Love and Freindship [sic]

LOVE AND FREINDSHIP

TO MADAME LA COMTESSE DE FEUILLIDE THIS NOVEL IS INSCRIBED BY HER

OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT THE AUTHOR.

“Deceived in Freindship and Betrayed in Love.”

LETTER the FIRST

From ISABEL to LAURA

How often, in answer to my repeated intreaties that you would give my

Daughter a regular detail of the Misfortunes and Adventures of your

Life, have you said “No, my freind never will I comply with your

request till I may be no longer in Danger of again experiencing such

dreadful ones.”

Surely that time is now at hand. You are this day 55. If a woman may

ever be said to be in safety from the determined Perseverance of

disagreeable Lovers and the cruel Persecutions of obstinate Fathers,

surely it must be at such a time of Life.

Isabel

LETTER 2nd

LAURA to ISABEL

Altho’ I cannot agree with you in supposing that I shall never again be

exposed to Misfortunes as unmerited as those I have already

experienced, yet to avoid the imputation of Obstinacy or ill-nature, I

will gratify the curiosity of your daughter; and may the fortitude with

which I have suffered the many afflictions of my past Life, prove to

her a useful lesson for the support of those which may befall her in

her own.

Laura

LETTER 3rd

LAURA to MARIANNE

As the Daughter of my most intimate freind I think you entitled to that

knowledge of my unhappy story, which your Mother has so often solicited

me to give you.

My Father was a native of Ireland and an inhabitant of Wales; my Mother

was the natural Daughter of a Scotch Peer by an italian Opera-girl—I

was born in Spain and received my Education at a Convent in France.

When I had reached my eighteenth Year I was recalled by my Parents to

my paternal roof in Wales. Our mansion was situated in one of the most

romantic parts of the Vale of Uske. Tho’ my Charms are now considerably

softened and somewhat impaired by the Misfortunes I have undergone, I

was once beautiful. But lovely as I was the Graces of my Person were

the least of my Perfections. Of every accomplishment accustomary to my

sex, I was Mistress. When in the Convent, my progress had always

exceeded my instructions, my Acquirements had been wonderfull for my

age, and I had shortly surpassed my Masters.

In my Mind, every Virtue that could adorn it was centered; it was the

Rendez-vous of every good Quality and of every noble sentiment.

A sensibility too tremblingly alive to every affliction of my Freinds,

my Acquaintance and particularly to every affliction of my own, was my

only fault, if a fault it could be called. Alas! how altered now! Tho’

indeed my own Misfortunes do not make less impression on me than they

ever did, yet now I never feel for those of an other. My

accomplishments too, begin to fade—I can neither sing so well nor Dance

so gracefully as I once did—and I have entirely forgot the _Minuet Dela

Cour_.

Adeiu.

Laura.

LETTER 4th

LAURA to MARIANNE

Our neighbourhood was small, for it consisted only of your Mother. She

may probably have already told you that being left by her Parents in

indigent Circumstances she had retired into Wales on eoconomical

motives. There it was our freindship first commenced. Isobel was then

one and twenty. Tho’ pleasing both in her Person and Manners (between

ourselves) she never possessed the hundredth part of my Beauty or

Accomplishments. Isabel had seen the World. She had passed 2 Years at

one of the first Boarding-schools in London; had spent a fortnight in

Bath and had supped one night in Southampton.

“Beware my Laura (she would often say) Beware of the insipid Vanities

and idle Dissipations of the Metropolis of England; Beware of the

unmeaning Luxuries of Bath and of the stinking fish of Southampton.”

“Alas! (exclaimed I) how am I to avoid those evils I shall never be

exposed to? What probability is there of my ever tasting the

Dissipations of London, the Luxuries of Bath, or the stinking Fish of

Southampton? I who am doomed to waste my Days of Youth and Beauty in an

humble Cottage in the Vale of Uske.”

Ah! little did I then think I was ordained so soon to quit that humble

Cottage for the Deceitfull Pleasures of the World.

Adeiu.

Laura.

LETTER 5th

LAURA to MARIANNE

One Evening in December as my Father, my Mother and myself, were

arranged in social converse round our Fireside, we were on a sudden

greatly astonished, by hearing a violent knocking on the outward door

of our rustic Cot.

My Father started—“What noise is that,” (said he.) “It sounds like a

loud rapping at the door”—(replied my Mother.) “it does indeed.” (cried

I.) “I am of your opinion; (said my Father) it certainly does appear to

proceed from some uncommon violence exerted against our unoffending

door.” “Yes (exclaimed I) I cannot help thinking it must be somebody

who knocks for admittance.”

“That is another point (replied he;) We must not pretend to determine

on what motive the person may knock—tho’ that someone _does_ rap at the

door, I am partly convinced.”

Here, a 2d tremendous rap interrupted my Father in his speech, and

somewhat alarmed my Mother and me.

“Had we better not go and see who it is? (said she) the servants are

out.” “I think we had.” (replied I.) “Certainly, (added my Father) by

all means.” “Shall we go now?” (said my Mother,) “The sooner the

better.” (answered he.) “Oh! let no time be lost” (cried I.)

A third more violent Rap than ever again assaulted our ears. “I am

certain there is somebody knocking at the Door.” (said my Mother.) “I

think there must,” (replied my Father) “I fancy the servants are

returned; (said I) I think I hear Mary going to the Door.” “I’m glad of

it (cried my Father) for I long to know who it is.”

I was right in my conjecture; for Mary instantly entering the Room,

informed us that a young Gentleman and his Servant were at the door,

who had lossed their way, were very cold and begged leave to warm

themselves by our fire.

“Won’t you admit them?” (said I.) “You have no objection, my Dear?”

(said my Father.) “None in the World.” (replied my Mother.)

Mary, without waiting for any further commands immediately left the

room and quickly returned introducing the most beauteous and amiable

Youth, I had ever beheld. The servant she kept to herself.

My natural sensibility had already been greatly affected by the

sufferings of the unfortunate stranger and no sooner did I first behold

him, than I felt that on him the happiness or Misery of my future Life

must depend.

Adeiu.

Laura.

LETTER 6th

LAURA to MARIANNE

The noble Youth informed us that his name was Lindsay—for particular

reasons however I shall conceal it under that of Talbot. He told us

that he was the son of an English Baronet, that his Mother had been for

many years no more and that he had a Sister of the middle size. “My

Father (he continued) is a mean and mercenary wretch—it is only to such

particular freinds as this Dear Party that I would thus betray his

failings. Your Virtues my amiable Polydore (addressing himself to my

father) yours Dear Claudia and yours my Charming Laura call on me to

repose in you, my confidence.” We bowed. “My Father seduced by the

false glare of Fortune and the Deluding Pomp of Title, insisted on my

giving my hand to Lady Dorothea. No never exclaimed I. Lady Dorothea is

lovely and Engaging; I prefer no woman to her; but know Sir, that I

scorn to marry her in compliance with your Wishes. No! Never shall it

be said that I obliged my Father.”

We all admired the noble Manliness of his reply. He continued.

“Sir Edward was surprised; he had perhaps little expected to meet with

so spirited an opposition to his will. “Where, Edward in the name of

wonder (said he) did you pick up this unmeaning gibberish? You have

been studying Novels I suspect.” I scorned to answer: it would have

been beneath my dignity. I mounted my Horse and followed by my faithful

William set forth for my Aunts.”

“My Father’s house is situated in Bedfordshire, my Aunt’s in Middlesex,

and tho’ I flatter myself with being a tolerable proficient in

Geography, I know not how it happened, but I found myself entering this

beautifull Vale which I find is in South Wales, when I had expected to

have reached my Aunts.”

“After having wandered some time on the Banks of the Uske without

knowing which way to go, I began to lament my cruel Destiny in the

bitterest and most pathetic Manner. It was now perfectly dark, not a

single star was there to direct my steps, and I know not what might

have befallen me had I not at length discerned thro’ the solemn Gloom

that surrounded me a distant light, which as I approached it, I

discovered to be the chearfull Blaze of your fire. Impelled by the

combination of Misfortunes under which I laboured, namely Fear, Cold

and Hunger I hesitated not to ask admittance which at length I have

gained; and now my Adorable Laura (continued he taking my Hand) when

may I hope to receive that reward of all the painfull sufferings I have

undergone during the course of my attachment to you, to which I have

ever aspired. Oh! when will you reward me with Yourself?”

“This instant, Dear and Amiable Edward.” (replied I.). We were

immediately united by my Father, who tho’ he had never taken orders had

been bred to the Church.

Adeiu.

Laura.

LETTER 7th

LAURA to MARIANNE

We remained but a few days after our Marriage, in the Vale of Uske.

After taking an affecting Farewell of my Father, my Mother and my

Isabel, I accompanied Edward to his Aunt’s in Middlesex. Philippa

received us both with every expression of affectionate Love. My arrival

was indeed a most agreable surprise to her as she had not only been

totally ignorant of my Marriage with her Nephew, but had never even had

the slightest idea of there being such a person in the World.

Augusta, the sister of Edward was on a visit to her when we arrived. I

found her exactly what her Brother had described her to be—of the

middle size. She received me with equal surprise though not with equal

Cordiality, as Philippa. There was a disagreable coldness and

Forbidding Reserve in her reception of me which was equally distressing

and Unexpected. None of that interesting Sensibility or amiable

simpathy in her manners and Address to me when we first met which

should have distinguished our introduction to each other. Her Language

was neither warm, nor affectionate, her expressions of regard were

neither animated nor cordial; her arms were not opened to receive me to

her Heart, tho’ my own were extended to press her to mine.

A short Conversation between Augusta and her Brother, which I

accidentally overheard encreased my dislike to her, and convinced me

that her Heart was no more formed for the soft ties of Love than for

the endearing intercourse of Freindship.

“But do you think that my Father will ever be reconciled to this

imprudent connection?” (said Augusta.)

“Augusta (replied the noble Youth) I thought you had a better opinion

of me, than to imagine I would so abjectly degrade myself as to

consider my Father’s Concurrence in any of my affairs, either of

Consequence or concern to me. Tell me Augusta with sincerity; did you

ever know me consult his inclinations or follow his Advice in the least

trifling Particular since the age of fifteen?”

“Edward (replied she) you are surely too diffident in your own praise.

Since you were fifteen only! My Dear Brother since you were five years

old, I entirely acquit you of ever having willingly contributed to the

satisfaction of your Father. But still I am not without apprehensions

of your being shortly obliged to degrade yourself in your own eyes by

seeking a support for your wife in the Generosity of Sir Edward.”

“Never, never Augusta will I so demean myself. (said Edward). Support!

What support will Laura want which she can receive from him?”

“Only those very insignificant ones of Victuals and Drink.” (answered

she.)

“Victuals and Drink! (replied my Husband in a most nobly contemptuous

Manner) and dost thou then imagine that there is no other support for

an exalted mind (such as is my Laura’s) than the mean and indelicate

employment of Eating and Drinking?”

“None that I know of, so efficacious.” (returned Augusta).

“And did you then never feel the pleasing Pangs of Love, Augusta?

(replied my Edward). Does it appear impossible to your vile and

corrupted Palate, to exist on Love? Can you not conceive the Luxury of

living in every distress that Poverty can inflict, with the object of

your tenderest affection?”

“You are too ridiculous (said Augusta) to argue with; perhaps however

you may in time be convinced that...”

Here I was prevented from hearing the remainder of her speech, by the

appearance of a very Handsome young Woman, who was ushured into the

Room at the Door of which I had been listening. On hearing her

announced by the Name of “Lady Dorothea,” I instantly quitted my Post

and followed her into the Parlour, for I well remembered that she was

the Lady, proposed as a Wife for my Edward by the Cruel and Unrelenting

Baronet.

Altho’ Lady Dorothea’s visit was nominally to Philippa and Augusta, yet

I have some reason to imagine that (acquainted with the Marriage and

arrival of Edward) to see me was a principal motive to it.

I soon perceived that tho’ Lovely and Elegant in her Person and tho’

Easy and Polite in her Address, she was of that inferior order of

Beings with regard to Delicate Feeling, tender Sentiments, and refined

Sensibility, of which Augusta was one.

She staid but half an hour and neither in the Course of her Visit,

confided to me any of her secret thoughts, nor requested me to confide

in her, any of Mine. You will easily imagine therefore my Dear Marianne

that I could not feel any ardent affection or very sincere Attachment

for Lady Dorothea.

Adeiu.

Laura.

LETTER 8th

LAURA to MARIANNE, in continuation

Lady Dorothea had not left us long before another visitor as unexpected

a one as her Ladyship, was announced. It was Sir Edward, who informed

by Augusta of her Brother’s marriage, came doubtless to reproach him

for having dared to unite himself to me without his Knowledge. But

Edward foreseeing his design, approached him with heroic fortitude as

soon as he entered the Room, and addressed him in the following Manner.

“Sir Edward, I know the motive of your Journey here—You come with the

base Design of reproaching me for having entered into an indissoluble

engagement with my Laura without your Consent. But Sir, I glory in the

Act—. It is my greatest boast that I have incurred the displeasure of

my Father!”

So saying, he took my hand and whilst Sir Edward, Philippa, and Augusta

were doubtless reflecting with admiration on his undaunted Bravery, led

me from the Parlour to his Father’s Carriage which yet remained at the

Door and in which we were instantly conveyed from the pursuit of Sir

Edward.

The Postilions had at first received orders only to take the London

road; as soon as we had sufficiently reflected However, we ordered them

to Drive to M——. the seat of Edward’s most particular freind, which was

but a few miles distant.

At M——. we arrived in a few hours; and on sending in our names were

immediately admitted to Sophia, the Wife of Edward’s freind. After

having been deprived during the course of 3 weeks of a real freind (for

such I term your Mother) imagine my transports at beholding one, most

truly worthy of the Name. Sophia was rather above the middle size; most

elegantly formed. A soft languor spread over her lovely features, but

increased their Beauty—. It was the Charectarestic of her Mind—. She

was all sensibility and Feeling. We flew into each others arms and

after having exchanged vows of mutual Freindship for the rest of our

Lives, instantly unfolded to each other the most inward secrets of our

Hearts—. We were interrupted in the delightfull Employment by the

entrance of Augustus, (Edward’s freind) who was just returned from a

solitary ramble.

Never did I see such an affecting Scene as was the meeting of Edward

and Augustus.

“My Life! my Soul!” (exclaimed the former) “My adorable angel!”

(replied the latter) as they flew into each other’s arms. It was too

pathetic for the feelings of Sophia and myself—We fainted alternately

on a sofa.

Adeiu

Laura.

LETTER the 9th

From the same to the same

Towards the close of the day we received the following Letter from

Philippa.

“Sir Edward is greatly incensed by your abrupt departure; he has taken

back Augusta to Bedfordshire. Much as I wish to enjoy again your

charming society, I cannot determine to snatch you from that, of such

dear and deserving Freinds—When your Visit to them is terminated, I

trust you will return to the arms of your”

“Philippa.”

We returned a suitable answer to this affectionate Note and after

thanking her for her kind invitation assured her that we would

certainly avail ourselves of it, whenever we might have no other place

to go to. Tho’ certainly nothing could to any reasonable Being, have

appeared more satisfactory, than so gratefull a reply to her

invitation, yet I know not how it was, but she was certainly capricious

enough to be displeased with our behaviour and in a few weeks after,

either to revenge our Conduct, or releive her own solitude, married a

young and illiterate Fortune-hunter. This imprudent step (tho’ we were

sensible that it would probably deprive us of that fortune which

Philippa had ever taught us to expect) could not on our own accounts,

excite from our exalted minds a single sigh; yet fearfull lest it might

prove a source of endless misery to the deluded Bride, our trembling

Sensibility was greatly affected when we were first informed of the

Event. The affectionate Entreaties of Augustus and Sophia that we would

for ever consider their House as our Home, easily prevailed on us to

determine never more to leave them. In the society of my Edward and

this Amiable Pair, I passed the happiest moments of my Life; Our time

was most delightfully spent, in mutual Protestations of Freindship, and

in vows of unalterable Love, in which we were secure from being

interrupted, by intruding and disagreable Visitors, as Augustus and

Sophia had on their first Entrance in the Neighbourhood, taken due care

to inform the surrounding Families, that as their happiness centered

wholly in themselves, they wished for no other society. But alas! my

Dear Marianne such Happiness as I then enjoyed was too perfect to be

lasting. A most severe and unexpected Blow at once destroyed every

sensation of Pleasure. Convinced as you must be from what I have

already told you concerning Augustus and Sophia, that there never were

a happier Couple, I need not I imagine, inform you that their union had

been contrary to the inclinations of their Cruel and Mercenery Parents;

who had vainly endeavoured with obstinate Perseverance to force them

into a Marriage with those whom they had ever abhorred; but with a

Heroic Fortitude worthy to be related and admired, they had both,

constantly refused to submit to such despotic Power.

After having so nobly disentangled themselves from the shackles of

Parental Authority, by a Clandestine Marriage, they were determined

never to forfeit the good opinion they had gained in the World, in so

doing, by accepting any proposals of reconciliation that might be

offered them by their Fathers—to this farther tryal of their noble

independance however they never were exposed.

They had been married but a few months when our visit to them commenced

during which time they had been amply supported by a considerable sum

of money which Augustus had gracefully purloined from his unworthy

father’s Escritoire, a few days before his union with Sophia.

By our arrival their Expenses were considerably encreased tho’ their

means for supplying them were then nearly exhausted. But they, Exalted

Creatures! scorned to reflect a moment on their pecuniary Distresses

and would have blushed at the idea of paying their Debts.—Alas! what

was their Reward for such disinterested Behaviour! The beautifull

Augustus was arrested and we were all undone. Such perfidious Treachery

in the merciless perpetrators of the Deed will shock your gentle nature

Dearest Marianne as much as it then affected the Delicate sensibility

of Edward, Sophia, your Laura, and of Augustus himself. To compleat

such unparalelled Barbarity we were informed that an Execution in the

House would shortly take place. Ah! what could we do but what we did!

We sighed and fainted on the sofa.

Adeiu

Laura.

LETTER 10th

LAURA in continuation

When we were somewhat recovered from the overpowering Effusions of our

grief, Edward desired that we would consider what was the most prudent

step to be taken in our unhappy situation while he repaired to his

imprisoned freind to lament over his misfortunes. We promised that we

would, and he set forwards on his journey to Town. During his absence

we faithfully complied with his Desire and after the most mature

Deliberation, at length agreed that the best thing we could do was to

leave the House; of which we every moment expected the officers of

Justice to take possession. We waited therefore with the greatest

impatience, for the return of Edward in order to impart to him the

result of our Deliberations. But no Edward appeared. In vain did we

count the tedious moments of his absence—in vain did we weep—in vain

even did we sigh—no Edward returned—. This was too cruel, too

unexpected a Blow to our Gentle Sensibility—we could not support it—we

could only faint. At length collecting all the Resolution I was

Mistress of, I arose and after packing up some necessary apparel for

Sophia and myself, I dragged her to a Carriage I had ordered and we

instantly set out for London. As the Habitation of Augustus was within

twelve miles of Town, it was not long e’er we arrived there, and no

sooner had we entered Holboun than letting down one of the Front

Glasses I enquired of every decent-looking Person that we passed “If

they had seen my Edward?”

But as we drove too rapidly to allow them to answer my repeated

Enquiries, I gained little, or indeed, no information concerning him.

