous not to pity the extravagance of a\nflame he was no longer capable of returning. He wanted her to know there\nwas a necessity for their parting; but knew not how to do it without\ndriving her to extremes! He hated all kind of dissimulation; and, as\nneither his honour nor his inclinations would permit him to continue an\namorous correspondence with her, he was very much at a loss how to put\nan end to it, without letting her into the real cause; which, as yet,\nhe thought highly improper to do.\nIt cost him some time in debating within himself how he should behave in\nan affair which was, indeed, in the present situation of his heart,\npretty perplexing: he considered Miss Flora as a woman of condition--as\none who tenderly loved him--and as one who, on both these accounts, it\nwould not become him to affront. He reflected also, that a woman, who\nhad broke through all the rules of virtue, modesty, and even common\ndecency, for the gratification of her wild desires, might, when denied\nthat gratification, be capable of taking such steps as might not only\nexpose her own character, but with it so much of his as might ruin him\nwith Miss Harriot. He found it, therefore, highly necessary to disguise\nhis sentiments, and act towards her in such a manner as should wean her\naffections from him by degrees, without his seeming to intend or wish\nfor such an event.\nHe had but just come to this determination, when he was told from the\nbar that a lady in a hackney-coach desired to speak with him. He went\ndirectly to her; but, instead of ordering the man to drive to any\nparticular house, bid him drive as slowly as he could round St. James's\nSquare.\nThis very much startling her, she asked him what he meant. 'Are all the\nhouses of entertainment in the town,' said she, 'shut up, that we must\ntalk to each other in the street?'--'It is impossible for me, Madam,'\nanswered he, 'to have the pleasure of your company this evening. I am\nengaged with some gentleman at the house where you found me, and have\ngiven my promise to return in ten minutes.' These words, and the\nreserved tone in which he spoke them, stabbed her to the heart.\n'Ungenerous man!' cried she, 'is it thus you repay the most tender and\nardent passion that ever was!'--'You ladies,' said he, 'when once you\ngive way to the soft impulse, are apt to devote yourselves too much to\nit; but men have a thousand other amusements, which all claim a share in\nthe variegated scenes of life. I am sorry, therefore, to find you\ndisquieted in the manner your letter intimates. Love should be nursed by\nlaughing, ease, and joy: sour discontent, reproaches, and complaints,\ndeform it's native beauty, and render that a curse, which otherwise\nwould be the greatest of our blessings. I beg you, therefore,' continued\nhe, with somewhat more softness in his voice, 'for your own sake, to\nmoderate this vehemence. Be assured I will see you as often as possible;\nand shall always think of you with the regard I ought to do.'\nPerceiving she was in very great agonies, he threw his arms about her\nwaist, and gave her a very affectionate salute; which, though no more\nthan a brother might have offered to a sister, a little mitigated the\nforce of her grief. 'I see I am undone!' cried she. 'I have lost your\nheart, and am the most wretched creature upon earth!'--'Do not say so,'\nreplied he. 'I never can be ungrateful for the favours you have bestowed\nupon me; but discretion ought to be observed in an amour, such as ours.\nI have really some affairs upon my hands, which for a time will very\nmuch engross me. Make yourself easy, then; resume that gaiety which\nrenders you so agreeable to the world; and, depend upon it, that to make\nme happy, you must be so yourself.'--'When, then, shall I see you?'\ncried she, still weeping, and hanging on his breast. 'As soon as\nconvenience permits I will send to you,' said he; 'but there is a\nnecessity for my leaving you at present.'\nHe then called to the coachman to drive back to the house where he had\ntaken him up. It is not to be doubted but she made use of all the\nrhetorick of desperate dying love, and every other art she was mistress\nof, to engage him to prefix some time for their meeting; but he would\nnot suffer himself to be prevailed upon so far: and he left her with no\nother consolation than a second embrace, little warmer than the former\nhad been, and a repetition of the promise he had made of writing to her\nin a short time.\nCHAPTER VII\n_May be called an appendix to the former, as it contains only some\npassages subsequent to the preceding occurrences._\nWhat pain soever the good-nature and generosity of Mr. Trueworth had\nmade him suffer, at the sight of the unfortunate Miss Flora's distress,\nit was dissipated by recalling to his mind the pleasing idea Sir Bazil\nhad inspired in him, of succeeding in his wishes with the amiable Miss\nHarriot.\nWhat sleep he had that night, doubtless, presented him with nothing but\nthe delightful images of approaching joys; and, possibly, might give him\nsome intimation of what was in those moments doing for him by those who\nwere waking for his interest.\nMrs. Wellair, who was extremely cautious how she undertook any thing,\nwithout being fully convinced it was right, and no less industrious in\naccomplishing whatever she had once undertook, had employed all the time\nshe had with her sister, before dinner, in representing to her, in the\nmost pathetick terms, the passion Mr. Trueworth had for her, the\nextraordinary merits he was possessed of, and the many advantages of an\nalliance with him: but Miss Harriot was modest to that excess, that to\nbe told, though from the mouth of a sister, she had inspired any\ninclinations of the sort she mentioned, gave her the utmost confusion.\nShe had not considered the difference of sexes, and could not hear that\nany thing in her had reminded others of it, without blushing. The\neffects of her beauty gave her rather a painful than a pleasing\nsensation; and she was ready to die with shame at what the most part of\nwomen are studious to acquire, and look on as their greatest glory.\nShe offered nothing, however, in opposition to what Mrs. Wellair had\nsaid concerning the person or amiable qualities of Mr. Trueworth;\nneither, indeed, had she a will to do it. She had been always highly\npleased with his conversation, and had treated him with the same\ninnocent freedom she did her brother; and she was now afraid, that it\nwas her behaving to him in this manner that had encouraged him to think\nof making his addresses to her as a lover. She looked back with regret\non every little mark of favour she had shewn him, lest he should have\nconstrued them into a meaning which was far distant from her thoughts;\nand these reflections it was that occasioned that unusual pensiveness\nwhich Sir Bazil had observed in her at dinner, and which had given him\nsome apprehensions proceeded from a cause less favourable to his friend.\nMrs. Wellair was not at all discouraged by the manner in which her\nsister had listened to this overture: she knew that several proposals of\nthe same nature had been made to her in the country; all which she had\nrejected with disdain--a certain air of abhorrence widely different to\nwhat she testified on account of Mr. Trueworth; and this prudent lady\nrightly judged, that he had little else to combat with than the\nover-bashfulness of his mistress.\nAt night, on going to bed, she renewed the discourse; and pursued the\ntheme she had begun with such success, that she brought Miss Harriot to\nconfess she believed there was no man more deserving to be loved than\nMr. Trueworth. 'But, my dear sister,' said she, 'I have no inclination\nto marry, nor to leave you: I am quite happy as I am, and desire to be\nno more so.' To which the other replied, that was childish talking; that\nshe would, doubtless, marry some time or other; that she might, perhaps,\nnever have so good an offer, and could not possibly have a better;\ntherefore advised her not to slip the present opportunity; but, whenever\nMr. Trueworth should make a declaration of his passion to herself, to\nreceive it in such a manner as should not give him any room to imagine\nshe was utterly averse to his pretensions.\nMiss Harriot suffered her to ruge her on this point for a considerable\ntime; but at last replied, in a low and hesitating voice, that she would\nbe guided by her friends, who, she was perfectly convinced, had her\ninterest at heart, and knew much better than herself what conduct she\nought to observe. To which Mrs. Wellair replied, that she doubted not\nbut the end would abundantly justify the advice that had been given\nher.\nThe first thing this lady did in the morning, was to go to her brother's\nchamber, and acquaint him with all that had passed between herself and\nMiss Harriot; after which they agreed together, that Mr. Trueworth\nshould have an opportunity that very day of making his addresses to her.\nThough Sir Bazil thought it needless to add any thing to what was\nalready done, yet he could not forbear taking an occasion, when they\nwere at breakfast, to mention Mr. Trueworth's name, and the many good\nqualities he was possessed of. Mrs. Wellair joined in the praises her\nbrother gave him; but Miss Harriot spoke not a word: on which, 'Are you\nnot of our opinion, sister?' cried he to her. 'Yes, brother,' answered\nshe; 'Mr. Trueworth is certainly a very fine gentleman.'--'How cold is\nsuch an expression,' resumed Sir Bazil, 'and even that extorted!'--'You\nwould not, sure, Sir,' said she, a little gaily, 'have me in raptures\nabout him, and speak as if I were in love with him?'\n'Indeed, but I would!' cried Sir Bazil; 'and, what is more, would also\nhave you be so: he deserves it from you; and, as you must some time or\nother be sensible of the tender passion, you cannot do it at more\nsuitable years.'--'I see no necessity,' replied she, 'for my being so at\nany years.'\n'It is a sign, then,' said he, 'that you have not consulted nature. Have\nyou never read what Lord Lansdown has wrote upon this subject? If you\nhave not, I will repeat it to you--\n    \"In vain from Fate we strive to fly;\n    For, first or last, as all must die,\n    So, 'tis decreed by those above,\n    That, first or last, we all must love.\"'\n'Poets are not always prophets,' answered she, laughing. 'It depends\nupon Mr. Trueworth himself,' said Sir Bazil, 'to prevent you from giving\nthe lie to the prediction. If he fails, I shall believe no other man in\nthe world will ever have the power to engage you to fulfil it; he dines\nhere to-day. Sister Wellair and I are obliged to go abroad in the\nafternoon; so must desire you to make tea, and entertain him, as well as\nyou can, till we come back.'\n'I see you are both in the plot against me,' cried she; 'but I shall\nendeavour to behave so as not to affront your guest; yet, at the same\ntime, be far from making good your oracle.'\nA gentleman coming in to Sir Bazil, broke off their discourse, and\nrelieved Miss Harriot from any farther persecution at this time. It was\nnot that she disliked either the person or conversation of Mr.\nTrueworth, or that she was tired with the praises given him by her\nbrother and sister; on the contrary, she found a thousand things which\nthey had not mentioned, to admire in him: in fine, he was, in reality,\nless indifferent to her than she herself imagined; but there was a\ncertain shyness in her disposition, which mingled some share of pain\nwith the pleasure of hearing him spoke of as her lover.\nShe was sensible this propensity, which nature had implanted, was a\nweakness in her; but, though she used her utmost efforts for overcoming\nit, she found herself unequal to the task. In vain she considered, that\nthe addresses of a man of such perfect honour and politeness as Mr.\nTrueworth, could not but be accompanied with the most profound respect:\nin vain she called to mind the example of other ladies, whom she had\nseen behave in the company of those who professed themselves their\nlovers, with the greatest ease and sprightliness; the very sight of Mr.\nTrueworth, as she saw him from her chamber-window, talking with her\nbrother in the garden, threw her heart into palpitations, which all the\nreason she was mistress of could not enable her to quiet; but, when\nobliged to go down and sit with him at table, her confusion increased,\nby being more near the object which occasioned it. She endeavoured to\ntreat him with the same freedom she had been accustomed; but it was not\nin her power: in fine, never woman suffered more in constraining herself\nto be silent and demure, than she did in constraining herself to be\ntalkative and gay.\nWhat, then, became of her, when Sir Bazil and Mrs. Wellair, after making\na formal excuse for a short absence, went out, and left her exposed to\nthe solicitations of a passion which her timid modesty had made her so\nmuch dread.\nThe moment Mr. Trueworth saw himself alone with her, he approached her\nwith the most tender and respectful air. 'How often, Madam, have I\nlanguished for an opportunity, such as this, of telling you how much my\nsoul adores you! My dear friend, Sir Bazil, has assured me he has\nprepared you to forgive the boldness of my flame, and that, for his\nsake, you will vouchsafe to listen to my vows; but it is from myself\nalone you can be convinced of the ardency of the love you have\ninspired.'\n'My brother, Sir,' answered she, blushing, 'has, indeed, informed me\nthat I have obligations to you of a nature which I was as far from\nexpecting as I am far from deserving.' Here Mr. Trueworth began to run\ninto some praises on the charms which had subdued his heart; which,\nthough no more than dictated by his real sentiments, seemed to her too\nextravagant, and beyond what her modesty would suffer her to endure.\n'Hold, Sir!' cried she, interrupting him; 'if you would have me believe\nyour professions are sincere, forbear, I beseech you, to talk to me in\nthis manner. It is an ill-judged policy, methinks, in you men, to\nidolize the women too much you wish would think well of you. If our sex\nare, in reality, so vain as you generally represent us, on whom but\nyourselves can the fault be laid? And if we prove so weak as to imagine\nourselves such as either the flattery or the partial affection of the\nlover paints us, we shall be apt to take every thing as our due, and\nthink little gratitude is owing for the offering he makes us of his\nheart.'\nMr. Trueworth was perfectly ravished at hearing her speak thus; but\ndurst not express himself with too much warmth on the occasion. 'It must\nbe confessed, Madam,' replied he, 'that the beauties of the person, when\nnot accompanied by those of the mind, afford but a short-lived triumph\nto the fair possessor; they dazzle at first sight, and take the senses,\nas it were, by surprize; but the impression soon wears off, and the\ncaptivated heart gains it's former liberty: nay, perhaps, wonders at\nitself for having been enslaved; whereas those darts which fly from the\nperfections of the mind, penetrate into the soul, and fix a lasting\nempire there. But when both these charms shall happen to be united, as\nin the lovely Harriot,' continued he, taking one of her hands and\nkissing it; 'when in the most enchanting form that nature ever made, is\nfound a soul enriched with every virtue, every grace--how indissoluble\nis the chain! how glorious the bondage!'\n'Love is a theme I have never made my study,' answered she; 'but,\naccording to my notions of the matter, those gentlemen who pretend to be\naffected by it, give themselves more trouble than they need. As that\npassion is generally allowed rather to be the child of fancy, than of\nreal merit in the object beloved, I should think it would be sufficient\nfor any man, in his addresses to a lady, to tell her that she happens to\nhit his taste--that she is what he likes; without dressing her up in\nqualities which, perhaps, have no existence but in his own imagination.'\n'Where love is founded on beauty alone, as I have already said,' resumed\nMr. Trueworth, 'the instructions you give, Madam, are certainly very\njust; for, indeed, no farther could be warranted by sincerity: but\nwhere reason directs the lover's choice, and points out those\nexcellences which alone can make him happy in the possession of his\nwishes, ideas more sublime will naturally arise, and we can never too\nmuch admire, or praise, what is immediately from the divine source of\nperfection! It is not, O charming Harriot!' pursued he, looking on her\nwith the utmost tenderness; 'it is not these radiant eyes, that lovely\nmouth, nor that sweet majesty that shines through all your air, but it\nis the heaven within that I adore: to that I pay my present worship, and\non that build all my hopes of future bliss!'\nMiss Harriot was about to make some reply; but his looks, the vehemence\nwith which he uttered these last words, and the passionate gesture which\naccompanied them, made her relapse into her former bashfulness, from\nwhich she had a little recovered herself, and again deprived her of the\npower of speech.\n'You give up the point, then, my angel!' cried he, perceiving she was\nsilent; 'and I am glad you do; for had you continued to prohibit my\nexpatiating on these matters, which made me your adorer, I must have\nmaintained the argument even against your lovely self, to whom I shall\nfor ever yield in all things else.'\nAfter this he fell, insensibly as it were, into some discourse\nconcerning the divine ordinance of marriage; and then proceeded to give\nher the most amiable picture that words could form of that state, when\ntwo persons of virtue, honour, and good sense, were by love and law\nunited, and found themselves equally bound by duty and inclination to\npromote each other's happiness.\nThere are some ladies who listen very contentedly to the most warm and\namorous addresses that can be made to them, yet will not suffer the\nleast word of marriage till after a long and tedious preparation is made\nfor a sound which they pretend to think so dreadful. These, no doubt,\nwill say, that Mr. Trueworth went too far for a lover on the first\ndeclaration of his passion; but he was emboldened to act in the manner\nhe did by the brother of his mistress, and had the satisfaction to\nperceive she was not offended at it: she had a great share of solid\nunderstanding, was an enemy to all sorts of affectation; and as she knew\nthe end proposed by his courtship was marriage, saw no reason why he\nshould be fearful of mentioning it to her; and though her modesty would\nnot permit her to take much part in a conversation of this nature, yet\nshe was too artless, and indeed, too sincere, to counterfeit a\ndispleasure which she did not feel.\nCHAPTER VIII\n_Is more full of business than entertainment_\nWhile Mr. Trueworth was thus prosecuting a suit, which every time he saw\nthe lovely Harriot redoubled his impatience to accomplish, Mr. Francis\nThoughtless had been twice at his lodgings without finding him at home:\nbut on that gentleman's leaving his name the second time, and saying he\nwould come again the next morning, the other thought himself under an\nindispensible necessity of staying to receive his visit.\nThe meeting of these two was extremely civil and polite, but far from\nthat cordial familiarity which used to pass between them, especially on\nthe side of Mr. Francis. After Mr. Trueworth had congratulated him on\nthe recovery of his health, and coming to town, they fell into some\ndiscourse on ordinary affairs, without the least mentioning of Miss\nBetsy, by either party, for a considerable time; till her brother,\ngrowing a little impatient that the other should say nothing to him on\nan affair in which he had made him his confidant, and which he had taken\nso much pains to forward, said to him, with an air, partly gay, and\npartly serious, 'I was surprized on my arrival to be told, that a\npassion so violent as that you pretended for my sister, should all on a\nsudden vanish, and that a thing which I once thought so near being\nconcluded, was entirely broken off.'\n'Things of that nature,' replied Mr. Trueworth, coldly, 'are never\nconcluded till accomplished: accidents sometimes intervene to separate\npersons who have seemed most likely to be united for ever; which,\nindeed, never was the case between me and that lady.'\n'Yet, Sir,' rejoined the other, a little irritated at his manner of\nspeaking, 'I think, that when a gentleman has made his addresses to a\nyoung lady of family and character for any length of time, and in the\npublick manner you did, some cause ought to be assigned for his\ndeserting her.'\n'I am under no obligation,' said Mr. Trueworth, very gloomily, 'to give\nan account of my behaviour to any one whatever; but, in consideration of\nour friendship, and the love I once had for your sister, I shall make no\nscruple to tell you, that a woman of her humour would suit but ill with\na man of mine: as to any farther eclaircissement of this affair, it is\nfrom herself alone you must receive it.'--'She shewed me a letter from\nyou, Sir,' cried Mr. Francis, hastily. 'That might then suffice to\ninform you,' answered Mr. Trueworth, 'that in what I have done, I but\nobeyed the dictates of my honour.'--'Honour!' cried the other, fiercely,\nand laying his hand on his sword, 'What is it you mean, Sir? Did honour\noppose your marriage with my sister?'\n'No menaces!' said Mr. Trueworth, with a gravity which was pretty near\ndisdain: 'you know me incapable of fear; I have fought for your sister,\nbut will never fight against her. I injure not her reputation; on the\ncontrary, I would defend it, if unjustly attacked, even at the hazard of\nmy life: but as to love or marriage, these are things now out of the\nquestion; we both, perhaps, have other views, and the less is said of\nwhat is past is the better.'\nMr. Francis naturally took fire on the least suspicion of an indignity\noffered to him; but when once convinced of his mistake, was no less\nready to repent and acknowledge it; he had seen many instances of the\nhonour, generosity, and sincerity of Mr. Trueworth: he had also been\nwitness of some of the levity and inconsiderateness of his sister; and\nthe reflection of a moment served to make him see this change had\nhappened merely through her own ill conduct.\nHis rage abated even while the other was speaking; but a deep concern\nremained behind; and, throwing himself down in a chair, 'Into what\nvexations,' cried he, 'may not a whole family be plunged, through the\nindiscretion of one woman?'\n'Judge not too rashly,' said Mr. Trueworth; 'Miss Betsy may one day see\na man so happy as to inspire her with sentiments far different from\nthose she hitherto has entertained; and she also may be more happy\nherself, with a man who loves her with less delicacy than I did.'\nThe brother of Miss Betsy seemed not to take any notice of these words;\nbut, rising in some confusion, 'Well, Sir,' said he, 'I shall trouble\nyou no more upon this subject; and am sorry I have done it now.' Mr.\nTrueworth then told him, that though the intended alliance between them\nwas broke off, he saw no occasion that their friendship should be so\ntoo; that he should be glad of an opportunity to return the favours he\nhad received from him, in relation to his sister, though his endeavours\non that score had not met with the desired success; and that he hoped\nthey should not live as strangers while they continued in the same town:\nto all this Mr. Franics made but very short replies, either taking what\nhe said as words of course, or because the disorder of his own mind\nwould not permit him to prolong the conversation.\nIt is likely Mr. Trueworth was not much troubled at the hasty leave this\nyoung gentleman took; for though he always had a very sincere regard for\nhim, yet the point on which he now had come, was tender, and could not\nbe touched upon without giving him some pain: he had no time, however,\nto make many reflections on the conversation that had passed between\nthem. A letter was brought him by a porter who, waiting for an answer,\nhe immediately opened it, and found the contents as follows.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     Extraordinary merits seldom fail of having as extraordinary\n     effects: you have made a conquest of a heart without knowing it,\n     which not the utmost endeavours of any other could ever subdue. I\n     am commissioned to acquaint you, that a lady of some consideration\n     in the world, and a large fortune in her own hands, thinks you\n     alone deserve to be the master both of that and of herself: but as\n     she is apprehensive of your being already engaged, begs you will be\n     so generous as to confess the truth; that, if so, she may put a\n     timely stop to the progress of her growing passion; if not, you\n     will, doubtless, hear more from her by the hand of, Sir, your\n     unknown servant.\n     P.S. Please to send this back, with your answer wrote on the other\n     side of the paper, which you may put up under a cover sealed up,\n     but without any direction. Sincerity and secrecy are earnestly\n     requested.'\nMr. Trueworth could not avoid looking on this adventure as a very odd\none: yet, whether the proposal was real or feigned, the matter was\nwholly indifferent to him; and he hesitated not a moment in what part he\nshould take in it; but sat down immediately, and wrote, as desired, the\nfollowing answer.\n     'To the unknown.\n     Sir, or Madam,\n     Though I know the honour with which you flatter me is more the\n     effect of fortune than desert, it would certainly make me vain and\n     happy, were I not denied the power of accepting. The heart required\n     of me by the lady is already disposed of--irrecoverably disposed\n     of; and I can only repay her goodness by sincerely wishing a return\n     of hers, and with it all those felicities she would so lavishly\n     bestow on her most obliged, and most humble servant,\n    C. TRUEWORTH.\n     P.S. The lady may depend, that my secrecy shall be equal to the\n     sincerity I have shewn in this.'\nHe had no sooner dispatched the messenger who brought this, than a\nsecond came, and presented him with another, and had orders also to wait\nfor an answer: he presently knew it came from Miss Flora, and expected\nthe contents to be such as he found them on perusing.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     Most cruel and ungenerous man!\n     Loth I am to give you epithets like these: my heart shudders, and\n     my trembling hand is scarce able to guide my pen in those\n     reproaches which my reason tells me you deserve: how unkind, how\n     stabbing to the soul, was your behaviour at our last meeting! yet,\n     even then, you promised me to write; I depended on that promise,\n     and hope had not quite forsook me; every knocking at the door I\n     expected was a messenger from you; in vain I expected, in vain I\n     looked, in vain I listened for the welcome mandate; and every\n     disappointment threw me into fresh agonies. I have sent twice to\n     the coffee-house, been there once in person; but could hear nothing\n     of you. O, what secret recess now hides you from me? What can have\n     caused so terrible a reverse in my so lately happy fate? I fear to\n     guess; for madness is in the thought! O do not drive me to\n     extremes!! Many women, with not half my love, or my despair, have\n     ran headlong into actions which, in my cooler moments, I dread to\n     think on. Be assured, I cannot live, will not live, without you!\n     Torture me not any longer with suspense! Pronounce my doom at once!\n     But let it be from your own mouth that I receive it; that you, at\n     least, may be witness of the death you inflict, and be compelled\n     to pity, if you cannot love, the most unfortunate, and most\n     faithful, of her sex,\n     F. MELLASIN.\n     P.S. I have charged the man who brings you this, to find you\n     wherever you are, and not to leave you without an answer.'\nMr. Trueworth was in the utmost perplexity of mind on reading this\ndistracted epistle. Of all the hours of his past life he could not\nrecollect any one which gave him so much cause of repentance as that\nwherein he had commenced an amour with a woman of so violent a temper:\nhe had never loved her; and all the liking he ever had for her being now\nutterly erased by a more laudable impression, the guilty pleasures he\nhad enjoyed with her were now irksome to his remembrance; and the more\nshe endeavoured to revive the tender folly in him, the more she grew\ndistasteful to him.\nIt so little becomes a woman, whose characteristick should be modesty,\nto use any endeavours to force desire, that those who do it are sure to\nconvert love into indifference, and indifference into loathing and\ncontempt: even she who, with the greatest seeming delicacy, labours to\nrekindle a flame once extinguished, will find the truth of what Morat\nsays in the play--\n    'To love once pass'd we cannot backward move;\n    Call yesterday again, and we may love.'\nMr. Trueworth, however, had so much pity for that unfortunate creature,\nthat he would have given, perhaps, good part of his estate that she no\nlonger loved him: but how to turn the tide of so extravagant a passion,\nhe could not yet resolve; and it being near the time in which he knew\nthey would expect him at Sir Bazil's, where he now dined every day, and\nthe messenger who brought him the letter also growing impatient to be\ndispatched, he wrote in haste these few lines.\n     'To Miss Flora Mellasin.\n     Madam,\n     Business of the greatest consequence now calls upon me, and I have\n     no time to write as I would do; but depend upon it I will send to\n     you to-morrow morning, and either appoint a meeting, or let you\n     know my real sentiments in a letter; till when, I beg you will make\n     yourself more easy, if you desire to oblige him who is, with the\n     most unfeigned good wishes, Madam, your most humble, and most\n     obedient servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.\n     P.S. I shall take it as a favour, Madam, that you will henceforward\n     forbear to make any enquiry concerning me at the coffee-house, or\n     elsewhere.'\nHaving given this to Miss Flora's porter, he hasted away to Sir Bazil's;\nthere to compose his mind, after the embarrassments it had sustained\nthat morning.\nCHAPTER IX\n_Contains very little to the purpose_\nMr. Francis Thoughtless had no sooner left the lodgings of Mr.\nTrueworth, than he went directly to those of his sister Betsy; where, in\nthe humour he then was, the reader will easily suppose, he could not be\nvery good company. After telling her he had seen Mr. Trueworth, and had\nhad some conversation with him on her account, 'I am now convinced,'\nsaid he, 'of what before I doubted not, that by your own ill management,\nand want of a just sense of what is for your interest and happiness, you\nhave lost an opportunity of establishing both, which can never be\nretrieved: nor is this all; your manner of behaviour not only ruins\nyourself, but involves all belonging to you in endless quarrels and\nperplexities.'\nThese were reproaches which Miss Betsy had too much spirit to have borne\nfrom any one but a brother; and even to him she was far from yielding\nthat she had in any measure deserved them. 'I defy Trueworth himself,'\ncried she, with all the resentment of a disappointed lover in her heart,\n'to accuse me of one action that the strictest virtue could condemn!'\n'Ah, sister!' replied he, 'do not let your vanity deceive you on this\nscore: I see very plainly that Mr. Trueworth regards you with too much\nindifference to retain resentment for any treatment you have given him;\nthat he once loved you, I am well assured; that he no longer does so, is\nowing to yourself: but I shall mention him no more; the passion he had\nfor you is extinguished, I believe, beyond all possibility of reviving,\nnor would I wish you to attempt it. I would only have you remember what\nMr. Goodman uttered concerning you with almost his dying breath: for my\nown part, I have not been a witness of your conduct, since the unhappy\nbrul\u00e9e I fell into on your account at Oxford, which I then hoped would\nbe a sufficient warning for your future behaviour.'\nIf Miss Betsy had been less innocent, it is probable she would have\nreplied in a more satisfactory manner to her brother's reproaches; but\nthe real disdain she always had for whatever had the least tendency to\ndishonour, made her zealous in defending herself only in things of which\nshe was not accused, and silent in regard of those in which she was\njudged blame-worthy.\n'What avails your being virtuous!' said Mr. Francis; 'I hope, and\nbelieve, you are so: but your reputation is of more consequence to your\nfamily; the loss of the one might be concealed, but a blemish on the\nother brings certain infamy and disgrace on yourself and all belonging\nto you.'\nOn this she assumed the courage to tell him his way of reasoning was\nneither just nor delicate. 'Would you,' said she, 'be guilty of a base\naction, rather than have it suspected that you were so?'--'No,' answered\nhe; 'but virtue is a different thing in our sex to what it is in yours:\nthe forfeiture of what is called virtue in a woman is more a folly than\na baseness; but the virtue of a man is his courage, his constancy, his\nprobity; which if he loses, he becomes contemptible to himself, as well\nas to the world.'\n'And certainly,' rejoined Miss Betsy, with some warmth, 'the loss of\ninnocence must render a woman contemptible to herself, though she should\nhappen to hide her transgression from the world.'--'That may be,' said\nMr. Francis; 'but then her kindred suffer not through her fault: the\nremorse, and the vexation for what she has done, is all her own. Indeed,\nsister,' continued he, 'a woman brings less dishonour upon a family by\ntwenty private sins, than by one publick indiscretion.'\n'Well,' answered she, 'I hope I shall always take care to avoid both the\none and the other, for my own sake. As to indulging myself with the\ninnocent pleasures of the town, I have the example of some ladies of the\nfirst quality, and best reputation, to justify me in it.'\nMr. Thoughtless was about to make some reply, which, perhaps, would have\nbeen pretty keen, but was prevented by the coming in of her maid, who\ndelivering a letter to her, and saying, 'From Sir Frederick Fineer,\nMadam!' she hastily broke it open; and having read it, bid the maid let\nSir Frederick's servant know she would be at home.\n'There, brother,' said she, giving him the letter, 'read that, and be\nconvinced I have not lost every good offer in losing Mr. Trueworth.'--'I\nwish you have not,' answered he sullenly. He took the paper, however,\nand read the contents of it, which were these.\n     'To the divine arbitress of my fate, the omnipotently lovely\n     Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     O Goddess! more cruel than the avenging Nemisis, what have I done,\n     that, like Ixion, I must still be tortured on the wheel of\n     everlasting hopes and fears? I hoped yesterday to have approached\n     the shrine of your resplendent charms; but you had quitted the\n     sacred dome which you inhabit, and vouchsafed to bless some happier\n     mansion with your presence--perhaps a rival: oh, forbid it Heaven!\n     forbid it, all ye stars that, under the Supreme, rule all beneath\n     the moon! The thought is terrible, and shocks the inmost cavities\n     of my adoring jealous soul. I kneel while I am writing, and implore\n     you to grant me permission to sip a cup of nectar and ambrosia at\n     your tea-table this afternoon; and if you can, without injustice to\n     superior merit, debar all other intruders thence, that I may have\n     liberty to pour forth my ejaculations at your feet. I am, with the\n     most ardent devotion, brightest refulgency of beauty, your most\n     adoring, and everlasting slave,\n     F. FINEER.'\nAs little as Mr. Francis at this time was disposed to mirth, he could\nnot, in spite of his ill-humour, refrain laughing on reading some\nexpressions in this heroically-learned epistle: 'I need not ask,' said\nhe, throwing the letter contemptuously on the table, 'who, or what, this\nnew adorer of yours is; it is easy to see he is either mad or a fool, or\nthinks to make you so.'\n'I have as bad an opinion of his intellects as you have,' replied she;\n'but I assure you he is a baronet, and the presumptive heir of a much\ngreater title; and has an estate large enough to keep me a coach and\ntwelve, if the custom of the country permitted.'\nMr. Francis paused for a few moments; and, after looking over the letter\nagain, 'I wish,' said he, 'instead of a fool of fashion, he is not a\nknave in the disguise of a coxcomb: his stupidity seems to me to be too\negregious to be natural; all his expressions have more the appearance of\na studied affectation, than of a real folly. Take care, sister; I have\nheard there are many impostors in this town, who are continually on the\nwatch for young ladies who have lost their parents, and live in the\nunguarded manner you do.'\nMiss Betsy seemed to treat her brother's suspicions on this head with a\ngood deal of contempt: she told him, that the person at whose house she\nbecame acquainted with Sir Frederick, knew his circumstances perfectly\nwell; that he had a prodigious estate, was of a very ancient and\nhonourable family, and conversed with several people of the first\nquality in England: 'However,' added she, 'you may call here this\nafternoon, and see him yourself, if you please; for, according to my\njudgment, he has not wit enough to be an impostor.'\nMr. Francis replied, that he would be glad to see so extraordinary a\nperson if he were not obliged to go upon some business relating to the\ncommission he was soliciting, which he feared would detain him beyond\nthe hour: 'But, with your leave,' said he, 'I will take this letter with\nme, and hear what my brother thinks of it.'\nTo this Miss Betsy readily agreed; and he went away in somewhat of a\nbetter humour than he had entered, or that he had put her into by the\nsevere reprimands he had given her.\nShe had a very tender regard for her brothers, but did not think it\ntheir province to prescribe rules for her behaviour; she looked upon\nherself as a better judge in what manner it would become her to act,\nthan they could possibly be, as having lived more years in London than\neither of them had done months; and, if she was willing to be advised,\nwould not submit to be directed by them.\nThus did her pride a while support her spirits: but when she reflected\non the affair of Mr. Trueworth, and the reasons she had given him for\nspeaking and thinking of her in that cool manner she found he now did,\nshe began to be somewhat less tenacious; and acknowledged within\nherself, that her brother Frank, exclusive of his friendship for that\ngentleman, had sufficient cause to blame her conduct in that point; and\nthe heat of passion which had been raised by some expressions he had\nuttered being over, she ceased to take unkindly what she was now\nsensible had only been occasioned by his zeal for her welfare.\nShe now saw in their true light all the mistakes she had been guilty of;\nall her dangers, all her escapes; and blushed to remember, how she had\nbeen plunged into the one, merely by her own inadvertency; and been\nblessed with the other, only by the interposition of some accident,\naltogether unforeseen, and even unhoped for, by her.\nShe had also a more just and lively idea of the merits of Mr. Trueworth\nthan ever she had been capable of entertaining while he professed\nhimself her lover: the amiableness of his person--his fine\nunderstanding--his generosity--his bravery--his wit--and the delicacy\nand elegance of his conversation--seemed to her impossible to be\nequalled; she considered, too, that his estate was much beyond what her\nfortune could expect, and that even his family was superior to hers; and\ncould not help being very sensibly affected that she had so rashly\nthrown away her pretensions to the heart of so valuable a man.\n'It is true,' said she, 'that if I had an inclination to marry, I have\nother offers: Mr. Munden, by his way of living, must have a good estate,\nperhaps not inferior to that of Mr. Trueworth; the man has good sense,\nand wants neither personal nor acquired endowments; and I have tried\nboth his love and his constancy; besides, he lives always in town, has a\ntaste for the pleasures of it--a woman could not be very unhappy in\nbeing his wife. Then there is Sir Frederick Fineer--he is a fool,\nindeed; but he is a man of quality: and I know several ladies, who are\nthe envy of their own sex, and the toast of the other, and yet have\nfools for their husbands.'\nIn this manner did she continue reasoning within herself, till her head\nbegan to ache, and she was luckily relieved from it by the\nlast-mentioned subject of her meditations.\nHe approached her with his accustomed formalities; first saluting the\nhem of her garment, then her hand, and lastly her lips, which she\nreceiving with an air more than ordinarily serious, and also making very\nshort replies to the fine speeches he had prepared to entertain her\nwith--'What invidious cloud,' said he, 'obscures the lightning of your\neyes, and hides half the divinity from my ravished sight?'--'People\ncannot always be in the same humour, Sir Frederick,' answered she.\n'Yours should be always gay,' rejoined he, 'if once you were mine, you\nshould do nothing but love, and laugh, and dress, and eat, and drink,\nand be adored. Speak, then, my angel,' continued he; 'when shall be the\nhappy day? Say, it shall be to-morrow?'\nHere it was not in her power to retain any part of her former gravity.\n'Bless me!' cried she, 'to-morrow!--What, marry to-morrow? Sure, Sir\nFrederick, you cannot think of such a thing! Why, I have not so much as\ndreamt of it!'--'No matter,' answered he; 'you will have golden dreams\nenough in my embraces; defer, then, the mutual bliss no longer--let it\nbe to-morrow.'--'You are certainly mad, Sir Frederick!' said she; 'but\nif I were enough so too, as really to consent to such a hasty nuptial,\nwhere, pray, are the preparations for it?'\n'Oh, Madam, as to that,' resumed he, 'people of quality always marry in\na deshabille; a new coach--chariot--servants--liveries--and rich cloaths\nfor ourselves--may all be got ready before we make our publick\nappearance at court, or at church.'--'But there are other things to be\nconsidered,' said Miss Betsy, laughing outright. 'None of any\nimportance,' replied he: 'I will jointure you in my whole estate; the\nwritings shall be drawn to-night, and presented to you with the\nwedding-ring.'\n'This would be wonderful dispatch indeed!' said she; 'but, Sir, I have\ntwo brothers whom I must first consult on the affair.' Sir Frederick\nseemed extremely struck at these words; but recovering himself as soon\nas he was able, 'I thought, Madam,' cried he, 'you were entirely at your\nown disposal.'--'I am so, Sir,' answered she; 'but I love my brothers,\nand will do nothing without their approbation.'--'Ah, cruel fair!' cried\nhe, 'little do you know the delicacy of my passion; I must owe you\nwholly to yourself: your brothers, no doubt, will favour my desires, but\nit is your own free-will alone can make me blessed. Tell me not, then,\nof brothers,' continued he, 'but generously say you will be mine.'\nMiss Betsy was about to make some reply, when word was brought that a\nservant of the elder Mr. Thoughtless desired to speak with her: on which\nshe arose hastily, and went to the top of the stair-case, to hear what\nmessage he had to deliver to her; and was pleasingly surprized when he\ntold her that his master desired the favour of her company to supper\nimmediately at his house. As she never had an invitation there before,\nshe was at a loss to guess what could have caused so sudden an\nalteration: she asked the fellow what company was there; he told her,\nonly Mr. Francis and another gentleman, whose name he knew not, but\nbelieved they wanted her on some affairs concerning the late Mr.\nGoodman, because, as he was waiting, he heard them often mention that\ngentleman and Lady Mellasin.\nThough she could not conceive on what purpose she was to be consulted on\nany thing relating to Mr. Goodman, yet she was extremely glad that any\noccasion had happened to induce her brother to send for her to his\nhouse; and ordered the man to acquaint his master that she would not\nfail to wait upon him with as much expedition as a chair could bring\nher.\nOn her return to Sir Frederick, she told him she had received a summons\nfrom her elder brother, which she was under an indispensable necessity\nof complying with; so desired he would defer, till another opportunity,\nany farther discourse on the subject they had been talking of. Having\nsaid this, she called hastily for her fan and gloves, and at the same\ntime gave orders for a chair. Sir Frederick seemed very much confounded;\nbut, finding that any attempt to detain her would be impracticable, took\nhis leave, saying, 'You are going to your brother's, Madam?' To which\nshe answering, she was so, 'I beg then, Madam,' rejoined he, 'that you\nwill not mention any thing concerning me, or the passion I have for you,\ntill I have the honour of seeing you again. Be assured,' continued he,\n'I have mighty reasons for this request; and such as, I flatter myself,\nyou will allow to be just.' He said no more; but, perceiving she was\nready, led her down stairs; and having put her into a chair, went into\nthat which waited for himself, little satisfied with the success of his\nvisit.\nThough the motives on which Miss Betsy's company was desired in so much\nhurry, by a brother who had never before once invited her, may seem\nstrange, yet as that incident was but the consequence of other matters\nwhich yet remain untold, regularity requires they should first be\ndiscussed.\nCHAPTER X\n_Contains an account of some transactions which, though they may not be\nvery pleasing in the repetition, nor are of any great consequence to\nMiss Betsy, would render this history extremely deficient if omitted_\nAs Lady Mellasin has made so considerable a figure in the former parts\nof this history, the reader may, perhaps, now begin to think she has\nbeen too long neglected; it is, therefore, proper to proceed directly to\nsome account how that guilty and unfortunate woman behaved, after being\ndriven in the manner already related from the house of her much-injured\nhusband. Mr. Goodman was advised by his lawyers to be extremely private\nin the prosecution he was going to commence against her, and by no means\nto let her know the secret of her criminal conversation with Marplus had\nbeen discovered to him: this seemed a caution necessary to be observed,\nin order to prevent her from taking any measures, either to invalidate\nthe evidence of the witnesses, or prevail upon them to abscond when the\nproof of what they had sworn against her should be expected. The whole\ndetection of her guilt was designed to come at once upon her like a\nthunderclap, and thereby all the little efforts of artifice and\nchicanery to which she, doubtless, would otherwise have had recourse, be\nrendered of no use, nor give the least impediment to justice.\nAccordingly, this zealous assertor of his client's cause went to visit\nher, as of his own good-will; flattered her with the hope that her\nhusband would soon be prevailed upon to take her home again, and lent\nher several small sums of money to supply her necessities; saying, at\nthe same time, that when matters were made up between them, and all was\nover, he very well knew that Mr. Goodman would return it to him with\nthanks.\nThis strategem had the effect it was intended for; it not only kept her\nfrom attempting any thing of the nature above-mentioned, but also from\nrunning Mr. Goodman into debt; which certainly she might have done, on\nsome pretence or other, in spite of all the care and means that could\nhave been taken to destroy her credit.\nIt must be acknowledged, indeed, that acting in this manner was a\nprodigious piece of dissimulation; but, at the same time, it must be\nacknowledged also, that it was abundantly justified by the cause, and\npractised for the most laudable end, to serve an honest, worthy,\ngentleman, his friend and client, against a woman who had wronged him in\nthe tenderest point, and who was capable of making use of the vilest\nmethods to elude the punishment her crimes deserved; and, as a great\nauthor tells us--\n    'It is a kind of stupid honesty,\n    Among known knaves, to play upon the square.'\nLady Mellasin, however, was lulled into so perfect a security by her\ndependance on the good-nature of her husband, and the tender affection\nhe had always shewn to her, as well as by the high character she had\nalways heard of the lawyer's veracity, that she was more easy than could\nhave been expected in a woman of her situation, even though it had been\nas she was made to believe.\nShe received, and returned, with her usual politeness and gaiety, the\nvisits that were made her by all those who thought proper to continue an\nacquaintance with her: she pretended that it was only a little family\ncontest that had separated her from Mr. Goodman for a short time; and\nalways mentioned him with so much kindness and respect, as made every\none believe there was nothing between them but what would be easily made\nup.\nThis was, indeed, the most prudent method she could take; not only to\npreserve her own reputation to the world, but also to give Mr. Goodman a\nhigh idea of her conduct, if what she said should happen to be repeated\nto him.\nShe was every day in expectation that, through her own good management,\nand the intercession of the lawyer, whom she now took to be her staunch\nfriend, all would be over, and she should be recalled home; when a\ncitation to appear before the doctors of the civil law was delivered to\nher by an officer belonging to that court.\nIt is more easy to conceive than describe her distraction at so\nunlooked-for a turn; she now found that her intrigue with Marplus was\ndiscovered, and that all she had to dread was like to fall upon her by\nthat event; her perplexity was also greatly increased by her not being\nable to find out by whom, or by what means, she had been betrayed: she\nsent immediately in search of Marplus, whom, since his arresting Mr.\nGoodman, she had never once seen nor heard any thing of; but all the\ninformation she could get of him was, that he had been thrown into\nprison by Mr. Goodman, and, after confinement of a few days, had been\nreleased, and was gone nobody knew where, but, as it was supposed, out\nof England; that his wife had likewise removed from her lodgings, but\nwhether with an intention to follow him or not, no certain intelligence\ncould be given.\nAs this unhappy woman, therefore, neither knew on what foundation the\naccusation against her was built, nor what evidences could be produced\nto prove it, she might very well be bewildered in her thoughts, and not\nknow what course to take; yet, amidst all these matters of astonishment,\noppressed with grief, and struck with horror at the near prospect of\napproaching infamy, she had courage, and presence enough of mind, to\nenable her to do every thing that was necessary for her defence in so\nbad a cause.\nMr. Goodman's indisposition putting a stop to the process, she had time\nto consult with those whom she found most qualified for the purpose. Her\nchief agent was a pettifogger, or understrapper in the law, one who knew\nall those quirks and evasions, which are called the knavish part of it;\nand as the extreme indigence of his circumstances made him ready to\nundertake any thing, though ever so desperate, provided it afforded a\nprospect of advantage, so he had impudence and cunning enough to go\nthrough with it, even to the hazard of his ears.\nThis man kept up her spirits, by assuring her, he would find ways and\nmeans so to puzzle the cause, that nothing should be clearly proved\nagainst her: but there was no opportunity for him to exercise his\nabilities in this way, for Mr. Goodman's death soon after furnished him\nwith another. Lady Mellasin was no sooner informed, by spies she kept\ncontinually about Mr. Goodman's house, that his life was despaired of,\nthan they set about making his will, the first article of which, after\nthe prelude usual in such writings, was this.\n     'Imprimis, I give and bequeathe to my dear and well-beloved wife,\n     Margaret, Lady Mellasin Goodman, the full sum of thirty thousand\n     pounds of lawful money of Great Britain, over and above what\n     otherwise she might lay claim to as my widow, in consideration of\n     the great wrong I have done her, through the insinuations of\n     malicious and evil-minded persons; which I now heartily repent me\n     of, and hope that God and she will forgive me for it.'\nThen followed some other legacies to several of his kindred, and those\nof his friends, whom he had been known to have been the most intimate\nwith; but the sums to each were very trifling, and did not amount, in\nthe whole, to above seven or eight hundred pounds. As everyone who had\nthe least acquaintance with Mr. Goodman, was very well convinced that he\nhad always intended his nephew for his heir, the pretended will went on\nin this manner.\n     'Item, I give and bequeathe to my dear nephew, Edward Goodman, the\n     son of Nathanial Goodman, and of Catherine his wife, late of Bengal\n     in the East Indies, the whole residue of my effects, whatsoever and\n     wheresoever they shall be found at my demise; provided that he, the\n     said Edward Goodman, shall take to be his lawful wife, Flora\n     Mellasin, only daughter and remaining issue of Sir Thomas Mellasin,\n     and of the above-mentioned Margaret his wife: but in case that\n     either party shall refuse to enter into such marriage, then that\n     he, the said Edward Goodman, shall be obliged to pay to the said\n     Flora Mellasin the full sum of five thousand pounds of lawful money\n     of Great Britain, in consideration of the misfortunes she has\n     suffered by the injury I have done her mother.'\nThis impudent piece of forgery was signed Samuel Goodman, in a character\nso like that gentleman's, that, when compared with other papers of his\nown hand-writing, the difference could not be distinguished by those who\nwere best acquainted with it: two persons also, of the lawyer's\nprocuring, set their names as witnesses.\nNotwithstanding the flagrancy of this attempt, Lady Mellasin flattered\nherself with the hopes of it's success; and, on Mr. Goodman's death,\nthrew in a caveat against the real will, and set up this pretended one.\nOn the other hand, though one would imagine there needed but little\nskill for the detection of so gross an imposition, yet Mr. Goodman's\nlawyer thought proper to get all the help he could to corroborate the\ntruth. This piece of forgery was dated about ten days before Mr. Goodman\ndied; he knew that the elder Mr. Thoughtless came every day to visit him\nduring the whole time of his sickness; and that Miss Betsy, at the time\nthis will was supposed to be made, actually lived in the house, and that\nneither of these two could be totally ignorant of such a transaction, in\ncase any such had been.\nIt was therefore at the lawyer's request, that Miss Betsy was sent for\nto her brother's house; she answered, with a great deal of readiness, to\nall the questions he put to her, according to the best of her knowledge;\nparticularly as to that concerning the making the will: she said, that\nshe had never heard the least mention of any lawyer but himself coming\nto Mr. Goodman's during the whole time of his sickness; and that she\nverily believed no will but that drawn up by him, and which all the\nfamily knew of, could possibly be made by Mr. Goodman's orders, or in\nhis house; and as to the article in the pretended will, relating to Miss\nFlora, nothing could be a more palpable forgery, because Mr. Goodman had\noffered five hundred pounds with her in marriage to a linen-draper, not\nabove six weeks before his parting with Lady Mellasin; 'Which,' added\nshe, 'is a very plain proof that he never intended her for his nephew.'\nAll the time Miss Betsy staid, the whole discourse was on this affair;\nand she had no opportunity, as the lawyer was present, to acquaint her\nbrothers with any thing concerning Sir Frederick Fineer, as otherwise it\nwas her full intention to have done, after the surprizing injunction he\nhad laid upon her of secrecy, in regard of his passion, and every thing\nrelating to him.\nCHAPTER XI\n_Is very well deserving the attention of all those who are about to\nmarry_\nWhile Miss Flora was buoyed up with the expectation that her mother\nwould soon be reconciled with Mr. Goodman, she abated not of her former\ngaiety, and thought of nothing but indulging her amorous inclinations\nwith the man she liked: but when once those expectations ceased, her\nspirits began to fail; she now found it necessary, for her interest as\nwell as pleasure, to preserve, if possible, the affection of her lover;\nshe knew not what dreadful consequences the prosecution Mr. Goodman was\nabout to exhibit against her mother, might be attended with, and\ntrembled to think she must share with her the double load of infamy and\npenury; and rightly judged, that a man of Mr. Trueworth's fortune,\nhonour, and good-nature, would not suffer a woman, with whom he\ncontinued a tender communication, to be oppressed with any ills his\npurse could relieve her from. The apprehensions, therefore, that she\nmight one day be reduced to stand in need of his support, assisted the\nreal passion she had for him, and made her feel, on the first appearance\nof his growing coldness towards her, all those horrors, those\ndistractions, which her letters to him had so lively represented.\nOn his ceasing to make any fixed appointment with her, and from seeing\nher every day, to seeing her once in three or four days, gave her, with\nreason, the most terrible alarms; but when, after an absence of near a\nweek, she had followed him to the coffee-house, the cool and indifferent\nreception she there met with, gave, indeed, a mortal stab to all her\nhopes; and she longer hesitated to pronounce her own doom, and cry out,\nshe was undone.\nThe excuse he made of business was too weak--too trite--too\ncommon-place--to gain any credit with her, or alleviate her sorrows; she\nknew the world too well to imagine a gay young gentleman, like him,\nwould forego whatever he thought a pleasure for any business he could\npossibly have: she doubted not but there was a woman in the case; and\nthe thoughts that, while she was in vain expecting him, he was\nsoliciting those favours from a rival she had so lavishly bestowed and\nlanguished to repeat, fired her jealous brain, even to a degree of\nfrenzy.\nAwhile she raved with all the wild despair of ill-requited burning love:\nbut other emotions soon rose in her distracted bosom, not to control,\nbut add fresh fuel to the flame already kindled there. 'My\ncircumstances!' cried she, 'my wretched circumstances!--What will become\nof me? Involved in my mother's shame, he will, perhaps, make that a\npretence for abandoning me to those misfortunes I thought I might have\ndepended on him to relieve.'\nHowever, as the little billet, in answer to her last letter to him,\ncontained a promise that he would write to her the next day, she\nendeavoured, as much as she was able, to compose herself till that time,\nthough she was far from hoping the explanation she expected to receive\nin it would afford any consolation to her tormented mind.\nMr. Trueworth also, in the mean time, was not without his own anxieties:\na man of honour frequently finds more difficulty in getting rid of a\nwoman he is weary of, and loves him, than obtaining a woman he loves and\nis in pursuit of; but this gentleman had a more than ordinary perplexity\nto struggle through. Few women would go the lengths Miss Flora had done\nfor the accomplishment of her desires; and he easily saw, by the whole\ntenor of her behaviour, she would go as great, and even more, to\ncontinue the enjoyment of them.\nGlad would he have been to have brought her by degrees to an\nindifference for him; to have prevailed on her to submit her passion to\nthe government of her reason, and to be convinced that an amour, such as\ntheirs had been, ought to be looked upon only as a transient pleasure;\nto be continued while mutual inclination and convenience permitted, and,\nwhen broke off, remembered but as a dream.\nBut this he found was not to be done with a woman of Miss Flora's\ntemper; he therefore thought it best not to keep her any longer in\nsuspense, but let her know at once the revolution in her fate, as to\nthat point which regarded him, and the true motive which had occasioned\nit; which he accordingly did in these terms.\n     'To Miss Flora Mellasin.\n     Madam,\n     It is with very great difficulty I employ my pen to tell you it is\n     wholly inconvenient for us ever to meet again in the manner we have\n     lately done; but I flatter myself you have too much good-sense, and\n     too much honour, not to forgive what all laws, both human and\n     divine, oblige me to. I am entering into a state which utterly\n     forbids the continuance of those gallantries which before pleaded\n     their excuse: in fine, I am going to be married; and it would be\n     the highest injustice in me to expect that fidelity which alone can\n     make me happy in a wife, if my own conduct did not set her an\n     example.\n     Though I must cease to languish for a repetition of those favours\n     you blessed me with, yet be assured I shall always remember them\n     with gratitude, and the best good wishes for the prosperity of the\n     fair bestower.\n     I send you back all the testimonies I have received of your\n     tenderness that are in my power to return: it belongs to yourself\n     to make use of your utmost endeavours for the recovery of the heart\n     which dictated them. This I earnestly intreat of you; and in the\n     hope that you will soon accomplish a work so absolutely necessary\n     for your peace and reputation, I remain, as far as honour will\n     permit, Madam, your most obliged, and most humble servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nMr. Trueworth flattered himself that so plain a declaration of his\nsentiments and intentions would put a total end to all future\ncorrespondence between them; and, having looked it over, after he had\nfinished, and found it such as he thought proper for the purpose, put it\nunder a cover, with all the letters he had received from Miss Flora, not\nexcepting the first invitation she had made him, under the tide of the\n'Incognita,' and sent away the packet by a porter; for he had never\nintrusted the servants with the conveyance of any epistle from him to\nthat lady.\nMiss Flora, from the moment her eyes were open in the morning, (if it\ncan be supposed she had any sleep that night) had been watching, with\nthe most racking impatience, for the arrival of Mr. Trueworth's\nmessenger. She wished, but dreaded more, the eclaircissement which she\nexpected would be contained in the mandate he had promised to send; yet\nwas distracted for the certainty, how cruel soever it might prove.\nAt length it came, and with it a confirmation of even worse than the\nmost terrible of her apprehensions had suggested. The sight of her own\nletters, on her opening it, almost threw her into a swoon; but, when her\nstreaming eyes had greedily devoured the contents of the billet that\naccompanied them, excess of desperation struck her for some moments\nstupid, and rendered her mind inactive as her frame.\nBut, when awakened from this lethargy of silent grief, she felt all the\nhorrors of a fate she had so much dreaded. Frustrated at once in every\nhope that love or interest had presented to her, words cannot paint the\nwildness of her fancy; she tore her hair and garments, and scarce spared\nthat face she had taken so much pains to ornament, for wanting charms to\nsecure the conquest it had gained.\nBut with the more violence these tourbillions of the mind rage for a\nwhile, the sooner they subside, and all is hushed again; as I remember\nto have somewhere read--\n    'After a tempest, when the winds are laid,\n    The calm sea wonders at the wreck it made.'\nSo this unhappy and abandoned creature, too much deserving of the fate\nshe met with, having exhausted her whole stock of tears, and wasted all\nthe breath that life could spare in fruitless exclamations, the passions\nwhich had raised these commotions in her soul became more weak, and the\nbeguiler Hope once more returned, to lull her wearied spirits into a\nshort-lived ease.\nShe now saw the folly of venting her rage upon herself--that to give way\nto grief and despair would avail her nothing, but only serve to render\nher more miserable--that, instead of sitting tamely down, and meanly\nlamenting her misfortune in the loss of a lover, on whom she had built\nso much, she ought rather to exert all the courage, resolution, and\nartifice, she was mistress of, in contriving some way of preventing it,\nif possible.\n'He is not yet married!' said she--'the irrevocable words are not yet\npast! I have already broke off his courtship to one woman--why may I not\nbe as successful in doing so with another? He cannot love the present\nengrosser of his heart more than he did Miss Betsy Thoughtless! It is\nworth, at least, the pains of an attempt!'\nThe first step she had to take towards the execution of her design, was\nto find out the name, condition, and dwelling, of her happy rival; and\nthis, she thought, there would be no great difficulty in doing, as she\ndoubted not but Mr. Trueworth visited her every day, and it would be\neasy for her to employ a person to watch where he went, and afterwards\nto make the proper enquiries.\nBut, in the mean time, it required some consideration how to behave to\nthat gentleman, so as to preserve in him some sort of esteem for her,\nwithout which, she rightly judged, it would be impossible for her ever\nto recover his love, in case she should be so fortunate as to separate\nhim from the present object of his flame.\nShe knew very well, that all testimonies of despair in a woman no longer\nloved, only create uneasiness in the man who occasioned it, and but\nserve to make him more heartily wish to get rid of her; she, therefore,\nfound it best, as it certainly was, to pretend to fall in with Mr.\nTrueworth's way of thinking--seem to be convinced by his reasons, and\nready to submit to whatever suited with his interest or convenience. It\nwas some time before she could bring herself into a fit temper for this\nsort of dissimulation; but she at last arrived at it, and gave a proof\nhow great a proficient she was in it by the following lines.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     Dear Sir,\n     I am apt to believe you as little expected as desired an answer to\n     the eclaircissement of yesterday; nor would I have given you the\n     trouble of this, but to assure you it shall be the last of any kind\n     you ever shall receive from me. Yes, I have now done with\n     reproaches and complaints. I have nothing to alledge against\n     you--nothing to accuse you of. Could the fond folly of my tender\n     passion have given me leisure for a moment's reflection, I had\n     forseen that the misfortune which is now fallen upon me was\n     inevitable. I am now convinced that I ought not to have hoped that\n     the unbounded happiness I so lately enjoyed, could be of any long\n     duration--that a man of your fortune and figure in the world must\n     one day marry--names and families must be supported; and yours is\n     too considerable for you to suffer it to be extinct. I must not, I\n     will not, therefore, repine at a thing which, in my cooler moments,\n     I cannot but look upon as essential to your honour and convenience.\n     Had you quitted me on any other score, I cannot answer but I might\n     have been hurried into extravagancies displeasing to you, and\n     unbecoming of myself: but here I must resign; and am determined to\n     do so with the same patience, in shew at least, as if I had never\n     loved. I will not tell you the agonies I have sustained in the\n     cruel conflict between my reason and my passion, in making this\n     resolution: it is sufficient for you to know that the former has\n     the victory. More might too much affect your generous nature;\n     besides, when woes are remediless, they are best borne in silence.\n     Farewel!-Oh, farewel for ever! May you find every thing in the\n     happy she you make your choice of to give you lasting bliss! and,\n     to compleat all, may she love you with the same ardency,\n     tenderness, and disinterestedness, as her who must now only\n     subscribe herself, at an eternal distance, dear, dear Sir, your\n     most faithful friend, and humble servant,\n     F. MELLASIN.'\nThis letter, which, it must be confessed, was wrote artfully enough, had\nall the effect it was intended for on the mind of Mr. Trueworth. It not\nonly afforded him an infinity of contentment, as he hoped she would soon\nbe enabled to banish all those disturbed emotions which naturally attend\nthe breaking off an acquaintance such as theirs had been, but it also\nestablished in him a very high idea of her good understanding,\ndisinterested affection, honour, and sincerity: but how long he\ncontinued in this favourable opinion as to the three last-mentioned\nqualifications, will hereafter be shewn.\nIn the mean time, something happened which, as he was a man just even to\nthe extremest nicety, gave him, according to his way of thinking, a\ngreat deal of reason to reproach himself.\nCHAPTER XII\n_Miss Betsy's innocence, as to the Denham affair, fully cleared up to\nMr. Trueworth by a very extraordinary accident_\nMr. Trueworth had made so great a progress in his courtship, that the\nsincerity of Miss Harriot got the better of her bashfulness, even so far\nas to confess to him, it was with pleasure she yielded to the\npersuasions of her friends in favour of his love, and that he had\ninfinitely the preference of all mankind in her esteem; in fine, her\nbehaviour was such as left nothing wanting, but the ceremony, to assure\nhim of his happiness.\nSir Bazil also having concluded every thing with the father of his\nmistress, brought that young lady acquainted with his sisters; who,\nhighly approving their brother's choice, soon treated her, and were\ntreated by her, with the same affection and familiarity as if already\nunited.\nThere were few hours, excepting those allotted by nature and custom for\nrepose, which this amiable company did not pass together. The old\ngentleman, who was extremely good-humoured when nothing relating to the\nparting with his money came on the carpet, would frequently make one\namong them; and being one day more than ordinarily chearful, told Mr.\nTrueworth that, as he found the two weddings were to be solemnized in\none day, and he should give his daughter's hand to Sir Bazil, desired he\nmight also have the honour of bestowing Miss Harriot's upon him: to\nwhich Mr. Trueworth replied, that he should joyfully receive her from\nany hands, but more particularly from his; and that he took the offer he\nmade as a very great favour. On this, the other grew very gay, and said\nabundance of merry things, to the no small expence of blushes both in\nhis daughter and Miss Harriot.\nIt is impossible for any lover, while waiting for the consummation of\nhis wishes, to enjoy a more uninterrupted felicity than did Sir Bazil\nand Mr. Trueworth--continually blest with the society of their\nmistresses, and receiving from them all the marks that a virtuous\naffection could bestow: yet both of them found it requisite to contrive\nevery day some new party of pleasure or other, in order to beguile the\nnecessary, though to them tedious, time it took up in drawing of\nwritings, and other preparations for the much longed-for nuptials; which\nMrs. Wellair did not fail to do all on her part to hasten, being\nimpatient to return to her family, whence she had been absent longer\nthan she had intended.\nSir Bazil and Mr. Trueworth having been taking a little walk in the Park\none morning, the former finding himself so near the habitation of Miss\nMabel, could not forbear calling on her, though she was to dine that day\nat his house, and Mr. Trueworth accompanied him. That lady was then at\nher toilette, but made no scruple of admitting them into her\ndressing-room, where they had scarce seated themselves, when her woman,\nwho was waiting, was called out by a footman to speak to some people,\nwho, he said, were very importunate to see Miss Mabel, and would take no\nanswer from him.\n'Rude guests, indeed,' cried Miss Mabel, 'that will not take an answer\nfrom a servant!--Who are they?'--'I never saw them before, Madam,'\nreplied the footman: 'but the one is a woman of a very mean appearance,\nand the other, I believe, is a soldier. I told them your ladyship had\ncompany, and could not be seen; but the man said he only begged one word\nwith you; that he has just come from abroad, and wanted to know where he\nmight see his child, and a deal of such stuff. The woman is almost as\nimpertinent as the man; and I cannot get them from the door.'\n'I will lay my life upon it, Madam,' said the waiting maid, 'that this\nis the father of the child that you and Miss Betsy Thoughtless have been\nso good to keep ever since the mother's death.'--'I verily believe thou\nhast hit upon the right!' cried Miss Mabel. 'Pr'ythee go down; and, if\nit be as thou imaginest, bid them come up--I will see them.'\nThe maid went as she was ordered, and immediately returned with two\npersons, such as the footman had described. The woman was the first that\nadvanced, and, after dropping two or three curtseys to each of the\ncompany, addressed herself to Miss Mabel in these words--'I do not know,\nMadam,' said she, 'whether your ladyship may remember me; but I nursed\npoor Mrs. Jinks, your ladyship's sempstress and clear-starcher, all the\ntime of her lying-in, when your ladyship and Madam Betsy Thoughtless\nwere so good as to stand godmothers, and afterwards took the child, that\nit might not go to the parish.'\n'I remember you very well,' said Miss Mabel: 'but, pray, what is your\nbusiness with me now?'--'Why, Madam,' said she, 'your ladyship must\nknow, that Mrs. Jinks's husband has seen his folly at last--has left the\narmy, and is resolved to take up and settle in the world: so, Madam, if\nyour ladyship pleases, he would willingly have his child.'\n'O doubtless, he may have his child!' rejoined Miss Mabel.--'But,\nhark'e, friend,' continued she, turning to the man, 'are you able to\nkeep your child?'--'Yes, Madam,' answered he, coming forward, 'thank\nGod, and good friends. I had an uncle down in Northamptonshire, who died\na while ago, and left me a pretty farm there; and so, as my neighbour\nhere was telling you, I would not have my child a burden to any\nbody.'--'If we had thought it a burden,' said Miss Mabel, 'we should not\nhave taken it upon us; however, I am glad you are in circumstances to\nmaintain it yourself. Your wife was a very honest, industrious woman,\nand suffered a great deal through your neglect; but I hope you will make\nit up in the care of the child she has left behind.'\n'Aye, Madam,' replied he, wiping his eyes, 'I have nothing else to\nremember her! I did not use her so well as she deserved, that's certain:\nbut I have sowed all my wild oats, as the saying is; and I wish she were\nalive to have the benefit of it.'\n'That cannot be,' interrupted the woman; 'so don't trouble good Madam\nwith your sorrowful stories. If her ladyship will be so good only to\ngive us directions where to find the child; for we have been to Madam\nBetsy's, and her ladyship was not at home; so we made bold to come\nhere.'--'Yes, Madam,' cried he, 'for my colonel comes to town in a day\nor two, and I shall get my discharge, and have no more to do with the\nservice; so would willingly have my child to take down with me to the\nfarm.'\nMiss Mabel made no other answer to this, than saying it was very well;\nand immediately gave them the direction they requested to Goody\nBushman's, at Denham. 'I cannot tell you exactly where the house is,'\nsaid she: 'but you will easily find her; the husband is a gardener, and\nshe has been a nurse for many years.'\nThe fellow seemed extremely pleased, thanked her as well as he could in\nhis homely fashion, and desired she would be so kind as to give his duty\nto the other lady, and thank her also, for her part of the favours both\nhis wife and child had received; nor had he forgot his manners so far as\nnot to accompany the testimonies of his gratitude with a great many low\nscrapes, till he got quite out of the room.\nAfter this, Sir Bazil began to grow a little pleasant with Miss Mabel\nconcerning the motherly part she had been playing. 'You do me more\nhonour than I deserve,' said she, laughing; 'for it was but half a child\nI had to take care of; so, consequently, I could but be half a mother. I\nam glad, however,' continued she, more seriously, 'that my little\ngoddaughter has found a father.'\nWhile they were talking in this manner, the old gentleman happening to\ncome in, and hearing Sir Bazil was above with his daughter, sent to\ndesire to speak with him in his closet.\nMiss Mabel being now alone with Mr. Trueworth, thought she saw something\nin his countenance which very much surprized her. 'You are pensive,\nSir!' said she. 'I hope the mention we have been making of Miss Betsy\nhas given you no alarm.'--'A very great one,' answered he; 'but not on\nthe account you may, perhaps, imagine. I have wronged that lady in the\nmost cruel manner; and, though the injury I have done her went no\nfarther than my own heart, yet I never can forgive myself for harbouring\nsentiments which, I now find, were so groundless and unjust.'\nAs it was not possible for Miss Mabel to comprehend the meaning of these\nwords, she intreated him, somewhat hastily, to explain the mystery they\nseemed to contain: on which he made no scruple of repeating to her the\nsubstance of the letter he had received; his going down to Denham, in\norder to convince himself more fully; and the many circumstances which,\naccording to all appearances, corroborated the truth of that infamous\nscandal.\nNever was astonishment equal to that Miss Mabel was in on hearing the\nnarrative of so monstrous a piece of villainy. 'Good God!' cried she, 'I\nknow Miss Betsy has many enemies, who set all her actions in the worst\nlight, and construe every thing she says and does into meanings she is\nignorant of herself: but this is so impudent, so unparalleled a slander,\nas I could not have thought the malice of either men or devils could\nhave invented!'\n'Indeed, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'should fortune ever discover to me\nthe author of this execrable falsehood, I know no revenge I could take\nthat would be sufficient, both for traducing the innocence of that lady,\nand the imposition practised upon myself.' Miss Mabel agreed with him,\nthat no punishment could be too bad for the inventors of such cruel\naspersions; and, having a little vented her indignation on all who were\ncapable of the like practices, 'I suppose, then,' said she, 'that it was\nowing to this wicked story that you desisted your visits to Miss Betsy?'\n'Not altogether, Madam,' answered he: 'I had long before seen it was not\nin my power to inspire that lady with any sentiments of the kind that\nwould make me happy in the married state. I loved her; but my reason\ncombated with my passion, and got the better.'\n'I understand you, Sir,' replied she; 'and though I hope, nay, believe\nin my soul, that poor Miss Betsy is innocent as a vestal, yet I cannot\nbut own, that the too great gaiety of her temper, and the pride of\nattracting as many admirers as to have eyes to behold her, hurries her\ninto errors, which, if persevered in, cannot but be fatal both to the\npeace and reputation of a husband. Where you are now fixed, you\ndoubtless have a much better prospect of being truly happy. It is,\nhowever, a great pity, methinks,' continued this amiable lady, 'that so\nmany rare and excellent qualities as Miss Betsy is possessed of, should\nall be swallowed up and lost in the nonsensical vanity of being too\ngenerally admired.'\nThey had time for no more; Sir Bazil returned: he had only been sent for\nto examine the sole copy of the marriage-articles, which the old\ngentleman had just brought from his lawyer's, on purpose to shew them to\nhim some time that day; and they now took their leave, that the lady\nmight have time to dress; Sir Bazil looking on his watch, said, it was\nthen a quarter past two, and they should dine at three, so begged she\nwould not waste too much time in consulting her glass; 'For,' added he,\n'you know you have always charms for me.'--'And I am not ashamed, then,'\nreplied she, with a smile, 'even before Mr. Trueworth, to confess, that\nI desire to have none for any other.'\nHe kissed her hand on this obliging speech, and ran hastily down stairs,\nfollowed by Mr. Trueworth; whose temper had not quite recovered its\naccustomed vivacity.\nCHAPTER XIII\n_Seems to promise a very great change for the better, both in the humour\nand conduct of Miss Betsy, in regard to those who professed themselves\nher lovers_\nAs little as Miss Betsy had accustomed herself to compare and judge of\nthings, she wanted not the power, whenever it pleased her to have the\nwill to do so: the words of Sir Frederick Fineer, on taking leave of her\nat his last visit, sunk pretty deeply into her mind; nor could she\nremember them without a mixture of surprize, resentment, and confusion.\nNo man, excepting Mr. Saving, whose reasons for it she could not but\nallow were justifiable, had hitherto ever presumed to make his addresses\nto her in a clandestine manner; and Sir Frederick Fineer seemed to her,\nof all men, to have the least excuse for doing so; and she would not\nhave hesitated one moment to come into her brother Frank's opinion, that\nhe was no other than an impostor, if the dependance she had on the good\nfaith of Mrs. Modely had not prevented her from entertaining such a\nbelief.\nBesides, all the pleasure her gay young heart as yet had ever been\ncapable of taking in the conquests she had made, consisted in their\nbeing known; and this proceeding in Sir Frederick was too mortifying to\nthat darling propensity, to be easily forgiven, even though he should\nmake it appear, that the motives on which he requested this secrecy were\nsuch as could not be dispensed with.\n'What can the man mean?' said she: 'I suppose, by his desiring his\ncourtship to me should be a secret, he intends a marriage with me should\nbe so too--that I should live with him only as the slave of his loose\npleasures; and, though a lawful wife, pass me in the eyes of the world\nfor a kept mistress. Was ever such insolence! such an unparalleled\ninsult; both on my person and understanding! Heaven be my witness, that\nit is only his quality could induce me; nay, I know not as yet whether\neven that could be sufficient to induce me to become his wife, and can\nhe be so ridiculously vain as to imagine I would accept him on any\ncheaper terms than that eclat his rank and fortune would bestow upon\nme?'\nShe spent all that part of the night which she could spare from sleep,\nin meditating on this affair; and at last came to a resolution of seeing\nhim no more, whatever he might pretend in justification of his late\nrequest.\nShe also had it in her head to return unopened any letter he should\nsend: but curiosity prevailed above her resentment in this point; and\nwhen his servant came in the morning, and presented her with his\nmaster's compliments, and a billet at the same time, she had not the\npower of denying herself the satisfaction of seeing what excuse he would\nmake: the contents of it were as follows.\n     'To the delight of my eyes, the life of my desires, the only\n     hope and joy of my adoring soul, the divine Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Since last I left your radiant presence, my mind has been all dark\n     and gloomy--my anxieties are unutterable--intolerable--I know not\n     what cruel constructions you may have put upon the petition I made\n     you, of not mentioning me to your brothers--but, sure, you cannot\n     think I apprehend a refusal from that quarter: no, my birth and\n     fortune set me above all doubts of that nature; and I am very\n     certain that both they, and all your kindred, would rather force\n     you, if in their power, to accept the hand I offer; but it is not\n     to them, but to yourself alone, I can submit to yield. Heaven, it\n     is true, is in possessing you; but then I would owe that heaven\n     only to your love; you may think, perhaps, that this is too great a\n     delicacy; but know, fair angel, that there is another motive--a\n     motive which, though derived from the same source, binds me in a\n     different way. Fain would I court you; fain marry you; with all the\n     pomp and splendour your superior beauty merits; but neither my\n     virtue, my honour, nor my religion, will permit it: the mystery is\n     this.\n     Upon examining into the cause why we see so many jarring pairs\n     united in the sacred yoke of matrimony, I found it wholly owing to\n     the want of that true affection which, to make perfect happiness,\n     ought to precede the nuptial ceremony; that sordid interest, the\n     persuasion of friends, or some such selfish view, either on the\n     one side or the other, had given the hand without the heart, and\n     inclination had no share in beckoning to the altar.\n     Being convinced of this truth by innumerable examples, and resolved\n     to avoid the fate of others, I made a vow, and bound myself by the\n     most solemn imprecations, never to marry any woman, how dear soever\n     she might be to me, that would not assure me of her love, by flying\n     privately with me to the altar, without consulting friends, or\n     asking any advice but of her own soft desires.\n     This, my adorable charmer, being the case, I am certain you have\n     too high a sense of the duty owing to all that's holy, to exact\n     from me a thing which you cannot but be certain, must entail\n     eternal perdition on my perjured soul.\n     Let us haste, then, to tie the blissful knot, and surprize our\n     friends with a marriage they little dreamt of. As Phoebus each\n     night hurries himself into the lap of Thetis, to render his\n     appearance the more welcome the next day, so shall the next morning\n     after our marriage behold us shine forth at once no less gorgeous\n     than the bright ruler of the day, dazzling the eyes of the admiring\n     world.\n     I am fired with the imagination, and am wrapped in extasies\n     unutterable; but will fly this evening to your divine feet, where I\n     hope to persuade you to delay our mutual happiness no longer than\n     to-morrow, and exchange my present appellation of lover into that of\n     husband; assuring yourself, I shall then be, as now, with the most\n     consummate devotion to your all-conquering charms, sweet goddess of\n     my hopes, your passionate adorer, and everlasting slave,\n     F. FINEER.\n     P.S. I beseech you will give necessary orders for preventing any\n     impertinent intruder from breaking in upon our converse, for,\n     exclusive of my vow, I should detest, as the poet says--\n         \"With noise and shew, and in a crowd to woo;\n         For true felicity dwells in two.\"\n    Once more, my dear divinity, adieu.'\nMiss Betsy read this letter over several times, and made herself\nmistress of the sense, as she thought, of every part of it; she had\nalways found, in every thing he said or did, a great deal of the\naffected and conceited coxcomb; but in this she imagined she discovered\nmore of the designing knave: the vow he mentioned was an excuse too\nshallow to pass on a discernment such as hers; but her vanity still\nsuggesting that he was really in love with her, and that if he intended\nany villainy towards her, it was enforced by the violence of his\npassion, it came into her head, that there was a possibility of his\nbeing already married, or contracted to some lady whom he durst not\nbreak with, but being bent on gaining her at all events, he had formed\nthis pretence of a vow, in order to gain her to a clandestine marriage,\nthinking, that after it was over, and there was no remedy, she would be\ncontent to live with him in a private manner, since it would then be\nimpracticable for her to do so in a publick one.\nThis, indeed, she could not be certain of; but she was so, that it did\nnot become a woman of any family and character to receive the addresses\nof a man, how superior soever he might be in point of fortune, who\neither was ashamed, or had any other reasons to hinder him from avowing\nhis passion to her relations.\nShe had no sooner fixed herself in this determination, than she went to\nher cabinet, with an intent to pack up all the letters she had received\nfrom him, and inclose them in one to Mrs. Modely; but recollecting, she\nhad given one of them to her brother Frank, which he had not yet\nreturned, she thought she would defer, till another opportunity, this\ntestimony of the disregard she had for himself and all that came from\nhim.\nTo prevent, however, his troubling her with any more visits, messages,\nor epistles, she sat down to her escrutore, and immediately wrote her\npresentiments to his agent, in the following terms.\n     'To Mrs. Modely.\n     Dear Modely,\n     As it is not my custom to write to men, except on business, of\n     which I never reckoned love, nor the professions of it, any part, I\n     desire you will tell Sir Frederick Fineer, that the only way for\n     him to keep his oath inviolated, is to cease entirely all farther\n     prosecutions of his addresses to me; for as my birth and fortune,\n     as well as my humour, set me above encouraging a secret\n     correspondence with any man, on what pretence soever it may be\n     requested, he may expect, nay, assure himself, that on the next\n     visit he attempts to make me, or letter or message he causes to be\n     left for me, I shall directly acquaint my brothers with the whole\n     story of his courtship; the novelty of which may possibly afford us\n     some diversion.\n     I thank you for the good I believe you intended me, in your\n     recommendation of a lover, whose title and estate you might think\n     had some charms in them, and the oddities of whose temper you were\n     perhaps unacquainted with.\n     I desire, however, you will henceforth make no mention of him; but,\n     whenever I send for you, confine your conversation to such matters\n     as befit your vocation; for, as to others, I find you are but\n     little skilled in what will please her who is, notwithstanding this\n     raillery, my dear Modely, your friend and servant,\n     B. THOUGHTLESS.\n     P.S. To shew how much I am in earnest, I should have sent the\n     baronet all the epistles he has been at the pains of writing to me,\n     but I am just going out, and I have not leisure to look them up; I\n     will not fail, however, to let him have them in a day or two; they\n     may serve any other woman as well as me, and save him abundance of\n     trouble in his next courtship. You see I have some good-nature,\n     though nothing of that love I suppose he imagined his merits had\n     inspired me with. Adieu.'\nMiss Betsy was highly diverted, after sending this dispatch, to think\nhow silly poor Modely would look on finding herself obliged to deliver\nsuch a message to her grand lodger, and how dismally mortified he would\nbe on the receiving it.\nCHAPTER XIV\n_Shews that Miss Betsy, whenever she pleased to exert herself, had it in\nher power to be discreet, even on occasions the most tempting to her\nhonour and inclinations_\nSoon after Miss Betsy had sent away what she thought would be a final\nanswer to Sir Frederick, her brother Frank came in; she immediately\nshewed him the letter she had received that morning, and related to him\nin what manner she had behaved concerning it, with which he was\nextremely pleased, and said more tender things to her than any she had\nheard from him since he came to town.\n'This is a way of acting, my dear sister,' said he, 'which, if you\npersevere in, will infallibly gain you the esteem of all who know you;\nfor while you encourage the addresses of every idle fop, believe me, you\nwill render yourself cheap, and lose all your merit with the sensible\npart of mankind.'\nIf she was not quite of his opinion in this point, she offered no\narguments in opposition to the remarks he made; and assured him, as she\nhad done once before, that she would never give any man the least\ngrounds to hope she approved his pretensions, till she had first\nreceived the sanction of both his and her brother Thoughtless's\napprobation.\nHe then told her that they had received intelligence, that the India\nship, which they heard was to bring Mr. Edward Goodman, was safely\narrived in the Downs; so that, in all likelihood, that gentleman would\nbe in London in two or three days at farthest; 'Which I am very glad\nof,' said he; 'for, though I believe the lawyer a very honest, diligent\nman, as any can be of his profession, the presence of the heir will give\na life to the cause, and may bring things to a more speedy issue.'\nHe also told her that a gentleman of her brother's acquaintance had the\nday before received a letter from Sir Ralph Trusty, intimating that he\nshould be obliged, by the death of Mr. Goodman, there being affairs of\nconsequence between them, to come to town much sooner than he had\nintended, and that he should bring his lady with him: 'And then, my dear\nsister,' said he, 'you will be happy, for a time at least, in the\nconversation and advice of one who, I am certain, in her good wishes for\nyou, deserves to be looked upon by you as a second mother.'\nHe was going on in some farther commendations of that worthy lady, when\nMiss Betsy's man came to the dining-room door, and told her that Mr.\nMunden was below in the parlour, and would wait on her if she was at\nleisure. Mr. Francis perceiving she was hesitating what answer to make,\ncried hastily, 'Pray, sister, admit him. This is lucky! now I shall see\nhow much he excels Mr. Trueworth in person and parts.'--'I never told\nyou,' answered she, 'that he did so in either; but perhaps he may in his\ngood opinion and esteem for me: however, I think you promised never to\nmention Trueworth again to me; I wish you would keep your word.'--'Well,\nI have done,' said he; 'do not keep the gentleman waiting.' On which she\nbade the footman desire Mr. Munden to walk up.\nThat gentleman was a good deal disconcerted in his mind concerning the\nlittle progress his courtship had made with Miss Betsy--he had followed\nher for a considerable time--been at a great expence in treating and\nmaking presents to her--he had studied her humour, and done every thing\nin his power to please her; yet thought himself as far from the\ncompletion of his wishes as when he began his addresses to her: he had\nnot for several days had an opportunity of speaking one word to her in\nprivate; she was either abroad when he came, or so engaged in company\nthat his presence served only to fill a vacant seat in her\ndining-room--he therefore determined to know what fate he was to expect\nfrom her.\nAs he had not been told any body was now with her, and had never seen\nMr. Francis before, he was a little startled on his coming into the\nroom, to find a young, gay gentleman, seated very near her, and lolling\nhis arm, in a careless posture, over the back of the chair in which she\nwas sitting: on his entrance, they both rose to receive him with a great\ndeal of politeness, which he returned in the same manner; but added to\nthe first compliments, that he hoped he had been guilty of no\nintrusion.\n'Not at all, Sir,' replied the brother of Miss Betsy; 'I was only\ntalking to my sister on some family affairs, which we may resume at any\ntime, when no more agreeable subjects of entertainment fall in our\nway.'--'Yes, Mr. Munden,' said Miss Betsy, 'this is that brother whose\nreturn to town you so often heard me wish for--and this, brother,'\ncontinued she, turning to Mr. Francis, 'is a gentleman who sometimes\ndoes me the honour of calling upon me; and whose visits to me I believe\nyou will not disapprove.'\nShe had no sooner ended these words than the two gentleman mutually\nadvanced, embraced, and said they should be proud of each other's\nacquaintance; after which they entered into a conversation sprightly\nenough for the time it lasted, which was not long; for Mr. Francis,\nlooking on his watch, said he was extremely mortified to leave such good\ncompany, but business of a very urgent nature called him to a different\nplace at that hour.\nAs much as Mr. Munden was pleased to find himself so obligingly\nintroduced by his mistress to the acquaintance of her brother, he was\nequally glad to be rid of him at this juncture, when he came prepared to\npress her so home to an eclaircissement as should deprive her of all\npossibility of keeping himself any longer in suspense.\nIt was in vain for her now to have recourse to any of those evasions by\nwhich she had hitherto put him off; and she found herself under a\nnecessity, either of entirely discarding him, or giving him some kind of\nassurance that the continuance of his pretensions would not be in vain.\nNever had she been so plunged before--never had any of her lovers\ninsisted in such plain terms her declaring herself; and she was\ncompelled, as it were, to tell him, since he was so impatient for the\ndefinition of his fate, it was from her brothers he must receive it, for\nshe was resolved, nay, had solemnly promised, to enter into no\nengagement without their knowledge and approbation. 'But suppose,' said\nhe, 'I should be so happy as to obtain their consent, may I then assure\nmyself you will be mine?'--'Would you wish me to hate you?' cried she,\nsomewhat peevishly. 'Hate me!' answered he; 'no, Madam, it is your love\nI would purchase, almost at the expence of life.'\n'Persecute me then no more,' said she, 'to give you promise, or\nassurances, which would only make me see you with confusion; and think\nof you with regret; it is sufficient I esteem you, and listen to the\nprofessions of your love: let that content you, and leave to myself the\ngrant of more.'--'Yet, Madam--' resumed he; and was going on, but was\ninterrupted by the maid, who came hastily into the room, and said,\n'Madam, here is Miss Mabel!'\nShe had no sooner spoke these words, than the lady she mentioned\nfollowed her into the room. Miss Betsy was never more glad to see her\nthan now, when her presence afforded her so seasonable a relief: 'My\ndear Miss Mabel,' said she, 'this is kind indeed, when I already owe you\ntwo visits!'--'I believe you owe me more,' answered she with a smile:\n'but I did not come to reproach you; nor can this, indeed, be justly\ncalled a visit, since it is only a mere matter of business brings me\nhither at this time.'\nMr. Munden, on this, thought proper to take his leave; but, in doing so,\nsaid to Miss Betsy, with a very grave air, 'I hope, Madam, you will have\nthe goodness to consider seriously on what we have been talking of: I\nwill do myself the honour to wait upon your brothers to-morrow, and\nafterwards on yourself.' With these words he withdrew, without staying\nfor an answer.\n'I know not,' said Miss Mabel, after he was gone, 'whether what I have\nto say to you will be of sufficient moment to excuse me for depriving\nyou of your company, since I only called to tell you, that we are eased\nof your little pensioner at Denham, by the father's unexpectedly coming\nto claim his own.'\nMiss Betsy replied, that she guessed as much, for she had heard those\npeople had been at her lodgings when she was not at home, and had said\nsomewhat of their business to her servant. 'I am also to pay you,'\nresumed the other, 'my quota of the last month's nursing.' In speaking\nthese words she took out of her pocket the little sum she stood indebted\nfor, and laid it on the table.\nThough Miss Betsy had the most perfect regard and good wishes for Miss\nMabel, and Miss Mabel the same for Miss Betsy, yet neither of them was\nin the secrets of the other: they visited but seldom; and, when they\ndid, talked only on indifferent affairs. In fine, though they both loved\nthe amiable qualities each found in the other, yet the wide contrariety\nbetween their dispositions occasioned a coolness in their behaviour\nwhich their hearts were far from feeling.\nMiss Mabel stayed but a very few minutes after having dispatched the\nbusiness she came upon; nor was Miss Betsy at all troubled at her\ndeparture, being at present, what she very rarely was, in a humour\nrather to be alone than in any company whatever.\nShe no sooner was at liberty than she began to reflect on the\ntransactions of that morning: she had done two things which seemed\npretty extraordinary to her; she had entirely dismissed one lover, a\npiece of resolution she did not a little value herself upon; but then\nshe was vexed at the too great encouragement, as she thought it, which\nshe had given to another.\n'What shall I do with this Munden?' said she to herself. 'If my brothers\nshould take it into their heads to approve of his pretensions, I shall\nbe as much teazed on his account as I was on that of Mr. Trueworth: I\nhave no aversion, indeed, to the man, but I am equally as far from\nhaving any love for him; there is nothing in his person, or behaviour,\nthat might make a woman ashamed of being his wife; yet I can see nothing\nso extraordinary in him as to induce me to become so.\n'Why, then,' continued she, 'did I not tell him at once I would not have\nhim; and that, if he was weary of paying his respects to me, he might\ncarry them where they would be more kindly received? It was a very silly\nthing in me to send him to my brothers: they are in such haste to get me\nout of the way of what they call temptation, that I believe they would\nmarry me to any man that was of a good family, and had an estate. If I\nmust needs have a husband to please them, I had better have taken\nTrueworth; I am sure there is no comparison between the men; but it is\ntoo late to think of that now; for it is very plain, both by his\nbehaviour to me when last I saw him, and by what he said to my brother\nFrank, that he has given over all intentions on that score.'\nShe was in the midst of these cogitations, when a servant belonging to\nthe ladies whom she visited at St. James's, came, and presented her with\na letter, containing these lines.\n     'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Dear creature,\n     My sister and self had an invitation to a party of pleasure, where\n     there will be the best company, the best musick, and the best\n     entertainment in the world; but my father having unluckily forced\n     her to pass some days with an old aunt, who lies dangerously sick\n     at Hampstead, I know nobody can so well supply her vacant place as\n     your agreeable self; therefore, if you are not already too deeply\n     engaged this evening, would beg the favour of you to share with me\n     in the proposed diversion: we shall have two young gentlemen of\n     rank for our conductors and protectors; but I flatter myself you\n     will make no scruple to go any where with her who is, with the\n     most perfect amity, dear Miss Betsy, your most humble, and most\n     obedient servant,\n     A. AIRISH.\n     P.S. Let me know whether I can be so happy as to have you with me;\n     and if so, I will call on you about five, and drink tea, for we\n     shall not go to the assembly 'till eight.'\nThis proposal put Miss Betsy out of all her serious reflections; and she\nreturned for answer to the lady, that she would not fail to be at home,\nand ready to attend her at the appointed hour.\nAccordingly, as soon as ever dinner was over, she went to dress, and\nthought of nothing but how to make as brilliant a figure as any she\nshould meet with at the assembly. Miss Airish came somewhat before the\nhour she had mentioned in her letter, accompanied by two rakes of\nquality, whom Miss Betsy had seen two or three times before with her and\nher sister, and by one of whom she had once been treated with some\nfamiliarities, which had made her ever since very cautious of giving him\nany opportunity to attempt the like.\nAs much, therefore, as she had pleased herself with the idea of this\nevening's pleasures, she no sooner saw who were to be their conductors,\nthan she resolved not to put herself in their powers; yet knew not how,\nwithout affronting Miss Airish, to avoid complying with the promises she\nhad made of accompanying her.\nThey all came singing and romping into the room; but the perplexity of\nMiss Betsy's mind made her receive them with a very serious air. The men\naccosted her with a freedom conformable enough to their own characters,\nbut not very agreeable to one of hers; and she rebuffed, with a good\ndeal of contempt, him with whom she had most reason to be offended.\n'Lord! How grave you look!' said Miss Airish, observing her countenance:\n'pr'ythee, my dear creature, put on a more chearful aspect; this is to\nbe a night of all spirit, all mirth, all gaiety!'--'I am sorry I cannot\nbe a partaker of it,' said Miss Betsy, who, by this time, had contrived\nan excuse. 'Lord! What do you mean? not partake of it!' cried Miss\nAirish hastily; 'sure you would not offer to disappoint us?'--'Not\nwillingly,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but I was just going to send to let you\nknow I have received a message from my elder brother, to come to his\nhouse, in order to meet some persons there on very extraordinary\nbusiness: but, I hope,' added she, 'that my not going will be no\nhindrance to the diversion you propose.'\n'It would have been none, Madam,' said one of the gallants, 'if this\nassembly were like others; but we are only a select company of gay young\nfellows, who resolve to try how far nature may be exhilarated by\nregaling every sense at once: to prevent all quarrels, every man is to\nbring a lady with him, who is to be his partner in singing, dancing,\nplaying, or whatever they two shall agree upon. We two,' continued he,\n'pitched upon the two Miss Airishes; but one of them being gone another\nway, we thought of you; otherwise we could have found ladies who would\nhave obliged us.'\n'Very likely,' replied Miss Betsy; 'and I suppose it may not be too late\nto seek them.'--'But I had rather have you than all the world,' cried he\nwhom Miss Betsy was most apprehensive of: 'you know I have always shewn\na particular tendre for you; therefore, pr'ythee,' continued he,\ncatching her in his arms, and eagerly kissing her, 'my dear girl, send\nsome excuse to your brother, and let us have you with us.'\n'Unhand me, my lord!' cried she, struggling to get loose; 'what you ask\nis impossible, for I neither can nor will go!' The resolution with which\nshe spoke these words, and the anger which at the same time sparkled in\nher eyes, made them see it would be but lost labour to endeavour to\npersuade her; they looked one at another, and were confounded what to\ndo; till Miss Airish, vexed to the very heart at Miss Betsy's behaviour,\nhit upon an expedient to solve the matter: 'Well,' said she, 'since Miss\nBetsy cannot go, I will introduce your lordship to a young lady, who, I\nam sure, will not refuse us; besides, I know she is at home, for I saw\nher looking out of her chamber-window as we came by: but we must go\ndirectly, that she may have time to dress.'\nOn this they both cried, with all their hearts; and one of them, taking\nher hand, skipped down stairs with her in the same wild way they came\nup: the other followed, only turning his head towards Miss Betsy, crying\nwith a malicious sneer--\n    'How unregarded now that piece of beauty stands!'\nMiss Betsy, though sufficiently piqued, was very glad to get rid of\nthem; and the more so, that by their happening to call on her, instead\nof her meeting them at Miss Airish's apartment, she had the better\nopportunity of excusing herself from going where they desired.\nCHAPTER XV\n_The terrible consequence which may possibly attend our placing too\ngreat a dependance on persons whose principles we are not well assured\nof, are here exemplified in a notable act of villainy and hypocrisy_\nMiss Betsy no sooner found herself alone, than she began to reflect very\nseriously on the preceding passage: she knew very little of these two\nyoung noblemen, yet thought she saw enough in their behaviour to make\nany woman, who had the least regard for her honour or reputation,\nfearful to trust herself with them in any place where both might be so\nmuch endangered; she was, therefore, very much amazed that Miss Airish\nshould run so great a risque; and, to find that she did so, joined to\nsome other things which she had of late observed in the conduct of both\nthe sisters, contributed to diminish the love and esteem she once had\nfor them.\nShe found, however, too many objects of satisfaction in the visits she\nmade to those ladies to be willing to break acquaintance with them; and,\nas she doubted not but that she had highly disobliged the one, by not\ncomplying with her invitation, and that this would infallibly occasion a\nrupture with the other also, if not in time reconciled, she went the\nnext morning to their apartment, in order to make her peace.\nOn her enquiring for that lady, the footman told her she was but just\ncome home, and, he believed, was going to bed; but he would tell the\nchamber-maid she was there. 'No, no!' cried Miss Betsy; 'only give my\ncompliments to your lady, and tell her I will wait on her this\nafternoon.' She was going away with these words, but Miss Airish, lying\non the same floor, heard her voice, and called to her to come in.\nMiss Betsy did as she was desired, and found her in a much better\nhumour than she expected. 'O, my dear!' said she, 'what a night have you\nlost by not being with us! Such a promiscuous enjoyment of every thing\nthat can afford delight or satisfaction!--Well, after all, there is\nnothing like playing the rake a little sometimes--it gives such a\nfill-up to the spirits.'\n'Provided it be innocent, I am of your mind,' replied Miss Betsy; 'I\nsuppose every thing was managed with decency among you.'--'O quite so!'\ncried the other; 'all harmless libertinism: it is true, there were\nprivate rooms; but, you know, one might chuse whether one would go into\nthem or not.'--'I am not sure of that,' said Miss Betsy: 'I am glad,\nhowever, you were so well pleased with your entertainment; and equally\nso, that you were not hindered from enjoying it by my not being able to\nshare with you in it.'\n'I am obliged to you, my dear,' replied Miss Airish; 'I was a little\nvexed with you at first, indeed, but knew you could not help it: the\nlady we called upon went very readily with us; so, as it happened, there\nwas no disappointment in the case.'\n'It was only to be convinced of that,' said Miss Betsy, 'that I came\nhither thus early; but I will now take my leave--repose I am sure is\nnecessary for you, after so many waking hours.' The other did not oppose\nher departure, being, in effect, desirous of taking that rest which her\nexhausted spirits wanted.\nNever had Miss Betsy felt within herself a greater or more sincere\nsatisfaction than she now did, for having so prudently avoided falling\ninto inconveniences, the least of which, as she very rightly judged,\nwould have been paying too dear a price for all the pleasures she could\nhave received.\nSweet indeed are the reflections which flow from a consciousness of\nhaving done what virtue, and the duty owing to the character we bear in\nlife, exact from us! but poor Miss Betsy was not to enjoy, for any long\ntime, so happy a tranquillity; she was rouzed out of this serenity of\nmind by an adventure of a different kind from all she had ever yet\nexperienced, and which, if she were not properly guarded against, it\nought to be imputed rather to the unsuspecting goodness of her heart,\nthan to her vanity, or that inadvertency which had occasioned her former\nmistakes.\nShe was sitting near the window, leaning her arms upon the slab, very\ndeep in contemplation, when, hearing a coach stop at the door, she\nlooked out, imagining it might be somebody to her, and saw Mrs. Modely\ncome out: she wondered what business that woman should now come upon,\nafter the letter she had sent her; and resolved to chide her for any\nimpertinent message she should deliver.\nMrs. Modely, whose profession was known to the people of the house,\nalways ran up without any other ceremony than asking if Miss Betsy was\nat home and alone: being now told she was so, she flew into the room,\nwith a distraction in her countenance which very much surprized Miss\nBetsy; but before she had time to ask the meaning, the other, throwing\nherself down in a chair, increased her astonishment by these words.\n'O, Madam!' cried she, 'I am come to tell you of the saddest\naccident--poor Sir Frederick Fineer!--O that he had never seen you!--O\nthat I had never meddled between you!--I am undone, that is to be\nsure--ruined for ever!--I shall never get another lodger--nay, I believe\nI shall never recover the fright I am in!'\nHere she burst into a violent fit of tears; and her sobs interrupting\nthe passage of her words, gave Miss Betsy opportunity to enquire into\nthe mystery of her behaviour. 'For Heaven's sake, what is the matter?'\nsaid that young lady; 'pr'ythee, cease these exclamations, and speak to\nbe understood!'\n'Ah, dear Miss Betsy!' resumed the other, 'I scarce know what I say or\ndo; poor Sir Frederick has run himself quite through the body!'--'What!\nkilled himself!' cried Miss Betsy hastily. 'He is not dead yet,' replied\nMrs. Modely; 'but there he lies, the most dismal object that ever eyes\nbeheld! the agonies of death in his face--the sword sticking in his\nbreast; for the surgeon says, that the moment that is drawn out, his\nlife comes with it.'\nPerceiving Miss Betsy said nothing, and looked a little troubled, she\nwent on in this manner. 'But this is not the worst I have to tell you,\nMadam,' continued she; 'his death is nothing, but it is his soul--his\nsoul, Miss Betsy! hearing them say he could not live above three hours\nat most, I sent for a parson; and there the good man sits and talks, and\nargues with him; but, would you think it, he will not pray, nor be\nprayed for, nor confess his sins--nor say he is sorry for what he has\ndone--nor do any thing that is right till he has seen you.'\n'Me!' said Miss Betsy; 'what would he see me for?'--'Nay, I know not;\nbut it is his whim, and he is obstinate: therefore, my dear Madam, in\nchristian charity, and in compassion to his soul, hear what he has to\nsay.'\n'What good can I do him by going, Mrs. Modely?' said Miss Betsy. 'None,\nas to his share in the world,' answered she: 'but, dear Madam, consider\nthe other, think what a sad thing it is for a man to die without the\nrites of the church; I'll warrant he has sins enough upon him, as most\nyoung gentlemen have; and, sure, you would not be the cause of his being\nmiserable to all eternity!'\n'Indeed, Mrs. Modely, I do not care to go,' said Miss Betsy. 'The sight\nis very terrible, indeed,' cried the other; 'but you need not stay two\nminutes; if you but just step in and speak to him, I fancy it will be\nenough: but, Lord! he may be dead while we are talking; and if he should\nleave the world in this manner, I should not be able to live in my\nhouse; and I have a lease of eleven years to come--I should think I saw\nhis ghost in every room--so, dear, dear Miss Betsy! for my sake, if not\nfor his, go with me--I came in a hackney-coach for haste, and it is\nstill at the door.'\n'Well, Modely, you shall prevail,' answered Miss Betsy: 'but you shall\nstay in the room all the time I am there.'--'That you may be sure I\nwill,' returned the other: 'but come, pray Heaven we are not too late!'\nThey said little more to each other till they came to the house of Mrs.\nModely; where the first sound that reached the ears of Miss Betsy were\ngroans, which seemed to issue from the mouth of a person in the pangs of\ndeath.\nMrs. Modely led her into Sir Frederick's chamber, which was judiciously\ndarkened, so as to leave light enough to discern objects, yet not so\nmuch as to render them too perspicuous. Miss Betsy saw him lying on the\nbed, as Mrs. Modely described, with a sword sticking upright in his\nbreast, a clergyman, and another person, who appeared to be the surgeon,\nwere sitting near him. 'Miss Betsy is so good,' said Mrs. Modely, 'to\ncome to visit you, Sir Frederick.'--'I am glad of it,' replied he, in a\nlow voice.--'Pray, Madam, approach.'\n'I am sorry, Sir Frederick, to find you have been guilty of so rash an\naction,' said Miss Betsy, drawing towards the bed. 'I could not live\nwithout you,' rejoined he; 'nor would die without leaving you as happy\nas it is in my power to make you: I have settled two thousand pounds a\nyear upon you during your natural life; but, as I would consult your\nhonour in every thing I do, and people might imagine I made you this\nsettlement in consideration of some favours which I had too true a\nregard for you ever to desire, you must enjoy it as my widow, and with\nit the title of Lady Fineer.'\nMiss Betsy was so much amazed at this proposal that she had not the\npower to speak; but Mrs. Modely cried out, 'Was ever any thing so\ngenerous!'--'Truly noble, indeed!' added the surgeon; 'and worthy of\nhimself and the love he has for this lady.'--'Bless me!' said Miss\nBetsy, 'would you have me marry a dying man?--You ought, Sir Frederick,\nto have other thoughts, as you are going out of the world.'\n'Aye, Sir Frederick,' cried the parson, 'think of your immortal\npart.'--'I can think of nothing,' answered he, groaning bitterly, 'of my\nown happiness till I have fixed that of Miss Betsy.'--'Lord, Madam!'\ncried Mrs. Modely, softly, 'you would not be so mad to refuse: what! two\nthousand pounds a year, and a ladyship, with liberty to marry who you\nwill!'\n'This is the most generous offer I ever heard of,' said the parson: 'But\nI wish the lady would resolve soon; for it is high time Sir Frederick\nshould prepare for another world.'--'He cannot live above an hour,'\nrejoined the surgeon: 'even if the sword is not withdrawn; therefore,\ngood Madam, think what you have to do.'\nWhile they were speaking, Sir Frederick redoubled his groans, and they\nwent on pressing her to accept the terms he offered. 'Do not plunge a\nman into a sad eternity, merely for his love to you,' said the parson.\n'All the world would condemn you, should you refuse,' cried the surgeon.\n'A virgin-widow with two thousand pounds a year!' added Mrs. Modely.\nIn this manner did they urge her; and the parson getting on the one side\nof her, and the surgeon on the other, plied her so close with arguments,\nboth on the advantages accruing to herself, and the compassion owing\nfrom her to a gentleman who had committed this act of desperation on\nhimself, merely through his love for her, that she neither could nor\nknew how to make any answer; when Sir Frederick, giving two or three\ngreat groans, which seemed more deep than before, and the surgeon,\npretending to take Miss Betsy's silence for consent, cried out, 'Madam,\nhe is just going--we must be speedy!' And then turning to the parson,\n'Doctor,' said he, 'proceed to the ceremony; pass over the prelude, and\nbegin at the most essential part, else my patient won't live to the\nconclusion.'\nThe parson knew very well what he had to do, having his book ready,\nbegan at--'Sir Frederick Fineer, Baronet, wilt thou have this woman to\nbe thy wedded wife?' and so on. To which Sir Frederick answered in the\nsame dismal accents he had hitherto spoken, 'I will!' Then the parson,\nturning to Miss Betsy, said, 'Betsy Thoughtless, wilt thou have this man\nto be thy wedded husband?' and so forth. Miss Betsy, in the confusion of\nher mind, not well knowing what she said or did, replied in the\naffirmative; on which he was hurrying over the rest of the ceremony; but\nshe, recollecting herself, cried out, 'Hold, doctor! I cannot be married\nin this manner.' But he seemed not to regard her words, but read on; and\nthe surgeon taking hold of her hand, and joining it with Sir\nFrederick's, held it, in spite of her resistance, till the ring was\nforced upon her finger.\nThis action so incensed her, that the instant she got her hand at\nliberty, she plucked off the ring, and threw it on the ground. 'What do\nyou mean?' said she. 'Do you think to compel me to a marriage?--Modely,\nyou have not used me well!' With these words she was turning to go out\nof the room, but perceived, not till then, that Mrs. Modely had slipped\nout, and that the door was locked; she then began to call, 'Mrs. Modely,\nMrs. Modely!' To which no answer was made.\n'Come, come, Madam,' said the surgeon, 'this passion will avail you\nnothing; you are effectually married, whatever you may imagine to the\ncontrary.'--'Yes, yes,' rejoined the parson, 'the ceremony is good and\nfirm: I will stand to what I have done before any bishop in\nEngland.'--'There wants only consummation,' cried the surgeon; 'and that\nwe must leave the bridegroom to compleat before he dies.' With these\nwords they both went out, making the door fast after them.\nMiss Betsy made use of her utmost efforts to pass at the same time they\ndid, but they pushed her back with so much violence as almost threw her\ndown; and Sir Frederick at the same time jumping off the bed, and\nthrowing away the sword, which she imagined sheathed in his body,\ncatched her suddenly in his arms.\nIt is hard to say whether rage for the imposition she now found had been\npractised on her, or the terror for the danger she was in, was the\npassion now most predominant in the soul of Miss Betsy; but both\ntogether served to inspire her with unusual strength and courage.\n'Your resistance is vain,' cried he; 'you are my wife, and as such I\nshall enjoy you: no matter whether with your will or not.' She made no\nanswer to these words; but, collecting all her force, sprung from him,\nand catching hold of one of the posts at the bed's foot, clung so fast\nround it, that all his endeavours to remove her thence were ineffectual\nfor some moments, though the rough means he made use of for that purpose\nwere very near breaking both her arms.\nBreathless at last, however, with the continual shrieks she had sent\nout for help, and the violence she had sustained by the efforts of that\nabandoned wretch, who had as little regard to the tenderness of her sex,\nas to any other principle of humanity, she fell almost fainting on the\nfloor; and was on the point of becoming a victim to the most wicked\nstrategem that ever was invented, when on a sudden the door of the\nchamber was burst open, and a man, with his sword drawn, at that instant\nrushed in upon them.\n'Monster!' cried he that entered, 'what act of villainy are you about to\nperpetrate?' Miss Betsy rising from the ground, at the same time, said\nto him, 'Oh, whoever you are, that Heaven has sent to my deliverance,\nsave me, I conjure you, from that horrid wretch!'--'Fear nothing,\nMadam,' answered he. He had time for no more; the intended ravisher had\nsnatched up his sword, and was advancing towards him with these words,\n'That woman is my wife,' said he; 'how dare any one interfere between\nus?'--'O, it is false! it is false! believe him not!' cried Miss Betsy.\nHer protector made no reply; but, flying at his antagonist, immediately\nclosed with him, and wrenched the sword out of his hand, which, throwing\non the ground, he set his foot upon, and snapped it in pieces.\nThe obscurity of the room, joined to the excessive agitations Miss Betsy\nwas in, had till now hindered her from discovering, either by the voice\nor person, who it was to whom she owed her safety: on his drawing back\none of the window-curtains to give more light into the place, that he\nmight see with whom he had been engaged, she presently saw, to her great\namazement and confusion, that her deliverer was no other than Mr.\nTrueworth.\nBut how great soever was her astonishment, that of Mr. Trueworth was not\nless, when, looking on the face of the pretended Sir Frederick Fineer,\nhe presently knew him to be a fellow who had served in quality of valet\nde chambre to a gentleman he was acquainted with in France, who had\nrobbed his master, and only through his lenity and compassion had\navoided the punishment his crimes deserved.\n'Rascal!' cried Mr. Trueworth, 'have you escaped breaking on the wheel\nat Paris, to attempt deeds more deserving death in England!' The wretch,\nwho hitherto had behaved with a very lofty air, now finding he was\ndiscovered, fell at Mr. Trueworth's feet, and begged he would have mercy\non him--alledged, that what he had done was occasioned by mere\nnecessity--said, he was told the lady had a great fortune, and might be\neasily gained, and such like stuff; which putting Mr. Trueworth beyond\nall patience, he gave him three or four blows with the flat of his\nsword, before he sheathed it, saying, at the same time, 'Execrable dog!\nIf thou wert not unworthy of death from any hand but that of the common\nhangman, thou shouldst not live a moment to boast the least acquaintance\nwith this lady.' Then turning to Miss Betsy, who was half dying with the\nvarious emotions she was possessed of, 'Madam,' said he, 'I will not ask\nby what means you came into this villain's company; only permit me to\nconduct you hence, and see you safely home.'\nMiss Betsy was seized with so violent a fit of trembling through all her\nframe, that she had neither voice to thank him for the extraordinary\nassistance she had received from him, nor strength enough to bear her\ndown stairs, if he had not with the greatest politeness, and most tender\ncare, supported her at every step she took.\nThey found no creature below; the house seemed as if forsaken by all\nit's inhabitants; but the parlour-door being open, Mr. Trueworth placed\nhis fair charge in an easy chair, while he ran to find somebody to get a\ncoach.\nAfter much knocking and calling, Mrs. Modely came out of a back room,\ninto that where Miss Betsy was. As soon as that young lady saw her, 'Oh,\nMrs. Modely!' cried she, 'I could not have believed you would have\nbetrayed me in this cruel manner!'--'Bless me, Madam!' replied she, in a\nconfusion which she in vain endeavoured to conceal, 'I know not what you\nmean. I betray you! When you were talking with Sir Frederick I was sent\nfor out; when I came back, indeed, I saw the parson and surgeon pass\nthrough the entry in a hurry, and at the same time hearing a great\nnoise, was going up as soon as I had pulled off my things: but I hope,'\ncontinued she, in a whining tone, 'nothing has happened to my dear Miss\nBetsy.'--'Whatever has happened,' said Mr. Trueworth, fiercely, 'will be\nenquired into: in the mean time, all we require of you is to send\nsomebody for a coach.'\nMrs. Modely then ringing a bell, a maid-servant appeared, and what Mr.\nTrueworth had requested was immediately performed; but, though Miss\nBetsy now saw herself safe from the mischief which had so lately\nthreatened her, she had still emotions very terrible to sustain, and\nwould have, doubtless, thrown her into a swoon, if not vented in a\nviolent flood of tears.\nBeing arrived at the house where Miss Betsy lodged, just as Mr.\nTrueworth was helping her out of the coach, they were met by the two\nMr. Thoughtlesses coming out of the door: they started back at a sight\nwhich, it must be confessed, had something very alarming in it--they\nbeheld their sister all pale and trembling--her eyes half drowned in\ntears--her garments torn--her hair hanging loosely wild about her neck\nand face--every token of despair about her--and in this condition\nconducted by a gentleman, a stranger indeed to the one, but known by the\nother to have been once passionately in love with her; might well\noccasion odd sort of apprehensions in both the brothers, especially in\nthe younger.\nThe sudden sight of her brothers made a fresh attack on the already\nweakened spirits of Miss Betsy; and she would have sunk on the threshold\nof the door, as Mr. Trueworth quitted her hand, in order to present it\nto Mr. Francis, if the elder Mr. Thoughtless, seeing her totter, had not\nthat instant catched her in his arms.\n'Confusion!' cried Mr. Francis, 'what does all this mean? Trueworth, is\nit thus you bring my sister home?'--'I am heartily sorry for the\noccasion,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'since--' He was going on; but Mr.\nFrancis, fired with a mistaken rage, prevented him, crying out,\n''Sdeath, Sir! how came you with my sister?'--Mr. Trueworth, a little\nprovoked to find the service he had done so ill requited, replied, in a\ndisdainful tone, 'She will inform you! after that, if you have any\nfarther demands upon me, you know where I am to be found; I have no\nleisure now to answer your interrogatories.'\nWith these words he stepped hastily into the coach, and ordered to be\ndrove to the Two Red Lamps in Golden Square.\nMiss Betsy's senses were entirely lost for some moments, so that she\nknew nothing of what passed. Mr. Francis hearing what directions Mr.\nTrueworth had given the coachman, was for following him, and forcing him\nto an explanation; but the elder Mr. Thoughtless prevailed on him to\nstay till they should hear what their sister would say on this affair.\nShe was carried into her apartment, rather dead than alive; but being\nlaid on a settee, and proper means applied, she soon returned to a\ncondition capable of satisfying their curiosity.\nCHAPTER XVI\n_Will not tire the reader_\nMiss Betsy having her heart and head full of the obligation she had to\nMr. Trueworth, and on the first discovery of her senses, thinking he was\nstill near her, cried out, 'Oh, Mr. Trueworth! how shall I thank the\ngoodness you have shewn me!--I have no words to do it; it is from my\nbrothers you must receive those demonstrations of gratitude, which are\nnot in my power to give.'\nThe brothers looked sometimes on her, and sometimes on each other, with\na good deal of surprize all the time she was speaking; till, perceiving\nshe had done, 'To whom are you talking, sister?' said Mr. Francis; 'here\nis nobody but my brother and myself.'\n'Bless me!' cried she, looking round the room, 'how wild my head is!--I\nknew not where I was--I thought myself still in the house of that wicked\nwoman who betrayed me, and saw my generous deliverer chastising the\nmonster that attempted my destruction.'\n'Who was that monster?' demanded the elder Mr. Thoughtless, hastily. 'A\nvillain without a name,' said she; 'for that of Sir Frederick Fineer was\nbut assumed, to hide a common cheat--a robber!'--'And who, say you,'\nrejoined Mr. Francis, 'was your deliverer?'--'Who, but that best of\nmen!' answered she, 'Mr. Trueworth!--O, brothers! if you have any regard\nfor me, or for the honour of our family, you can never too much revere\nor love the honour and the virtue of that worthy man.'\n'You see, Frank, how greatly you have been to blame,' said the elder Mr.\nThoughtless; 'and how much more you might have been, if I had not\ndissuaded you from following that gentleman; who, I now perceive, was\nthe saviour, not the invader, of our sister's innocence.'--'I blush,'\nsaid Mr. Francis, 'at the remembrance of my rashness--I ought, indeed,\nto have known Trueworth better.'\nThere passed no more between them on this subject; but on finding Miss\nBetsy grew more composed, and able to continue a conversation, they\nobliged her to repeat the particulars of what had happened to her; which\nshe accordingly did with the greatest veracity imaginable, omitting\nnothing of moment in the shocking narrative.\nThe calling to mind a circumstance so detestable to her natural\ndelicacy, threw her, however, into such agonies, which made them think\nit their province, rather to console her under the affliction she had\nsustained, than to chide her for the inadvertency which had brought it\non her.\nThey stayed supper with her, which, to save her the trouble of ordering,\nMr. Thoughtless went to an adjacent tavern, and gave directions for it\nhimself--made her drink several glasses of wine, and both of them did\nevery thing in their power, to chear and restore her spirits to their\nformer tone: after which they retired, and left her to enjoy what repose\nthe present anxieties of her mind would permit her to take.\nThough the condition Miss Betsy was in, made these gentlemen treat her\nwith the above-mentioned tenderness, yet both of them were highly\nincensed against her, for so unadvisedly encouraging the pretensions of\na man, whose character she knew nothing of but from the mouth of a\nlittle mantua-maker--her consenting to sup with him at the house of that\nwoman, and afterwards running with her into his very bed-chamber, were\nactions, which to them seemed to have no excuse.\nMr. Francis, as of the two having the most tender affection for her, had\nthe most deep concern in whatever related to her. 'If she were either a\nfool,' said he, stamping with extreme vexation, 'or of a vicious\ninclination, her conduct would leave no room for wonder! But for a girl,\nwho wants neither wit nor virtue, to expose herself in this manner, has\nsomething in it inconsistent!--unnatural!--monstrous!\n'I doubt not,' cried he again, 'if the truth could be known, but it was\nsome such ridiculous adventure as this that lost her the affection of\nMr. Trueworth, though her pride and his honour joined to conceal it.'\nThe elder Mr. Thoughtless was entirely of his brother's opinion in all\nthese points; and both of them were more confirmed than ever, that\nmarriage was the only sure guard for the reputation of a young woman of\ntheir sister's temper. Mr. Munden had been there the day before; and, as\nhe told Miss Betsy he would do, declared himself to them; so it was\nresolved between them, that if, on proper enquiry, his circumstances\nshould be found such as he said they were, to clap up the wedding with\nall imaginable expedition.\nBut no business, how important or perplexing soever it be, can render\ngratitude and good manners forgotten or neglected by persons of\nunderstanding and politeness. These gentlemen thought a visit to Mr.\nTrueworth neither could or ought to be dispensed with, in order to make\nhim those acknowledgements the service he had done their sister demanded\nfrom them.\nAccordingly, the next morning, Mr. Thoughtless, accompanied by his\nbrother, went in his own coach, which he made be got ready, as well in\nrespect to himself as to the person he was going to visit.\nThey found Mr. Trueworth at home; who, doubtless, was not without some\nexpectation of their coming. On their sending up their names, he\nreceived them at the top of the stair-case with so graceful an\naffability and sweetness in his air, as convinced the elder Mr.\nThoughtless, that the high character his brother Frank had given of that\ngentleman, was far from exceeding the bounds of truth.\nIt is certain, indeed, that Mr. Trueworth, since the eclaircissement of\nthe Denham affair, had felt the severest remorse within himself, for\nhaving given credit to that wicked aspersion cast upon Miss Betsy; and\nthe reflection, that fortune had now put it in his power to atone for\nthe wrong he had been guilty of to that lady, by the late service he had\ndone her, gave a secret satisfaction to his mind, that diffused itself\nthrough all his air, and gave a double sprightliness to those eyes\nwhich, by the report of all who ever saw him, stood in need of no\naddition to their lustre.\nThe elder Mr. Thoughtless, having made his compliments on the occasion\nwhich had brought him thither, the younger advanced, though with a look\nsomewhat more downcast than ordinary--'I know not, Sir,' said he,\n'whether any testimonies of the gratitude I owe you will be acceptable,\nafter the folly into which a mistaken rage transported me last\nnight.'--'Dear Frank!' cried Mr. Trueworth, smiling, and giving him his\nhand; in token of a perfect reconciliation, 'none of these formal\nspeeches--we know each other; you are by nature warm, and the little\nphilosophy I am master of, makes me think whatever is born with us\npleads it's own excuse! besides, to see me with your sister in the\ncondition she then was, entirely justifies your mistake.'--'Dear\nTrueworth!' replied the other, embracing him, 'you are born every way to\novercome!'\nMr. Thoughtless returning to some expressions of his sense of the\nobligation he had conferred upon their whole family--'Sir, I have done\nno more,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'than what every man of honour would think\nhimself bound to do for any woman in the like distress, much more for a\nlady so deserving as Miss Betsy Thoughtless. I happened, almost\nmiraculously, to be in the same house with her when she stood in need of\nassistance; and I shall always place the day in which my good stars\nconducted me to the rescue of her innocence, among the most fortunate\nones of my whole life.'\nIn the course of their conversation, the brothers satisfied Mr.\nTrueworth's curiosity, by acquainting him with the means by which their\nsister had been seduced into the danger he had so happily delivered her\nfrom; and Mr. Trueworth, in his turn, informed them of the accident that\nhad so seasonably brought him to her relief: which latter, as the reader\nis yet ignorant of, it is proper should be related.\n'Having sent,' said he, 'for my steward to come to town, on account of\nsome leases I am to sign, the poor man had the misfortune to break his\nleg as he was stepping out of the stagecoach, and was carried directly\nto Mrs. Modely's; where, it seems, he has formerly lodged. This casualty\nobliged me to go to him. As a maid-servant was shewing me to his room,\n(which is up two pair of stairs) I heard the rustling of silks behind\nme; and casting my eyes over the banister, I saw Miss Betsy, and a woman\nwith her, who I since found was Mrs. Modely, pass hastily into a room on\nthe first floor.\n'A curiosity,' continued he, 'which I cannot very well account for,\ninduced me to ask the nurse who attends my steward, what lodgers there\nwere below. To which she replied, that they said he was a baronet, but\nthat she believed nothing of it; for the two fellows who passed for his\nservants were always with him, and, she believed, ate at the same table,\nfor they never dined in the kitchen. \"Besides,\" said she, \"I have never\nseen two or three shabby, ill-looked men, that have more the appearance\nof pick-pockets, than companions for a gentleman, come after him; and,\nindeed, I believe he is no better than a rogue himself.\"\n'Though I was extremely sorry,' pursued Mr. Trueworth, 'to find Miss\nBetsy should be the guest of such a person, yet I could not forbear\nlaughing at the description this woman gave of him; which, however,\nproved to be a very just one. I had not been there above half an hour\nbefore I heard the shrieks of a woman, and fancied it the voice of Miss\nBetsy, though I had never heard it made use of in that manner. I went,\nhowever, to the top of the stair-case; where, hearing the cries\nredoubled, I drew my sword, and ran down. The door of the chamber was\nlocked; but, setting my foot against it, I easily bursted it open, and,\nbelieve, entered but just in time to save the lady from violation.\n'On seeing the face,' added he, 'of this pretended baronet, I\nimmediately knew him to be a fellow who waited on a gentleman I was\nintimate with at Paris. What his real name is I either never heard or\nhave forgot; for his master never called him by any other than that of\nQuaint, on account of the romantick and affected manner in which he\nalways spoke. The rascal has a little smattering of Latin; and, I\nbelieve, has dipped into a good many of the ancient authors. He seemed,\nindeed, to have more of the fop than the knave in him; but he soon\ndiscovered himself to be no less the one than the other; for he ran away\nfrom his master, and robbed him of things to a considerable value. He\nwas pursued and taken; but the gentleman permitted him to make his\nescape, without delivering him into the hands of justice.'\nAfter this mutual recapitulation, the two brothers began to consider\nwhat was to be done for the chastisement of the villain, as the\nprosecuting him by law would expose their sister's folly, and prove the\nmost mortal stab that could be given to her reputation. The one was for\ncutting off his ears; the other for pinning him against the very wall of\nthe chamber where he had offered the insult. To which Mr. Trueworth\nreplied, 'I must confess his crime deserves much more than your keenest\nresentments can inflict; but these are punishments which are only the\nprerogative of law; to which, as you rightly judge, it would be improper\nto have recourse. I am afraid, therefore, you must content yourselves\nwith barely caning him; that is,' continued he, 'if he is yet in the way\nfor it; but I shrewdly suspect he has before now made off, as well as\nhis confederates, the parson and the surgeon: however, I think it would\nbe right to go to the house of this Modely, and see what is to be done.'\nTo this they both readily agreed; and they all went together: but, as\nthey were going--'O what eternal plagues,' said Mr. Francis, 'has the\nvanity of this girl brought upon all her friends!'--'You will still be\nmaking too hasty reflections,' cried Mr. Trueworth; 'I hope to see Miss\nBetsy one day as much out-shine the greatest part of her sex in\nprudence, as she has always done in beauty.'\nBy this time they were at Mrs. Modely's door; but the maid, whom she had\ntutored for the purpose, told them that Sir Frederick Fineer was\ngone--that he would not pay her mistress for the lodgings, because she\nhad suffered him to be interrupted in them--and that she was sick in bed\nwith the fright of what had happened, and could not be spoke to.\nOn this Mr. Trueworth ran up to his steward's chamber, not doubting but\nhe should there be certainly informed whether the mock baronet was gone\nor not; the two Mr. Thoughtlesses waited in the parlour till his return,\nwhich was immediately, with intelligence, that the wretch had left the\nhouse soon after himself had conducted Miss Betsy thence.\nThey had now no longer any business here; but the elder Mr. Thoughtless\ncould not take leave of Mr. Trueworth without intreating the favour of\nseeing him at his house: to which he replied, that he believed he should\nnot stay long in town, and while he did so, had business that very much\nengrossed his time, but at his return should rejoice in an opportunity\nof cultivating a friendship with him. With this, and some other\ncompliments, they separated; the two brothers went home, and Mr.\nTrueworth went where his inclinations led him.\nCHAPTER XVII\n_Love in death; an example rather to be wondered at than imitated_\nOn Mr. Trueworth's going to Sir Bazil's, he found the two ladies with\nall the appearance of the most poignant grief in their faces: Mrs.\nWellair's eyes were full of tears; but those of her lovely sister seemed\nto flow from an exhaustless spring.\nThis was a strange phoenomenon to Mr. Trueworth; it struck a sudden damp\non the gaiety of his spirits; and he had but just recovered his surprize\nenough to ask the meaning, when Mrs. Wellair prevented him, by saying,\n'O, Mr. Trueworth, we have a melancholy account to give you--poor Mrs.\nBlanchfield is no more!'\n'Dead!' cried he. 'Dead!' repeated Miss Harriot; 'but the manner of it\nwill affect you most.'--'A much less motive,' replied he, 'if capable of\ngiving pain to you, must certainly affect me: but I beseech you, Madam,'\ncontinued he, 'keep me not in suspense.'\n'You may remember,' said Miss Harriot, sighing, 'that some time ago we\ntold you that Mrs. Blanchfield had taken leave of us, and was gone down\nto Windsor. It seems she had not been long there before she was seized\nwith a disorder, which the physicians term a fever on the spirits;\nwhatever it was, she lingered in it for about three weeks, and died\nyesterday: some days before she sent for a lawyer, and disposed of her\neffects by will; she also wrote a letter to me, which last she put into\nthe hands of a maid, who has lived with her almost from her infancy,\nbinding her by the most solemn vow to deliver to me as soon as possible\nafter she was dead, and not till then, on any motive whatsoever.\n'The good creature,' pursued Miss Harriot, 'hurried up to town this\nmorning, to perform her lady's last injunctions: this is the letter I\nreceived from her,' continued she, taking it out of her pocket, and\npresenting it to him; 'read it, and join with us in lamenting the fatal\neffects of a passion people take so much pains to inspire.'\nThe impatience Mr. Trueworth was in for the full explanation of a\nmystery, which, perhaps, he had some guess into the truth of, hindered\nhim from making any answer to what Miss Harriot had said upon the\noccasion; he hastily opened the letter, and found in it these lines.\n     'To Miss Harriot Loveit.\n     Dear, happy friend!