The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Sylph, by Georgiana, duch*ess of Devonshire. (2024)

Project Gutenberg's The Sylph, Volume I and II, by Georgiana CavendishThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: The Sylph, Volume I and IIAuthor: Georgiana CavendishRelease Date: January 8, 2012 [EBook #38525]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SYLPH, VOLUME I AND II ***Produced by Dr. Clare Graham, Laura McDonald and MarcD'Hooghe at http:www.girlebooks.com andhttp://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously madeavailable by the Internet Archive)

By

GEORGIANA

duch*eSS OF DEVONSHIRE

Contents

VOLUME I

LETTER I.

TO LORD BIDDULPH.

It is a certain sign of a man's cause being bad, when he is obliged toquote precedents in the follies of others, to excuse his own. You see Igive up my cause at once. I am convinced I have done a silly thing, andyet I can produce thousands who daily do the same with, perhaps, not sogood a motive as myself. In short, not to puzzle you too much, which Iknow is extremely irksome to a man who loves to have every thing asclear as a proposition in Euclid; your friend (now don't laugh) ismarried. "Married!" Aye, why not? don't every body marry? those who haveestates, to have heirs of their own; and those who have nothing, toget something; so, according to my system, every body marries. Thenwhy that stare of astonishment? that look of unbelief? Yes, thouinfidel, I am married, and to such a woman! though, notwithstanding herbeauty and other accomplishments, I shall be half afraid to present herin the world, she's such a rustic! one of your sylvan deities. But I wasmad for her. "So you have been for half the women in town." Very true,my Lord, so I have, till I either gained them, or saw others whose imageobliterated theirs. You well know, love with me has ever been a laughingGod, "Rosy lips and cherub smiles," none of its black despairing lookshave I experienced.

What will the world say? How will some exult that I am at last taken in!What, the gay seducive Stanley shackled!

But, I apprehend, your Lordship will wish to be informed how the"smiling mischief" seized me. Well, you shall have the full and trueparticulars of the matter how, the time when, and place where. I must,however, look back. Perhaps I have been too precipitate—I mightpossibly have gained the charming maid at a less expense than"adamantine everlasting chains."—But the bare idea of losing her madeevery former resolution of never being enslaved appear as nothing.—Herlooks "would warm the cool bosom of age," and tempt an Anchorite to sin.

I could have informed you in a much better method, and have led you onthrough a flowery path; but as all my elaborate sketches must have endedin this disastrous truth, I am married, I thought it quite as well tolet you into that important secret at once. As I have divided mydiscourse under three heads, I will, according to some able preachers,begin with the first.

I left you as you may remember (though perhaps the burgundy might havewashed away your powers of recollection) pretty early one morning at theThatched-house, to proceed as far as Wales to visit Lord G——. I didnot find so much sport as I expected in his Lordship's grounds; andwithin doors, two old-fashioned maiden sisters did not promise such asis suited to my taste, and therefore pretended letters from town, whichrequired my attendance, and in consequence made my conge and departed.On my journey—as I had no immediate business any where, save that whichhas ever been my sole employ, amusem*nt—I resolved to make littledeviations from the right road, and like a sentimental traveller pickup what I could find in my way conducive to the chief end of my life. Istopped at a pleasant village some distance from Abergavenny, where Irested some time, making little excursive progressions round thecountry. Rambling over the cloud-capt mountains one morning—a morningbig with the fate of moor-game and your friend—from the ridge of aprecipice I beheld, to me, the most delicious game in the hospitableglobe, a brace of females, unattended, and, by the stile of their dress,though far removed from the vulgar, yet such as did not bespeak them ofour world.—I drew out my glass to take a nearer ken, when suchbeauties shot from one in particular, that fired my soul, and ranthrilling through every vein. That instant they turned from me, andseemed to be bending their foot-steps far away. Mad with the wish of anearer view, and fearful of losing sight of them, I hastily strove todescend. My eyes still fixed on my lovely object, I paid no regard to mysituation, and, while my thoughts and every faculty were absorbed inthis pleasing idea, scrambled over rocks and precipices fearless ofconsequences; which however might have concluded rather unfortunately,and spoiled me for adventure; for, without the least warning, which isoften the case, a piece of earth gave way, and down my worship rolled tothe bottom. The height from whence I had fallen, and the roughencounters I had met with, stunned me for some time, but when I came tomy recollection, I was charmed to see my beautiful girls running towardsme. They had seen my fall, and, from my lying still, concluded I waskilled; they expressed great joy on hearing me speak, and mostobligingly endeavored to assist me in rising, but their united effortswere in vain; my leg was broken. This was a great shock to us all. Inthe sweetest accents they condoled me on my misfortune, and offeredevery assistance and consolation in their power. To a genius soenterprizing as myself, any accident which furthered my wishes of makingan acquaintance with the object I had been pursuing, appeared trivial,when the advantages presented themselves to my view. I sat thereforelike Patience on a monument, and bore my misfortune with a stoicalphilosophy. I wanted much to discover who they were, as theirappearance was rather equivocal, and might have pronounced thembelonging to any station in life. Their dress was exactly the same:white jackets and petticoats, with light green ribbands, &c. I askedsome questions, which I hoped would lead to the point I wished to beinformed in: their answers were polite, but not satisfactory; though Icannot say they were wholly evasive, as they seemed artlessly innocent;or, if at all reserved, it was the reserve which native modesty teaches.One of them said, I was in great need of instant assistance; and she hadinterest enough to procure some from an house not very distant from us:on which, they were both going. I entreated the younger one to stay, asI should be the most wretched of all mortals if left to myself. "We go,"said she, "in order to relieve that wretchedness." I fixed my eyes onher with the most tender languor I could assume; and, sighing, told her,"it was in her power alone to give me ease, since she was the cause ofmy pain: her charms had dazzled my eyes, and occasioned that false stepwhich had brought me sooner than I expected at her feet." She smiled,and answered, "then it was doubly incumbent on her to be as quick aspossible in procuring me every accommodation necessary." At that instantthey spied a herdsman, not far off. They called aloud, and talking withhim some little time, without saying a word further to me, tripped awaylike two fairies. I asked the peasant who those lovely girls were. Henot answering, I repeated my question louder, thinking him deaf; but,staring at me with a stupid astonishment, he jabbered out some barbaroussounds, which I immediately discovered to be a Welsh language I knew nomore than the Hottentotts. I had flattered myself with being, by thisfellow's assistance, able to discover the real situation of these sweetgirls: indeed I hoped to have found them within my reach; for, though Iwas at that moment as much in love as a man with a broken leg andbruised body could be supposed, yet I had then not the least thoughts ofmatrimony, I give you my honour. Thus disappointed in my views, I restedas contented as I could—hoping better fortune by and bye.

In a little time a person, who had the appearance of a gentleman,approached, with three other servants, who carried a gate, on which waslaid a feather-bed. He addressed me with the utmost politeness, andassisted to place me on this litter, and begged to have the honour ofattending me to his house. I returned his civilities with the samepoliteness, and was carried to a very good-looking house on the side ofa wood, and placed on a bed in a room handsomely furnished. A surgeoncame a few hours after. The fracture was reduced; and as I was orderedto be kept extremely quiet, every one left the room, except my kindhost, who sat silently by the bed-side. This was certainly genuinehospitality, for I was wholly unknown, as you may suppose: however, myfigure, being that of a gentleman, and my distressed situation, weresufficient recommendations.

After lying some time in a silent state, I ventured to breathe out mygrateful acknowledgements; but Mr. Grenville stopped me short, nor wouldsuffer me to say one word that might tend to agitate my spirits. I toldhim, I thought it absolutely necessary to inform him who I was, as theevent of my accident was uncertain. I therefore gave a concise accountof myself. He desired to know if I had any friend to whom I would wishto communicate my situation. I begged him to send to the village I hadleft that morning for my servant, as I should be glad of his attendance.Being an adroit fellow, I judged he might be of service to me ingaining some intelligence about the damsels in question: but I was verynear never wanting him again; for, a fever coming on, I was for somedays hovering over the grave. A good constitution at last got thebetter, and I had nothing to combat but my broken limb, which was in afair way. I had a most excellent nurse, a house-keeper in the family. Myown servant likewise waited on me. Mr. Grenville spent a part of everyday with me; and his agreeable conversation, though rather too grave fora fellow of my fire, afforded me great comfort during my confinement:yet still something was wanting, till I could hear news of my charmingwood-nymphs.

One morning I strove to make my old nurse talk, and endeavoured to drawher out; she seemed a little shy. I asked her a number of questionsabout my generous entertainer; she rung a peal in his praise. I thenasked if there were any pretty girls in the neighbourhood, as I was agreat admirer of beauty. She laughed, and told me not to let my thoughtswander that way yet a while; I was yet too weak. "Not to talk of beauty,my old girl," said I. "Aye, aye," she answered, "but you look as iftalking would not content you." I then told her, I had seen theloveliest girl in the world among the Welsh mountains, not far fromhence, who I found was acquainted with this family, and I would rewardher handsomely if she could procure me an interview with her, when sheshould judge I was able to talk of love in a proper style. I thendescribed the girls I had seen, and freely confessed the impression oneof them had made on me. "As sure as you are alive," said the old cat,"it was my daughter you saw." "Your daughter!" I exclaimed, "is itpossible for your daughter to be such an angel?" "Good lack! why not?What, because I am poor, and a servant, my daughter is not to be fleshand blood."

"By heaven! but she is," said I, "and such flesh and blood, that I wouldgive a thousand pounds to take her to town with me. What say you,mother; will you let me see her?" "I cannot tell," said she, shaking herhead: "To be sure my girl is handsome, and might make her fortune intown; for she's as virtuous as she's poor." "I promise you," said I, "ifshe is not foolish enough to be too scrupulous about one, I will takecare to remove the other. But, when shall I see her?" "Lord! you mustnot be in such a hurry: all in good time." With this assurance, andthese hopes, I was constrained to remain satisfied for some time: thoughthe old wench every now and then would flatter my passions by extollingthe charms of her daughter; and above all, commending her sweetcompliant disposition; a circ*mstance I thought in my favour, as itwould render my conquest less arduous. I occasionally asked her of thefamily whom she served. She seemed rather reserved on this subject,though copious enough on any other. She informed me, however, that Mr.Grenville had two daughters; but no more to be compared with her's, thanshe was; and that, as soon as I was able to quit my bed-chamber, theywould be introduced to me.

As my strength increased, my talkative nurse grew more eloquent in thepraises of her child; and by those praises inflamed my passion to thehighest pitch. I thought every day an age till I again beheld her;resolving to begin my attack as soon as possible, and indulging theidea, that my task would, through the intervention of the mother, becarried on with great facility. Thus I wiled away the time when I wasleft to myself. Yet, notwithstanding I recovered most amazingly fastconsidering my accident, I thought the confinement plaguy tedious, andwas heartily glad when my surgeon gave me permission to be conveyedinto a dressing-room. On the second day of my emigration from mybed-chamber, Mr. Grenville informed me he would bring me acquainted withthe rest of his family. I assured him I should receive such anindulgence as a mark of his unexampled politeness and humanity, andshould endeavor to be grateful for such favour. I now attained theheight of my wishes; and at the same time sustained a sensible andmortifying disappointment: for, in the afternoon, Mr. Grenville enteredthe room, and in either hand one of the lovely girls I had seen, and whowere the primary cause of my accident. I attained the summit of mywishes in again beholding my charmer; but when she was introduced underthe character of daughter to my host, my fond hopes were instantlycrushed. How could I be such a villain as to attempt the seduction ofthe daughter of a man to whom I was bound by so many ties? Thisreflection damped the joy which flushed in my face when I first saw her.I paid my compliments to the fair sisters with an embarrassment in myair not usual to a man of the world; but which, however, was notperceptible to my innocent companions. They talked over my adventure,and congratulated my recovery with so much good-nature as endeared themboth to me, at the same time that I inwardly cursed the charms thatenslaved me. Upon the whole, I do not know whether pain or pleasure waspredominant through the course of the day; but I found I loved her moreand more every moment. Uncertain what my resolves or intentions were, Itook my leave of them, and returned to my room with matter forreflection sufficient to keep me waking the best part of the night. Myold tabby did not administer a sleeping potion to me, by theconversation I had with her afterwards on the subject in debate.

"Well, Sir," she asked, "how do you like my master's daughters?" "Not sowell as I should your daughter, I can tell you. What the devil did youmean by your cursed long harangues about her beauty, when you knew allthe while she was not attainable?" "Why not? she is disengaged; is of afamily and rank in life to do any man credit; and you are enamoured ofher." "True; but I have no inclination to marry."

"And you cannot hope to succeed on any other terms, even if you couldform the plan of dishonouring the daughter of a man of some consequencein the world, and one who has shewn you such kindness!"

"Your sagacity happens to be right in your conjecture."

"But you would have had no scruples of conscience in your design on mydaughter."

"Not much, I confess; money well applied would have silenced the world,and I should have left it to her and your prudence to have done therest."

"And do you suppose, Sir," said she, "that the honour of my daughter isnot as valuable to me, because I am placed so much below you, as that ofthe daughter of the first man in the world? Had this been my child, and,by the various artifices you might have put in practice, you hadtriumphed over her virtue, do you suppose, I say, a little paltry drosswould have been a recompence? No, sir, know me better than to believeany worldly advantages would have silenced my wrongs. My child, thankheaven, is virtuous, and far removed from the danger of meeting withsuch as I am sorry to find you are; one, who would basely rob the poorof the only privilege they possess, that of being innocent, while youcowardly shrink at the idea of attacking a woman, who, in the eye of avenal world, has a sufficient fortune to varnish over the loss ofreputation. I confess I knew not the depravity of your heart, till theother day, I by accident heard part of a conversation between you andyour servant; before that, I freely own, though I thought you not sostrict in your morals as I hoped, yet I flattered myself your principleswere not corrupted, but imputed the warmth of your expressions to youth,and a life unclouded by misfortune. I further own, I was delighted withthe impression which my young lady had made on you. I fancied yourpassion disinterested, because you knew not her situation in life; butnow I know you too well to suffer her to entertain a partiality for onewhose sentiments are unworthy a man of honour, and who can never esteemvirtue though in her loveliest form."

"Upon my soul! mother," cried I, (affecting an air of gaiety in mymanner, which was foreign to my heart, for I was cursedly chagrined),"you have really a fine talent for preaching; why what a delectablesermon have you delivered against simple fornication. But come, come,we must not be enemies. I assure you, with the utmost sincerity, I amnot the sad dog you think me. I honour and revere virtue even in you,who, you must be sensible, are rather too advanced in life for a Venus,though I doubt not in your youth you made many a Welsh heart dancewithout a harp. Come, I see you are not so angry as you were. Have alittle compassion on a poor young fellow, who cannot, if he wishes it,run away from your frowns. I am tied by the leg, you know, my old girl.But to tell you the serious truth, the cause of the air ofdissatisfaction which I wore, was, my apprehension of not having meritto gain the only woman that ever made any impression on my heart; andlikewise my fears of your not being my friend, from the ludicrous mannerin which I had before treated this affair."—I added some moreprevailing arguments, and solemnly attested heaven to witness myinnocence of actual seduction, though I had, I confessed with blushes,indulged in a few fashionable pleasures, which, though they might bestiled crimes among the Welsh-mountains, were nothing in our world. Inshort, I omitted nothing (as you will suppose by the lyes I already toldof my innocence of actual seduction, and such stuff—) that I thoughtconducive to the conciliating her good opinion, or at least a betterthan she seemed to have at present.

When I argued the matter over in my own mind, I knew not on what todetermine. Reflection never agreed with me: I hate it confoundedly—Itbrings with it a consumed long string of past transactions, that boreme to death, and is worse than a fit of the hypochondriac. I endeavoredto lose my disagreeable companion in the arms of sleep; but the devila bit: the idea of the raptures I should taste in those of my lovelyJulia's, drove the drowsy God from my eye-lids—yet my pleasurablesensations were damped by the enormous purchase I must in allprobability pay for such a delightful privilege: after examining thebusiness every way, I concluded it as I do most things which requiremature deliberation, left it to work its way in the best manner itcould, and making chance, the first link in the chain of causes, rulerof my fate.

I now saw my Julia daily, and the encrease of passion was theconsequence of every interview. You have often told me I was a fellow ofno speculation or thought: I presume to say, that in the point inquestion, though you may conceive me running hand over head todestruction, I have shewn a great deal of fore-thought; and that thestep I have taken is an infallible proof of it. Charming as both you andI think the lady Betty's and lady Bridget's, and faith have found themtoo, I believe neither you nor I ever intended to take any one of themfor better, for worse; yet we have never made any resolution againstentering into the pale of matrimony. Now though I like a littlebadinage, and sometimes something more, with a married woman—I wouldmuch rather that my wife, like Cæsar's, should not be suspected: wherethen is it so likely to meet with a woman of real virtue as in the lapof innocence? The women of our world marry, that they may have thegreater privilege for leading dissipated lives. Knowing them so well asI do, I could have no chance of happiness with one of their class—andyet one must one time or other "settle soberly and raise a brood."—Andwhy not now, while every artery beats rapidly, and nature is alive?

However, it does not signify bringing this argument, or that, to justifymy procedure; I could not act otherwise than I have done. I was mad,absolutely dying for her. By heaven! I never saw so many beauties underone form. There is not a limb or feature which I have not adored in asmany different women; here, they are all assembled with the greatestharmony: and yet she wants the polish of the world: a je ne sçai quoi,a tout ensemble, which nothing but mixing with people of fashion cangive: but, as she is extremely docile, I have hopes that she will notdisgrace the name of Stanley.

Shall I whisper you a secret—but publish it not in the streets ofAskalon—I could almost wish my whole life had passed in the sameinnocent tranquil manner it has now for several weeks. No tumultuousthoughts, which, as they are too often excited by licentious excess,must be lost and drowned in wine. No cursed qualms of conscience, whichwill appall the most hardy of us, when nature sickens after the fatigueof a debauch. Here all is peaceful, because all is innocent: and yetwhat voluptuary can figure a higher joy than I at present experience inthe possession of the most lovely of her sex, who thinks it her duty tocontribute to my pleasure, and whose every thought I can read in herexpressive countenance? Oh! that I may ever see her with the same eyes Ido at this moment! Why cannot I renounce a world, the ways of which Ihave seen and despise from my soul? What attachments have I to it,guilty ones excepted? Ought I to continue them, when I have sworn—Oh!Christ! what is come to me now? can a virtuous connexion with the sexwork miracles? but you cannot inform me—having never made such: and whothe devil can, till they marry—and then it is too late: the die iscast.

I hope you will thank me for making you my confidant—and, what is more,writing you so enormous a long letter. Most likely I shall enhance yourobligation by continuing my correspondence, as I do not know when Ishall quit, what appears to me, my earthly paradise. Whether you willcongratulate me from your heart I know not, because you may possiblyimagine, from some virtuous emanations which have burst forth in thecourse of this epistle, that you shall lose your old companion. No, no,not quite so bad neither—though I am plaguy squeamish at present, alittle town air will set all to rights again, and I shall no doubt fallinto my old track with redoubled alacrity from this recess. So don'tdespair, my old friend: you will always find me,

Your lordship's devoted,

W. STANLEY.

LETTER II.

TO THE SAME.

What a restless discontented animal is man! Even in Paradise unblest. Doyou know I am, though surrounded with felicity, languishing for sin andsea-coal in your regions. I shall be vapoured to death if I stay heremuch longer. Here is nothing to exercise the bright genius with which Iam endued: all one calm sunshine;

"And days of peace do still succeed
To nights of calm repose."

How unfit to charm a soul like mine! I, who love every thing that themoderns call pleasure. I must be amongst you, and that presently. MyJulia, I am certain, will make no resistance to my will. Faith! she isthe wife for me. Mild, passive, duteous, and innocent: I may lead mylife just as I please; and she, dear creature! will have no idea butthat I am a very good husband!

"And when I am weary of wandering all day,
To thee, my delight, in the evening I, come."

I did intend, when first I began my correspondence with your lordship,to have informed you of the whole process of this affair; but, upon mysoul, you must excuse me. From being idle, I am become perfectlyindolent;—besides, it is unfashionable to talk so much of one's wife. Ishall only say, I endeavoured, by all those little attentions which areso easily assumed by us, to gain her affections,—and at the same time,to make sure work, declared myself in form to her father.

One day, when I could hobble about, I took occasion to say to Mr.Grenville, that I was meditating a return for his civilities, which wasno other than running away with his daughter Julia: that, in the wholecourse of my life, I had never seen a woman whom I thought so capable ofmaking me happy; and that, were my proposals acceptable to him and her,it would be my highest felicity to render her situation such. I saw theold man was inwardly pleased.—In very polite terms he assured me, heshould have no objection to such an alliance, if Julia's heart madenone; that although, for very particular reasons, he had quarreled withthe world, he did not wish to seclude his children from partaking of itspleasures. He owned, he thought Julia seemed to have an inclination tosee more of it than he had had an opportunity of shewing her; and that,as he had for ever renounced it, there was no protector, after a father,so proper as a husband. He then paid me some compliments, which perhaps,had his acquaintance been of as long standing as yours and mine, hemight have thought rather above my desert: but he knows no more of methan he has heard from me,—and the devil is in it, if a man won't speakwell of himself when he has an opportunity.

It was some time before I could bring myself to the pious resolution ofmarrying.—I was extremely desirous of practising a few manœuvresfirst, just to try the strength of the citadel;—but madam house-keeperwould have blown me up. "You are in love with my master's daughter,"said she, one day, to me; "if you make honourable proposals, I have nota doubt but they will be accepted;—if I find you endeavouring to gainher heart in a clandestine manner,—remember you are in my power. Myfaithful services in this family have given me some influence, and Iwill certainly use it for their advantage. The best and loveliest of hersex shall not be left a prey to the artful insinuating practices of aman too well versed in the science of deceit. Marry her; she will do youhonour in this world, and by her virtues ensure your happiness in thenext."

I took the old matron's advice, as it so perfectly accorded with my ownwishes. The gentle Julia made no objection.—Vanity apart, I certainlyhave some attractions; especially in the eyes of an innocent youngcreature, who yet never saw a reasonable being besides her father; andwho had likewise a secret inclination to know a little how things go inthe world. I shall very soon gratify her wish, by taking her toLondon.—I am sick to death of the constant routine of circ*mstanceshere—the same to-day, to-morrow, and forever. Your mere good kind ofpeople are really very insipid sort of folks; and as such totallyunsuited to my taste. I shall therefore leave them to their piousmeditations in a short time, and whirl my little Julia into the giddycircle, where alone true joy is to be met with.

I shall not invite her sister to accompany her; as I have an invincibledislike to the idea of marrying a whole family. Besides, sisterssometimes are more quick-sighted than wives: and I begin to think(though from whence she has gained her knowledge I know not, I hopehonestly!) that Louisa is mistress of more penetration than myrib.—She is more serious, consequently more observing and attentive.

Sylph is fixed on.—Our suite will be a Welsh fille de chambre,yclep'd Winifred, and an old male domestick, who at present acts incapacity of groom to me, and who I foresee will soon be the butt of mywhole house;—as he is chiefly composed of Welsh materials, I concludewe shall have fine work with him among our beaux d'esprits of themotley tribe.—I shall leave Taffy to work his way as he can. Let everyone fight their own battles I say.—I hate to interfere in any kind ofbusiness. I burn with impatience to greet you and the rest of yourconfederates. Assure them of my best wishes.—I was going to sayservices,—but alas! I am not my own master! I am married. After that,may I venture to conclude myself your's?