“Where am I to drive?” said the Postilion. “To Newgate Gentle Youth

(replied I), to see Augustus.” “Oh! no, no, (exclaimed Sophia) I cannot

go to Newgate; I shall not be able to support the sight of my Augustus

in so cruel a confinement—my feelings are sufficiently shocked by the

_recital_, of his Distress, but to behold it will overpower my

Sensibility.” As I perfectly agreed with her in the Justice of her

Sentiments the Postilion was instantly directed to return into the

Country. You may perhaps have been somewhat surprised my Dearest

Marianne, that in the Distress I then endured, destitute of any

support, and unprovided with any Habitation, I should never once have

remembered my Father and Mother or my paternal Cottage in the Vale of

Uske. To account for this seeming forgetfullness I must inform you of a

trifling circumstance concerning them which I have as yet never

mentioned. The death of my Parents a few weeks after my Departure, is

the circumstance I allude to. By their decease I became the lawfull

Inheritress of their House and Fortune. But alas! the House had never

been their own and their Fortune had only been an Annuity on their own

Lives. Such is the Depravity of the World! To your Mother I should have

returned with Pleasure, should have been happy to have introduced to

her, my charming Sophia and should with Chearfullness have passed the

remainder of my Life in their dear Society in the Vale of Uske, had not

one obstacle to the execution of so agreable a scheme, intervened;

which was the Marriage and Removal of your Mother to a distant part of

Ireland.

Adeiu.

Laura.

LETTER 11th

LAURA in continuation

“I have a Relation in Scotland (said Sophia to me as we left London)

who I am certain would not hesitate in receiving me.” “Shall I order

the Boy to drive there?” said I—but instantly recollecting myself,

exclaimed, “Alas I fear it will be too long a Journey for the Horses.”

Unwilling however to act only from my own inadequate Knowledge of the

Strength and Abilities of Horses, I consulted the Postilion, who was

entirely of my Opinion concerning the Affair. We therefore determined

to change Horses at the next Town and to travel Post the remainder of

the Journey—. When we arrived at the last Inn we were to stop at, which

was but a few miles from the House of Sophia’s Relation, unwilling to

intrude our Society on him unexpected and unthought of, we wrote a very

elegant and well penned Note to him containing an account of our

Destitute and melancholy Situation, and of our intention to spend some

months with him in Scotland. As soon as we had dispatched this Letter,

we immediately prepared to follow it in person and were stepping into

the Carriage for that Purpose when our attention was attracted by the

Entrance of a coroneted Coach and 4 into the Inn-yard. A Gentleman

considerably advanced in years descended from it. At his first

Appearance my Sensibility was wonderfully affected and e’er I had gazed

at him a 2d time, an instinctive sympathy whispered to my Heart, that

he was my Grandfather. Convinced that I could not be mistaken in my

conjecture I instantly sprang from the Carriage I had just entered, and

following the Venerable Stranger into the Room he had been shewn to, I

threw myself on my knees before him and besought him to acknowledge me

as his Grand Child. He started, and having attentively examined my

features, raised me from the Ground and throwing his Grandfatherly

arms around my Neck, exclaimed, “Acknowledge thee! Yes dear resemblance

of my Laurina and Laurina’s Daughter, sweet image of my Claudia and my

Claudia’s Mother, I do acknowledge thee as the Daughter of the one and

the Grandaughter of the other.” While he was thus tenderly embracing

me, Sophia astonished at my precipitate Departure, entered the Room in

search of me. No sooner had she caught the eye of the venerable Peer,

than he exclaimed with every mark of Astonishment—“Another

Grandaughter! Yes, yes, I see you are the Daughter of my Laurina’s

eldest Girl; your resemblance to the beauteous Matilda sufficiently

proclaims it. “Oh! replied Sophia, when I first beheld you the

instinct of Nature whispered me that we were in some degree related—But

whether Grandfathers, or Grandmothers, I could not pretend to

determine.” He folded her in his arms, and whilst they were tenderly

embracing, the Door of the Apartment opened and a most beautifull young

Man appeared. On perceiving him Lord St. Clair started and retreating

back a few paces, with uplifted Hands, said, “Another Grand-child! What

an unexpected Happiness is this! to discover in the space of 3 minutes,

as many of my Descendants! This I am certain is Philander the son of my

Laurina’s 3d girl the amiable Bertha; there wants now but the presence

of Gustavus to compleat the Union of my Laurina’s Grand-Children.”

“And here he is; (said a Gracefull Youth who that instant entered the

room) here is the Gustavus you desire to see. I am the son of Agatha

your Laurina’s 4th and youngest Daughter,” “I see you are indeed;

replied Lord St. Clair—But tell me (continued he looking fearfully

towards the Door) tell me, have I any other Grand-children in the

House.” “None my Lord.” “Then I will provide for you all without

farther delay—Here are 4 Banknotes of 50£ each—Take them and remember I

have done the Duty of a Grandfather.” He instantly left the Room and

immediately afterwards the House.

Adeiu.

Laura.

LETTER the 12th

LAURA in continuation

You may imagine how greatly we were surprised by the sudden departure

of Lord St Clair. “Ignoble Grand-sire!” exclaimed Sophia. “Unworthy

Grandfather!” said I, and instantly fainted in each other’s arms. How

long we remained in this situation I know not; but when we recovered we

found ourselves alone, without either Gustavus, Philander, or the

Banknotes. As we were deploring our unhappy fate, the Door of the

Apartment opened and “Macdonald” was announced. He was Sophia’s cousin.

The haste with which he came to our releif so soon after the receipt of

our Note, spoke so greatly in his favour that I hesitated not to

pronounce him at first sight, a tender and simpathetic Freind. Alas! he

little deserved the name—for though he told us that he was much

concerned at our Misfortunes, yet by his own account it appeared that

the perusal of them, had neither drawn from him a single sigh, nor

induced him to bestow one curse on our vindictive stars—. He told

Sophia that his Daughter depended on her returning with him to

Macdonald-Hall, and that as his Cousin’s freind he should be happy to

see me there also. To Macdonald-Hall, therefore we went, and were

received with great kindness by Janetta the Daughter of Macdonald, and

the Mistress of the Mansion. Janetta was then only fifteen; naturally

well disposed, endowed with a susceptible Heart, and a simpathetic

Disposition, she might, had these amiable qualities been properly

encouraged, have been an ornament to human Nature; but unfortunately

her Father possessed not a soul sufficiently exalted to admire so

promising a Disposition, and had endeavoured by every means on his

power to prevent it encreasing with her Years. He had actually so far

extinguished the natural noble Sensibility of her Heart, as to prevail

on her to accept an offer from a young Man of his Recommendation. They

were to be married in a few months, and Graham, was in the House when

we arrived. _We_ soon saw through his character. He was just such a Man

as one might have expected to be the choice of Macdonald. They said he

was Sensible, well-informed, and Agreable; we did not pretend to Judge

of such trifles, but as we were convinced he had no soul, that he had

never read the sorrows of Werter, and that his Hair bore not the least

resemblance to auburn, we were certain that Janetta could feel no

affection for him, or at least that she ought to feel none. The very

circumstance of his being her father’s choice too, was so much in his

disfavour, that had he been deserving her, in every other respect yet

_that_ of itself ought to have been a sufficient reason in the Eyes of

Janetta for rejecting him. These considerations we were determined to

represent to her in their proper light and doubted not of meeting with

the desired success from one naturally so well disposed; whose errors

in the affair had only arisen from a want of proper confidence in her

own opinion, and a suitable contempt of her father’s. We found her

indeed all that our warmest wishes could have hoped for; we had no

difficulty to convince her that it was impossible she could love

Graham, or that it was her Duty to disobey her Father; the only thing

at which she rather seemed to hesitate was our assertion that she must

be attached to some other Person. For some time, she persevered in

declaring that she knew no other young man for whom she had the the

smallest Affection; but upon explaining the impossibility of such a

thing she said that she beleived she _did like_ Captain M’Kenrie better

than any one she knew besides. This confession satisfied us and after

having enumerated the good Qualities of M’Kenrie and assured her that

she was violently in love with him, we desired to know whether he had

ever in any wise declared his affection to her.

“So far from having ever declared it, I have no reason to imagine that

he has ever felt any for me.” said Janetta. “That he certainly adores

you (replied Sophia) there can be no doubt—. The Attachment must be

reciprocal. Did he never gaze on you with admiration—tenderly press

your hand—drop an involantary tear—and leave the room abruptly?” “Never

(replied she) that I remember—he has always left the room indeed when

his visit has been ended, but has never gone away particularly abruptly

or without making a bow.” Indeed my Love (said I) you must be

mistaken—for it is absolutely impossible that he should ever have left

you but with Confusion, Despair, and Precipitation. Consider but for a

moment Janetta, and you must be convinced how absurd it is to suppose

that he could ever make a Bow, or behave like any other Person.” Having

settled this Point to our satisfaction, the next we took into

consideration was, to determine in what manner we should inform

M’Kenrie of the favourable Opinion Janetta entertained of him.... We at

length agreed to acquaint him with it by an anonymous Letter which

Sophia drew up in the following manner.

“Oh! happy Lover of the beautifull Janetta, oh! amiable Possessor of

_her_ Heart whose hand is destined to another, why do you thus delay a

confession of your attachment to the amiable Object of it? Oh! consider

that a few weeks will at once put an end to every flattering Hope that

you may now entertain, by uniting the unfortunate Victim of her

father’s Cruelty to the execrable and detested Graham.”

“Alas! why do you thus so cruelly connive at the projected Misery of

her and of yourself by delaying to communicate that scheme which had

doubtless long possessed your imagination? A secret Union will at once

secure the felicity of both.”

The amiable M’Kenrie, whose modesty as he afterwards assured us had

been the only reason of his having so long concealed the violence of

his affection for Janetta, on receiving this Billet flew on the wings

of Love to Macdonald-Hall, and so powerfully pleaded his Attachment to

her who inspired it, that after a few more private interveiws, Sophia

and I experienced the satisfaction of seeing them depart for

Gretna-Green, which they chose for the celebration of their Nuptials,

in preference to any other place although it was at a considerable

distance from Macdonald-Hall.

Adeiu

Laura.

LETTER the 13th

LAURA in continuation

They had been gone nearly a couple of Hours, before either Macdonald or

Graham had entertained any suspicion of the affair. And they might not

even then have suspected it, but for the following little Accident.

Sophia happening one day to open a private Drawer in Macdonald’s

Library with one of her own keys, discovered that it was the Place

where he kept his Papers of consequence and amongst them some bank

notes of considerable amount. This discovery she imparted to me; and

having agreed together that it would be a proper treatment of so vile a

Wretch as Macdonald to deprive him of money, perhaps dishonestly

gained, it was determined that the next time we should either of us

happen to go that way, we would take one or more of the Bank notes from

the drawer. This well meant Plan we had often successfully put in

Execution; but alas! on the very day of Janetta’s Escape, as Sophia was

majestically removing the 5th Bank-note from the Drawer to her own

purse, she was suddenly most impertinently interrupted in her

employment by the entrance of Macdonald himself, in a most abrupt and

precipitate Manner. Sophia (who though naturally all winning sweetness

could when occasions demanded it call forth the Dignity of her sex)

instantly put on a most forbidding look, and darting an angry frown on

the undaunted culprit, demanded in a haughty tone of voice “Wherefore

her retirement was thus insolently broken in on?” The unblushing

Macdonald, without even endeavouring to exculpate himself from the

crime he was charged with, meanly endeavoured to reproach Sophia with

ignobly defrauding him of his money... The dignity of Sophia was

wounded; “Wretch (exclaimed she, hastily replacing the Bank-note in the

Drawer) how darest thou to accuse me of an Act, of which the bare idea

makes me blush?” The base wretch was still unconvinced and continued to

upbraid the justly-offended Sophia in such opprobious Language, that at

length he so greatly provoked the gentle sweetness of her Nature, as to

induce her to revenge herself on him by informing him of Janetta’s

Elopement, and of the active Part we had both taken in the affair. At

this period of their Quarrel I entered the Library and was as you may

imagine equally offended as Sophia at the ill-grounded accusations of

the malevolent and contemptible Macdonald. “Base Miscreant! (cried I)

how canst thou thus undauntedly endeavour to sully the spotless

reputation of such bright Excellence? Why dost thou not suspect _my_

innocence as soon?” “Be satisfied Madam (replied he) I _do_ suspect it,

and therefore must desire that you will both leave this House in less

than half an hour.”

“We shall go willingly; (answered Sophia) our hearts have long detested

thee, and nothing but our freindship for thy Daughter could have

induced us to remain so long beneath thy roof.”

“Your Freindship for my Daughter has indeed been most powerfully

exerted by throwing her into the arms of an unprincipled

Fortune-hunter.” (replied he)

“Yes, (exclaimed I) amidst every misfortune, it will afford us some

consolation to reflect that by this one act of Freindship to Janetta,

we have amply discharged every obligation that we have received from

her father.”

“It must indeed be a most gratefull reflection, to your exalted minds.”

(said he.)

As soon as we had packed up our wardrobe and valuables, we left

Macdonald Hall, and after having walked about a mile and a half we sate

down by the side of a clear limpid stream to refresh our exhausted

limbs. The place was suited to meditation. A grove of full-grown Elms

sheltered us from the East—. A Bed of full-grown Nettles from the

West—. Before us ran the murmuring brook and behind us ran the

turn-pike road. We were in a mood for contemplation and in a

Disposition to enjoy so beautifull a spot. A mutual silence which had

for some time reigned between us, was at length broke by my

exclaiming—“What a lovely scene! Alas why are not Edward and Augustus

here to enjoy its Beauties with us?”

“Ah! my beloved Laura (cried Sophia) for pity’s sake forbear recalling

to my remembrance the unhappy situation of my imprisoned Husband. Alas,

what would I not give to learn the fate of my Augustus! to know if he

is still in Newgate, or if he is yet hung. But never shall I be able so

far to conquer my tender sensibility as to enquire after him. Oh! do

not I beseech you ever let me again hear you repeat his beloved name—.

It affects me too deeply—. I cannot bear to hear him mentioned it

wounds my feelings.”

“Excuse me my Sophia for having thus unwillingly offended you—” replied

I—and then changing the conversation, desired her to admire the noble

Grandeur of the Elms which sheltered us from the Eastern Zephyr. “Alas!

my Laura (returned she) avoid so melancholy a subject, I intreat you.

Do not again wound my Sensibility by observations on those elms. They

remind me of Augustus. He was like them, tall, magestic—he possessed

that noble grandeur which you admire in them.”

I was silent, fearfull lest I might any more unwillingly distress her

by fixing on any other subject of conversation which might again remind

her of Augustus.

“Why do you not speak my Laura? (said she after a short pause) “I

cannot support this silence you must not leave me to my own

reflections; they ever recur to Augustus.”

“What a beautifull sky! (said I) How charmingly is the azure varied by

those delicate streaks of white!”

“Oh! my Laura (replied she hastily withdrawing her Eyes from a

momentary glance at the sky) do not thus distress me by calling my

Attention to an object which so cruelly reminds me of my Augustus’s

blue sattin waistcoat striped in white! In pity to your unhappy freind

avoid a subject so distressing.” What could I do? The feelings of

Sophia were at that time so exquisite, and the tenderness she felt for

Augustus so poignant that I had not power to start any other topic,

justly fearing that it might in some unforseen manner again awaken all

her sensibility by directing her thoughts to her Husband. Yet to be

silent would be cruel; she had intreated me to talk.

From this Dilemma I was most fortunately releived by an accident truly

apropos; it was the lucky overturning of a Gentleman’s Phaeton, on the

road which ran murmuring behind us. It was a most fortunate accident as

it diverted the attention of Sophia from the melancholy reflections

which she had been before indulging. We instantly quitted our seats and

ran to the rescue of those who but a few moments before had been in so

elevated a situation as a fashionably high Phaeton, but who were now

laid low and sprawling in the Dust. “What an ample subject for

reflection on the uncertain Enjoyments of this World, would not that

Phaeton and the Life of Cardinal Wolsey afford a thinking Mind!” said I

to Sophia as we were hastening to the field of Action.

She had not time to answer me, for every thought was now engaged by the

horrid spectacle before us. Two Gentlemen most elegantly attired but

weltering in their blood was what first struck our Eyes—we

approached—they were Edward and Augustus—. Yes dearest Marianne they

were our Husbands. Sophia shreiked and fainted on the ground—I screamed

and instantly ran mad—. We remained thus mutually deprived of our

senses, some minutes, and on regaining them were deprived of them

again. For an Hour and a Quarter did we continue in this unfortunate

situation—Sophia fainting every moment and I running mad as often. At

length a groan from the hapless Edward (who alone retained any share of

life) restored us to ourselves. Had we indeed before imagined that

either of them lived, we should have been more sparing of our Greif—but

as we had supposed when we first beheld them that they were no more, we

knew that nothing could remain to be done but what we were about. No

sooner did we therefore hear my Edward’s groan than postponing our

lamentations for the present, we hastily ran to the Dear Youth and

kneeling on each side of him implored him not to die—. “Laura (said He

fixing his now languid Eyes on me) I fear I have been overturned.”

I was overjoyed to find him yet sensible.

“Oh! tell me Edward (said I) tell me I beseech you before you die, what

has befallen you since that unhappy Day in which Augustus was arrested

and we were separated—”

“I will” (said he) and instantly fetching a deep sigh, Expired—. Sophia

immediately sank again into a swoon—. _My_ greif was more audible. My

Voice faltered, My Eyes assumed a vacant stare, my face became as pale

as Death, and my senses were considerably impaired—.

“Talk not to me of Phaetons (said I, raving in a frantic, incoherent

manner)—Give me a violin—. I’ll play to him and sooth him in his

melancholy Hours—Beware ye gentle Nymphs of Cupid’s Thunderbolts, avoid

the piercing shafts of Jupiter—Look at that grove of Firs—I see a Leg

of Mutton—They told me Edward was not Dead; but they deceived me—they

took him for a cucumber—” Thus I continued wildly exclaiming on my

Edward’s Death—. For two Hours did I rave thus madly and should not

then have left off, as I was not in the least fatigued, had not Sophia

who was just recovered from her swoon, intreated me to consider that

Night was now approaching and that the Damps began to fall. “And

whither shall we go (said I) to shelter us from either?” “To that white

Cottage.” (replied she pointing to a neat Building which rose up amidst

the grove of Elms and which I had not before observed—) I agreed and we

instantly walked to it—we knocked at the door—it was opened by an old

woman; on being requested to afford us a Night’s Lodging, she informed

us that her House was but small, that she had only two Bedrooms, but

that However we should be wellcome to one of them. We were satisfied

and followed the good woman into the House where we were greatly

cheered by the sight of a comfortable fire—. She was a widow and had

only one Daughter, who was then just seventeen—One of the best of ages;

but alas! she was very plain and her name was Bridget..... Nothing

therfore could be expected from her—she could not be supposed to

possess either exalted Ideas, Delicate Feelings or refined

Sensibilities—. She was nothing more than a mere good-tempered, civil

and obliging young woman; as such we could scarcely dislike here—she

was only an Object of Contempt—.

Adeiu

Laura.

LETTER the 14th

LAURA in continuation

Arm yourself my amiable young Freind with all the philosophy you are

Mistress of; summon up all the fortitude you possess, for alas! in the

perusal of the following Pages your sensibility will be most severely

tried. Ah! what were the misfortunes I had before experienced and which

I have already related to you, to the one I am now going to inform you

of. The Death of my Father and my Mother and my Husband though almost

more than my gentle Nature could support, were trifles in comparison to

the misfortune I am now proceeding to relate. The morning after our

arrival at the Cottage, Sophia complained of a violent pain in her

delicate limbs, accompanied with a disagreable Head-ake. She attributed

it to a cold caught by her continued faintings in the open air as the

Dew was falling the Evening before. This I feared was but too probably

the case; since how could it be otherwise accounted for that I should

have escaped the same indisposition, but by supposing that the bodily

Exertions I had undergone in my repeated fits of frenzy had so

effectually circulated and warmed my Blood as to make me proof against

the chilling Damps of Night, whereas, Sophia lying totally inactive on

the ground must have been exposed to all their severity. I was most

seriously alarmed by her illness which trifling as it may appear to

you, a certain instinctive sensibility whispered me, would in the End

be fatal to her.