\n     As my faithful Lucy, at the same time she delivers this into your\n     hands, brings you also the intelligence of my death, the secret it\n     discovers cannot raise in you any jealous apprehensions: I have\n     been your rival, my dear Harriot; but when I found you were mine,\n     wished you not to lose what I would have given the world, had I\n     been the mistress of it, to have gained. The first moment I saw the\n     too agreeable Mr. Trueworth, something within told me, he was my\n     fate--that according as I appeared in his eyes, I must either be\n     happy, or no more: it has proved the latter; death has seized upon\n     my heart, but cannot drive my passion thence. Whether I shall carry\n     it beyond the grave I shall know before this reaches you; but at\n     present I think it is so incorporated with my immortal part, as not\n     to be separated by the dissolution of my frame.\n     I will not pretend to have had so much command over myself, as to\n     refrain taking any step for the forwarding my desires: before I was\n     convinced of his attachment to you, I caused a letter to be wrote\n     to him, making him an offer of the heart and fortune of a person,\n     unnamed indeed, but mentioned as one not altogether unworthy of his\n     acceptance. This he answered as requested, and ingenuously\n     confessed, that the whole affections of his soul were already\n     devoted to another. I had then no more to do with hope, nor had any\n     thing to attempt but the concealing my despair: this made me quit\n     London, and all that was valuable to me in it. I flattered myself,\n     alas! that time and absence would restore my reason; but, as I said\n     before, my doom was fixed--irrevocably fixed! and I soon found, by\n     a thousand symptoms of an inward decay, that to be sensible of that\n     angelick man's perfections, and to live without him, are things\n     incompatible in nature: even now, while I am writing, I feel the\n     icy harbingers of death creep through my veins, benumbing as they\n     pass. Soon, very soon, shall I be reduced to a cold lump of\n     senseless clay; indeed, I have now no wish for life, nor business\n     to transact below. I have settled my worldly affairs, and disposed\n     of the effects that Heaven has blessed me with, to those I think\n     most worthy of them. My last will is in the hands of Mr. Markland\n     the lawyer; I hope he is an honest man; but lest he should prove\n     otherwise, let Mr. Trueworth know I have made him master of half\n     that fortune, which once I should have rejoiced to lay wholly at\n     his feet: all my jewels I intreat you to accept; they can add\n     nothing to your beauty, but may serve to ornament your\n     wedding-garments; Lucy has them in her possession, and will deliver\n     them to you.\n     And now, my dear Miss Harriot, I have one favour to beg of you; and\n     that is, that you exert all the influence your merits claim over\n     the heart of Mr. Trueworth, to engage him to accompany you in\n     seeing me laid in the earth. I know your gentle, generous nature,\n     too well, to doubt you will deny me this request; and the very idea\n     that you will ask, and he will grant, gives, methinks, a new vigour\n     to my enfeebled spirits. O if some departed souls are permitted, as\n     some say they are, to look down on what passes beneath the moon,\n     how will mine triumph--how exult to see my poor remains thus\n     honoured! thus attended! I can no more but this--may you make happy\n     the best of men, and may he make you the happiest of women!\n     Farewel--enternally farewel--be assured, that I as lived, so I die,\n     with the greatest sincerity, dear Miss Harriot, yours, &c.\n     J. BLANCHFIELD.\n     P.S. Be so good to give my last adieus to Mrs. Wellair; she will\n     find I have not forgot her, nor my little godson, in my bequests.'\nHow would the vain unthinking sop have exulted on such a proof of his\nimagined merit! how would the sordid avaricious man, in the pleasure of\nfinding so unexpected an accession to his wealth, have forgot all\ncompassion for the hand that gave it! Mr. Trueworth, on the contrary,\nblushed at having so much more ascribed to him than he would allow\nhimself to think he deserved, and would gladly have been deprived of the\nbest part of his fortune, rather than have received an addition to it by\nsuch fatal means.\nThe accident, however, was so astonishing to him, that he scarce\nbelieved it real; nor could what he read in the letter under her own\nhand, nor all Mrs. Wellair and Miss Harriot alledged, persuade him to\nthink, at least to acknowledge, that the lady's death was owing to a\nhopeless flame for him.\nWhile they were speaking, Sir Bazil came in; he had been at home when\nhis sister received the letter, and had heard what Lucy said of her\nmistress's indisposition, and was therefore no stranger to any part of\nthe affair.\n'Well, Trueworth,' said he to that gentleman, 'I have often endeavoured\nto emulate, and have even envied, the great talents you are master of;\nbut am now reconciled to nature for not bestowing them on me, lest they\nmight prove of the same ill consequences to some women, as yours have\nbeen to Mrs. Blanchfield.'\n'Dear Sir Bazil,' replied Mr. Trueworth, 'do not attempt to force me\ninto an imagination which would render me at once both vain and\nwretched. Chance might direct the partial inclination of this lady to\nhave kinder thoughts of me, than I could either merit or return; but I\nshould be loth to believe that they have produced the sad event we now\nlament.'\n'I am of opinion, indeed,' said Sir Bazil, 'that there are many who\ndeceive themselves, as well as the world, in this point. People are apt\nto mistake that for love, which is only the effect of pride, for a\ndisappointment: but it would be unjust to suppose this was the case with\nMrs. Blanchfield; the generous legacy she has bequeathed to you, and the\ntenderness with which she treats my sister, leaves no room to suspect\nher soul was tainted with any of those turbulent emotions, which\ndisgrace the name of love, and yet are looked upon as the consequence of\nthat passion; she knew no jealousy, harboured no revenge; the affection\nshe had for you was simple and sincere; and, meeting no return, preyed\nonly upon herself and by degrees consumed the springs of life.'\n'I am glad, however,' said the elder sister of Sir Bazil, 'to find that\nMr. Trueworth has nothing to reproach himself with on this unhappy\nscore: some men, on receiving a letter of the nature he did, would,\nthrough mere curiosity of knowing on whose account it came, have sent an\nanswer of encouragement; it must be owned, therefore, that the command\nhe had over himself in this generosity to his unknown admirer, demanded\nall the recompense in her power to make.'\nMr. Trueworth, whose modesty had been sufficiently wounded in this\nconversation, hastily replied, 'Madam, what you by an excess of goodness\nare pleased to call generosity, was, in effect, no more than a piece of\ncommon honesty: the man capable of deceiving a woman who regards him, is\nno less a villain than he who defrauds his neighbour of the cash\nintrusted into his hands: the unfortunate Mrs. Blanchfield did me the\nhonour to depend on my sincerity and secrecy: I did but my duty in\nobserving both; and she, in so highly over-rating that act of duty,\nshewed indeed the magnanimity of her own mind, but adds no merit to\nmine.'\n'I could almost wish it did not,' said Miss Harriot, sighing. 'Madam!'\ncried Mr. Trueworth, looking earnestly on her, as not able to comprehend\nwhat she meant by these words. 'Indeed,' resumed she, 'I could almost\nwish, that you were a little less deserving than you are, since the\nesteem you enforce is of so dangerous a kind.' She uttered this with so\ninexpressible a tenderness in her voice and eyes, that he could not\nrestrain himself from kissing her hand in the most passionate manner,\nthough in the presence of her brother and sister; crying, at the same\ntime, 'I desire no more of the world's esteem, than just so much as may\ndefend my lovely Harriot from all blame for receiving my addresses.'\nThey afterwards fell into some discourse concerning what was really\ndeserving admiration, and what was so only in appearance; in which many\nmistakes in judging were detected, and the extreme weakness of giving\nimplicitly into the opinions of others, exposed by examples suitable to\nthe occasion.\nBut these are inquisitions which it is possible would not be very\nagreeable to the present age; and it would be madness to risk the\ndispleasure of the multitude for the sake of gratifying a few: so the\nreader must excuse the repetition of what was said by this agreeable\ncompany on that subject.\nCHAPTER XVIII\n_Displays Miss Betsy in her penitentials, and the manner in which she\nbehaved after having met with so much matter for the humiliation of her\nvanity; as also some farther particulars, equally worthy the attention\nof the curious_\nWhile Miss Betsy had her brothers with her, and was treated by them with\na tenderness beyond what she could have expected, just after the unlucky\nadventure she had fallen into, she felt not that remorse and vexation\nwhich it might be said her present situation demanded.\nBut when they were gone, and she was left entirely to those reflections,\nwhich their presence and good-humour had only retarded, how did they\ncome with double force upon her! To think she had received the\naddresses, and entertained with a mistaken respect the lowest and most\nabject dreg of mankind--that she had exposed herself to the insults of\nthat ruffian--that it had not been in her power to defend herself from\nhis taking liberties with her the most shocking to her delicacy--and\nthat she was on the very point of becoming the victim of his base\ndesigns upon her; made her feel over again, in idea, all the horrors of\nher real danger.\nBy turns, indeed, she blessed Heaven for her escape; but then the means\nto which she was indebted for that escape, was a fresh stab to her\npride. 'I am preserved, 'tis true,' said she, 'from ruin and everlasting\ninfamy: but then by whom am I preserved? by the very man who once\nadored, then slighted, and must now despise, me. If nothing but a\nmiracle could save me, O why, good Heaven! was not that miracle\nperformed by any instrument but him! What triumph to him! what lasting\nshame to me, has this unfortunate accident produced!\n'Alas!' continued she, weeping, 'I wanted not this proof of his\nhonour--his courage--his generosity--nor was there any need of my being\nreduced in the manner he found me, to make him think me undeserving of\nhis affection.'\nNever was a heart torn with a greater variety of anguish than that of\nthis unfortunate young lady: as she was yet ignorant of what steps her\nbrothers intended to take in this affair, and feared they might be such\nas would render what had happened to her publick to the world, she fell\ninto reflections that almost turned her brain; she represented to\nherself all the sarcasms, all the comments, that she imagined, and\nprobably would have been made on her behaviour--her danger, and her\ndelivery--all these thoughts were insupportable to her--she resolved to\nhide herself for ever from the town, and pass her future life in\nobscurity: so direful to her were the apprehensions of becoming the\nobject of derision, that, rather than endure it, she would suffer any\nthing.\nIn the present despondency of her humour, she would certainly have fled\nthe town, and gone directly down to L----e, if she had not known that\nSir Ralph and Lady Trusty were expected here in a very short time; and\nshe was so young when she left that country, that she could not think of\nany family to whom it was proper for her to go, without some previous\npreparations.\nAll her pride--her gaiety--her vanity of attracting admiration--in fine,\nall that had composed her former character, seemed now to be lost and\nswallowed up in the sense of that bitter shame and contempt in which she\nimagined herself involved; and she wished for nothing but to be unseen,\nunregarded, and utterly forgotten, by all that had ever known her, being\nalmost ready to cry out, with Dido--\n    'Nor art, nor nature's hand, can ease my grief,\n    Nothing but death, the wretch's last relief;\n    Then farewel, youth, and all the joys that dwell\n    With youth and life--and life itself, farewel!'\nThe despair of that unhappy queen, so elegantly described by the poet,\ncould not far transcend what poor Miss Betsy sustained during this whole\ncruel night: nor did the day afford her any more tranquillity--on the\ncontrary, she hated the light--the sight even of her own servants was\nirksome to her--she ordered, that whoever came to visit her, except her\nbrothers, should be denied admittance--complained of a violent pain in\nher head--would not be prevailed upon to take the least refreshment; but\nkept herself upon the bed, indulging all the horrors of despair and\ngrief.\nIn the afternoon Mr. Francis Thoughtless came--seemed a little surprized\nto find his brother was not there; and told Miss Betsy, that, having\nbeen called different ways, they had appointed to meet at her lodgings,\nin order to have some serious discourse with her concerning her future\nsettlement: to which she replied, that her late fright hung so heavy on\nher spirits, that she was in little condition at present to resolve on\nany thing.\nShe spoke this with so dejected an air, that Mr. Francis, who truly\nloved her, in spite of all the resentment he had for the errors of her\nconduct, could not forbear saying a great many tender things to her; but\nnothing afforded her so much consolation as the account he gave her,\nthat no prosecution would be commenced against the sham Sir Frederick\nFineer. 'The villain', said he, 'is run away from his lodgings, but,\nquestionless, might easily be found out, and brought to justice; but the\nmisfortune is, that in cases of this nature, the offended must suffer as\nwell as the offender: to punish him, must expose you. You see,\ntherefore, to what your inadvertency has reduced you--injured to the\nmost shocking degree, yet denied the satisfaction of revenge.'\nMiss Betsy only answering with her tears--'I speak not this to upbraid\nyou,' resumed he; 'and would be far from adding to the affliction you\nare in; on the contrary, I would have you be chearful, and rejoice more\nin the escape you have had, than bewail the danger you have passed\nthrough: but then, my dear sister, I would wish you also to put yourself\ninto a condition which may defend you from attempts of this vile\nnature.'\nHe was going on with something farther, when the elder Mr. Thoughtless\ncame in. 'I have been detained,' said that gentleman, 'longer than I\nexpected; my friend is going to have his picture drawn; and, knowing I\nhave been in Italy, would needs have my judgment upon the painter's\nskill.' 'I suppose, then,' said Mr. Francis, 'your eyes have been\nfeasted with the resemblance of a great number of beauties, either real\nor fictitious.'--'No, faith,' replied the other; 'I believe none of the\nlatter: the man seems to be too much an artist in his profession to\nstand in any need of having recourse to that stale strategem of inviting\ncustomers by exhibiting shadows, which have no substances but in his own\nbrain; and, I must do him the justice to say, that I never saw life\nimitated to more perfection.'\n'Then you saw some faces there you were acquainted with,' said the\nyounger Mr. Thoughtless. 'Two or three,' answered the elder; 'but one,\nwhich more particularly struck me, as I had seen the original but\ntwice--but once, indeed, to take any notice of: it was of your friend,\nthe gentleman we waited on this morning.'\n'What, Trueworth!' demanded Mr. Francis. 'The same,' resumed the other:\n'never was there a more perfect likeness--he is drawn in miniature; I\nbelieve, by the size of the piece, intended to be worn at a lady's\nwatch; but I looked on it through my magnifier, and thought I saw his\nvery self before me.'\nHe said much more in praise of the excellence of this artist; as,\nindeed, he was very full of it, having a desire his favourite mistress's\npicture should be drawn, and was transported to have found a person who,\nhe thought, could do it so much justice.\nThough Miss Betsy sat all this time in a pensive posture, and seemed not\nto take any notice of this discourse, yet no part of it was lost upon\nher. 'You extol this painter so much, brother,' said she, 'that if I\nthought my picture worth drawing, I would sit to him myself. Pray,'\ncontinued she, 'where does he live, and what is his name?' Mr.\nThoughtless having satisfied her curiosity in these points, no more was\nsaid on the occasion; and the brothers immediately entered into a\nconversation upon the business which had brought them thither.\nThe elder of them remonstrated to her, in the strongest terms he was\nable, the perpetual dangers to which, through the baseness of this\nworld, and her own inadvertency, she was liable every day to be exposed.\n'This last ugly incident,' said he, 'I hope may be hushed up; Mr.\nTrueworth, I dare say, is too generous to make any mention of it; and\nthose concerned in it will be secret for their own sakes: but you may\nnot always meet the same prosperous chance. It behoves us, therefore,\nwho must share in your disgrace, as well as have a concern in your\nhappiness, to insist on your putting yourself into a different mode of\nlife: Mr. Munden makes very fair proposals; he has given me leave to\nexamine the rent-roll of his estate, which accordingly I have ordered a\nlawyer to do. He will settle an hundred and fifty pounds per annum on\nyou for pin-money, and jointure you in four hundred; and I think your\nfortune does not entitle you to a better offer.'\n'Brother, I have had better,' replied Miss Betsy, with a sigh. 'But you\nrejected it!' cried Mr. Francis, with some warmth; 'and you are not to\nexpect a second Trueworth to fall to your share.'--'Let us talk no more\nof what is past,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless; 'but endeavour to\npersuade our sister to accept of that which at present is most for her\nadvantage.'\nBoth these gentlemen, in their different turns, made use of every\nargument that could be brought on the occasion, to prevail on Miss Betsy\nto give them some assurance, that as now there was no better prospect\nfor her, she would trifle no longer with the pretensions of Mr. Munden,\nbut resolve to marry him, in case the condition of his affairs was\nproved, upon enquiry, to be such as he had represented to them.\nShe made, for a great while, very little reply to all this; her head was\nnow, indeed, very full of something else; she sat in a kind of reverie,\nand had a perfect absence of mind during this latter part of their\ndiscourse: she heard, but heard without attention, and without\nconsidering the weight of any thing they urged; yet, at last, merely to\nget rid of their importunities and presence, that she might be alone to\nindulge her own meditations, she said as they said, and promised to do\nwhatever they required of her.\nMr. Thoughtless having now, as he imagined, brought her to the bent he\nwished, took his leave: but Mr. Francis staid some time longer; nor had,\nperhaps, gone so soon, if Miss Betsy had not discovered a certain\nrestlessness, which made him think she would be glad to be alone.\nThis was the first time she had ever desired his absence; but now,\nindeed, most heartily did so: she had got a caprice in her brain, which\nraised ideas there she was in pain till she had modelled, and brought to\nthe perfection she wanted. What her brother had cursorily mentioned\nconcerning the picture of Mr. Trueworth, had made a much deeper\nimpression on her mind than all the serious discourse he had afterwards\nentertained her with; she longed to have in her possession so exact a\nresemblance of a man who had once loved her, and for whom she had always\nthe most high esteem, though her pride would never suffer her to shew it\nto any one who professed himself her lover. 'This picture,' said she,\n'by looking on it, will remind me of the obligation I have to him; I\nmight forget it else; and I would not be ungrateful: though it is not in\nmy nature to love, I may, nay, I ought, after what he has done for me,\nto have a friendship for him.'\nShe then began to consider whether there was a possibility of becoming\nthe mistress of what she so much desired--she had never given her mind\nto plotting--she had never been at the pains of any contrivances but\nhow to ornament her dress, or place the patches of her face with the\nmost graceful art; and was extremely at a loss what strategem to form\nfor the getting this picture into her hands: at first, she thought of\ngoing to the painter, and bribing him to take a copy of it for her own\nuse. 'But then,' said she, 'a copy taken from a copy goes still farther\nfrom the original; besides, he may betray me, or he may not have time to\ndo it; and I would leave nothing to chance. No! I must have the very\npicture that my brother saw, that I may be sure is like, for I know he\nis a judge.\n'Suppose,' cried she again, 'I go under the pretence of sitting for my\npicture, and look over all his pieces--I fancy I may find an opportunity\nof slipping Trueworth's into my pocket--I could send the value of it the\nnext day, so the man would be no sufferer by it.'\nThis project seemed feasible to her for a time; but she afterwards\nrejected it, on account she could not be sure of committing the theft so\nartfully as not to be detected in the fact: several other little\nstrategems succeeded this in her inventive brain; all which, on second\nthoughts, she found either impossible to be executed, or could promise\nno certainty in their effects.\nSleep was no less a stranger to her eyes this night than it had been the\npreceding one; yet of how different a nature were the agitations that\nkept her waking: in the first, the shock of the insult she had\nsustained, and the shame of her receiving her protection from him by\nwhom, of all men living, she was at least willing to be obliged, took up\nall her thoughts--in the second, she was equally engrossed by the\nimpatience of having something to preserve him eternally in her mind.\nAfter long revolving within herself, she at last hit upon the means of\naccomplishing her desires--the risque she ran, indeed, was somewhat\nbold; but as it succeeded without suspicion, she had only to guard\nagainst accidents that might occasion a future discovery of what she had\ndone.\nEarly the next morning she sent to Blunt's--hired a handsome chaise and\npair, with a coachman and two servants, in a livery different from that\nshe gave her own man; then dressed herself in a riding-habit and\nhunting-cap, which had been made for her on her going down to Oxford,\nand she had never been seen in by Mr. Trueworth; so that she thought she\nmight be pretty confident, that when he should come to examine who had\ntaken away his picture, the description could never enable him to guess\nat the right person.\nWith this equipage she went to the house where the painter lived: on\nenquiring for him by name, he came immediately to know her\ncommands.--'You have the picture here of Mr. Trueworth,' said she;\n'pray, is it ready?'--'Yes, Madam,' answered he, 'I am just going to\ncarry it home.'--'I am glad, then, Sir,' resumed Miss Betsy, 'that I am\ncome time enough to save you that trouble: Mr. Trueworth went to\nHampstead last night; and being to follow him this morning, he desired I\nwould bring it with me, and pay you the money.'--'O, Madam, as to the\nmoney,' said he, 'I shall see Mr. Trueworth again!' and then called to\nthe man to bring down his picture.--'Indeed I shall not take it without\npaying you,' said she; 'but, in the hurry, I forgot to ask him the\nsum--pray, how much is it?'--'My constant price, Madam,' replied he, 'is\nten guineas, and the gentleman never offered to beat me down.'\nBy this time the man had brought the picture down in a little box, which\nthe painter opening, as he presented it to her, cried, 'Is it not a\nprodigious likeness, Madam?'--'Yes, really, Sir,' said she, 'in my\nopinion there is no fault to be found.'--She then put the picture into\nher pocket, counted ten guineas to him out of her purse, and told him,\nwith a smile, that she believed he would very shortly have more business\nfrom the same quarter--then bid the coachman drive on.\nThe coachman having previous orders what to do, was no sooner out of\nsight of the painter's house, then he turned down the first street, and\ncarried Miss Betsy home: she discharged her retinue, undressed herself\nwith all the speed she could; and whoever had now seen her, would never\nhave suspected she had been abroad.\nThis young lady was not of a temper to grieve long for any thing: how\ndeep soever she was affected, the impression wore off on the first new\nturn that offered itself. All her remorse, all her vexation, for the\nbase design laid against her at Mrs. Modely's, were dissipated the\nmoment she took it into her head to get possession of this picture; and\nthe success of her enterprize elated her beyond expression.\nIt cannot be supposed; that it was altogether owing to the regard she\nhad for Mr. Trueworth, though in effect much more than she herself was\nyet sensible of, that she took all these pains; it looks as if there was\nalso some little mixture of female malice in the case. Her brother had\nsaid that the picture seemed to be intended to be worn at a lady's\nwatch--she doubted not but it was so; and the thoughts of disappointing\nher rival's expectations contributed greatly to the satisfaction she\nfelt at what she had done.\nCHAPTER XIX\n_Presents the reader with some occurrences which, from the foregoing\npreparations, might be expected, and also with others that may seem more\nsurprizing_\nMiss Betsy was not deceived in her conjecture in relation to the picture\nbeing designed as an offering to some lady: Mr. Trueworth had not,\nindeed, sat for it to please himself, but to oblige Miss Harriot, who\nhad given some hints that such a present would not be unwelcome to her.\nIt is a common thing with painters to keep the pieces in their own hands\nas long as they can, after they are finished, especially if they are of\npersons endued by nature with any perfections which may do honour to\ntheir art: this gentleman was like others of his profession; he found it\nto his credit to shew frequently Mr. Trueworth's picture to as many as\ncame to look over his paintings, and had detained it for several days\nbeyond the time in which he had promised to send it, on pretence that\nthere were still some little touches wanting on the drapery.\nMr. Trueworth growing a little impatient at the delay, as Miss Harriot\nhad asked two or three times, in a gay manner, when she should see his\nresemblance, went himself in order to fetch it away: the painter was\nsurprized at the sight of him, and much more so when he demanded the\npicture. He told him, however, the whole truth without hesitation, that\nhe delivered it to a lady not above an hour before he came, who paid him\nthe money for it, and said that she had called for it on his request.\nNothing had ever happened that seemed more strange to him; he made a\nparticular enquiry concerning the face, age, complexion, shape, stature,\nand even dress of the lady, who had put this trick upon him: and it was\nwell for Miss Betsy, that she had taken all the precautions she did, or\nshe had infallibly been discovered; a thing which, perhaps, would have\ngiven her a more lasting confusion, than even her late unlucky adventure\nwith the mock baronet.\nShe was, however, among all the ladies of his acquaintance, almost the\nonly one who never came into his head on this occasion: sometimes he\nthought of one, sometimes he thought of another; but on recollecting all\nthe particulars of their behaviour towards him, could find no reason to\nascribe what had been done to any of them. Miss Flora was the only\nperson he could imagine capable of such a thing; he found it highly\nprobable, that her love and invention had furnished her with the means\nof committing this innocent fraud; and though he was heartily vexed that\nhe must be at the trouble of sitting for another picture, yet he could\nnot be angry with the woman who had occasioned it: on the contrary, he\nthought there was something so tender, and so delicate withal, in this\nproof of her passion, that it very much enhanced the pity and good-will\nhe before had for her.\nBut while his generous heart was entertaining these too favourable and\nkind sentiments of her, she was employing her whole wicked wit to make\nhim appear the basest of mankind, and also to render him the most\nunhappy.\nShe had found out every thing she wanted to know concerning Mr.\nTrueworth's courtship to Miss Harriot; and flattered herself, that a\nlady bred in the country, and unacquainted with the artifices frequently\npractised in town, to blacken the fairest characters, would easily be\nfrightened into a belief of any thing she attempted to inspire her with.\nIn the vile hope, therefore, of accomplishing so detestable a project,\nshe contrived a letter in the following terms.\n     'To Miss Harriot Loveit.\n     Madam,\n     Where innocence is about to suffer merely through it's incapacity\n     of suspecting that ill in another it cannot be guilty of itself,\n     common honesty forbids a stander-by to be silent. You are on the\n     brink of a precipice which, if you fall into, it is not in the\n     power of human art to save you. Death only can remove you from\n     misery, remorse, distraction, and woes without a name! Trueworth,\n     that sly deceiver of your sex, and most abandoned of his own, can\n     only bring you a polluted heart and prostituted vows! He made the\n     most honourable professions of love to a young lady of family and\n     character--gained her affections--I hope no more: but, whatever was\n     between them, he basely quitted her, to mourn her ill-placed love\n     and ruined fame. Yet this, Madam, is but his least of crimes: he\n     has since practised his betraying arts on another, superior to the\n     former in every female virtue and accomplishments--second to none\n     in beauty, and of a reputation spotless as the sun, till an unhappy\n     passion for that worst of men obscured it's brightness, at least in\n     the eyes of the censorious. He is, however, bound to her by the\n     most solemn engagements that words can form, under his own\n     hand-writing; which, if she does not in due time produce against\n     him, it will be owing only to her too great modesty. These two,\n     Madam, are the most conspicuous victims of his perfidy. Pray Heaven\n     you may not close the sad triumvirate, and that I may never see\n     such beauty and such goodness stand among the foremost in the rank\n     of those many wretches he has made!\n     In short, Madam, he has deceived your friends, and betrayed you\n     into a mistaken opinion of his honour and sincerity. If he marries\n     you, you cannot but be miserable, he being the right of another: if\n     he does not marry you, your reputation suffers. Happy is it for\n     you, if the loss of reputation is all you will have to regret! He\n     already boasts of having received favours from you; which, whoever\n     looks in your face, will find it very difficult to think you\n     capable of granting: but yet, who knows what strange effects too\n     great a share of tenderness in the composition may not have\n     produced!\n     Fly, then, Madam, from this destructive town, and the worst monster\n     in it, Trueworth! Retire in time to those peaceful shades from\n     whence you came; and save what yet remains of you worthy your\n     attention to preserve!\n     Whatever reports to your prejudice the vanity of your injurious\n     deceiver may have made him give out among his loose companions, I\n     still hope your virtue has hitherto protected you, and that this\n     warning will not come too late to keep you from ever verifying\n     them.\n     Be assured, Madam, that in giving this account, I am instigated by\n     no other motive than merely my love of virtue, and detestation of\n     all who would endeavour to corrupt it; and that I am, with perfect\n     sincerity, Madam, your well-wisher, and humble servant,\n     UNKNOWN.'\nMiss Flora, on considering what she had wrote, began to think she had\nexpressed herself in somewhat too warm a manner; but she let it pass on\nthis account: 'By the virulence', said she, 'with which I have spoken of\nTrueworth, his adored Miss Harriot will certainly imagine it comes from\none of those unhappy creatures I have represented in it; and, if so, it\nwill gain the more credit with her. If she supposes that rage and\ndespair have dictated some groundless accusations against her love, she,\nnevertheless, will believe others to be fact, and that at least he has\nbeen false to one.'\nShe, therefore, went to the person who was always her secretary in\naffairs of this nature; and, having got it copied, was going to the\npost-house, in order to send it away; for she never trusted any person\nbut herself with these dispatches.\nShe was within three or four yards of the post-house, when she saw Mr.\nTrueworth at some distance, on the other side of the street. Her heart\nfluttered at this unexpected sight of him--she had no power to refrain\nfrom speaking to him--she staid not to put her letter in, but flew\ndirectly across the way, and met him just as he was turning the corner\nof another street.\n'Oh, Mr. Trueworth!' cried she, as they drew near each other, 'I have\nprayed that I might live once more to see you; and Heaven has granted my\npetition!'\n'I hope, Madam,' said he, 'that Heaven will always be equally propitious\nto your desires in things of greater moment.'--'There can scarce be any\nof greater moment,' answered she; 'for, at present, I have a request to\nmake you of the utmost importance to me, though no more than I am\ncertain you would readily grant to any one you had the least\nacquaintance with. But,' continued she, 'this is no proper place for us\nto discourse in. Upon the terms we now are, it can be no breach of faith\nto the mistress of your vows to step with me, for three minutes, where\nwe may not be exposed to the view of every passenger.'\nMr. Trueworth had not been very well pleased with the rencounter, and\nwould gladly have dispensed with complying with her invitation; but\nthought, after what she had said, he could not refuse, without being\nguilty of a rudeness unbecoming of himself as well as cruel to her: yet\nhe did comply in such a manner as might make her see his inclination had\nlittle part in his consent. He told her he was in very great haste, but\nwould snatch as much time as she mentioned from the business he was\nupon. Nothing more was said; and they went together into the nearest\ntavern; where, being seated, and wine brought in, 'Now, Madam,' said\nhe, with a cold civility, 'please to favour me with your commands.'\n'Alas!' replied she, 'it belongs not to me to command, and my request\nyou have already granted.'--'What, without knowing it!' cried he. 'Yes,'\nresumed she; 'I thought an intimacy, such as ours had been, ought not to\nhave been broke off, without a kind farewel. I blame you not for\nmarrying; yet, sure, I deserve not to be quite forsaken--utterly thrown\noff: you might at least have flattered me with the hope that, in spite\nof your matrimonial engagement, you would still retain some sparks of\naffection for your poor Flora.'--'Be assured,' said he, 'I shall always\nthink on you with tenderness.'--'And can you then resolve never to see\nme more?' rejoined she passionately. 'I hoped,' replied he, 'that you\nhad acquiesced in the reasons I gave you for that resolution.'--'I hoped\nso, too,' said she; 'and made use of my utmost efforts for that purpose:\nbut it is in vain; I found I could not live without you; and only wished\nan opportunity to take one last embrace before I leave the world and you\nfor ever.' In speaking these words, she threw herself upon his neck, and\nburst into a flood of tears.\nHow impossible was it for a heart such as Mr. Trueworth's to be unmoved\nat a spectacle like this! Her love, her grief, and her despair, shot\nthrough his very soul. Scarce could he refrain mingling his tears with\nhers. 'My dear Flora,' cried he, 'compose yourself--by Heaven I cannot\nbear to see you thus!' He kissed her cheek while he was speaking, seated\nher in a chair, and held her hand in his with the extremest tenderness.\nThis wicked creature was not so overcome with the emotions of her love\nand grief, as not to see the pity she had raised in him; and, flattering\nherself that there was in it some mixture of a passion she more wished\nto inspire, fell a second time upon his bosom, crying, 'Oh, Trueworth!\nTrueworth! here let me die; for death hath nothing in it so terrible as\nthe being separated from you!'\nMr. Trueworth was a man of strict honour, great resolution, and\npassionately devoted to the most deserving of her sex: yet he was still\na man--was of an amorous complexion; and thus tempted, who can answer,\nbut in this unguarded moment he might have been guilty of a wrong to his\ndear Harriot, for which he would afterwards have hated himself, if an\naccident of more service to him than his own virtue, in so critical a\njuncture, had not prevented him.\nHe returned the embrace she gave, and joined his lips to hers with a\nwarmth which she had not for a long time experienced from him: a sudden\nrush of transport came at once upon her with such force, that it\noverwhelmed her spirits, and she fell into a kind of fainting between\nhis arms. He was frightened at the change he observed in her; and\nhastily cutting the lacings of her stays, to give her air, the letter\nabove-mentioned dropped from her breast upon the ground. He took it up,\nand was going to throw it upon the table; but in that action seeing the\nname of Miss Harriot on the superscription, was struck with an\nastonishment not easy to be conceived. He no longer thought of the\ncondition Miss Flora was in; but, tearing open the letter, he began to\nexamine the contents.\nMiss Flora in that instant recovering her senses, and the remembrance of\nwhat had been concealed in her bosom, flew to him, endeavouring to\nsnatch the paper from his hands; but he had already seen too much not to\nbe determined to see the rest. 'Stand off!' cried he, in a voice half\nchoaked with fury; 'I am not yet fully acquainted with the whole of the\nfavours you have bestowed upon me in this paper!' Confounded as she was,\ncunning did not quite forsake her. 'I am ignorant of what it contains,'\nsaid she; 'I found it in the street!--It is not mine!--I wrote it not!'\nWith such like vain pretences would she have pleaded innocence; yet all\nthe time endeavoured, with her whole strength, to force the proof of her\nguilt from him; insomuch that, though he was very tall, he was obliged\nwith one hand to keep her off, and with the other to hold the paper at\narms length, while he was reading it; and could not forbear frequently\ninterrupting himself, to cast a look of contempt and rage on the\nmalicious authoress. 'Vile hypocrite!' cried he: and then again, as he\ngot farther into the base invective, 'Thou fiend in female form!'\nShe now finding all was over, and seized with a sudden fit of frenzy, or\nsomething like it, ran to his sword, which he had pulled off and laid in\nthe window, and was about to plunge it in her breast. He easily wrested\nit from her; and, putting it by his side, 'O thou serpent!--thou viper!'\ncried he. 'If thou wert a man, thou shouldest not need to be thy own\nexecutioner!' The tide of her passion then turning another way, she\nthrew herself at his feet, clung round his legs, and, in a voice rather\nscreaming than speaking, uttered these words--'O pardon me!--pity me!\nWhatever I have done, my love of you occasioned it!'--'Curse on such\npoisonous love!' rejoined he. 'Hell, and its worst effects, are in the\nname, when mentioned by a mouth like thine!' Then finding it a little\ndifficult to disentangle himself from the hold she had taken of him,\n'Thou shame and scandal to that sex to which alone thou owest thy\nsafety!' cried he furiously, 'quit me this instant, lest I forget thou\nart a woman!--lest I spurn thee from me, and use thee as the worst of\nreptiles!'\nOn hearing these dreadful words, all her strength forsook her; the\nsinews of her hand relaxed, and lost their grasp. She fell a second time\ninto a fainting-fit; but of a nature as different from what the former\nhad been as were the emotions that occasioned it. Mr. Trueworth was now\ntoo much and too justly irritated to be capable of relenting: he left\nher in this condition, and only bid the people at the bar, as he went\nout of the house, send somebody up to her assistance.\nThe humour he was at present in rendering him altogether unfit for\ncompany, he went directly to his lodgings; where examining the letter\nwith more attention than he could do before, he presently imagined he\nwas not altogether unacquainted with the hand-writing. He very well knew\nit was not that of Miss Flora, yet positive that he had somewhere seen\nit before: that which he had received concerning Miss Betsy and the\nchild at Denham came fresh into his head; he found them, indeed, the\nsame on comparing; and, as the reader may suppose, this discovery added\nnot a little to the resentment he was before inflamed with against the\nbase inventress of these double falsehoods.\nCHAPTER XX\n_Contains divers things_\nMiss Betsy was all this time enjoying the little fraud she had been\nguilty of: the idea how Mr. Trueworth would be surprized at finding his\npicture had been taken away, and the various conjectures that would\nnaturally rise in his mind upon so odd an accident, gave her more real\npleasure than others feel on the accomplishment of the most material\nevent.\nShe was, indeed, of a humour the most perfectly happy for herself that\ncould be: chearful, gay--not apt to create imaginary ills, as too many\ndo, and become wretched for misfortunes which have no existence but in\ntheir own fretful dispositions. On any real cause, either for grief or\nanger, that happened to her, nobody, it is certain, felt them with a\nmore poignant sensibility; but then she was affected with them but for a\nshort time. The turbulent passion could obtain no residence in her mind;\nand, on the first approaches of their opposite emotions, entirely\nvanished, as if they had never been. The arrows of affliction, of what\nkind soever they were, but slightly glanced upon her heart, nor pierced\nit, much less were able to make any lasting impression there.\nShe now visited as usual--saw as much company as ever; and hearing no\nmention made, wherever she went, of her adventure with the mock baronet,\nconcluded the whole thing was, and would remain, an eternal secret, and\ntherefore easily forgot it; or, if it came into her head, remembered it\nonly on account of her deliverer.\nShe was now on exceeding good terms with her brothers, who were full of\nspirits themselves. The elder Mr. Thoughtless, who loved play but too\nwell, had lately had some lucky casts; and Mr. Francis had accomplished\nhis affairs--his commission was signed, and every thing contributed to\nrender the whole family perfectly easy in themselves, and obliging to\neach other.\nIn the midst of this contentment of mind, Mr. Edward Goodman came to\ntown from Deal. The two Mr. Thoughtlesses, on account of the many\nobligations they had to his uncle, and the good character they had heard\nof himself, received him with abundance of respect and affection.\nThis young Indian had a great deal of the honest simplicity of his\nuncle, both in his countenance and behaviour, and wanted not politeness\nand good manners sufficient to render his conversation very agreeable.\nHe was sent from Bengal at about four years of age, and received the\nfirst rudiments of his education at one of the best schools in England;\nwhere he continued till he had attained to his nineteenth, and then\nreturned to his native country, and was now about twenty-four.\nMr. Thoughtless had now got so much the better of his mistress as to\nprevail on her to content herself with keeping in her own apartment\nwhenever he had any company by whom it was improper for her to be seen.\nHe made a handsome entertainment for Mr. Goodman soon after his arrival;\nto which the lawyer who had the care of his affairs, with his wife, a\nwell-bred, discreet woman, were also invited. Miss Betsy, at the request\nof her brother, presided at the head of the table.\nDinner was ordered to be ready about three, and the invitation\naccordingly made; but the lawyer not coming, his wife, perceiving they\nwaited for him, was a little perplexed; but she was soon eased of it, by\nhis coming in less than a quarter of an hour after the time he was\nexpected.\nThis gentleman was the very person who made Mrs. Blanchfield's will;\nand, to apologize for his stay, he related to them the cause that had\ndetained him; which was, that a demur being made to the payment of some\npart of the money bequeathed by that lady to Mr. Trueworth, he had been\nobliged to go with him, in order to rectify the mistake which had\noccasioned it. In giving this account, he imagined not that any person\npresent had the least concern in it, or even was acquainted with either\nof the parties he mentioned.\nMiss Betsy said nothing, but had her own reflections on what he had\nbeen saying: she, however, had the satisfaction of hearing her two\nbrothers ask those questions she longed to put to him herself. By the\nanswers he made, she doubted not but the deceased had been courted by\nMr. Trueworth--had loved him, and was to have been married to him, by\nher having made him so considerably a legacy.\nThe rest of their conversation that whole day was chiefly on matters\nconcerning the late Mr. Goodman, the baseness of Lady Mellasin, and the\nmeasures that were taken to detect the fraud she had been guilty of; all\nwhich was very dry and insipid to Miss Betsy at this time, as, indeed,\nit would have been had it turned on any other subject. She was not,\ntherefore, very sorry when the company broke up, that she might be at\nhome, and at full liberty to indulge meditations which promised her more\nsatisfaction than any thing she could hear abroad.\nShe had set it down in her mind, from what the lawyer had said, as a\nsure fact, that Mr. Trueworth, since his desisting his courtship to her,\nhad loved another; and also, that her rival in his affection was now no\nmore. 'He need not,' said she to herself, 'be at the trouble of sitting\na second time for his picture in compliment to her; nor can what I have\ndone be a subject of disquiet to either of them.'\nShe then would take his picture out of the cabinet, where she had\nconcealed it, and examine it attentively. 'Good God!' cried she, 'how\nuncertain is the heart of man! How little dependence ought we to place\non all the professions of love they make us! Just so he looked, with all\nthis tenderness in his eyes, when his false tongue protested he never\ncould think of marrying any woman but myself.' But these uneasy, and,\nindeed, unjust reflections, lasted not above a minute. 'Mrs.\nBlanchfield,' said she, 'had a large fortune; it was that, perhaps, he\nwas in love with, and finding no hope of gaining me, he might be\ntempted, by his ambition, to make his addresses to her; but whatever\nwere his thoughts on her account, she is now dead; and who knows what\nmay happen? That he once loved me is certain; if he should return to his\nfirst vows, the obligation I have received from him would not permit me\nto treat him with the same indifference I have done. I am not in love\nwith any man,' continued she; 'but if ever I marry, he certainly,\nexclusive of what he has done for me, deserves, in every respect, to\nhave the preference; and I should, with less regret, submit to the yoke\nof wedlock with him than any other I have seen.'\nThus she went on, forming ideal prospects all that night, and part of\nthe ensuing day; when the elder Mr. Thoughtless came in, and gave her\nthe most unwelcome interruption she could receive.\nHe told her that he had just received an account, to his entire\nsatisfaction, in every thing relating to Mr. Munden; and that no\nreasonable objection could be made, either as to the family, the estate,\nor the character of that gentleman. 'Therefore,' said he, 'as you have\nthought fit to encourage his pretensions, and he has continued them a\nsufficient length of time to defend you from the censure of a too quick\nconsent, you cannot, I think, in honour, but reward his passion without\ndelay.'\nMiss Betsy was, at present, in a disposition very unfit to comply with\nher brother's advice; but, after all that had been urged by him, and by\nMr. Francis, she could not assume courage wholly to refuse.\nShe hesitated--she began a sentence without ending it--and when she did,\nher answers were not all of a piece with that ready wit which she had\nalways testified on other occasions.\nMr. Thoughtless, perceiving she was rather studious to evade giving any\ndeterminate answer, than willing to give such a one as he desired she\nshould, began to expostulate with her on the capriciousness of her\nhumour and behaviour; he conjured her to reflect on her late adventure\nwith the impostor, Sir Frederick Fineer; and how ill it became her to\ncountenance the addresses of a wretch like him, and, at the same time,\ntrifle with a man of fortune and reputation.\nShe suffered him to go on in this manner for a considerable time,\nwithout giving him the least interruption; but by degrees recovering her\nspirits, 'I shall take care, Sir,' said she, 'never to fall into the\nlike adventure again; neither do I intend to trifle with Mr. Munden: but\nmarriage is a thing of too serious a nature to hurry into, without first\nhaving made trial of the constancy of the man who would be a husband,\nand also of being well assured of one's own heart.'\nMr. Thoughtless then told her, with some warmth, that he found she was\nrelapsing into a humour and way of thinking which could not in the end\nbut bring ruin on herself and disgrace to all her family; and added,\nthat for his part he should meddle no more in her affairs. The tender\nsoul of Miss Betsy was deeply affected at these words: she loved her\nbrothers, and could not bear their displeasure; the thought of having\nany disagreement with them was dreadful to her; yet the putting a\nconstraint on her inclinations to oblige them was no less so. In this\ndilemma, whether she complied, or whether she refused, she found herself\nequally unhappy.\nOne moment she was opening her mouth to yield a ready assent to all that\nwas requested of her on the score of Mr. Munden; the next to confess,\nthat she neither liked nor loved that gentleman, and knew not whether\nshe should ever be able to resolve on a marriage with him; but her\nsincerity forbade the one, and her fears of offending gave a check to\nthe other; and both together kept her entirely silent.\n'You ought, methinks, however,' resumed Mr. Thoughtless, 'to have spared\nMr. Munden the trouble of laying open his circumstances, and me that of\nexamining into them.'--'I should undoubtedly have done so, Sir,'\nanswered she, 'if I had been entirely averse to the proposals of Mr.\nMunden; therefore, both you and he are too hasty in judging. You know,\nbrother, that Sir Ralph and my dear Lady Trusty will be in town in a\nvery few days; and I am willing to have the approbation of as many of my\nfriends as possible, in a thing of so much consequence to my future\npeace.'\nMr. Thoughtless was now somewhat better satisfied than he had been; and\nafter recommending to her a constancy of mind and resolution, took his\nleave of her.\nThis conversation having a little dissipated those gay imaginations she\nwas before possessed of, she began to consider seriously what she meant\nby all this, and what it availed her to give both her lover and brothers\nso much matter of complaint against her: she reflected that she had now\ngone so far with that gentleman, that neither honour towards him, nor\nregard to her own reputation, would well suffer her to go back. 'Since\nit is so, then,' said she to herself, 'to what end do I take all this\ntrouble to invent excuses for delaying what must one day necessarily be?\n'Yet, wherefore must it be?' continued she; 'I have made no promise; and\nif a better offer should happen, I see no reason that obliges me to\nreject it: for example, if Mr. Trueworth or such a one as Mr. Trueworth,\n(if his equal is to be found in nature) neither my brothers, nor the\nworld, I fancy, would condemn me for quitting Mr. Munden.\n'Why, then,' cried she, 'need I make all this haste to put myself out of\nthe way of fortune? I am young enough; have lost no part of what has\nattracted me so many admirers; and, while my heart and hand are free,\nhave, at least, a chance of being more happy than Mr. Munden can make\nme.'\nIn a word, being fully persuaded in her mind that the lady, who had\nsupplanted her in Mr. Trueworth's affections, was dead, she imagined\nthere was a probability he might renew his addresses to herself; she\nwished, at least, to make the experiment; and, to that end, resolved to\ngive no promise to Mr. Munden: yet would she not allow herself to think\nshe loved the other, but only that she would give him the preference, as\nhe was a match of more advantage.\nNothing is more certain, nor, I believe, more obvious to the reader,\nthan that this young lady, almost from the time of Mr. Trueworth's\nquitting her, had entertained a growing inclination for him, which the\nlate service he had rendered had very much increased: but this her pride\nwould not suffer her to own, even to herself, as the comick poet truly\nsays--\n    'For whatso'er the sages charge on pride,\n    The angels fall, and twenty faults beside;\n    On earth, 'tis sure, 'mong us of mortal calling,\n    Pride saves man oft, and woman too, from falling.'\nCHAPTER XXI\n_Presents the reader with some prognosticks, on events in futuro_\nThe reader will easily suppose that, in the present disposition of Miss\nBetsy's heart, Mr. Munden met with but an indifferent reception from\nher; she avoided his company as much as possible; and, when obliged to\nreceive a visit from him, could not bring herself to treat him with any\nthing more than a cold civility. He complained of her cruelty--told her\nhe had expected better things from her after her brothers had approved\nhis flame: he pressed her, in the most pathetick terms he was master of,\nto let him know when the happy day would arrive, which should put an end\nto the long series of his hopes and fears.\nIt is certain, that if this gentleman had loved with that warmth and\nsincerity which some men have done, he must have been very unhappy\nduring his courtship to Miss Betsy; but he was altogether insensible of\nthe delicacies of the passion he professed--he felt not the pains he\naffected to languish under--he could support the frowns, or even the\nslights, of his mistress, without any other anxiety than what his pride\ninflicted.\nIt was, therefore, rather owing to this last propensity in his nature,\nthan any emotions of a real tenderness for Miss Betsy, which had made\nhim persevere in his addresses to her. All his acquaintance knew he had\ncourted her a long time; some of them had been witness of her treatment\nof him: and he was unwilling it should be said of him, that he had made\nan offer of his heart in vain.\nHe had, at first, indeed, a liking for her person; he had considered her\nbeauty, wit, and the many accomplishments she was possessed of, were\nsuch as would render his choice applauded by the world. The hopes of\ngaining her in a short time, by the encouragement she had given his\naddresses, had made him pursue her with vigour; but the delays--the\nscruples--the capriciousness of her humour--the pretences she of late\nhad made to avoid giving him a definitive answer--had, at length, palled\nall the inclination he once had for her; and even desire was deadened in\nhim, on so many disappointments.\nIt is, therefore, a very ill-judged thing in the ladies, to keep too\nlong in play the man they ever design to marry: and, with all due\ndeference to that great wit and poet, Sir John Suckling, there are very\nfew examples which verify his maxim, that--\n    ''Tis expectation makes the blessing dear.'\nAccording to my opinion, which is founded on observation, another\nauthor, who wrote much about the same time with Sir John, has given us a\nmore true idea of what a tedious courtship may produce, especially on\nthe side of the man. In a matrimonial dialogue, he makes the husband\nexcuse the coldness complained of by his wife, in these terms--\n    'Unequal lengths, alas! our passions run;\n    My love was quite worn out, ere yours begun.'\nThis being the case with Mr. Munden, it rendered Miss Betsy little less\nindifferent to him, in reality, than he had ever been to her: to which\nanother motive, perhaps, might also be added, viz. that of his indulging\nhimself with amusements with other fair-ones, of a more kind complexion;\nfor continency (as will hereafter appear) was not among the number of\nthat gentleman's virtues.\nBut enough of Mr. Munden for the present. It is now highly proper to\ngive the reader some account what Mr. Trueworth was doing while Miss\nBetsy was entertaining sentiments for him, which he had long since\nceased the ambition of inspiring her with.\nDifficult was it for him to get over the mingled astonishment and\nvexation which the detection of the wickedness of Miss Flora had\ninvolved him in. The remembrance of those guilty moments, in which he\nhad indulged a tender intercourse with a woman of her abandoned\nprinciples, filled him with the most bitter remorse, and rendered him\nalmost hateful to himself.\nTo recollect that he had been the instrument of her base designs on\nMiss Betsy, and how cruelly he had wronged that lady by a too rash\nbelief, was, of itself, sufficient to inflame his rage; but when he\nreflected on this last act of baseness, which, if not providentially\ndiscovered, might have made his dear Harriot entertain suspicions of him\nfatal to her peace, if not totally destructive of their mutual\nhappiness, the shock of such a misfortune, though happily frustrated,\nwas more than he could bear with any tolerable degree of patience.\nRage, disdain, and revenge, for the vile contriver of so black an\nattempt, were the first emotions that took possession of his mind; but\nthe violence of those passions evaporating by degrees, he began to think\nmore coolly, and to reason with himself, from which that depravity of\nmorals and manners, women are sometimes guilty of, proceeded.\n'Chastity,' said he, 'is but one branch of virtue, but a material one,\nand serves as a guard to all the others; and if that is once overcome,\nendangers the giving entrance to a thousand vices. A woman entirely free\nfrom those inordinate desires, which are, indeed, but the disgrace of\nlove, can scarce be capable of envy, malice, or revenge, to any excess.\n'That sex,' cried he again, 'are endued by nature with many perfections\nwhich ours cannot boast of; it is their own faults when they sink\nbeneath us in value; but the best things, when once corrupted, become\nthe worst. How dear, therefore, ought a woman to prize her innocence! As\nShakespeare says--\n     '--They are all white--a sheet\n     Of spotless paper, when they first are born;\n     But they are to be scrawl'd upon, and blotted\n     By every goose-quill.'\nHe was in the midst of these contemplations, when a letter from Miss\nFlora was brought to him: she still flattered herself with being able to\nwork on his good nature by submissions, and a seeming contrition for\nwhat she had done; and had accordingly wrote in the most moving terms\nshe was mistress of; but he knowing, by the hand-writing on the\nsuperscription, from whom it came, would not even open it; and his\nindignation rekindling afresh, he took a piece of paper, in which he\nwrote only this line--\n     'I read no letters from incendiaries.'\nThis served as a cover to the letter, which he sent directly by the\nmessenger that brought it.\nIf the mind of Mr. Trueworth had been less taken up than it was at\npresent, this ugly accident would doubtless have dwelt much longer upon\nit; but affairs of a more important, and more pleasing nature, demanded\nhis whole attention.\nThe day prefixed for the celebration of his marriage with Miss Harriot,\nand also of that of Sir Bazil and Miss Mabel, had been delayed on\naccount of Mrs. Blanchfield's death. None of these generous persons\ncould think of indulging the joys they so much languished for till all\ndue rites were paid to the memory of that amiable lady.\nMr. Trueworth and Miss Harriot went into deep mourning; Sir Bazil and\nMrs. Wellair also put on black; Miss Mabel did the same, in compliment\nto them, for she had not the least acquaintance with the deceased.\nNor was this all; Mr. Trueworth, to testify his gratitude and respect,\nordered a very curious monument of white marble to be erected over her\nremains, the model of which he drew himself, after one he had seen in\nItaly, and was much admired by all judges of architecture and sculpture.\nIf, by a secret and unfathomable intuition, the souls of the departed\nare permitted any knowledge of what is done below, that of Mrs.\nBlanchfield's must feel an extreme satisfaction, in such proofs of the\nesteem of him she had so tenderly and so fatally loved, as well as those\nof her fair friend and rival.\nThat generous young lady would fain have prolonged their mourning for a\nwhole month, and consequently have put off her marriage till that time;\nbut this, if Mr. Trueworth would have been prevailed upon to have\nsubmitted to, Sir Bazil and Mrs. Wellair would not agree to: he thought\nhe had already sacrificed enough of the time of his promised happiness,\nand Mrs. Wellair was impatient to get home, though equally loath to\nleave her sister till she had disposed of herself.\nThey were arguing on this topick one evening--Mr. Trueworth opposed Miss\nHarriot as much as he durst do without danger of offending her; but Sir\nBazil plainly told her, that if she continued obstinate, Miss Mabel and\nhe would finish their affairs without her. Mrs. Wellair urged the\nnecessity there was for her return; and Mr. Trueworth, encouraged by\nwhat these two had said, added, that he was certain Mrs. Blanchfield did\nnot mean, by what she had done, to obstruct his happiness a moment: to\nwhich Miss Harriot, with a most obliging smile, replied, 'Well,\nobedience will very shortly be my duty, and I will give you a sample of\nit beforehand. Here is my hand,' continued she, giving it to him; 'make\nit your own as soon as you please.'\nIt is not to be doubted but Mr. Trueworth kissed the hand she gave him\nwith the utmost warmth and tenderness; but before he could make any\nreply to so kind a declaration, Sir Bazil cried out, 'Well said,\nHarriot! love has already wrought wonders in your heart; you will grant\nto a lover what you refuse to us.'--'Not to a lover, Sir,' answered she,\n'but to a person who is about to be my husband. I think it is as\nill-judged a reserve in a woman to disown her affection for the man she\nhas consented to marry, as it would be imprudence to confess it before\nshe has consented.'\nAfter some farther conversation on this head, (in the course of which\nMr. Trueworth had the opportunity of being more confirmed than ever,\nthat the disposition of his mistress was, in every respect, such as he\nwished to find it) all that was yet wanting for the completions of the\nnuptials was settled.\nThe second day after this was fixed for the celebration of the ceremony;\nafter which it was determined that the two bridegrooms, with their\nbrides, the father of Miss Mabel, Mrs. Wellair, and two other friends,\nshould all set out together for Sir Bazil's seat in Staffordshire; and\nthat Mrs. Wellair should write to her husband to meet them there, that\nthe whole family might be together on so joyful an occasion.\nCHAPTER XXII\n_Will prove, by a remarkable instance of a high-raised hope suddenly\ndisappointed, the extreme weakness of building our expectations upon\nmere conjecture_\nThough it is not to be imagined that the preparations for marriages,\nsuch as those of Sir Bazil Loveit and Mr. Trueworth, could be an entire\nsecret to the town, especially as neither of the parties had any motive\nto induce them to desire it should be so, yet Miss Betsy never heard the\nleast syllable of any such thing being in agitation. Those of her\nacquaintance, whom she at presently chiefly conversed with, were either\nignorant of it themselves, or had never happened to mention it in her\npresence; so that, knowing nothing of Mr. Trueworth's affairs of late,\nmore than what the lawyer had casually related at her brother's, it is\nnot to be wondered at, that she imagined him wholly disengaged since the\ndeath of that lady who had so kindly remembered him in her will.\nNeither ought it (her vanity considered) to appear strange, that she was\napt to flatter herself with a return of his affection to herself, when\nthe memory of the late object of it should be utterly erased.\nWhen there is the least possibility that what we ardently wish may come\nto pass, the minutest circumstance, in favour of our hopes, serves to\nassure us that it certainly will do so.\nMiss Betsy was going to make a visit at Whitehall; but, in crossing the\nPark, happened to meet the two Miss Airishes, who asked her to take a\nturn with them: to which she replied, that she would gladly accompany\nthem, but had sent word to a lady that she was coming to pass the whole\nevening with her. 'Nay,' said the elder Miss Airish, 'we have an\nengagement too at our own apartment, and can stay only to walk once up\nthe Mall, and down again.' Miss Betsy replied, that would be no great\nloss of time; and so went with them. They had not proceeded many yards\nin their promenade, before Miss Betsy saw Mr. Trueworth, with Sir Bazil,\ncoming directly towards them. The gentlemen bowed to her as they\napproached more near. A sudden thought that moment darting into Miss\nBetsy's head, she dropped her fan, as if by accident, as they were\npassing each other, just at Mr. Trueworth's feet: he stopped hastily to\ntake it up, and presented it hastily to her. 'I am sorry, Sir,' said\nshe, 'to give you this trouble.'--'Whatever services, Madam, are in my\npower,' replied he, 'will be always a pleasure to myself.'--No more was\nsaid--the gentlemen and the ladies pursued their different routs. This\nlittle adventure, however, had a prodigious effect on Miss Betsy: she\nthought she saw something so gay and sparkling in the eyes of Mr.\nTrueworth, as denoted his mourning-habit belied his heart, and that he\nwas not much affected with the death of her for whom decency and\ngratitude had obliged him to put it on. After the gentlemen were out of\nhearing, the two Miss Airishes began to give their judgments upon\nthem--the one cried, they both were very pretty fellows; but the other\naccused them of want of politeness.--'As they saw we had no man with\nus,' said she, 'they might, methinks, have offered their service to\ngallant us, especially as one of them seems to be acquainted with Miss\nBetsy.' But that young lady little regarded what was said on the\noccasion, being too much taken up with her own cogitations: she repeated\ninternally the words of Mr. Trueworth; and as she was persuaded he was\nnow at liberty to offer her all manner of services, she interpreted,\nthat by whatever services were in his power, he meant to renew his\nservices to her as a lover. This imagination elated her to a very high\ndegree, but hindered her from holding any conversation with the two\nladies she was with, as it was improper for her to say any thing on the\nsubject which so much engrossed her thoughts. They all walked together\nup to Buckingham House, then turned back, and the two Miss Airishes took\nleave of her at St. James's--they went into the Palace, and she was\nproceeding towards Spring Garden, when she at a distance perceived Sir\nBazil Loveit, Mr. Trueworth, Miss Mabel, and two ladies, whose faces she\nwas entirely unacquainted with.\nThe reader will not be at a loss to guess, that these two were no other\nthan Mrs. Wellair and Miss Harriot--they had been that afternoon to take\nleave of some friends, and had appointed to meet the gentlemen in the\nMall: in their way thither they had called upon Miss Mabel, and brought\nher with them. This little troop being all in the same sable livery,\nseemed so much of a family, as threw Miss Betsy into some sort of\nsurprize: she knew not that Miss Mabel had the least acquaintance with\nSir Bazil, nor even any more with Mr. Trueworth than having seen him a\nfew times in her company. As they drew nearer, she made a motion to Miss\nMabel, as if she was desirous of speaking to her; upon which that lady\nadvanced towards her, with these words: 'I am sorry, Madam,' said she,\n'as you are alone, that it is improper for me to ask you to join\nus.'--'I am very glad, Madam, you do not,' replied Miss Betsy, very much\npiqued, 'because I should be obliged to refuse you.' She no sooner\nuttered these words than she passed hastily on, and Miss Mabel returned\nto her company, who waited for her at some paces distance.\nIt must be acknowledged, that Miss Betsy had cause to be alarmed at a\nspeech of this nature, from a lady of Miss Mabel's politeness and good\nhumour; she thought there must be some powerful reasons, which had\nobliged her to make it; and what those reasons could be, seemed at\npresent an impenetrable secret. She was too much disconcerted to be able\nto pass the whole evening, as she had promised the lady she went to, she\nwould do; she therefore pretended a sudden indispostion, took her leave,\nand went home, in order to be at full liberty to ruminate on what had\npassed in the Park.\nShe had not been many minutes in her own apartment, before she was\ninterrupted in her meditations by the coming of her two brothers.\nSeveral bustos, pictures, pieces of old china, and other curiosities,\nbelonging to a nobleman, lately deceased, being to be exposed to sale,\nthe elder Mr. Thoughtless had an inclination to become a purchaser of\nsuch of them as he should find agreeable to his fancy, but was willing\nto have his sister's judgment in the matter; and it was to engage her to\ngo with him the next morning about twelve o'clock, when the goods were\nto be exhibited to publick view, that had occasioned him and Mr. Francis\nto make her this visit. It is not to be doubted, but that she was\nwilling to oblige him in that point; she assured him she would be ready\nagainst he came to call on her.\nWhen she was alone, she began to run over in her mind, all the\nparticulars of what had passed that evening in the Park, and found\nsomething very extraordinary on the whole. It had seemed extremely odd\nto her, that Mr. Trueworth and Sir Bazil did not join her and the two\nMiss Airishes; but then she thought she could easily account for their\nnot doing so, and that Mr. Trueworth did not chuse to enter into any\nconversation with her, because Sir Bazil had happened to see her at Miss\nForward's, and might possibly have entertained no favourable idea of her\non that score; she, therefore, with a great deal of readiness, excused\nMr. Trueworth for this omission, especially as she was possessed of the\nfancy, that the compliment with which he returned her fan, and the look\nhe assumed during that action, seemed to tell her he wished for an\nopportunity of adding something more tender. But when she came to\nconsider on the second meeting, she was indeed very much at a loss to\nfathom the meaning of what she had seen; she knew a thousand accidents\nmight have occasioned an acquaintance between Miss Mabel and Sir Bazil;\nand also, that the little she had with Mr. Trueworth might have been\ncasually improved; but could not find the least shadow of reason why\nthat lady should tell her it was improper for to ask her to join company\nwith them. Though she had of late seen that lady less frequently than\nusual; yet, whenever they did meet, it was with the greatest civility\nand appearance of friendship: she had, in reality, a sincere regard for\nher, and imagined the other looked upon her with the same; and therefore\ncould not but believe the shyness she put on in the Park, when speaking\nto her, must have some very powerful motive to occasion it. Suspense\nwas, of all things, what Miss Betsy could least bear: she resolved to be\nconvinced, though at the expence of that pride she would not have\nforfeited on any other account.--'In spite of the ill-manners she has\ntreated me with,' said she, 'I will go once more to her--satisfy my\ncuriosity as to the manner of her behaviour, and then never see her\nmore.'\nTo be more sure of finding her at home, she thought it best to make the\nvisit she intended in the morning; accordingly, she sent to her brother,\nthat being obliged to go to a lady, who had desired to see her, she\ncould not wait for his coming to call on her, but would not fail to meet\nhim at the place of sale, about the hour he had mentioned. This promise\nshe thought it would be easy for her to perform, as she designed to stay\nno longer with Miss Mabel than would be sufficient to get some light\ninto a thing which at present gave her so much perplexity.\nShe went about eleven o'clock; but was strangely surprized, on her\ncoming to the house, to find all the windows shut up; and after the\nchairman had knocked several times, the door was opened by Nanny, the\nlittle prating wench, who had lived at Mr. Goodman's.--'Nanny,' cried\nMiss Betsy, 'bless me! do you live here?'--'Yes, Madam,' answered she,\n'I have lived here ever since my master Goodman died.'--'I am glad of\nit,' returned Miss Betsy: 'but, pray, is your lady at home?'--'O, dear\nMadam,' said the girl, 'my lady!--why, Madam, don't you know what's done\nto-day?'--'Not I,' replied she--'pr'ythee what dost mean? What\ndone?'--'Lord, Madam,' said Nanny, 'I wonder you should not know it!--my\nlady is married today.'--'Married!' cried Miss Betsy hastily; 'to\nwhom?'--'To one Sir Bazil Loveit, Madam,' replied the other; 'and Mr.\nTrueworth is married too, to one Miss Harriot, Sir Bazil's sister: my\nold master gave both the brides away. I believe the ceremony is over by\nthis time; but as soon as it is, they all bowl away for Sir Bazil's seat\nin Staffordshire: they say there will be open house kept there, and the\nLord knows what doings. All the servants are gone--none but poor me left\nto look after the house.'--'Mr. Trueworth married!' cried Miss Betsy, in\nthe greatest confusion; 'I thought his mistress had been dead.'--'No,\nno, Madam,' said Nanny; 'you mean Mrs. Blanchfield--I know all that\nstory--I was told it by one who comes often here: Mr. Trueworth, I\nassure you, never courted her; she was only in love with him, and on\nhearing his engagement with Miss Harriot, took it to heart, poor soul,\nand died in a few days, and has left him half her fortune, and a world\nof fine things to Miss Harriot.'\nShe was going on with this tittle-tattle; but Miss Betsy was scarce in a\ncondition to distinguish what she said; she leaned her head back against\nthe chair, and was almost fainting away. The maid perceiving the change\nin her countenance, cried out, 'Lord, Madam, you are not well!--shall I\nget you any thing? But, now I think on it, there is a bottle of drops my\nlady left behind her in the dressing-room; I'll run and fetch them.' She\nwas going to do as she said; but Miss Betsy, recovering of herself,\ncalled to her to stay, saying she had no occasion for any thing. 'Lord,\nMadam,' said she, 'I did not think the marriage of Mr. Trueworth would\nhave been such a trouble to you, or I would not have told you any thing\nof it. I am sure you might have had him if you would; I remember well\nenough how he fought for you with Mr. Staple, and how he followed you up\nand down wherever you went. For that matter, Miss Harriot has but your\nleavings.'--'I give myself no trouble who has him,' replied Miss Betsy,\ndisdainfully: 'it is not him I am thinking of; I was only a little\nsurprized that Miss Mabel should make such a secret of her affairs to\nme.'--'You know, Madam,' said Nanny, 'that my lady is a very close\nwoman: but I wonder, indeed, she should tell you nothing of it; for I\nhave heard her speak the kindest things of you.'--'Well, it is no\nmatter,' replied Miss Betsy. 'Farewel, Nanny.' Then bid the chairmen go\non. The confusion she was in hindered her from directing the chairmen\nwhere to go; so they were carrying her home again, till she saw herself\nat the end of the street where she lived; but then, recollecting all at\nonce where she had appointed to meet her brothers, she ordered them to\ngo to Golden Square.\nIt seemed as if fate interested itself in a peculiar manner for the\nmortification of this young lady; every thing contributed to give her\nthe most poignant shock her soul could possibly sustain. It was not\nenough that she had heard the cruel tidings of what she looked upon as\nthe greatest of misfortunes, her eyes must also be witness of the\nstabbing confirmation. The place of sale was within two houses of Sir\nBazil's; but, as she had never heard where that gentleman lived, could\nhave no apprehensions of the spectacle she was to be presented with. On\nher chair turning into the square, she saw that side of it, to which she\nhad directed the men to carry her, crowded with coaches, horses, and a\ngreat concourse of people; some waiting for the bridal bounty, but more\nas idle spectators. At first, she imagined it was on the account of the\nsale; but the same instant almost shewed her her mistake.\nSeveral footmen, with wedding-favours in their hats, two of whom she\nknew by their faces, as well as by their liveries, belonged to Mr.\nTrueworth, were just mounting their horses. The crowd was so thick about\nthe door, that it was with some difficulty the chair passed on; and she\nhad an opportunity of seeing much more than she desired. There were\nthree coaches and six: in the first went Sir Bazil and the new-made Lady\nLoveit, the father of Miss Mabel, and a young lady whom Miss Betsy had\nsometimes seen in her company; in the second were seated Mr. Trueworth,\nhis bride, Mrs. Wellair, and a grave old gentleman; the third was filled\nby four maid-servants, and the two valet de chambres of the two\nbridegrooms, with a great deal of luggage before and behind. The ladies\nand gentlemen were all in extreme rich riding-habits; and the footmen,\neleven in number, being all in new liveries, and spruce fellows, the\nwhole cavalcade altogether made a very genteel appearance.\nMiss Betsy, in spite of the commotions in her breast, could not forbear\nstanding a little in the hall, after she had got out of her chair; till\nthe whole had passed. 'Well!' said she to herself, with a deep sigh,\n'all is over, and I must think no more of Trueworth! But wherefore am I\nthus alarmed? He has long since been lost to me--nor did I love him!'\nShe assumed all the courage her pride could supply her with, and had\ntolerably composed herself before she went up into the sale-room; yet\nnot so much but a paleness, mixed with a certain confusion, appeared in\nher countenance. Mr. Munden, who happened to be there, as well as her\nbrothers, took notice of it, and asked if she was not well: to which she\nreplied, with an uncommon presence of mind, that she was in perfect\nhealth, but had been frightened as she came along by a great black ox,\nwho, by the carelessness of the driver, had like to have run his horns\nquite into the chair. Mr. Munden, who never wanted politeness, and knew\nhow to put on the most tender air whenever he pleased, expressed an\ninfinity of concern for the accident she mentioned: and this behaviour\nin him she either relished very well, or seemed to do so.\nWhat credit her brothers gave to the story of the ox is uncertain: they,\nas well as all the company in the room, had been drawn to the windows by\nthe noise of the cavalcade which had set out from Sir Bazil's. Every one\nwas talking of it when Miss Betsy entered; and, it is very probable, the\ntwo Mr. Thoughtlesses might imagine it had an effect upon her, in spite\nof the indifference she had always pretended: they were, however, too\nprudent to take any notice, especially as Mr. Munden was present.\nWhatever were the troubles of this young lady, her spirits enabled her\nto conceal them; and she gave her opinion of the goods to be disposed of\nwith as much exactitude as if her mind had been taken up with no other\nthing.\nMr. Thoughtless made a purchase of the twelve Caesars in bronze, and two\nfruit-pieces of Varelst's: and Mr. Munden, on Miss Betsy's expressing\nher liking of two very large curious jars, bought them, and presented\nthem to her.\nNothing material passed here: but, the sale being over for that day,\nevery one returned to their respective habitations, or whatever business\nor inclination called them.\nVOLUME THE FOURTH\nCHAPTER I\n_Contains, among other particulars, an example of forgiving goodness and\ngenerosity, worthy the imitation of as many as shall read it_\nThe constraint Miss Betsy had put on herself while in the presence of\nthe company she had been with, had been extremely painful to her; but,\nwhen she got home, she gave a loose to tears, that common relief of\nsorrows: yet, amidst all those testimonies of a violent affection for\nMr. Trueworth, she would not allow herself to imagine that she was\npossessed of any for him; nor that the vexation she was in proceeded\nfrom any other motive than that of finding a heart, that had once been\ndevoted to her, capable of submitting to the charms of any other woman.\nAll she could bring herself to acknowledge was only that she had been\nvery much to blame in treating the proposals of Mr. Trueworth in the\nlight manner she had done: she now wondered at herself for having been\nso blind to the merits of Mr. Trueworth's family, estate, person, and\naccomplishments; and accused herself, with the utmost severity, for\nhaving rejected what, she could not but confess, would have been highly\nfor her interest, honour, and happiness, to have accepted.\nThus deeply was she buried in a too late repentance, when a letter was\nbrought to her, the superscription of which was wrote in a hand\naltogether unknown to her. On opening it, she found the contents as\nfollows.\n     'Marshalsea Prison.\n     To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.\n     Madam,\n     After the just though severe resolution your last informed me you\n     had taken of never seeing nor receiving any thing from me more, I\n     tremble to approach you. Fearing you would not vouchsafe to open\n     this, knowing from whence it came, I got a person to direct it for\n     you; and cannot assure myself you will, even now, examine the\n     contents so far as to see the motive which emboldens me to give you\n     this trouble.\n     I have long since rendered myself unworthy your friendship--it is\n     solely your compassion and charity that I now implore. The date of\n     this petition, in part, will shew you the calamity I labour under.\n     I have languished in this wretched prison for upwards of a month,\n     for debts my luxury contracted, and which I vainly expected would\n     be discharged by those who called themselves my admirers: but,\n     alas! all the return they make for favours they so ardently\n     requested, is contempt. I have been obliged to make away with every\n     thing their gallantry bestowed, for my support.\n     All the partners of my guilty pleasures--all those who shared with\n     me in my riots, are deaf to my complaints, and refuse a pitying ear\n     to the distress they have in a great measure contributed to bring\n     upon me. My creditors, more merciful than my friends or lovers,\n     have consented to withdraw their actions; and I shall have my\n     discharge on paying the fees of this loathsome prison. Three\n     guineas will be sufficient to restore my liberty; which, if I am so\n     fortune once more to obtain, I will think no labour, though ever so\n     hard or abject, too much, if it can enable me to drag on my remains\n     of life in true penitence.\n     Dear Madam, if, by favouring me with the sum I mention, you are so\n     good as to open my prison-gate, Heaven will, I doubt not, reward\n     the generous bounty: and, if the Almighty will vouchsafe to hear\n     the prayers of an abandoned creature like me, I shall never cease\n     to invoke his choicest blessings may be showered down on the head\n     of my charming deliverer.\n     I shall send to-morrow morning a poor honest woman, whom I can\n     confide in, for your answer. I beseech you to be assured that, if\n     once freed from this detested place, no temptations, of what kind\n     soever, shall ever prevail upon me to return to my yet more\n     detested former course of life; and am determined to fly to some\n     remote corner of the kingdom, as distant from London as from L----e;\n     and there endeavour to earn a wretched pittance, by means how low\n     soever I care not. Your grant of the request I make you at this\n     time, will save both the soul and body of her who is, with the most\n     unfeigned contrition, Madam, your most humble, and most unfortunate\n     servant,\n     A. FORWARD.'\nUtterly impossible was it for this unhappy creature to have sent her\npetition at a more unlucky time. Miss Betsy, full of the idea of the\nmisfortune she had sustained in the loss of Mr. Trueworth, could not be\nreminded of Miss Forward, without being also reminded that the first\noccasion of his disgust was owing to her acquaintance with that woman.\n'Infamous creature!' cried Miss Betsy, as soon as she had done reading;\n'she deserves no compassion from the world, much less from me. No, no!\nthere are but too many objects of charity to be found; and I shall not\nlavish the little bounty I am able to bestow, on a wretch like her!'\nThese were the first reflections of Miss Betsy on receiving so\nunexpected a petition; but they soon subsided, and gave way to others of\na more gentle nature. 'Yet,' said she, 'if the poor wretch is sensible\nof her faults, and truly resolved to do as she pretends, it would be the\nutmost cruelty to deny her the means of fulfilling the promise she makes\nof amendment.\n'How unhappy is our sex!' continued she, 'either in a too much or too\nlittle sensibility of the tender passion! She was, alas! too easily\ninfluenced by the flatteries of the base part of mankind; and I too\nlittle grateful to the merits of the best.'\nIn fine, the natural goodness of her disposition got the ascendant over\nall considerations that opposed the grant of Miss Forward's request. 'My\nacquaintance with her has been fatal to me,' said she; 'but that was\nless owing to her fault than my own folly.'\nAccordingly, she sent by the woman who came next morning, as mentioned\nin the letter, four guineas, inclosed in a piece of paper, and wrote to\nher in these terms.\n     'To Miss Forward.\n     Madam,\n     Though I cannot but look upon your misfortunes as justly fallen on\n     you, yet heartily commiserate them. If your penitence is sincere, I\n     doubt not but you will, some way or other, be enabled to pursue a\n     more laudable course of life than that which has brought you into\n     this distress. I add one guinea to the sum you requested; and wish\n     it were in my power to do more, being your real well-wisher, and\n     humble servant,\n     E. THOUGHTLESS.'\nThough no one could have more refined notions of virtue, nor a greater\nabhorrence for vice, than this young lady, yet never did she hate the\npersons of the guilty; nor would judge with that severity of their\nfaults which some others, much less innocent, are apt to do.\nIt pleased her to think that, by this donation, she should gladden the\nheart of an afflicted person, who had been of her acquaintance, how\nunworthy soever of late she had rendered herself; and this little\ninterruption of her meditations contributed a good deal to compose her\nmind, after the sudden shock it had sustained on the score of Mr.\nTrueworth's marriage.\nBut she had very shortly another and more agreeable relief. Sir Ralph\nand Lady Trusty came to town; which she no sooner was informed of, and\nwhere a house had been taken for their reception, than she went early\nthe next morning to pay her respects, and testify the real satisfaction\nshe conceived at their arrival.\nNothing of business would probably have been said to her on this first\nvisit, if her two brothers had not come in immediately after. The first\ncompliments on such an occasion being over--'Sir Ralph,' said the elder\nMr. Thoughtless, 'we have wished for your coming to town on many\naccounts; but none so much as that of my sister, who is going to be\nmarried, and has only waited to intreat you will do her the favour of\ndisposing of her hand.'\nThe good baronet replied, that there was nothing he should do with\ngreater pleasure, provided it were to a person worthy of her. 'That,\nSir,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'we have taken care to be\nconvinced of; and I doubt not but you will think as we do, when you\nshall be informed of the particulars.' Miss Betsy blushed, but uttered\nnot a word, either to oppose or to agree to what had been said.\nLady Trusty perceiving her in some confusion, led her into another room,\nin order to talk seriously to her on many things she had in her head.\nCHAPTER II\n_Is very full of business_\nThe two brothers of Miss Betsy having some reason to apprehend she would\nstill find some pretence, if possible, to evade fulfilling the promise\nshe had made them in regard to Mr. Munden; and also that he, finding\nhimself trifled with, might become weary of prosecuting so unavailing a\nsuit, and break off as Mr. Trueworth had done, resolved to omit nothing\nin their power for bringing to a conclusion an affair which seemed to\nthem so absolutely necessary for securing the honour of their family in\nthat of their sister.\nThey suspected that their putting off the marriage till the arrival of\nSir Ralph and Lady Trusty, was only to gain time, and invent some excuse\nto get that lady on her side: they, therefore, judged it highly proper\nto acquaint her previously with the motives which made them so impatient\nto see their sister disposed of, and by that means prevent her ladyship\nfrom being prepossessed by any ideas the other might prepare for that\npurpose.\nAccordingly, Mr. Francis Thoughtless having been informed by letter of\nthe day in which they intended to be in town, he went on horseback, and\nmet them at the inn where they dined, about twenty miles from London.\nThat good lady was so much troubled at the recital he made her of Miss\nBetsy's late adventures, that she could not forbear letting fall some\ntears; and, though she laid the blame of her ill-conduct chiefly on her\nhaving lived so long under the tuition and example of a woman such as\nLady Mellasin, yet she could not but allow there was a certain vanity in\nher composition, as dangerous to virtue as to reputation, and that\nmarriage was the only defence for both.\nSir Ralph, who was an extreme facetious, good-natured man, was a little\npleasant on what his lady had said on this occasion. 'You forget, my\ndear,' cried he, 'how many ladies of late have broke the conjugal hoop,\nand think themselves justified in doing so, by having been prevailed\nupon to enter into it without inclination. Remember the words of the\nhumorous poet Hudibras--\n    \"Wedlock without love, some say,\n    Is but a lock without a key;\n    And 'tis a kind of rape to marry\n    One, who neglects, cares not for ye;\n    For what does make it ravishment,\n    But being 'gainst the mind's consent?\"\n'Does Miss Betsy,' continued he, to Mr. Francis, 'love the gentleman you\nwould have her marry?' To which the other replied, that the temper of\nhis sister was too capricious for any one to be able to judge of the\nreal situation of her heart, or even for herself to be fully assured of\nit.\nHe then proceeded to inform him how long Mr. Munden had courted her, and\nof the great encouragement she had always given to his addresses; her\nsubmitting the decision of the affair to the elder Mr. Thoughtless's\ninspection into the circumstances of his estate, which being found\nagreeable to the report made of it, she now only waited, or pretended to\nwait, for the approbation of Sir Ralph, as being, by her father's will,\nconstituted her guardian.\n'Well, then,' said Sir Ralph, 'since it is so, and you are all desirous\nit should be a match, I shall not fail to give my verdict accordingly.'\nAs impatient as the two brothers were to see her married, and out of the\nway of those temptations she at present lay under, they could not be\nmore so than Lady Trusty now was: she doubted not that the virtue and\ngood-sense of that young lady would render her a very good wife, when\nonce she was made one; and therefore heartily wished to see her settled\nin the world, even though it were to less advantage than her beauty, and\nthe many good qualities she was possessed of, might entitle her to\nexpect.\nIt was in order to do every thing in her power to bring about what she\nthought so good a work, that she had drawn Miss Betsy from the company,\nand retired with her into the closet, in the manner already related.\nMiss Betsy, who knew nothing of all this, or even that her brother had\ngone to meet them on the road, was extremely surprized to find, by the\ndiscourse with which Lady Trusty entertained her, that no part of what\nhad happened to her, ever since the death of Mr. Goodman, was a secret\nto her ladyship.\nShe presently saw, however, it must be by her brother Frank that this\nintelligence had been given; and was not at all at a loss to guess the\nmotive of his having done it. 'I find, Madam,' said she, 'that all the\nerrors and inadvertencies I have been guilty of are betrayed to you; and\nam far from being sorry they are so, since the gentle reproofs you take\nthe trouble to give me, are so many fresh marks of the friendship with\nwhich you vouchsafe to honour me, and which I shall always esteem as my\ngreatest happiness. I flatter myself, however,' continued she, 'that the\nremembrance of what has lately befallen me, and the imminent dangers I\nhave escaped, will enable me to regulate my conduct in such a manner as\nto give your ladyship no farther pain on my account.'\nLady Trusty, on this, embraced her with the utmost tenderness; and told\nher, that there were few things she either wished or hoped for with\ngreater ardency than to see her happily settled, and freed from all\ntemptations of what kind soever.\nThis worthy lady then fell on the subject of Mr. Munden; and\nrecapitulated all the arguments which had been already urged, to\npersuade her to come to a determination. In fine, she left nothing\nunsaid that was suitable to the occasion.\nMiss Betsy listened to her with the most submissive attention; and,\nafter a short pause, replied in these terms--'Madam,' said she, 'I am\nconvinced, by my own reason as well as by what your ladyship has been\npleased to say, that I have, indeed, gone too far with Mr. Munden to be\nable to go back with honour; and, since I find he has the approbation of\nall my friends, shall no longer attempt to trifle with his pretensions.'\n'You will marry him, then?' cried Lady Trusty. 'Yes, Madam,' answered\nMiss Betsy; and added, though not without some hesitation, 'Since my\nmarriage is a thing so much desired by those to whose will I shall\nalways be ready to submit, Mr. Munden has certainly a right to expect I\nshould decide in his favour.'\nShe said no more, but hung down her head, and Lady Trusty was going to\nmake some reply--perhaps to ask how far her heart acquiesced in the\nconsent her tongue had given--but was prevented by Sir Ralph, who,\npushing open the door of the room where they were, told her she\nengrossed his fair charge too long--that it was now time for himself and\nher brothers to have some share in their conversation.\n'Some polite wives, Sir Ralph,' said Lady Trusty, laughing, 'would not\nhave excused so abrupt a breaking in upon their privacy; and I assure\nyou, if you had interrupted us a moment sooner, you might have spoiled\nall, for Miss Betsy has but just given me her promise to marry Mr.\nMunden.'\n'I should have been heartily sorry indeed,' said he, 'if my over zeal\nhad rendered me a Marplot on this occasion: but come,' continued he,\n'since the young lady has at last resolved, let us carry the joyful news\nto her brothers.'\nIn speaking these words he gave one of his hands to Lady Trusty, and the\nother to Miss Betsy, and led them into the dining-room, where the Mr.\nThoughtlesses were: 'Well, gentlemen,' said he, 'your sister has at last\nconsented to give you a brother; pray, thank her for the addition she is\ngoing to make to your family.'\n'I hope,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'she will find her own\nhappiness in doing so.' The younger added something to the same purpose.\nAfter this the conversation turned chiefly on the solid satisfaction of\na married life, in which Miss Betsy took but little part, only saying to\nher two brothers, 'Well, since both of you have so high an opinion of\nmatrimony, and will needs have me, who am by some years younger than\neither of you, lead the way, I hope I shall soon see you follow the\nexample.'\n'Our elder brother,' said Mr. Francis, 'may, doubtless, marry whenever\nhe pleases; and, as for my part, when it can be proved that I have an\noffer made me equally advantageous to what you have rejected, and I\nshould refuse it, I could not be angry with the world for condemning my\nwant of judgment.'\n'No more of that,' cried Sir Ralph; 'you see she hears reason at last.'\nLady Trusty would fain have persuaded the gentlemen to stay dinner\nthere; but they excused themselves, as expecting company at home, and\nsaid, if possible they would return toward evening: she would not,\nhowever, permit Miss Betsy to take leave; and her continuing there that\nwhole day happened to bring things somewhat sooner a conclusion, than\nperhaps they otherwise would have been.\nMr. Munden, as soft and complaisant as he carried it to Miss Betsy, was\nvery much disgusted in his mind at her late behaviour; he found she\nloved him not, and was far from having any violent inclination for her\nhimself; but the motives which had made him persevere in his courtship,\nafter being convinced of the indifference she had for him, made him also\nimpatient to bring the affair to as speedy a result as possible. Sir\nRalph was the last person to whom she had referred the matter; he had\nheard by accident of that gentleman's arrival, and went to her lodgings,\nin order to see in what manner she would now receive him; but not\nfinding her at home, called at the house of Mr. Thoughtless, who had\nalways been very propitious to his suit.\nOn the two brothers returning from Sir Ralph's, they met him just coming\nout of the house; the elder desired him to walk in--told him, with a\ngreat deal of freedom, that Sir Ralph was come to town; that the\nbusiness having been communicated to him, he approved of the match, and\nhis sister had consented. Mr. Munden received this information with all\nthe seeming transport of a man passionately in love; he made them a\nthousand retributions for the part they had taken in his interest; and\nthey expressed no less satisfaction in the accomplishment of his\ndesires. After some few compliments on both sides, the elder Mr.\nThoughtless informed him, that Miss Betsy was to stay the whole day with\nSir Ralph and Lady Trusty; that himself and brother had promised to\nreturn thither in the evening, and that he should be glad if he would\naccompany them, in order that when they were all together, every thing\nmight be settled for the completion of the nuptials.\nIt is not to be doubted but that the lover readily embraced this\nproposition; and an hour for his waiting on them being prefixed, he took\nhis leave, the company that was to dine with Mr. Thoughtless that\ninstant coming in.\nCHAPTER III\n_Will not let the reader fall asleep_\nI believe the reader will easily perceive, that it was owing to the\napprehensions of Miss Betsy's fluctuating disposition, that her brothers\ntestified so great an impatience for bringing the affair of her marriage\nto a conclusion; and also, that it was to confirm her in her resolution,\nand reconcile her to the promise she had made, that Lady Trusty had kept\nher with her that whole day.\nThe arguments urged by that worthy lady, the obliging and chearful\nmanner in which they were delivered, joined to the facetious and\nentertaining remarks which Sir Ralph had occasionally made, had indeed a\ngreat effect, for the present, on the too wavering and uncertain mind\nthey were intended to fix.\nThough she was far from expecting Mr. Munden could come that evening\nwith her brothers, or even from imagining he could as yet be informed of\nwhat had passed in his favour, yet she was not displeased when she saw\nhim enter; and if she looked a little confounded, it was rather to be\nattributed to modesty than anger.\nThat gentleman having made his first compliments to Sir Ralph and Lady\nTrusty, on his being presented to them, flew directly to Miss Betsy, and\nexpressed his sense of the happiness her brothers had made him hope, in\nterms the most passionate that words would form. She received what he\nsaid to her, on this occasion, with a sweetness which must have\ninfinitely charmed a heart truly sensible of the tender passion, that\neven Mr. Munden, though less delicate than he pretended, could not but\nbe greatly affected with it.\nIn fine, the behaviour of both towards each other, gave great\ncontentment to all the friends of Miss Betsy; and her elder brother, for\nform's sake, recapitulating the proposal of Mr. Munden, concerning her\nsettlement and jointure, Sir Ralph gave that approbation in publick\nwhich he before had done in private: the intended bridegroom and Mr.\nThoughtless agreed to go the next morning to Mr. Markland the lawyer,\nand give him the necessary instructions for drawing up the marriage\narticles.\nThey broke not up company till the night was pretty far advanced; and\nMr. Thoughtless not having his own coach there, a hackney set them all\ndown at their respective habitations.\nThus far all went extremely well: the parties chiefly concerned seemed\nperfectly satisfied with each other, and with themselves, for the\nagreement they had mutually entered into; and there appeared not the\nleast likelihood of any future difficulty that would arise to interrupt,\nor delay the consummation of the so much desired nuptials.\nMiss Betsy had not as yet had time to meditate on what she had given her\npromise to perform: the joy she found her compliance had given all her\nfriends--the endearing things they said to her upon the occasion, and\nthe transport Mr. Munden had expressed, on seeing himself so near the\nend of all his wishes--had kept up her spirits; and she imagined, while\nin their presence, that her inclination had dictated the consent her\nlips had uttered.\nBut when she was alone, shut up in her own apartments--when she no\nlonger received the kind caresses of her smiling friends, nor the\nflattering raptures of her future husband--all the lively ideas which\ntheir conversation and manner of behaviour towards her had inspired,\nvanished at once, and gave place to fancies, which must justly bear the\nname of splenetic.\n'I must now look upon myself,' said she, 'as already married: I have\npromised--it is too late to think of retracting. A few days hence, I\nsuppose, will oblige me to the performance of my promise; and I may say,\nwith Monimia in the play--\n    \"I have bound up for myself a weight of cares;\n    And how the burden will be borne, none knows.\"\n'I wonder,' continued she, 'what can make the generality of women so\nfond of marrying? It looks to me like an infatuation; just as if it were\nnot a greater pleasure to be courted, complimented, admired, and\naddressed, by a number, than be confined to one, who, from a slave,\nbecomes a master; and, perhaps, uses his authority in a manner\ndisagreeable enough.\n'And yet it is expected from us. One has no sooner left off one's bib\nand apron, than people cry--\"Miss will soon be married!\"--and this man,\nand that man, is presently picked out for a husband. Mighty ridiculous!\nthey want to deprive us of all the pleasures of life, just when one\nbegins to have a relish for them.'\nIn this humour she went to bed; nor did sleep present her with images\nmore pleasing: sometimes she imagined herself standing on the brink of\nmuddy, troubled waters; at others, that she was wandering through\ndeserts, overgrown with thorns and briars, or seeking to find a passage\nthrough some ruined building, whose tottering roof seemed ready to fall\nupon her head, and crush her to pieces.\nThese gloomy representations, amidst her broken slumbers, when vanished,\nleft behind them an uncommon heaviness upon her waking mind: she rose,\nbut it was only to throw herself into a chair, where she sat for a\nconsiderable time, like one quite stupid and dead to all sensations of\nevery kind.\nAt last, remembering that they were all to dine at her brother's that\nday by appointment, she rouzed herself as well as she was able, and\nstarted from the posture she had been in; 'I see I am at the end of all\nmy happiness,' said she, 'and that my whole future life is condemned to\nbe a scene of disquiet; but there is no resisting destiny--they will\nhave it so; I have promised, and must submit.'\nOn opening a little cabinet, in which she always kept those things she\nmost valued, in order to take out some ornaments to put on that day, the\npicture of Mr. Trueworth stared her in the face. 'Ah!' said she, taking\nit up, and looking attentively upon it, 'if my brother Frank and Lady\nTrusty had been in town when the original of this made his addresses to\nme, I should then, as now, have been compelled to have given my hand. It\nis likely, too, I should have yielded with the same reluctance. Blinded\nby my vanity--led by mistaken pride--I had not considered the value I\nought to have set upon his love. He had not then done any thing for me\nmore than any other man, who pretended courtship to me, would have done.\nI know not how it is, I did not then think him half so agreeable as I\nnow find he is. What a sweetness is there in these eyes!' cried she,\nstill looking on the picture. 'What an air of dignity in every\nfeature!--wit--virtue--bravery--generosity--and every amiable quality\nthat can adorn mankind, methinks are here comprized.\n'But to what purpose do I now see all these perfections in him?' went\nshe on. 'He is the right of another; he has given himself to one, who\nknows better than my unhappy self to do justice to such exalted merit:\nhe thinks no more of me; and I must henceforth think no more of him!'\nShe ended these words with a deep sigh, and some tears; then laid the\npicture up, and endeavoured to compose herself as well as she could.\nShe was but just dressed when Mr. Munden came to wait on her, and\nconduct her to her brother's, where they were to dine: he told her he\nhad been with the elder Mr. Thoughtless at the lawyer's, about the\nwritings; 'So that now, my angel!' said he, 'I flatter myself that my\ndays of languishment are near a period.'\nHe took the freedom of accompanying these words with a pretty warm\nembrace.--'Forbear, Mr. Munden,' cried she, with the most forbidding\ncoldness; 'you have yet no right to liberties of this nature.'\n'Cruel and unkind Miss Betsy!' resumed he; 'must nothing, then, be\nallowed to love, and all be left to law?' He then went on with some\ndiscourses of the passion he had for her, and the joy he felt in the\nthoughts of his approaching happiness: to all which she made very short\nreplies; till at last it came into her head to interrupt him in the\nmidst of a very tender exclamation, by saying, 'Mr. Munden, I forgot to\nmention one thing to you; but it is not yet too late--I suppose you\ndesign to keep a coach?'\nThis a little startled him; and, looking upon her with a very grave\nair--'Madam,' said he, 'you are sensible my estate will not permit me to\noblige you in this point.'--'And can you imagine I will ever marry to\ntrudge on foot?' cried she.\n'I should be both sorry and ashamed,' replied he, 'to see you do that;\nbut there are other conveniences, which will, I hope, content you, till\nfortune puts it in my power to do otherwise.'\nHe then reminded her of the expectations she had frequently heard him\nmake mention of, concerning his hopes of soon obtaining both an\nhonourable and lucrative employment; and assured her, that as soon as he\nhad procured a grant of it, he would set up an equipage accordingly.\nBut this did not at all satisfy her; she insisted on having a coach\ndirectly, and gave him some hints, as if she would not marry without\none; which very much nettling him, he desired she would remember her\npromise, which was absolutely given, without the least mention of a\ncoach being made.\n'I would not have you,' said she, 'insist too much on that promise, lest\nI should be provoked to give you the same answer Leonora, in the play,\ngives to her importunate lover--\n    \"That boasted promise ties me not to time;\n    And bonds without a date, they say, are void.\"\nMr. Munden could not now contain his temper--he told her he could not\nhave expected such treatment after his long services, and her favourable\nacceptance of them--that he thought he merited, at least, a shew of\nkindness from her; and, in fine, that she did not act towards him as\nbecame a woman of honour.\nThis was a reproach which the spirit of Miss Betsy was too high to bear;\nshe, blushing with indignation, and casting the most disdainful look\nupon him, was about to make some answer, which, perhaps, in the humour\nhe then was, would have occasioned him to retort in such a manner as\nmight have broken off all the measures which had been so long\nconcerting, if a sudden interruption had not prevented it.\nMr. Francis Thoughtless, not knowing anything of Mr. Munden's being\nthere, and happening to pass that way, called on his sister, to know if\nshe was ready to go to his brother's, it being near dinner-time; he\nimmediately perceived, by both their countenances, that some brul\u00e9e had\nhappened between them; and, on his asking, in a gay manner, the cause of\nit, Mr. Munden made no scruple to relate the sum of what had passed. The\nbrother of Miss Betsy, though in his heart very much vexed with her,\naffected to treat what Mr. Munden had said, as a bagatelle; and, calling\nto his sister's footman to get a hackney-coach to the door, made them\nboth go with him to his brother's; saying, they would there adjust every\nthing.\nCHAPTER IV\n_Contains, among other particulars, certain bridal admonitions_\nThough Mr. Francis Thoughtless did not judge it convenient to reproach\nhis sister in the presence of Mr. Munden, on the complaints of that\ngentleman, yet she had no sooner vented the little spleen she had been\nthat instant possessed of, than she began to excuse herself of having\nbeen too poignant to a person whom she had promised to make her husband.\nTo atone, therefore, for the severity of her late behaviour--'This is a\ngood, handsome, clean hack,' said she with a smile; 'one would think my\nfellow had pitched on such a one on purpose, to keep me from regretting\nmy not having one of my own.'\n'I only wish, Madam,' replied Mr. Munden, 'that you might be reconciled\nto such things as are in my power to accommodate you with, till I am so\nhappy to present you with every thing you can desire.'--'Let us talk no\nmore of that,' cried she; 'be assured that, whatever I may have said, I\nam far from thinking the happiness of life consists in grandeur.'\nMr. Munden, on these words, kissed her hand; and she permitted him to\nhold it between his till they came out of the coach.\nThis, indeed, had been the very last effort of all the maiden pride and\nvanity of Miss Betsy; and Mr. Munden henceforward had no reason to\ncomplain of her behaviour towards him.\nSir Ralph Trusty, in regard to his age and character, had the honour of\nnominating the day for the celebration of their nuptials; and Miss Betsy\nmade no excuses, or order to protract the time, but agreed with as much\nreadiness as her future bridegroom could have wished.\nThe good Lady Trusty, as well as the two Mr. Thoughtlesses, however,\nbeing not yet able to assure themselves that nothing was to be feared\nfrom the uncertainty of her temper, did every thing in their power to\nkeep her in good-humour with her fate; and to their endeavours it may,\nperhaps, be ascribed, much more than to the force of her own resolution\nthat she ceased to be guilty of any thing that might give the least\ncause of discontent to Mr. Munden, or betray that which, in spite of all\nshe could do, preyed upon herself.\nTo these assiduities of her friends, another motive might also be added\nfor the keeping up her spirits, which was, that of her mind being\ncontinually employed: Mr. Munden had taken a very handsome house--the\nupholsterer received all the orders for the furnishing it from\nher--there were, besides, many other things necessary for the rendering\nit compleat, that were not in his province to supply; the going,\ntherefore, to shops and warehouses for that purpose, took a very great\npart of her time. What could be spared from these, and some other\npreparations for her wedding, either Lady Trusty, or her brothers, had\nthe address to engage: one or other of them were always with her, till\nthe night was far advanced, and sleep became more welcome than any\nmeditations she could indulge.\nThe appointed day at length arrived--she was conducted to the altar by\nSir Ralph Trusty; where, being met by Mr. Munden, the ceremony of\nmarriage was performed, none being present at it but Lady Trusty and her\ntwo brothers; for as she could not have celebrated it with that pomp and\neclat agreeable to a woman of her humour, she had earnestly desired it\nmight be done with all the privacy imaginable.\nThe indissoluble knot now tied, they proceeded to Pontac's; where an\nelegant entertainment being prepared for them by Mr. Munden's orders,\nthey dined; and afterwards went all together to a lodging Mr. Munden had\nhired, for a small time, in a little village five or six miles from\nLondon.\nThis he had done to oblige his bride, who had told him she desired to be\nlost to the world till the first discourse of their marriage should be\nover, to avoid the visits and congratulations of their friends on that\noccasion.\nIt would be needless to tell the reader that there was a general scene\nof joy amidst this little company: Mr. Munden expressed, and indeed,\nfelt, an infinity of transport, on having triumphed over so many\ndifficulties, which had for a long time continually risen to impede his\nwishes. The two Mr. Thoughtlesses were extremely overjoyed, on thinking\na period was put to all their cares in relation to their sister: Lady\nTrusty also, and Sir Ralph, looking on this marriage, as things were\ncircumstanced, highly convenient for Miss Betsy, were very much pleased;\nso that it must necessarily follow, that an event, which cost so much\npains to bring about, must occasion a general content in the minds of\nall those who had so strenuously laboured for it.\nAmidst this scene of joy, Miss Betsy herself was the only person whose\ncountenance discovered the least pensiveness; nor was hers any more than\nwhat might be attributed to the modesty of a virgin bride.\nLady Trusty, however, who had observed her all day with an attentive\neye, thought it proper to give her some admonitions concerning her\nfuture behaviour, before she took her leave.\nTo this end, she drew her into another room, apart from the company; and\nhaving told her she had something of moment to say to her, began to\nentertain her in the following manner.\n'My dear child,' said she, 'you are now, I fear, more through your\ncompliance with the desires of your friends than through your own\ninclination, entered into a state, the happiness of which greatly\ndepends on the part you act in the first scenes of it: there are some\nwomen who think they can never testify too much fondness for their\nhusbands, and that the name of wife is a sufficient sanction for giving\na loose to the utmost excesses of an extravagant and romantick passion;\nbut this is a weakness which I am pretty certain you will stand in no\nneed of my advice to guard against. I am rather apprehensive of your\nrunning into a contrary extreme, equally dangerous to your future peace,\nas to that of your husband. A constant and unmoved insensibility will in\ntime chill the most warm affection, and, perhaps, raise suspicions in\nhim of the cause, which would be terrible indeed: beware, therefore, I\nconjure you, how you affect to despise, or treat with any marks of\ncontempt, or even of too much coldness, a tenderness which he has a\nright to expect you should return in kind, as far, at least, as modesty\nand discretion will permit you to bestow.\n'As to your conduct in family affairs,' continued this good lady, 'I\nwould have you always confine yourself to such things as properly\nappertain to your own province, never interfering with such as belong to\nyour husband: be careful to give to him all the rights of his place,\nand, at the same time, maintain your own, though without seeming to be\ntoo tenacious of them. If any dispute happen to arise between you\nconcerning superiority, though in matters of the slightest moment,\nrather recede a little from your due than contend too far; but let him\nsee you yield more to oblige him than because you think yourself bound\nto do so.\n'Mr. Munden, I flatter myself, has every qualification to make you\nhappy, and to shew that your friends, in advising you to marry him, have\nnot misled your choice: but as perfection is not to be found on this\nside the grave, and the very best of us are not exempt from the\nfrailties of human nature, whatever errors he may happen to fall into,\nas it does not become you to reprimand him, I wish you would never take\nnotice you have observed them. A man of the strictest honour and good\nsense may sometimes slip--be guilty of some slight forgetfulness--but\nthen he will recover of himself, and be ashamed of his mistake; whereas\nreproaches only serve to harden the indignant mind, and make it rather\nchuse to persevere in the vices it detests, than to return to the\nvirtues it admires, if warned by the remonstrances of another.\n'But, above all things,' added she, 'I would wish you to consider that\nthose too great gaieties of life you have hitherto indulged, which,\nhowever, innocent, could not escape censure while in a single state,\nwill now have a much worse aspect in a married one.\n'Mistake me not, my dear,' pursued she, after a pause, finding, by Miss\nBetsy's countenance, that what she had said on this score had stung her\nto the quick; 'I would not have you deprive yourself of those pleasures\nof life which are becoming your sex, your age, and character; there is\nno necessity that, because you are a wife, you should become a mope: I\nonly recommend a proper medium in these things.'\nHer ladyship was going on, when Miss Betsy's servants, whom she had\nordered to bring such part of her baggage as she thought would be\nneedful while she staid in that place, came with it into the chamber; on\nwhich this kind adviser told her fair friend that she would refer what\nshe had farther to say on these subjects till another opportunity.\nMiss Betsy replied, that she would treasure up in her heart all the\nadmonitions she should at any time be pleased to give her; and that she\nhoped her future conduct would demonstrate that no part of what her\nladyship had said was lost upon her.\nWith these words they returned into the dining-room; and the close of\nday soon after coming on, Sir Ralph and his lady, with the two Mr.\nThoughtlesses, took leave of the bride and bridegroom, and came back to\ntown.\nCHAPTER V\n_Seems to demand, for more reasons than one, a greater share of\nattention than ordinary, in the perusal of it_\nThe fair wife of Mr. Munden (Miss Betsy now no more) had promised\nnothing at the altar that she was not resolved religiously to perform:\nshe began seriously to consider on the duties of her place; she was\nignorant of no part of them; and soon became fully convinced that on a\nstrict observation of them depended her honour--her reputation--her\npeace of mind--and, in fine, all that was dear to a woman of virtue and\nunderstanding.\nTo give the more weight to these reflections, she also called to her\nmind the long perseverance of Mr. Munden--his constant assiduities to\nplease her--his patient submitting to all the little caprices of her\nhumour; and establishing in herself an assured belief of the ardour and\nsincerity of his affection to her, her gratitude, her good-nature, and\ngood-sense, much more than compensated for the want of inclination; and\nwithout any of those languishments, those violent emotions, which bear\nthe name of love, rendered her capable of giving more real and more\nvaluable proofs of that passion than are sometimes to be found among\nthose who profess themselves, and are looked upon by the world, as the\nmost fond wives.\nIn spite of her endeavours, the thoughts of Mr. Trueworth would,\nhowever, sometimes come into her mind; but she repelled them with all\nher might: and as the merits of that gentleman would, in reality, admit\nof no comparison with any thing that Mr. Munden had to boast of, she\nlaboured to overbalance the perfections of the one, by that tender and\npassionate affection with which she flattered herself she now was, and\nalways would be, regarded by the other.\nThus happily disposed to make the bonds she had entered into easy to\nherself, and perfectly agreeable to the person with whom she was\nengaged, he had, indeed, a treasure in her beyond what he could ever\nhave imagined, or her friends, from her former behaviour, had any reason\nto have expected; and, had he been truly sensible of the value of the\njewel he possessed, he would have certainly been compleatly blessed: but\nhappiness is not in the power of every one to enjoy, though Heaven and\nfortune deny nothing to their wishes. But of this hereafter.\nAt present, all was joy and transport on the side of the bridegroom--all\ncomplaisance and sweetness on that of the bride. Their whole deportment\nto each other was such as gave the most promising expectations of a\nlasting harmony between them, and gladdened the hearts of as many as saw\nit, and interested themselves in the felicity of either of them.\nThey continued but a few days in the retirement which had been made\nchoice of for the consummation of their nuptials, Mr. Munden was\nnaturally gay, loved company, and all the modish diversions of the\ntimes; and his wife, who, as the whole course of this history has shewn,\nhad been always fond of them to an excess, and whose humour, in this\npoint, was very little altered by the change of her condition, readily\nembraced the first proposal he made of returning to town, believing she\nshould now have courage enough to appear in publick, without testifying\nany of that shamefacedness on account of her marriage, which she knew\nwould subject her to the ridicule of those of her acquaintance who had a\ngreater share of assurance.\nFor a time, this new-married pair seemed to have no other thing in view\nthan pleasure. Mr. Munden had a numerous acquaintance--his wife not a\nfew. Giving and receiving entertainments, as yet, engrossed their whole\nattention--each smiling hour brought with it some fresh matter for\nsatisfaction; and all was chearful, gay, and jocund.\nBut this was a golden dream, which could not be expected to be of any\nlong continuance. The gaudy scene vanished at once, and soon a darkening\ngloom overspread the late enchanting prospects. Mr. Munden's fortune\ncould not support these constant expences. He was obliged to retrench\nsomewhere; and, not being of a humour to deny himself any of those\namusements he was accustomed to abroad, he became excessively\nparsimonious at home, insomuch that the scanty allowance she received\nfrom him for housekeeping, would scarcely furnish out a table fit for a\ngentleman of an estate far inferior to that he was in possession of, to\nsit down to himself; much less to ask any friend who should casually\ncome in to visit him, to partake of.\nNothing can be more galling to a woman of any spirit, than to see\nherself at the head of a family without sufficient means to support her\ncharacter as such in a handsome manner. The fair subject of this history\nhad too much generosity, and, indeed, too much pride, in her\ncomposition, to endure that there should be any want in so necessary an\narticle of life; and, as often as she found occasion, would have\nrecourse for a supply to her own little purse.\nBut this was a way of going on which could not last long. She complained\nof it to Mr. Munden; but, though the remonstrances she made him were\ncouched in the most gentle terms that could be, he could not forbear\ntestifying a good deal of displeasure on hearing them. He told her that\nhe feared she was a bad oeconomist; and that, as she was a wife, she\nought to understand that it was one of the main duties of her place to\nbe frugal of her husband's money, and be content with such things as\nwere suitable to his circumstances.\nThe surly look with which these words were accompanied, as well as the\nwords themselves, made her easily perceive, that all the mighty passion\nhe had pretended to have had for her, while in the days of courtship,\nwas too weak to enable him to bear the least contradiction from her now\nhe became a husband.\nShe restrained, however, that resentment which so unexpected a discovery\nof his temper had inspired her with, from breaking into any violent\nexpressions; and only mildly answered, that she should always be far\nfrom desiring any which would be of real prejudice to his circumstances;\nbut added, that she was too well acquainted with his fortune, not to be\nwell assured it would admit of keeping a table much more agreeable to\nthe rank he held in life, and the figure he made in other things.\n'I am the best judge of that,' replied he, a little disdainfully; 'and\nalso, that it is owing to your own want of management that my table is\nso ill supplied. I would wish you, therefore, to contrive better for the\nfuture; as you may depend upon it that, unless my affairs take a better\nturn, I shall not be persuaded to make any addition to my domestick\nexpences.'\n'I could wish then, Sir,' cried she, with a little more warmth, 'that\nhenceforth you would be your own purveyor; for I confess myself utterly\nunable to maintain a family like ours on the niggard stipend you have\nallotted for that purpose.'\n'No, really, Madam,' answered he, very churlishly, 'I did not marry in\norder to make myself acquainted with how the markets go, and become\nlearned in the prices of beef and mutton. I always looked on that as the\nprovince of a wife; it is enough for me to discharge all reasonable\ndemands on that score: and, since you provoke me to it, I must tell you,\nMadam,' continued he, 'that what my table wants of being compleat, is\nrobbed from it by the idle superfluities you women are so fond of, and\nwith which, I think, I ought to have no manner of concern.'\nAs she was not able to comprehend the meaning of these words, she was\nextremely astonished at them; and, in a pretty hasty manner, demanded a\ndetail of those superfluities he accused her of: on which, throwing\nhimself back in his chair, and looking on her with the most careless and\nindifferent air he could assume, he replied in these terms.\n'I know not,' said he, 'what fool it was that first introduced the\narticle of pin-money into marriage-writings. Nothing, certainly, is more\nidle; since a woman ought to have nothing apart from her husband; but,\nas it is grown into a custom, and I have condescended to comply with it,\nyou should, I think, of your own accord, and without giving me the\ntrouble of reminding you of it, convert some part of it, at least, to\nsuch uses as might ease me of a burden I have, indeed, no kind of reason\nto be loaded with. As, for example,' continued he, 'coffee, tea,\nchocolate, with all the appendages belonging to them, have no business\nto be enrolled in the list of housekeeping expences, and consequently\nnot to be taken out of what I allow you for that purpose.'\nHere he gave over speaking; but the consternation his wife was in\npreventing her from making any immediate answer, he resumed his\ndiscourse. 'Since we are upon this topick, my dear,' said he, 'it will\nbe the best to tell you at once what I expect from you--it is but one\nthing more--which is this. You have a man entirely to yourself; I am\nwilling he should eat with the family; but as to his livery and wages, I\nthink it highly reasonable you should be at the charge of.'\nThe innate rage which, during the whole time he had been talking,\nswelled her breast to almost bursting, would now no longer be confined.\n'Good Heavens!' cried she, 'to what have I reduced myself!--Is this to\nbe a wife!--Is this the state of wedlock!--Call it rather an Egyptian\nbondage!--The cruel task-masters of the Israelites could exact no more.\nUngrateful man! pursued she, bursting into tears, 'is this the love, the\ntenderness, you vowed?'\nOverwhelmed with passion, she was capable of uttering no more; but\ncontinued walking about the room in a disordered motion, and all the\ntokens of the most outrageous grief and anger. He sat silent for some\ntime; but, at last, looking somewhat more kindly on her than he had\ndone--'Pr'ythee, my dear,' said he, 'don't let me see you give way to\nemotions so unbecoming of yourself, and so unjust to me. You shall have\nno occasion to complain of my want of love and tenderness--you know what\nmy expectations are; and when once I have gained my point, you may be\nsure, for my own sake, I shall do every thing suitable to it. I would\nonly have you behave with a little prudence for the present.'\nIn concluding these words, he rose and took hold of her hand; but\napproached her with an air so cold and indifferent, as was far from\natoning, with a woman of her penetration, for the unkindness of his late\nproposal. 'No, Mr. Munden!' cried she, haughtily turning from him, 'do\nnot imagine I am so weak as to expect, after what you have said, any\nthing but ill-usage.'\n'I have said nothing that I have cause to repent of,' answered he; 'and\nhope that, when this heat is over, you will do me the justice to think\nso too. I leave you to consider it, and bring yourself into a better\nhumour against my return.' He added no more; but took his hat and sword,\nand went out of the room.\nShe attempted not to call him back; but retired to her chamber, in order\nto give a loose to passions more turbulent than she had ever known\nbefore.\nCHAPTER VI\n_Contains a second matrimonial contest, of worse consequence than the\nformer_\nWhoever considers Miss Betsy Thoughtless in her maiden character, will\nnot find it difficult to conceive what she now endured in that of Mrs.\nMunden. All that lightened her poor heart, all that made her patiently\nsubmit to the fate her brothers had, in a manner, forced upon her, was a\nbelief of her being passionately loved by the man she made her husband:\nbut thus cruelly undeceived by the treatment she had just met with from\nhim, one may truly say, that if it did not make her utterly hate and\ndespise him, it at least destroyed at once, in her, all the respect and\ngood-will she had, from the first moment of her marriage, been\nendeavouring to feel for him.\nIt is hard to say whether her surprize at an eclaircissement she had so\nlittle expected, her indignation at Mr. Munden's mean attempt to\nencroach upon her right, or the shock of reflecting, that it was by\ndeath alone she could be relieved from the vexations with which she was\nthreatened by a man of his humour, were most predominant in her soul;\nbut certain it is, that all together racked her with most terrible\nconvulsions.\nShe was in the midst of these agitations, when Lady Trusty came to visit\nher. In the distraction of these thoughts she had forgot to give orders\nto be denied to all company, which otherwise she would doubtless have\ndone, even without excepting that dear and justly valued friend.\nShe endeavoured, as much as possible, to compose herself, and prevent\nall tokens of discontent from appearing in her countenance, but had not\nthe power of doing it effectually enough to deceive the penetration of\nthat lady; she immediately perceived that something extraordinary had\nhappened to her; and, as soon as she was seated, began to enquire into\nthe cause of the change she had observed in her.\nMrs. Munden, on considering what was most prudent in a wife, from the\nfirst moment of her becoming so, had absolutely resolved always to\nadhere, as strictly as possible, to this maxim of the poet--\n    'Secrets of marriage should be sacred held,\n    Their sweets and bitters by the wife conceal'd.'\nBut finding herself pretty strongly pressed by a lady to whom she had\nthe greatest and most just reason to believe she ought to have nothing\nin reserve, she hesitated not long to relate to her the whole story of\nthe brul\u00e9e she had with her husband.\nLady Trusty was extremely alarmed at the account given her; and because\nshe would be sure not to mistake any part of it, made Mrs. Munden repeat\nseveral times over every particular of this unhappy dispute; then, after\na pause of some minutes, began to give her advice to her fair friend in\nthe following terms.\n'It grieves me to the soul,' said that excellent lady, 'to find there is\nalready any matter of complaint between you--you have been but two\nmonths married; and it is, methinks, by much too early for him to throw\noff the lover, and exert the husband: but since it is so, I would not\nhave you, for your own sake, too much exert the wife; I fear he is of a\nrugged nature--it behoves you, therefore, rather to endeavour to soften\nit, by all the means in your power, than to pretend to combat with\nunequal force; you know the engagements you are under, and how little\nrelief all the resistance you can make will be able to afford you.'\n'Bless me, Madam!' cried Mrs. Munden, spiritously, 'would your ladyship\nhave me give up, to the expence of housekeeping, that slender pittance\nallowed for cloaths and pocket-money in my marriage articles?'\n'No, my dear,' cried Lady Trusty; 'far be it from me to give you any\nsuch counsel: on the contrary, I am apprehensive that, if you should\nsuffer yourself to be either menaced, or cajoled, out of even the\nsmallest part of your rights, it is possible that a man of Mr. Munden's\ndisposition might hereafter be tempted to encroach upon the whole, and\nleave you nothing you could call your own.\n'It is very difficult, if not wholly impossible,' continued she, 'to\njudge with any certainty, how to proceed with a person whose temper one\ndoes not know; I am altogether a stranger to that of Mr. Munden, nor can\nyou as yet pretend to be perfectly acquainted with it: all I can say,\ntherefore, is, that I would have you maintain your own privileges,\nwithout appearing to tenacious of them.'\n'I have then no other part to take,' said Mrs. Munden, 'than just to lay\nout, in the best manner I can, what money he is pleased to allow,\nwithout making any addition, what accidents soever may happen to demand\nit.'\n'I mean so,' replied Lady Trusty; 'and whenever there is any deficiency,\nas some there must necessarily be, in what might be expected from your\nway of living, I would not have you seem to take the least notice of it:\nbehave, as if entirely unconcerned, contented, and easy; leave it to him\nto complain; and when he does so, you will have an opportunity, by\nshewing the bills of what you have laid out, of proving, that it is not\nowing to your want of good management, but to the scarcity of the means\nput into your hands, that his table is so ill supplied; but still let\nevery thing you urge on this occasion be accompanied with all the\nsoftness it is in your power to assume.'\nTo this Mrs. Munden, with a deep sigh, made answer, that though she was\nan ill dissembler, and besides had little room, from her husband's late\ncarriage towards her, to flatter herself with any good effect of her\nsubmission, yet she would endeavour to follow her ladyship's counsel, in\nmaking the experiment, however irksome it might be to her to do so.\nThey had a very long conversation together on this head; during the\nwhole course of which Lady Trusty laboured all she could to persuade the\nother to look on her situation in a much less disagreeable light then,\nin reality, it deserved.\nBut how little is it in the power of argument, to reason away pain! one\nis much more deeply affected with what one feels than what one hears:\nthe heart of Mrs. Munden was beset with thorns, which all the words in\nthe world would have been ineffectual to remove; disappointed in every\nthing that could have rendered this marriage supportable to her--her\ngood-nature abused--her spirit humbled and depressed--no considerations\nwere of force to moderate her passions, but that melancholy one that, as\nher misfortunes were without a remedy, the best, and indeed the only\nrelief that fate permitted, was in patiently submitting.\nShe acted, nevertheless, in every respect, for several days,\nconformable to the method Lady Trusty had prescribed, and restrained her\ntemper so as neither by word or action to give Mr. Munden any just cause\nof offence: he also kept himself within bounds, though it was easy for\nher to perceive, by his sullen deportment, every time he was at table,\nhow ill he was satisfied with the provisions set before him.\nA cold civility on the one side, and an enforced complaisance on the\nother, hindered the mutual discontent that reigned in both their hearts\nfrom being perceptible to any who came to visit them, and also from\nbreaking into any indecencies between themselves; till one day a\ngentleman of fine consideration in the world happening, unexpectedly, to\ncome to dine with them, Mr. Munden was extremely shocked at being no\nbetter prepared for his entertainment.\n'What! my dear,' said he to his wife, 'have you nothing else to give\nus?' To which she replied, with a great presence of mind, 'I am quite\nashamed and sorry for the accident; but you know, my dear, we both\nintended to dine abroad to-day, so I gave a bill of fare accordingly;\nand this gentleman came too late to make any addition to what I had\nordered.'\nIt may be easily supposed the guest assured them that there needed no\napologies, that every thing was mighty well, and such like words of\ncourse: so no more was said upon this subject.\nBut the pride of Mr. Munden filled him with so much inward rage and\nspite, that he was scarce able to contain himself till his friend had\ntaken leave; and he no sooner was at liberty to say what he thought\nproper, without incurring the censure of being unmannerly or unkind,\nthan he began to reproach her in the most unjust and cruel terms, for\nhaving, as he said, exposed him to the contempt and ridicule of a person\nwho had hitherto held him in the highest esteem.\nShe made no other reply than that she was no less confounded than\nhimself at what had happened--that it was not in her power to prevent\nit--that she could wish to be always prepared for the reception of any\nfriend--and that she was certain, when he reflected on the cause, he\nwould be far from laying any blame on her.\nIn speaking these words, she ran to her cabinet; and, as Lady Trusty had\ndirected, produced an account to what uses every single shilling she had\nreceived from him had been converted since the last dispute they had\nwith each other on this score.\nIn presenting these papers to him, 'Read these bills,' said she, 'and be\nconvinced how little I deserve such treatment from you: you will find\nthat there are no items inserted of coffee, tea, or chocolate;\narticles,' continued she, with an air a little disdainfully, 'which you\nseemed to grumble at, though yourself and friends had the same share in,\nas well as me and mine.'\n'Rot your accounts!' cried he, tearing the papers she had given him into\na thousand pieces; 'have you the folly to imagine I will be troubled\nwith such stuff? It is sufficient I know upon the whole what ought to be\ndone; and must plainly tell you, once for all, that you should rather\nthink of retrenching your expences, than flatter yourself with expecting\nan increase of my allowance to you.'\n'My expences! my expences,' reiterated she with vehemence, 'what does\nthe man mean?'--'My meaning,' answered he, sullenly, 'would need no\nexplanation, if you had either any love for me, or prudence enough to\ndirect you to do what would entitle you to mine: but since you are so\nignorant, I must tell you, that I think my family too much encumbered;\nyou have two maids--I do not desire you to lessen the number, but they\nare certainly enough to wait upon you in the morning; I have a man, for\nwhom I never have any employment after that time, and he may wait at\ntable, and attend you the whole afternoon; I see therefore no occasion\nyou have to keep a fellow merely to loiter about the house, eat, drink,\nand run before your chair when you make your visits. I insist,\ntherefore, that you either discharge him, or consent to give him his\nlivery and wages, and also to allow for his board out of your own annual\nrevenue of pin-money.'\nWhat usage was this for a young lady, scarce yet three months married;\nendued with every qualification to create love and esteem, accustomed to\nreceive nothing but testimonies of admiration from as many as beheld\nher, and addressed with the extremest homage and tenderness by the very\nman who now seemed to take pride in the power he had obtained of\nthwarting her humour, and dejecting that spirit and vivacity he had so\nlately pretended to adore.\nHow utterly impossible was it for her now to observe the rules laid down\nto her by Lady Trusty! Could she, after this, submit to put in practice\nany softening arts she had been advised, to win her lordly tyrant into\ntemper? Could she, I say, have done this, without being guilty of a\nmeanness, which all wives must have condemned her for?\nBut though the answers she gave to the proposal made her by this\nungenerous husband, were such as convinced him she would never be\nprevailed upon to recede from any part of what was her due by contract,\nand though she testified her resentment, on his attempting such a\nthing, in terms haughty enough, yet did she confine herself within the\nlimits of decency, not uttering a single word unbecoming of her\ncharacter, either as the woman of good understanding, or the wife.\nMr. Munden's notions of marriage had always been extremely unfavourable\nto the ladies--he considered a wife no more than an upper-servant, bound\nto study and obey, in all things, the will of him to whom she had given\nher hand: and how obsequious and submissive soever he appeared when a\nlover, had fixed his resolution to render himself absolute master when\nhe became a husband.\nOn finding himself thus disappointed in his aim, he was almost ready to\nburst with an inward malice; which not daring to wreak, as perhaps at\nthat time he could have wished, he vented it in an action mean and\nspiteful indeed, but not to be wondered at in a man possessed of so\nsmall a share of affection, justice, or good-nature.\nThe reader may remember, that Mr. Trueworth, in the beginning of his\ncourtship to Miss Betsy, had made her a present of a squirrel; she had\nstill retained this first token of love, and always cherished it with an\nuncommon care: the little creature was sitting on the ridge of it's\ncell, cracking nuts, which his indulgent mistress had bestowed upon him:\nthe fondness she had always shewn of him put a sudden thought into Mr.\nMunden's head; he started from his chair, saying to his wife, with a\nrevengeful sneer, 'Here is one domestick, at least, that may be spared!'\nWith these words he flew to the poor harmless animal, seized it by the\nneck, and throwing it with his whole force against the carved work of\nthe marble chimney, it's tender frame was dashed to pieces.\nAll this was done in such an instant, that Mrs. Munden had not time to\nmake any attempt for preventing it; but the sight of so disastrous a\nfate befalling her little favourite, and the brutality of him who\ninflicted it, raised emotions in her, which she neither endeavoured,\nnor, at that instant, could have the power to quell.\n'Monster!' cried she, 'unworthy the name man; you needed not have been\nguilty of this low piece of cruelty, to make me see to what a wretch I\nam sacrificed.'--'Nor was there any occasion for exclamations such as\nthese,' replied he, scornfully, 'to make me know that I am married to a\ntermagant!'\nMany altercations of the like nature passed between them; to which Mrs.