W. STANLEY.

LETTER III.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

How strange does it seem, my dearest Louisa, to address you at thisdistance! What is it that has supported me through this long journey,and given me strength to combat with all the softer feelings; to quit arespectable parent and a beloved sister; to leave such dear and tenderrelations, and accompany a man to whom four months since I was wholly astranger! I am a wretched reasoner at best.—I am therefore at a loss tounravel this mystery. It is true, it became my duty to follow myhusband; but that a duty so newly entered into should supersede allothers is certainly strange. You will say, you wonder these thoughts didnot arise sooner;—they did, my dear; but the continual agitation of myspirits since I married, prevented my paying any attention to them.Perhaps, those who have been accustomed to the bustles of the worldwould laugh at my talking of the agitation of spirits in the course ofan affair which was carried on with the most methodical exactness; butthen it is their being accustomed to bustles, which could insure theircomposure on such an important occasion. I am young andinexperienced—and what is worst of all, a perfect stranger to thedisposition of Sir William. He may be a very good sort of man; yet hemay have some faults, which are at present unknown to me.—I amresolved, however, to be as indulgent to them as possible, should Idiscover any.—And as for my own, I will strive to conceal them, underan implicit obedience to his will and pleasure.

As to giving you an account of this hurrying place, it is totally out ofmy power. I made Sir William laugh very heartily several times at myignorance. We came into town at a place called Piccadilly, where therewas such a croud of carriages of all sorts, that I was perfectlyastonished, and absolutely frightened. I begged Sir William would orderthe drivers to stop till they were gone by.—This intreaty threw himalmost into a convulsion of laughter at my simplicity; but I was stillmore amazed, when he told me, they would continue driving with the samevehemence all night. For my part, I could not hear my own voice for thecontinual rattle of coaches, &c.—I still could not help thinking itmust be some particular rejoicing day, from the immense concourse ofpeople I saw rushing from all quarters;—and yet Sir William assured methe town was very empty. "Mercy defend us!" cried Winifred, when Iinformed her what her master had said, "what a place must it be when itis full, for the people have not room to walk as it is!" I cautionedWin, to discover her ignorance as little as possible;—but I doubt bothmistress and maid will be subjects of mirth for some time to come.

I have not yet seen any thing, as there is a ceremony to be observedamong people of rank in this place. No married lady can appear in publictill she has been properly introduced to their majesties. Alas! whatwill become of me upon an occasion so singular!—Sir William has been soobliging as to bespeak the protection of a lady, who is perfect mistressof the etiquettes of courts. She will pay me a visit previous to myintroduction; and under her tuition, I am told, I have nothing to fear.All my hopes are, that I may acquit myself so as to gain the approbationof my husband. Husband! what a sound has that, when pronounced by a girlbarely seventeen,—and one whose knowledge of the world is merelyspeculative;—one, who, born and bred in obscurity, is equallyunacquainted with men and manners.—I have often revolved in my mindwhat could be the inducement of my father's total seclusion from theworld; for what little hints I (and you, whose penetration is deeperthan mine) could gather, have only served to convince us, he must havebeen extremely ill treated by it, to have been constrained to make a vownever again to enter into it,—and in my mind the very forming of a vowlooks as if he had loved it to excess, and therefore made his retreatfrom it more solemn than a bare resolution, lest he might, from a changeof circ*mstances or sentiments, again be seduced by its attractions, andby which he had suffered so much.

Do you know, I have formed the wish of knowing some of those incidentsin his history which have governed his actions? will you, my dearLouisa, hint this to him? He may, by such a communication, be veryserviceable to me, who am such a novice.

I foresee I shall stand in need of instructors; otherwise I shall makebut an indifferent figure in the drama. Every thing, and every body,makes an appearance so widely opposite to my former notions, that I findmyself every moment at a loss, and know not to whom to apply forinformation. I am apprehensive I shall tire Sir William to death with myinterrogatories; besides, he gave me much such a hint as I gave Win, notto betray my ignorance to every person I met with; and yet, withoutasking questions, I shall never attain the knowledge of some thingswhich to me appear extremely singular. The ideas I possessed while amongthe mountains seem intirely useless to me here. Nay, I begin to think, Imight as well have learnt nothing; and that the time and expence whichwere bestowed on my education were all lost, since I even do not knowhow to walk a minuet properly. Would you believe it? Sir William hasengaged a dancing-master to put me into a genteel and polite method ofacquitting myself with propriety on the important circ*mstance of movingabout a room gracefully. Shall I own I felt myself mortified when hemade the proposition? I could even have shed tears at the humiliatingfigure I made in my own eyes; however, I had resolution to overcome suchan appearance of weakness, and turned it off with a smile, saying, "Ithought I had not stood in need of any accomplishments, since I had hadsufficient to gain his affections." I believe he saw I was hurt, andtherefore took some pains to re-assure me. He told me, "that though myperson was faultless, yet, from my seclusion from it, I wanted an air ofthe world. He himself saw nothing but perfection in me; but he wishedthose, who were not blinded by passion, should think me not only themost beautiful, but likewise the most polished woman at court." Is therenot a little vanity in this, Louisa? But Sir William is, I find, a manof the world; and it is my duty to comply with every thing he judgesproper, to make me what he chuses.

Monsieur Fierville pays me great compliments. "Who is he?" you will ask.Why my dancing-master, my dear. I am likewise to take some lessons onthe harpsichord, as Sir William finds great fault with my fingering, andthinks I want taste in singing. I always looked on taste as genuine andinherent to ourselves; but here, taste is to be acquired; and what isinfinitely more astonishing still, it is variable. So, though I maydance and sing in taste now, a few months hence I may have anothermethod to learn, which will be the taste then. It is a fine time forteachers, when scholars are never taught. We used to think, to be madeperfect mistress of any thing was sufficient; but in this world it isvery different; you have a fresh lesson to learn every winter. As aproof, they had last winter one of the first singers in the world at theopera-house; this winter they had one who surpassed her. This assertionyou and I should think nonsense, since, according to our ideas, nothingcan exceed perfection: the next who comes over will be superior to allothers that ever arrived. The reason is, every one has a different modeof singing; a taste of their own, which by arbitrary custom is for thatcause to be the taste of the whole town. These things appearincomprehensible to me; but I suppose use will reconcile me to them, asit does others, by whom they must once have been thought strange.

I think I can discover Sir William Stanley has great pride, that is, heis a slave to fashion. He is ambitious of being a leading man. Hishouse, his equipage, and wife—in short, every thing which belongs tohim must be admired; and I can see, he is not a little flattered whenthey meet with approbation, although from persons of whose taste andknowledge of life he has not the most exalted idea.

It would look very ungrateful in me, if I was to make any complaintsagainst my situation; and yet would it not be more so to my father andyou, if I was not to say, I was happier whilst with you? I certainlywas. I will do Sir William the justice to say, he contributed to make mylast two months residence very pleasant. He was the first lover I everhad, at least the first that ever told me he loved. The distinction hepaid me certainly made some impression on my heart. Every female has alittle vanity; but I must enlarge my stock before I can have a properconfidence in myself in this place.

My singing-master has just been announced. He is a very great man in hisway, so I must not make him wait; besides, my letter is already a prettyreasonable length. Adieu, my dearest sister! say every thing duteousand affectionate for me to my father; and tell yourself that I am everyour's,

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER IV.

TO Colonel MONTAGUE.

Dear JACK,

I was yesterday introduced to the loveliest woman in the universe;Stanley's wife. Yes, that happy dog is still the favourite of Fortune.How does he triumph over me on every occasion! If he had a soul ofworth, what a treasure would he possess in such an angel! but he willsoon grow tired even of her. What immense pains did he take to supplantme in the affections of Lucy Gardner, though he has since sworn to youand many others he proposed no other advantage to himself than rivalingme, and conquering her prejudices in my favour. He thinks I have forgotall this, because I did not call him to an account for his ungenerousconduct, and because I still style him my friend; but let him have acare; my revenge only slept till a proper opportunity called it forth.As to retaliating, by endeavouring to obtain any of his mistresses, thatwas too trivial a satisfaction for me, as he is too phlegmatic to behurt by such an attempt. I flatter myself, I shall find an opening byand by, to convince him I have neither forgotten the injury, or am of atemper to let slip an occasion of piercing his heart by a methodeffectual and secure. Men, who delight to disturb the felicity ofothers, are most tenacious of their own. And Stanley, who has allowedhimself such latitude of intrigue in other men's families, will verysensibly feel any stain on his. But of this in future; let me return toLady Stanley. She is not a perfect beauty: which, if you are of mytaste, you will think rather an advantage than not; as there isgenerally a formality in great regularity of features, and most timesan insipidity. In her there are neither. She is in one word animatednature. Her height is proper, and excellently well proportioned; Imight say, exquisitely formed. Her figure is such, as at once createsesteem, and gives birth to the tenderest desires. Stanley seemed to takepleasure in my commendations. "I wanted you to see her, my Lord," saidhe: "you are a man of taste. May I introduce Julia, without blushingthrough apprehension of her disgracing me? You know my sentiments. Imust be applauded by the world; lovely as I yet think her, she would bethe object of my hate, and I should despise myself, if she is notadmired by the whole court; it is the only apology I can make to myselffor marrying at all." What a brute of a fellow it is! I suppose he mustbe cuckolded by half the town, to be convinced his wife has charms.

Lady Stanley is extremely observant of her husband at present, becausehe is the only man who has paid her attention; but when she finds she isthe only woman who is distinguished by his indifference, which will soonbe the case, she will likewise see, and be grateful for, the assiduitiespaid her by other men. One of the first of those I intend to be. I shallnot let you into the plan of operations at present; besides, it isimpossible, till I know more of my ground, to mark out any scheme.Chance often performs that for us, which the most judicious reflectioncannot bring about; and I have the whole campaign before me.

I think myself pretty well acquainted with the failings and weak partsin Stanley; and you may assure yourself I shall avail myself of them. Ido not want penetration; and doubt not, from the free access which Ihave gained in the family, but I shall soon be master of the rulingpassion of her ladyship. She is, as yet, a total stranger to the world;her character is not yet established; she cannot know herself. She onlyknows she is handsome; that secret, I presume, Nature has informed herof. Her husband has confirmed it, and she liked him because she found inhim a coincidence of opinion. But all that rapturous nonsense will, andmust soon, have an end. As to the beauties of mind, he has no more ideaof them, than we have of a sixth sense; what he knows not, he cannotadmire. She will soon find herself neglected; but at the same time shewill find the loss of a husband's praises amply supplied by thedevoirs of a hundred, all equal, and many superior to him. At first,she may be uneasy; but repeated flattery will soon console her; and theman who can touch her heart, needs fear nothing. Every thing else, asLord Chesterfield justly observes, will then follow of course. By whichassertion, whatever the world may think, he certainly pays a greatcompliment to the fair sex. Men may be rendered vicious by a thousandmethods; but there is only one way to subdue women.

Whom do you think he has introduced as chaperons to his wife? LadyBesford, and Lady Anne Parker. Do not you admire his choice? Oh! theywill be charming associates for her! But I have nothing to say againstit, as I think their counsels will further my schemes. Lady Besfordmight not be so much amiss; but Lady Anne! think of her, with whom he isbelied if he has not had an affair. What madness! It is like him,however. Let him then take the consequences of his folly; and suchclever fellows as you and I the advantage of them. Adieu, dear Jack! Ishall see you, I hope, as soon as you come to town. I shall want you ina scheme I have in my head, but which I do not think proper to trust topaper. Your's,

BIDDULPH.

LETTER V.

TO Lady STANLEY.

I have lost you, my Julia; and who shall supply your loss? How much am Ialone! and yet, if you are happy, I must and will be satisfied. Ishould, however, be infinitely more so, if you had any companion toguide your footsteps through the devious path of life: I wish you someexperienced director. Have you not yet made an acquaintance which may beuseful to you? Though you are prevented appearing in public, yet I thinkit should have been Sir William's first care to provide you with someagreeable sensible female friend one who may love you as well as yourLouisa, and may, by having lived in the world, have it more in her powerto be of service to you.

My father misses you as much as I do: I will not repeat all he says,lest you should think he repents of his complying with Sir William'simportunity. Write to us very often, and tell us you are happy; thatwill be the only consolation we can receive in your absence. Oh, thisvow! It binds my father to this spot. Not that I wish to enter into theworld. I doubt faithlessness and insincerity are very prevalent there,since they could find their way among our mountains. But let me notovercloud your sunshine. I was, you know, always of a serious turn. Mayno accident make you so, since your natural disposition is chearfulnessitself!

I read your letter to my father; he seemed pleased at your wish of beingacquainted with the incidents of his life: he will enter on the taskvery soon. There is nothing, he says, which can, from the nature ofthings, be a guide to you in your passage through the world, any fartherthan not placing too much confidence in the prospect of felicity, withwhich you see yourself surrounded; but always to keep in mind, we arebut in a state of probation here, and consequently but for a short time:that, as our happiness is liable to change, we ought not to prize thepossession so much as to render ourselves miserable when that changecomes; neither, when we are oppressed with the rod of affliction, shouldwe sink into despair, as we are certain our woe, like ourselves, ismortal. Receive the blessing of our only parent, joined with theaffectionate love of a tender sister. Adieu!

LOUISA GRENVILLE

LETTER VI.

To JAMES SPENCER, Esq.

It is high time, my dear Spencer, to account to you for the whimsicaljourney, as you called it, which your friend undertook so suddenly. Imeant not to keep that, or even my motives for it, a secret from you.The esteem you have ever shewn me merited my most unlimited confidence.

You said, you thought I must have some other view than merely to visitthe ruins of a paternal estate, lost to me by the extravagant folly ofmy poor father. You said true; I had indeed some other view; but alas!how blasted is that view! Long had my heart cherished the fondestattachment for the loveliest and best of human beings, who inhabited themountains, which once my father owned. My fortune was too circ*mscribedto disclose my flame; but I secretly indulged it, from the remote hopeof having it one day in my power to receive her hand without blushing atmy inferiority in point of wealth. These thoughts, these wishes, havesupported me through an absence of two years from my native land, andall that made my native land dear to me.

Her loved idea heightened every joy I received, and softened every care.I knew I possessed her esteem; but I never, from the first of myacquaintance, gave the least hint of what I felt for, or hoped from,her. I should have thought myself base in the highest degree, to havemade an interest in her bosom, which I had nothing to support on my sidebut the sanguine wishes of youth, that some turn of Fortune's wheelmight be in my favour. You know how amply, as well as unexpectedly, I amnow provided for by our dear Frederic's death. How severely have I feltand mourned his loss! But he is happier than in any situation which ourfriendship for him could have found.

I could run any lengths in praising one so dear to me; but he wasequally so to you, and you are fully acquainted with my sentiments onthis head; besides, I have something more to the purpose at present tocommunicate to you.

All the satisfaction I ever expected from the acquisition of fortunewas, to share it with my love. Nothing but that hope and prospect couldhave enabled me to sustain the death of my friend. In the bosom of myJulia I fondly hoped to experience those calm delights which his lossdeprived me of for some time. Alas! that long-indulged hope is sunk indespair! Oh! my Spencer! she's lost, lost to me for ever! Yet what righthad I to think she would not be seen, and, being seen, admired, loved,and courted? But, from the singularity of her father's disposition, whohad vowed never to mix in the world;—a disappointment of the tenderestkind which her elder sister had met with, and the almost monasticseclusion from society in which she lived, joined to her extreme youth,being but seventeen the day I left you in London: all thesecirc*mstances, I say, concurred once to authorize my fond hopes,—andthese hopes have nursed my despair. Oh! I knew not how much I loved her,till I saw her snatched from me for ever. A few months sooner, and Imight have pleaded some merit with the lovely maid from my long andunremitted attachment. My passion was interwoven with myexistence,—with that it grew, and with that only will expire.

Full of the fond ideas which seemed a part of myself, I flew down toWoodley-vale, to reap the long-expected harvest of my hopes.—Good God!what was the fatal news I learnt on my arrival! Alas! she knew not of mylove and constancy;—she had a few weeks before given her hand, and nodoubt her heart, to Sir William Stanley, with whom an accident hadbrought her acquainted. I will not enlarge upon what were my feelings onthis occasion.—Words would be too faint a vehicle to express theanguish of my soul. You, who know the tenderness of my disposition, mustjudge for me.

Yesterday I saw the dear angel, from the inn from whence I am writing;she and her happy husband stopped here for fresh horses. I had a fullview of her beauteous face. Ah! how much has two years improved eachcharm in her lovely person! lovely and charming, but not for me. I keptmyself concealed from her—I could hardly support the sight of her at adistance; my emotions were more violent than you can conceive. Her dressbecame her the best in the world; a riding habit of stone-colouredcloth, lined with rose-colour, and frogs of the same—the collar of hershirt was open at the neck, and discovered her lovely ivory throat. Herhair was in a little disorder, which, with her hat, served to contributeto, and heighten, the almost irresistible charms of her features. Therewas a pensiveness in her manner, which rendered her figure moreinteresting and touching than usual. I thought I discovered the tracesof a tear on her cheek. She had just parted with her father and sister;and, had she shewn less concern, I should not have been so satisfiedwith her. I gazed till my eye-balls ached; but, when the chaise drovefrom the door—oh! what then became of me! "She's gone! she's gone!" Iexclaimed aloud, wringing my hands, "and never knew how much I lovedher!" I was almost in a state of madness for some hours—at last, mystorm of grief and despair a little subsided, and I, by degrees, becamecalm and more resigned to my ill fate. I took the resolution, which Ishall put in execution as soon as possible, to leave England. I willretire to the remaining part of my Frederic's family—and, in theirfriendship, seek to forget the pangs which an habitual tenderness hasbrought upon me.

You, who are at ease, may have it in your power to convey some smallsatisfaction to my wounded breast. But why do I say smallsatisfaction? To me it will be the highest to hear that my Julia ishappy. Do you then, my dear Spencer, enquire, among your acquaintance,the character of this Sir William Stanley. His figure is genteel, nay,rather handsome; yet he does not look the man I could wish for her. Idid not discover that look of tenderness, that soft impassioned glance,which virtuous love excites; but you will not expect a favourablepicture from a rival's pen.

I mentioned a disappointment which the sister of my Julia had sustained:it was just before I left England. While on a visit at Abergavenny, shebecame acquainted with a young gentleman of fortune, who, after takingsome pains to render himself agreeable, had the satisfaction of gainingthe affections of one of the most amiable girls in the world. She is allthat a woman can be, except being my Julia. Louisa was at that timeextremely attached to a lady in the same house with her, who was by nomeans a favourite with her lover. They used frequently to have littlearguments concerning her. He would not allow her any merit. Louisafancied she saw her own image reflected in the bosom of her friend. Sheis warm in her attachments. Her zeal for her friend at last awakened acuriosity in her lover, to view her with more scrutiny. He had beenaccustomed to pay an implicit obedience to Louisa's opinion; he fanciedhe was still acquiescing only in that opinion when he began to discovershe was handsome, and to find some farther beauties which Louisa had notpainted in so favourable a light as he now saw them. In short, what atfirst was only a compliment to his mistress, now seemed the due of theother. He thought Louisa had hardly done her justice; and in seeking torepair that fault, he injured the woman who doated on him. Love, whichin some cases is blind, is in others extremely quick-sighted. Louisa sawa change in his behaviour—a studied civility—an apprehension of notappearing sufficiently assiduous—frequent expressions of fearing tooffend—and all those mean arts and subterfuges which a man uses, whowants to put in a woman's power to break with him, that he may baselyshelter himself behind, what he styles, her cruelty. Wounded to the soulwith the duplicity of his conduct, she, one day, insisted on knowing themotives which induced him to act in so disingenuous a manner by her. Atfirst his answers were evasive; but she peremptorily urged an explicitsatisfaction. She told him, the most unfavourable certainty would behappiness to what she now felt, and that certainty she now called onhim in justice to grant her. He then began by palliating the fatalinconstancy of his affections, by the encomiums which she had bestowedon her friend; that his love for her had induced him to love those dearto her; and some unhappy circ*mstances had arisen, which had bound himto her friend, beyond his power or inclination to break through. Thisdisappointment, in so early a part of Louisa's life, has given atenderness to her whole frame, which is of advantage to most women, andher in particular. She has, I question not, long since beheld thisunworthy wretch in the light he truly deserved; yet, no doubt, it wasnot till she had suffered many pangs. The heart will not recover itsusual tone in a short time, that has long been racked with the agoniesof love; and even when we fancy ourselves quite recovered, there is anaching void, which still reminds us of former anguish.

I shall not be in town these ten days at least, as I find I can beserviceable to a poor man in this neighbourhood, whom I believe to be anobject worthy attention. Write me, therefore, what intelligence you canobtain; and scruple not to communicate the result of your inquiry to mespeedily. Her happiness is the wish next my heart. Oh! may it be asexalted and as permanent as I wish it! I will not say any thing to you;you well know how dear you are to the bosom of your

HENRY WOODLEY.

LETTER VII.

TO HENRY WOODLEY, Esq.

No, my dear Harry, I can never consent to your burying yourself abroad;but I will not say all I could on that subject till we meet. I think, Ishall then be able to offer you some very powerful reasons, that youwill esteem sufficient to induce you to remain in your native land.—Ihave a scheme in my head, but which I shall not communicate at present.

Sir William Stanley is quite a man of fashion.—Do you know enough ofthe world to understand all that title comprehends? If you do, you willsincerely regret your Julia is married to a man of fashion. Hispassions are the rule and guide of his actions. To what mischiefs is ayoung creature exposed in this town, circ*mstanced as Lady Stanleyis—without a friend or relation with her to point out the artful anddesigning wretch, who means to make a prey of her innocence andinexperience of life!

The most unsafe and critical situation for a woman, is to be young,handsome, and married to a man of fashion; these are thought to belawful prey to the specious of our sex. As a man of fashion, Sir WilliamStanley would blush to be found too attentive to his wife;—he willleave her to seek what companions chance may throw in her way, while heis associating with rakes of quality, and glorying in those scenes inwhich to be discovered he should really blush. I am told he is fond ofdeep play—attaches himself to women of bad character, and seeks toestablish an opinion, that he is quite the ton in every thing. Itremble for your Julia.—Her beauty, if she had no other merit, makingher fashionable, will induce some of those wretches, who are ever uponthe watch to ensnare the innocent, to practice their diabolicalartifices to poison her mind. She will soon see herself neglected by herhusband,—and that will be the signal for them to begin theirattack.—She is totally unhackneyed in the ways of men, and consequentlycan form no idea of the extreme depravity of their hearts. May theinnate virtue of her mind be her guide and support!—but to escape withhonour and reputation will be a difficult task. I must see you, Harry. Ihave something in my mind. I have seen more of the world than youhave.—For a whole year I was witness of the disorder of this greattown, and, with blushes I write, have too frequently joined in some ofits extravagances and follies; but, thank heaven! my eyes were openedbefore my morals became corrupt, or my fortune and constitutionimpaired.—Your virtue and my Frederic's confirmed me in the road I wasthen desirous of pursuing,—and I am now convinced I shall never deviatefrom the path of rectitude.

I expect you in town with all the impatience of a friend zealous foryour happiness and advantage: but I wish not to interfere with anycharitable or virtuous employment.—When you have finished your affairs,remember your faithful

J. SPENCER.

LETTER VIII.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Surrounded with mantua-makers, milliners, and hair-dressers, I blush tosay I have hardly time to bestow on my dear Louisa. What a continualbustle do I live in, without having literally any thing to do! All thesewonderful preparations are making for my appearance at court; and, inconsequence of that, my visiting all the places of public amusem*nt. Iforesee my head will be turned with this whirl of folly, I am inclinedto call it, in contradiction to the opinion of mankind.—If the people Iam among are of any character at all, I may comprise it in few words: tome they seem to be running about all the morning, and throwing awaytime, in concerting measures to throw away more in the evening. Then, asto dress, to give an idea of that, I must reverse the line of an oldsong.

"What was our shame, is now our pride."