Alas! my fears were but too fully justified; she grew gradually

worse—and I daily became more alarmed for her. At length she was

obliged to confine herself solely to the Bed allotted us by our worthy

Landlady—. Her disorder turned to a galloping Consumption and in a few

days carried her off. Amidst all my Lamentations for her (and violent

you may suppose they were) I yet received some consolation in the

reflection of my having paid every attention to her, that could be

offered, in her illness. I had wept over her every Day—had bathed her

sweet face with my tears and had pressed her fair Hands continually in

mine—. “My beloved Laura (said she to me a few Hours before she died)

take warning from my unhappy End and avoid the imprudent conduct which

had occasioned it... Beware of fainting-fits... Though at the time they

may be refreshing and agreable yet beleive me they will in the end, if

too often repeated and at improper seasons, prove destructive to your

Constitution... My fate will teach you this.. I die a Martyr to my

greif for the loss of Augustus.. One fatal swoon has cost me my Life..

Beware of swoons Dear Laura.... A frenzy fit is not one quarter so

pernicious; it is an exercise to the Body and if not too violent, is I

dare say conducive to Health in its consequences—Run mad as often as

you chuse; but do not faint—”

These were the last words she ever addressed to me.. It was her dieing

Advice to her afflicted Laura, who has ever most faithfully adhered to

it.

After having attended my lamented freind to her Early Grave, I

immediately (tho’ late at night) left the detested Village in which she

died, and near which had expired my Husband and Augustus. I had not

walked many yards from it before I was overtaken by a stage-coach, in

which I instantly took a place, determined to proceed in it to

Edinburgh, where I hoped to find some kind some pitying Freind who

would receive and comfort me in my afflictions.

It was so dark when I entered the Coach that I could not distinguish

the Number of my Fellow-travellers; I could only perceive that they

were many. Regardless however of anything concerning them, I gave

myself up to my own sad Reflections. A general silence prevailed—A

silence, which was by nothing interrupted but by the loud and repeated

snores of one of the Party.

“What an illiterate villain must that man be! (thought I to myself)

What a total want of delicate refinement must he have, who can thus

shock our senses by such a brutal noise! He must I am certain be

capable of every bad action! There is no crime too black for such a

Character!” Thus reasoned I within myself, and doubtless such were the

reflections of my fellow travellers.

At length, returning Day enabled me to behold the unprincipled

Scoundrel who had so violently disturbed my feelings. It was Sir Edward

the father of my Deceased Husband. By his side sate Augusta, and on the

same seat with me were your Mother and Lady Dorothea. Imagine my

surprise at finding myself thus seated amongst my old Acquaintance.

Great as was my astonishment, it was yet increased, when on looking out

of Windows, I beheld the Husband of Philippa, with Philippa by his

side, on the Coachbox and when on looking behind I beheld, Philander

and Gustavus in the Basket. “Oh! Heavens, (exclaimed I) is it possible

that I should so unexpectedly be surrounded by my nearest Relations and

Connections?” These words roused the rest of the Party, and every eye

was directed to the corner in which I sat. “Oh! my Isabel (continued I

throwing myself across Lady Dorothea into her arms) receive once more

to your Bosom the unfortunate Laura. Alas! when we last parted in the

Vale of Usk, I was happy in being united to the best of Edwards; I had

then a Father and a Mother, and had never known misfortunes—But now

deprived of every freind but you—”

“What! (interrupted Augusta) is my Brother dead then? Tell us I intreat

you what is become of him?” “Yes, cold and insensible Nymph, (replied

I) that luckless swain your Brother, is no more, and you may now glory

in being the Heiress of Sir Edward’s fortune.”

Although I had always despised her from the Day I had overheard her

conversation with my Edward, yet in civility I complied with hers and

Sir Edward’s intreaties that I would inform them of the whole

melancholy affair. They were greatly shocked—even the obdurate Heart of

Sir Edward and the insensible one of Augusta, were touched with sorrow,

by the unhappy tale. At the request of your Mother I related to them

every other misfortune which had befallen me since we parted. Of the

imprisonment of Augustus and the absence of Edward—of our arrival in

Scotland—of our unexpected Meeting with our Grand-father and our

cousins—of our visit to Macdonald-Hall—of the singular service we there

performed towards Janetta—of her Fathers ingratitude for it.. of his

inhuman Behaviour, unaccountable suspicions, and barbarous treatment of

us, in obliging us to leave the House.. of our lamentations on the loss

of Edward and Augustus and finally of the melancholy Death of my

beloved Companion.

Pity and surprise were strongly depictured in your Mother’s

countenance, during the whole of my narration, but I am sorry to say,

that to the eternal reproach of her sensibility, the latter infinitely

predominated. Nay, faultless as my conduct had certainly been during

the whole course of my late misfortunes and adventures, she pretended

to find fault with my behaviour in many of the situations in which I

had been placed. As I was sensible myself, that I had always behaved in

a manner which reflected Honour on my Feelings and Refinement, I paid

little attention to what she said, and desired her to satisfy my

Curiosity by informing me how she came there, instead of wounding my

spotless reputation with unjustifiable Reproaches. As soon as she had

complyed with my wishes in this particular and had given me an accurate

detail of every thing that had befallen her since our separation (the

particulars of which if you are not already acquainted with, your

Mother will give you) I applied to Augusta for the same information

respecting herself, Sir Edward and Lady Dorothea.

She told me that having a considerable taste for the Beauties of

Nature, her curiosity to behold the delightful scenes it exhibited in

that part of the World had been so much raised by Gilpin’s Tour to the

Highlands, that she had prevailed on her Father to undertake a Tour to

Scotland and had persuaded Lady Dorothea to accompany them. That they

had arrived at Edinburgh a few Days before and from thence had made

daily Excursions into the Country around in the Stage Coach they were

then in, from one of which Excursions they were at that time returning.

My next enquiries were concerning Philippa and her Husband, the latter

of whom I learned having spent all her fortune, had recourse for

subsistence to the talent in which, he had always most excelled,

namely, Driving, and that having sold every thing which belonged to

them except their Coach, had converted it into a Stage and in order to

be removed from any of his former Acquaintance, had driven it to

Edinburgh from whence he went to Sterling every other Day. That

Philippa still retaining her affection for her ungratefull Husband, had

followed him to Scotland and generally accompanied him in his little

Excursions to Sterling. “It has only been to throw a little money into

their Pockets (continued Augusta) that my Father has always travelled

in their Coach to veiw the beauties of the Country since our arrival in

Scotland—for it would certainly have been much more agreable to us, to

visit the Highlands in a Postchaise than merely to travel from

Edinburgh to Sterling and from Sterling to Edinburgh every other Day in

a crowded and uncomfortable Stage.” I perfectly agreed with her in her

sentiments on the affair, and secretly blamed Sir Edward for thus

sacrificing his Daughter’s Pleasure for the sake of a ridiculous old

woman whose folly in marrying so young a man ought to be punished. His

Behaviour however was entirely of a peice with his general Character;

for what could be expected from a man who possessed not the smallest

atom of Sensibility, who scarcely knew the meaning of simpathy, and who

actually snored—.

Adeiu

Laura.

LETTER the 15th

LAURA in continuation.

When we arrived at the town where we were to Breakfast, I was

determined to speak with Philander and Gustavus, and to that purpose as

soon as I left the Carriage, I went to the Basket and tenderly enquired

after their Health, expressing my fears of the uneasiness of their

situation. At first they seemed rather confused at my appearance

dreading no doubt that I might call them to account for the money which

our Grandfather had left me and which they had unjustly deprived me of,

but finding that I mentioned nothing of the Matter, they desired me to

step into the Basket as we might there converse with greater ease.

Accordingly I entered and whilst the rest of the party were devouring

green tea and buttered toast, we feasted ourselves in a more refined

and sentimental Manner by a confidential Conversation. I informed them

of every thing which had befallen me during the course of my life, and

at my request they related to me every incident of theirs.

“We are the sons as you already know, of the two youngest Daughters

which Lord St Clair had by Laurina an italian opera girl. Our mothers

could neither of them exactly ascertain who were our Father, though it

is generally beleived that Philander, is the son of one Philip Jones a

Bricklayer and that my Father was one Gregory Staves a Staymaker of

Edinburgh. This is however of little consequence for as our Mothers

were certainly never married to either of them it reflects no Dishonour

on our Blood, which is of a most ancient and unpolluted kind. Bertha

(the Mother of Philander) and Agatha (my own Mother) always lived

together. They were neither of them very rich; their united fortunes

had originally amounted to nine thousand Pounds, but as they had always

lived on the principal of it, when we were fifteen it was diminished to

nine Hundred. This nine Hundred they always kept in a Drawer in one of

the Tables which stood in our common sitting Parlour, for the

convenience of having it always at Hand. Whether it was from this

circumstance, of its being easily taken, or from a wish of being

independant, or from an excess of sensibility (for which we were always

remarkable) I cannot now determine, but certain it is that when we had

reached our 15th year, we took the nine Hundred Pounds and ran away.

Having obtained this prize we were determined to manage it with

economy and not to spend it either with folly or Extravagance. To this

purpose we therefore divided it into nine parcels, one of which we

devoted to Victuals, the 2d to Drink, the 3d to Housekeeping, the 4th

to Carriages, the 5th to Horses, the 6th to Servants, the 7th to

Amusements, the 8th to Cloathes and the 9th to Silver Buckles. Having

thus arranged our Expences for two months (for we expected to make the

nine Hundred Pounds last as long) we hastened to London and had the

good luck to spend it in 7 weeks and a Day which was 6 Days sooner than

we had intended. As soon as we had thus happily disencumbered ourselves

from the weight of so much money, we began to think of returning to our

Mothers, but accidentally hearing that they were both starved to Death,

we gave over the design and determined to engage ourselves to some

strolling Company of Players, as we had always a turn for the Stage.

Accordingly we offered our services to one and were accepted; our

Company was indeed rather small, as it consisted only of the Manager

his wife and ourselves, but there were fewer to pay and the only

inconvenience attending it was the Scarcity of Plays which for want of

People to fill the Characters, we could perform. We did not mind

trifles however—. One of our most admired Performances was _Macbeth_,

in which we were truly great. The Manager always played _Banquo_

himself, his Wife my _Lady Macbeth_. I did the _Three Witches_ and

Philander acted _all the rest_. To say the truth this tragedy was not

only the Best, but the only Play that we ever performed; and after

having acted it all over England, and Wales, we came to Scotland to

exhibit it over the remainder of Great Britain. We happened to be

quartered in that very Town, where you came and met your Grandfather—.

We were in the Inn-yard when his Carriage entered and perceiving by the

arms to whom it belonged, and knowing that Lord St Clair was our

Grandfather, we agreed to endeavour to get something from him by

discovering the Relationship—. You know how well it succeeded—. Having

obtained the two Hundred Pounds, we instantly left the Town, leaving

our Manager and his Wife to act _Macbeth_ by themselves, and took the

road to Sterling, where we spent our little fortune with great _eclat_.

We are now returning to Edinburgh in order to get some preferment in

the Acting way; and such my Dear Cousin is our History.”

I thanked the amiable Youth for his entertaining narration, and after

expressing my wishes for their Welfare and Happiness, left them in

their little Habitation and returned to my other Freinds who

impatiently expected me.

My adventures are now drawing to a close my dearest Marianne; at least

for the present.

When we arrived at Edinburgh Sir Edward told me that as the Widow of

his son, he desired I would accept from his Hands of four Hundred a

year. I graciously promised that I would, but could not help observing

that the unsimpathetic Baronet offered it more on account of my being

the Widow of Edward than in being the refined and amiable Laura.

I took up my Residence in a Romantic Village in the Highlands of

Scotland where I have ever since continued, and where I can

uninterrupted by unmeaning Visits, indulge in a melancholy solitude, my

unceasing Lamentations for the Death of my Father, my Mother, my

Husband and my Freind.

Augusta has been for several years united to Graham the Man of all

others most suited to her; she became acquainted with him during her

stay in Scotland.

Sir Edward in hopes of gaining an Heir to his Title and Estate, at the

same time married Lady Dorothea—. His wishes have been answered.

Philander and Gustavus, after having raised their reputation by their

Performances in the Theatrical Line at Edinburgh, removed to Covent

Garden, where they still exhibit under the assumed names of _Luvis_ and

_Quick_.

Philippa has long paid the Debt of Nature, Her Husband however still

continues to drive the Stage-Coach from Edinburgh to Sterling:—

Adeiu my Dearest Marianne.

Laura.

Finis

June 13th 1790.

LESLEY CASTLE

AN UNFINISHED NOVEL IN LETTERS

To HENRY THOMAS AUSTEN Esqre.

Sir

I am now availing myself of the Liberty you have frequently honoured me

with of dedicating one of my Novels to you. That it is unfinished, I

greive; yet fear that from me, it will always remain so; that as far as

it is carried, it should be so trifling and so unworthy of you, is

another concern to your obliged humble

Servant

The Author

Messrs Demand and Co—please to pay Jane Austen Spinster the sum of one

hundred guineas on account of your Humble Servant.

H. T. Austen

£105. 0. 0.

LESLEY CASTLE

LETTER the FIRST is from

Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL

Lesley Castle Janry 3rd—1792.

My Brother has just left us. “Matilda (said he at parting) you and

Margaret will I am certain take all the care of my dear little one,

that she might have received from an indulgent, and affectionate and

amiable Mother.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke these

words—the remembrance of her, who had so wantonly disgraced the

Maternal character and so openly violated the conjugal Duties,

prevented his adding anything farther; he embraced his sweet Child and

after saluting Matilda and Me hastily broke from us and seating himself

in his Chaise, pursued the road to Aberdeen. Never was there a better

young Man! Ah! how little did he deserve the misfortunes he has

experienced in the Marriage state. So good a Husband to so bad a Wife!

for you know my dear Charlotte that the Worthless Louisa left him, her

Child and reputation a few weeks ago in company with Danvers and

dishonour. Never was there a sweeter face, a finer form, or a less

amiable Heart than Louisa owned! Her child already possesses the

personal Charms of her unhappy Mother! May she inherit from her Father

all his mental ones! Lesley is at present but five and twenty, and has

already given himself up to melancholy and Despair; what a difference

between him and his Father! Sir George is 57 and still remains the

Beau, the flighty stripling, the gay Lad, and sprightly Youngster, that

his Son was really about five years back, and that _he_ has affected to

appear ever since my remembrance. While our father is fluttering about

the streets of London, gay, dissipated, and Thoughtless at the age of

57, Matilda and I continue secluded from Mankind in our old and

Mouldering Castle, which is situated two miles from Perth on a bold

projecting Rock, and commands an extensive veiw of the Town and its

delightful Environs. But tho’ retired from almost all the World, (for

we visit no one but the M’Leods, The M’Kenzies, the M’Phersons, the

M’Cartneys, the M’Donalds, The M’kinnons, the M’lellans, the M’kays,

the Macbeths and the Macduffs) we are neither dull nor unhappy; on the

contrary there never were two more lively, more agreable or more witty

girls, than we are; not an hour in the Day hangs heavy on our Hands. We

read, we work, we walk, and when fatigued with these Employments

releive our spirits, either by a lively song, a graceful Dance, or by

some smart bon-mot, and witty repartee. We are handsome my dear

Charlotte, very handsome and the greatest of our Perfections is, that

we are entirely insensible of them ourselves. But why do I thus dwell

on myself! Let me rather repeat the praise of our dear little Neice the

innocent Louisa, who is at present sweetly smiling in a gentle Nap, as

she reposes on the sofa. The dear Creature is just turned of two years

old; as handsome as tho’ 2 and 20, as sensible as tho’ 2 and 30, and as

prudent as tho’ 2 and 40. To convince you of this, I must inform you

that she has a very fine complexion and very pretty features, that she

already knows the two first letters in the Alphabet, and that she never

tears her frocks—. If I have not now convinced you of her Beauty, Sense

and Prudence, I have nothing more to urge in support of my assertion,

and you will therefore have no way of deciding the Affair but by coming

to Lesley-Castle, and by a personal acquaintance with Louisa, determine

for yourself. Ah! my dear Freind, how happy should I be to see you

within these venerable Walls! It is now four years since my removal

from School has separated me from you; that two such tender Hearts, so

closely linked together by the ties of simpathy and Freindship, should

be so widely removed from each other, is vastly moving. I live in

Perthshire, You in Sussex. We might meet in London, were my Father

disposed to carry me there, and were your Mother to be there at the

same time. We might meet at Bath, at Tunbridge, or anywhere else

indeed, could we but be at the same place together. We have only to

hope that such a period may arrive. My Father does not return to us

till Autumn; my Brother will leave Scotland in a few Days; he is

impatient to travel. Mistaken Youth! He vainly flatters himself that

change of Air will heal the Wounds of a broken Heart! You will join

with me I am certain my dear Charlotte, in prayers for the recovery of

the unhappy Lesley’s peace of Mind, which must ever be essential to

that of your sincere freind

M. Lesley.

LETTER the SECOND

From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY in answer.

Glenford Febry 12

I have a thousand excuses to beg for having so long delayed thanking

you my dear Peggy for your agreable Letter, which beleive me I should

not have deferred doing, had not every moment of my time during the

last five weeks been so fully employed in the necessary arrangements

for my sisters wedding, as to allow me no time to devote either to you

or myself. And now what provokes me more than anything else is that the

Match is broke off, and all my Labour thrown away. Imagine how great

the Dissapointment must be to me, when you consider that after having

laboured both by Night and by Day, in order to get the Wedding dinner

ready by the time appointed, after having roasted Beef, Broiled Mutton,

and Stewed Soup enough to last the new-married Couple through the

Honey-moon, I had the mortification of finding that I had been

Roasting, Broiling and Stewing both the Meat and Myself to no purpose.

Indeed my dear Freind, I never remember suffering any vexation equal to

what I experienced on last Monday when my sister came running to me in

the store-room with her face as White as a Whipt syllabub, and told me

that Hervey had been thrown from his Horse, had fractured his Scull and

was pronounced by his surgeon to be in the most emminent Danger. “Good

God! (said I) you dont say so? Why what in the name of Heaven will

become of all the Victuals! We shall never be able to eat it while it

is good. However, we’ll call in the Surgeon to help us. I shall be able

to manage the Sir-loin myself, my Mother will eat the soup, and You and

the Doctor must finish the rest.” Here I was interrupted, by seeing my

poor Sister fall down to appearance Lifeless upon one of the Chests,

where we keep our Table linen. I immediately called my Mother and the

Maids, and at last we brought her to herself again; as soon as ever she

was sensible, she expressed a determination of going instantly to

Henry, and was so wildly bent on this Scheme, that we had the greatest

Difficulty in the World to prevent her putting it in execution; at last

however more by Force than Entreaty we prevailed on her to go into her

room; we laid her upon the Bed, and she continued for some Hours in the

most dreadful Convulsions. My Mother and I continued in the room with

her, and when any intervals of tolerable Composure in Eloisa would

allow us, we joined in heartfelt lamentations on the dreadful Waste in

our provisions which this Event must occasion, and in concerting some

plan for getting rid of them. We agreed that the best thing we could do

was to begin eating them immediately, and accordingly we ordered up the

cold Ham and Fowls, and instantly began our Devouring Plan on them with

great Alacrity. We would have persuaded Eloisa to have taken a Wing of

a Chicken, but she would not be persuaded. She was however much quieter

than she had been; the convulsions she had before suffered having given

way to an almost perfect Insensibility. We endeavoured to rouse her by

every means in our power, but to no purpose. I talked to her of Henry.