\nMunden was the first that put a period: finding herself unable to\nrestrain her tears, and unwilling he should be witness of that weakness\nin her, she flew out of the room, saying at the same time, that she\nwould never eat, or sleep with him again.\nCHAPTER VII\n_Gives an exact account of what happened in the family of Mr. Munden,\nafter the lamentable and deplorable death of his lady's favourite\nsquirrel; with several other particulars, much less significant, yet\nvery necessary to be told_\nIf Mr. Munden had set his whole invention to work, in order to find the\nmeans of rendering himself hateful in the eyes of his wife, he could not\nhave done it more effectually than by his savage treatment of her\nbeloved squirrel: many circumstances, indeed, concurred to set this\naction of his in the most odious light that could possibly be given it.\nIn the first place, the massacre of so unhurtful a creature, who never\ndid any thing to provoke it's fate, had something in it strangely\nsplenetic and barbarous.\nIn the next, the bloody and inhuman deed being perpetrated by this\ninjurious husband, merely in opposition to his wife, and because he knew\nit would give her some sort of affliction, was sufficient to convince\nher, that he took pleasure in giving pain to her, and also made her not\ndoubt but he would stop at nothing for that purpose, provided it were\nsafe, and came within the letter of the law.\nIt grieved her to be deprived of a little animal she so long had kept,\nwith whose pretty tricks she had so often been diverted; and it must be\nconfessed, that to be deprived of so innocent a satisfaction, by the\nvery man she had looked upon as bound by all manner of ties to do every\nthing to please her, was enough to give the most galling reflections to\na woman of her delicacy and spirit.\nBut there was still another, and, by many degrees, a more aggravating\nmotive for her indignation: if she had purchased this squirrel with her\nown money, or if it had been presented to her by any other hands than\nthose of Mr. Trueworth, not only the loss would have been less shocking\nto her, but also the person, by whom she sustained that loss, would,\nperhaps, have found less difficulty in obtaining her forgiveness.\nShe kept her promise, however, and ordered a bed to be made ready for\nher in another room. Mr. Munden came not home that night till very late;\nand being told what his wife had done, took not the least notice of it;\nbut happening to meet her the next morning, as she was coming down\nstairs, 'So, Madam,' said he, 'I suppose you fancy this obstinate\ndisobedience to your husband is mighty becoming in you!'\n'When a husband,' answered she, 'is ignorant of the regard he ought to\nhave for his wife, or forgets to put it in practice, he can expect\nneither affection nor obedience, unless the woman he has married happens\nto be an idiot.'\nThey passed each other with these words; and she went directly to Lady\nTrusty, being impatient to acquaint her with the behaviour of her\nhusband towards her since she last had seen her.\nThis worthy lady was astonished beyond measure at the recital; it seemed\nso strange to her, that a gentleman of Mr. Munden's birth, fortune, and\neducation, should ever entertain the sordid design of obliging his wife\nto convert to the family uses what had been settled on her for her own\nprivate expences, that she could not have given credit to it from any\nother mouth than that of the weeping sufferer: his killing of the\nsquirrel also, though a trifle in itself, she could not help thinking\ndenoted a most cruel, revengeful, and mean mind.\nBut how much soever she condemned him in her heart, she forebore\nexpressing the whole of her sentiments on this occasion to his wife,\nbeing willing, as they were joined to each other by the most sacred and\nindissoluble bonds, rather to heal, if possible, the breach between\nthem, than to add any thing which might serve to widen it.\nShe told her that, though she could not but confess that Mr. Munden had\nbehaved towards her, through this whole affair, in a manner very\ndifferent from what he ought to have done, or what might have been\nexpected from him, yet she was sorry to find that she had carried things\nto that extremity; particularly she blamed her for having quitted his\nbed: 'Because,' said she, 'it may furnish him with some matter of\ncomplaint against you; and, likewise, make others suspect you have not\nthat affection for him which is the duty of a wife.'\nMrs. Munden making no answer to this, and looking a little perplexed--'I\ndo not mean, by what I have said,' resumed Lady Trusty, 'to persuade you\nto take any steps towards a reconciliation; that is, I would not have\nyou confess you have been in the wrong, or tell him you are sorry for\nwhat you have done: that would be taking a blame upon yourself you do\nnot deserve; and he would imagine he had a right to expect the same on\nevery trifling occasion. It may be, he might be imperious and\nill-natured enough to create quarrels merely for the sake of humbling\nyour spirit and resentment into submission.\n'But as to live in the manner you are likely to do together,' continued\nshe, 'cannot but be very displeasing in the eye of Heaven, and must also\nexpose both of you to the censure and contempt of the world, when once\nit comes to be known and talked of, some means must be speedily found to\nbring about an accommodation between you.'\n'O, Madam!' cried the other, hastily interrupting her, 'how impossible\nis it for me ever to look with any thing but disdain and resentment on a\nman who, after so many protestations of eternal love, eternal adoration,\nhas dared to treat me in this manner! No!' added she, with greater\nvehemence than before, 'I despise the low, the grovelling mind; light\nand darkness are not more opposites than we are, and can as easily\nagree.'\n'You must not think, nor talk in this fashion,' said the good lady; 'all\nyou can accuse him of will not amount to a separation; besides, consider\nhow odd a figure a woman makes who lives apart from her husband; there\nis an absolute necessity for a reconciliation; and, as it is probable\nthat neither of you will pursue any measures for that purpose, it is\nhighly proper your friends should take upon them to interpose in the\naffair.'\nIt was a considerable time before Mrs. Munden could be persuaded, by all\nthe arguments Lady Trusty made use of, that either her duty, her\ninterest, or her reputation, required she should forgive the insults she\nhad received from this ungrateful and unworthy husband.\nThe good lady would not, however, give over till she had prevailed on\nher not only to listen to her reasons, but also to be at last perfectly\nconvinced by them: this point being gained, the manner in which the\nmatter should be conducted was the next thing that employed her\nthoughts.\nIt seemed best to her that the two Mr. Thoughtlesses should not be made\nacquainted with any part of what had passed, if the business she so much\nwished to see accomplished could be effected without their knowledge:\nher reason for it was this; they were both men of pretty warm\ndispositions, especially the younger; and as they had been so assiduous\nin promoting this match, so early a breach, and the provocations given\nfor it by Mr. Munden, might occasion them to shew their resentment for\nhis behaviour in a fashion which would make what was already very bad,\nmuch worse.\n'Sir Ralph is a man in years,' said she; 'has been your guardian; and I\nam apt to believe that, on both these accounts, his words will have some\nweight with Mr. Munden: the friendship which he knows is between us,\nwill also give me the privilege of adding something in my turn; and, I\nhope, by our joint mediation, this quarrel may be made up, so far, at\nleast, as that you may live civilly together.'\nMrs. Munden made no other reply to what her ladyship had said, than to\nthank her for the interest she took in her affairs, and the trouble she\nwas about to give Sir Ralph on her account.\nThe truth is, this young lady would in her heart have been much better\nsatisfied that there had been a possibility of being separated for ever\nfrom a person who, she was now convinced, had neither love nor esteem\nfor her, rather than to have consented to cohabit with him as a wife,\neven though he should be prevailed upon to request it in the most\nseemingly submissive terms.\nWhile they were in this conversation, a message came from Mr. Edward\nGoodman, containing an invitation to Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, to an\nentertainment that gentleman had ordered to be prepared the next day for\nseveral of his friends, on a particular occasion; which, because the\nreader as yet is wholly ignorant of, it is highly proper he should be\nmade acquainted with.\nCHAPTER VIII\n_Presents the reader with some passages which could not conveniently be\ntold before, and, without all doubt, have been for a long time\nimpatiently expected_\nThe spirits of Lady Mellasin had for several months been kept up by the\nwicked agents she had employed in the management of the worst cause that\never was taken in hand: those subtle and most infamous wretches, in\norder to draw fresh supplies of money from that unhappy woman, had still\nfound means to elude and baffle all the endeavours of Mr. Goodman's\nhonest lawyer to bring the manner to a fair trial.\nBut, at last, all their diabolical inventions, their evasions, their\nsubterfuges, failing, and the day appointed which they knew must\ninfallibly bring the whole dark mystery of iniquity to light, when all\ntheir perjuries must be explored, and themselves exposed to the just\npunishment of such flagitious crimes, not one of them had courage to\nstand the dreadful test, nor face that awful tribunal they had so\ngreatly abused.\nYet so cruel were they, even to the very woman, all the remains of whose\nshattered fortune they had shared among them, as not to give her the\nleast warning of her fate; nor, till the morning which she was made to\nhope would decide every thing in her favour, did she know she was\nundone, deserted, and left alone to bear the brunt of all the offended\nlaws inflict on forgery.\nWhat words can represent the horror, the confusion, of her guilty mind,\nwhen neither the person who drew up the pretended will, nor neither of\nthose two who had set their names as witnesses, appearing, she sent in\nsearch of them, and found they were all removed from their habitations,\nand fled no one could inform her where.\nScarce had she the time to make her escape out of the court, before word\nwas given to an officer to take her into custody: not daring to go home,\nnor knowing to whom she could have recourse for shelter in this\nexigence, she ran, like one distracted, through the streets, till she\ncame to one of the gates of St. James's Park; where, meeting with a\nporter, she sent him to her lodgings, to order her daughter Flora and\nMrs. Prinks to come that instant to her.\nMrs. Prinks immediately obeyed the summons, but Miss Flora had the\naudacity to desire to be excused, being then dressing to go on a\nbusiness which, indeed, she then imagined was of much more consequence\nto herself than any thing relating to her mother could possibly be.\nAfter this dissolute and unfortunate creature was left by Mr. Trueworth,\nin the manner described in the third volume of this history, she gave a\nloose to agonies which only those who have felt the same can be capable\nof conceiving.\nHer shrieks, and the request Mr. Trueworth had made on his going out,\nbrought up the woman of the house herself, to administer what relief was\nin her power to a lady who seemed to stand in so much need of it.\nHaving prevailed on her to come down stairs, she seated her in a little\nroom behind the bar; and as she saw the violence of her passions threw\nher into frequent faintings, neglected nothing which she thought might\nbe of service to recover her spirits and compose her mind.\nAs she was thus charitably employed, a young gentleman who used the\nhouse, and was very free with all belonging to it, happened to come it.\nMiss Flora, besides being handsome, had something extremely agreeable\nand engaging in her air; and had her heart been possessed of half that\ninnocence her countenance gave the promise of, her character would have\nbeen as amiable as it was now the contrary.\nThere are some eyes which shine through their tears, and are lovely in\nthe midst of anguish; those of Miss Flora had this advantage, and she\nappeared, in spite of her disorder, so perfectly charming to the\nstranger, that he could not quit the place without joining his\nendeavours to those of the good-natured hostess, for her consolation,\nand had the satisfaction to find them much more effectual for that\npurpose.\nThe afflicted fair-one, finding herself somewhat better, thanked the\ngood woman, in the politest terms, for the pains she had been at; but\nthe gentleman would not be denied seeing her safe home in a coach;\nsaying, the air, on a sudden, might have too violent an effect on her so\nlately recovered spirits; and that it was not fit she should be alone,\nin case of accidents.\nMiss Flora was easily prevailed upon to accept his obliging offer; he\nattended her home--stayed about half an hour with her--and entreated she\nwould give him permission to come the next day and enquire after her\nhealth.\nShe knew the world too well, and the disposition of mankind in general,\nnot to see that there was something more than mere compassion in the\ncivilities he had shewn to her: she examined his person--his\nbehaviour--and found nothing in either that was not perfectly agreeable;\nand though she had really loved Mr. Trueworth to the greatest excess\nthat woman could do, yet, as she knew he was irrecoverably lost, she\nlooked upon a new attachment as the only sure means of putting the past\nout of her head.\nA very few visits served to make an eclaircissement of the thoughts they\nhad mutually entertained of each other; and as he had found by the woman\nof the tavern, that the distress of this young lady had been occasioned\nby a love-quarrel with a gentleman who had brought her into that house,\nhe began with expressing the utmost abhorrence of that injustice and\ningratitude which some were capable of: 'But,' said he, 'if some of us\nhave neither love nor honour for those that love us, we all certainly\nlove our own happiness; and he must be stupid and insensible, indeed,'\nadded he, embracing her with the warmest transport, 'who could not find\nit eternally within these arms!'\n'You all talk so,' answered she, with the most engaging smile she could\nput on: 'but as my youth--innocence--and, perhaps, a little mixture of\nfemale vanity--have once misled me, it behoves me to be extremely\ncautious how the tender impulse gets a second time possession of my\nheart.'\nIn short, she put him not to a too great expence of vows and\nprotestations before she either was, or pretended to be, convinced of\nthe sincerity of his passion, and also rewarded it in as ample a manner\nas his soul could wish.\nIt is certain, that for a time this new gallant behaved with the\nextremest fondness towards her--did every thing the most ardent lover\ncould do to please her--he treated her--carried her to all publick\nplaces of entertainment--and, what in her present circumstances was most\nnecessary to her, was continually making her very rich and valuable\npresents.\nBut it could not be expected that an amour, entered into in this manner,\nand which had no solid esteem on either side for it's foundation, would\nbe of any long continuance; the gentleman had a great deal of\ngood-nature, but was gay and inconstant as the most variable of his\nsex--he found a new charm in every face that presented itself to him;\nand, as he wanted no requisites to please the fair, he too seldom failed\nin his attempts upon them.\nMiss Flora was not ignorant that he had many amusements of this kind,\neven while he kept up the most tender correspondence with her; but\nperceiving that reproaches and complaints were equally in vain with a\nman of his humour, she had the cunning to forbear persecuting him with\neither; and by appearing always easy, degag\u00e9e, and unconcerned,\npreserved her acquaintance with him, and received proofs of his\nliberality long after she had lost those of his inclination.\nOn being told that he was going on a party of pleasure into the south of\nFrance, she exercised all her wit and artifice to engage him to permit\nher to be one of the company; but he treated this request as a mere\nbagatelle--said the thing was utterly impracticable--that none of the\ngentlemen took any ladies with them--so he would not have her think of\nit.\nIt was in order to take her leave of him before his departure, that she\nwas going to his lodgings when Lady Mellasin had sent for her into the\nPark.\nThe cool reception he had given her, sent her home in a very ill-humour,\nwhich was greatly heighted by a letter which she found Mrs. Prinks had\nleft for her on the table.\nThat woman having joined her lady in the Park, and consulted together\nwhat was to be done, they took a hackney-coach, and drove to an obscure\npart of the town, where they hired lodgings in a feigned name; after\nwhich Mrs. Prinks hurried home, packed up what cloaths and other\nnecessaries she thought would be immediately wanted; and, after having\nwrote a short account to Miss Flora of the misfortune that had happened,\nand given her directions where to come, returned, with all haste, to her\ndisconsolate lady.\nCHAPTER IX\n_Contains the catastrophe of Lady Mellasin's and her daughter Flora's\nadventures while on this side the globe_\nWhile this unhappy little family were in their concealment, each of them\nset their whole wits to work to find some means by which Lady Mellasin\nmight be extricated from that terrible dilemma she had brought herself\ninto.\nBut as this was a thing in it's very nature, as affairs had been\nmanaged, morally impossible to be accomplished, all their endeavours to\nthat purpose only served to shew them the extreme vanity of the attempt,\nand consequently to render them more miserable.\nDespair, at length, and the near prospect of approaching want, so\nhumbled the once haughty spirit of Lady Mellasin, that she resolved on\nwriting to Mr. Edward Goodman--to make use of all her rhetorick to\nsoothe him into forgiveness for the troubles she had occasioned\nhim--and, in fine, to petition relief from the very man whom she had\nmade use of the most villainous arts to prejudice.\nThe contents of her letter to that much-injured gentleman were as\nfollows.\n     'To Edward Goodman, Esq.\n     Appearances are so much against me that I scarce dare say I am\n     innocent, though I know myself so, as to any intention of doing you\n     injustice: I cannot, however, forbear giving you a short sketch of\n     the imposition which has been practiced upon me, and in my name\n     attempted to be put on you.\n     The will, which has occasioned this long contest between us, was\n     brought me by a person who told me he had drawn it up exactly\n     according to my late husband's instructions, the very evening\n     before he died; the subscribing witnesses gave me the same\n     assurance; and also added, that Mr. Goodman was so well convinced\n     of my integrity, and the wrong he had done me by suspecting it,\n     that had he lived only to the next morning, he had resolved to send\n     for me home, and be reconciled to me in the face of the world: so\n     that, if the thing was a piece of forgery, these men are only\n     guilty--I am entirely free from any share in it.\n     But as these proceedings, which I have unhappily been prevailed\n     upon to countenance, have given you a great deal of trouble and\n     expence, I sincerely ask your pardon for it: this is all the\n     atonement I can make to Heaven for offences more immediately my\n     I am very sensible, notwithstanding, that, by what I have done, I\n     have not only forfeited my claim to such part of the effects of Mr.\n     Goodman as appertain to the widow of an eminent and wealthy\n     citizen, but, likewise, all my pretensions to the friendship and\n     favour of the person he has made his heir: yet, Sir, however guilty\n     I may seem to you, or how great my faults in reality may have been,\n     I cannot help being of opinion that, when you remember I was once\n     the wife of an uncle, whose memory you have so much cause to value,\n     you will think the name and character I have borne, ought to defend\n     me from publick infamy, parish-alms, and beggary.\n     Reduced as I am, it would ill become me to make any stipulations,\n     or lay a tax on the goodness I am necessitated to implore. No, Sir;\n     as I can now demand nothing, so, also, I can hope for nothing but\n     from your compassion and generosity; and to these two amiable\n     qualities alone shall ascribe whatever provision you shall think\n     fit to make for me out of that abundance I was once in full\n     possession of.\n     I shall add no more, than to intreat you will consider, with some\n     portion of attention and good-nature, on what I have lately been,\n     and what I at present am, the most unfortunate, and most forlorn of\n     womankind,\n     M. MELLASIN GOODMAN.\n     P.S. My daughter Flora, the innocent partner of my griefs and\n     sufferings, will have the honour to deliver this to you, and, I\n     hope, return with a favourable answer.'\nLady Mellasin chose to send Miss Flora with this letter, as believing\nher agreeable person, and manner of behaviour, would have a greater\neffect on that youthful heart of the person it was addressed to, than\ncould have been expected from the formal and affected gravity of Mrs.\nPrinks.\nIt is not unlikely, too, but that she might flatter herself with the\nhopes of greater advantages by her daughter's going in person to Mr.\nGoodman's, than those which her letter had petitioned for. She had often\nheard and read of men whose resentment had been softened and melted into\ntenderness on the appearance of a lovely object: as the poet somewhere\nor other expresses it--\n    'Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray;\n    Who can tread sure on the smooth, slipp'ry way?'\nMiss Flora herself was also very far from being displeased at going on\nthis errand; and as it was not proper for her to dress in the manner she\nwould have done on making a visit to any other person, it cost her some\ntime, before her setting out, to equip herself in such a deshabille as\nshe thought would be most genteel and become her best.\nShe had the good fortune to find Mr. Goodman at home, and was\nimmediately introduced to him. He was a little surprized at a visit made\nhim by a young lady whom he had never seen before; but not enough to\nprevent him from receiving her with the utmost complaisance. He saluted\nher, seated her in a chair, and then asked her what commands she had to\nfavour him with: on which, taking out the letter, and giving it to him,\n'This, Sir,' said she, with a deep sigh, 'will inform you of the request\nthat brings me here.'\nMr. Goodman read it hastily over; but, while he was doing so, could not\nforbear shaking his head several times; yet spoke nothing till after a\npause of some minutes. 'Madam,' said he, 'as this is a business which I\ncould not expect to have heard of, I must confess myself altogether\nunprepared how to proceed in it. If Lady Mellasin,' added he, 'will give\nherself the trouble to send in three or four days, she may depend on an\nanswer from me.'\nThe coldness of these words, and the distant air he assumed while\nspeaking them, so widely different from that with which he had accosted\nthis lady on her first entrance, made her presently see she had nothing\nto hope from this embassy on her own account, and made her also tremble\nfor that of her mother.\nAs he urged her not to stay, nor even gave the least hint that he was\ndesirous of her doing so, she rose, and, with a most dejected air, took\nher leave; telling him, in going out, that she should not fail of\nacquainting Lady Mellasin with his commands; who, she doubted not, would\nbe punctual in obeying them.\nMr. Goodman was, indeed, too well acquainted with the character of Miss\nFlora to be capable of receiving any impression from the charms nature\nhad bestowed upon her, even though they had been a thousand times more\nbrilliant than in effect they were, and she had not been the daughter of\na woman who had rendered herself so justly hateful to him.\nLady Mellasin was shocked to the very soul at being told the reception\nher daughter had met with; and could not help looking upon it as a very\nbad omen of her future success. She doubted but by his saying that he\nmust have time for deliberation, he meant that he would do nothing in\nthis point, without having first consulted his friends; and she had no\nreason to expect that any of those he conversed with would give counsel\nin her favour.\nTo be reduced from a state of opulence and respect to one of poverty,\ncontempt, and wretchedness, is terrible indeed! but much more so when\naccompanied with a consciousness of having deserved, by our vices and\nill conduct, all the misfortunes we complain of.\nLady Mellasin having no pleasing reflection of having done her duty in\nany one point of life, it would not have been strange if, thus destitute\nof comfort from within, all succour from without, she had yielded\nherself to the last despair.\nShe, nevertheless, amidst all the distraction of her thoughts, still\ncontinued to testify a resolution seldom to be found among women of her\nabandoned principles; never departing from this maxim, that, in the\nworst of events, nothing was to be neglected. On the third day she sent\nMrs. Prinks to wait upon Mr. Goodman for his answer; having experienced\nthe little effect her daughter's presence had produced.\nIt is a thing well worth the observation of all degrees of people, that\nthe truly generous never keep long in suspense the persons they think\nproper objects of their bounty. A favour that costs too much pains in\nobtaining, loses great part of it's value--it palls upon the mind of the\nreceiver, and looks more like being extorted than bestowed.\nMr. Cowley, though a man whose great merit, one would think, should have\nset him above the necessity of making any request of a pecuniary nature,\nwas certainly obliged, sometimes, to solicitations that were very\nuneasy to him, and drew from him this emphatick exclamation--\n    'If there's a man, ye gods, I ought to hate,\n    Attendance and dependance be his fate!'\nIt soon occurred to Mr. Goodman in what manner it would best become him\nto act towards this unhappy woman; and also what conditions ought to be\nstipulated on her part. He had been told, both by the lawyer and the two\nMr. Thoughtlesses, that it was his late uncle's intention that she\nshould not be left without a decent provision; and being willing to\nconform, as much as possible, to all the desires of a person whom he had\nalways esteemed as a parent, he passed by the injury which, since his\ndeath, she had attempted to do to himself; and, within the time he had\nmentioned to Miss Flora, wrote an answer to the request in the following\nterms.\n     'To Lady Mellasin Goodman.\n     Madam,\n     Though you cannot but be sensible that your late base attempt to\n     invalidate my dear uncle's will, excludes you from receiving any\n     benefit from it; yet, as I am determined, as far as in my power, to\n     make the example of that excellent man the rule of all my actions,\n     I shall not carry my resentment, for the injustice you have done\n     me, beyond what he expressed for those much greater injuries he\n     sustained by your infidelity and ingratitude. It was not his\n     intention you should starve; nor is it my desire you should do so.\n     I am willing, Madam, to allow you a pension of one hundred pounds\n     per annum, to be quarterly paid into whose hands soever you shall\n     think fit to appoint for that purpose; but it must be on condition\n     that you retire forthwith, and pass the whole remainder of your\n     days in some remote part of the kingdom. The farther you remove\n     from a town where your ill conduct has rendered you so obnoxious,\n     the better.\n     This, Madam, is what I insist upon; and is, indeed, no more than\n     what your own safety demands from you. A very strict search is\n     making after your accomplices; and if they, or any of them, shall\n     happen to be found, it will be in vain for you to flatter yourself\n     with escaping that punishment which the offended laws inflict on\n     crimes of this nature: nor would it be in my power to shield you\n     from that fate which even the meanest and most abject of those\n     concerned with you must suffer.\n     As I should be extremely sorry to see this, I beg you, for your own\n     sake, to be speedy in your resolution, which, as soon as you inform\n     me, I shall act accordingly. I am, yours, &c.\n     E. GOODMAN.'\nThis he ordered to be delivered to any one who should say they came from\nLady Mellasin; and Mrs. Prinks accordingly received it.\nLady Mellasin, in the miserable circumstances to which she had reduced\nherself, was transported to find she should not be entirely without\nsupport. As for her being obliged to quit London, she was not in the\nleast shocked at it, as there was no possibility for her even to appear\npublickly in it; and she was rather desirous, than averse, to be out of\na place which could no longer afford her those pleasures and amusements\nshe had once so much indulged herself in the enjoyment of.\nBut when she considered on her banishment, and ran over in her mind what\npart of England she should make choice of for her asylum, the whole\nkingdom appeared a desert to her, when driven from the gaieties of the\ncourt and capital: she therefore resolved to go farther, and enter into\na new scene of life, which might be more likely to obliterate the memory\nof the former. She had heard much talk of Jamaica--that it was a rich\nand opulent place--that the inhabitants thought of little else but how\nto divert themselves in the best manner the country afforded, and that\nthey were not too strict in their notions either as to honour or\nreligion--that reputation was a thing littler regarded among them: so\nthat, in case the occasion that had brought her thither should happen to\nbe discovered, she would not find herself in the less estimation.\nShe, therefore, hesitated not to write a second letter to Mr. Goodman,\nacquainting him with her desire to go to that plantation; and hinting to\nhim that, if it would be giving him too great a trouble to remit the\nquarterly payments he mentioned, she should take it as a particular\nfavour if he would be pleased to bestow on her such a sum as he should\nthink proper, in lieu of the annuity he had offered.\nMr. Goodman was extremely pleased with this proposal; and several\nletters having passed between them concerning the conditions, he agreed\nto give her two hundred pounds in specie, to provide herself with\nsufficient necessaries for the voyage, and eight hundred more to be\ndeposited in the hands of the captain of the ship, to be paid on her\narrival; with which she appeared very well satisfied, and gave him the\nmost solemn assurances never to trouble him again.\nBut Miss Flora was all distraction at this event: the thoughts of\nleaving dear London were equally irksome to her with those of death\nitself. Fain would she have staid behind; but what could she do? Without\nreputation--without friends--without money--there was no remedy but to\nshare her mother's fortune. Mrs. Prinks also, who, by living so long\nwith Lady Mellasin, known to be in all her secrets, and agent in her\niniquitous proceedings, could have no character to recommend her to any\nother service, continued with the only person she, indeed, was fit to\nlive with; and they all embarked together on board a ship that was then\nready to sail.\nAll Mr. Goodman's friends congratulated him on the service he had done\nhis country, in ridding it of three persons who, by perverting the\ntalents Heaven had bestowed upon them, to the most vile purpose, were\ncapable of doing the greatest mischiefs to the more innocent and unwary.\nIt was on this occasion that he made the invitation before-mentioned.\nCHAPTER X\n_Returns to the affairs of Mrs. Munden_\nThere were present at the entertainment made by Mr. Goodman, several\nother of his friends, besides Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, the two Mr.\nThoughtlesses, and Mrs. Munden. The husband of that lady had also\nreceived an invitation to be one of the guests; but he pretended a\nprevious engagement would not permit him to accept the favour intended\nhim.\nHe made his excuse, however, in terms so polite, and seemingly sincere,\nthat none of the company, excepting those who were in the secret of the\ndisagreement between him and his wife, had any apprehensions that his\nabsence was occasioned by any other motive that what his message had\nexpressed.\nSir Ralph Trusty and his lady, who were the only persons who had the\nleast suspicion of the truth of this affair, could not help being a good\ndeal concerned at it; but they forbore taking any notice, till the\nlatter, perceiving Mrs. Munden had retired to a window at the farther\nend of the room, in order to give herself a little air, stept hastily\ntowards her, and, in a low voice, accosted her in these terms.\n'I see plainly, my dear,' said she, 'through the excuse your husband has\nmade for not complying with Mr. Goodman's invitation; and am heartily\nsorry to find this fresh proof of the disunion between you. It is high\ntime something should be attempted to put things on a better footing. I\nwill desire Sir Ralph to send for Mr. Munden to-morrow, and we will try\nwhat can be done.'\n'Your ladyship is extremely good,' replied the other; 'and I shall be\nalways ready to submit to whatever you shall think proper for me: but I\nam determined to be entirely passive in this affair, and shall continue\nto live with Mr. Munden in the same manner I do at present, till a very\ngreat alteration in his behaviour shall oblige me to think I ought, in\ngratitude, to make some change in mine.'\nLady Trusty would not prolong the conversation, for fear of being\nobserved; and they both rejoined the company. After this, there passed\nnothing of sufficient moment to acquaint the reader with; so that I\nshall only say, that, after a day, and great part of the ensuing night,\nspent in feasting, merriment and all that could exhilarate the spirits\nand excite good-humour, every one retired to their respective dwellings,\nhighly satisfied with the manner in which they had been entertained by\nthe younger merchant.\nLady Trusty was far from being forgetful of the promise she had made to\nher fair friend; and, after a serious consultation with Sir Ralph in\nwhat manner it was most proper to proceed, prevailed upon that\ngentleman, who was little less zealous than herself in doing good\noffices, to write the following billet to Mr. Munden.\n     'To George Munden, Esq.\n     A business which, I am perfectly well assured, is of the utmost\n     consequence both to your present and future happiness, obliges me\n     to intreat the favour of seeing you this morning at my house; it\n     not being so proper (for reasons I shall hereafter inform you of)\n     for me to wait on you at yours.\n     As I have no other interest in what I have to impart, than merely\n     the pleasure I shall take in doing you a service, and discharging\n     what I think the duty of every honest man, I flatter myself you\n     will not fail of complying immediately with my request; and, at the\n     same time, believe me to be, what I am, with the greatest\n     sincerity, Sir, your well-wisher, and most humble and most obedient\n     servant,\n     RALPH TRUSTY.'\nThis letter being sent pretty early in the morning, Mr. Munden was but\njust out of bed when he received it--a breakfast much less pleasing to\nhim than his chocolate. He doubted not but his wife had made Lady Trusty\nacquainted with the whole secret of his family-affairs; and therefore\neasily guessed on what score he was sent for in this pressing manner by\nSir Ralph; and, as it was highly disagreeable to him to enter into any\ndiscussions on that head, it was some time before he could resolve\nwithin himself what answer he should send.\nBut whatever deficiencies there might be in this gentleman, none,\nexcepting those of his own family, to whom he did not think it worth his\nwhile to be complaisant, could ever accuse him of want of politeness--a\ncharacter so dear to him, that, perhaps he would not have forfeited it,\neven for the attainment of any other of the more shining and valuable\nvirtues of his sex.\nPerplexing, therefore, as he knew this interview must necessarily be to\nhim, he could not think of behaving in an uncourtly manner to a\ngentleman of Sir Ralph Trusty's rank and fortune; and having ordered\nthat the servant who brought the letter should come up, desired him, in\nthe most affable terms, to acquaint his master that nothing should\ndeprive him of the honour of attending him the moment he was dressed.\nSir Ralph Trusty, in his younger years, had lived very much in London,\nhad kept the best company in it; and though he was perfectly sincere in\nhis nature, and had a thorough contempt for all those idle superfluous\nceremonies, which some people look upon as the height of good-breeding,\nand value themselves so much upon, yet he knew how to put them in\npractice when ever he found they would facilitate any point he had to\ngain; and as Mr. Munden was altogether the courtier in his behaviour, he\nthought it best to address him in his own way, and receive him rather in\na manner as if he was about to praise him for some laudable action he\nhad done, than make any remonstrances to him on a conduct which he\nwanted to convince him required some amendment.\nAfter having said a great many obliging things to him, in order to bring\nhim into a humour proper for his purpose, the politick old baronet began\nin these terms to open the business on which he had desired to speak\nwith him.\n'I have not words to make you sensible,' continued he, 'how much your\nabsence was regretted yesterday by all the company at Mr. Goodman's,\nespecially by the two Mr. Thoughtlesses, who, indeed, on all occasions,\nexpress the highest esteem and regard for you, both as a friend and\nbrother; but I was more particularly affected, when, on coming home, my\nwife acquainted me with what she imagined the real cause that deprived\nus of you.\n'She told me,' added he, 'that having the other day surprized Mrs.\nMunden in tears and great confusion, she would not leave her until she\nwrested from her a secret, which I am equally ashamed and sorry to\nrepeat; but which you can be at no loss to guess at.'\nThough Mr. Munden had foreseen on what account he was sent for, and had\nprepared himself for it, yet he could to forbear testifying some\nconfusion; but, recovering himself from it as soon as he could, 'Yes,\nSir Ralph, I easily perceive,' answered he, 'that my wife has been\nmaking some complaints against me to your lady, which, doubtless, have\nlaid me under her displeasure, as I know the accuser has the advantage\nof the accused, in the opinion of those to whom they appeal.'\n'Not at all,' cried Sir Ralph hastily; 'I dare answer that my wife is no\nless concerned for your sake, than for that of Mrs. Munden, at the\nunfortunate disagreement that has happened between you.'\nAs he was speaking these words, Lady Trusty, either by design or\naccident, passed by the door of the room where they were sitting. 'Come\nin, my dear,' said Sir Ralph to her, 'and justify yourself from being\nswayed against right reason, by any partial affection to your fair\nfriend.'\n'If you mean in the case of Mrs. Munden, as I suppose you do,' replied\nshe, 'I can acquit myself with very great ease from any imputation on\nthat score; and am ready, even before her husband, to give it as my\njudgment, that, in all disputes between persons who are married to each\nother, especially when carried to any height, neither of them are wholly\nfaultless; for, though one may be the first aggressor, the other seldom,\nif ever, behaves so as not to incur some part of the blame.'\n'Your ladyship is all goodness,' said Mr. Munden, very respectfully;\n'and, in what you have said, discover not only a penetration, but also a\nlove of justice, which can never be too much admired and applauded. What\nyour ladyship has observed between me and Mrs. Munden, is exactly the\nthing; it is certain, that both of us have been to blame; I have,\nperhaps, acted in a manner somewhat too abruptly towards her, and she in\none too resentful, and too imperious, towards me; and though I am\nwilling to allow my dear Betsy all the merit of those good qualities she\nis possessed of, yet I cannot help giving her some part of the character\nMr. Congreve ascribes to Zara in his Mourning Bride, and saying--\n    \"That she has passion, which outstrips the winds,\n    And roots her reason up.\"\nLady Trusty, who, for the sake of Mrs. Munden's reputation, was so\neager to patch up a reconciliation at any rate between her and her\nhusband, would not seem to defend her behaviour as a wife, while she\ngently accused him of having too far exerted the authority of a husband.\nIn a word, both Sir Ralph and his lady managed in so artful a manner,\nstill blending cajolings with remonstrances, that, when they came to\nenter into a discussion on this affair, Mr. Munden, whatever he thought\nin his heart, could not forbear seeming to yield to the justice of their\nreasonings.\nHe consented, though not without some scruples, and a much greater share\nof inward reluctance than his complaisance would permit him to make shew\nof, to add one guinea per week to his allowance for the expences of his\ntable. As to the rest, he readily enough agreed to meet his wife half\nway towards a reconciliation; assured them, that he was far from\nrequiring any other submission on her part, than what he would set her\nthe example of in himself, and that he wished nothing more than to\nexchange forgiveness with her.\nOn this, Lady Trusty dispatched a servant directly to Mrs. Munden, to\nlet her know she must needs speak with her immediately, which summons\nwas no sooner delivered than complied with.\nThis prudent lady having cast about in her mind all that was proper to\nbe done, in order to accomplish the good work she laboured for, and had\nso much at heart, would not leave it in the power of chance to\ndisappoint what she had so happily begun; and having prevailed over the\nill-nature and sourness of the husband, thought it equally necessary to\nprevent the resentment, or inadvertency, of the wife from frustrating\nher endeavours.\nOn being told that Mrs. Munden was come, she ran down stairs to receive\nher, led her into a parlour, and informed her, as briefly as she could,\nall that part which she thought would be most satisfactory to her, of\nthe conversation which had passed between them and Mr. Munden on her\nscore.\nFinding what she said was received by the other more coolly than she\nwished, she took that privilege which her rank, her age, and the\nfriendship she had always shewn to her, might justly claim, to\nremonstrate to her, that it did not become her situation and character\nto stand too much upon punctilios at this time; when all that either\nwas, or ought to be, dear to womankind, depended on a speedy\naccommodation with her husband: 'The unhappy brul\u00e9e,' said she, 'has\nlasted too long--your servants must certainly know it--you cannot be\nassured of their secrecy--the whole affair, perhaps, with large\nadditions to it, will soon become the talk of the town--every one will\nbe descanting upon it; and how much soever Mr. Munden may be in fault,\nyou cannot hope to escape your share in the censure.'\nPoor Mrs. Munden, who looked upon this lady as a second mother, would\nnot attempt to offer any thing in opposition to the arguments she used;\nand, besides, could not forbear avowing, within herself, the justice of\nthem. 'Well, Madam,' answered she, with a deep sigh, 'I shall endeavour\nto follow your ladyship's advice; and, since I am a wife, will do my\nbest to make the yoke I have submitted to, sit as lightly upon me as\npossible.'\nLady Trusty perceiving her spirits were very much depressed, omitted\nnothing, that the shortness of time would allow, to persuade her to\nbelieve, that her condition was not so unhappy, in reality, as she at\npresent imagined it to be; and having brought her to somewhat of a more\nchearful temper, conducted her into the room where Sir Ralph and Mr.\nMunden were still discoursing on the matter in question.\n'Welcome, my fair charge,' cried the former, taking her by the hand, and\ndrawing her towards Mr. Munden; 'I have once already had the honour of\ngiving you to this gentleman--permit me to do so a second time; I hope\nwith the same satisfaction, on both sides, as at first.'\n'On mine, by Heaven, it is!' replied Mr. Munden, flying hastily to\nembrace her, as she moved slowly forward; 'if my dearest Betsy will\npromise to forget what is past, the pains I have suffered, during this\ninterruption of my happiness, will be a sufficient security for her,\nthat I shall be very careful for the future to avoid doing any thing\nthat may again subject me to the like misfortune.'\nThese words, and the tender air which he assumed in speaking them, were\nso much beyond what Mrs. Munden could have expected from him, after his\nlate treatment of her, that all her pride, her anger, and even her\nindifference, subsided at that instant, and gave place to sentiments of\nthe most gentle nature.\n'You must believe,' answered she, with an infinity of sweetness in her\nvoice and eyes, 'that I have also had my share of anguish: but whatever\ninquietudes you have sustained on my account must be forgotten on your\npart, as it shall be mine to make atonement for them by every thing in\nmy power, which can flatter me with the hopes of doing so.'\nInsensible and morose as Mr. Munden was, he could not avoid, on this\nobliging behaviour in his fair wife, being touched in reality with some\nsoft emotions, which he so well knew how to magnify the appearance of,\nthat not only herself, but the bye-standers, imagined he was the most\ntransported man alive.\nImpossible it is to express how much Sir Ralph, and his good lady,\nrejoiced to see this happy event: they entertained them very elegantly\nat dinner, in the afternoon they went all together to take the air in\nKensington Gardens; and a great deal of company coming in the evening to\nvisit Lady Trusty, every thing contributed to keep up the spirit and\ngood-humour of the newly re-united pair.\nCHAPTER XI\n_Contains some few particulars which followed the reconciliation_\nThough this reconciliation was not altogether sincere on the side of Mr.\nMunden, yet being made in the presence of Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, it\nkept him from giving any flagrant remonstrations, at present, that it\nwas not so; and he continued to live with his amiable wife in the most\nseeming good harmony for some time.\nShe, on her part, performed with the utmost exactitude all she had\npromised to him; and though she could not be said to feel for him all\nthat warmth of affection which renders the discharge of our duty so\ngreat a pleasure to ourselves, yet her good-nature and good-sense well\nsupplied that deficiency, and left him no room to accuse her of the\nleast failure in what might be expected from the best of wives.\nDuring this interval of tranquillity, she lost the society of two\npersons, the tenderness of whose friendship for her she had experienced\nin a thousand instances: Mr. Francis Thoughtless, who had stayed so long\nin town, merely through the indulgence of his commanding officer, was\nnow obliged to repair to his regiment, then quartered at Leeds in\nYorkshire; and Sir Ralph Trusty, having finished his affairs in town,\nhis lady returned with him to their country-seat.\nThus was she almost at once deprived of the only two persons to whom she\ncould impart her mind without reserve, or on whose advice she could\ndepend in any exigence whatever; for, as to her elder brother, he was\ntoo eager in the pursuit of his pleasures, and too much absorbed in\nthem, to be truly solicitous for any thing that did not immediately\nrelate to them; she saw him but seldom, and, when she did so, there was\na certain distance in his behaviour towards her which would not permit\nher to talk to him with that freedom she could have wished to do.\nShe had not, however, any fresh motive to regret their departure on this\naccount; Mr. Munden continued to behave to her in much the same manner\nas he had done since the breach had been made up between them: he was,\nindeed, very much abroad; but as she was far from being passionately\nfond of him, and only desired he would treat her with civility when with\nher, the little she enjoyed of his company was no manner of affliction\nto her.\nShe still retained some part of that gaiety, and love of a variety of\nconversation, which had always been a predominant propensity in her\nnature; and though in all her excursions, and the liberties she took,\nshe carefully avoided every thing that might taint her virtue, or even\ncast a blemish on her reputation, yet were they such, as a husband who\nhad loved with more ardency, would not, perhaps, have been very easy\nunder: on his part, also, the late hours he came home at--the messages\nand letters which were daily brought to him by porters, might have given\nmuch disquiet to a wife, not defended from jealousy by so great a share\nof indifference: but in this they were perfectly agreed--neither offered\nto interfere with the amusements of the other, nor even pretended to\nenquire into the nature of them.\nThough this was a mode of living together, which was far from being\ncapable of producing that happiness for which the state of marriage was\nordained, yet was it perfectly easy to persons who had so little real\naffection for each other; and, however blameable in the eyes of the\ntruly discreet, escaped the censure of the generality of mankind, by\nit's being so frequently practised.\nBut I shall not expatiate on their present manner of behaviour to each\nother, since it was not of any long continuance, but proceed to the\nrecital of a little adventure, which, though it may seem trifling to the\nreader in the repetition, will hereafter be found of some consequence.\nIt was a mighty custom with Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora, when they had\nnothing of more consequence to entertain them, to go among the shops,\nand amuse themselves with enquiring after new fashions, and looking over\nthat variety of merchandize which is daily brought to this great mart of\nvanity and luxury.\nMrs. Munden, while in a virgin state, and a boarder at Mr. Goodman's,\nused frequently to accompany those ladies when bent on such sort of\nrambles; and she still was fond enough of satisfying her curiosity this\nway, at such times as she found nothing else to do, or was not in a\nhumour to give or receive visits.\nHappening one day to pass by the well-furnished shop of an eminent\nmercer, and seeing several silks lie spread upon the counter, she was\ntempted to step in, and examine them more nearly. A great number of\nothers were also taken from the shelves, and laid before her; but she\nnot seeming to approve any of them, the mercer told her he had some\ncurious pieces out of the loom that morning of a quite new pattern,\nwhich he had sent his man with to a lady of quality, and expected he\nwould be back in a few minutes, so intreated she would be pleased either\nto stay a little, or give him directions where she might be waited upon.\nMrs. Munden complied with the former of these requests; and the rather,\nbecause, while they were talking, she heard from a parlour, behind the\nshop, a harpsichord very finely touched, accompanied with a female voice\nwhich sung, in the most harmonious accents, part of this air, composed\nby the celebrated Signior Bononcini--\n    'M'insegna l'amor l'inganno,\n    Mi togl'al cor, l'assanno,\n      Mi da l'ardir amor,\n      Mi da l'ardir amor.'\nThe attention Mrs. Munden gave to the musick, preventing her from\nspeaking, the mercer said he was sorry she was obliged to wait so long:\n'I rather ought to thank you, Sir, for detaining me, since I have an\nentertainment more elegant than I could have expected elsewhere.'\n'The lady sings and plays well indeed, Madam,' said he: 'she is a\ncustomer of mine, and sometimes does my wife the favour of passing an\nhour with her.'\nThe lady still continued playing; and Mrs. Munden expressing a more than\nordinary pleasure in hearing her, the complaisant mercer asked her to\nwalk into the parlour; to which she replied, she would gladly accept his\noffer, provided it would be no intrusion: he assured her it would not be\naccounted so in the least; and with these words conducted her into the\nroom.\nA few words served to introduce her to his wife, who being a very\ngenteel, pretty sort of woman, received her with great civility: but\nthe fair musician was no sooner told the effects her accents had\nproduced on Mrs. Munden, than, though she was a foreigner, and spoke\nvery broken English, she returned the compliment made her by that lady\non the occasion, in a manner so perfectly free, and withal so noble, as\ndiscovered her to have been bred among, and accustomed to converse with,\npersons in the highest stations in life.\nVain as Mrs. Munden was of her perfections, she was always ready to\nacknowledge and admire those she found in others of her sex. There was\nsomething in this lady, that attracted her in a peculiar manner; she\ntook as much delight in hearing her talk, as she had done in hearing her\nsing; she longed to be of the number of her acquaintance, and made her\nseveral overtures that way; which the other either did not, or would\nnot, seem to understand.\nThe mercer's man returning with the silks his master had mentioned, Mrs.\nMunden thought, after the obliging entertainment she had received, she\ncould do no less than become a purchaser of something: accordingly she\nbought a piece of silk for a night-gown; though at the time she had not\nthe least occasion for it, nor, on her coming into the shop, had any\nintention to increase her wardrobe.\nHaving now no longer a pretence to stay, she gave the mercer directions\nwhere to send home the silk, and then took her leave: but could not do\nit without telling the lady, that she should think herself extremely\nhappy in having the opportunity of a much longer conversation with her.\nOn her speaking in this manner, the other appeared in very great\nconfusion; but having, after a pretty long pause, a little recovered\nherself, 'It is an honour, Madam,' said she, 'I would be extremely\nambitious of; and had certainly taken the liberty to request it of you,\nif there were not a cruel peculiarity in my fate, which deprives me of\nall hopes of that, and many other blessings, I could wish to enjoy.'\nMrs. Munden was so much surprized at these words, that she could only\nreply, she was sorry a lady, who appeared so deserving, should be denied\nany thing she thought worthy of desiring.\nIt might well, indeed, seem a little strange that a lady so young,\nbeautiful, and accomplished, should have any motive to induce her to\nspeak in the terms she had done. Mrs. Munden had a good deal of\ncuriosity in her composition; she thought there was something\nextraordinarily mysterious in the circumstances of this stranger; and\nwas very desirous of penetrating into the secret.\nAbout an hour after she came home, the mercer's man brought the silk:\nshe enquired of him the name, condition, and place of abode, of the\nyoung lady she had seen at his master's; but received not the least\ninformation from him as to any of the questions she had put to him. He\ntold her, that though she often bought things at their shop, yet his\nmaster always carried them home himself, and he was entirely ignorant of\nevery thing relating to her.\nThis a little vexed her, because she doubted not but that, if she once\nfound out her name, quality, and where she lived, her invention would\nsupply her with the means of making a more particular discovery. She\nresolved, therefore, on going again to the shop, under the pretence of\nbuying something, and asking the mercer himself, who she could not\nimagine would have any interest in concealing what she desired to know.\nSome company coming in, prevented her from going that afternoon; but she\nwent the next morning after breakfast. The mercer not happening to be at\nhome, she was more than once tempted by her impatience to ask for his\nwife, and as often restrained by the reflection that such a thing might\nbe looked upon as a piece of impertinence in a person so much a\nstranger: she therefore left the house without speaking to any body but\nthe man she had seen the day before.\nHer curiosity, however, would not, perhaps, have suffered her to stop\nhere, if something of more moment had not fallen out to engage her\nattention, and put the other out of her head for the present.\nThe nobleman on whom Mr. Munden depended for the gift so often mentioned\nin this history, had been a long time out of town, and was but lately\nreturned. He had heard in the country that Mr. Munden was married, and\nthat his wife was very beautiful and accomplished.\nOn Mr. Munden's going to pay his compliments to him on his arrival, 'I\ncongratulate you,' said he; 'I am told you are married, and have got one\nof the prettiest and most amiable women in London for a wife.'\n'As to beauty, my lord,' replied he, 'there is no certain standard for\nit; and I am entirely of the poet's mind, that--\n    \"'Tis in no face, but in the lover's eye.\"\n'But whatever she is,' continued he, 'I am afraid she would be too vain\nif she knew the honour your lordship does her, in making this favourable\nmention of her.'\n'Not at all,' rejoined the peer; 'but I shall not take her character\nfrom common fame--you must give me leave to be a judge of the\nperfections I have heard so much talk of: besides,' pursued he, 'I have\na mind to see what sort of a house you keep; I think I will come some\nday, and take a dinner with you.'\nIt is not to be doubted but that Mr. Munden omitted nothing that might\nassure his lordship, that it was an honour which he was extremely\nambitious of, and should be equally proud of receiving, though he durst\nnot have presumed to have asked it.\nThe very next day being appointed for this grand visit, he went home to\nhis wife, transported with the gracious behaviour of his patron towards\nhim. He threw a large parcel of guineas into her lap; and charged her to\nspare nothing that might entertain their noble guest in a manner\nbefitting his high rank, and the favours he expected one day to receive\nfrom him.\nMr. Munden could not have given any commands that would be more pleasing\nto his fair wife: feasting and grand company were her delight. She set\nabout making the necessary preparations with the greatest alacrity\nimaginable; and it must be acknowledged that, considering the shortness\nof the time, she had sufficient to have employed the most able and\nexperienced housewife.\nCHAPTER XII\n_Is only the prelude to greater matters_\nIt might be justly reckoned a piece of impertinence to take up the\nreader's time with a repetition of the bill of fare of the entertainment\nmade on the above occasion; it will be sufficient to say that every\nthing was extremely elegant; that it was composed of the best chosen\ndishes, which were all served up in the greatest order; and that there\nwas as great a variety of them as consisted with the table of a private\ngentleman, without incurring the censure of profuseness.\nSuch as it was, however, the noble lord seemed highly delighted with it;\nhe praised every thing that came before him, almost to a degree of\nflattery; and took all opportunities of being yet more lavish in his\nencomiums on the beauty, wit, and elegance of the fair provider.\nMr. Munden was transported within himself at the satisfaction his patron\nexpressed; and his wife also felt a secret joy on hearing the fine\nthings said of her, which sparkled in her eyes, and gave an additional\nlustre to all her charms.\nThis nobleman, though past what is called the prime of life, was far\nfrom having arrived at those years which bring on decay; he was,\nbesides, of a sanguine, vigorous complexion--had a very graceful\nperson--a fine address--a great affluence of wit--and something so soft\nand engaging in his manner of behaviour to the ladies, as rendered him\nstill a prodigious favourite with them.\nHe was too good a judge of what is amiable in womankind, not to discover\nimmediately the many perfections Mrs. Munden was mistress of: he felt\nthe whole force of her charms; and as he loved beauty more for his own\nsake than for that of the possessor, and never liked without desiring to\nenjoy, his eyes told her, at every glance, that he languished for an\nopportunity of declaring in a different manner the sentiments he had for\nher.\nMrs. Munden perfectly understood the language in which she found herself\naddressed: but, had she been less learned in it, an explanation soon\npresented itself.\nHer husband, stepping to the head of the stair-case to give some orders\nto a servant, the peer took hold of one of her hands, and kissing it\nwith the utmost raptures, 'Divine creature,' cried he, 'how unjust is\nfortune! that a face and person so formed for universal admiration, is\nnot placed in a higher and more conspicuous sphere of life!'\nShe had not time to make any reply--Mr. Munden returned that moment--nor\nhad the noble lord the least opportunity, while he staid, of speaking\none word to her that was improper for a husband to be witness of.\nHe prolonged the time of his departure to a greater length than could\nhave been expected from a person whose high office in the state\npermitted him much fewer hours of leisure than those in middling\nstations of life are happy enough to enjoy: when he went away, he\nassured both the husband and the wife that he quitted them with the\nutmost reluctance, and that he had never passed a day more agreeably in\nhis whole life.\nMr. Munden was now in such high good-humour, that he no sooner found\nhimself alone with his fair wife, than he took her in his arms, and\nkissed her very heartily--a favour not common with him since the first\nweek of their marriage. He told her, moreover, she had behaved like an\nangel--that nothing could be more elegant than the dinner she had\nprepared--and that he could not have expected such a variety of covers,\nand so fine a dessert, for the money he gave her for that purpose.\n'I think myself very happy,' answered she, 'that you approve so well of\nmy management: but I fancy,' continued she with a smile, 'you will have\nsome better opinion of my oeconomy when I tell you that it cost less\nthan you imagine.'\n'Is it possible!' cried he, in a pleasing surprize: 'I rather thought\nyou had been kind enough to have added somewhat out of your own pocket,\nto render the entertainment so perfectly compleat.'\n'No, I assure you,' resumed she; 'there remains no less than these\nthree guineas of the sum you allowed me for this day's expence.' With\nthese words, she laid the pieces she had mentioned on the table, which\nhe was so ungenerous as to take immediately up and put it into his own\npocket.\n'Nay, Mr. Munden,' said she, while he was putting up the money, 'this is\nnot dealing altogether so fairly by me as I have done by you: I expected\nthat the trouble I have been at, deserved, at least, to be rewarded with\nwhat I have saved by my frugality.'\n'Take care, my dear,' said he, laughing, 'how you lessen the merit of\nwhat you have done; I am willing to take it as an obligation to me; and,\nsure, you value an obligation to me at a much higher rate than three\npieces.'\nThough all this passed on both sides in a jocose way, yet, as it served\nto shew the niggardliness of Mr. Munden's temper, cannot be supposed to\nhave increased either the love or respect his wife had for him.\nShe made, however, no other answer to what he had last said, than to\ntell him she found he was fashionable enough to suffer virtue to be it's\nown reward; and then turned the conversation, and continued in the same\nchearful humour as before any mention had been made of the three\nguineas. Mr. Munden did not go abroad the whole evening: but whether he\nchose to sup at home for the pleasure of enjoying his wife's company, or\nfor the sake of partaking of the remainder of those dainties which had\nbeen so highly praised at dinner, is a point which, perhaps, might admit\nof some dispute.\nIt is certain, indeed, the yet unsubdued vanity of this young lady made\nher feel so much innate satisfaction in the admiration their noble\nvisitor had expressed of her person and accomplishments, as gave a\ndouble sprightliness to her conversation that whole evening; and might,\nperhaps, render her more than ordinarily lovely in the eyes of her\nhusband.\nIt is very far from being an improbability that some people may be apt\nto imagine she built a little too much on the veracity of the praises\nbestowed upon her by that nobleman: but those who think this way, will\nbe convinced of their error when they shall presently find how far her\nconjectures were justified in this point.\nShe was sitting the next morning in a careless posture at one of the\nwindows that looked into the street, ruminating sometimes on one thing,\nand sometimes on another, when she could not help observing a fellow on\nthe other side of the way, who kept walking backwards and forwards,\nbefore the house, which, though he frequently passed thirty or forty\npaces, yet he took care never to lose sight of.\nThis seemed a little odd to her, as she sat there a considerable time,\nand the man still continued on his post: she doubted not but that he\nwanted to speak with some one or other of her family, but had not the\nleast notion his business was with herself.\nBeing told breakfast waited for her, she went into her dressing-room,\nwhere she usually took it, and thought no farther of the man till Mr.\nMunden was dressed and gone out; but in less than a minute after he was\nso, she received intelligence from her footman, that there was a person\nhad a letter for her, and said he would deliver it into no hands but her\nown.\nOn this she ran immediately down stairs; and found, to her great\nsurprize, that he was no other than the fellow that she had seen\nloitering so long about the house. 'I am ordered, Madam,' said he, 'to\ngive you this;' and at the same time presented her with a letter. 'From\nwhom does it come?' demanded she. 'I am ignorant,' answered he, 'both of\nthe person who sent it, and the business it contains: my orders were\nonly to deliver it into your own hands;' and with these words went away\nwith all the speed he could.\nIt must be confessed, a married woman ought not to have received a\nletter brought her in this manner, and without knowing whence it came:\nbut curiosity prevailed above discretion; and she, hastily opening it,\nfound it contained these lines.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     Loveliest of your sex,\n     As not to adore you would be the greatest proof of insensibility,\n     so not to wish, and even attempt every thing consistent with the\n     character of a man of honour, for the obtaining some reward for\n     that adoration, would be the most stupid piece of self-denial,\n     becoming only of a stoick, or one more dead to all the joys of\n     life. The force of your charms has made the conquest of a heart\n     which only waits a favourable opportunity of throwing itself at\n     your feet, not altogether without hope, in spite of the\n     circumstances you are in, of being, in some measure, acceptable to\n     you; at least it shall be so, if the most ardent and perfect\n     passion that ever was, joined with the power of rendering you all\n     manner of services, can give it merit in your eyes.\n     A very short time, I flatter myself, will explain to you what at\n     present may seem a mystery: benignant Love will furnish the most\n     faithful of his votaries with the means of declaring himself at\n     full; and the flame with which he is inspired, instruct him also to\n     give you such testimonies of his everlasting attachment, as the\n     good understanding you are mistress of you will not permit you to\n     reject; till when, I only beseech you to think, with some share of\n     tenderness, on your concealed adorer.'\nUtterly impossible is it to describe the situation of Mrs. Munden's\nmind, after having several times read over this epistle, and well\nexamined the purport of it: she doubted not, one moment, but that it was\ndictated by the noble lord she had seen the day before, and whose\nbehaviour to her had, in some degree, corresponded with the sentiments\ncontained in it. If her vanity was delighted with the conquest she had\nmade, her pride was shocked at that assurance which the daring lover\nseemed to flatter himself with of gaining her; and her virtue much more\nalarmed at the attempts which his rank and fortune might embolden him to\nmake for that end.\nAt first she was resolved to shew the letter to her husband the moment\nhe came home, and acquaint him with her sentiments on the matter, that\nhe might take proper precautions to prevent her from being exposed to\nany future attacks from this dangerous nobleman.\nBut, on more mature deliberation, her mind changed: Mr. Munden was, at\npresent, in tolerable good humour with her--she was willing, if\npossible, to preserve it in him; and, as she could not but think an\ninformation of this kind would give him a great deal of uneasiness, so\nshe had also reason to apprehend the effects of it might, in some\nmeasure, innocent as she was, fall upon herself.\nHe had never yet discovered the least emotions of jealousy; and she knew\nnot what suspicions her having received such a letter from one person\nmight raise in him in relation to others. 'He may, possibly,' said she\nto herself, 'look upon every man that visits me as an invader of his\nright; and, consequently, I shall be debarred from all conversation with\nthe sex.\n'Besides,' continued she, 'I am not certain that this letter was sent me\nby the noble lord, or that he has in reality entertained any designs to\nthe prejudice of my virtue; there is, indeed, a strong probability of\nit, even by his behaviour towards me yesterday: yet it may not be so;\nappearances often deceive us; and I might take that for the effect of\nlove which proceeded only from complaisance; but, whatever his\nintentions are, it would certainly be the extremest folly and madness in\nme to inflame Mr. Munden against a person on whom his interest so much\ndepends.\n'It is no matter, therefore,' went she still on, 'whether it be the\nnoble lord in question, or any other person who presumes to think so\nmeanly of me as to address me in this audacious manner; it is,\ndoubtless, in my power to keep out of the way of receiving any farther\ninsults from him; and I am sufficiently capable myself of being guardian\nof my own honour, without disturbing a husband's peace about it.'\nThus ended the debate she had with herself on this occasion: she\ncommitted her letter to the flames; and resolved, that if ever the\nauthor was hardy enough to discover himself, to treat him with all the\ncontempt due to him from affronted virtue.\nCHAPTER XIII\n_Contains what every reader of an ordinary capacity may, by this time,\neasily guess at_\nSome of my readers will, doubtless, think Mrs. Munden entirely justified\nin making a secret of the above-mentioned letter to her husband, as she\ndid so in regard to his peace; but others, again, who maintain that\nthere ought to be no reserve between persons so closely united, will\ncondemn her for it: I shall forbear to give my vote upon the matter; and\nonly say, that if she had not acted with less prudence soon after, she\nmight saved herself a very great shock, and her husband much vexation.\nIt was no more than three days after the great man had dined there, that\nMr. Munden received a billet from him, which contained as follows.\n     'To George Munden, Esq.\n     Dear Munden,\n     I have so few days that I can call my own, that I am willing to\n     make those few as happy as I can; and on that motive desire yours\n     and your amiable wife's company to dinner with me to-morrow: I\n     leave you to make both my request and compliments acceptable to\n     her; and am, with all sincerity, dear Munden, yours, &c. &c.\n     P.S. I shall have a female relation with me, who will rejoice in an\n     opportunity of becoming acquainted with Mrs. Munden.'\nMr. Munden desired the servant who brought this, to give his own and\nwife's most humble duty to his lord, and assure his lordship they would\nnot fail to attend his commands.\nSome friends being with him when this invitation was brought, hindered\nhim from saying any thing of it at that time to his wife; but they were\nno sooner gone, than, with an air and voice elated even to an excess, he\ntold her of the high favour conferred upon them by his right honourable\npatron.\nMrs. Munden was now more than ever convinced of the base designs Lord\n---- had upon her, and that the letter she had received was sent by him:\nshe therefore immediately determined within herself to let him see, by\nher not complying with this invitation, that she was neither ignorant\nwhat his intentions were, nor would do any thing that might give him the\nleast encouragement to prosecute them.\nBut as she still judged it was wholly improper to acquaint Mr. Munden\nwith any thing of the affair, she could form no other contrivance to\navoid accompanying him in this visit, than by pretending herself seized\nwith a sudden indisposition; which she resolved to do some few hours\nbefore the arrival of that wherein they should set out.\nIf she had persisted in this mind, it would have been highly laudable\nindeed: but, alas! the next morning inspired her with very different\nsentiments; vanity, that sly subverter of our best resolutions,\nsuggested to her that there was no necessity for her behaving in the\nmanner she had designed.\n'What should I fear?' said she to herself; 'what danger threatens either\nmy virtue or my reputation? A wife may certainly go any where with her\nhusband: besides, a lady will be there, a relation of his lordship's; he\ncan communicate nothing to me in their presence that I should blush to\nhear; and it would be rather ridiculous prudery, than discretion in me,\nto deny myself the satisfaction of such good company.'\nIt must be acknowledged, (for it but too plainly appears from every\ncircumstances of this lady's conduct, both before and after marriage)\nthat the unhappy propensity in her nature for attracting universal\nadmiration, rendered her little regardful either of the guilt or the\ndisquiets to which her beauty was accessary: if she was admired and\nloved, she cared not to what end; in short, it made her, perfectly\nuncorrupted and pure as her own inclinations were, rather triumph in,\nthan regret, the power she had of inspiring the most inordinate and\nvicious ones in others.\nThus, more delighted than alarmed, she equipped herself with all the\narts and laboured industry of female pride, for securing the conquest\nshe had gained: safe as she imagined herself from all the encroachments\nof presumptuous love, she pleased herself with the thoughts of being\nlooked upon by the adoring peer as Adam did upon the forbidden\nfruit--longing, wishing, but not daring to approach.\nShe had but just finished her embellishments, and was looking in the\ngreat glass to see if all was right, when Mr. Munden sent up stairs to\nknow if she was ready, and to tell her his noble patron had sent his own\nchariot to fetch them: on hearing this she immediately tripped down\nstairs, singing, as she went, this part of an old song--\n    'With an air and a face,\n    And a shape and a grace,\n    Let me charm like beauty's goddess.'\nOh, how will the prudent, reserved part of the sex lament, that a young\nlady, endued with so many perfections, so many amiable qualities, should\nthus persevere in a vanity of which she had already experienced such\nvexatious consequences!\nLord ---- received them in a fashion which fully gratified the ambition\nof Mr. Munden, and the yet less warrantable expectations of his wife;\nthe lady mentioned in the letter was already with him; who, on his\nlordship's presenting Mrs. Munden to her, saluted her with abundance of\nsweetness and good-breeding: she was a person of about thirty years of\nage; had been extremely handsome, and still retained the remains of\ncharms which must have been very powerful in their bloom; nor was her\nconversation less agreeable than her person; she said little, indeed,\nbut what she said was extremely to the purpose, and very entertaining;\nthere was, notwithstanding, a certain air of melancholy about her, which\nshe in vain attempted to conceal, though it was easy to perceive she\nmade use of her utmost efforts for that purpose.\nHis lordship was extremely gay and spiritous, as, indeed, were all the\ncompany, during the whole time at dinner: but it was no sooner over,\nthan he said to Mr. Munden, 'Dear Munden, I have a business to\ncommunicate to you which these ladies must forgive me if I make a secret\nof to them.' With these words he took Mr. Munden into another room, and\nspoke to him in the following manner.\n'A person,' said he, 'has been guilty of an action in regard to me,\nwhich it is neither consistent with my honour or my humour to put up\nwith: I will shew you,' continued he, giving him an unsealed letter,\n'what I have wrote to him upon the occasion; and that will instruct you\nhow I intend to proceed, and, at the same time, convince you of the\nconfidence I repose in your friendship.'\nMr. Munden took the letter out of his lordship's hands, and found the\ncontents as follows.\n     'To William W----, Esq.\n     Though the affront you have offered me deserves the severest\n     treatment, yet, in consideration of our former intimacy, I shall\n     wave my peerage, and require no other satisfaction from you than\n     what any private gentleman has a right to demand of another, in a\n     case of the like nature.\n     I shall be in the Green Park to-morrow about eight in the morning,\n     where I believe you have honour enough to meet me: bring with you\n     any one person you think fit; the gentleman who puts this into your\n     hands will accompany me.\n     Not that I mean our friends should be engaged in the quarrel; but\n     think it proper that there should be some witnesses that no foul\n     play is attempted on either side. I am, expecting your ready\n     compliance, Sir, yours, &c.\n'You see, Munden,' said he, perceiving he had done reading, 'the\nassurance I build on the sincerity of your attachment to me.'--'Your\nlordship does me an infinity of honour,' replied the other with a low\nbow, 'and I have nothing to regret, but that my sword must lie idle\nwhile your lordship's is employed.'\n'As for that,' resumed the peer, 'I always thought it the utmost folly\nand injustice to set two people on cutting one another's throats, merely\nin compliment to their friends: but, my dear Munden,' pursued he,\nlooking on his watch, 'I would have you go immediately; I believe you\nwill find him at the Cocoa Tree; he is generally there about this\nhour--but if not, they will direct you where to find him.'\nHe sealed the letter while he was speaking; which being again delivered\nto Mr. Munden, they both returned into the room where the ladies were.\nMr. Munden stayed no longer than while his footman called a\nhackney-coach to the door; as he was going out, the nobleman said to\nhim, 'I doubt not but you will be back as soon as possible; in the mean\ntime we three will amuse ourselves with a game at ombre.'\nMrs. Munden was a good deal surprized at her husband's departure; but\nhad much more reason to be so, as well as alarmed, in a moment or two\nafter.\nCards were but just laid upon the table, when a servant came hastily,\nand told the lady a messenger had brought word that her mother was\nsuddenly seized with an apoplectic fit; that it was not yet known\nwhether the old lady would recover, and that she must come home that\ninstant.\nOn this she started up, seemed in a most terrible fright, and took her\nleave with a precipitation natural enough to the occasion, in a daughter\npossessed of any share of duty or affection.\nThis part of the history must be very unintelligible indeed, if the\nreader has not by this time seen, that all this was but a feint\ncontrivance by the amorous nobleman, in order to get an opportunity of\nemploying the whole battery of his rhetorick against the virtue he was\nimpatient to triumph over.\nThis pretended kinswoman was, in fact, no more than a cast-off mistress\nof his lordship's; but, having her dependance entirely upon him, was\nobliged to submit in every thing to his will, and become an assistant to\nthose pleasures with others which she could no longer afford him in her\nown person.\nShe was brought to his house that day for two reasons; first, as he knew\nnot what fears, and what apprehensions, the beauty of Mrs. Munden might\nraise in her husband, and render him suspicious of the true motive of\nhis being sent away, had no other company been there; and, secondly, to\nprevent that fair-intended victim of his unwarrantable flame from being\ntoo suddenly alarmed at finding herself alone with him.\nMrs. Munden, however, had no time to examine into the meaning of what\nshe saw; and all she could recollect in that instant was, that she was\nin the house, and wholly in the power, of a person who had designs upon\nher, to which neither her honour, nor her inclinations, would permit her\nto acquiesce, and trembled for the event: but concealing the disorders\nof her mind as much as possible, 'Well, my lord,' said she, taking up\nthe cards, and beginning to shuffle them, 'since we are deprived of a\nthird person by this melancholy accident, what thinks your lordship of a\ngame at picquet?'\n'I think,' answered he, looking upon her with eyes which redoubled all\nher terrors, 'that to waste the precious time in cards, and throw away\nthe golden opportunity of telling you how much my soul adores you, would\nbe a stupidity which neither love nor fortune could forgive me for.'\nIn speaking these words he snatched one of her hands; and, in spite of\nher endeavours to withdraw it, pressed it to his mouth with an eagerness\nwhich would have convinced her, if she had not been so before, of the\nvehemence of those desires with which he was inflamed.\n'Fie, my lord!' cried she, with an air as haughty and reserved as it was\nin the power of any woman to assume, 'this is not language with which\nthe wife of him you are pleased to call your friend, could expect to be\nentertained.'\n'Unreasonably urged!' cried he: 'ought my friendship for the husband to\nrender me insensible to the beauties of the wife? or would your generous\nconsenting to reward my passion, dissolve the union between us? No; on\nthe contrary, it would rather be cemented; I should then love him not\nonly for his own, but for your sake also, and should think myself bound\nto stretch my power to it's extremest limits to do him service: be\nassured, my angel, that in blessing me, you fix the happiness of your\nhusband, and establish his future fortune in the world.'\nThese words, joined to Mr. Munden's being gone away, she knew not on\nwhat errand, made her shudder with the apprehensions that he might have\nbeen tempted, by the hopes of interest, to become yielding to the\ndishonourable intentions of his patron: but, willing to be more\nconfirmed, 'I hope, my lord,' answered she, 'that you cannot think Mr.\nMunden has so mean a soul to accept of an establishment on such\ncondition.'\n'I could name some husbands, and those of the first rank, too,' said he,\n'who, to oblige a friend, and for particular reasons, have consented to\nthe complaisance of their wives in this point; but I desire no such\nsacrifice from Mr. Munden; there is no necessity for it; I have now sent\nhim on a pretence too plausible for him to suspect the real motive of my\nwanting to get rid of him: I had a lady here also for no other end than\nto prevent him from feeling any disquiet on leaving us alone together--I\nshall always take the same precautions--all our interviews shall be as\nprivate as your own wishes, and my happiness be an eternal secret to the\nwhole world as well as to your husband.\n'Come, then, my charmer,' added he, attempting to take her in his arms,\n'we have no time to lose--away, then, with all idle scruples--yield to\nmy embraces--assist my raptures--and be assured that my whole soul, my\nfortune, and all my power can give, shall be at your disposal!'\nIt was the discomposure of Mrs. Munden's mind which alone hindered her\nfrom interrupting him during the former part of his speech; but the\nclose of it, joined with the action which accompanied it, obliged her to\ncollect all her scattered spirits; and flying to the other end of the\nroom, in order to avoid his grasp, 'Forbear, my lord!' said she: 'know,\nI despise your offers; and set my virtue at a much higher rate than all\nthe advantages you, or the whole world, would give in exchange.'\nLord ---- finding he had to do with a mistress of uncommon spirit,\nthought best to alter the manner of his addresses to her; and\napproaching her with an air much more humble and submissive than he had\nhitherto done, 'How I adore,' cried he, 'this noble disinterestedness in\nyou! you will grant nothing but to love alone--be it so: your beauty is,\nindeed, above all other price. Let your husband reap all the advantages,\nand let it be yours to have the pleasure, like Heaven, to save from\ndespair the man who cannot live without you.'\nPerceiving, or at least imagining he perceived, some abatement in the\nfierceness of her eyes, on the change of his deportment, he persisted in\nit--he even threw himself on his knees before her; took hold of her\nhands, bathed them alternately with tears, then dried them with his\nkisses: in a word, he omitted nothing that the most passionate love,\nresolute to accomplish it's gratification, could suggest to soften her\ninto compliance.\nAt another time, how would the vanity of this lady have been elated to\nsee a person of such high consideration in the world thus prostrate at\nher feet! but at this, the reflection how much she was in his power, and\nthe uncertainty how far he might exert that power, put to silence all\nthe dictates of her pride, and rendered her, in reality, much more in\nawe of him, than he affected to be of her: she turned her eyes\ncontinually towards the door, in hopes of seeing Mr. Munden enter; and\nnever had she wished for his presence with the impatience she now did.\nThe noble lord equally dreaded his return; and finding the replies she\nmade to his pressures somewhat more moderate than they had been on the\nfirst opening his suit, flattered himself that a very little compulsion\nwould compleat the work: he therefore resolved to dally no longer; and\nhaving ushered in his design with a prelude of some warm kisses and\nembraces, was about to draw her into another room.\nShe struggled with all her might; but her efforts that way being in\nvain, she shrieked, and called aloud for help. This a little shocked\nhim; he let her go: 'What do you mean, Madam?' said he. 'Would you\nexpose yourself and me to the ridicule of my servants?'--'I will expose\nmyself to any thing,' answered she, 'rather than to the ruin and\neverlasting infamy your lordship is preparing for me!'\n'Call not by so harsh a name,' cried he, 'the effects of the most tender\npassion that ever was: by heavens, I love you more than life! nay, life\nwithout you is not worth the keeping.' Speaking these words, he was\nabout to lay hold of her again; and her cries having brought no body to\nher assistance, she must infallibly have been lost, if her better angel\nhad not in that instant directed her eyes to a bell which hung in the\npannel of the wainscot just behind the door of the room into which he\nwas forcing her; she snatched the handle, and rung it with such\nvehemence that it resounded through the house.\nThis action made him release her with a kind of indignant fling; and a\nservant immediately coming up, 'I believe,' said she to him, 'my servant\nis below; pray order him to call me a chair this moment.' The peer, not\noften accustomed to such rebuffs, was so much confounded at the strength\nof her resolution, that he had not power to utter one word; and she,\nfearing another assault, ran to the door, which the footman hastily shut\nafter him; and having opened it, 'Your lordship,' said she, 'has used me\nin a manner neither worthy of yourself nor me; I leave you to blush at\nthe remembrance.'\nShe waited not to hear what reply he would have made, but flew down\nstairs into the hall; where a chair being presently brought, she threw\nherself into it, extremely disconcerted in her dress as well as mind.\nCHAPTER XIV\n_Contains a brief recital of several very remarkable, and equally\naffecting, occurrences, of which the last-mentioned extraordinary\nadventure was productive, and which may justly enough be looked upon as\nyet more extraordinary than even the adventure itself_\nMr. Munden, who was no less pleased and vain on the confidence his noble\npatron seemed to repose in him, than he was ambitious of the favours he\nhoped to receive from him, had been extremely diligent in the execution\nof that commission he had been entrusted with; but found much more\ndifficulty in it than he could have imagined.\nHe was told at the bar of the Cocoa Tree, that the gentleman he inquired\nfor had not been there since morning; that Sir John F---- had taken him\nhome with him to dinner, and that in all probability they were still\ntogether.\nMr. Munden, on this, ordered the coachman to drive to Mark Lane, with\nall the speed he could; but had, on his coming there, the mortification\nto hear that Mr. W---- had left Sir John about a quarter of an hour\nbefore, and was gone to the other end of the town: on which he drove\nback to the Cocoa Tree, thinking he might now meet him there; but was\nagain disappointed.\nThey informed him, however, that Mr. W---- had just called in, but staid\nno longer than to tell them he would be there again in half an hour. Mr.\nMunden was impatient at this delay, but could not think of returning to\nLord ---- without having done the business he was sent upon: he\ntherefore sat down, and waited till the other came, which was somewhat\nsooner than the time he had been made to hope.\nThese gentlemen, though far from being intimately acquainted, were not\naltogether strangers, having frequently met at the levee of Lord ----.\nThey now saluted each other with the utmost politeness; after which, Mr.\nMunden drawing him to the most retired part of the room, 'I have had a\nchase after you, Sir,' said he, 'for a good part of this afternoon, and\nwhich would have been impertinent in me, if not excuseable by my being\nunder an indispensable obligation of seeing you.'\n'Then, Sir,' replied the other, 'whatever the business be, I shall think\nmyself happy in being found.'--'This, Sir, will inform you,' said Mr.\nMunden, giving him the letter. 'From Lord ----!' cried Mr. W----, as\nsoon as he saw the superscription. 'It is so,' answered Mr. Munden; 'and\nI am heartily sorry for the occasion.'\nMr. W---- made no reply to what Mr. Munden said, till he had examined\nthe contents of the letter; and then, after putting it into his pocket\nwith a careless air, 'I see into the meaning of this,' said he: 'an ugly\naccident, which I have but lately discovered, has, I believe,\nmisrepresented me to his lordship. Could I be capable of what he at\npresent thinks I am, I should be utterly unworthy of the condescension\nhe vouchsafes me by this invitation: but, Sir, all this is founded on a\nmistake, which may easily be rectified; I will not give his lordship the\ntrouble of going to the Green Park; I will wait on him at his own house\nat the hour he mentions; and if what I have to say to him does not fully\nconvince him of my innocence, will follow either to that, or any other\nplace he pleases; though no consideration in the world, except his own\ncommands, should compel me to draw my sword against a breast I so much\nlove and reverence.'\nMr. Munden replied, that he should be extremely glad to find an affair,\nwhich at present seemed to threaten such fatal consequences, was\namicably made up; and, after having assured him that he would deliver\nwhat he had said to his lordship in the most exact manner, was about to\ntake his leave; but could not do it so soon as he desired, the other\nstill detaining him by beginning some subject or other of conversation,\nwhich, how frivolous soever, Mr. Munden could not break off too\nsuddenly, without incurring the censure of abruptness and ill-manners.\nLord ---- in the mean time was in the utmost agitation; not for the\nreturn of Mr. Munden, for he very well knew the message he would bring,\nbut that he had taken a great deal of pains to no purpose: the beauty of\nMrs. Munden had inspired him with the most eager desire of enjoying her;\nthe gaiety of her temper, joined to the temptations in his power to\noffer, had given him an almost assured hope of gaining her--and now, to\nfind himself thus repulsed--repulsed with such disdain--left a surprize\nupon him which very much increased the shock of his disappointment.\nBesides, as he doubted not but she would inform her husband of all that\nhad passed between them, it gave the most mortal stab to that\nhaughtiness too incident to opulence and grandeur, to reflect he had\ngiven a man, so much beneath him, an opportunity of triumphing over him\nin his mind.\nHe had not recovered his confusion, and was walking backwards and\nforwards in his drawing-room, with a disordered motion, when Mr. Munden\nreturned; to whom he never spoke, nor looked upon. The satisfaction this\ngentleman had felt on finding the business of his embassy was like to\nterminate so happily, was very much damped at seeing himself received in\nthis manner.\n'I did not expect to find your lordship alone,' said Mr. Munden. 'I\nbelieve not,' replied he: 'but an unlucky accident at home deprived me\nof my cousin's company; and your wife, it seems, did not think herself\nsafe with me.'\nThese last words, and the contemptuous tone in which they were\nexpressed, put him into the extremest consternation: 'I hope, my lord,'\ncried he, 'that Mrs. Munden cannot have so far forgot herself as to have\nacted in any manner unbecoming of the respect due to your\nlordship.'--'Fine women will have their caprices,' resumed the peer:\n'but no matter; let no more be said of it.'\nMr. Munden then proceeded to repeat what Mr. W---- had said to him; but\nhis lordship took no notice, and seemed entirely unconcerned all the\ntime he was speaking; till the other adding, that, if his lordship\nthought proper, he would attend him in the morning, in order to be at\nhand in case the event should require his presence, the peer replied\npeevishly, 'No, no; you need not come--I believe there will be no\noccasion; if there be, I can send for you.'\nAfter this, Mr. Munden, easily perceiving his company was rather\ntroublesome than agreeable, made a low obeisance, and withdrew, almost\ndistracted in his mind at this sudden turn of temper in his patron, and\nno less impatient to hear what his wife had to say on that account.\nIt was not in one of the best of humours, as the reader may easily\nimagine, that he now came home; nor did he find Mrs. Munden in one very\nproper to alleviate his vexation. She was extremely pensive; and when\nhe asked her, in somewhat of an imperious voice, the reason of having\nleft Lord ---- in so abrupt a manner--'When you,' said she, 'forsook the\nguardianship of my honour, it was time for me to take the defence of it\nupon myself; which I could do no other way than by flight.'\n'What is it you mean?' cried he. 'I am certain my lord has too much\nfriendship for me to offer any rudeness to you.'--'Be not too certain,'\nanswered she, 'of the friendship of that base great man.' She then began\nto repeat the discourse with which his lordship had entertained her,\nafter being left alone with him; but had gone through a very small part\nof it before her husband interrupted her, saying, with a kind of\nmalicious sneer, that he was positive there was nothing at all in what\nshe apprehended--that it was impossible for the noble lord to be in\nearnest when he talked to her in such terms--that she had been deceived\nby her own vanity, to mistake for a serious design upon her virtue what\nwas only meant for mere gallantry; and then added, with more passion,\nthat he feared her idle resentment had lost him all his interest with\nthe best of friends.\n'Good Heavens!' cried she, 'defend me, and all virtuous women, from such\ngallantries! But know, Sir,' continued she, with a great deal of\nvehemence, 'that, but for that idle resentment, as you are pleased to\ncall it, my ruin and your dishonour would have been compleated by this\nbest of friends.'\n'How!' said Mr. Munden, eagerly; 'he did not, sure, proceed to action?'\nPerceiving he was now in a disposition to listen with more attention to\nwhat she said, than hitherto he had done, she hesitated not to acquaint\nhim with every particular of his lordship's behaviour to her, and the\nmeans by which she had defended herself.\nDuring this recital, Mr. Munden bit his lips, and appeared in very great\nemotions. He spoke not a word, however, till his fair wife, pitying the\nanxieties she saw him under, desired him to think no more of this\naccident, since it was so happily got over. 'It may be so in your\nopinion,' answered he fiercely; 'but not in mine. I foresee the\nconsequences; though you, perhaps, think not of them. It is true, my\nlord's behaviour is not to be justified; nor can yours in regard to me\nbe so: you ought to have considered the dependence I had on him, and not\nhave carried things with so high an hand. You might have doubtless\nevaded this attempt by more gentle and less affrontive methods: but that\ncursed pride of yours must be gratified, though at the expence of all my\nexpectations.' With these words he flung out of the room; and this was\nall the return she met with from her ungrateful husband, for having\nresisted, with such courage and resolution, temptations which some women\nwould have thought themselves absolved for yielding to the force of.\nIll-natured and perverse as Mr. Munden was, it must be confessed that\nhis present situation, nevertheless, merited some compassion: he had a\ngreat share of ambition--loved both pleasure and grandeur to an excess;\nand, though far from being of a generous disposition, the pride and\nvanity of his humour made him do many things, through ostentation, which\nhis estate would not well support. He kept company with persons of rank\nand fortune much superior to his own; and, as he bore an equal part in\ntheir expences whenever he was with them, he stood in need of some\naddition to his revenue: well, therefore, might he be chagrined at an\naccident that cast so dark a cloud over that prospect of interest and\npreferment he had flattered himself with from Lord ----.\nBut though this was the main point, it was not the sole subject of his\ndiscontent. The motives for his being sent by Lord ---- to Mr. W----,\nthe pretended quarrel between them, and the trifling excuses made by the\nlatter to detain him from making too quick a return, were all too\nobvious for him not to be assured that gentleman was privy to, and\nagreed to be an assistant in, the design his lordship had upon his wife.\nMr. W----, though the representative of a borough in C----, was, indeed,\nno more than a creature of Lord ----; to whose interest alone he was\nindebted for his seat in parliament: but it was not because Mr. Munden\nknew him to be obliged to do everything enjoined by his lordship, that\nrestrained the resentment he conceived against him from breaking out,\nbut because he considered that a quarrel between them on this score\nmight occasion the affair to become publick, and expose both himself and\nwife to the ridicule of as many as should hear it.\nWrath, when enervate, especially if inflamed by any just provocation, is\ncertainly very dreadful to be borne; and what this injured husband\nsustained in the first emotions of it, must have excited the pity of\nevery reader of this history, if he had not afterwards meanly vented it\nwhere he had not the least occasion for disgust, but rather of the\nhighest tenderness and admiration.\nIn the midst of these perplexities, however, let us leave him for a\nwhile, and return to her whose beauty had been the innocent cause of\nall this trouble to him, and danger to herself.\nWonderful, indeed, were the effects this last adventure produced in her.\nMany times before she had been on the very verge of ruin, and as often\nindebted merely to fortune for her preservation from the mischiefs into\nwhich her inadvertency had almost plunged her: but none of those\ndangers, those escapes, had ever been capable of making any lasting\nimpression on her mind, or fixing her resolution to avoid running again\ninto the same mistakes.\nThe cruel reproaches and reflections cast on her by Mr. Munden, filled\nher not now with the least resentment; for though she deserved them not\nupon the score he made them, yet she was conscious that she did so for\ngoing to the house of Lord ----, after having the strongest reasons to\nbelieve he had dishonourable intentions upon her.\nShe blushed to remember, that she had given herself leave to be pleased\nat the thoughts of appearing amiable in the eyes of that great man.\n'Good God!' cried she, 'what infatuation possessed me! Am I not married?\nIs not all I am the property of Mr. Munden? Is it not highly criminal in\nany one to offer to invade his right? And can I be so wicked to take\ndelight in the guilt to which I am in a manner accessary?\n'The vanities of my virgin state,' continued she, 'might plead some\nexcuse; but nothing now can be urged in my defence for persevering in\nthem. The pride of subduing hearts is mine no more: no man can now\npretend to love me but with the basest and most shameful views. The man\nwho dares to tell me he adores me, contradicts himself by that very\ndeclaration; and while he would persuade me he has the highest opinion\nof me, discovers he has in reality the meanest.'\nIn fine, she now saw herself, and the errors of her past conduct, in\ntheir true light. 'How strange a creature have I been!' cried she; 'how\ninconsiderate with myself! I knew the character of a coquette both silly\nand insignificant; yet did every thing in my power to acquire it. I\naimed to inspire awe and reverence in the men; yet, by my imprudence,\nemboldened them to the most unbecoming freedoms with me. I have sense\nenough to discern real merit in those who professed themselves my\nlovers; yet affected to treat most ill those in whom I found the\ngreatest share of it. Nature has made me no fool; yet not one action of\nmy life has given any proof of common reason.\n'Even in the greatest and most serious affair of life--that of\nmarriage,' added she with a deep sigh, 'have I not been governed wholly\nby caprice? I rejected Mr. Trueworth only because I thought I did not\nlove him enough; yet gave my hand to Mr. Munden, whom, at that time, I\ndid not love at all; and who has since, alas! taken little care to\ncultivate that affection I have laboured to feel for him.'\nIn summing up this charge against herself, she found that all her faults\nand her misfortunes had been owing either to an excess of vanity, a\nmistaken pride, or a false delicacy. The two former appeared now too\ncontemptible in her eyes for her not to determine utterly to extirpate;\nbut the latter she found less reason to correct, since it happened only\nin regard to Mr. Trueworth, and could never happen again, as both their\nmarriages had put a total end to all tender communication between them.\nThis change in Mrs. Munden's humour, great and sudden as it was, did\nnot, however, prove a transient one--every day, every hour, confirmed\nher in it; and if at any time her natural vivacity made her seem a\nlittle pleased on hearing her wit, her beauty, or any other perfection\nor accomplishment, too lavishly extolled, she presently checked herself\nfor it; and assumed a look of reserve, which, though less haughty than\nshe had sometimes put on upon different occasions, had not the less\neffect, and seldom failed to awe the flatterer into silence--a proof of\nwhich the reader will be immediately presented with.\nCHAPTER XV\n_Contains such things as will be pleasing to those whose candid\ndispositions interest them in favour of the heroine of this history_\nNothing so much encourages an unwarrantable passion for a married woman,\nas to know she has a husband regardless of her charms. A young gay\ngentleman, a companion of Mr. Munden's, privy to most of his secrets,\nand partner with him in many a debauch, had seen Mrs. Munden at Miss\nAirish's, where she still continued to visit. He had entertained a kind\nof roving flame for her, which his friendship for her husband could not\nprevent him from wishing to gratify; but, though they often met, he\nnever could get an opportunity of declaring himself: all he could do was\nsometimes to whisper in her ear that she was divinely handsome--that he\nadored her--and that he died for her--and such like stuff; which she was\ntoo often accustomed to hear to take much notice of.\nThe indifferent opinion which most men of pleasure, or, in other words,\ngenteel rakes of the town, have of women in general, joined to the too\ngreat gaiety he had observed in Mrs. Munden's behaviour, made him\nimagine there required little more for the gaining her than the making\nhis addresses to her. The means of speaking to her in private seemed to\nhim the sole difficulty he had to get over: and, in order to do so, he\nwrote to her in the following terms.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     Madam,\n     A fine woman would reap little advantage from the charms she is\n     mistress of, if confined to the languid embraces of a single\n     possesser. Marriage takes off the poignancy of desire: a man has\n     no relish for beauties that are always the same, and always in his\n     power; those endearments generally make his happiness become\n     disgustful to him by being his duty; and he naturally flies to seek\n     joys yet untasted, in the arms of others. This, fair angel, is the\n     case with us all--you have too much good-sense not to know it, or\n     to expect your husband should vary from his sex in this particular.\n     Let those unhappy women, therefore, to whom nature has been niggard\n     of her bounties, pine in an abandoned bed. You are formed to give\n     and to receive the most unbounded joys of love--to bless and to be\n     blest with the utmost profusion of extasies unspeakable.\n     To tell you how infinitely I adore you, and how much I have\n     languished for an opportunity of declaring my passion, would\n     require a volume instead of a letter: besides, my pen would but\n     faintly express the sentiments of my soul--they will have more\n     energy when whispered in your ear. I know such a thing is\n     impossible at your own house, or at any of those where you visit.\n     Favour me, then, I beseech you, with taking a little walk in the\n     Privy Garden near the water-side, to-morrow about eleven; from\n     which place, if my person and passion be not altogether\n     disagreeable to you, we may adjourn to some other, where I may give\n     you more substantial demonstrations how much I am, with the utmost\n     sincerity, dear Madam, your eternally devoted, and most faithful\n     admirer.\n     P.S. I do not sign my name for fear of accidents; but flatter\n     myself my eyes have already said enough to inform you who I am.'\nIf this letter had come but a very small time before it did, it is\npossible that, though Mrs. Munden would even then have been highly\noffended at the presumption, yet her vanity and curiosity might have\nexcited her to give the meeting required in it by the author; though it\nhad only been, as she would then have imagined, merely to see who he\nwas, and laugh at his stupidity for addressing her in that manner.\nNot but she had some distant guess at the person; but whether it was\nhim, or any other, who had taken this liberty, she now gave herself not\nthe least concern: she was only desirous to put an entire stop to those\naudacious hopes she found he had entertained, and to keep herself from\nreceiving any future solicitations, from the same quarter at least.\nTo send back his letter without any other token of her resentment and\ndisdain at the contents, she thought would not be sufficient; and her\nready wit, after a little pause, presented her with a method more\nefficacious. It was this.\nShe folded up the epistle in the same fashion it was when she received\nit, and inclosed it in another piece of paper; in which she wrote these\nlines.\n     As I cannot think any man would be weak enough to dictate an\n     epistle of this nature to the wife of Mr. Munden, I must suppose\n     you made some mistake in the direction, and sent that to me which\n     was intended for some other woman, whose character it might better\n     agree with.\n     I must intreat you, however, to be more careful for the future; for\n     if any such impertinence should a second time arise, I shall think\n     myself obliged to make a confidante of my husband, whose good-sense\n     and penetration will, doubtless, enable him to discover the author,\n     and his spirit and courage instruct him in what manner to resent\n     the affront offered to his ever-faithful, and most affectionate\n     wife,\n     B. MUNDEN.'\nThis had all the effect she wished it should have--the beau was ashamed\nof the fruitless attack he had made--wrote to her no more--avoided her\nsight as much as possible--and, whenever chance brought him into her\ncompany, behaved towards her with all the distance and respect\nimaginable.\nThis lady, now fully convinced how dangerous it was to be too much\nadmired for her external charms, ceased even to wish they should be\ntaken notice of; and set herself seriously about improving those\nperfections of the mind which she was sensible could alone entitle her\nto the esteem of the virtuous and the wife.\nMr. Munden, who had never been disquieted at the former part of his\nwife's behaviour, was equally insensible of this alteration in her: his\ncares, indeed, were too much taken up for re-establishing himself with\nhis right honourable patron, to give any attention to what passed at\nhome.\nAfter much debating with himself, he thought it best to proceed so as\nnot to let the noble lord imagine he was acquainted with any part of the\nattempt made upon his wife; but, though he attended his levee as usual,\nand seemed rather more obsequious than ever, he had the mortification\nto find himself very coolly received. He stood undistinguished in the\ncircle which constantly waited the motions of that great man--was\nscarcely spoken to by him, and then with a kind of indrawn reserve,\nwhich made him justly enough apprehensive that he had little now to hope\nfor from him.\nThe truth is, he saw through the policy of this dependant--he could not\ndoubt but Mrs. Munden had told him of the violence he had offered to\nher--he was conscious of the baseness of it; but he was not angry with\nhimself for it, though with the person he would have injured; and could\nnot forgive him for the knowledge of his crime, though the other was\nwilling to forgive the crime itself.\nThe treatment he received at Lord ----'s made him extremely churlish to\nhis wife; he looked upon her as the primary cause of his misfortune,\ncursed his marriage with her, and even hated her for the beauties and\ngood qualities which should have endeared her to him. Nothing she could\nsay or do had the power of pleasing him; so that she stood in need of\nall her courage and fortitude to enable her to support, with any\ntolerable degree of patience, the usage she received.\nTo heighten her misfortune, the late levity of her temper had hindered\nher from cultivating an acquaintance with any one person, on whose\nsecrecy, sincerity, and sedateness, she could enough depend for the\ndisburdening her mind of those vexations with which it was sometimes\noverwhelmed.\nBut this was a matter of disquiet to her which she had not long to\ncomplain of. Heaven sent her a consolation of which she had not the\nleast distant expectation, and restored her to a friend, by whom she had\nthought herself utterly forsaken, and whom she had not herself scarce\nthought of for a long time.\nLady Loveit was now but just returned from the country, where she had\ncontinued ever since her marriage to Sir Bazil. A famous French milliner\nbeing lately arrived from Paris with abundance of curiosities, her\nladyship went to see if there was any thing she should think worth the\npurchasing. Mrs. Munden was led by the same curiosity; and it was at\nthis woman's house that these ladies happened to meet after so long an\nabsence from each other.\nMrs. Munden was a little confused at first sight of her, as bringing to\nher mind some passages which it was never in her power to think on with\nthe indifference she wished to do. They embraced, however, with a great\ndeal of affection--made each other the usual compliments on the mutual\nchange of their condition; for Lady Loveit, by some accident, had heard\nof Mrs. Munden's marriage.\nThough both these ladies were much more taken up with each other than\nwith examining the trifles they came to see, yet neither of them would\nquit the shop without becoming customers. Lady Loveit perceiving that\nMrs. Munden had neither coach nor chair at the door, after having asked\nwhat part of town she lived in, and finding it was not too much out of\nher way, desired she would give her leave to set her down in her\nchariot.\nMrs. Munden readily accepted the offer; and, being come to the door of\nher house, would have persuaded Lady Loveit to alight and come in: but\nshe excused herself; and, at the same time, gave her a pressing\ninvitation to her house as soon as an opportunity permitted. 'I know,\nMadam,' said she, smiling, 'that it is my duty to pay the first visit to\nyour ladyship--yet, as you are here--' 'I should not stand on that\npunctilio with you,' interrupted Lady Loveit, with the same good-humour;\n'but I expect company at home; and I know not but that they already wait\nfor me.' The other then told her she would do herself the favour to\nattend her ladyship in a day or two: and this was all that passed at\nthis first interview.\nMrs. Munden was extremely rejoiced at the opportunity of renewing her\nacquaintance with this lady; in which she had not the least room to\ndoubt but that she should find what she so much wanted, a faithful\nadviser and an agreeable companion. They had always loved each\nother--there was a great parity of sentiment and principle between them;\nand as nothing but their different ways of thinking, in point of conduct\ntowards the men, had hindered them from becoming inseparable friends,\nthat bar being removed by Mrs. Munden's change of temper, and her being\nnow what Lady Loveit always was, no other remained to keep them from\ncommunicating their thoughts with the utmost freedom to each other.\nThe visit promised by Mrs. Munden was not delayed beyond the time she\nmentioned. Lady Loveit received her without the least reserve; and they\nsoon entered into conversation with the same sprightliness as before the\nchange of their conditions.\nMrs. Munden had resolved within her self not to make the least mention\nof Mr. Trueworth's name; but feeling, notwithstanding, a good deal of\nimpatience to hear something of him, artfully entered into a discourse\nwhich she knew must draw the other in to say something concerning him.\n'I need not ask,' said she, 'how you liked the country; it is pretty\nplain, from your continuing there such a length of time, that you found\nmore pleasures at Sir Bazil's seat than any you had left behind.'--'The\nhouse is well situated, indeed,' replied Lady Loveit; 'yet I have passed\nthe least part of my time there since I left London; nor have we staid\naway so long entirely through choice, but have in a manner been detained\nby a succession of accidents altogether unforeseen.\n'It took up six weeks,' continued she, 'to receive the visits which were\nevery day crowded upon us from all parts of the country. This hurry\nbeing over, we could do no less than accompany Mr. Wellair and his lady,\nwho had been with us all this while, to their house, where we staid\nabout a fortnight; after which, Sir Bazil having promised my brother and\nsister Trueworth to pass some time with them in Oxfordshire, we crossed\nthe country to that gentleman's fine seat; where, you may suppose, his\narrival was welcomed in much the same manner Sir Bazil's had been in\nStaffordshire. Besides all his relations, intimate friends, tenants, and\ndependants, I believe there was scarce a gentleman or lady, twenty miles\nround, who did not come to congratulate him on his marriage and return.\n'For the reception of those guests,' went she still on, 'the generous\nMr. Trueworth omitted nothing that might testify his joy on the occasion\nof their coming. Feasting employed their days, and balls their nights.\nBut, alas! in the midst of these variegated scenes of pleasure, death,\nsudden death! snatched away the source of all our joys, and turned the\nface of gladness into the most poignant grief.'\n'Death! did your ladyship say?' cried Mrs. Munden, with an extraordinary\nemotion. 'Is, then, Mr. Trueworth dead?'--'No, Madam,' replied the\nother, wiping away some tears which the memory of this fatal accident\ndrew from her eyes; 'Mr. Trueworth lives; and, I hope, will long do so,\nto be an honour to his country, and a comfort to all those who are so\nhappy as to know him; for certainly there never was a man more endued\nwith qualities for universal good: but it was his wife, his amiable\nwife, that died!'\n'His wife!' cried Mrs. Munden, interrupting her a second time: 'is he\nalready a widower?'--'Too soon, indeed, he became so!' answered Lady\nLoveit. 'Scarce three months were elapsed from that day which made her a\nbride to that which made her a lifeless corpse: we were all together,\nwith some other company, one evening in the turret, which, by the help\nof some large telescopes Mr. Trueworth had placed there, commands the\nprospect of three counties at once, when my poor sister was seized\nsuddenly ill. As she was supposed to be pregnant, her complaint at first\nwas taken no other notice of than to occasion some pleasantries which\nnew-married women must expect to bear: but she soon grew visibly\nworse--was obliged to be carried down stairs, and put directly into bed.\nThe next morning she discovered some symptoms of a fever; but it proved\nno more than the forerunner of the small pox, of which distemper she\ndied before her danger was apprehended, even by the physician.'\n'How I pity both the living and the dead!' said Mrs. Munden. 'Mr.\nTrueworth, certainly, could not support so great a loss with any degree\nof moderation?'--'The shock at first,' replied Lady Loveit, 'was as much\nas all his philosophy and strength of reason could enable him to combat\nwith. Sir Bazil, though deeply affected for the loss of so amiable a\nsister, was obliged to conceal his own sorrows, the better to allieviate\nthose he saw him in; and this kept us for two whole months at his house\nafter the ceremony of the funeral was over. We had then prevailed on him\nto return with us to London; every thing was prepared for our departure,\nwhen an unlucky accident happened to myself, which detained us for yet a\nconsiderable time longer.\n'We were diverting ourselves one day with angling,' continued she;\n'when, in endeavouring to cast my rod at too great a distance, I stooped\nso far over the bank, that I plunged all at once, head foremost, into\nthe water. The pond, it seems, was pretty deep; and I was in some\ndanger. Sir Bazil and Mr. Trueworth, seeing me fall, jumped in at the\nsame instant; and, by their assistance I was brought safe to shore. I\nwas immediately carried into the house, stripped of my wet garments, and\nput into a warm bed: but the fright had so great an effect upon me, that\nit caused an abortion, which, as I was then in the fifth month of my\npregnancy, had like to have proved fatal to me. I was close prisoner in\nmy chamber for several weeks; and, on my being just able to leave it,\nwas advised to have recourse first to the Bristol and then to the Bath\nwaters, for the better establishment of my health. Accordingly, we went\nto both those places--staid as long at each as I found needful for the\npurpose that brought me thither; and on my perfect recovery, Sir Bazil\nhaving some business at his estate, returned to Staffordshire--made a\nshort excursion to Mrs. Wellair's, and then we bowled up to London.\n'This,' added she, 'is the whole history of my eleven month's absence.\nI should also have told you that we had not Mr. Trueworth's company in\nour last ramble. One of the members for his county having vacated his\nseat by accepting an employment, Mr. Trueworth was prevailed upon, by a\ngreat number of gentlemen and freeholders, to oppose his being rechosen\nby setting up for a candidate himself. The election was to come on in a\nfew days after our departure; and we have since heard that he succeeded\nin his attempt.'\nLady Loveit having finished her long narrative, and received the\ncompliments of Mrs. Munden for the trouble she had given her, was\nbeginning to ask some questions concerning her own affairs; but some\nladies coming in, broke off, for the present, all conversation on this\nhead; and Mrs. Munden soon after took leave, though not without\nreceiving an assurance from the other of having her visit returned in a\nshort time.\nCHAPTER XVI\n_Presents the reader, among many other particulars, with a full, though\nas concise an account as can be given, of the real quality and condition\nof the lady that Mrs. Munden had seen, and been so much charmed with, at\nthe mercer's_\nMrs. Munden carried enough home with her from Lady Loveit's to employ\nher mind, for that whole night at least. What she had been told in\nrelation to the death of Mrs. Trueworth, raised a strange contrariety of\nideas in her, which it was impossible for her either to reconcile, or\noblige either the one or the other totally to subside.\nShe thought it great pity that so virtuous, so beautiful, and so\naccomplished, a young lady, as she had been told Mrs. Trueworth was,\nshould thus early be snatched away from all the joys of love and life;\nbut could not lament so melancholy an accident in a manner she was\nsensible it deserved: envy had ever been a stranger to her breast; yet,\nsince her own marriage, and that of Mr. Trueworth with his lady, she had\nsometimes been tempted to accuse Heaven of partiality, in making so wide\na difference in their fate; and, though the blame of her misfortunes lay\nwholly on herself, had been apt to imagine that she had only been\nimpelled, by an unavoidable impulse, to act as she had done, and was\nfated, by an invincible necessity, to be the enemy of her own happiness.\nThus did this fair predestinarian reason within herself whenever the\nill-usage of Mr. Munden made her reflect on the generosity of Mr.\nTrueworth. She repined not at the felicities she supposed were enjoyed\nby Mrs. Trueworth, but regretted that her own lot had been cast so\nvastly different.\nBut though all these little heart-burnings now ceased by the death of\nthat so late happy lady, and even common humanity demanded the tribute\nof compassion for her destiny, of which none had a greater share, on\nother occasions, than Mrs. Munden, yet could she not on this pay it\nwithout some interruptions from a contrary emotion: in these moments, if\nit may be said she grieved at all, it was more because she knew that Mr.\nTrueworth was grieved, than for the cause that made him so.\nHer good-sense, her justice, and her good-nature, however, gave an\nimmediate check to such sentiments whenever she found them rising in\nher; but her utmost efforts could not wholly subdue them: there was a\nsecret something in her heart which she would never allow herself to\nthink she was possessed of, that, in spite of all she could do, diffused\nan involuntary satisfaction at the knowledge that Mr. Trueworth was a\nwidower.\nIf Lady Loveit could have foreseen the commotions her discourse raised\nin the breast of her fair friend, she would certainly never have\nentertained her with it; but she so little expected her having any\ntenderness for Mr. Trueworth, that she observed not the changes in her\ncountenance when she mentioned that gentleman, as she afterwards\nfrequently did, on many occasions, in the course of the visits to each\nother: nor could Mrs. Munden, being ignorant herself of the real cause\nof the agitation she was in, make her ladyship a confidante in this, as\nshe did in all her other affairs, the little happiness she enjoyed in\nmarriage not excepted.\nLady Loveit had, indeed, a pretty right idea of her misfortune in this\npoint, before she heard it from herself: Sir Bazil, though not at all\nconversant with Mr. Munden, was well acquainted with his character and\nmanner of behaviour; and the account he gave of both to her on being\ntold to whom he was married, left her no room to doubt how disagreeable\na situation the wife of such a husband must be in. She heartily\ncommiserated her hard fate; yet, as Lady Trusty had done, said every\nthing to persuade her to bear it with a becoming patience.\nPerceiving she had lost some part of her vivacity, and would frequently\nfall into very melancholy musings, Sir Bazil himself, now fully\nconvinced of her merit and good qualities, added his endeavours to those\nof his amiable consort, for the exhilarating her spirits: they would\nneeds have her make one in every party of pleasure, either formed by\nthemselves, or wherein they had a share; and obliged her to come as\noften to their house as she could do without giving offence to her\ndomestick tyrant.\nAn excess of gaiety, when curbed, is apt to degenerate into its contrary\nextreme: it must, therefore, be confessed, that few things could have\nbeen more lucky for Mrs. Munden than this event; she had lost all relish\nfor the conversation of the Miss Airishes, and those other giddy\ncreatures which had composed the greatest part of her acquaintance; and\ntoo much solitude might have brought on a gloominess of temper equally\nuneasy to herself and to those about her; but the society of these\nworthy friends, the diversions they prepared for her, and the company to\nwhich they introduced her, kept up her native liveliness of mind, and at\nthe same time convinced her that pleasure was no enemy to virtue or to\nreputation, when partook with persons of honour and discretion.\nShe had been with them one evening, when the satisfaction she took in\ntheir conversation, the pressures they made to detain her, joined to the\nknowledge that there was no danger of Mr. Munden's being uneasy at her\nabsence, (he seldom coming home till towards daybreak) engaged her to\nstay till the night was pretty far advanced; yet, late as it was, she\nwas presented with an adventure of as odd a kind as ever she had been\nsurprized with.\nShe was undressing, in order to go to bed, when she heard a very loud\nknocking at the street-door; after which her footman came up, and told\nher that a woman was below, who said she must speak with her\nimmediately. 'I shall speak to nobody at this time of the night,' said\nMrs. Munden; 'therefore go down and tell her so.' The fellow went; but\nreturned in a moment or two, and told her that the person would take no\ndenial, nor would go out of the house without seeing her. 'Some very\nimpudent creature, sure!' said Mrs. Munden--'but do you go,' added she\nin the same breath, to the maid that waited on her, 'and ask her name\nand business: if she will tell neither, let her be turned out of the\nhouse.'\nShe was in a good deal of perplexity to think who should enquire for her\nat that late hour; when the servant she had sent to examine into the\nmatter, came back, and, before she had well entered the chamber, cried\nout, 'Lord, Madam! I never was so astonished in my life! I wonder Tom\ncould speak in such a rude manner; the woman, as he called her, is a\nvery fine lady, I am sure, though she has no hoop nor stays on--nothing\nbut a fine rich brocade wrapping-gown upon her: she looks as if she was\njust going to bed, or rather coming out of bed, for her head-cloaths are\nin great disorder, and her hair all about her ears.'\n'Well, but her name and business,' demanded Mrs. Munden hastily. 'Nay,\nMadam,' replied the maid, 'she will tell neither but to yourself; so,\npray, dear Madam, either come down stairs, or let her be brought up: I\nam sure she does not look as if she would do you any hurt.'\nMrs. Munden paused a little on what she had heard; and believing there\nmust be something very extraordinary indeed, both in the person and the\nvisit, resolved to be convinced of the truth; therefore, having given a\nstrict charge that both the footmen should be ready at her call in case\nthere should be any occasion for them, went into the dining-room, and\nordered that the person who enquired for her should be introduced.\nHer whole appearance answered exactly to the description that had been\ngiven of her by the maid; but it was her face which most alarmed Mrs.\nMunden, as being positive she had seen it before, though when or where\nshe could not at that instant recollect.\nBut the stranger soon eased her of the suspense she was in; when,\nthrowing herself at her feet, and bursting into a flood of tears, 'You\nonce offered me your friendship, Madam,' said she: 'a consciousness of\nmy own unworthiness made me refuse that honour; but I now come to\nimplore your compassion and charitable protection. I have no hope of\nsafety, or of shelter, but in your goodness and generosity.'\nThe accents of her voice now discovered her to be no other than the lady\nMrs. Munden had seen at the mercer's: she was strangely confounded, but\nnot so much as to hinder her from raising the distressed fair-one with\nthe greatest civility, and seating her in a chair, 'Though I cannot\ncomprehend, Madam,' answered she, 'by what accident you are reduced to\naddress me in these terms, yet you may rely upon my readiness to assist\nthe unfortunate, especially a person, whom I cannot but look upon as far\nfrom deserving to be so.'\n'Oh! would to God,' cried the other, very emphatically, 'that my history\ncould preserve that kind opinion in you! but, alas! though I find myself\nobliged to relate it to you, in order to obtain the protection I\nintreat, I tremble lest, by doing so, I should forfeit those pretensions\nto your mercy, which otherwise my sex, and my distress, might justly\nclaim.'\nThese words were sufficient to have aroused the curiosity of a woman who\nhad less of that propensity in her nature than Mrs. Munden; she told her\nthat, by being made the confidante of her affairs, she should think\nherself obliged to excuse whatever she found not worthy of her\napprobation.\n'Prepare yourself, then, Madam,' said her still weeping guest; 'summon\nall your goodness to forgive the frailties of youth and inadvertency,\nand to pity the sad consequences which sometimes attend the pride of\nflattered beauty and vain desire of ambition.'\nThis expression sunk more deeply in the mind of Mrs. Munden than the\nperson who uttered it imagined: she made no reply, however; and the\nother began the narrative she had promised in these or the like terms.\n     The history of Mademoiselle de Roquelair.\n'I need not tell you, Madam,' said she, 'that I am not a native of this\nkingdom; my bad pronunciation of the language speaks it for me: I am,\nindeed, by birth a Parisian, and daughter of the Sieur de Roquelair, a\nman of some estimation in the world.\n'The great hopes conceived of me in my infancy, encouraged him to be\nalmost profuse in the expences of my education; no accomplishment\nbefitting of my sex and rank was denied me: in fine, it was easy to see\nhe had an affection for me above all his other children; and that the\npartial opinion he had of my person and understanding, made him build\nthe highest expectations on my future fortune.\n'But, alas! what he intended for my happiness proved my undoing; I had\nbut just attained my fifteenth year of age, when the little beauty I was\nmistress of was taken notice of by the Duke de M----, as I was walking\none evening in the Thuilleries, with a young companion of my own sex: he\npassed us twice without speaking, but at the third turn accosted us with\na gallantry natural to persons of his high rank; the praises he bestowed\non me were such as might excuse some vanity in a heart so young and\ninexperienced as mine then was.\n'On our leaving the walks, a gentleman of his retinue followed; and, as\nI afterwards was informed, enquired who I was, and many other\nparticulars concerning me: the next morning, being at mass in the church\nof St. Sulpice, I saw the duke again; and, on my coming out, had a\nletter put into my hands, which, as soon as I got to a convenient place,\nI opened, and found it, as I before imagined, from the duke.\n'After magnifying the power of my wit, my beauty, my fine shape, and a\nthousand charms with which his amorous fancy painted me, and\nprotesting, with the most solemn imprecations words could form, his\neverlasting adoration of me, he intreated I would meet him at the same\nplace where he had first seen me, and appointed an hour in which he knew\nleast company would be there.\n'I was imprudent enough to comply with this request: my illustrious\nlover was there before me--he saluted me with the utmost transport in\nhis voice and eyes--led me to a retired part of the walk--made me the\nmost splendid offers--and endeavoured to persuade me, that being his\nmistress was a station more respectable than being the wife of a private\ngentleman, or even of a little marquis.\nI was unprepared to confute the arguments he urged; and, to confess the\ntruth, felt but too much satisfaction in hearing him speak: my tongue\nobeyed the dictates of my heart, and told him that I would be his,\nthough I cannot say that I was tempted by any extraordinary liking of\nhis person, but merely by my ambition of pleasing a prince of the\nblood-royal.\n'It was agreed between us, that a proper place should be provided for my\nreception, and I should quit my father's house entirely; and this was to\nbe accomplished at the end of three days: but, before the expiration of\nthat time, a person who had seen me in the Thuilleries carried home\nintelligence with what company I had been, and my father, who preferred\nvirtue above grandeur, took all imaginable precautions to prevent my\ncontinuing so dangerous an intercourse.\nBut what cannot the power of gold effect? Though I was locked up in my\nchamber, no letters or messages permitted to be delivered to me, an\nagent of the duke's, by a large bribe, corrupted one of the servants, by\nwhose assistance I got out of the house when all the rest of the family\nwere asleep; and a chariot, waiting for me at the end of the street,\ncarried me to a magnificent hotel; where I found my noble lover, and\nevery thing I could wish, ready to receive me.\n'Here I lived, for near two whole years, in a pomp which excited the\nenvy, and set me above the scandal, of the censorious: but, at length,\nmalice overtook me; the baseness of those about me accused me to my\nprince of having wronged his bed; he too easily gave credit to their\naspersions; and not only withdrew his affection and his favours from me,\nbut cruelly discarded me without the least provision for my future\nsupport.\n'My father, who would never see me in my exalted state, equally shunned\nme in my fallen one; but, at last, through the intercession of some\nfriends, he was prevailed upon to forgive what was past, provided I\nwould leave Paris for ever, and spend the remainder of my days in a\nmonastery: to this, in the distracted condition I then was, I yielded;\nand a convent at Roan was made choice of for my retreat; the abbess was\nwrote to concerning me; and every thing was prepared for my departure;\nwhen chance brought me acquainted with Mr. Thoughtless.\n'You start, Madam,' continued she, perceiving Mrs. Munden looked very\nmuch confused; 'but know, at once, that I am that very unfortunate woman\nyour brother brought with him from Paris, who has ever since lived with\nhim, and whom you must have heard of.'\nThe amazement Mrs. Munden was in, on finding her the mistress of her\nbrothers, was such as would not permit her to make any other reply than\nto desire she would go on with what she had farther to relate: on which\nMademoiselle de Roquelair resumed her discourse in this manner.\n'This gentleman,' said she, 'was very well acquainted with my story; but\nit did not hinder him from entertaining a passion for me--he declared it\nto me; the aversion I had to a recluse life, the allurements of the\nworld, and his more persuasive rhetorick, soon won me to yield to his\ndesires; I made a second elopement--we embarked together, and came to\nEngland; where I have had the command of his family, and lived with him\nin all things like a wife, except the name. But fortune, always my\nenemy, conjured up a spirit of jealousy in him, for my torment at first,\nand, at last, for my utter ruin. His fears of losing me, as he\npretended, secluded me from all society; denied me all the publick\ndiversions of the town; and though I lived amidst the very seat of\npleasures, kept me as much a stranger to them as if I had been a\nthousand leagues removed: but, oh! this night, this night, Madam, has\ncompleated all his too suspicious temper long since threatened! The poor\nmercer, at whose house you saw me, came this night to bring a piece of\nsilk I had bespoke of him: Mr. Thoughtless came home immediately after;\nand being told who was above with me, flew up stairs, burst open the\ndoor, which by some accident was locked, rushed in with his drawn sword,\nswearing he would sacrifice us both: the man, to avoid his fury, jumped\nout of the window into the yard; Mr. Thoughtless ran down the back\nstairs, in order, I suppose, to make him in that place the victim of his\nrage: whether he has effected it, I know not; for, trembling at my own\ndanger, I took that opportunity of running directly out of the house;\nthough where to go I knew not--I had no friend--no acquaintance to whom\nI could apply; I found myself all alone in the street, and exposed to\ninsults, even worse than those from which I fled. My good genius, (for\nso I hope it was) in that dreadful instant, reminded me of you; I had\nheard a high character of your goodness; and was assured of it, even by\nthe little I had seen of you, when you were pleased to think me worthy\nof your notice.\n'This, Madam,' added she, 'has brought me to you; and I once more\nbeseech shelter and protection under your roof for this night at least,\ntill I can recollect in what manner I can dispose of my wretched self.'\nThough Mrs. Munden was apprehensive this lady had favoured herself too\nmuch in the recital she had made, yet she could not think of refusing\nwhat she asked: she ordered a bed to be instantly prepared for her; and\nhaving conducted her to the chamber where she was to lie, told her she\nwould defer, till the next morning, any farther discourse on the subject\nthey had been talking of, as it was very late, and she expected Mr.\nMunden home; so wishing her a good repose, returned to her own\napartment, to reflect at more leisure on this strange adventure.\nCHAPTER XVII\n_Is less entertaining than some of the former_\nThe husband of Mrs. Munden being engaged abroad till his usual hour, she\nhad just time to get into bed before he came home; which she was very\nglad of, as it prevented him from asking any question concerning her\nsitting up so much beyond her custom; and she was not willing to say any\nthing to him of her new guest, till she had talked farther with her, and\nalso examined into the truth of the affair which brought her thither.\nThe more she reflected on the account that lady had given of herself,\nthe less reason she found to give credit to some passages in it: she\ncould not think that a prince, such as the Duke of M----, would, on a\nmere suggestion, cast a woman out to misery and beggary, whom he had so\npassionately loved; and yet less could she believe that her brother, a\nman not fiery by nature, could have acted in the manner she had\nrepresented, without a much greater provocation than what she pretended.\nBesides, the mercer bringing home goods so late at night to a customer,\nand being locked up with her, seemed so inconsistent with innocence,\nthat she could not help being of opinion, that the cause must be bad\nindeed which had no better plea for it's defence.\nIt also afforded her a good deal of matter for vexation, that by\nexpressing, in such warm terms, the great liking she took of this lady\nwhen they accidentally met at the mercer's, she had encouraged her to\nmake choice of her house for an asylum in her distress, and by this\nmeans rendered herself interested in the concerns of a stranger, who, at\nthe best, it did not well become her to take part with.\nBut her most alarming apprehensions were in relation to her brother: she\nknew not but, if irritated to the high degree Mademoiselle de Roquelair\nhad described, he might in reality have been guilty of some rash action,\nwhich might endanger his reputation, and even his life.\nHer mind being thus employed, it is easy to believe sleep had little\npower over her eyes: late as she went to bed, she rose pretty early in\nthe morning; and, impatient to know something farther of the\ntransactions of the preceding night, she dispatched a servant to her\nbrother's house under pretence of enquiring after his health, not\ndoubting but, by the answer he would bring, she should be able to form\nsome conjecture whether any thing of the nature Mademoiselle de\nRoquelair seemed to apprehend, had really happened or not.\nThe man returning with the intelligence that Mr. Thoughtless was very\nwell, and not yet stirring, gave her great consolation: she then went up\nto the chamber of Mademoiselle; and, after giving her the usual\nsalutation of the morning, sat down by her bedside, and began talking\nin this manner.\n'Madam,' said she, 'I have been considering on your story; and as I\nsincerely pity the misfortunes to which you have reduced yourself,\nshould be glad to know by what method you propose to extricate yourself\nfrom them, and what farther assistance you require from me, or is in my\npower to grant, without acting unbecoming of my character.'\n'I should be utterly unworthy,' answered the other, weeping, 'of the\ncompassion you have shewn, and even of the life you have preserved,\nshould I entreat any thing of you that might either injure your\nreputation, or prejudice the good understanding between you and your\nbrother. As to my misfortunes, they are, alas! past remedy; I neither\nhope, nor shall endeavour, for a reconciliation with Mr. Thoughtless; I\nhave long since been ashamed and weary of the errors of my conduct,\nthough I wanted strength of resolution to reform them: but be assured,\nMadam, I have now no other wish than to pass my future life in that only\nretreat for wretches like myself--a monastery.'\nHer streaming eyes, her moving accent, and, above all, the seeming\ncontrition she expressed for her faults, raised such a flow of\ntenderness in the soul of Mrs. Munden, that she resolved from that\ninstant to do every thing in her power to save her.\n'As the religion of your country,' said she, 'and in which you were\nbred, affords a great number of those safe and sure asylums for persons\nwho have made ill use of their liberty, you cannot, indeed, do better\nthan to fly to some one of them for refuge from temptations, which you\nhave too much experienced the force of; and if you persevere in this\ngood disposition, I will endeavour to procure the means of rendering you\nable to accomplish so laudable a desire.'\n'Ah, Madam,' cried Mademoiselle de Roquelair, 'it is all I ask of\nHeaven, or you; the accidents of my life have convinced me there can be\nno real happiness without virtue, and that the most certain defence of\nvirtue is religion: if I could now flatter myself with the means of\nbeing received within those sacred walls, from which the fatal love of\nMr. Thoughtless drew me, I should think my guardian angel had not quite\nforsook me.'\nOn this, the good-natured believing Mrs. Munden said many kind things to\nher--made her take some refreshment as she lay in bed, in which she\nadvised her to continue some time, and endeavour to compose herself to\nsleep, she seeming to stand in need of it very much. In going out of the\nchamber, she told her she should return in a few hours; but if she\nwanted any thing in the mean time, on her ringing a bell by her bedside,\na maid-servant would immediately attend upon her.