I have had a thousand patterns of silks brought me to make choice, andsuch colours as yet never appeared in a rainbow. A very elegant man, oneof Sir William's friends I thought, was introduced to me the othermorning.—I was preparing to receive him as a visitor; when taking outhis pocket-book, he begged I would do him the honour to inspect some ofthe most fashionable patterns, and of the newest taste. He gave me alist of their names as he laid them on the cuff of his coat. This youperhaps will think unnecessary; and that, as colours affect the visualorb the same in different people, I might have been capable ofdistinguishing blue from red, and so on; but the case is quiteotherwise; there are no such colours now. "This your ladyship will findextremely becoming,—it is la cheveaux de la Regne;—but the colourde puce is esteemed before it, and mixed with d'Artois, forms themost elegant assemblage in the world; the Pont sang is immensely rich;but to suit your ladyship's complexion, I would rather recommend thefeuile mort, or la noysette." Fifty others, equally unintelligible,he ran off with the utmost facility. I thought, however, so important apoint should be determined by wiser heads than mine;—thereforerequested him to leave them with me, as I expelled some ladies on whosetaste I had great reliance. As I cannot be supposed from the nature ofthings to judge for myself with any propriety, I shall leave the choiceof my cloaths to Lady Besford and Lady Anne Parker, two ladies who havevisited me, and are to be my protectors in public.

I was extremely shocked, when I sent for a mantua-maker, to find a manwas to perform that office. I even refused a long time to admit him nearme—and thinking myself perfectly safe that I should have him on myside, appealed to Sir William. He laughed at my ridiculous scruples, ashe called them, and farther told me, "custom justified every thing;nothing was indecent or otherwise, but as it was the ton." I wassilent, but neither satisfied or pleased,—and submitted, I believe,with but an ill grace.

Lady Besford was so extremely polite to interest herself in every thingconcerning my making a fashionable appearance, and procured for me aFrench frizeur of the last importation, who dressed hair to a miracle,au dernier gout. I believe, Louisa, I must send you a dictionary ofpolite phrases, or you will be much at a loss, notwithstanding you havea pretty competent knowledge of the French tongue. I blush twenty timesa day at my own stupidity,—and then Sir William tells me, "it is soimmensely bore to blush;" which makes me blush ten times more, becauseI don't understand what he means by that expression, and I am afraid todiscover my ignorance; and he has not patience to explain everyambiguous word he uses, but cries, shrugging up his shoulders, ah! quelsavage! and then composes his ruffled spirits by humming an Italianair.

Well, but I must tell you what my dress was, in which I was presented.My gown was a silver tissue, trimmed with silver net, and tied up withroses, as large as life, I was going to say. Indeed it was verybeautiful, and so it ought, for it came to a most enormous sum. Myjewels are magnifique, and in immense quantities. Do you know, I couldnot find out half their purposes, or what I should do with them; forsuch things I never saw. What should poor Win and I have done byourselves?—Lady Besford talked of sending her woman to assist me indressing.—I told her I had a servant, to whom I had been accustomed fora long time.—"Ah! for heaven's sake, my dear creature!" exclaimed myhusband, "don't mention the tramontane. She might do tolerably wellfor the Welsh mountains, but she will cut a most outré figure in thebeau monde. I beg you will accept of Lady Besford's polite offer, tillyou can provide yourself with a fille de chambre, that knows on whichside her right hand hangs." Alas! poor Winifred Jones! Her mistress, Idoubt, has but few advantages over her. Lady Besford was lavish in theencomiums of her woman, who had had the honour of being dresser to oneof the actresses many years.

Yesterday morning the grand task of my decoration was to commence. Ah!good Lord! I can hardly recollect particulars.—I am morally convincedmy father would have been looking for his Julia, had he seen me;—andwould have spent much time before he discovered me in the midst offeathers, flowers, and a thousand gew-gaws beside, too many toenumerate. I will, if I can, describe my head for your edification, asit appeared to me when Monsieur permitted me to view myself in theglass. I was absolutely ready to run from it with fright, like poorActeon when he had suffered the displeasure of Diana; and, like him, wasin danger of running my new-acquired ornaments against every thing in myway.

Monsieur alighted from his chariot about eleven o'clock, and wasimmediately announced by Griffith, who, poor soul! stared as if hethought him one of the finest men in the world. He was attended by aservant, who brought in two very large caravan boxes, and a number ofother things. Monsieur then prepared to begin his operations.—SirWilliam was at that time in my dressing-room. He begged, for God's sake!"that Monsieur would be so kind as to exert his abilities, as everything depended on the just impression my figure made."—Monsieur bowedand shrugged, just like an overgrown monkey. In a moment I wasoverwhelmed with a cloud of powder. "What are you doing? I do not meanto be powdered," I said. "Not powdered!" repeated Sir William; "why youwould not be so barbarous as to appear without—it positively is notdecent."

"I thought," answered I, "you used to admire the colour of my hair—howoften have you praised its glossy hue! and called me your nut-brownmaid!"

"Pho! pho!" said he, blushing, perhaps lest he should be suspected oftenderness, as that is very vulgar, "I can bear to see a woman withoutpowder in summer; but now the case is otherwise. Monsieur knows what heis about. Don't interrupt or dictate to him. I am going to dress. Adieu,ma charmante!"

With a determination of being passive, I sat down under hishands—often, I confess, wondering what kind of being I should be in mymetamorphosis,—and rather impatient of the length of time, to saynothing of the pain I felt under the pulling and frizing, and rubbing inthe exquisitely-scented pomade de Venus. At length the words, "vousêtes finis, madame, au dernier gout," were pronounced; and I rose withprecaution, lest I should discompose my new-built fabrick, and to give aglance at myself in the glass;—but where, or in what language, shall Iever find words to express my astonishment at the figure which presenteditself to my eyes! what with curls, flowers, ribbands, feathers, lace,jewels, fruit, and ten thousand other things, my head was at least fromone side to the other full half an ell wide, and from the lowest curlthat lay on my shoulder, up to the top, I am sure I am within compass,if I say three quarters of a yard high; besides six enormous largefeathers, black, white, and pink, that reminded me of the plumes whichnodded on the immense casque in the castle of Otranto. "Good God!" Iexclaimed, "I can never bear this." The man assured me I was dressedquite in taste. "Let me be dressed as I will," I answered, "I must andwill be altered. I would not thus expose myself, for the universe."Saying which, I began pulling down some of the prodigious and monstrousfabrick.—The dresser of the actresses exclaimed loudly, and thefrizeur remonstrated. However, I was inflexible: but, to stop thevolubility of the Frenchman's tongue, I inquired how much I was indebtedto him for making me a monster. A mere trifle! Half a guinea thedressing, and for the feathers, pins, wool, false curls, chignion,toque, pomades, flowers, wax-fruit, ribband, &c. &c. &c. he believesabout four guineas would be the difference. I was almost petrified withastonishment. When I recovered the power of utterance, I told him, "Ithought at least he should have informed me what he was about before heran me to so much expense; three-fourths of the things were useless, asI would not by any means appear in them." "It was the same to him," hesaid, "they were now my property. He had run the risk of disobliging theduch*ess of D——, by giving me the preference of the finest bundles ofradishes that had yet come over; but this it was to degrade himself bydressing commoners. Lady Besford had intreated this favour from him; buthe must say, he had never been so ill-treated since his arrival in thiskingdom." In short, he flew out of the room in a great rage, leaving mein the utmost disorder. I begged Mrs. Freeman (so her ladyship's womanis called) to assist me a little in undoing what the impertinentFrenchman had taken such immense pains to effect. I had sacrificed halfa bushel of trumpery, when Lady Besford was ushered into mydressing-room. "Lord bless me! my dear Lady Stanley, what stilldishabillé? I thought you had been ready, and waiting for me." Ibegan, by way of apology, to inform her ladyship of Monsieur'sinsolence. She looked serious, and said, "I am sorry you offended him; Ifear he will represent you at her grace's ruelle, and you will be thejest of the whole court. Indeed, this is a sad affair. He is the firstman in his walk of life." "And if he was the last," I rejoined, "itwould be the better; however, I beg your ladyship's pardon for not beingready. I shall not detain you many minutes."

My dear Louisa, you will laugh when I tell you, that poor Winifred, whowas reduced to be my gentlewoman's gentlewoman, broke two laces inendeavouring to draw my new French stays close. You know I am naturallysmall at bottom. But now you might literally span me. You never saw sucha doll. Then, they are so intolerably wide across the breast, that myarms are absolutely sore with them; and my sides so pinched!—But it isthe ton; and pride feels no pain. It is with these sentiments theladies of the present age heal their wounds; to be admired, is asufficient balsam.

Sir William had met with the affronted Frenchman, and, like LadyBesford, was full of apprehensions lest he should expose me; for mypart, I was glad to be from under his hands at any rate; and fearednothing when he was gone; only still vexed at the strange figure I made.My husband freely condemned my behaviour as extremely absurd; and, on mysaying I would have something to cover, or at least shade, my neck, forthat I thought it hardly decent to have that intirely bare, while one'shead was loaded with superfluities; he exclaimed to Lady Besford,clapping his hands together, "Oh! God! this ridiculous girl will be aneternal disgrace to me!" I thought this speech very cutting. I could notrestrain a tear from starting. "I hope not, Sir William," said I; "but,lest I should, I will stay at home till I have properly learnt to submitto insult and absurdity without emotion." My manner made him ashamed; hetook my hand, and, kissing it, begged my pardon, and added, "My dearcreature, I want you to be admired by the whole world; and, incompliance with the taste of the world, we must submit to some things,which, from their novelty, we may think absurd; but use will reconcilethem to you." Lady Besford encouraged me; and I was prevailed on to go,though very much out of spirits. I must break off here, for the present.This letter has been the work of some days already. Adieu!

IN CONTINUATION

My apprehensions increased each moment that brought us near St. James's:but there was nothing for it; so I endeavoured all in my power to arguemyself into a serenity of mind, and succeeded beyond my hopes. Theamiable condescension of their Majesties, however, contributed more thanany thing to compose my spirits, or, what I believe to be nearer thetrue state of the case, I was absorbed in respect for them, and totallyforgot myself. They were so obliging as to pay Sir William somecompliments; and the King said, if all my countrywomen were like me, heshould be afraid to trust his son thither. I observed Sir William withthe utmost attention; I saw his eyes were on me the whole time; but, myLouisa, I cannot flatter myself so far as to say they were the looks oflove; they seemed to me rather the eyes of scrutiny, which were on thewatch, yet afraid they should see something unpleasing. I longed to beat home, to know from him how I had acquitted myself. To my question, heanswered, by pressing me to his bosom, crying, "Like an angel, byheaven! Upon my soul, Julia, I never was so charmed with you in mylife." "And upon my honour," I returned, "I could not discover the leastsymptom of tenderness in your regards. I dreaded all the while that youwas thinking I should disgrace you."

"You was never more mistaken. I never had more reason to be proud of anypart of my family. The circle rang with your praises. But you must notexpect tenderness in public, my love; if you meet with it in private,you will have no cause of complaint."

This will give you but a strange idea of the world I am in, Louisa. I donot above half like it, and think a ramble, arm in arm with you upon ournative mountains, worth it all. However, my lot is drawn; and, perhaps,as times and husbands go, I have no cause of complaint.

Your's most sincerely,

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER IX.

TO Lady STANLEY.

My Dearest Child,

The task you set your father is a heavy one; but I chearfully complywith any request of my Julia's. However, before I enter upon it, let mesay a little to you: Are you happy, my child? Do you find the world suchas you thought it while it was unknown to you? Do the pleasures youenjoy present you with an equivalent for your renunciation of a fondfather, and tender sister? Is their affection amply repaid by the loveof your husband? All these, and a thousand other equally importantquestions, I long to put to my beloved. I wish to know the true state ofyour heart. I then should be able to judge whether I ought to mourn orrejoice in this separation from you. Believe me, Julia, I am not soselfish to wish you here, merely to augment my narrow circle offelicity, if you can convince me you are happier where you are. But canall the bustle, the confusion you describe, be productive of happinessto a young girl, born and educated in the lap of peaceful retirement?The novelty may strike your mind; and, for a while, you may thinkyourself happy, because you are amused, and have not time to define whatyour reflections are: but in the sober hour, when stillness reigns, andthe soul unbends itself from the fatigues of the day; what judgment thendoes cool reason form? Are you satisfied? Are your slumbers peaceful andcalm? Do you never sigh after the shades of Woodley, and your ruralfriends? Answer these questions fairly and candidly, my Julia—prove tome you are happy, and your heart as good and innocent as ever; and Ishall descend to the silent tomb with peaceful smiles.

Perhaps the resolution I formed of retiring from a world in which I hadmet with disgust, was too hastily concluded on. Be that as it may—itwas sacred, and as such I have, and will, keep it. I lost my confidencein mankind; and I could find no one whose virtues could redeem it. Manyyears have elapsed since; and the manners and customs change sofrequently, that I should be a total stranger among the inhabitants ofthis present age.

You have heard me say I was married before I had the happiness of beingunited to your amiable mother. I shall begin my narrative from thecommencement of that union; only premising, that I was the son of theyounger branch of a noble family, whose name I bear. I inherited theblood, but very little more, of my ancestors. However, a taste forpleasure, and an indulgence of some of the then fashionable follies,which in all ages and all times are too prevalent, conspired to make mylittle fortune still more contracted. Thus situated, I became acquaintedwith a young lady of large fortune. My figure and address won her heart;her person was agreeable and although I might not be what the worldcalls in love, I certainly was attached to her. Knowing the inferiorityof my fortune, I could not presume to offer her my hand, even after Iwas convinced she wished I should; but some circ*mstances arising, whichbrought us more intimately acquainted, at length conquered my scruples;and, without consulting any other guide than our passions, we married.My finances were now extremely straitened; for although my wife washeiress of upwards of thirty thousand pounds, yet, till she came of age,I could reap no advantage of it; and to that period she wanted near fouryears. We were both fond of pleasure, and foolishly lived as if we werein actual possession of double that income. I found myself deeplyinvolved; but the time drew near that was to set all to rights; and Ihad prevailed on my wife to consent to a retrenchment. We had formed aplan of retiring for some time in the country, to look after her estate;and, by way of taking a polite leave of our friends (or ratheracquaintance; for, when they were put to the test, I found themundeserving of that appellation); by way, I say, of quitting the townwith éclat, my wife proposed giving an elegant entertainment on herbirth-day, which was on the twenty-fourth of December. Christmas-dayfell that year upon a Monday: unwilling to protract this day of joy tillthe Tuesday, my wife desired to anticipate her natal festival, andaccordingly Saturday was appointed. She had set her heart on dancing inthe evening, and was extremely mortified on finding an extreme pain inher ancle, which she attributed to a strain. It was so violent duringdinner-time, that she was constrained to leave the table. A lady, whor*tired with her, told her, the surest remedy for a strain, was toplunge the leg in cold water, and would procure instant relief.Impatient of the disappointment and anguish, she too fatally consented.I knew nothing of what was doing in my wife's dressing-room, till myattention was roused by repeated cries. Terribly alarmed—I flewthither, and found her in the agonies of death. Good God! what was mydistraction at that moment! I then recollected what she had often toldme, of all her family being subject to the gout at a very early age.Every medical assistance was procured—with all speed. The physician,however, gave but small hopes, unless the disorder could be removed fromher head and stomach, which it had attacked with the greatest violence.How was all our mirth in one sad moment overthrown! The day, which hadrisen with smiles, now promised to set in tears. In the few lucidintervals which my unhappy wife could be said to have, she instantlyprayed to live till she could secure her fortune to my life; which couldbe done no other way than making her will; since, having had nochildren, the estate, should she die before she came of age—or eventhen, without a bequest—would devolve upon a cousin, with whose familywe had preserved no intimacy, owing to the illiberal reflections part ofthem had cast on my wife, for marrying a man without an answerablefortune. My being allied to a noble family was no recommendation tothose who had acquired their wealth by trade, and were possessed of themost sordid principles. I would not listen to the persuasion of myfriends, who urged me to get writings executed, to which my wife mightset her hand: such measures appeared to me both selfish and cruel; or,rather, my mind was too much absorbed in my present affliction, to payany attention to my future security.

In her greatest agonies and most severe paroxysms, she knew andacknowledged her obligations to me, for the unremitted kindness I hadshewn her during our union. "Oh! my God!" she would exclaim, "Oh! myGod! let me but live to reward him! I ask not length of years—though inthe bloom of life, I submit with chearful resignation to thy will. MyGod! I ask not length of days; I only petition for a few short hours ofsense and recollection, that I may, by the disposition of my affairs,remove all other distress from the bosom of my beloved husband, savewhat he will feel on this separation."

Dear soul! she prayed in vain. Nay, I doubt her apprehension andterrors, lest she should die, encreased the agonies of her body andmind.

Unknown to me, a gentleman, by the request of my dying wife, drew up adeed; the paper lay on the bed: she meant to sign it as soon as theclock struck twelve. Till within a few minutes of that time, shecontinued tolerably calm, and her head perfectly clear; she flatteredherself, and endeavoured to convince us, she would recover—but, alas!this was only a little gleam of hope, to sink us deeper in despair. Herpain returned with redoubled violence from this short recess; and hersenses never again resumed their seat. She suffered the mostexcruciating agonies till two in the morning—then winged her flight toheaven—leaving me the most forlorn and disconsolate of men.

I continued in a state of stupefaction for several days, till my friendsrouzed me, by asking what course I meant to pursue. I had the wholeworld before me, and saw myself, as it were, totally detached from anypart of it. My own relations I had disobliged, by marrying the daughterof a tradesman. They were, no doubt, glad of an excuse, to ridthemselves of an indigent person, who might reflect dishonour on theirnobility—of them I had no hopes. I had as little probability of successin my application to the friends of my late wife; yet I thought, injustice, they should not refuse to make me some allowances for theexpenses our manner of living had brought on me—as they well knew theywere occasioned by my compliance with her taste—at least so far as todischarge some of my debts.

I waited on Mr. Maynard, the father of the lady who now possessed theestate, to lay before him the situation of my affairs. He would hardlyhear me out with patience. He upbraided me with stealing an heiress; andwith meanly taking every method of obliging a dying woman to injure herrelations. In short, his behaviour was rude, unmanly, and indecent. Iscorned to hold converse with so sordid a wretch, and was leaving hishouse with the utmost displeasure, when his daughter slipped out of theroom. She begged me, with many tears, not to impute "her father'sincivility to her—wished the time was come when she should be her ownmistress; but hoped she should be able to bring her father to some termsof accommodation; and assured me, she would use all her influence withhim to induce him to do me justice."

Her influence over the mind of such a man as her father had like to havelittle weight—as it proved. She used all her eloquence in my favour,which only served to instigate him against me. He sent a very rude andabrupt message to me, to deliver up several articles of householdfurniture, and other things, which had belonged to my wife; which,however, I refused to do, unless I was honoured with the order of MissMaynard. Her father could not prevail on her to make the requisition;and, enraged at my insolence, and her obstinacy, as he politely styledour behaviour, he swore he would be revenged. In order to make his wordsgood, he went severally to each of the trades-people to whom I wasindebted, and, collecting the sums, prevailed on them to make over thedebts to him; thereby becoming the sole creditor; and how merciful Ishould find him, I leave you to judge, from the motive by which heacted.

In a few days there was an execution in my house, and I was conveyed tothe King's-Bench. At first I took the resolution of continuing therecontentedly, till either my cruel creditor should relent, or that an actof grace should take place. A prison, however, is dreadful to a freemind; and I solicited those, who had, in the days of my prosperity,professed a friendship for me: some few afforded me a temporary relief,but dealt with a scanty hand; others disclaimed me—none would bail me,or undertake my cause: many, who had contributed to my extravagance, nowcondemned me for launching into expences beyond my income; and those,who refused their assistance, thought they had a right to censure myconduct. Thus did I find myself deserted and neglected by the wholeworld; and was early taught, how little dependence we ought to place onthe goods of it.

When I had been an inmate of the house of bondage some few weeks, Ireceived a note from Miss Maynard. She deplored, in the most patheticterms, "the steps her father had taken, which she had never discoveredtill that morning; and intreated my acceptance of a trifle, to render myconfinement less intolerable; and if I could devise any methods, whereinshe could be serviceable, she should think herself most happy." Therewas such a delicacy and nobleness of soul ran through the whole of thislittle billet, as, at the same time that it shewed the writer in themost amiable light, gave birth to the liveliest gratitude in my bosom. Ihad, till this moment, considered her only as the daughter of Mr.Maynard; as one, whose mind was informed by the same principles as hisown. I now beheld her in another view; I looked on her only in herrelation to my late wife, whose virtues she inherited with her fortune.I felt a veneration for the generosity of a young girl, who, from thenarrow sentiments of her father, could not be mistress of any large sum;and yet she had, in the politest manner (making it a favour done toherself), obliged me to accept of a twenty-pound-note. I had a thousandconflicts with myself, whether I should keep or return it; nothing butmy fear of giving her pain could have decided it. I recollected thetears she shed the last time I saw her: on reading over her note again,I discovered the paper blistered in several places; to all this, let meadd, her image seemed to stand confessed before me. Her person, which Ihad hardly ever thought about, now was present to my imagination. Itlost nothing by never having been the subject of my attention before. Isat ruminating on the picture I had been drawing in my mind, till,becoming perfectly enthusiastic in my ideas, I started up, and, claspingmy hands together,—"Why," exclaimed I aloud, "why have I not twentythousand pounds to bestow on this adorable creature!" The sound of myvoice brought me to myself, and I instantly recollected I ought to makesome acknowledgment to my fair benefactress. I found the task adifficult one. After writing and rejecting several, I at last wasresolved to send the first I had attempted, knowing that, though lessstudied, it certainly was the genuine effusions of my heart. Aftersaying all my gratitude dictated, I told her, "that, next to hersociety, I should prize her correspondence above every thing in thisworld; but that I begged she would not let compassion for an unfortunateman lead her into any inconveniencies, but be guided entirely by her owndiscretion. I would, in the mean time, intreat her to send me a fewbooks—the subject I left to her, they being her taste would be theirstrongest recommendation." Perhaps I said more than I ought to havedone, although at that time I thought I fell infinitely short of what Imight have said; and yet, I take God to witness, I did not mean toengage her affection; and no thing was less from my intention thanbasely to practice on her passions.

In one of her letters, she asked me, if my debts were discharged, whatwould be my dependence or scheme of life: I freely answered, mydependence would be either to get a small place, or else serve my kingin the war now nearly breaking out, which rather suited the activity ofmy disposition. She has since told me, she shed floods of tears overthat expression—the activity of my disposition; she drew in herimagination the most affecting picture of a man, in the bloom and vigourof life, excluded from the common benefits of his fellow-creatures, bythe merciless rapacity of an inhuman creditor. The effect thismelancholy representation had on her mind, while pity endeared theobject of it to her, made her take the resolution of again addressingher father in my behalf. He accused her of ingratitude, in thus repayinghis care for her welfare. Hurt by the many harsh things he said, shetold him, "the possession of ten times the estate could convey nopleasure to her bosom, while it was tortured with the idea, that he, whohad the best right to it, was secluded from every comfort of life; andthat, whenever it should be in her power, she would not fail to makeevery reparation she could, for the violence offered to an innocent,injured, man." This brought down her father's heaviest displeasure. Hereviled her in the grossest terms; asserted, "she had been fascinated byme, as her ridiculous cousin had been before; but that he would takecare his family should not run the risk of being again beggared by sucha spendthrift; and that he should use such precautions, as to frustrateany scheme I might form of seducing her from her duty." She sought toexculpate me from the charges her father had brought against me; but hepaid no regard to her asseverations, and remained deaf and inexorable toall her intreaties. When I learnt this, I wrote to Miss Maynard,intreating her, for her own sake, to resign an unhappy man to his evildestiny. I begged her to believe, I had sufficient resolution to supportconfinement, or any other ill; but that it was an aggravation to mysufferings (which to sustain was very difficult) to find her zeal forme had drawn on her the ill-usage of her father. I further requested,she would never again mention me to him; and if possible, never think ofme if those thoughts were productive of the least disquiet to her. Ilikewise mentioned my hearing an act of grace would soon release me frommy bonds; and then I was determined to offer myself a volunteer in theservice, where, perhaps, I might find a cannon-ball my best friend.