“Dear Eloisa (said I) there’s no occasion for your crying so much about

such a trifle. (for I was willing to make light of it in order to

comfort her) I beg you would not mind it—You see it does not vex me in

the least; though perhaps I may suffer most from it after all; for I

shall not only be obliged to eat up all the Victuals I have dressed

already, but must if Henry should recover (which however is not very

likely) dress as much for you again; or should he die (as I suppose he

will) I shall still have to prepare a Dinner for you whenever you marry

any one else. So you see that tho’ perhaps for the present it may

afflict you to think of Henry’s sufferings, Yet I dare say he’ll die

soon, and then his pain will be over and you will be easy, whereas my

Trouble will last much longer for work as hard as I may, I am certain

that the pantry cannot be cleared in less than a fortnight.” Thus I did

all in my power to console her, but without any effect, and at last as

I saw that she did not seem to listen to me, I said no more, but

leaving her with my Mother I took down the remains of The Ham and

Chicken, and sent William to ask how Henry did. He was not expected to

live many Hours; he died the same day. We took all possible care to

break the melancholy Event to Eloisa in the tenderest manner; yet in

spite of every precaution, her sufferings on hearing it were too

violent for her reason, and she continued for many hours in a high

Delirium. She is still extremely ill, and her Physicians are greatly

afraid of her going into a Decline. We are therefore preparing for

Bristol, where we mean to be in the course of the next week. And now my

dear Margaret let me talk a little of your affairs; and in the first

place I must inform you that it is confidently reported, your Father is

going to be married; I am very unwilling to beleive so unpleasing a

report, and at the same time cannot wholly discredit it. I have written

to my freind Susan Fitzgerald, for information concerning it, which as

she is at present in Town, she will be very able to give me. I know not

who is the Lady. I think your Brother is extremely right in the

resolution he has taken of travelling, as it will perhaps contribute to

obliterate from his remembrance, those disagreable Events, which have

lately so much afflicted him—I am happy to find that tho’ secluded from

all the World, neither you nor Matilda are dull or unhappy—that you may

never know what it is to, be either is the wish of your sincerely

affectionate

C.L.

P. S. I have this instant received an answer from my freind Susan,

which I enclose to you, and on which you will make your own

reflections.

The enclosed LETTER

My dear CHARLOTTE

You could not have applied for information concerning the report of Sir

George Lesleys Marriage, to any one better able to give it you than I

am. Sir George is certainly married; I was myself present at the

Ceremony, which you will not be surprised at when I subscribe myself

your

Affectionate

Susan Lesley

LETTER the THIRD

From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss C. LUTTERELL

Lesley Castle February the 16th

I _have_ made my own reflections on the letter you enclosed to me, my

Dear Charlotte and I will now tell you what those reflections were. I

reflected that if by this second Marriage Sir George should have a

second family, our fortunes must be considerably diminushed—that if his

Wife should be of an extravagant turn, she would encourage him to

persevere in that gay and Dissipated way of Life to which little

encouragement would be necessary, and which has I fear already proved

but too detrimental to his health and fortune—that she would now become

Mistress of those Jewels which once adorned our Mother, and which Sir

George had always promised us—that if they did not come into Perthshire

I should not be able to gratify my curiosity of beholding my

Mother-in-law and that if they did, Matilda would no longer sit at the

head of her Father’s table—. These my dear Charlotte were the

melancholy reflections which crowded into my imagination after perusing

Susan’s letter to you, and which instantly occurred to Matilda when she

had perused it likewise. The same ideas, the same fears, immediately

occupied her Mind, and I know not which reflection distressed her most,

whether the probable Diminution of our Fortunes, or her own

Consequence. We both wish very much to know whether Lady Lesley is

handsome and what is your opinion of her; as you honour her with the

appellation of your freind, we flatter ourselves that she must be

amiable. My Brother is already in Paris. He intends to quit it in a few

Days, and to begin his route to Italy. He writes in a most chearfull

manner, says that the air of France has greatly recovered both his

Health and Spirits; that he has now entirely ceased to think of Louisa

with any degree either of Pity or Affection, that he even feels himself

obliged to her for her Elopement, as he thinks it very good fun to be

single again. By this, you may perceive that he has entirely regained

that chearful Gaiety, and sprightly Wit, for which he was once so

remarkable. When he first became acquainted with Louisa which was

little more than three years ago, he was one of the most lively, the

most agreable young Men of the age—. I beleive you never yet heard the

particulars of his first acquaintance with her. It commenced at our

cousin Colonel Drummond’s; at whose house in Cumberland he spent the

Christmas, in which he attained the age of two and twenty. Louisa

Burton was the Daughter of a distant Relation of Mrs. Drummond, who

dieing a few Months before in extreme poverty, left his only Child then

about eighteen to the protection of any of his Relations who would

protect her. Mrs. Drummond was the only one who found herself so

disposed—Louisa was therefore removed from a miserable Cottage in

Yorkshire to an elegant Mansion in Cumberland, and from every pecuniary

Distress that Poverty could inflict, to every elegant Enjoyment that

Money could purchase—. Louisa was naturally ill-tempered and Cunning;

but she had been taught to disguise her real Disposition, under the

appearance of insinuating Sweetness, by a father who but too well knew,

that to be married, would be the only chance she would have of not

being starved, and who flattered himself that with such an extroidinary

share of personal beauty, joined to a gentleness of Manners, and an

engaging address, she might stand a good chance of pleasing some young

Man who might afford to marry a girl without a Shilling. Louisa

perfectly entered into her father’s schemes and was determined to

forward them with all her care and attention. By dint of Perseverance

and Application, she had at length so thoroughly disguised her natural

disposition under the mask of Innocence, and Softness, as to impose

upon every one who had not by a long and constant intimacy with her

discovered her real Character. Such was Louisa when the hapless Lesley

first beheld her at Drummond-house. His heart which (to use your

favourite comparison) was as delicate as sweet and as tender as a

Whipt-syllabub, could not resist her attractions. In a very few Days,

he was falling in love, shortly after actually fell, and before he had

known her a Month, he had married her. My Father was at first highly

displeased at so hasty and imprudent a connection; but when he found

that they did not mind it, he soon became perfectly reconciled to the

match. The Estate near Aberdeen which my brother possesses by the

bounty of his great Uncle independant of Sir George, was entirely

sufficient to support him and my Sister in Elegance and Ease. For the

first twelvemonth, no one could be happier than Lesley, and no one more

amiable to appearance than Louisa, and so plausibly did she act and so

cautiously behave that tho’ Matilda and I often spent several weeks

together with them, yet we neither of us had any suspicion of her real

Disposition. After the birth of Louisa however, which one would have

thought would have strengthened her regard for Lesley, the mask she had

so long supported was by degrees thrown aside, and as probably she then

thought herself secure in the affection of her Husband (which did

indeed appear if possible augmented by the birth of his Child) she

seemed to take no pains to prevent that affection from ever

diminushing. Our visits therefore to Dunbeath, were now less frequent

and by far less agreable than they used to be. Our absence was however

never either mentioned or lamented by Louisa who in the society of

young Danvers with whom she became acquainted at Aberdeen (he was at

one of the Universities there,) felt infinitely happier than in that of

Matilda and your freind, tho’ there certainly never were pleasanter

girls than we are. You know the sad end of all Lesleys connubial

happiness; I will not repeat it—. Adeiu my dear Charlotte; although I

have not yet mentioned anything of the matter, I hope you will do me

the justice to beleive that I _think_ and _feel_, a great deal for your

Sisters affliction. I do not doubt but that the healthy air of the

Bristol downs will intirely remove it, by erasing from her Mind the

remembrance of Henry. I am my dear Charlotte yrs ever

M. L.

LETTER the FOURTH

From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY

Bristol February 27th

My Dear Peggy

I have but just received your letter, which being directed to Sussex

while I was at Bristol was obliged to be forwarded to me here, and from

some unaccountable Delay, has but this instant reached me—. I return

you many thanks for the account it contains of Lesley’s acquaintance,

Love and Marriage with Louisa, which has not the less entertained me

for having often been repeated to me before.

I have the satisfaction of informing you that we have every reason to

imagine our pantry is by this time nearly cleared, as we left

Particular orders with the servants to eat as hard as they possibly

could, and to call in a couple of Chairwomen to assist them. We brought

a cold Pigeon pye, a cold turkey, a cold tongue, and half a dozen

Jellies with us, which we were lucky enough with the help of our

Landlady, her husband, and their three children, to get rid of, in less

than two days after our arrival. Poor Eloisa is still so very

indifferent both in Health and Spirits, that I very much fear, the air

of the Bristol downs, healthy as it is, has not been able to drive poor

Henry from her remembrance.

You ask me whether your new Mother in law is handsome and amiable—I

will now give you an exact description of her bodily and mental charms.

She is short, and extremely well made; is naturally pale, but rouges a

good deal; has fine eyes, and fine teeth, as she will take care to let

you know as soon as she sees you, and is altogether very pretty. She is

remarkably good-tempered when she has her own way, and very lively when

she is not out of humour. She is naturally extravagant and not very

affected; she never reads anything but the letters she receives from

me, and never writes anything but her answers to them. She plays, sings

and Dances, but has no taste for either, and excells in none, tho’ she

says she is passionately fond of all. Perhaps you may flatter me so far

as to be surprised that one of whom I speak with so little affection

should be my particular freind; but to tell you the truth, our

freindship arose rather from Caprice on her side than Esteem on mine.

We spent two or three days together with a Lady in Berkshire with whom

we both happened to be connected—. During our visit, the Weather being

remarkably bad, and our party particularly stupid, she was so good as

to conceive a violent partiality for me, which very soon settled in a

downright Freindship and ended in an established correspondence. She is

probably by this time as tired of me, as I am of her; but as she is too

Polite and I am too civil to say so, our letters are still as frequent

and affectionate as ever, and our Attachment as firm and sincere as

when it first commenced. As she had a great taste for the pleasures of

London, and of Brighthelmstone, she will I dare say find some

difficulty in prevailing on herself even to satisfy the curiosity I

dare say she feels of beholding you, at the expence of quitting those

favourite haunts of Dissipation, for the melancholy tho’ venerable

gloom of the castle you inhabit. Perhaps however if she finds her

health impaired by too much amusement, she may acquire fortitude

sufficient to undertake a Journey to Scotland in the hope of its

Proving at least beneficial to her health, if not conducive to her

happiness. Your fears I am sorry to say, concerning your father’s

extravagance, your own fortunes, your Mothers Jewels and your Sister’s

consequence, I should suppose are but too well founded. My freind

herself has four thousand pounds, and will probably spend nearly as

much every year in Dress and Public places, if she can get it—she will

certainly not endeavour to reclaim Sir George from the manner of living

to which he has been so long accustomed, and there is therefore some

reason to fear that you will be very well off, if you get any fortune

at all. The Jewels I should imagine too will undoubtedly be hers, and

there is too much reason to think that she will preside at her Husbands

table in preference to his Daughter. But as so melancholy a subject

must necessarily extremely distress you, I will no longer dwell on it—.

Eloisa’s indisposition has brought us to Bristol at so unfashionable a

season of the year, that we have actually seen but one genteel family

since we came. Mr and Mrs Marlowe are very agreable people; the ill

health of their little boy occasioned their arrival here; you may

imagine that being the only family with whom we can converse, we are of

course on a footing of intimacy with them; we see them indeed almost

every day, and dined with them yesterday. We spent a very pleasant Day,

and had a very good Dinner, tho’ to be sure the Veal was terribly

underdone, and the Curry had no seasoning. I could not help wishing all

dinner-time that I had been at the dressing it—. A brother of Mrs

Marlowe, Mr Cleveland is with them at present; he is a good-looking

young Man, and seems to have a good deal to say for himself. I tell

Eloisa that she should set her cap at him, but she does not at all seem

to relish the proposal. I should like to see the girl married and

Cleveland has a very good estate. Perhaps you may wonder that I do not

consider _myself_ as well as my Sister in my matrimonial Projects; but

to tell you the truth I never wish to act a more principal part at a

Wedding than the superintending and directing the Dinner, and therefore

while I can get any of my acquaintance to marry for me, I shall never

think of doing it myself, as I very much suspect that I should not have

so much time for dressing my own Wedding-dinner, as for dressing that

of my freinds.

Yours sincerely

C. L.

LETTER the FIFTH

Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL

Lesley-Castle March 18th

On the same day that I received your last kind letter, Matilda received

one from Sir George which was dated from Edinburgh, and informed us

that he should do himself the pleasure of introducing Lady Lesley to us

on the following evening. This as you may suppose considerably

surprised us, particularly as your account of her Ladyship had given us

reason to imagine there was little chance of her visiting Scotland at a

time that London must be so gay. As it was our business however to be

delighted at such a mark of condescension as a visit from Sir George

and Lady Lesley, we prepared to return them an answer expressive of the

happiness we enjoyed in expectation of such a Blessing, when luckily

recollecting that as they were to reach the Castle the next Evening, it

would be impossible for my father to receive it before he left

Edinburgh, we contented ourselves with leaving them to suppose that we

were as happy as we ought to be. At nine in the Evening on the

following day, they came, accompanied by one of Lady Lesleys brothers.

Her Ladyship perfectly answers the description you sent me of her,

except that I do not think her so pretty as you seem to consider her.

She has not a bad face, but there is something so extremely unmajestic

in her little diminutive figure, as to render her in comparison with

the elegant height of Matilda and Myself, an insignificant Dwarf. Her

curiosity to see us (which must have been great to bring her more than

four hundred miles) being now perfectly gratified, she already begins

to mention their return to town, and has desired us to accompany her.

We cannot refuse her request since it is seconded by the commands of

our Father, and thirded by the entreaties of Mr. Fitzgerald who is

certainly one of the most pleasing young Men, I ever beheld. It is not

yet determined when we are to go, but when ever we do we shall

certainly take our little Louisa with us. Adeiu my dear Charlotte;

Matilda unites in best wishes to you, and Eloisa, with yours ever

M. L.

LETTER the SIXTH

LADY LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL

Lesley-Castle March 20th

We arrived here my sweet Freind about a fortnight ago, and I already

heartily repent that I ever left our charming House in Portman-square

for such a dismal old weather-beaten Castle as this. You can form no

idea sufficiently hideous, of its dungeon-like form. It is actually

perched upon a Rock to appearance so totally inaccessible, that I

expected to have been pulled up by a rope; and sincerely repented

having gratified my curiosity to behold my Daughters at the expence of

being obliged to enter their prison in so dangerous and ridiculous a

manner. But as soon as I once found myself safely arrived in the inside

of this tremendous building, I comforted myself with the hope of having

my spirits revived, by the sight of two beautifull girls, such as the

Miss Lesleys had been represented to me, at Edinburgh. But here again,

I met with nothing but Disappointment and Surprise. Matilda and

Margaret Lesley are two great, tall, out of the way, over-grown, girls,

just of a proper size to inhabit a Castle almost as large in comparison

as themselves. I wish my dear Charlotte that you could but behold these

Scotch giants; I am sure they would frighten you out of your wits. They

will do very well as foils to myself, so I have invited them to

accompany me to London where I hope to be in the course of a fortnight.

Besides these two fair Damsels, I found a little humoured Brat here who

I beleive is some relation to them, they told me who she was, and gave

me a long rigmerole story of her father and a Miss _Somebody_ which I

have entirely forgot. I hate scandal and detest Children. I have been

plagued ever since I came here with tiresome visits from a parcel of

Scotch wretches, with terrible hard-names; they were so civil, gave me

so many invitations, and talked of coming again so soon, that I could

not help affronting them. I suppose I shall not see them any more, and

yet as a family party we are so stupid, that I do not know what to do

with myself. These girls have no Music, but Scotch airs, no Drawings

but Scotch Mountains, and no Books but Scotch Poems—and I hate

everything Scotch. In general I can spend half the Day at my toilett

with a great deal of pleasure, but why should I dress here, since there

is not a creature in the House whom I have any wish to please. I have

just had a conversation with my Brother in which he has greatly

offended me, and which as I have nothing more entertaining to send you

I will gave you the particulars of. You must know that I have for these

4 or 5 Days past strongly suspected William of entertaining a

partiality to my eldest Daughter. I own indeed that had _I_ been

inclined to fall in love with any woman, I should not have made choice

of Matilda Lesley for the object of my passion; for there is nothing I

hate so much as a tall Woman: but however there is no accounting for

some men’s taste and as William is himself nearly six feet high, it is

not wonderful that he should be partial to that height. Now as I have a

very great affection for my Brother and should be extremely sorry to

see him unhappy, which I suppose he means to be if he cannot marry

Matilda, as moreover I know that his circumstances will not allow him

to marry any one without a fortune, and that Matilda’s is entirely

dependant on her Father, who will neither have his own inclination nor

my permission to give her anything at present, I thought it would be

doing a good-natured action by my Brother to let him know as much, in

order that he might choose for himself, whether to conquer his passion,

or Love and Despair. Accordingly finding myself this Morning alone with

him in one of the horrid old rooms of this Castle, I opened the cause

to him in the following Manner.

“Well my dear William what do you think of these girls? for my part, I

do not find them so plain as I expected: but perhaps you may think me

partial to the Daughters of my Husband and perhaps you are right—They

are indeed so very like Sir George that it is natural to think”—

“My Dear Susan (cried he in a tone of the greatest amazement) You do

not really think they bear the least resemblance to their Father! He is

so very plain!—but I beg your pardon—I had entirely forgotten to whom I

was speaking—”

“Oh! pray dont mind me; (replied I) every one knows Sir George is

horribly ugly, and I assure you I always thought him a fright.”

“You surprise me extremely (answered William) by what you say both with

respect to Sir George and his Daughters. You cannot think your Husband

so deficient in personal Charms as you speak of, nor can you surely see

any resemblance between him and the Miss Lesleys who are in my opinion

perfectly unlike him and perfectly Handsome.”

“If that is your opinion with regard to the girls it certainly is no

proof of their Fathers beauty, for if they are perfectly unlike him and

very handsome at the same time, it is natural to suppose that he is

very plain.”

“By no means, (said he) for what may be pretty in a Woman, may be very

unpleasing in a Man.”

“But you yourself (replied I) but a few minutes ago allowed him to be

very plain.”

“Men are no Judges of Beauty in their own Sex.” (said he).

“Neither Men nor Women can think Sir George tolerable.”

“Well, well, (said he) we will not dispute about _his_ Beauty, but your

opinion of his _Daughters_ is surely very singular, for if I understood

you right, you said you did not find them so plain as you expected to

do!”

“Why, do _you_ find them plainer then?” (said I).

“I can scarcely beleive you to be serious (returned he) when you speak

of their persons in so extroidinary a Manner. Do not you think the Miss

Lesleys are two very handsome young Women?”

“Lord! No! (cried I) I think them terribly plain!”

“Plain! (replied He) My dear Susan, you cannot really think so! Why

what single Feature in the face of either of them, can you possibly

find fault with?”

“Oh! trust me for that; (replied I). Come I will begin with the

eldest—with Matilda. Shall I, William?” (I looked as cunning as I could

when I said it, in order to shame him).

“They are so much alike (said he) that I should suppose the faults of

one, would be the faults of both.”

“Well, then, in the first place; they are both so horribly tall!”

“They are _taller_ than you are indeed.” (said he with a saucy smile.)

“Nay, (said I), I know nothing of that.”

“Well, but (he continued) tho’ they may be above the common size, their

figures are perfectly elegant; and as to their faces, their Eyes are

beautifull.”

“I never can think such tremendous, knock-me-down figures in the least

degree elegant, and as for their eyes, they are so tall that I never

could strain my neck enough to look at them.”

“Nay, (replied he) I know not whether you may not be in the right in

not attempting it, for perhaps they might dazzle you with their

Lustre.”