\nShe was, indeed, bent to try all possible methods for the accomplishment\nof what she promised. 'How guilty soever this unhappy woman is,' said\nshe within herself, 'my brother, in common justice, ought at least to\nleave in her in the same condition in which he found her: she was then\ngoing to a nunnery; and it is now his duty to send her to one; for it\ncannot be expected her father will make a second offer of that sort.'\nWith these reflections, together with others on the manner in which it\nwould be most proper to address Mr. Thoughtless on this score, was her\nmind taken up, till the hour she imagined he might be stirring: the\ndisturbances which must necessarily have happened in his family the\nnight before, made her suppose he might lie longer than usual; but she\nchose rather to wait a while for his rising, than hazard losing the\nopportunity of speaking to him by his being gone abroad.\nThat gentleman had, in fact, passed the most disagreeable night he had\never known: he had loved Mademoiselle de Roquelair with such an\nextravagance of fondness, that he had sometimes been even prompted by it\nto marry her; but the too great warmth of her constitution, and the\nknown inconstancy of her temper, as often deterred him from it, and also\nmade him restrain her from any of those liberties he would otherwise\nhave allowed her: he had thought himself no less secure of her person\nthan she always pretended he was of her heart; and now to find all his\ntenderness for her abused, all his precautions frustrated, might well\nraise in him passions of the most desperate kind.\nThe inclinations of this woman were, in reality, too vicious to be bound\nby any obligations, or withheld from their gratifications, by any of the\nmethods taken for that purpose: she loved variety--she longed for\nchange, without consulting whether the object was suitable or not--the\nmercer had a person and address agreeable enough; he was of an amorous\ncomplexion, and readily improved the advances she made him: he\nfrequently came to her under the pretence of bringing patterns of silks,\nor other things in his way of trade; and all this, as she imagined,\nwithout raising any suspicion in the family. No interruption happening\nin their repeated interviews, she sometimes kept him with her till near\nthe hour in which Mr. Thoughtless usually came home, which was seldom\ntill one or two o'clock.\nBut on this unlucky night it so fell out that a very ill run of play,\nand the loss of all the money he had about him, brought him home much\nsooner than was his custom: a servant being at the door, prevented his\nknocking; so that the lovers had not the least notice how near he was to\nthem. He went directly into his dressing-room, which was backwards on\nthe ground-floor, and sat musing for some time, casting up the sums he\nhad lost, cursing fortune within himself, and protesting never to touch\na card or throw a dice again; when, on a sudden, he was alarmed with the\nsound of a man's voice laughing very heartily; he stamped with his foot;\nand a servant immediately coming up, 'Is there any company above?'\ndemanded he, hastily. 'None, Sir, but the mercer that comes to Madam\nwith silks,' replied the man. 'A mercer at this time of night!' cried\nMr. Thoughtless. 'How long has he been here?'--'I cannot tell exactly,\nSir,' said he; 'but, I believe, three or four hours.'--'A long visit;\nand on business too!' resumed Mr. Thoughtless; and, after a little\npause, 'Go,' continued he, 'bid Mademoiselle de Roquelair come down to\nme.'\nIf this unfaithful woman had been but mistress of artifice enough to\nhave made any one of the family her friend, she would certainly have\nbeen told that Mr. Thoughtless was come home, and her gallant might\neasily have slipt out of the house without his knowledge; but, on the\ncontrary, her imperious behaviour towards them, set them all in general\nagainst her: this fellow in particular, whom she had used worse than the\nrest, rejoiced that his master was likely to find out what he wished him\nto know, but never durst acquaint him with.\nOn his going up stairs, he found they were shut in the bed-chamber; and,\nrunning to his master with this account, 'Locked in the chamber!' said\nMr. Thoughtless, starting up. 'Yes, Sir,' answered the servant; 'and\nnobody would answer, though I knocked two or three times;' which, by the\nway, if he did at all, it was too softly for them to hear.\n'Confusion!' cried Mr. Thoughtless, now worked up to the highest pitch\nof jealous rage; 'I'll try if they will open to me!' With these words he\ndrew his sword, and flew up stairs, burst open the door, and rushed into\nthe room with all the fury of an incensed lion. The astonished guilty\npair had neither thought nor means to escape; the lover, on the first\nburst of the door, jumped out of the window into the yard--Mademoiselle\nran screaming to one corner of the room. 'Abandoned woman!' cried\nThoughtless, 'your punishment shall be the second course!' then,\nfollowed by his man with lights, ran in pursuit of the person who had\ninjured him.\nThis unhappy woman, not daring to stand the tempest of his rage when he\nshould return, took the opportunity of his having quitted the chamber to\nmake her escape; though, at the time she did so, as she had truly told\nMrs. Munden, she neither knew where nor to whom she should apply for\nrefuge.\nThe mercer, in the mean time, was found by Mr. Thoughtless, but in a\ncondition more exciting pity than revenge: the poor man had broke both\nhis legs with his fall, and was otherwise very much hurt; but on seeing\nby whom, and in what manner he was approached, the terror of immediate\ndeath made him exert all the strength that was left in him to cry out\nfor pardon; which word he repeated over and over again in the most\nlamentable tone that could be. Mr. Thoughtless, on this, turned hastily\naway, bidding his servants raise and carry him into the hall, where a\nchair being presently brought, he was put into it, and sent home to make\nthe best excuse he could to his wife for the mischief that had happened\nto him.\nEvery room was afterwards searched for Mademoiselle de Roquelair; but\nshe not being found, and a maid-servant remembering that, in the midst\nof the confusion, the street-door had been left open, the flight of that\nlady was not to be doubted.\nThough these disturbances had taken up the greatest part of the night,\nMr. Thoughtless was able to enjoy little repose after going to bed; and\nrose rather sooner than usual--he was up and dressed when his sister\ncame; but was a good deal surprized to be told of her being there, as\nshe had never visited him before without a formal invitation.\n'Good morrow, my dear sister,' said he, as soon as she was introduced;\n'this is a favour quite unexpected: pray, what brings you abroad thus\nearly?'--'You men,' answered she, 'who keep such late hours, may well\nthink it early; but for us women, who live more regularly, it is no\nwonder to see us breathe the morning air: but I assure you I rose\nsomewhat sooner than ordinary to-day on your account.'--'On mine! As\nhow, pray?' demanded he. 'I am come,' answered she, 'to solicit in\nbehalf of a person who has fallen under your displeasure--Mademoiselle\nde Roquelair.'\n'Mademoiselle de Roquelair!' cried he, hastily interrupting her: 'what\nknowledge can you have of that infamous creature?' She then ingenuously\nrelated to him how they had met by accident at the mercer's--the offer\nshe had then made of her friendship; and how, as she supposed,\nemboldened by that mistaken encouragement, she had flown to her house\nfor shelter the preceding night: 'You see how dangerous it is,' said he,\n'to make friendship at first sight; but surely the wretch cannot flatter\nherself with the least distant hope of a reconciliation?'\n'Far be it from me, Sir,' replied Mrs. Munden very gravely, 'to become\nthe negociator of such a treaty, or even to attempt a vindication of her\nbehaviour: no, it is your own honour, for which alone I am concerned;\nand that, I think, requires you should send her to a monastery; since,\nas she says, you deprived her of the opportunity of entering into one.'\n'All mere pretence!' cried he: ''tis true, there was some talk of such a\nthing; but she has inclinations of a different sort.' To which Mrs.\nMunden replied, that inclinations, though ever so corrupt, might be\nreformed by reason, adversity, and experience--that she hoped her\npenitence was sincere--and what before her was her aversion, was now\nbecome her choice. She then urged the request she came upon, in terms so\nmoving and pathetick, that Mr. Thoughtless, irritated as he was, could\nnot withstand the energy of her words: he told her he would consider on\nwhat she had said, and give his answer the next day; but, in the mean\ntime, desired she would advise her unworthy guest to send for her\nbaggage immediately; saying, he would have nothing in his house that\nshould remind him of her.\nMrs. Munden, pretty well satisfied with having obtained thus much, took\nher leave; and returned to Mademoiselle de Roquelair, with an account of\nwhat she had done.\nCHAPTER XVIII\n_Contains a most shocking instance of infidelity and ingratitude_\nMademoiselle de Roquelair, on finding how far the good-nature of Mrs.\nMunden had made her interest herself in her behalf, expressed the\ntransports of her gratitude in terms which gave some pain to the modesty\nof that lady to receive: 'What I have done,' said she, 'is to promote\nthe cause of virtue; and I hope my endeavours that way will not be lost\non your account.'--'You are all goodness,' replied the other; 'but I\nblush to think that, being already indebted for so many favours, I must\nstill become your petitioner for more: though I have lived fifteen\nmonths in this town, I am a perfect stranger to the greatest part of it,\nquite unacquainted with it's customs, and know not where, and in what\nmanner, to address myself for lodgings. In the midst of my distractions,\nI found shelter under your hospitable roof; may I presume to flatter\nmyself with the continuance of that charitable protection, till I\nreceive an answer from Mr. Thoughtless?'\nMrs. Munden paused a little at this request; but, thinking it would be\ncruel in this distress to have recourse to strangers, and to whom she\ncould communicate nothing of her mind, made this reply 'Though it would\nbe highly inconvenient, Madam,' said she, 'for you to remain in my house\nfor any length of time; yet as, in all probability, your affairs will be\ndetermined in a few days, I would not have you think of leaving me till\nyou are prepared to leave the kingdom. Please, therefore,' continued\nshe, 'to make an inventory of what things you have at my brother's, and\nI will give orders for their being brought directly hither.'\nMademoiselle de Roquelair was beginning to give some fresh testimonies\nof the sense she had of this last obligation; but Mrs. Munden would not\nsuffer her to proceed; and, pointing to a standish that stood on the\ntable, desired her to write the memorandums she had mentioned.\n'Obedience, Madam, is better than sacrifice,' said the other; and\nimmediately did as she was directed: after which Mrs. Munden went down\nto give the orders she had promised.\nShe sent this inventory by her own man, and instructed him to procure\npersons for bringing thither every thing belonging to Mademoiselle de\nRoquelair: but as this could not be done, and that lady dressed, before\nthe hour of dinner, which was just at hand, she judged it improper she\nshould appear at table till she could do so with greater decency; she\ntherefore bid one of the maids prepare something apart, and serve it up\nto her in her own chamber.\nShe then began to consider what she should say to Mr. Munden in relation\nto this affair: she knew not but he might already be apprized of what\nhad passed; or if even he were not so, she thought it would be\nimpossible to keep her in the house without his privity; so resolved to\nbe quite open in the affair.\nShe was right in her conjecture: Mademoiselle de Roquelair had happened\nto ring the bell for something she wanted; Mr. Munden hearing it, and\nknowing his wife was abroad, asked who was above; and this question\noccasioned the man, who was then dressing him, to give an account, as\nfar as was in his power to do, of the last night's accident.\nThis a little surprized him, yet not enough to keep him from the Park,\nwhere he constantly walked every day an hour or two before dinner; but\non his return, he immediately interrogated his wife concerning her new\nguest; on which she told him, without the least reserve, every\ncircumstance of this transaction; he listened attentively to what she\nsaid, but testified neither any dislike or approbation of her conduct in\nthis respect: he said no more to her after she had done speaking; but\nbehaved with the same sullen silence he had always done since her\nadventure with Lord ----; and as soon as dinner was over, went out to\npass the remainder of the day, and best part of the night, according to\ncustom.\nMrs. Munden's good-nature would not suffer her to go abroad the whole\nafternoon; she passed all the hours, till bed-time, with Mademoiselle\nRoquelair, and did every thing in her power both to comfort her in the\naffliction she was under, and to fortify her in the good resolution she\nseemed to have taken: the next morning she received, as she expected,\nthe following billet from her brother.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     Dear Sister,\n     In compliance with your desires, and to be certain of getting\n     eternally rid of the sight of a woman who has so much abused the\n     kindness I had for her, I consent to grant her request of being\n     enabled to go into a monastery: a friend of mine has great dealings\n     with a merchant at Bologne; I will see him this afternoon, and pay\n     into his hands the sum which I am told is sufficient for that\n     purpose. If you give yourself the trouble to call on me to-morrow\n     morning, I will give you his order for her receiving it on her\n     arrival. I cannot think of entering your house while she is in it;\n     but am always, dear sister, your affectionate brother,\n     T. THOUGHTLESS.'\nMrs. Munden having imparted the contents of this letter to Mademoiselle\nde Roquelair, she seemed as much contented as a person in her\ncircumstances could be: she dined below that day; and Mr. Munden treated\nher with the same politeness and complaisance he always used towards\npersons over whom he had no power.\nThe next morning did not fail of carrying his fair wife to her brother's\nabout the hour in which she imagined he would expect her; but on the\nmoment of her entrance, she had the mortification of being accosted by\nhim in these terms: 'My dear sister,' said he, 'I was just going to send\nto you, to prevent your giving yourself this needless trouble. The\ngentleman I went to is out of town, and will not return these two days:\nso nothing can be done in this woman's affair till he comes back.' She\ntold him she was extremely sorry; 'Because,' said she, 'delays are\nsometimes dangerous: but I hope, my dear brother, no second\nconsiderations will make you frustrate the good intentions of this\nunhappy penitent.'--'No, no!' cried he; 'I wish she may persevere in\nthem as steadfastly as I shall to the promise I have made.' Satisfied\nwith this assurance, she made her leave, little suspecting, while she\nwas labouring with all her might in this good office, that cruel and\nungenerous return which was about to be made for her compassion.\nMr. Munden had seen Mademoiselle de Roquelair no more than once; but\nthat once was sufficient to make him become enamoured--her beauty fired\nhim--the known wantonness of her inclinations encouraged him--he scarce\ndoubted of success; but in case of a failure, and if she should even\nacquaint his wife with his attempt, her character furnished him with the\npretence of having made it only to try how far her conversion was\nsincere.\nHe therefore hesitated not a moment if he should endeavour the\naccomplishment of his desires; and, for the doing so, no time was to be\nlost, as she was so suddenly to depart. Mrs. Munden was no sooner gone\nout, than he went softly up stairs to the chamber of this too lovely and\nless more virtuous stranger: she was sitting in a pensive posture,\nleaning her head upon her hand, when he came in; but rose to receive him\nwith that respect which she thought due from her to the husband of her\nprotectress.\nAfter the salutations of the morning were over, 'Is it possible,' cried\nhe, taking one of her hands, and looking earnestly on her face, 'that\nsuch youth, such beauty, charms in such profusion, should be condemned\nto a cloyster? No! it cannot be! All the powers of love and pleasure\nforbid you to make so unnatural a choice!' Transported and amazed at\nhearing him speak in this manner, she could not forbear telling him,\nwith her eyes, that her thoughts corresponded with his words; but\nwilling her tongue should preserve the decency of the character she had\nassumed, at least till he should make a farther declaration of his\nsentiments; 'If I were, indeed,' answered she, 'all that can be\ndescribed of beautiful, I could not, sure, be an offering too amiable\nfor Heaven!'\n'Heaven never gave you these perfections,' resumed he, 'to be concealed\nin a dark lonesome cell! Those melting lips of yours were never formed\nto kiss the feet of a cold lifeless image, or pour forth oraisons to\nunhearing saints, but to make blest some warm, some happy he, who knows\nand has the power of returning the raptures they bestow!' These last\nwords were attended with such vehement and repeated pressures of the\nlips he praised, as left her no room to doubt the aim of his desires; as\ndid the manner of her receiving them also convince him of his success.\n'But are you in earnest, resolved to be a nun?' replied he. 'Since fate\nwill have it so,' replied she with a deep sigh, and a look so\nlanguishing and so sweet as pierced his very soul. 'Make me your fate,\nthen,' cried he impatiently: 'be mine, and not all the saints in the\nkalendar shall snatch you from me.'--'You are then--you must be, my\nfate!' said she, returning his embrace with equal eagerness: 'you have\nthe power of fate; and are no less resistless. Henceforth I'll seek no\nother heaven but your love--your breast my altar--and your arms my\ncell!'\nIt will be easily supposed that, after this, she refused no liberties he\nthought fit to take. Nothing but the last favour was wanting to compleat\nhis wishes; and to that he would not venture to proceed, for fear of an\ninterruption: but they agreed to meet at the Portuguese ambassador's\nchapel at six o'clock that same evening. Mutual kisses and embraces\nhaving sealed the covenant, he went down to dress, and left her to\ncompose her countenance against Mrs. Munden's return.\nThis very wicked woman, who had never any real thoughts of going into a\nmonastery, and only intended to appropriate the money she expected from\nMr. Thoughtless to such uses as might induce some man of fortune to make\nchoice of her for a mistress, now gave herself little pain whether he\ngranted her request or not, imagining she had found in Mr. Munden all\nshe wished for, or could hope, in a gallant.\nShe affected, however, to Mrs. Munden, to be under some concern for this\ndelay of her intended journey; but said she would employ the time she\nstaid in such acts of devotion as should best prepare her to become a\nmember of that sacred society which she soon hoped to be among. 'I have\nnot been,' added she, 'for a long time, at confession; but I will go\nthis afternoon, and ease my conscience of it's load of guilt.'\nThus impiously did she profane the name of religion, by making it the\nveil to cover the most shameful depravities of nature. On the arrival of\nthe appointed hour, with looks of sanctity, and a heart full of\nimpurity, she hasted to the place of rendezvous. The punctual Mr. Munden\nwaited for her at the chapel-door, and conducted her where they had all\nthe freedom they could wish of indulging their vicious inclinations.\nThey broke off this amorous intercourse much sooner than either of them\ndesired; Mademoiselle de Roquelair not being able to find a plausible\nexcuse to make to Mrs. Munden for staying beyond the time which her\npretended devotions might be reasonably supposed to take up: but, to\natone for this misfortune, a strategem was contrived between them, not\nonly for their meeting next day, but also for their continuing together\na much longer time. It was thus.\nShe told Mrs. Munden that the reverend father to whom she had confessed,\ninformed her that a young lady, of a very worthy family in England,\nhaving passed her year of probation at a monastery in Bologne, and\nreturned hither only to take an eternal leave of her friends, and of the\nworld, was now just ready to go back, in order to be initiated. 'To this\nfamily,' added she, 'the good father has offered to introduce me\nto-morrow; and if the young lady approves of my being the companion of\nher voyage, as he assures me she certainly will, how happy shall I think\nmyself!'\nThe truth of all this not being suspected by Mrs. Munden, she\ncongratulated her upon it. It is easy to deceive the innocent; but, it\nmust be owned, this wicked woman had subtlety enough to have imposed on\na person more skilled in the artifices of the world than was the amiable\nlady on whom she practised it.\nBut, not to detain the reader's attention on so ungrateful a subject, I\nshall only say, that one assignation was still productive of another;\nand the credulity of the injured wife served only as a matter of mirth\nto the transgressing husband and his guilty partner.\nBut now the time was come when the subterfuges must necessarily be at an\nend, or become too gross not to be seen through. Mr. Thoughtless had\nseen his friend--had paid the money into his hands, and received a bill\nfrom him on the merchant at Bologne. When he delivered it to Mrs.\nMunden--'Sister,' said he, 'this paper will entitle your guest to the\nreceipt of three hundred louis-d'ors on her arrival at Bologne: but I\nexpect you will oblige her to depart immediately; for it is neither\nconsistent with your reputation to keep her in your house, nor with my\npeace of mind that she should continue in the kingdom.' To which she\nreplied, with a smile, 'That there was nothing more certain than that\nhis commands, in this point, would be punctually obeyed.'\nThis lady was rejoiced at having accomplished what she thought so good a\nwork; but, having perceived in Mademoiselle de Roquelair some abatement\nof her first eagerness for a religious life, she thought proper, on\ngiving her the bill, to repeat to her the words her brother had said on\nthat account: to which the other coolly answered, 'Your brother, Madam,\nneed be under no apprehensions of my offending him in this point, or of\ngiving you any farther trouble.'\nThis, though no more than what the lovers expected, was yet a dreadful\nshock to them both: great part of the time they were together that\nevening was taken up in talking of it. Mademoiselle de Roquelair\nprotested that death was less cruel than being torn from her dear Munden\nthus early--thus in the infancy of their happiness; and gave some hints\nthat she wished he would hire private lodgings for her: but she knew\nlittle of the temper of the man she had to deal with. He loved her as a\nmistress, but hated the expence of keeping her as a mistress: he\ntherefore evaded all discourse on that head; and told her he fancied\nthat, by pretences such as already had been made, she might still\ncontinue in the house. 'Means, at least,' said he, 'might be found out\nto protract our mutual misfortune, and give us more time to consider\nwhat we have to do.'\nShe agreed, however, to make the experiment; and poor Mrs. Munden was\nimposed upon, by some new invention, from one day to another, for\nupwards of a week: but, at last, beginning to fear there was something\nmore at the bottom of these delays than was pretended, and her brother\nhaving sent twice in that time to know if his desires had been complied\nwith, she resolved at once to put a period to inconveniences which she\nthought she could so easily get rid of.\nMademoiselle de Roquelair having staid abroad extremely late one night,\nshe took the opportunity of her having done so, of speaking more plainly\nto her than her good-nature and complaisance had hitherto permitted her\nto do: she went up to her chamber next morning; and, with an air which\nhad something of severity in it, 'You keep odd hours, Madam,' said she,\n'for a person who affects to be so great a penitent; but I suppose you\nare now prepared to ease me of all concern on your account.'--'I shall\ntrouble you no longer,' cried the other, 'till the young lady I told you\nof is ready to depart.'--'You will do well,' resumed Mrs. Munden, 'to\nremain with her till she is so; for, Madam, I must insist on your\nremoval hence this day.'--'You will not turn me out of doors?' cried\nMademoiselle de Roquelair. 'I hope you will not oblige me to an act so\ncontrary to my nature,' replied Mrs. Munden. 'Say, rather, contrary to\nyour power,' returned that audacious woman; and, coming up to her with\nthe most unparalleled assurance, 'This house, which you forbid me,'\npursued she, 'I think Mr. Munden is the master of; and I shall,\ntherefore, continue in it till my convenience calls me from it, or he\nshall tell me I am no longer welcome!'\nImpossible is it to describe, and difficult even to conceive, Mrs.\nMunden's astonishment at these words; to hear a woman thus doubly loaded\nwith guilt and obligations--a woman, who but a few days past had been\nprostrate at her feet, imploring pity and protection, now all at once\nungratefully contemning the benefits she had received, and insolently\ndefying the authority to which she had flown for shelter; all this must\ncertainly give a shock almost beyond the strength of human reason to\nsustain. 'Mr. Munden!' cried the injured fair-one, with a voice hardly\nintelligible, 'Mr. Munden!' She could utter no more; but flew down\nstairs with such rapidity that her feet scarce touched the steps.\nMr. Munden was not quite ready to go out--she found him in his\ndressing-room; and, throwing herself into a chair, half suffocated with\npassion, related to him, as well as she was able, the manner in which\nshe had been treated; to which he replied, with a good deal of\npeevishness, 'Pr'ythee, do not trouble me with these idle stories;\nMademoiselle de Roquelair is your guest--I have no concern in your\nlittle quarrels.'--'I hope,' said she, 'you will do me that justice\nwhich every wife has a right to expect, and convince the French\nhypocrite that I am too much the mistress of this house for any one to\nremain in it without my permission.'--'So you would make me the dupe of\nyour resentment!' replied he scornfully; 'but positively I shall not do\na rude thing to oblige you or any body else.' In speaking these words,\nhaving now adjusted his dress, he flung out of the room without giving\nher time to add any thing farther on a subject he was wholly unprepared\nto answer.\nWhat a perplexing whirl of wild imaginations must such a behaviour from\na husband excite in a wife, conscious of having done nothing to provoke\nit! Happy was it for her that love had the least share in her\nresentment--all her indifference could not enable her to support, with\nany degree of patience, so palpable a contempt--she returned directly to\nher own chamber; where, shutting herself up, she gave a loose to\nagitations too violent for words to represent.\nCHAPTER XIX\n_Relates such things as the reader will, doubtless, think of very great\nimportance, yet will hereafter be found of much greater then he can at\npresent imagine_\nAfter this much-injured wife had vented some part of the overflowing\npassions of her soul in tears and exclamations, she began to consider,\nwith more calmness, in which manner she ought to behave, in so amazing a\ncircumstance. She had not the least propensity in her nature to\njealousy; yet she could not think that any thing less than a criminal\ncorrespondence between her husband and this Frenchwoman, could induce\nthe one, or embolden the other, to act as they had done towards her.\n'Neither divine nor human laws,' said she, 'nor any of those obligations\nby which I have hitherto looked upon myself as bound, can now compel me\nany longer to endure the cold neglects, the insults, the tyranny, of\nthis most ungrateful, most perfidious man! I have discharged the duties\nof my station; I have fully proved I know how to be a good wife, if he\nhad known how to be even a tolerable husband: wherefore, then, should I\nhesitate to take the opportunity, which this last act of baseness gives\nme, of easing myself of that heavy yoke I have laboured under for so\nmany cruel months?'\nShe would not, however, do anything precipitately; it was not\nsufficient, she thought, that she should be justified to herself, she\nwas willing also to be justified in the opinion of her friends: her\nbrother was the first person to be consulted; she resolved, therefore,\nto go immediately to him; but as it was necessary to put something in\norder before her departure, in case she should return no more, she\ncalled the maid, who always waited on her in her chamber, to assist her\non this occasion.\nShe locked up her jewels, and what other trinkets she had of value, in\nan amber-cabinet, and made her wearing-apparel be also disposed of in\nproper utensils, leaving out only some linen, and other necessaries, for\nthe present use, which she also caused to be packed up. The poor maid,\nwho loved her mistress dearly, and easily guessed the meaning of these\npreparations, could not refrain weeping all the time she was thus\nemployed. 'Ah, Madam!' cried she, 'what a sad thing it is that married\ngentlemen will be so foolish!--Hang all the French, I say!'--'What do'st\nmean, Jenny?' said Mrs. Munden. 'Ah, Madam!' replied she, 'I should have\ntold you before, but that I was afraid of making you uneasy: but, since\nI find you know how things are, I shall make no secret of it. You may\nremember, Madam, that you gave me leave last Monday to go to see my\nsister--she lives in St. Martin's Lane--it would have been nearer for\nme, indeed, to have gone through the Mews; but, I know not how it\nhappened, I went by Charing Cross; and, just as I was going to cross the\nway, who should I see pop out of a hackney-coach but my master and this\nFrenchwoman--they hurried together, arm in arm, into a bagnio--and you\nknow, Madam, some of those places have but an ugly name: for my part, I\nwas so confounded that I scarce knew whether I stood upon my head or my\nheels; but I did not say a word of what I had seen when I came home,\ntill just now John came down and told us all how that wicked woman had\naffronted you.'\nMrs. Munden then recalled that Mr. Munden's man was in the room when she\nrelated the behaviour of Mademoiselle de Roquelair; which she now was\nnot sorry for, nor of the fresh proof given her by this maid of the\nperfidy of her husband.\n'Well, Jenny,' said she, 'I am not yet determined how I shall proceed; I\nam going to my brother's, and shall take Tom with me: if I do not come\nback to-night, he shall bring you instructions what things to send me;\nbut, in the mean time, say nothing to your master of what we have been\ntalking.'\nMrs. Munden could not forbear shedding tears, as she was going into her\nchair, at the thoughts of this exile, voluntary as it was, from a house\nshe had so much right to call her own; but the poor maid roared out so\nloud at seeing her depart, that it brought all the servants out of the\nkitchen to know what was the matter; which, being told by Jenny,\noccasioned so general a grief among them for the loss of so good a\nmistress, that had Mademoiselle de Roquelair remained in the house, and\nthe same servants also been continued, it is possible she would have\nhad little either of respect or obedience from them.\nBut fortune spared this mortification, in order to inflict a much\ngreater one on her ingratitude and treachery. Mr. Munden had not quitted\nthe presence of his wife many minutes before he began to reflect\nseriously on this accident; he found it might prove a very vexatious\none, if the consequences it seemed to threaten were not in time\nprevented: he highly blamed Mademoiselle de Roquelair for her behaviour\nto Mrs. Munden; not so much because it might give that lady room to\nsuspect in what manner he had wronged her, as because it plainly shewed\nthat the other intended to pin herself on him, and oblige him to support\nher--a thing which did not at all suit with his humour; he had gratified\nhis passion almost to a surfeit--a very little longer time would have\nmade him as heartily wish to get rid of her, as he had ever done to gain\nher; and although it could not be said he was as yet altogether cloyed\nwith the pleasures she so lavishly bestowed, yet a little examination\ninto the extent of his inclinations, convinced him that he could bear\nthe loss of her for ever without pain.\nWhile the blood runs high, and the fire is rampant for possession,\nprudence is of little force; but when the one begins to flag, the other\nresumes its empire over the mind, and never rests till it finds means to\nretrieve what it has lost: he could now consider that the money remitted\nto Bologne by Mr. Thoughtless could be received by nobody but\nMademoiselle de Roquelair herself, and that it was probable that\ngentleman, if told the usage that had been given to his sister, might be\nprovoked to recal his order, and prevent the payment of it at all. This\nseemed, however, a plausible pretence for persuading her to go away\ndirectly, and also for making a merit to his wife of what he did.\nHaving fully determined within himself how to proceed in this affair, he\nshortened his morning's walk, and came home some hours before the usual\ntime: he was at first a little fretted on being told Mrs. Munden was\ngone to her brother's, not doubting but the errand on which she went was\nto complain of the treatment she had received; but Jenny carefully\nconcealing what her mistress had said to her concerning her intentions\nof coming back no more, he passed it lightly over, imagining her\naccusations and reproaches would cease, the object of them being once\nremoved.\nHe found no difficulty in prevailing on Mademoiselle de Roquelair to go\nto Bologne. Three hundred louis-d'ors was too tempting a sum to be\nforfeited merely for the want of a little jaunt, especially as she\nconsidered that she might accomplish her business there and return to\nLondon within the compass of a very few days; and he told her that he\nwould hire lodgings for her against her coming back.\n'Well, then, my angel,' said he, 'no time is to be lost: as this is not\npost day, if you set out immediately for Dover, you may be at Bologne,\nand have received the money before any letter can reach that place to\nprevent it; for it is very likely that the spite my wife has towards\nyou, may work upon the resentment of her brother to attempt such a\nthing.' Everything being concluded upon for this expedition, he went\nhimself to procure a post-chaise, appointing her to meet him at a place\nhe mentioned to her in an hour at farthest.\nAs he had promised to send all her baggage to the lodgings which he\nshould provide for her return, she had nothing to do but to pack up some\nfew necessaries to take with her. This little work being soon over, a\nhackney-coach carried her to the house that had been agreed upon; where\nshe saw a post-chaise already at the door, and the diligent Mr. Munden\nwaiting for her coming: as she proposed to reach Canterbury that same\nnight, and it was then past two o'clock, the lovers were obliged to take\na very hasty leave.\nThis double, deceitful man, having a farther view in what he did than\nshe had any notion of, told her, at parting, that it would be proper for\nher to stay at Bologne till she received a letter from him with an\naccount in what street and part of the town the lodgings he should\nprovide for her were situated, to the end she might come directly into\nthem on her arrival: he spoke this with an air so full of tenderness and\ncare for her repose, that she had not the least suspicion of his drift;\nand replied, that she would not fail to do as he advised, but desired he\nwould be as speedy as possible in writing to her; 'For,' cried she,\nembracing him, 'I shall think every day a year till I return to the arms\nof my dear Munden!'\nHaving thus, in reality, discarded, his mistress, though without her\nknowing he had done so, he went home, in order to boast to his wife of\nthe complaisance he had shewn to her in this affair; but, finding she\nwas not yet come back, he called for her maid, and bid her tell her, the\nmoment she should return, that he had complied with her request, and\nmade the Frenchwoman go out of the house.\nAfter having said this, he went out again, and came not home till late\nat night; when he was confounded beyond measure on finding a letter from\nMrs. Munden, which had been left for him by her own footman in the\nbeginning of the evening; and contained these lines.\n     'To Mr. Munden.\n     As you cannot but be sensible that the mutual engagements between\n     us have been strictly adhered to on my part, and almost in every\n     particular falsified on yours, you ought not to be surprized that I\n     have at last resolved to put a final end to a way of life so\n     unpleasing in the eyes of Heaven, and so disagreeable to ourselves:\n     it never was in my power to make you truly happy, nor in your will\n     to make me even tolerably easy; I therefore fly for ever from your\n     ill-usage, and once more put myself under the protection of my\n     friends, to whom I also shall commit the care of settling with you\n     the terms of our separation; which being once agreed upon, you will\n     not be troubled either with the complaints, or the reproaches, of\n     your much-injured wife,\n     B. MUNDEN.\n     P.S. I have removed nothing out of your house but what was my own\n     before marriage.'\nUpon enquiring further into the matter, he was informed that Mrs. Munden\nhad, indeed, removed a large India-chest, a bureau, cabinet\ndressing-table; and, in fine, every thing that belonged immediately to\nherself; and also that his family was now reduced to two, her own man\nand maid having followed her.\nAll this convincing him how much she was in earnest, involved him in the\nmost perplexing cogitations; not that he regretted the parting with her\nthrough any remains of affection, or that his hardened heart was touched\nwith a just sensibility of her merit, or with any repentance of his ill\ntreatment of her; but that he knew such an affair must necessarily be\nattended with some noise and confusion, and in many respects give him a\ngood deal of embarrassment: it was therefore these last two reasons\nwhich alone determined him to make use of all his artifice to bring\nabout a second reconciliation.\nThat beautiful lady, in the mean time, had thoughts much more composed;\nher brother had received her in the most affectionate manner--had\napproved her conduct in regard to her unfaithful husband--had assured\nher of the continuance of his friendship and protection; and, before she\ncould request it of him, invited her, and such of her servants as she\nchose should attend her, to remain in his house as long as she should\nthink fit. He desired her to take upon her the sole command and\nmanagement of his house and family, and assigned the best apartment for\nher particular use: in fine, he omitted nothing that might convince her\nof a sincere welcome.\nOn discoursing together concerning her obtaining a separate maintenance,\nit was the opinion of both of them, that Mr. Markland the lawyer should\nbe advised with, as he was a man who could not but be well experienced\nin such affairs; and accordingly a servant was dispatched to that\ngentleman, to desire he would come to them the next day.\nBut though she had reason to be highly satisfied with the reception\ngiven her by her brother, yet she could not be quite easy till she\nshould hear what judgment her dear Lady Loveit would pass on the step\nshe had taken. She went the next morning to pay a visit at that lady's\ntoilette; she related to her sincerely every particular of the\nprovocation she had received, the manner in which she had resented it,\nand the resolution she had taken of living in an eternal state of\nseparation from so bad a man: to which Lady Loveit replied, that though\nshe was extremely sorry for the occasion, yet she thought if she had\nacted otherwise, it would have been an injustice not only to herself,\nbut to all wives in general, by setting them an example of submitting to\nthings required of them neither by law nor nature.\nThis encouragement, from a lady of her known scrupulous disposition,\nmade Mrs. Munden not doubt but she would be equally absolved by Lady\nTrusty and her brother Frank; to both whom she wrote an account of all\nshe had done.\nOn her return from Lady Loveit's, she found a letter from Mr. Munden, in\nanswer to that she had sent to him the day before: the contents whereof\nwere as follow.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     Madam,\n     The unaccountableness of your behaviour astonishes me! For heaven's\n     sake, how can you answer to yourself the having quitted your\n     husband's house for so trifling a pretence? It is true, I did not\n     at first give much regard to your complaint against Mademoiselle de\n     Roquelair; but, on considering it, I obliged her to depart\n     immediately. I do assure you she set out yesterday for Dover, and I\n     believe by this time is as far as Calais on her way to Bologne; so\n     that there now remains no excuse for your absenting yourself: and\n     if you should continue to do so, it will be a very plain proof that\n     you are extremely wanting in that duty and affection which the\n     laws both of God and man expect from you. But I flatter myself that\n     is not the case; and therefore expect you will return with all\n     possible expedition to him who will be always ready to prove\n     himself your most affectionate husband,\n     G. MUNDEN.\n     P.S. I know not what you mean by terms of separation: a wife who\n     elopes from her husband forfeits all claim to every thing that is\n     his, and can expect nothing from him till she returns to her\n     obedience; but were it otherwise, and the law entirely on your side\n     in this point, you might be certain that I look upon the happiness\n     of possessing you in too just a light to be easily brought into any\n     agreement that would deprive me of you.'\nThough Mr. Munden wanted not cunning in most things, yet in writing this\nepistle he seemed not to consider the spirit or the penetration of his\nwife, who, he might have known, had too great a share of both to be\neither intimidated by the majesterial air of some of the expressions, or\nsoothed by the fawning, unsincere compliments, of the others.\nThis vain attempt therefore only served to remind her of the many proofs\nshe had received both of his ill-nature and deceit towards her; and,\ninstead of weakening the resolution she had taken of not living with him\nagain, rather rendered it more strong and permanent.\nCHAPTER XX\n_More of the same_\nMr. Markland did not, like too many of his profession, ever flatter his\nclients with an assurance of success in any cause of which he himself\nwas doubtful: he plainly told Mrs. Munden, that he feared not all the\nill-usage she had sustained would be sufficient to compel her husband to\nallow her a separate maintenance. 'Honour and generosity may, indeed,'\nadded he, 'oblige him to do that which, I am very apprehensive, the law\nwill not enforce him to.'\n'Alas!' cried Mrs. Munden, bursting into tears, 'if I can have no relief\nbut from his honour and generosity, I must be miserable!'--'Not so, my\ndear sister,' said Mr. Thoughtless, 'while you have a brother who has it\nin his power to support you against all the injuries of fortune, and the\ninjustice of a husband so unworthy of you.'\nShe thanked him in terms which so affectionate an offer demanded from\nher, but could not help appearing very much dejected at what Mr.\nMarkland had said to her: on which, 'Madam,' said he, 'though the letter\nof the law may not be altogether so favourable for you in this point as\nyou certainly deserve, yet, notwithstanding that, and how refractory\nsoever Mr. Munden may be in his principles or dispositions, I hope there\nmay be means found to bring him to do you justice. I will wait on\nhim--will talk to him in a proper manner; and do flatter myself with\nbeing able to give you a good account of what I have done.'\nIt is not to be doubted but both the brother and the sister earnestly\nintreated he would exert all his abilities in an affair which they\neasily saw would be difficult enough to manage; but the answers of this\nhonest, good-natured gentleman, soon convinced them that there was no\nneed of any persuasions to induce him to do every thing in his power for\nthe service of ill-treated innocence.\nMrs. Munden having told him that about eleven o'clock was the most\ncertain time for her husband to be spoke with, he went the next morning\nat that hour: on sending up his name, Mr. Munden guessed the errand on\nwhich he came; but that did not hinder him from ordering he should be\nintroduced, nor, when he was so, from receiving him with that politeness\nhe always used to strangers.\nMr. Markland began with telling him he was extremely sorry for the\noccasion on which he waited on him that morning; 'I little imagined,'\nsaid he, 'that when I drew up the articles for an union between you,\nSir, and Mrs. Munden, I should ever have been employed in transacting a\ndeed of separation: but, since it has unhappily proved so, I hope, at\nleast, it may be done as amicably as the nature of the thing will\nadmit.'\nMr. Munden at first affected to treat this proposal in a manner somewhat\nludicrous; but perceiving it was not well taken by the other, 'You will\npardon me, Sir,' cried he; 'I protest I am under the greatest\nconsternation in the world, that my wife should have the assurance to\ntrouble a gentleman of your character on so foolish an affair: upon my\nhonour, Sir, there is nothing in it but mere whim--caprice!'\n'If I did not think it sufficiently serious,' replied Mr. Markland, 'and\nwere not also well convinced you will hereafter find it so, I should not\nhave given either myself or you the trouble of this visit: but, Sir,'\ncontinued he, 'you may depend that the lady's complaints will have their\nweight.'\n'All womanish spite, upon my soul, Sir!' resumed Mr. Munden; 'I defy her\nto accuse me of any one action that can justify her quitting my house,\nmuch less to prove any real injury received from me; without which, you\nknow, Sir, there can be no pretence for separation.'\n'You cannot as yet, Sir, be sensible what is in her power to prove,'\nsaid the lawyer: 'but God forbid this unhappy dissention should ever\ncome to that! for, admitting she should be wanting in such proofs as the\nstrictness of the law requires in these cases, the very attempt must\nnecessarily involve you in an infinity of disquiet. Consider, Sir,'\npursued he, 'when the affairs of a family are laid open, and every\ndispute between the husband and the wife exposed before a court of\njudicature, or even in a petition to a Lord Chancellor, the whole\nbecomes a publick talk, and furnishes a matter of ridicule for the\nunthinking scoffers of the age.'\n'I can easily prevent all this,' cried Mr. Munden hastily, 'by procuring\na warrant from the Lord Chief Justice to force her immediately\nhome.'--'You may certainly do so,' cried Mr. Markland, with a half\nsmile; 'but, Sir, are you sure of keeping her at home when you have got\nher there? Is it not in her power to leave you again the same day, nay,\neven the same hour, in which you compelled her to return? so that your\nwhole time may be spent in an unavailing chase, somewhat of a piece with\nthe fable of the Sisyph\u00e6an stone, which, as often as the driver forced\nto the height he aimed at, rolled back to it's beloved descent. In\nshort, Sir, as Mrs. Munden is determined to live apart, you have no way\nto preserve her but by confinement; and I appeal to your own judgment\nhow that would look in the eyes of the world, and what occasion for\ncomplaint it would afford to all her friends, who would, doubtless, have\na strict watch on your behaviour.'\nThese words threw Mr. Munden into a deep reverie, which the other would\nnot interrupt, being willing to see how far this last remonstrance had\nworked upon him; till, coming out of it, and vexed that he had shewn any\ndiscomposure; 'Well, Sir,' said he, 'if she resolves to persist in this\nobstinacy, let her enjoy her humour; I shall give myself no pain about\nit; but she must not expect I shall allow one penny towards her\nmaintenance.'\nIt was on this head that Mr. Markland found he had occasion to employ\nall the rhetorick he was master of: he urged the unreasonableness, the\ninjustice, the cruelty, of denying the means of subsistence to a lady\nwhose whole fortune he enjoyed; said such a thing was altogether\nunprecedented among persons of condition; and, to prove what he\nalledged, produced many instances of wives who, on parting from their\nhusbands, were allowed a provision proportionable to the sums they had\nbrought in marriage.\nAll these arguments were enforced in terms so strong and so pathetick,\nthat Mr. Munden could make no other answer than, that he did not desire\nto part--that it was her own fault--and that if she would not return to\nher duty, she ought to be starved into a more just sense of it--and that\nhe was very sure the law would not compel him to do any thing for her:\non which Mr. Markland again reminded him of the vexation, the fatigue,\nthe disgrace, with which a suit commenced by either party must be\nattended, in whose favour soever the decision should be made.\nHe talked so long on the subject, that Mr. Munden, either to get rid of\nhim, or because he was really uncertain what to do, at last told him\nthat he would consider on what he had been saying, and let him know his\nresolution in a week's time. Mr. Markland then replied, that he would\ntrouble him no farther for the present; and after having prefixed a day\nfor waiting on him again, took his leave.\nThe mind of Mr. Munden was, indeed, in the utmost confusion amidst that\nvariety of vexatious incidents which he had now to struggle with--the\nlittle probability he found there was of re-establishing himself in the\nfavour of his patron--the loss of all his hopes that way--the sudden\ndeparture of a wife whom, though he had no affection for, he looked upon\nas a necessary appendix to his house--the noise her having taken such a\nstep would make in the town--the apprehensions of being obliged to grant\nher a separate maintenance; all these things put together, it is\ncertain, were sufficient to overwhelm a man of less impatient temper.\nHe cursed his amour with the Frenchwoman, as having been the cause of\nthis last misfortune falling on him; and, to prevent all farther trouble\non her account, ordered that the baggage she had left behind should be\nimmediately put on board a vessel, and sent after her to Bologne: he\nalso wrote to her at the same time, acquainting her with the disturbance\nwhich had happened; and that it was highly necessary for his future\npeace that he should see her no more, nor even hold any correspondence\nwith her.\nMrs. Munden, in the mean time, was far from being perfectly easy; though\nMr. Markland gave her hopes that her husband would very speedily be\nbrought to settle things between them in a reasonable way; and her\nbrother was every day giving her fresh assurances of his friendship and\nprotection, whether that event proved favourable or not: yet all this\nwas not enough to quell some scruples which now rose in her mind; the\nviolence of that passion which had made her resolve to leave Mr. Munden\nbeing a little evaporated, the vows she had made him at the altar were\ncontinually in her thoughts; she could not quite assure herself that a\nbreach of that solemn covenant was to be justified by any provocations;\nnor whether the worst usage on the part of the husband could authorize\nresentment in that of a wife.\nShe was one day disburdening her disquiets on this score to her dear\nLady Loveit, in terms which made that lady see, more than ever she had\ndone before, the height of her virtue, and the delicacy of her\nsentiments, when Sir Bazil came hastily into the room with a paper in\nhis hand; and after paying his compliments to Mrs. Munden, 'My dear,'\nsaid he to his lady, 'I have very agreeable news to tell you; I have\njust received a letter from my brother Trueworth, which informs me that\nhe is upon the road, and we shall have him with us this evening.'--'I am\nextremely glad,' replied she; 'and, likewise, that he is so good to let\nus know it, that I may make some little preparations for his welcome.'\nMrs. Munden could not be told that Mr. Trueworth was so near, and might\npresently be in the same room with her, without the utmost confusion;\nwhich she fearing would be observed, laid hold of the pretence Lady\nLoveit's last words furnished her with, of taking her leave; and, rising\nhastily up, 'I will wait on your ladyship,' said she, 'at a more\nconvenient time; for I perceive you are now going to be busy.'--'Not at\nall,' replied the other; 'three words will serve for all the\ninstructions I have to give; therefore, pr'ythee, dear creature, sit\ndown.' In speaking these words, she took hold of one of her hands, and\nSir Bazil of the other, in order to replace her on the settee she had\njust quitted; but she resisting their efforts, and desiring to be\nexcused staying any longer, 'I protest,' cried Lady Loveit, 'this sudden\nresolution of leaving us would make one think you did it to avoid Mr.\nTrueworth! and, if that be the case, I must tell you, that you are very\nungrateful, as he always expresses the greatest regard for you.'--'Aye,\naye!' said Sir Bazil, laughing; 'old love cannot be forgot: I have heard\nhim utter many tender things of the charming Miss Betsy Thoughtless,\neven since his marriage with my sister.'\n'I ought not, then,' replied she, 'to increase the number of obligations\nI have to him by that compassion which I know he would bestow on my\npresent distress: but I assure you, Sir Bazil, I would not quit you and\nmy dear Lady Loveit thus abruptly, if some letters I have to write, and\nother affairs which require immediate dispatch, did not oblige me to\nit.'\nOn this they would not offer to detain her; and she went home to give a\nloose to those agitations which the mention of Mr. Trueworth always\ninvolved her in.\nCHAPTER XXI\n_Affords variety of amusement_\nMrs. Munden was so ignorant of her own heart, in relation to what it\nfelt on Mr. Trueworth's account, that she imagined she had only fled his\npresence because she could not bear a man who had courted her so long\nshould see her thus unhappy by the choice she had made of another.\n'I am well assured,' cried she, 'that he has too much generosity to\ntriumph in my misfortune, and too much complaisance to remind me of the\ncause: yet would his eyes tacitly reproach my want of judgment; and\nmine, too, might perhaps, in spite of me, confess, as the poet says,\nthat--\n    \"I, like the child, whose folly prov'd it's loss,\n    Refus'd the gold, and did accept the dross.\"\nThis naturally leading her into some reflections on the merits of Mr.\nTrueworth, she could not help wondering by what infatuation she had been\ngoverned when rejecting him, or, what was tantamount to rejecting him,\ntreating him in such a manner as might make him despair of being\naccepted.--'What, though my heart was insensible of love,' said she, 'my\nreason, nay, my very pride, might have influenced me to embrace a\nproposal which would have rendered me the envy of my own sex, and\nexcited the esteem and veneration of the other.' Thinking still more\ndeeply, 'O God!' cried she with vehemence, 'to what a height of\nhappiness might I have been raised! and into what an abyss of\nwretchedness am I now plunged!--Irretrievably undone--married without\nloving or being beloved--lost in my bloom of years to every joy that\ncan make life a blessing!'\nNothing so much sharpens the edge of affliction as a consciousness of\nhaving brought it upon ourselves, to remember that all we could wish\nfor, all that could make us truly happy, was once in our power to be\npossessed of; and wantonly shunning the good that Heaven and fortune\noffered, we headlong run into the ills we mourn, rendering them doubly\ngrievous.\nThis being the case with our heroine, how ought all the fair and young\nto guard against a vanity so fatal to a lady, who, but for that one\nfoible, had been the happiest, as she was in all other respects the most\ndeserving, of her sex! But to return.\nA just sensibility of the errors of her past conduct, joined with some\nother emotions, which the reader may easily guess at, though she as yet\nknew not the meaning of herself, gave her but little repose that night;\nand, pretty early the next morning, she received no inconsiderable\naddition to her perplexities.\nThe time in which Mr. Munden had promised to give his answer to the\nlawyer was now near expired; yet he was as irresolute as ever: loath he\nwas to have the affair between him and his wife made publick, and\nequally loath to comply with her demands. Before he did either, it\ntherefore came into his head to try what effect menaces would produce;\nand accordingly wrote to her in these terms.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     Madam,\n     Though your late behaviour has proved the little affection you have\n     for me, I still retain too much for you to be able to part with\n     you. No! be assured, I never will forego the right that marriage\n     gives me over you--will never yield to live a widower while I am a\n     husband; and, if you return not within four and twenty hours, shall\n     take such measures as the law directs, to force you back to my\n     embraces. By this time to-morrow you may expect to have such\n     company at your levee as you will not be well pleased with, and\n     from whose authority not all your friends can screen you: but, as I\n     am unwilling to expose you, I once more court you to spare yourself\n     this disgrace, and me the pain of inflicting it. I give you this\n     day to consider on what you have to do. The future peace of us both\n     depends on your result; for your own reason ought to inform you,\n     that being brought to me by compulsion will deserve other sort of\n     treatment than such as you might hope to find on returning of your\n     own accord to your much-affronted husband,\n     G. MUNDEN.'\nThis letter very much alarmed both the sister and the brother: the\nformer trembled at the thoughts of seeing herself in the hands of the\nofficers of justice; and the latter could not but be uneasy that a\ndisturbance of this kind should happen in his house. They were just\ngoing to send for Mr. Markland, to consult him on what was to be done,\nwhen that gentleman, whom chance had brought that way, luckily came in.\nHe found Mr. Thoughtless in great discomposure, and Mrs. Munden almost\ndrowned in tears. On being informed of the occasion, 'I see no reason,'\nsaid he gravely, 'for all this: I cannot think that Mr. Munden will put\nin execution what he threatens; at last, not till after I have spoke to\nhim again. I rather think he writes in this manner only to terrify you,\nMadam, into a submission to his will. However,' continued he, after a\npretty long pause, 'to be secure from all danger of an affront this way,\nI think it would be highly proper you should retire to some place where\nhe may not know to find you, till I have once more tried how far he may\nbe prevailed upon to do you justice.'\nThis advice being highly approved of, 'My wife's sister,' resumed he,\n'has a very pleasant and commodious house on the bank of the river on\nthe Surrey side--she takes lodgers sometimes; but at present is without:\nso that, if you resolve to be concealed, you cannot find a more\nconvenient retreat; especially as, it's being so near London, nothing of\nmoment can happen here but what you may be apprized of in little more\nthan an hour.'\nMrs. Munden testifying as much satisfaction at this proposal as a person\nin her circumstances could be capable of feeling, Mr. Markland told her\nthat he was ready to conduct her immediately to the place he mentioned;\nand her brother adding that he would accompany them, and see his sister\nsafe to her new abode, they all set out together on their little voyage;\nMrs. Munden having first given directions to her servants where they\nshould follow her with such things as she thought would be wanted during\nher stay there.\nOn their arrival, they found Mr. Markland had spoken very modestly of\nthe place he recommended: the house was pleasant almost beyond\ndescription, and rendered much more so by the obliging behaviour of its\nowner.\nThey all dined together that day; and, on parting, it was agreed that\nMrs. Munden should send her man every morning to town, in order to bring\nher intelligence of whatever accidents had happened in relation to her\naffairs on the preceding day.\nAs much as this lady had been rejoiced at the kind reception she had met\nwith from her brother under her misfortunes, she was now equally pleased\nat being removed for a time from him, not only because she thought\nherself secure from any insults that might be offered by her husband,\nbut also because this private recess seemed a certain defence against\nthe sight of Mr. Trueworth--a thing she knew not well how to have\navoided in town, without breaking off her acquaintance with Lady Loveit.\nAfter the gentlemen were gone, the sister-in-law of Mr. Markland led her\nfair guest into the garden, which before she had only a cursory view of.\nShe shewed her, among many other things, several curious exotick plants,\nwhich, she told her, she had procured from the nurseries of some persons\nof condition to whom she had the honour to be known: but Mrs. Munden\nbeing no great connoisseur that way, did not take much notice of what\nshe said concerning them; till, coming to the lower end, she perceived a\nlittle wicker-gate. 'To where does this lead?' cried she. 'I will shew\nyou presently, Madam,' replied the other; and, pulling it open, they\nboth entered into a grass-walk, hemmed in on each side with trees, which\nseemed as old as the creation. They had not gone many paces, before an\narbour, erected between two of these venerable monuments of antiquity,\nand overspread with jessamines and honeysuckles, attracted Mrs. Munden's\neyes. 'Oh, how delightful is this!' said she. 'It would have been much\nmore so, Madam, if it had been placed on the other side of the walk,'\nsaid the gentlewoman; 'and, if I live till next spring, will have the\nposition of it altered. You will presently see my reasons for it,'\ncontinued she, 'if you please to turn your eyes a little to the right.'\nMrs. Munden doing as she was desired, had the prospect of a very\nbeautiful garden, decorated with plots of flowers, statues, and trees\ncut in a most elegant manner. 'Does all this belong to you?' demanded\nshe, somewhat surprized. 'No, Madam,' answered the other; 'but they are\npart of the same estate, and, at present, rented by a gentleman of\ncondition, who lives at the next door. The walk we are in is also common\nto us both, each having a gate to enter it at pleasure; though, indeed,\nthey little frequent it, having much finer of their own.' With such like\nchat they beguiled the time, till the evening dew reminded them it was\nbest to quit the open air.\nMrs. Munden passed this night in more tranquillity than she had done\nmany preceding ones: she awoke, however, much sooner than was her\ncustom; and, finding herself less disposed to return to the embraces of\nsleep than to partake that felicity she heard a thousand chearful birds\ntuning their little throats in praise of, she rose, and went down into\nthe garden: the contemplative humour she was in, led her to the arbour\nshe had been so much charmed with the night before; she threw herself\nupon the mossy seat, where scenting the fragrancy of the sweets around\nher, made more delicious by the freshness of the morning's gale, 'How\ndelightful, how heavenly!' said she to herself, 'is this solitude! how\ntruly preferable to all the noisy, giddy pleasures, of the tumultuous\ntown! yet how have I despised and ridiculed the soft sincerity of a\ncountry life!' Then recollecting some discourse she formerly had with\nMr. Trueworth on that subject, 'I wonder,' cried she, 'what Mr.\nTrueworth would say if he knew the change that a little time has wrought\nin me! he would certainly find me now more deserving of his friendship\nthan ever he could think me of his love: but he is ignorant, insensible,\nof my real sentiments; and if Sir Bazil and Lady Loveit should tell him\nwith what abruptness I fled their house at the news of his approach, I\nmust appear in his eyes the most vain, stupid, thankless, creature I\nonce was. But, such is my unhappy situation, that I dare not even wish\nhe should discover what passes in my heart: the just sensibility of his\namiable qualities, and of the services he has done me, which would once\nhave been meritorious in me to have avowed, would now be highly\ncriminal.'\nWith these reflections she took out Mr. Trueworth's picture, which she\nalways carried about her; and, looking on it with the greatest\ntenderness, 'Though I no more must see himself,' said she, 'I may, at\nleast, be allowed to pay the tribute of my gratitude to this dumb\nrepresentative of the man to whom I have been so much obliged.' At this\ninstant, a thousand proofs of love given her by the original of the copy\nin her hand, occurring all at once to her remembrance, tears filled her\neyes, and her breast swelled with involuntary sighs.\nIn this painfully pleasing amusement did she continue for some time; and\nhad, doubtless, done so much longer, if a sudden rustling among the\nleaves behind her, had not made her turn her head to see what had\noccasioned it: but where are the words that can express the surprize,\nthe wild confusion, she was in, when the first glance of her eyes\npresented her with the sight of the real object, whose image she had\nbeen thus tenderly contemplating! She shrieked--the picture dropped\nfrom her hand--the use of her faculties forsook her--she sunk from the\nseat where she was sitting, and had certainly fainted quite away but for\nthe immediate assistance of the person who had caused the extraordinary\nemotions.\nHer fancy, indeed, strong as it was, had formed no visionary\nappearance--it was the very identical Mr. Trueworth whom chance had\nbrought to make the discovery of a secret which, of all things in the\nworld, he had the least suspicion of.\nHe was intimately acquainted with the person to whom the house adjoining\nto that where Mrs. Munden lodged belonged; and, hearing where he was, on\nhis return from Oxfordshire, had come the evening before, intending to\npass a day or two with him in this agreeable recess.\nAs he was never a friend to much sleeping, he rose that morning, and\nwent down into the garden before the greatest part of the family had\nquitted their beds: he saw Mrs. Munden while at too great a distance to\nknow who she was; yet did her air and motion, as she walked, strike him\nwith something which made him willing to see what sort of face belonged\nto so genteel a form. Drawing more near, his curiosity was gratified\nwith a sight he little expected: he was just about to accost her with\nthe salutation of the morning, when she went into the arbour, and seated\nherself in the manner already described. The extreme pensiveness of her\nmind had hindered her from perceiving that any one was near; but the\nlittle covert under which she was placed being open on both sides, he\nhad a full view of every thing she did. Though she was in the most\nnegligent night-dress that could be, she seemed as lovely to him as\never; all his first flames rekindled in his heart, while gazing on her\nwith this uninterrupted freedom: he longed to speak to her, but durst\nnot, lest, by doing so, he should be deprived of the pleasure he now\nenjoyed; till, observing she had something in her hand which she seemed\nto look upon with great attention, and sometimes betrayed agitations he\nhad never seen in her before, he was impatient to discover, if possible,\nthe motive; he therefore advanced as gently as he could towards the back\nof the arbour; which having no wood-work, and the leafy canopy only\nsupported by ozier boughs placed at a good distance from each other, he\nhad a full opportunity of beholding all that the reader has been told.\nBut what was his amazement to find it was his own picture!--that very\npicture, which had been taken from the painter's, was the object of her\nmeditations! He heard her sighs--he saw her lovely hand frequently put\nup to wipe away the tears that fell from her eyes while looking on it;\nhe also saw her, more than once, (though, doubtless, in those moments,\nnot knowing what she did) press the lifeless image to her bosom with the\nutmost tenderness: scarce could he give credit to the testimony of his\nsenses, near as he was to her; he even strained his sight to be more\nsure; and, forgetting all the precautions he had taken, thrust himself\nas far as he was able between the branches of which the arbour was\ncomposed.\nOn perceiving the effect this last action had produced, the gate, though\nnot above twenty paces off, seemed too slow a passage to fly to her\nrelief; and, setting his foot upon a pedestal of a statue, quick as\nthought, or the flash of elemental fire, sprang over the myrtle-hedge\nthat parted the garden from the walk. 'Ah, Madam!' cried he, catching\nher in his arms to hinder her from falling, 'what has the unhappy\nTrueworth done to render his presence so alarming! How have I deserved\nto appear thus dreadful in your eyes!'\nThat admirable presence of mind which Mrs. Munden had shewn on many\noccasions, did not on this entirely leave her: the time he was speaking\nthose few words sufficed to enable her to recollect her scattered\nspirits; and, withdrawing herself from the hold he had taken of her, and\nremoving a little farther on the bench, as if to give him room to sit,\n'Sir,' said she, with a voice pretty well composed, 'the obligations I\nhave to you demand other sort of sentiments than those you seem to\naccuse me of; but I thought myself alone, and was not guarded against\nthe surprize of meeting you in this place.'--'I ought, indeed,' replied\nhe, 'to have been more cautious in my approach, especially as I found\nyou deep in contemplation; which, perhaps, I have been my own enemy by\ninterrupting.'\nTill he spoke in this manner, she was not quite assured how far he had\nbeen witness of her behaviour; but what he now said confirming her of\nwhat she had but feared before, threw her into a second confusion little\ninferior to the former. He saw it--but saw it without that pity he would\nhave felt had it proceeded from any other motive; and, eager to bring\nher to a more full eclaircissement, 'If you really think, Madam,' said\nhe, 'that you have any obligations to me, you may requite them all by\nanswering sincerely to one question. Tell me, I beseech you,' continued\nhe, taking up the picture, which she had neither thought nor opportunity\nto remove from the place where it had fallen; 'resolve me how this\nlittle picture came into your possession?' What was now the condition of\nMrs. Munden! She could neither find any pretence to evade the truth,\nnor fit words to confess it; till Mr. Trueworth repeating his request,\nand vowing he would never leave her till she granted it, 'What need have\nI to answer?' said she, blushing. 'You know it what manner it was taken\nfrom the painter's; and the sight of it in my hand is sufficient to\ninform you of the whole.'\n'Charming declaration!--transporting, ravishing, to thought!' cried he,\nkissing her hand. 'O had I known it sooner, engaged as I then was to one\nwho well deserved my love; could I have guessed Miss Betsy Thoughtless\nwas the contriver of that tender fraud; I know not what revolution might\nhave happened in my heart! the empire you had there was never totally\nextirpated; and kindness might have regained what cruelty had\nlost!'--'Do not deceive yourself, Sir,' said she, interrupting him with\nall the courage she could assume; 'nor mistake that for love which was\nonly the effect of mere gratitude.' These words were accompanied with a\nlook which once would have struck him with the most submissive awe; but\nhe was now too well acquainted with the sentiments she had for him to be\ndeterred by any other outward shew of coldness. 'Call it by what name\nyou please,' cried he, 'so you permit me the continuance of it, and\nvouchsafe me the same favours you bestow on my insensible resemblance.'\nIn speaking this, he threw his arms about her waist, not regarding the\nefforts she made to hinder him, and clasped her to his breast with a\nvehemence which in all his days of courtship to her he never durst\nattempt. 'Forbear, Sir,' said she; 'you know I am not at liberty to be\nentertained with discourses, or with actions, of this nature. Loose me\nthis moment! or be assured, all the kind thoughts I had of you, and on\nwhich you have too much presumed, will be converted into the extremest\nhatred and detestation!' The voice in which she uttered this menace\nconvincing him how much she was in earnest, he let go his hold, removed\nsome paces from her, and beheld her for some moments with a silent\nadmiration. 'I have obeyed you, Madam!' cried he, with a deep sigh; 'you\nare all angel--be all angel still! Far be it from me to tempt you from\nthe glorious height you stand in: yet how unhappy has this interview\nmade me! I love you without daring even to wish for a return! nay, so\nfully has your virtue conquered, that I must love you more for the\nrepulse you have given my too audacious hopes. You may at least pity the\nfate to which I am condemned.'\n'It would be in vain for me,' replied she, in a voice somewhat broken by\nthe inward conflict she sustained, 'to endeavour to conceal what my\ninadvertencies have so fully betrayed to you; and you may assure\nyourself, that I shall think on you with all the tenderness that honour,\nand the duties of my station, will admit. But remember, Sir, I am a\nwife; and, being such, ought never to see you more: in regard,\ntherefore, to my reputation and peace of mind, I must intreat you will\nhenceforth avoid my presence with the same care I will do yours.'\n'Severe as this injunction is,' replied he, 'my soul avows the justice\nof it; and I submit.'--'Farewel, then!' said she, rising from her feet.\n'Oh, farewel!' cried he, and kissed her hand with emotions not to be\nexpressed. 'Farewel for ever!' rejoined she, turning hastily away to\nprevent his seeing the tears with which her eyes were overcharged, and\nin that cruel instant overflowed her cheeks. She advanced with all the\nspeed she could towards the wicker-gate; but, when there, could not\nforbear giving one look behind; and, perceiving he had left the walk,\nand was proceeding through the garden, with folded arms, and a dejected\npace, 'Poor Trueworth!' cried she, and pursued him with her eyes till he\nwas quite out of sight.\nSome readers may, perhaps, blame Mr. Trueworth, as having presumed too\nfar on the discovery of the lady's passion; and others, of a contrary\nway of thinking, laugh at him for being so easily repulsed: but all, in\ngeneral, must applaud the conduct of Mrs. Munden. Till this dangerous\ninstance, she had never had an opportunity of shewing the command she\nhad over herself; and, as Mr. Eastcourt justly says--\n    'Ne'er let the fair-one boast of virtue prov'd,\n    Till she has well refus'd the man she truly lov'd.'\nCHAPTER XXII\n_Is less pleasing than the former_\nAfter this solemn parting between Mr. Trueworth and Mrs. Munden, that\nlady's mind was in too much disorder to think what was become of the\nlittle picture that had occasioned it; till, an hour or two after, the\nmaid of the house came running into the chamber with it in her hand.\n'Does this pretty picture belong to you, Madam?' said she. Mrs. Munden\nstarted; but, soon recovering herself, answered that it did--said that\nit was the picture of her youngest brother--and that she believed she\nmight pull it out of her pocket with her handkerchief, or some how or\nother drop it in the walk. 'Aye, to be sure, it was so,' said the maid;\n'for it was there I found it: as I was going to the pump for some water,\nI saw something that glittered just by the little arbour, on which I ran\nand took it up; but my mistress told me she believed it was yours; for\nshe knew your ladyship was in the walk this morning.'--'I am glad thou\nhast found it,' replied Mrs. Munden; 'for it would have vexed me to the\nheart to have lost it.'--'Aye, to be sure, Madam!' cried she; 'for it is\na sweet picture--your brother is a handsome gentleman--I warrant there\nare a thousand ladies in love with him.' Mrs. Munden could not forbear\nsmiling at the simplicity of the wench; but, willing to be rid of her,\nrewarded her honesty with a crown-piece, and dismissed her.\nShe was rejoiced, indeed, to have this picture once more in her\npossession; not only because some other might have found and kept it,\nbut also because she thought she might indulge herself in looking on it\nwithout any breach of that duty to which she was resolved so strictly to\nadhere. To be secure, however, from a second rencounter with the\noriginal in that place, she kept close in the house, and stirred not out\nof it all the time he was there: but her apprehensions on this score\nwere needless; Mr. Trueworth religiously observed the promise he had\nmade her; and, lest he should be under any temptation to break it while\nso near her, took leave of his friend that same day, and returned to\nLondon; but carried with him sentiments very different from those he had\nbrought down, as will hereafter appear.\nAs to Mrs. Munden, she found that she had no less occasion for exerting\nthe heroine when alone, than when encircled in the arms of Mr.\nTrueworth: the accident which had betrayed the secret of her heart to\nhim had also discovered it to herself. She was now convinced that it was\nsomething more than esteem--than friendship--than gratitude--his merits\nhad inspired her with; she was conscious that, while she most resisted\nthe glowing pressure of his lips, she had felt a guilty pleasure in the\ntouch which had been near depriving her of doing so; and that, though\nshe had resolved never to see him more, it would be very difficult to\nrefrain wishing to be for ever with him.\nThis she thought so highly criminal in herself, that she ought not to\nindulge the remembrance of so dear, so dangerous, an invader of her\nduty; yet when she considered that, merely for her sake, and not through\nthe weak resistance she had made, his own honour had nobly triumphed\nover wild desire in a heart so young and amorous as his, it increased\nthat love and admiration which she in vain endeavoured to subdue: and\nshe could not help crying out, with Calista in the play--\n    'Oh, had I sooner known thy wond'rous virtue,\n    Thy love, thy truth, thou excellent young man!\n    We might have both been happy.'\nBut, to banish as much as possible all those ideas which her nicety of\nhonour made her tremble at, it was her fixed determination to retire\ninto L----e as soon as she had ended her affairs with her husband, and\npass the remainder of her days, where she should never hear the too dear\nname of Trueworth.\nShe did not, therefore, neglect sending her servant to town; but he\nreturned that day, and several succeeding ones, without the least\nintelligence; no letter nor message from Mr. Munden having been left for\nher at her brother's: on which she began to imagine that he never had,\nin reality, intended to put his threats in execution.\nMr. Markland, in the mean time, had been twice to wait upon him; but the\nservants told him that their master was extremely indisposed, and could\nnot be seen: this he looked upon as a feint to put off giving him an\nanswer as he had promised; and both Mr. Thoughtless and his sister were\nof the same opinion when they heard it. Mr. Markland went again and\nagain, however; but was still denied access: near a whole week passing\nover in this manner, Mrs. Munden grew very uneasy, fearing she should be\nable to obtain as little justice as favour from her husband.\nBut, guilty as he had been in other respects, he was entirely innocent\nin this: the force of the agitation he had of late sustained, joined to\nrepeated debauches, had over-heated his blood, and thrown him into a\nvery violent fever, insomuch that in a few days his life was despaired\nof; the whispers of all about him--the looks of the physician that\nattended him--and, above all, what he felt within himself, convincing\nhim of the danger he was in--all his vices, all his excesses, now\nappeared to him such as they truly were, and filled him with a remorse\nwhich he had been but too much addicted to ridicule in others: in fine,\nthe horrors of approaching dissolution, rendered him one of those many\nexamples which daily verify these words of Mr. Dryden--\n     'Sure there are none but fear a future state!\n     And when the most obdurate swear they do not,\n     Their trembling hearts belie their boasting tongues!'\nAmong the number of those faults which presented him with the most\ndireful images, that of the ill-treatment he had given a wife, who so\nlittle deserved it, lay not the least heavy upon his conscience: he sent\nhis servants to Mr. Thoughtless, at whose house he imagined she still\nwas, to intreat he would prevail on her to see him before he died; but\nthat gentleman giving a very slight answer, as believing it all\nartifice, he engaged the apothecary who administered to him, and was\nknown by Mr. Thoughtless, to go on the same errand; on which the brother\nof Mrs. Munden said she was not with him at present, but he would send\nto let her know what had happened. Accordingly, he dispatched one of his\nmen immediately to her with the following billet.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     Dear sister,\n     Mr. Cardiack, the apothecary, assures me that your husband is in\n     fact ill, and in extreme danger; he is very pressing to see you: I\n     will not pretend to advise you what to do on this occasion--you\n     are the best judge; I shall only say that, if you think fit to\n     comply with his request, you must be speedy; for, it seems, it is\n     the opinion of the gentlemen of the faculty, that he is very near\n     his end. I am, dear sister, yours affectionately,\n     T. THOUGHTLESS.'\nNot all the indifference she had for the person of Mr. Munden--not all\nthe resentment his moroseness and ill-nature had excited in her--could\nhinder her from feeling an extreme shock on hearing his life was in\ndanger: she sought for no excuses, either to evade or delay what he\ndesired of her; she went directly to him, equally inclined to do so by\nher compassion, as she thought herself obliged to it by her duty.\nAs she entered the chamber, she met the apothecary coming out: in asking\nhim some questions, though she spoke very low, Mr. Munden thought he\ndistinguished her voice; and cried out, as loud as he was able, 'Is my\nwife here?' On which, approaching the bed, and gently opening one of the\ncurtains, 'Yes, Mr. Munden,' replied she; 'I am come to offer all the\nassistance in my power; and am sorry to find you are in any need of\nit.'--'This is very kind,' said he, and stretched out one of his hands\ntowards her, which she took between hers with a great deal of\ntenderness: 'I have been much to blame,' resumed he; 'I have greatly\nwronged you; but forgive me--if I live, I will endeavour to deserve it.'\n'I hope,' said she, 'Heaven will restore your health, and that we may\nlive together in a manner becoming persons united as we are.'--'Then you\nwill not leave me?' cried he. 'Never,' answered she, 'till your\nbehaviour shall convince me you do not desire my stay.'\nHere he began to make solemn protestations of future amendment; but his\nvoice failing him, through extreme weakness, a deep sigh, and tender\npressure of his cheek to hers, as she leaned her head upon the pillow,\ngave her to understand what more he would have said: on this she assured\nhim she was ready to believe every thing he would have her--intreated\nhim to compose himself, and endeavour to get a little rest. 'In the mean\ntime,' said she, 'I will order things so that I may lie in the same room\nwith you, and quit your presence neither night nor day.'\nHere he pressed his face close to hers again, in token of the\nsatisfaction he felt in hearing what she said; and the nurse who\nattended him that instant presenting him with some things the physician\nhad ordered should be given him about that hour, joined her entreaties\nwith those of Mrs. Munden, that he would try to sleep; to which he made\na sign that he would do so: and, the curtains being drawn, they both\nretired to the farther end of the room.\nAs he lay pretty quiet for a considerable time, Mrs. Munden recollected\nthat there was a thing which friendship and good manners exacted from\nher: she had wrote, the very day before, to Lady Loveit, acquainting her\nwith the motive which had obliged her to quit her brother's house, and\ndesiring she would favour her with a visit, as soon as convenience would\npermit, at the place of her retirement. As she doubted not but the\ngood-nature of this lady would prevail on her to comply with her\nrequest, she could not dispense with sending her an immediate account of\nthe sudden revolution in her affairs, and the accident which had\noccasioned this second removal.\nShe had no sooner dispatched a little billet for this purpose, than the\ngroans of Mr. Munden, testifying that he was awake, drew both her and\nthe nurse again to the bedside: they found him in very great agonies,\nand without the power of speech; the doctor and apothecary were sent for\nin a great hurry; but, before either of them came, the unhappy gentleman\nhad breathed his last.\nMrs. Munden had not affected any thing more in this interview than what\nshe really felt; her virtue and her compassion had all the effect on her\nthat love has in most others of her sex; she had been deeply touched at\nfinding her husband in so deplorable a situation; the tenderness he had\nnow expressed for her, and his contrition for his past faults, made a\ngreat impression on her mind; and the shock of seeing him depart was\ntruly dreadful to her: the grief she appeared in was undissembled--the\ntears she shed unforced; she withdrew into another room; where, shutting\nherself up for some hours, life, death, and futurity, were the subject\nof her meditations.\nCHAPTER XXIII\n_Contains a very brief account of every material occurrence that\nhappened in regard of our fair widow, during the space of a whole year,\nwith some other particulars of less moment_\nMr. Thoughtless was not at home when the news of Mr. Munden's death\narrived; but, as soon as he was informed of it, he went to his sister;\nand, on finding her much more deeply affected at this accident than he\ncould have imagined, pressed her, in the most tender terms, to quit that\nscene of mortality, and return to his house: the persuasions of a\nbrother, who of late had behaved with so much kindness towards her,\nprevailed on her to accept of the invitation; and, having given some\nnecessary orders in regard to the family, was carried away that same\nnight in a chair, with the curtains close drawn.\nShe saw no company, however, till after the funeral; and, when that was\nover, Lady Loveit was the first admitted. As Mrs. Munden was still under\na great dejection of spirits, which was visible in her countenance, 'If\nI did not know you to be the sincerest creature in the world,' said Lady\nLoveit, 'I should take you to be the greatest dissembler in it; for it\nwould be very difficult for any one less acquainted with you, to believe\nyou could be really afflicted at the death of a person whose life\nrendered you so unhappy.'\n'Mistake me not, Lady Loveit,' answered she; 'I do not pretend to lament\nthe death of Mr. Munden, as it deprives me of his society, or as that of\na person with whom I could ever have enjoyed any great share of\nfelicity, even though his life had made good the professions of his last\nmoments: but I lament him as one who was my husband, whom duty forbids\nme to hate while living, and whom decency requires me to mourn for when\ndead.'\n'So, then,' cried Lady Loveit, 'I find you take as much pains to grieve\nfor a bad husband, as those who have the misfortune to lose a good one\ndo to alleviate their sorrows: but, my dear,' continued she, with a more\nserious air, 'I see no occasion for all this. I am well assured that\nyour virtue, and the sweetness of your temper, enabled you to discharge\nall the duties of a wife to Mr. Munden while alive; and with that I\nthink you ought to be content: he is now dead--the covenant between you\nis dissolved--Heaven has released you--and, I hope, forgiven him;\ndecency obliges you to wear black--forbids you to appear abroad for a\nwhole month--and at any publick place of diversion for a much longer\ntime; but it does not restrain you from being easy in yourself, and\nchearful with your friends.'\n'Your ladyship speaks right,' said Mrs. Munden: 'but yet there is a\nshock in death which one cannot presently get over.'--'I grant there\nis,' replied Lady Loveit; 'and if we thought too deeply on it, we should\nfeel all the agonies of that dreadful hour before our time, and become a\nburden to ourselves and to the world.'\nIt is certain, indeed, that the surprize and pity for Mr. Munden's\nsudden and unexpected fate had at the first overwhelmed her soul; yet,\nwhen those emotions were a little evaporated, she rather indulged\naffliction, because she thought it her duty to do so, than endeavoured\nany way to combat with it.\nIt was not, therefore, very difficult to reason her out of a melancholy\nwhich she had in a manner forced upon herself, and was far from being\nnatural to her; and when once convinced that she ought to be easy under\nthis stroke of Providence, became entirely so.\nThe painful task she had imposed upon her mind being over, more\nagreeable ones succeeded: the remembrance of Mr. Trueworth--his\nrecovered love--the knowledge he had of hers--and the consideration that\nnow both of them were in a condition to avow their mutual tenderness\nwithout a crime, could not but transfuse a sensation more pleasing than\nshe had ever before been capable of experiencing.\nIn the mean time, that gentleman passed through a variety of emotions on\nher account; nor will it seem strange he should do so to any one who\ncasts the least retrospect on his former behaviour; he had loved her\nfrom the first moment he beheld her; and had continued to love her for a\nlong series of time with such an excess of passion, that not all his\nreason on her ill-treatment of him, and her supposed unworthiness, was\nscarce sufficient to enable him wholly to desist: a new amour was\nrequisite to divide his wishes--the fondness and artful blandishments of\nMiss Flora served to wean his heart from the once darling object--but\nthere demanded no less than the amiable person, and more amiable temper,\nof Miss Harriot, to drive thence an idea so accustomed to preside. All\nthis, however, as it appeared, did not wholly extinguish the first\nflame; the innocence of the charming Miss Betsy fully cleared up--all\nthe errors of her conduct reformed--rekindled in him an esteem; the\nsight of her, after so many months absence, made the seemingly dead\nembers of desire begin to glow, and, on the discovery of her sentiments\nin his favour, burst forth into a blaze: he was not master of himself in\nthe first rush of so joyous a surprize--he forgot she was married--he\napproached her in the manner the reader has already been told; and for\nwhich he afterwards severely condemned himself, as thinking he ought to\nbe content with knowing she loved him, without putting her modesty to\nthe blush by letting her perceive the discovery he had made.\nAs Lady Loveit, without suspecting the effect which her discourse\nproduced, had been often talking of the ill-treatment she received from\nMr. Munden, and the necessity she had been under of quitting his house,\nthe sincere veneration she now had for her made him sympathize in all\nthe disquiets he was sensible she sustained; but when he heard this\ncruel husband was no more, and, at the same time, was informed in what\nmanner she behaved, both in his last moments, and after his decease,\nnothing, not even his love, could equal his admiration of her virtue and\nher prudence.\nWhat would he not now have given to have seen her! but he knew such a\nthing was utterly impracticable; and to attempt it might lose him all\nthe tenderness she had for him: his impatience, however, would not\nsuffer him to seem altogether passive and unconcerned at an event of so\nmuch moment to the happiness of them both; and he resolved to write, but\nto find terms to express himself so as not to offend either her\ndelicacy, by seeming too presuming, or her tenderness, by a pretended\nindifference, cost him some pains; but, at length, he dictated the\nfollowing little billet.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     Madam,\n     I send you no compliments of condolence; but beg you to be\n     assured, that my heart is too deeply interested in every thing\n     that regards you, to be capable of feeling the least satisfaction\n     while yours remains under any inquietude: all I wish at present is,\n     that you would believe this truth; which, if you do, I know you\n     have too much justice, and too much generosity, to lavish all your\n     commiseration on the insensible dead, but will reserve some part\n     for the living, who stand most in need of it. I dare add no more as\n     yet, than that I am, with an esteem perfect and inviolable, Madam,\n     your most obedient, most devoted, and most faithful servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nThese few lines, perhaps, served more to raise the spirits of Mrs.\nMunden than all she could receive from any other quarter; she\nnevertheless persevered in maintaining the decorum of her condition; and\nas she had resolved to retire into L----e in case of a separation from\nher husband, she thought it most proper to fix her residence in that\nplace in her state of widowhood, at least for the first year of it.\nAccordingly, she wrote to Lady Trusty to acquaint her with her\nintentions, and received an answer such as she expected, full of praises\nfor her conduct in this point, and the most pressing invitations to come\ndown with all the speed she could.\nWhat little business she had in London was soon dispatched, and all was\nready for her quitting it within a month after the death of Mr. Munden:\nplaces for herself and her maid were taken in the stagecoach--all her\nthings were packed up, and sent to the inn; she thought nothing now\nremained but to take leave of Lady Loveit, whom she expected that same\nevening, being the last she was to stay in town; but, near as her\ndeparture was, fortune in the mean time had contrived an accident, which\nput all her fortitude, and presence of mind, to as great a trial as she\nhad ever yet sustained.\nLady Loveit, having got a cold, had complained of some little disorder\nthe day before; and though nothing could be more slight than her\nindisposition, yet, as she was pretty far advanced in her pregnancy, the\ncare of her physician, and the tenderness of Sir Bazil, would not permit\nher by any means to expose herself to the open air.\nMrs. Munden being informed by a messenger from her of what had happened,\nfound herself under an absolute necessity of waiting on her, as it would\nhave been ridiculous and preposterous, as well as unkind, to have\nquitted the town for so long a time without taking leave of a friend\nsuch as Lady Loveit.\nShe could not think of going there without reflecting at the same time\nhow strong a probability there was of meeting Mr. Trueworth; she knew,\nindeed, that he did not live at Sir Bazil's, having heard he had lately\ntaken a house for himself; but she knew also, that his close connection\nwith that family made him seldom let slip a day without seeing them; she\ntherefore prepared herself as well as she was able for such an\ninterview, in case it should so happen.\nThat gentleman had dined there; and on finding Lady Loveit was forbid\ngoing abroad, and Sir Bazil unwilling to leave her alone, had consented\nto stay with them the whole day: they were at ombre when Mrs. Munden\ncame, but on her entrance threw aside the cards; Lady Loveit received\nher according to the familiarity between them, and Sir Bazil with little\nless freedom; but Mr. Trueworth saluted her with a more distant air. 'I\nhad not the honour, Madam,' said he, 'to make you any compliments on\neither of the great changes you have undergone; but you have always had\nmy best wishes for your prosperity.'\nMrs. Munden, who had pretty well armed herself for this encounter,\nreplied with a voice and countenance tolerably well composed, 'Great\nchanges indeed, Sir, have happened to us both in a short space of\ntime.'--'There have so, Madam,' resumed he; 'but may the next you meet\nwith bring with it lasting happiness!' She easily comprehended the\nmeaning of these words, but made no answer, being at loss what to say,\nwhich might neither too much embolden, nor wholly discourage, the motive\nwhich dictated them.\nAfter this, the conversation turned on various subjects, but chiefly on\nthat of Mrs. Munden's going out of town: Mr. Trueworth said little; Lady\nLoveit, though she expressed an infinite deal of sorrow for the loss of\nso amiable a companion, could not forbear applauding her resolution in\nthis point; but Sir Bazil would fain have been a little pleasant on the\noccasion, if the grave looks of Mrs. Munden had not put his raillery to\nsilence. Perceiving the day was near shut in, she rose to take her\nleave; it was in vain that they used all imaginable arguments to\npersuade her to stay supper; she told them, that as the coach went out\nso early, it was necessary for her to take some repose before she\nentered upon the fatigue of her journey; Lady Loveit on this allowed the\njustice of her plea, and said no more.\nThe parting of these ladies was very moving; they embraced again and\nagain, promised to write frequently to each other, and mingled tears as\nthey exchanged farewels. Sir Bazil, who had really a very high esteem\nfor her, was greatly affected, in spite of the gaiety of his temper, on\nbidding her adieu; and happy was it for Mrs. Munden that the concern\nthey were both in hindered them from perceiving that confusion, that\ndistraction of mind, which neither she nor Mr. Trueworth were able to\nrestrain totally the marks of as he approached to make her those\ncompliments, which might have been expected on such an occasion, even\nfrom a person the most indifferent; his tongue, indeed, uttered no more\nthan words of course, but his lips trembled while saluting her; nor\ncould she in that instant withhold a sigh, which seemed to rend her very\nheart: their mutual agitations were, in fine, too great not to be\nvisible to each other, and left neither of them any room to doubt of the\nextreme force of the passion from which they sprang.\nThe motive which had made her refuse staying supper at Sir Bazil's, was\nto prevent Mr. Trueworth from having any pretence to wait upon her home,\nnot being able to answer how far she could support her character, if\nexposed to the tender things he might possibly address her with on such\nan opportunity; and she now found, by what she had felt on parting with\nhim, how necessary the precaution was that she had taken.\nAfter a night less engrossed by sleep than meditation, she set out for\nL----e, where she arrived without any ill accident to retard her journey;\nand was received by Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty with all those\ndemonstrations of joy, which she had reason to expect from the\nexperienced friendship of those worthy persons.\nAs this was the place of her nativity, and her father had always lived\nthere in very great estimation, the house of Lady Trusty at first was\nthronged with persons of almost all conditions, who came to pay their\ncompliments to her fair guest; and as no circumstance, no habit, could\ntake from her those charms which nature had bestowed upon her, her\nbeauty and amiable qualities soon became the theme of conversation\nthrough the whole country.\nShe was not insensible of the admiration she attracted; but was now far\nfrom being elated with it: all the satisfaction she took out of her dear\nLady Trusty's company was in reading some instructive or entertaining\nbook, and in the letters of those whom she knew to be her sincere\nfriends; but she had not been much above two months in the country\nbefore she received one from a quarter whence she had not expected it.\nIt was from Mr. Trueworth, and contained as follows.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     Madam,\n     I have the inexpressible pleasure to hear that you are well by\n     those whom you favour with your correspondence; but, as they may\n     not think any mention of me might be agreeable to you, I take the\n     liberty myself to acquaint you that I live; and flatter myself that\n     information is sufficient to make you know that I live only to be,\n     with the most firm attachment, Madam, your eternally devoted\n     servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nThese few lines assuring her of his love, and at the same time of his\nrespect, by his not presuming once to mention the passion of which he\nwas possessed, charmed her to a very high degree, and prepared her heart\nfor another, which, in a few weeks after, he found a pretence for\nsending to her. It contained these lines.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     I am now more unhappy than ever; Lady Loveit is gone out of town,\n     and I have no opportunity of hearing the only sounds that can bless\n     my longing ears: in pity, therefore, to my impatience, vouchsafe to\n     let me know you are in health--say that you are well--it is all I\n     ask. One line will cost you little pains, and be no breach of that\n     decorum to which you so strictly adhere; yet will be a sovereign\n     specifick to restore the tranquillity of him who is, with an\n     unspeakable regard, Madam, your unalterable, and devoted servant,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nMrs. Munden found this epistle so reasonable, and withal couched in such\nrespectful terms, that she ought not to refuse compliance with it; and,\naccordingly, wrote to him in this manner.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     The generous concern you express for my welfare demands a no less\n     grateful return. As to my health, it is no way impaired since I\n     left London; nor can my mind labour under any discomposure, while\n     my friends continue to think kindly of me. I am, with all due\n     respect, Sir, yours, &c.\n     B. MUNDEN.'\nUpon this obliging answer he ventured to write again, intreating her to\nallow a correspondence with him by letters while she remained in L----e;\nurging, that this was a favour she could not reasonably deny to any\nfriend who desired it with the same sincerity she must be convinced he\ndid.\nMrs. Munden paused a little; but finding that neither her virtue nor her\nreputation could any way suffer by granting this request, her heart\nwould not permit her to deny both him and herself so innocent a\nsatisfaction; and by the next post gave him the permission he petitioned\nfor, in these words.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     I should be unjust to myself, as well as ungrateful to the\n     friendship with which you honour me, should I reject any proofs of\n     it that are consistent with my character to receive and to return:\n     write, therefore, as often as you think proper; and be assured I\n     shall give your letters all the welcome you can wish, provided they\n     contain nothing unsuitable to the present condition of her who is,\n     as much as you ought to expect, Sir, yours, &c.\n     B. MUNDEN.'\nAfter this, an uninterrupted intercourse of letters continued between\nthem for the whole remainder of the year. Mr. Trueworth was for the most\npart extremely cautious in what manner he expressed himself; but\nwhenever, as it would sometimes so happen, the warmth of his passion\nmade him transgress the bounds which had been prescribed him, she would\nnot seem to understand, because she had no mind to be offended.\nThus equally maintaining that reserve which she thought the situation\nshe was in demanded, and at the same time indulging the tenderness of\nher heart for a man who so well deserved it, she enjoyed that sweet\ncontentment which true love alone has the power of bestowing.\nCHAPTER XXIV\n_Is the last; and, if the author's word may be taken for it, the best_\nInnocent and pure as the inclinations of Mrs. Munden were, it is highly\nprobable, however, that she was not sorry to see the time arrive which\nwas to put an end to that cruel constraint her charming lover had been\nso longer under; and, while it gave him leave to declare the whole\nfervency of the passion he was possessed of, allowed her also to confess\nher own without a blush.\nMr. Trueworth, who had kept an exact account of the time, contrived it\nso that a letter from him should reach her hands the very next day after\nthat in which she was to throw off her mourning weeds. It was in these\nterms he now wrote.\n     'To Mrs. Munden.\n     Madam,\n     The year of my probation is expired--I have now fully performed the\n     painful penance you enjoined; and you must expect me shortly at\n     your feet, to claim that recompence which my submission has in some\n     measure merited. You cannot now, without an injustice contrary to\n     your nature, forbid me to approach you with my vows of everlasting\n     love; nor any longer restrain my impatient lips from uttering the\n     languishments of my adoring heart: nor can I now content myself\n     with telling you, at the distance of so many miles, how very dear\n     you are to me. No! you must also read the tender declarations in my\n     eyes, and hear it in my sighs. The laws of tyrant custom have been\n     fulfilled in their most rigorous forms; and those of gentler love,\n     may, sure, demand an equal share in our obedience. Fain would my\n     flattering hopes persuade me that I shall not find you a too\n     stubborn rebel to that power, to whose authority all nature yields\n     a willing homage, and that my happiness is a thing of some\n     consequence to you. If I am too presuming, at least forgive me; but\n     let your pen assure me you do so by the return of the post; till\n     when I am, with a mixture of transport and anxiety, Madam, your\n     passionately devoted, and most faithful adorer,\n     C. TRUEWORTH.'\nThough this was no more than Mrs. Munden had expected, it diffused\nthrough her whole frame a glow of satisfaction unknown to those who do\nnot love as she did: she thought, indeed, as well as he, that there was\nno need of continuing that cruel constraint she so long had imposed upon\nherself; and hesitated not if she should acknowledge what he before had\nnot the least cause to doubt. The terms in which she expressed herself\nwere these.\n     'To Charles Trueworth, Esq.\n     I know there is a great share of impatience in the composition of\n     your sex, and wonder not at yours--much less have I any pretence to\n     excuse you of presumption, as you are too well acquainted with the\n     just sensibility I have of your merits not to expect all the marks\n     of it that an honourable passion can require. An attempt to conceal\n     my heart from you will be vain--you saw the inmost recesses of it\n     at a time when you should most have been a stranger there: but what\n     was then my shame to have discovered, is now my glory to avow; and\n     I scruple not to confess, that whatever makes your happiness will\n     confirm mine. But I must stop here, or, when I see you, shall have\n     nothing left to add in return for the pains so long a journey will\n     cost you. Let no anxieties, however, render the way more tedious;\n     but reflect that every step will bring you still nearer to a\n     reception equal to your wishes, from her who is, with an unfeigned\n     sincerity, yours &c.\n     B. MUNDEN.'\nThis was the first love-letter she had ever wrote; and it must be owned\nthat the passion she was inspired with had already made her a pretty\ngood proficient that way: but though the prudish part of the sex may\nperhaps accuse her of having confessed too much, yet those of a more\nreasonable way of thinking will be far from pronouncing sentence against\nher--the person of Mr. Trueworth--his admirable endowments--the services\nhe had done her, might well warrant the tenderness she had for him--his\nbirth, his estate, his good character, and her own experience of his\nmany virtues, sufficiently authorized her acceptance of his offers; and\nit would have been only a piece of idle affectation in her to have gone\nabout to have concealed her regard for a person whom so many reasons\ninduced her to marry, especially as chance had so long before betrayed\nto him her inclinations in his favour.\nThus fully justified within herself, and assured of being so hereafter\nto all her friends, and to the world in general, she indulged the most\npleasing ideas of her approaching happiness, without the least mixture\nof any of those inquietudes, which pride, folly, ill-fortune, or\nill-humour, too frequently excite, to poison all the sweets of love and\nimbitter the most tender passion.\nAs she had not made Lady Trusty the confidante of any part of what had\npassed between her and Mr. Trueworth; deterred at first through shame,\nand afterwards by the uncertainty of his persisting in his addresses,\nthat lady would have been greatly surprized at the extraordinary\nvivacity which now on a sudden sparkled in her eyes, if there had not\nbeen other motives besides the real one by which she might account for\nit.\nMrs. Munden had received intelligence that Lady Loveit was safely\ndelivered of a son and heir; and, what was yet more interesting to her,\nthat Mr. Thoughtless was married to a young lady of a large fortune, and\nhonourable family: letters also came from Mr. Francis Thoughtless,\nacquainting them that he had obtained leave from his colonel to leave\nthe regiment for two whole months; and that, after the celebration of\nhis brother's nuptials, he would pass the remainder of his furlow with\nthem in L----e.\nThese, indeed, were the things which at another time would have highly\ndelighted the mind of Mrs. Munden; but at this her thoughts were so\nabsorbed in Mr. Trueworth, whom she now every hour expected, that\nfriendship, and even that natural affection which had hitherto been so\ndistinguishable a part of her character, could not boast of but a second\nplace.\nLady Trusty observing her one day in a more than ordinarily chearful\nhumour, took that opportunity of discoursing with her on a matter which\nhad been in her head for some time. 'Mr. Munden has been dead a year,'\nsaid she; 'you have paid all that regard to his memory which could have\nbeen expected from you, even for a better husband; and cannot now be\nblamed for listening to any offers that may be made to your\nadvantage.'--'Offers, Madam!' cried Mrs. Munden; 'on what score does\nyour ladyship mean?'--'What others can you suppose,' relied she gravely,\n'than those of marriage? There are two gentleman who have solicited both\nSir Ralph and myself to use our best interest with you in their behalf;\nneither of them are unworthy your consideration; the one is Mr.\nWoodland, whom you have frequently seen here; his estate at present,\nindeed, is no more than eight hundred pounds a year, but he has great\nexpectations from a rich uncle: the other is our vicar, who, besides two\nlarge benefices, has lately had a windfall of near a thousand pounds a\nyear by the death of his elder brother; and it is the opinion of most\npeople, that he will be made a bishop on the first vacancy.'\n'So much the worse, Madam,' said the spiritous Mrs. Munden; 'for if he\ntakes the due care he ought to do of his diocese, he will have little\ntime to think of his wife: as to Mr. Woodland, indeed, I have but one\nobjection to make, but that is a main one; I do not like him, and am\nwell assured I never can. I therefore beg your ladyship,' continued she,\nwith an air both serious and disdainful, 'to advise them to desist all\nthoughts of me on the account you mention, and to let them know I did\nnot come to L----e to get a husband, but to avoid all impertinent\nproposals of that kind.'\n'It is not in L----e,' replied Lady Trusty, a little piqued at these last\nwords, 'but in London you are to expect proposals deserving this\ncontempt: here are no false glosses to deceive or impose on the\nunderstanding--here are no pretenders to birth, or to estate; every one\nis known for what he really is; and none will presume to make his\naddresses to a woman without a consciousness of being qualified to\nreceive the approbation of her friends.'\n'I will not dispute with your ladyship on this point,' replied Mrs.\nMunden: 'I grant there is less artifice in the country than the town,\nand should scarce make choice of a man that has been bred, and chuses to\nreside always, in the latter; but Madam, it is not the place of\nnativity, nor the birth, nor the estate--but the person, and the temper\nof the man, can make me truly happy: I shall always pay a just regard to\nthe advice of my friends, and particularly to your ladyship; but as I\nhave been once a sacrifice to their persuasions, I hope you will have\nthe goodness to forgive me when I say, that if ever I become a wife\nagain, love, an infinity of love, shall be the chief inducement.'\n'On whose side?' cried Lady Trusty hastily. 'On both, I hope, Madam!'\nreplied Mrs. Munden with a smile.\n'Take care, my dear,' rejoined the other; 'for if you should find\nyourself deceived in that of the man, your own would only serve to\nrender you the more unhappy.'\nThe fair widow was about to make some answer, which perhaps would have\nlet Lady Trusty into the whole secret of her heart, if the conversation\nhad not been broke off by a very loud ringing of the bell at the great\ngate of the courtyard before the house; on which, as it was natural for\nthem, they both ran to the window to see what company were coming.\nThe first object that presented itself to them was a very neat running\nfootman, who, on the gate being opened, came tripping up towards the\nhouse, and was immediately followed by a coach, with one gentleman in\nit, drawn by six prancing horses, and attended by two servants in rich\nliveries, and well mounted. Lady Trusty was somewhat surprized, as she\nnever had seen either the person in the coach, or the equipage, before;\nbut infinitely more so when Mrs. Munden, starting from the window in the\ngreatest confusion imaginable, cried, 'Madam, with your leave--I will\nspeak to him in the parlour!'--'Speak to whom?' said Lady Trusty. The\nother had not power to answer and was running out of the room, when a\nservant of Sir Ralph's came up to tell her a gentleman, who called\nhimself Trueworth, was come to wait on her. 'I know--I know!' cried she,\n'conduct him into the parlour.'\nPrepared as she was by the expectation of his arrival, all her presence\nof mind was not sufficient to enable her to stand the sudden rush of joy\nwhich on sight of him bursted in upon her heart: nor was he less\novercome--he sprang into her arms, which of themselves opened to receive\nhim; and, while he kissed away the tears that trickled from her eyes,\nhis own bedewed her cheeks. 'Oh, have I lived to see you thus!' cried\nhe, 'thus ravishingly kind!'--'And have I lived,' rejoined she, 'to\nreceive these proofs of affection from the best and most ill-used of\nmen! Oh, Trueworth! Trueworth!' added she, 'I have not merited this from\nyou.'--'You merit all things!' said he; 'let us talk no more of what is\npast, but tell me that you now are mine; I came to make you so by the\nirrevocable ties of love and law, and we must now part no more! Speak,\nmy angel--my first, my last, charmer!' continued he, perceiving she was\nsilent, blushed, and hung down her head; 'let those dear lips confirm\nmy happiness, and say the time is come that you will be all mine.' The\ntrembling fair now, having gathered a little more assurance, raised her\neyes from the earth, and looking tenderly on him, 'You know you have my\nheart,' cried she; 'and cannot doubt my hand.'\nAfter this a considerable time was passed in all those mutual\nendearments which honour and modesty would permit, without Mrs. Munden\nonce remembering the obligations she was under of relieving Lady Trusty\nfrom the consternation she had left her in.\nThat lady had, indeed, heard her servant say who was below; but as Mrs.\nMunden had never mentioned the name of Mr. Trueworth the whole time she\nhad been with her, and had not any suspicion of the correspondence\nbetween them, much less could have the least notion of her affection for\na gentleman whom she had once refused, in spite of the many advantages\nan alliance with him offered, nothing could be more astonishing to her\nthan this visit, and the disorder with which Mrs. Munden went down to\nreceive it.\nShe was still ruminating on an event which appeared so extraordinary to\nher, when the now happy lovers entered the room, and discovered, by\ntheir countenances, some part of what she wished to know: 'I beg leave,\nMadam,' said Mrs. Munden, 'to introduce to your ladyship a gentleman\nwhose name and character you are not unacquainted with, Mr. Trueworth.'\n'I am, indeed, no stranger to both,' replied Lady Trusty, advancing to\nreceive him, 'nor to the respect they claim:' he returned this\ncompliment with a politeness which was natural to him; and, after they\nwere seated, her ladyship beginning to express the satisfaction she felt\nin seeing a gentleman of whose amiable qualities she had so high an\nidea, 'Your ladyship does me too much honour,' said he; 'but I fear you\nwill repent this goodness, when you shall find I am come with an intent\nto rob you of a companion who, I know, is very dear to you.'\n'If you should succeed in the robbery you mention,' answered she,\nsmiling, 'you will make me ample atonement for it by the pleasure you\nwill give me in knowing what I have lost is in such good hands.'\nMr. Trueworth had no time to make any reply to these obliging words; Sir\nRalph, who had dined abroad, came in that instant, not a little\nsurprized to find so gay an equipage, and altogether unknown to him,\nbefore his door; but on his lady's acquainting him with the name of\ntheir new guest, welcomed him with a complaisance not at all inferior\nto what she had shewn. There requires little ceremony between persons of\ngood-breeding to enter into a freedom of conversation; and the good old\nbaronet was beginning to entertain Mr. Trueworth with some discourses,\nwhich at another time would have been very agreeable to him; but that\nobedient lover having undertaken, in order to save the blushes of his\nfair mistress, to make them fully sensible of the motive which had\nbrought him into L----e, delayed the performance no longer than was\nnecessary to do it without abruptness.\nMrs. Munden, who, in desiring he should break the matter, had not meant\nhe should do it suddenly, or in her presence, looked like the sun just\nstarting from a cloud all the time he was speaking, and was ready to die\nwith shame; when Sir Ralph said, that since all things were concluded\nbetween them, and there was no need for farther courtship, he could not\nsee any reason why their marriage should not be immediately compleated:\nbut Lady Trusty, in compassion to her fair friend's confusion, opposed\nthis motion. The next day after the succeeding one was, however,\nappointed without any shew of reluctance on the side of Mrs. Munden, and\nthe inexpressible satisfaction of Mr. Trueworth.\nHe had lain the night before at an inn about eight miles short of Sir\nRalph's seat; and, as he had no acquaintance either with him or his\nlady, had intended to make that his home during his stay in the country:\nbut Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty would not consent to his departure; and\nall he could obtain from them was, permission to send back his coach,\nwith one servant to take care of the horses.\nNo proposals having yet been made concerning a settlement for Mrs.\nMunden, by way of dowry, Mr. Trueworth took Sir Ralph aside the next\nmorning, and desired he would send for a lawyer, which he immediately\ndid--a gentleman of that profession happening to live very near; and, on\nhis coming, received such instructions from Mr. Trueworth for drawing up\nthe writings, as convinced Sir Ralph both of the greatness of his\ngenerosity, and the sincerity of his love, to the lady he was about to\nmake his wife.\nExpedition having been recommended to the lawyer, he returned soon\nafter dinner with an instrument drawn up in so judicious a manner,\nthat it required not the least alteration. While Sir Ralph and Mr.\nTrueworth were locked up with him in order to examine it, Mrs.\nMunden received no inconsiderable addition to the present satisfaction\nof her mind by the arrival of her brother Frank. After the first\nwelcome being given--'You are come, captain,' said Lady Trusty, 'just\ntime enough to be a witness of your sister's marriage, which is to be\ncelebrated to-morrow.'--'Marriage!' cried he; 'and without acquainting\neither of her brothers with her intentions! But I hope,' continued he,\n'it is not to disadvantage, as your ladyship seems not displeased at\nit?'--'I assure you, captain,' resumed Lady Trusty, 'I knew nothing of\nthe affair till yesterday, nor had ever seen before the gentleman your\nsister has made choice of: but love and destiny,' added she, 'are not to\nbe resisted.' These words, and the serious air she assumed in speaking\nthem, giving him cause to fear his sister was going to throw herself\naway, he shook his head, and seemed in a good deal of uneasiness; but\nhad not an opportunity to testify what he felt any otherwise than by his\nlooks; Sir Ralph and Mr. Trueworth in that instant entering the room.\nThe extreme surprize he was in at the sight of the latter, was such as\nprevented him from paying his respects to either in the manner he would\nhave done if more master of himself; but Mr. Trueworth, guessing the\nemotions of his mind, locked him in his arms, saying, 'Dear Frank! I\nshall at last be so happy as to call you brother.'--'Heavens! is it\npossible?' cried he. 'Am I awake, or is this illusion!' Then running to\nMrs. Munden, 'Sister,' said he, 'is what I hear a real fact? Are you,\nindeed, to be married to Mr. Trueworth?'--'You hear I am,' answered she,\nsmiling, 'and hear it from a mouth not accustomed to deceit.' He then\nflew to Mr. Trueworth, crying, 'My dear, dear Trueworth! I little hoped\nthis honour!' Then, turning to Lady Trusty, 'Oh, Madam!' said he, 'how\nagreeably have you deceived me!'--'I knew it would be so,' replied she;\n'but I told you nothing but the truth.'\nThe extravagance of the young captain's joy being a little over, Mr.\nTrueworth presented Mrs. Munden with the parchment he had received from\nthe lawyer. 'What is this?' demanded she. 'Take it, take it!' cried Sir\nRalph; 'it is no less than a settlement of eight hundred pounds a year\non you in case of accidents.'--'I accept it, Sir,' said Mrs. Munden to\nMr. Trueworth, 'as a fresh proof of your affection: but Heaven forbid I\nshould ever live to receive any other advantage from it.' He kissed her\nhand with the most tender transports on these obliging words; after\nwhich they all seated themselves: and never was there a joy more perfect\nand sincere than what each of these worthy company gave demonstrations\nof in their respective characters. The next morning compleated the\nwishes of the enamoured pair, and the satisfaction of their friends.\nAn account of this event was dispatched the next post to all who had any\nwelfare in the interest of the new-wedded lovers. Mr. Thoughtless,\nthough very much engrossed by his own happiness, could not but rejoice\nin the good fortune of his sister. Sir Bazil, who, since his thorough\nknowledge of Mrs. Munden, had a high esteem of her, was extremely glad;\nbut his lady was warm even to an excess in her congratulations: in fine,\nthere were few of her acquaintance who did not in some measure take part\nin her felicity.\nThus were the virtues of our heroine (those follies that had defaced\nthem being fully corrected) at length rewarded with a happiness retarded\nonly till she had rendered herself wholly worthy of receiving it.\nTranscriber's Notes:\nArchaic spellings have been retained. Obvious typesetting errors have\nbeen corrected and inconsistencies in punctuation and hyphenation have\nbeen standardized.", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless\n"},