A life, so different to what I had been used, brought on a disorder,which the agitation of my spirits increased so much as to reduce mealmost to the gates of death. An old female servant of Miss Maynard'spaid me a visit, bringing me some little nutritive delicacies, which herkind mistress thought would be serviceable to me. Shocked at thedeplorable spectacle I made, for I began to neglect my appearance; whicha man is too apt to do when not at peace with himself: shocked, I say,she represented me in such a light to her lady, as filled her gentlesoul with the utmost terror for my safety. Guided alone by thepartiality she honoured me with, she formed the resolution of coming tosee me. She however gave me half an hour's notice of her intention. Iemployed the intermediate time in putting myself into a condition ofreceiving her with more decency. The little exertion I made had nearlyexhausted my remaining strength, and I was more dead than alive, whenthe trembling, pale, and tottering guest made her approach in the houseof woe. We could neither of us speak for some time. The benevolence ofher heart had supported her during her journey thither; but now thenative modesty of her sex seemed to point out the impropriety ofvisiting a man, unsolicited, in prison. Weak as I was, I saw thenecessity of encouraging the drooping spirits of my fair visitor. Ipaid her my grateful acknowledgments for her inestimable goodness. Shebegged me to be silent on that head, as it brought reflections she couldill support. In obedience to her, I gave the conversation another turn;but still I could not help reverting to the old subject. She thenstopped me, by asking, "what was there so extraordinary in her conduct?and whether, in her situation, would not I have done as much for her?""Oh! yes!" I cried, with eagerness, "that I should, and ten times more."I instantly felt the impropriety of my speech. "Then I have beenstrangely deficient," said she, looking at me with a gentle smile. "Iask a thousand pardons," said I, "for the abruptness of my expression. Imeant to evince my value for you, and my sense of what I thought youdeserved. You must excuse my method, I have been long unused to theassociation of human beings, at least such as resemble you. You havealready conferred more favours than I could merit at your hands." MissMaynard seemed disconcerted—she looked grave. "It is a sign you thinkso," said she, in a tone of voice that shewed she was piqued, "as youhave taken such pains to explain away an involuntary compliment.—But Ihave already exceeded the bounds I prescribed to myself in thisvisit—it is time to leave you."

I felt abashed, and found myself incapable of saying any thing to clearmyself from the imputation of insensibility or ingratitude, withoutbetraying the tenderness which I really possessed for her, yet which Ithought, circ*mstanced as I was, would be ungenerous to the last degreeto discover, as it would be tacitly laying claim to her's. The commonrules of politeness, however, called on me to say something.—Irespectfully took her hand, which trembled as much as mine. "Dear MissMaynard," said I, "how shall I thank you for the pleasure your companyhas conveyed to my bosom?" Even then thinking I had said too much,especially as I by an involuntary impulse found my fingers compressher's, I added, "I plainly see the impropriety of asking you to renewyour goodness—I must not be selfish, or urge you to take any step forwhich you may hereafter condemn yourself."

"I find, Sir," she replied, "your prudence is greater than mine. I neednever apprehend danger from such a monitor."

"Don't mistake me," said I, with a sigh I could not repress. "I doubt Ihave," returned she, "but I will endeavour to develop your character.Perhaps, if I do not find myself quite perfect, I may run the risk oftaking another lesson, unless you should tell me it is imprudent." Sosaying, she left me. There was rather an affectation of gaiety in herlast speech, which would have offended me, had I not seen it was onlyput on to conceal her real feelings from a man, who seemed coldlyinsensible of her invaluable perfections both of mind and body.—Yet howwas I to act? I loved her with the utmost purity, and yet fervour. Myheart chid me for throwing cold water on the tenderness of this amiablegirl;—but my reason told me, I should be a villain to strive to gainher affections in such a situation as I was. Had I been lord of theuniverse, I would have shared it with my Maria. You will ask, how Icould so easily forget the lowness of my fortune in my connexion withher cousin? I answer, the case was widely different—I then made afigure in life equal to my birth, though my circ*mstances werecontracted.—Now, I was poor and in prison:—then, I listened only to mypassions—now, reason and prudence had some sway with me. My love for mylate wife was the love of a boy;—my attachment to Maria the sentimentsof a man, and a man visited by, and a prey to, misfortune. Onreflection, I found I loved her to the greatest height. After passing asleepless night of anguish, I came to the resolution of exculpatingmyself from the charge of insensibility, though at the expence of losingsight of her I loved for ever. I wrote her a letter, wherein, I freelyconfessed the danger I apprehended from the renewal of her visit.—Iopened my whole soul before her, but at the same time told her, "I laidno claim to any more from her than compassion; shewed her the rack ofconstraint I put on myself, to conceal the emotions of my heart, lestthe generosity of her's might involve her in a too strong partiality forso abject a wretch. I hoped she would do me the justice to believe, thatas no man ever loved more, so no one on earth could have her interestmore at heart than myself, since to those sentiments I sacrificed everything dear to me." Good God! what tears did this letter cost me! Isometimes condemned myself, and thought it false generosity.—Why shouldI, said I to myself, why should I thus cast happiness away from two, whoseem formed to constitute all the world to each other?—How rigorous arethy mandates, O Virtue! how severe thy decree! and oh! how much do Ifeel in obeying thee! No sooner was the letter gone, than I repented thestep I had pursued.—I called myself ungrateful to the bounty of heaven;who thus, as it were, had inspired the most lovely of women with aninclination to relieve my distress; and had likewise put the means inher hands.—These cogitations contributed neither to establish myhealth, or compose my spirits. I had no return to my letter; indeed Ihad not urged one. Several days I passed in a state of mind which can beonly known to those who have experienced the same. At last a pacquet wasbrought me. It contained an ensign's commission in a regiment going toGermany; and a paper sealed up, on which was written, "It is therequest of M.M. that Mr. Grenville does not open this till he hascrossed the seas."

There was another paper folded in the form of a letter, but not sealed;that I hastily opened, and found it contained only a few words, and abank bill of an hundred pounds. The contents were as follow:

"True love knows not the nice distinctions you have made,—at least, ifI may be allowed to judge from my own feelings, I think it does not. Imay, however, be mistaken, but the error is too pleasing to berelinquished; and I would much rather indulge it, than listen at presentto the cold prudential arguments which a too refined and ill-placedgenerosity points out. When you arrive at the place of your destination,you may gain a farther knowledge of a heart, capable at the same time ofthe tenderest partiality, and a firm resolution of conquering it."

Every word of this billet was a dagger to my soul. I then ceased not toaccuse myself of ingratitude to the loveliest of women, as guilty offalse pride instead of generosity. If she placed her happiness in mysociety, why should I deprive her of it? As she said my sentiments weretoo refined, I asked myself, if it would not have been my supremedelight to have raised her from the dregs of the people to share themost exalted situation with me? Why should I then think less highly ofher attachment, of which I had received such proofs, than I wasconvinced mine was capable of? For the future, I was determined tosacrifice these nice punctilios, which were ever opposing my felicity,and that of an amiable woman, who clearly and repeatedly told me, by herlooks, actions, and a thousand little nameless attentions I could notmistake, that her whole happiness depended on me. I thought nothingcould convince her more thoroughly of my wish of being obliged to her,than the acceptance of her bounty: I made no longer any hesitation aboutit. That very day I was released from my long confinement by thegrace-act, to the utter mortification of my old prosecutor. I droveimmediately to some lodgings I had provided in the Strand; from whence Iinstantly dispatched a billet-doux to Maria, in which I said thesewords:

"The first moment of liberty I devote to the lovely Maria, who has myheart a slave. I am a convert to your assertion, that love makes notdistinctions. Otherwise, could I support the reflection, that all I amworth in the world I owe to you? But to you the world owes all thecharms it has in my eyes. We will not, however, talk of debtor andcreditor, but permit me to make up in adoration what I want in wealth.Fortune attends the brave.—I will therefore flatter myself withreturning loaden with the spoils of the enemy, and in such a situation,that you may openly indulge the partiality which makes the happiness ofmy life, without being put to the blush by sordid relations.

I shall obey your mandates the more chearfully, as I think I amperfectly acquainted with every perfection of your heart; judge then howI must value it. Before I quit England, I shall petition for the honourof kissing your hand;—but how shall I bid you adieu!"

The time now drew nigh when I was to take leave of my native land—andwhat was dearer to me, my Maria.—I was too affected to utter aword;—her soul had more heroic greatness.—"Go," said she, "pursue thepaths of glory; have confidence in Providence, and never distrust me. Ihave already experienced some hazards on your account; but perhaps myfather may be easier in his mind, when he is assured you have leftEngland."

I pressed her to explain herself. She did so, by informing me, "herfather suspected her attachment, and, to prevent any ill consequencearising, had proposed a gentleman to her for a husband, whom she hadrejected with firmness. No artifice, or ill usage," continued she,"shall make any change in my resolution;—but I shall say no more, thepacquet will more thoroughly convince you of what I am capable."

"Good God!" said I, in an agony, "why should your tenderness beincompatible with your duty?"

"I do not think it," she answered;—"it is my duty to do justice; and Ido no more, by seeking to restore to you your own."

We settled the mode of our future correspondence; and I tore myself fromthe only one I loved on earth. When I joined the regiment, I availedmyself of the privilege given me to inspect the papers. Oh! how was mylove, esteem, and admiration, increased! The contents were written at atime, when she thought me insensible, or at least too scrupulous. Shemade a solemn vow never to marry; but as soon as she came of age, todivide the estate with me, making over the remainder to any children Imight have; but the whole was couched in terms of such delicatetenderness, as drew floods of tears from my eyes, and riveted my soulmore firmly to her. I instantly wrote to her, and concealed not athought or sentiment of my heart—that alone dictated every line. Inthe letter she returned, she sent me her picture in a locket, and on thereverse a device with her hair; this was an inestimable present tome.—It was my sole employ, while off duty, to gaze on the lovelyresemblance of the fairest of women.

For some months our correspondence was uninterrupted.—However, sixweeks had now passed since I expected a letter.

Love is industrious in tormenting itself. I formed ten thousand dreadfulimages in my own mind, and sunk into despair from each. I wrote letterafter letter, but had still no return. I had no other correspondent inEngland.—Distraction seized me. "She's dead!" cried I to myself, "she'sdead! I have nothing to do but to follow her." At last I wrote to agentleman who lived in the neighbourhood of Mr. Maynard, conjuring him,in the most affecting terms, to inform me of what I yet dreaded to betold.—I waited with a dying impatience till the mails arrived.—Aletter was brought me from this gentleman.—He said, Mr. Maynard'sfamily had left L. some time;—they proposed going abroad; but hebelieved they had retired to some part of Essex;—there had a reportprevailed of Miss Maynard's being married; but if true, it was sincethey had left L. This news was not very likely to clear or calm mydoubts. What could I think?—My reflections only served to awaken mygrief. I continued two years making every inquiry, but never receivedthe least satisfactory account.

A prey to the most heartfelt affliction, life became insupportable tome.—Was she married, I revolved in my mind all the hardships she musthave endured before she would be prevailed on to falsify her vows to me,which were registered in heaven.—Had death ended her distress, I wasconvinced it had been hastened by the severity of an unnaturalfather.—Whichsoever way I turned my thoughts, the most excruciatingreflections presented themselves, and in each I saw her sufferingsalone.

In this frame of mind, I rejoiced to hear we were soon to have a battle,which would in all probability be decisive. I was now raised to the rankof captain-lieutenant. A battalion of our regiment was appointed to amost dangerous post. It was to gain a pass through a narrow defile, andto convey some of our heavy artillery to cover a party of soldiers, whowere the flower of the troops, to endeavour to flank the enemy. I wasmortified to find I was not named for this service. I spoke of it to thecaptain, who honoured me with his friendship.—"It was my care for you,Grenville," said he, "which prevented your name being inrolled. I wish,for the sakes of so many brave fellows, this manoeuvre could have beenavoided. It will be next to a miracle if we succeed; but success must bewon with the lives of many; the first squadron must look on themselvesas a sacrifice." "Permit me then," said I, "to head that squadron; Iwill do my duty to support my charge; but if I fall, I shall bless theblow which rids me of an existence intolerable to me."

"You are a young man, Grenville," replied the captain, "you mayexperience a change in life, which will repay you for the adversitiesyou at present complain of. I would have you courageous, and defydangers, but not madly rush on them; that is to be despairing, notbrave; and consequently displeasing to the Deity, who appoints us ourtask, and rewards us according to our acquittal of our duty. Theseverest winter is followed oftentimes by the most blooming spring:" "Itis true," said I:

"But when will spring visit the mouldering urn?
Ah! when will it dawn on the gloom of the grave?"

"Will you, however, allow me to offer an exchange with the commandingofficer?" My captain consented; and the lieutenant was very glad toexchange his post, for one of equal honour, but greater security. I wassitting in my tent the evening of the important day, ruminating on thepast events of my life; and then naturally fell into reflections ofwhat, in all probability, would be the consequence of the morrow'sattack. We looked on ourselves as devoted men; and though, I dare say,not one in the whole corps was tired of his life, yet they all expressedthe utmost eagerness to be employed. Death was the ultimate wish of mysoul. "I shall, before to-morrow's sun goes down," said I, addressingmyself to the resemblance of my Maria; "I shall, most lovely of women,be re-united to thee; or, if yet thy sufferings have not ended thyprecious life, I shall yet know where thou art, and be permitted,perhaps, to hover over thee, to guide thy footsteps, and conduct thee tothose realms of light, whose joys will be incomplete without thee." Withthese rhapsodies I was amusing my mind, when a serjeant entered, andacquainted me, there was, without, a young man enquiring for me, whosaid, he must be admitted, having letters of the greatest importancefrom England. My heart beat high against my breast, my respiration grewthick and difficult, and I could hardly articulate these words,—"ForGod's sake, let me see him! Support me, Oh, God! what is it I am goingto hear?"

A cold sweat bedewed my face, and an universal tremor possessed my wholeframe.

A young gentleman, wrapped up in a Hussar cloak, made his appearance."Is this Lieutenant Grenville?" I bowed. "I am told, Sir," said I, in atremulous voice, "you have letters from England; relieve my doubts Ibeseech you."—"Here, Sir, is one," said the youth, extending his hand,which trembled exceedingly.—I hastily snatched it, ready to devour thecontents;—what was my agitation, when I read these words!

"If, after a silence of two long years, your Maria is still dear to you,you will rejoice to hear she still lives for you alone. If her presenceis wished for by you, you will rejoice on finding her at no greatdistance from you. But, if you love with the tenderness she does, howgreat, how extatic, will be your felicity, to raise your eyes, and fixthem on her's!"

The paper dropped from my enervate hand, while I raised my eyes, andbeheld, Oh! my God! under the disguise of a young officer, my beloved,my faithful, long-lost Maria!

"Great God!" cried I, in a transport of joy, clasping my hands together,"have then my prayers been heard! do I again behold her!" But mysituation recurring to my imagination; the dangers which I hadunnecessarily engaged myself in for the morrow; her disguise; theunprotected state in which I should leave her, in a camp, where too muchlicentiousness reigned; all these ideas took instant possession of mymind, and damped the rising joy her loved presence had at first excited.The agonizing pangs which seized me are past description. "Oh! my God!"I exclaimed in the bitterness of soul, "why did we thus meet!Better,—Oh! how much better would it have been, that my eyes had closedin death, than, to see all they adored thus exposed to the horrid miseryand carnage of destructive war." The conflict became too powerful; andin all the energy of woe I threw myself on the ground. Poor Maria flungherself on a seat, and covered her face in her great coat.—Audible sobsburst from her bosom—I saw the convulsive heavings, and the sight wasas daggers to me.—I crawled on my knees to her, and, bending overher,—"Oh! my Maria!" said I, "these pangs I feel for you; speak to me,my only love; if possible, ease my sufferings by thy heavenly welcomevoice."—She uttered not a word; I sought to find her hand; she pushedme gently from her, then rising,—"Come, thou companion of my tediousand painful travel, come, my faithful Hannah," said she, to one I hadnot before taken notice of, who stood in the entrance of the tent, "letus be gone, here we are unwelcome visitors. Is it thus," continued she,lifting up her hands to heaven, "is it thus I am received? Adieu!Grenville! My love has still pursued you with unremitting constancy: butit shall be your torment no longer. I will no longer tax your compassionfor a fond wretch, who perhaps deserves the scorn she meets." She wasleaving the tent. I was immoveably rooted to the ground while shespake.—I caught her by the coat. "Oh! leave me not, dearest of women,leave me not! You know not the love and distress which tear thiswretched bosom by turns. Injure me not, by doubting the first,—and ifyou knew the latter, you would find me an object intitled to your utmostpity. Oh! that my heart was laid open to your view! then would you seeit had wasted with anguish on the supposition of your death. Yes, Maria,I thought you dead. I had a too exalted idea of your worth to assign anyother cause; I never called you cruel, or doubted your faith. Yourmemory lived in my fond breast, such as my tenderness painted you. Butyou can think meanly of me, and put the most ungenerous construction onthe severest affliction that ever tore the heart of man."

"Oh! my Grenville," said she, raising me, "how have I been ungenerous?Is the renunciation of my country, relations, and even sex, a proof ofwant of generosity? Will you never know, or, knowing, understand me? Ibelieve you have suffered, greatly suffered; your pallid countenance tooplainly evinces it; but we shall now, with the blessing of heaven, soonsee an end to them.—A few months will make me mistress of my fortune.In the mean time, I will live with my faithful Hannah retired; only nowand then let me have the consolation of seeing you, and hearing fromyour lips a confirmation that I have not forfeited your affection."

I said all that my heart dictated, to reassure my lovely heroic Maria,and calm her griefs. I made her take some refreshment; and, as the nightwas now far spent, and we yet had much to say, we agreed to pass it inthe tent. My dear Maria began to make me a little detail of all that hadpassed. She painted out the persecutions of her father in the liveliestcolours; the many artifices he used to weaken her attachment to me; thefeigning me inconstant; and, when he found her opinion of my faith toofirmly rooted, he procured a certificate of my death. As she was thenreleased from her engagement, he more strongly urged her to marry; butshe as resolutely refused. On his being one day more than commonlyurgent, she knelt down, and said, in the most solemn manner; "Thouknowest, O God! had it pleased thee to have continued him I doated on inthis life, that I was bound, by the most powerful asseverations, to behis, and only his:—hear me now, O God! while I swear still to be weddedto his memory. In thy eye, I was his wife; I attest thee to witness,that I will never be any other. In his grave shall all my tenderness beburied, and with him shall it rise to heaven." Her father becameoutrageous; and swore, if she would not give him a son, he would giveher a mother; and, in consequence married the housekeeper—a womansordid as himself, and whose principles and sentiments were as low asher birth.

The faithful Hannah had been discharged some time before, on finding outshe aided our correspondence. My letters had been for a long timeintercepted. Maria, one day, without the least notice, was taken out ofher chamber, and conveyed to a small house in the hundreds of Essex, tosome relations of her new mother's, in hopes, as she found, that grief,and the unhealthiness of the place, might make an end of her before shecame of age. After a series of ill-usage and misfortunes, she at lengthwas so fortunate as to make her escape. She wrote to Hannah, who cameinstantly to her; from her she learnt I was still living. She thenformed the resolution of coming over to Germany, dreading again fallinginto the hands of her cruel parent. The plan was soon fixed on, and putin execution. To avoid the dangers of travelling, they agreed to put onmen's cloaths; and Maria, to ensure her safety, dressed herself like anEnglish officer charged with dispatches to the British army.

While she was proceeding in her narrative, I heard the drum beat toarms. I started, and turned pale. Maria hastily demanded the cause ofthis alteration! I informed her, "We were going to prepare for battle.And what, oh! what is to become of you? Oh! Maria! the service I amgoing on is hazardous to the last degree. I shall fall a sacrifice; butwhat will become of you?"

"Die with you," said she, firmly, rising, and drawing her sword. "When Iraise my arm," continued she, "who will know it is a woman's. Nature hasstamped me with that sex, but my soul shrinks not at danger. In what amI different from the Romans, or even from some of the ancient Britons?They could lose their lives for less cause than what I see before me. AsI am firmly resolved not to outlive you—so I am equally determined toshare your fate. You are certainly desirous my sex should remainconcealed. I wish the same—and, believe me, no womanish weakness on mypart shall betray it. Tell your commander, I am a volunteer under yourdirection. And, assure yourself, you will find me possessed ofsufficient courage to bear any and every thing, for your sake."

I forbore not to paint out the horrors of war in the most dreadfulcolours. "I shudder at them," said she, "but am not intimidated." Inshort, all my arguments were in vain. She vowed she would follow me:"Either you love me, Grenville, or you love me not—if the first, youcannot refuse me the privilege of dying with you—if the last sad fateshould be mine, the sooner I lose my life the better." While I was yetusing dissuasives, the Captain entered my tent. "Come, Grenville," saidhe, "make preparations, my good lad. There will be hot work to-day forus all. I would have chosen a less dangerous situation for you: but thiswas your own desire. However, I hope heaven will spare you."

"I could have almost wished I had not been so precipitate, as here is ayoung volunteer who will accompany me."

"So young, and so courageous!" said the captain, advancing towards myMaria. "I am sure, by your looks, you have never seen service."

"But I have gone through great dangers, Sir," she answered,blushing—"and, with so brave an officer as Lieutenant Grenville, Ishall not be fearful of meeting even death."

"Well said, my little hero," rejoined he, "only, that as a volunteer youhave a right to chuse your commander, I should be happy to have thebringing you into the field myself. Let us, however, as this may be thelast time we meet on earth, drink one glass to our success. Grenville,you can furnish us." We soon then bid each other a solemn adieu!

I prevailed on Maria and poor Hannah (who was almost dead with herfears) to lie down on my pallet-bed, if possible, to procure a littlerest. I retired to the outside of the tent, and, kneeling down, put upthe most fervent prayers to heaven that the heart of man could frame. Ithen threw myself on some baggage, and slept with some composure tillthe second drum beat.

Hannah hung round her mistress; but such was her respect and deference,that she opened not her lips. We began our march, my brave heroine closeat my side, with all the stillness possible. We gained a narrow part ofthe wood, where we wanted to make good our pass; but here, either by thetreachery of our own people, or the vigilance of our enemy, our schemewas intirely defeated. We marched on without opposition, and, flushedwith the appearance of success, we went boldly on, till, too faradvanced to make a retreat, we found ourselves surrounded by a party ofthe enemy's troops. We did all in our power to recover our advantage,and lost several men in our defence. Numbers, however, at lastprevailed; and those who were not left dead on the field were madeprisoners, among whom were my Maria and myself. I was wounded in theside and in the right arm. She providentially escaped unhurt. We wereconveyed to the camp of the enemy, where I was received with the respectthat one brave man shews another. I was put into the hospital, where myfaithful Maria attended me with the utmost diligence and tenderness.

When the event of this day's disaster was carried to the British camp,it struck a damp on all. But poor Hannah, in a phrenzy of distress, ranabout, wringing her hands, proclaiming her sex, and that of the supposedvolunteer, and intreating the captain to use his interest to procure ourrelease. She gave him a brief detail of our adventures—and concluded byextolling the character of her beloved mistress. The captain, who hadat that time a great regard for me, was touched at the distressfulstory; and made a report to the commander in chief, who, after gettingthe better of the enemy in an engagement, proposed an exchange ofprisoners, which being agreed to, and I being able to bear the removal,we were once more at liberty.