“Oh! Certainly. (said I, with the greatest complacency, for I assure

you my dearest Charlotte I was not in the least offended tho’ by what

followed, one would suppose that William was conscious of having given

me just cause to be so, for coming up to me and taking my hand, he

said) “You must not look so grave Susan; you will make me fear I have

offended you!”

“Offended me! Dear Brother, how came such a thought in your head!

(returned I) No really! I assure you that I am not in the least

surprised at your being so warm an advocate for the Beauty of these

girls.”—

“Well, but (interrupted William) remember that we have not yet

concluded our dispute concerning them. What fault do you find with

their complexion?”

“They are so horridly pale.”

“They have always a little colour, and after any exercise it is

considerably heightened.”

“Yes, but if there should ever happen to be any rain in this part of

the world, they will never be able raise more than their common

stock—except indeed they amuse themselves with running up and Down

these horrid old galleries and Antichambers.”

“Well, (replied my Brother in a tone of vexation, and glancing an

impertinent look at me) if they _have_ but little colour, at least, it

is all their own.”

This was too much my dear Charlotte, for I am certain that he had the

impudence by that look, of pretending to suspect the reality of mine.

But you I am sure will vindicate my character whenever you may hear it

so cruelly aspersed, for you can witness how often I have protested

against wearing Rouge, and how much I always told you I disliked it.

And I assure you that my opinions are still the same.—. Well, not

bearing to be so suspected by my Brother, I left the room immediately,

and have been ever since in my own Dressing-room writing to you. What a

long letter have I made of it! But you must not expect to receive such

from me when I get to Town; for it is only at Lesley castle, that one

has time to write even to a Charlotte Lutterell.—. I was so much vexed

by William’s glance, that I could not summon Patience enough, to stay

and give him that advice respecting his attachment to Matilda which had

first induced me from pure Love to him to begin the conversation; and I

am now so thoroughly convinced by it, of his violent passion for her,

that I am certain he would never hear reason on the subject, and I

shall there fore give myself no more trouble either about him or his

favourite. Adeiu my dear girl—

Yrs affectionately Susan L.

LETTER the SEVENTH

From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY

Bristol the 27th of March

I have received Letters from you and your Mother-in-law within this

week which have greatly entertained me, as I find by them that you are

both downright jealous of each others Beauty. It is very odd that two

pretty Women tho’ actually Mother and Daughter cannot be in the same

House without falling out about their faces. Do be convinced that you

are both perfectly handsome and say no more of the Matter. I suppose

this letter must be directed to Portman Square where probably (great as

is your affection for Lesley Castle) you will not be sorry to find

yourself. In spite of all that people may say about Green fields and

the Country I was always of opinion that London and its amusements must

be very agreable for a while, and should be very happy could my

Mother’s income allow her to jockey us into its Public-places, during

Winter. I always longed particularly to go to Vaux-hall, to see whether

the cold Beef there is cut so thin as it is reported, for I have a sly

suspicion that few people understand the art of cutting a slice of cold

Beef so well as I do: nay it would be hard if I did not know something

of the Matter, for it was a part of my Education that I took by far the

most pains with. Mama always found me _her_ best scholar, tho’ when

Papa was alive Eloisa was _his_. Never to be sure were there two more

different Dispositions in the World. We both loved Reading. _She_

preferred Histories, and I Receipts. She loved drawing, Pictures, and I

drawing Pullets. No one could sing a better song than she, and no one

make a better Pye than I.—And so it has always continued since we have

been no longer children. The only difference is that all disputes on

the superior excellence of our Employments _then_ so frequent are now

no more. We have for many years entered into an agreement always to

admire each other’s works; I never fail listening to _her_ Music, and

she is as constant in eating my pies. Such at least was the case till

Henry Hervey made his appearance in Sussex. Before the arrival of his

Aunt in our neighbourhood where she established herself you know about

a twelvemonth ago, his visits to her had been at stated times, and of

equal and settled Duration; but on her removal to the Hall which is

within a walk from our House, they became both more frequent and

longer. This as you may suppose could not be pleasing to Mrs Diana who

is a professed enemy to everything which is not directed by Decorum and

Formality, or which bears the least resemblance to Ease and

Good-breeding. Nay so great was her aversion to her Nephews behaviour

that I have often heard her give such hints of it before his face that

had not Henry at such times been engaged in conversation with Eloisa,

they must have caught his Attention and have very much distressed him.

The alteration in my Sisters behaviour which I have before hinted at,

now took place. The Agreement we had entered into of admiring each

others productions she no longer seemed to regard, and tho’ I

constantly applauded even every Country-dance, she played, yet not even

a pidgeon-pye of my making could obtain from her a single word of

approbation. This was certainly enough to put any one in a Passion;

however, I was as cool as a cream-cheese and having formed my plan and

concerted a scheme of Revenge, I was determined to let her have her own

way and not even to make her a single reproach. My scheme was to treat

her as she treated me, and tho’ she might even draw my own Picture or

play Malbrook (which is the only tune I ever really liked) not to say

so much as “Thank you Eloisa;” tho’ I had for many years constantly

hollowed whenever she played, _Bravo_, _Bravissimo_, _her_, _Da capo_,

_allegretto con expressione_, and _Poco presto_ with many other such

outlandish words, all of them as Eloisa told me expressive of my

Admiration; and so indeed I suppose they are, as I see some of them in

every Page of every Music book, being the sentiments I imagine of the

composer.

I executed my Plan with great Punctuality. I can not say success, for

alas! my silence while she played seemed not in the least to displease

her; on the contrary she actually said to me one day “Well Charlotte, I

am very glad to find that you have at last left off that ridiculous

custom of applauding my Execution on the Harpsichord till you made _my_

head ake, and yourself hoarse. I feel very much obliged to you for

keeping your admiration to yourself.” I never shall forget the very

witty answer I made to this speech. “Eloisa (said I) I beg you would be

quite at your Ease with respect to all such fears in future, for be

assured that I shall always keep my admiration to myself and my own

pursuits and never extend it to yours.” This was the only very severe

thing I ever said in my Life; not but that I have often felt myself

extremely satirical but it was the only time I ever made my feelings

public.

I suppose there never were two Young people who had a greater affection

for each other than Henry and Eloisa; no, the Love of your Brother for

Miss Burton could not be so strong tho’ it might be more violent. You

may imagine therefore how provoked my Sister must have been to have him

play her such a trick. Poor girl! she still laments his Death with

undiminished constancy, notwithstanding he has been dead more than six

weeks; but some People mind such things more than others. The ill state

of Health into which his loss has thrown her makes her so weak, and so

unable to support the least exertion, that she has been in tears all

this Morning merely from having taken leave of Mrs. Marlowe who with

her Husband, Brother and Child are to leave Bristol this morning. I am

sorry to have them go because they are the only family with whom we

have here any acquaintance, but I never thought of crying; to be sure

Eloisa and Mrs Marlowe have always been more together than with me, and

have therefore contracted a kind of affection for each other, which

does not make Tears so inexcusable in them as they would be in me. The

Marlowes are going to Town; Cliveland accompanies them; as neither

Eloisa nor I could catch him I hope you or Matilda may have better

Luck. I know not when we shall leave Bristol, Eloisa’s spirits are so

low that she is very averse to moving, and yet is certainly by no means

mended by her residence here. A week or two will I hope determine our

Measures—in the mean time believe me

and etc—and etc—Charlotte Lutterell.

LETTER the EIGHTH

Miss LUTTERELL to Mrs MARLOWE

Bristol April 4th

I feel myself greatly obliged to you my dear Emma for such a mark of

your affection as I flatter myself was conveyed in the proposal you

made me of our Corresponding; I assure you that it will be a great

releif to me to write to you and as long as my Health and Spirits will

allow me, you will find me a very constant correspondent; I will not

say an entertaining one, for you know my situation suffciently not to

be ignorant that in me Mirth would be improper and I know my own Heart

too well not to be sensible that it would be unnatural. You must not

expect news for we see no one with whom we are in the least acquainted,

or in whose proceedings we have any Interest. You must not expect

scandal for by the same rule we are equally debarred either from

hearing or inventing it.—You must expect from me nothing but the

melancholy effusions of a broken Heart which is ever reverting to the

Happiness it once enjoyed and which ill supports its present

wretchedness. The Possibility of being able to write, to speak, to you

of my lost Henry will be a luxury to me, and your goodness will not I

know refuse to read what it will so much releive my Heart to write. I

once thought that to have what is in general called a Freind (I mean

one of my own sex to whom I might speak with less reserve than to any

other person) independant of my sister would never be an object of my

wishes, but how much was I mistaken! Charlotte is too much engrossed by

two confidential correspondents of that sort, to supply the place of

one to me, and I hope you will not think me girlishly romantic, when I

say that to have some kind and compassionate Freind who might listen to

my sorrows without endeavouring to console me was what I had for some

time wished for, when our acquaintance with you, the intimacy which

followed it and the particular affectionate attention you paid me

almost from the first, caused me to entertain the flattering Idea of

those attentions being improved on a closer acquaintance into a

Freindship which, if you were what my wishes formed you would be the

greatest Happiness I could be capable of enjoying. To find that such

Hopes are realised is a satisfaction indeed, a satisfaction which is

now almost the only one I can ever experience.—I feel myself so languid

that I am sure were you with me you would oblige me to leave off

writing, and I cannot give you a greater proof of my affection for you

than by acting, as I know you would wish me to do, whether Absent or

Present. I am my dear Emmas sincere freind

E. L.

LETTER the NINTH

Mrs MARLOWE to Miss LUTTERELL

Grosvenor Street, April 10th

Need I say my dear Eloisa how wellcome your letter was to me I cannot

give a greater proof of the pleasure I received from it, or of the

Desire I feel that our Correspondence may be regular and frequent than

by setting you so good an example as I now do in answering it before

the end of the week—. But do not imagine that I claim any merit in

being so punctual; on the contrary I assure you, that it is a far

greater Gratification to me to write to you, than to spend the Evening

either at a Concert or a Ball. Mr Marlowe is so desirous of my

appearing at some of the Public places every evening that I do not like

to refuse him, but at the same time so much wish to remain at Home,

that independant of the Pleasure I experience in devoting any portion

of my Time to my Dear Eloisa, yet the Liberty I claim from having a

letter to write of spending an Evening at home with my little Boy, you

know me well enough to be sensible, will of itself be a sufficient

Inducement (if one is necessary) to my maintaining with Pleasure a

Correspondence with you. As to the subject of your letters to me,

whether grave or merry, if they concern you they must be equally

interesting to me; not but that I think the melancholy Indulgence of

your own sorrows by repeating them and dwelling on them to me, will

only encourage and increase them, and that it will be more prudent in

you to avoid so sad a subject; but yet knowing as I do what a soothing

and melancholy Pleasure it must afford you, I cannot prevail on myself

to deny you so great an Indulgence, and will only insist on your not

expecting me to encourage you in it, by my own letters; on the contrary

I intend to fill them with such lively Wit and enlivening Humour as

shall even provoke a smile in the sweet but sorrowfull countenance of

my Eloisa.

In the first place you are to learn that I have met your sisters three

freinds Lady Lesley and her Daughters, twice in Public since I have

been here. I know you will be impatient to hear my opinion of the

Beauty of three Ladies of whom you have heard so much. Now, as you are

too ill and too unhappy to be vain, I think I may venture to inform you

that I like none of their faces so well as I do your own. Yet they are

all handsome—Lady Lesley indeed I have seen before; her Daughters I

beleive would in general be said to have a finer face than her

Ladyship, and yet what with the charms of a Blooming complexion, a

little Affectation and a great deal of small-talk, (in each of which

she is superior to the young Ladies) she will I dare say gain herself

as many admirers as the more regular features of Matilda, and Margaret.

I am sure you will agree with me in saying that they can none of them

be of a proper size for real Beauty, when you know that two of them are

taller and the other shorter than ourselves. In spite of this Defect

(or rather by reason of it) there is something very noble and majestic

in the figures of the Miss Lesleys, and something agreably lively in

the appearance of their pretty little Mother-in-law. But tho’ one may

be majestic and the other lively, yet the faces of neither possess that

Bewitching sweetness of my Eloisas, which her present languor is so far

from diminushing. What would my Husband and Brother say of us, if they

knew all the fine things I have been saying to you in this letter. It

is very hard that a pretty woman is never to be told she is so by any

one of her own sex without that person’s being suspected to be either

her determined Enemy, or her professed Toad-eater. How much more

amiable are women in that particular! One man may say forty civil

things to another without our supposing that he is ever paid for it,

and provided he does his Duty by our sex, we care not how Polite he is

to his own.

Mrs Lutterell will be so good as to accept my compliments, Charlotte,

my Love, and Eloisa the best wishes for the recovery of her Health and

Spirits that can be offered by her affectionate Freind

E. Marlowe.

I am afraid this letter will be but a poor specimen of my Powers in the

witty way; and your opinion of them will not be greatly increased when

I assure you that I have been as entertaining as I possibly could.

LETTER the TENTH

From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL

Portman Square April 13th

MY DEAR CHARLOTTE

We left Lesley-Castle on the 28th of last Month, and arrived safely in

London after a Journey of seven Days; I had the pleasure of finding

your Letter here waiting my Arrival, for which you have my grateful

Thanks. Ah! my dear Freind I every day more regret the serene and

tranquil Pleasures of the Castle we have left, in exchange for the

uncertain and unequal Amusements of this vaunted City. Not that I will

pretend to assert that these uncertain and unequal Amusements are in

the least Degree unpleasing to me; on the contrary I enjoy them

extremely and should enjoy them even more, were I not certain that

every appearance I make in Public but rivetts the Chains of those

unhappy Beings whose Passion it is impossible not to pity, tho’ it is

out of my power to return. In short my Dear Charlotte it is my

sensibility for the sufferings of so many amiable young Men, my Dislike

of the extreme admiration I meet with, and my aversion to being so

celebrated both in Public, in Private, in Papers, and in Printshops,

that are the reasons why I cannot more fully enjoy, the Amusements so

various and pleasing of London. How often have I wished that I

possessed as little Personal Beauty as you do; that my figure were as

inelegant; my face as unlovely; and my appearance as unpleasing as

yours! But ah! what little chance is there of so desirable an Event; I

have had the small-pox, and must therefore submit to my unhappy fate.

I am now going to intrust you my dear Charlotte with a secret which has

long disturbed the tranquility of my days, and which is of a kind to

require the most inviolable Secrecy from you. Last Monday se’night

Matilda and I accompanied Lady Lesley to a Rout at the Honourable Mrs

Kickabout’s; we were escorted by Mr Fitzgerald who is a very amiable

young Man in the main, tho’ perhaps a little singular in his Taste—He

is in love with Matilda—. We had scarcely paid our Compliments to the

Lady of the House and curtseyed to half a score different people when

my Attention was attracted by the appearance of a Young Man the most

lovely of his Sex, who at that moment entered the Room with another

Gentleman and Lady. From the first moment I beheld him, I was certain

that on him depended the future Happiness of my Life. Imagine my

surprise when he was introduced to me by the name of Cleveland—I

instantly recognised him as the Brother of Mrs Marlowe, and the

acquaintance of my Charlotte at Bristol. Mr and Mrs M. were the

gentleman and Lady who accompanied him. (You do not think Mrs Marlowe

handsome?) The elegant address of Mr Cleveland, his polished Manners

and Delightful Bow, at once confirmed my attachment. He did not speak;

but I can imagine everything he would have said, had he opened his

Mouth. I can picture to myself the cultivated Understanding, the Noble

sentiments, and elegant Language which would have shone so conspicuous

in the conversation of Mr Cleveland. The approach of Sir James Gower

(one of my too numerous admirers) prevented the Discovery of any such

Powers, by putting an end to a Conversation we had never commenced, and

by attracting my attention to himself. But oh! how inferior are the

accomplishments of Sir James to those of his so greatly envied Rival!

Sir James is one of the most frequent of our Visitors, and is almost

always of our Parties. We have since often met Mr and Mrs Marlowe but

no Cleveland—he is always engaged some where else. Mrs Marlowe fatigues

me to Death every time I see her by her tiresome Conversations about

you and Eloisa. She is so stupid! I live in the hope of seeing her

irrisistable Brother to night, as we are going to Lady Flambeaus, who

is I know intimate with the Marlowes. Our party will be Lady Lesley,

Matilda, Fitzgerald, Sir James Gower, and myself. We see little of Sir

George, who is almost always at the gaming-table. Ah! my poor Fortune

where art thou by this time? We see more of Lady L. who always makes

her appearance (highly rouged) at Dinner-time. Alas! what Delightful

Jewels will she be decked in this evening at Lady Flambeau’s! Yet I

wonder how she can herself delight in wearing them; surely she must be

sensible of the ridiculous impropriety of loading her little diminutive

figure with such superfluous ornaments; is it possible that she can not

know how greatly superior an elegant simplicity is to the most studied

apparel? Would she but Present them to Matilda and me, how greatly

should we be obliged to her, How becoming would Diamonds be on our fine

majestic figures! And how surprising it is that such an Idea should

never have occurred to _her_. I am sure if I have reflected in this

manner once, I have fifty times. Whenever I see Lady Lesley dressed in

them such reflections immediately come across me. My own Mother’s

Jewels too! But I will say no more on so melancholy a subject—let me

entertain you with something more pleasing—Matilda had a letter this

morning from Lesley, by which we have the pleasure of finding that he

is at Naples has turned Roman-Catholic, obtained one of the Pope’s

Bulls for annulling his 1st Marriage and has since actually married a

Neapolitan Lady of great Rank and Fortune. He tells us moreover that

much the same sort of affair has befallen his first wife the worthless

Louisa who is likewise at Naples had turned Roman-catholic, and is soon

to be married to a Neapolitan Nobleman of great and Distinguished

merit. He says, that they are at present very good Freinds, have quite

forgiven all past errors and intend in future to be very good

Neighbours. He invites Matilda and me to pay him a visit to Italy and

to bring him his little Louisa whom both her Mother, Step-mother, and

himself are equally desirous of beholding. As to our accepting his

invitation, it is at Present very uncertain; Lady Lesley advises us to

go without loss of time; Fitzgerald offers to escort us there, but

Matilda has some doubts of the Propriety of such a scheme—she owns it

would be very agreable. I am certain she likes the Fellow. My Father

desires us not to be in a hurry, as perhaps if we wait a few months

both he and Lady Lesley will do themselves the pleasure of attending

us. Lady Lesley says no, that nothing will ever tempt her to forego the

Amusements of Brighthelmstone for a Journey to Italy merely to see our

Brother. “No (says the disagreable Woman) I have once in my life been

fool enough to travel I dont know how many hundred Miles to see two of

the Family, and I found it did not answer, so Deuce take me, if ever I

am so foolish again.” So says her Ladyship, but Sir George still

Perseveres in saying that perhaps in a month or two, they may accompany

us.

Adeiu my Dear Charlotte

Yrs faithful Margaret Lesley.

THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND

FROM

THE REIGN OF HENRY THE 4TH

TO

THE DEATH OF CHARLES THE 1ST

BY A PARTIAL, PREJUDICED, AND IGNORANT HISTORIAN.

To Miss Austen, eldest daughter of the Rev. George Austen, this work is

inscribed with all due respect by

THE AUTHOR.

N.B. There will be very few Dates in this History.

THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND

HENRY the 4th

Henry the 4th ascended the throne of England much to his own

satisfaction in the year 1399, after having prevailed on his cousin and

predecessor Richard the 2nd, to resign it to him, and to retire for the

rest of his life to Pomfret Castle, where he happened to be murdered.