{"source_document": "", "creation_year": 1736, "culture": " English\n", "content": "Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Sheila Vogtmann and PG Distributed\nProofreaders\n[Transcriber's note: The spelling inconsistencies of the original have\nbeen retained in this etext.]\nTHE\n_FORTUNATE FOUNDLINGS_:\nBEING THE\nGENUINE HISTORY\nOF\n_Colonel_ M----RS, _and his Sister,_\n_Madam_ DU P----Y, _the Issue of\nthe Hon_. CH----ES M----RS, _Son of the\nlate Duke of_ R---- L----D.\nCONTAINING\nMany wonderful ACCIDENTS that befel them in their TRAVELS, and\ninterspersed with the CHARACTERS and ADVENTURES of SEVERAL PERSONS of\n_Condition_, in the most polite Courts of _Europe_.\n_The Whole calculated for the Entertainment and Improvement of the Youth\nof both Sexes_.\n_LONDON_:\nM,DCC,XLIV.\nTHE\nPREFACE.\n_The many Fictions which have been lately imposed upon the World, under\nthe specious Titles of_ Secret Histories, Memoirs, &c. &c. _have given\nbut too much room to question the Veracity of every Thing that has the\nleast Tendency that way: We therefore think it highly necessary to\nassure the Reader, that he will find nothing in the following Sheets,\nbut what has been collected from_ Original Letters, Private Memorandums,\n_and the_ Accounts _we have been favoured with from the Mouths of\nPersons too deeply concerned in many of the_ chief Transactions _not to\nbe perfectly acquainted with the Truth, and of too much Honour and\nIntegrity to put any false Colours upon it_.\n_The Adventures are not so long passed as to be wholly forgotten by\nmany_ Living Witnesses, _nor yet so recent as to give any Reason to\nsuspect us of Flattery in the Relation given of them, the Motive of\ntheir Publication being only to_ encourage Virtue _in both Sexes, by\nshowing the Amiableness of it in_ real Characters. _And if it be true\n(as certainly it is) that_ Example has more Efficacy than_ Precept, _we\nmay be bold to say there are few fairer, or more worthy Imitation.--The\nSons and Daughters of the greatest Families may give additional Lustre\nto their Nobility, by forming themselves by the Model here presented to\nthem; and those of lower Extraction, attain Qualities to attone for what\nthey want in Birth:--So that we flatter ourselves this Undertaking will\nnot fail of receiving the Approbation of all who wish well to a\nReformation of Manners, and more especially those who have Youth under\ntheir Care.--As for such who may take it up merely as an Amusement, it\nis possible they will find something, which, by interesting their\nAffections, may make them better without designing to be so.--Either way\nwill fully recompense the Pains taken in the compiling by_\n_The_ EDITORS.\nTHE CONTENTS.\nCHAP. I.\n_Contains the Manner in which a Gentleman found two Children: His\nBenevolence towards them, and what kind of Affection he bore to them as\nthey grew up; with the Departure of one of them to the Army_.\nCHAP. II.\n_Relates the Offers made by Dorilaus to Louisa, and the Manner of her\nreceiving them_.\nCHAP. III.\n_Dorilaus continues his Importunities, with some unexpected Consequences\nthat attended them_.\nCHAP. IV.\n_Louisa becomes acquainted with a Lady of Quality, Part of whose\nAdventures are also related, and goes to travel with her_.\nCHAP. V.\n_Horatio's Reception by the Officers of the Army: His Behaviour in the\nBattle: His being taken Prisoner by the French: His Treatment among\nthem, and many other Particulars_.\nCHAP. VI.\n_Describes the Masquerade at the Dutchess of Maine's: The Characters and\nIntrigues of several Persons of Quality who were there: The odd\nBehaviour of a Lady in regard to Horatio; and Charlotta's\nSentiments upon it_.\nCHAP. VII.\n_An Explanation of the foregoing Adventure, with a Continuation of the\nIntrigues of some French Ladies, and the Policy of Mademoiselle Coigney\nin regard of her Brother_.\nCHAP. VIII.\n_The parting of Horatio and Mademoiselle Charlotta, and what happened\nafter she left St. Germains_.\nCHAP. IX.\n_A second Separation between Horatio and Charlotta, with some other\nOccurrences_.\nCHAP X.\n_The Reasons that induced Horatio to leave France: with the Chevalier\nSt. George's Behaviour on knowing his Resolution. He receives an\nunexpected Favour from the Baron de Palfoy_.\nCHAP XI.\n_Horatio arrives at Rheines, finds Means to see Mademoiselle Charlotta,\nand afterwards pursues his Journey to Poland_.\nCHAP. XII.\n_Continuation of the Adventures of Louisa: Her quitting Vienna with\nMelanthe, and going to Venice, with some Accidents that there\nbefel them_.\nCHAP. XIII.\n_Louisa finds herself very much embarrassed by Melanthe's imprudent\nBehaviour. Monsieur du Plessis declares an honourable Passion for her:\nHer Sentiments and Way of acting on this Occasion_.\nCHAP. XIV.\n_The base Designs of the Count de Bellfleur occasion a melancholy Change\nin Louisa's Way of Life: The generous Behaviour of Monsieur du Plessis\non that Occasion_.\nCHAP. XV.\n_Louisa is in Danger of being ravished by the Count de Bellfleur; is\nprovidentially rescued by Monsieur du Plessis, with several other\nParticulars_.\nCHAP. XVI\n_The Innkeeper's Scruples oblige Louisa to write to Melanthe: Her\nBehaviour on the Discovery of the Count's Falshood. Louisa changes her\nResolution, and goes to Bolognia._\nCHAP. XVII.\n_Horatio arrives at Warsaw; sees the Coronation of Stanislaus and his\nQueen: His Reception from the King of Sweden: His Promotion: Follows\nthat Prince in all his Conquests thro' Poland, Lithuania and Saxony. The\nStory of Count Patkull and Madame de Eusilden._\nCHAP. XVIII\n_King Stanislaus quits Alranstadt to appease the Troubles In Poland:\nCharles XII. gives Laws to the Empire: A Courier arrives from Paris:\nHoratio receives Letters, which give him great Surprize._\nCHAP. XIX.\n_The King of Sweden leaves Saxony, marches into Lithuania, meets with an\nInstance of Russian Brutality, drives the Czar out of Grodno, and\npursues him to the Borysthenes. Horatio, with others, is taken Prisoner\nby the Russians, and carried to Petersburg, where he suffers the\nextremest Miseries._\nCHAP. XX.\n_The Treachery of a Russian Lady to her Friend: Her Passion for Horatio:\nThe Method he took to avoid making any Return, and some other\nentertaining Occurrences._\nCHAP. XXI.\n_The Prisoners Expectations raised: A terrible Disappointment: Some of\nthe chief carried to Prince Menzikoff's Palace: Their Usage there:\nHoratio set at Liberty, and the Occasion_.\nCHAP. XXII.\n_What befel Louisa in the Monastery: The Stratagem she put in Practice\nto get out of it: Her Travels cross Italy, and Arrival at Paris_.\nCHAP. XXIII.\n_Shews by what Means Louisa came to the Knowledge of her Parents, with\nother Occurrences_.\nCHAP. XXIV.\n_The History of Dorilaus and Matilda, with other Circumstances very\nimportant to Louisa_.\nCHAP. XXV.\n_Monsieur du Plessis arrives at Paris: His Reception from Dorilaus and\nLouisa: The Marriage agreed upon_.\nCHAP. XXVI.\n_The Catastrophe of the Whole_.\nTHE FORTUNATE FOUNDLINGS.\nCHAP. I.\n_Contains the manner in which a gentleman found children: his\nbenevolence towards them, and what kind of affection he bore to them as\nthey grew up. With the departure of one of them to the army_.\nIt was in the ever memorable year 1688, that a gentleman, whose real\nname we think proper to conceal under that of Dorilaus, returned from\nvisiting most of the polite courts of Europe, in which he had passed\nsome time divided between pleasure and improvement. The important\nquestion if the throne were vacated or not, by the sudden departure of\nthe unfortunate king James, was then upon the tapis; on which, to avoid\ninteresting himself on either side, he forbore coming to London, and\ncrossed the country to a fine feat he had about some forty miles\ndistant, where he resolved to stay as privately as he could, till the\ngreat decision should be made, and the public affairs settled in such a\nmanner as not to lay him under a necessity of declaring his sentiments\nupon them.\nHe was young and gay, loved magnificence and the pomp of courts, and was\nfar from being insensible of those joys which the conversation of the\nfair sex affords; but had never so much enslaved his reason to any one\npleasure, as not to be able to refrain it. Hunting and reading were very\nfavourite amusements with him, so that the solitude he now was in was\nnot at all disagreeable or tedious to him, tho' he continued in it\nsome months.\nA little time before his departure an accident happened, which gave him\nan opportunity of exercising the benevolence of his disposition; and,\ntho' it then seemed trivial to him, proved of the utmost consequence to\nhis future life, as well as furnished matter for the following pages.\nAs he was walking pretty early one morning in his garden, very intent on\na book he had in his hand, his meditations were interrupted by an\nunusual cry, which seemed at some distance; but as he approached a\nlittle arbour, where he was sometimes accustomed to sit, he heard more\nplain and distinct, and on his entrance was soon convinced whence it\nproceeded.\nJust at the foot of a large tree, the extensive boughs of which greatly\ncontributed to form the arbour, was placed a basket closely covered on\nthe one side, and partly open on the other to let in the air. Tho' the\nsounds which still continued to issue from it left Dorilaus no room to\ndoubt what it contained; he stooped down to look, and saw two beautiful\nbabes neatly dressed in swadling cloaths: between them and the pillow\nthey were laid upon was pinned a paper, which he hastily taking off,\nfound in it these words.\n_To the generous_ DORISLAUS:\n'Irresistible destiny abandons these helpless infants\nto your care.--They are twins, begot\nby the same father, and born of the same mother,\nand of a blood not unworthy the protection\nthey stand in need of; which if you vouchsafe to\nafford, they will have no cause to regret the misfortune\nof their birth, or accuse the authors of\ntheir being.--Why they seek it of you in particular,\nyou may possibly be hereafter made sensible.--In\nthe mean time content yourself with\nknowing they are already baptized by the names\nof Horatio and Louisa.'\nThe astonishment he was in at so unexpected a present being made him,\nmay more easily be imagined than expressed; but he had then no time to\nform any conjectures by whom or by what means it was left there: the\nchildren wanted immediate succour, and he hesitated not a moment whether\nit would become him to bestow it: he took the basket up himself, and\nrunning as fast as he could with it into the house, called his\nmaid-servants about him, and commanded them to give these little\nstrangers what assistance was in their power, while a man was sent among\nthe tenants in search of nurses proper to attend them. To what person\nsoever, said he, I am indebted for this confidence, it must not be\nabused.--Besides, whatever stands in need of protection, merits\nprotection from those who have the power to give it.\nThis was his way of thinking, and in pursuance of these generous\nsentiments he always acted. The report of what happened in his house\nbeing soon spread thro' the country, there were not wanting several who\ncame to offer their service to the children, out of which he selected\ntwo of whom he heard the best character, and were most likely to be\nfaithful to the trust reposed in them, giving as great a charge, and as\nhandsome an allowance with them, as could have been expected from a\nfather. Indeed he doubtless had passed for being so in the opinion of\nevery body, had he arrived sooner in the kingdom; but the shortness of\nthe time not permitting any such suggestion, he was looked upon as a\nprodigy of charity and goodness.\nHaving in this handsome manner disposed of his new guests, he began to\nexamine all his servants, thinking it impossible they should be brought\nthere without the privity of some one of them; but all his endeavours\ncould get him no satisfaction in this point. He read the letter over and\nover, yet still his curiosity was as far to seek as ever.--The hand he\nwas entirely unacquainted with, but thought there was something in the\nstyle that showed it wrote by no mean person: the hint contained in it,\nthat there was some latent reason for addressing him in particular on\nthis account, was very puzzling to him: he could not conceive why he,\nany more than any other gentleman of the county, should have an interest\nin the welfare of these children: he had no near relations, and those\ndistant ones who claimed an almost forgotten kindred were not in a\ncondition to abandon their progeny.--The thing appeared strange to him;\nbut all his endeavours to give him any farther light into it being\nunsuccessful; he began to imagine the parents of the children had been\ncompelled by necessity to expose them, and had had only wrote in this\nmysterious manner to engage a better reception: he also accounted in his\nmind for their being left with him, as, he being a batchelor, and having\na large estate, it might naturally be supposed there would be fewer\nimpediments to their being taken care of, than either where a wife was\nin the case, or a narrow fortune obliged the owner to preserve a greater\noeconomy in expences.\nBeing at last convinced within himself that he had now explained this\nseeming riddle, he took no farther trouble about whose, or what these\nchildren were, but resolved to take care of them during their infancy,\nand afterwards to put them into such a way as he should find their\ngenius's rendered them most fit for, in order to provide for themselves.\nOn his leaving the county, he ordered his housekeeper to furnish every\nthing needful for them as often as they wanted it, and to take care they\nwere well used by the women with whom he had placed them; and delivered\nthese commands not in a cursory or negligent manner, but in such terms\nas terrified any failure of obedience in this point would highly incur\nhis displeasure.\nNothing material happening during their infancy, I shall pass over those\nyears in silence, only saying that as often as Dorilaus went down to his\nestate (which was generally two or three times a year) he always sent\nfor them, and expressed a very great satisfaction in finding in their\nlooks the charge he had given concerning them so well executed: but when\nthey arrived at an age capable of entertaining him with their innocent\nprattle, what before was charity, improved into affection; and he began\nto regard them with a tenderness little inferior to paternal; but which\nstill increased with their increase of years.\nHaving given them the first rudiments of education in the best schools\nthose parts afforded, he placed Louisa with a gentlewoman, who\ndeservedly had the reputation of being an excellent governess of youth,\nand brought Horatio in his own chariot up to London, where he put him to\nWestminster School, under the care of doctor Busby, and agreed for his\nboard in a family that lived near it, and had several other young\ngentlemen on the same terms.\nWhat more could have been expected from the best of fathers! what more\ncould children, born to the highest fortunes, have enjoyed! nor was\ntheir happiness like to be fleeting: Dorilaus was a man steady in his\nresolutions, had always declared an aversion to marriage, and by\nrejecting every overture made him on that score, had made his friends\ncease any farther importunities; he had besides (as has already been\nobserved) no near relations, so that it was the opinion of most people\nthat he would make the young Horatio heir to the greatest part of his\nestate, and give Louisa a portion answerable to her way of bringing up.\nWhat he intended for them, however, is uncertain, he never having\ndeclared his sentiments so far concerning them; and the strange\nrevolutions happening afterwards in both their fortunes, preventing him\nfrom acting as it is possible he might design.\nThe education he allowed them indeed gave very good grounds for the\nabove-mentioned conjecture.--Louisa being taught all the accomplishments\nthat became a maid of quality to be mistress of; and Horatio having gone\nthro' all the learning of the school, was taken home to his own\nhouse, from whence he was to go to Oxford, in order to finish his\nstudies in the character of a gentleman-commoner.\nBut when every thing was preparing for this purpose, he came one morning\ninto the chamber of his patron, and throwing himself on his knees--\nThink me not, sir, said he, too presuming in the request I am about to\nmake you.--I know all that I am is yours.--That I am the creature of\nyour bounty, and that, without being a father, you have done more for me\nthan many of those, who are so, do for their most favourite sons.--I\nknow also that you are the best judge of what is fit for me, and have\nnot the least apprehensions that you will not always continue the same\ngoodness to me, provided I continue, as I have hitherto done, the\nambition of meriting it.--Yet, sir, pardon me if I now discover a desire\nwith which I long have laboured, of doing something of myself which may\nrepair the obscurity of my birth, and prove to the world that heaven has\nendued this foundling with a courage and resolution capable of\nundertaking the greatest actions.\nIn speaking these last words a fire seemed to sparkle from his eyes,\nwhich sufficiently denoted the vehemence of his inward agitations.\nDorilaus was extremely surprized, but after a little pause, what is it\nyou request of me? said that noble gentleman, (at the same time raising\nhim from the posture he was in) or by what means than such as I have\nalready taken, can I oblige you to think that, in being my foundling,\nfortune dealt not too severely with you?\nAh! sir, mistake me not, I beseech you, replied the young Horatio, or\nthink me wanting in my gratitude either to heaven or you.--But, sir, it\nis to your generous care in cultivating the talents I received from\nnature, that I owe this emulation, this ardor for doing something that\nmight give me a name, which is the only thing your bounty cannot\nbestow.--My genius inclines me to the army.--Of all the accomplishments\nyou have caused me to be instructed in, geography, fortification, and\nfencing, have been my darling studies.--Of what use, sir, will they be\nto me in an idle life? permit me then the opportunity of showing the\nexpense you have been at has not been thrown away.--I know they will say\nI am too young to bear a commission, but if I had the means of going a\nvolunteer, I cannot help thinking but I should soon give proofs the\nextreme desire I have to serve my country that way would well attone for\nmy want of years.\nThe more he spoke, the more the astonishment of his patron increased: he\nadmired the greatness of his spirit, but was troubled it led him to a\ndesire of running into so dangerous a way of life.--He represented to\nhim all the hardships of a soldier, the little regard that was sometimes\npaid to merit, and gave him several instances of gentlemen who had\npassed their youth in the service, and behaved with extreme bravery, yet\nhad no other reward than their fears, and a consciousness of having done\nmore than was their duty: in war, said he, the superior officers carry\naway all the glory as well as profits of the victory; whereas in civil\nemployments it is quite otherwise: in physic, in law, in divinity, or in\nthe state, your merits will be immediately conspicuous to those who have\nthe power to reward you; and if you are desirous of acquiring a name, by\nwhich I suppose you mean to become the head of a family, any of these\nafford you a much greater prospect of success, and it lies much more in\nmy power of assisting your promotion.\nTo these he added many other arguments, but they were not of the least\nweight with the impatient Horatio. He was obstinate in his entreaties,\nwhich he even with tears enforced, and Dorilaus, considering so strong a\npropensity as something supernatural, at last consented.--Never was joy\nmore sincere and fervent than what this grant occasioned, and he told\nhis benefactor that he doubted not but that hereafter he should hear\nsuch an account of his behaviour, as would make him not repent his\nhaving complied with his request.\nThe preparations for his going to Oxford were now converted into others\nof a different nature.--Several of our troops were already sent to\nFlanders, and others about to embark, in order to open the campaign; so\nthat there was but a small space between the time of Horatio's asking\nleave to go, and that of his departure, which Dorilaus resolved should\nbe in a manner befitting a youth whom he had bred up as his own. He\nprovided him a handsome field-equipage, rich cloaths, horses, and a\nservant to attend him; and while these things were getting ready, had\nmasters to perfect him in riding; and those other exercises proper for\nthe vocation he was now entering into, all which he performed with so\ngood a grace, that not only Dorilaus himself, who might be suspected to\nlook on him with partial eyes, but all who saw him were\nperfectly charmed.\nHe was more than ordinarily tall for his years, admirably well\nproportioned, and had something of a grave fierceness in his air and\ndeportment, that tho' he was not yet sixteen, he might very well have\npassed for twenty: he was also extremely fair, had regular features, and\neyes the most penetrating, mixed with a certain sweetness; so that it\nwas difficult to say whether he seemed most formed for love or war.\nDorilaus thinking it highly proper he should take his leave of Louisa,\nsent for her from the boarding-school, that she might pass the short\ntime he had to stay with her brother at his house, not without some\nhopes that the great tenderness there was between them might put Horatio\nout of his resolution of going to the army, who being grown now\nextremely dear to him, he could not think of parting with, tho' he had\nyielded to it, without a great deal of reluctance.\nIt is certain, indeed, that when she first heard the motive which had\noccasioned her being sent for, her gentle breast was filled with the\nmost terrible alarms for her dear brother's danger; but the little\nregard he seemed to have of it, and the high ideas he had of future\ngreatness, soon brought her to think as he did; and instead of\ndissuading him from prosecuting his design, she rather encouraged him in\nit: and in this gave the first testimony of a greatness of soul, no less\nto be admired than the courage and laudable ambition which actuated that\nof her brother.\nDorilaus beheld with an infinity of satisfaction the success of his\nendeavours, in favour of these amiable twins, and said within himself,\nhow great a pity would it have been, if capacities such as theirs had\nbeen denied the means of improvement!\nAfter the departure of Horatio, he kept Louisa some time with him, under\npretence of showing her the town, which before she had never seen; but\nin reality to alleviate that melancholy which parting from her brother\nhad caused in him. He could not have taken a more effectual way; for\nthere was such an engaging and sweet cheerfulness in her conversation,\nadded to many personal perfections, that it was scarce possible to think\nof any thing else while she was present. She had also an excellent\nvoice, and played well on the bass viol and harpsicord, so that it is\nhard to say whether he found most satisfaction in hearing her or\ndiscoursing with her.\nBut how dangerous is it to depend on one's own strength, against the\nforce of such united charms! Dorilaus, who, in the midst of a thousand\ntemptations, had maintained the entire liberty of his heart, and tho'\nnever insensible of beauty, had never been enslaved by it, was now by\ncharms he least suspected, and at an age when he believed himself proof\nagainst all the attacks of love, subdued without knowing that he was\nso.--The tender passion stole into his soul by imperceptible degrees,\nand under the shape of friendship and paternal affection, met with no\nopposition from his reason, till it became too violent to be restrained;\nthen showed itself in the whole power of restless wishes, fears, hopes,\nand impatiences, which he had often heard others complain of, but not\ntill now experienced in himself: all that he before had felt of love was\nlanguid, at best aimed only at enjoyment, and in the gratification of\nthat desire was extinguished; but the passion he was possessed of for\nLouisa was of a different nature, and accompanied with a respect which\nwould not suffer him to entertain a thought in prejudice of her\ninnocence.\nMany reasons, besides his natural aversion to marriage, concurred to\nhinder him from making her his wife; and as there were yet more to deter\nhim from being the instrument of her dishonour, the situation of his\nmind was very perplexing.--He blushed within himself at the inclinations\nhe had for a girl whom he had always behaved to as a child of his own,\nand who looked upon him as a father: not only the disparity of their\nyears made him consider the passion he was possessed of as ridiculous,\nthere was one circumstance, which, if at any time a thought of marrying\nher entered into his head, immediately extirpated it, which was, that\nthere was a possibility of her being born not only of the meanest, but\nthe vilest parents, who, on hearing her establishment, might appear and\nclaim the right they had in her; and lo, said he, I shall ally myself\nto, perhaps, a numerous family of vagabonds; at least, whether it be so\nor not, the manner in which these children were exposed, being publicly\nknown, may furnish a pretence for any wretch to boast a kindred.\nHe was therefore determined to suppress a passion, which, as he had too\nmuch honour to seek the gratification of by one way, his prudence and\ncharacter in the world would not allow him to think of by the other: and\nas absence seemed to him the best remedy, he sent her down into the\ncountry again with a precipitation, which made her (wholly ignorant of\nthe real motive) fear she had done something to offend him. At parting,\nshe entreated him to let her know if he had been dissatisfied with any\nthing in her behaviour.--Wherefore do you ask? said he, with some\nemotion, which the poor innocent still mistook for displeasure; because,\nanswered she, dropping some tears at the same time, that you banish me\nfrom your presence. Why would you be glad to continue with me always?\nagain demanded he. Yes indeed, said she; and if you loved me as well as\nyou do my brother, you would never part with me; for I saw with what\nregret you let him go.\nThis tender simplicity added such fewel to the fire with which Dorilaus\nwas enflamed, that it almost consumed his resolution: he walked about\nthe room some time without being able to speak, much less to quiet the\nagitation he was in. At last, Louisa, said he, I was only concerned your\nbrother made choice of an avocation so full of dangers;--but I never\nintended to keep him at home with me:--he should have gone to Oxford to\nfinish his studies; and the reason I send you again to the\nboarding-school is that you may perfect yourself in such things as you\nmay not yet be mistress of:--as for any apprehensions of my being\noffended with you, I would have you banish them entirely, for I assure\nyou, I can find nothing in you but what both merits and receives my\napprobation.\nShe seemed extremely comforted with these words; and the coach being at\nthe door, went into it with her accustomed chearfulness, leaving him in\na state which none but those who have experienced the severe struggles\nbetween a violent inclination and a firm resolution to oppose it, can\npossibly conceive.\nCHAP. II.\n_Relates the offers made by Dorilaus to Louisa, and the manner of her\nreceiving them_.\nLouisa was no sooner gone, than he wished her with him again, and was a\nthousand times about to send and have her brought back; but was as often\nprevented by the apprehensions of her discovering the motive.--He was\nnow convinced that love does not always stand in need of being indulged\nto enforce its votaries to be guilty of extravagancies.\n--He had banished the object of his affections from his presence; he had\npainted all the inconveniences of pursuing his desires in the worst\ncolours they would bear; yet all was insufficient!--Louisa was absent in\nreality, but her image was ever present to him.--Whatever company he\nengaged himself in, whatever amusement he endeavoured to entertain\nhimself with, he could think only of her.\n--The Town without her seemed a desart, and every thing in it rather\nseemed irksome than agreeable; for several months did he endure this\ncruel conflict; but love and nature at last got the victory, and all\nthose considerations which had occasioned the opposition subsided: he\nfound it impossible to recover any tranquility of mind while he\ncontinued in this dilemma, and therefore yielded to the strongest side.\nAll the arguments he had used with himself in the beginning of his\npassion seemed now weak and trifling: the difference of age, which he\nhad thought so formidable an objection, appeared none in the light with\nwhich he at present considered it: he was now but in his fortieth year,\nand the temperance he had always observed had hindered any decay either\nin his looks or constitution.--What censures the world might pass on\nhis marrying one of her age and obscure birth, he thought were of little\nweight when balanced with his internal peace.--Thus was he enabled to\nanswer to himself all that could be offered against making her his wife;\nand having thus settled every thing, as he imagined, to the satisfaction\nof his passion, became no less resolute in following the dictates of it\nthan he had been in combating it while there was a possibility of\ndoing so.\nTo this end he went down to his country seat, and as soon as he arrived\nsent to let Louisa know he would have her come and pass some time with\nhim. She readily obeyed the summons, and found by his manner of\nreceiving her that she was no less dear to him than her brother. As she\nhad always considered him as a father, tho' she knew all her claim in\nhim was compassion, she was far from suspecting the motive which made\nhim treat her with so much tenderness; but he suffered her not long to\nremain in this happy ignorance. As he was walking with her one day in\nthe garden, he purposely led her on that side where he had found Horatio\nand herself in the manner already related; and as they came towards the\narbour, It was here, said he, that heaven put into my power the\nopportunity of affording my protection to two persons whom I think will\nnot be ungrateful for what I have done.--I hope, Louisa, continued he,\nyou will not at least deceive my good opinion of you; but as you have\nalways found in me a real friend, you will testify the sense you have of\nmy good wishes, by readily following my advice in any material point.\nI should be else unworthy, sir, answered she, of the life you have\npreserved; and I flatter myself with being guilty of nothing which\nshould give you cause to call in question either my gratitude or duty.\nI insist but on the former, resumed he; nor can pretend to any claim to\nthe latter;--look on me therefore only as your friend, and let me know\nyour sentiments plainly and sincerely on what I think proper to ask you.\nThis she having assured him she would do, he pursued his discourse in\nthese or the like terms:\nYou are now, said he, arrived at an age when persons of your sex\nordinarily begin to think of marriage.--I need not ask you if you have\never received any addresses for that purpose; the manner in which you\nhave lived convinces me you are yet a stranger to them; but I would know\nof you whether an overture of that kind, in favour of a man of honour,\nand who can abundantly endow you with the goods of fortune, would be\ndisagreeable to you.\nAlas! sir, replied she, blushing, you commanded me to answer with\nsincerity, but how can I resolve a question which as yet I have never\nasked myself?--All that I can say is, that I now am happy by your\nbounty, and have never entertained one wish but for the continuance\nof it.\nOn that you may depend, said he, while you continue to stand in need of\nit. But would it not be more pleasing to find yourself the mistress of\nan ample fortune, and in a condition to do the same good offices by\nothers as you have found from me?--In fine, Louisa, the care I have\ntaken of you would not be complete unless I saw you well settled in the\nworld.--I have therefore provided a husband for you, and such a one as I\nthink you can have no reasonable objection to.\nSir, it would ill-become me to dispute your will, answered she,\nmodestly, but as I yet am very young, and have never had a thought of\nmarriage, nor even conversed with any who have experienced that fate, I\nshould be too much at a loss how to behave in it, without being allowed\nsome time to consider on its respective duties.--I hope therefore, sir,\ncontinued she, you will not oblige me to act with too much precipitation\nin an affair on which the happiness or misery of my whole future\nlife depends.\nYour very thinking it of consequence, said he, is enough to make you\nbehave so, as to allure your happiness with a man of honour; and indeed\nLouisa, I love you too well to propose one to you whose principles and\nhumour I could not answer for as well as my own.\nYet, sir, replied she, I have read that a union of hearts as well as\nhands is necessary for the felicity of that state;--that there ought to\nbe a simpathy of soul between them, and a perfect confidence in each\nother, before the indissoluble knot is tied:--and this, according to my\nnotion, can only be the result of a long acquaintance and accompanied\nwith many proofs of affection on both sides.\nWere all young women to think as you do, said he with a smile, we would\nhave much fewer marriages; they would indeed be happier; therefore I am\nfar from condemning your precaution, nor would wish you should give\nyourself to one till well assured he was incapable of treating you with\nless regard after marriage than before:--no, no, Louisa, I will never\npress you to become a wife, till you shall yourself acknowledge the man\nI offer to you as a husband is not unworthy of that title, thro' a want\nof honour, fortune, or affection.\nAs Louisa thought this must be the work of time, the chagrin she felt at\nthe first mention of marriage was greatly dissipated; and she told him,\nthat when she was once convinced such a person as he described honoured\nher so far as to think she merited his affection, she would do all in\nher power to return it.\nThe enamoured Dorilaus having now brought her to the point he aimed at,\nthought it best to throw off the mark at once, and leave her no longer\nin suspence.--Behold then in me, said he, the person I have mentioned:\nnor think me vain in ascribing those merits to myself which I would wish\nto be the loadstone of your affection.--My honour, I believe, you will\nnot call in question:--my humour you have never found capricious, or\ndifficult to please; and as for my love, you cannot but allow the\nconquering that aversion, which myself, as well as all the world,\nbelieved unalterable for a marriage state; besides a thousand other\nscruples opposed my entering into it with you, is a proof greater than\nalmost any other man could give you.--There requires, therefore, my dear\nLouisa, no time to convince you of what I am, or assure you of what I\nmay be; and I hope the affection you bore me, as a faithful friend, and\nthe protector of your innocence, will not be diminished on my making\nthis declaration.\nThe confusion in which this speech involved her is even impossible to be\nconceived, much less can any words come up to its description: she\nblushed;--she trembled;--she was ready to die between surprize, grief\nand shame:--fain she would have spoke, but feared, lest what she should\nsay would either lose his friendship or encourage his passion.--Each\nseemed equally dreadful to her:--no words presented themselves to her\ndistracted mind that she could think proper to utter, till he pressing\nher several times to reply, and seeming a little to resent her\nsilence--Oh! sir, cried she, how is it possible for me to make any\nanswer to so strange a proposition!--you were not used to rally my\nsimplicity; nor can I think you mean what you now mention. If there\nwanted no more, said he, than to prove the sincerity of my wishes in\nthis point to gain your approbation of them, my chaplain should this\nmoment put it past a doubt, and confirm my proposal:--but, pursued he, I\nwill not put your modesty to any farther shock at present;--all I\nintreat is, that you will consider on what I have said, and what the\npassion I am possessed of merits from you. In concluding these words he\nkissed her with the utmost tenderness, and quitted her to speak to some\nmen who were at work in another part of the garden, leaving her to\nmeditate at liberty on this surprizing turn in her affairs.\nIt was indeed necessary he should do so, for the various agitations she\nlaboured under were so violent, as to be near throwing her into a\nswoon.--She no sooner found herself alone, than she flew to her\nchamber, and locked herself in, to prevent being interrupted by any of\nthe servants; and as in all emotions of the mind, especially in that of\na surprize, tears are a very great relief, her's found some ease from\nthe sources of her eyes.--Never had the most dutiful child loved the\ntenderest of fathers more than she did Dorilaus; but then it was only a\nfilial affection, and the very thoughts of his regarding her with that\nsort of passion she now found he did, had somewhat in them terribly\nalarming.--All she could do to reconcile herself to what seemed to be\nher fate was in vain.--This generous man who offers me his heart, said\nshe, is not my father, or any way of my blood:--he has all the\naccomplishments of his whole sex centered in him.--I could wish to be\nfor ever near him.--All that I am is owing to his goodness.--How\nwretched must I have been but for his bounty!--What unaccountable\nprejudice is this then that strikes me with such horror at his\nlove!--what maid of birth and fortune equal to his own but would be\nproud of his addresses; and shall I, a poor foundling, the creature of\nhis charity, not receive the honour he does me with the utmost\ngratitude!--shall I reject a happiness so far beyond my expectation!\n--so infinitely above any merit I can pretend to!--what must he think of\nme if I refuse him!--how madly stupid, how blind to my own interest, how\nthankless to him must I appear!--how will he despise my folly!--how\nhate my ingratitude!\nThus did her reason combat with her prejudice, and she suffered much the\nsame agonies in endeavouring to love him in the manner he desired, as he\nhad done to conquer the inclination he had for her, and both alike were\nfruitless. Yet was her condition much more to be commiserated: he had\nonly to debate within himself whether he should yield or not to the\nsuggestions of his own passion: she to subdue an aversion for what a\nthousand reasons concurred to convince her she ought rather to be\nambitious of, and which in refusing she run the risque of being cast\noff, and abandoned to beggary and ruin; and what was still more hateful\nto her, being hated by that person who, next to her brother, she loved\nabove the world, tho' in a different way from that which could alone\ncontent him.\nDorilaus, who had taken the disorder he perceived in her for no other\nthan the effects of a surprize, which a declaration, such as he had\nmade, might very well occasion, was perfectly contented in his mind, and\npassed that night with much more tranquility than he had done many\npreceding ones, while he suffered his cruel reason to war against the\ndictates of his heart; but having now wholly given himself up to the\nlatter, the sweet delusion filled him with a thousand pleasing ideas,\nand he thought of nothing but the happiness he should enjoy in the\npossession of the amiable Louisa. But how confounded was he, when the\nnext day accosting her with all the tender transports of a lover, she\nturned from him, and burst into a flood of tears. How is this, Louisa,\nsaid he; do the offers I make you merit to be treated with disdain? has\nmy submitting to be your lover forfeited that respect you were wont to\npay me as a guardian? O do not, sir, accuse me of such black\ningratitude, replied she; heaven knows with what sincere and humble duty\nI regard you, and that I would sooner die than wilfully offend you; but\nif I am so unfortunate as not to be able to obey you in this last\ncommand, impute it, I beseech you, to my ill fate, and rather pity than\ncondemn me.\nYou cannot love me then? cried he, somewhat feircely. No otherwise than\nI have ever done, answered she. My heart is filled with duty, reverence\nand gratitude, of which your goodness is the only source: as for any\nother sort of love I know not what it is; were it a voluntary emotion,\nbelieve me, sir, I gladly would give it entrance into my soul, but I\nwell see it is of a far different nature.\nYet is your person at your own disposal, resumed he; and when possessed\nof that, the flame which burns so fiercely in my breast, in time may\nkindle one in yours. In speaking these words he took her in his arms,\nand kissed her with a vehemence which the prodigious respect she bore to\nhim, as the patron and benefactor of herself and brother, could alone\nhave made her suffer.--Her eyes however sparkled with indignation, tho'\nher tongue was silent, and at last bursting from his embrace, this, sir,\ncried she, is not the way to make me think as you would have me. As in\nthis action he had no way transgressed the rules of decency, he could\nill brook the finding her so much alarmed at it; and would have\ntestified his resentment, had not the excess of his love, which is ever\naccompanied with an adequate share of respect, obliged him to stifle it.\nWell, Louisa, said he, looking earnestly upon her, ungenerously do you\nrequite what I have done for you; but I, perhaps, may bring myself to\nother sentiments.--None, interrupted she, emboldened by the too great\nfreedom she thought he had taken with her, can be so dreadful to me as\nthose you now seem to entertain.\nThe look he gave her on hearing her speak in this manner, made her\nimmediately repent having been so open; and in the same breath, because;\npursued she, I look on it as the worst evil could befal me that I am\ncompelled to oppose them.\nCome, said he, again softened by these last words, you will not always\noppose them: the fervor and constancy of my passion, joined with a\nlittle yielding on your side, will by degrees excite a tender impulse in\nyou; and whatever is disagreeable at present, either in my person or\nbehaviour, will wear of.--Permit me at least to flatter myself so far,\nand refuse me not those innocent endearments I have been accustomed to\ntreat you with; before you knew me as a lover, or I indeed suspected I\nshould be so.\nHe then kissed her again; but tho' he constrained himself within more\nbounds than before, those caresses which she received with pleasure,\nwhen thinking them only demonstrations of friendship, were now irksome,\nas knowing them the effects of love: she suffered him however to embrace\nher several times, and hold one of her hands close pressed between his,\nwhile he endeavoured to influence her mind by all the tender arguments\nhis passion, backed with an infinity of wit, inspired; to all which she\nmade as few replies as possible; but he contented himself, as love is\nalways flattering, with imagining she was less refractory to his suit\nthan when he first declared it.\nEvery day, and almost the whole day, did he entertain her on no other\nsubject, but gained not the least ground on her inclinations; and all he\ncould get from her was the wish of being less insensible, without the\nleast indication of ever being so.\nIn this manner did they live together near three weeks; and how much\nlonger he would have been able to restrain his impatience, or she to\nconceal the extreme regret in being compelled to listen to him, is\nuncertain: a law-suit required his presence to town, and Louisa was in\nhopes of being relieved for some time; but his passion was arrived at\nsuch a height that he could not support the least absence from her, and\ntherefore brought her to London with him, so that her persecution ceased\nnot, he never stirring from her but when the most urgent business\nobliged him to it.\nOne night happening to have stayed pretty late abroad, and in company,\nwhich occasioned his drinking more plentifully than he was accustomed,\nLouisa was retired to her chamber in order to go to bed: his love, ever\nuppermost in his head, would not permit him to think of sleeping without\nseeing her; accordingly he ran up into her room, and finding she was not\nundressed, told her he had something to acquaint her with, on which the\nmaid that waited on her withdrew. Tho' the passion he was inspired with\ncould not be heightened, his behaviour now proved it might at least be\nrendered more ungovernable by being enflamed with wine: He no sooner was\nalone with her, than he threw himself upon her as she was sitting in a\nchair, crying, O when my angel, my dear adored Louisa, will you consent\nto make me blest.--By heaven, I can no longer wait the tedious\nformalities your modesty demands.--I cannot think you hate me, and must\nthis night ensure you mine. While he spoke these words his lips were so\nclosely cemented to her's, that had there been no other hindrance, it\nwould have been impossible for her to have reply'd.--But terrified\nbeyond measure at the wild disorder of his looks, the expressions he\nmade use of, and the actions that accompanied them, she wanted even the\npower of repulsing, till seeing her almost breathless, he withdrew his\narms which he had thrown round her neck, and contenting himself with\nholding one of her hands,--Tell me, pursued he, when may I hope a\nrecompence for all I have suffered?--I must, I will have an end of all\nthese fears of offending;--this cruel constaint;--this distance between\nus.--Few men, Louisa, in the circumstances we both are, would, like me,\nso long attend a happiness in my power to seize.--Trifle not therefore\nwith a passion, the consequences of which there is no answering for.\nO, sir! said she, with a trembling voice, you cannot, from the most\ngenerous, virtuous and honourable man living, degenerate into a brutal\nravisher.--You will not destroy the innocence you have cherished, and\nwhich is all that is valuable in the poor Louisa. She ended these words\nwith a flood of tears, which, together with the sight of the confusion\nhe had occasioned, made him a little recollect himself; and to prevent\nthe wildness of his desires from getting the better of those rules he\nhad resolved to observe, he let go her hand, and having told her that he\nwould press her no farther that night, but expected a more satisfactory\nanswer the next day, went out of her chamber, and left her to enjoy what\nrepose she could after the alarm he had given her.\nCHAP. III.\n_Dorilaus continues his importunities, with some unexpected consequences\nthat attended them_.\nPoor Louisa concealed the distraction she was in as much as possible she\ncould from the maid, who immediately came into the room on Dorilaus\nhaving quitted it, and suffered her to undress, and put her to bed as\nusual; but was no sooner there, than instead of composing herself to\nsleep, she began to reflect on what he had said:--the words, _that there\nwas no answering for the consequences of a passion such as his_, gave\nher the most terrible idea.--His actions too, this night, seem'd to\nthreaten her with all a virgin had to fear.--She knew him a man of\nhonour, but thought she had too much reason to suspect that if she\npersisted in refusing to be his wife, that passion which had influenced\nhim, contrary to his character, to make her such an offer, would also be\ntoo potent for any consideration of her to restrain him from proceeding\nto extremities. Having debated every thing within her own mind, she\nthought she ought not to continue a day longer in the power of a man who\nloved her to this extravagant degree: where to go indeed she knew\nnot;--she had no friend, or even acquaintance, to whom she might repair,\nor hope to be received.--How should she support herself then?--which way\nprocure even the most common necessaries of life?--This was a dreadful\nprospect! yet appeared less so than that she would avoid: even starving\nlost its horrors when compared either to being compelled to wed a man\nwhom she could not affect as a husband, or, by refusing him, run the\nrisque of forfeiting her honour.--She therefore hesitated but a small\ntime, and having once formed the resolution of quitting Dorilaus's\nhouse, immediately set about putting it into execution.\nIn the first place, not to be ungrateful to him as a benefactor, she sat\ndown and wrote the following letter to be left for him on her table:\nSIR,\n'Heaven having rendered me of a disposition\nutterly incapable of receiving the honour\nyou would do me, it would be an ill return for\nall the unmerited favours you have heaped upon\nme to prolong the disquiets I have unhappily occasioned\nby continuing in your presence;--besides,\nsir, the education you have vouchsafed to\ngive me has been such, as informs me a person\nof my sex makes but an odd figure while in the\npower of one of yours possessed of the sentiments\nyou are.'\n'These, sir, are the reasons which oblige me to\nwithdraw; and I hope, when well considered,\nwill enough apologize for my doing so, to keep\nyou from hating what you have but too much\nloved; for I beseech you to believe a great truth,\nwhich is, that the most terrible idea I carry with\nme is, lest while I fly the one, I should incur the\nother; and that, wheresoever my good or ill stars\nshall conduct me, my first and last prayers shall\nbe for the peace, health, and prosperity of my\nmost generous and ever honoured patron and benefactor.'\n'Judge favourably, therefore, of this action,\nand rather pity than condemn the unfortunate\nLOUISA.'\nHaving sealed and directed this, she dressed herself in one of the least\nremarkable and plainest suits she had, taking nothing with her but a\nlittle linnen which she crammed into her pockets, and so sat waiting\ntill she heard some of the family were stirring; then went down stairs,\nand being; seen by one of the footmen, she told him she was not very\nwell, and was going to take a little walk in hopes the fresh air might\nrelieve her; he offered to wait upon her, but she refused, saying, she\nchose to go alone.\nThus had she made her escape; but, when in the street, was seized with\nvery alarming apprehensions.--She was little acquainted with the town,\nand knew not which way to turn in search of a retreat.--Resolving,\nhowever, to go far enough, at least, from the house she had quitted, she\nwandered on, almost tired to death, without stopping any where, till\nchance directed her to a retired nook, where she saw a bill for lodgings\non one of the doors.--Here she went in, and finding the place convenient\nfor her present circumstances, hired a small, but neat chamber, telling\nthe people of the house that she was come to town in order to get a\nservice, and till she heard of one to her liking, would be glad to do\nany needle-work she should be employed in.\nThe landlady, who happened to be a good motherly sort of woman, replied,\nthat she was pleased with her countenance, or she would not have\ntaken her in without enquiring into her character; and as she seemed not\nto be desirous of an idle life, she would recommend her to those that\nshould find her work if she stayed with her never so long.\nThis was joyful news to our fair fugitive; and she blessed heaven for so\nfavourable a beginning of her adventures. The woman was punctual to her\npromise; and being acquainted with a very great milliner, soon brought\nher more work than she could do, without encroaching into those hours\nnature requires for repose: but she seemed not to regret any fatigue to\noblige the person who employed her, and sent home all she did so neat,\nso curious, and well wrought, that the milliner easily saw she had not\nbeen accustomed to do it for bread, and was very desirous of having her\ninto the house, and securing her to herself. Louisa thinking it would be\nliving with less care, agreed to go, on this condition, that she should\nbe free to quit her in case any offer happened of waiting upon a lady.\nThis was consented to by the other, who told her, that since she had\nthat design, she could no where be so likely to succeed as at her house,\nwhich was very much frequented by the greatest ladies in the kingdom,\nshe having the most Curiosities of any woman of her trade, which they\ncame there to raffle for.\nOn this Louisa took leave of her kind landlady, who having taken a great\nfancy to her, and believing it would be for her advantage, was not sorry\nto part with her. A quite new scene of life now presented itself to\nher:--she found indeed the milliner had not made a vain boast; for her\nhouse was a kind of rendezvous, where all the young and gay of both\nsexes daily resorted.--It was here the marquis of W----r lost his heart,\nfor a time, to the fine mrs. S----ge:--here, that the duke of G----n\nfirst declared his amorous inclinations for mrs. C----r:--here, that the\nseemingly virtuous lady B----n received the addresses of that agreeable\nrover mr. D----n:--here, that the beautiful dutchess of M---- gave that\nencouragement, which all the world had sighed for, to the more fortunate\nthan constant mr. C----: in fine, it might properly enough be called the\ntheatre of gallantry, where love and wit joined to display their several\ntalents either in real or pretended passions.\nLouisa usually sat at work in a back parlor behind that where the\ncompany were; but into which some of them often retired to talk to each\nother with more freedom.\nThis gave her an opportunity of seeing in what manner too many of the\ngreat world passed their time, and how small regard some of them pay to\nthe marriage vow: everyday presented her with examples of husbands, who\nbehaved with no more than a cold civility to their own wives, and\ncarried the fervor of their addresses to those of other men; and of\nwives who seemed rather to glory in, than be ashamed of a train of\nadmirers. How senseless would these people think me, said she to\nherself, did they know I chose rather to work for my bread in mean\nobscurity, than yield to marry where I could not love.--Tenderness,\nmutual affection, and constancy. I find, are things not thought\nrequisite to the happiness of a wedded state; and interest and\nconvenience alone consulted. Yet was she far from repenting having\nrejected Dorilaus, or being in the lead influenced by the example of\nothers.--The adventures she was witness of made her, indeed, more\nknowing of the world, but were far from corrupting those excellent\nmorals she had received from nature, and had been so well improved by a\nstrict education, that she not only loved virtue for its own sake, but\ndespised and hated vice, tho' disguised under the most specious\npretences.\nHer youth, beauty, and a certain sprightliness in her air, was too\nengaging to be in the house of such a woman as mrs. C----ge, (for so\nthis court-milliner was called) without being very much taken notice of;\nand tho' most of the gentlemen who came there had some particular object\nin view, yet that did not hinder them from saying soft things to the\npretty Louisa as often as they had opportunity. Among the number of\nthose who pretended to admire her was mr. B----n, afterwards lord F----h;\nbut his addresses were so far from making any impression on her in\nfavour of his person or suit, that the one was wholly indifferent to\nher, and the other so distasteful, that to avoid being persecuted with\nit, she entreated mrs. C----ge to permit her to work above stairs, that\nshe might be out of the way of all such solicitations for the future,\neither from him or any other. This request was easily complied with, and\nthe rather because she, who knew not the strength of her journey-woman's\nresolution, nor the principles she had been bred in, was sometimes in\nfear of losing so great a help to her business, by the temptations that\nmight be offered in a place so much exposed to sight. Mr. B----n no\nsooner missed her, than he enquired with a good deal of earnestness for\nher; and on mrs. C----ge's telling him she was gone away from her house,\nbecame so impatient to know where, and on what account she had left her,\nthat this woman thinking it would be of advantage to her to own the\ntruth, (for she did nothing without that view) turned off the imposition\nwith a smile, and said, that perceiving the inclinations he had for her,\nshe had sent her upstairs that no other addresses might be a hindrance\nto his designs.--This pleased him very well, and he ran directly to the\nroom where he was informed she was, and after some little discourse,\nwhich he thought was becoming enough from a person of his condition to\none of her's, began to treat her with freedoms which she could not help\nresisting with more fierceness than he had been accustomed to from women\nof a much higher rank; but as he had no great notion of virtue,\nespecially among people of her sphere, he mistook all she said or did\nfor artifice; and imagining she enhanced the merit of the gift only to\nenhance the recompence, he told her he would make her a handsome\nsettlement, and offered, as an earnest of his future gratitude, a purse\nof money. The generous maid fired with a noble disdain at a proposal,\nwhich she looked on only as an additional insult, struck down the purse\nwith the utmost indignation and cried, she was not of the number of\nthose who thought gold an equivalent for infamy; and that mean as she\nappeared, not all his wealth should bribe her to a dishonourable action.\nAt first he endeavoured to laugh her out of such idle notions as he\ncalled them, and was so far from being rebuffed at any thing she said,\nthat he began to kiss and toy with her more freely than before, telling\nher he would bring her into a better humour; but he was wholly deceived\nin his expectations, if he had any of the nature he pretended, for she\nbecame so irritated at being treated in this manner, that she called out\nto the servants to come to her assistance, and protected she would not\nstay an hour longer in the house if she could not be secured from such\nimpertinencies; on which he said she was a silly romantic fool, and\nflung out of the room.\nMrs. C----ge hearing there had been some bustle, came up soon after and\nfound Louisa in tears: she immediately complained, of mr. B----n's\nbehaviour to her, and said, tho' she acknowledged herself under many\nobligations to her for the favours she had conferred on her, she could\nnot think of remaining in a place where, tho' she could not say her\nvirtue had any severe trials, because she had a natural detestation to\ncrimes of the kind that gentleman and some others had mentioned, yet her\nperson was liable to be affronted. The milliner, who was surprized to\nhear her talk in this manner, but who understood her trade perfectly\nwell, answered, that he was the best conditioned civil gentleman in the\nworld;--that she did not know how it happened;--that she was certain\nindeed he loved her; and that it was in his power to make her a very\nhappy woman if she were inclined to accept his offers;--but she would\nperswade her to nothing.\nThese kind of discourses created a kind of abhorrence in Louisa, as they\nplainly shewed her, what before she had some reason to believe, that she\nwas in the house of one who would think nothing a crime that she found\nit her own interest to promote. However, she thought it would be\nimprudent to break too abruptly with her, and contented herself for the\npresent with encasing her promise that neither mr. B----n, nor any other\nperson should for the future give her the least interruption of the\nlike sort.\nFrom this day, however, she was continually ruminating how she should\nquit her house, without running the risque of disobliging her so far as\nnot to be employed by her; for tho' she found herself at present free\nfrom any of those importunities to which both by nature and principles\nshe was so averse, yet she could not answer to herself the continuing in\na place where virtue was treated as a thing of little or no consequence,\nand where she knew not how soon she might again be subjected\nto affronts.\nAmidst these meditations the thoughts of Dorilaus frequently intervened:\nshe reflected on the obligations she had to him, and the mighty\ndifference between the morals of that truly noble and generous man, and\nmost of those she had seen at mrs. C----ge's: she wondered at herself at\nthe antipathy she had to him as a husband, whom she so dearly loved and\nhonoured as a friend; yet nothing could make her wish to be again on the\nsame terms with him she had lately been. It also greatly added to her\naffliction that she knew not how to direct to her brother; for at the\ntime of his departure, little suspicious of having any occasion to\nchange the place of her abode, she had left the care of that entirely to\nDorilaus. She was one morning very much lost in thought on the odd\ncircumstances of her fortune, when a Gazette happening to lye upon the\ntable, she cast her eye, without design, upon the following\nadvertisement.\n'Whereas a young gentlewoman has lately\nthought fit to abscond from her best friends,\nand with the most diligent search that could possibly\nbe made after her has not yet been heard of,\nthis is to acquaint her that if she pleases to return,\nshe shall hereafter have no disturbance of that\nnature which it is supposed occasioned her withdrawing\nherself, but live entirely according to\nher own inclinations; and this the advertiser\nhereof gives his word and honour (neither of\nwhich she has any cause to doubt) faithfully to\nadhere to.'\n'It shall also be at her choice to live either at\nthe house she quitted, or to be again under the\ncare of that gentlewoman who was entrusted\nwith her education: she is therefore requested to\nconceal herself no longer, lest her youth, beauty,\nand inexperience of the town should betray her\ninnocence into those very snares she fears to fall\ninto.'\nThe very beginning of this paragraph gave her a conjecture it was meant\nfor no other than herself; and the more she read, the more she grew\nconvinced, of it.--It must be so, cryed she; every word,--every\ncircumstance confirms it.--How unhappy am I that I cannot return so\nperfect an affection!--Instead of detesting my ingratitude, he only\nfears I should receive the punishment of it.--What man but Dorilaus\nwould behave thus to the creature of his benevolence?--If I have any\nmerits, do not I owe them to his goodness?--My brother and myself, two\npoor exposed and wretched foundlings, what but his bounty rear'd us to\nwhat we are?--Hard fate!--unlucky passion that drives me from his\npresence and protection.\nYet, would she say again, if he has indeed subdued that passion;--if he\nresolves to think of me as before he entertained it; if I were certain\nhe would receive me as a child, how great would be, the blessing!\nThis confederation had so much effect on her, that she was half\ndetermined to comply with the advertisement; but when she remembered to\nhave read that where love is sincere and violent, it requires a length\nof time to be erased, and that those possessed of it are incapable of\nknowing even their own strength, and, as he had said to her himself,\n_that there was no answering for the consequences,_ she grew instantly\nof another mind, and thought that putting herself again into the power\nof such a passion was running too great a hazard.\nThe continual agitations of her mind, joined to want of air, a quite\ndifferent way of life, and perhaps fitting more closely to work than she\nhad been accustomed, threw her at length into a kind of languishing\nindisposition, which, tho' it did not confine her to her bed, occasioned\na loss of appetite, and frequent faintings, which were very alarming to\nher. Mrs. C----ge was extremely concerned to observe this change in her,\nand would have the opinion of her own physician, who said that she had\nsymptoms of an approaching consumption, and that it was absolutely\nnecessary she should be removed into the country for some time.\nLouisa readily complied with this advice, not only because she imagined\nit might be of service for the recovery of her health, but also as it\nfurnished her with a pretence for leaving mrs. C----ge's house, to which\nshe was determined to return no more as a boarder. The good woman with\nwhom she had lodged at first recommended her to a friend of her's at\nWindsor, where she immediately went, and was very kindly received.\nCHAP. IV.\n_Louisa becomes acquainted with a lady of quality, part of whose\nadventures are also related, and goes to travel with her_.\nChange of place affords but small relief to those whose distempers are\nin the mind: Louisa carried with her too many perplexing thoughts to be\neasily shook off; tho' the queen and court being then at Windsor, she\nhad the opportunity of seeing a great many of the gay world pass daily\nby her window.--There also lodged in the same house with her a young\nwidow of quality, who was visited by persons of the first rank; but as\nshe was not of a condition to make one in any of these conversations,\nshe reaped no other satisfaction from them than what the eye afforded.\nAs she was not, however, of a temper to indulge melancholy, she made it\nher endeavour to banish, as much as possible, all ideas which were\ndispleasing from her mind: to this end, a fine harpsicord happening to\nstand in the dining-room, whenever the lady was abroad, she went in and\ndiverted herself with playing. She was one day entertaining the woman of\nthe house with a tune, which she accompanied with her voice, when the\nlady returning sooner than was expected, and hearing the instrument\nbefore she came up stairs, would needs know who it was had been making\nuse of it; for Louisa hurried out of the room before she came in: the\nlandlady, as there was no occasion to disguise the truth, told her that\nit was a young woman, who not being very well, had come down into the\ncountry for air.\nShe has had an excellent education, I am certain, said the lady, (who\nhenceforward we shall call Melanthe) for in my life I never heard any\nbody play or sing better:--I must be acquainted with her; on which the\nother said she would let her know the honour she intended her.\nThat very evening, as great ladies no sooner think of any thing but they\nmust have it performed, was Louisa sent for into her apartment; and her\ncountenance and behaviour so well seconded the good impression her skill\nin music had begun, that Melanthe became charm'd with her, and from that\ntime obliged her to come to her every morning; and whenever she was\nwithout company, made her dine and sup with her. Being curious to know\nher circumstances, Louisa made no scruple of acquainting her with the\ntruth, only instead of relating how she had been exposed in her infancy,\nsaid, that having the misfortune to be deprived of her parents, it was\nher intention to wait on a lady, and till she heard of one who would\naccept her service, she had work'd at her needle.\nMelanthe then asked if she would live with her; to which the other\ngladly answering, she should think herself happy in such a lady; but you\nmust go abroad then, said she, for I am weary of England, and am\npreparing to travel: as it is a route of pleasure only, I shall stay\njust as long as I find any thing new and entertaining in one place, then\ngo to another till I am tired of that, and so on, I know not how long;\nfor unless my mind alters very much, I shall not come back in\nsome years.\nLouisa was perfectly transported to hear her say this; she had a great\ndesire to see foreign parts, and thought she never could have a better\nopportunity: she expressed the pleasure she should take in attending her\nwherever she went with so much politeness and sincerity, that Melanthe\ntold her, it should be her own fault if she ever quitted her, and withal\nassured her, she never would treat her in any other manner than a\ncompanion, and that tho' she would make her a yearly allowance for\ncloaths and card-money, yet she would expect no other service from her\nthan fidelity to her secrets, and affection to her person.\nFrom the moment this agreement was made, the young Louisa regained her\ncomplection and her appetite; and being now initiated into the family of\nthis lady, had no longer any care to take than to oblige her, a thing\nnot difficult, Melanthe being good-natured, and strongly prepossessed in\nfavour of her new friend, for so she vouchsafed to call her, and to use\nher accordingly.\nAs a proof of it, she made her in a very short time the confident of her\ndearest secrets: they were one day sitting together, when accidentally\nsome mention was made of the power of love. You are too young, Louisa,\nsaid Melanthe, to have experienced the wonderful effects of that passion\nin yourself, and therefore cannot be expected to have much compassion\nfor what it can inflict on others.\nIndeed, madam, answered she, tho' I never have yet seen a man who gave\nme a moment's pain on that score, yet I believe there are no emotions\nwhatever so strong as those of love, and that it is capable of\ninfluencing people of the best sense to things which in their nature\nthey are most averse to.\nWell, my dear, resumed the other, since I find you have so just a notion\nof it, I will confide in your discretion so far as to let you know, that\nbut for an ungrateful man, I had not looked on my native country as a\ndesart, and resolved to seek a cure for my ill-treated and abused\ntenderness in foreign parts.\nMy quality, continued she, I need not inform you of; you have doubtless\nheard that my family yields to few in antiquity, and that there is an\nestate belonging to it sufficient to support the dignity of its title;\nbut my father having many children, could not give very great portions\nto the daughters: I was therefore disposed of, much against my\ninclinations, to a nobleman, whom my unlucky charms had so much\ncaptivated as to make him not only take me with no other dowry than my\ncloaths and jewels, but also to settle a large jointure upon me, which,\nhe being dead, I at present enjoy. I cannot say that all the obligations\nhe laid upon me could engage a reciprocal regard:--I behaved with\nindifference to him while living, and little lamented him when dead: not\nthat I was prepossessed in favour of any other man;--my heart, entirely\nfree, was reserved to be the conquest of the too charming perfidious\nHenricus, who arriving soon after my lord's decease, and bringing with\nhim all the accomplishments which every different court he had visited\ncould afford, join'd to the most enchanting person nature ever formed,\nsoon made me know I was not that insensible creature I had\nthought myself.\nI happened to be at court when he came to kiss her majesty's hand on his\nreturn; and whether it was that my eyes testified too much the\nadmiration this first sight of him struck me with, or that he really\ndiscovered something more attractive in me than any lady in the presence\nI know not, but he seemed to distinguish me in a particular manner, and\nI heard him say to my lord G----n in a whisper, that I was the finest\nwoman he had ever seen; but what gave me more pleasure than even this\npraise, was an agreement I heard made between him and the same lord to\ngo that evening to a raffle at mrs. C--rt-s--r's. I was one of those who\nhad put in, tho' if I had not, I should certainly, have gone for a\nsecond sight of him, who when he went out of the drawing-room seemed to\nhave left me but half myself.\nIn fine, I went, and had there wanted any thing to have entirely\nvanquished me, my conqueror's manner of address had done it with a form\nless agreeable.--O Louisa, pursued she with a sigh, if you have never\nseen or heard the charming Henricus, you can have no notion of what is\nexcellent in man; such flowing wit;--such softness in his voice and\nair;--but there is no describing what he is. He seemed all transport at\nmeeting me there; among a number of ladies I alone engrossed him: he\nscarce spoke to any other; and being so fortunate to win the raffle,\nwhich was a fine inlaid India cabinet, instead of sending it to his own\nhouse, he privately ordered his servant to leave it at mine, lord G----n\nhaving, as he afterwards told me, informed him where I lived, and also\nall the particulars he wanted to know concerning me.\nI was prodigiously surprized when I came home and found the Cabinet,\nwhich my woman imagined I had won by its being brought thither. It was\nindeed a piece of gallantry I had no reason to expect from one so\nperfect a stranger to me; and this, joined with the many complaisant\nthings he said to me at mrs. C--rt-f--r's, flattered my vanity enough to\nmake me think he was no less charmed with me than I too plainly found I\nwas with him. I slept little that night, and pretty early the next\nmorning received a billet from him to this effect:\nMADAM,\n'I thought the cabinet we raffled for was more\nproperly the furniture of a lady's closet than\nmine, especially one who must daily receive a\ngreat number of such epistles as it was doubtless\nintended by the maker to contain: happy should\nI think myself if any thing of mine might find\nroom among those which, for their wit and elegance,\nmay be more worthy of preferring, tho'\nnone can be for their sincerity more so than those\nwhich are dictated by the eternally devoted heart of\nHENRICUS.'\nYou cannot imagine, my dear Louisa, how delighted I was with these few\nlines; I enclosed them indeed in the cabinet given me by the author of\nthem, but laid up their meaning in my heart:--I was quite alert the\nwhole day, but infinitely more so, when in the evening my admired\nHenricus made me a visit introduced by lord H----, who had been one of\nmy late husband's particular friends, and had ever kept a good\ncorrespondence with me.\nHenricus took, not the least notice either of the cabinet or letter\nbefore him; and as I imagined he had his reasons for it, I too was\nsilent on that head; he took the opportunity, however, while lord H----\nwas speaking to a young lady who happened to be with me, to ask\npermission to wait on me with the hope of being received on his own\nscore as he was now on that of his friend. I told him that merit, such\nas his, was sufficient to recommend him any where; and, besides, I had\nan obligation to him which I ought to acknowledge. This was all either\nof us had time to say; but it was enough to make me convinced he desired\na more particular conversation, and him, that it would not be\nunwelcome to me.\nThus began an acquaintance equally fatal to my peace of mind and\nreputation; and having said that, it would be needless to repeat the\ncircumstances of it, therefore shall only tell you I was so infatuated\nwith my passion, that I never gave myself the trouble to examine into\nthe nature of his pretensions, and lull'd with the vows he made of\neverlasting love, resented not that he forbore pressing to that ceremony\nwhich could alone ensure it:--yes, my Louisa, I will not wrong him so\nfar as to say he deceived me in this point; for tho' he protested with\nthe most solemn imprecations that he would never address any either\nwoman than myself, yet he never once mentioned marriage to me.--Alass!\nhe too well saw into my heart, and that all my faculties were too much\nhis to be able to refuse him any thing:--even so it proved;--he\ntriumphed over all in my power to yield;--nay, was so far subdued, that\nI neither regretted my loss, nor used any endeavours to conceal\nit;--vain of being his at any rate, I thought his love more glory to me\nthan either fame or virtue; and while I was known to enjoy the one,\ndespised whatever censures I incurred for parting with the other:--in\nthe mall, the play-house, the ring, at Bath or Tunbridge, he was always\nwith me; nor would any thing indeed have been a diversion to me had he\nbeen absent.\nFor upwards of a year I had no reason to complain of his want of\nassiduity to me, tho' I have since heard even in that time he had other\namours with women who carried them on with more prudence than I was\nmistress of; but I had afterwards a stabbing proof of his insincerity\nand inconstancy.\nPerceiving a great alteration in his behaviour, that he visited me less\nfrequently, and when he came, the ardours he was accustomed to treat me\nwith still more and more languid and enforced, I upbraided him in terms\nwhich, tho' they shewed more love than resentment, and had he retained\nany tolerable remains of tenderness for me, must have been rather\nobliging than the contrary, he affected to take extremely ill, and told\nme plainly, that nothing was so dear to him as his peace,--that he was\nnot of a temper to endure reproaches, and that, if I desired the\ncontinuance of our amour, I must be satisfied with him as he was. These\ncool, and indeed insolent replies made me almost distracted; and\nbeginning to suspect he had some new engagement, I talked to him in a\nmanner as if I had been assured of it:--he, perhaps, imagining it was\nso, made no efforts to cure my jealousy, but behaved with so cruel an\nindifference as confirmed my apprehensions.\nResolving to be convinced whether I really had any rival or not, I\nemployed spies to observe where-ever he went, and to whom; but alass,\nthere required little pains to acquire the intelligence I fought.--I\nwas soon informed that he was every day with the daughter of a little\nmechanic;--that he made her very rich presents, procured a commission in\nthe army for one of her brothers, and in fine, that he was as much\ndevoted to her as a man of his inconstant temper could be to any woman.\nHow severe a mortification was this to my pride! but it had this good\nattending it, that it very much abated my love:--to be abandoned for so\nmean a creature, and who had nothing but youth and a tolerable face to\nrecommend her, shewed such a want of taste as well as gratitude, as\nrendered despicable in my eyes what had lately engrossed all my love and\nadmiration.--The moment I received the information I sent for him;--and\nforcing my countenance to a serenity my heart was a stranger to, told\nhim it was only to take a last leave of a person whom I had been so far\nmistaken in as to think deserving my affection: that I desired to see\nhim once more, but having now seen my error, desired he would desist his\nvisits for the future. He asked me with the same calmness he had lately\nbehaved with, what whim I had got in my head now, I, who had before\ndetermined not to feed my rival's pride by shewing any jealousy of her,\nonly replied, that as amours, such as ours had been, must have an end\nsome time or other,--I thought none could be more proper than the\npresent, because I believed both of us could do it without pain.\nAnswer for yourself, madam, cried he with some emotion, for I could\nperceive my behaviour had a little flung his vanity; and resolute to\ngive him in my turn all the mortification in my power, nay, said I with\na disdainful toss of my head, I do not enquire into your sentiments,--it\nis sufficient mine are to break entirely off with you;--neither is it\nany concern to me how you may resent this alteration in my conduct, or\ndispose of yourself hereafter; but I once more assure you, with my usual\nfrankness, that I now can see none of those perfections my foolish fancy\nformerly found in you, and cannot be complaisant enough to counterfeit a\ntenderness I neither feel nor think you worthy of.\nThe surprize he was in kept him silent for some moments; but recovering\nhimself as well as he could, he told me, that if the levity of my nature\nhad made me cease to love him, he could not have expected endearments\nshould be converted into affronts; that if I was determined to see him\nno more he must submit, and should endeavour to make himself as easy as\nhe could under the misfortune.\nThese last words were uttered with a kind of sneer, which was very\nprovoking, however, I restrained my passion during the little time he\nstayed; but as soon as I found myself alone gave it vent in tears and\nexclamations,--since which I have been mere at peace within myself; for\ntho' I cannot say I hate him, I am now far from loving him, and hope\nthat time and absence may bring me to a perfect indifference.\nThus, Louisa, continued she, you see the beginning and end of an\nadventure which has made some noise in town, to be out of which I have\ntaken a resolution to travel till the whole shall be forgotten, and I\nhave entirely rooted out of my heart all manner of consideration for\nthis ungrateful man.\nLouisa thanked her for the condescension me had made her in entrusting\nher with so important a secret, and said every thing she could in praise\nof the resolution she had taken to leave England for a time, not only\nbecause it was exactly conformable to her own desires, but also that she\nthought it so laudable in itself. Melanthe then assured her that she was\nnot capable of changing her mind in this particular, and that her\nequipage was getting ready at London for that purpose, so that she\nbelieved they should embark in a few days. Louisa, on hearing this,\nsaid, that she must then provide herself with some things it would be\nnecessary for her to have in order to appear in the station her ladyship\nwas pleased to place her; but the other, who, as may be seen by her\nhistory, never preserved a medium in any thing, would not suffer her to\nbe at the least expence on that account, but took the care of furnishing\nher with every thing on herself; and accordingly sent a man and horse to\ntown directly to her mercer's, draper's, milliner's, and other\ntradesmen, with orders to send down silks, laces, hollands, and whatever\nelse was requisite; which being brought, were put to be made fit for\nwearing by workwomen at Windsor; so that now our Louisa made as good a\nfigure, and had as great a variety of habits as when under the\nguardianship of Dorilaus, and, to complete her happiness, this new\nbenefactress grew every day more, and more delighted with her company.\nAll being now prepared, they came to London, where they lay but one\nnight before they took shipping for Helvoetsluys in Holland, where,\nbeing safely landed, they proceeded to Utrecht, and so to\nAix-la-chappelle; there they stayed some weeks for the sake of the\nwaters, air, and good company; and Louisa thought it so pleasant, that\nshe would have been glad not to have removed for some time longer; but\nMelanthe was yet restless in her mind, and required frequent change of\nplace. Here it was, however, that Louisa thought she might venture to\nwrite to Dorilaus, to ease him of that kind concern she doubted not but\nhe was in for her welfare, by the advertisement already mentioned in the\nGazette. The purport of her letter was as follows:\n_Ever Honoured Sir_,\n'Child of your bounty as I am, I flatter myself\nthat, in spight of my enforc'd disobedience,\nit would be a trouble to you to hear I should\ndo any thing unworthy of that education you were\npleased to bestow on me: I therefore take the liberty\nof acquainting you, that heaven has raised\nme a protectress in a lady of quality with whom\nI now am, as you will see by the date of this, at\nAix-la-chappelle. As all the favours I receive\nfrom her, or all the good that shall happen during\nmy whole life is, and will be entirely owing\nto you as the fountain-head, it will be always my\ninclination, as well as duty, to pay you the tribute\nof grateful thanks.--Poor recompence,\nalas, for all you have done for me! yet those,\nwith my incessant prayers to heaven, are all in\nthe power of\n_Your most dutiful_\nLOUISA.'\nShe took no notice of the advertisement, not only as she could not be\npositive it related to herself, as also because she thought, if he were\ncertain she had read it, he might resent her not answering it, as\ndiscovering a too great diffidence of his honour. She added, however, a\npostscript, entreating him to let her brother know, that whatever\nhappened, he should have no reason to find fault with her conduct.\nAfter they left Aix-la-chappelle, they took bye roads to avoid the\narmies; yet notwithstanding all their care, they now and then met\nparties who were out on foraging, but as it happened, they were always\nunder the conduct of officers who prevented any ill accident, so that\nour travellers met with no manner of interruption, but arrived safely at\nthe magnificent city of Vienna, where was at that time an extreme gay\ncourt, affording every thing capable of diverting a much more settled\nmelancholy than either Melanthe or her fair companion were possessed of.\nThe arch-dutchesses, Mary Elizabeth, and Mary Anna Josepha, afterward\nqueen of Portugal, had frequent balls and entertainments in their\ndifferent drawing-rooms; to all which Melanthe, being a stranger and a\nwoman of quality, was invited: she kept her promise with Louisa; and\ntreating her as a young lady, whose friendship for her, and a desire of\nseeing the world had engaged to accompany her, she was received and\nrespected as such; and by this means had an opportunity of shewing the\nskill she had in dancing, singing, music, and indeed all the\naccomplishments that a woman born and educated to the best expectations,\nis usually instructed in. As neither her lady nor herself understood the\nGerman language, and she spoke infinitely the best French, her\nconversation was the most agreeable, which, joined with a most engaging\nmanner, and a peculiar sweetness in her voice, attracted all those\ncivilities which the rank of the other demanded.\nPossessed of so many charms, it would have been strange if, in a city\nthrong'd like Vienna with young noblemen, who were continually coming\nfrom all parts of the empire, she had lived without some who pretended\nto somewhat more than mere admiration; but her heart had not refused the\nworthy Dorilaus to become the conquest of a German; nor was it here she\nwas ordained to experience those anxieties in herself, she could but\nimperfectly conceive by the description she had from others.\nMelanthe, however, whose sole aim was to drive all perplexing thoughts\nfrom her mind, encouraged a great number of visitors, so that her\nlodgings seemed a perfect theatre of gallantry; and Louisa having her\nshare in all the amusements this lady prepared for the reception of\nthose that came to see her, or were contrived for her entertainment by\nothers, past her time in the most gay and agreeable manner imaginable,\nand by this means acquired the knowledge of almost the only thing she\nbefore was ignorant in, how to receive a multiplicity of company, yet to\nbehave so is each should imagine themselves most welcome;--to seem\nperfectly open, without discovering any thing improper to be\nrevealed;--to use all decent freedoms with the men, yet not encourage\nthe least from them, and to seem to make a friend of every woman she\nconversed with, without putting truth in any;--and in fine, all the\nlittle policies which make up the art of what is called a polite\naddress, and which is not to be attained without an acquaintance with\nthe court and great world.\nThis, I say, our amiable foundling was now well vers'd in, and practised\namong those who she found made a practice of it; but yet retained the\nsame sincerity of mind, love of virtue, and detestation of vice, she\nbrought with her from the house of Dorilaus:--neither was her youth too\nmuch dazled with the exterior splendor she beheld; and tho' she was well\nenough pleased with it, yet it did not in the least take her off from\nthe duties of religion, or inspire her with any ambitious or aspiring\nwishes to become what the remembrance of what she was forbid any\nprobable expectation of. She knew the present fashion of her life was\nnot an assured settlement, and therefore set not her heart upon it. Few\nat her years would have had the like prudence, or in time armed\nthemselves, as she did, against any change that might befal her.\nIn this happy situation let us leave her for a while: the young Horatio\nclaims his share of attention; and it is time to see what encouragement\nand success his martial ardor met with on the banks of the Danube.\nCHAP. V.\n_Horatio's reception by the officers of the army; his behaviour in the\nbattle; his being taken prisoner by the French; his treatment among\nthem, and many other particulars._\nThe extreme graceful person of Horatio, his youth, handsome equipage,\nand the letters sent by Dorilaus to several of the principal officers in\nhis favour, engaged him a reception answerable to his wishes: but none\nwas of greater service than the recommendation he had to colonel\nBrindfield, who being in great favour with the duke of Marlborough, was\nhighly respected by the whole army. This gentleman made him dine\nfrequently with him, and testified the regard he had for Dorilaus, by\ndoing all the good offices he could to a youth whom he perceived by his\nletter he had a great concern for. He not only introduced him to the\nacquaintance of many officers of condition, but took an opportunity of\npresenting him to the duke himself, giving at the same time his grace an\naccount that he was a gentleman whose inclinations to arms, and the\nhonour of serving under his grace, had made him renounce all other\nadvantages for the hope of doing something worthy of his favour. The\nduke looked all the time he was speaking very attentively on the young\nHoratio, and finding something in his air that corroborated the\ncolonel's description, was pleased to say, that he was charm'd with his\nearly thirst after same; and then turning toward him, you will soon,\npursued he, have an opportunity of seeing how the face of war looks,\nnear at hand:--I can tell you, that you must not always expect smiles.\nNo, my lord, replied he, without being at all daunted at the presence of\nso great a man; but where we love all countenances are agreeable.\nHe arrived indeed opportunely to be a witness of the dangers of that\nglorious campaign which brought such shame to the French, such honour to\nthe English, and such real advantages to the empire. Prince Eugene of\nSavoy, and prince Lewis of Baden were come to the duke's quarters, which\nwere then at Mondesheim, to consult on proper operations; the result\nwas, that the duke and prince Lewis should join armies, and command each\nday alternately, and that prince Eugene should head a separate army and\nrepair towards Philipsburg, to defend the passage of the Rhine, the\nlines of Stolhoffen, and the country of Wirtenberg.\nThe two armies joined at Westerstretton, thence proceeded by easy\nmarches towards Donawert, between which and Scellenberg the enemy was\nencamped. Fatigued as they were, the duke made them pass over a little\nriver and endeavour to force the intrenchments; which enterprize\nsucceeded, notwithstanding all the disadvantages the confederate armies\nwere in, and the others were obliged to retire with great precipitation,\nmany of whom were drowned in endeavouring to pass the Danube.\nIn this action was our young soldier unlisted, and had the glory to be\nsignalized by two remarkable accidents; one was, that pressing among the\nforemost in this hazardous attempt, he had his hat taken off by a cannon\nball; and the other was, that seeing a standard about to be taken by the\nenemy, the person who carried it happening to be kill'd, he ran among\nthose who were carrying it away, and being seconded by some others,\nretrieved that badge of English honour; and as this was done in sight of\nthe duke, he rode up to him directly and presented it to him. Take it\nfor your pains, cried he, you have ventured hard, and well deserve the\nprize. There was no time for thanks; the duke, who was almost every\nwhere at once, was immediately gone where he found his presence\nnecessary, and Horatio returned to take the place of the dead cornet,\ndoubly animated by the encouragement he had received.\nThis victory opening a way into the elector of Bavaria's dominions, that\npoor country was terribly ravaged, no less than 300 towns, villages and\ncastles being utterly consumed by a detachment of horse and dragoons the\nduke sent for that purpose. Some old officers told Horatio that now\nwould be the time to make his fortune if he went with these squadrons,\nthere being many rich things which would fall to the share of the\nplunderers; to which he answered, that he came to fight for the honour\nof his country, and not to rob for its disgrace. This they laughed at,\nand endeavoured to make him sensible, that the taking away an enemy's\ntreasure was to take away their strength; but all they could say was\nineffectual; he was not to be perswaded out of what he thought reason\nand justice: and this conversation being afterward repeated to the duke,\nhe smil'd and said, he was yet too young to know the value of money.\nAfter this, prince Lewis of Baden dividing from the duke, in order to\nundertake the siege of Ingoldstadt, our young cornet attended his grace\nto the relief of prince Eugene, who expected to be attacked by the\nunited army of Bavarians and French, then encamped near Hockstadt.\nIt would be needless to give any description of this famous battle, few\nof my readers but must be acquainted with it, so I shall only say, that\namong the number of those few prisoners the French had to boast of in\nattonement for so great a defeat, was the young brave Horatio, who fell\nto the lot of the baron de la Valiere, nephew to the marquis of Sille.\nThis nobleman being extremely taken with his person and behaviour,\ntreated him in the politest manner; and tho' he carried him with him\ninto France, assured him, that it was more for the pleasure of\nentertaining him there than any other consideration. Horatio was not\nmuch afflicted at this misfortune, because it gave him an opportunity of\nseeing a country he had heard so much commended, and also to make\nhimself master of a language, which, tho' he understood, he spoke but\nimperfectly.\nThe baron was not only one of the most gallant, but also one of the best\nhumoured men in the world; he spared nothing during the whole time they\ntarried in his quarters, nor in their journey to Paris, which might\ncontribute to make his prisoner easy under his present circumstances;\nand among other things, often said to him, if you and some others have\nfallen under the common chance of war, you have yet the happiness of\nknowing your army in general has been victorious, and that, there are\ninfinitely a greater number of ours who, against their will, must see\nEngland, than, there are of yours conducted into France.\nOn their arrival, Horatio wrote an account to Dorilaus of all had\nhappened to him, not doubting but he would use his interest to have him\neither mentioned when there should come an exchange of prisoners, or\nthat he would randsom him himself; but receiving no answer, he concluded\nhis letter, by some accident, had miscarried, and sent another, but that\nmeeting the same fate as the former, he wrote a third, accompanied with\none to his sister directed to the boarding-school, where he imagined she\nstill was: to this last, after some time, he had the following return\nfrom the governess:\nSIR,\n'A letter directed for miss Louisa coming to\nmy house, I was in debate with myself\nwhat to do with it, that young lady having been\ngone from me last September, since which time\nI have never heard any thing of her:--at last I\nsent it to Dorilaus's country seat by a messenger,\nwho brought it to me again, with intelligence\nthat he was gone with some friends into the north\nof Ireland, and that it was probable they had\ntaken miss with them:--I then thought proper\nto open it, believing she had no secrets I might\nnot be entrusted with, and finding it came from\nyou, could do no less than give you this information\nto prevent your being under any surprize\nfor not receiving answers to your letters. I am\nsorry to find by yours that you have had such ill\nsuccess in your first campaign; but would not\nhave you be cast down, since you need not doubt\nbut on the return of Dorilaus you will have remittances\nfor your ransom, or whatever else you\nmay have occasion for.'\n_I am_, SIR,\n_Your most humble and obedient Servant,_\nA. TRAINWELL.\nThis letter made him perfectly contented; he had no reason to question\nthe continuance of Dorilaus's goodness to him, nor that he should attend\nthis new proof of it any longer than the return of that gentleman to\nEngland should make him know the occasion he now had for it. He\ntherefore had no anxious thoughts to interrupt the pleasures the place\nhe was in afforded in such variety; he was every evening with the baron,\neither at court, the opera, the comedy, or some other gay scene of\nentertainment; was introduced to the best company; and his young heart,\ncharm'd with the politeness and gallantry of that nation, and the little\nvanity to which a person of such early years is incident, being\nflattered with the complaisance he was treated with, gave him in a short\ntime a very strong affection for them; but there was yet another and\nmore powerful motive which rendered his captivity not only pleasing, but\nalmost destroyed in him an inclination ever to see his native\ncountry again.\nThe baron de la Valiere had long been passionately in love with a young\nlady, who was one of the maids of honour to king James's queen: he went\nalmost every day to St. Germains, in order to prosecute his addresses,\nand frequently took Horatio with him. The motive of his first\nintroducing him to that court was, perhaps, the vanity of shewing him\nthat no reverse of fate could make the French regardless of what was due\nto royalty, since the Chevalier St. George seem'd to want no requisite\nof majesty but the power; but he afterwards found the pleasure he took\nin those visits infinitely surpassed what he could have expected, and\nthat his heart had an attachment, which made him no sooner quit that\npalace than he would ask with impatience when they should go thither\nagain. The baron had a great deal of penetration; and as those who feel\nthe power of love in themselves can easily perceive the progress it\nmakes in others, a very few visits confirmed him that Horatio had found\nsomething there more attractive than all he could behold elsewhere: nor\nwas he long at a loss to discover, among the number or beauties which\ncomposed the trains of the queen and princess, which of them it was that\nhad laid his prisoner under a more lasting captivity than war had done.\nPrincess Louisa Maria Teresa, daughter of the late king James, was then\nbut in her thirteenth year; the ladies who attended her were all of them\nmuch of the same age; and to shew the respect the French had for this\nroyal family, tho' in misfortunes, were also the daughters of persons\nwhose birth and fortune might have done honour to the service of the\ngreatest empress in the world; nor were any of them wanting in those\nperfections which attract the heart beyond the pomp of blood or titles;\nbut she who had influenced that of our Horatio, was likewise in the\nopinion of those, who felt not her charms in the same degree he did,\nallowed to excel her fair companions in every captivating grace, and to\nyield in beauty to none but the princess herself, who was esteemed a\nProdigy. This amiable lady was called Charlotta de Palfoy, only daughter\nto the baron of that name; and having from her most early years\ndiscovered a genius above what is ordinarily found in her sex, had been\neducated by her indulgent parents in such a manner, as nature left\nnothing for want of the improvements of art; yet did not all the\naccomplishments, she was mistress of give her the least air of\nhaughtiness; on the contrary, there was a certain sweetness of temper in\nher which gave a double charm to every thing she said or did: she was\nall affability, courtesy and chearfulness; she could not therefore avoid\ntreating so agreeable a stranger as Horatio with all imaginable marks of\ncivility; but she had been a very small time acquainted with him before\nher liking ripened into a kind of tenderness little inferior to what he\nwas possessed of for her; and tho' both were then too young to be able\nto judge of the nature of this growing inclination, yet they found they\nloved without knowing to what end.\nAs both the Chevalier St. George and the princess his sister were\ninstructed in the English language, and besides many of their court were\nnatives of Great Britain, whose loyalty had made them follow the exil'd\nmonarch, the French belonging to them had also an ambition to speak in\nthe same dialect: mademoiselle Charlotta being but lately come among\nthem had not yet attained the proper accent, any more than Horatio had\nthat of the French; so they agreed that to improve each other in the\ndifferent languages, he should always speak to her in French, and she\nshould answer him in English. This succeeded not only for the purpose it\nwas intended, but likewise drew on a greater intimacy between them than\nmight otherwise have happened, at least in so short a time.\nThe baron having a real friendship for Horatio, rejoiced to find he had\nso powerful an attachment to continue among them, and without taking any\nnotice how far he saw into his sentiments, encouraged his visits at St.\nGermains all he could. Thus indulged in every thing he wished, he began\ninsensibly to lose all desires of returning to England, and receiving no\nletters either from Dorilaus or his sister, was as it were weaned from\nthat affection he had formerly bore to them, and in the room of that the\nnew friendships he was every day contracting took up his mind.\nHe was indeed used with so much love and respect by people in the most\neminent stations, to whom the baron had introduced him, that it would\nhave been ungrateful in him not to have returned it with the greatest\ngood-will. Expressing one day some surprize at being so far forgotten by\nhis friends in England, de la Valiere told him that he would not have\nhim look on himself as any other than a guest in France, and that if he\nchose to quit that country, he should not only be at his liberty to\nreturn to England whenever he pleased, but also should be furnished with\na sum sufficient for the expences of his journey; but added, that the\noffer he now made of depriving himself of so agreeable a companion was a\npiece of self-denial, than which there could not be a greater proof of a\ndisinterested regard.\nHoratio replied in the manner this generosity demanded, and said, that\nif there was any thing irksome to him in France, it was only his\ninability of returning the favours he had received: believe me, sir,\npursued he, were I master of a fortune sufficient to put me above the\nnecessity of receiving the obligations I now do, it would not be in the\npower of all I left in England to prevail on me to return;--it is here,\nand in the society of that company I at present, thro' your means,\nenjoy, that I would wish to pass my whole life.\nThe baron then told him he would find a way to make all things easy to\nhim, and accordingly went the same day to monsieur the prince of Conti,\nto whom he gave such an advantageous description of the courage and\naccomplishments of the English cornet, and the inclination he had to\nstay among them, that his highness told the baron, that he might\nacquaint him from him, that if he were willing to serve under him he\nshould have a commission; or, if he rather chose a civil employment, he\nwould use his interest to procure him such a one as might afford both\nhonour and profit.\nThis the baron did not fail to communicate immediately to Horatio, who,\ncharm'd with the generosity both of the one and the other, broke out\ninto the utmost encomiums of that nation:--sure, said he, the French are\na people born to inspire and instruct virtue and benevolence to all the\nkingdoms in the world! After the first raptures of his gratitude were\nover, being pressed by the baron to let him know which of the prince's\noffers he would chuse to accept; alas! replied he, this is a kind of an\nunfortunate dilemma I am in;--my inclinations are for the army, and it\nwould be the height of my ambition to serve under such generals as the\nFrench; but it would be unnatural in me to draw my sword against the\nland which gave me being: O would to God! continued he, there were an\nopportunity for me to do it in any other cause! how gladly would I leave\nthe best part of my blood to shew the sense I have of the generosity I\nhave experienced.\nThe baron had nothing to offer in opposition to a sentiment which he\nfound had so much of honour in it, and therefore acquainted the prince\nthat he chose to accept of his highness's favour in a civil employment;\non which he was ordered to attend his levee the next day.\nHis good friend accompanied him, and having presented him with the forms\nusual on such occasions, the prince received him very graciously, and\nwas pleased to ask him several questions concerning the government of\nEngland at that time, the battle in which he had been taken, and many\nother things, to all which the young Horatio answered with so much\ndiscretion and politeness, as made the prince say to the baron, you have\nnot flattered this gentleman in your description of him; for tho' I\nbelieve your friendship ready enough to give a just idea of him, yet, I\nallure you, his own behaviour is his best recommendation, and well\nentitles him to more than I find it in my power to do for him at\npresent. I have been thinking for you, sir, continued he, turning to\nHoratio, and imagine that the employment I have found you will not be\ndisagreeable to you:--one of the gentlemen of the bed-chamber to the\nChevalier St. George being dead, there is a vacancy, which I will make\ninterest shall be filled by no other than yourself;--you seem to be much\nof the same age with him, and I dare say he will be extremely pleased in\nthe choice I make of you to be near him:--it is not indeed, added he, a\nplace of so much advantage as I could wish, but there is a handsome\npension annexed to it, which, with the honour, will, I believe, content\nyou till something better presents itself.\nFrom the first mention the prince made of the post he had found for him,\nthe heart of Horatio leap'd in his breast with an agitation he had never\nfelt before: the thoughts of living at St. Germains in the same palace\nwith mademoiselle Charlotta so transported him, that he scarce knew what\nhe said; and the thanks he gave the prince were expressed with such\nhyperboles of gratitude, as made his highness think he had a higher idea\nof the employment than it indeed deserved; but the baron who knew the\nmotive, and could not help smiling within himself, to prevent any other\nfrom suspecting it, however, told the prince, that it was not to be\nwondered at that he testified so high a satisfaction, since he was now\nto serve a family he had by nature a strong attachment to, and at the\nsame time continue in a country he liked much better than his own.\nHoratio by this time having a little recovered himself, and sensible he\nhad gone rather too far, seconded what the baron had said, and no more\nobservations were made on it.\nThat same evening, the prince having made it his request, was Horatio\npermitted to kiss the hand of the Chevalier St. George, and the ensuing\nday took possession of the apartment appropriated to the office\nbestowed on him.\nAfter having received the congratulations of a whole court, who\ntestified a great deal of satisfaction in having him among them, and\npaid his compliments in a particular manner to mademoiselle Charlotta,\nhe took abundance of pleasure in viewing all the apartments of a palace\nfamous for the birth of one of the greatest monarchs of the age, and for\nbeing the asylum of the distrest royal family of England: when his\nattendance on his master gave him leisure, he frequently passed many\nhours together in a closet, where he was told the late king James used\nto retire every day to pray for the prosperity of that people who had\nabjur'd him. Young as Horatio was, and gay by nature, he sometimes loved\nto indulge the most serious meditations; and this place, as well as the\ncondition of those he served, remonstrating to him the instability of\nall human greatness, he made this general reflection, that there was\nnothing truly valuable but virtue, because the owner could be deprived\nof that only by himself, and not by either the fraud or force of others.\nIndeed the behaviour of all the persons who composed this court could\nnot but inspire those who saw it with sentiments of the nature I have\ndescribed: the queen herself, tho' of too great a soul to shew any marks\nof repining at her fate, was never seen to smile: even the Chevalier St.\nGeorge and princess had both of them a very serious air, which denoted\nthey had reflections more befitting their condition than their years;\nand those about them being most of them persons who had left the\ngreatest part of their fortunes as well as kindred either in England,\nScotland or Ireland, had their own misfortunes as well as that of the\nroyal cause to lament, and therefore could not but wear a dejection in\ntheir countenances: in fine, every thing he saw seem'd an emblem of\nfallen majesty, except on drawing-room nights, and then indeed the\nsplendor of Marli and Versailles shone forth at St. Germains in the\npersons of those who came to pay their compliments, among whom were not\nonly the Dauphine and all the princes of the blood, but even the grand\nmonarch himself thought it not beneath his dignity to give this proof of\nhis respect once or twice every week.\nThis way of living, and the company he was now associated with, gave\nHoratio a manly way of thinking much sooner than otherwise perhaps he\nmight have had, yet did not rob him of his vivacity: some of the queen's\nwomen, and the young ladies about the princess, particularly\nmademoiselle Charlotta, had a thousand sprightly entertainments among\nthemselves, into which he, the baron de la Valiere, and some others who\nhad attachments at that court, were always admitted.\nBut now the time arrived in which he was to lose the society of that\nvaluable friend; the campaign was ready to open, and he was obliged to\nhead his troops and follow the marshals de Villars and Marsin\ninto Flanders.\nAll the conversation turning now on war, those martial inclinations,\nwhich love and the season of the year had occasioned to lye dormant for\na while in the bosom of Horatio, now revived in him: he embraced the\nbaron at taking leave of him with tears of affection and regret: how\ncruel is my fate, said he, to make me of a nation at enmity with yours,\nand that I can neither fight for you nor against you!\nWell, my dear Horatio, replied the other, France may hereafter have\noccasion to employ your arm where there are no ties of duty to restrain\nyou:--in the mean time, continued he with a smile, softer engagements\nmay employ your thoughts;--mademoiselle Charlotta de Palfoy is a\nconquest worth pursuing.\nThis was the first hint the baron had ever given him of the discovery he\nhad made of his sentiments, and it so much the more surprized him that\nhe was told by another what he was not certain of himself:--he knew\nindeed the society of that young lady gave him infinite satisfaction,\nand that he was restless when absent from her; but these words, and the\nair with which they were spoke, shewed him more of his own heart than he\nhad before examined into;--he blush'd excessively, and made no answer;\non which, you have no cause, resumed the baron, to be asham'd of the\npassion you are inspired with, nor troubled at my discovery of it:--I\nassure you I have seen it a long time; and tho' you never honoured me\nwith your confidence in that point, have taken all opportunities of\ndoing justice to your merit in the conversations I have had with\nmademoiselle, who I had the satisfaction to find was not displeased with\nwhat I said upon that head; and I flatter myself with having a good\naccount of the progress you have made at my return.\nI have too much experience of your friendship and goodness to me,\nreplied Horatio, not to assure myself of your doing me all manner of\nkind offices;--I have indeed so great a regard for that lady you\nmention, that I know none of her sex who I so much wish should think\nwell of me, yet is she utterly ignorant of the sentiments I have for\nher; and if I am possessed of that passion which they call love, which I\nprotest I am not certain of myself, I have never made the least\ndeclaration that can give her room to imagine any such thing.\nThe baron laughed heartily to hear him speak in this manner, and then\ntold him there was no need of words to make known an inclination of that\nkind;--it was to be seen in every look and motion of the person inspired\nwith it.--Mademoiselle de Palfoy, continued he, young as she is, I dare\nanswer has penetration enough to see the conquest she has made, but has\nnot yet learned artifice enough to conceal that she is at the same time\nsubdued herself;--and if you would take the advice of a person who has\nsome experience in these affairs, you will endeavour to engage her to a\nconfession before too much observation on the behaviour of others to\ntheir lovers, shall teach her those imperious airs by which women\nfrequently torment the heart that adores them, tho' their own perhaps in\ndoing so feels an equal share.\nHoratio, who had seen something like this between the baron and his\nmistress, found a great deal of reason in what he said, and promised to\nbe guided by him, especially as he had encouragement enough to hope, by\nall the treatment he had found from Charlotta, that a declaration of\nlove from him would not offend her beyond forgiveness.\nFrom that time forward he therefore began to think in what manner he\nshould first disclose the tender secret to the dear object of his\naffections: when absent from her he easily found words, but when\npresent, that awe which is inseparable from a real passion struck him\nentirely dumb; and whenever he was about to open his mouth to utter what\nhe intended, he had neither words nor voice; and tho' he saw her every\nday, was often alone with her, and had opportunity enough to have\nrevealed himself, yet could he not get the better of his timidity for a\ngreat while, and perhaps should have been much longer under this cruel\nconstraint, had not an accident favoured his wishes beyond what he could\nhave hoped, or even imagined, and by shewing him part of what passed in\nher soul, emboldened him to unfold what his own laboured with on\nher account.\nCHAP. VI.\n_Describes the masquerade at the dutchess of Main's; the characters and\nintrigues of several persons of quality who were there; the odd\nbehaviour of a lady in regard to Horatio, and Charlotta's\nsentiments upon it_.\nThe dutchess of Main was one of the gayest and most gallant ladies at\nthe court of Lewis XIV. she was for ever entertaining the nobility with\nballs, masquerades, or concerts; and as she was of the blood royal, and\nhighly respected not only on that score, but by the distinguish'd favour\nof the king, the Chevalier St. George, and the princess his sister,\nfrequently honoured her assemblies with their presence.\nTo divert those ladies whose husbands were gone to Flanders, as she\nsaid, she now proposed a masquerade; and the day being fixed, it was the\nsole business of the young and gay to prepare habits such as were most\nsuitable to their inclinations, or, as they thought, would be most\nadvantageous to their persons.\nThe Chevalier St. George was dressed in a rich Grecian habit of\nsky-coloured velvet embroidered with large silver stars: the top of his\ncap was encompassed with diamonds, rubies, emeralds, saphirs, amythists,\nand other precious stones of various colours, set in rows in the exact\nform of a rainbow: a light robe of crimson taffaty, fringed with silver,\nwas fastened by a knot of jewels on his left shoulder, and crossed his\nback to the right side, where it was tucked into a belt of the finest\noriental pearls, and thence hung down and trail'd a little on the\nground: in fine, there was nothing that exceeded the magnificence and\neloquence of his appearance, or was in any measure equal to it in the\nwhole assembly, except that of the princess Louisa his sister.\nShe would needs go as a Diana, and obliged all her ladies to be habited\nlike nymphs: no idea of this goddess, inspired either by the painter or\nthe poet's art, can in any degree come up to that which the fight of\nthis amiable princess gave every beholder. Conformable to the character\nshe assumed, she had a large crescent of diamonds on her head, which had\nno other covering than a great quantity of the finest hair in the world,\npartly braided with pearls and emeralds, and partly flowing in ringlets\ndown on her alabaster neck: her garments were silver tissue, white and\nshining as the moon on a clear frosty night; and being buttoned up a\nlittle at the bottom as for the conveniency of the chace, shewed great\npart of her fine proportioned ankle. In her hand she held an ivory bow,\nand an arrow of the same headed with gold; and on her shoulder was fixed\na quiver curiously wrought and beset with jewels: her attendants, which\nwere six in number, had their habits green, but made in the same fashion\nof the princess's, with bows and arrows in their hands, and quivers at\ntheir backs: all of them had their hair turned up under a caul of silver\nnet, from which hung little tossels of pearl intermixed with diamonds.\nNext to this fair troop the duchess of Main herself attracted the\nattention of the assembly: she was habited like an Indian queen, with\nrobes composed of feathers so artfully placed, that they represented a\nthousand different kind of birds and beasts, which, as she moved, seemed\nto have motion in themselves: on her head she had a lofty plume\nsupported by a cap, and richly ornamented with precious stones; as were\nall her garments wherever the propriety of the fashion of them would\ngive leave.\nThe young mademoiselle de Bourbon, in the habit of a sea-nymph, and\nmademoiselle de Blois, in that of a Minerva, ornamented and decorated\naccording to their several characters, had also their share of\nadmiration.\nNor did the marchionesses of Vallois and Lucerne, both in the garb of\nshepherdesses, serve as mere foils to those I have mentioned: there was\nsomething; even in this plainness that shewed the elegance of the\nwearer's taste.\nThe prince of Conde, the dukes of Berry, Vendosine and Chartres, the\nyoung marquis de Montbausine, the counts de Chenille, de Ranbeau, and\nthe baron de Roche, had all of them habits extremely rich and well\nfancied, as were many others of whom it would be too tedious to make\nparticular mention, and be likewise digressive to the matter I take upon\nme to relate; I shall therefore only say, that there was not one person\nof either sex, who did not endeavour to set themselves forth to all\npossible advantage.\nThose gentlemen who attended the Chevalier St. George were at their\nliberty to appear in what habit they pleased: Horatio knowing his\ncharming Charlotta was a nymph of the forest, chose to be a hunter, and\nwas accordingly dressed in green, with a little cap on his head and a\njavelin in his hand, as Acteon is generally portrayed; and indeed had he\nstudied what garb would have become him best, he could not have fixed on\none more proper for that purpose.\nFine madamoiselle de Sanserre at least thought him more worthy her\nregard than any of those, the richness of whose habits made her know\nwere of a higher rank:--she took particular notice of him, made him\ndance with her, and said a thousand gallant things to him; but he could\nvery well have dispensed with hearing them, and found little\nsatisfaction in any thing that deprived him of entertaining his dear\nCharlotta, who he easily knew by her air and shape from all those who\nwere habited in the same manner. As he doubted not, however, but the\nperson who had thus singled him out was a lady of condition, he returned\nher civilities with a politeness which was natural to him, but which had\nreceived great improvements since his arrival in France. She was no less\ncharm'd with his conversation than she had been with his person, and\nimpatient to know who he was, made an offer of shewing him her face on\ncondition he would pluck off his mask at the same time: but this he\nwould by no means agree to, because still hoping to get rid of her, and\nhave some discourse with mademoiselle Charlotta, he did not think proper\nhe should be known by any other, who might perhaps make remarks on his\nbehaviour; and therefore excused himself from complying with her desires\nin terms as obliging as the circumstance would admit.\nAs she had displayed all her talents of wit and eloquence to engage him,\nshe looked on the little curiosity she had been able to inspire in him\nas an affront, and vexed she had thrown away so much time on an\ninsensible, as she called him, flung hastily away, and joining with some\nother company, left him at liberty to pursue his inclinations.\nThis lady had been a royal mistress, but not having the good fortune to\nbe made a mother, was not honoured with any title; her being forsaken by\nthe king, who indeed had few amours of any long continuance, did not in\nthe least abate the good opinion she had of her beauty; and to fee\nherself followed by a train of lovers being the supreme pleasure of her\nlife, she spared nothing to attract and engage: whenever she failed in\nthis expectation it was a severe mortification; but her vanity and the\ngaity of her humour would not suffer it to prey upon her spirits for\nabove a minute, and she diverted the shock of a rebuff in one place by\nnew attempts to conquer in another; therefore it is probable thought no\nmore of Horatio after she had turned from him.\nHe now carefully avoided all that might interrupt his wishes, and seeing\nCharlotta had just broke off some conversation she had been entertained\nwith, made what haste he could to prevent her from being\nre-engaged:--She immediately knew him; and as their mutual innocence\nmade them perfectly free in expressing themselves to each other, she\ntold him she was glad he was come; that they would keep together the\nwhole masquerade, provided he did not think it a confinement, to prevent\nher being persecuted with the impertinencies of some people there, who\nshe found thought a masque a kind of sanction for saying any thing.\nIt is not to be doubted but Horatio gave her all the assurances that\nwords could form, of feeling the most perfect pleasure in her society,\nand that he should not; without the extremest reluctance, find himself\nobliged to abandon the happiness she offered him to any other person in\nthe company: to recompence this complaisance, as she called it, she gave\nhim a brief detail of the characters of as many as she knew thro' their\nhabits; and in doing this discovered a sweet impartiality and love of\ntruth, which was no small addition to her other charms. She blamed the\nbaroness de Guiche for not being able to return the affection of a\nhusband who had married her with an inconsiderable fortune, and had\nsince she had been his wife pardoned a thousand miscarriages in her\nconduct:--she praised the virtue of mademoiselle de Mareau, who being at\nfifteen the bride of a man of seventy, behaved to him with a tenderness,\nand exact conformity to his will, which, if owing alone to duty, was not\nto be distinguished from inclination:--she expressed a concern that the\ngaity of the dutchess of Vendome gave the world any room for censure,\nand highly condemned the duke for being guilty of actions which had made\nher sometimes give into parties of pleasure by way of retaliation:--but\nshe was more severe on the indecorum of mademoiselle de Renville, who\nbeing known for the mistress of the duke of Chartres, and that she was\nsupported by him, was fond of appearing in all public places. She could\nnot help testifying a good deal of surprize, that any woman who\npretended to virtue would admit her into their assemblies: not but she\nsaid the case of that lady was greatly to be pitied, who being high-born\nand bred had been reduced to the lowest exigencies of life, and from\nwhich to be relieved she had only consented to assist the looser\npleasures of the amorous duke; but, added she, I would not methinks have\nher seem to glory in her shame, and in a manner of life which her\nmisfortunes alone can render excusable; nor can I approve of the\nindulgence her mistaken triumph meets with, because it may not only\ndestroy all notions of regret in herself for what her necessities oblige\nher to, but also make others, who have not the same pretence, find a\nkind of sanction for their own errors:--vice, said she, ought at lead to\nblush, and hide itself as much as possible from view, left by being\ntolerated in public it should become a fashion.\nHoratio was so much taken up with admiring the justness of her\nsentiments, that awed by them, as it were, he could not yet, tho'\nmask'd, make any discovery of his own: she was about entering into a\ndiscourse with him concerning the first motives which had rendered some\npersons she pointed out to him unhappy in the marriage-state, which\nperhaps might have given him an opportunity for explaining himself, when\na lady richly dress'd came up to them, and giving Horatio a sudden pluck\nby the arm; villain! cried she. Madam, returned he, strongly amazed. Is\nthe trifling conversation of Sanserre, resumed she, or this little\ncreature to be preferred to a woman of that quality you have dared to\nabuse?--but this night has convinced her of your perfidy:--she sends you\nthis, continued she, giving him a slap over the face as hard as she\ncould, and be assured it is the last present you will ever receive\nfrom her.\nShe had no sooner uttered these words than she flew quick as lightning\nout of the room, leaving Horatio in such a consternation both at what\nshe said and did, as deprived him even of the thought of following her,\nor using any means to solve this riddle.--He was in a deep musing when\nmademoiselle Charlotta, possessed that moment with a passion she till\nthen was ignorant of, said to him; I find, Horatio, you have wonderfully\nimproved the little time you have been in France, to gain you a\nmultiplicity of mistresses; but I am sorry my inadvertency in talking to\na man so doubly pre-engaged, should cause me to be reckoned among the\nnumber. In speaking this she turned away with a confusion which was\nvisible in her air, and the scarlet colour with which her neck was dyed.\nBy heaven! cried he, in the utmost agitation, I know so little the\nmeaning of what I have just now heard, that it seems rather a dream than\na reality. O the deceiver! returned she, a little slackening her pace,\nwill you pretend to have given no occasion for the reproach you have\nreceived:--great must have been your professions to draw on you a\nresentment such as I have been witness of;--but I shall take care to\ngive the lady, whoever she is, no farther room for jealousy on my\naccount; and as for mademoiselle Sanserre, I believe the stock of\nreputation she has will not suffer much from the addition of one more\nfavourite to the number the world has already given her.\nThe oddness of this adventure, and the vexation he was in to find\nCharlotta seemed incensed against him for a crime of which he knew\nhimself so perfectly innocent, destroyed at once all the considerations\nhis timidity had inspired, and aiming only to be cleared in her\nopinion;--if there be faith in man, cried he, I know nothing of what I\nam accused: no woman but your charming self ever had the power to give\nme an uneasy moment;--it is you alone have taught me what it is to love,\nand as I never felt, I never pretended to that passion for any other.\nMe! replied Charlotta, extremely confused; If it were so, you take a\nstrange time and method to declare it in;--but I know of no concern I\nhave in your amours, your gratitude, or your perfidy; and you had better\nfollow and endeavour to appease your enraged mistress, than lose your\ntime on me in vain excuses.\nAh mademoiselle! cried he, how unjust and cruel are you, and how severe\nmy fate, which not content with the despair my real unworthiness of\nadoring you has plunged me in, but also adds to it an imputation of\ncrimes my soul most detests:--I never heard even the name of the lady\nyou mentioned till your lips pronounced it; and if it be she I danced\nwith, I protest I never saw her face: and as for the meaning of the\nother lady's treatment of me, it must certainly be occasioned by some\nmistake, having offered nothing to any of the sex that could justify\nsuch a proceeding.\nAll the time he was speaking Charlotta was endeavouring to compose\nherself.--The hurry of spirits she had been in at the apprehensions of\nHoratio's having any amorous engagements, shewing her how much interest\nshe took in him, made her blush at having discovered herself to him so\nfar; and tho' she could not be any more tranquil, yet she thought she\nwould for the future be more prudent; to this end she now affected to\nlaugh at the dilemma into which she told him he had brought himself, by\nmaking addresses in two places at the same time, and advised him in a\ngay manner to be more circumspect.\nThus was this beautiful lady, by her jealousy, convinced of her\nsensibility; and as difficult as Horatio found it to remove the one, he\nfound his consolation in the discovery of the other.\nFrom the time he had been disengaged from mademoiselle Sanferre, he had\nretired with Charlotta to one corner of the room; and the greatest part\nof the company being in a grand dance, the others were taken up in\nlooking on them, so that our young lovers had the opportunity of talking\nto each other without being taken much notice of; but several of the\nmasquers now drawing nearer that way, prevented Horatio from saying any\nthing farther at that time, either to clear his innocence or prosecute\nhis passion; and Charlotta, glad to avoid all discourse on a subject she\nthought herself but ill prepared to answer, joined some ladies, with\nwhom she stayed till the ball was near concluded.\nHoratio after this withdrew to a window, and flickered behind a large\ndamask curtain, threw himself on a sopha he found there, and ruminated\nat full on the adventure had happened to him, in which he found a\nmixture of joy and discontent: the behaviour of Charlotta assured him he\nwas not indifferent to her; but then the thoughts that he appeared in\nher eyes as ungrateful, inconstant and perfidious, made him tremble,\nleft the idea of what he seemed to be should utterly erase that\nfavourable one she had entertained of what he truly was. By what means\nhe should prove his sincerity he knew not; and as he was utterly\nunpracticed in the affairs of love, lamented the absence of his good\nfriend the baron de la Valiere, who he thought might have been, able to\ngive him same advice, how to proceed.\nHe remained buried, as it were, in these cogitations, when a lady\nplucked back the curtain which screen'd him, and without seeing any one\nwas there, threw herself on the sopha almost in his lap.--Oh heaven!\ncried she, perceiving what she had done, and immediately rose; but\nHoratio starting up, would not suffer her to quit the place, telling\nher, that since she chose it, it was his business to retire, and leave\nher to indulge whatever meditations had brought her thither. She thank'd\nhim in a voice which, by its trembling, testified her mind was in some\nvery great disorder; and added, if your good nature, said she, be equal\nto your complaisance, you will do me the favour to desire a lady,\ndressed in pink and silver, with a white sattin scarf cross her\nshoulder, to come here directly:--you cannot, continued she, be mistaken\nin the person, because there is no other in the same habit. Tho' Horatio\nwas very loth to engage himself in the lady's affairs, fearing to give a\nsecond umbrage to mademoiselle Charlotta, yet he knew not how to excuse\ngranting so small a request, and therefore assured her of his\ncompliance.\nAccordingly he sent his eyes in quest, which soon pointed out to him the\nperson whom she had described: having delivered his message to her;\nHoratio! cried she, somewhat astonished, how came you employed in this\nerrand? he knew her voice, and that it was mademoiselle de Coigney, the\nmistress of his friend the baron, on which he immediately told her how\nthe lady had surprized him: she laughed heartily, and said no more but\nleft him, and went to the window he had directed.\nFor a long time he sought in vain for an opportunity of speaking to the\nobject of his affections: she was still engaged either in dancing or in\ndifferent parties; and as his eyes continually followed her, he easily\nperceived she purposely avoided him. A magnificent collation being\nprepared in a great drawing-room next to that in which the company were,\nthey all went in to partake of it. The entertainment was served up on\ntwo large tables; but as every one was mask'd, and the vizards so\ncontriv'd, that those who wore them could eat without plucking them off,\nthey sat down promiscuously without ceremony or any distinction of\ndegrees, none being obliged to know another in these disguises; only the\nattendants of the Chevalier St. George, and the princess Louisa, took\ncare not to place themselves at the same they were, so by this means sat\ntogether; but a great number of others being mingled with them, no\nparticular conversation could be expected.\nSupper being over, they all returned to the ballroom; and Horatio having\ncontrived it so as to get next Charlotta, she could not refuse the offer\nhe made her of his hand to lead her in; but as he was about saying\nsomething to her in a low voice, a man came hastily to him, and taking\nhim a little on one side, presented him with a letter, and then retired\nwith so much precipitation, that Horatio could neither ask from whom it\ncame, nor well discern what sort of person it was that gave it him. He\nput it however in his pocket, designing to read it at more leisure, his\ncuriosity for the contents not equalling his desire of entertaining\nmademoiselle Charlotta; but that young lady, whose jealousy received new\nfewel from this object, had slipt away before he could turn from the\nman, and had already mixed with a cluster of both sexes who had got into\nthe room before them.\nHoratio finding all attempts to speak to her that night would be\nineffectual, went back into the drawing-room where they supped, and\nwhere but few people remaining he might examine the letter with more\nfreedom. He saw it had no superscription; but supposing the inside would\ngive him some satisfaction, he broke it open hastily and found in it\nthese lines.\n'Whether false or faithful still are you dear to\nme; and if I am in the least so to you,\nthe treatment you received will be pardoned for\nthe sake of the occasion:--I own that at a\nplace where you might have been as particular as\nyou pleased with me without suspicion, it enraged\nme to see you waste those precious moments\nwith others which I flattered myself to have solely\nengrossed;--besides, the character of mademoiselle\nSanserre is so well known, that I thought\nyou would have avoided her of all others; yet\nhad she forced herself upon you, sure you might\nafterwards have come to me, when I had given\nyou so particular a description of the habit I\nshould wear; but instead of making any excuse\nfor a first transgression, you hurry to a second,\nand pay all your devoirs to another, whom indeed\nI knew not at that time, but am since informed\nshe is one of the maids of honour to princess\nLouisa.--I must confess I had not resolution\nenough to suffer so cruel an injustice, and being\ntoo much overcome by my passion to resent it as\nI ought, I left the place, and desired our friend to\ndo it for me.--I find she somewhat exceeded\nher commission, but you must forgive her, since\nit was her love for me:--I am now at her\nhouse, where I impatiently expect you--The\nbaron is secure for some hours;--those we may\npass together, if you still think there is any thing\nworth quitting the masquerade for, to be found\nin the arms of\n_Yours_, &c,\n_P.S._ If you now fail, no excuse hereafter shall\never plead your pardon.'\nThis letter confirmed Horatio in the belief he had before, that he had\nbeen mistaken by the lady for some favorite person; but who the lady\nwas, he was as much in the dark as ever; nor would he have given himself\nany trouble concerning it, if he had not hoped by that means to have\nretrieved the good opinion of Charlotta. He was however impatient to\nshew her the letter, as he doubted not but she had seen it delivered to\nhim; but with all his assiduity he could not obtain one word in private\nduring the masquerade; and when it was broke up, which was not till near\nmorning, and they returned to St. Germains, it was impossible, because\nhe knew she must be in the princess's chamber, as he in that of the\nChevalier St. George: he was therefore obliged to content himself with\nthe hope that the next day would be more favourable.\nCHAP. VII.\n_An explanation of the foregoing adventure, with a continuation of the\nintrigues of some French ladies, and the policy of mademoiselle Coigney\nin regard of her brother_.\nIt cannot be supposed that either of our young lovers enjoyed much true\nrepose that night, tho' the fatigue of the dance might naturally require\nit: the one did but just know herself a lover before she felt the worst\ntorments of that passion in her jealousy; and the other having been\ncompelled, as it were, to lay open his heart in order to convince his\ncharmer it had no object but herself in view, knew not but his temerity\nin doing so might be imputed to him as no less a crime than that from\nwhich he attempted to be cleared: each had their different anxieties;\nbut those of Horatio were the least severe, because thro' all the\nindignation of his mistress he saw marks of an affection, which he could\nnot have flattered himself with if they had not been evident; and\nconscious of his innocence, doubted not but time would both explain that\nand reconcile the offended fair:--whereas Charlotta was far from being\nable to assure herself of her lover's fidelity: she could not conceive\nhow, in the compass of one night, such a plurality of mistakes should\nhappen to the same man, and trembled at the reflection that this man,\nwho possibly was the falsest of his sex, should not only have made an\nimpression on her heart, but also, by the concern she had so unwarily\nexpressed, have reason to triumph in his conquest:--ashamed therefore of\nwhat she felt, and determined to make use of her utmost efforts to\nconceal it for the future, if not to conquer it, she thought to shun all\noccasions of seeing or speaking to this dangerous invader of her peace\nwas the first step she ought to take; but how little is a heart,\npossessed of the passion her's was, capable of judging for itself, or\nmaintaining any resolutions in prejudice of the darling object!--she had\nno sooner set it down as a rule to avoid him, than she began to wish for\nhis presence, and contented herself with thinking she desired it only\nout of curiosity to hear what he would say, and to have an opportunity,\nby a rallying manner of behaviour, to destroy whatever conjectures he\nmight have form'd in favour of his passion; but all this time she\ndeceived herself, and in reality only longed for an interview with him,\nin hopes he would find means to justify himself. Horatio, who was\nimpatient to attempt it, seeing her at a distance walking on the terrass\nwith no other company than mademoiselle de Coigney, went immediately to\njoin them, thinking that if the presence of this lady might be a bar to\nmany things he wanted to say to Charlotta, it would be of service to him\nanother way, by preventing her from making him any reproaches.\nAs soon as he came near, I owe you little thanks, Horatio, said\nmademoiselle de Coigney laughing, for the interruption you gave me last\nnight. In the multiplicity of those reflections which his own affairs\nhad occasioned him, he had entirely forgot the lady in the window; and\nimagining some other accident had happened which should make him appear\nyet more guilty in the eyes of Charlotta, ask'd her, with some\nimpatience, what she meant? don't you remember, answered she, that you\nbrought me a message from a certain lady? Yes, madam, said he, and in\nthat, thought I did no more than my duty obliged me to, as she seemed\nunder some perplexity, which I supposed she was impatient to\nacquaint you with.\nYou judged rightly, indeed, resumed de Coigney; but had you known how\ngladly I would have dispensed with the honour of her confidence, I dare\nanswer you would have spared it me:--I'll tell you, my dear, pursued she\nturning to Charlotta, for the secrets of this lady are pretty universal;\nand I am certain that I have heard from no less than fifty different\npersons, that very affair she was in such a hurry to inform me of last\nnight: you must needs have heard of the amour between madam la Boissy\nand the chevalier de Mourenbeau? frequently, replied Charlotta; her\nridiculous jealousies of him have long been the jest of the whole court;\nand I never go to Marli or Versailles, but I am told of some new\ninstance of it. And yet to relate a long story of her passion, and his\ningratitude, said mademoiselle de Coigney, was I last night dragged into\na dark corner, and deprived for an hour together of all the pleasures of\nthe masquerade: it seems she had over-heard some gallant things between\nhim and the daughter of the count de Granpree, and that gave her the\noccasion of running into a recapitulation of all the professions of\nconstancy he had made to herself, the proofs she had given him of a too\neasy belief, and the little regard he now paid to her peace of mind.--I\nwas obliged to affect a pity for her misfortunes, and gratitude for the\ntrust she reposed in me, tho' neither the one or the other merited in\nreality any thing but contempt.\nOne often suffers a good deal from one's complaisance this way, said\nCharlotta; and for my part there is nothing I would more carefully avoid\nthan secrets of this nature; but you have not told me how far Horatio\nwas accessary to bringing you into this trouble.\nHe them said that he would save mademoiselle de Coigney the labour, and\nimmediately related how the lady they were speaking of threw herself\nupon him, and afterwards enjoined him to deliver the message. But, added\nhe, I think last night was one of the most unfortunate ones I have ever\nknown, since, with all the care I could take, I was continually\nprevented by other people's concerns from prosecuting my own.--I was not\nonly insulted and reproached for being mistaken for some other person,\nfor it could happen no other way, but also soon after received a letter\nno less mysterious to me than the blow, which doubtless came from the\nsame quarter: as there is no name subscribed, or if there were, I should\nlook on myself as under no obligation of secrecy, I will beg leave to\ncommunicate it to you, ladies.\nWith these words he took the letter out of his pocket and held it open\nbetween them: Charlotta conquered her impatience so far as not to take\nit out of his hand; but mademoiselle Coigney snatched it hastily,\nimagining she knew the hand; nor was she deceived in her conjecture: she\nhad no sooner read it slightly over;--see here, mademoiselle Charlotta,\nsaid she, a new proof of madam de Olonne's folly, and my brother's\ncontinued attachment to that vile woman.\nCharlotta then looked over the letter with a satisfaction that was\nvisible in her countenance; and as soon as she had done, then it is\nplain, said she, that Horatio was mistaken for monsieur de Coigney: but\nhow it happened so is what I cannot conceive.\nI can easily solve the riddle, replied mademoiselle de Coigney: I heard\nmy brother say he intended to wear a hunting dress at the masquerade;\nbut being disappointed of going to it, by his most christian majesty\nsending for him to Marli, I suppose too suddenly for him to give notice\nof his enforced absence to madame d' Olonne, and Horatio by chance\nappearing in the same habit which he had doubtless told her he would be\nin, and their sizes being pretty much alike, she might very well be\ndeceived, and also have a seeming reason for the jealousy and rage her\nletter testifies.\nNothing could exceed the joy Horatio felt at this unexpected\neclaircisement of his innocence, which was also doubled by the pleasure\nwhich, in spight of all her endeavours to restrain it, he saw sparkle in\nthe eyes of his beloved Charlotta. Neither of them, however, had any\nopportunity of expressing their sentiments at this time, de Coigney\ncontinuing with them till dinner, when they all separated to go to their\nrespective tables.\nThe next day afforded what in this he had sought in vain:--he found her\nalone in her own apartment; and having broke the ice, was now grown bold\nenough to declare his passion, with all the embellishments necessary to\nrender it successful: mademoiselle Charlotta knew very well what became\nthe decorum of her sex, and was too nice an observer of it not to behave\nwith all the reserve imaginable on this occasion. All the freedom she\nhad been accustomed to treat him with, while ignorant of his or her own\ninclination, was now banished from her words and actions, and she\ngravely told him, that if he were in earnest, it was utterly improper\nfor her to receive any professions of that kind without the approbation\nof monsieur de Palfoy her father; and as there was but very little\nprobability of his granting it, on many considerations, she would wish\nhim to quell in its infancy an affection which might otherwise be\nattended with misfortunes to them both.\nIt is certain, indeed, that in this she spoke no more than what her\nreason suggested: she knew very well that her father had much higher\nexpectations in view for her, and that on the least suspicion of her\nentertaining a foreigner, and one who seemed to have no other dependance\nthan that of favour, she should be immediately removed from St.\nGermains; so that it behoved her to be very circumspect in any\nencouragement she gave him: but tho' she spoke to him in this manner, it\nwas not, as her actions afterwards fully demonstrated, that she really\ndesigned what she said should make him desist his pretensions, but that\nhe should be careful how he let any one into the secret of his heart.\nShe foresaw little prospect of their love ever being crown'd with\nsuccess, yet found too much pleasure in indulging it to be able to wish\nan extinction of it, either in him or herself; and in spight of all the\ndistance she assumed, he easily perceived that whatever difficulties he\nshould have to struggle with in the prosecution of his addresses, they\nwould not be owing to her cruelty. They were both of them too young to\nattend much to consequences; and as securing the affections of each\nother was what each equally aimed at, neither of them reflected how\nterrible a separation would be, and how great the likelihood that it\nmust happen they knew not how soon.\nAs the remonstrances of mademoiselle Charlotta had all the effect she\nintended them for on Horatio, he so well commanding himself that no\nperson in the world, except the baron de la Valiere, who was absent, had\nthe least intimation of his passion, they might probably have lived a\nlong time together in the contentment they now enjoyed, had not an\naccident, of which neither of them could have any notion, put a stop\nto it.\nHoratio thought no more on the affair of madame de Olonne and monsieur\nde Coigney, from the time he had been cleared of having any concern with\nthat lady, yet was that night's adventure productive of what he looked\nupon as the greatest misfortune could befal him. But to make this matter\nconspicuous to the reader, it is necessary to give a brief detail of the\ncircumstances that led to it.\nThis lady, who was wife to the baron de Olonne, was one of the most\nbeautiful, and most vicious women in the kingdom; she entertained a\ngreat number of lovers; but there was none more attached to her, or more\nloved by her than young monsieur de Coigney: he had for a long time\nmaintained a criminal correspondence with her, to the great trouble of\nall his friends, who endeavoured all they could, but in vain, to wean\nhim from her: he had lately a recounter with one of her former lovers,\nwhich had like to have cost him his life; and it was with great\ndifficulty, and as much as the relations on both sides could do, by\nrepresenting to the king that they were set upon by street-robbers, that\nthey avoided the punishment the law inflicts on duelists. De Coigney was\nbut just recovered of the hurts he had received, when, so far from\nresolving to quit the occasion of them, he made an appointment to meet\nher at the masquerade:--they had described to each other the habit they\nintended to wear, when, as he was preparing for the rendezvous, an\nexpress came from the king, commanding his immediate attendance at\nMarli, where the court then was: this was occasioned by old monsieur de\nCoigney, who having, by some spies he kept about his son, received\nintelligence of this assignation, had no other way to disappoint it than\nby the royal authority, which he easily procured, as he was very much in\nfavour with his majesty; and had laid the matter before him.\nThe person who came with the mandate had orders not to quit the presence\nof young Coigney, but bring him directly; by which means he was deprived\nof all opportunity of sending his excuses to madame de Olonne, who\ncoming to the masquerade big with expectation of seeing her favourite\nlover, and finding him, as she imagined, engaged with others, and wholly\nregardless of herself, was seized with the most violent jealousy; and\nnot able to continue in a place where she had received so manifest a\nslight, desired mademoiselle de Freville, her confidant and companion,\nto upbraid him with his inconstancy; which request she complied with in\nthe manner already related, and which gave mademoiselle Charlotta such\nmatter of disquiet.\nThe amorous madame de Olonne, however, having given vent to the first\ntransports of her fury, could not hinder those of a softer nature from\nreturning with the same violence as ever; and for the gratification of\nthem wrote that letter which Horatio received, and occasioned afterward\nthe explanation of the whole affair, which explanation he then thought\nfortunate for him; but by a whimsical effect of chance it proved utterly\nthe reverse.\nMademoiselle de Coigney, who had the most tender affection for her\nbrother, and passionately wished to make him break off all engagements\nwith a woman of madame de Olonne's character, and who might possibly\nbring him under many inconveniencies, took the hint which mademoiselle\nCharlotta unthinkingly gave, by telling her how she had been affronted\non his account by de Freville, of putting something into his head which\nmight probably succeed better than all the attempts had hitherto been\npractised to make him quit his present criminal amour.\nThe first time she saw mademoiselle de Freville, she told her as a great\nsecret that her brother was fallen in love with mademoiselle Charlotta,\nand that she believed it would be a match, for he had already engaged\nfriends to sollicit monsieur de Palfoy on that score. This she knew would\nbe carried directly to madame de Olonne, and doubted not but it would so\nincrease her jealous rage, that all he could say in his defence would\npass for nothing: she also added, that he was in the masquerade that\nnight, tho' for some private reasons best known to himself, said she, he\nhad ordered his people to give out he was gone to Marli.\nDe Freville, who was the creature of madame de Olonne, no sooner\nreceived this intelligence than she flew with it to her, as mademoiselle\nde Coigney had imagined: neither did it fail of the desired effect. When\nhe came to visit her, as he did on the moment of his return from Marli,\nthe violence of her temper made her break out into such reproaches and\nexclamations, as a man had need be very much in love to endure: he\nendeavoured to make her sensible of her error by a thousand\nprotestations; but the more he talk'd of Marli and the king's command,\nthe more she told him of Charlotta and the masquerade; and almost\ndistracted to find he still persisted in denying he was there, or had\never made any tender professions to that lady, she proceeded to such\nextravagancies as he, who knew himself innocent, could not forbear\nreplying to in terms which were far from being softening:--in fine, they\nquarrelled to a very high degree, and some company happening to come in\nat the same time, hindered either of them from saying any thing which\nmight palliate the resentment of the other.\nBefore they had an opportunity of meeting again, mademoiselle de Coigney\nsaw her brother; and artfully introducing some discourse of mademoiselle\nCharlotta de Palfoy, began to run into the utmost encomiums on that\nlady's beauty, virtue, wit, and sweetness of disposition, and at last\nadded, that she should think herself happy in having her for a sister.\nYoung de Coigney listened attentively to what she said: he had often\nbeen in her company, but being prepossessed with his passion for madame\nde Olonne, her charms had not that effect on him as now that the\nbehaviour of the other had very much lessened his esteem of her.\nHe replied, that he knew no lady more deserving than the person she\nmentioned, and should be glad if, by her interest, he might have\npermission to visit her: this was all mademoiselle de Coigney wanted;\nshe doubted not but if he were once engaged in an honourable passion, it\nwould entirely cure him of all regard for madame de Olonne, and as she\nknew he had a good share of understanding, thought that when he should\ncome to a more near acquaintance with the perfections of Charlotta, the\nloose airs of the other would appear in their true colours, and become\nas odious to him as once they had been infatuating.\nFinding him so well inclined to her purpose, she took upon herself the\ncare of introducing him, as it was indeed easy to do, considering the\nintimacy there was between her and Charlotta. That young lady received\nhim as the brother of a person she extremely loved; and little\nsuspecting the design on which he came, treated him with a gaity which\nheightened her charms, and at the same time flattered his hopes, that\nthere was something in his person not disagreeable to her.\nMademoiselle de Coigney took care that every visit he made to Charlotta\nshould be reported to de Olonne, which still heightening her resentment,\ntogether with his little assiduity to moderate it, made a total breach\nbetween them, to the great satisfaction of all his friends in general.\nThose of them whom mademoiselle had acquainted with the stratagem by\nwhich she brought it about, praised her wit and address; and as they\nknew the family and fortune of mademoiselle Charlotta, encouraged her to\ndo every thing in her power for turning that into reality which she at\nfirst had made use of only as a feint for the reclaiming of her brother.\nThe young gentleman himself stood in need of no remonstrances of the\nadvantages he might propose by a marriage with Charlotta; her beauty and\nthe charms of her conversation had made a conquest of his heart far more\ncomplete than any prospect of interest could have done: not only de\nOlonne, but the whole sex would now in vain have endeavoured to attract\nthe least regard from him, and as he was naturally vain, he thought\nnothing but Charlotta de Palfoy worthy of him.\nThe success he had been accustomed to meet in his love affairs,\nemboldened him to declare himself much sooner than he would have done\nhad he followed the advice of his sister, and too soon to be received in\na manner agreeable to his wishes by a lady of Charlotta's modesty and\ndelicacy, even had she not been prepossessed in favour of another; for\ntho' she respected him as the brother of her friend, that consideration\nwas too weak to hinder her from letting him know how displeasing his\npretensions were to her, and that if he persisted in them she should be\nobliged to refuse seeing him any more. He was now sensible of his error,\nand endeavoured to excuse it by the violence of his passion, which he\nsaid would not suffer him to conceal what he felt; but as, when a heart\nis truly devoted to one object, the sound of love from any other mouth\nis harsh and disagreeable; the more he aimed to vindicate himself in\nthis point the more guilty he became, and all he said served only to\nincrease her dislike.\nMademoiselle de Coigney after this took upon her to intercede for her\nbrother's passion, but with as ill success as he had done; and being one\nday more importunate than usual, mademoiselle Charlotta grew in so ill a\nhumour, that she told her she was determined to give no encouragement to\nthe amorous addresses of any man, unless commanded to do so by those who\nhad the power of disposing her; but, added she, I would not have\nmonsieur de Coigney make any efforts that way; for were he to gain the\nconsent of my father, which I am far from believing he would do, I have\nso little inclination to give him those returns of affection he may\nexpect, that in such a case I should venture being guilty of\ndisobedience.\nIs there any thing so odious then, madam, in the person of my brother?\nsaid de Coigney with a tone that shewed how much she was picqued. I\nnever gave myself the trouble of examining into the merits either of his\nperson or behaviour, replied she; but to deal sincerely with you, I have\na perfect aversion to the thoughts of changing my condition, and if you\ndesire the friendship between us should subsist, you will never mention\nany thing of it to me;--and as to your brother, when I am convinced I\nshall receive no farther persecutions from him of the nature I have\nlately had, he may depend on my treating him with my former regard; till\nthen, you will do me a favour, and him a service, to desire he would\nrefrain his visits.\nThese expressions may be thought little conformable to the natural\npoliteness of the French, or to that sweetness of disposition which\nmademoiselle Charlotta testified on other occasions; but she found\nherself so incessantly pressed both by the brother and the sister, and\nthat all the denials she had given in a different manner had been\nwithout effect, therefore was obliged to assume a harshness, which was\nfar from being natural to her, in order to prevent consequences which\nshe had too much reason to apprehend.\nHoratio soon discovered he had a rival in monsieur de Coigney; and tho'\nhe easily saw by Charlotta's behaviour that he had nothing to fear on\nthis score, yet the interruptions he received from the addresses of this\nnew lover, made him little able to endure his presence, and he sometimes\ncould not refrain himself from saying such things as, had not the other\nbeen too much buoyed up with his vanity to take them as meant to\nhimself, must have occasioned a quarrel.\nShe made use of all the power she had over him in order to curb the\nimpetuosity of his temper whenever he met this disturber of his wishes;\nbut his jealousy would frequently get the better of the respect he paid\nher, and they never were together in her apartment without filling her\nwith mortal fears. She therefore found it absolutely necessary to get\nrid of an adorer she hated, in order to hinder one she loved from doing\nany thing which might deprive her of him; and tho' she had a real\nfriendship for mademoiselle de Coigney, yet she chose rather to break\nwith her, than run the hazard she was continually exposed to by her\nbrother's indefatigable pursuit.\nBut all her precaution was of no effect, as well as, the enforced\npatience of Horatio: what most she trembled at now fell upon her, and by\na means she had least thought of. Madame de Olonne, full of malice at\nbeing forsaken by her lover, and soon informed by whose charms her\nmisfortune was occasioned, got a person to represent to the baron de\nPalfoy the conquest his daughter had made in such terms, as made him\nimagine she encouraged his passion. Neither the character, family, or\nfortune of de Coigney being equal to what he thought Charlotta might\ndeserve, made him very uneasy at this report; and as he looked on her\nnot having acquainted him with his pretensions as an indication of her\nhaving an affection for him; he resolved to put a stop to the progress\nof it at once, which could be done no way so effectually as by removing\nher from St. Germains.\nTo this end the careful Father came himself to that court, and waited on\nthe princess: he told her highness, that being in an ill state of health\nand obliged to keep much at home, Charlotta must exchange the honour she\nenjoyed in her service, for the observance of her duty to a parent, who\nwas now incapable of any other pleasures than her society.\nThe princess, to whom she was extremely dear, could not think of parting\nwith her without an extreme concern, but after the reasons he had given\nfor desiring it, would offer nothing for detaining her, on which she was\nimmediately called in, and made acquainted with this sudden alteration\nin her affairs.\nCHAP. VIII.\n_The parting of Horatio and mademoiselle Charlotta, and what happened\nafter she left St. Germains._\nA peal of thunder bursting over her head, could not have been more\nalarming to mademoiselle Charlotta than the news she now heard; but her\nfather commanded, the princess had consented, and there was no remedy to\nbe hoped: she took leave of her royal mistress with a shower of\nunfeigned tears, after which she retired to her apartment to prepare for\nquitting it, while the baron went to pay his compliments to some of the\ngentlemen at that court.\nTo be removed in this sudden manner she could impute to no other motive\nthan that the love of Horatio had by some accident been betrayed to her\nfather, (for she never so much as thought of monsieur de Coigney;) and\nthe thoughts of being separated from him was so dreadful, that till this\nfatal moment she knew not how dear he was to her:--to add to the\ncalamity of her condition, he was that morning gone a hunting with the\nChevalier St. George, and she had not even the opportunity of giving him\nthe consolation of knowing she bore at least an equal part in the grief\nthis unexpected accident must occasion. Mademoiselle de Coigney came to\ntake leave of her, as did all the ladies of the queen's train as well as\nthe princess's, and expressed the utmost concern for losing so agreeable\na companion; but these ceremonies were tedious to her, and as she could\nnot see Horatio, she dispatched every thing with as much expedition as\nher secret discontent would permit her to do, and then sent to let her\nfather know she was ready to attend him.\nWhen they were in the coach both observed a profound silence for some\ntime; at last, I hope Charlotta, said the baron, you have no\nextraordinary reasons to be troubled at leaving St. Germains? none, my\nlord, answered she, of so much moment to me as the fears my sudden\nremoval is owing to your being dissatisfied with my conduct. I flatter\nmyself, resumed he, you are conscious of nothing which should authorize\nsuch an apprehension:--you have had an education which ought to inform\nyou that persons of your sex and age are never to act in any material\npoint of themselves:--but courts are places where this lesson is seldom\npractised; and tho' the virtues of the English queen and princess are a\nshining example to all about them, yet I am of opinion that innocence is\nsafest in retirement.\nAs she was fully convinced in her mind that it was only owing to some\njealousy of her behaviour that she had been taken from St. Germains, and\nalso that it was on the score of Horatio, she would not enquire too\ndeeply for fear of giving her father an opportunity of entering into\nexaminations, which she thought she could not answer without either\ninjuring the truth, or avowing what would not only have incensed him to\na very great degree, but also put him upon measures which would destroy\neven the most distant hope of ever seeing Horatio more. He, on his side,\nwould not acquaint her with the sentiments which the above-mentioned\nsuggestions had inspired him with, thinking he should discover more of\nthe truth by keeping a watchful eye over her behaviour without\nseeming to do so.