I was conveyed to a small town near our encampment, where my dear Mariaand old Hannah laid aside their great Hussar cloaks, which they wouldnever be prevailed on to put off, and resumed their petticoats. Thisadventure caused much conversation in the camp; and all the officerswere desirous of beholding so martial a female. But, notwithstanding theextraordinary step she had been induced to take, Miss Maynard possessedall the valued delicacy of her sex in a very eminent degree; andtherefore kept very recluse, devoting herself entirely to her attendanceon me.

Fearful that her reputation might suffer, now her sex was known, I urgedher to complete my happiness, by consenting to our marriage. She, atfirst, made some difficulties, which I presently obviated; and thechaplain of the regiment performed the ceremony, my Captain acting asfather, and, as he said, bestowing on me the greatest blessing a mancould deserve.

I was now the happiest of all earthly creatures, nor did I feel theleast allay, but in sometimes, on returning from duty in the field,finding my Maria uncommonly grave. On enquiry she used to attribute itto my absence; and indeed her melancholy would wear off, and she wouldresume all her wonted chearfulness.

About three months after our marriage, my dear wife was seized with thesmall-pox, which then raged in the town. I was almost distracted with myapprehensions. Her life was in imminent danger. I delivered myself upto the most gloomy presages. "How am I marked out for misfortune!" saidI, "am I destined to lose both my wives on the eve of their coming ofa*ge?" Her disorder was attended with some of the most alarming symptoms.At length, it pleased heaven to hear my prayers, and a favourable crisispresented itself. With joy I made a sacrifice of her beauty, happy instill possessing the mental perfections of this most excellent of women.The fear of losing her had endeared her so much the more to me, thatevery mark of her distemper, reminding me of my danger, served to renderher more valuable in my eyes. My caresses and tenderness were redoubled;and the loss of charms, which could not make her more engaging to herhusband, gave my Maria no concern.

Our fears, however, were again alarmed on Hannah's account. That goodand faithful domestic caught the infection. Her fears, and attention onher beloved mistress, had injured her constitution before this balefuldistemper seized her. She fell a sacrifice to it. Maria wept over theremains of one who had rendered herself worthy of the utmostconsideration. It was a long time before she could recover her spirits.When the remembrance of her loss had a little worn off, we passed ourtime very agreeably; and I, one day, remarking the smiles I always foundon my Maria's face, pressed to know the melancholy which had formerlygiven me so much uneasiness. "I may now," said she, "resolve yourquestion, without any hazard; the cause is now entirely removed. Youknow there was a time when I was thought handsome; I never wished toappear so in any other eyes than your's; unfortunately, another thoughtso, and took such measures to make me sensible of the impression mybeauty had made, as rendered me truly miserable. Since I am as dear toyou as ever, I am happy in having lost charms that were fated to inspirean impious passion in one, who, but for me, might have still continuedyour friend."

I asked no more, I was convinced she meant the captain, who had soughtto do me some ill offices; but which I did not resent, as I purposedquitting the army at the end of the campaign. By her desire, I took nonotice of his perfidy, only by avoiding every opportunity of being inhis company.

One day, about a fortnight after Maria came of age, I was looking oversome English news-papers, which a brother officer had lent me to read,in which I saw this extraordinary paragraph:

"Last week was interred the body of Miss Maria Maynard, daughter ofJames Maynard, Esq; of L. in Bedfordshire, aged twenty years, tenmonths, and a fortnight. Had she lived till she attained the full age oftwenty-one, she would have been possessed of an estate worth upwardsof forty thousand pounds, which now comes to her father, theabove-mentioned James Maynard, Esq.

By a whimsical and remarkable desire of the deceased, a large quantityof quick-lime was put into the coffin."

This piece of intelligence filled us with astonishment, as we could notconceive what end it was likely to answer: but, on my looking up toMaria, by way of gathering some light from her opinion, and seeing notonly the whole form of her face, but the intire cast of her countenancechanged; it immediately struck into my mind, that it would be adifficult matter to prove her identity—especially as by the death ofHannah we had lost our only witness. This may appear a very trivialcirc*mstance to most people; but, when we consider what kind of man wehad to deal with, it will wear a more serious aspect. It was plain hewould go very great lengths to secure the estate, since he had takensuch extraordinary measures to obtain it: he had likewise anothermotive; for by this second marriage he had a son. It is well known thatthe property of quick-lime, is to destroy the features in a very shortspace; by which means, should we insist on the body's being taken up, nodoubt he had used the precaution of getting a supposititious one; and,in all probability, the corrosive quality of the lime would have left itvery difficult to ascertain the likeness after such methods being usedto destroy it. We had certainly some reason for our apprehensions thatthe father would disown his child, when it was so much his interest tosupport his own assertion of her death, and when he had gone so far asactually to make a sham-funeral; and, above all, when no one who hadbeen formerly acquainted with could possibly know her again, so totallywas she altered both in voice and features. However, the only step wecould take, was to set off for England with all expedition—whichaccordingly we did.

I wrote Mr. Maynard a letter, in which I inclosed one from his daughter.He did not deign to return any answer. I then consulted some ablelawyers; they made not the least doubt of my recovering my wife'sfortune as soon as I proved her identity. That I could have told them;but the difficulty arose how I should do it. None of the officers werein England, who had seen her both before and after the small-pox, andwhose evidence might have been useful.

Talking over the affair to an old gentleman, who had been acquaintedwith my first wife's father—and who likewise knew Maria: "I have not adoubt," said he, "but this lady is the daughter of old Maynard, becauseyou both tell me so—otherwise I could never have believed it. But I donot well know what all this dispute is about: I always understood youwas to inherit your estate from your first wife. She lived till she cameof age; did she not?"

"According to law," said I, "she certainly did; she died that very day;but she could not make a will."

"I am strangely misinformed," replied he, "if you had not a right to itfrom that moment.—But what say the writings?"

"Those I never saw," returned I. "As I married without the consent of mywife's relations, I had no claim to demand the sight of them; and, asshe died before she could call them her's, I had no opportunity."

"Then you have been wronged, take my word for it. I assert, that herfortune was her's on the day of marriage, unconditionally. I advise youto go to law with the old rogue (I beg your pardon, Madam, for callingyour father so); go to law with him for the recovery of your firstwife's estate; and let him thank heaven his daughter is so well providedfor."

This was happy news for us. I changed my plan, and brought an actionagainst him for detaining my property. In short, after many hearings andappeals, I had the satisfaction of casting him. But I became father toyour sister and yourself before the cause was determined. We were drivento the utmost straits while it was in agitation. At last, however, rightprevailed; and I was put in possession of an estate I had unjustly beenkept out of many years.

Now I thought myself perfectly happy. "Fortune," said I, "is at lengthtired of persecuting me; and I have before me the most felicitousprospect." Alas! how short-sighted is man! In the midst of my promisedscene of permanent delight, the most dreadful of misfortunes overtookme. My loved Maria fell into the most violent disorder, after havingbeen delivered of a dead child.—Good God! what was my situation, to bereduced to pray for the death of her who made up my whole scheme ofhappiness! "Dear, dear Maria! thy image still lives in my remembrance;that,

—Seeks thee still in many a former scene;
Seeks thy fair form, thy lovely beaming eyes,
Thy pleasing converse, by gay lively sense
Inspir'd: whose moral wisdom mildly shone,
Without the toil of art; and virtue glow'd
In all her smiles, without forbidding pride."

Oh! my Julia, such was thy mother! my heart has never tasted happinesssince her lamented death. Yet I cease not to thank heaven for theblessings it has given me in thee and my Louisa. May I see you bothhappy in a world that to me has lost its charms!

The death of my Maria seemed to detach me from all society. I had metwith too many bad people in it to have any regard for it; and now theonly chain that held me was broken. I retired hither and, in my firstparoxysms of grief, vowed never to quit this recluse spot; where, forthe first years of your infancy, I brooded my misfortunes, till I becamehabituated and enured to melancholy. I was always happy when either youor your sister had an opportunity of seeing a little of the world.Perhaps my vow was a rash one, but it is sacred.

As your inclination was not of a retired turn, I consented to amarriage, which, I hope, will be conducive to your felicity. Heavengrant it may! Oh! most gracious Providence, let me not be so curst asto see my children unhappy! I feel I could not support such anafflicting stroke. But I will not anticipate an evil I continually prayto heaven to avert.

Adieu, my child! May you meet with no accident or misfortune to make youout of love with the world!

Thy tender and affectionate father,

E. GRENVILLE.

LETTER X.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

I have just perused my father's long packet: I shall not however commentupon it, till I have opened my whole mind to you in a more particularmanner than I yet have done.

The first part of my father's letter has given me much concern, byawakening some doubts, which I knew not subsisted in my bosom. He askssuch questions relative to my real state of happiness, as distress me toanswer. I have examined my most inward thoughts. Shall I tell you, myLouisa, the examination does not satisfy me? I believe in this life, andparticularly in this town, we must not search too deeply—to be happy,we must take both persons and things as we in general find them, withoutscrutinizing too closely. The researches are not attended with thatpleasure we would wish to find.

The mind may be amused, or, more properly speaking, employed, so as notto give it leisure to think; and, I fancy, the people in this part ofthe world esteem reflection an evil, and therefore keep continuallyhurrying from place to place, to leave no room or time for it. For myown part, I sometimes feel some little compunction of mind from thedissipated life I lead; and wish I had been cast in a less tumultuousscene. I even sometimes venture to propose to Sir William a scheme ofspending a little more time at home—telling him, it will be more forour advantage with respect to our health, as the repeated hurries inwhich we are engaged must, in future, be hurtful to us. He laughs at mysober plan. "Nothing," he says, "is so serviceable to the body, asunbending the mind—as to the rest, my notions are owing to theprejudices of education; but that in time he hopes my rusticity willyield to the ton. For God's sake," he continues, "make yourselfready—you know you are to be at the opera—" or somewhere or other. Soaway goes reflection; and we are whirled away in the stream ofdissipation, with the rest of the world. This seems a very sufficientreason for every thing we do, The rest of the world does so: that'squite enough.

But does it convey to the heart that inward secret pleasure whichincreases on reflection? Too sure it does not. However, it has been myinvariable plan, from which I have not nor do intend to recede, to begoverned in these matters by the will of my husband: he is some yearsolder than me, and has had great experience in life. It shall be my careto preserve my health and morals;—in the rest, he must be my guide.

My mind is not at the same time quite at ease. I foresee I shall havesome things to communicate to you which I shall be unwilling should meetmy father's eye. Perhaps the world is altered since he resided in it;and from the novelty to him, the present modes may not meet hisapprobation. I would wish carefully to conceal every thing from himwhich might give him pain, and which it is not in his power to remedy.To you, my Louisa, I shall ever use the most unbounded confidence. I maysometimes tell you I am dissatisfied; but when I do so, it will not beso much out of a desire of complaint, as to induce you to give me youradvice. Ah! you would be ten times fitter to live in the world than I.Your solidity and excellent judgment would point out the proper path,and how far you might stray in it unhurt; while my vivacity impels me tofollow the gay multitude; and when I look back, I am astonished tobehold the progress I have made. But I will accustom myself to relateevery circ*mstance to you: though they may in themselves be trivial,yet I know your affection to me will find them interesting. Your goodsense will point out to you what part of our correspondence will be fitfor my father's ear.

I mentioned to you two ladies, to whose protection and countenance I hadbeen introduced by Sir William. I do not like either of them, and wish*t had suited him to have procured me intimates more adapted to mysentiments. And now we are upon this subject, I must say, I should havebeen better pleased with my husband, if he had proposed your coming totown with me. He may have a high opinion of my integrity and discretion;but he ought in my mind to have reflected how very young I was; and, hescruples not frequently to say, how totally unlearned in politelife.—Should I not then have had a real protector and friend? I do notmention my early years by way of begging an excuse for any improprietyof conduct; far from it: there is no age in which we do not know rightfrom wrong; nor is extreme youth an extenuation of guilt: but there is atime of life which wants attention, and should not be left too much toits own guidance.

With the best propensities in the world, we may be led, either by theforce of example, or real want of judgment, too far in the flowery pathof pleasure. Every scene I engage in has the charm of novelty torecommend it. I see all to whom I am introduced do the same; besides, Iam following the taste of Sir William; but I am (if I may be allowed tosay so) too artless. Perhaps what I think is his inclination, may beonly to make trial of my natural disposition. Though he may choose tolive in the highest ton, he may secretly wish his wife a more retiredturn. How then shall I act? I do every thing with a chearfulcountenance; but that proceeds from my desire of pleasing him. Iaccommodate myself to what I think his taste; but, owing to my ignoranceof mankind, I may be defeating my own purpose. I once slightly hinted asmuch to Lady Besford. She burst out into a fit of laughter at my duteousprinciples. I supposed I was wrong, by exciting her mirth: this is notthe method of reforming me from my errors; but thus I am in generaltreated. It reminds me of a character in the Spectator, who, being verybeautiful, was kept in perfect ignorance of every thing, and who, whenshe made any enquiry in order to gain knowledge, was always put by,with, "You are too handsome to trouble yourself about such things."This, according to the present fashion, may be polite; but I am sure itis neither friendly nor satisfactory.

Her ladyship, the other day, shewed me a very beautiful young woman,Lady T. "She is going to be separated from her husband," said she. On myexpressing my surprize,—"Pshaw! there is nothing surprizing in thosethings," she added: "it is customary in this world to break throughstone-walls to get together this year; and break a commandment the nextto get asunder. But with regard to her ladyship, I do not know that shehas been imprudent; the cause of their disagreement proceeds from apropensity she has for gaming; and my lord is resolved not to be anylonger answerable for her debts, having more of that sort on his ownhands than he can well discharge." Thus she favours me with sketches ofthe people of fashion. Alas! Louisa, are these people to make companionsof?—They may, for want of better, be acquaintance, but never can befriends.

By her account, there is not a happy couple that frequents St.James's.—Happiness in her estimate is not an article in the marriedstate. "Are you not happy?" I asked one day. "Happy! why yes, probablyI am; but you do not suppose my happiness proceeds from my beingmarried, any further than that state allowing greater latitude andfreedom than the single. I enjoy title, rank, and liberty, by bearingLord Besford's name. We do not disagree, because we very seldom meet. Hepursues his pleasures one way, I seek mine another; and our dispositionsbeing very opposite, they are sure never to interfere with each other. Iam, I give you my word, a very unexceptionable wife, and can say, whatfew women of quality would be able to do that spoke truth, that I neverindulged myself in the least liberty with other men, till I had securedmy lord a lawful heir." I felt all horror and astonishment.—She saw theemotion she excited. "Come, don't be prudish," said she: "my conduct inthe eye of the world is irreproachable. My lord kept a mistress from thefirst moment of his marriage. What law allows those privileges to a man,and excludes a woman from enjoying the same? Marriage now is a necessarykind of barter, and an alliance of families;—the heart is notconsulted;—or, if that should sometimes bring a pairtogether,—judgment being left far behind, love seldom lasts long. Informer times, a poor foolish woman might languish out her life in sighsand tears, for the infidelity of her husband. Thank heaven! they are nowwiser; but then they should be prudent. I extremely condemn those, whoare enslaved by their passions, and bring a public disgrace on theirfamilies by suffering themselves to be detected; such are justly ourscorn and ridicule; and you may observe they are not taken notice of byany body. There is a decency to be observed in our amours; and I shallbe very ready to offer you my advice, as you are young andinexperienced. One thing let me tell you; never admit your Cicisbeo toan unlimited familiarity; they are first suspected. Never take noticeof your favourite before other people; there are a thousand ways to makeyourself amends in secret for that little, but necessary, sacrifice inpublic."

"Nothing," said I, "but the conviction that you are only bantering me,should have induced me to listen to you so long; but be assured, madam,such discourses are extremely disagreeable to me."

"You are a child," said she, "in these matters; I am not therefore angryor surprized; but, when you find all the world like myself, you willcease your astonishment."

"Would to heaven," cried I, "I had never come into such a depravedworld! How much better had it been to have continued in ignorance andinnocence in the peaceful retirement in which I was bred! However, Ihope, with the seeds of virtue which I imbibed in my infancy, I shall beable to go through life with honour to my family, and integrity tomyself. I mean never to engage in any kind of amour, so shall neverstand in need of your ladyship's advice, which, I must say, I cannotthink Sir William would thank you for, or can have the least idea youwould offer."

"She assured me, Sir William knew too much of the world to expect, oreven wish, his wife to be different from most women who composed it; butthat she had nothing further to say.—I might some time hence want aconfidante, and I should not be unfortunate if I met with no worsethan her, who had ever conducted herself with prudence and discretion."

I then said, "I had married Sir William because I preferred him,—andthat my sentiments would not alter."

"If you can answer for your future sentiments," replied Lady Besford,"you have a greater knowledge, or at least a greater confidence, inyourself than most people have.—As to your preference of Sir William,I own I am inclined to laugh at your so prettily deceivingyourself.—Pray how many men had you seen, and been addressed by, beforeyour acquaintance with Sir William? Very few, I fancy, that were likelyto make an impression on your heart, or that could be put into acompetition with him, without an affront from the comparison. So,because you thought Sir William Stanley a handsome man, and genteeler inhis dress than the boors you had been accustomed to see—add to whichhis being passionately enamoured of you—you directly conclude, you havegiven him the preference to all other men, and that your heart isdevoted to him alone: you may think so; nay, I dare say, you do thinkso; but, believe me, a time may come when you will think otherwise. Youmay possibly likewise imagine, as Sir William was so much in love, thatyou will be for ever possessed of his heart:—it is almost a pity tooverturn so pretty a system; but, take my word for it, Lady Stanley, SirWilliam will soon teach you another lesson; he will soon convince you,the matrimonial shackles are not binding enough to abridge him of thefashionable enjoyments of life; and that, when he married, he did notmean to seclude himself from those pleasures, which, as a man of theworld, he is intitled to partake of, because love was the principalingredient and main spring of your engagement. That love may not lastfor ever. He is of a gay disposition, and his taste must be fed withvariety."

"I cannot imagine," I rejoined, interrupting her ladyship, "I cannotimagine what end it is to answer, that you seem desirous of plantingdiscord between my husband and me.—I do not suppose you have any viewson him; as, according to your principles, his being married would be noobstacle to that view.—Whatever may be the failings of Sir William, ashis wife, it is my duty not to resent them, and my interest not to seethem. I shall not thank your ladyship for opening my eyes, or seeking todevelope my sentiments respecting the preference I have shewed him; anymore than he is obliged to you, for seeking to corrupt the morals of awoman whom he has made the guardian of his honour. I hope to preservethat and my own untainted, even in this nursery of vice and folly. Ifancy Sir William little thought what instructions you would give, whenhe begged your protection. I am, however, indebted to you for putting meon my guard; and, be assured, I shall be careful to act with all thediscretion and prudence you yourself would wish me." Some company comingin, put an end to our conversation. I need not tell you, I shall be veryshy of her ladyship in future. Good God! are all the world, as she callsthe circle of her acquaintance, like herself? If so, how dreadful to becast in such a lot! But I will still hope, detraction is among thecatalogue of her failings, and that she views the world with jaundicedeyes.

As to the male acquaintance of Sir William, I cannot say they are higherin my estimation than the other sex. Is it because I am young andignorant, that they, one and all, take the liberty of almost making loveto me? Lord Biddulph, in particular, I dislike; and yet he is SirWilliam's most approved friend. Colonel Montague is another who iseternally here. The only unexceptionable one is a foreign gentleman,Baron Ton-hausen. There is a modest diffidence in his address, whichinterests one much in his favour. I declare, the only blush I have seensince I left Wales was on his cheek when he was introduced. I fancy heis as little acquainted with the vicious manners of the court as myself,as he seemed under some confusion on his first conversation. He is butnewly known to Sir William; but, being a man of rank, and politelyreceived in the beau monde, he is a welcome visitor at our house. Butthough he comes often, he is not obtrusive like the rest. They willnever let me be at quiet—for ever proposing this or the otherscheme—which, as I observed before, I comply with, more out ofconformity to the will of Sir William, than to my own taste. Not that Iwould have you suppose I do not like any of the public places Ifrequent. I am charmed at the opera; and receive a very high, and, Ithink, rational, delight at a good play. I am far from being an enemy topleasure—but then I would wish to have it under some degree, ofsubordination; let it be the amusem*nt, not the business of life.

Lord Biddulph is what Lady Besford stiles, my Cicisbeo—that is, hetakes upon him the task of attending me to public places, calling mychair—handing me refreshments, and such-like; but I assure you, I donot approve of him in the least: and Lady Besford may be assured, Ishall, at least, follow her kind advice in this particular, not to admithim to familiarities; though his Lordship seems ready enough to availhimself of all opportunities of being infinitely more assiduous than Iwish him.

Was this letter to meet the eye of my father, I doubt he would repenthis ready acquiescence to my marriage. He would not think the scenes, inwhich I am involved, an equivalent for the calm joys I left in themountains. And was he to know that Sir William and I have not met thesethree days but at meals, and then surrounded with company; he would notthink the tenderness of an husband a recompence for the loss of afather's and sister's affection. I do not, however, do well to complain.I have no just reasons, and it is a weakness to be uneasy without acause. Adieu then, my Louisa; be assured, my heart shall never know achange, either in its virtuous principles, or in its tender love toyou. I might have been happy, superlatively so, with Sir William in adesert; but, in this vale of vice, it is impossible, unless one canadapt one's sentiments to the style of those one is among. I will beevery thing I can, without forgetting to be what I ought, in order tomerit the affection you have ever shewed to your faithful

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XI.

TO Lady STANLEY.

Three days, my Julia, and never met but at meals! Good God! to what canthis strange behaviour be owing? You say, you tell me everycirc*mstance. Have you had any disagreement; and is this the method yourhusband takes to shew his resentment? Ah! Julia, be not afraid of myshewing your letters to my father; do you think I would precipitate himwith sorrow to the grave, or at least wound his reverend bosom with suchanguish? No, Julia, I will burst my heart in silence, but never tell mygrief. Alas! my sister, friend of my soul, why are we separated? Theloss of your loved society I would sacrifice, could I but hear you werehappy. But can you be so among such wretches? Yet be comforted, myJulia; have confidence in the rectitude of your own actions andthoughts; but, above all, petition heaven to support you in all trials.Be assured, while you have the protection of the Almighty, these impiousvile wretches will not, cannot, prevail against you. Your virtue willshine out more conspicuously, while surrounded with their vices.

That horrid Lady Besford! I am sure you feel all the detestation youought for such a character. As you become acquainted with other people,(and they cannot be all so bad)—you may take an opportunity of shakingher off. Dear creature! how art thou beset! Surely, Sir William is verythoughtless: with his experience, he ought to have known how impropersuch a woman was for the protector of his wife. And why must thisLord—what's his odious name?—why is he to be your escorte? Is itnot the husband's province to guard and defend his wife? What a worldare you cast in!

I find poor Win has written to her aunt Bailey, and complains heavily ofher situation. She says, Griffith is still more discontented thanherself; since he is the jest of all the other servants. They both wishthemselves at home again. She likewise tells Mrs. Bailey, that she isnot fit to dress you according to the fashion, and gives a whimsicalaccount of the many different things you put on and pull off when youare, what she calls, high-dressed. If she is of no use to you, I wishyou would send her back before her morals are corrupted. Consider, shehas not had the advantage of education, as you have had; and, beingwithout those resources within, may the more easily fall a prey to someinsidious betrayer; for, no doubt, in such a place,

"Clowns as well can act the rake,
As those in higher sphere."

Let her return, then, if she is willing, as innocent and artless as sheleft us. Oh! that I could enlarge that wish! I should have been glad youhad had Mrs. Bailey with you; she might have been of some service toyou. Her long residence in our family would have given her some weightin your's, which I doubt is sadly managed by Win's account. Theservants are disorderly and negligent. Don't you think of going into thecountry? Spring comes forward very fast; and next month is the fairestof the year.