It is to be supposed that Henry was married, since he had certainly

four sons, but it is not in my power to inform the Reader who was his

wife. Be this as it may, he did not live for ever, but falling ill, his

son the Prince of Wales came and took away the crown; whereupon the

King made a long speech, for which I must refer the Reader to

Shakespear’s Plays, and the Prince made a still longer. Things being

thus settled between them the King died, and was succeeded by his son

Henry who had previously beat Sir William Gascoigne.

HENRY the 5th

This Prince after he succeeded to the throne grew quite reformed and

amiable, forsaking all his dissipated companions, and never thrashing

Sir William again. During his reign, Lord Cobham was burnt alive, but I

forget what for. His Majesty then turned his thoughts to France, where

he went and fought the famous Battle of Agincourt. He afterwards

married the King’s daughter Catherine, a very agreable woman by

Shakespear’s account. In spite of all this however he died, and was

succeeded by his son Henry.

HENRY the 6th

I cannot say much for this Monarch’s sense. Nor would I if I could, for

he was a Lancastrian. I suppose you know all about the Wars between him

and the Duke of York who was of the right side; if you do not, you had

better read some other History, for I shall not be very diffuse in

this, meaning by it only to vent my spleen _against_, and shew my

Hatred _to_ all those people whose parties or principles do not suit

with mine, and not to give information. This King married Margaret of

Anjou, a Woman whose distresses and misfortunes were so great as almost

to make me who hate her, pity her. It was in this reign that Joan of

Arc lived and made such a _row_ among the English. They should not have

burnt her—but they did. There were several Battles between the Yorkists

and Lancastrians, in which the former (as they ought) usually

conquered. At length they were entirely overcome; The King was

murdered—The Queen was sent home—and Edward the 4th ascended the

Throne.

EDWARD the 4th

This Monarch was famous only for his Beauty and his Courage, of which

the Picture we have here given of him, and his undaunted Behaviour in

marrying one Woman while he was engaged to another, are sufficient

proofs. His Wife was Elizabeth Woodville, a Widow who, poor Woman! was

afterwards confined in a Convent by that Monster of Iniquity and

Avarice Henry the 7th. One of Edward’s Mistresses was Jane Shore, who

has had a play written about her, but it is a tragedy and therefore not

worth reading. Having performed all these noble actions, his Majesty

died, and was succeeded by his son.

EDWARD the 5th

This unfortunate Prince lived so little a while that nobody had him to

draw his picture. He was murdered by his Uncle’s Contrivance, whose

name was Richard the 3rd.

RICHARD the 3rd

The Character of this Prince has been in general very severely treated

by Historians, but as he was a _York_, I am rather inclined to suppose

him a very respectable Man. It has indeed been confidently asserted

that he killed his two Nephews and his Wife, but it has also been

declared that he did _not_ kill his two Nephews, which I am inclined to

beleive true; and if this is the case, it may also be affirmed that he

did not kill his Wife, for if Perkin Warbeck was really the Duke of

York, why might not Lambert Simnel be the Widow of Richard. Whether

innocent or guilty, he did not reign long in peace, for Henry Tudor E.

of Richmond as great a villain as ever lived, made a great fuss about

getting the Crown and having killed the King at the battle of Bosworth,

he succeeded to it.

HENRY the 7th

This Monarch soon after his accession married the Princess Elizabeth of

York, by which alliance he plainly proved that he thought his own right

inferior to hers, tho’ he pretended to the contrary. By this Marriage

he had two sons and two daughters, the elder of which Daughters was

married to the King of Scotland and had the happiness of being

grandmother to one of the first Characters in the World. But of _her_,

I shall have occasion to speak more at large in future. The youngest,

Mary, married first the King of France and secondly the D. of Suffolk,

by whom she had one daughter, afterwards the Mother of Lady Jane Grey,

who tho’ inferior to her lovely Cousin the Queen of Scots, was yet an

amiable young woman and famous for reading Greek while other people

were hunting. It was in the reign of Henry the 7th that Perkin Warbeck

and Lambert Simnel before mentioned made their appearance, the former

of whom was set in the stocks, took shelter in Beaulieu Abbey, and was

beheaded with the Earl of Warwick, and the latter was taken into the

Kings kitchen. His Majesty died and was succeeded by his son Henry

whose only merit was his not being _quite_ so bad as his daughter

Elizabeth.

HENRY the 8th

It would be an affront to my Readers were I to suppose that they were

not as well acquainted with the particulars of this King’s reign as I

am myself. It will therefore be saving _them_ the task of reading again

what they have read before, and _myself_ the trouble of writing what I

do not perfectly recollect, by giving only a slight sketch of the

principal Events which marked his reign. Among these may be ranked

Cardinal Wolsey’s telling the father Abbott of Leicester Abbey that “he

was come to lay his bones among them,” the reformation in Religion and

the King’s riding through the streets of London with Anna Bullen. It is

however but Justice, and my Duty to declare that this amiable Woman was

entirely innocent of the Crimes with which she was accused, and of

which her Beauty, her Elegance, and her Sprightliness were sufficient

proofs, not to mention her solemn Protestations of Innocence, the

weakness of the Charges against her, and the King’s Character; all of

which add some confirmation, tho’ perhaps but slight ones when in

comparison with those before alledged in her favour. Tho’ I do not

profess giving many dates, yet as I think it proper to give some and

shall of course make choice of those which it is most necessary for the

Reader to know, I think it right to inform him that her letter to the

King was dated on the 6th of May. The Crimes and Cruelties of this

Prince, were too numerous to be mentioned, (as this history I trust has

fully shown;) and nothing can be said in his vindication, but that his

abolishing Religious Houses and leaving them to the ruinous

depredations of time has been of infinite use to the landscape of

England in general, which probably was a principal motive for his doing

it, since otherwise why should a Man who was of no Religion himself be

at so much trouble to abolish one which had for ages been established

in the Kingdom. His Majesty’s 5th Wife was the Duke of Norfolk’s Neice

who, tho’ universally acquitted of the crimes for which she was

beheaded, has been by many people supposed to have led an abandoned

life before her Marriage—of this however I have many doubts, since she

was a relation of that noble Duke of Norfolk who was so warm in the

Queen of Scotland’s cause, and who at last fell a victim to it. The

Kings last wife contrived to survive him, but with difficulty effected

it. He was succeeded by his only son Edward.

EDWARD the 6th

As this prince was only nine years old at the time of his Father’s

death, he was considered by many people as too young to govern, and the

late King happening to be of the same opinion, his mother’s Brother the

Duke of Somerset was chosen Protector of the realm during his minority.

This Man was on the whole of a very amiable Character, and is somewhat

of a favourite with me, tho’ I would by no means pretend to affirm that

he was equal to those first of Men Robert Earl of Essex, Delamere, or

Gilpin. He was beheaded, of which he might with reason have been proud,

had he known that such was the death of Mary Queen of Scotland; but as

it was impossible that he should be conscious of what had never

happened, it does not appear that he felt particularly delighted with

the manner of it. After his decease the Duke of Northumberland had the

care of the King and the Kingdom, and performed his trust of both so

well that the King died and the Kingdom was left to his daughter in law

the Lady Jane Grey, who has been already mentioned as reading Greek.

Whether she really understood that language or whether such a study

proceeded only from an excess of vanity for which I beleive she was

always rather remarkable, is uncertain. Whatever might be the cause,

she preserved the same appearance of knowledge, and contempt of what

was generally esteemed pleasure, during the whole of her life, for she

declared herself displeased with being appointed Queen, and while

conducting to the scaffold, she wrote a sentence in Latin and another

in Greek on seeing the dead Body of her Husband accidentally passing

that way.

MARY

This woman had the good luck of being advanced to the throne of

England, in spite of the superior pretensions, Merit, and Beauty of her

Cousins Mary Queen of Scotland and Jane Grey. Nor can I pity the

Kingdom for the misfortunes they experienced during her Reign, since

they fully deserved them, for having allowed her to succeed her

Brother—which was a double peice of folly, since they might have

foreseen that as she died without children, she would be succeeded by

that disgrace to humanity, that pest of society, Elizabeth. Many were

the people who fell martyrs to the protestant Religion during her

reign; I suppose not fewer than a dozen. She married Philip King of

Spain who in her sister’s reign was famous for building Armadas. She

died without issue, and then the dreadful moment came in which the

destroyer of all comfort, the deceitful Betrayer of trust reposed in

her, and the Murderess of her Cousin succeeded to the Throne.——

ELIZABETH

It was the peculiar misfortune of this Woman to have bad

Ministers—Since wicked as she herself was, she could not have committed

such extensive mischeif, had not these vile and abandoned Men connived

at, and encouraged her in her Crimes. I know that it has by many people

been asserted and beleived that Lord Burleigh, Sir Francis Walsingham,

and the rest of those who filled the cheif offices of State were

deserving, experienced, and able Ministers. But oh! how blinded such

writers and such Readers must be to true Merit, to Merit despised,

neglected and defamed, if they can persist in such opinions when they

reflect that these men, these boasted men were such scandals to their

Country and their sex as to allow and assist their Queen in confining

for the space of nineteen years, a _Woman_ who if the claims of

Relationship and Merit were of no avail, yet as a Queen and as one who

condescended to place confidence in her, had every reason to expect

assistance and protection; and at length in allowing Elizabeth to bring

this amiable Woman to an untimely, unmerited, and scandalous Death. Can

any one if he reflects but for a moment on this blot, this everlasting

blot upon their understanding and their Character, allow any praise to

Lord Burleigh or Sir Francis Walsingham? Oh! what must this bewitching

Princess whose only freind was then the Duke of Norfolk, and whose only

ones now Mr Whitaker, Mrs Lefroy, Mrs Knight and myself, who was

abandoned by her son, confined by her Cousin, abused, reproached and

vilified by all, what must not her most noble mind have suffered when

informed that Elizabeth had given orders for her Death! Yet she bore it

with a most unshaken fortitude, firm in her mind; constant in her

Religion; and prepared herself to meet the cruel fate to which she was

doomed, with a magnanimity that would alone proceed from conscious

Innocence. And yet could you Reader have beleived it possible that some

hardened and zealous Protestants have even abused her for that

steadfastness in the Catholic Religion which reflected on her so much

credit? But this is a striking proof of _their_ narrow souls and

prejudiced Judgements who accuse her. She was executed in the Great

Hall at Fortheringay Castle (sacred Place!) on Wednesday the 8th of

February 1586—to the everlasting Reproach of Elizabeth, her Ministers,

and of England in general. It may not be unnecessary before I entirely

conclude my account of this ill-fated Queen, to observe that she had

been accused of several crimes during the time of her reigning in

Scotland, of which I now most seriously do assure my Reader that she

was entirely innocent; having never been guilty of anything more than

Imprudencies into which she was betrayed by the openness of her Heart,

her Youth, and her Education. Having I trust by this assurance entirely

done away every Suspicion and every doubt which might have arisen in

the Reader’s mind, from what other Historians have written of her, I

shall proceed to mention the remaining Events that marked Elizabeth’s

reign. It was about this time that Sir Francis Drake the first English

Navigator who sailed round the World, lived, to be the ornament of his

Country and his profession. Yet great as he was, and justly celebrated

as a sailor, I cannot help foreseeing that he will be equalled in this

or the next Century by one who tho’ now but young, already promises to

answer all the ardent and sanguine expectations of his Relations and

Freinds, amongst whom I may class the amiable Lady to whom this work is

dedicated, and my no less amiable self.

Though of a different profession, and shining in a different sphere of

Life, yet equally conspicuous in the Character of an _Earl_, as Drake

was in that of a _Sailor_, was Robert Devereux Lord Essex. This

unfortunate young Man was not unlike in character to that equally

unfortunate one _Frederic Delamere_. The simile may be carried still

farther, and Elizabeth the torment of Essex may be compared to the

Emmeline of Delamere. It would be endless to recount the misfortunes of

this noble and gallant Earl. It is sufficient to say that he was

beheaded on the 25th of Feb, after having been Lord Lieutenant of

Ireland, after having clapped his hand on his sword, and after

performing many other services to his Country. Elizabeth did not long

survive his loss, and died so miserable that were it not an injury to

the memory of Mary I should pity her.

JAMES the 1st

Though this King had some faults, among which and as the most

principal, was his allowing his Mother’s death, yet considered on the

whole I cannot help liking him. He married Anne of Denmark, and had

several Children; fortunately for him his eldest son Prince Henry died

before his father or he might have experienced the evils which befell

his unfortunate Brother.

As I am myself partial to the roman catholic religion, it is with

infinite regret that I am obliged to blame the Behaviour of any Member

of it: yet Truth being I think very excusable in an Historian, I am

necessitated to say that in this reign the roman Catholics of England

did not behave like Gentlemen to the protestants. Their Behaviour

indeed to the Royal Family and both Houses of Parliament might justly

be considered by them as very uncivil, and even Sir Henry Percy tho’

certainly the best bred man of the party, had none of that general

politeness which is so universally pleasing, as his attentions were

entirely confined to Lord Mounteagle.

Sir Walter Raleigh flourished in this and the preceeding reign, and is

by many people held in great veneration and respect—But as he was an

enemy of the noble Essex, I have nothing to say in praise of him, and

must refer all those who may wish to be acquainted with the particulars

of his life, to Mr Sheridan’s play of the Critic, where they will find

many interesting anecdotes as well of him as of his friend Sir

Christopher Hatton.—His Majesty was of that amiable disposition which

inclines to Freindship, and in such points was possessed of a keener

penetration in discovering Merit than many other people. I once heard

an excellent Sharade on a Carpet, of which the subject I am now on

reminds me, and as I think it may afford my Readers some amusement to

_find it out_, I shall here take the liberty of presenting it to them.

SHARADE

My first is what my second was to King James the 1st, and you tread on

my whole.

The principal favourites of his Majesty were Car, who was afterwards

created Earl of Somerset and whose name perhaps may have some share in

the above mentioned Sharade, and George Villiers afterwards Duke of

Buckingham. On his Majesty’s death he was succeeded by his son Charles.

CHARLES the 1st

This amiable Monarch seems born to have suffered misfortunes equal to

those of his lovely Grandmother; misfortunes which he could not deserve

since he was her descendant. Never certainly were there before so many

detestable Characters at one time in England as in this Period of its

History; never were amiable men so scarce. The number of them

throughout the whole Kingdom amounting only to _five_, besides the

inhabitants of Oxford who were always loyal to their King and faithful

to his interests. The names of this noble five who never forgot the

duty of the subject, or swerved from their attachment to his Majesty,

were as follows—The King himself, ever stedfast in his own

support—Archbishop Laud, Earl of Strafford, Viscount Faulkland and Duke

of Ormond, who were scarcely less strenuous or zealous in the cause.

While the _villains_ of the time would make too long a list to be

written or read; I shall therefore content myself with mentioning the

leaders of the Gang. Cromwell, Fairfax, Hampden, and Pym may be

considered as the original Causers of all the disturbances, Distresses,

and Civil Wars in which England for many years was embroiled. In this

reign as well as in that of Elizabeth, I am obliged in spite of my

attachment to the Scotch, to consider them as equally guilty with the

generality of the English, since they dared to think differently from

their Sovereign, to forget the Adoration which as _Stuarts_ it was

their Duty to pay them, to rebel against, dethrone and imprison the

unfortunate Mary; to oppose, to deceive, and to sell the no less

unfortunate Charles. The Events of this Monarch’s reign are too

numerous for my pen, and indeed the recital of any Events (except what

I make myself) is uninteresting to me; my principal reason for

undertaking the History of England being to Prove the innocence of the

Queen of Scotland, which I flatter myself with having effectually done,

and to abuse Elizabeth, tho’ I am rather fearful of having fallen short

in the latter part of my scheme.—As therefore it is not my intention to

give any particular account of the distresses into which this King was

involved through the misconduct and Cruelty of his Parliament, I shall

satisfy myself with vindicating him from the Reproach of Arbitrary and

tyrannical Government with which he has often been charged. This, I

feel, is not difficult to be done, for with one argument I am certain

of satisfying every sensible and well disposed person whose opinions

have been properly guided by a good Education—and this Argument is that

he was a STUART.

FINIS

Saturday Nov: 26th 1791.

A COLLECTION OF LETTERS

To Miss COOPER

COUSIN

Conscious of the Charming Character which in every Country, and every

Clime in Christendom is Cried, Concerning you, with Caution and Care I

Commend to your Charitable Criticism this Clever Collection of Curious

Comments, which have been Carefully Culled, Collected and Classed by

your Comical Cousin

The Author

A COLLECTION OF LETTERS

LETTER the FIRST

From a MOTHER to her FREIND.

My Children begin now to claim all my attention in different Manner

from that in which they have been used to receive it, as they are now

arrived at that age when it is necessary for them in some measure to

become conversant with the World, My Augusta is 17 and her sister

scarcely a twelvemonth younger. I flatter myself that their education

has been such as will not disgrace their appearance in the World, and

that _they_ will not disgrace their Education I have every reason to

beleive. Indeed they are sweet Girls—. Sensible yet

unaffected—Accomplished yet Easy—. Lively yet Gentle—. As their

progress in every thing they have learnt has been always the same, I am

willing to forget the difference of age, and to introduce them together

into Public. This very Evening is fixed on as their first _entrée_ into

Life, as we are to drink tea with Mrs Cope and her Daughter. I am glad

that we are to meet no one, for my Girls sake, as it would be awkward

for them to enter too wide a Circle on the very first day. But we shall

proceed by degrees.—Tomorrow Mr Stanly’s family will drink tea with us,

and perhaps the Miss Phillips’s will meet them. On Tuesday we shall pay

Morning Visits—On Wednesday we are to dine at Westbrook. On Thursday we

have Company at home. On Friday we are to be at a Private Concert at

Sir John Wynna’s—and on Saturday we expect Miss Dawson to call in the

Morning—which will complete my Daughters Introduction into Life. How

they will bear so much dissipation I cannot imagine; of their spirits I

have no fear, I only dread their health.

This mighty affair is now happily over, and my Girls _are out_. As the

moment approached for our departure, you can have no idea how the sweet

Creatures trembled with fear and expectation. Before the Carriage drove

to the door, I called them into my dressing-room, and as soon as they

were seated thus addressed them. “My dear Girls the moment is now

arrived when I am to reap the rewards of all my Anxieties and Labours

towards you during your Education. You are this Evening to enter a

World in which you will meet with many wonderfull Things; Yet let me

warn you against suffering yourselves to be meanly swayed by the

Follies and Vices of others, for beleive me my beloved Children that if

you do—I shall be very sorry for it.” They both assured me that they

would ever remember my advice with Gratitude, and follow it with

attention; That they were prepared to find a World full of things to

amaze and to shock them: but that they trusted their behaviour would

never give me reason to repent the Watchful Care with which I had

presided over their infancy and formed their Minds—” “With such

expectations and such intentions (cried I) I can have nothing to fear

from you—and can chearfully conduct you to Mrs Cope’s without a fear of

your being seduced by her Example, or contaminated by her Follies.

Come, then my Children (added I) the Carriage is driving to the door,

and I will not a moment delay the happiness you are so impatient to

enjoy.” When we arrived at Warleigh, poor Augusta could scarcely

breathe, while Margaret was all Life and Rapture. “The long-expected

Moment is now arrived (said she) and we shall soon be in the World.”—In

a few Moments we were in Mrs Cope’s parlour, where with her daughter

she sate ready to receive us. I observed with delight the impression my

Children made on them—. They were indeed two sweet, elegant-looking

Girls, and tho’ somewhat abashed from the peculiarity of their

situation, yet there was an ease in their Manners and address which

could not fail of pleasing—. Imagine my dear Madam how delighted I must

have been in beholding as I did, how attentively they observed every

object they saw, how disgusted with some Things, how enchanted with

others, how astonished at all! On the whole however they returned in

raptures with the World, its Inhabitants, and Manners.

Yrs Ever—A. F.