\nDuring the time of their little journey from the palace of St. Germains\nto Paris, where monsieur the baron de Palfoy ordinarily resided, nothing\nfarther was discoursed on: but when they arrived, and mademoiselle\nCharlotta had opportunity of reflecting on this sudden turn, she gave a\nloose to all the anxieties it occasioned:--she was not only snatch'd\nfrom the presence of what was most dear to her on earth, but as she had\nno confidante, nor durst make any, was also without any means either of\nconveying a letter to him, or receiving the least intelligence from him.\nShe had been in Paris but a very little time before she perceived the\nbaron artfully kept her in the most severe restraint under a shew of\nliberty; pretending to her, as he had done to the princess, that he was\nnot well enough to go abroad, he would stay at home whole days together,\nand oblige her to read, or play to him on the spinnet, which frequently\nshe did with an aking heart; and when she went out, it was always in\ncompany with a relation whom he kept at his house on purpose, as he\nsaid, as a companion to divert her, but in reality to be a spy over all\nher actions; and had orders to dive, by all the insinuations she was\nmistress of, into her very thoughts. All this mademoiselle Charlotta had\npenetration enough to discover, and, spite of the discontent she\nlaboured under, so well concealed what they endeavoured to find out,\nthat all the traps laid for her were wholly ineffectual.\nBut in what manner did the enamoured Horatio support so cruel an\naffliction! he was no sooner informed at his return from hunting of what\nhad happened, than he was seized with agonies, which, in the force he\ndid himself to conceal, threw him into a fever that confined him to his\nbed for several days: as his passion for mademoiselle Charlotta was not\nin the least suspected, every body imputed his disorder to be occasioned\nby having over-heated himself in the chace, and during his indisposition\nwas visited by all the court:--the Chevalier St. George sent two or\nthree times a day to enquire of the health of his countryman, as he was\npleased to call him, and gave him many other tokens how greatly he was\nin his favour; but all the civilities he received were not capable of\nlessening the anguish of his mind, which kept his body so weak, that\ntho' youth and an excellent constitution threw off the fever in a short\ntime, yet he was unable to quit his chamber in near three weeks, and\nwhen he did, appeared so wan and so dejected, that he seemed no more\nthan the shadow of the once gay and sprightly Horatio.\nBut while he was thus sinking under the burden of his griefs, and\ndespairing ever to see his adorable Charlotta any more, fate was\nproviding for him a relief as unexpected as the cause of his present\nunhappy situation had been, and to the very same persons also was he\nindebted both for the one and the other.\nYoung monsieur de Coigney was not less alarmed than Horatio at the\nremoval of Charlotta, tho' it had not the same effect on him; he was\ncontinually teizing his sister to make her a visit and repeat her\nintercessions in his behalf; but she had received such tart answers on\nthat score, that she was very unwilling to undertake the embassy:\nhowever, she complied at last, and was received by mademoiselle\nCharlotta in the most obliging manner, but had not the least opportunity\nof executing her commission, that lady having a good deal of company\nwith her, whom she purposely detained to avoid entering into any\nparticular conversation with her, till the hour in which she knew her\nattendance on the queen would oblige her to take leave.\nThe baron de Palfoy was at that time abroad; but when he was informed\nwho had been there, was a little disturbed that the sister of de Coigney\nendeavoured still to keep up her intimacy with his daughter, not\ndoubting but she had either brought some letter or message from him, as\nhe was fully persuaded in his mind that there was a mutual affection\nbetween them; but he took no notice of it as yet, thinking that probably\nshe might make a second visit, and that then he should be better able to\njudge of the motive.\nIn the mean time the father of monsieur de Coigney being informed of\nthese proceedings, thought it beneath his son to carry on a clandestine\ncourtship; and the great share he possessed of the royal favour, he\nhaving been instrumental in gaining some point in the parliament of\nParis, rendered him vain enough to imagine his alliance would not be\nrefused, tho' there was a superiority both of birth and fortune on the\nside of monsieur the baron de Palfoy.\nIn a perfect confidence of succeeding in his request, he went to his\nhouse, and, after some little preparation, proposed a match between his\nson and mademoiselle de Palfoy. The baron was not at all surprized at\nwhat he said, because he expected, if the young people were kept\nasunder, an offer would be made of this kind; and after hearing calmly\nall he had to say, in order to induce him to give his consent, he told\nhim, that he was very sorry he had asked a thing which it was impossible\nto grant, because he had already determined to dispose otherwise of his\ndaughter. Monsieur de Coigney then asked to whom. I know not as yet,\nreplied the other, but when I said I had determined to dispose her\notherways, I only meant to one who is of blood at least equal to her\nown, and who has never, by any public debaucheries, rendered himself\ncontemptible to the discreet part of mankind.\nDe Coigney knew not how either to put up or resent this affront; he knew\nvery well that his son had behaved so as to give cause for it, yet\nthought he had other perfections which might over-balance what, by a\npartial indulgence, he looked upon only as the follies of youth; and as\nfor the reflection on his family, he told the other, that whatever he\nwas he owed to the merit of his ancestors, not his own, and that he\ndoubted not but his son would one day raise his name equal to that of\nPalfoy. In fine, the pride of the one, and the vanity of the other,\noccasioned a contest between them, which might have furnished matter for\na scene in a comedy had any poet been witness of it: the result of it\nwas that they agreed in this to be mutually dissatisfied with each\nother, never to converse together any more, and to forbid all\ncommunication between their families.\nThe baron went immediately to his daughter's chamber, and having ordered\nher maid, who was then doing something about her, to leave the room, I\nhave wondered, Charlotta, said he, with a countenance that was far from\nbetraying the secret vexation of his mind, that you have never, since\nyour coming to Paris, expressed the least desire of making a visit at\nSt. Germains, tho' the duty you owe a princess, who seems to have a very\ngreat affection for you, might well have excused any impatience you\nmight have testified on that score; besides, you owe a visit to\nmademoiselle de Coigney.\nThe princess merits doubtless all the respect I am able to pay her,\nanswered she; but, my lord, as it was your pleasure to remove me from\nthat palace, I waited till your command should licence my return; as for\nmademoiselle de Coigney, the intimacy between us will excuse those\nceremonies which are of little weight where there is a real friendship.\nThese words confirming all the baron's suspicions, he thought there was\nno need of farther dissimulation, and the long-conceived indignation\nburst out in looks more furious than the trembling Charlotta had ever\nseen in him before.--Yes, degenerate girl! said he, I have but too plain\nproofs of the friendship in which you have linked yourself with the\nfamily of the de Coigney's;--but tell me, continued he, how dare you\nengage yourself so far without my knowledge? could you ever hope I would\nconsent to an alliance with de Coigney?\nDe Coigney! cried she, much more assured than she had been before the\nmention of that name, heaven forbid you should have such a thought!\nThe resolution and disdain with which she spoke these words a little\nsurprized him: what, cried he, have you not encouraged the addresses of\nyoung de Coigney, and even proceeded so far as to make his father\nimagine there required no more than to ask my consent to a marriage\nbetween you!\nHow much courage does innocence inspire? Charlotta, of late so timid and\nalarmed while she thought Horatio was in question, was now all calmness\nand composure, when she found de Coigney the person for whom she had\nbeen suspected. She confessed to her father, with the most settled brow,\nthat he had indeed made some offers of an affection for her, but said,\nshe had given him such answers, as nothing but the height of arrogance\nand folly could interpret to his advantage; and then, on the baron's\ncommanding her, acquainted him with every particular that had passed\nbetween that young gentleman, his sister, and herself, touching the\naffair she was accused of.\nShe was so minute in every circumstance, answered with such readiness to\nall the questions he asked of her, and seemed so perfectly at ease, as\nindeed she was, that the baron could no longer have any doubts of her\nsincerity, and was sorry he had taken her so abruptly from St. Germains:\nhe now told her, that she was at liberty to visit there as frequently as\nshe pleased, only, as he had been affronted by old monsieur de Coigney,\nas well as to silence all future reports concerning the young gentleman,\nhe expected she would break off all acquaintance with mademoiselle. She\nassured him of her obedience in this point, and added, that she could do\nit without any difficulty; for tho' she was a lady who had many good\nqualities, and one for whom she once had a friendship, yet the taking\nupon her to forward her brother's designs had occasioned a strangeness\nbetween them, which had already more than half anticipated his commands.\nMonsieur the baron de Palfoy was now as well satisfied with his daughter\nas he had lately been the reverse, and she was allowed once more all\nthose innocent liberties which the French ladies, above those of any\nother nation in the world, enjoy.\nIt is not to be doubted but that the first use she made of liberty was\nto go to St. Germains: she had heard from mademoiselle de Coigney, when\nshe came to visit her, that Horatio had been very much indisposed, and\nat that time was not quite recovered, and was impatient to give him all\nthe consolation that the sight of her could afford; but fearing she\nshould not have an opportunity of speaking to him in private, she wrote\na letter, containing a full recital of the reason which had induced her\nfather to take her from St. Germains, and the happy mistake he had been\nin concerning de Coigney; concluding with letting him know he might\nsometimes visit her at Paris as an indifferent acquaintance, not the\nleast suspicion being entertained of him, and the baron now in so good a\nhumour with her, that it would not be easy for any one to make him give\ncredit to any informations to her prejudice. The whole was dictated by a\nspirit of tenderness, which, tho' it did not plainly confess an\naffection, implied every thing an honourable lover could either\nexpect or hope.\nOn her arrival at St. Germains, where there was an extreme full court to\ncongratulate the princess Louisa, on the great victories lately gained\nby Charles XII. the brave king of Sweeden, to whom she had been some\ntime contracted, she passed directly to her highness's apartment; and\nthe Chevalier St. George being then with her, those of his Gentlemen who\nhad attended him thither, were waiting in the antichamber: among them\nwas Horatio: the alteration of his countenance on sight of her, after\nthis absence, was too visible not to have been remarked, had not all\npresent been too busy in paying their compliments to her, to take any\nnotice of it. He was one of the last that approached, being willing to\nrecover the confusion he felt himself in, lest it should have an effect\non his voice in speaking to her. She, more prepared, received his salute\nwith the same gay civility she did the others, but at the same instant\nslipped the letter she had brought with her into his hand.\nAny one who is in the least acquainted with the power of love, may guess\nthe transports of Horatio at this condescension; but, impatient to know\nthe dear contents, he went out of the room as soon as he found he could\ndo it without being observed, and having perused this obliging billet,\nfound in it a sufficient cordial to revive that long languishment his\nspirit had been in.\nAt his return he found her engaged in conversation with several\ngentlemen and ladies: he mingled in the company, but could expect no\nother satisfaction from it than being near his dear Charlotta, and\nhearing her speak. The Chevalier St. George soon after came out, and he\nwas obliged with the rest of his train to quit the place, which at\npresent contained the object of his wishes. She went in immediately\nafter to the princess, so he saw her no more that day at St. Germains.\nAll that now employed his thoughts was a pretence to visit her at her\nfather's house; for tho' she had told him in her letter that he might\ncome as an ordinary acquaintance, yet knowing that the continuance of\ntheir conversation depended wholly on the secrecy of it, he was willing\nto avoid giving even the most distant occasions of suspicion.\nFortune, hitherto favourable to his desires, now presented him with one\nmore ample than any thing his own invention could have supplied him\nwith: happening to be at Paris in the company of some friends, with whom\nhe stayed later than ordinary, he was hurrying thro' the streets in\norder to go to the inn where his servant and horses waited for him, when\nhe heard the clashing of swords at some distance from him: guided by his\ngenerosity, he flew to the place where the noise directed him, and saw\nby the lights, which hang out very thick in that city, one person\ndefending himself against three who pressed very hard upon him, and had\ngot him down just as Horatio arrived to his relief: he ran among the\nassaillants; and either the greatness of his courage, or the belief that\nothers would come to his assistance, threw them into such a\nconsternation, that they all sought their safety in their flight, while\nthe person they had attacked got up again and thanked his deliverer,\nwithout whose timely aid, he said, he could have expected nothing but\ndeath: those who set upon him being robbers, and, as he perceived by\ntheir behaviour, desperate wretches, who were for securing themselves by\ntaking the lives, as well as money, of those who were too weak to resist\nthem: he pointed to a dead body on the ground, who he told Horatio was\nhis servant, and had been killed in his defence.\nBut how transported was our young lover when, he found that the person\nto whom he had done so signal a piece of service, was the father of his\nmistress. As he perceived he had some wounds, tho' they proved but\nslight, he compleated the obligation he had began to confer, by\nsupporting him under the arm till he got home, where the baron made him\nenter with him, and would have prevailed with him to stay all night; but\nHoratio told him he could not well dispense with being absent from his\npost; that it was highly proper he should return to St. Germains that\nnight late as it was, but would do himself the honour of waiting on him\nthe next day to enquire after the state of the wounds he had received.\nMademoiselle Charlotta was gone to bed; but being rouzed by the\naccident, no sooner was informed by the surgeons, who were immediately\nsent for, that there was nothing dangerous in the hurts her father had\nreceived, than she blessed heaven for making Horatio the instrument of\nhis preservation. The sense the baron seemed to have of this obligation,\nand the praises he bestowed on the gallant manner in which the young\ngentleman came to his relief, made her almost ready to flatter herself\nthat fate interested itself in behalf of their love; and indeed monsieur\nthe baron, notwithstanding the haughtiness of his nature, had the most\njust notions of gratitude; and to testify it to Horatio, would have\nrefused him scarce any thing except his daughter. But however that\nshould happen, she still found more and more excuses for indulging the\ninclinations she had for him; and tho' she yet had never given him any\nsuch assurances, yet she resolved in her own mind, to live only for him.\nThe baron being obliged to keep his bed for several days, Horatio had a\npretence for repeating his visits to him during this time of his\nconfinement, and afterwards went often by invitation; the other, besides\nthe obligation he had to him, finding something extremely pleasing in\nhis conversation, to which (not to take from Horatio's merits) the\nobsequiousness he found no difficulty in himself to behave with towards\na Man of his age, his quality, and above all, the father of Charlotta,\nnot a little contributed.\nThe lovers had now frequent opportunities of entertaining each other\nboth at Paris and St. Germains: nor were any of those demonstrations\nwhich virtue and innocence permitted, wanting between them, to render\nthem as perfectly easy as people can possibly be, who have yet something\nto desire, and much to fear. But as smooth as now their fortune seemed,\nthey knew not how soon a storm might rise, and give a sudden\ninterruption to that felicity they enjoyed.--The charms of Charlotta\nwere every day making new conquests; and among the number of those who\npretended to admire her, how probable was it that some one might be\nthought worthy by her father, and she be compelled to receive the\naddresses of a rival. These were reflections too natural not to occur to\nthem both, and whenever they did, could not fail of embittering those\nsweets the certainty of a mutual affection had otherwise afforded.\nThey had now no trouble from monsieur de Coigney; his father, in order\nto make him forget a hopeless passion, had found an employment for him\nwhich obliged him to go many leagues from Paris; and once the\nconversation already mentioned at the baron's, his sister and\nmademoiselle Charlotta, by command of their respective parents, as well\nas their own inclinations, broke off all correspondence, nor even spoke\nto each other, unless when happening to meet in a visit, there was no\navoiding it; and then it was in such a distant manner, and with so much\nindifference, that none would have imagined they ever had been intimate\nfriends and companions.\nCHAP. IX.\n_A second separation between Horatio and Charlotta, with some other\noccurrences_.\nThe season of the year now having put an end to the campaign, and the\nFrench, as well as confederate armies, being retired into their winter\nquarters, the baron de la Valiere, who had always a special permission\nfrom the general, returned to Paris: Horatio promised himself much\nsatisfaction in the renewed society of this friend, and no sooner heard\nhe was on the road than he went to meet him. The baron, charm'd with\nthis proof of his affection and respect, received him as a brother, and\nthere was little less freedom used between them.\nAfter the mutual testimonies and good-will were over de la Valiere began\nto ask him concerning mademoiselle Charlotta; on which Horatio\nacquainted him with her being removed from St. Germains, and the\noccasion of it, not omitting the arrogance with which old monsieur de\nCoigney had behaved to her father, and the resentment now between\nthe families.\nWell, said the baron, but I hope you have been more successful, at least\nwith the young lady: I will never more trust the intelligence of eyes,\nif yours did not hold a very tender intercourse; and I protest to you,\nmy dear Horatio, that amidst all the toils and dangers of war, my\nthoughts were often at St. Germains, not envying, but congratulating the\npleasures you enjoyed in the conversation of that amiable lady.\nI doubt not, replied Horatio with a smile, but we had you with us at a\nplace which contained mademoiselle de Coigney; and I am of opinion too\nshe was no less frequently in the camp with you; for in spite of all the\nreserve she affected while you were present, she never heard the bare\nmention of your name without emotions, which were very visible in her\ncountenance.\nI would not be vain, replied the baron, but I sometimes have flattered\nmyself with the hope I was not altogether indifferent to her; tho' for\ntwo whole years that I have constantly made my addresses to her, I never\ncould obtain one soft confession to assure my happiness:--but let me\nknow how you have proceeded on the score of mademoiselle Charlotta?\nbelieve me, I am not so engrossed by my own affairs, as not to give\nattention to those of a friend.\nHoratio, who had been engaged by Charlotta to preserve an inviolable\nsecrecy in every thing that had passed between them, without any\nexception of persons, would fain have turned the conversation on some\nother topic: he truly loved the baron, had the highest opinion of his\ndiscretion, and would have trusted him with the dearest secrets of his\nlife, provided they related to himself alone; but he had given his word,\nhis oath, his honour to Charlotta, and durst not violate them on any\nconsideration; yet, loth to refuse or to deceive his friend, he found\nhimself in the most perplexing dilemma. As often as the other spoke of\nCharlotta, he answered with something of de Coigney; but all his\nartifice was ineffectual, and the baron at last saw thro' it, and\nassuming a very grave countenance, I perceive, Horatio, said he, you do\nnot think me worthy your confidence, and I was to blame to press you to\nreveal what you resolve to make a mystery of.\nThese words made a very deep impression on the grateful soul of him they\nwere addressed to; and equally distressed between the necessity of\neither disobliging a person whose generosity he had experienced, or\nfalsifying the promise he had made to Charlotta, at last an expedient\noffered to his mind how to avoid both, and yet not be guilty of injuring\nthe truth.\nAlas! my lord, answered he, you little know the heart of Horatio, if you\nimagine there be any thing there that would hide itself from you:--I\nfreely confess, the charms of mademoiselle Charlotta had such an effect\non me, that, had I been in circumstances which in the least could have\nflattered me with success, I should long ago have avowed myself her\nlover: but when I reflected on the disparity between us, the humour of\nher father, and a thousand other impediments, I endeavoured to banish so\nhopeless a passion from my breast, and was the more confirmed in my\nresolution to do so by the ill treatment monsieur de Coigney\nreceived:--besides, her removal from St. Germains, depriving me in a\ngreat measure of those opportunities I had before of entertaining her,\nmight very well contribute to wean off a passion, not settled either by\ntime or expectation, of ever being gratified; and I hope, continued he,\nI shall always have so much command over myself as not to become\nridiculous by aiming at impossibilities.\nWhether the baron gave any credit to what he said on this account or\nnot, he had too much politeness to press him any farther; and the\ndiscourse soon after taking another turn, Horatio was very well pleased\nto think he had got off so well.\nDe la Valiere having related to him some particulars of the late\ncampaign, which the public accounts had been deficient in, they passed\nfrom that to some talk of the brave young king of Sweden, a topic which\nfilled all Europe with admiration: but the French being a people in whom\nthe love of glory is the predominant passion, were more than any other\nnation charmed with the greatness of that prince's soul.\nWhat indeed has any hero of antiquity to boast of in competition with\nthis northern monarch, who conquered and gave away kingdoms for the\nbenefit of others, disdaining to receive any other reward for all his\nvast fatigues, than the pleasure of giving a people that person whom he\njudged most worthy to reign over them!\nThe baron, who had attended the Count de Guiscard when he was\nresidentiary ambassador from his most christian majesty at the Swedish\ncourt, had an opportunity of seeing more of this monarch than any other\nthat Horatio was acquainted with; he therefore, on his requesting it,\ninformed him how, at the age of eighteen, he threw off all magnificence,\nforsook the pomp and delicacies of a court he had been bred in, and\nundertook, and compleated the delivery of his brother-in-law, the duke\nof Holstein, from the cruel incursions of the Danes, who had well nigh\neither taken or ravaged the greatest part of his territories. He also\nset forth, in its proper colours, the base part which Peter Alexowitz,\nczar of Muscovy, and Augustus, king of Poland, acted against a prince\nwho was then employing his arms in the cause of justice; the latter of\nthese bringing a powerful army to take from him one part of his\ndominions; and the former, at the head of an 100,000 men, were\nplundering the other: but when he concluded his little narrative, by\nreciting how this young conqueror, with a handful of brave Swedes,\nanimated by the example of their king, put entirely to route all that\nopposed him, Horatio felt his soul glow with an ardour superior even to\nthat of love: he longed to behold a prince who seemed to have all the\nvirtues comprized in him, and whose very thoughts, as well as actions,\nmight be looked upon as super-natural.\nHe is, however, greatly to be pitied, said the baron de la Valiere, that\nthe wars he is engaged in, and which, in all probability will be of long\ncontinuance, hinders him from the possession of the most amiable\nprincess in the world, and I dare answer, at least if I may credit those\nabout her, she wishes he were of a less martial disposition.\nHe will be the more worthy of her, cried Horatio interrupting him, and\nthe immortal fame of his actions be a sufficient attonement for all the\nyears of expectation that may be its purchase.\nFrom the time Horatio had this discourse with the baron, the king of\nSweden was ever uppermost in his thoughts: he had always reflected that,\nin the station he then was, it would be impossible to obtain any more of\nmademoiselle Charlotta than her heart, at least while the baron de\nPalfoy lived, and that a thousand accidents might deprive him of all\nhopes of ever being more happy; but, said he to himself, were I among\nthe number of those who attend this hero in his martial exploits, I\nmight at least have an opportunity of proving how far fortune would\nbefriend me;--who knows but I might be able to do something which might\nengage that just and generous monarch to raise me to a degree capable of\navowing my pretensions even to her father, and the same blessed day that\njoined our principals, might also make me blessed in the possession of\nmy dear Charlotta.\nWith these ideas did he often flatter himself; but the manner in which\nhe should accomplish his desires was yet doubtless to him. The chevalier\nSt. George treated him with so much kindness, that he had no room to\ndoubt his having a great share in his favour; and was fully perswaded,\nthat if he communicated his intentions to him, he would vouchsafe to\ngive him letters of recommendation to a prince who was to be his\nbrother-in-law: but this he feared to ask, lest it should be looked upon\nas ingratitude in him to desire to leave a court where he had been so\ngraciously received, and had many favours, besides the perquisites of\nhis post, heaped upon him, not only by the chevalier himself, but also\nby the queen and princess, who, following the example of the late king,\nbehaved with a kind of natural affection to all the English.\nHe sometimes communicated his sentiments on this head to mademoiselle\nCharlotta, who was too discreet not to allow the justness of them; and\nwell knew, that in the station her lover now was, they never could be on\nany terms with each other than those they were at present: her reason,\ntherefore, and the advantage of her love, made her sometimes wish he\nwould follow the dictates of so laudable an ambition; but then the\ndangers he must inevitably be exposed to in following a monarch who\nnever set any bounds to his courage, and the thoughts how long it might\npossibly be before she saw him again, alarmed all her tenderness; and he\nhad the satisfaction of seeing the tears stand in her eyes whenever they\nhad any discourse of this nature; and tho' her words assured him that it\nwas her opinion he could not take a more ready way to raise his own\nfortune, yet her looks at the same time made him plainly see how much\nshe would suffer in his taking that step.\nMany reasons, both for and against following his inclination in this\npoint, presented themselves to him; and he had no sooner, as he thought,\ndetermined for the one, than the other rose with double vehemence and\noverthrew the former. In this fluctuating situation of mind did he\nremain for some time, and perhaps had done so much longer, had not an\naccident happened which proved decisive, and indeed left him no other\nparty to take than that he afterwards did.\nCharlotta, being now entirely mistress of herself, gave him frequent\nmeetings in the Tuilleries, judging it safer to converse with him there\nthan at the house of any person, whom, in such a case, must be the\nconfidante of the whole affair; whereas, if they were seen together in\nthe walks, it might be judged they met by accident, and not give any\ngrounds of suspicion, which hitherto they had been so fortunate as\nto avoid.\nIt was in one of those appointments, when entered into a very tender\nconversation, they forgot themselves so far as to suffer the moon to\nrise upon them: the stillness of the evening, and the little company\nwhich happened to be there that night, seemed to indulge their\ninclinations of continuing in so sweet a recess:--they were seated on a\nbench at the foot of a large tree, when Charlotta, in answer to some\ntender professions he had been making, said, depend on this, Horatio,\nthat as you are the first who has ever been capable of making me\nsensible of love, so nothing shall have power to change my sentiments\nwhile you continue to deserve, or to desire I should think of you as I\nnow do. He shall not long continue to desire it,--cried a voice behind\nthem, and immediately rushed from the other side of the thicket a man\nwith his sword drawn, and ran full upon Horatio, who not having time to\nbe upon his guard, had certainly fallen a victim to his rival's fury,\nhad not a gentleman seized his arm, and, by superior strength, forced\nhim some paces back.--Are you mad, monsieur, said he; do you forget the\nplace you are in, or the danger you so lately escaped for an enterprize\nof this nature?\nMademoiselle Charlotta, now a little recovered from her first, surprize,\nand knowing it was young monsieur de Coigney who had given her this\nalarm, had presence enough of mind to ask how he dared, after he knew\nher own and father's resolution, to disturb her, or any company she had\nwith her? he made no reply, but reflecting that there were other ways\nthan fighting, by which he might be revenged, went hastily away with\nthat friend who had hindered him from executing his rash purpose; but\nthey could hear that he muttered something which seemed a menace against\nthem both.\nHow impossible is it to express the consternation our lovers now were\nin: they found by the repetition monsieur de Coigney made of the words\nshe spoke, that what they had so long and so successfully laboured to\nconceal, was now betrayed:--betrayed to one who would not fail to make\nthe most malicious use of the discovery, and doubted not but the affair\nwould become the general talk, perhaps to the prejudice of Charlotta's\nreputation; but the least thing either could expect, was to be\nseparated for ever.\nHoratio, full of disturbed emotions, conducted his disconsolate mistress\nto the gate of the Tuilleries, and there took a farewel of her, which he\nhad too much reason to fear would be his last, at least for a long time.\nHe was tempted by his first emotions to seek de Coigney, and call him to\naccount for the affront he had put upon him, and either lose his own\nlife, or oblige the other to secrecy; but then he considered, that there\nwas some probability he would not dare to own that he had given himself\nany concern about mademoiselle Charlotta, after the injunction laid on\nhim by his father, much less as he had attempted a duel in her cause,\nhaving, as has been already mentioned, been before guilty of a like\noffence against the laws, which in that country are very strict, on\naccount of madame de Olonne; and this prevailed with him to be passive\nas to what had happened, till he should hear how the other would behave,\nand find what turn the affair would take.\nCharlotta in the mean time was in the most terrible anxieties:--she\ncould not imagine what had brought monsieur de Coigney, who she thought\nhad been many miles distant, so suddenly to Paris: but on making some\nprivate enquiry, she was informed, that having met some difficulty in\nthe execution of his office, he had taken post, in order to lay his\ncomplaints before the king, and had arrived that very day.--She now\nblamed her own inadvertency in holding any discourse with Horatio, of a\nnature not proper to be over-heard, in a place so public as the\nTuilleries, where others, as well as he, might have possibly been\nwitnesses of what was said.\nYoung monsieur de Coigney suffered little less from the turbulence of\nhis nature, and the mortification it gave his vanity, to find a person,\nwhom he looked upon as every way his inferior, preferred to him. His\nthoughts were wholly bent on revenge; but in what manner he should\naccomplish it, he was for some time uncertain: when he acquainted his\nfather with the discovery he had made, and the resentment he had\ntestified against this unworthy rival, as he called him, the old\ngentleman blamed him for taking any notice of it. Let them love on, son,\nsaid he; let them marry;--we shall then have a fine opportunity of\nreproaching the haughty baron with his new alliance. This did not\nhowever satisfy monsieur de Coigney: all the love he once had for\nmademoiselle Charlotta was now turned into hate; and in spite of his\nfather's commands not to meddle in the affair, he could not help\nthrowing out some reflections among his companions, very much to the\ndisadvantage of the young lady's reputation. But these might possibly\nhave blown over, as he had but a small time to vent his malice. His\nfather knowing the violence of his temper, in order to prevent any ill\nconsequences, compelled him to return to his employment; taking upon\nhimself the management of that business which had brought him so\nunluckily to Paris.\nBut mademoiselle de Coigney had no sooner been informed by her brother\nof the discovery he had made, than she doubted not that it was on the\nscore of Horatio that he had met with such ill success in his courtship;\nand also imagined, that it had been owing to some ill impressions\nmademoiselle Charlotta had given the baron de Palfoy, that her father\nhad been treated by him in the manner already recited. She complained of\nit to the baron de la Valiere, and told him, her whole family had been\naffronted, and her brother rendered miserable, for the sake of a young\nman, who, said she, can neither have birth or fortune to boast of, since\nhe has been so long a prisoner without any ransom paid, or interposition\noffered to redeem him.\nThe baron was too generous not to vindicate the merits of Horatio, as\nmuch as was consistent with his love and complaisance for his mistress:\nhe was notwithstanding very much picqued in his mind that a person, to\nwhom he had given the greatest proofs of a sincere and disinterested\nfriendship, should have concealed a secret of this nature from him, and\nthe more so, as he had seemed to expect and desire his confidence. From\nthis time forward he behaved to him with a coldness which was sufficient\nto convince the other of the motive, especially as he found mademoiselle\nde Coigney took all opportunities of throwing the most picquant\nreflections on him. It is certain that lady was so full of spight at the\nindignity she thought her family had received, that she could not help\nwhispering the attachment of Horatio and Charlotta, not only at St.\nGermains, but at Paris also, with inunendo's little less cruel than\nthose her brother had made use of to his companions; so that between\nthem, the amour was talked of among all who were acquainted with\neither of them.\nAt length the report reached the ears of the baron de Palfoy, who, tho'\nhe did not immediately give an entire credit to it, thought it became\nhim to do every thing in his power to silence it.\nAccordingly he called his daughter to him one day, and having told her\nthe liberty which the world took in censuring her conduct on Horatio's\naccount, commanded her to avoid all occasions of it for the future, by\nseeing him no more.\nThe confusion she was in, and which she had not artifice wholly to\nconceal from the penetrating baron, more convinced him, than all he had\nbeen told, that there was in reality some tender intercourse between\nthem; but resolving to be fully ascertained, he said no more to her at\nthat time, but dispatched a messenger immediately to St. Germains,\ndesiring Horatio to come to him the same day.\nThe lover readily obeyed this summons, but not without some\napprehensions of the motive: the hints daily given him, joined to the\nalteration, not only in the behaviour of mademoiselle de Coigney, but\nlikewise of the baron de la Valiere, gave him but too just room to fear\nhis passion was no longer a secret.\nThe father of Charlotta received him with great courtesy, but nothing of\nthat pleasantness with which he had looked on him ever since he had\ndefended him from the robbers. Horatio, said he, I am indebted to you\nfor my life, and would willingly make what recompence is in my power for\nthe obligation I have to you:--think therefore what I can do for you;\nand if your demands exceed not what is fit for you to ask, or would\nbecome me to grant, you may be assured of my compliance.\nThe astonishment Horatio was in at these words is impossible to be\nexpressed; but having an admirable presence of mind, my lord, answered\nhe, I should be unworthy of the favours you do me, could I be capable of\npresuming on them so far as to make any requests beyond the\ncontinuance of them.\nNo, Horatio, resumed the baron, I acknowledge my gratitude has been too\ndeficient, since it has extended only to those civilities which are due\nto your merit, exclusive of any obligation; the conversation we have had\ntogether has hitherto afforded a pleasure to myself, and it is with a\ngood deal of mortification I now find a necessity to break it off:--I\nwould therefore have the satisfaction of doing something that might\nconvince you of my esteem, at the same time that I desire you to refrain\nyour visits.\nNot all Horatio's courage could enable him to stand this shock, without\ntestifying some part of what passed in his mind:--he was utterly\nincapable of making any reply, tho' the silence of the other shewed he\nexpected it, but stood like one confounded, and conscious of deserving\nthe banishment he heard pronounced against him.--At last recollecting\nhimself a little,--my lord, said he, I see not how I can be happy enough\nto preserve any part of your esteem, since looked upon as unworthy an\nhonour you were once pleased to confer upon me.\nYou affect, said the baron, a slowness of apprehension, which is far\nfrom being natural to you, and perhaps imagine, that by not seeming to\nunderstand me, I should believe there were no grounds for me to forbid\nyou my house; but, young man, I am not so easily deceived; and since you\noblige me to speak plain, must tell you, I am sorry to find you have\nentertained any projects, which, if you had the least consulted your\nreason, you would have known could never be accomplished.--In fine,\nHoratio, what you make so great a mystery of, may be explained in three\nwords:--I wish you well as a friend, but cannot think of making you my\nson:--I would recompence what you have done for me with any thing but my\ndaughter, and as a proof of my concern for your happiness, I exclude you\nfrom all society with her, in order to prevent so unavailing a passion\nfrom taking too deep a root.\nAh, my lord, cried Horatio, perceiving all dissimulation would be vain,\nthe man who once adored mademoiselle de Palfoy can never cease to do so.\nHe ought therefore, replied the baron, without being moved, to consider\nthe consequences well before he begins to adore:--if I had been\nconsulted in the matter I should have advised you better; but it is now\ntoo late, and all I can do is to prevent your ever meeting more:--this,\nHoratio, is all I have to say, and that if in any other affair I can be\nserviceable to you, communicate your request in writing, and depend on\nits being granted.\nIn speaking these last words he withdrew, and left Horatio in a\nsituation of mind not easy to be conceived.--He was once about to\nentreat him to turn back, but had nothing to offer which could make him\nhope would prevail on him to alter his resolution.--He never had been\ninsensible of the vast disparity there was at present between him and\nthe noble family of de Palfoy: he could expect no other, or rather worse\ntreatment than what he had now received, if his passion was ever\ndiscovered, and had no excuse to make for what himself allowed so great\na presumption.\nWith a countenance dejected, and a heart oppressed with various\nagitations, did he quit the house which contained what was most valuable\nto him in the world, while poor Charlotta endured, if possible, a\ngreater shock.\nThe baron de Palfoy, now convinced that all he had been informed of was\ntrue, was more incensed against her than he had been on the mistaken\nsupposition of her being influenced in favour of monsieur de Coigney: he\nhad no sooner left Horatio than he flew to her apartment, and reproached\nher in terms the most severe that words could form.--It was in vain she\nprotested that she never had any design of giving herself to Horatio\nwithout having first received his permission.--He looked on all she said\nas an augmentation of her crime, and soon came to a determination to put\nit past her power to give him more than she had already done.\nEarly next morning he sent her, under the conduct of a person he could\nconfide in, to a monastry about thirty miles from Paris, without even\nletting her know whither she was about being carried, or giving her the\nleast notice of her departure till the coach was at the door, into which\nhe put, her himself with these words,--adeiu Charlotta, expect not to\nsee Paris, or me again, till you desire no more to see Horatio.\nCHAP. X.\n_The reasons that induced Horatio to leave France; with the chevalier\nSt. George's behaviour on knowing his resolution. He receives an\nunexpected favour from the baron de Palfoy._\nWhile Charlotta, under the displeasure of her father, and divided, as\nshe believed, for ever from her lover, was pursuing her melancholy\njourney, Horatio was giving way to a grief which knew no bounds, and\nwhich preyed with the greater feirceness on his soul, as he had no\nfriend to whom he could disburden it. The baron's estrang'd behaviour\nwas no small addition to his other discontents, and he lamented the\ncruel necessity which had enforced him to disoblige a person to whom he\nowed so many favours, and whose advice would now have been the greatest\nconsolation.\nHe could not now hope Charlotta would be permitted to come to St.\nGermains, and doubted not but her father would take effectual methods to\nprevent her visiting at any place where even accident might occasion a\nmeeting between them: he knew the watch had been set over her on the\naccount of monsieur de Coigney, and might be assured it would not now be\nless strict, and that it would be equally impossible for either to\ncommunicate their thoughts by writing as it was to see each other.\nHe was in the midst of these reflections when he heard, by some people\nwho were acquainted with the baron de Palfoy, that he had sent his\ndaughter away, but none knew where: this, instead of lessening his\ndespair, was a very great aggravation of it:--he imagined she was\nconfined in some monastry, and was not insensible of the difficulties\nthat attend seeing a young lady who is sent there purposely to avoid the\nworld; yet, said he to himself, could I be happy enough to discover even\nto what province she was carried, I would go from convent to convent\ntill I had found which of them contained her.\nIt was in vain that he made all possible enquiry: every one he asked was\nin reality as ignorant as himself.--The baron de Palfoy had trusted\nnone, so could not be deceived but by those persons who had the charge\nof conducting her, and of their fidelity he had many proofs. Yet how\nimpossible is it for human prudence to resist the decrees of fate.--The\nsecret was betrayed, without any one being guilty of accusing the\nconfidence reposed in them, and by the strangest accident that perhaps\never was, Horatio learned all he wished to know when he had given over\nall his endeavours for that purpose, and was totally despairing of it.\nHe came one day to Paris, in order to alleviate his melancholy, in the\ncompany of some young gentlemen, who had expressed a very great regard\nfor him; but his mind being taken up with various and perplexed thoughts\non his entrance into that city, he mistook his way, and turned into the\nrue St. Dennis instead of the rue St. Honore, where he had been\naccustomed to leave his horses and servant.--He found his error just as\nhe was passing by a large inn, and it being a matter of indifference to\nhim where he put up, would not turn back, but ordered his man to alight\nhere.--I forgot where I was going, said he, but I suppose the horses\nwill be taken as much care of at this house as where we used to go. I\nshall see to that, replied the fellow. Horatio stepped into a room to\ntake some refreshment while his servant went to the stable, but had not\nbeen there above a minute before he heard very high words between some\npeople in the yard; and as he turned towards the window, saw a man in\nthe livery of the baron de Palfoy, and whom he presently knew to be the\ncoachman of that nobleman. He was hot in dispute with the innkeeper\nconcerning a horse which he had hired of him, and, as the other\ninsisted, drove so hard that he had killed him. The coachman denied the\naccusation; but the innkeeper told him he had witnesses to prove the\nhorse died two hours after he was brought home, and declared, that if he\nhad not satisfaction for his beast, he would complain to the baron, and\nif he did not do him justice, have recourse to law.--There was a long\nargument between them concerning the number of miles, the hours they\ndrove, and the weight of the carriage.--Among other things the innkeeper\nalledged, that he saw them as he passed his corner, and there were so\nmany trunks, boxes, and other luggage behind and before the coach,\nbesides the company that was in it, that it required eight horses\ninstead of six to draw it. Why then, said the coachman, did it not kill\nour horses as well as yours; if they had been equally good, they would\nhave held out equally.--I do not pretend mine was as good, replied the\ninnkeeper, I cannot afford to feed my horses as my lord does; but yet he\nwas a stout gelding, and if he had not been drove so very hard, and\nperhaps otherwise ill used into the bargain, he would have been\nalive now.\nAll this was sufficient to make Horatio imagine it was for the journey\nwhich deprived him of his dear Charlotta, that this horse had been\nhired, so tarried in the place where he was till the debate was over,\nwhich ended not to the satisfaction of the innkeeper, who swore he would\nnot be fooled out of his money. As soon as the coachman was gone,\nHoratio called him in, and asked what was the matter, and who it was\nthat endeavoured to impose upon him? on which the innkeeper readily told\nhim, that on such a day this coachman came to him and hired a horse in\norder to make up a set to go to Rheines in Champaigne, my lord-baron\nhaving three or four sick in the stable at that time.--Two days after,\nsaid he, my horse was brought home all in a foam, and fell down dead in\nless than three hours, and yet this rascally coachman refuses to pay\nme for him.\nHoratio humoured him in all he said, and let him go on his own way till\nhe had vented his whole stock of railing, and then asked him what\ncompany were in the coach. The innkeeper replied, that there was one man\nand two women, but did not know who they were, for their faces were\nmuffled up in their hoods. This was sufficient for him to be assured it\nwas no other than Charlotta, with her woman, and some friend whom the\nbaron had sent with them. The day mentioned, being the very same he had\nbeen informed she was carried away, was also another confirmation; and\nhe had not only the happiness of knowing where his mistress was, but of\nknowing it by such means as could give the baron no suspicion of his\nbeing acquainted with it, and therefore make him think it necessary to\nremove her.\nHaving gained this intelligence, which yet he was no better for than the\nhope of being able to get a sight of her thro' the grate, which he was\nresolved to accomplish some way or other, he resumed his design of going\ninto the army of the king of Sweden. As a perfect knowledge of the many\nexcellent qualities of the chevalier St. George, made him regard and\nlove him with an affection beyond what is ordinarily to be met with from\na servant to his master, he felt an extreme repugnance to quit him, and\nyet more in breaking a matter to him which, while it testified a\nconfidence in the goodness of him whose assistance he must implore, he\nthought, at the same time, would be looked on as ingratitude in himself;\nand he was some time deliberating in what manner he should do it; and it\nwould have been perhaps a great while before he could have found words\nwhich he would have thought proper for the purpose, if he had not taken\nan opportunity, which, without any design of his own, offered itself\nto him.\nThe chevalier St. George took a particular pleasure in the game of\nChess; and Horatio having learned it among the officers in Campaine,\nfrequently played with him: they were one evening at this diversion,\nwhen the lover of Charlotta having his mind a little perplexed, placed\nhis men so ill, that the chevalier beat him out at every motion. How is\nthis, Horatio, cried he; you used to play better than I, butt now I have\nthe advantage of you.--May you always have it, sir, replied he with the\nutmost respect, over all who pretend to oppose you.--Chess is a kind of\nemblem of war, where policy should go hand in hand with courage; and\nthere is a great master in that art, whom if I were some time to serve\nunder, I flatter myself that I should be able to know how to move my men\nwith better success than I have done to night; but then my skill should\nbe employed only against such as are your enemies.\nYou mean my brother Charles of Sweden, said the chevalier smiling, but I\nbelieve he seldom plays. Never, but when kingdoms are at stake, resumed\nHoratio; and if a day should come when you, sir, shall attempt the\nprize, how fortunate would it be for me to have learned to serve you as\nI am obliged by much more than my duty, by the most natural and\ninviolable attachment of my heart, which would render it the greatest\nblessing I could receive from heaven. I believe, indeed, returned the\nchevalier St. George, you love me enough to fight in my cause whenever\noccasion offers. I would not only fight, but die, cried Horatio warmly;\nyet I would wish to have the skill to make a great number of your\nenemies die before me. Well, said the chevalier, we will talk of this\nto-morrow; in the mean time play as well as you can against me at St.\nGermains: in another place perhaps you may play for me. Horatio made no\nother reply to these words than a low bow, and then elating his hands\nand eyes to heaven, as internally praying for the opportunity his master\nseemed to hint at.\nThe impression this little conversation made on the mind of the\nchevalier St. George, proved itself in its effects the very next day.\nHoratio being ordered to come into his chamber early in the morning,--I\nhave been thinking on what passed last night between us, said he, and if\nyou have a serious Intention of doing what you seemed to hint at, will\ncontribute all I can to forward you.\nAh sir! cried Horatio, falling at his feet, impute not, I beseech you,\nthis desire in me to any thing but the extreme desire I have to render\nmyself worthy of the favours you have been pleased to confer upon me,\nand to be able to serve you whenever any happy occasion shall\npresent itself.\nNo more, Horatio, replied the chevalier, with a sweetness and affability\npeculiar to himself; I am perfectly assured of your duty and affection\nto me, and am so far from taking it ill that you desire to quit my court\non this score, that I think, your ambition highly laudable:--I will\nwrite letters of recommendation, with my own hand, to my brother\nCharles, and to some others in his camp, which I doubt not but will\nprocure you a reception answerable to your wishes:--therefore, as it is\na long journey you are to take, the sooner you provide for your\ndeparture the better:--I will order you out of my privy purse 2000\ncrowns towards your expences.\nHoratio found it impossible to express how much this goodness touched\nhis soul; nor could do it any otherwise than by prostrating himself a\nsecond time, embracing his knees, and uttering some incoherent\nacclamations, which more shewed to his master the sincerity of his\ngratitude, and the perfect love he bore him, than the most elegant\nspeeches could have done.\nAfter all possible demonstrations of the most gracious benignity on the\none side, and reverence on the other, Horatio quitted the presence, and\nwent to sir Thomas Higgons, who at that time was privy purse, and one of\nthe finest gentlemen that ever England bred, and acquainted him with the\nchevalier St. George's goodness to him, and the change that was going to\nbe made in his fortune: he thanked him in the politest manner for being\nmade the first that should congratulate him, and told him, he did not\ndoubt but he should see him return covered with laurels, and enriched\nwith honours, by the most glorious and grateful monarch the world had to\nboast of. The whole court, whose esteem the good qualities, handsome\nperson, and agreeable behaviour of Horatio had entirely gained, seemed\nto partake in his satisfaction, and he was so engrossed with the\npreparations for his departure, and receiving the compliments made him,\nthat tho' he was far from forgetting Charlotta, yet the languishment\nwhich her absence had occasioned was entirely banished, and he now\nappeared all life and spirit.--So true it is that idleness is the food\nof soft desires.\nIt must be confessed, indeed, that love had a very great share in\nreviving in him those martial inclinations, which for a time had seemed\nlulled to rest, since it was to render himself in a condition which\nmight give him hope of obtaining the object of his love that now pushed\nhim on to war. He resolved also to make Rheines in his way to Poland,\nwhere the king of Sweden then was pursuing his conquests, and see, if\npossible, his dear Charlotta, before he left France; and as he was of a\nmore than ordinary sanguine disposition, he was much sooner elated with\nthe prospect of success in any undertaking he went about, than dejected\nat the disappointment of it.\nThe baron de la Valiere, whose friendship over-balanced his resentment,\nnow gave an instance of his generosity, which, as things had stood of\nlate between them, Horatio was far from expecting. That nobleman came to\nhis apartment one day with a letter in his hand, and accosting him with\nthe familiarity he had been accustomed to treat him with before their\nestrangement,--Horatio, said he, I cannot suffer you to leave us without\ngiving you what testimonies of good-will are in my power:--you are now\ngoing among strangers, and tho' after the recommendations I hear you are\nto carry with you from the chevalier St. George, nothing can be added to\nassure you of the king of Sweden's favour, yet as many brave actions are\nlost for want of a proper representation of them, and the eyes of kings\ncannot be every where, it may be of some service to you to have general\nRenchild your friend: I once had the honour of a particular acquaintance\nwith that great man, and I believe this letter, which I beg the favour\nof you to deliver to him, will in part convince him of your merit,\nbefore you may have an opportunity of proving it to him by your actions.\nHoratio took the letter out of his hand, which he had presented to him\nat the conclusion of his speech; and charmed with this behaviour, the\nsatisfaction I should take, said he, in this mark of your forgiving\ngoodness, would be beyond all bounds, were I not conscious how far I\nhave been unworthy of it; and that I fear the same goodness, always\npartial to me, may have in this paper (meaning the letter) endeavoured\nto give the general an idea of me which I may not be able to preserve.\nI look upon myself to be the best judge of that, replied the baron with\na smile; and you may remember, that on a very different occasion I saw\ninto your sentiments before you were well acquainted with the nature of\nthem yourself.\nAs Horatio knew these words referred to the discourse that had passed\nbetween them concerning his then infant passion for mademoiselle\nCharlotta, he could not help blushing; but de la Valiere perceiving he\nhad given him some confusion, would have turned the discourse, had not\nthe other thought fit to continue it, by letting him know the real\nmotive which had constrained him to act with the reserve he had done on\nthat score.\nThe baron de la Valiere assured him that he should think no more of it;\nand tho' at first he had taken it a little amiss, yet when he came to\nreflect on the circumstance, he could not but confess he should have\nbehaved in the same manner himself.\nThe renewal of the former friendship between them, greatly added to the\ncontentment Horatio at present enjoyed; but soon after he received such\nan augmentation of it, as he could never have imagined, much less have\nflattered himself with the hope of.\nSome few days before his departure, a servant of the baron de Palfoy\ncame to him to let him know his lord sent his compliments, and desired\nto speak with him at his own house. The message seemed so improbable,\nthat Horatio could scarce give credit to it, and imagined the man had\nbeen mistaken in the person to whom he delivered it, till he repeated\nover and over again that it was to no other he was sent.\nHad it been any other than the father of mademoiselle Charlotta, who had\ninvited him to a house he had been once forbid, he scarce would have\nobeyed the summons; but as it was he, the awful person who gave being to\nthat charmer of his soul, he sent the most respectful answer, and the\nsame day took horse for Paris, and attended the explanation of an order\nwhich at present seemed so misterious to him.\nThe baron was no sooner informed he was there, than he came into the\nparlour with a countenance, which had in it all the marks of good humour\nand satisfaction; Horatio, said he, after having made him seat himself,\nI doubt not but you think me your enemy, after the treatment I gave you\nthe last time you were here; but I assure you, I suffered no less myself\nin forbidding you my house, than you could do in having what you might\nthink an affront put upon you:--but, continued he after a pause, you\nought to consider I am a father, that Charlotta is my only child, that\nmy whole estate, and what is of infinite more consideration with me, the\nhonour of my family, must all devolve on her, and that I am under\nobligations not to be dispensed with, to dispose of her in such a manner\nas shall not any way degrade the ancestry she is sprung from.--I own\nyour merits:--I also am indebted to you for my life:--but you are a\nforeigner, your family unknown,--your fortune precarious:--I could wish\nit were otherwise;--believe, I find in myself an irresistable impulse to\nlove you, and I know nothing would give me greater pleasure than to\nconvince you of it.--In fine, there is nothing but Charlotta I would\nrefuse you.\nThe old lord uttered all this with so feeling an accent that Horatio was\nvery much moved at it; but unable to guess what would be the consequence\nof this strange preparation, and not having any thing to ask of him but\nthe only thing he had declared he would not grant, he only thanked him\nfor the concern he was pleased to express, and said, that perhaps there\nmight come a time in which the obscurity he was in at present would be\nenlightened; at least, cried he, I shall have the satisfaction of\nendeavouring to acquire by merit what I am denied by fortune.\nI admire this noble ambition in you, replied the baron de Palfoy; pursue\nthese laudable views, and doubt not of success:--it would be an infinite\npleasure to me to see you raised so high, that I should acknowledge an\nalliance with you the greatest honour I could hope: and to shew you with\nhow much sincerity I speak,--here is a letter I have wrote to count\nPiper, the first minister and favourite of the king of Sweden; when you\ndeliver this to him, I am certain you will be convinced by his reception\nof you, that you are one whose interest I take no inconsiderable\npart in.\nWith these words he gave him a letter directed, as he had said, but not\nsealed, which Horatio, after he had manifested the sense he had of so\nunhoped an obligation, reminded him of. As it concerns only yourself,\nsaid the baron, it is proper you should read it first, and I will then\nput on my signet.\nHoratio on this unfolded it, and found it contained such high\ncommendations of him, and such pressing entreaties to that minister to\ncontribute all he could to his promotion, that it seemed rather dictated\nby the fondness of a parent, than by one who had taken so much pains to\navoid being so. O, my lord! cried he, as soon as he had done perusing\nit, how much do you over-rate the little merit I am master of, yet how\nlittle regard a passion which is the sole inspirer of it! what will\navail all the glory I can acquire, if unsuccessful in my love!\nLet us talk no more of that, said the baron de Palfoy, you ought to be\nsatisfied I do all for you in my power to do at present:--other\nopportunities may hereafter arrive in which you may find the continuance\nof my friendship, and a grateful remembrance of the good office you did\nme; but to engage me to fulfil my obligations without any reluctance on\nmy part, you must speak to me no more on a theme which I cannot hear\nwithout emotions, such as I would by no means give way to.\nHoratio gave a deep sigh, but presumed not to reply; the other, to\nprevent him, turned the conversation on the wonderful actions of that\nyoung king into whose service he was going to enter; but the lover had\ncontemplations of a different nature which he was impatient to indulge,\ntherefore made his visit as short as decency and the favour he had just\nreceived would permit. The baron at parting gave him a very affectionate\nembrace, and told him, he should rejoice to hear of his success by\nletters from him as often as the places and employments he should be in\nwould allow him to write.\nLet any one form, if they can, an idea suitable to the present situation\nof Horatio's mind at so astonishing an incident: impossible it was for\nhim to form any certain conjecture on the baron de Palfoy's behaviour;\nsome of his expressions seemed to flatter him with the highest\nexpectations of future happiness, while others, he thought, gave him\nreason to despair:--sometimes he imagined that it was to his pride and\nthe greatness of his spirit, which would not suffer him to let any\nobligation go unrequited, that he owed what had been just now done for\nhim.--But when he reflected on the contents of the letter to count\nPiper, he could not help thinking they were dictated by something more\nthan an enforced gratitude:--he remembered too that he promised him the\ncontinuation of his friendship, and had given some hints during the\nconversation, as if time and some accidents, which might possibly\nhappen, might give a turn to his affairs even on Charlotta's\naccount.--On the whole it appeared most reasonable to conclude, that if\nhe could by any means raise his fortune in the world to the pitch the\nbaron had determined for his daughter, he would not disapprove their\nloves; and in this belief he could not but think himself as fortunate as\nhe could expect to be, since he never had been vain enough to imagine,\nthat in his present circumstances he might hope either the consent of\nthe father, or the ratification of the daughter's affection.\nEvery thing being now ready for his departure, he took leave of the\nchevalier St. George, who seemed to be under a concern for losing him,\nwhich only the knowledge how great an advantage this young gentleman\nwould receive by it, could console: the queen also gave him a letter\nfrom herself to her intended son-in-law; and the charming princess\nLouisa, with blushes, bid him tell the king of Sweden, he had her prayers\nand wishes for success in all his glorious enterprizes.\nThus laden with credentials which might assure him of a reception equal\nto the most ambitious aim of his aspiring soul, he set out from Paris,\nnot without some tender regret at quitting a place where he had been\ntreated with such uncommon and distinguished marks of kindness and\nrespect. But these emotions soon gave way to others more\ntransporting:--he was on his journey towards Rheines, the place which\ncontained his beloved Charlotta; and the thoughts that every moment\nbrought him still nearer to her filled him with extacies, which none but\nthose who truly love can have any just conception of.\nCHAP. XI.\n_Horatio arrives at Rheines, finds means to see mademoiselle Charlotta\nand afterwards pursues his journey to Poland_.\nThe impatience Horatio had to be at Rheines made him travel very hard\ntill he reached that city; nor did he allow himself much time for repose\nafter his fatigue, till having made a strict enquiry at all the\nmonasteries, he at length discovered where mademoiselle Charlotta\nwas placed.\nHitherto he had been successful beyond his hopes; but the greatest\ndifficulty was not yet surmounted: he doubted not but as such secrecy\nhad been used in the carrying her from Paris, and of the place to which\nshe had been conveyed, that the same circumspection would be preserved\nin concealing her from the sight of any stranger that should come to the\nmonastry:--he invented many pretences, but none seemed satisfactory to\nhimself, therefore could not expect they would pass upon\nothers.--Sometimes he thought of disguising himself in the habit of a\nwoman, his youth, and the delicacy of his complexion making him imagine\nhe might impose on the abbess and the nuns for such; but then he feared\nbeing betrayed, by not being able to answer the questions which would in\nall probability be asked him.--He endeavoured to find out some person\nthat was acquainted there; but tho' he asked all the gentlemen, which\nwere a great many, that dined at the same Hotel with him, he was at as\ngreat a loss as ever. He went to the chapel every hour that mass was\nsaid, but could flatter himself with no other satisfaction from that than\nthe empty one of knowing he was under the same roof with her; for the\ngallery in which the ladies sit, pensioners, as well as those who have\ntaken the veil, are so closely grated, that it is impossible for those\nbelow to distinguish any object.\nHe was almost distracted when he had been there three or four days\nwithout being able to find any expedient which he could think likely to\nsucceed:--he knew not what to resolve on;--time pressed him to pursue\nhis journey;--every day, every hour that he lost from prosecuting the\nglorious hopes he had in view, struck ten thousand daggers to his\nsoul:--but then to go without informing the dear object of his wishes\nhow great a part she had in inspiring his ambition,--without assuring\nher of his eternal constancy and faith, and receiving some soft\ncondescensions from her to enable him to support so long an absence as\nhe in all probability must endure.--All this, I say, was a shock to\nthought, which, had he not been relieved from, would have perhaps abated\ngreat part of that spirit which it was necessary for him to preserve, in\norder to agree with the recommendatory letters he carried with him.\nHe was just going out of the chapel full of unquiet meditations, when\npassing by the confessional, a magdalen curiously painted which hung\nnear it attracted his eyes: as he was admiring the piece, something fell\nfrom above and hit against his arm; he stooped to take it up, and found\nit a small ivory tablet: he looked up, but could see the shadow of\nnothing behind the grate: imagining it only an accident, and not knowing\nto whom to return it, he put it in his pocket, but was no sooner out of\nthe chapel than curiosity excited him to see what it contained, which he\nhad no sooner done than in the first leaf he found these words:\n\"As I imagine you did not come this long journey\nwithout a desire to see me, it would be too ungrateful\nnot to assist your endeavours:--come a little before\nvespers, and enquire of the portress for mademoiselle\ndu Pont;--say you are her brother, and leave the rest to me.\"\nThere was no name subscribed; but the dear characters, tho' evidently\nwrote in haste and with a pencil, which made some alteration in the\nfineness of the strokes, convinced him it came from no other than\nCharlotta; and never were any hours so tedious to him as those which\npast between the receiving this appointment, and that of the\nfulfilling it.\nAt length the wish'd-for time arrived, and he repaired to the gate,\nwhere telling the portress, as he was ordered, that he was the brother\nof mademoiselle du Pont, he was immediately brought into the parlour,\nwhere he had not waited long before a young lady appeared behind the\ngrate: as he found it was not her he expected, he was a little at a\nloss, and not without some apprehensions that his imagination had\ndeceived him: I know not, madame, said he, if chance has not made me\nmistaken for some happier person:--I thought to find a sister here.--No,\nreplied she laughing, Horatio shall find me a sister in my good\noffices;--mademoiselle Charlotta will be here immediately;--she has\ncounterfeited an indisposition to avoid going to vespers, and obtained\npermission for me to stay with her;--so that every thing is right, and\nas soon as the choir is gone into chapel you will see her. It would be\nneedless to repeat the transports Horatio uttered on this occasion, so I\nshall only say they were such as convinced mademoiselle du Pont, that\nher fair friend had not made this condescension to a man ungrateful for,\nor insensible of the obligation. He was indeed so lost in them, that he\nscarce remembered to pay those compliments to the lady for her generous\nassistance which it merited from him; but she easily forgave any\nunpoliteness he might be guilty of on that score; and he so well attoned\nfor it after he had given vent to the sudden emotions of his joy, that\nshe looked, upon him as the most accomplished, as well as the most\nfaithful of his sex. They had entered into some discourse of the rules\nof the monastry, and how impossible it would have been for him to have\ngained an interview with mademoiselle Charlotta, but by the means she\nhad contrived;--she told him that young lady had seen him for several\ndays, and not doubling but it was for her sake he came, had resolved to\nrun any risque rather than he should depart without obtaining so small a\nconsolation as the sight of her was capable of affording. Horatio, by\nthe most passionate expressions, testified how dearly he prized what she\nhad seemed to think of so little value, when the expected charmer of his\nsoul drew near the grate.--All that can be conceived of tender and\nendearing past between them; but when he related to her the occasion of\nhis coming, and that change of life he now was entering upon, she\nlistened to him with a mixture of pleasure and anxiety:--she rejoiced\nwith him on the great prospects he had in view; but the terror of the\ndangers he was plunging in was all her own. She was far, however, from\ndiscouraging him in his designs, and concealed not her admiration of the\ngreatness of his spirit, and that love of glory which seemed to render\nhim capable of undertaking any thing.\nBut when she heard in what manner her father had treated him, she was\nall astonishment: as she knew his temper perfectly well, she was certain\nhe would not have acted in the manner he did without being influenced to\nit by a very strong liking for Horatio; for tho' gratitude for the good\noffice he had received at his hands might have engaged him to make some\nrequital, yet there were several expressions which Horatio, who\nremembered all he said, with the utmost exactness repeated to her, that\nconvinced her he would not have made use of, if he had not meant the\nperson better than he at present would have him think he did; and that\nthere was in reality nothing restrained him from making them as happy as\ntheir mutual affection could desire, but the pride of blood and the talk\nof the world, which the disparity of their present circumstances would\noccasion. As she doubted not but the courage and virtue of Horatio would\nremove that impediment, by acquiring a promotion sufficient to\ncountenance his pretensions, she had now no other disquiet than what\narose from her fears for his safety, which she over and over repeated,\nconjuring him, in the most tender terms, not to hazard himself beyond\nwhat the duties of his post obliged him to:--this, said she, shall be\nthe test of my affection to you; for whenever I hear you run yourself\ninto unnecessary dangers, I will conclude from that moment you have\nceased to remember, or pay any regard to my injunctions or repose.\nHoratio kissed her hand thro' the grate, and told her, he would always\nset too great a value on a life she was so good to with the continuance\nof, not to take all the care of it that honour would admit; but she\nwould not give him leave to add any asseverations to this promise,\nwhich, said she, you will every day be tempted to break;--the\nenterprizing disposition of the prince you are going to serve, added to\nyour own sense of glory, will make it very difficult for you not to be\nthe foremost in following wherever his royal example leads the way:--nor\nwould I wish you to purchase security by the price of infamy; but as you\ngo in a manner such as will in all probability place you near his\nperson, methinks it would be easy for you, by now and then mentioning\nthe princess Louisa, to rouse in him these soft emotions which might\nprevent him from too rashly exposing a life she had so great an\ninterest in.\nHow great a pity was it this tender conversation between two persons who\nhad so pure a passion for each other, who had been absent for some time,\nand who knew not when, or whether ever they should meet again, could not\nbe indulged with no longer continuance! but now mademoiselle du Pont,\nwho had been so good as to stand at some little distance, while they\nentertained each other, as a watch to give them notice of any\ninterruption, now warned them that they must part:--divine service was\nover, and the abbess and nuns were returning from chapel.\nShort was the farewel the lovers took; mademoiselle Charlotta had told\nhim it would be highly improper he should run the hazard of a discovery\nby coming there a second time, which would probably incense her father\nso much, as to convert all the favourable intentions he now might have\ntowards them into the reverse, and he was therefore oblig'd to content\nhimself with printing with his lips the seal of his affection on her\nhand, which he had scarce done before, on a second motion by\nmademoiselle du Pont, she shot suddenly from the place and went to her\nchamber, that no suspicions might arise on her being found so well as to\nhave been able to quit it.\nAs he had passed for the brother of mademoiselle du Pont, she stayed\nsome little time with him: this lady, whom Charlotta in this exigence\nhad made her confidant, had a great deal of good nature, and seeing the\nagony Horatio was in, endeavoured to console him by all the arguments\nshe thought might have force;--she told him, that in the short time she\nhad been made partaker of mademoiselle Charlotta's secrets, she had\nexpressed herself with a tenderness for him, with which he ought to be\nsatisfied, and that she was convinced nothing would ever be capable of\nmaking the least alteration in her sentiments.\nWhile she was speaking in this manner, Horatio remembered that he had\nnot given Charlotta her tablet, which he now took out of his pocket, and\nwith the same pencil she had made use of, and which was fastened to it,\nwrote in the next leaf to that she had employed these words;\n\"I go, most dear, and most adorable Charlotta;\nwhether to live or die I know not, but which\never is my portion, the passion I have for you is\nrooted in my soul, and will be equally immortal:\nlife can give no joy but in the hope of being\nyours, nor death any terrors but being separated\nfrom you:--O! let nothing ever prevail on\nyou to forget so perfect an attachment; but in\nthe midst of all the temptations you may be\nsurrounded with, think that you have vouch-safed\nto encourage my hopes, presuming as they\nare, and if once lost to them, what must be the\ndestiny of\nHORATIO.\"\nHaving thus poured out some part of the over-flowings of his heart, he\nentreated mademoiselle du Pont to give it her, which she assured him she\nwould not only do, but also be a faithful monitor for him during the\nwhole time she should be happy enough to enjoy the company of that lady.\nHoratio having now fulfilled all his passion required of him, quitted\nRheines the next day, no less impatient to pursue his other\nmistress, glory!\nBut let us now see in what manner his beautiful sister Louisa, whom we\nleft at Vienna, was all this while engaged.\nCHAP. XII.\n_Continuation of the adventures of Louisa: her quitting Vienna with\nMelanthe, and going to Venice, with some accidents that there\nbefel them_.\nNot all the gaieties of the court of Vienna had power to attach the\nheart of Melanthe, after she heard that a great number of young\nofficers, just returned from the campaign in Italy, and other persons of\ncondition, were going to Venice, in order to partake the diversions of\nthe near approaching carnival: she was for following pleasure every\nwhere, and having seen all that was worth observing in Germany, was\nimpatient to be gone where new company and new delights excited her\ncuriosity.\nHaving therefore obtained proper passports, they set out in company with\nseveral others who were taking the same rout, and by easy journeys thro'\nTyrol, at length arrived at that republic, so famous over all Europe for\nits situation, antiquity, and the excellence of its constitution.\nHere seemed to be at this time an assemblage of all that was to be found\nof grand and polite in the whole christian world; but none appeared with\nthat splendor and magnificence as did Lewis de Bourbon, prince of Conti:\nhe had in his train above fifty noblemen and gentlemen of the best\nfamilies in France, who had commissions under him in the army, and\nseemed proud to be of his retinue, less for his being of the blood\nroyal, than for the many great and amiable qualities which adorned his\nperson. This great hero had been a candidate with Augustus, elector of\nSaxony, for the crown of Poland; but the ill genius of that kingdom\nwould not suffer it to be governed by a prince whose virtues would\ndoubtless have rendered it as flourishing and happy as it has since that\nunfortunate rejection been impoverished and miserable. Bigotted to a\nfamily whose designs are plainly to render the crown hereditary, they\nnot only set aside that great prince, under the vain and common-place\npretence, that on electing him they might be too much under the\ninfluence of France; but also afterward, as resolved to push all good\nfortune from them with both hands, refused Stanislaus, a native of\nPoland, a strict observer of its laws, and a man to whose courage,\nvirtue, and every eminent qualification even envy itself could make no\nobjection, and thereby rendered their country the seat of war and\ntheatre of the most terrible devastations of all kinds. But of this\ninfatuation of the Poles I shall have occasion hereafter to speak more\nat large, and should not now have made any mention of it, had not the\npresence of that hero, whom they first rejected, rendered it the general\nsubject of discourse at Venice. Numberless were the instances he gave of\na magnanimity and greatness of mind worthy of a more exalted throne than\nthat of Poland; but I shall only mention one, which, like the thumb of\nHercules, may serve to give a picture of him in miniature.\nHaving the good fortune one night to win a very great sum at a public\ngaming, just as he sweep'd the stakes, a noble Venetian, who by some\ncasualties in life was reduced in his circumstances, could not help\ncrying out, heavens! how happy would such a chance have made me! these\nwords, which the extreme difficulties he was under forced from him,\nwithout being sensible himself of what he said, were over-heard by the\nprince, who turning hastily about, instead of putting the money into his\nown pocket, presented it to him, saying, I am doubly indebted to chance,\nsir, which has made me master of this; since it may be of service to\nyou, I beseech you therefore to accept it with the respects of a prince,\nwhose greatest pleasure in life is to oblige a worthy person.\nIt would take up too much time to expatiate on the grateful\nacknowledgments made by the Venetian, or the admiration which the report\nof this action being immediately spread, occasioned; but, added to\nothers of a little less conspicuous nature, it greatly served to\nconvince those who before were ignorant of it, how blind the Polanders\nhad been to their own interest.\nAmong the concourse of nobility and gentry, whom merely the love of\npleasure had drawn hither, and for that end were continually forming\nparties, Melanthe never failed of making one either in one company or\nother: Louisa, whom that lady still treated with her former kindness, or\nrather with an increase of it, was also seldom absent, and when she was\nso, the fault was wholly her own inclination: but in truth, that hurry\nof incessant diversion, which at first had seemed so ravishing to her\nyoung and unexperienced mind, began, by a more perfect acquaintance with\nit, to grow tiresome to her, and she rather chose sometimes to retire\nwith a favourite book into her closet, than to go to the most elegant\nentertainment.\nIt is certain, indeed, that her disposition was rather inclined to\nserious than the contrary, and that, joined with the reflections which\nher good understanding was perpetually presenting her with, on the\nuncertainty of her birth, the precariousness of her dependance, and her\nenforced quitting the only person from whom she could expect the means\nof any solid establishment in the world, had rendered her sometimes\nextremely thoughtful, even in the midst of those pleasures that are\nordinarily most enchanting to one of her sex and age. But as she never\nwas elated with the respect paid to her supposed condition, so she never\nwas mortified with the consciousness of her real one, to a behaviour\nsuch as might have degraded the highest birth; neither appearing to\nexpect it, or be covetous of honours, nor meanly ashamed of accepting\nthem when offered. And while by this prudent management she secured\nherself from any danger of being insulted whenever it should be known\nwho she was, she also gave no occasion for any one to make too deep an\nenquiry into her descent or fortune.\nBut now the time was arrived when those deficiencies gave her more\nanxiety than hitherto they had done; and love in one moment filled her\nwith those repinings at her fate, which neither vanity or ambition would\never have had power to do.\nMelanthe here, as at Vienna, received the visits of all whose birth,\nfortune, or accomplishments, gave them a pretence; but there was none\nwho paid them so frequently, or which she encouraged with so much\npleasure as those of the count de Bellfleur, a French nobleman belonging\nto the above-mentioned prince of Conti: she often told Louisa, when they\nwere alone, that there was something in the air and manner of behaviour\nof this count, which had so perfect a resemblance with that of Henricus,\nthat tho' it reminded her of that once dear and perfidious man, she\ncould not help admiring and wishing a frequent sight of him. This was\nspoke at her first acquaintance with him; but after some little time she\ninformed her, that he had declared a passion for her. He is not only\nlike Henricus in his person, said she, but appears to have the same\ninclinations also:--he pretends to adore me, continued she with a sigh,\nand spares no vows nor presents to assure me of it:--something within\ntempts me to believe him, and yet I fear to be a second time betrayed.\nAh! madam, cried Louisa, in the sincerity of her heart, I beseech you to\nbe cautious how you too readily give credit to the protestations of a\nsex, who, by the little observations I have made, take a pride in\ndeceiving ours;--besides, the count de Bellfleur is of a nation where\nfaith, I have heard, is little to be depended on.\nThose who give them that character, replied Melanthe, do them an\ninfinite injustice:--in politics, I allow, they have their artifices,\ntheir subterfuges, as well as in war; but then they put them in practice\nonly against their enemies, or such as are likely to become\nso:--wherever they love, or have a friendship, their generosity is\nbeyond all bounds.--\nShe pursued this discourse with a long detail of all she had ever read\nor heard in the praise of the French, and did not forget to speak of the\nprince of Conti as an instance of the gallant spirit with which that\npeople are animated.\nLouisa knew her temper, and that it would be in vain to urge any thing\nin contradiction to an inclination she found she was resolved to\nindulge; but she secretly trembled for the consequence, the count having\nsaid many amorous things to herself before he pretended any passion for\nMelanthe; and tho' he had of late desisted on finding how little she was\npleased with them, yet that he had done so was sufficient to convince\nher he was of a wavering disposition. Melanthe was not, however, to be\ntrusted with this secret; she loved him, and jealousy, added to a good\nshare of vanity, would, instead of engaging any grateful return for a\ndiscovery of that nature, have made her hate the person he had once\nthought of as worthy of coming in any competition with herself. She\ntherefore indeed thought it best not to interfere in the matter, but\nleave the event wholly to chance.\nThe evening on the day in which this discourse had past between them,\nthey went to a ball, to which they had been invited by one of the\nMagnifico's. The honour of the prince's company had been requested; but\nhe excused himself on account, as it was imagined, of his being engaged\nwith a certain German lady, who also being absent, gave room for this\nconjecture: most of the gentlemen who had followed his highness from\nFrance were there, among whom was the count de Bellfleur, and a young\ngentleman called monsieur du Plessis, who, by a fall from his horse, had\nbeen prevented from appearing in public since his arrival. The\ngracefulness of his person, the gallant manner in which he introduced\nhimself, and the brilliant things he said to the ladies, on having been\nso long deprived of the happiness he now enjoyed, very much attracted\nthe admiration of the company; but Louisa in particular thought she had\nnever seen any thing so perfectly agreeable: a sympathy of sentiment,\nmore than accident, made him chuse her for his partner in a grand dance\nthen leading up; and the distinction now paid her by him gave her a\nsecret satisfaction, which she had never known before on such an\noccasion, tho' often singled out by persons in more eminent stations.\nThe mind which, whenever agitated by any degree of pain or pleasure,\nnever fails to discover itself in the eyes, now sparkled in those of\nLouisa with an uncommon lustre, nor had less influence over all her\nair:--her motions always perfectly easy, gentle and graceful, especially\nin dancing, were now more spirituous, more alert than usual; and she so\nmuch excelled herself, that several, who had before praised her skill in\nthis exercise, seemed ravished, as if they had seen something new and\nunexpected:--her partner was lavish in the testimonies of his\nadmiration, and said, she as much excelled the ladies of his country, as\nthey had been allowed to excel all others.\nThe encomiums bestowed on her, and more particularly those she received\nfrom him, still added fresh radiance to her eyes, and at the same time\ndiffused a modest blush in her checks which heightened all her\ncharms.--Never had she appeared so lovely as at this time; and the count\nde Bellfleur, in spight of his attachment to Melanthe, felt in himself a\nstrong propensity to renew those addresses which her reserved behaviour\nalone had made him withdraw and carry to another; but the lady to whom\nfor some days past he had made a shew of devoting himself was present,\nand he was ashamed to give so glaring an instance of his infidelity,\nwhich must in all probability render him the contempt of both.\nThis night, however, lost Melanthe the heart she had thought herself so\nsecure of; but little suspecting her misfortune, she treated the\ninconstant count with a tenderness he was far from deserving; and having\ntransplanted all the affection she once had for Henricus on this new\nobject, told him, at a time that such discovery was least welcome to\nhim, that she was not insensible of his merit, nor could be ungrateful\nto his passion, provided she could be convinced of the sincerity of it.\nHe had gone too far with her now to be able to draw back, therefore\ncould not avoid repeating the vows he before had made, tho' his heart\nwas far from giving any asient to what his tongue was obliged to utter;\nbut blinded by her own desires, she perceived not the change in his, and\nappointed him to come the next day to her lodgings, promising to be\ndenied to all other company, that she might devote herself entirely\nto him.\nIt is possible he was so lost in his passion for Louisa, as not to be\nsensible of the condescension made him by Melanthe; but it is certain,\nby the sequel of his behaviour, that he was much less so than he\npretended.\nThe ball being ended, these ladies carried with them very different\nemotions, tho' neither communicated to the other what she felt. Melanthe\nhad a kind of awe for those virtuous principles she observed in Louisa,\ntho' so much her inferior and dependant, and was ashamed to confess her\nliking of the count should have brought her to such lengths; not that\nshe intended to keep it always a secret from her, but chose she should\nfind it out by degrees; and these thoughts so much engrossed her, that\nshe said little to her that night. Louisa, for her part, having lost the\npresence of her agreeable partner, was busy in supplying that deficiency\nwith the idea of him; so that each having meditations of her own of the\nmost interesting nature, had not leisure to observe the thoughtfulness\nof the other, much less to enquire the motive of it.\nOne of the great reasons that we find love so irresistable, is, that it\nenters into the heart with so much subtilty, that it is not to be\nperceived till it has gathered too much strength to be repulsed. If\nLouisa had imagined herself in any danger from the merits of monsieur du\nPlessis, she would at least have been less easily overcome by them:--she\nhad been accustomed to be pleased with the conversation of many who had\nentertained her as he had done, but thought no more of them, or any\nthing they said, when out of their company; but it was otherways with\nher now: not a word he had spoke, not a glance he had given, but was\nimprinted in her mind:--her memory ran over every little action a\nthousand and a thousand times, and represented all as augmented with\nsome grace peculiar to himself, and infinitely superior to any thing she\nhad ever seen:--not even sleep could shut him out;--thro' her closed\neyes she saw the pleasing vision; and fancy, active in the cause of\nlove, formed new and various scenes, which to her waking thoughts were\nwholly strangers.\nMelanthe also past the night in ideas which, tho' experienced in, were\nnot less ravishing: she was not of a temper to put any constraint on her\ninclinations; and having entertained the most amorous ones for the count\nde Bellfleur, easily overcame all scruples that might have hindered the\ngratification of them:--her head ran on the appointment she had made\nhim:--the means she would take to engage his constancy,--resolved to\nsell the reversion of her jointure and accompany him to France, and\nflattered herself with the most pleasing images of a long series of\ncontinued happiness in the arms of him, who was now all to her that\nHenricus ever had been.\nFull of these meditations she rose, and soon after received from the\nsubject of them a billet, containing these words:\n_To the charming_ MELANTHE.\nMADAM,\n\"Tho' the transporting promise you made\nme of refusing admittance to all company\nbut mine, is a new instance of your goodness,\nyet I cannot but think we should be still more\nsecure from interruption at a place I have taken\ncare to provide. Might I therefore hope you\nwould vouchsafe to meet me about five in the\nevening at the dome of St. Mark, I shall be\nready with a Gondula to conduct you to a recess,\nwhich seems formed by the god of love himself\nfor the temple of his purest offerings, than which\nwhich none can be offered with greater passion\nand sincerity than those of the adorable Melanthe's\n_Most devoted, and\nEverlasting Slave_,\nDE BELLFLEUR.\n_P.S._. To prevent your fair friend Louisa from\nany suspicion on account of being left at\nhome, I have engaged a gentleman to make\nher a visit in form, just before the time of\nyour coming out:--favour me, I beseech\nyou, with knowing if my contrivances in\nboth these points have the sanction of your\napprobation.\"\nTho' Melanthe, as may have been already observed in the foregoing part\nof her character, was no slave to reputation in England, and thought\nherself much less obliged to be so in a place where she was a stranger,\nand among people who, when she once quitted, she might probably never\nsee again, yet she looked on this caution in her lover as a new proof of\nhis sincerity and regard for her. She was also fond of every thing that\nhad an air of luxury, and doubted not to find the elegance of the French\ntaste in the entertainment he would cause to be prepared for her\nreception, therefore hesitated not a moment to send him the\nfollowing answer:\n_To the engaging count_ DE BELLFLEUR.\n\"Sensible, as you are, of the ascendant your\nmerits have gained over me, you cannot\ndoubt of my compliance with every thing that seems\nreasonable to you:--I will not fail to be\nat the place you mention; but oh! my dear\ncount, I hope you will never give me cause to\nrepent this step;--if you should, I must be\nthe most miserable of all created beings; but I\nam resolved to believe you are all that man ought\nto be, or that fond tenacious woman can desire;\nand in that confidence attend with impatience\nthe hour in which there shall be no more reserve\nbetween us, and I be wholly yours.\nMELANTHE.\"\nThus every thing being fixed for her undoing, she spent the best part of\nthe day in preparing for the rendezvous: nothing was omitted in the\narticle of dress, which might heighten her charms and secure her\nconquest:--the glass was consulted every moment, and every look and\nvarious kind of languishment essayed, in order to continue in that which\nshe thought would most become the occasion. As she ordinarily past a\ngreat deal of time in this employment, Louisa was not surprized that she\nnow wasted somewhat more than usual; and the discourse they had together\nwhile she was dressing, and all the time of dinner, being very much on\nthe ball and the company who were at it, her thoughts were so much taken\nup with the remembrance of du Plessis, that she perceived not the hurry\nof spirits which would else have been visible enough to her in all the\nwords and motions of the other, and which increased in proportion as the\nhour of her appointment drew nearer.\nAt length it arrived, and a servant came into the room and acquainted\nLouisa a gentleman desired to speak with her; she was a little\nsurprized, it being usual for all those who visited there to expect\ntheir reception from Melanthe; but that lady, who doubted not but it was\nthe same person the count had mentioned in his letter, prevented her\nfrom saying any thing, by immediately giving orders for the gentleman to\nbe admitted.\nBut with what strange emotions was the heart of Louisa agitated, when\nshe saw monsieur du Plessis come into the room! and after paying his\nrespects to Melanthe in the most submissive manner, accosted her, with\nsaying he took the liberty of enquiring of her health after the fatigue\nof the last night; but, added he, the question, now I have the happiness\nof seeing you, is altogether needless; those fine eyes, and that\nsprightly air, declare you formed for everlasting gaiety, and that what\nis apt to throw the spirits of others into a languor, serves but to\nrender yours more sparkling.\nLouisa, in spite of the confusion she felt within, answered this\ncompliment with her accustomed ease; and being all seated, they began to\nenter into some conversation concerning the state with which the\nMagnifico's of Venice are served, the elegance with which they entertain\nstrangers, and some other topics relating to the customs of that\nrepublic, when all on a sudden Melanthe starting up, cried, bless me! I\nhad forgot a little visit was in my head to make to a monastery hard\nby:--you will excuse me, monsieur, continued she, I leave your partner\nto entertain you, and fancy you two may find sufficient matter of\nconversation without a third person. She had no sooner spoke this than\nshe went out of the room, and left Louisa at a loss how to account for\nthis behaviour, as she had not before mentioned any thing of going\nabroad. She would have imagined her vanity had been picqued that\nmonsieur du Plessis had particularized her in this visit; but as she\nseemed in perfect good humour at going away, and knew she thought it\nbeneath her to put any disguise on her sentiments, she was certain this\nsudden motion must have proceeded from some other cause, which as yet\nshe could form no conjecture of.\nThis deceived lady, however, was no sooner out of the room, than\nmonsieur du Plessis drawing nearer to Louisa, how hard is my fate,\nmadame, said he, in a low voice, that I am compelled to tell you any\nother motive than my own inclination has occasioned my waiting on\nyou:--heaven knows it is an honour I should have sought by the lowest\nsubmissions, and all the ways that would not have rendered me unworthy\nof it; but I now come, madame, not as myself, but as the ambassador of\nanother, and am engaged by my word and honour to plead a cause which, if\nI succeed in, must be my own destruction.\nLouisa was in the utmost consternation at the mystery which seemed\ncontained in these words: she looked earnestly upon him while he was\nuttering the latter part, and saw all the tokens of a serious perplexity\nin his countenance, as well as in the accents with which he delivered\nthem; but not being willing to be the dupe of his diversion, thought it\nbest to answer as to a piece of railery, and told him, laughing, she\nimagined this was some new invention of the frolics of the season, but\nthat she was a downright English-woman, understood nothing beyond plain\nspeaking, and could no ways solve the riddle he proposed.\nWhat I say, may doubtless appear so, madame; replied she, and I could\nwish it had not been my part to give the explanation; but I cannot\ndispense with the promise I have made, and must therefore acquaint you\nwith the history of it.\nAfter the ball, continued he, monsieur the count de Bellfleur desired me\nto accompany him to his lodgings, and, as soon as we were alone, told\nme, he had a little secret to acquaint me with, but that, before he\nrevealed it, he must have the promise of my assistance. As he spoke this\nwith a gay and negligent air, I imagined it a thing of no great\nconsequence, or if it were, he was a man of too much honour, and also\nknew me too well to desire or expect I would engage in any thing\nunbecoming that character: indeed I could think of nothing but an amour\nor a duel, tho' I was far from being able to guess of what service I\ncould be to him in the former. I was, however, unwarily drawn in to give\nmy word, and he then made me the confident of a passion, which, he said,\nhad received its birth from the first moment he beheld the Belle\nAngloise, for by that term, pursued he, bowing, he distinguished the\nadorable Louisa: that he had made some discovery of his flame, but that\nfinding; himself rejected, as he thought, in too severe a manner, and\nwithout affording him opportunity to attest his sincerity, he had\nconverted his addresses, tho' not his passion, to a lady who, he\nperceived, had the care of her, acting in this manner, partly thro'\npicque at your disdain, and partly to gratify his eyes with the sight of\nyou, which he has reason to fear you had totally deprived him of but for\nthis stratagem. He confessed to me that he found the object of his\npretended ardours infinitely more kind than she who inspires the real\nones: but this gratification of his vanity is of little consequence to\nhis peace;--he engaged me to attend you this day, to conjure you to\nbelieve his heart is incapable of being influenced by any other charms,\nand whatever he makes shew of to Melanthe, his heart is devoted wholly\nto you,--begs you to permit him to entertain you without the presence of\nthat lady, the means of which he will take care to contrive; and charged\nme to assure you, that there is no sacrifice so great, but he will\nreadily offer it to convince you of the sincerity of his attachment.\nThis, madame, added he, is the unpleasing task my promise bound me to\nperform, and which I have acquitted myself of with the same pain that\nman would do who, by some strange caprice of fate, was constrained to\nthrow into the sea the sum of all his hopes.\nThe indignation which filled the virtuous foul of Louisa, while he was\ngiving her this detail of the count's presumption, falsehood, and\ningratitude, prevented her from giving much attention to the apology\nwith which he concluded. Never, since the behaviour of mr. B----n at\nmrs. C--g--'s, had she met with any thing that she thought so much\nmerited her resentment:--so great was her disdain she had not words to\nexpress it, but by some tears, which the rising passion forced from her\neyes:--Heaven! cried she, which of my actions has drawn on me this\nunworthy treatment?--This was all she was able to utter, while she\nwalked backward and forward in the room endeavouring to compose herself,\nand form some answer befitting of the message.\nMonsieur du Plessis looked on her all this while with admiration: all\nthat seemed lovely in her, when he knew no more of her than that she was\nyoung and beautiful, was now heightened in his eyes almost to divine, by\nthat virtuous pride which shewed him some part of her more charming\nmind. What he extremely liked before, he now almost adored; and having,\nby the loose manner in which the count had mentioned these two English\nladies, imagined them women of not over-rigid principles, now finding\nhis mistake, at least as concerning one of them, was so much ashamed and\nangry with himself for having been the cause of that disorder he was\nwitness of, that he for some moments was equally at a loss to appease,\nas she who felt was to express it.\nBut being the first that recovered presence of mind; madame, I beseech\nyou, said he, involve not the innocent with the guilty:--I acknowledge\nyou have reason to resent the boldness of the count; but I am no\notherwise a sharer in his crime than in reporting it; and if you knew\nthe pain it gave my heart while I complied with the promise I was\nunhappily betrayed into, I am sure you would forgive the misdemeanor of\nmy tongue.\nSir, answered she, I can easily forgive the slight opinion one so much a\nstranger to me as yourself may have of me; but monsieur the count has\nbeen a constant visitor to the lady I am with, ever since our arrival at\nVenice; and am very certain he never found any thing in my behaviour to\nhim or any other person, which could justly encourage him to send me\nsuch a message:--a message, indeed, equally affrontive to himself, since\nit shews him a composition of arrogance, vanity, perfidy, and every\nthing that is contemptible in man.--This, sir, is the reply I send him,\nand desire you to tell him withal, that if he persists in giving me any\nfarther trouble of this nature, I shall let him know my sense of it in\nthe presence of Melanthe.\nMonsieur du Plessis then assured her he would be no less exact in\ndelivering what she said, than he had been in the observance of his\npromise to the other, and conjured her to believe he should do it with\ninfinite more satisfaction. He then made use of so many arguments to\nprove, that a man of honour ought not to falsify his word, tho' given to\nan unworthy person, that she was at last won to forgive his having\nundertaken to mention any thing to her of the nature he had done.\nIndeed, the agitations she had been in were more owing to the vexation\nthat monsieur du Plessis was the person employed, than that the count\nhad the boldness to apply to her in this manner; but the submission she\nfound herself treated with by the former, convincing her that he had\nsentiments very different from those the other had entertained of her,\nrendered her more easy, and she not only forgave his share in the\nbusiness which had brought him there, but also permitted him to repeat\nhis visits, on condition he never gave her any cause to suspect the mean\nopinion the count had of her conduct had any influence on him.\nCHAP. XIII.\n_Louisa finds herself very much embarrassed by Melanthe's imprudent\nbehaviour. Monsieur du Plessis declares an honourable passion for her:\nher sentiments and way of acting on that occasion_.\nAfter the departure of monsieur du Plessis, Louisa fell into a serious\nconsideration of what had passed between them: not all the regard, which\nshe could not hinder herself from feeling for that young gentleman, nor\nthe pleasure she took in reflecting on the respect he paid her, made her\nunmindful of what she owed Melanthe: the many obligations she had\nreceived from her, and the friendship she had for her in return, made\nher think she ought to acquaint her with the baseness of the count de\nBellfleur, in order to prevent an affection which she found she had\nalready too much indulged from influencing her to grant him any farther\nfavours; but this she knew was a very critical point to manage, and was\nnot without some apprehensions, which afterward she experienced were but\ntoo well grounded; that when that lady found herself obliged to hate the\nman she took pleasure in loving, she would also hate the woman who was\nthe innocent occasion of it. Few in the circumstances Louisa was, but\nwould have been swayed by this consideration, and chose rather to see\nanother become the prey of perfidy and deceit, than fall the victim of\njealousy herself; but the generosity of her nature would not suffer it\nto have any weight with her, and she thought she could be more easy\nunder any misfortunes the discovery might involve her in, than in the\nconsciousness of not having discharged the obligations of duty and\ngratitude in revealing what seemed so necessary to be known.\nWith this resolution, finding Melanthe was not come home, she went into\nher chamber in order to wait her return, and relate the whole history to\nher as she should undress for bed. But hour after hour elapsing without\nany appearance of the person she expected, she thought to beguile the\ntedious time by reading; and remembering that Melanthe had a very\nagreeable book in her hand that morning, she opened a drawer, where she\nknew that lady was accustomed to throw any thing in, which she had no\noccasion to conceal; but how great was her surprise when, instead of\nwhat she sought, she found the letter from count de Bellfleur which\nMelanthe, in the hurry of spirits, had forgot to lock up. As it lay open\nand was from him, she thought it no breach of honour to examine the\ncontents, but in doing so was ready to faint away between grief and\nastonishment.\nShe was not insensible that Melanthe was charmed with this new lover,\nand had always feared her liking him would sway her to some\nimprudencies, but could not have imagined it would have carried her, at\nleast so soon, to such a guilty length as she now found it did.\nConvinced by the hour in which she went out, and alone, that she had\ncomplied with the appointment, and that all she would have endeavoured\nto prevent was already come to pass, she now considered that the\ndiscovery she had to make would only render this indiscreet lady more\nunhappy, and therefore no longer thought herself obliged to run any\nrisque of incuring her ill-will on the occasion; but in her soul\nextremely lamented this second fall from virtue, which it was impossible\nshould not bring on consequences equally, if not more shameful than\nthe first.\nGood God! cried she, how is it possible for a woman of any share of\nsense, and who has been blessed with a suitable education, to run thus\ncounter to all the principles of religion, honour, virtue, modesty, and\nall that is valuable in our sex? and yet that many do, I have been a\nmelancholy witness:--and then again, what is there in this love, resumed\nshe, that so infatuates the understanding, that we doat on our\ndishonour, and think ruin pleasing?--Can any personal perfections in a\nman attone for the contempt he treats us with in courting us to\ninfamy!--the mean opinion he testifies to have of us sure ought rather\nto excite hate than love; our very pride, methinks, should be a\nsufficient guard, and turn whatever favourable thoughts we might have of\nsuch a one, unknowing his design, into aversion, when once convinced he\npresumed upon our weakness.\nIn these kind of reasonings did she continue some time; but reflecting\nthat the trouble she was in might put Melanthe on asking the cause, it\nseemed best to her to avoid seeing her that night, so retired to her own\nroom and went to bed, ordering the servants to tell their lady, in case\nshe enquired for her, that she was a little indisposed.\nWhile Louisa was thus deploring a misfortune she wanted power to remedy,\nthe person for whom she was concerned past her time in a far different\nmanner: the count omitted nothing that might convince her of his\ngallantry, and give her a pretence for flattering herself with his\nsincerity:--he swore ten thousand oaths of constancy, and she easily\ngave credit to what she wished and had vanity enough to think she\nmerited:--he had prepared every thing that could delight the senses for\nher reception at the house to which he carried her; and she found in\nherself so little inclination to quit the pleasures she enjoyed, that it\nwas as much as the little remains of decency and care of reputation\ncould do, to make her tear herself away before midnight.\nIn the fullness of her heart she had doubtless concealed no part of this\nadventure from Louisa, but on hearing she was gone to rest, and not very\nwell, would not disturb her. The first thing she did in the morning was\nto run into the chamber and enquire after her health, which she did in\nso affectionate and tender a manner, that it very much heightened the\nother's trouble for her.\nIt is certain that, setting aside too loose a way of thinking of virtue\nand religion, and adhering to that false maxim, that a woman of rank is\nabove censure, Melanthe had many amiable qualities, and as she truly\nloved Louisa, was alarmed at her supposed indisposition, which, to\nconceal the perplexity her mind was in, she still continued to\ncounterfeit, as well as to avoid going to a masquerade, to which they\nhad some days before been invited, and which the present situation of\nher thoughts left her no relish for.\nMelanthe would fain have perswaded her that this diversion would\ncontribute to restoring her; but she entreated to be excused, and the\nother went without her.\nMonsieur du Plessis in the mean time having informed the count de\nBellfleur, how much it was in vain for him to flatter himself with any\nhopes of Louisa, that proud and inconstant nobleman was extremely\nmortified, and said, that since she was so haughty, he was resolved to\ncontrive some way or other to get her into his power, as well out of\nrevenge as inclination. This, the other represented to him, would be a\nvery ungenerous way of proceeding; and said, that as she refused his\naddresses merely out of a principle of virtue, and not for the sake of a\nmore favoured rival, he ought to content himself; but these arguments\nwere lost on a man whom pride of blood, and an affluence of fortune, had\nrendered too insolent and head-strong to think any thing reason which\nopposed his will; and they parted not well satisfied with each other,\ntho' du Plessis concealed part of the dislike he had of his principles\nand manner of behaviour, on account of a long friendship between their\nfamilies, and also as the count was his superior in birth, in years, and\nin the post he held in the army.\nHe had no sooner left him than he came to Louisa, thinking it his duty\nto give her warning of the count's design, and that it would be a proper\nprelude to something else he had to say. As the servants knew she was\nnot perfectly well, they told him, they believed she would see no\ncompany; but on his entreating it, and saying he had something of moment\nto impart, one of them went in and repeated what he had said, on which\nshe gave leave for his admission.\nHe rejoiced to find her alone, as he came prepared to reveal to her more\nsecrets than that of the count's menace; but the pleasure he took in\nhaving so favourable an opportunity was very much damped, by seeing her\nlook more pale than usual, and that she was in a night-dress. Fearful\nthat this change proceeded from what had passed between them the day\nbefore, he asked with a hastiness, that shewed the most kind concern, if\nshe were well. No otherways disordered, answered she, than in my mind,\nand that not sufficiently to have any effect over my health; but to\nconfess the truth, monsieur, said she, the continual round of diversion\nthis carnival affords, has made what the world calls pleasure, cease to\nbe so with me; and I find more solid satisfaction in retirement, where I\nam in no danger of being too much flattered or affronted.\nAh! madam, cried he, I see the audacity of the count dwells too much\nupon your thoughts, and tremble to relate the business on which I came,\nand which it is yet necessary you should know. You mistake me, monsieur,\nreplied she; a common foe of virtue, such as the count, is incapable of\ntaking up my thoughts one moment; it is only those I love can give me\nreal pain.\nI understand you, madam, resumed he, and am too much interested in your\nconcern not to simpathize on the occasion: the misfortunes, such as I\nfear will attend the too great sensibility of Melanthe, may give you so\nterrible an idea of love in general, that it will be difficult to\npersuade you there can be any lasting happiness to be found in that\npassion:--but, charming Louisa, continued he, if you will make the least\nuse of your penetration, and examine with a desire of being convinced,\nyou will easily distinguish the real passion from the counterfeit: that\nlove, whose supremest pleasure is in being capable to give felicity to\nthe beloved object; and that wild desire, which aims at no more than a\nself-gratification:--the one has the authority of heaven for its\nsanction;--the other no excuse but nature in its depravity. From all\nattempts of the one, I am confident, your virtue and good sense will\nalways defend you; but to fly with too great obstinacy the other, is not\nto answer the end of your creation; and deny yourself a blessing, which\nyou seem formed to enjoy in the most extensive degree.\nBoth the voice and manner in which monsieur du Plessis spoke, gave\nLouisa some suspicion of what he aimed at in this definition, and filled\nher at the same time with emotions of various kinds; but dissembling\nthem as well as she could, and endeavouring to turn what he said into\nraillery, you argue very learnedly on this subject, it must be\nconfessed, answered she smiling; but all you can urge on that head, nor\nthe compliment you make me, can win me to believe that love of any kind\nis not attended with more mischief than good:--where it is accompanied\nwith the strictest honour, constancy, purity, and all the requisites\nthat constitute what is called a perfect passion, there are ordinarily\nso many difficulties in the way to the completion of its wishes, that\nthe breast which harbours it must endure a continual agitation, which\nsurely none would chuse to be involved in.\nAh! madam, how little are you capable of judging of this passion, said\nhe; there is a delicacy in love which renders even its pains pleasing,\nand how much soever a lover suffers, the thoughts of for whom he suffers\nis more than a compensation; I am myself an instance of this truth:--I\nam a lover:--conscious unworthiness of a suitable return of affection,\nand a thousand other impediments lie between me and hope, yet would I\nnot change this dear anxiety for that insipid case I lived in before I\nsaw the only object capable of making me a convert to love.--It is\ncertain my passion is yet young; but a few days has given it root which\nno time, no absence, no misfortune ever can dislodge.--The charming maid\nis ignorant of her conquest:--the carnival draws near to a\nconclusion.--I must return to the army, and these cruel circumstances\noblige me either to make a declaration which she may possibly condemn as\ntoo abrupt, or go and leave her unknowing of my heart, and thereby\ndeprive myself even of her pity:--Which party, madam, shall I\ntake?--Will the severe extreme, to which I am driven, be sufficient to\nattone for a presumption which else would merit her disdain?\nLouisa must have been as dull as she was really the contrary, not to\nhave known all this was meant to herself; and the pleasing confusion\nwhich this discovery infused thro' all her veins, made her at the same\ntime sensible of the difference she put between him and all those who\nbefore had entertained her on that subject; but not knowing presently\nwhether she ought to attribute it to her good or ill fortune, she was\nwholly at a loss how to behave, and, to avoid giving any direct answer,\nstill affected an air of pleasantry.\nSee, cried she, the little reason you, have to speak in the praise of\nlove; for if pity be all you have to hope for from your, mistress, I am\nafraid the consolation will be no way adequate to the misfortune.\nYet if you vouchsafe me that, replied he, kissing her hard, I never\nshall complain. Me! interrupted she, pretending the utmost astonishment,\nand drawing her chair somewhat farther from him. Yes, beautiful Louisa,\nresumed he; it is you alone who have been capable of teaching me what\nlove truly is:--your eyes, at first sight, subdued my heart; but your\nvirtue has since made a conquest of my soul:--if I dare hope to make you\nmine, it is only by such ways as heaven, and those who have the power of\ndisposing you, shall approve:--in the mean time I implore no more than\nyour permission to admire you, and to convince you, by all the\nhonourable services in my power to do you while you continue here, how\nmuch my words are deficient to denote my meaning.\nLouisa, now finding herself under a necessity of answering seriously,\ntold him, that if it were true that he had sentiments for her of the\nnature he pretended, they would not only merit, but receive the most\ngrateful acknowledgments on her part; but at the same time she should be\nsorry he had entertained them, and would wish him not to indulge a\nprospect which could last no longer than while both remained in Venice,\nand must infallibly vanish on their separation.\nNo, madam, replied he, when the next campaign is over, I shall return to\nFrance; and sure the distance between that kingdom and England is not so\ngreat, but a less motive than yourself would easily carry me thither;\nand such credentials also of who, and what I am, as, I flatter myself,\nwould not appear contemptible in the eyes of your friends:--the prospect\ntherefore is not so visionary as you seem to think, provided I have\nyour consent.\nThe mention he made of her friends reminding her of her destitute\ncondition, gave her the utmost shock; which not being able to overcome,\nshe remained silent some moments; but at last perceiving he waited her\nreply, monsieur, said she, there may be a thousand indissoluble bars\nbetween us which you do not think of.\nNone, interrupted he eagerly, but what such love as mine will easily\nsurmount:--it is true, I am ignorant of your condition in the world; but\nif it be superior to mine, the passion I am possessed of will inspire me\nwith means to raise me to an equality; and if inferior, which heaven\ngrant may be the case, it will only give the opportunity of proving that\nI love Louisa for Louisa's self, and look upon every thing she brings\nbeside as nothing.\nThe emphasis he gave these words manifesting their sincerity, could not\nbut give new charms to the person who spoke them: Louisa thought she\nmight, without a blush, testify the sense she had of his generosity; but\ntho' what she said was perfectly obliging to him, yet she concluded with\nletting him know, there still was something that rendered the\naccomplishment of what he seemed to wish impossible.\nThen your heart already is engaged, cried he, or you are predestined by\nyour parents to some happier man? Without either of these, answered she,\nthere may be reasons to prevent our ever meeting more;--therefore I owe\nso much to the honourable offers you are pleased to make me, as to wish\nyou to overcome whatever inclinations you may have for one who I once\nmore assure you never can be yours.\nIt would be impossible to express the distraction monsieur du Plessis\ntestified at this expression:--a thousand times over did he repeat that\ndreadful word NEVER;--then added, neither engaged by love or promise,\nyet never can be mine! does my ill fate come wrap'd to me in\nriddles!--yet many things have seemed impossible that are not so in\nthemselves:--O Louisa! continued he, if there be any thing beside my\nwant of merit that impedes my wishes, and you delight not in my torment,\nspeak it I conjure you.\nThere is a necessity of denying you in this also, said Louisa; but to\nshew you how little I am inclined to be ungrateful, be certain that I\nhave the highest idea of your merits, and prize them as much as I\nought to do.\nThese last words, obliging as they were, could not console monsieur du\nPlessis for the cruelty, as he termed it, of refusing to let him know\nwhat this invincible obstacle was which put a stop to any further\ncorrespondence between them: he spared neither prayers nor tears to draw\nthe secret from her, but all were ineffectual; and she at last told him,\nthat if he pressed her any farther on that head, she must for the future\navoid his presence.\nThis was a menace which he had not courage to dare the execution of, and\nhe promised to conform to her will, tho' with such agonies, as shewed\nher how much he valued even the little she was pleased to grant; but it\nwas not in the power of her perswasions to prevail on him to resolve to\nmake any efforts for the vanquishing his passion; he still protested\nthat he neither could cease to love her, and her alone, nor even to wish\nan alteration in his sentiments.\nBy what has been already said of the extreme liking which the first\nfight of this young gentleman inspired Louisa with, it may easily be\nsupposed she could not hear his complaints, and be witness of the\nanxieties she was enforced to inflict on him, without feeling at least\nan equal share: she endeavoured not to conceal the pity she had for him;\nbut he now found that was far from being all he wanted, because it\nforwarded not, as he at first imagined, the progress of his hopes, but\nrather shewed them at more distance than ever.\nThe business of his love so engrossed his thoughts during this visit,\nthat he almost forgot to mention any thing of the count's designs upon\nher, and she as little remembered to remind him of it, tho' he told her\non his entrance, that he had something to acquaint her with on his\nsubject, and it was not till he was going to take leave that it came\ninto his head. When he had related it to her, she assured him that she\ntook the caution he gave her as a new proof of his friendship, which,\nsaid she, I shall always prize. At parting, she permitted him to salute\nher, and gave her promise not to refuse seeing him while they continued\nin that city; but told him at the same time, that he must not expect any\nthing from his repeated visits more than she had already granted.\nHe durst not at that time press her any farther, but fetched a deep sigh\nas he went out of the room, accompanied with a look more expressive than\nany words could be of the discontent he laboured under, while she,\noppressed beneath the double weight of his and her own grief, remained\nin a condition he was little able to form any conjecture of.\nPleased as she was with the presence of the only man who had ever had\npower of inspiring her with one tender thought, yet a thousand times she\nhad wished him gone before he went, that she might be at liberty to give\nvent to the struggling passions which were more than once ready to throw\nher into a swoon. The perfections she saw in the person of her\nlover;--the respect he treated her with, notwithstanding the violence of\nthe passion he was possessed of;--the sincerity that appeared in all his\nlooks and words;--the generosity of his behaviour in regard to her\nfortune;--all the qualifications that would have made any other woman\nblessed in the offer of such a heart, served but to make her wretched,\nsince she could not look on herself in a condition capable of\naccepting it.\nAlas! du Plessis, cried she, little do you think to whom you would ally\nyourself:--you would, you say, despise a portion, but would you marry a\nfoundling, a child of charity, one that has neither name nor friends,\nand who, in her best circumstances, is but a poor dependant, a servant\nin effect, tho' not in shew, and owes her very cloaths to the bounty of\nanother?--Oh! why did the mistaken goodness of Dorilaus give me any\nother education than such as befitted my wretched fortune! Better I had\nbeen bred an humble drudge, and never been taught how to distinguish\nmerit:--What avail the accomplishments that cost him so much money, and\nme so much pains to acquire, but to attract a short-liv'd admiration,\nwhich, when I am truly known, will be succeeded with an adequate\nderision:--Could I but say I was descended from honest, tho' mean\nparents, I would not murmur at my fate, but I have none,--none to own\nme;--I am a nothing,--a kind of reptile in humanity, and have been shewn\nin a genteel way of life only to make my native misery more conspicuous.\nThus did love represent her unhappy circumstances in their worst\ncolours, and render her, which till now she had never been, thankless to\nheaven for all the good she had received, since it seemed to deny her\nthe only good her passion coveted, that of being in a condition to\nreward the affection of her dear du Plessis.\nA torrent of tears at length somewhat mitigated the violence of her\npassion, and unwilling to be seen by Melanthe in the present confusion\nof her thoughts, she went to bed, leaving the same orders as she had\ndone the night before.\nCHAP. XIV.\n_The base designs of the count de Bellfleur occasion a melancholy change\nin Louisa's way of life; the generous behaviour of monsieur du Plessis\non that occasion._\nHad the agonies Louisa suffered been of very long continuance, she must\nhave sunk under them; but grief is easily dissipated in a young heart,\nand she awoke more tranquil.--The principles of religion grew stronger\nas her passion weaker, and she reflected that she ought to submit in\nevery thing to the will of heaven, which sometimes converts what seems\nthe greatest evil into good.--The offer of such a match as monsieur du\nPlessis, a man she loved, and who was master of accomplishments which\nmight excuse the most violent passion, appeared indeed a happiness she\nwould have gloried in had she been really such as he took her for; but\nthen she had known him but a very short time, had no experience of his\nprinciples or humour; and tho' he seemed all honour, could not assure\nherself that the generosity which so much engaged her might not be all\nartifice; at least she found to think so would most contribute to her\nease, therefore indulged it as much as she was able. She condemned\nherself for having given monsieur du Plessis permission to continue his\nvisits, after having assured him he had nothing to hope from them,\nbecause a further conversation might only serve to render both more\nunhappy. She resolved however to give him no opportunity of talking to\nher of his passion, and in order to avoid thinking of it herself as much\nas possible, to go, as usual, into all company that came to Melanthe,\nand partake of every diversion that offered itself.\nAccordingly she forced herself to a gaiety, she was far from feeling,\nvainly imagining that by counterfeiting a chearfulness, she should in\ntime be able to resume it; but du Plessis hung too heavy at her heart,\nand when she affected the greatest shew of mirth, it was often\ninterrupted with sighs, which she was not always sensible of herself. He\nvisited her almost every day under one pretence or other; but she took\nsuch care never to be alone at the times that she could possibly expect\nhim, that he had not the least opportunity to renew his addresses, any\notherways than by his looks, which, notwithstanding, were perfectly\nintelligible to her, tho' she seemed not to observe them.\nMelanthe, no longer able to keep the secret of her amour, finding\nLouisa, as she thought, had entirely regained her former sprightliness,\nacquainted her with all had passed between herself and count de\nBellfleur; which, tho' the other was no stranger to, she seemed\nastonished at, and could not help telling her, that she feared the\nconsequence of an intrigue of that nature would one day be fatal to her\npeace. Yet, said Melanthe, where one loves, and is beloved, it is hard\nto deny oneself a certain happiness for the dread of an imaginary\nill.--In fine, my dear Louisa, I found I could not live without him; and\nheaven will sure excuse the error of an inclination which is born with\nus, and which not all our reason is of force to conquer.--But, added\nshe, you always seem to speak of the count, as of a man that wanted\ncharms to excuse the tenderness I have for him; and, I have observed,\ndeny him those praises which I have heard you bestow very freely on\npersons that have not half his merit.\nLouisa knowing how vain it was to contest with inclination, in persons\nwho are resolved to indulge it, and also that all advice was now too\nlate, began to repent of what she said. If, madam, replied she, after a\nlittle pause, I have seemed unjust to the count's perfections, it was\nonly because I feared you were but too sensible of them; for otherwise,\nit must be owned, he has a person and behaviour extremely engaging; but\nas the carnival will put an end to all the acquaintance we have\ncontracted here, it gives me pain to think how you will support a\nseparation.\nPerhaps it may not happen so soon as you imagine, said Melanthe:--tho'\nthe carnival, and with it all the pleasures of this place will soon be\nover, our loves may be continued elsewhere:--suppose, Louisa, we go to\nFrance, added she with a significant smile, that shewed it was her\nintention to do so.\nSome company coming in, prevented any farther discourse on this head for\nthe present; but afterward she confirmed what she had now hinted at, and\ntold Louisa, that she had resolved to pass some little time in seeing\nthose places which were in her way to France, and afterwards meet the\ncount at Paris, on his return from the campaign. Louisa, unable to\ndetermine within herself whether she ought to rejoice, or be sad at this\nintended journey, fell into a sudden thoughtfulness, which the other at\nthat time took no notice of, but it served afterwards to corroborate the\ntruth of something she was told, and proved of consequence little to\nbe foreseen.\nThe inconstant count, in the mean time, satieted with Melanthe, and as\nmuch in love with Louisa as a man of his temper could be, was contriving\nall the ways his inventive wit could furnish him with to get handsomely\nrid of the one, and attain the enjoyment of the other. As he had spent\nmany years in a continual course of gallantry, and had made and broke a\nthousand engagements, he easily found expedients for throwing off his\nintercourse with Melanthe, but none that could give him the least\nprospect of success in his designs on Louisa while they lived together\nand continued friends: to part them therefore was his aim, and to\naccomplish it the following method came into his head.\nOn his first acquaintance with these ladies his design was wholly on\nLouisa, but meeting a rebuff from her, his vanity rather than his\ninclinations had made him turn his devoirs to Melanthe, who too easily\nyielding to his suit, served but to heighten his desires for the other:\nthe extravagant fondness of that unhappy woman rendering her visibly\nuneasy at even the ordinary civilities she saw him behave with to any\nother, discovered to him that jealousy was not the least reigning foible\nof her foul, and the surest means to make her hate that person whom it\nwas not the interest of his passion she should continue to love. When\nthey were alone together one day at the place of their usual rendezvous,\nin the midst of the most tender endearments, he asked suddenly if she\nhad ever made Louisa the confident of his happiness. She was a little\nsurprized at the question, but answered that she had not, and desired to\nknow the reason of that demand; because, cried he, I am very certain she\nis no friend to our loves; and by the manner in which she behaves to me,\nwhenever she has the least opportunity of shewing her ill humour, I\nimagined she either knew or suspected the affair between us.\nMelanthe, conscious she had hid nothing from her, and also sensible of\nthe little approbation she gave to her intrigue, was very much picqued\nthat she should have done any thing to make the count perceive\nit;--whatever she suspects, cried she, haughtily, she ought not to treat\nwith any ill manners a person whom I avow a friendship for. Vanity,\nanswered he, sometimes gets the better of discretion in ladies of her\nyears:--she knows herself handsome, and cannot have a good opinion of\nthe man who prefers any charms to her own.--I imagine this to be the\ncause why she looks on me with such disdain, and, whenever you are not\nwitness of her words, is so keen in satyrical reflections.--On our first\nacquaintance she looked and spoke with greater softness, and I can\nimpute it to no other motive than the pride of beauty, that this sudden\nchange has happened.\nAll the time he was speaking, the soul of Melanthe grew more and more\nfired with jealousy.--It is natural for every one to imagine whatever\nthey like is agreeable to others. The distaste which Louisa had on many\noccasions testified for the count, seemed now to have been only\naffected:--the melancholy she had been in, and the deep resvery she\nremembered she had fallen into when first she informed her of their\namour, joined to convince her, that the advice she gave proceeded from a\nmotive very different from what she pretended.\nThe wily count saw into the workings of her soul; and while he seemed as\nif he would not discover the whole of his sentiments for fear of\ndisobliging her, threw out the plainest hints, that Louisa had made him\nadvances which would have been very flattering to a heart not\npre-engaged, till Melanthe, not able to contain her rage, broke out into\nthe fevered invectives against the innocent Louisa.--The ungrateful\nwretch! cried she, how dare she presume to envy, much less to offer an\ninterruption to my pleasures!--What, have I raised the little wretch to\nsuch a forgetfulness of herself, that she pretends to rival her mistress\nand benefactress! In the height of her resentment, she related to the\ncount in what manner she had taken her into her service; but that\nfinding her, as she imagined, a girl of prudence, she had made her a\ncompanion during her travels, and as such treated her with respect, and\nmade others do so too;--but, said she, I will reduce her to what she\nwas, and since she knows not how to prize the honour of my friendship,\nmake her feel the severities of servitude.\nNothing could be more astonishing, and at the same time more pleasing to\ncount Bellfleur than this discovery: what he felt for Louisa could not\nbe called love, he desired only to enjoy her; and the knowledge of her\nmeanness, together with Melanthe's resentment, which he doubted not but\nhe should be able to improve to the turning her out of doors, made him\nimagine she would then be humbled enough to accept of any, offers he\nmight make her.\nPursuant to this cruel aim, he told Melanthe, that now not thinking\nhimself under any obligation to conceal the whole of the affair, he must\nconfess Louisa had not only made him advances, but gone so far as to\ndiscover a very great passion for him.--As I had never, said he, given\nher the least room to hope I was ambitious of any favours from her of\nthat nature, I could not help thinking she was guilty of some\nindecencies ill-becoming a woman of condition, as well as infidelity to\nher friendship for you, whom she might well see I adored:--but alas! I\nlittle suspected the obligations she had to you, and now I know what she\nis, am in the utmost consternation at her ingratitude, impudence and\nstupidity. Heavens! added he, could she have the vanity to imagine that\nthe genteel garb you had put her in, could raise her to such an\nequality, as to make me hesitate one moment if I should give the balance\nof merit on her side, and quit the amiable Melanthe for the pert charms\nof her woman?\nMelanthe, believing every thing he said on this occasion, was ready to\nburst with indignation; which impatient to give vent to, parted from her\nlover much sooner than she was accustomed, in order to wreak on the poor\nLouisa all that rage and malice could suggest.\nThat innocent maid, little suspecting the misfortune that was falling on\nher, was at ombre with some ladies who came to visit them, when the\nfurious Melanthe came home, and taking this opportunity of heightening\nher intended revenge by making it more public,--so, minx, said she to\nher, after having made her compliments to the company, you ape the woman\nof fashion exceeding well, as you imagine; but hereafter know yourself,\nand keep the distance that becomes you. With these words she gave her a\npush from the table in so rough a manner, that the cards fell out of\nher hand.\nIt is hard to say whether Louisa herself, or the ladies who were\npresent, were most astonished at this behaviour; every one looked one\nupon another without speaking for some time: at last Louisa, who wanted\nnot spirit, and on this occasion testified an uncommon presence of\nmind,--if I have seemed otherways than what I am, madam, said she, it\nwas your commands obliged me to it:--I never yet forgot myself, and\nshall as readily resume what distance you are pleased to enjoin me.\nInsolent, ungrateful wretch, cried Melanthe, vexed to the soul to find\nher seem so little shocked at what she had done, if I permitted you any\nliberties, it was because I thought you merited them;--but get out of my\nsight, and dare not to come into it again till I send for you. I shall\nobey you, madam, replied Louisa, and perhaps be as well pleased to be\nyour servant as companion.\nThis resignation and seeming tranquility under an insult, she expected\nwould have been so mortifying, was the greatest disappointment could be\ngiven to Melanthe, and increased her rage to such a degree, that she\nflew to her as she was going out of the room, and struck her several\nblows, using at the same time expressions not decent to repeat, but\nsuch, as in some unguarded moments, women of quality level themselves\nwith the vulgar enough to be guilty of. This is a behaviour, madam,\nwhich demeans yourself much more than me, said Louisa, and when reason\ngets the better of your passion, I doubt not but you will be just enough\nto acknowledge you have injured me.\nShe got out of the room with these words, but heard Melanthe still\noutrageous in her reproaches; but determined not to answer, made what\nhaste she could into her own chamber, where having shut herself in, she\ngave a loose to the distraction so unexpected an event must\nnaturally occasion.\nPride is a passion so incident to human nature, that there is no breast\nwhatever that has not some share of it; and it would be to describe\nLouisa such as no woman ever was, or ever can be, especially at her\nyears, to say she was not sensibly touched at the indignity she had\nreceived from a person, but a few hours before, had treated her as\npretty near an equality with herself.--Nor was her amazement inferior to\nher grief, when after examining, with the utmost care, all her words and\nactions, she could find nothing in either that could possibly give\noccasion for this sudden turn.\nFrom the present, she cast thoughts back on the past accidents of her\nlife, and comparing them together, how cruelly capricious is my fate,\nsaid she, which never presents me with a good but to be productive of an\nadequate evil!--How great a blessing was the protection and tenderness I\nfound from Dorilaus, yet how unhappy did the too great increase of that\ntenderness render, me!--What now avails all the friendship received from\nMelanthe, but to make me the less able to support her ill usage!--And\nwhat, of what advantage is it to me that I am beloved by a man the most\nworthy to be loved, since I am of a condition which forbids me to give\nany encouragement to his, or my own wishes!\nIn this manner did she pour forth the troubles of her soul, till the\nhour of supper being arrived, Melanthe's woman knocked at the chamber,\nand Louisa having opened it, she told her that she was sorry to see such\nan alteration in the family, but it was her ladyship's pleasure that she\nshould eat at the second table. It is very well, said Louisa, resolving,\nwhatever she endured, not to let Melanthe see any thing she could do\ndisturbed her too much, and in saying so, went with her into the hall\nand sat down to table, but with what appetite I leave the reader\nto guess.\nMelanthe, who now hated her to a greater degree than ever she had loved\nher, gave to the ladies who were with her the whole history of Louisa,\nas far as she knew of it, and rather aggravated, than any way softened\nthe mean condition from which she had relieved her; but when they asked\nher what that unhappy creature had done to forfeit a continuance of her\ngoodness, she only answered in general, that she had found her to be an\nungrateful and perfidious wretch.\nAs she mentioned no particular influence on which this accusation was\ngrounded, every one was at liberty to judge of it as they pleased.--The\naccomplishments Louisa was mistress of, made every one convinced she had\nbeen educated in no mean way, tho' by some accidents she might have been\nreduced to the calamities Melanthe had so largely expatiated upon, and\nmore there were who pitied her than approved the behaviour of her\nsuperior:--some indeed, who had envied the praises they had heard\nbestowed on her, were rejoiced at her fall, and made it a matter of\nmirth wherever they came;--and others again thought themselves affronted\nby having a person, who they now found was no more than a servant,\nintroduced into their company, and would never visit Melanthe afterward\nthe whole time she stayed in Venice.