Would to heaven you were here!—I long ardently for your company; and,rather than forego it, would almost consent to share it with thedissipated tribe you are obliged to associate with;—but that privilegeis not allowed me. I could not leave my father. Nay, I must further sayI should have too much pride to come unasked; and you know Sir Williamnever gave me an invitation.

I shed tears over the latter part of your letter, where you say, Icould be happy, superlatively so, with Sir William in a desert; but hereit is impossible. Whatever he may think, he would be happy too; atleast he appeared so while with us. Oh! that he could have beensatisfied with our calm joys, which mend the heart, and left those falsedelusive ones, which corrupt and vitiate it!

Dearest Julia, adieu!

Believe me your faithful

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER XII.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Louisa! my dearest girl! who do you think I have met with?—No otherthan Lady Melford! I saw her this day in the drawing-room. I instantlyrecognized her ladyship, and, catching her eye, made my obeisance toher. She returned my salute, in a manner which seemed to say, "I don'tknow you; but I wish to recollect you."—As often as I looked up, Ifound I engaged her attention. When their majesties were withdrawn, Iwas sitting in one of the windows with Lady Anne Parker, and some otherfolks about me.—I then saw Lady Melford moving towards me. I rose, andpressed her to take my place. "You are very obliging," said she: "Iwill, if you please, accept part of it, as I wish informed who it isthat is so polite as to pay such civility to an old woman." Lady Anne,finding we were entering on conversation, wished me a good day, and wentoff.

"I am perfectly well acquainted with your features," said her ladyship;"but I cannot call to my memory what is your name."

"Have you then quite forgot Julia Grenville, to whom you was so kindwhile she was on a visit with your grandfather at L.?"

"Julia Grenville! Aye, so it is; but, my dear, how came I to meet you inthe drawing-room at St. James's, whom I thought still an inmate of themountains? Has your father rescinded his resolution of spending his lifethere? and where is your sister?"

"My father," I replied, "is still in his favourite retreat; my sisterresides with him.—I have been in town some time, and am at present aninhabitant of it."

"To whose protection could your father confide you, my dear?"

"To the best protector in the world, madam," I answered, smiling—"to anhusband."

"A husband!" she repeated, quite astonished, "What, child, are youmarried? And who, my dear, is this husband that your father could partwith you to?"

"That gentleman in the blue and silver velvet, across the room,—SirWilliam Stanley. Does your ladyship know him?"

"By name and character only," she answered. "You are very young, mydear, to be thus initiated in the world. Has Sir William any relations,female ones I mean, who are fit companions for you?—This is a dangerousplace for young inexperienced girls to be left to their own guidance."

I mentioned the ladies to whom I had been introduced. "I don't knowthem," said Lady Melford; "no doubt they are women of character, as theyare the friends of your husband. I am, however, glad to see you, andhope you are happily married. My meeting you here is owing to havingattended a lady who was introduced; I came to town from D. for thatpurpose."

I asked her ladyship, if she would permit me to wait on her while sheremained in town. She obligingly said, "she took it very kind in a youngperson shewing such attention to her, and should always be glad of mycompany."

The counsel of Lady Melford may be of service to me. I am extremelyhappy to have seen her. I remember with pleasure the month I passed atL. I reproach myself for not writing to Jenny Melford. I doubt shethinks me ungrateful, or that the busy scenes in which I am immersedhave obliterated all former fond remembrances. I will soon convince her,that the gay insignificant crowd cannot wear away the impression whichher kindness stamped on my heart in early childhood.

Your letter is just brought to my hands. Yes, my dear Louisa, I have nota doubt but that, while I deserve it, I shall be the immediate care ofheaven. Join your prayers to mine; and they will, when offered withheart-felt sincerity, be heard.

I have nothing to apprehend from Lady Besford.—Such kind of women cannever seduce me. She shews herself too openly; and the discovery of hercharacter gives me no other concern, than as it too evidently manifestsin my eyes the extreme carelessness of Sir William: I own there I amin some degree piqued. But, if he is indifferent about my morals andwell-doing in life, it will more absolutely become my business to takecare of myself,—an arduous task for a young girl, surrounded with somany incitements to quit the strait paths, and so many examples of thosethat do.

As to the œconomy of my family, I fear it is but badlymanaged.—However, I do not know how to interfere, as we have ahouse-keeper, who is empowered to give all orders, &c. If Win isdesirous of returning, I shall not exert my voice to oppose herinclinations, though I own I shall be very sorry to lose the onlydomestic in my family in whom I can place the least confidence, or whois attached to me from any other motive than interest. I will never,notwithstanding my repugnance to her leaving me, offer any objectionswhich may influence her conduct; but I do not think with you her moralswill be in any danger, as she in general keeps either in my apartments,or in the house-keeper's.

I do not know how Griffith manages; I should be concerned that he shouldbe ill-used by the rest of the servants; his dialect, and to themsingular manners, may excite their boisterous mirth; and I know, thoughhe is a worthy creature, yet he has all the irascibility of hiscountrymen; and therefore they may take a pleasure in thwarting andteasing the poor Cambro-Briton; but of this I am not likely to beinformed, as being so wholly out of my sphere.

I could hardly help smiling at that part of your letter, wherein yousay, you think the husband the proper person to attend his wife topublic places. How different are your ideas from those of the people ofthis town, or at least to their practice!—A woman, who would not blushat being convicted in a little affair of gallantry, would be ready tosink with confusion, should she receive these tendres from an husbandin public, which when offered by any other man is accepted with pleasureand complacency. Sir William never goes with me to any of thesefashionable movements. It is true, we often meet, but very seldom join,as we are in general in separate parties. Whom God hath joined, let noman put asunder, is a part of the ceremony; but here it is the businessof every one to endeavour to put a man and wife asunder;—fashion notmaking it decent to appear together.

These etiquettes, though so absolutely necessary in polite life, areby no means reconcilable to reason, or to my wishes. But my voice wouldbe too weak to be heard against the general cry; or, being heard, Ishould be thought too insignificant to be attended to.

"Conscience makes cowards of us all," some poet says; and your Juliasays, fashion makes fools of us all; but she only whispers this to thedear bosom of her friend. Oh! my Louisa, that you were with me!—It iswith this wish I end all my letters; mentally so, if I do not openlythus express myself.—Absence seems to increase my affection.—Onereason is, because I cannot find any one to supply me the loss I sustainin you; out of the hundreds I visit, not one with whom I can form afriendly attachment. My attachment to Sir William, which was strongenough to tear me from your arms, is not sufficient to suppress thegushing tear, or hush the rising sigh, when I sit and reflect on what Ionce possessed, and what I so much want at this moment. Adieu, my dearLouisa! continue your tender attention to the best of fathers, and loveme always.

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XIII.

TO THE SAME.

I spent a whole morning with Lady Melford, more to my satisfaction thanany one I have passed since I left you. But this treat cannot berepeated; her ladyship leaves town this day. She was so good as to say,she was sorry her stay was so short, and wished to have had more timewith me. I can truly join with her. Her conversation was friendly andparental. She cautioned me against falling into the levities of thesex—which unhappily, she observed, were now become so prevalent; andfurther told me, how cautious I ought to be of my female acquaintance,since the reputation of a young woman rises and falls in proportion tothe merit of her associates. I judged she had Lady Besford in her mind.I answered, I thought myself unhappy in not having you with me, andlikewise possessing so little penetration, that I could not discover whowere, or who were not, proper companions; that, relying on theexperience of Sir William, I had left the choice of them to him,trusting he would not introduce those whose characters and morals werereprehensible; but whether it proceeded from my ignorance, or from themode of the times, I could not admire the sentiments of either of theladies with whom I was more intimately connected, but wished to have theopinion of one whose judgment was more matured than mine.

Lady Melford replied, the circle of her acquaintance was ratherconfined;—and that her short residences at a time in town left her anincompetent judge: "but, my dear," she added, "the virtuous principlesinstilled into you by your excellent father, joined to the innategoodness of your heart, must guide you through the warfare of life.Never for one moment listen to the seductive voice of folly, whether itsadvocate be man or woman.—If a man is profuse in flattery, believe himan insidious betrayer, who only watches a favourable moment to ruin yourpeace of mind for ever. Suffer no one to lessen your husband in youresteem: no one will attempt it, but from sinister views; disappoint allsuch, either by grave remonstrances or lively sallies. Perhaps some willofficiously bring you informations of the supposed infidelity of yourhusband, in hopes they may induce you to take a fashionablerevenge.—Labour to convince such, how you detest all informers; speakof your confidence in him,—and that nothing shall persuade you but thathe acts as he ought. But, since the heart of man naturally lovesvariety, and, from the depravity of the age, indulgences, which I callcriminal, are allowed to them, Sir William may not pay that strictobedience to his part of the marriage contract as he ought; remember, mydear, his conduct can never exculpate any breach in your's. Gentlenessand complacency on your part are the only weapons you should prove toany little irregularity on his. By such behaviour, I doubt not, you willbe happy, as you will deserve to be so."

Ah! my dear Louisa, what a loss shall I have in this venerablemonitress! I will treasure up her excellent advice, and hope to reap thebenefit of it.

If I dislike Lady Besford, I think I have more reason to be displeasedwith Lady Anne Parker.—She has more artifice, and is consequently amore dangerous companion. She has more than once given hints of thefreedoms which Sir William allows in himself.—The other night at theopera she pointed out one of the dancers, and assured me, "Sir Williamwas much envied for having subdued the virtue of that girl. That,"continued she, "was her vis à vis that you admired this morning; shelives in great taste; I suppose her allowance is superb." It is quitethe ton to keep opera-girls, though, perhaps, the men who support themnever pay them a visit.—I therefore concluded this affair was one ofthat sort. Such creatures can never deprive me of my husband's heart,and I should be very weak to be uneasy about such connexions.

Last night, however, a circ*mstance happened, which, I own, touched myheart more sensibly. Lady Anne insisted on my accompanying her to theopera. Sir William dined out; and, as our party was sudden, knew not ofmy intention of being there. Towards the end of the opera, I observed myhusband in one of the upper-boxes, with a very elegant-looking woman,dressed in the genteelest taste, to whom he appeared veryassiduous.—"There is Sir William," said I.—"Yes," said Lady Anne, "butI dare say, he did not expect to see you here."

"Possibly not," I answered. A little female curiosity urged me to ask,if she knew who that lady was? She smiled, and answered, "she believedshe did." A very favourite air being then singing, I dropped theconversation, though I could not help now and then stealing a look at myhusband. I was convinced he must see and know me, as my situation in thehouse was very conspicuous; but I thought he seemed industriously toavoid meeting my eyes.—The opera being ended, we adjourned to thecoffee-room; and, having missed Sir William a little time before,naturally expected to see him there; as it is customary for all thecompany to assemble there previous to their going to their carriages.

A great number of people soon joined us. Baron Ton-hausen had justhanded me a glass of orgeat; and was chatting in an agreeable manner,when Lord Biddulph came up. "Lady Stanley," said he, with an air ofsurprize, "I thought I saw you this moment in Sir William's chariot. Ilittle expected the happiness of meeting you here."

"You saw Sir William, my Lord, I believe," said Lady Anne; "but as tothe Lady, you are mistaken—though I should have supposed you might haverecognized your old friend Lucy Gardiner; they were together in one ofthe boxes.—Sly wretch! he thought we did not see him."

"Oh! you ladies have such penetrating eyes," replied his Lordship, "thatwe poor men—and especially the married ones, ought to be careful how weconduct ourselves. But, my dear Lady Stanley, how have you beenentertained? Was not Rauzzini exquisite?"

"Can you ask how her Ladyship has been amused, when you have justinformed her, her Caro Sposo was seen with a favourite Sultana?"

"Pshaw!" said his Lordship, "there is nothing in that—tout la mode deFrançois. The conduct of an husband can not discompose a Lady of sense.What says the lovely Lady Stanley?"

"I answer," I replied very seriously, "Sir William has an undoubtedright to act as he pleases. I never have or ever intend to prescriberules to him; sufficient, I think, to conduct self."

"Bravo!" cried Lord Biddulph, "spoke like a heroine: and I hope my dearLady Stanley will act as she pleases too."

"I do when I can," I answered.—Then, turning to Lady Anne, "Not tobreak in on your amusem*nt," I continued, "will you give me leave towait on you to Brook-street? you know you have promised to sup with me."

"Most chearfully," said she;—"but will you not ask the beaux to attendus?"

Lord Biddulph said, he was most unfortunately engaged to Lady D—'sroute. The Baron refused, as if he wished to be intreated. Lady Annewould take no denial; and, when I assured him his company would give mepleasure, he consented.

I was handed to the coach by his Lordship, who took that opportunity ofcondemning Sir William's want of taste; and lavishing the utmostencomiums on your Julia—with whom they passed as nothing. If SirWilliam is unfaithful, Lord Biddulph is not the man to reconcile me tothe sex. I feel his motives in too glaring colours. No, the softtimidity of Ton-hausen, which, while it indicates the profoundestrespect, still betrays the utmost tenderness—he it is alone who couldrestore the character of mankind, and raise it again in my estimation.But what have I said? Dear Louisa, I blush at having discovered to you,that I am, past all doubt, the object of the Baron's tender sentiments.Ah! can I mistake those glances, which modest reserve and deference urgehim to correct? Yet fear me not. I am married. My vows are registered inthe book of heaven; and as, by their irreversible decree, I am bound tohonour and obey my husband, so will I strive to love him, and himalone; though I have long since ceased to be the object of his? Of whatconsequence, however, is that? I am indissolubly united to him; he wasthe man of my choice—to say he was the first man I almost ever saw—andto plead my youth and inexperience—oh! what does that avail? Nor doeshis neglect justify the least on my part.

"For man the lawless libertine may rove."

But this is a strange digression. The Baron accompanied us to supper.During our repast, Lady Anne made a thousand sallies to divert us. Mymind, however, seemed that night infected by the demon of despair. Icould not be chearful—and yet, I am sure, I was not jealous of thisLucy Gardiner. Melancholy was contagious: Ton-hausen caught it—Iobserved him sometimes heave a suppressed sigh. Lady Anne was determinedto dissipate the gloom which inveloped us, and began drawing, with hersatirical pen, the characters of her acquaintance.

"Baron," said she, "did you not observe Lord P—, with his roundunthinking face—how assiduous he was to Miss W——, complimenting heron the brilliancy of her complexion, though he knows she wore morerouge than almost any woman of quality—extolling her forest ofhair, when most likely he saw it this morning brought in aband-box—and celebrating the pearly whiteness of her teeth, when he waspresent at their transplanting? But he is not a slave to propriety, oreven common sense. No, dear creature, he has a soul above it. But didyou not take notice of Lady L——, how she ogled Capt. F. when her boobyLord turned his head aside? What a ridiculous fop is that! The mostglaring proofs will not convince him of his wife's infidelity. 'CaptainF.' said he to me yesterday at court; 'Captain F. I assure you, LadyAnne, is a great favourite with me.' 'It is a family partiality,' saidI; 'Lady L. seems to have no aversion to him.' 'Ah, there you mistake,fair Lady. I want my Lady to have the same affection for him I have. Hehas done all he can to please her, and yet she does not seem satisfiedwith him.' 'Unconscionable!' cried I, 'why then she is never to besatisfied.' 'Why so I say; but it proceeds from the violence of herattachment to me. Oh! Lady Anne, she is the most virtuous anddiscreetest Lady. I should be the happiest man in the world, if shewould but shew a little more consideration to my friend.' I think it apity he does not know his happiness, as I have not the least doubt of F.and her Ladyship having a pretty good understanding together." Thus wasthe thoughtless creature running on unheeded by either of us, when herharangue was interrupted by an alarming accident happening to me. I hadsat some time, leaning my head on my hand; though, God knows! payingvery little attention to Lady Anne's sketches, when some of thesuperfluous ornaments of my head-dress, coming rather too near thecandle, caught fire, and the whole farrago of ribbands, lace, andgew-gaws, were instantly in flames. I shrieked out in the utmost terror,and should have been a very great sufferer—perhaps been burnt todeath—had not the Baron had the presence of mind to roll my head,flames and all, up in my shawl, which fortunately hung on the back of mychair; and, by such precaution, preserved the capitol. How ridiculousare the fashions, which render us liable to such accidents! My fright,however, proved more than the damage sustained. When the flames wereextinguished, I thought Lady Anne would have expired with mirth; owingto the disastrous figure I made with my singed feathers, &c. Thewhimsical distress of the heroine of the Election Ball presented itselfto her imagination; and the pale face of the affrighted Baron, duringthe conflagration, heightened the picture. "Even such a man," she cried,"so dead in look, so woe-be-gone! Excuse me, dear Ton-hausen—The dangeris over now. I must indulge my risible faculties."

"I will most readily join with your Ladyship," answered the Baron, "asmy joy is in proportion to what were my apprehensions. But I mustcondemn a fashion which is so injurious to the safety of the ladies."

The accident, however, disconcerted me not a little, and made me quiteunfit for company. They saw the chagrin painted on my features, and soontook leave of me.

I retired to my dressing-room, and sent for Win, to inspect the almostruinated fabrick; but such is the construction now-a-days, that a headmight burn for an hour without damaging the genuine part of it. A luckycirc*mstance! I sustained but little damage—in short, nothing whichMonsieur Corross could not remedy in a few hours.

My company staying late, and this event besides, retarded my retiring torest till near three in the morning. I had not left my dressing-roomwhen Sir William entered.

"Good God! not gone to bed yet, Julia? I hope you did not sit up for me.You know that is a piece of ceremony I would chuse to dispense with; asit always carries a tacit reproach under an appearance of tendersolicitude." I fancied I saw in his countenance a consciousness that hedeserved reproach, and a determination to begin first to find fault. Iwas vexed, and answered, "You might have waited for the reproach atleast, before you pre-judged my conduct. Nor can you have anyapprehensions that I should make such, having never taken that liberty.Neither do you do me justice in supposing me capable of the meanness youinsinuate, on finding me up at this late hour. That circ*mstance isowing to an accident, by which I might have been a great sufferer; andwhich, though you so unkindly accuse me of being improperly prying andcurious, I will, if you permit me, relate to you, in order to justifymyself." He certainly expected I should ask some questions which wouldbe disagreeable to him; and therefore, finding me totally silent on thathead, his features became more relaxed; he enquired, with sometenderness, what alarming accident I hinted at. I informed him of everycirc*mstance.—My account put him into good humour; and we laughed overthe droll scene very heartily. Observing, however, I was quite endishabille, "My dear girl," cried he, throwing his arm round me, "Idoubt you will catch cold, notwithstanding you so lately represented aburning-mountain. Come," continued he, "will you go to bed?" While hespoke, he pressed me to his bosom; and expressed in his voice and mannermore warmth of affection than he had discovered since I forsook themountains. He kissed me several times with rapture; and his eyes dwelton me with an ardor I have long been unused to behold. The adventure atthe opera returned to my imagination. These caresses, thought I, havebeen bestowed on one, whose prostituted charms are more admired thanmine. I sighed—"Why do you sigh, Julia?" asked my husband. "I knownot," I answered. "I ought not to sigh in the very moment I am receivingproofs of your affection. But I have not lately received such proofs,and therefore perhaps I sighed."

"You are a foolish girl, Julia, yet a good one too"—cried he, kissingme again: "Foolish, to fancy I do not love you; and a good girl, not toask impertinent questions. That is, your tongue is silent, but you havewicked eyes, Julia, that seek to look into my inmost thoughts."—"Then Iwill shut them," said I, affecting to laugh—but added, in a moreserious tone—"I will see no further than you would wish me; to pleaseyou, I will be blind, insensible and blind."

"But, as you are not deaf, I will tell you what you well know—that Iwas at the opera—and with a lady too.—Do not, however, be jealous, mydear: the woman I was with was perfectly indifferent to me. I met her byaccident—but I had a mind to see what effect such a piece of flirtationwould have on you. I am not displeased with your behaviour; nor would Ihave you so with mine."

"I will in all my best obey you," said I.—"Then go to bed," saidhe—"To bed, my love, and I will follow thee."

You will not scruple to pronounce this a reasonable long letter, my dearLouisa, for a modern fine lady.—Ah! shield me from that character!Would to heaven Sir William was no more of the modern fine gentleman inhis heart! I could be happy with him.—Yes, Louisa—was I indeed theobject of his affections, not merely so of his passions, which, I fear,I am, I could indeed be happy with him. My person still invites hiscaresses—but for the softer sentiments of the soul—that ineffabletenderness which depends not on the tincture of the skin—of that, alas!he has no idea. A voluptuary in love, he professes not that delicacywhich refines all its joys. His is all passion; sentiment is left out ofthe catalogue. Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XIV.

TO THE SAME.

I hope, my dearest Louisa will not be too much alarmed at a wholefortnight's silence. Ah! Louisa, the event which occasioned it may beproductive of very fatal consequences to me—yet I will not despair. No,I will trust in a good God, and the virtuous education I have had. Theywill arm me to subdue inclinations, irreversible fate has renderedimproper. But to the point.

Two or three nights after I wrote my last, I went to the play.—LadyAnne, Colonel Montague, and a Miss Finch, were the party. Unhappily, theafter-piece represented was one obtruded on the public by an authorobnoxious to some of them; and there were two parties formed, one tocondemn, the other to support. Wholly unacquainted with a thing of thiskind, I soon began to be alarmed at the clamour which rang from everypart of the house. The glass chandeliers first fell a victim to ahot-headed wretch in the pit; and part of the shattered fragments wasthrown into my lap. My fears increased to the highest degree—No oneseemed to interest themselves about me. Colonel Montague being anadmirer of Miss Finch, his attention was paid to her. The ladies wereordered out of the house. I was ready enough to obey the summons, andwas rushing out, when my passage was stopped by a concourse of people inthe lobby. The women screaming—men swearing—altogether—I thought Ishould die with terror. "Oh! let me come out, let me come out!" I cried,with uplifted hands.—No one regarded me. And I might have stoodscreaming in concert with the rest till this time, had not the Baronmost seasonably come to my assistance. He broke through the croud withincredible force, and flew to me. "Dearest Lady Stanley," cried he,"recover your spirits—you are in no danger. I will guard you to yourcarriage." Others were equally anxious about their company, and everyone striving to get out first increased the difficulty. Many ladiesfainted in the passages, which, being close, became almost suffocating.Every moment our difficulties and my fears increased. I became almostinsensible. The Baron most kindly supported me with one arm—and withthe other strove to make way. The men even pushed with rudeness by me.Ton-hausen expostulated and raved by turns: at length he drew his sword,which terrified me to such a degree, that I was sinking to theearth—and really gave myself up totally to despair. The efforts he madeat last gained us a passage to the great door—and, without waiting toask any questions, he put me into a coach that happened to be near: asto my carriage, it was not to be found—or probably some others had usedthe same freedom with that we had now with one unknown to us.

As soon as we were seated, Ton-hausen expressed his joy in the strongestterms, that we had so happily escaped any danger. I was so weak, that hethought it necessary to support me in his arms; and though I had nocause to complain of any freedom in his manner, yet the warmth of hisexpression, joined to my foregoing fright, had such an effect on me,that, though I did not wholly lose my senses, I thought I was dying—Inever fainted in my life before; to my ignorance, then, must be imputedmy fears and foolish behaviour in consequence. "Oh! carry me somewhere,"cried I, gasping; "do not let me die here! for God's sake, do not let medie in the coach!"