LETTER the SECOND

From a YOUNG LADY crossed in Love to her freind

Why should this last disappointment hang so heavily on my spirits? Why

should I feel it more, why should it wound me deeper than those I have

experienced before? Can it be that I have a greater affection for

Willoughby than I had for his amiable predecessors? Or is it that our

feelings become more acute from being often wounded? I must suppose my

dear Belle that this is the Case, since I am not conscious of being

more sincerely attached to Willoughby than I was to Neville, Fitzowen,

or either of the Crawfords, for all of whom I once felt the most

lasting affection that ever warmed a Woman’s heart. Tell me then dear

Belle why I still sigh when I think of the faithless Edward, or why I

weep when I behold his Bride, for too surely this is the case—. My

Freinds are all alarmed for me; They fear my declining health; they

lament my want of spirits; they dread the effects of both. In hopes of

releiving my melancholy, by directing my thoughts to other objects,

they have invited several of their freinds to spend the Christmas with

us. Lady Bridget Darkwood and her sister-in-law, Miss Jane are expected

on Friday; and Colonel Seaton’s family will be with us next week. This

is all most kindly meant by my Uncle and Cousins; but what can the

presence of a dozen indefferent people do to me, but weary and distress

me—. I will not finish my Letter till some of our Visitors are arrived.

Friday Evening Lady Bridget came this morning, and with her, her sweet

sister Miss Jane—. Although I have been acquainted with this charming

Woman above fifteen Years, yet I never before observed how lovely she

is. She is now about 35, and in spite of sickness, sorrow and Time is

more blooming than I ever saw a Girl of 17. I was delighted with her,

the moment she entered the house, and she appeared equally pleased with

me, attaching herself to me during the remainder of the day. There is

something so sweet, so mild in her Countenance, that she seems more

than Mortal. Her Conversation is as bewitching as her appearance; I

could not help telling her how much she engaged my admiration—. “Oh!

Miss Jane (said I)—and stopped from an inability at the moment of

expressing myself as I could wish—Oh! Miss Jane—(I repeated)—I could

not think of words to suit my feelings—She seemed waiting for my

speech—. I was confused—distressed—my thoughts were bewildered—and I

could only add—“How do you do?” She saw and felt for my Embarrassment

and with admirable presence of mind releived me from it by saying—“My

dear Sophia be not uneasy at having exposed yourself—I will turn the

Conversation without appearing to notice it. “Oh! how I loved her for

her kindness!” Do you ride as much as you used to do?” said she—. “I am

advised to ride by my Physician. We have delightful Rides round us, I

have a Charming horse, am uncommonly fond of the Amusement, replied I

quite recovered from my Confusion, and in short I ride a great deal.”

“You are in the right my Love,” said she. Then repeating the following

line which was an extempore and equally adapted to recommend both

Riding and Candour—

“Ride where you may, Be Candid where you can,” she added,” _I_ rode

once, but it is many years ago—She spoke this in so low and tremulous a

Voice, that I was silent—. Struck with her Manner of speaking I could

make no reply. “I have not ridden, continued she fixing her Eyes on my

face, since I was married.” I was never so surprised—“Married, Ma’am!”

I repeated. “You may well wear that look of astonishment, said she,

since what I have said must appear improbable to you—Yet nothing is

more true than that I once was married.”

“Then why are you called Miss Jane?”

“I married, my Sophia without the consent or knowledge of my father the

late Admiral Annesley. It was therefore necessary to keep the secret

from him and from every one, till some fortunate opportunity might

offer of revealing it—. Such an opportunity alas! was but too soon

given in the death of my dear Capt. Dashwood—Pardon these tears,

continued Miss Jane wiping her Eyes, I owe them to my Husband’s memory.

He fell my Sophia, while fighting for his Country in America after a

most happy Union of seven years—. My Children, two sweet Boys and a

Girl, who had constantly resided with my Father and me, passing with

him and with every one as the Children of a Brother (tho’ I had ever

been an only Child) had as yet been the comforts of my Life. But no

sooner had I lossed my Henry, than these sweet Creatures fell sick and

died—. Conceive dear Sophia what my feelings must have been when as an

Aunt I attended my Children to their early Grave—. My Father did not

survive them many weeks—He died, poor Good old man, happily ignorant to

his last hour of my Marriage.”

“But did not you own it, and assume his name at your husband’s death?”

“No; I could not bring myself to do it; more especially when in my

Children I lost all inducement for doing it. Lady Bridget, and yourself

are the only persons who are in the knowledge of my having ever been

either Wife or Mother. As I could not Prevail on myself to take the

name of Dashwood (a name which after my Henry’s death I could never

hear without emotion) and as I was conscious of having no right to that

of Annesley, I dropt all thoughts of either, and have made it a point

of bearing only my Christian one since my Father’s death.” She

paused—“Oh! my dear Miss Jane (said I) how infinitely am I obliged to

you for so entertaining a story! You cannot think how it has diverted

me! But have you quite done?”

“I have only to add my dear Sophia, that my Henry’s elder Brother

dieing about the same time, Lady Bridget became a Widow like myself,

and as we had always loved each other in idea from the high Character

in which we had ever been spoken of, though we had never met, we

determined to live together. We wrote to one another on the same

subject by the same post, so exactly did our feeling and our actions

coincide! We both eagerly embraced the proposals we gave and received

of becoming one family, and have from that time lived together in the

greatest affection.”

“And is this all? said I, I hope you have not done.”

“Indeed I have; and did you ever hear a story more pathetic?”

“I never did—and it is for that reason it pleases me so much, for when

one is unhappy nothing is so delightful to one’s sensations as to hear

of equal misery.”

“Ah! but my Sophia why _are you_ unhappy?”

“Have you not heard Madam of Willoughby’s Marriage?”

“But my love why lament _his_ perfidy, when you bore so well that of

many young Men before?”

“Ah! Madam, I was used to it then, but when Willoughby broke his

Engagements I had not been dissapointed for half a year.”

“Poor Girl!” said Miss Jane.

LETTER the THIRD

From a YOUNG LADY in distressed Circumstances to her freind

A few days ago I was at a private Ball given by Mr Ashburnham. As my

Mother never goes out she entrusted me to the care of Lady Greville who

did me the honour of calling for me in her way and of allowing me to

sit forwards, which is a favour about which I am very indifferent

especially as I know it is considered as confering a great obligation

on me “So Miss Maria (said her Ladyship as she saw me advancing to the

door of the Carriage) you seem very smart to night—_My_ poor Girls will

appear quite to disadvantage by _you_—I only hope your Mother may not

have distressed herself to set _you_ off. Have you got a new Gown on?”

“Yes Ma’am.” replied I with as much indifference as I could assume.

“Aye, and a fine one too I think—(feeling it, as by her permission I

seated myself by her) I dare say it is all very smart—But I must own,

for you know I always speak my mind, that I think it was quite a

needless piece of expence—Why could not you have worn your old striped

one? It is not my way to find fault with People because they are poor,

for I always think that they are more to be despised and pitied than

blamed for it, especially if they cannot help it, but at the same time

I must say that in my opinion your old striped Gown would have been

quite fine enough for its Wearer—for to tell you the truth (I always

speak my mind) I am very much afraid that one half of the people in the

room will not know whether you have a Gown on or not—But I suppose you

intend to make your fortune to night—. Well, the sooner the better; and

I wish you success.”

“Indeed Ma’am I have no such intention—”

“Who ever heard a young Lady own that she was a Fortune-hunter?” Miss

Greville laughed but I am sure Ellen felt for me.

“Was your Mother gone to bed before you left her?” said her Ladyship.

“Dear Ma’am, said Ellen it is but nine o’clock.”

“True Ellen, but Candles cost money, and Mrs Williams is too wise to be

extravagant.”

“She was just sitting down to supper Ma’am.”

“And what had she got for supper?” “I did not observe.” “Bread and

Cheese I suppose.” “I should never wish for a better supper.” said

Ellen. “You have never any reason replied her Mother, as a better is

always provided for you.” Miss Greville laughed excessively, as she

constantly does at her Mother’s wit.

Such is the humiliating Situation in which I am forced to appear while

riding in her Ladyship’s Coach—I dare not be impertinent, as my Mother

is always admonishing me to be humble and patient if I wish to make my

way in the world. She insists on my accepting every invitation of Lady

Greville, or you may be certain that I would never enter either her

House, or her Coach with the disagreable certainty I always have of

being abused for my Poverty while I am in them.—When we arrived at

Ashburnham, it was nearly ten o’clock, which was an hour and a half

later than we were desired to be there; but Lady Greville is too

fashionable (or fancies herself to be so) to be punctual. The Dancing

however was not begun as they waited for Miss Greville. I had not been

long in the room before I was engaged to dance by Mr Bernard, but just

as we were going to stand up, he recollected that his Servant had got

his white Gloves, and immediately ran out to fetch them. In the mean

time the Dancing began and Lady Greville in passing to another room

went exactly before me—She saw me and instantly stopping, said to me

though there were several people close to us,

“Hey day, Miss Maria! What cannot you get a partner? Poor Young Lady! I

am afraid your new Gown was put on for nothing. But do not despair;

perhaps you may get a hop before the Evening is over.” So saying, she

passed on without hearing my repeated assurance of being engaged, and

leaving me very much provoked at being so exposed before every one—Mr

Bernard however soon returned and by coming to me the moment he entered

the room, and leading me to the Dancers my Character I hope was cleared

from the imputation Lady Greville had thrown on it, in the eyes of all

the old Ladies who had heard her speech. I soon forgot all my vexations

in the pleasure of dancing and of having the most agreable partner in

the room. As he is moreover heir to a very large Estate I could see

that Lady Greville did not look very well pleased when she found who

had been his Choice—She was determined to mortify me, and accordingly

when we were sitting down between the dances, she came to me with

_more_ than her usual insulting importance attended by Miss Mason and

said loud enough to be heard by half the people in the room, “Pray Miss

Maria in what way of business was your Grandfather? for Miss Mason and

I cannot agree whether he was a Grocer or a Bookbinder.” I saw that she

wanted to mortify me, and was resolved if I possibly could to Prevent

her seeing that her scheme succeeded. “Neither Madam; he was a Wine

Merchant.” “Aye, I knew he was in some such low way—He broke did not

he?” “I beleive not Ma’am.” “Did not he abscond?” “I never heard that

he did.” “At least he died insolvent?” “I was never told so before.”

“Why, was not your _Father_ as poor as a Rat” “I fancy not.” “Was not

he in the Kings Bench once?” “I never saw him there.” She gave me

_such_ a look, and turned away in a great passion; while I was half

delighted with myself for my impertinence, and half afraid of being

thought too saucy. As Lady Greville was extremely angry with me, she

took no further notice of me all the Evening, and indeed had I been in

favour I should have been equally neglected, as she was got into a

Party of great folks and she never speaks to me when she can to anyone

else. Miss Greville was with her Mother’s party at supper, but Ellen

preferred staying with the Bernards and me. We had a very pleasant

Dance and as Lady G—slept all the way home, I had a very comfortable

ride.

The next day while we were at dinner Lady Greville’s Coach stopped at

the door, for that is the time of day she generally contrives it

should. She sent in a message by the servant to say that “she should

not get out but that Miss Maria must come to the Coach-door, as she

wanted to speak to her, and that she must make haste and come

immediately—” “What an impertinent Message Mama!” said I—“Go Maria—”

replied she—Accordingly I went and was obliged to stand there at her

Ladyships pleasure though the Wind was extremely high and very cold.

“Why I think Miss Maria you are not quite so smart as you were last

night—But I did not come to examine your dress, but to tell you that

you may dine with us the day after tomorrow—Not tomorrow, remember, do

not come tomorrow, for we expect Lord and Lady Clermont and Sir Thomas

Stanley’s family—There will be no occasion for your being very fine for

I shant send the Carriage—If it rains you may take an umbrella—” I

could hardly help laughing at hearing her give me leave to keep myself

dry—“And pray remember to be in time, for I shant wait—I hate my

Victuals over-done—But you need not come before the time—How does your

Mother do? She is at dinner is not she?” “Yes Ma’am we were in the

middle of dinner when your Ladyship came.” “I am afraid you find it

very cold Maria.” said Ellen. “Yes, it is an horrible East wind—said

her Mother—I assure you I can hardly bear the window down—But you are

used to be blown about by the wind Miss Maria and that is what has made

your Complexion so rudely and coarse. You young Ladies who cannot often

ride in a Carriage never mind what weather you trudge in, or how the

wind shews your legs. I would not have my Girls stand out of doors as

you do in such a day as this. But some sort of people have no feelings

either of cold or Delicacy—Well, remember that we shall expect you on

Thursday at 5 o’clock—You must tell your Maid to come for you at

night—There will be no Moon—and you will have an horrid walk home—My

compts to Your Mother—I am afraid your dinner will be cold—Drive on—”

And away she went, leaving me in a great passion with her as she always

does.

Maria Williams.

LETTER the FOURTH

From a YOUNG LADY rather impertinent to her freind

We dined yesterday with Mr Evelyn where we were introduced to a very

agreable looking Girl his Cousin. I was extremely pleased with her

appearance, for added to the charms of an engaging face, her manner and

voice had something peculiarly interesting in them. So much so, that

they inspired me with a great curiosity to know the history of her

Life, who were her Parents, where she came from, and what had befallen

her, for it was then only known that she was a relation of Mr Evelyn,

and that her name was Grenville. In the evening a favourable

opportunity offered to me of attempting at least to know what I wished

to know, for every one played at Cards but Mrs Evelyn, My Mother, Dr

Drayton, Miss Grenville and myself, and as the two former were engaged

in a whispering Conversation, and the Doctor fell asleep, we were of

necessity obliged to entertain each other. This was what I wished and

being determined not to remain in ignorance for want of asking, I began

the Conversation in the following Manner.

“Have you been long in Essex Ma’am?”

“I arrived on Tuesday.”

“You came from Derbyshire?”

“No, Ma’am! appearing surprised at my question, from Suffolk.” You will

think this a good dash of mine my dear Mary, but you know that I am not

wanting for Impudence when I have any end in veiw. “Are you pleased

with the Country Miss Grenville? Do you find it equal to the one you

have left?”

“Much superior Ma’am in point of Beauty.” She sighed. I longed to know

for why.

“But the face of any Country however beautiful said I, can be but a

poor consolation for the loss of one’s dearest Freinds.” She shook her

head, as if she felt the truth of what I said. My Curiosity was so much

raised, that I was resolved at any rate to satisfy it.

“You regret having left Suffolk then Miss Grenville?” “Indeed I do.”

“You were born there I suppose?” “Yes Ma’am I was and passed many happy

years there—”

“That is a great comfort—said I—I hope Ma’am that you never spent any

_un_happy one’s there.”

“Perfect Felicity is not the property of Mortals, and no one has a

right to expect uninterrupted Happiness.—_Some_ Misfortunes I have

certainly met with.”

“_What_ Misfortunes dear Ma’am? replied I, burning with impatience to

know every thing. “_None_ Ma’am I hope that have been the effect of any

wilfull fault in me.” “I dare say not Ma’am, and have no doubt but that

any sufferings you may have experienced could arise only from the

cruelties of Relations or the Errors of Freinds.” She sighed—“You seem

unhappy my dear Miss Grenville—Is it in my power to soften your

Misfortunes?” “_Your_ power Ma’am replied she extremely surprised; it

is in _no ones_ power to make me happy.” She pronounced these words in

so mournfull and solemn an accent, that for some time I had not courage

to reply. I was actually silenced. I recovered myself however in a few

moments and looking at her with all the affection I could, “My dear

Miss Grenville said I, you appear extremely young—and may probably

stand in need of some one’s advice whose regard for you, joined to

superior Age, perhaps superior Judgement might authorise her to give

it. I am that person, and I now challenge you to accept the offer I

make you of my Confidence and Freindship, in return to which I shall

only ask for yours—”

“You are extremely obliging Ma’am—said she—and I am highly flattered by

your attention to me—But I am in no difficulty, no doubt, no

uncertainty of situation in which any advice can be wanted. Whenever I

am however continued she brightening into a complaisant smile, I shall

know where to apply.”

I bowed, but felt a good deal mortified by such a repulse; still

however I had not given up my point. I found that by the appearance of

sentiment and Freindship nothing was to be gained and determined

therefore to renew my attacks by Questions and suppositions. “Do you

intend staying long in this part of England Miss Grenville?”

“Yes Ma’am, some time I beleive.”

“But how will Mr and Mrs Grenville bear your absence?”

“They are neither of them alive Ma’am.” This was an answer I did not

expect—I was quite silenced, and never felt so awkward in my Life—.

LETTER the FIFTH

From a YOUNG LADY very much in love to her Freind

My Uncle gets more stingy, my Aunt more particular, and I more in love

every day. What shall we all be at this rate by the end of the year! I

had this morning the happiness of receiving the following Letter from

my dear Musgrove.

Sackville St: Janry 7th

It is a month to day since I first beheld my lovely Henrietta, and the

sacred anniversary must and shall be kept in a manner becoming the

day—by writing to her. Never shall I forget the moment when her

Beauties first broke on my sight—No time as you well know can erase it

from my Memory. It was at Lady Scudamores. Happy Lady Scudamore to live

within a mile of the divine Henrietta! When the lovely Creature first

entered the room, oh! what were my sensations? The sight of you was

like the sight ofa wonderful fine Thing. I started—I gazed at her with

admiration—She appeared every moment more Charming, and the unfortunate

Musgrove became a captive to your Charms before I had time to look

about me. Yes Madam, I had the happiness of adoring you, an happiness

for which I cannot be too grateful. “What said he to himself is

Musgrove allowed to die for Henrietta? Enviable Mortal! and may he pine

for her who is the object of universal admiration, who is adored by a

Colonel, and toasted by a Baronet! Adorable Henrietta how beautiful you

are! I declare you are quite divine! You are more than Mortal. You are

an Angel. You are Venus herself. In short Madam you are the prettiest

Girl I ever saw in my Life—and her Beauty is encreased in her Musgroves

Eyes, by permitting him to love her and allowing me to hope. And ah!

Angelic Miss Henrietta Heaven is my witness how ardently I do hope for

the death of your villanous Uncle and his abandoned Wife, since my fair

one will not consent to be mine till their decease has placed her in

affluence above what my fortune can procure—. Though it is an

improvable Estate—. Cruel Henrietta to persist in such a resolution! I

am at Present with my sister where I mean to continue till my own house

which tho’ an excellent one is at Present somewhat out of repair, is

ready to receive me. Amiable princess of my Heart farewell—Of that

Heart which trembles while it signs itself Your most ardent Admirer and

devoted humble servt.

T. Musgrove.

There is a pattern for a Love-letter Matilda! Did you ever read such a

master-piece of Writing? Such sense, such sentiment, such purity of

Thought, such flow of Language and such unfeigned Love in one sheet?

No, never I can answer for it, since a Musgrove is not to be met with

by every Girl. Oh! how I long to be with him! I intend to send him the

following in answer to his Letter tomorrow.

My dearest Musgrove—. Words cannot express how happy your Letter made

me; I thought I should have cried for joy, for I love you better than

any body in the World. I think you the most amiable, and the handsomest

Man in England, and so to be sure you are. I never read so sweet a

Letter in my Life. Do write me another just like it, and tell me you

are in love with me in every other line. I quite die to see you. How

shall we manage to see one another? for we are so much in love that we

cannot live asunder. Oh! my dear Musgrove you cannot think how

impatiently I wait for the death of my Uncle and Aunt—If they will not

Die soon, I beleive I shall run mad, for I get more in love with you

every day of my Life.

How happy your Sister is to enjoy the pleasure of your Company in her

house, and how happy every body in London must be because you are

there. I hope you will be so kind as to write to me again soon, for I

never read such sweet Letters as yours. I am my dearest Musgrove most

truly and faithfully yours for ever and ever

Henrietta Halton.