\nThe affair, however, occasioned a great deal of discourse: monsieur du\nPlessis heard of it the next day related after different fashions. The\nconcern he was in was conformable to the passion he had for the fair\noccasion, and both beyond what is ordinarily to be found in persons of\nhis sex. Impatient to know the truth he went to Melanthe's, and she\nhappening to be abroad, he desired to speak to Louisa, but was told she\nwas indisposed, and could see no company. These orders had been given by\nMelanthe, but were very agreeable to Louisa herself, who desired to\navoid the sight of every one she had conversed with in a different\nmanner from what she could now expect; but of the whole world this\ngentleman she most wished to shun.\nHe concealed the trouble he was in as well as he was able, and affecting\na careless air, told the person who answered him, that he only came to\nask if she had heard the last new song, and that he would send it\nto her.\nThe moment he came home he sat down and wrote the following billet.\n_To the ever charming_ LOUISA.\n\"That invincible bar you mentioned, yet\nmade so great a secret of, is at last revealed,\nand I should be unworthy of the blessing I aspire\nto, if I were unable to surmount it.\nCruel Louisa! you little know me, or the force\nof that passion you have inspired, to imagine\nthat any difference which chance may have put\nbetween us, can make the least alteration in my\nsentiments!--It is to your own perfections I\nhave devoted my heart, not to the merit or\ngrandeur of your ancestors. What has my love\nto do with fortune, or with family!--Does a\ndiamond lose any thing of its intrinsic value for\nbeing presented by an unknown, or an obscure\nhand?--My eyes convince me of the charms\nof my adored Louisa; my understanding shews\nme those of her mind; and if heaven vouchsafes\nto bless me with so rich a jewel, I never shall\nexamine whence it came.--If therefore I am\nnot so unhappy as to be hated by you, let not\nvain punctilloes divide us, and, as the first proof\nof my inviolable passion, permit me to remove\nyou from a place where you have met with such\nunworthy treatment:--I hope you wrong me\nnot so far as to suspect I any other designs\non you than such as are consistent with the\nstrictest honour; but to prevent all scruples of\nthat nature from entering your gentle breast, I\nwould wish to place you in a convent, the\nchoice of which shall be your own, provided it\nmay be where I sometimes may be allowed to\npay my vows to you thro' the grate, till time\nshall have sufficiently proved my fidelity, and\nyou shall prevail on yourself to recempence my\nflame, by bestowing on me your hand and heart:--the\none I would not ask without the other;\nbut both together would render the happiest of\nmankind.\n_Your eternally devoted_\nDu Plessis.\n_P.S._ As I perceive it will be next to an impossibility\nto gain a sight of you while you continue\nwith that ungenerous woman, I entreat\nto know by a line how I stand in your opinion,\nand if the offers I make you, in the sincerity\nof my soul, may be thought worthy\nyour acceptance.\"\nThis epistle he ordered his valet de chambre to give to her own hand, if\nthere were a possibility of it; and the fellow so well executed his\ncommission, being acquainted with Melanthe's servants, that he was\ncarried directly up to her chamber. She was a little surprized to see\nhim, because she knew it was contrary to Melanthe's commands that any\none should see her; and doubted not but to find she was treated with any\nkind of respect, would enhance her ill humour to her. But she said\nnothing that discovered her sentiments on this point, and with all the\nappearance of a perfect ease of mind, asked what he had to deliver to\nher. Only a song, mademoiselle, answered he, which my master ordered me\nto give you, and to desire you will let him know how you like it:--he\nsays it might be turned into an admirable duetto, and begs you would\nemploy your genius on that score and send it by me.\nPoor Louisa, who took his words literally, and thought her present\ncircumstances too discordant for the fulfilling his request, opened the\nsupposed piece of music with an aking heart; but when she had perused\nit, and found the artifice her lover had made use of to communicate his\ngenerous intentions to her, it is extremely fine, said she to the valet,\nand I will do what he requires to the best of my power, but fear I shall\nnot be able to give it such a turn as he may expect. If you please,\ncontinued she, to wait a little, I shall not be long before I dispatch\nyou. In speaking these words she went into her closet, and read over and\nover the offers he had made, in which, with the strictest examination,\nshe could find nothing but what indicated the most perfect love, honour,\nand generosity. In the first transports of her soul she was tempted to\ncomply; but her second thoughts were absolutely against it.--Those very\nreasons which would have prevailed with almost any other woman, made her\nobstinate to refuse:--the more she found him worthy, the less could she\nsupport the thoughts of giving him a beggar for a wife; and the more she\nloved him, the less could she content to be obliged to him; so she took\nbut a small time for consideration, before she returned an answer in\nthese terms:\n_To the most accomplished, and most generous monsieur_ DU PLESSIS.\n\"As it was not owing to my pride or vanity,\nbut merely compliance with the will of\nMelanthe, that my real meanness was made a\nsecret, I find it revealed without any mortification;\nbut, monsieur, the distance between us\nis not shortened by being known: as the consciousness\nof my unworthiness remains with\nme, and ever must do so, I again repeat the\nimpossibility of accepting your too generous passion,\nand, after this, you will not wonder I\nshould refuse those other obliging offers you are\nso good to make.--I left my native country\nwith Melanthe, devoted myself to her service\nwhile she was pleased to continue me in it, and\nonly wait her commands for my doing so, or to\nreturn to England.--I believe, by what her\nwoman told me this day, the latter will be my\nfate.--Think not, however, most truly worthy\nof your whole sex, that I want eyes to distinguish\nyour merits, or a heart capable of being\ninfluenced by them, perhaps too deeply for my\nown future peace:--this is a confession I would\nnot have made, were I ever to see you more;\nbut as I am determined to shut myself from all\nthe world during my abode at Venice, I thought\nI owed this little recompence to the generous\naffection you express for me, and had rather you\nshould think any thing of me, than that I am\nungrateful.\nLOUISA.\n_P.S._ I beg, monsieur, after this, you will not\nattempt either to speak or write to me.\"\nWhen she had sent this away, she fell into fresh complainings at the\nseverity of her fate, which constrained her to refuse what most she\nlanguished for:--the uncertainty how she should be disposed of was also\na matter of grief:--she was at this time a prisoner in Melanthe's house:\nshe had sent several messages to that lady, by her woman, entreating to\nknow in what she had offended, but could receive no other answer than\nabuses, without one word which gave her the least light into the cause\nof this strange treatment; but that morning she was informed, by the\nsame woman, that her Lady protested she should never more come into her\npresence, and that she would send her home: this, as she had wrote to\nmonsieur du Plessis, seemed highly probable, as there was no appearance\nof a reconciliation; and the thoughts in what manner she should begin\nher life again, on her return, filled her with many anxieties, which,\njoined to others of a different nature, rendered her condition\ntruly pitiable.\nIt was in the midst of these perplexing meditations that word was\nbrought her from Melanthe, that she must prepare for her departure on\nthe ensuing day. It was in vain she again begged leave to see her, and\nto be made acquainted with the reason of her displeasure; but the other\nwould not be prevailed upon, but sent her a purse sufficient to defray\nthe expences of her journey to England, and bid her woman tell her she\nhad no occasion to repine, for she turned her away in a much better\ncondition than she had found her.\nCHAP. XV.\n_Louisa is in danger of being ravished by the count de Bellfleur; is\nprovidentially rescued by monsieur du Plessis, with several other\nparticulars_.\nLouisa packed up her things, as she had been commanded, tho' with what\nconfusion of mind is not easy to be expressed; and, when she was ready\nto go, wrote a letter to Melanthe, thanking her for all the favours she\nhad received from her, acknowledging them to be as unmerited as her late\ndispleasure, which she conjured her to believe she had never, even in\nthought, done any thing justly to incur;--wished her prosperity, and\nthat she might never find a person less faithful to her interests than\nshe had been. Having desired her woman to deliver this to her, she took\nleave of the servants, who all loved her extremely, and saw her go with\ntears in their eyes.\nThe rout she intended to take was to Padua by water, thence in a post\nchaise to Leghorn, where she was informed, it would be easy to find a\nship bound for England; to what port was indifferent to her, being now\nonce more to seek her fortune, tho' in her native country, and must\ntrust wholly to that providence for her future support, which had\nhitherto protected her.\nAccordingly she took her passage to Padua in one of those boats, which\nare continually going between Venice and that city; and it being near\nthe close of day when she landed, was obliged to go into an inn,\ndesigning to lye there that night, and early in the morning set out\nfor Leghorn.\nShe was no sooner in bed than, having never been alone in one of those\nplaces before, a thousand dreadful apprehensions came into her head: all\nthe stories she had been told, when a child, of robberies and murders\ncommitted on travellers in inns, were now revived in her memory:--every\nlittle noise she heard made her fall into tremblings; and the very\nwhistling of the wind, which at another time would have lulled her to\nsleep, now kept her waking: but these ideal terrors had not long\npossessed her, before she had an occasion of real ones, more shocking\nthan her most timid fancy could have suggested.\nThe wicked count de Bellfleur, who had taken care to prevent the passion\nhe had excited in Melanthe against her from growing cool, learned, from\nthat deceived lady, in what manner she intended to dispose of her; and\nno sooner heard which way she went than, attended by one servant, who\nwas the confidant and tool of all his vices, he took boat for Padua, and\npresently finding out, by describing her, at what inn she was lodged,\ncame directly thither; and, having called the man of the house, asked\nhim if such a young woman were not lodged there, to which being answered\nin the affirmative, he told him that she was his wife;--that being but\nlately married to her, in compliance with her request, he had brought\nher to see the diversions of the carnival, and that she was eloped, he\ndoubted not, but for the sake of a gallant, since he loved her too well\nto have given her any cause to take so imprudent a step.\nThe concern he seemed to be under gained immediate credit to all he\nsaid; which he easily perceiving, I know, said he, that if I have\nrecourse to a magistrate I shall have a grant, and proper officers to\nforce her to return to her duty; but I would feign reclaim her by fair\nmeans:--it is death to me to expose her; and if my perswasions will be\neffectual, the world shall never know her fault.\nThe innkeeper then told him she was gone to bed, but he would wait on\nhim to her chamber, and he might call to her to bid her open the door.\nNo, answered the count, if she hears my voice she may, perhaps, be\nfrighted enough to commit some desperate action:--you shall therefore\nspeak to her, and make some pretence for obliging her to rise.\nOn this they both went up, and the man knocked softly at first, but on\nher not answering immediately, more loud.--She, who heard him before,\nbut imagining something of what she had heard of others was now going to\nhappen to herself, was endeavouring to assume all the courage she could\nfor supporting her in whatever exigence heaven should reduce her to:--at\nlast she asked who was there, and for what reason she was disturbed. The\ninnkeeper then said he wanted something out of the room, and she must\nneeds open the door. This she refused to do, but got out of bed and\nbegan to put on her cloaths, resolving to dye as decently as she could,\nverily believing they were come to rob and murder her.\nThe man, who spoke all by the count's direction, then told her, that if\nshe would not open the door, he must be obliged to break it, and\npresently beat so violently against it, that the poor terrified Louisa\nexpected it to burst, so thought it would be better to unbolt it of her\nown accord, than, by a vain resistance, provoke worse usage than she\nmight otherwise receive: but what was her astonishment when she beheld\nthe count de Bellfleur! On the first moment the words monsieur du\nPlessis repeated to her, that _he would have her one way or another,_\ncame into her mind, and made her give a great shriek; but then almost at\nthe same time the thought that he might possibly be sent by Melanthe to\nbring her back, somewhat mitigated her fears.--Unable was she to speak,\nhowever; and the consternation she appeared to be in at his presence,\njoined with his taking her by the hand and bidding her be under no\napprehensions, confirmed the truth of what he had told the innkeeper,\nwho thinking he had no other business there, and they would be soonest\nreconciled when alone, left them, together and went down stairs.\nWhen the count saw he was gone,--I could not support the thoughts of\nseeing you no more, my dear Louisa, said he; I have heard Melanthe's\ncruel usage of you, and also that your condition is such, that you have\nno friends in England to receive you if you should prosecute your\njourney:--I come therefore to make you an offer, which, in your present\ncircumstances, you will find it imprudent, I believe, to reject:--I long\nhave loved you, and if you will be mine, will keep you concealed at a\nhouse where I can confide, till my return to the army; then will take\nthe fame care of you, and place you somewhere near my own quarters; and,\nas I shall go to Paris as soon as the next campaign is over, will there\nprovide for you in as handsome a manner as you can wish;--for be\nassured, dear lovely girl, that no woman upon earth will ever be capable\nof making me forsake you.\nThat she had patience to hear him talk so long in this manner, was\nwholly owing to the fear and surprize she had been in, and perhaps had\nnot yet recovered enough from, to make any reply to what he said, if he\nhad contented himself only with words; but his actions rouzing a\ndifferent passion in her soul, she broke from his arms, into which, he\nhad snatched her at the conclusion of his speech, and looking on him\nwith eyes sparkling with disdain and rage,--perfidious man! cried she,\nis this,--this the consequence of the vows you made Melanthe; and do you\nthink, after this knowledge of your baseness, I can harbour any idea of\nyou, but what is shocking and detestable!\nI never loved Melanthe, by heaven, resumed he; she made me advance, and\nnot to have returned, them, would have called even my common civility in\nquestion;--but from the first moment I saw your beauties, I was\ndetermined to neglect nothing that might give me the enjoyment of\nthem:--fortune has crowned my wishes, you are in my power, and it would\nbe madness in you to lose the merit of yielding, and I compel me to be\nobliged to my own strength for a pleasure I would rather owe to your\nsoftness:--come, come, continued he, after having fastened the door, let\nus go to bed;--I will save your modesty, by pulling your cloaths off\nmyself. In speaking this he catched hold of her again, and attempted to\nuntye a knot which fastened her robe de chambre at the breast. On this\nshe gave such shrieks, and stamped with her feet so forcibly on the\nground, that the innkeeper fearing the incensed husband, as he supposed\nhim to be, was going to kill her, ran hastily up stairs, and called to\nhave the door opened, saying, he would have no murder in his house.\nThe artful count immediately let him in, and told him, he need be under\nno apprehensions, his wife was too dear to him to suffer any thing from\nhis resentment; and all the noise you heard, said he, was only because I\ninsisted on her going to bed! By these words Louisa discovered how he\nhad imposed upon the man, and cried out she was not his wife; but as she\nspoke very bad Italian, and the man understood no French, the count\nbeing very fluent in that language, had much the advantage, the\ninnkeeper was fully satisfied, and they were again left alone, having a\nsecond opportunity to prosecute his villanous attempt.\nYou see, said he, how much in vain it is for you to resist:--would it\nnot be wiser in you, therefore, to meet my flames with equal warmth;--to\nfeign a kindness even if you have none, and thereby oblige me to use you\nwith a future tenderness:--believe I love you now with an extravagance\nof fondness:--it is in your power to preserve that affection for\never:--give me then willingly that charming mouth.\nHe had all this time been kissing her with the utmost eagerness, so that\nwith all her struggling she had not been able either to disengage\nherself from his embrace, or to utter one word; and he was very near\nforcing from her yet greater liberties, when all at once heaven gave her\nstrength to spring suddenly from him, and running to a table where he\nhad laid his sword, she drew it out of the scabbard with so much speed,\nthat he could not prevent her, and making a push at him with one hand,\nkept him from closing with, or disarming her, till with the other she\nhad plucked back the bolt of the door.\nIn this posture she flew down stairs, and reached the hall before he\novertook her, quite breathless and ready to faint. He was going to lay\nhold of her, when he found himself seized behind by two persons, whom,\non turning to examine the reason, he found was monsieur du Plessis and\nthe innkeeper. He started at the sight of that gentleman, and was going\nto say somewhat to him in French, when the innkeeper told him, the young\nwoman should be molested no farther till he knew the truth of the\naffair; for, said he, there is a person, meaning monsieur du Plessis,\nwho is just come in, and says she has no husband, and belongs to an\nEnglish lady of quality now at Venice:--I will therefore take care of\nher this night, and if you have any real claim to her, you may make it\nout before the magistrate to-morrow.\nThe count was so enraged to find it had been by monsieur du Plessis he\nhad been disappointed, that he snatched his sword from Louisa, who had\nall this time held it in her hand, and made so furious a thrust at him,\nthat, had he not been more than ordinary nimble in avoiding it, by\nstepping aside, it must have infallibly gone thro' his body.--He\nimmediately drew and stood on his defence, but the innkeeper and several\nother people, whom Louisa's cries had by this time brought into the\nhall, prevented any mischief.\nThe confusion of voices and uproar which this accident occasioned, would\nsuffer nothing to be heard distinctly; but the guilt of count Bellfleur\nmight easily be read in his looks, and not able to stand the test of any\nenquiry, he departed with his servant, casting the most malicious\nreflections as he went out, both on Louisa and her deliverer.\nDu Plessis less affected, because innocent, gave every one the\nsatisfaction they desired: he said that the young lady being of English\nbirth, came along with a lady of her own country, to visit several parts\nof Europe merely for pleasure; that the lady was still at Venice, and\nthat on some little disgust between them, she who was there, meaning\nLouisa, had quitted her, and was now returning home by the way of\nLeghorn; of the truth of what he told them, he added, they might be\ninformed, by sending to Venice the next day.\nHe also said, that having a business to be negotiated in England, he had\nfollowed this young lady, in order to beg the favour of her to deliver\nletters to some friends he had there, not having the opportunity of\nmaking this request before, by reason of her departure having been so\nsudden, that he knew nothing of it before she was gone.\nThe truth of all this Louisa confirmed, and on farther talk of the\naffair, acquainted them, that the gentleman who had occasioned this\ndisturbance, for she forbore mentioning his name, had often sollicited\nher love on unlawful terms, and being rejected by her, had taken this\ndishonourable way of compassing his desires, at a place where he knew\nshe was alone, and wholly a stranger.\nThe fright and confusion she had been in, had rendered her so faint,\nthat it was with infinite difficulty she brought out these words; but\nhaving something given her to refresh her spirits, and being conducted\ninto another room out of the crowd, she began, by degrees, to\nrecover herself.\nMonsieur du Plessis then informed her, that on coming to Melanthe's, and\nhearing she was gone, he immediately took boat, resolving to prevail on\nher to alter her resolution of going to England, or dye at her feet:\nthat he easily found the inn she was at, and that the man of the house\npresently told him, such a person as he described was there; but that he\nunderstood she had eloped from her husband, who had pursued, and was now\nabove with her.\nNever, said this faithful lover, did any horror equal what I felt at\nthis intelligence!--The base count de Bellfleur came presently into my\nmind:--I thought it could be no other who had taken this abhored method\nof accomplishing the menaces you may remember I repeated to you:--I was\ngoing to fly up stairs that instant, but was withheld, and found it best\nto argue the man into reason, who, I found, was fully prepossessed you\nwere his wife: as I was giving some part of your history, I saw the\ncount's man passing thro' the hall; he saw me too, and would have\navoided me, but I ran to him, seized him by the throat, and asked him\nwhat business had brought either him or his master to this place: the\ndisorder he was in, and the hesitation with which he spoke, together\nwith refusing to give any direct answer, very much staggered the\ninnkeeper, who was just consenting to go up with me to your chamber, and\nexamine into the truth of this affair, when we saw you come down, armed\nas your virtue prompted, and at the same time flying from the\nvillain's pursuit.\nLouisa could not help confessing that she owed the preservation of her\nhonour wholly to him; for, said she, the people were so fully persuaded\nnot only that I was his wife, but also that I had fled from him on some\nunwarrantable intent, that all I did, or could have done, would only\nhave served to render me more guilty in their opinion; and it must have\nbeen by death alone I could have escaped the monster's more\ndetested lust.\nMonsieur du Plessis now made use of every argument that love and wit\ncould inspire, to prevail with her to accept of the offer contained in\nthe letter he had wrote to her; and concluded with reminding her, that\nif the charming confession her answer had made him was to be depended\non, and that she had indeed a heart not wholly uninfluenced by his\npassion, she would not refuse agreeing to a proposal, which not the most\nrigid virtue and honour could disapprove.\nLouisa on this replied with blushes, that since, by the belief she\nshould never see him more, she had been unwarily drawn in to declare\nherself so far, she neither could, nor would attempt to deny what she\nhad said; but, added she, it is perhaps, by being too much influenced by\nyour merits, that I find myself obliged to refuse what you require of\nme:--I cannot think, cried she, of rendering unhappy a person who so\nmuch deserves to be blessed:--and what but misery would attend a match\nso unequal as yours would be with me!--How would your kindred brook\nit!--How would the world confuse and ridicule the fondness of an\naffection so ill placed!--What would they say when they should hear the\nnobly born, the rich, and the accomplished monsieur du Plessis, had\ntaken for his wife a maid obscurely defended, and with no other dowry\nthan her virtue!--My very affection for you would, in the general\nopinion, lose all its merit, and pass for sordid interest:--I should be\nlooked upon as the bane of your glory;--as one whose artifices had\nensnared you into a forgetfulness of what you owed to yourself and\nfamily, and be despised and hated by all who have a regard for\nyou.--This, monsieur, continued she, is what I cannot bear, neither for\nyour sake nor my own, and entreat you will no farther urge a suit, which\nall manner of considerations forbid me to comply with.\nThe firmness and resolution with which she uttered these words, threw\nhim into the most violent despair; and here might be seen the difference\nbetween a sincere and counterfeited passion: the one is timid, fearful\nof offending, and modest even to its own loss;--the other presuming,\nbold, and regardless of the consequences, presses, in spight of\nopposition, to its desired point.\nLouisa had too much penetration not to make this distinction: she saw\nthe truth of his affection in his grief, and that awe which deterred him\nfrom expressing what he felt:--she sympathized in all his pains, and for\nevery sigh his oppressed heart sent forth, her own wept tears of blood;\nyet not receding from the resolution she had formed, nothing could be\nmore truly moving than the scene between them.\nAt length he ceased to mention marriage, but conjured her to consider\nthe snares which would be continually laid, by wicked and designing men,\nfor one so young and beautiful:--that she could go no where without\nfinding other Bellfleurs; and she might judge, by the danger she had\njust now so narrowly escaped, of the probability of being involved again\nin the same:--he represented to her, in the most pathetic terms, that\nher innocence could have no sure protection but in the arms of a\nhusband, or the walls of a convent; and on his knees beseeched her, for\nthe sake of that virtue which she so justly prized, since she would not\naccept of him for the one, to permit him to place her in that other only\nasylum for a person in her circumstances.\nDifficult was it for her to resist an argument, the reason of which she\nwas so well convinced of, and could offer nothing in contradiction to,\nbut that she had a certain aversion in her nature to receive any\nobligations from a man who had declared himself her lover, and who might\npossibly hereafter presume upon the favours he had done her.\nIt was in vain he complained of her unjust suspicion in this point,\nwhich, to remove, he protested to her that he would leave the choice of\nthe monastry wholly to herself: that in whatever part she thought would\nbe most agreeable, he would conduct her; and that, after she was\nentered, he would not even attempt to see her thro' the grate, without\nhaving first received her permission for his visit. Not all this was\nsufficient to assure her scrupulous delicacy: she remained constant in\nher determination; and all he could prevail on her, was leave to attend\nher as far as Leghorn, to secure her from any second attempt the\ninjurious count might possibly make.\nAfter this they entered into some discourse of Melanthe, and whether it\nwould be proper for Louisa to write her an account of this affair, and\nthe count's perfidiousness. Monsieur du Plessis said, he thought that\nthe late usage she had received from that lady, deserved not she should\ntake any interest in her affairs; but it was not this that hindered\nLouisa from doing it:--the remembrance of the kindness she had once been\ntreated with by her, more than balanced, in her way of thinking, all the\ninsults that succeeded it; and when she reflected how much Melanthe\nloved the count, and that she had already granted him all the favours in\nher power, it seemed to her rather an act of cruelty than friendship, to\nacquaint her with this ingratitude, and thereby anticipate a misfortune,\nwhich, perhaps, by his artifices and continued dissimulation, might be\nfor a long time concealed: therefore, for this reason, she exacted a\npromise from monsieur du Plessis not to make any noise of this affair\nat his return to Venice, unless the count, by some rash and precipitate\nbehaviour, should enforce him to it.\nThis injunction discovered so forgiving a sweetness of disposition in\nthe person who made it, that monsieur du Plessis could not refrain\ntestifying his admiration by the most passionate exclamations; in which\nperhaps he had continued longer, had not the eyes of the fair object\ndiscovered a certain languishment, which reminded him, he should be\nwanting in the respect he professed, to detain her any longer from that\nrepose, which, seemed necessary, after the extraordinary hurry of\nspirits she had sustained; therefore having taken his leave of her for\nthat night, retired to a chamber he had ordered to be got ready for him,\nas did she to that where she had been so lately disturbed: but all those\nwho are in the least capable of any idea of those emotions, which\nagitated the minds of both these amiable persons, will believe neither\nof them slept much that night.\nCHAP. XVI.\n_The Innkeepers scruples oblige Louisa to write to Melanthe: her\nbehavior on the discovery of the count's falshood. Louisa changes her\nresolution and goes to Bolognia_.\nMonsieur du Plessis, having found it impossible to dissuade Louisa from\ngoing to England, now bent his whole thoughts to perform his promise of\nconducting her to Leghorn, in the most commodious manner he could;\naccordingly he rose very early, and calling for the man of the house,\ndesired he would provide a handsome post chaise, and if he knew any\nfellows whose integrity might be relied on, he thought necessary to hire\ntwo such, who, furnished with fire-arms, might serve as a guard against\nany attack the count might take it into his head to make.\nBut the innkeeper had now entertained notions that forbid him to\ncorrespond with the designs of monsieur: some of his neighbours, who had\nheard of last night's accident, whispered it in his ears, that it would\nnot be safe for him to let these young people depart together; that he\ncould not be assured the person, who pretended to be the husband, might\nnot be so in reality; and if he should come again with proper officers\nand proofs to claim his wife, it might be of dangerous consequence to\nhim to have favoured her escape; and that the only way he had to secure\nhimself from being brought into trouble, was to lay the whole affair\nbefore the podestat. This advice seemed to him too reasonable not to be\ncomplied with: he went directly to that magistrate, and while the lover\nwas speaking to him, officers came in to seize both him and Louisa, and\ncarry them before the podestat.\nMonsieur du Plessis was very much surprized and vexed at this\ninterruption, and the more so, as he feared it would terrify Louisa to a\ngreater degree than the nature of the thing required; but in this he did\ninjury to her courage: when she was called up and informed of the\nbusiness, she surrendered herself with all the dauntlessness of\ninnocence to the officers, and suffered them to conduct her, with du\nPlessis, to the house of the podestat.\nBoth of them flattered themselves with the belief, that when he should\ncome to hear the story, they would be immediately discharged; but he\nhappened to be one of those who are over wary in the execution of their\noffice; and he only told them, that what they said might be true, but he\nwas not to take things on the bare word of the parties themselves; and\nthat therefore they must be confined till either the person who claimed\nthe woman for his wife, should bring proofs she was so, or she should be\nable to make out he had no right over her.\nThat is easy for me to do, said Louisa; I am only concerned that this\ngentleman, meaning du Plessis, should be detained on an account he has\nno manner of interest in. The podestat answered, it was unavoidable,\nbecause as the person, who said he was her husband, had accused her of\nan elopement, there was all the reason in the world to suppose that if\nit were so, it was in favour of this gentleman, by the rage he was\ninformed he had testified at finding him in Padua.\nLouisa gave only a scornful smile, denoting how much she disdained a\ncrime of the nature she was suspected of, and followed one of the\nofficers, who conducted her to the place appointed for her confinement.\nMonsieur du Plessis was touched to the soul at the indignity he thought\noffered to this sovereign of his affections; but he restrained himself\nwhen he considered that it had the sanction of law, which in all nations\nmust be submitted to; and he only told the podestat, that the virtue of\nthat lady would soon be cleared, to the confusion of those who had\npresumed to traduce it.\nAs, after they were under confinement, they had no opportunity of\nadvising each other what to do, monsieur du Plessis, uneasy at the\ninjustice done him, wrote immediately to the prince of Conti, in\nthese terms:\n_To his Royal Highness the Prince of_ CONTI.\n\"It is with the extremest reluctance I give\nyour royal highness this trouble, or find myself\nobliged to accuse the count de Bellfleur of\nan action so dishonourable to our nation; but\nas I am here under confinement for preventing\nhim from committing a rape on a young English\nlady, who failing to seduce at Venice, he followed\nhither; and under the pretence of being\nher husband, gained the people of the house on\nhis side, and had infallibly compassed his intent,\nhad it not been for my seasonable interposition:\nI am too well convinced of the justice I presume\nto implore, to doubt if your highness will\noblige him to clear up the affair to the podestat,\non which she will be at liberty to prosecute her\njourney, and I to throw myself, with the utmost\ngratitude and submission, at your feet, who have\nthe honour to be\n_Your royal highness's_\n_Most devoted_\nDU PLESSIS.\"\n_Padua._\nLouisa, who was ignorant what her lover had done, and knew no other way,\nthan by writing to Melanthe, to extricate herself from this trouble,\nsent a letter to her, the contents whereof were as follows:\nMADAM,\n\"On what imagined cause whatever you were\npleased to banish me, I am certain you\nhave too much goodness to suffer any one,\nmuch less a person you have once honoured\nwith your friendship, to remain in prison for a\ncrime it is impossible for me to be guilty of:--I\nam sorry I must accuse a person so dear to\nyou;--but it is, madam, no other than the\nunworthy count de Bellfleur, who followed me\nhither, came into the inn where I was lodged,\ninto the very chamber, and oh! I tremble\nwhile I relate it, had proceeded yet farther; and\nI had been inevitably lost, had not heaven sent\nme a deliverer in the unexpected arrival of monsieur\ndu Plessis, who is also a prisoner as well\nas myself, for the timely rescue he gave me.\nYou will wonder, doubtless, by what law either\nI should be confined for endeavouring to defend\nmy chastity, or he, for generously assisting me;\nbut the detested artful count had pretended himself\nmy husband; and under the sanction of\nthat name it was, that he met no opposition to\nhis wicked will from the people of the house,\nand rendered them regardless of my shrieks and\ncries.--The magistrates are yet dubious of the\ntruth; and till it can be proved what I really am,\nboth myself and monsieur du Plessis must continue\nwhere we are:--have pity on me, therefore,\nI conjure you, madam, and write to the podestat:\nI have already told him I had the honour to\nbelong to you;--a line from you will confirm\nit, and once more set at liberty a maid, who\nwill ever remember all your favours with the\ngreatest gratitude, and your withdrawing them\nas the worst misfortune could have befallen.\nMADAM,\n_From the prison\nat Padua.\nYour most faithful, and\nMost humble servant_,\nLOUISA.\"\nThese letters were sent away by special messengers, who had orders to be\nas expeditious as possible in the delivery of them.\nBut while these accidents happened at Padua, Melanthe was not without\nher share of inquietudes at Venice: she had not seen her beloved count\nin two whole days, and, tho' she sent several times to his lodgings,\ncould hear nothing but that he was not yet come home. As her vanity\nwould not suffer her to think herself neglected, without having received\nsome glaring proofs of it, she feared some misfortune had befallen him,\nand exposed herself not a little in the enquiries she made after him,\namong all those who she could imagine were able to inform her any thing\nconcerning him.\nAt length some person, who happened to see him take boat, told her he\nwas gone to Padua, which being the rout she knew Louisa had taken, and\nshe had also informed him, a sudden thought darted into her head that he\nwas gone in pursuit of her.--It now seemed not impossible, but that all\nhe had said concerning his dislike of her might be artifice; and that\nthe love of variety might prevail on him at last to comply with the\nadvances he pretended she had made him.--The privacy with which he went,\nnone of his acquaintance knowing any thing of his journey, seemed to\nfavour this opinion; and never was a heart more racked with jealousy and\nsuspence, than that of this unhappy, and too easily deceived lady.\nShe had sometimes an inclination to go to Padua in person, and endeavour\nto find out what business had carried him thither; and her impatience\nhad doubtless got the better of her prudence in this particular, if,\nsending once more to his lodgings, she had not heard he was\nreturned.--On this she expected to see him in the evening, and flattered\nherself with his being able to make some reasonable excuse for his\nabsence; but finding he came not, she was all distraction, and sent a\nbillet to him next morning, requiring him to come to her immediately on\nthe receipt of it; but as he was at that time in too ill a humour to\nthink of entertaining her, sent her an answer by word of mouth, that he\nwas indisposed, and would wait on her on his recovery.--This message\nseemed so cold, and so unlike the passion he had hitherto professed for\nher, that it threw her into almost convulsive agonies.--A masquerade\nwas to be that night at the house of a person of quality: she sent again\nto know if he intended to be there, and, if he did, what habit he would\nwear, it being customary with them, ever since their amour, to acquaint\neach other with their dresses, that they might not mistake, by\naddressing to wrong persons. His reply was, that he would go if health\npermitted, but as to what he should wear he had not as yet thought\nof it.\nWhat, if he hat not thought of it! cried she haughtily, when she heard\nthese words;--the knowledge that I shall be there, ought now to make him\nthink of it.--Pride, love, and the astonishment at this sudden change in\nhis behaviour, rendered her wholly forgetful of what she owed her sex\nand rank; and she was just going to his lodgings, in order to upbraid\nhim with his indifference, and prove what it was she now had to depend\non from him, when the messenger from Louisa arrived and delivered her\nthe letter, which contained a sad eclaircisement of all she wanted to be\ninformed of.\nAt first reading it, she seemed like one transfixed with a sudden clap\nof thunder:--she had indeed been jealous, suspicious, fearful of her\nfate; but so glaring, so impudent a treachery had never entered her\nhead, that any man could be guilty of, much less one whom her too fond\npassion had figured to her imagination, as possessed of all the virtues\nof his sex. It seemed too monstrous to be true; and she had accused the\ninnocent Louisa as the inventor of this falshood, merely in revenge for\nher late treatment, had there been the least shadow of a pretence for\ndoing so:--gladly would she have encouraged such a hope, but common\nsense forbid it;--all circumstances seemed to concur, in proving that he\nwas indeed that villain which the letter represented him; and that\nsurprize, which had in a manner stupified her on the discovery, was\nsucceeded by a storm of mingled grief and rage, which no words can\nsufficiently describe:--she exclaimed against fate, cursed all mankind,\nand accused every thing as accessory to her misfortune, but that to\nwhich alone she owed it, her own imprudence.\nThe disorders of her mind had such an effect on her body, that she fell\ninto fits, and a physician was sent for, who, tho' esteemed the most\nskilful in that country, found it required all his art to prevent a\nfever: she continued, however, for five days in a condition, such as\npermitted her not to do any thing either for the satisfaction of her own\nimpatient curiosity, or to comply with the just request Louisa had made;\nand had not monsieur du Plessis's letter to the prince been mere\nsuccessful, they must both have continued where they were, perhaps for a\nconsiderable time.\nThat, however, had all the effect could be expected from a prince of so\nmuch honour: he immediately sent for the count de Bellfleur; and easily\nfinding, by the confusion with which he replied to his examination, and\nthe little low evasions he was obliged to have recourse to, that the\naffair was as monsieur du Plessis had represented, gave him a severe\ncheck, and ordered him to depart immediately from Venice, where he told\nhim, he had given such occasion to call the honour of the French nation\nin general in question; and to repair with all expedition to his winter\nquarters. Which command he instantly obeyed, without taking any leave of\nMelanthe, or perhaps even thinking on her.\nAt the same time the prince dispatched his gentleman of horse to Padua,\nwith necessary instructions for clearing up the affair; on which the\nprisoners were discharged, and their pardon asked by the podestat for\ndoing what, he said, the duties of his post had alone obliged him to;\ntho' it is certain he had exercised his authority with greater\nstrictness than the necessity of the thing required; since, if the count\nhad been in reality the husband of Louisa, it would have been more easy\nfor him to bring proofs of it, than for those under confinement to\ninvalidate his claim.\nAfter the proper compliments to the gentleman who had taken this\ntrouble, monsieur du Plessis entreated he would excuse him to the\nprince, that he retarded the thanks he had to pay his royal highness,\ntill his return from conducting Louisa some part of her journey, which\nbeing a piece of gallantry the lady herself seemed well pleased with,\nwas easily complied with by the other.\nThis faithful lover had now a full opportunity to entertain his mistress\nwith his passion, and represented it to her with so much force and\neloquence, together with the dangers she would continually be exposed\nto, that she had at length no words to form denials, and gave him leave\nto conduct her to some monastry in Italy, the choice of which she left\nto him, till the campaign was over. This was indeed all he presumed to\nrequest of her at present. It may happen, said he, that your lover may\nfall a victim to the fate of war, among many other more brave and worthy\nmen, who doubtless will not survive the next battle, and you will then\nbe at liberty to pursue your inclinations either to England or\nelsewhere; and be assured of this, that I shall take care, before the\nhour of danger, to leave you mistress of a fortune, sufficient to protect\nyou from any future insults of the nature you received from Melanthe.\nThe tender soul of Louisa was so much dissolved at these words, that she\nburst into a flood of tears, and cried out, Oh! too generous du Plessis,\nthink not I will survive the cruel hour which informs me all that is\nvaluable in man has ceased to be!--Take,--oh! take no care for me; when\nyou are no more, nothing this world affords can enable me to drag on a\nwretched life!\nWhat must be the transport of a man, who loved like him, to hear a mouth\naccustomed to the greatest reserve, utter exclamations so soft, so\nengaging, so convincing to him that he was no less dear to her than he\ncould even wish to be!--He threw himself at her feet, and even thought\nthat posture not humble enough to testify, as it deserved, his gratitude\nand joy. But she not suffering him to continue in it, he took the hand\nthat raised him, kissed off the tears which had fallen from her eyes\nupon it, with speechless extacies, and seemed almost beside himself at\nthe concern she could not yet overcome, on the bare imagination of\nlosing him in the way he mentioned. If you love me, said she tenderly,\nyou will endeavour to preserve yourself:--I have now put myself under\nyour protection, by consenting to do as you would have me, and have no\nother from whom I would receive those favours I expect from you:--think\nnot, therefore, that I will perform my promise, unless you give me\nyours, not to be so covetous of fame as to court dangers, nor, in too\neager a pursuit of glory, to lose the remembrance of what you owe\nto love.\nOh thou divinest softness! cried he, be assured I will put nothing to\nthe venture that might take me from Louisa!--Your kindness, my angel,\nhas shewed me the value of life, and almost made a coward of your\nlover:--no farther will I go than the duties of my post oblige me, and\nthat honour, which to forfeit, would render me unworthy of your care.\nLouisa now found herself so much at ease, in having discovered a secret\nshe had so long laboured with, and suffered an infinity of pain in the\nconcealing of, that nothing could be more chearful than her looks and\nbehaviour. He, on the other hand, was all rapture, yet did it not make\nhim in the least forgetful of the rules he had prescribed himself, or\ngive her modesty any room to repent the confession she had made in\nfavour of his passion:--the conversation between them was all made up of\ninnocence and love; and every hour they passed together, rendered them\nstill dearer to each other.\nMonsieur du Plessis having thus gained the point his soul was let on,\nbegan to consider in what part of Italy it would be best to place his\ndear Louisa: as Bolognia was a free country, under the jurisdiction of\nthe Pope, he thought she would there be the least subject to alarms, on\naccount of the army's continual marches and countermarches thro' most\nother parts of Italy. He therefore got a post-chaise, and by easy\njourneys conducted her thither; and having made an agreement with the\nlady abbess of the Augustines, she was welcomed into the convent by the\nholy sisterhood with all imaginable good-nature and politeness.\nIt would be endless to recite the farewels of these equally sincere, and\npassionate lovers; so I shall only say that never any parting was more\ntruly touching; and the grief, which both of them endured, was only\nalleviated by the confidence they had in each other's affection, and the\nmutual promises of communicating the assurances of persevering in it, by\nletters as often as opportunity would permit.\nMelanthe being recovered of the indisposition of her body, tho' not of\nher mind, was informed of every particular of her perfidious lover's\nconduct as he had quitted Venice before she did her chamber, was obliged\nto bear the load of discontent her too easy belief had brought upon her,\nwithout even the poor ease of venting it in reproaches on him. The\ncarnival soon after ending, and finding that change of place was no\ndefence from misfortunes of the kind she had sustained, without she\ncould also change her way of thinking, took the first convenience that\noffered, and returned to England, rather in worse humour than she\nhad left it.\nCHAP. XVII.\n_Horatio arrives at Warsaw, sees the coronation of Stanislaus and his\nqueen: his reception from the king of Sweden: his promotion: follows\nthat prince in all his conquests thro' Poland, Lithuania and Saxony. The\nstory of count Patkul and madame de Eusilden._\nWhile these things were transacting in Italy, Horatio, animated by love\nand glory, was pursuing his journey to Poland. His impatience was so\ngreat, that he travelled almost night and day, already imitating the\nexample of the master he was going to serve; no wood, no river was\nimpassable to him that shortened the distance to the place he so much\nlonged to approach: and thus by inuring himself to hardship, became\nfitly qualified to bear his part in all the vast fatigues to which that\nprince incessantly exposed his royal person.\nNot a city, town, or even village he puffed thro', but echoed with the\nwonders performed by the young king of Sweden:--new victories, new\nacquisitions met him wherever he came:--all tongues were full of his\npraises; and even those who had been ruined by his conquests, could not\nhelp speaking of him with admiration.--Horatio heard all this with\npleasure, but mixed with a kind of pain that he was not present at these\ngreat actions.--How glorious is it, cried he to himself, to fight under\nthe banners of this invincible monarch!--What immortal honour has not\nevery private man acquired, who contributed the least part to successes\nthat astonish the whole world!\nBut notwithstanding his eagerness which carried him thro' marshes, over\nmountains, and ways, which to an ordinary traveller would have seemed\nimpassable, he met with several delays in his journey, especially when\nhe got into Germany, where they were extremely scrupulous; and he was\nobliged to wait at some towns two or three days before he could obtain\npassports: he also met several parties of flying horse and dragoons, who\nwere scouting about the country, as he drew nearer Saxony; but his\npolicy furnished him with stratagems to get over these difficulties, and\nhe got safe to Punitz, in the Palatinate of Posnania, where a great part\nof the king of Sweden's army was encamped.--He immediately demanded to\nbe brought to the presence of the grand marshal Renchild, to whom he\ndelivered the letter of the baron de la Valiere, and found the good\neffects of it by the civilities with which that great general vouchsafed\nto treat him. He would have had him stay with him; but Horatio, knowing\nthe king was at Warsaw, was too impatient of seeing that monarch to be\nprevailed upon, on which he sent a party of horse to escort him to\nthat city.\nHe had the good fortune to arrive on the very day that Stanislaus and\nhis queen were crowned, and was witness of part of the ceremony. The\nking of Sweden was there incognito, and being shewn to Horatio, he could\nnot forbear testifying his surprize to see so great a prince, and one\nwho, in every action of his life, discovered a magnamity even above his\nrank, habited in a manner not to be distinguished from a private man;\nbut it was not in the power of any garb to take from him a look of\nmajesty, which shewed him born to command not only his own subjects, but\nkings themselves, when they presumed to become his enemies. There was a\nfierceness in his eyes, but tempered with so much sweetness, that it was\nimpossible for those who most trembled at his frowns to avoid loving him\nat the same time.\nStanislaus had in him all that could attract respect and good wishes;\nbeside the most graceful person that can be imagined, he had a certain\nair of grandeur, joined with an openness of behaviour, that shewed him\nequally incapable of doing a mean or dishonourable action: his queen was\none of the greatest beauties of her time; and every one present at their\ncoronation, confessed, that never any two persons more became a throne,\nor were more worthy of the dignity conferred upon them.\nThe whole court was too much taken up that day, for Horatio to think of\npresenting himself before the king of Sweden; but the officer, who\ncommanded the party that general Renchild had sent with him, introduced\nhim in the evening to count Hoorn, governor of Warsaw, who provided him\nan appartment, and the next morning introduced him to count Piper. That\nminister no sooner read the baron de Palfoy's letter, and heard he had\nothers to deliver to the king from the chevalier St. George, and the\nqueen dowager of England, than he treated him with the utmost marks of\nesteem; and assured him that, since he had an inclination to serve his\nmajesty, he would contribute every thing in his power to make him not\nrepent the long fatigues he had undergone for that purpose; but, said he\nwith a smile, you will have no need of me; you bring, I perceive,\nrecommendations more effectual, and have besides, in yourself,\nsufficient to engage all you have to wish from a monarch so just and\ngenerous as ours.\nHoratio replied to this compliment with all humility; and as the count\nperceived by his accents that he was not a Frenchman, tho' he spoke the\nlanguage perfectly well, he asked him of what country he was; to which\nHoratio replied, that he was of England, but made him no farther\nacquainted with his affairs, nor that the motive of his having remained\nso long in France, was because he was not ransomed by his friends: not\nthat he concealed this out of pride, but he knew the character of most\nfirst ministers, and thought it not prudence to unbosom himself to one\nof those, whose first study, when they come into that employment, is to\ndiscover as much as they can of others, without revealing any thing of\nthemselves. For this reason he was also very sparing of entering into\nany discourse of the chevalier's court, or of that of the king of\nFrance, and answered all the questions put to him by the count, that his\nyouth, and being of foreign extraction, hindered him from being let into\nany secrets of state.\nAfter a pretty long conversation, the count led him to the king of\nSweden's apartment, where, just as they were about to enter, he asked\nhim if he could speak Latin; for, said he, tho' his majesty understands\nFrench, he never could be brought to speak it, nor is pleased to be\naddressed in that language. Horatio thanked him for this information,\nand told him, that tho' he could not boast of being able to deliver\nhimself with an affluence becoming the presence of so great a prince,\nyet he would chuse rather to shew his bad learning, than his want of\nambition to do every thing that might render himself acceptable.\nAs he spoke these words, he found himself in his presence.--The king was\nencompassed by the officers of the army, to whom he was giving some\ndirections; but seeing count Piper, and a stranger with him, he left off\nwhat he was saying, and, without giving him time to speak, cried, Count,\nwho have you brought me here? One, may it please your majesty, replied\nhe, who brings his credentials with him, and has no need of my\nintercession to engage his welcome. While the count Was making this\nreply, the king, who had an uncommon quickness in his eyes, measured\nHoratio from head to foot; and our young soldier of fortune, without\nbeing daunted, put one knee to the ground, and delivered his packet with\nthese words:--The princes, by whom I have the honour to be sent,\ncommanded me to assure your majesty, that they participate in all your\ndangers, rejoice in all your glories, and pray, that as you only conquer\nfor the good of others, the sword you draw, in the cause of justice, may\nat last be sheathed in a lasting and universal peace.\nI am afraid it will be long before all that is necessary for that\npurpose is accomplished, said the king; wrong, when established, not\neasily gives place to right;--but we are yet young enough to hope it.\nHe broke open his letters as he spoke this; and while he was examining\nthem, took his eye off the paper several times to look on Horatio, and\nthen read again.\nWhen he had done, I am much obliged, said he, to the zeal these letters\ntell me you have expressed for my service, and shall not be\nungrateful:--we are here idle at present but shall not long be so; and\nyou will have occasions enough to prove your courage, and gratify that\nlove of arms which, my brother informs me, is the predominant passion of\nyour soul.\nAfter this he asked him several questions concerning the chevalier St.\nGeorge, the queen, and princess Louisa; to which Horatio answered with\ngreat propriety, but mingled with such encomiums of the royal persons,\nas testified his gratitude for the favours he received from them. But\nwhen he mentioned the princess, and delivered the message she sent by\nhim, a more lively colour flushed into the king's cheeks, and he\nreplied, well, we shall do all we can to comply with her commands; then\nturned quick about, and resumed the discourse he was in, before\nHoratio's entrance, with his officers, as much as to say, the business\nof his love must not interrupt that of the war; and Horatio had\nafterwards the opportunity of observing, that tho' he often looked upon\nthe picture of that amiable princess, which he always wore in his bosom,\nyet he would on a sudden snatch his eyes away, as fearing to be too\nmuch softened.\nHoratio was ordered to be lodged in the castle where the garrison was\nkept; but he was every day at the king's levee, and received the most\nextraordinary marks of his favour and affection; for which, as he looked\nupon himself entirely indebted to the recommendations of his friends in\nFrance, he wrote letters of thanks, and an account of all that\nhappened to him.\nPoland being now entirely subdued by the valour and fortune of Charles\nXII. and having received a king of his nomination, submitted cheerfully,\nglad to see an end of devastation, as they then flattered themselves;\nbut the troubles of that unfortunate kingdom were yet to endure much\nlonger.--Augustus, impatient of recovering what he had lost, and the\nczar of Muscovy jealous and envious of the king of Sweden's glory, came\npouring with mighty armies from Saxony and Russia. Shullenburgh, the\ngeneral of the former, had passed the Oder; and the other, at the head\nof a numerous body, was plundering all that came in his way, and putting\nto the sword every one whom he even suspected of adhering to king\nStanislaus: so that nothing now was talked of but war, and the means\nconcerted how to put a stop to the miseries these two ambitious princes\nmade, not only in that country, but all the adjacent parts.\nIt was agreed that general Renchild should go to meet Shullenburgh, and\nthe two kings drive out the Muscovites; who being divided into several\nparties, Stanislaus went at the head of one army, and the king of Sweden\nled another; and taking different routs, had every day what he called\nskirmishes, but what the vanquished looked upon as terrible battles.\nThe king of Sweden, before their departure from Warsaw, told Horatio\nthat all his officers were gallant men, and it was not his custom to\ndisplace any one for meer favour to another; he must therefore wait till\nthe fate of war, or some other accident, made a vacancy, before he could\ngive him a commission, in the mean time, said he, with a great deal of\nsweetness, you must be content to be only my aid-de-camp. On this\nHoratio replied to his majesty, with as much politeness as sincerity,\nthat it was the post he wished, tho' dare not presume to ask; for he\nlooked upon the honour of being near, and receiving the commands of so\nexcellent a monarch, preferable to the highest commission in the army.\nThus, highly contented with his lot, did he attend the king, thro'\nrivers, lakes, marines, and all the obstacles nature had thrown in the\nway of this conqueror; and whenever they came to any battle, was so\nswift in bearing his commands to the general, and in returning to him in\nwhich line soever he was, that Poniatosky gave him the name of the\nMercury to their Jove; nor did he less signalize his valour; he fought\nby the side of the king like one who valued not life, in competition\nwith the praises of his master. In an engagement where they took the\nbaggage of Augustus, he did extraordinary service; and a colonel then\nbeing killed on the spot, the king presently cried out, Now here is a\nregiment for my Horatio. Our young warrior thanked him on his knees, but\nbeseeched he might not be removed from him, again protesting that he\ncould no were deserve so well, as where he was animated by his royal\npresence. This Charles XII. took very kindly, and told him, he should\nhave his desire; but, said he, I must also have mine:--I will continue\nyou my aid-de-camp, but you shall accept the commission, and the\nlieutenant colonel shall command the regiment in your absence.\nHe also allotted him so large a share in the prize taken in this battle,\nthat Horatio was already become rich enough to avow his pretensions to\nthe daughter of the baron de Palfoy; but, dear as she was to him, his\nlove and admiration of the king of Sweden, joined to the ambition of\ndesiring still more than he had received, kept him from entertaining the\nleast desire of quitting the service he was in.\nIn eight or nine weeks did the two kings clear the country round, and\ndrove their enemies into the heart of Lithuania. As they were about to\nreturn, they were met by the welcome news that general Renchild had been\nno less successful, and entirely routed the whole army of Shullenburgh,\nand also that the diet of Ratisbon, fearing the king of Sweden would\nenter Germany, had come to a resolution to declare him an enemy to the\nempire, in case he offered to pass the Oder with his army.\nThey could not have taken a more effectual step to bring on what\nthey dreaded, than by daring him to it by this menace. He took but\nlittle time for consideration, before he determined to carry the war\ninto Saxony, and drive Augustus from his electorate, as he had done from\nhis kingdom.\nHe had no sooner made known his resolution, than the troops began to\nmarch, and with a chearfulness and alacrity, which shewed they had no\nwill but that of their king:--indeed he seemed the soul of this mighty\nbody, of which every single man was a member, and actuated only by him.\nIt is certain his heart was set on establishing Stanislaus on the\nthrone, and he knew no better way of preventing Augustus from molesting\nhim, than by calling off all communication between his electorate and\nPoland:--accordingly he bent his course to Saxony, marched thro' Silesia\nand Lusatia, plundered the open country, laid the rich city of Leipsic,\nand other towns, under contribution, and at length encamped at\nAlranstadt, near the plains of Lutsen, whence he sent to the estates of\nSaxony, to give him an estimate of what they could supply, and obliged\nthem to levy whatever sums he had occasion for: not that he had the\nleast spark of avarice in his nature, but his hatred to Augustus, who\nhad by his injustice made him become his enemy, was so great, that it\nextended to all those of his country, so far, as to humble and\nimpoverish the once opulent inhabitants, making them not only support\nhis numerous army, but laid on them besides many unnecessary imposts,\nwhich he divided among his soldiers, so that they were all cloathed in\ngold and silver, and every private man had the appearance of a general,\nthe king himself still preferring his usual plainness; but he loved, he\nsaid, to see the Saxon riches upon Swedish backs.\nHoratio had now a second opportunity of writing to France, which he did\nnot fail to do, and, as there was no talk of the army decamping for some\ntime, let his friends know he hoped to hear from them at Alranstadt.\nAugustus, in the mean time deprived of every thing, and a wanderer in\nthat kingdom where he had lately reigned, sent a mean submission to him,\nentreating peace, and that he might have leave to return to his\nelectorate. This was granted by the conqueror, on condition he would\nrenounce, for ever, all thoughts of re-entering Poland, or giving any\ndisturbance to Stanislaus. But as the treaty was going to be signed, the\nczar sent an army of 20,000 men to his relief, who defeated general\nMayerfield, whom the king had left to guard that kingdom; and the\ndethroned monarch once more entered Warsaw, the capital of Poland,\nin triumph.\nCharles XII. was so exasperated when he received this intelligence, that\nhe gave immediate orders to decamp, resolving he should not long enjoy\nthe benefit of his breach of faith; but the pusillanimity of Augustus\nprevented him: that prince was afraid the czar should discover the peace\nhe had been secretly negotiating, and withdraw his troups; and as he had\nneither any of his own, nor money to assist him, he sent the articles\ndemanded of him by the king of Sweden, signed with his own hand, and set\nout to Alranstadt, hoping, by his presence and persuasions, to mollify\nhis indignation, and be permitted to enjoy his own Saxony in peace.\nWhat more could the utmost ambition of man require than the king of\nSweden now received, to see a prince, so lately his equal and inveterate\nenemy, come to solicite favour of him in his camp, almost at his feet;\nbut whatever were his sentiments on this occasion he concealed them, and\ntho' he could not but despise such an act of meanness, he treated him\nwith the utmost politeness, tho' without making any abatement of the\ndemands he had exacted from him. On the contrary, he insisted on his\ndelivering up to him general Patkul, ambassador from the czar, who at\nthat time was a prisoner in Saxony, being determined to put him to death\nas a traitor, having been born his subject, and now entered into the\nservice of his sworn enemy.\nAugustus beseeched him in the most abject manner to relinquish this one\npoint, and remonstrated to him that the czar, his present master, would\nlook on it as the utmost indignity offered to himself in the person of\nhis ambassador: he assured him he hated Patkul, but feared the giving\nhim up would be resented by all the princes of Europe. All he could urge\non this head was to no effect; the king of Sweden was not to be moved\nfrom any resolution he had once made; and the unfortunate Patkul was\nsent to Alranstadt and chained to a stake for three whole months, and\nafterwards conducted to Casimir, where he was to receive his sentence.\nHoratio, who was an entire stranger to the motive of this behaviour in\nthe king, and had never seen any thing before in him that looked like a\ncruel disposition, was one day mentioning his surprize at it to a young\nofficer with whom he had contracted a great intimacy, on which he gave\nhim the following account:\nThis Patkul, said he, is a Livonian born, which, tho' a free country, is\npart of the dominions annexed to the crown of Sweden: Charles XI. began\nto introduce a more absolute form of government than was consistent with\nthe humour of that people; his son has been far from receding in that\npoint, and Patkul being a person of great consideration among them,\nstood up for their liberties in a manner which our king could not\nforgive:--he ordered him to be seized, but he made his escape, and was\nproscribed in Sweden; on which he entered into the service of king\nAugustus, and was made his general; but on some misunderstanding;\nbetween him and the chancellor, he quitted Poland and went to Russia,\nwhere he got into great favour with the czar, was highly promoted, and\nsent his residentiary ambassador in Saxony. Augustus, whose fate it has\nbeen to disoblige every body, on some pretence clapp'd into prison the\nrepresentative of his only friend, and now, we see, has given him up to\ndeath, to satiate the demands of his greatest enemy.\nHoratio could not keep himself from falling into a deep musing at the\nrecital of this adventure: he thought Patkul worthy of compassion, yet\nfound reasons to justify the king's resentment; and as this officer had\noften disburthened himself to him with the greatest freedom, he had no\nreserve toward him, and this led them into a discourse on arbitrary\npower.--Horatio said, that he could not help believing that nature never\nintended millions to be subjected to the despotic will of one person,\nand that a limited government was the most conformable to reason. The\nofficer agreed with him in that; except the person who ruled had really\nmore perfections than all those he ruled over and if so, said he, and\nhis commands are always calculated for the happiness of the subject,\nthey cannot be more happy than in an implicite obedience. True, replied\nHoratio, I am confident that such a prince as ours knows how to chuse\nfor his people much better than they do for themselves; but how can they\nbe certain that his descendants will have the same virtues; and when\nonce an absolute power is granted to a good prince, it will be in vain\nthat the people will endeavour to wrest it from the hands of a bad\none.--Never can any point be redeemed from the crown without a vast\neffusion of blood, and the endangering such calamities on the country,\nthat the relief would be as bad as the disease. Upon the whole,\ntherefore, I cannot think Patkul in the wrong for attempting to maintain\nthe liberty of his country, tho' I do for entering into the service of\nthe avowed enemy of his master.\nIt is that, I believe, resumed the other, that the king chiefly resents:\nhis majesty is too just to condemn a man for maintaining the principles\nhe was bred in, however they may disagree with his own; but to become\nhis enemy, to enlist himself in the service of those who aim at the\ndestruction of his lawful prince, is certainly a treason of the\nblackest dye.\nAs they were in this discourse, colonel Poniatosky came in, and hearing\nthey were speaking of Patkul,--I have just now, said he, received a\nletter from one of my friends in Saxony concerning that general, which\ndeeply affects me, not for his own, but for the sake of a lady, to whom,\nafter a long series of disappointments, he was just going to be married,\nwhen Augustus, against the law of nations, made him a prisoner. I will\nrelate the whole adventure to you, continued he; on which the others\nassuring him they should think themselves obliged to him, he went on.\nWhen he first entered into the service of Augustus, he became\npassionately in love with madam d' Ensilden, a young lady, whose beauty,\nbirth, and fortune rendered her worthy the affections of a man of more\nhonour than he had testified in his public capacity: her friends at\nleast thought so; and chancellor Flemming making his addresses to her at\nthe same time, had the advantage in every thing but in her heart: there\nPatkul triumphed in spight of all objections: and tho' king Augustus\nvouchsafed himself to sollicite in behalf of his favourite, her\nconstancy remained unshaken as a rock; which so incensed a monarch\nhaughty and imperious in his nature, before humbled by our glorious\nCharles, that he made use of his authority, and forbid her to think of\nmarrying any other: to which she resolutely answered, that she knew no\nright princes had to interfere with the marriages of private persons;\nbut since his majesty commanded it, she would endeavour to obey and live\nsingle. This not satisfying the king, he hated Patkul from that moment;\nand the rivals soon after meeting in madam d' Ensilden's apartment, some\nhot words arose between them, which being by Flemming reported to his\nmaster, he sent, in the moment of his passion, to require Patkul to\nresign his office of general: he did so, but with a murmur that was far\nfrom abating the royal resentments; and he had then ordered him into\nconfinement, but that private intelligence being given him, he made his\nescape before the officers, commissioned for that purpose, reached his\nhouse. He then went to the czar, who knowing him an experienced general,\nof which at that time he stood greatly in need, gladly received him; and\nit was there he first merited the hate of all good men, by countenancing\nand abetting those ambitious projects his new master was then forming\nagainst the king of Sweden: but see the fate of treason, he persuaded\nhim to enter into an alliance with, Poland and Saxony against Sweden,\nwhich laid the foundation of this unjust war, and for which Augustus has\nso dearly paid; and being sent Ambassador, in order to negotiate these\naffairs, again renewed those of his love. Augustus, now obliged to the\nczar for the preservation of his dominions, durst not openly espouse\nchancellor Flemming, but no sooner heard that the marriage was near\nbeing compleated, than he ventured every thing to prevent it; and, under\na pretence of his own forging, confined Patkul in the castle of\nKonisting, where he lay a considerable time; the czar being too much\ntaken up with combating the fortune of our victorious king, to examine\ninto this affair, and besides, unwilling to break with Augustus, as\nthings then stood. Madam d' Ensilden did all this time whatever could be\nexpected from a sincere affection, in order to procure his enlargement;\nbut the interest of her friends, at least of those who would be employed\nin this intercession, were infinitely too weak to oppose that of\nFlemming and the king's own inclination, so that he remained a prisoner,\nwithout being permitted either to write to madam d' Ensilden or see her,\ntill the time of his being delivered into our hands. But on hearing he\nwas so, my friend informs me her great spirit, which till now had made\nher support her misfortune without discovering to the world any part of\nthe agonies she sustained, in an instant quite forsook her: she\nabandoned herself to despair and grief, equally exclaiming against the\nCzar, Augustus, and Charles XII; has ever since shut herself up in her\napartment, which she has caused to be hung with black, the windows\nclosed, and no light but what a small lamp affords, and only adds more\nhorror to the melancholy scene: she weeps incessantly, and, as she\nexpects her lover will obtain no mercy, declares, she only waits till\nshe hears the sentence of his fate is given, to dye, if possible, at the\nsame moment of his execution.\nI must confess, continued Poniatosky, the history of this lady's\nsufferings touch me very much; and tho' I think her lover well worthy of\nthe death he will undoubtedly receive, could wish some unexpected chance\nmight once more set him free, and in a condition to recompence so tender\na passion, which Augustus has now no longer any power to oppose.\nHoratio had a heart too tender, and too sensible of the woes of love,\nnot to be greatly affected with this passage; and as they all were\nyoung, and probably had each of them a lady to whom their affections\nwere given, could not help sympathizing in the misfortunes of two\npersons who seemed to have fallen into them merely by the sincere\nattachment they had for each other.\nCHAP. XVIII.\n_King Stanislaus quits Alranstadt to appease the troubles in Poland:\nCharles XII. gives laws to the empire: a courier arrives from Paris:\nHoratio receives letters which give him great surprize_.\nAugustus being able to obtain no better conditions from the king of\nSweden, than leave to return to his almost ruined electorate, took leave\nof his conqueror with an almost broken heart.--Intelligence soon after\narriving that Poland was half demolished by the violence of different\nfactions, who, in the absence of both their kings, contended with equal\nfury for the sovereign power, Stanislaus took an affectionate farewell\nof his dear friend and patron, and went to appease the troubles of that\nkingdom, and make himself peaceably acknowledged for what he was, their\nlawful king, not only by election, but by the gift of the conqueror,\nCharles XII. of Sweden. He was attended by 10,000 Swedish horse, and\ntwice the number of foot, in order to make good his claim against any of\nhis rebellious subjects.\nCharles having now accomplished all he could desire in relation to the\nPolish affairs, began to grow weary of the idle life he led at\nAlranstadt, and was thinking which way he should turn his arms; he had\nbeen used ill by the czar, who, as has been before observed, plotted his\ndestruction while a minor, and began hostilities when he thought him not\nin a condition to defend himself, much less to make any reprisals: his\nresentment therefore against him was no less implacable than it had been\nagainst Augustus,--But the emperor had also disobliged him. Count Zobor,\nthe chamberlain, had taken very indecent and unbecoming liberties with\nhis character, in the presence of his own Ambassador at Vienna; and that\ncourt had given shelter to 1500 Muscovites, who having escaped his arms,\nfled thither for protection. As he was now so near, he therefore thought\nbest to call the emperor first to account, and then proceed to\nattack the czar.\nTo this end he sent to demand count Zobor, and the 1500 Muscovites\nshould be given into his hands: the timid emperor complied with the\nfirst and sent his chamberlain to be punished as the king thought fit;\nbut it was not in his power to acquiesce with the other; the Roman envoy,\nthen at Vienna, having intelligence of it, provided for their escape by\ndifferent routs. The king of Sweden then sent a second mandate,\nrequiring protection for all the Lutherans throughout Germany,\nparticularly in Silesia, and that they should be restored to all the\nliberties and privileges established by the treaty of Westphalia. The\nemperor, who would have yielded any thing to get the king of Sweden out\nof his neighbourhood, granted even this, disobliging as it was to the\npope and his own catholic subjects: and having ratified these\nconcessions, the king vouchsafed to let his chamberlain return, without\nany other punishment than imprisonment, so long as these affairs\nremained in agitation.\nHaving thus given laws to Germany and terror to the emperor, he resolved\nto turn where he might expect more opposition; and accordingly he\nordered count Piper to acquaint the officers, that they must now begin\nto think of preparing for a march.\nIn the mean time ambassadors from all the courts of Europe were sent to\nhis camp, most of them being apprehensive that they should be the next\nwho felt the terror of his arms: but those who had nothing of this kind\nto dread, and more really his friends, made use of all the arguments in\ntheir power to prevail on him to return to Stockholm. France in\nparticular sent courier after courier, remonstrating to him that his\nglory was complete; that he had already exceeded Alexander, and should\nnow return covered, as he was, with lawrels, and let his subjects enjoy\nthe blessing of his presence. The court of St. Germains added their\nentreaties to that of Versailles, but each were equally ineffectual; nor\ncould even the thoughts of the beautiful princess Louisa, his betrothed\nspouse, and whom he was to marry at the end of this war, put a stop to\nthe vehemence of his impatience to revenge the many injuries he had\nreceived from the czar of Muscovy.\nThese were the sentiments by which this conquering monarch were\nagitated; but Horatio, tho' no less fond of glory, had a softness in his\nnature, which made him languish for the sight of his dear Charlotta,\nwhom he had been absent from near two years; and being now blessed with\na fortune from the plunder of Saxony, which might countenance his\npretensions to her, passionately longed for an opportunity of returning\nwithout incurring the censure of cowardice or ingratitude. By these\ncouriers he received letters from the baron de la Valiere, and several\nothers of his friends, but none from the father of Charlotta; nor did\nany of them make any mention of that lady, tho' he knew the passion he\nhad for her was now no secret to any of them.\nHe was very much surprized that the baron de Palfoy had not wrote,\nbecause as he had in a manner promised to correspond with him by\ndesiring him to write, he had a right to expect that favour when they\ncame to Alranstadt; for till then it was scarce possible, by reason of\nthe army's continual and uncertain motions; but he was much more so,\nthat the baron de la Valiere had not been so good as to give him some\ninformation of an affair, of which he could not be insensible his peace\nso much depended: that he did not do it, he therefore presently\nconcluded, was owing to the having nothing pleasing to acquaint\nhim with.\nAs love is always apprehensive of the worst that can possibly befal, he\nthought now of nothing but her being obliged to give her hand to some\nrival approved by her father:--what avails it, cried he, that fortune\nhas raised me to an equality with her, if, by other means, I am\ndeprived of her!\nHe was beginning to give way to a despair little befitting a soldier,\nwhen another courier arriving from Versailles with dispatches to the\nking, he also received a packet, in which were three letters. The first\nhe cast his eye upon had on it the characters of Charlotta: amazed and\ntransported he hastily broke the seal, and found it contained\nthese lines:\n_To Colonel_ HORATIO.\nSIR,\n\"I have the permission of my father to pursue\nmy inclinations, in giving you this testimony\nhow sincerely I congratulate your good fortune;\ntho' I ought not to call it by that name, since I\nfind every-body allows your rewards have not\nexceeded your merits; but as neither has been\nfound deficient either for your ambition or the\nsatisfaction of your friends, all who are truly such\nthink you ought to be content, and run no future\nhazards.--Be assured you have many well-wishers\nhere, among the number of whom you\nwill be guilty of great injustice not to place\nCHARLOTTA DE PALFOY.\"\nHow well were all the late anxieties he had endured attoned for by this\nbillet; it was short indeed, and wrote with a more distant air than he\nmight have expected, had the dear authoress been at liberty to pursue\nthe dictates of her heart; but as it informed him it was permitted by\nher father, and was doubtless under his inspection, the knowledge that\nhe had authorized her to write at all, was more flattering to his hopes\nof happiness than all she could have said without that Sanction. After\nhaving indulged the raptures this condescention excited, he proceeded to\nthe rest, and found the next he opened was from the baron de Palfoy, who\nexpressed himself to him in these terms:\n_To Colonel_ HORATIO.\n\"I think myself obliged to you for so much\nexceeding the character I gave you; but I\nvalue myself on knowing mankind, and am glad\nto find I was not deceived in you, when I expected\nyou to do more than I durst venture on\nmy own opinion to assure the count. He tells me,\nin a letter I received from him the last courier,\nthat the victorious Charles XII. himself cannot\nbehave with greater bravery in the time of action,\nnor more moderation after it is over.--This\nis a great praise, indeed, from such a man\nas he; and I acquaint you with it not to make\nyou vain, for that would blemish the lustre of\nyour other good qualities, but that you may\nknow how to make proper acknowledgments to\nthat minister.\"\n\"Our court, I know, makes pressing influences\nto the king of Sweden not to carry on the way\nany farther: I wish they may succeed, or if they\nshould not, that you might be able to find some\nopportunity of quitting the service for reasons\nwhich you will see in a letter that accompanies\nthis, and to which nothing can be added to convince\nyou what part you ought to take.--I\nshall therefore say no more than that I am, with\na very tender regard,\n_Yours_,\nPALFOY\"\nRejoiced as he was at receiving a letter from the father of his\nmistress, wrote in a manner which he might look upon as a kind of\nconfirmation he no longer would be refractory to his wishes, the latter\npart of it contained an enigma he could by no means comprehend.--It\nseemed impossible to him there could be any reasons prevalent enough to\nmake him quit, with honour, a prince who had so liberally rewarded his\nservice; but hoping a further explanation, he lost not any time in\nconjectures; and tearing open the other letter without giving himself\ntime to examine the hand in which it was directed, found, to his\ninexpressible astonishment, the name of Dorilaus subscribed. It was\nindeed wrote by that gentleman, and contained at follows:\n_Dear Horatio_,\n\"Accidents, which at our parting neither of\nus could foresee, have doubtless long since\nmade you cease to hope any continuance of that\nkindness my former behaviour seemed to promise;\nbut never, perhaps did heaven deal its\nblessings with a more mysterious hand than it\nhas done to you.--That seeming neglect in\nme, at a time when you were a prisoner among\nstrangers, and had most need of my assistance,\nhad the appearance of the greatest misfortune\ncould befall you; yet has it been productive of\nthe greatest good, and laid the foundation of a\nhappiness which cannot be but lasting.--I reserve\nthe explanation of this riddle till you arrive\nat Paris, where I now am, and intend to\ncontinue my whole life.--That I impatiently\ndesire to see you, ought to be a sufficient inducement\nfor you to return with as much expedition\nas possible:--I will therefore make this\nexperiment of that affection, I might add duty,\nyou owe me, and only give you leave to guess\nwhat recompence this proof of your obedience\nwill entitle you to.--If therefore the king of\nSweden is resolute to extend his conquests, entreat\nhis permission to resign: I know the obligations\nyou have to that excellent prince; but I\nknow also you have others to me which cannot\nbe dispensed with:--besides, his majesty's affairs\ncannot suffer by the loss of one man: yours\nwill be in danger, if not totally ruined, by your\ncontinuance with him, and myself deprived at\nthe same time of the only remaining comfort of\nmy days.--Your sister left me soon after you\ndid:--she went to Aix la Chapelle, since\nwhich I have never been able to hear any thing\nof her.--Let me not lose you both; if you\nhave any regard for your own interest, or the\npeace of him whom you have ever found a father\nin his care and affection, and whom you will\nnow find so more than you can possibly expect.\nDORILAUS.\"\nImpossible is it to conceive, without being in the very circumstances\nHoratio was, what a strange variety of mingled passions agitated his\nbreast on having to read, and considered these letters:--to find such\nunhoped condescension from the baron de Palfoy and that Dorilaus was\nstill living, and had the same, if not more tender inclinations for him\nthan ever, the latter of which he had long since ceased to hope, was\nsufficient to have overwhelmed even the most phlegmatic person with an\nexcess of joy:--but then the dark expressions in both these letters put\nhis brain on the rack.--The baron had seemed to refer to an explanation\nof what he darkly hinted at in the letter of Dorilaus, but that he found\nrather more obsolete: he could imagine nothing farther than that\nDorilaus having resolved to make him his heir, as he remembered some\npeople said before he left England, on the knowledge of that\nintelligence the baron de Palfoy had consented to his marriage with\nmademoiselle Charlotta, and this, her being permitted to write to him\nconfirmed.--This indeed was the supreme aim of his desires; and this it\nwas that made him quit St. Germains, in hope of raising himself to a\ncondition which might enable her to own her affection to him without a\nblush: but transporting as this idea was, it was mingled with disquiet,\nto reflect on the terms which both the Baron and Dorilaus seemed to\ninsist on for the accomplishment of his wishes, tho' he impatiently\nlonged to see Dorilaus after so long an absence.--Tho' in the possession\nof Charlotta all his hopes were centered, yet to leave a prince who had\nso highly favoured him, and under whose banners he had gained so much\nconsideration, was a piece of ingratitude, which it was worse than death\nfor him to be guilty of.--No! said he, it would be to render me unworthy\nof all the blessings they make me hope, should I purchase them on such\nconditions!--How can they demand them of me!--The Baron, Charlotta, and\nDorilaus, have all of them the highest notions of honour, generosity and\ngratitude, and can they approve that in me, which I am certain they\nwould not be guilty of themselves!--Sure it is but to try me, they seem\nto exact what they are sensible I cannot yield to, without the breach of\nevery thing that can entitle me to esteem or love!\nThus did he argue within himself for one moment; the next, other\nreasons, directly opposite to these, presented themselves.--Dorilaus,\ncried he, demands all my obedience;--all my gratitude:--without\nprotection I had been an outcast in the world!--Whatever honours,\nwhatever happiness I enjoy, is it not to him I owe them! Can I refuse\nthen to comply with commands, which, he says, are necessary to his\npeace!--Besides, was it not Charlotta that inspired this ardor in me for\ngreat actions! Was not the possession of that charming maid, the sole\nend I proposed to myself in all I have undertaken! and shall I, by\nrefusing her request, madly run the risque of losing her for ever!--Does\nnot she wish, her father persuade, and Dorilaus enjoin me to\nreturn!--Does not love, friendship, duty call me to partake the joys\nthat each affords!--And shall I refuse the tender invitation!--No! the\nworld cannot condemn me for following motives such as these; and even\nthe royal Charles himself is too generous not to acquit me of\ningratitude or cowardice.\nIt must indeed be confessed he had potent inducements for his return to\nParis, to combat against those of continuing in the king of Sweden's\nservice; and both by turns appeared so prevalent, that it is uncertain\nwhich would have got the better, had not an accident happened, which\nunhappily determined him in favour of the latter.\nColonel Poniatosky, who had attended Stanislaus into Poland, now the\ndisturbances of that kingdom were quieted, on hearing the king of Sweden\nwas on some new expedition, obtained leave of Stanislaus to return to\nthe camp, and implored his majesty's permission to be one of those who\nshould partake the glorious toils he was now re-entering into. To which\nhe replied, that he should be glad to have him near his person, but\nfeared he would be wanted in Poland. No, may it please your majesty,\nresumed Poniatosky, there seems to be no longer any business in that\nkingdom for a soldier:--all seem ready to obey the royal Stanislaus out\nof affection to his person, and admiration of those virtues they are now\nperfectly convinced of; nor is Augustus in a condition to violate the\ntreaty of resignation:--refuse me not therefore I beseech your majesty,\ncontinued he, falling upon both his knees, what I look on as my greatest\nhappiness, as it is my greatest glory.\nThe king seemed very well pleased at the emphasis with which he\nexpressed himself; and having raised him from the posture he was in, be\nit so, cried he, henceforward we will be inseparable.\nHoratio was charmed with this testimony of love and zeal in a person,\nwho had doubtless friends and kindred who would have been glad he had\nless attachment to a service so full of dangers as that of the king of\nSweden, and somewhat ashamed he had ever entertained a thought of\nquitting it, resolved, as he had been more obliged, not to shew less\ngratitude than Poniatosky. Therefore, without any further deliberation,\nretired to his quarters, and prepared the following answers to the\nletters had been brought him. As all things in a lover's heart yields to\nthe darling object, the first he wrote was to his mistress.\n_To mademoiseile_ DE PALFOY.\n\"With what transports I received yours,\nadorable Charlotta, I am little able to\nexpress!--To find I am not forgotten!--That\nwhat I have done is approved by her for\nwhom alone I live, and whose praise alone can\nmake me vain, so swallowed up all other considerations,\nthat it had almost made me quit\nAlranstadt that moment, and fly to pour beneath\nyour feet my gratitude and joy!--But\nglory, tyrannic glory, would not suffer me to\nobey the soft impulse, nor re-enjoy that blessing\ntill conscious I deserved it better!--My friends\nover-rate my services; and tho' that partial indulgence\nis the ultimate of my ambition, I would\ndare not abuse what they are so good to offer.\"\n\"To feast my long, long famished sight with\ngazing once more on your charms, I would\nforgo every thing but the hope of rendering myself\none day more worthy of it!--Too dear I\nprize the good wishes you vouchsafe to have for\nme, not to attempt every thing in my power to\nprevent the disappointment of them: the little\nI have yet done, alas! serves but to prove how\nmuch the man, who has in view rendering himself\nacceptable to the divine Charlotta, dares\nto do, when dangers worthy of his courage\npresent themselves.--A small time may, perhaps,\nafford me an opportunity:--yet did you\nknow how dear this self-denial costs me, you\nwould confess it the greatest proof of affection\never man gave:--permit me therefore to gratify\nan ambition which has no other aim than a\njustification of the favours I receive:--continue\nto look with a favourable eye on my endeavours,\nand they cannot then fail of such success,\nas may give me a claim to the glorious.\ntitle of my most adored and loved Charlotta's.\n_Everlasting Slave_,\nHORATIO.\"\nTo her father he wrote in the following manner:\n_To the baron_ DE PALFOY,\n_My Lord_;\n\"The favours your goodness confers upon\nme are such as can be equalled by but one\nthing in the world, and that is my just and\ngrateful sense of them.--Charming would be\nthe toils of war, did all employed in them meet\na recompence like mine!--Is there a man, so\nmean, so poor in spirit, that praises such as I receive\nmight not animate to actions worthy of\nthem!--What acknowledgments can I make\nthe count suitable to the immense obligations I\nowe him, for inspiring your lordship with sentiments,\nwhich, tho' the supreme wish of my\naspiring soul, I never durst allow myself to\nhope; and which afford a prospect of future\naccumulated blessings, such as I could scarce\nflatter myself with being real, were not the transporting\nidea in some measure confirmed to me,\nby your having given a sanction to a correspondence\nI so lately despaired of ever obtaining!--Blessed\nchange!--Extatic condescensions!--Fortune\nhas done all she can for me, and anticipated\nall the good that, after a long train of\nservices and approved fidelity, I scarce should\nhave presumed to hope!--Oh my lord! I have\nno words to thank you as I ought! It is deeds\nalone, and rendering myself worthy of your\nindulgence, that must preserve your good opinion,\nand keep you from repenting having overwhelmed\nme with this profusion of happiness!--Yet\nhow joyfully could I now pursue the\nrout to Paris, and content myself with owing\nevery thing merely to your goodness, were I\nnot with-held by all the considerations that\nought to have weight with a man of honour!--My\nroyal general is inflexible to the persuasions\nof almost all the courts in Christendom,\nand hurried by his thirst of fame, or some other\nmore latent motive, has given orders to prepare\nfor a march, where, or against whom, is yet a\nsecret to the army; but by the preparations for\nit, we believe they are not short journeys we\nare to take.--Should I now quit a service\nwhere I have been promoted so much beyond\nmy merit, what, my lord, but cowardice or ingratitude\ncould be imputed to me as the motive!\n--Not all my reasons, powerful as they are,\nwould have any weight with a prince, who is\ndeaf to every thing but the calls of glory; and\nI must return loaden with his displeasure, and\nthe reproaches of all I leave behind!--Now\nto return is certain infamy!--To go, is in pursuit\nof honour!--Your lordship will not therefore\nbe surprized I make choice of the latter,\nsince no hazard can be equal to that of forfeiting\nthe little reputation I have acquired, and\nwhich alone can render me worthy any part of\nthe favours I have received.\n_I am_,\n_With the extremest respect and submission_,\n_Your lordship's\nEternally devoted servant,_\nHORATIO.\"\nThe last and most difficult task he had to go thro', was the refusal he\nmust give to Dorilaus, who had laid his commands on him in such express\nterms; and it was not without a good deal of blotting, altering, and\nrealtering, he at length formed an epistle to him in these terms:\n_To my more than father, my only patron,\nprotector and benefactor, the most worthy\nDORILAUS._\n_Most dear and ever honoured Sir,_\n\"To hear you are living, and still remember\nme with kindness, affords too great a\ntransport to suffer me to throw away any thought\neither on the motives of your long silence,\nor that happiness, which you tell me, I may\nexpect has been the produce of it:--it is\nsufficient for me to know I am still blessed in\nthe favor of the most excellent person that\never lived, and am not in the least anxious for\nan explanation of any farther good.\nTo tell you with how much ardency I long\nto throw myself at your feet, to relate to you\nall the various accidents that have befallen me\nsince first you condescended to put me in the\npaths of glory, and to pour out my soul before\nyou with thanksgiving, would be as impossible\nas it is for me at present to enjoy that blessing!--The\nking's affairs, it is true, would suffer\nnothing by my absence; but, sir, what would\nthe world say of me, if, after a whole year of\ninactivity and idleness, I flew, on the first appearance\nof danger, and forsook a prince, by\nwhom I have been so highly favoured?--Instead\nof the character I have always been ambitious\nof attaining, should I not be branded with\neverlasting infamy!--Put not therefore, I beseech\nyou, to so severe a test that love and duty,\nto which you cannot have a greater claim than\nI a readiness to pay?--Did you command my\nlife, it is yours:--I owe it to you, and with it\nall that can render it agreeable; but, sir, my\nhonour, my reputation, must survive when I am\nno more; it was the first, and will be the last\nbent of my desires. No perils can come in any\ndegree of competition with those of being deprived\nof that, nor any indulgencies of fortune\ncompensate for the loss of it:--pardon then\nthis enforced disobedience, and believe it is the\nonly thing in which I could be guilty of it.--\nI very much lament my sister's absence, as I\nfind by yours she went without your permission:\ntime and reflection will doubtless bring her to a\nmore just sense of what she, as well as myself,\nought to have of your goodness to us, and make\nher return full of sincere contrition for having\noffended you. I should implore your favourable\nopinion of her actions in the mean time,\nwere not all the interest I have in you too little\nto apologize for my own behaviour.--All, sir,\nI dare to implore is pardon for myself, and that\nyou will be assured no son, no dependant whatever,\nwould more rejoice in an opportunity of\ntestifying his duty, affection, gratitude and submission,\nthan him who is now constrained by\nties, which I flatter myself you will not hereafter\ndisapprove, to swerve in some measure\nfrom them, and whose soul and all the faculties\nof it are\n_Entirely devoted to you_.\nHORATIO.\"\nThese dispatches being sent away, he became more composed, and set his\nwhole mind on his departure, and taking leave of those friends and\nacquaintance he had contracted at Leipsic and Alranstadt; the time of\nthe army marching being fixed in a few days, tho' what rout they were to\ntake none, except count Piper, general Renchild, count Hoorn, and some\nfew others of the cabinet council, were made privy to.\nCHAP. XIX.\n_The king of Sweden leaves Saxony, marches into Lithuania, meets with an\ninstance of Russian brutality, drives the czar out of Grodno, and\npursues him to the Borysthenes. Horatio, with others, is taken prisoner\nby the Russians, and carried to Petersburg, where they suffer the\nextremest miseries_.\nThe word at length being given, the tents were struck, the trumpets\nsounded, and the whole army was immediately in motion. Never was a more\ngay and glorious fight; the splendor of their arms, and the richness of\ntheir habits blazed against the sun; but what was yet more pleasing, and\nspread greater terror among their enemies, was the chearfulness that sat\non every face, and shewed they followed with the utmost alacrity their\nbeloved and victorious monarch.\nIt was in the latter end of September, a season extremely cold in those\nparts, that they began their march but hardships were natural to the\nking of Sweden's troops; and as they perceived they were going into\nLithuania, a place where their valour had been so well proved against\nthe invading Muscovites, their cheeks glowed with a fresher red on the\nremembrance of their former victories. They passed near Dresden, the\ncapital of the electorate of Saxony, and made Augustus tremble in his\npalace, tho' the word of the king, which ever was inviolable, had been\ngiven that he should enjoy those dominions in peace.\nDuring the course of this, the czar had fallen upon the frontiers of\nPoland above twenty times, not like a general, desiring to come to a\ndecisive battle, but like a robber, plundering, ravaging, and destroying\nthe defenceless country people, and immediately flying on the approach\nof any troops either of Charles XII or king Stanislaus. The Swedes in\ntheir march met several parties sent on these expeditions, but who\nretired on sight of the army into woods, and were most of them either\nkilled or taken prisoners by detachments sent in pursuit of them by the\nking of Sweden.\nIn their march towards Grodno they found the remains of an encampment,\nseveral pieces of cannon and ammunition of all forts, but not one\ncreature to guard it, the troops to whom it belonged having all\ndispersed and hid themselves. On examining the tents, they were\nsurprized with the sight of a very beautiful woman, who was lying on the\nground in one of them, with three others, who seemed endeavouring to\ncomfort her, and, by the respect they paid her, that they were her\ndependents; but had all of them their garments torn and bloody, their\nhair hanging in strange disorder about their ears, their flesh\ndiscoloured with bruises and other marks of violence, and, as well as\ntheir disconsolate superior, were spectacles of the utmost distress.\nThe king of Sweden himself, followed by general Hoorn, Poniatolky,\nHoratio, and several others, who hardly ever lost sight of him, came\ninto this tent, and, being touched with so moving a scene, demanded the\nOccasion; on which the prostrate lady being told who it was that spoke,\nstarted suddenly up, and throwing herself at his feet:--Oh king! cried\nshe in the German language, as famous for justice as for being\ninvincible in war, revenge the cause of helpless innocence and\nvirtue!--Oh let the murderous brutal Russians find heaven's vindictive\narm in you its great vicegerent.--She was able to utter no more: the\ninward agonies she sustained, on being about to relate the story of her\nwrongs, became too violent for speech, and she sunk motionless on the\nearth. Two of the women, assisted by some Swedes, carried her out of the\ntent, as thinking the open air most proper to revive her; and she who\nremained, satisfied the king's curiosity in these words:\nMay it please your majesty, said she, my mistress, that afflicted lady\nwho just now implored your royal pity, is of the noble family of the\nCasselburgh, in Saxony, only daughter to the present count: her person,\nbefore these heavy misfortunes fell upon her, was deservedly reputed one\nof the most beautiful that graced the court of Dresden: her birth, her\nyouth, her charms, and the great fortune it was expected she would be\nmistress of, attracted a great number of persons who addressed her for\nmarriage: her own inclinations, as well as the count her father's\ncommands, disposed of her to Emmermusky, a Polish nobleman; and she had\nbeen scarce one month a bride, before they unhappily took this journey to\nvisit my lord's mother who lives at Travenstadt.--In our way we met a\nparty of straggling Muscovites, who, notwithstanding the strict league\nbetween our elector and the czar, and the knowledge they had by our\npassports that we were Saxons, stripped us of every thing, killed all\nour men-servants and having given my lord several wounds, left him for\ndead upon the place, then dragged us miserable women to the camp.--My\nlady, in the midst of faintings, and when she was incapable even of\nflying to death for refuse, was brutally ravished, and we her wretched\nattendants suffered the same abuse.--Shame will not let me, continued\nshe, blushing and weeping, acquaint your majesty with the shocking and\nrepeated violations we were compelled to bear!--the wretches casting\nlots who first should gratify his monstrous desires!--We were all bound\nto trees, and without any means of opposition but our shrieks and cries\nto unrelenting heaven!--My lord having a little recovered himself, had\ncrawled, as well as his wounds would give him leave, after us, and\narrived even while the horrid scene was acting: rage giving him new\nstrength and spirits; he snatched a sword that lay upon the earth, and\nsent to perdition the villain who was about to add to the dishonour\nwhich had been, alas! but too much completed by others. The death of\ntheir companion incensing the accursed Muscovites, they turned upon him,\nand in a moment laid him dead just at the feet of his ruined and almost\nexpiring wife! After having satiated their wicked will, they left us,\nbound as we were, where we continued the remainder of the day and whole\nnight, and had doubtless perished thro' hunger and extreme cold, if a\nsecond party had not passed that way, who having been out on a maroding,\nwere then returning to the camp.--Being actuated by somewhat more\ncompassion than the former, one of the officers made us be untied, and\nhaving heard our story, blamed the cruelty with which we had been\ntreated, and brought us to his tent, the same we now are in, and ordered\nsomething should be given for our refreshment; but my lady has continued\nobstinate to dye, and to that end has refused all subsistence. This, oh\ninvincible monarch! is the sad history of our misfortunes:--misfortunes,\nwhich, alas! can never be retrieved, nor admit any consolation but in\nthe hope of vengeance!\nHere a torrent of tears closed the sad narration; and the king cried\nout, turning as he spoke to us that followed him,--It is the cause of\nheaven and earth, my friends, said he, to punish these barbarians, and\nshew them that there is a God; for sure at present they are ignorant\nof it!\nThe generous monarch after this gave orders that these afflicted and\nabused woman should be escorted to a place of safety, and for that\npurpose halted for the space of two days, then proceeded towards Grodno\nwith such expedition, that after-ages will look upon it as incredible\nthat so large an army, and also encumbered with a great quantity of\nbaggage, could have marched in the time they did.\nBut the king of Sweden was on fire to encounter in person the czar of\nMuscovy, who, with about 2000 men, was then in that city: so great was\nhis impatience, that he galloped before his troops, not above 600 of\nthose best mounted being able to keep pace with him, till he came in\nsight of the south gate, which gave him entrance without any opposition,\nwhile the czar and his forces made their escape out at the north gate,\nnot doubting but the king of Sweden's whole army were come up with him.\nHe was afterward so much vexed and ashamed to think he had quitted the\ntown to no more than 600 of the enemy, that, to retrieve a mistake which\nhe feared might be looked upon as cowardice, being informed the body, of\nthe army was near five leagues off, he sent a party of 1500 horse in\norder to surprize the king and his few guards. The Muscovites entered by\nnight; but the alarm being given, the fortune which still had waited on\nthe Swedish armies, immediately put them all to the rout; and the army\nsoon after arriving, the conqueror lost no time, but pursued those that\nremained alive into the forest of Mensky, on the other side of which the\nczar had then entrenched himself, and had made the general rendezvous of\nthe Russian army, which was continually divided into parties; and\nsometimes falling on the Swedes in the rear, and sometimes in the flank,\nvery much annoyed them in their march: these brave men had also other\ndifficulties to encounter with; the forest was so extremely thick, that\nthe infantry were obliged to fell down trees every moment, during the\nwhole time of their passage, to make way for the baggage and troops.\nTheir industry and vigour surmounting all these obstacles, they once\nmore found themselves in an open country, but on the banks of a river,\non the opposite side of which were 20,000 Muscovites placed to oppose\ntheir crossing. The king made no delay, but quitting his horse, threw\nhimself into the river, and was instantly followed by all the foot,\nwhile the troops under the command of general Renchild and Hoorn,\ngalloped round thro' the morrass in which that river ended, and both\ntogether charged the enemy, who, after some faint shew of resistance,\nfled with the utmost precipitation. The whole army being now joined\nmarched on toward the Boristhenes, but with fatigues which are\nimpossible to be described: Horatio kept still close to the king, and\nwhether he fought or marched, was on foot or on horsback, was always in\nhis fight ready to bear his commands to the generals, or assist him in\nthe time of danger. More than once had the conqueror been indebted to\nthis young warrior, for turning the point of the destructive sword from\ngiving him the same death he was dealing about to others; yet in all the\ndangers he had been in never had he received one wound, and this often\nmade the king say, who was a firm believer in predestination, that\nheaven designed him for a soldier: his fortune, his valour, his\nactivity, added to his obliging and modest behaviour, indeed rendered\nhim so dear to his royal master, that there were very few, if any, to\nwhom he gave greater marks of his favour. And had Dorilaus, or even\nCharlotta herself, all tender as she was, and trembling for the hazards\nshe knew he had been exposed to, seen him thus caressed and honoured by\nthe most glorious prince and greatest hero in the world, they could\nscarce have wished him to quit the post he was in, much less persuaded\nhim to do it.\nHe hitherto indeed had experienced only the happiness of a martial life,\nfor the fatigues, hardships, and dangers of it he as little regarded as\nthe intrepid and indefatigable prince he served; but now arrived the\ntime which was to inflict on him the worst miseries of it, and make him\nalmost curse a vocation he had been in his soul so much attached to.\nThe king of Sweden, with his usual success having passed the\nBoristhenes, encountered a party of 10,000 Muscovites and 6000 Calmuck\nTartars; but they gave way on the first onset and fled into a wood,\nwhere the king, following the dictates of his great courage more than\nprudence, pursuing them, fell into an ambuscade, which, throwing\nthemselves between him and three regiments of horse that were with him,\nhem'd him in, and now began a very unequal fight.--Many of the gallant\nSwedes were cut to pieces, and the Muscovites made quite up to his\nmajesty:--two aid-de-camps were killed within his presence, his own\nhorse was shot under him, and as an equerry was presenting him with\nanother, both horse and man was struck dead in the same moment.--Horatio\nimmediately alighted in order to mount the king, who now on foot behaved\nwith incredible valour, in that action was surrounded and taken\nprisoner, as were several others that had fought near his person. He had\nthe satisfaction, however, while they were disarming and tying his\nhands, to see colonel Dardoff with his regiment force thro' the\nCalmucks, and arrive timely enough to disengage the king, after which\nthe army recovering its rank, and pouring in upon the enemy, he was not\nwithout hopes of regaining his liberty; but he was sat upon a horse and\nbound fast to the saddle, and compelled, with the others that were taken\nwith him, to accompany the Muscovites in their flight, so was ignorant\nin what manner this re-encounter ended. Soon after repairing to the\nczar's quarters, these unfortunate officers of the king of Sweden were,\nwith some others who had before become their prize, sent under a strong\nguard to Petersburgh, and thrown altogether into a miserable dungeon.\nIt would be impossible to describe the horrors of this place:--light\nthere was, but it was only so much as just served to shew to each of\nthese unhappy sufferers the common calamity of them all.--The roof was\narched indeed, but so low, that the shortest among them could scarce\nstand upright:--no kind of furniture, not even straw to cover the damp\nearthen floor, which served them for a seat by day and bed at night.\nInured as they had been to hardships, the noisomeness of this dreadful\nvault killed many of them, and among the rest a young Swedish officer\nnamed Gullinstern, one with whom Horatio had contracted a very intimate\nfriendship, and who, for his many excellent qualities, had been so dear\nto the king, that seeing him one day greatly wounded, and in danger of\nbeing taker, prisoner, that generous prince obliged him to mount on his\nown horse, and fought on foot himself till another could be brought.\nThe light of this gentleman expiring in his arms, filled Horatio with so\npoignant an anguish, that he wanted but little of following him; and,\nindeed, had it not been for the sanguine hopes that the king would in a\nshort time complete the ruin of the czar, and not only restore them\nliberty, but also add vengeance to it for the ill treatment they had\nfound in his dominions, few, if any of them, had been able to support\nthe miseries inflicted on them by these inhuman wretches, who, not\ncontent with burying them in a manner alive, for the dungeon they were\nin was deep underground, and allowing them no other food than bread and\nwater once in four and twenty hours, made savage sport at their\ncondition, ridiculed the conquests of their king, and spoke in the most\nopprobrious terms of his royal person, which, when some of them were\nunable to restrain themselves from answering in a manner befitting their\nduty and love of justice, they were silenced by the most cruel stripes.\nThus were the officers of the king of Sweden, the meanest of whom were\nfit to be generals in any other army, subjected to the servile taunts,\nand insolent behaviour of wretches undeserving to be ranked among the\nhuman species.\nA very little time had doubtless made them all find graves among these\nbarbarians; scarce a day passed over without their company decreasing by\ntwo or three, who were no sooner dead than dragged out by the heels, and\nthrown like dogs into a pit without the least funeral rites. But\nprovidence at length thought fit to send them a relief by means they\nleast expected.\nIn one of the incursions made by the Muscovites into Poland, a very\nbeautiful lady, whose father had been killed in asserting the cause of\nStanislaus, was made prisoner: prince Menzikoff, who commanded these\nbatallions, saw her, and became enamoured of her charms: she was\ndestitute of all friends, and in the conqueror's power, so thought it\nbest to yield what otherwise she found him determined to seize: in fine,\nshe was his mistress; and her ready compliance with his desires,\ntogether with the love she either had or feigned to have for him,\nafterward gained her an absolute ascendant over him. Every one knows the\ninterest he had with the czar; and he so far exerted it, as to get this\nfair favourite lodged in the palace, where she was served with the same\nstate and respect as if she had been his wife.\nThis lady, whose name was Edella, happened to be walking with some of\nher attendants near where these unfortunate gentlemen were buried, at a\ntime when three of them were dragged to their wretched sepulchre, was\ntouched with compassion to see any thing that had a human shape thus\ncoarsely treated, tho' after death, and had the curiosity to order one\nof her people to enquire who those persons were, and what they had done,\nwhich hindered them from being allowed a christian burial.\nShe was no sooner informed that they were Swedish prisoners, than her\nsoul shuddered at the thoughts of the Russian barbarity; and not\ndoubting but their usage during life had been of a piece with that after\ntheir death, she resolved, if possible, to procure some abatement of the\nmiseries of those who yet survived.\nTo this end she made it her business to examine what number of prisoners\nhad been brought, of what condition they were, and where lodged; and\nbeing well acquainted with all she wanted to know, went to the governor\nof Petersburg, and so well represented how dishonourable it was to the\nczar, and how opposite to the law of nations, to treat prisoners of war\nin a worse manner than they would do condemned felons, that he knowing\nthe power of prince Menzikoff, and fearing to disoblige one so dear to\nhim by a refusal, consented they should be removed into an upper part of\nthe prison where they would have more air, and also that they should\nhave an allowance of meat every day.\nAs the governor was a true Muscovite in his nature and had an implacable\nhatred to the king of Sweden and all that belonged to him, this was\ngaining a great deal; but it was not enough to satisfy the charitable\ndisposition of Edella; after their removal, she went in person to visit\nthose of them whom she heard were gentlemen, and finding them covered\nonly with rags, which some of the soldiers had put on them after having\nstripped them of their own rich habits, she ordered others lined with\nfurs to be made for them, to defend them from the coldness of the\nseason; and not content to retrench a great part of her own table, sold\nseveral fine jewels, and other trinkets the prince had bestowed on her,\nto supply them with wine, and whatever necessaries she supposed them to\nbe accustomed to. That she might be certain those entrusted by her did\nnot abuse her good intentions, she went often to the prison herself to\nsee how they were served, and would sometimes enter into discourse with\nthem concerning the battles they had been in, the settlement of\nStanislaus, and many other things relating to the Polish affairs. The\ngallant and courtly manner in which Horatio expressed himself on every\noccasion, made her take a particular pleasure in hearing him speak: that\nrough blunt behaviour to which she had been accustomed since her being\nbrought a captive into Muscovy, gave double charms to the politeness\nwith which she found herself entertained by our young warrior; his\nblooming years, and the gracefulness of his person, contributed not a\nlittle also towards rendering every thing he said more agreeable. Her\nliking of him grew by degrees into a friendship, no less tender than\nthat one feels for very near relations, and who have never done any\nthing to disoblige us, are more endeared by being under undeserved\ncalamity: but as the inclination she had for him was perfectly innocent,\nand no ways prejudicial to the prince who was in possession of her\nperson, she made no secret of it either to himself or those she\nconversed with, and was always talking of the wit, delicacy, and\nhandsomeness of one of those prisoners, whom it was well known were\npensioners to her bounty. But how dangerous is it to be too open before\npersons who, void of all true generosity, or the lead principle of\nhonour themselves, never fail to put the worst construction on the\nactions of others. Edella was very near being undone by her sincerity in\nacknowledging the distinction she paid to merit, or the compassion she\nfelt for misfortunes, in a country where humanity to enemies is looked\nupon as a crime, friendship to those of the same party altogether\nunknown, and even common civility never practised but for the\ngratification of self-interest, or some favourite passion.\nThis beautiful Polander however being treated by the Muscovites, on\naccount of the influence she had over the prince Menzikoff, with as much\ncomplaisance as it was in their power to shew, imagined their\ndisposition less savage than it was in reality; and when she testified\nthe pity she had for those unhappy gentlemen, it was with design to\nexcite it in others, and engage them to join with her in petitioning the\nczar, at his return, for their enlargement, there being no cartel or\nexchange of prisoners subsisting between him and the king of Sweden.\nAmong the number she hoped to gain to her party was Mattakesa, the\nrelique of a general who had been in great favour with his prince. This\nlady, who could speak French, having learned it of a recusant that took\nshelter in Russia, consented to go with her one day to the prison, and\nno sooner saw Horatio, than, unfortunately for him, Edella, and herself,\nshe became charmed with him: as she was of the number of those who think\nnothing a crime that suits their own inclination, she took not the least\npains to subdue the growing passion, but rather indulged it, in order to\nreceive the highest degree of pleasure in the gratification. She doubted\nnot but Edella was her rival, and that it was for his sake alone she had\nbeen so beneficent to his fellow-sufferers: to supplant her, therefore,\nwas the first step she had to take, and she resolved to omit nothing for\nthat purpose.\nCHAP. XX.\n_The treachery of a Russian lady to her friend: her passion for Horatio:\nthe method he took to avoid making any return, and some other\nentertaining occurrences._\nIt is easy to believe that Horatio, tho' relieved from that extremity of\nmisery he suffered while in the dungeon, was far from being able to\ncontent himself with his present condition:--a thousand times he\nreproached himself for pursuing the dictates of a glory which now seemed\nso tyrannic:--Have I, cried he, hazarded the eternal displeasure of the\nbest of men,--refused the invitation of the adorable\nCharlotta,--slighted the condescentions of her father,--been deaf both\nto interest and love, to become a prisoner to the worst of\nbarbarians!--Who now will pity me!--Or if they yet would be so good, how\nshall I acquaint them with my wretched fate!--Nay, were there even a\npossibility of that, what would the compassion of the whole world avail,\nsince a slave to those, who, contrary to the law of nations, and even\ncommon humanity, refuse, on any terms, to release the wretches fallen\ninto their savage power!\nIn this manner did he bewail himself night and day, and indeed had but\ntoo just reasons for doing so:--he had heard that the last time the czar\nhad been at Petersburg, he had sent all the prisoners he had then taken\nto Siberia, and other province of the greater Tartary, where they were\ncompelled, without any distinction, to do the work of horses rather than\nmen, and doubted not but at his next return all those now in his power\nwould meet the same fate, tho' the generous king of Sweden had sent back\nthe Muscovites he had taken, by 1500 and 2000 at a time.--This, however,\nmay be said in favour of the czar, that by the many attempts he made to\ncivilize his barbarous subjects, it must be supposed he would have been\nglad to have imitated this generosity, had it been confident with his\nsafety; but the case had this difference, Charles XII. feared not the\nnumber of the Muscovites, but the czar feared the courage of the Swedes.\nWhat also increased the affliction of these gentlemen, was, that being\ndebarred from all intelligence, they could hear nothing of their king,\nwhom each of them loved with a kind of filial affection and\nduty.--Horatio and two others had been witnesses of the extreme danger\nin which they left him; and tho' at the time they were seized he had\nkilled thirteen or fourteen Muscovites with his own hand, and they\nperceived general Dardoff had come up to his relief, yet they could not\nbe certain of his safety; till at length the sweet-conditioned Edella\nperceiving the despair they were in on this account, informed them that\nhis majesty was not only well, but as successful as ever; that he had\npassed far into Ukrania, had defeated the Muscovites in five battles,\nand so far reduced the czar, that he had condescended to make some\novertures of peace; which having been rejected, it was the common\nopinion, that in a very short time the Swedes would enter Moscow, and\nbecome arbiters of Russia as they had been of Poland.\nAdequate to their late grief was their satisfaction at this joyful\nnews:--Horatio was transported above his companions, and threw himself\nat the feet of the fair intelligencer; but she desired they would all of\nthem moderate their contentment so far as to hinder the guards, who had\nthe care of them, from perceiving it, because, said she, it might not\nonly draw on yourselves worse treatment, but also render me suspected of\nbeing against the interest of a court, on which my fate has reduced me\nto become a dependant.\nHoratio, as well as the others, assured her he would take care to manage\nthe felicity she had bestowed upon them, so as not to be any way\nprejudicial to her; and she took her leave, promising to be with them\nagain in a few days, and bring them farther information, a courier from\nthe camp, she said, being expected every hour.\nBut while this compassionate lady was pleasing herself, by giving all\nthe ease in her power to the distressed, the cruel Mattakesa was\nplotting her destruction.--She had several of her kindred, and a great\nmany acquaintance in the army, who were in considerable posts, to all of\nwhom she exclaimed against the loose behaviour, as she termed it, of\nEdelia, and represented her charities to the prisoners as the effects of\na wanton inclination:--this she doubted not but would come to prince\nMenzikoff's ears, and perhaps incense him enough to cause her to be\nprivately made away with; for as she imagined nothing less than the most\namorous intercourse between her and Horatio, she thought it unadvisable\nto declare the passion she had for him, till a rival so formidable, by\nthe advantages she had over her in youth and beauty, should be removed.\nThis base woman therefore impatiently waited the arrival of the next\ncourier, to find how far her stratagem had succeeded; and the moment she\nheard he had delivered his dispatches, flew to the apartment of Edella,\nin hopes of being informed of what she so much desired to know.\nShe was not altogether deceived in her expectations: she found that lady\ndrowned in tears, with a letter lying open before her; and on her\nenquiring, with a shew of the utmost concern, the motives of her grief,\nthe other, who looked on her as her real friend, replied, alas!\nMattakesa, I have cruel enemies; I cannot guess for what cause, for\nwillingly I never gave offence to any one;--but see, continued she, how\nbarbarously they have abused my innocence, and represented actions\nwhich, heaven knows, were influenced only by charity and compassion as\nthe worst of crimes! with these words she gave her the letter which she\nhad just received from the prince,\nMattakesa took it with a greedy pleasure, and found it contained these\nlines:\n_To_ EDELLA.\nMadam,\n\"I left you in a place, furnished, as I thought,\nwith every thing necessary for your satisfaction;\nbut I find I was mistaken in your constitution,\nand that there was something wanting,\nwhich, rather than not possess, you must have\nrecourse to a prison to procure:--ungrateful\nas you are to the affection I have treated you\nwith, I am sorry for your ill conduct, and could\nwith you had been, at least, more private in\nyour amours: few men but would have sent an\norder for removing you and the persons, for\nwhose sake you have made these false steps,\ninto a place where you would have cause to\ncurse the fatal inclination that seduced you:\nthink therefore how much you owe a prince,\nwho, instead of punishing your faults, contents\nhimself with letting you know he is not ignorant\nof them.--If you make a right use of\nthe lenity I shew on this occasion, you may\nperhaps retrieve some part of the influence you\nonce had over me; but see the Swedish prisoners\nno more, if you hope or desire ever to see\nMENZIKOFF.\"\nMattakesa affected the greatest astonishment on having read this letter;\nand after having cursed the persons that put such vile suspicions into\nthe prince's head, asked her what she intended to do.\nWhat can I do! answered the sorrowful Edella, but write to my lord all\nthe assurances that words, can give him, which heaven knows I can truly\ndo, that I never wronged him even in wish or thought; and that since\nthere are people so cruel to misinterpret to my dishonour, what was\nnothing but mere charity, to obey his commands with the utmost\npunctuality, and never set my foot into that prison more?\nHer false friend could not but applaud her resolution, yet told her it\nwas pity that ill tongues should deprive those unfortunate gentlemen of\nthe relief she had hitherto afforded them, or herself of the pleasure\nshe took in their conversation.\nAs for the first, said Edella, heaven may perhaps raise the mother\nfriends more capable of lifting them; and as to the other, were it\ninfinitely greater, it would be my inclination, as it is my duty, to\nsacrifice every thing to the will of a prince whom I love, and to whom I\nam so much obliged.\nMattakesa having thus compared her design, so far as to be under no\napprehensions of being interrupted by her imagined rival, tho' she had\nrather she had been poisoned or strangled, went directly to the prison\nand told the gentlemen, it was with the utmost concern she must acquaint\nthem that Edella would never visit them any more, nor continue the\nweekly pension she had hitherto allowed them.\nThose among them who understood her, and the others to whom Horatio\ninterpreted what she said, looked one upon another with a great deal of\nconsternation, as imagining one of them had done something to offend\nher, and thereby the rest were thought unworthy of her\nfavours.--Everyone endeavoured to clear himself of what he easily saw\nhis companions suspected him guilty of; till Mattakesa, with a scornful\nsmile, told them, that it was not owing to the behaviour of any of them,\nbut to Edella's own inconstant disposition, that they owed the\nwithdrawing of her bounty; but to console them for the loss of it, she\npromised to speak to some of her friends in their behalf, and also to\ncontribute something herself towards alleviating their misfortunes; but,\nadded she, I am not the mistress of a prince and first favourite, so\nhave it not in my power to act as the generosity of my nature\ninclines me to do.\nShe stayed with them a considerable time, and entertained them with\nlittle else than railing on Edella; and to make her appear as odious and\ncontemptible as she could to Horatio, insinuated that it was for the\nsake of a young needy favourite she had been obliged to withdraw the\nallowance they had from her.\nOn taking leave she found means to slip a little billet into Horatio's\nhands, unperceived by any of the company, which, as soon as he had a\nconvenient opportunity, he opened, and found these words in French:\n_To the agreeable_ HORATIO.\nSIR,\n\"Tho' I have not perhaps so much beauty\nas Edella, I have twice her sincerity, and\nnot many years older: such as I am, however,\nI fancy you will think a correspondence with\nme of too much advantage to be refused:--if\nyou will counterfeit an indisposition, to-morrow\nI will out of excessive charity visit you, and\nbring you a refreshment, I flatter myself, will\nnot be disagreeable to a man in your circumstances:--farewell;--be\nsecret,--and love as well as you can,\n_Yours_,\nMATTAKESA.\"\nOf all the accidents that had befallen Horatio since his leaving\nEngland, none ever so much surprized him as the prodigious impudence of\nthis lady: he had heard talk of such adventures, but never till now\nbelieved there could be any such thing in nature, as a woman that\noffered herself in this manner, without the least sollicitation from the\nperson on whom she wished to lavish what ought only to be the reward of\nan approved, or at least a shew of the most violent passion.\nThe dilemma he was in how to behave, was also equal to his\nastonishment:--had she been the most lovely of her sex, as she was very\nmuch the reverse, the ever present idea of his dear Charlotta would have\ndefended his heart from the invasions of any other charms; but he needed\nnot that pre-engagement to make him look with detestation on a woman of\nMattakesa's principles:--when he reflected on what she had said\nconcerning Edella, he found her base, censorious, and unjust:--and when\nhe considered the manner in which she proceeded in regard to himself, he\nsaw a lewdness and audacity which rendered her doubly odious, to\nhim:--he doubted not but she was wicked and subtle enough to contrive\nsome means of revenging herself, in case she met with a disappointment\nin her wishes, yet had too great an abhorrence to be able to entertain\none thought of gratifying them.\nAs he was young and unexperienced in the world, he would have been glad\nof some advice how to act so as not to incur her resentment, yet avoid\nher love; but the strict notions he had of honour remonstrated to him\nthat he ought not to betray a secret of that nature, tho' confided in\nhim by an ill woman.--Her baseness, cried he to himself, would be no\nexcuse for mine; and it is better for me to risque whatever her malice\nmay inflict, than forfeit my character, by exposing a woman who pretends\nto love me.\nThese thoughts kept him waking the whole night; and his restlessness\nbeing observed by an old Swedish officer who by with him, he was very\nmuch importuned by him to discover to him the occasion.--Horatio\ndefended himself for a good while by the considerations before recited;\nbut at length reflecting; that the person who was so desirous of being\nlet into the secret, had a great deal of discretion, he at length\nsuffered himself to be prevailed upon, and told him what Mattakesa had\nwrote to him, for he did not understand a word of French, so could not\nread the letter.\nThis officer no sooner heard the story, than he laughed heartily at the\nscruples of Horatio, in thinking himself bound to conceal an affair of\nthis nature with a woman of the character Mattakesa must needs be:--he\nalso rallied his delicacy, as he termed it, in hesitating one moment\nwhether he should gratify the lady's inclinations.--One would imagine,\nsaid he, that so long a fall from love as we have had, should render our\nappetites more keen:--what, tho' Mattakesa be neither handsome nor very\nyoung, she is a woman, and amorous, and methinks there should need no\nother excitements to a young man like you.\nHoratio, tho' naturally gay, was not at present in a disposition to\ncontinue this raillery, and told his friend, he looked on this\ninclination of Mattakesa to be as great a misfortune as could happen to\nthem; for, said he, as it is wholly out of my power to make her any\nreturns, that violence of temper which has transported her to forget the\nmodesty of her sex, will probably, when she finds herself rejected, make\nher as easily throw off all the softness of it; and you may all feel the\neffects of that revenge she will endeavour to take on me.\nThe other was entirely of his opinion; and they both agreed that, some\nway ought to thought on to avert the storm, her resentment might in all\nprobability occasion.\nAfter many fruitless inventions, they at last hit upon one which had a\nprospect of success: they had in their company a gentleman called\nMullern, nephew to chancellor Mullern, who had attended the king in all\nhis wars: he was handsome, well made, and his age, tho' much superior to\nthat of Horatio, yet was not so far advanced as to render him\ndisagreeable to the fair sex: he was of a more than ordinary sanguine\ndisposition, and had often said, of all the hardships their captivity\nhad inflicted on them, he felt none so severely as being deprived of a\nfree conversation with women.--In the ravages the king of Sweden's arms\nhad made in Lithuania, Saxony and Poland, he was sure to secure to\nhimself three or four of the finest women; and tho' he had been often\nchecked by his uncle, and even by the king himself, for giving too great\na loose to his amorous inclinations, yet all their admonitions were too\nweak to restrain the impetuosity of his desires this way. To him,\ntherefore, they resolved to communicate the affair; and as he was in\nother respects the most proper object among them to succeed in\nsupplanting Horatio, so he was also by being perfectly well versed in\nthe French language, which the rest were ignorant of.\nAccordingly they told him what had happened, shewed him the letter, and\nhow willing Horatio would be to transfer all the interest he had in this\nlady to him, if he could by any means ingratiate himself into her\nfavour. Mullern was transported at the idea; and the stratagem contrived\namong them for this purpose was executed in the following manner:\nMattakesa was punctual to the promise she had made in her letter; and\nwhen she came into the room, where she usually found the gentlemen\naltogether, it being that where they dined, and saw not Horatio, she\ndoubted not but he had observed her directions, and pretended himself\nindisposed, so asked for him, expecting to be told that he was ill; but\nwhen they answered that he was gone with one of the keepers to the top\nof the round tower, in order to satisfy his curiosity in taking a view\nof the town, she was confounded beyond expression, and could not imagine\nwhat had occasioned him to slight an assignation, she had flattered\nherself he would receive with extacy.\nAs she was in a little resvery, endeavouring to comprehend, if possible,\nthe motive of so manifest a neglect, Mullern drew near to her, and\nbeginning to speak of the beauties of that fine city which the czar had\nerected in the midst of war, he told her, that having a little skill in\ndrawing, he had ventured to make a little sketch of it in chalk on the\nwalls of the room where he lay, and entreated her in the most gallant\nmanner to look upon it, and give him her opinion how far he had done\njustice to an edifice so much admired.\nIt cannot be supposed that Mattakesa had in her soul any curiosity to\nsee a work of this nature, yet, to hide as much as she could the\ndisorder she was in at her disappointment, gave him her hand, in order\nto be concluded to the place where he pretended to have been exercising\nhis genius.\nAs soon as they were entered he threw the door, as if by incident, which\nhaving a spring lock, immediately was made fast--She either did not, or\nseemed not to regard what he had done; but casting her eyes round the\nroom, and seeing nothing of what he had mentioned,--Where is this\ndrawing? cried she. In my heart, adorable Mattakesa, answered he, falling\nat her feet at the same time:--it is not the city of Petersburg, but the\ncharming image of its brightest ornament, that the god of love has\nengraven on my heart in characters too indelible ever to be\nerased:--from the first moment I beheld those eyes my soul has been on\nfire, and I must have consumed with inward burnings had I not revealed\nmy flame:--pardon, continued he, the boldness of a passion which knows\nno bounds; and tho' I may not be so worthy of your love as the too happy\nHoratio, I am certainly not less deserving of your pity.\nSurprize, and perhaps a mixture of secret satisfaction prevented her\nfrom interrupting him during the first part of his discourse; but rage,\nat the mention of Horatio, forced from her this exclamation:--has the\nvillain then betrayed me! cried she.--No, madam, replied he, justice\nobliges me to acquit him, tho' my rival.--He had the misfortune, in\nputting your billet into his pocket, to let it fall; I took it up unseen\nby him,--opened it, read it, and must confess, that all my generosity to\nmy friend was wholly swallowed up in my passion for you.--I returned not\nto him that kind declaration you were pleased to make him, and he is\nignorant of the blessing you intended for him:--if the crime I have been\nguilty of seem unpardonable in your eyes, command my death, I will\ninstantly obey you, for life would be a torment under your displeasure;\nand if, in my last moments, you vouchsafe some part of that softness to\nthe occasion of my fate, that you so lavishly bestowed on the fortunate\nHoratio, I will bless the lovely mouth that dooms me to destruction!\nHe pronounced all this with an emphasis, which made her not doubt the\npower of her charms; and surveying him while he was speaking, found\nenough in his person to compensate for the disappointment she had met\nwith from Horatio: besides, she reflected, that if what he had told her\nconcerning the dropping her letter, was a fiction, it was however an\ningenious one, and shewed his wit, as well as love, in bringing both\nhimself and friend off in so handsome a manner. She was infatuated with\nthe praises he gave her;--the pathetic expressions he made use of,\nassured her of the ardency of his desires, and as she could not be\ncertain of being able to inspire Horatio with the same, she wisely chose\nto accept the present offer, rather than wait for what might perhaps at\nlast deceive her expectations. She made, however, no immediate answer;\nbut her eyes told him she was far from being displeased with what he had\nsaid, and gave him courage to take up one of her hands and kiss it, with\nan eagerness which confirmed his protestations.\nAt last,--Well, Mullern, said she, looking languishingly on him, since\nchance has made you acquainted with my foible, I think I must bribe you\nto secrecy, by forgiving the liberties you take with me:--and if I were\nconvinced you really love me as well as you pretend, might indulge you\nyet farther.--An unaccountable caprice indeed swayed me in favour of\nHoratio, but I am now half inclinable to believe you are more deserving\nmy regard;--but rise, continued she, I will hear nothing from you while\nin that posture.\nMullern, who was no less bold in love than war, immediately obeyed her,\nand testified his gratitude for her condescention, by giving a sudden\nspring and snatching her to his breast, pressed her in so arduous a\nmanner, that she would have been incapable of resisting, even tho' she\nhad an inclination to do so: but she, no less transported than himself,\nreturned endearment for endearment, and not only permitted, but assisted\nall his raptures,--absolutely forgot Horatio, as well as all sense of\nher own shame, and yielded him a full enjoyment without even an\naffectation of repugnance.\nBoth parties, in fine, were perfectly satisfied with each other, and\nhaving mutually sworn a thousand oaths of fidelity which neither of\nthem, it is probable, had any intention to keep, Mullern took upon\nhimself the care of continuing to entertain her in private as often as\nshe came to the prison, and in return she made him a present of a purse\nof gold, after which they passed into the outer room to prevent censures\non their staying too long together.\nOn their return they found Horatio with the other gentlemen. Abandoned\nas Mattakesa was, she could not keep herself from blushing a little at\nsight of him; but soon recovering herself by the help of her natural\naudacity,--Well, Horatio, said she, what do you think of the little\nFrench epigram I put into your hands yesterday;--has it not a very\nagreeable point?\nHoratio had such an aversion to all kind of deceit, that even here,\nwhere it was so necessary, he could not, without some hesitation, answer\nto what she said in these words.--Some accident or other, cried he,\ndeprived me of the pleasure you were so good to intend me; for when I\nput my hand in my pocket thinking to read it, I perceived I was so\nunhappy as to have lost, it:--I looked for it in vain:--it was\nirrecoverably gone, and I am an utter stranger to the contents.\nAnd ever shall be so, replied she tartly, only to punish your\ncarelessness of a lady's favour; know, that it was a piece of wit which\nwould have been highly agreeable to you:--but don't expect I shall take\nthe pains to write it over again, or even tell you the subject on which\nit turned.\nHoratio cooly said, he could not but confess he had been to blame, and\nmust therefore allow the justice of her proceeding. As none present\nbesides himself, his bedfellow, and Mullern, knew the truth of this\naffair, what passed between them was taken by the others as literally\nspoken, and little suspected to couch the mystery it really did.\nMullern, after this, by the assistance of Horatio and the old officer,\nhad frequent opportunities of gratifying his own and the amorous\nMattakesa's desires.--The testimonies she gave him how well she was\npleased with his conversation, were for the common good of his\ncompanions.--Horatio was easy in finding himself out of all danger of\nany solicitations he was determined never to acquiesce in; and those\nthree who were in the secret passed their time pleasantly enough,\nwhenever they had an opportunity of talking on this adventure, without\nany of the others being witnesses of what they said.\nCHAP. XXI.\n_The prisoners expectations raised: a terrible disappointment: some of\nthe chief carried to prince Menzikoff's palace: their usage there.\nHoratio set at liberty, and the occasion_.