"My angel," said the Baron, "do not give way to such imaginary terrors.I will let down the glasses—you will be better presently." But findingmy head, which I could no longer support, drop on his shoulder, and acold damp bedew my face, he gave a loose to his tenderness, which vieweditself in his attention to my welfare. He pressed me almost frantic tohis bosom, called on me in the most endearing terms. He thought meinsensible. He knew not I could hear the effusions of his heart. Oh!Louisa, he could have no idea how they sunk in mine. Among the rest,these broken sentences were distinct, "Oh! my God! what will become ofme! Dearest, most loved of women, how is my heart distracted! And shallI lose thee thus? Oh! how shall I support thy loss! Too late found—everbeloved of my soul! Thy Henry will die with thee!" Picture to yourself,my Louisa, what were my sensations at this time. I have no words toexpress them—or, if I could, they would be unfit for me to express. Thesensations themselves ought not to have found a passage in my bosom. Iwill drive them away, Louisa, I will not give them harbour. I no longerknew what was become of me: I became dead to all appearance. The Baron,in a state of distraction, called to the coachman, to stop any where,where I could receive assistance. Fortunately we were near a chemist's.Ton-hausen carried me in his arms to a back room—and, by theapplication of drops, &c. I was restored to life. I found the Baronkneeling at my feet, and supporting me. It was a long time before hecould make me sensible where I was. My situation in a strange place, andthe singularity of our appearance, affected me extremely—I burst intotears, and entreated the Baron to get me a chair to convey me home. "Achair! Lady Stanley; will not you then permit me to attend you home?Would you place yourself under the protection of two strangers, ratherthan allow me that honour?"

"Ah! excuse me, Baron," I answered, "I hardly know what I said. Do asyou please, only let me go home." And yet, Louisa, I felt a dread ongoing into the same carriage with him. I thought myself extremely absurdand foolish; yet I could not get the better of my apprehensions. Howvain they were! Never could any man behave with more delicate attention,or more void of that kind of behaviour which might have justified myfears. His despair had prompted the discovery of his sentiments. Hethought me incapable of hearing the secret of his soul; and it wasabsurd to a degree for me, by an unnecessary circ*mspection, to let himsee I had unhappily been a participater of his secret. There was,however, an aukward consciousness in my conduct towards him, I could notdivest myself of. I wished to be at home. I even expressed my impatienceto be alone. He sighed, but made no remonstrances against my childishbehaviour, though his pensive manner made it obvious he saw and felt it.Thank God! at last we got home. "It would be rude," said he, "after yourladyship has so frequently expressed your wish to be alone, to obtrudemy company a moment longer than absolutely necessary; but, if you willallow me to remain in your drawing-room till I hear you are a littlerecovered, I shall esteem it a favour."

"I have not a doubt of being much better," I returned, "when I have hada little rest. I am extremely indebted to you for the care you havetaken. I must repay it, by desiring you to have some consideration foryourself: rest will be salutary for both; and I hope to return you amessage in the morning, that I am not at all the worse for thisdisagreeable adventure. Adieu, Baron, take my advice." He bowed, andcast on me such a look—He seemed to correct himself.—Oh! that look!what was not expressed in it! Away, away, all such remembrances.

The consequences, however, were not to end here. I soon found othercirc*mstances which I had not thought on. In short my dear Louisa, Imust now discover to you a secret, which I had determined to keep sometime longer at least. Not even Sir William knew of it. I intended tohave surprized you all; but this vile play-house affair put an end to myhopes, and very near to my life. For two days, my situation was verycritical. As soon as the danger was over, I recovered apace. The Baronwas at my door several times in the day, to enquire after me. And Winsaid, who once saw him, that he betrayed more anxiety than any onebeside.

Yesterday was the first of my seeing any company. The Baron's name wasthe first announced. The sound threw me into a perturbation I labouredto conceal. Sir William presented him to me. I received his complimentwith an aukward confusion. My embarrassment was imputed, by my husband,to the simple bashfulness of a country rustic—a bashfulness hegenerally renders more insupportable by the ridiculous light he chusesto make me appear in, rather than encouraging in me a better opinion ofmyself, which, sometimes, he does me the honour of saying, I ought toentertain. The Baron had taken my hand in the most respectful manner. Isuffered him to lift it to his lips. "Is it thus," said Sir William,"you thank your deliverer? Had I been in your place, Julia, I shouldhave received my champion with open arms—at least have allowed him asalute. But the Baron is a modest young man. Come, I will set you theexample."—Saying which, he caught me in his arms, and kissed me. I wasextremely chagrined, and felt my cheeks glow, not only with shame, butanger. "You are too violent, Sir William," said I very gravely. "Youhave excessively disconcerted me." "I will allow," said he, "I mighthave been too eager: now you shall experience the difference between theextatic ardor of an adoring husband, and the cool complacency of afriend. Nay, nay," continued he, seeing a dissenting look, "you mustreward the Baron, or I shall think you either very prudish, or angrywith me." Was there ever such inconsiderate behaviour? Ton-hausen seemedfearful of offending—yet not willing to lose so fair an opportunity.Oh! Louisa, as Sir William said, I did experience a difference. ButSir William is no adoring husband. The Baron's lips trembled as theytouched mine; and I felt an emotion, to which I was hitherto a stranger.

I was doomed, however, to receive still more shocks. On the Baron'ssaying he was happy to see me so well recovered after my fright, andhoped I had found no disagreeable consequence—"No disagreeableconsequence!" repeated Sir William, with the most unfeeling air; "Is theloss of a son and heir then nothing? It may be repaired," he continued,laughing, "to be sure; but I am extremely disappointed." Are you notenraged with your brother-in-law, Louisa? How indelicate! I really couldno longer support these mortifications, though I knew I should mortallyoffend him; I could not help leaving the room in tears; nor would Ireturn to it, till summoned by the arrival of other company. I did notrecover my spirits the whole evening.

Good God! how different do men appear sometimes from themselves! I oftenam induced to ask myself, whether I really gave my hand to the man I nowsee in my husband. Ah! how is he changed! I reflect for hours togetheron the unaccountableness of his conduct. How he is carried away by thegiddy multitude. He is swayed by every passion, and the last is theruling one—

"Is every thing by starts, and nothing long."

A time may come, when he may see his folly; I hope, before it be toolate to repair it. Why should such a man marry? Or why did fate lead himto our innocent retreat? Oh! why did I foolishly mistake a ramblingdisposition, and a transient liking, for a permanent attachment? But whydo I run on thus? Dear Louisa, you will think me far gone in a phrenzy.But, believe me, I will ever deserve your tender affection.

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XV.

TO Lady STANLEY.

Good heavens! what a variety of emotions has your last letter excited inmy breast! Surely, my Julia did not give it a second perusal! I can makeallowance for the expressions of gratitude which you (in a mannerlavish, not) bestow on the Baron. But oh! beware, my beloved sister,that your gratitude becomes not too warm; that sentiment, so laudablewhen properly placed, should it be an introduction to what my fears andtenderness apprehend, would change to the most impious.—You alreadyperceive a visible difference between him and your husband—I assert, nowoman ought to make a comparison,—'tis dangerous, 'tis fatal. SirWilliam was the man of your choice;—it is true you were young; butstill you ought to respect your choice as sacred.—You are still young;and although you may have seen more of the world, I doubt yoursentiments are little mended by your experience. The knowledge of theworld—at least so it appears to me—is of no further use than to bringone acquainted with vice, and to be less shocked at the idea of it. Isthis then a knowledge to which we should wish to attain?—Ah! believeme, it had been better for you to have blushed unseen, and lost yoursweetness in the desart air, than to have, in the busy haunts of men,hazarded the privation of that peace which goodness bosoms ever. Thinkwhat I suffer; and, constrained to treasure up my anxious fears in myown bosom, I have no one to whom I can vent my griefs: and indeed towhom could I impart the terrors which fill my soul, when I reflect onthe dangers by which my sister, the darling of my affections, issurrounded? Oh, Julia! you know how fatally I have experienced theinterest a beloved object has in the breast of a tender woman; how oughtwe then to guard against the admission of a passion destructive to ourrepose, even in its most innocent and harmless state, while we aresingle!—But how much more should you keep a strict watch over everyoutlet of the heart, lest it should fall a prey to the insidiousenemy;—you respect his silence;—you pity his sufferings.—Reprobaterespect!—abjure pity!—they are both in your circ*mstances dangerous;and a well-experienced writer has observed, more women have been ruinedby pity, than have fallen a sacrifice to appetite and passion. Pity is akindred virtue, and from the innocence and complacency of herappearance, we suspect no ill; but dangers inexplicable lurk beneath thetear that trembles in her eye; and, without even knowing that we do so,we make a fatal transfer to our utter and inevitable disadvantage. Fromhaving the power of bestowing compassion, we become objects of it fromothers, though too frequently, instead of receiving it, we findourselves loaded with the censure of the world. We look into our ownbosoms for consolation: alas! it is flown with our innocence; and in itsroom we feel the sharpest stings of self-reproof. My Julia, my tearsobliterate each mournful passage of my pen.

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER XVI.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Enough, my dearest sister, enough have you suffered through yourunremitted tenderness to your Julia;—yet believe her, while she vows tothe dear bosom of friendship, no action of her's shall call a blush onyour cheek. Good God! what a wretch should I be, if I could abuse suchsisterly love! if, after such friendly admonitions, enforced with somuch moving eloquence, your Julia should degenerate from her birth, andforget those lessons of virtue early inculcated by the best of fathers!If, after all these, she should suffer herself to be immersed in thevortex of folly and vice, what would she not deserve! Oh! rest assured,my dearest dear Louisa, be satisfied, your sister cannot be sovile,—remember the same blood flows through our veins; one parent stockwe sprang from; nurtured by one hand; listening at the same time to thesame voice of reason; learning the same pious lesson—why then theseapprehensions of my degeneracy? Trust me, Louisa, I will not deceiveyou; and God grant I may never deceive myself! The wisest of men hassaid, "the heart of man is deceitful above all things." I however willstrictly examine mine; I will search into it narrowly; at present thesearch is not painful; I have nothing to reproach myself with; I have, Ihope, discharged my filial and fraternal duties; my matrimonial ones areinviolate: I have studied the temper of Sir William, in hopes I shoulddiscover a rule for my actions; but how can I form a system from one sovariable as he is? Would to heaven he was more uniform! or that he wouldsuffer himself to be guided by his own understanding, and not by thewhim or caprice of others so much inferior to himself! All this I haverepeated frequently to you, together with my wish to leave London, andthe objects with which I am daily surrounded.—Does such a wish look asif I was improperly attached to the world, or any particular person init? You are too severe, my love, but when I reflect that your rigidityproceeds from your unrivaled attachment, I kiss the rod of mychastisem*nt;—I long to fold my dear lecturer in my arms, and convinceher, that one, whose heart is filled with the affection that glows inmine, can find no room for any sentiment incompatible with virtue, ofwhich she is the express image. Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XVII.

To Miss GRENVILLE.

If thy Julia falls, my beloved sister, how great will be hercondemnation! With such supports, and I hope I may add with an inwardrectitude of mind, I think she can never deviate from the right path.You see, my Louisa, that not you alone are interested in my well-doing.I have a secret, nay I may say, celestial friend and monitor,—a friendit certainly is, though unknown;—all who give good counsel must be mytrue and sincere friends. From whom I have received it, I know not; butit shall be my study to merit the favour of this earthly or heavenlyconductor through the intricate mazes of life. I will no longer keep youin ignorance of my meaning, but without delay will copy for you a letterI received this morning; the original I have too much veneration for topart with, even to you, who are dearer to me than almost all the worldbeside.——

THE LETTER.

"I cannot help anticipating the surprize your ladyship will be under,from receiving a letter from an unknown hand; nor will the signaturecontribute to develop the cloud behind which I chuse to conceal myself.

My motives, I hope, will extenuate the boldness of my task; and I relylikewise on the amiable qualities you so eminently possess, to pardonthe temerity of any one who shall presume to criticise the conduct ofone of the most lovely of God's works.

I feel for you as a man, a friend, or, to sum up all, a guardian angel.I see you on the brink of a steep precipice. I shudder at the dangerwhich you are not sensible of. You will wonder at my motive, and theinterest I take in your concerns.—It is from my knowledge of thegoodness of your heart: were you less amiable than you are, you would bebelow my solicitude; I might be charmed with you as a woman, but Ishould not venerate you;—nay, should possibly—enchanted as every onemust be with your personal attractions, join with those who seek toseduce you to their own purposes. The sentiments I profess for you aresuch as a tender father would feel—such as your own excellent fathercherishes; but they are accompanied by a warmth which can only beequalled by their purity; such sentiments shall I ever experience whileyou continue to deserve them, and every service in my power shall beexerted in your favour. I have long wished for an opportunity ofexpressing to you the tender care I take in your conduct through life. Inow so sensibly feel the necessity of apprizing you of the dangers whichsurround you, that I wave all forms, and thus abruptly introduce myselfto your acquaintance—unknown, indeed, to you, but knowing you well,reading your thoughts, and seeing the secret motives of all youractions. Yes, Julia, I have watched you through life. Nay, start not, Ihave never seen any action of your's but what had virtue for itsguide.—But to remain pure and uncontaminated in this vortex of vice,requires the utmost strength and exertion of virtue. To avoid vice, itis necessary to know its colour and complexion; and in this age, howmany various shapes it assumes! my task shall be to point them out toyou, to shew you the traps, the snares, and pitfalls, which the unwarytoo frequently sink into;—to lead you by the hand through thoseintricate paths beset with quicksands and numberless dangers;—to directyour eyes to such objects as you may with safety contemplate, and induceyou to shut them for ever against such as may by their dire fascinationintice you to evil;—to conduct you to those endless joys hereafter,which are to be the reward of the virtuous; and to have myself theineffable delight of partaking them with you, where no rival shallinterrupt my felicity.

I am a Rosicrusian by principle; I need hardly tell you, they are a sectof philosophers, who by a life of virtue and self-denial have obtainedan heavenly intercourse with aërial beings;—as my internal knowledge ofyou (to use the expression) is in consequence of my connexion with theSylphiad tribe, I have assumed the title of my familiar counsellor.This, however, is but as a preface to what I mean to say to you;—I havehinted, I knew you well;—when I thus expressed myself, it should beunderstood, I spoke in the person of the Sylph, which I shalloccasionally do, as it will be writing with more perspicuity in thefirst instance; and, as he is employed by me, I may, without theappearance of robbery, safely appropriate to myself the knowledge hegains.

Every human being has a guardian angel; my skill has discovered your's;my power has made him obedient to my will; I have a right to availmyself of the intelligences he gains; and by him I have learnt everything that has passed since your birth;—what your future fortune is tobe, even he cannot tell; his view is circ*mscribed to a small point oftime; he only can tell what will be the consequence of taking this orthat step, but your free-agency prevents his impelling you to actotherwise than as you see fit. I move upon a more enlarged sphere; hetells me what will happen; and as I see the remote, as well asimmediate consequence, I shall, from time to time, give you myadvice.—Advice, however, when asked, is seldom adhered to; but whengiven voluntarily, the receiver has no obligation to follow it.—I shallin a moment discover how this is received by you; and your deviationfrom the rules I shall prescribe will be a hint for me to withdraw mycounsel where it is not acceptable. All that then will remain for me,will be to deplore your too early initiation in a vicious world, whereto escape unhurt or uncontaminated is next to a miracle.

I said, I should soon discover whether my advice would be taken in thefriendly part it is offered: I shall perceive it the next time I havethe happiness of beholding you, and I see you every day; I am never onemoment absent from you in idea, and in my mind's eye I see you eachmoment; only while I conceal myself from you, can I be of service toyou;—press not then to discover who I am; but be convinced—nay, Ishall take every opportunity to convince you, that I am the most sincereand disinterested of your friends; I am a friend to your soul, my Julia,and I flatter myself mine is congenial with your's.

I told you, you were surrounded with dangers; the greatest perhaps comesfrom the quarter least suspected; and for that very reason, because,where no harm is expected, no guard is kept. Against such a man as LordBiddulph, a watchful centinel is planted at every avenue. I caution younot against him; there you are secure; no temptation lies in that path,no precipice lurks beneath those footsteps. You never can fall, unlessyour heart takes part with the tempter; and I am morally certain a manof Lord Biddulph's cast can never touch your's; and yet it is of him youseem most apprehensive. Ask yourself, is it not because he has thecharacter of a man of intrigue? Do you not feel within your own breast arepugnance to the assiduities he at all times takes pains to shew you?Without doubt, Lord Biddulph has designs upon you;—and few men approachyou without. Oh! Julia, it is difficult for the most virtuous to beholdyou daily, and suppress those feelings your charms excite. In a breastinured to too frequent indulgence in vicious courses, your beauty willbe a consuming fire, but in a soul whose delight is moral rectitude, itwill be a cherishing flame, that animates, not destroys. But how few thelatter! And how are you to distinguish the insidious betrayer from theopen violator. To you they are equally culpable; but only one can befatal. Ask your own heart—the criterion, by which I would have youjudge—ask your own heart, which is intitled to your detestation most;the man who boldly attacks you, and by his threats plainly tells you heis a robber; or the one, who, under the semblance of imploring yourcharity, deprives you of your most valued property? Will it admit of adoubt? Make the application: examine yourself, and I conjure you examineyour acquaintance; but be cautious whom you trust. Never make any ofyour male visitors the confidant of any thing which passes betweenyourself and husband. This can never be done without a manifest breachof modest decorum. Have I not said enough for the present? Yet let meadd thus much, to secure to myself your confidence. I wish you to placean unlimited one in me; continue to do so, while I continue to merit it;and by this rule you shall judge of my merit—The moment you discoverthat I urge you to any thing improper, or take advantage of myself-assumed office, and insolently prescribe when I should only pointout, or that I should seem to degrade others in your eyes, andparticularly your husband, believe me to be an impostor, and treat meas such; disregard my sinister counsel, and consign me to that scorn andderision I shall so much deserve. But, while virtue inspires my pen,afford me your attention; and may that God, whom I attest to prove mytruth, ever be indulgent to you, and for ever and ever protect you! Soprays

Your SYLPH."

Who can it be, my Louisa, who takes this friendly interest in mywelfare? It cannot be Lady Melford; the address bespeaks it to be a man;but what man is the question; one too who sees me every day: it cannotbe the Baron, for he seems to say, Ton-hausen is a more dangerous personthan Lord Biddulph. But why do I perplex myself with guessing? Of whatconsequence is it who is my friend, since I am convinced he is sincere.Yes! thou friendly monitor, I will be directed by thee! I shall now actwith more confidence, as my Sylph tells me he will watch over andapprize me of every danger. I hope his task will not be a difficult one;for, though ignorant, I am not obstinate—on the contrary, even SirWilliam, whom I do not suspect of flattery, allows me to be extremelydocile. I am, my beloved Louisa, most affectionately, your's,

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XVIII.

TO Lady STANLEY.

Blessed, forever blessed, be the friendly monitor! Oh! my Julia, howfortunate are you, thus to become the care of heaven, which has raisedyou up a guide, with all the dispositions, but with more enlargedabilities than thy poor Louisa!—And much did you stand in need of aguide, my sister: be not displeased that I write thus. But why do Ideprecate your anger? you, who were ever so good, so tender, andindulgent to the apprehensions of your friends. Yet, indeed, my dear,you are reprehensible in many passages of your letters, particularly thelast. You say, you cannot suspect Sir William of flattery; would youwish him to be a flatterer? Did you think him such, when he swore yourcharms had kindled the brightest flames in his bosom? No, Julia, yougave him credit then for all he said; but, allowing him to be changed,are you quite the same? No; with all the tenderness of my affection, Icannot but think you are altered since your departure from the vale ofinnocent simplicity. It is the knowledge of the world which has deprivedyou of those native charms, above all others. Why are you not resolutewith Sir William, to leave London? Our acquiescence in matters which arehurtful both to our principles and constitution is a weakness. Obedienceto the will of those who seek to seduce us from the right road is nolonger a virtue; but a reprehensible participation of our leader'sfaults. Be assured, your husband will listen to your persuasivearguments. Exert all your eloquence: and, Heaven, I beseech thee, grantsuccess to the undertaking of the dearest of all creatures to,

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER XIX.

To Miss GRENVILLE.

Ah! my dear Louisa, you are single, and know not the trifling influencea woman has over her husband in this part of the world. Had I theeloquence of Demosthenes or Cicero, it would fail. Sir William iswedded—I was going to say, to the pleasures of this bewitching place. Icorrected myself in the instant; for, was he wedded, most probably hewould be as tired of it as he is of his wife. If I was to be resolute inmy determination to leave London, I must go by myself and,notwithstanding such a circ*mstance might accord with his wishes, I donot chuse to begin the separation. All the determination I can make is,to strive to act so as to deserve a better fate than has fallen to mylot. And, beset as I am on all sides, I shall have some little merit inso doing. But you, my love, ought not to blame me so severely as you do.Indeed, Louisa, if you knew the slights I hourly receive from myhusband, and the conviction which I have of his infidelity, you wouldnot criticize my expressions so harshly. I could add many more things,which would justify me in the eye of the world, were I less cautiousthan I am; but his failings would not extenuate any on my side.

Would you believe that any man, who wished to preserve the virtue of hiswife, would introduce her to the acquaintance and protection of a womanwith whom he had had an intrigue? What an opinion one must have infuture of such a man! I am indebted for this piece of intelligence toLord Biddulph. I am grateful for the information, though I despise themotive which induced him. Yes, Louisa! Lady Anne Parker is even moreinfamous than Lady Besford—Nay, Lord Biddulph offered to convince methey still had their private assignations. My pride, I own it, was morewounded than my love, from this discovery, as it served to confirm me inmy idea, that Sir William never had a proper regard for me; but that hemarried me merely because he could obtain me on no other terms. Yet,although I was sensibly pained with this news, I endeavoured to concealmy emotions from the disagreeable prying eyes of my informer. I affectedto disbelieve his assertions, and ridiculed his ill-policy in strivingto found his merit on such base and detestable grounds. He had too mucheffronterie to be chagrined with my raillery. I therefore assumed amore serious air; and plainly told him, no man would dare to endeavourto convince a woman of the infidelity of her husband, but from thebasest and most injurious motives; and, as such, was intitled to myutmost contempt; that, from my soul, I despised both the information andinformer, and should give him proofs of it, if ever he should again havethe confidence to repeat his private histories to the destruction of thepeace and harmony of families. To extenuate his fault, he poured forth amost elaborate speech, abounding with flattery; and was proceeding toconvince me of his adoration; but I broke off the discourse, by assuringhim, "I saw through his scheme from the first; but the man, who soughtto steal my heart from my husband, must pursue a very different coursefrom that he had followed; as it was very unlikely I should withdraw myaffections from one unworthy object, to place them on another infinitelyworse." He attempted a justification, which I would not allow himopportunity of going on with, as I left the room abruptly. However, hisLordship opened my eyes, respecting the conduct of Lady Anne. I havementioned, in a former letter, that she used to give hints about myhusband. I am convinced it was her jealousy, which prompted her to giveme, from time to time, little anecdotes of Sir William's amours. Butought I to pardon him for introducing me to such a woman? Oh! Louisa! amI to blame, if I no longer respect such a man?

Yesterday I had a most convincing proof, that there are a sort ofpeople, who have all the influence over the heart of a man which avirtuous wife ought to have—but seldom has: by some accident, a hook ofSir William's waistcoat caught hold of the trimming of my sleeve. He hadjust received a message, and, being in a hurry to disengage himself,lifted up the flap of the waistcoat eagerly, and snatched it away; bywhich means, two or three papers dropped out of the pocket; he seemednot to know it, but flew out of the room, leaving them on the ground. Ipicked them up but, I take heaven to witness, without the leastintention or thought of seeing the contents—when one being open, andseeing my name written in a female hand, and the signature of LucyGardener, my curiosity was excited to the greatest degree—yet I had asevere conflict first with myself; but femaleism prevailed, and Iexamined the contents, which were as follow, for I wrote them down:

"Is it thus, Sir William, you repay my tenderness in your favour? Go,thou basest of all wretches! am I to be made continually a sacrifice toevery new face that strikes thy inconstant heart? If I was contented toshare you with a wife, and calmly acquiesced, do not imagine I shallrest in peace till you have given up Lady Anne. How have you sworn youwould see her no more! How have you falsified your oath! you spentseveral hours tête à tête with her yesterday. Deny it not. I couldtear myself to pieces when I reflect, that I left Biddulph, who adoredme, whose whole soul was devoted to me,—to be slighted thus byyou.—Oh! that Lady Stanley knew of your baseness! yet she is only yourwife. Her virtue may console her for the infidelity of her husband; butI have sacrificed every thing, and how am I repaid! Either be minealone, or never again approach

LUCY GARDENER."