I hope he will like my answer; it is as good a one as I can write

though nothing to his; Indeed I had always heard what a dab he was at a

Love-letter. I saw him you know for the first time at Lady

Scudamores—And when I saw her Ladyship afterwards she asked me how I

liked her Cousin Musgrove?

“Why upon my word said I, I think he is a very handsome young Man.”

“I am glad you think so replied she, for he is distractedly in love

with you.”

“Law! Lady Scudamore said I, how can you talk so ridiculously?”

“Nay, t’is very true answered she, I assure you, for he was in love

with you from the first moment he beheld you.”

“I wish it may be true said I, for that is the only kind of love I

would give a farthing for—There is some sense in being in love at first

sight.”

“Well, I give you Joy of your conquest, replied Lady Scudamore, and I

beleive it to have been a very complete one; I am sure it is not a

contemptible one, for my Cousin is a charming young fellow, has seen a

great deal of the World, and writes the best Love-letters I ever read.”

This made me very happy, and I was excessively pleased with my

conquest. However, I thought it was proper to give myself a few Airs—so

I said to her—

“This is all very pretty Lady Scudamore, but you know that we young

Ladies who are Heiresses must not throw ourselves away upon Men who

have no fortune at all.”

“My dear Miss Halton said she, I am as much convinced of that as you

can be, and I do assure you that I should be the last person to

encourage your marrying anyone who had not some pretensions to expect a

fortune with you. Mr Musgrove is so far from being poor that he has an

estate of several hundreds an year which is capable of great

Improvement, and an excellent House, though at Present it is not quite

in repair.”

“If that is the case replied I, I have nothing more to say against him,

and if as you say he is an informed young Man and can write a good

Love-letter, I am sure I have no reason to find fault with him for

admiring me, tho’ perhaps I may not marry him for all that Lady

Scudamore.”

“You are certainly under no obligation to marry him answered her

Ladyship, except that which love himself will dictate to you, for if I

am not greatly mistaken you are at this very moment unknown to

yourself, cherishing a most tender affection for him.”

“Law, Lady Scudamore replied I blushing how can you think of such a

thing?”

“Because every look, every word betrays it, answered she; Come my dear

Henrietta, consider me as a freind, and be sincere with me—Do not you

prefer Mr Musgrove to any man of your acquaintance?”

“Pray do not ask me such questions Lady Scudamore, said I turning away

my head, for it is not fit for me to answer them.”

“Nay my Love replied she, now you confirm my suspicions. But why

Henrietta should you be ashamed to own a well-placed Love, or why

refuse to confide in me?”

“I am not ashamed to own it; said I taking Courage. I do not refuse to

confide in you or blush to say that I do love your cousin Mr Musgrove,

that I am sincerely attached to him, for it is no disgrace to love a

handsome Man. If he were plain indeed I might have had reason to be

ashamed of a passion which must have been mean since the object would

have been unworthy. But with such a figure and face, and such beautiful

hair as your Cousin has, why should I blush to own that such superior

merit has made an impression on me.”

“My sweet Girl (said Lady Scudamore embracing me with great affection)

what a delicate way of thinking you have in these matters, and what a

quick discernment for one of your years! Oh! how I honour you for such

Noble Sentiments!”

“Do you Ma’am said I; You are vastly obliging. But pray Lady Scudamore

did your Cousin himself tell you of his affection for me I shall like

him the better if he did, for what is a Lover without a Confidante?”

“Oh! my Love replied she, you were born for each other. Every word you

say more deeply convinces me that your Minds are actuated by the

invisible power of simpathy, for your opinions and sentiments so

exactly coincide. Nay, the colour of your Hair is not very different.

Yes my dear Girl, the poor despairing Musgrove did reveal to me the

story of his Love—. Nor was I surprised at it—I know not how it was,

but I had a kind of presentiment that he _would_ be in love with you.”

“Well, but how did he break it to you?”

“It was not till after supper. We were sitting round the fire together

talking on indifferent subjects, though to say the truth the

Conversation was cheifly on my side for he was thoughtful and silent,

when on a sudden he interrupted me in the midst of something I was

saying, by exclaiming in a most Theatrical tone—

Yes I’m in love I feel it now And Henrietta Halton has undone me

“Oh! What a sweet way replied I, of declaring his Passion! To make such

a couple of charming lines about me! What a pity it is that they are

not in rhime!”

“I am very glad you like it answered she; To be sure there was a great

deal of Taste in it. And are you in love with her, Cousin? said I. I am

very sorry for it, for unexceptionable as you are in every respect,

with a pretty Estate capable of Great improvements, and an excellent

House tho’ somewhat out of repair, yet who can hope to aspire with

success to the adorable Henrietta who has had an offer from a Colonel

and been toasted by a Baronet”—“_That_ I have—” cried I. Lady Scudamore

continued. “Ah dear Cousin replied he, I am so well convinced of the

little Chance I can have of winning her who is adored by thousands,

that I need no assurances of yours to make me more thoroughly so. Yet

surely neither you or the fair Henrietta herself will deny me the

exquisite Gratification of dieing for her, of falling a victim to her

Charms. And when I am dead”—continued her—

“Oh Lady Scudamore, said I wiping my eyes, that such a sweet Creature

should talk of dieing!”

“It is an affecting Circumstance indeed, replied Lady Scudamore.” “When

I am dead said he, let me be carried and lain at her feet, and perhaps

she may not disdain to drop a pitying tear on my poor remains.”

“Dear Lady Scudamore interrupted I, say no more on this affecting

subject. I cannot bear it.”

“Oh! how I admire the sweet sensibility of your Soul, and as I would

not for Worlds wound it too deeply, I will be silent.”

“Pray go on.” said I. She did so.

“And then added he, Ah! Cousin imagine what my transports will be when

I feel the dear precious drops trickle on my face! Who would not die to

haste such extacy! And when I am interred, may the divine Henrietta

bless some happier Youth with her affection, May he be as tenderly

attached to her as the hapless Musgrove and while _he_ crumbles to

dust, May they live an example of Felicity in the Conjugal state!”

Did you ever hear any thing so pathetic? What a charming wish, to be

lain at my feet when he was dead! Oh! what an exalted mind he must have

to be capable of such a wish! Lady Scudamore went on.

“Ah! my dear Cousin replied I to him, such noble behaviour as this,

must melt the heart of any woman however obdurate it may naturally be;

and could the divine Henrietta but hear your generous wishes for her

happiness, all gentle as is her mind, I have not a doubt but that she

would pity your affection and endeavour to return it.” “Oh! Cousin

answered he, do not endeavour to raise my hopes by such flattering

assurances. No, I cannot hope to please this angel of a Woman, and the

only thing which remains for me to do, is to die.” “True Love is ever

desponding replied I, but _I_ my dear Tom will give you even greater

hopes of conquering this fair one’s heart, than I have yet given you,

by assuring you that I watched her with the strictest attention during

the whole day, and could plainly discover that she cherishes in her

bosom though unknown to herself, a most tender affection for you.”

“Dear Lady Scudamore cried I, This is more than I ever knew!”

“Did not I say that it was unknown to yourself? I did not, continued I

to him, encourage you by saying this at first, that surprise might

render the pleasure still Greater.” “No Cousin replied he in a languid

voice, nothing will convince me that _I_ can have touched the heart of

Henrietta Halton, and if you are deceived yourself, do not attempt

deceiving me.” “In short my Love it was the work of some hours for me

to Persuade the poor despairing Youth that you had really a preference

for him; but when at last he could no longer deny the force of my

arguments, or discredit what I told him, his transports, his Raptures,

his Extacies are beyond my power to describe.”

“Oh! the dear Creature, cried I, how passionately he loves me! But dear

Lady Scudamore did you tell him that I was totally dependant on my

Uncle and Aunt?”

“Yes, I told him every thing.”

“And what did he say.”

“He exclaimed with virulence against Uncles and Aunts; Accused the laws

of England for allowing them to Possess their Estates when wanted by

their Nephews or Neices, and wished _he_ were in the House of Commons,

that he might reform the Legislature, and rectify all its abuses.”

“Oh! the sweet Man! What a spirit he has!” said I.

“He could not flatter himself he added, that the adorable Henrietta

would condescend for his sake to resign those Luxuries and that

splendor to which she had been used, and accept only in exchange the

Comforts and Elegancies which his limited Income could afford her, even

supposing that his house were in Readiness to receive her. I told him

that it could not be expected that she would; it would be doing her an

injustice to suppose her capable of giving up the power she now

possesses and so nobly uses of doing such extensive Good to the poorer

part of her fellow Creatures, merely for the gratification of you and

herself.”

“To be sure said I, I _am_ very Charitable every now and then. And what

did Mr Musgrove say to this?”

“He replied that he was under a melancholy necessity of owning the

truth of what I said, and that therefore if he should be the happy

Creature destined to be the Husband of the Beautiful Henrietta he must

bring himself to wait, however impatiently, for the fortunate day, when

she might be freed from the power of worthless Relations and able to

bestow herself on him.”

What a noble Creature he is! Oh! Matilda what a fortunate one I am, who

am to be his Wife! My Aunt is calling me to come and make the pies, so

adeiu my dear freind, and beleive me yours etc—

H. Halton.

Finis.

SCRAPS

To Miss FANNY CATHERINE AUSTEN

MY DEAR NEICE

As I am prevented by the great distance between Rowling and Steventon

from superintending your Education myself, the care of which will

probably on that account devolve on your Father and Mother, I think it

is my particular Duty to Prevent your feeling as much as possible the

want of my personal instructions, by addressing to you on paper my

Opinions and Admonitions on the conduct of Young Women, which you will

find expressed in the following pages.—

I am my dear Neice

Your affectionate Aunt

The Author.

THE FEMALE PHILOSOPHER

A LETTER

MY DEAR LOUISA

Your friend Mr Millar called upon us yesterday in his way to Bath,

whither he is going for his health; two of his daughters were with him,

but the eldest and the three Boys are with their Mother in Sussex.

Though you have often told me that Miss Millar was remarkably handsome,

you never mentioned anything of her Sisters’ beauty; yet they are

certainly extremely pretty. I’ll give you their description.—Julia is

eighteen; with a countenance in which Modesty, Sense and Dignity are

happily blended, she has a form which at once presents you with Grace,

Elegance and Symmetry. Charlotte who is just sixteen is shorter than

her Sister, and though her figure cannot boast the easy dignity of

Julia’s, yet it has a pleasing plumpness which is in a different way as

estimable. She is fair and her face is expressive sometimes of softness

the most bewitching, and at others of Vivacity the most striking. She

appears to have infinite Wit and a good humour unalterable; her

conversation during the half hour they set with us, was replete with

humourous sallies, Bonmots and repartees; while the sensible, the

amiable Julia uttered sentiments of Morality worthy of a heart like her

own. Mr Millar appeared to answer the character I had always received

of him. My Father met him with that look of Love, that social Shake,

and cordial kiss which marked his gladness at beholding an old and

valued freind from whom thro’ various circumstances he had been

separated nearly twenty years. Mr Millar observed (and very justly too)

that many events had befallen each during that interval of time, which

gave occasion to the lovely Julia for making most sensible reflections

on the many changes in their situation which so long a period had

occasioned, on the advantages of some, and the disadvantages of others.

From this subject she made a short digression to the instability of

human pleasures and the uncertainty of their duration, which led her to

observe that all earthly Joys must be imperfect. She was proceeding to

illustrate this doctrine by examples from the Lives of great Men when

the Carriage came to the Door and the amiable Moralist with her Father

and Sister was obliged to depart; but not without a promise of spending

five or six months with us on their return. We of course mentioned you,

and I assure you that ample Justice was done to your Merits by all.

“Louisa Clarke (said I) is in general a very pleasant Girl, yet

sometimes her good humour is clouded by Peevishness, Envy and Spite.

She neither wants Understanding or is without some pretensions to

Beauty, but these are so very trifling, that the value she sets on her

personal charms, and the adoration she expects them to be offered are

at once a striking example of her vanity, her pride, and her folly.” So

said I, and to my opinion everyone added weight by the concurrence of

their own.

Your affectionate

Arabella Smythe.

THE FIRST ACT OF A COMEDY

_Characters_

Popgun Maria

Charles Pistolletta

Postilion Hostess

Chorus of ploughboys Cook

and and

Strephon Chloe

SCENE—AN INN

_Enter_ Hostess, Charles, Maria, and Cook.

Hostess to Maria

If the gentry in the Lion should want beds, shew them number 9.

Maria

Yes Mistress.—_exit_ Maria

Hostess to Cook

If their Honours in the Moon ask for the bill of fare, give it them.

Cook

I will, I will. _exit_ Cook.

Hostess to Charles

If their Ladyships in the Sun ring their Bell—answer it.

Charles

Yes Madam. _exeunt_ Severally.

SCENE CHANGES TO THE MOON, and discovers Popgun and Pistoletta.

Pistoletta

Pray papa how far is it to London?

Popgun

My Girl, my Darling, my favourite of all my Children, who art the

picture of thy poor Mother who died two months ago, with whom I am

going to Town to marry to Strephon, and to whom I mean to bequeath my

whole Estate, it wants seven Miles.

SCENE CHANGES TO THE SUN—

_Enter_ Chloe and a chorus of ploughboys.

Chloe

Where am I? At Hounslow.—Where go I? To London—. What to do? To be

married—. Unto whom? Unto Strephon. Who is he? A Youth. Then I will

sing a song.

SONG

I go to Town

And when I come down,

I shall be married to Streephon.*

And that to me will be fun.

[* Note the two e’s]

Chorus

Be fun, be fun, be fun,

And that to me will be fun.

_Enter_ Cook—

Cook

Here is the bill of fare.

Chloe reads

2 Ducks, a leg of beef, a stinking partridge, and a tart.—I will have

the leg of beef and the partridge.

_Exit_ Cook.

And now I will sing another song.

SONG

I am going to have my dinner,

After which I shan’t be thinner,

I wish I had here Strephon

For he would carve the partridge if it should be a tough one.

Chorus

Tough one, tough one, tough one

For he would carve the partridge if it

Should be a tough one.

_Exit_ Chloe and Chorus.—

SCENE CHANGES TO THE INSIDE OF THE LION.

_Enter_ Strephon and Postilion.

Streph:)

You drove me from Staines to this place, from whence I mean to go to

Town to marry Chloe. How much is your due?

Post:

Eighteen pence.

Streph:

Alas, my freind, I have but a bad guinea with which I mean to support

myself in Town. But I will pawn to you an undirected Letter that I

received from Chloe.

Post:

Sir, I accept your offer.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

A LETTER from a YOUNG LADY, whose feelings being too strong for her

Judgement led her into the commission of Errors which her Heart

disapproved.

Many have been the cares and vicissitudes of my past life, my beloved

Ellinor, and the only consolation I feel for their bitterness is that

on a close examination of my conduct, I am convinced that I have

strictly deserved them. I murdered my father at a very early period of

my Life, I have since murdered my Mother, and I am now going to murder

my Sister. I have changed my religion so often that at present I have

not an idea of any left. I have been a perjured witness in every public

tryal for these last twelve years; and I have forged my own Will. In

short there is scarcely a crime that I have not committed—But I am now

going to reform. Colonel Martin of the Horse guards has paid his

Addresses to me, and we are to be married in a few days. As there is

something singular in our Courtship, I will give you an account of it.

Colonel Martin is the second son of the late Sir John Martin who died

immensely rich, but bequeathing only one hundred thousand pound apeice

to his three younger Children, left the bulk of his fortune, about

eight Million to the present Sir Thomas. Upon his small pittance the

Colonel lived tolerably contented for nearly four months when he took

it into his head to determine on getting the whole of his eldest

Brother’s Estate. A new will was forged and the Colonel produced it in

Court—but nobody would swear to it’s being the right will except

himself, and he had sworn so much that Nobody beleived him. At that

moment I happened to be passing by the door of the Court, and was

beckoned in by the Judge who told the Colonel that I was a Lady ready

to witness anything for the cause of Justice, and advised him to apply

to me. In short the Affair was soon adjusted. The Colonel and I swore

to its’ being the right will, and Sir Thomas has been obliged to resign

all his illgotten wealth. The Colonel in gratitude waited on me the

next day with an offer of his hand—. I am now going to murder my

Sister.

Yours Ever,

Anna Parker.

A TOUR THROUGH WALES—

in a LETTER from a YOUNG LADY—

MY DEAR CLARA

I have been so long on the ramble that I have not till now had it in my

power to thank you for your Letter—. We left our dear home on last

Monday month; and proceeded on our tour through Wales, which is a

principality contiguous to England and gives the title to the Prince of

Wales. We travelled on horseback by preference. My Mother rode upon our

little poney and Fanny and I walked by her side or rather ran, for my

Mother is so fond of riding fast that she galloped all the way. You may

be sure that we were in a fine perspiration when we came to our place

of resting. Fanny has taken a great many Drawings of the Country, which

are very beautiful, tho’ perhaps not such exact resemblances as might

be wished, from their being taken as she ran along. It would astonish

you to see all the Shoes we wore out in our Tour. We determined to take

a good Stock with us and therefore each took a pair of our own besides

those we set off in. However we were obliged to have them both capped

and heelpeiced at Carmarthen, and at last when they were quite gone,

Mama was so kind as to lend us a pair of blue Sattin Slippers, of which

we each took one and hopped home from Hereford delightfully—

I am your ever affectionate

Elizabeth Johnson.

A TALE.

A Gentleman whose family name I shall conceal, bought a small Cottage

in Pembrokeshire about two years ago. This daring Action was suggested

to him by his elder Brother who promised to furnish two rooms and a

Closet for him, provided he would take a small house near the borders

of an extensive Forest, and about three Miles from the Sea. Wilhelminus

gladly accepted the offer and continued for some time searching after

such a retreat when he was one morning agreably releived from his

suspence by reading this advertisement in a Newspaper.

TO BE LETT

A Neat Cottage on the borders of an extensive forest and about three

Miles from the Sea. It is ready furnished except two rooms and a

Closet.

The delighted Wilhelminus posted away immediately to his brother, and

shewed him the advertisement. Robertus congratulated him and sent him

in his Carriage to take possession of the Cottage. After travelling for

three days and six nights without stopping, they arrived at the Forest

and following a track which led by it’s side down a steep Hill over

which ten Rivulets meandered, they reached the Cottage in half an hour.

Wilhelminus alighted, and after knocking for some time without

receiving any answer or hearing any one stir within, he opened the door

which was fastened only by a wooden latch and entered a small room,

which he immediately perceived to be one of the two that were

unfurnished—From thence he proceeded into a Closet equally bare. A pair

of stairs that went out of it led him into a room above, no less

destitute, and these apartments he found composed the whole of the

House. He was by no means displeased with this discovery, as he had the

comfort of reflecting that he should not be obliged to lay out anything

on furniture himself—. He returned immediately to his Brother, who took

him the next day to every Shop in Town, and bought what ever was

requisite to furnish the two rooms and the Closet, In a few days

everything was completed, and Wilhelminus returned to take possession

of his Cottage. Robertus accompanied him, with his Lady the amiable

Cecilia and her two lovely Sisters Arabella and Marina to whom

Wilhelminus was tenderly attached, and a large number of Attendants.—An

ordinary Genius might probably have been embarrassed, in endeavouring

to accomodate so large a party, but Wilhelminus with admirable presence

of mind gave orders for the immediate erection of two noble Tents in an

open spot in the Forest adjoining to the house. Their Construction was

both simple and elegant—A couple of old blankets, each supported by

four sticks, gave a striking proof of that taste for architecture and

that happy ease in overcoming difficulties which were some of

Wilhelminus’s most striking Virtues.