\nOur captives had soon after a new matter of rejoicing: a Polander in the\nservice of Muscovy, who had been taken prisoner by the Swedes, and was\ndischarged and sent home, with a great number of others, by the\nunparallell'd generosity of Charles XII. was one of the guards who now\ndid duty in the prison. It was often his turn to bring them their poor\nallowance of provision; and having some pity for their condition, as\nwell as gratitude for a people who had used him and his companions in a\ndifferent manner, told them, that they might be of good heart, for, said\nhe, you will soon be set at liberty:--our emperor has enough to do to\nkeep his ground in Ukraina: Charles is as victorious as ever:--the\nprince of the Cosaques, one of the bravest men on earth, next to\nhimself, has entered into an alliance with him:--king Stanislaus is\nsending him succours from Poland:--a powerful reinforcement is coming to\nhim from Lithuania; and when these armies are joined, as I believe they\nalready are, nothing can withstand them:--you will hear the Swedish\nmarch beat from this prison walls,--and perhaps see your present\nconquerors change places with you; and, to confirm the truth of what I\nsay, continued he, I can further assure you that the czar, before I left\nthe camp, was in the utmost confusion:--his council, as well as army,\nwere at a stand, and he had twice made overtures of peace, and\nbeen refused.\nThis was an intelligence which might well be transporting to the king of\nSweden's officers:--the thought; of seeing him enter Petersburgh a\nconqueror,--of once more embracing their old friends and companions, and\nof triumphing over those who had so cruelly abused the power the chance\nof war had put into their hands, made them all, in their turns, hug and\nbless the kind informer:--they also asked him several questions\nconcerning the generals; and each being more particular concerning those\nthey had the greatest interest in, received from this honest soldier all\nthe satisfaction they could desire.\nAs couriers were continually arriving from the army, there passed few\ndays without hearing some farther confirmation of their most sanguine\nexpectations; but at length the guard being again changed, they lost all\nfurther intelligence, and were for several months without being able to\nhear any thing of what passed. They doubted not, however, but as things\nwere in so good a disposition, every day brought them nearer to the\ncompletion of their wishes; and it was this pleasing prospect which\naddressed their misfortunes, and enabled them to sustain cheerfully\nthose hardships which, almost ever since the withdrawing of Edella's\nbounty, they had laboured under.--Mattakesa, in the beginning of her\namours with Mullern, had indeed made him some presents, which he shared\nwith his companions; but either the natural inconstancy of her temper\nmaking her grow weary of this intrigue for the sake of another, or her\ncircumstances not allowing her to continue such Donations, she soon grew\nsparing of them, and at length totally desisted her visits at\nthe prison.\nAs, ever since the compassionate Edella had procured them to be\nremoved from the dungeon, they had enjoyed the privilege of walking on\nthe leads, and going up to the round tower, which being of a very great\nheight, not only overlooked the town, but the country round for a\nconsiderable distance, they frequently made use of this indulgence, at\nfirst for no other purpose than to have the benefit of the open air, but\nnow in hope of seeing their beloved prince at the head of a victorious\narmy approaching to give them liberty and relief.--But, alas! how\nterrible a reverse of their high-raised expectations had inconstant\nfortune in store for them.--One day as they were sitting together,\ndiscoursing on the usual topics with which they entertained each other,\nand endeavoured to beguile the tedious time, they heard a confused noise\nas of some sudden tumult.--Tho' they had now been above a year in\nRussia, none of them could speak the language well enough to be\nunderstood, so could receive no information from the guard, even should\nthey have proved good-natured enough to be willing to satisfy their\ncuriosity, so they all run hastily up to the round tower, whence they\neasily perceived the town in great confusion, and the people running in\nsuch crowds, that in the hurry many were trampled to death in\nendeavouring to pass the gates:--at a distance they perceived standards\nwaving in the air, but could not yet distinguish what arms they bore.--A\ncertain shivering and palpitation, the natural consequence of suspence,\nran thro' all their nerves, divided as they were at this sight, between\nhope and fear; but when it drew more near,--when, instead of Swedish\ncolours they beheld those of Russia;--when, in the place where they\nexpected to see their gallant king coming to restore them once more to\nfreedom, they saw the implacable czar enter in triumph, followed by\nthose heroes, the least of whom had lately made him tremble, now in\nchains, and exposed to the ribald mirth and derision of the gaping\ncrowd, they lost at once their fortitude, and even all sense of\nexpressing their grief at this misfortune:--the shock of it was so\nviolent, it even took away the power of feeling it, and they remained\nfor some moments rather like statues carv'd out by mortal art, than real\nmen created by God, and animated with living souls. A general groan was\nthe first mark they gave of any sensibility of this dreadful stroke of\nfate; but when recruited spirits once more gave utterance to words, how\nterrible were their exclamations! Some of them, in the extravagance of\ndespair, said things relating to fate and destiny, which, on a less\noccasion, could have little merited forgiveness.\nUnable either to remove from the place, or view distinctly what their\neyes were fixed upon, they stayed till the whole cavalcade was passed,\nthen went down and threw themselves upon the floor, where their ears\nwere deafen'd by the noise of guns, loud huzza's, and other testimonies\nof popular rejoicings, both within and without the prison walls.--What\nhave we now to expect? cried one,--endless slavery:--chains, infamy,\nlasting as our lives, replied another. Then let us dye, added a third.\nRight, said his companion feircely;--the glory of Sweden is lost!--Let\nus disappoint these barbarians, these Russian monsters, of the pleasure\nof insulting us on our country's fall.\nIn this romantic and distracted manner did they in vain endeavour to\ndischarge their breasts of the load of anguish each sustained.--Their\nmisfortune was not of a nature to be alleviated by words;--it was too\nmighty for expression; and the more they spoke, the more they had yet to\nsay.--For three whole days they refused the wretched sustenance brought\nto them; neither did the least slumber ever close their eyelids by\nnight: on the fourth the keeper of the prison came, and told them they\nmust depart.---They endeavoured not to inform themselves how or where\nthey were to be disposed of; in their present condition all places were\nalike to them, so followed him, without speaking, down stairs, at the\nbottom of which they found a strong guard of thirty soldiers, who having\nchained them in a link, like slaves going to be sold at the market,\nconducted them to a very stately palace adjoining to that belonging\nto the czar.\nThey were but eight in number, out of fifty-five who had been taken\nprisoners at the time Horatio was, and were thrown altogether in the\ndungeon, the others having perished thro' cold and the noysomeness of\nthe place, before Edella had procured them a more easy situation; but\nthese eight that survived were all officers, and most of them men of\ndistinguished birth as well as valour, tho' their long imprisonment,\nscanty food, and more than all, the grief they at present laboured under\nmade them look rather like ghosts, than men chose out of thousands to\nfight always near the king of Sweden's person in every\nhazardous attempt.\nThey were placed in a stately gallery, and there left, while the\nofficer, who commanded the party that came with them, went into an inner\nroom, but soon after returned, and another person with him; on which,\nthe first of this unhappy string was loosed from his companions, and a\nsignal made to him to enter a door, which was opened for him, and\nimmediately closed again.\nFor about half an hour there was a profound silence: our prisoners kept\nit thro' astonishment; and the others, it is to be supposed, had orders\nfor doing so.--At the end of that time the door was again opened, and\nthe chain which fastened the second Swede to the others, was untied, and\nhe, in like manner as the former, bid to go in.--In some time after, the\nsame ceremony was observed to a third;--then to a fourth, fifth, sixth,\nand seventh:--Horatio chanced to be the last, who, tho' alarmed to a\nvery great degree at the thoughts of what fate might have been inflicted\non his companions, went fearless in, more curious to know the meaning of\nthis mysterious proceeding, than anxious for what might befal him.\nHe had no sooner passed the door, than he found himself in a spacious\nchamber richly adorned, at the upper end of which sat a man, leaning his\nhead upon his arm in a thoughtful posture.--Horatio immediately knew him\nto be prince Menzikoff, whom he had seen during a short truce between\nthe czar and king Charles of Sweden, when both their armies were in\nLithuania. There were no other persons present than one who had the\naspect of a jew, and as it proved was so, that stood near the prince's\nchair, and a soldier who kept the door.\nHoratio was bid to approach, and when he did so,--you are called hither,\nsaid the jew in the Swedish language, to answer to such questions as\nshall be asked you, concerning a conspiracy carried on between you and\nyour fellow-prisoners with the enemies of Russia. Horatio understood the\nlanguage perfectly well, having conversed so long with Swedes, but never\ncould attain to a perfect pronounciation of it, so replied in French,\nthat he knew the prince could speak French, and he would therefore\nanswer to any interrogatories his highness should be pleased to make\nwithout the help of an interpreter.\nAre you not then a Swede? said the prince. Horatio then told him that he\nwas not, but came from France into the service of the king of Sweden\nmerely thro' his love of arms.\nOn these words Menzikoff dismissed the jew, and looked earnestly on him;\nwan and pale as he was grown thro' his long confinement, and the many\nhardships he had sustained, this prince found something in him that\nattracted his admiration.--Methinks, said he, since glory was your aim,\nyou might as well have hoped to acquire it under the banners of our\ninvincible emperor.\nAlas! my lord, replied Horatio with a sigh, that title, till very\nlately, was given to the king of Sweden, and, I believe, whatever fate\nhas attended that truly great prince, those who had the honour to be\ndistinguished by him, will never be suspected either of cowardice or\nbaseness.--It was by brave and open means our king taught his soldiers\nthe way to victory, not by mean subterfuges and little plots:--I cannot\ntherefore conceive for what reason I am brought hither to be examined on\nany score that has the appearance of a conspiracy.\nYes, replied the prince feircely, you and your fellow-prisoners have\nendeavoured to insinuate yourselves into the favour of persons whom you\nimagined entrusted with the secrets of the government:--being prisoners\nof war, you formed contrivances for your escape, and attempted to\ninveigle others to accompany your flight.\nThat every tittle of this accusation is false, my lord, cried Horatio,\nthere needs no more than the improbability of it to prove.--Indeed the\ncruel usage we sustained, might have justified an attempt to free\nourselves, yet did such a design never enter our heads:--we were so far\nfrom making use of any stratagems for that purpose, that we never made\nthe least overture to any of the guards, who were the only persons we\nwere allowed to converse with.\nHow! said the prince interrupting him, were not your privileges enlarged\nby the interposition of a lady?--Did she not make you considerable\nallowances out of her own purse, and frequently visit you to receive\nyour thanks?--And were you not emboldened by these favours to urge her\nto reveal what secrets were in her knowledge, and even to assist you in\nyour escape?--You doubtless imagined you could prevail on her also to go\nwith you:--part of this, continued he, she has herself confessed:--it\nwill therefore be in vain for you to deny it:--if you ingenuously reveal\nthese particulars she has omitted, you may hope to find favour; but it\nyou obstinately persist, as your companions have done, in attempting to\nimpose upon me, you must expect to share the same fate immediately.\nIn speaking these words he made a sign to the soldier, who throwing open\na large folding door, discovered a rack on which one of the Swedish\nofficers was tied, and the others stood near bound, and in the hands of\nthe executioner.\nThis sight so amazed Horatio, that he had not the power of speaking one\nword;--till Mullern, who happened to be the person that was fastened\nupon the rack, cried out to him,--Be not lost in consideration, Horatio,\nsaid he; are we not in the hands of Muscovites, from whom nothing that\nis human can be expected?--rather prepare yourself to disappoint their\ncruelty, by bravely suffering all they dare inflict.\nHold then, said Horatio, even Muscovites would chuse to have some\npretence for what they do; and sure the first favourite and\ngeneralissimo of a prince, who boasts an inclination to civilize his\nbarbarous subjects, will not, without any cause, torture them whom\nchance alone has put into his power, and who have never done him any\npersonal injury.--By heaven, pursued he, turning to the prince, we all\nare innocent of any part of those crimes laid to our charge:--time,\nperhaps, if our declarations are ineffectual, will convince your\nhighness we are so, and you will then regret the injustice you have\ndone us.\nYou all are in one story, cried the prince, but I am well assured of the\nmain point:--the particulars is all I want to be informed of:--but since\nI am compelled to speak more plain, which of you is it for whose sake\nyou all received such instances of Edella's bounty?--Whoever tells me\nthat, even tho' it be the person himself, shall have both pardon\nand liberty.\nImpossible it is to express the astonishment every one was in at this\ndemand: five of them had not the least notion what it meant; but\nMullern, Horatio, and that friend to whom he had shewn the letter of\nMattakesa, had some conjecture of the truth, and presently imagined that\nlady had been the incendiary to kindle the flame of jealousy in the\nprince's breast. The affair, however, was of so nice a nature, that they\nknew not how to vindicate Edella without making her seem more guilty, so\ncontented themselves with joining with the others, in protesting they\nknew of no one among them who could boast of receiving any greater\nfavours from her than his fellows, but that what she did was instigated\nmerely by compassion, since she had never seen, or knew who any of them\nwere, till after she had moved the governor in their behalf:--they\nacknowledged she had been so good as to come sometimes to the prison, in\norder to see if those she entrusted with her bounty had been faithful in\nthe delivery of it; but that she never made the least difference between\nthem, and never had conversation with any one of them that was not in\nthe presence of them all. Mullern could not forbear adding to this, that\nhe doubted not but the persons who had incensed his highness into\ngroundless surmises, were also the same who had hindered her, by some\nfalse insinuations or other, from continuing the allowance her charity\nallowed them, and for the want of which they had since been near\nperishing.\nPrince Menzikoff listened attentively to what each said, and with no\nless earnestness fixed his eyes on the face of every one as they\nspoke.--Finding they had done, he was about giving some orders on their\naccount, when the keeper of the prison came hastily into the room, and\nhaving entreated pardon for the interruption, presented a letter to the\nprince, directed for brigadier Mullern, and brought, he said, just after\nthe prisoners were carried out.\nMenzikoff commended his zeal in receiving and bringing it to him, as it\nmight possibly serve to give some light to the affair he was examining.\nHaving perused it, he demanded which of them was named Mullern? I am,\nreplied the brave Swede; and neither fear, nor am ashamed of any thing\nunder that name.\nHear then what is wrote to you by a lady, resumed the prince, with a\ncountenance more serene than he had worn since their being brought\nbefore him, and presently read with a very audible voice these words:\n\"That you have been so long without\nseeing me, my dear Mullern, or hearing\nfrom me, is not owing to any decrease in my\naffection, but to the necessity of my affairs:--if\nyou have any regard for me remaining, I\nconjure you, if ever you are asked any questions\nconcerning the frequent visits I have made\nyou, to say I was sent by Edella, and that I was\nno more than her emissary in the assistance you\nreceived from me:--add also, that you have\nreason to believe her charity was excited by\nher liking one of your company:--mention\nwho you think fit; but I believe Horatio, as\nthe youngest and most handsome, will be the\nmost likely to gain credit to what you say.--\nDepend upon it, that if you execute this commission\nartfully, I will recompence it by procuring\nyour liberty:--nor need you have any\nscruples concerning it, for no person will be\nprejudiced by it, and the reputation preserved\nof\n_Yours,_\nMATTAKESA.\"\nI suppose, said the prince, as soon as he had done reading, turning to\nHoratio, you are the person mentioned in the letter? Tho' I neither\ndesire nor deserve the epithets given me there my lord, replied he, yet\nI will not deny but I am called Horatio.\nWell, resumed the prince with a half smile, I am so well pleased with\nthe conviction this letter has given me, that I shall retain no\nresentment against the malicious author of it.\nHe then ordered Mullern to be taken from the rack, which had never been\nstrained; nor had he any intention, as he now assured him, to put him to\nthe torture, but only to intimidate him, being resolved to make use of\nevery method he could think of for the full discovery of every thing\nrelating to the behaviour of his beloved Edella.--The other gentlemen\nhad also their fetters taken off, and the prince asked pardon of them\nseverally for the injury he had done them; then made them sit down and\npartake of a handsome collation at that table, before which they had so\nlately stood as delinquents at a bar.\nThe Russians are excessive in their carouses, and prince Menzikoff being\nnow in an admirable good humour, made them drink very freely:--to be the\nmore obliging to his guests, he began the king of Sweden's health in a\nbumper of brandy, protesting at the same time, that tho' an enemy to his\nmaster, he loved and venerated the hero: Horatio on this ventured to\nenquire in what condition his majesty was; to which the prince replied,\nthat being greatly wounded, he was obliged to leave the field, and, it\nwas believed, had took the load toward the dominions of the grand\nsignior, some of the Russian troops having pursued him as far as the\nBorysthenes where, by the incredible valour of a few that attended him,\nthey had been beat back.\nThe Swedish officers knew it must be bad indeed when their king was\ncompelled to fly; and this renewed in them a melancholy, which it was\nnot in the power of liquor, or the present civilities of the prince to\ndissipate: they also learned that the generals Renchild, Slipenbock,\nHamilton, Hoorn, Leuenhaup, and Stackelburg, with the prince of\nWirtemburg, count Piper, and the flower of the whole army, were\nprisoners at Muscow.\nThe misfortune of these great men would have been very afflicting to\nthose who heard it, could any thing have given addition to what they\nknew before.--Prince Menzikoff was sensible of what they felt, and to\nalleviate their grief, assured them that he would take upon him to give\nthem all their liberty, without even exacting a promise from them never\nmore to draw their swords against the czar, in case the king of Sweden\nshould ever be able to take the field again.\nSo generous a proceeding both merited and received their utmost\nacknowledgments: but he put an end to the serious demonstrations they\nwere about to make him of their gratitude, by saying,--I pay you no more\nthan I owe you:--I have wronged you:--this is but part of the\nretaliation I ought to make:--besides, added he laughing, Mattakesa\npromised Mullern his freedom; and as she has done me the good office,\ntho' undesignedly, of revealing to me her own treachery, I can do no\nless than assist her in fulfilling, her covenant.\nTo prove how much he was in earnest, he called his secretary, and\nordered him to make out their passports with all expedition, that they\nmight be ready to depart next morning; after which he made them repose\nthemselves in his palace the remainder of the night; which being in a\nmanner vastly different from what they had been accustomed to of a long\ntime, indeed ever since their quitting Alranstadt, they did not fail to\ndo, notwithstanding the discontent of their minds.\nPrince Menzikoff, being now convinced of the fidelity of Edella, passed\ninto her apartment, where the reconciliation between them took up so\nmuch time, that it was near noon next day before he appeared: his new\nguests had not quitted their chambers much sooner; but after reproaching\nthemselves for having been so tardy, went altogether to take leave of\nthe prince, and accept the passports he had been so good to order. As\nthey were got ready, he gave them immediately into their hands, and told\nthem, they were at liberty to quit Petersburg that moment, if they\npleased; or if they had any curiosity to take a view of that city, they\nmight gratify it, and begin their journey next morning. As it was now so\nlate in the day, they accepted his highness's offer, and walked out to\nsee a place which had excited so much admiration in the world, since\nfrom a wild waste, in ten years time, a spacious and most beautiful city\nhad arose in the midst of war, and proved the genius of the founder\ngreater in civil than in military arts, tho' it must be owned he was\nindefatigable in the study of both.\nThe officers of the king of Sweden were entertained with the same\nelegance and good humour they had been the night before; and as they\nwere now resolved to quit the city extremely early, the prince took\nleave of them that night, and in doing so put a purse of gold into the\nhands of every one to defray the expenses of their travelling. This\nbehaviour obliged them to own there was a possibility of sowing the\nseeds of humanity in Muscovy, and that the czar had made some progress\nin influencing those about him with the manners he had himself learned\nin the politer courts.\nCHAP. XXII.\n_What befel Louisa in the monastery: the stratagem she put in practice\nto get out of it: her travels thro' Italy, and arrival in Paris_.\nBut while Horatio was thus experiencing the vicissitudes of fortune, his\nbeautiful sister suffered little less from the caprice of that fickle\ngoddess. Placed as she was, one would have thought she had been secure\nfrom all the temptations, hurries, and dangers of the world, and that\nnothing but the death or inconstancy of monsieur du Plessis could have\nagain involved her in them. These, indeed, were the sole evils she\ntrembled at, and which she chiefly prayed might not befal her. Yet as it\noften happens that those disasters which seem most remote are nearest to\nus, so did the disappointments she was ordained to suffer, rise from a\nquarter she had the least reason to apprehend.\nThe abbess and nuns, with whom she was, being all Italians, she set\nherself to attain to the knowledge of their language, in which she soon\nbecame a very great proficient, and capable of entertaining them, and\nbeing entertained by them in the most agreeable manner.--The sweetness\nof her temper, as well as her good sense, rendering her always ambitious\nof acquiring the affection of those she converted with, she had the\nsecret to ingratiate herself not only to the youngest nuns, but also to\nthe elder and most austere, that the one were never pleased but when in\nher company, and the others propose her as an example of piety and\nsweetness to the rest.\nShe had a very pretty genius to poetry, and great skill in music, both\nwhich talents she now exercised in such works as suited the place and\ncompany she was in.--The hymns and anthems she composed were not only\nthe admiration of that convent, but also of several others to whom they\nwere shown, and she was spoke of as a prodigy of wit and devotion.\nIn fine, her behavior rendered her extremely dear to the superior; and\nthat affection joined to a spiritual pride, which those sanctified\ndevotees are seldom wholly free from, made her very desirous of\nretaining her always in the convent:--she was therefore continually\npreaching up to her the uncertainty of those felicities which are to be\nfound in the world, and magnifying that happy serenity which a total\nrenunciation from it afforded;--nay, sometimes went so far, as to\ninsinuate there was scarce a possibility for any one encumbered with the\ncares, and surrounded with the temptations of a public life, to have\nthose dispositions which are requisite to enjoy the blessings of\nfuturity.--Ah my dear daughter, would she say frequently to her, how\nmuch should I rejoice to find in you a desire to forgo all the\ntransitory fleeting pleasures of the world, and devote yourself entirely\nto heaven!--what raptures would not your innocent soul partake, when\nwholly devoid of all thought of sensual objects! you would be, even\nwhile on earth, a companion for angels and blessed spirits, and borne on\nthe wings of heavenly contemplation, have your dwelling above, and be\nworshipped as a saint below.\nAll the old nuns, and some of the young ones, assisted their abbess in\nendeavouring to prevail on Louisa to take the veil; but all that they\nsaid made no impression on her mind, not but she had more real piety\nthan perhaps some of those who made so great a shew of it, but she was\nof a different way of thinking; and tho' she knew the world had its\ntemptation, having experienced them in a very great degree, yet she\nwas-convinced within herself, that a person of virtuous principles might\nbe no less innocent out of a cloyster than in one.--She saw also among\nthis sisterhood a great deal of envy to each other, and perceived early\nthat the flaming zeal professed among them was in some hypocrisy, and\nenthusiasm in others; so that had she had no prepossession in favour of\ndu Plessis, or any engagement with him, the life of a nun was what she\nnever should have made choice of.\nShe kept her sentiments on this occasion entirely to herself however,\nand made no shew of any repugnance to do as they would have her; but\nwhenever they became strenuous in their pressures, told them, she\ndoubted not but such a life as they described must be very angelic, but\nhaving already disposed of her vows, it was not in her power to withdraw\nthem, nor would heaven accept so violated an offering. This, they told\nher, was only a suggestion of some evil spirit, and that all engagements\nto an earthly object, both might and ought to be dispensed with for a\ndivine vocation. The arguments they made use of for this purpose were\nartful enough to have imposed on some minds, but Louisa had too much\npenetration not to see thro' them; and being unwilling to disoblige them\nby shewing that she did so, made use, in her turn, of evasions which the\ncircumstances of the case rendered very excusable. But fully persuaded\nin their minds that it was solely her engagements with du Plessis that\nrendered her so refractory to their desires, they resolved to break it\noff, if possible, and to that end now intercepted his letters; two of\nwhich giving an account that he was very much wounded and unable to\ntravel, they renewed their pressures, in order to prevail on her to take\nthe habit before he should be in a condition to come to Bolognia.\nThese sollicitations, however, had no other effect than to embitter the\nsatisfaction she would otherwise have enjoyed during her stay among\nthem;--the time of which began now to seem tedious, and she impatiently\nlonged for the end of the campaign, which she expected would return her\ndear du Plessis to her, and she should be removed from a place where\ndissimulation, a vice she detested, was in a manner necessary. She had\nreceived several letters from him before the abbess took it in her head\nto stop them, each more endearing than the former; and last had\nflattered her with the hope of seeing him in a very short time.\nDays, weeks, and months passed over, after an assurance so pleasing to\nher wishes, without any confirmation of the repeated vows he had made;\nand receiving from him no account of the reasons that delayed him, she\nbegan to reproach herself for having placed too much confidence in\nhim;--the more time elapsed, the more cause she had to doubt his\nsincerity, and believe her misfortune real:--in fine, it was near half a\nyear that she languished under a vain expectation of seeing, or at least\nhearing from him.--Sometimes she imagined a new object had deprived her\nof his heart; but when she called to mind the many proofs he had given\nher of the most unparallell'd generosity that ever was she could not\nthink that if he even ceased to love her, he could be capable of leaving\nher in so cruel a suspence:--no, said she to herself, he would have let\nme know I had no more to depend on from him:--paper cannot blush, and as\nhe is out of the reach of my upbraidings, he would certainly have\nacquainted me with my fate, confessed the inconstancy of his sex, and\nexerted that wit, of which he has sufficient, to have excused his\nchange:--I will not therefore injure a man whom I have found so truly\nnoble:--death, perhaps, his deprived me of him; the unrelenting sword\nmakes no distinction between the worthy and unworthy;--and the brave,\nthe virtuous du Plessis, may have fallen a victim in common with the\nmost vulgar.\nThese apprehensions had no sooner gained ground in her imagination, than\nshe became the most disconsolate creature in the world. The abbess took\nadvantage of her melancholy, as knowing the occasion of it, and began to\nrepresent, in the strongest terms, the instability of all human\nexpectations:--you may easily see, my dear child, said she, that\nmonsieur either no longer lives, or ceases to live for you:--young men\nare wavering, every new object attracts their wishes;--they are\nimpatient for a time, but soon grow cool;--absence renders them\nforgetful of their vows and promises;--there is no real dependance on\nthem;--fly therefore to that divine love which never can deceive\nyou;--give yourself up to heaven, and you will soon be enabled to\ndespise the fickle hopes of earth.\nInstead of saying any thing to comfort her, in this manner was she\ncontinually persecuted; and tho' it is impossible for any one to have\nless inclination to a monastic life than she had, yet the depression of\nher spirits, the firm belief she now should never see du Plessis more,\nthe misfortune of her circumstances, joined to the artifices they made\nuse of, and the repeated offers of accepting her without the usual sum\npaid on such occasions, might possibly at last have prevailed on\nher.--She was half convinced in her mind that it was the only asylum\nleft to shield her from the wants and insults of the world; and the more\nshe reflected on the changes, the perplexities, and vexation, of\ndifferent kinds, the few years she yet had lived had presented her with,\nthe more reason she found to acquiesce with the persuasions of the\nabbess. But heaven would not suffer the deceit practised on her to be\ncrowned with success, and discovered it to her timely enough to prevent\nher from giving too much way to that despair, which alone could have\nprevailed with her to yield to their importunities.\nThere was among the sisterhood a young lady called donna Leonora, who\nbeing one of many daughters of a family, more eminent for birth than\nriches, was compelled, as too many are, to become a nun, in order to\nprevent her marrying beneath her father's dignity. She had taken a great\nliking to Louisa from the moment she came into the convent, and a\nfarther acquaintance ripened it into a sincere friendship. Tho' secluded\nfrom the world, the austere air of a monastery had no effect upon her,\nshe still retained her former vivacity; and it was only in the\nconversations these two had toge whenever they could separate from the\nothers, that Louisa found any cordial to revive her now almost\nsinking spirits.\nOne day as she was ruminating on her melancholy affairs, this young nun\ncame hastily into her chamber, and with a countenance that, before she\nspoke, denoted she had something very extraordinary to acquaint her\nwith,--dear sister, cried she, I bring you the most surprising news, but\nsuch as will be my ruin if you take the least notice of receiving it\nfrom me; and perhaps your own, if you seem to be acquainted with it\nat all.\nIt is not to be doubted but Louisa gave her all the assurances she could\ndesire of an inviolable secrecy; after which, know then, resumed this\nsweet-condition'd lady, that your lover, monsieur du Plessis, is not\nonly living, but as faithful as your soul can wish, or as you once\nbelieved:--the cruelty of the abbess, and some of the sisterhood in the\nplot with her, have concealed the letters he has sent to you, in order\nto persuade you to become a nun:--I tremble to think of their hypocrisy\nand deceit:--but what, continued she, is not to be expected from bigotry\nand enthusiasm!--To increase the number of devotees they scruple\nnothing, and vainly imagine the means is sanctified by the end.\nLittle is it in the power of words to express the astonishment Louisa\nwas in to hear her speak in this manner; but as she had no room to doubt\nher sincerity, only asked by what means she had attained the knowledge\nof what the persons concerned, no doubt, intended to keep as much a\nsecret as possible; on which the other satisfied her curiosity in\nthese terms:\nTo confess the truth to you, said she, I stole this afternoon into the\nchapel, in order to read a little book brought me the other day by one\nof my friends; as it treated on a subject not allowable in a convent, I\nthought that the most proper place to entertain myself with it; and was\nsitting down in one of the confessionals, when hearing the little door\nopen from the gallery, I saw the abbess and sister Clara, who, you know,\nis her favourite and confidant, come in together, and as soon as they\nwere entered, shut the door after them. I cannot say I had any curiosity\nto hear their discourse; but fearing to be suspected by them in my\namusement, and not knowing what excuse to make for being there, if I\nwere seen, I slid down, and lay close at the bottom of the confessional.\nThey happened to place themselves very near me; and the abbess taking a\nletter out of her pocket, bad Clara read it, and tell her the substance\nof it as well as she could. I found it was in French, by some words\nwhich she was obliged to repeat over and over, before, not perfectly\nunderstanding the language, she could be able to find a proper\ninterpretation of. The abbess, who has a little smattering of it\nherself, sometimes helped her out, and between them both I soon found it\ncame from monsieur du Plessis, and contained the most tender and\ncompassionate complaint of your unkindness in not answering his\nletter;--that the symptoms he had of approaching death were not half so\nsevere to him as your refusing him a consolation he stood for much in\nneed of;--that if you found him unworthy of your love, he was certainly\nso of your compassion; and concluded with the most earnest entreaty, you\nwould suffer him to continue no longer in a suspence more cruel than a\nthousand deaths could be.\nOh heaven! cried Louisa, bursting into tears, how ungrateful must he\nthink me, and how can I return, as it deserves, so unexampled a\nconstancy, after such seeming proofs of my infidelity!--. Cruel, cruel,\ntreacherous abbess! pursued she; Is this the fruits of all your boasted\nsanctity!--This the return to the confidence the generous du Plessis\nreposed in you!--This your love and friendship to me!--Does heaven, to\nincrease the number of its votaries, require you to be false,\nperfidious, and injurious to the world!\nShe was proceeding in giving vent to the anguish of her soul in\nexclamations such as these; but Leonora begged she would moderate her\ngrief, and for her sake, as much as possible, conceal the reasons she\nhad for resentment. Louisa again promised she would do her utmost to\nkeep them from thinking she even suspected they had played her\nfalse;--then cried, But tell me, my dear Leonora, were they not a little\nmoved at the tender melancholy which, I perceive, ran thro' this\nepistle? Alas! my dear, replied the other, they have long since forgot\nthose soft emotions which make us simpathize in the woes of\nlove:--inflexible by the rigid rules of this place, and more by their\nown age, they rather looked with horror than pity on a tender\ninclination:--they had a long conversation together, the result of which\nwas to spare nothing that might either persuade, or if that failed,\ncompel you to take the order.\nIt is not in their power to do the latter, interrupted Louisa; and this\ndiscovery of their baseness, more than ever, confirms me in the\nresolution never to consent.\nYou know not what is in their power, said Leonora; they may make\npretences for confining you here, which, as they are under no\njurisdiction but the church, the church will allow justifiable:--indeed,\nLouisa, continued she, I should be loth to see you have recourse to\nforce to get out of their hands which would only occasion you ill\ntreatment:--to whom, alas, can you complain!--you are a stranger in this\ncountry, without any one friend to espouse your cause:--were even Du\nPlessis here in person, I know not, as they have taken it into their\nheads to keep you here, if all he could urge, either to the pope or\nconfessory, would have any weight to oblige them to relinquish you. A\nconvent is the securest prison in the world; and whenever any one comes\ninto it, who by any particular endowment promises to be an ornament to\nthe order, cannot, without great difficulty, disentangle themselves from\nthe snares laid for them.--It is for this reason I have feared for you\never since your entrance; for tho' I should rejoice in so agreeable a\ncompanion, I know too well the miseries of an enforced attachment to\nwish you to be partaker of it.\nLouisa found too much reason in what she said, to doubt the misery of\nher condition;--she knew the great power of the church in all these\ncountries where the roman-catholic religion is established, more\nespecially in those places under the papal jurisdiction, and saw no way\nto avoid what was now more terrible to her than ever. Those reflections\nthrew her into such agonies, that Leonora had much ado to keep her from\nfalling into fits:--she conjured her again and again, never to betray\nwhat she had entrusted her with; assuring her, that if it were so much\nas guessed at, she should be exposed to the worst treatment, and\npunished as an enemy to the order of which she was a member. Louisa as\noften assured her that nothing should either tempt or provoke her to\nabuse that generous friendship she had testified for her; but as she was\nnot able to command her countenance, tho' she could her words, she\nresolved to pretend herself indisposed and keep her bed, that she might\nbe the less observed, or the change in her should seem rather the\neffects of ill health than any secret discontent.\nIt was no sooner mentioned in the convent that she was out of order,\nthan the abbess herself, as well as the whole sisterhood, came to her\nchamber, and shewed the greatest concern: the tender care they took of\nher would have made her think herself infinitely obliged to them, and\nperhaps gone a great way in engaging her continuance among them, had she\nnot been apprized of their falshood in a point so little to be forgiven.\nSo great an enemy was she to all deceit herself, that it was difficult\nfor her to return the civilities they treated her with, as they might\nseem to deserve; but whatever omissions she was guilty of in this\nparticular, were imputed to her disposition; and the whole convent\ncontinued to be extremely assiduous to recover her.\nDuring the time of her feigned illness, her thoughts were always\nemployed on the means of getting away. Whenever Leonora and she were\ntogether, a hundred contrivances were formed, which seemed equally alike\nimpracticable; but at length they hit upon one which had a promising\naspect and Louisa, after some scruples, resolved to make trial of.\nIt was this:\nAs hypocrisy was made use of to detain her, hypocrisy was the only\nmethod by which she could hope to get her liberty:--pretending,\ntherefore, to be all at once restored to her former health, she sent to\nentreat the abbess, and some other of the most zealous of the sisterhood\nto come into her chamber, where, as soon as they entered, they found her\non her knees before the picture of the virgin, and seeming in an extacy\nof devotion: Yes, holy virgin, cried she, as if too much taken up to see\nwho entered, I will obey your commands;--I will devote myself entirely\nto thee;--I will follow where thou callest me: thou, who hast restored\nme, shalt have the first fruits of my strength:--and oh that Lorretto\nwere at a greater distance,--to the utmost extent of land and sea would\nI go to seek thee!--In uttering these ejaculations she prostrated\nherself on the floor;--then rising again, as transported in a manner out\nof herself,--I come,--I come, cried she;--still do I hear thy\nheavenly voice!\nIn this fit of enthusiasm did she remain for above half an hour, and so\nwell acted her part, that the abbess, who would not offer to interrupt\nher, believed it real, and was in little less agitation of spirit than\nLouisa pretended to be.\nAt length seeming; to come to herself, she turned towards the company,\nas tho' she but just then discovered they were in the room; Oh, madam,\nsaid she to the abbess, how highly favoured have I been this blessed\nnight!--The virgin has herself appeared to me, whether in a vision, or\nto my waking eyes, I cannot well determine; but sure I have been in such\nextacies, have felt such divine raptures, as no words can express!\nOh my dear daughter! cried the abbess, how my soul kindles to behold\nthis change in thee!--but tell me what said the holy virgin!\nShe bad me wait on her at Lorretto, answered she, and gave me hopes of\ndoing something wonderful in my favour:--I will therefore, with your\npermission, undertake a pilgrimage and at her shrine expiate the\noffences of my past life in tears of true contrition, and then return a\npure and fearless partaker of the happiness you enjoy in an\nuninterrupted course of devotion:--oh! exclaimed she, exalting her\nvoice, how do I detest and despise the vanities and follies of the\nworld!--how hate myself for having been too much attached to them, and\nso long been cold and negligent of my only happiness!\nThe abbess, and, after her, all the nuns that were present, embraced\nLouisa,--praised to the skies this miraculous conversion, as they termed\nit, and spared nothing to confirm the pious resolution she had taken.\nIn fine, they consented to her pilgrimage with a satisfaction equal to\nwhat she felt in undertaking it,--they not in the least doubting but she\nwould return to them as soon as she had fulfilled her devotions, and\nflattering themselves that the report of this miracle would do the\ngreatest honour to their convent that it could possibly receive; and\nshe, delighted with the thoughts of being at liberty to enquire after\nher dear du Plessis, and being freed from a dissimulation so irksome to\nher nature.\nHer pilgrim's habit, and a great crucifix to carry between her hands,\nwith another at her girdle, and all the formalities of that garb being\nprepared, she set forward with the prayers and benedictions of the whole\nsisterhood, who told her, that they should be impatient till they saw\nher again, and expected great things from her at her return, which, in\nreality, they all did, except Leonora, who laughed heartily at the\ndeception she had put upon them, and whispered in her ear as she gave\nher the last embrace, that she wished her a happy meeting with that\nsaint she went in search of.\nTo prevent all suspicion of her intention she left her cloaths, and\nevery thing she had brought into the convent, under the care of the\nabbess, saying, that, at her return, she would have them disposed of,\nand the money given to the poor: but, unknown to any one except Leonora,\nshe quilted some pieces of gold and valuable trinkets into her\nundergarment, as not doubting but she should have occasion for much more\nthan, in effect, she was mistress of.\nWhen on her journey, the pleasure she felt at seeing herself out of the\nwalls of the monastery, was very much abated by the uncertainty how she\nshould proceed, or where direct her way: and indeed, let any one figure\nto themselves the condition she was in, and they will rather wonder she\nhad courage to go on, than that she was sometimes daunted even to\ndespair.--A young creature of little more than eighteen years\nold,--wholly unacquainted with fatigue,--delicate in her\nframe,--wandering alone on foot in the midst of a strange\ncountry,--ignorant of the road, or had she been acquainted with it, at a\nloss where to go to get any intelligence of what she sought, and even\ndoubtful if the person she ran such risques to hear of, yet were in the\nworld or not. The letter Leonora had informed her of, gave no account,\nat least that she could learn, either where he was, or whether there\nwere any hopes of his recovery from that illness it mentioned; she had\ntherefore every thing to dread, and little, very little to hope: yet did\nshe not repent her having quitted the convent; and the desire of getting\nstill farther from it, made her prosecute her journey with greater\nstrength and vigour than could have been expected: her pilgrim's habit\nwas not only a defence against any insults from persons she met on the\nroad, but also attracted the respect, and engaged the civilities of\nevery one.--As that country abounds with religious houses, she was not\nonly lodged and fed without any expence, but received a piece of money\nat each of them she went to, so that her little stock, instead of being\ndiminished, was considerably increased when she came to Lorretto, for\nthither, not to be false in every thing, she went; and being truly sorry\nfor the hypocrisy which a sad necessity alone could have made her guilty\nof, paid her devotion with a sincere heart, tho' free from that\nenthusiasm and bigotry which is too much practised in convents.\nFrom Lorretto she crossed the country to Florence, every one being ready\nto direct a holy pilgrim on her way, and assist her with all things\nnecessary. As she went very easy journeys, never exceeding four or five\nmiles a day, she easily supported the fatigue; and had she been certain\nat last of seeing du Plessis, it would have been rather a pleasure to\nher; but her mind suffered much more than her body during this\npilgrimage, which she continued in the same manner she had begun till\nshe reached Leghorn, where a ship lying at anchor, and expecting to sail\nin a few days for Marseilles, she agreed to give a small matter for her\npassage, the sea-faring-men not paying altogether so much regard to her\nhabit, as the land ones had done.\nNo ill accident intervening, the vessel came safely into her desired\nport, and Louisa now found herself in the native country of the only\nperson who engrossed her thoughts: as she had heard him say he was of\nParis, she supposed that the most likely place to hear news of him, but\nwas in some debate within herself whether she should continue to wear\nher pilgrim's habit, or provide herself with other cloaths at\nMarseilles. She was weary of this mendicant way of travelling, and could\nhave been glad to have exchanged it for one more agreeable to the manner\nin which she had been accustomed; but then, when she considered how\ngreat a protection the appearance she made, had been from all those\ninsults, to which a person of her sex and age must otherwise infallibly\nhave been exposed in travelling alone, she resolved not to throw it off\ntill she came to the place where she intended to take up her abode, at\nleast for some time. Young as she was, she had well weighed what course\nto take in case du Plessis should either be dead, or, by some accident,\nremoved where she could hear nothing more of him; and all countries and\nparts being now equal to her, as she must then be reduced once more to\nget her bread by her labour, she doubted not but to find encouragement\nfor her industry as well in Paris as elsewhere.\nWith this resolution, therefore, after laying one night at Marseilles,\nshe proceeded on her way in the same fashion as she had done ever since\nshe left Bolognia, and in about six weeks got safely to that great and\nopulent city, where she took up her lodging at a hotel, extremely\nfatigued, as it is easy to believe, having never even for one day ceased\nwalking, but while she was on board the ship which brought her to\nMarseilles, for the space of eight months; a thing almost incredible,\nand what perhaps no woman, but herself, would have had courage to\nundertake, or resolution to perform, but was, in her circumstances,\ninfinitely the most safe and expedient that prudence could suggest.\nCHAP. XXIII.\n_Shews by what means Louisa came to the knowledge of her parents, with\nother occurrences_.\nThe first thing she did on her arrival, was to send for proper persons\nto equip her in a manner that she might once more appear herself,\nresolving that till she could do so, not to be seen in the streets.\nWhile these things were preparing, she sent a person, whom the people of\nthe house recommended to her, to the palace of the prince of Conti, not\ndoubting but that some of the gentlemen belonging to his highness might\ngive some intelligence where monsieur du Plessis was to be found; but\nthe messenger returned without any other information, than that they\nknew him very well, but could give no directions in what part he was at\npresent, he not having been seen in Paris for a long time.\nIt is hard to say whether she most rejoiced or grieved at this account:\nshe imagined that had he been dead they would not have been ignorant of\nit, therefore concluded him living to her infinite satisfaction; but\nthen his absenting himself from the capital of the kingdom, and from the\npresence of a prince who had so much loved him, filled her with an\nadequate disquiet, as believing some very ill accident must have been\nthe occasion:--she dispatched the same person afterwards to all the\npublic places that she heard gentlemen frequented, but met not with the\nleast success in her enquiries. It would prolong this narrative to a\ntedious length, should I attempt any description of what she felt in\nthis situation, or the reflections she made on the odd circumstances of\nher life:--the greatness of her spirit, and the most perfect resignation\nto the divine will, however, made her support even this last and\nseverest trial with fortitude and patience; and as soon as she had put\nherself into a convenient neat garb, but plain, befitting her condition,\nshe went out with a design to take a private lodging, where she might\nlive more cheaply than she could at the hotel, till providence should\nthrow some person in the way that might recommend her either to work, or\nto teach young ladies music.\nShe was wandering thro' several of the streets of Paris, without being\nable, as yet, to find such a chamber as she wanted, when a great shower\nof rain happening to fall, she stood up under the porch of a large house\nfor shelter till it should be over, which it was not for a considerable\ntime; and the street being very dirty, she returned to the hotel,\nintending to renew her search the next day: she had not been come in\nabove half an hour, before the man of the house told her that a servant,\nin a very rich livery, who, he perceived, had followed her, and had\nasked many questions concerning her, was now returned, and desired to\nspeak with her.\nAs du Plessis was ever in her thoughts, a sudden rush of joy overflowed\nher heart, which seemed to her the presage of seeing him, tho' how he\nshould imagine she was in Paris was a mystery:--but she gave herself not\nmuch time for reflection, before she ordered the man to be admitted.\nThe manner of his approaching her was very respectful; but the message\nhe had to deliver seemed of a contrary nature.--After having asked if\nher name was Louisa, and she answering that it was, I come, madam, said\nhe, from a gentleman who saw you stand just now at the gate of a house\nin the Fauxbourg St. Germains, he commands me to tell you, that he has\nsomething of moment to acquaint you with, and desires you will permit me\nto call a chair, and attend you to his house, where he is impatient to\nreceive you.\nWhat, indeed, could Louisa think of a person who should send for her in\nthis manner?--all the late transport she was in, was immediately\nconverted into disdain and vexation at being taken, as she had all the\nreason in the world to suppose, for one of those common creatures who\nprostitute their charms for bread.--\nTell your master, said she, that by whatever accident he has learned my\nname, he is wholly ignorant of the character of the person he has sent\nyou to:--that I am an entire stranger at Paris, and he must have\nmistaken me for some other, who, perhaps, I may have the misfortune to\nresemble, and may be also called as I am;--at least I am willing to\nthink so, as the only excuse can be made for his offering this\ninsult:--but go, continued she, with that pride which is natural to\naffronted virtue;--go, and convince him of his error;--and let me hear\nno more of it.\nIt was in vain he assured her that his master was a person of the\nhighest honour, and that he was not unknown to her. All he could say had\nnot the least effect unless to enflame her more; when, after asking his\nname, the fellow told her he was forbid to reveal it, but that he was\nconfident she would not deny having been acquainted with him when once\nshe saw him.\nI shall neither own the one, cried she, nor consent to the other; then\nbid him a second time be gone, with an air which shewed she was not to\nbe prevailed upon to listen to his arguments.\nThis man had no sooner left her than she fell into a deep study, from\nwhich a sudden thought made her immediately start:--the count de\nBellfleur came into her head; and she was certain it could be no other\nthan that cruel persecutor of her virtue, that her ill fate had once\nmore thrown in her way.--As she knew very well, by what he had done,\nthat he was of a disposition to scruple nothing for the attainment of\nhis wishes, she trembled for the consequences of his discovering where\nshe was.--The only way she could think on to avoid the dangers she might\nbe exposed to on his account, was to draw up a petition to the prince of\nConti, acquainting him that she was the person who was near suffering so\nmuch from the ill designs he had on her at Padua, when so generously\nreferred by monsieur du Plessis, and to entreat his highness's\nprotection against any attempts he might be safe enough to make.\nShe was just sitting down, in order to form a remonstrance of this kind,\nwhen a chariot and six stopping at the door, she was informed the\ngentleman who had sent to her was come in person, and that they knew it\nwas the same by the livery.--Louisa run hastily to the window and saw a\nperson alight, whom, by the bulk and stature, she knew could not be the\ncount she so much dreaded, this having much the advantage of the other\nin both. Somewhat reassured by this sight, she ordered the master of the\nhotel to desire him to walk into a parlour, and let him know she would\nattend him there.\nAs she saw not the face of this visitor, she could not be certain\nwhether it were not some of those she had been acquainted with at\nVenice, who having, by accident, seen her at Paris, might, according to\nthe freedom of the French nation, take the liberty of visiting her;--but\nwhoever it were, or on what score soever brought, she thought it best to\nreceive him in a place where, in case of any ill usage, she might\nreadily have assistance.\nThe master of the hotel perceiving her scruples, readily did as he was\nordered, and Louisa having desired that he, or some of his people, would\nbe within call, went down to receive this unknown gent, tho' not without\nemotions, which at that moment she knew not how to account for.\nBut soon after she was seized with infinitely greater, when, entering\nthe parlour, she found it was no other than Dorilaus who had given her\nthis anxiety.--Surprize at the sight of a person whom, of all the world,\nshe could least have expected in that place, made her at first start\nback; and conscious shame for having, as she thought, so ill rewarded\nhis goodness, mixed with a certain awe which she had for no other person\nbut himself, occasioned such a trembling, as rendered her unable either\nto retire or move forward to salute him, as she otherwise would\nhave done.\nHe saw the confusion she was in, and willing to give it an immediate\nrelief, ran to her, and taking her in his arms,--my dear, dear child,\nsaid he, am I so happy to see thee once more!--Oh! sir, returned she\ndisengaging herself from his embrace, and falling at his feet!--How can\nI look upon you after having flown from your protection, and given you\nsuch cause to think me the most ungrateful creature in the world!\nIt was heaven, answered he, that inspired you with that abhorrence of my\noffers, which, had you accepted, we must both have been eternally\nundone!--You are my daughter, Louisa! pursued he, my own natural\ndaughter!--Rise then, and take a father's blessing.\nAll that can be said of astonishment would be far short of what she felt\nat these words:--the happiness seemed so great she could not think it\nreal, tho' uttered from mouth she knew unaccustomed to deceit:--a\nhundred times, without giving him leave to satisfy her doubts, did she\ncry out, My father!--my father!--my real father!--How can it be!--Is\nthere a possibility that Louisa owes her being to Dorilaus!\nYes, my Louisa, answered he, and flatter myself, by what I have observed\nof your disposition, you have done nothing, since our parting, that\nmight prevent my glorying in being the parent of such a child.\nThe hurry of spirit she was in, prevented her from taking notice of\nthese last words, or at least from making any answer to them, and she\nstill continued crying out,--Dorilaus, my father!--Good heaven! may I\nbelieve I am so blessed?--Who then is my mother!--Wherefore have I been\nso long ignorant of what I was!--And how is the joyful secret at\nlast revealed!\nAll these things you shall be fully informed of, answered he; in the\nmean time be satisfied I do not deceive you, and am indeed your father:\ntransported to find my long lost child, whom I myself knew not was so\ntill I believed her gone for ever;--a thousand times I have wished both\nyou and Horatio were my children, but little suspected you were so, till\nafter his too eager ambition deprived me of him, and my mistaken love\ndrove you to seek a refuge among strangers.\nTears of joy and tenderness now bedewed the faces of both father and\ndaughter:--silence for some moments succeeded the late acclamations; but\nDorilaus at length finding her fully convinced she was as happy as he\nsaid she was, and entirely freed from all those apprehensions which had\noccasioned her flying from him, told her he was settled in Paris; that\nhe lived just opposite to the house where she had stood up on account of\nthe shower, and happening to be at one of his windows immediately knew\nher; that he sent a servant after her, who had enquired how long she had\nbeen arrived, and in what manner she came; that he had sent for her with\nno other intent then to make trial how she would resent it, and was\ntransported to find her answer such as he hoped and had expected from\nher:--he added, that he had all the anxiety of a father to hear by what\nmeans she had been supported, and the motive which induced her to travel\nin the habit of a pilgrim, as the matter of the hotel had informed his\nservant; but that he would defer his satisfaction till she should be in\na place more becoming his daughter.\nOn concluding these words he called for the master of the hotel, and\nhaving defrayed what little expences she had been at since her coming\nthere, took her by the hand and led her to his chariot, which soon\nbrought them to a magnificent, house, and furnished in a manner\nanswerable to the birth and fortune of the owner.\nLouisa had all this time seemed like one in a dream:--she had ever loved\nDorilaus with a filial affection; and to find herself really his\ndaughter, to be snatched at once from all those cares which attend\npenury, when accompanied with virtue, and an abhorrence of entering into\nmeasures inconsistent with the strictest honour, to be relieved from\nevery want, and in a station which commanded respect and homage, was\nsuch a surcharge of felicity, that she was less able to support than all\nthe fatigues she had gone thro'--Surprize and joy made her appear more\ndull and stupid than she had ever been in her whole life before; and\nDorilaus was obliged to repeat all he had said over and over again, to\nbring her into her usual composedness, and enable her to give him the\nsatisfaction he required.\nBut as soon as she had, by degrees, recollected herself, she modestly\nrelated all that had happened to her from the time she left him;--the\nmethods by which she endeavoured to earn her bread,--the insults she was\nexposed to at mrs. C--l--ge's;--the way she came acquainted with\nMelanthe;--the kindness shown her by that lady;--their travels\ntogether;--the base stratagem made use of by count de Bellfleur to ruin\nher with that lady--the honourable position monsieur du Plessis had\nprofessed for her;--the seasonable assistance he had given her, in that\niminent danger she was in from the count's unlawful designs upon\nher;--his placing her afterwards in the monastry,--the treachery of the\nabbess;--the artifice she had been obliged to make use of to get out of\nthe nunnery;--her pilgrimage;--in fine, concealed no part of her\nadventures, only that which related to the passion she had for du\nPlessis, which she endeavoured, as much as she could, to disguise, under\nthe names of gratitude for the obligations he had conferred upon her,\nand admiration of his virtue, so different from what she had found in\nothers who had addressed her.\nDorilaus, however, easily perceived the tenderness with which she was\nagitated on the account of that young gentleman, but he would not excite\nher blushes by taking any notice of it, especially as he found nothing\nto condemn in it, and had observed, throughout the course of her whole\nnarrative, she had behaved on other occasions with a discretion far\nabove her years, he was far from wronging her, by suspecting she had\nswerved from it in this.\nBut when he heard the vast journey she had come on foot, he was in the\nutmost amazement at her fortitude, and told her he was resolved to keep\nher pilgrim's habit as a relique, to preserve to after-ages the memory\nof an adventure, which had really something more marvellous in it than\nmany set down as miracles.\nAnd now having fully gratified his own curiosity in all he wanted to be\ninformed of, he thought proper to case the impatience she was in to know\nthe history of her birth, and on what occasion it had been so long\nconcealed, which he did in these or the like words:\nCHAP. XXIV.\n_The history of Dorilaus and Matilda, with other circumstances very\nimportant to Louisa_.\nYou know, said he, that I am descended of one of the most illustrious\nfamilies in England, tho', by some imprudencies on the one side, and\ninjustice on the other, my claim was set aside, and I deprived of that\ntitle which my ancestors for a long succession of years had enjoyed, so\nthat the estate I am in possession of, was derived to me in right of my\nmother, who was an heiress. It is indeed sufficient to have given me a\npretence to any lady I should have made choice on, and to provide for\nwhat children I might have had by her: but the pride of blood being not\nabated in me by being cut off from my birthright, inspired me with an\nunconquerable aversion to marriage, since I could not bequeath to my\nposterity that dignity I ought to have enjoyed myself:--I resolved\ntherefore to live single, and that the misfortune of my family should\ndye with myself.\nIn my younger years I went to travel, as well for improvement, as to\nalleviate that discontent which was occasioned by the sight of another\nin possession of what I thought was my due.--Having made the tour of\nEurope, I took France again in my way home:--the gallantry and good\nbreeding of these people very much attached me to them; but what chiefly\nengaged my continuance here much longer than I had done in any other\npart, was an acquaintance I had made with a lady called Matilda: she was\nof a very good family in England, was sent to a monastry merely for the\nsake of well-grounding her in a religion, the free exercise of which is\nnot allowed at home, and to seclude her from settling her affections on\nany other than the person she was destined to by the will of her\nparents, and to whom she had been contracted in her infancy:--she was\nextremely young, and beautiful as an angel; and the knowledge she was\npre-engaged, could not hinder me from loving her, any more than the\ndeclarations I made in her hearing against marriage, could the grateful\nreturns she was pleased to make me:--in fine, the mutual inclination we\nhad for each other, as it rendered us deaf to all suggestions but that\nof gratifying it, so it also inspired us with ingenuity to surmount all\nthe difficulties that were between our wishes and the end of them.--Tho'\na pensioner in a monastry, and very closely observed, by the help of a\nconfidant she frequently got out, and many nights we passed\ntogether;--till some business relating to my estate at length calling me\naway, we were obliged to part, which we could not do without testifying\na great deal of concern on both sides:--mine was truly sincere at that\ntime, and I have reason to believe her's was no less so; but absence\neasily wears out the impressions of youth: as I never expected to see\nher any more, I endeavoured not to preserve a remembrance which would\nonly have given me disquiet, and, to confess the truth, soon forgot both\nthe pleasure and the pain I had experienced in this, as well as some\nother little sallies of my unthinking youth.\nMany years passed over without my ever hearing any thing of her; and it\nwas some months after I received your letter from Aix-la-Chappelle, that\nthe post brought me one from Ireland: having no correspondence in that\ncountry, I was a little surprized, but much more when I opened it and\nfound it contained these words:\n_To_ DORILAUS.\nSIR,\n\"This comes to make a request, which I\nknow not if the acquaintance we had\ntogether in the early part of both our lives,\nwould be sufficient to apologize for the trouble\nyou must take in complying with it:--permit\nme therefore to acquaint you, that I have long\nlaboured under an indisposition which my physicians\nassure me is incurable, and under which\nI must inevitably sink in a short time; but\nwhatever they say, I know it is impossible\nfor me to leave the world without imparting\nto you a secret wholly improper to be entrusted\nin a letter, but is of the utmost importance\nto those concerned in it, of whom yourself\nis the principal:--be assured it regards\nyour honour, your conscience, your justice, as\nwell as the eternal peace of her who conjures\nyou, with the utmost earnestness, to come immediately\non the receipt of this to the castle of\nM----e, in the north of Ireland, where, if\nyou arrive time enough, you will be surprized,\ntho' I flatter myself not disagreeably so, with\nthe unravelling a most mysterious Event.\n_Yours, once known by the name of_ MATILDA,\n_now_\nI will not repeat to you, my dear Louisa, continued Dorilaus, the\nstrange perplexity of ideas that run thro' my mind after having read\nthis letter:--I was very far from guessing at the real motive of this\ninvitation; which, however, as I once had a regard for that lady, I soon\ndetermined to obey; and having left the care of my house to a relation\nof mine by the mother's side, I went directly for Ireland; but when I\ncame there, was a little embarrassed in my mind what excuse I should\nmake to her husband for my visit.--Before I ventured to the castle, I\nmade a thorough enquiry after the character of this young lady, and in\nwhat manner she lived with her lord. Never did I hear a person more\nuniversally spoke well of:--the poor adored her charity, affability, and\ncondescending sweetness of disposition:--the rich admired her wit, her\nvirtue, and good breeding:--her beauty, tho' allowed inferior to few of\nher sex, was the least qualification that seemed deserving praise:--to\nadd to all this, they told me she was a pattern of conjugal affection,\nand the best of mothers to a numerous race of Children;--that her lord\nhad all the value he ought to have for so amiable a wife, and that no\nwedded pair ever lived together in greater harmony; and it was with the\nutmost concern, whoever I spoke to on this affair concluded what they\nrelated of her with saying, that so excellent an example of all that was\nvaluable in womankind would shortly be taken from them;--that she had\nlong, with an unexampled patience, lingered under a severe illness which\nevery day threatened dissolution.\nThese accounts made me hesitate no farther:--I went boldly to the\ncastle, asked to speak with the lord M----e, who received me with a\npoliteness befitting his quality: I told him that my curiosity of seeing\nforeign countries had brought me to Ireland, and being in my tour thro'\nthose parts, I took the liberty of calling at his seat, having formerly\nhad the honour of being known to his lady when at her father's house,\nand whom I now heard, to my great concern, was indisposed, otherwise\nhave been glad to pay my respects to her. The nobleman answered, with\ntears in his eyes, that she was indeed in a condition such as give no\nhope of her recovery, but that she sometimes saw company, tho' obliged\nto receive them in bed, having lost the use of her limbs, and would\nperhaps be glad of the visit of a person she had known so long.\nOn this I told him my name, which he immediately sent in; and her woman\nnot long after came from her to let me know she would admit me. My lord\nwent in with me; and to countenance what I said, I accosted her with the\nfreedom of a person who had been acquainted when children, spoke of her\nfather as of a gentleman who had favoured me with his good-will, tho',\nin reality, I had never seen him in my life, but remembered well enough\nwhat she had mentioned to me concerning him, and some others of her\nfamily, to talk as if I had been intimate among them. I could perceive\nshe was very well pleased with the method I had taken of introducing\nmyself; and, to prevent any suspicion that I had any other business with\nher than to pay my compliments, made my visit very short that day, not\ndoubting but she would of herself contrive some means of entertaining me\nwithout witnesses, as she easily found her lord had desired I would make\nthe castle my home while I stayed in that part of the country.\nI was not deceived; the next morning having been told her lord was\nengaged with his steward, she sent for me, and making some pretence for\ngetting rid of her woman, she plucked a paper from under her pillow, and\nputting it into my hand,--in that, said, you will find the secret I\nmentioned in my letter;--suspect not the veracity of it, I conjure you,\nnor love the unfortunate Horatio and Louisa less for their being mine.\nI cannot express the confusion I was in, continued Dorilaus, at her\nmentioning you and your brother, but I had no opportunity of asking any\nquestions:--her woman that instant returned, after which I stayed but a\nshort time, being impatient to examine the contents, which, as near as I\ncan remember, were to this purpose:\n\"You were scarce out of France before I\ndiscovered our amour had produced such\nconsequences as, had my too fond passion given\nme leave to think of, I never should have hazarded:--I\nwill not repeat the distraction I\nwas in;--you may easily judge of it:--I\ncommunicated the misfortune to my nurse,\nwho you know I told you went from England\nwith me, and has often brought you messages\nfrom the convent:--the faithful creature did\nher utmost to console me for an evil which was\nwithout a remedy:--to complete my confusion,\nmy father commanded me home; my lord\nM----e was returned from his travels:--we\nwere both of an age to marry; and it\nwas resolved, by our parents, no longer to\ndefer the completion of an affair long before\nagreed upon.--I was ready to lay violent hands\non myself, since there seemed no way to conceal\nmy shame; but my good nurse having set\nall her wits to work for me, found out an expedient\nwhich served me, when I could think\nof nothing for myself.--She bid me be of\ncomfort; that she thought being sent for home\nwas the luckiest thing that could have happened,\nsince nothing could be so bad as to have my\npregnancy discovered in the convent, as it\ninfallibly must have been had I stayed a very little\ntime longer: she also assured me she would\ncontrive it so, as to keep the thing a secret\nfrom all the world.--I found afterwards she\ndid not deceive me by vain promises.--We\nleft Paris, according to my father's order, and\ncame by easy journeys, befitting my condition,\nto Calais, and embarked on board the packet for\nDover; but then, instead of taking coach for London,\nhired a chariot, and went cross the country\nto a little village, where a kinswoman of my\nnurse's lived.--With these people I remained\ntill Horatio and Louisa came into the world:--I\ncould have had them nursed at that place, but\nI feared some discovery thro' the miscarriage of\nletters, which often happens, and which could\nnot have been avoided being sent on such occasions;--so\nwe contrived together that my\ngood confident and adviser should carry them\nto your house, and commit the care of them\nto you, who, equal with myself, had a right to\nit:--she found means, by bribing a man that\nworked under your gardener, to convey them\nwhere I afterwards heard you found and received\nthem as I could wish, and becoming the\ngenerosity of your nature.--I then took coach\nfor London, pretending, at my arrival, that I\nhad been delayed by sickness, and to excuse my\nnurse's absence, said she had caught the fever\nof me;--so no farther enquiry was made, and\nI soon after was married to a man whose worth\nis well deserving of a better wife, tho' I have\nendeavoured to attone for my unknown transgression\nby every act of duty in my power:--nurse\nstayed long enough in your part of the\nworld to be able to bring me an account how\nthe children were disposed of.--That I never\ngave you an account they were your own, was\noccasioned by two reasons, first, the danger of\nentrusting such a thing by the post, my nurse\nsoon after dying; and secondly, because, as I\nwas a wife, I thought it unbecoming of me to\nremind you of a passage I was willing to forget\nmyself.--A long sickness has put other thoughts\ninto my head, and inspired me with a tenderness\nfor those unhappy babes, which the shame\nof being their mother hitherto deprived them\nof.--I hear, with pleasure, that you are not\nmarried, and are therefore at full liberty to\nmake some provision for them, if they are yet\nliving, that may alleviate the misfortune of\ntheir birth. Farewell; if I obtain this first and\nlast request, I shall dye well satisfied.\"\n\"_P.S._ Burn this paper, I conjure you, the moment\nyou have read it; but lay the contents\nof it up in your heart never to be forgotten.\"\nI now no longer wondered, pursued Dorilaus, at that impulse I had to\nlove you;--I found it the simpathy of nature, and adored the divine\npower.--After having well fixed in my mind all the particulars of this\namazing secret, I performed her injunction, and committed it to the\nflames: I had opportunity enough to inform her in what manner Horatio\nhad disposed of himself, and let her know you were gone with a lady on\nher travels: I concealed indeed the motive, fearing to give her any\noccasion of reproaching herself for having so long concealed what my\nignorance of might have involved us all in guilt and ruin.\nI stayed some few days at the castle, and then took my leave: she said\nmany tender things at parting concerning you, and seemed well satisfied\nwith the assurances I gave her of making the same provision for you, as\nI must have done had the ceremony of the church obliged me to it. This\nseemed indeed the only thing for which she lived, and, I was informed,\ndied in a few days after.\nAt my return to England I renewed my endeavours to discover where you\nwere, but could hear nothing since you wrote from Aix-la-Chappelle, and\nwas equally troubled that I had received no letters from your\nbrother.--I doubted not but he had fallen in the battle, and mourned him\nas lost;--till an old servant perceiving the melancholy I was in,\nacquainted me that several letters had been left at my house by the post\nduring my absence, but that the kinsman I had left to take care of my\naffairs had secreted them, jealous, no doubt, of the fondness I have\nexpressed for him.--This so enraged me, when on examination I had too\nmuch reason to be assured of this treachery, that I turned my whole\nestate into ready money, and resolved to quit England for ever, and pass\nmy life here, this being a country I always loved, and had many reasons\nto dislike my own.\nHere I soon heard news of my Horatio, and such as filled me with a\npleasure, which wanted nothing of being complete but the presence of my\ndear Louisa to partake of it.\nDorilaus then went on, and acquainted her with the particulars of\nHoratio's story, as he had learned it from the baron de Palfoy, with\nwhom he now was very intimate; but as the reader is sufficiently\ninformed of those transactions, it would be needless to repeat them; so\nI shall only say that Dorilaus arrived in France in a short time after\nHoratio had left it to enter into the service of the king of Sweden, and\nhad wrote that letter, inserted in the eighteenth chapter, in order to\nengage that young warrior to return, some little time before his meeting\nwith Louisa.\nNothing now was wanting to the contentment of this tender father but the\npresence of Horatio, which he was every day expecting, when, instead of\nhimself, those letters from him arrived which contained his resolution\nof remaining with Charles XII. till the conquests he was in pursuit of\nshould be accomplished.\nThis was some matter of affliction to Dorilaus, tho' in his heart he\ncould not but approve those principles of honour which detained\nhim.--Neither the baron de Palfoy, nor Charlotta herself, could say he\ncould well have acted otherwise, and used their utmost endeavours to\ncomfort a father in his anxieties for the safety of so valuable a son.\nLouisa was also very much troubled at being disappointed in her hope of\nembracing a brother, whom she had ever dearly loved, and was now more\nprecious to her than ever, by the proofs she had heard he had given of\nhis courage and his virtue; but she had another secret and more poignant\ngrief that preyed upon her soul, and could scarce receive any addition\nfrom ought beside:--she had been now near two months in Paris, yet could\nhear nothing of monsieur du Plessis, but that, by the death of his\nfather, a large estate had devolved upon him, which he had never come to\nclaim, or had been at Paris for about eighteen months, so that she had\nall the reason in the world to believe he was no more. This threw her\ninto a melancholy, which was so much the more severe as she endeavoured\nto conceal it:--she made use of all her efforts to support the loss of a\nperson she so much loved, and who proved himself so deserving of that\nlove:--she represented to herself that being relieved from all the\nsnares and miseries of an indigent life, raised from an obscurity which\nhad given her many bitter pangs, to a station equal to her wishes, and\nunder the care of the most indulgent and best of fathers, she ought not\nto repine, but bless the bounty of heaven, who had bestowed on her so\nmany blessings, and with-held only one she could have asked.--These, I\nsay, were the dictates of reason and religion; but the tender passion\nwas not always to be silenced by them, and whenever she was alone, the\ntears, in spight of herself, would flow, and she, without even knowing\nshe did so, cry out, Oh du Plessis, wherefore do I live since thou\nart dead!\nAmong the many acquaintance she soon contracted at Paris, there was none\nshe so much esteemed, both on the account of her own merit, and the\nregard she had for Horatio, as mademoiselle de Palfoy. In this young\nlady's society did she find more charms for her grief than in that of\nany other; and the other truly loving her, not only because she found\nnothing more worthy of being loved, but because she was the sister of\nHoratio, they were very seldom asunder.\nLouisa was one day at the baron's, enjoying that satisfaction which the\nconversation of his beautiful daughter never failed to afford, when word\nwas brought that madam, the countess d'Espargnes, was come to visit\nher.--Mademoiselle Charlotta ran to receive her with a great deal of\njoy, she being a lady she very much regarded, and who she had not seen\nof a long time.\nShe immediately returned, leading a lady in deep mourning, who seemed\nnot to be above five-and-twenty, was extremely handsome, and had beside\nsomething in her air that attached Louisa at first sight. Mademoiselle\nCharlotta presented her to the countess, saying at the same time, see,\nmadam, the only rival you have in my esteem.\nYou do well to give me one, replied the countess, who looks as if she\nwould make me love her as well as you, and so I should be even with you.\nWith these words she opened her arms to embrace Louisa, who returned the\ncompliment with equal politeness.\nWhen they were seated, mademoiselle Charlotta began to express the\npleasure she had in seeing her in Paris; on which the countess told her,\nthat the affair she came upon was so disagreeable, that nothing but the\nhappiness of enjoying her company, while she stayed, could attone for\nit. You know, my dear, continued madam d'Espargnes, I was always an\nenemy to any thing that had the face of business, yet am I now, against\nmy will, involved in it by as odd an adventure as perhaps you\never heard.\nCharlotta testifying some desire to be informed of what nature, the\nother immediately satisfied her curiosity in this manner:\nYou know, said she, that on the late death of my father, his estate\ndevolved on my brother, an officer in those troops in Italy commanded by\nthe prince of Conti:--some wounds, which were looked upon as extremely\ndangerous, obliged him, when the campaign was over, to continue in his\nwinter quarters;--on which he sent to monsieur the count to take\npossession in his name; this was done; but an intricate affair relating\nto certain sums lodged in a person's hand, and to be brought before the\nparliament of Paris, could not be decided without the presence either of\nhim or myself who had been witness of the transaction.--I was extremely\nloth to take so long a journey, being then in very ill health; and\nhearing he was recovered, delayed it, as we then expected him in\nperson:--I sent a special messenger, however, in order to hasten his\nreturn;--but instead of complying with my desires, I received a letter\nfrom him, acquainting me that a business of more moment to him than any\nthing in my power to guess at, required his presence in another place,\nand insisted, by all the tenderness which had ever been between us, that\nI would take on myself the management of this affair:--to enable me the\nbetter to do it, he sent me a deed of trust to act as I should find it\nmost expedient.\nAs he did not let me into the secret of what motives detained him at so\ncritical a juncture, I was at first very much surprized; but on asking\nsome questions of the messenger I had sent to him, I soon discovered\nwhat it was. He told me that on his arrival, he found my brother had\nleft his quarters and was gone to Bolognia, on which he followed and\novertook him there;--that he appeared in the utmost discontent, and was\njust preparing to proceed to Leghorn, but did not mention to him any\nmore than he did in his letter to me, what inducement he had to this\njourney:--his servant, however, told him privately, that the mystery was\nthis:--That being passionately in love with a young English lady, whom\nhe had placed in a monastery at Bolognia, and expected to find there at\nhis return, she had in his absence departed, without having acquainted\nhim with her design; and that supposing she was gone for England, and\nunable to live without her, his intention was to take shipping for that\ncountry, and make use of his utmost efforts to find her out.\nI must confess, pursued the beautiful countess, this piece of quixotism\nvery much veved me:--I thought his friends in France deserved more from\nhim than to be neglected for one who fled from him, and who, as the man\nsaid, he knew not whether he should be able ever to see again. I\nresolved, however, to comply with his desires, and came immediately to\nParis; but heaven has shewed him how little it approves his giving me\nthis unnecessary trouble, for this morning I received a letter from him,\nthat meeting with robbers in his way, they had taken from him all his\nmoney and bills of exchange, besides wounding him in several places, so\nthat he cannot proceed on his journey till his hurts, which it seems are\nnot dangerous, are cured, and he has fresh remittances from hence.\nWith what emotions the heart of Louisa was agitated during the latter\npart of this little narrative, a sensible reader may easily conceive:\nfrom the first mention of Bolognia, where there was no other English\npensioner than herself, she knew it must be no other than her dear du\nPlessis who was in search for her abroad, while she was vainly hoping to\nfind him at home:--every circumstance rendered this belief more certain;\nand surprize and joy worked so strongly in her, that fearing the effects\nwould be visible, she rose up and withdrew to a window. Mademoiselle\nCharlotta, who knew she could not be capable of such an act of\nunpoliteness, without being compelled to it, asked if she were not\nwell:--on which Louisa entreated pardon, but owned a sudden faintness\nhad come over her spirits, so that she was obliged to be rude in order\nto prevent being troublesome.\nAs mademoiselle Charlotta knew nothing of her story, she had no farther\nthought about it than of some little qualm, which frequently happens\nwhen young ladies are too closely laced, and she seeming perfectly\nrecovered from, the conversation was renewed on the same subject it had\nturned upon before this interruption; and the name of monsieur du\nPlessis being often mentioned, confirmed Louisa, if before she could\nhave had the least remains of doubt, that it was her lover who,\nneglectful of his own affairs, and the remonstrances of his expecting\nfriends, was about to range in search of one who, he imagined, was\nungrateful both to his love and friendship.\nAfter having listened, with the utmost attention, to all the countess\nsaid of him, and other matters becoming the topic of discourse, she took\nher leave, in order to reflect alone what she ought to do in\nthis affair.\nShe debated not long within herself before she resolved to write to him,\nand prevent the unprofitable journey he was about to take; and having\nheard, by madam d' Espargnes, the name of the village where he was\nobliged to wait, both for the recovery of his wounds and for remittances\nfor his expences, she wrote to him in the following terms:\n_To monsieur_ DU PLESSIS.\n\"I should ill return the proofs I have received\nof your generous disinterested friendship,\nto delay one moment that I had it in my power,\nin endeavouring to convince you that it was a\nquite contrary motive than ingratitude to you,\nthat carried me from Bolognia:--but the story\nis too long for the compass of a letter; when\nyou know it, you will, perhaps, own this action,\nwhatever you may now think of it, merits\nmore, than any thing I could have done, your\napprobation:--this seeming riddle will be easily\nexpounded, if, on the recovery of your\nwounds, you repair immediately to Paris, where\nyou will find\n_Your much obliged_,\nLOUISA.\"\nHaving finished this little billet, a scruple rose in her head, that\nbeing now under the care of a father, she ought not to do any thing of\nthis nature without his permission:--she had already told him how\ngreatly she had been indebted to du Plessis for his honourable passion,\nbut had not mentioned the least tittle of the tender impressions it had\nmade on her; and she so lately knew him to be her father, that she was\nashamed to make him the confidant of an affair of this nature, but then,\nwhen she considered the quality of du Plessis, which she was now\nconfirmed of, and the sense Dorilaus testified he had of his behaviour\nto her while he believed her so infinitely his inferior, made her\nresolve to drain her modesty so far as to inform him all.\nShe began by relating her accidental meeting with madam, the countess\nd'Espargnes and the conversation that passed at mademoiselle de\nPalfoy's, and then, tho' not without immoderate blushes, shewed him what\nshe had wrote, and beseeched him to let her know whether it would be\nconsistent with a virgin's modesty, and also agreeable to his pleasure,\nthat she gave this demonstration of her gratitude for the favours she\nhad received from this young gentleman.\nDorilaus was charmed with this proof of her duty and respect, and told\nher, that he was so far from disapproving what she had wrote, that had\nshe omitted it, or said less than she did, he should have looked upon\nher as unworthy of so perfect a passion as that which monsieur du\nPlessis on all occasions, testified for her:--that, in his opinion, she\nowed him more than she could ever pay; and that it should be his\nendeavour to shew he had not placed his affections on the daughter of\none who knew not how to set a just value on merit such as his:--he made\nher also add a postscript to the letter, to give a direction in what\npart of Paris he might find her on his arrival; but Louisa would by no\nmeans give the least hint of the alteration in her circumstances, not\nthat she wanted any farther proofs of his sincerity, but that she\nreserved the pleasure of so agreeable a surprize to their meeting. This\nletter was dispatched immediately, to the end he might receive it, at\nleast, as soon as that from his sister with the expected remittances.\nCHAP. XXV.\n_Monsieur du Plessis arrives at Paris: his reception from Dorilaus and\nLouisa: the marriage of these lovers agreed upon_.\nThe innocent pleasure Louisa felt in picturing to herself the extacy\nwhich du Plessis would be in at the receipt of her letter, was not a\nflattering idea:--to know she was in Paris, where, in all probability,\nshe had come to seek him, and to have the intelligence of it from\nherself, had all the effect on him that the most raptured fancy\ncan invent.\nHis orders to madam d' Espargnes being punctually complied with, his\nbills of exchange also came soon after to hand; and the little hurts he\nhad received from the robbers, as well as those of his mind, being\nperfectly healed, he set out with a lover's expedition, and arrived in\nParis to the pleasing surprize of a sister who tenderly loved him, and\nexpected not this satisfaction of a long time.\nHe took but one night's repose before he enquired concerning Dorilaus,\nand was told that he was a person of quality in England; but, on some\ndisgust he had received in his native country, was come to settle in\nFrance. As Louisa was extremely admired, they told him also that he had\na very beautiful daughter, of whom he was extremely fond. This last\ninformation gave not a little ease to the mind of him who heard it, and\ndissipated those apprehensions which the high character they gave of\nDorilaus had, in spite of himself, excited in him: he now imagined that\nas they were English, his Louisa might possibly have been acquainted\nwith the daughter of this gentleman in their own country, and meeting\nher at Paris, might have put herself under her protection.\nFull of those impatiencies which are inseparable from a sincere passion,\nhe borrowed his sister's chariot, and went to the Fauxbourg St.\nGermains; and being told one of the best houses in the place was that of\nDorilaus, he asked for mademoiselle Louisa, on which he was desired to\nalight, and shewed into a handsome parlour while a servant went in to\ninform her: after this, he was ushered up stairs into a room, the\nfurniture of which shewed the elegance of the owner's taste; but\naccustomed to every thing that was great and magnificent, the gilded\nscenes, the rich tapestry, the pictures, had no effect on him, till\ncasting his eyes on one that hung over the chimney, he found the exact\nresemblance of the dear object never absent from his heart.--It was\nindeed the picture of Louisa, which her father, soon after her arrival,\nhad caused to be drawn by one of the best painters at that time in\nParis. This sight gave him a double pleasure, because it, in some\nmeasure, anticipated that of the original, and also convinced him that\nshe was not indifferent to the person she was with.\nHe was fixed in contemplation on this delightful copy, when the original\nappeared in all the advantages that jewels and rich dress could give\nher.--Tho' he loved her only for herself, and nothing could add to the\nsincere respect his heart had always paid her, yet to see her so\ndifferent from what he expected, filled him with a surprize and a kind\nof enforced awe, which hindered him from giving that loose to his\ntransports, which, after so long an absence, might have been very\nexcusable;--and he could only say--my dear adorable Louisa, am I so\nblessed to see you once more!--She met his embrace half way, and\nreplied, monsieur du Plessis, heaven has given me all I had to wish in\nrestoring to me so faithful a friend;--but come, continued she, permit\nme to lead you to a father, who longs to embrace the protector of his\ndaughter's innocence. Your father, madam! cried he; yes, answered she;\nin seeking a lover at Paris I found a father; Dorilaus is my father:--I\nhave acquainted him with all the particulars of our story, and, I\nbelieve, the sincere affection I have for you will not be less pleasing\nfor receiving his sanction to it.\nWith these words she took his hand and led him, all astonishment, into\nan inner room where Dorilaus was sitting, who rose to meet him with the\ngreatest politeness, and which shewed that to be master of, it was not\nnecessary to be born in France; and on Louisa's acquainting him with the\nname of the person she presented, embraced him with the tenderness of a\nfather, and made him such obliging and affectionate compliments, as\nconfirmed to the transported du Plessis the character had been given\nof him.\nAfter the utmost testimonies of respect on both side, Dorilaus told his\ndaughter she ought to make her excuses to monsieur for having eloped\nfrom the monastry where he had been so good to place her, which, said\nhe, I think you can do in no better a manner than by telling the truth,\nand as I am already sufficiently acquainted with the whole, will leave\nyou to relate it, while I dispatch a little business that at present\ncalls me hence. He went out of the room in speaking this, and Louisa had\na more full opportunity of informing her lover of all she had suffered\nsince their parting, till this happy change in her fortune, than she\ncould have had in the presence of her father, tho' no stranger to her\nmost inmost thoughts on this occasion.\nThe pleasing story of her pilgrimage rehearsed, how did the charmed du\nPlessis pity and applaud, by turns, her sufferings and fortitude!--How\nexclaim against the treachery of the abbess, and those of the nuns who\nwere in confederacy with her! But his curiosity satisfied in this point,\nanother rose instantly in his mind, that being the daughter of such a\nperson as Dorilaus, wherefore she had made so great a secret of it, and\nwhat reason had occasioned her being on the terms she was with Melanthe.\nHe no sooner expressed his wonder on these heads, than, having before\nher father's permission to do so, she resolved to leave him in no\nsuspence on any score relating to her affairs.\nTho', said she blushing, I cannot reveal the history of my birth without\nlaying open the errors of those to whom I owe my being, yet I shall not\nthink the sacrifice too great to recompence the obligations you have\nlaid upon me; and then proceeded to acquaint him with every thing\nrelating to her parents, as well as to herself, from the first moment\nshe was found in the garden of Dorilaus.\nIt is not to be doubted but that he listened to the story with the\nutmost attention, in which he found such matters of admiration, that he\ncould not forbear frequently interrupting her, by crying, Oh heaven! oh\nprovidence! how mysterious are thy ways!--How, in thy disposal of\nthings, dost thou force us to acknowledge thy divine power and wisdom!\nHe was also extremely pleased to find she was the sister of Horatio,\nwhom he had often been in company with both at the baron de la Valeire's\nand at St. Germains, and had admired for the many extraordinary\nqualities he discovered in him: this led them into a conversation\nconcerning that young gentleman, and the misfortunes which some late\nnews-paper gave an account were beginning to fall upon the king of\nSweden; after that, renewing the subject of their mutual affection, and\ndu Plessis running over the particulars of their acquaintance in Italy,\nLouisa asked whether the count de Bellfleur had ever testified any\nremorse for the injury he would have offered her, and in what manner\nthey had lived together in the army? To which monsieur du Plessis\nreplied, that the authority of the prince had prevented him from\nattempting any open acts of violence; but that by his manner of\nbehaviour it was easy to see he had not forgiven the disappointment; and\nhe verily believed wanted only a convenient opportunity to revenge it:\nbut, continued he, whatever his designs were, heaven put a stop to the\nexecution of them; for, in the first skirmish that happened between us\nand the forces of prince Eugene, this once gay, gallant courtier, had\nhis head taken off by a cannon ball.\nThe gentle Louisa could not forbear expressing some concern for the\nsudden fate of this bad man, greatly as she had been affronted by him;\nbut when she reflected that the same accident might have befallen her\ndear du Plessis, she was all dissolved in tears.\nThey were in this tender communication when Dorilaus returned leading\nthe countess d'Espargnes in one hand, and mademoiselle de Palfoy in the\nother. Monsieur du Plessis was surprized to meet his sister in a place\nwhere he knew not she was acquainted, and she no less to find him there.\nThe occasion of it was this:\nDorilaus, when he left the lovers together, went directly to the baron\nde Palfoy's, and related to him and to mademoiselle the whole history of\nmonsieur du Plessis and Louisa; on which they contriv'd to make a\npleasant scene, by engaging the countess d'Espargnes to go with them to\nDorilaus's, without letting her know on what account.--The event\nanswered their wishes; madam d' Espargnes rallied her brother on finding\nhim alone with so beautiful a young lady; and mademoiselle Charlotta,\nfor his inconstancy to his mistress at Bolognia: but when the riddle was\nsolved, and the countess came to know that the lady left in the\nmonastery and Louisa were the same, she no longer condemned an\nattachment which before had given her so much pain.\nMademoiselle Charlotta chid her for the reserve she had maintained to\nher in this affair, especially, said she, as you were obliged to the\nconversation you had with madam d'Espargnes in my apartment, that you\nreceived any intelligence of monsieur du Plessis, or knew how to direct\nyour commands to him to return.\nThat, madam, is an obligation lies wholly on me, said monsieur du\nPlessis; and I believe I shall find it very difficult to requite it, any\nmore than I shall to deserve my sister's pardon, for so industriously\nendeavouring to conceal from her the secret of my passion and\nits object.\nLouisa told the ladies that she now hoped they would excuse the disorder\nshe had been in at the countess's discourse, since they knew the\nmotive:--a good deal of pleasantry passed between this agreeable\ncompany; and as they were in the midst of it, the baron de Palfoy, who\nhad been hindered from accompanying Dorilaus, when he conducted the\nladies, now joined them; and tho' he was considerably older than any\nthere, was no less entertaining and good-humoured than the youngest.\nDorilaus had privately ordered a very magnificent collation, which being\nserved up, Louisa did the honours of the table with so good a grace,\nthat madam d' Espargnes was charmed with her, and took an opportunity of\nasking Dorilaus when she might hope the happiness of calling so amiable\na lady by the name of sister. Du Plessis thanked her for the interest\nshe took in his affairs; and the baron de Palfoy added, that as the\nlovers wanted no farther proofs how worthy they were of each other, he\nwould join in solliciting for a completion of their happiness. To which\nDorilaus replied, that he was too well satisfied with his daughter's\nconduct, not to leave her entirely at her own disposal; and as to what\nrelated to fortune and settlement, he should be ready to enter into such\narticles as, he believed, monsieur du Plessis would have no reason to\ncomplain of.\nThe passionate lover at these words cried out, that it was Louisa's self\nalone he was ambitious of possessing; nor had either that lady or her\nfather any room to look on what he said as a mere compliment, because\nhis love had long since waved all the seeming disproportion\nbetween them.\nIn fine, not only at this time, but every day, almost every hour, was\nLouisa, as it now depended wholly on herself, importuned by her lover\nand the countess d'Espargnes to render his happiness complete; but she\nstill delayed it, desiring to hear some news of Horatio, the baron de\nPalfoy having settled every thing with Dorilaus concerning his marriage\nwith mademoiselle Charlotta, she was willing, she said, that as they\nwere born on the same day, their nuptials should be also celebrated at\nthe same time.\nMonsieur du Plessis was obliged to content himself with this since he\ncould obtain no more; and for a time every thing passed smoothly and\nagreeably on; but news after news continually arriving of the king of\nSweden's ill success in Ukrania, rendered all the noble friends of\nHoratio extremely dissatisfied:--the public accounts were too deficient\nfor their information of any particular officer, and as there were very\nfew French in the Swedish army, they could hope for no intelligence of\nhim but from himself; which, as he omitted giving, they at last\nconcluded he was either killed or taken prisoner; which last misfortune\nthey looked upon as equal with the former:--the Russian barbarity, and\ntheir manner of treating those whom the chance of war threw into their\nhands, was no secret thro' all Europe; and whichever of these accidents\nhad happened, must be very grievous to a gentleman of Dorilaus's\ndisposition, who, when unknowing he was his son, loved him with more\ntenderness than many fathers do their offspring, but now convinced not\nonly that he was so, but also that he was possessed of such amiable\nqualities as might do honour to the most illustrious race, had fixed an\nidea in his mind of such a lasting happiness in having him near him,\nthat the thoughts of being deprived of him for ever threw him into a\nmelancholy, which not all the friends he had acquired in Paris, not all\nthe gaieties of that place, nor the sweet society of the engaging and\ndutiful Louisa, had the power to console. So deep was his affliction,\nthat monsieur du Plessis, amorous and impatient as he was, had not\ncourage to urge a grant of his own happiness, while those who were to\nbestow it, were incapable of sharing any part of it.\nSoon after there arrived a thunder-clap indeed:--certain intelligence\nthat the once victorious Charles was totally overthrown, his whole army\neither cut to pieces or taken prisoners, and himself a fugitive in the\ngrand seignior's dominions.--Dorilaus, now not doubting but the worst he\nfeared had come to pass, shut himself from all company, and refused the\nunavailing comfort of those who came to offer it.--The fair eyes of\nLouisa were continually drowned in tears, and the generous du Plessis\nsympathized in all her griefs. But what became of mademoiselle Charlotta\nde Palfoy! her tender soul, so long accustomed to love Horatio, had not\ncourage to support the shock of losing him;--losing him at a time when\nshe thought herself secure of being united to him for ever;--when his\ndiscovered birth had rendered her father's wishes conformable to her\nown, and there wanted nothing but his presence to render both their\nfamilies completely blessed:--all that excess of love which modesty had\nhitherto restrained her from giving any public marks of, now shewed\nitself in the violence of her grief and her despair.--She made no secret\nof her softest inclinations, and gave a loose to all the impatience of a\nruined love. Even the haughty baron was melted into tears of compassion,\nand so far from condemning, that, he attempted all in his power to\nalleviate her sorrows.\nCHAP. XXVI.\n_The Catastrophe of the whole_.\nPoor Horatio, released, as I have already said, from his worse than\nTurkish bondage, had now, with the companions of his misfortunes, left a\ncountry where they had suffered so much and had so little to hope, that\ntheir enlargement seemed even to themselves a miracle.--As they parted,\nmiserable and forlorn, thro' those provinces where, about a year before,\nthey had marched with so much pomp and force, as, together with the king\nof Sweden's name, inspired admiration and terror over all those parts of\nthe world, it filled them with the most poignant anguish, and drew tears\nfrom those among them least sensible of any tender emotions.\nAll this disconsolate company, except Horatio, being Swedes', they made\nthe best of their way, some to Stockholm, and others to Straelsund.--Now\nleft alone, a long journey before him, and altogether uncertain what\nreception he should find at Paris, either from Dorilaus or mademoiselle\nCharlotta, his condition was extremely pityable, and he stood in need of\nmore fortitude than could be expected from his years, to enable him to\ngo thro' it.\nThe nearer he approached Paris, the greater was his shock at the\nnecessity of appearing there in the despicable figure he now made; but\nhis courage still got the better, and surmounted all difficulties. If\nDorilaus thinks my disobedience to his commands a crime too great to\nmerit his forgiveness, would he say to himself, or Charlotta disdains,\nin his misfortunes, the faithful Horatio, I have no more to do than to\nreturn to Poland and seek an honourable death in the service of\nStanislaus.\nHe made his entrance into that opulent city through the most bye-ways he\ncould, and concealed himself till towards night in a little cabaret,\nwhere having soon been informed where Dorilaus lived, he went when it\nwas quite dark to his house, though how divided between hope and fear it\nis easy to imagine. He knocked at the gate, which being opened by the\nporter, and he desiring to speak with his master, was answered with many\nimpertinent questions, as--who he came from, what his business was, and\nsuch like interrogatories which the sawciness of servants generally put\nto persons such as this fellow took Horatio to be by his appearance. But\nhe had no sooner desired he would tell Dorilaus that he came from\nRussia, and brought intelligence of Horatio, than his tone of voice and\nbehaviour was quite changed.--Our traveller was now carried into a\nparlour and entreated to sit down, and the late surly porter called\nhastily for one of the servants, bidding him, with the utmost joy, run\nin and inform his master that here was a person come from Russia that\ncould give him news of colonel Horatio.\nThis a little raised the lately depressed spirits of Horatio, as it\nassured him his name was not unknown in that family, nor had been\nmentioned with indifference.\nHe attended but a very little time before he was shewed up into\nDorilaus's apartment, who was just opening his mouth to enquire if\nHoratio were yet living, and in what condition, when he saw it was\nhimself. Surprize and joy rendered him incapable either of speaking to\nhim, or hearing the apologies he was beginning to make for having\ndisobeyed his commands:--but he fell upon his neck and gave him an\nembrace, which dissipated all Horatio's fears, and left him no room to\ndoubt if his peace was made.\nNo words were exchanged between them for a considerable time, but--oh my\ndear son, my ever loved Horatio, on the one side, my more than father,\npatron, on the other:--at length the tumultuous rapture of so unexpected\na meeting and reception, giving way to a more peaceful calm,--Dorilaus\nmade Horatio relate all the particulars had happened to him; and when he\nhad ended, now, said he, I will reward the sincerity I easily perceive\nyou have made use of in this narrative, by acquainting you, in my turn,\nwith secrets you are far from having any notion of, and which, I\nbelieve, will compensate for all your sufferings, and make you own,\nthat while you seemed to groan under the utmost severities of fortune,\nshe was preparing for you all the blessings in her power to give, and\neven more than your ambition aimed at. But I have first a message to\ndispatch, continued he; at my return you shall know all.\nWith these words he went out of the room, but came back in a moment,\nand, after renewing his embraces to Horatio, revealed to him the whole\nsecret of his birth, with all had happened to Louisa till the time of\ntheir happy meeting in Paris.\nWith what pleasing wonder the soul of Horatio was filled at this\ndiscovery, is much more easy to conceive than describe, so I shall leave\nit to the reader's imagination to guess what it was he felt and spoke on\nso extraordinary an occasion. While he was pouring out the transports it\noccasioned in the most grateful thanks to heaven, and his new found\nfather, Louisa entered, Dorilaus having sent to the baron de Palfoy's,\nwhere he knew she was, to let her know a messenger from Russia was\narrived with news of her brother:--they instantly knew each other,\nthough it was upwards of four years since they were separated, and in\nthat time the stature of both considerably increased:--nothing could\nexceed the joy of these amiable twins:--never was felicity more perfect,\nwhich yet received addition on Horatio's part, when Louisa told him,\nthat it was as much as Charlotta could do to restrain herself from\ncoming with her to hear what account the supposed messenger had brought.\nDorilaus on this immediately sent to let her know his son was well, and\nexpected in Paris the next day, for he would not suffer him to appear\nbefore her, or the baron, till a habit was made for him more agreeable\nto his condition than that he arrived in. It is certain that the\nimpatience of a lover would have made Horatio gladly wave this ceremony,\nbut he would not a second time dispute the commands of such a father.\nBut wherefore should I delay the attention of my reader, who, I doubt\nnot, but easily perceives by this time how things will end: so I shall\nonly say that the meeting of Horatio and Charlotta was such, as might be\nexpected from so arduous and constant an affection: that every thing\nhaving been settled between the two fathers at the time they sent their\njoint mandates to call him home, there now remained nothing but to\ncelebrate the long desired nuptials, which was deferred no longer than\nwas requisite for preparations to render the ceremony magnificent.\nThe generous du Plessis and his beloved Louisa were also united the same\nday; and it would be hard to say which of these weddings afforded most\nsatisfaction to the friends on both sides, or were attended with the\nmost happy consequences to the persons concerned in them.\nBy these examples we may learn, that to sustain with fortitude and\npatience whatever ills we are preordained to suffer, entitles us to\nrelief, while by impatient struggling we should but augment the score,\nand provoke fate to shew us the vanity of all attempts to frustrate\nits decrees.\n_FINIS_.\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Fortunate Foundlings, by Eliza Fowler Haywood", "source_dataset": "gutenberg", "source_dataset_detailed": "gutenberg -  The Fortunate Foundlings\n"},
{"created_timestamp": "06-17-1736", "downloaded_timestamp": "10-18-2021", "url": "https://founders.archives.gov/API/docdata/Franklin/01-02-02-0021", "content": "Title: On Amplification, 17 June 1736\nFrom: Franklin, Benjamin\nTo: \nAmplification, or the Art of saying Little in Much, seems to be principally studied by the Gentlemen Retainers to the Law. \u2019Tis highly useful when they are to speak at the Bar; for by its Help, they talk a great while, and appear to say a great deal, when they have really very little to say. But \u2019tis principally us\u2019d in Deeds and every thing they write. You must abridge their Performances to understand them; and when you find how little there is in a Writing of vast Bulk, you will be as much surpriz\u2019d as a Stranger at the Opening of a Pumpkin.\nIt is said, that in the Reign of William the Conqueror, the Conveyance of a large Estate, might be made in about half a dozen short Lines; which was nevertheless in every Respect sufficiently authentick. For several Hundred Years past, Conveyances and Writings in the Law have been continually encreasing in Bulk, and when they will come to their full Growth, no Man knows: For the Rule, That every thing past and present ought to be express\u2019d, and every thing future provided for, (tho\u2019 one would think a large Writing might be made by it) does not serve to confine us at present; since all those things are not only to be express\u2019d, but may (by the Modern Licence) be express\u2019d by all the different Words we can think of. Probably the Invention of Printing, which took from the Scribes great Part of their former Employment, put them on the Contrivance of making up by a Multitude of Words, what they wanted in real Business; hence the plain and strong Expression, shall be his own, is now swoln into, shall and may at all Times hereafter forever, and so from time to time, freely, quietly and peaceably, have, hold and enjoy, &c. The Lawyer, in one of Steele\u2019s Comedies, instructs his Pupil, that Tautology is the first, second, and third Parts of his Profession, that is to say, the whole of it: And adds, That he hopes to see the Time, when it will require as much Parchment to convey a Piece of Land as will cover it. That time perhaps is not far off: For I am told, that the Deeds belonging to the Title of some small Lotts, (which have gone thro\u2019 several Hands) are nearly sufficient for the Purpose.\nBut of all the Writings I have ever seen, for the Multiplicity, Variety, Particularity, and prodigious Flow of Expression, none come up to the Petition of Dermond O\u2019Folivey, an Attorney of the Kingdom of Ireland: As the Petition is curious in itself, and may serve as a Precedent for young Clerks, when they would acquire a proper Stile in their Performances, I shall give it to the Publick entire, as follows.\n\u201cTo the Right Honourable Sir William Aston, Knight, and Lord Judge of Assize of the Munster Circuit.\n\u201cThe humble Petition of Dermond O Folivey a well and most accomplished Gentleman.\n\u201cMost humbly, and most submissively, and most obediently, and most dutifully, by shewing, and expressing, and declaring to your Lordship, that whereby, and whereas, and wherein, the most major, and most greater, and most bigger, and the most stronger Part of the most best, and the most ablest, and the most mightiest Sort of the People of the Barony of Torrough and County of Kerry, finding, and knowing, and certifying themselves, both hereafter, and the Time past, and now, and then, and at the present time, to be very much oppressed, and distressed, and overcharged in all Taxes, and Quit-rents, and other Levies, and accidental Applotments, and Collections, and Gatherings-together in the Barony of Torrough and County of Kerry aforesaid, And for the future Prevention of all, and every such, henceforth, hereafter, heretofore, and for the time to come, and now, and then, and at this time, and forever, the aforesaid most major, and most bigger, and most better, and most stronger Part of the most best, and most ablest, and most mightiest Sort of the People of Torrough and County of Kerry aforesaid, Hath appointed, nominated, constituted, ordained, declared, elected, and made me Mr. Dermond O Folivey to solicite, and make mention to your Lordship, looking upon me now, and then, and there, and here, the said Mr. Dermond O Folivey, to be the fittest, and the most mightiest, and the most ablest, and the most best, and the most accomplished, and the most eloquentest Spokesman within the said Barony and County, their granded, and well beloved, and well bestowed, and better merited Agent and Sollicitor, to represent Oppression, and Suppression, and Extortion, for all such, and for all much, and whereof, and whereby, and whereupon, your Petitioner fairly, and finely, and honestly, and ingeniously, and deservedly appointed, nominated, constituted, and ordained, and elected, and approved, and made choice of me the said Mr. Dermond O Folivey as an Agent and Sollicitor, to undergo, and overgo, and under-run, and over-run, and manage this much, big, and mighty Service.\n\u201cThese are therefore to will, and to shall be, now, and then, and there, and at this time, and at the time past, and heretofore, and formerly, and at the present, and forever, the humble, and special, and important, and mighty, and irrefatigable Request of me, your Petitioner and Sollicitor-General aforesaid; That your Lordship will be pleased, and satisfied, and resolved, to grant, and give, and deliver, and bestow, upon me Mr. Dermond O Folivey, your before recited, and nominated Petitioner and Sollicitor-General aforesaid, an Order and Judgment, and Warrant, and Authority of Preference to my Lord Kerry, and Mr. Henry Punceby, Esq; and Justice of the Peace and Quorum, or to any four or five or more or less, or either or neither of them, now, and then, and there, and here, and any where, and every where, and somewhere, and nowhere, to call and bring, and fetch, and carry, before him, or them, or either of them, or neither, or both, such Party or Parties as they shall imagine, and conceive, and consider, and suppose, and assent, and esteem, and think fit, and meet, and necessary, and decent, and convenient, all, and every, and either, or neither of them, to call, to examine, and call to a strict Account; and that Part, and most Part, Extortion; and then, and there, when, and where, and whether, to establish, and elect, and direct, and impower, and authorize all such, and all much, Bailiffs, and under Receivers, and Collectors and Gatherers-together of Money, as your Petitioner did, or do, or have, or had, or shall, or will, or may, or might, or should, or could, or ought to chuse, or pitch upon with, and punctually to desire my self Mr. Dermond O Folivey that they, them, and these, and every, and either, and neither of them, that shall, and did, and have, and do, and will him in Peace, and Unity, and Amity, and Concord, and Tranquility, henceforth, and for the time to come, and hereafter, and for the time past, and not past, and the time present, and now, and for everlasting; and especially not to molest, or trouble, or hinder, or disturb, or hurt, or meddle with the Petitioner, my self, Mr. Dermond O Folivey, in his Possession of 72 Acres of Land in Gertogolinmore in the Barony of Torrough and County of Kerry.\n\u201cGiven, and granted, and dated, and signed, and sealed by my own Hand and with my own Hand, and so my own Hand, and under my own Hand and Seal this  Day of Anno Dom.\nMr. Dermond O Folivey.\u201d", "culture": "English", "source_dataset": "Pile_of_Law", "source_dataset_detailed": "Pile_of_Law_founding_docs", "source_dataset_detailed_explanation": "Letters from U.S. founders.", "creation_year": 1736},
{"created_timestamp": "10-14-1736", "downloaded_timestamp": "10-18-2021", "url": "https://founders.archives.gov/API/docdata/Franklin/01-02-02-0022", "content": "Title: [On Discoveries, 14 October 1736]\nFrom: Franklin, Benjamin\nTo: \nReprinted by Duane (Works, IV, 374\u20137) and later by William Temple Franklin, Sparks, and Bigelow, but not by Smyth (see above, I, 170), this essay, as Alfred Owen Aldridge has shown, originally appeared in The Prompter, a London literary periodical, June 11, 1736. It was reprinted, without the opening paragraph and with other excisions and changes, in the London Magazine, v (June 1736), 297\u20138, and the Gentleman\u2019s Magazine, vi (June 1736), 313\u201314. The New England Weekly Journal reprinted it from the London Magazine, Sept. 21, 1736. Typographical similarities indicate that Franklin probably reprinted it from the Weekly Journal.", "culture": "English", "source_dataset": "Pile_of_Law", "source_dataset_detailed": "Pile_of_Law_founding_docs", "source_dataset_detailed_explanation": "Letters from U.S. founders.", "creation_year": 1736},
{"created_timestamp": "11-18-1736", "downloaded_timestamp": "10-18-2021", "url": "https://founders.archives.gov/API/docdata/Franklin/01-02-02-0023", "content": "Title: [The Waste of Life, 18 November 1736]\nFrom: Franklin, Benjamin\nTo: \nFirst printed by Duane (Works, IV, 367\u201370) and later by William Temple Franklin, Sparks, and Bigelow, but not by Smyth, this essay is omitted here for the reasons given above, I, 170.", "culture": "English", "source_dataset": "Pile_of_Law", "source_dataset_detailed": "Pile_of_Law_founding_docs", "source_dataset_detailed_explanation": "Letters from U.S. founders.", "creation_year": 1736},
{"created_timestamp": "12-07-1736", "downloaded_timestamp": "10-18-2021", "url": "https://founders.archives.gov/API/docdata/Franklin/01-02-02-0024", "content": "Title: Articles of the Union Fire Company, 7 December 1736\nFrom: Franklin, Benjamin\nTo: \nThe seventh Day of December, in the Year of our Lord One thousand seven hundred and thirty six, WE whose Names are hereunto subscribed, reposing special Confidence in each others Friendship, Do, for the better preserving our Goods and Effects from Fire, mutually agree in Manner following, That is to say.\n1. That we will each of us at his own proper Charge provide Two Leathern Buckets, and Four Baggs of good Oznabrigs or wider Linnen, Whereof each Bagg shall contain four Yards at least, and shall have a running Cord near the Mouth; Which said Buckets and Baggs shall be marked with the Initial Letters of our respective Names and Company Thus [A.B. & Company] and shall be apply\u2019d to no other Use than for preserving our Goods and Effects in Case of Fire as aforesaid.\n2. That if any one of us shall fail to provide and keep his Buckets and Baggs as aforesaid he shall forfeit and pay unto the Clerk for the Time being, for the Use of the Company, the Sum of Five Shillings for every Bucket and Bagg wanting.\n3. That if any of the Buckets or Baggs aforesaid shall be lost or damaged at any Fire aforesaid The same shall be supplyed and repaired at the Charge of the whole Company.\n4. That we will all of us, upon hearing of Fire breaking out at or near any of our Dwelling Houses, immediately repair to the same with all our Buckets and Baggs, and there employ our best Endeavours to preserve the Goods and Effects of such of us as shall be in Danger by Packing the same into our Baggs: And if more than one of us shall be in Danger at the same time, we will divide our selves as near as may be to be equally helpful. And to prevent suspicious Persons from coming into, or carrying any Goods out of, any such House, Two of our Number shall constantly attend at the Doors until all the Goods and Effects that can be saved shall be secured in our Baggs, and carryed to some safe Place, to be appointed by such of our Company as shall be present, Where one or more of us shall attend them \u2019till they can be conveniently delivered to, or secured for, the Owner.\n5. That we will meet together in the Ev\u2019ning of the last Second Day of the Week commonly called Monday, in every Month, at some convenient Place and Time to be appointed at each Meeting, to consider of what may be further useful in the Premises; And whatsoever shall be expended at every Meeting aforesaid shall be paid by the Members met. And if any Member shall neglect to meet as aforesaid, he shall forfeit and pay the Sum of One Shilling.\n6. That we will each of us in our Turns, according to the Order of our Subscriptions, serve the Company as Clerk for the Space of one Month, Viz. That Member whose Name is hereunto first subscribed shall serve first, and so on to the last, Whose Business shall be to inspect the Condition of each of our Buckets and Baggs, and to make Report thereof at every Monthly Meeting aforesaid, To collect all the Fines and Forfeitures accruing by Virtue hereof; To warn every Member of the Time and Place of Meeting, at least Six Hours before Hand. And if any new Member be proposed to be admitted, or any Alteration to be made in any of the present Articles, he shall inform every Member thereof at the Time of Warning a[foresaid.] And shall also read over a Copy of these Presents, and a List of all the Subscribers Names, at every Monthly Meeting, before the Company proceeds to any other Bu[siness,] Which said Clerk shall be accountable to the Rest of the Company for, and pay [to] the next succeeding Clerk, all the Monies accruing or belonging unto the Company by virtue of these presents. And if any Member shall refuse to serve as Clerk in his Turn aforesaid, he shall forfeit the Sum of Five Shillings.\n7. That our Company shall not exceed the Number of twenty-five Persons a[t a] time, no new Member be admitted, nor any Alteration made in these present Ar[ticles] until the Monthly Meeting after the same is first proposed, and the whole Company acquainted therewith by the Clerk as aforesaid; Nor without the Consent of Three Fourths of our whole Number, the whole Three Fourths being met. But the other Affairs relating to the Company shall be determined by Three Fourths of Members met. And that the Time of entring upon Business shall be one Hour after the Time appointed for Meeting as aforesaid.\n8. That each Member shall keep two Lists of all the Subscribers Names, [one] to be fixed in open View near the Buckets and Baggs, and the Other to be pr[oduced] at every Monthly Meeting if required under pain of forfeiting the Sum of [six?] Pence.\n9. That all Fines and Forfeitures arising by Virtue hereof, shall be paid unto the Clerk for the Time being, for the Use of the Company, and shall be erected into a common Stock. And if any Member shall refuse to pay any Fine or Forfeiture aforesaid when due, his Name shall be razed out, And he shall from thenceforth be excluded the Company.\n10. Lastly that upon the Death of any of our Company, the Survivors shall in time of Danger as aforesaid, be aiding to the Widow of such Decedent during her Widowhood, in the same Manner as if her Husband had been living; she only keeping the Buckets and Baggs as aforesaid. In Witness whereof we have hereunto set our Hands; Dated the Day and Year abovesaid.\nJoseph Paschall\n  George House\nSaml: Coates\n  Wm Plumsted\nJohn Armitt\n  John Dillwyn\nWm. Rawle\n  Wm. Cooper\nBenja. Shoemaker\n  Edwd. Shippen\nHugh Roberts\n  Lloyd Zachary\nB. Franklin\n  P[ost] S[cripti]\nPhilip Syng Junr.\n  Saml. Powel junr.\nWm. Parsons\n  Thomas Lloyd\nRichd: Sewell\n  George Emlen\nJames Morris\n  Chs. Willing\nStepn. Armitt\n  Tho. Lawrence\nTho Hatton\n  Willm. Bell\nEdward Roberts\n  Jo Turner", "culture": "English", "source_dataset": "Pile_of_Law", "source_dataset_detailed": "Pile_of_Law_founding_docs", "source_dataset_detailed_explanation": "Letters from U.S. founders.", "creation_year": 1736},
{"created_timestamp": "12-30-1736", "downloaded_timestamp": "10-18-2021", "url": "https://founders.archives.gov/API/docdata/Franklin/01-02-02-0025", "content": "Title: On the Death of His Son, 30 December 1736\nFrom: Franklin, Benjamin\nTo: \nUnderstanding \u2019tis a current Report, that my Son Francis, who died lately of the Small Pox, had it by Inoculation; and being desired to satisfy the Publick in that Particular; inasmuch as some People are, by that Report (join\u2019d with others of the like kind, and perhaps equally groundless) deter\u2019d from having that Operation perform\u2019d on their Children, I do hereby sincerely declare, that he was not inoculated, but receiv\u2019d the Distemper in the common Way of Infection: And I suppose the Report could only arise from its being my known Opinion, that Inoculation was a safe and beneficial Practice; and from my having said among my Acquaintance, that I intended to have my Child inoculated, as soon as he should have recovered sufficient Strength from a Flux with which he had been long afflicted.\nB. Franklin", "culture": "English", "source_dataset": "Pile_of_Law", "source_dataset_detailed": "Pile_of_Law_founding_docs", "source_dataset_detailed_explanation": "Letters from U.S. founders.", "creation_year": 1736},
{"created_timestamp": "01-01-1736", "downloaded_timestamp": "10-18-2021", "url": "https://founders.archives.gov/API/docdata/Franklin/01-02-02-0026", "content": "Title: Afterword to Every Man His Own Doctor, 1736\nFrom: Franklin, Benjamin\nTo: \nIn 1734 Franklin reprinted John Tennent\u2019s Every Man his own Doctor, which had been published earlier that year in a \u201csecond edition\u201d in Williamsburg, Va. Franklin may have concluded this \u201cthird edition\u201d with the address to his readers, which is reprinted below; but no complete copy is known. In 1736 he reprinted Tennent\u2019s pamphlet in a \u201cfourth edition\u201d with the address to his readers and a postscript based on Tennent\u2019s Essay on Pleurisy, published at Williamsburg in 1736.\n  The Printer to the Reader wisheth Health.\nThis Book entituled, Every Man his own Doctor, was first printed in Virginia, for the Use of which Colony it was written by a Gentleman residing there. Great Numbers have been distributed among the People both in Virginia and Maryland, and \u2019tis generally allow\u2019d that abundance of Good has been thereby done: And as some Parts of Pennsylvania, the Jerseys, and the Lower Counties on Delaware, are by the lowness and moistness of their Situation, subject to the same kind of Diseases, I have been advised to reprint this Book here, for the Use and Benefit of such People in these Countries, as live at too great a Distance from good Physicians. It is necessary, however, to give the Reader this one Caution, that the Ipecacuania or Indian Physick so frequently prescribed by the Author, is much weaker in Virginia, than that which grows in Pennsylvania; so that whereas he prescribes 80 Grains for a Vomiting Potion, and 70 for a Purge; 12 Grains of our Indian Physick, or Ipecacuania, will be sufficient for a Vomit, and 10 for a Purge: There is another Sort which comes to us from Europe, and is to be found in the Apothecaries Shops, of which 30 or 32 Grains is commonly given for a Vomit, and 27 Grains for a Purge, which will work most Constitutions sufficiently.\n  Postscript.\nA Physician in Virginia has lately published an Essay on the Pleurisy, in which he discovers a Method of treating that fatal Distemper, that he says he always found to succeed. The principal Part of the Cure depends on the Use of a Simple that begins to be known in this Country by the Name of Rattle-Snake Root, being the same that the Indians use in curing the Bite of that venemous Reptile. The Method which the Author practices and recommends, is as follows.\n\u201cLet the Patient first have 10 Ounces of Blood taken from the Arm of the well Side, or Foot if both Sides are affected; and every 6 Hours 3 Spoonfuls of the following Tincture is to be given, the first Dose immediately after, and continued \u2019till the Symptoms abate.\n\u201cTake of the Rattle-Snake Root, 3 Ounces, wild Valerian Root, an Ounce and a Half, let them be well bruised in a Mortar, then mix them with a Quart of old Canary, and digest in a proper Vessel in a Sand-Heat for Six Hours, afterwards decant for Use.\n\u201cLet fifteen Drops of Balsam Capivi, and as many of Sal volatile Oleosum, be given in a little ordinary Drink, twice between each Dose of the Tincture, beginning with the first Dose two Hours after the Tincture; and give the second Dose two Hours after.\n\u201cLet the ordinary Drink be a Tea made of Marsh-mallow Roots, always given warm.\n\u201cIf the Patient has been ill some Days before any thing administred, the Balsom is to be continued for some Days after a considerable Amendment.\n\u201cBloodletting is to be repeated the second Day, and in the same Quantity as the first, if the Patient is not much better, or the same Day unless something better in 4 Hours: But such is the Efficacy of this Medicine, that there is seldom Occasion. The Symptoms generally abate considerably in 24 Hours, and the Recovery Certain.\u201d\nBut because every one may not have Conveniency for preparing this Tincture, nor have the other Medicines mentioned at hand, and do not live within reach of a Physician, it is necessary to acquaint the Reader with what the Author adds further, viz.\n\u201cA Decoction of the Rattle-Snake Root alone in Spring Water, 3 Ounces to about one Quart; together with Pectoral Teas sweetned with Honey will prove effectual, without any thing else; if the Patient has been let Blood as soon as taken, and this Decoction immediately given afterwards.\u201d\nThis is to be understood of the genuine Pleurisy or Peripneumony attended with a Fever.\nAs for the other Disease, which often personates a Pleurisy in these Parts, the Symptoms of which are, that the Patient is cold in a somniferous State, and sometimes convulsed.\nIn this Case the Author omits Bloodletting as pernicious; but says the Tincture aforesaid is as effectual here as in the genuine Pleurisy, only advises that the Rattle-Snake Root and Valerian be in equal Quantities.\nWe have not room to add more out of the abovementioned Essay; and indeed the greatest Part of it being taken up in abstracted Reasonings on the Texture of the Blood, and the Operations of different Medicines, &c. to make a larger Extract would be of little Use to the unlearned Reader, for whom this Book was originally intended; and \u2019tis supposed that in Cases of Danger, the Patient will always consult a skilful Physician where it can possibly be done.\nBut while we are solicitous about the Health of the Body, let us not forget, that there are also Diseases of the Mind, which concern us no less to be thoroughly cured of. The divine Assistance and Blessing on our Endeavours is absolutely necessary in both Cases; which we ought therefore piously and devoutly to request. And being healed, let us gratefully bless and praise that Great Physician, from whose Goodness flows every Virtue, and the Discovery of every useful Medicine.", "culture": "English", "source_dataset": "Pile_of_Law", "source_dataset_detailed": "Pile_of_Law_founding_docs", "source_dataset_detailed_explanation": "Letters from U.S. founders.", "creation_year": 1736},
{"created_timestamp": "01-06-1736", "downloaded_timestamp": "10-18-2021", "url": "https://founders.archives.gov/API/docdata/Franklin/01-02-02-0027", "content": "Title: Extracts from the Gazette, 1736\nFrom: Franklin, Benjamin\nTo: \n[Advertisement] This is to certify, that I Robert Jesson, late Merchant of Philadelphia, having been afflicted with a Dropsey, insomuch that my Life was despaired of, am now effectualy cured by an Elixir which Mr. Edward Jones of this City, Gent. has the Secret of making.\nIn Gratitude for the Favour, and for the Benefit of Mankind, I make this Publick; by which, all under the same Misfortune may know where to apply.\nRobert Jesson\n\t[February 11]\nThe Subscribers to the Library in Philadelphia are advertised, that Monday the 3d of May ensuing, at Two in the Afternoon, is the Time appointed for the Choice of Directors and a Treasurer for the succeeding Year, and for making the fourth annual Payment, at the House of John Roberts in High-Street.\n\tJoseph Breintnall, Secr.\n\t[April 22]\n\t  Friday night last died here Mr. Henry Flower, in a very advanc\u2019d Age. He was one of the first Settlers, and had been Post-Master of this Place for many Years. A vast number of People of all Ranks testified the Respect they bore him, by attending his Funeral, which was performed on Sunday Evening. [May 20]\n\t  Tuesday last, during the Fair, a Fire broke out at one end of the long Row of Buildings near the Draw-bridge, and had like to have carried the whole Row; but by the Diligence, Courage and Resolution of some active Men, it was suppress\u2019d beyond Expectation, having only consum\u2019d the Roofs of two Houses, and damaged several others. The Engines did great Service. [May 20]\n\t  [Advertisement] Glaz\u2019d Fulling-Papers and Bonnet-Papers, Sold by the Printer hereof. [June 17]\n[Advertisement] To be Sold by the Printer hereof; The following Books, viz.\nMichaelis Etmulleri Philos. & Med. D. Opera omnia: In 3 Vols. Folio.\nTestamentum novum, in folio, having the Greek, the vulgate Translation, and Beza\u2019s, in opposite Columns; with Beza\u2019s large Annotations.\nConcordantiae Bibliorum, id est, Dictiones omnes quae in vulgata Editione Latina Librorum veteris novi Testamenti leguntur, ordine digesta, & ita distinctae ut maximae and [sic] absolutissimae (quas offert haec Editio) Concordantiae dici possint.\nGulielmi Pisonis Medici Amstelaedamensis De Indiae Utriusque Re Naturali & Medica, Libri quatuordecim.\nScapula\u2019s Lexicon, Greek and Latin, Folio, printed at Basil. 1600. [July 15]\n\t  The Printer hopes the irregular Publication of this Paper will be excused a few times by his Town Readers, on consideration of his being at Burlington with the Press, labouring for the publick Good, to make Money more plentiful. [August 2]\nEarly on Thursday Morning last the Honourable Patrick Gordon, Esq; our Lieutenant Governor; after a long and tedious Indisposition, departed this Life in the 73d Year of his Age. His Honour arrived here in June 1726, vested with the Government of this Province, and Counties of New-Castle, Kent and Sussex on Delaware.\nIt may be justly said of him, that, during the whole course of his Administration, the true Interest and Happiness, Prosperity and Welfare of his Majesty\u2019s Subjects in these Parts seemed to be his chief Concern and peculiar Care. [August 7]\n\t  We hear from Virginia, that not long since a Flash of Lightning fell on a House there, and struck dead a Man who was standing at the Door. Upon examining the Body they found no Mark of Violence, but on his Breast an exact and perfect (tho\u2019 small) Representation of a Pine Tree which grew before the Door, imprest or printed as it were in Miniature. This surprizing Fact is attested by a Gentleman lately come from thence, who was himself an Eye-witness of it; and \u2019tis added that great Numbers of People came out of Curiosity, to view the Body before it was interr\u2019d. [August 12]\n\t  [Advertisement] Lost last Week in removing the Printing Press, and either left on the Wharff at Burlington, or dropt off the Dray between the Waterside and the Market in Philadelphia, A Pine water-tite Trough, containing sundry odd Things and Utensils belonging to the Press. Whoever brings it to B. Franklin shall have Five Shillings Reward. [September 16]\n\t  Thursday last William Allen, Esq; Mayor of this City for the Year past, made a Feast for his Citizens at the Statehouse, to which all the Strangers in Town of Note were also invited. Those who are Judges of such Things, say, That considering the Delicacy of the Viands, the Variety and Excellency of the Wines, the great Number of Guests, and yet the Easiness and Order with which the whole was conducted, it was the most grand and the most elegant Entertainment that has been made in these Parts of America. [September 30]\n\t  Our late Honourable Proprietor, having from the first Settlement of this Province, made it his principal Care, to cultivate and maintain a good Understanding with all the Indians, to the Preservation of which, nothing hath contributed more than the Practice which he set on Foot, and hath since been continued, of purchasing their Claims to Lands, before he would suffer them to be taken up by his Authority: and Col. Dongan one of the Governors of New-York having about Fifty Years since, purchased for our late Proprietor, from the Indians of the Six (then the Five) Nations, all the Lands lying upon Susquehannah; We are told that the Chiefs of these Nations, now here, who are about Twenty in Number, have confirmed that Purchase made by Col. Dongan, and have absolutely released to Our present Honourable Proprietors all the Lands from about the Mouth of Susquehannah as high up that River as those called by the Indians the Twhagasachata or Endless Mountains, with all the Lands on both Sides the said River, and its Streams as far Westward as the Setting of the Sun. [October 14]\nJust Published, Poor Richard\u2019s Almanacks for the Year 1737, containing besides what is usual, a particular Description of the Herb which the Indians use to cure the Bite of that venemous Reptile a Rattle-snake, an exact Print of the Leaf of the Plant, an Account of the Places it grows in, and the Manner of using it, &c. made publick for the general Good. With Variety of other Matters serious and Comical. Printed and Sold by B. Franklin.\nWhere may be had Cole\u2019s Dictionaries Latin and English, and Variety of other School-Books just imported. [November 11]\n[Advertisement] Just imported and sold by B. Franklin, the following Books, viz.\nBibles, Testaments, Psalters and Primmers of several Sorts.\nThe British School-Master, teaching to read, spell and write true English, exactly, without learning of Latin, and in less than a quarter of the Time usually spent therein. In a new Method, for the Use of English Schools. price 1s.\nEnglish Liberties, or the Free-born Subjects\u2019 Inheritance.\nReligious Courtship, being historical Discourses on the Necessity of marrying religious Husbands and Wives only: As also of Husbands and Wives being of the same Opinions in Religion with one another.\nHenry, on Prayer.\nCole\u2019s Latin and English Dictionary.\nIntroduction to making Latin.\nClark\u2019s\nCordery.\nFor the Use of young Beginners in Latin.\nErasmus.\nRuddiman\u2019s Rudiments of Grammar, Latin and English. Lilly\u2019s Grammar. Virgil. Caesar\u2019s Commentaries. Juvenal and Persius. Eutropius. Ovid\u2019s Metamorphosis and Ovid de Tristibus. Cornelius Nepos. Hoole\u2019s Accidence, and sundry other School-Books. Also Writing Paper of several Sorts, Dutch Quills, Inkhorns, Pen-knives, Seals, Gilt Pocket-Books, Memorandum Books and other Stationary-ware. [November 25]\n\t[Advertisement] Lent, or left somewhere abroad, about three or four Months ago, a very large Kersey Great-coat, burnt almost through in one or two Places, with the Edge of the Taylor\u2019s Goose, in making it. Whoever brings it to the Printer hereof, shall be thankfully rewarded. [December 9]\nPhiladelphia: Printed by B. Franklin, at the New Printing-Office near the Market. Price 10s. a Year. Where Advertisements are taken in, and Book-Binding is done reasonably, in the best Manner.", "culture": "English", "source_dataset": "Pile_of_Law", "source_dataset_detailed": "Pile_of_Law_founding_docs", "source_dataset_detailed_explanation": "Letters from U.S. founders.", "creation_year": 1736}
]