The other papers were of little consequence. I deliberated some timewhat I should do with this precious morçeau; at last I resolved toburn it, and give the remainder, with as much composure as possible, toSir William's valet, to restore to his master. I fancied he wouldhardly challenge me about the billet, as he is the most careless manin the universe. You will perceive there is another case for LordBiddulph seeking to depreciate my husband. He has private revenge togratify, for the loss of his mistress. Oh! what wretches are these men!Is the whole world composed of such?—No! even in this valley of vice Isee some exceptions; some, who do honour to the species to which theybelong. But I must not whisper to myself their perfections; and it isless dangerous for me to dwell upon the vices of the one than thevirtues of the other. Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XX.

To Miss GRENVILLE.

To keep my mind constantly employed upon different objects, and preventmy thoughts attaching themselves to improper ones, I have latelyattended the card-tables. From being an indifferent spectator of thevarious fashionable games, I became an actor in them; and at length playproved very agreeable. As I was an utter novice at games of skill, thoseof chance presented themselves as the best. At first I risked onlytrifles; but, by little and little, my party encroached upon the rules Ihad laid down, and I could no longer avoid playing their stake. But Ihave done with play for ever. It is no longer the innocent amusem*nt Ithought it; and I must find out some other method of spending mytime—since this might in the end be destructive.

The other night, at a party, we made up a set at bragg, which was myfavourite game. After various vicissitudes, I lost every shilling I hadin my pocket; and, being a broken-merchant, sat silently by the table.Every body was profuse in the offers of accommodating me with cash; butI refused to accept their contribution. Lord Biddulph, whom you know tobe justly my aversion, was very earnest; but I was equally peremptory.However, some time after, I could not resist the entreaty of BaronTon-hausen, who, in the genteelest manner, intreated me to make use ofhis purse for the evening; with great difficulty he prevailed on me toborrow ten guineas—and was once more set up. Fortune now took afavourable turn, and when the party broke up, I had repaid the Baron,replaced my original stock, and brought off ninety-five guineas.Flushed with success, and more attached than ever to the game; I invitedthe set to meet the day after the next at my house. I even counted thehours till the time arrived. Rest departed from my eye-lids, and I feltall the eagerness of expectation.

About twelve o'clock of the day my company were to meet, I received apacquet, which I instantly knew to be from my ever-watchful Sylph. Iwill give you the transcript.

TO Lady STANLEY.

"I should be unworthy the character I have assumed, if my pen was to liedormant while I am sensible of the unhappy predilection which yourladyship has discovered for gaming. Play, under properrestrictions,—which however in this licentious town can never takeplace—may not be altogether prejudicial to the morals of those whoengage in it for trifling sums. Your Ladyship finds it not practicablealways to follow your own inclinations, even in that particular. Thetriumphant joy which sparkled in your eyes when success crowned yourendeavours, plainly indicated you took no common satisfaction in thegame. You, being a party so deeply interested, could not discover thesame appearances of joy and triumph in the countenances of some of thoseyou played with; nor, had you made the observation, could you haveguessed the cause. It has been said, by those who will say any thing tocarry on an argument which cannot be supported by reason, that cardsprevent company falling upon topics of scandal; it is a scandal to humannature, that it should want such a resource from so hateful and detesteda vice. But be it so. It can only be so while the sum played for is oftoo trifling a concern to excite the anxiety which avaricious mindsexperience; and every one is more or less avaricious who gives up histime to cards.

If your ladyship could search into the causes of the unhappiness whichprevails in too many families in this metropolis, you would find thesource to be gaming either on the one side or the other. Whateverappears licentious or vicious in men, in your sex becomes so in atenfold degree. The passionate exclamation—the half-utteredimprecation, and the gloomy pallidness of the losing gamester, illaccords with the female delicacy. But the evil rests not here. When awoman has been drawn-in to lose larger sums than her allowance candefray—even if she can submit to let her trades-people suffer from herextravagant folly;—it most commonly happens, that they part with theirhonour to discharge the account; at least, they are always suspected.Would not the consideration of being obnoxious to such suspicion besufficient to deter any woman of virtue from running the hazard? Youmade a firm resolution of not borrowing from the purses of any of thegentlemen who wished to serve you; you for some time kept thatresolution; but, remember, it lasted no longer than when one particularperson made the offer. Was it your wish to oblige him? or did the desireof gaming operate in that instant more powerful than in any other?Whatever was your motive, the party immediately began to form hopes ofyou; hopes, which, being founded in your weakness, you may be certainwere not to your advantage.

To make a more forcible impression on your mind, your Ladyship mustallow me to lay before you a piece of private history, in which a noblefamily of this town was deeply involved. The circ*mstances areindubitable facts—their names I shall conceal under fictitious ones. Afew years since, Lord and Lady D. were the happiest of pairs in eachother. Love had been the sole motive of their union; and love presidedover every hour of their lives. Their pleasures were mutual, and neitherknew an enjoyment, in which the other did not partake. By an unhappymischance, Lady D. had an attachment to cards—which yet, however, sheonly looked on as the amusem*nt of an idle hour. Her person wasbeautiful, and as such made her an object of desire in the eyes of LordL. Her virtue and affection for her husband would have been sufficientto have damped the hopes of a man less acquainted with the weakness ofhuman nature than Lord L. Had he paid her a more than ordinaryattention, he would have awakened her suspicions, and put her on herguard; he therefore pursued another method. He availed himself of herlove of play—and would now and then, seemingly by accident, engage herin a party at picquet, which was her favourite game. He contrived tolose trifling sums, to increase her inclination for play. Too fatally hesucceeded. Her predilection gathered strength every day. After havingbeen very unsuccessful for some hours at picquet, Lord L. proposed achange of the game; a proposal which Lady D. could not object to, ashaving won so much of his money. He produced a pair of dice. Luck stillran against him. A generous motive induced Lady D. to offer him hisrevenge the next evening at her own house. In the morning preceding thedestined evening, her lord signified his dislike of gaming with dice;and instanced some families to whom it had proved destructive. Elate,however, with good fortune—and looking on herself engaged in honour togive Lord L. a chance of recovering his losses, she listened not to thehints of her husband, nor did they recur to her thoughts till too lateto be of any service to her.

The time so ardently expected by Lord L. now arrived, the devoted timewhich was to put the long-destined victim into the power of herinsidious betrayer. Fortune, which had hitherto favoured Lady D—, nowdeserted her—in a short time, her adversary reimbursed himself, and wonconsiderably besides. Adversity only rendered her more desperate. Shehazarded still larger stakes; every throw, however, was against her; andno otherwise could it be, since his dice were loaded, and which he hadthe dexterity to change unobserved by her. He lent her money, only towin it back from her; in short, in a few hours, she found herselfstripped of all the cash she had in possession, and two thousand fivehundred pounds in debt. The disapprobation which her husband hadexpressed towards dice-playing, and her total inability to dischargethis vast demand without his knowledge, contributed to make her distressvery great. She freely informed Lord L. she must be his debtor for sometime—as she could not think of acquainting Lord D. with her imprudence.He offered to accept of part of her jewels, till it should be convenientto her to pay the whole—or, if she liked it better, to play it off. Tothe first, she said, she could not consent, as her husband would missthem—and to the last she would by no means agree, since she sufferedtoo much already in her own mind from the imprudent part she had acted,by risking so much more than she ought to have done. He then,approaching her, took her hand in his; and, assuming the utmosttenderness in his air, proceeded to inform her, it was in her poweramply to repay the debt, without the knowledge of her husband—andconfer the highest obligations upon himself. She earnestly begged anexplanation—since there was nothing she would not submit to, ratherthan incur the censure of so excellent a husband. Without furtherpreface, Lord L. threw himself on his knees before her—and said, "ifher heart could not suggest the restitution, which the most ardent oflovers might expect and hope for—he must take the liberty of informingher, that bestowing on him the delightful privilege of an husband wasthe only means of securing her from the resentment of one." At first,she seemed thunder-struck, and unable to articulate a sentence. When sherecovered the use of speech, she asked him what he had seen in herconduct, to induce him to believe she would not submit to any illconsequences which might arise from the just resentment of her husband,rather than not shew her detestation of such an infamous proposal."Leave me," added she; "leave me," in perfect astonishment at suchinsolence of behaviour. He immediately rose, with a very differentaspect—and holding a paper in his hand, to which she had signed hername in acknowledgment of the debt—"Then, Madam," said he, with theutmost sang-froid—"I shall, to-morrow morning, take the liberty ofwaiting on Lord D. with this." "Stay, my Lord, is it possible you can beso cruel and hard a creditor?—I consent to make over to you my annualallowance, till the whole is discharged." "No, Madam," cried he, shakinghis head,—"I cannot consent to any such subterfuges, when you have itin your power to pay this moment." "Would to heaven I had!" answeredshe.—"Oh, that you have, most abundantly!" said he.—"Consider thehours we have been tête à tête together; few people will believe wehave spent all the time at play. Your reputation then will suffer; and,believe me while I attest heaven to witness, either you must dischargethe debt by blessing me with the possession of your charms, or Lord D.shall be made acquainted with every circ*mstance. Reflect," continuedhe, "two thousand five hundred pounds is no small sum, either for yourhusband to pay, or me to receive.—Come, Madam, it grows late.—In alittle time, you will not have it in your power to avail yourself of thealternative. Your husband will soon return and then you may wish in vainthat you had yielded to my love, rather than have subjected yourself tomy resentment." She condescended to beg of him, on her knees, for alonger time for consideration; but he was inexorable, and at last shefatally consented to her own undoing. The next moment, the horror of hersituation, and the sacrifice she had made, rushed on her torturedimagination. "Give me the fatal paper," cried she, wringing her hands inthe utmost agony, "give me that paper, for which I have parted with mypeace for ever, and leave me. Oh! never let me in future beholdyou.—What do I say? Ah! rather let my eyes close in everlastingdarkness;—they are now unworthy to behold the face of Heaven!" "And doyou really imagine, Madam, (all-beautiful as you are) the lifelesshalf-distracted body, you gave to my arms, a recompence forfive-and-twenty hundred pounds?—Have you agreed to your bargain? Is itwith tears, sighs, and reluctant struggles, you meet your husband'scaresses? Be mine as you are his, and the bond is void—otherwise, I amnot such a spendthrift as to throw away thousands for little less than arape."

"Oh! thou most hateful and perfidious of all monsters! too dearly have Iearned my release—Do not then, do not with-hold my right."

"Hush, Madam, hush," cried he with the most provoking coolness, "yourraving will but expose you to the ridicule of your domestics. You are atpresent under too great an agitation of spirits to attend to the calmdictates of reason. I will wait till your ladyship is in a more eventemper. When I receive your commands, I will attend them, and hope thetime will soon arrive when you will be better disposed to listen to atender lover who adores you, rather than to seek to irritate a man whohas you in his power." Saying which, he broke from her, leaving her in astate of mind, of which you, Madam, I sincerely hope, will never be ableto form the slightest idea. With what a weight of woe she stole up intoher bed-chamber, unable to bear the eye of her domestic! How fallen inher own esteem, and still bending under the penalty of her bond, asneither prayers nor tears (and nothing else was she able to offer) couldobtain the release from the inexorable and cruel Lord L.

How was her anguish increased, when she heard the sound of her Lord'sfootstep! How did she pray for instant death! To prevent anyconversation, she feigned sleep—sleep, which now was banished from hereye-lids. Guilt had driven the idea of rest from her bosom. The morningbrought no comfort on its wings—to her the light was painful. She stillcontinued in bed. She framed the resolution of writing to the destroyerof her repose. She rose for that purpose; her letter was couched interms that would have pierced the bosom of the most obdurate savage. Allthe favour she intreated was, to spare the best of husbands, and themost amiable and beloved of men, the anguish of knowing how horrid areturn she had made, in one fatal moment, for the years of felicity shehad tasted with him: again offered her alimony, or even her jewels, toobtain the return of her bond. She did not wish for life. Death was nowher only hope;—but she could not support the idea of her husband'sbeing acquainted with her infamy. What advantage could he (Lord L.)propose to himself from the possession of her person, since tears,sighs, and the same reluctance, would still accompany every repetitionof her crime—as her heart, guilty as it now was, and unworthy as shehad rendered herself of his love, was, and ever must be, her husband'sonly. In short, she urged every thing likely to soften him in herfavour. But this fatal and circ*mstantial disclosure of her guilt andmisfortunes was destined to be conveyed by another messenger than shedesigned. Lord D—, having that evening expected some one to call onhim, on his return enquired, "if any one had been there." He wasanswered, "Only Lord L." "Did he stay?" "Yes, till aftereleven."—Without thinking of any particularity in this, he went up tobed. He discovered his wife was not asleep—to pretend to be so, alarmedhim. He heard her frequently sigh; and, when she thought him sunk inthat peaceful slumber she had forfeited, her distress increased. Hisanxiety, however, at length gave way to fatigue; but with the morninghis doubts and fears returned; yet, how far from guessing the truecause! He saw a letter delivered to a servant with some caution, whom hefollowed, and insisted on knowing for whom it was intended. The servant,ignorant of the contents, and not at all suspicious he was doing animproper thing, gave it up to his Lordship. Revenge lent him wings, andhe flew to the base destroyer of his conjugal happiness.—You maysuppose what followed.—In an hour Lord D. was brought home a lifelesscorpse. Distraction seized the unhappy wife; and the infamous cause ofthis dreadful calamity fled his country. He was too hardened, however,in guilt, to feel much remorse from this catastrophe, and made noscruple of relating the circ*mstances of it.

To you, Madam, I surely need make no comment. Nor do I need say any moreto deter you from so pernicious a practice as gaming. Suspect a Lord L.in every one who would induce you to play; and remember they are theworst seducers, and the most destructive enemies, who seek to gain yourheart by ruining your principles.

Adieu, Madam! Your ever-watchful angel will still hover over you. Andmay that God, who formed both you and me, enable me to give you goodcounsel, and dispose your heart to follow it!

Your faithful SYLPH."

Lady STANLEY in Continuation

Alas, my Louisa! what would become of your Julia without thisrespectable monitor? Would to heaven I knew who he was! or, how I mightconsult him upon some particular circ*mstances! I examine the featuresof my guests in hopes to discover my secret friend; but my senses areperplexed and bewildered in the fruitless search. It is certainly aweakness; but, absolutely, my anxiety to obtain this knowledge has aneffect on my health and spirits; my thoughts and whole attention restsolely on this subject. I call it a weakness, because I ought to remainsatisfied with the advantages which accrue to me from thiscorrespondence, without being inquisitively curious who it may be; yet Iwish to ask some questions. I am uneasy, and perhaps in some instancesmy Sylph would solve my doubts; not that I think him endued with apreternatural knowledge; yet I hardly know what to think neither.However, I bless and praise the goodness of God, that has raised me upa friend in a place where I may turn my eyes around and see myselfdeprived of every other.

Even my protector—he who has sworn before God and man;—but you,Louisa, will reprehend my indiscreet expressions. In my own bosom, then,shall the sad repository be. Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XXI.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

As you have entertained an idea that Sir William could not be proofa*gainst any occasional exertion of my eloquence, I will give you asketch of a matrimonial tête à tête, though it may tend to subvertyour opinion of both parties.

Yesterday morning I was sitting in my dressing-room, when Sir William,who had not been at home all night, entered it: He looked as if he hadnot been in bed; his hair disordered; and, upon the whole, as forlorn afigure as you ever beheld, I was going to say; but you can form verylittle idea of these rakes of fashion after a night spent as theyusually spend it. To my inquiry after his health, he made a very slightor rather peevish answer; and flung himself into a chair, with bothhands in his waistcoat pockets, and his eyes fixed on the fire, beforewhich he had placed himself. As he seemed in an ill-humour, and I wasunconscious of having given him cause, I was regardless of theconsequences, and pursued my employment, which was looking over andsettling some accounts relative to my own expences. He continued hisposture in the strictest silence for near a quarter of an hour; asilence I did not feel within myself the least inclination to breakthrough: at last he burst forth into this pretty soliloquy.

"Damn it; sure there never was a more unfortunate dog than I am! Everything goes against me. And then to be so situated too!" Unpromising asthe opening sounded, I thought it would be better to bear a part in theconversation.—"If it is not impertinent, Sir William," said I, "may Ibeg to know what occasions the distress you seem to express? or atleast inform me if it is in my power to be of service to you."—"No, no,you can be of no use to me—though," continued he, "you are in part thecause."—"I the cause!—for God's sake, how?" cried I, all astonishment."Why, if your father had not taken advantage of my cursed infatuationfor you, I should not have been distressed in pecuniary matters bymaking so large a settlement."

"A cursed infatuation! do you call it? Sure, that is a harsh expression!Oh! how wretched would my poor father feel, could he imagine theaffection which he fancied his unhappy daughter had inspired you with,would be stiled by yourself, and to her face, a cursed infatuation!"Think you, Louisa, I was not pained to the soul? Too sure I was—I couldnot prevent tears from gushing forth. Sir William saw the effect hiscruel speech had on me; he started from his seat, and took my hand inhis. A little resentment, and a thousand other reasons, urged me towithdraw it from his touch.—"Give me your hand, Julia," cried he,drawing his chair close to mine, and looking at my averted face—"giveme your hand, my dear, and pardon the rashness of my expressions; I didnot mean to use such words;—I recall them, my love: it was ungenerousand false in me to arraign your father's conduct. I would have doubledand trebled the settlement, to have gained you; I would, by heavens! myJulia.—Do not run from me in disgust; come, come, you shall forgive mea thoughtless expression, uttered in haste, but seriously repented of."

"You cannot deny your sentiments, Sir William; nor can I easily forgetthem. What my settlement is, as I never wished to out-live you, so Inever wished to know how ample it was. Large I might suppose it to be,from the conviction that you never pay any regard to consequences toobtain your desires, let them be what they will. I was the whim of theday; and if you have paid too dearly for the trifling gratification, Iam sorry for it; heartily sorry for it, indeed, Sir William. You foundme in the lap of innocence, and in the arms of an indulgent parent;happy, peaceful, and serene; would to heaven you had left me there!" Icould not proceed; my tears prevented my utterance. "Pshaw!" cried SirWilliam, clapping his fingers together, and throwing his elbow over thechair, which turned his face nearer me, "how ridiculous this is! Why,Julia, I am deceived in you; I did not think you had so much resentmentin your composition. You ought to make some allowance for thederangement of my affairs. My hands are tied by making a largersettlement than my present fortune would admit; and I cannot raise moneyon my estate, because I have no child, and it is entailed on my uncle,who is the greatest curmudgeon alive. Reflect on all these obstacles tomy release from some present exigencies; and do not be so hard-heartedand inexorable to the prayers and intreaties of your husband."—Duringthe latter part of this speech, he put his arm round my waist, and drewme almost on his knees, striving by a thousand little caresses to makeme pardon and smile on him; but, Louisa, caresses, which I now know camenot from the heart, lose the usual effect on me; yet I would not be, ashe said, inexorable. I therefore told him, I would no longer think ofany thing he would wish me to forget.—With the utmost appearance oftenderness he took my handkerchief, and dried my eyes; laying his cheekclose to mine, and pressing my hands with warmth,—in short, acting overthe same farce as (once) induced me to believe I had created the mostpermanent flame in his bosom. I could not bear the reflection that heshould suffer from his former attachment to me; and I had hopes that mygenerosity might rouze him from his lethargy, and save him from the ruinwhich was likely to involve him. I told him, "I would with the greatestchearfulness relinquish any part of my settlement, if by that means hecould be extricated from his present and future difficulties."—"Why, tobe sure, a part of it would set me to rights as to the present; but asfor the future, I cannot look into futurity, Julia."—"I wish you could,Sir William, and reflect in time."—"Reflect! Oh, that is so outré! Ihate reflection. Reflection cost poor D—r his life the other day; he,like me, could not bear reflection."

"I tremble to hear you thus lightly speak of that horrid event. The moreso, as I too much fear the same fatal predilection has occasioned yourdistress: but may the chearfulness with which I resign my futuredependence awaken in you a sense of your present situation, and secureyou from fresh difficulties!"

"Well said, my little monitress! why you are quite an orator too.But you shall find I can follow your lead, and be just at least, ifnot so generous as yourself. I would not for the world accept the wholeof your jointure. I do not want it; and if I had as much as I couldraise on it, perhaps I might not be much richer for it. Riches make tothemselves wings, and fly away, Julia. There is a sentence for you. Didyou think your rattle-pated husband had ever read the book of books fromwhence that sentence is drawn?" I really had little patience to hear himrun on in this ludicrous and trifling manner. What an argument of hisinsensibility! To stop him, I told him, I thought we had better not losetime, but have the writings prepared, which would enable me to do myduty as an obedient wife, and enable him to pay his debts like a man ofhonour and integrity; and then he need not fear his treasure flyingaway, since it would be laid up where neither thieves could breakthrough, or rust destroy.

The writings are preparing, to dispose of an estate which was settled onme; it brings in at present five hundred a year; which I find is but aquarter of my jointure. Ah! would to heaven he would take all, providedit would make a change in his sentiments! But that I despair of, withoutthe interposition of a miracle. You never saw such an alteration as anhour made on him. So alert and brisk! and apishly fond! I meanaffectedly so; for, Louisa, a man of Sir William's cast never could lovesincerely,—never could experience that genuine sentimental passion,

"Which, selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone
To bless the dearer object of its soul."

No, his passions are turbulent—the madness of the moment—eager toplease himself—regardless of the satisfaction of the object.—And yet Ithought he loved—I likewise thought I loved. Oh! Louisa! how was Ideceived! But I check my pen. Pardon me, and, if possible, excuse yoursister.

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XXII.

TO Colonel MONTAGUE.

What are we to make of this divine and destructive beauty? this LadyStanley? Did you not observe with what eager avidity she became a votaryto the gaming-table, and bragged away with the best of us? You must: youwas witness to the glow of animation that reigned despotic over everylovely feature when she had got a pair-royal of braggers in her snowyfingers. But I am confoundedly bit! She condescended to borrow of thatpattern of Germanic virtue, Baron Ton-hausen. Perhaps you will say, whydid not you endeavour to be the Little Premium? No, I thought I played abetter game: It was better to be the second lender; besides, I onlywanted to excite in her a passion for play; and, or I am much deceived,never woman entered into it with more zeal. But what a turn to ouraffairs! I am absolutely cast off the scent; totally ignorant of thedoubles she has made. I could hardly close my eyes, from the pleasingexpectations I had formed of gratifying the wishes of my heart in boththose interesting passions of love and revenge. Palpitating with hopesand fears, I descended from my chariot at the appointed hour. The partywere assembled, and my devoted victim looked as beautiful as an angel oflight; her countenance wore a solemnity, which added to her charms bygiving an irresistible and persuasive softness to her features. Iscrutinized the lineaments of her lovely face; and, I assure you, shelost nothing by the strict examination. Gods! what a transportingcreature she is! And what an insensible brute is Stanley! But I recallmy words, as to the last:—he was distractedly in love with her beforehe had her; and perhaps, if she was my wife, I should be asindifferent about her as he is, or as I am about the numberlesswomen of all ranks and conditions with whom I have "trifled away thedull hours."—While I was in contemplation anticipating future joys, Iwas struck all of a heap, as the country-girls say, by hearing LadyStanley say,—"It is in vain—I have made a firm resolution never toplay again; my resolution is the result of my own reflections on theuneasiness which those bits of painted paper have already given me. Itis altogether fruitless to urge me; for from the determination I havemade, I shall never recede. My former winnings are in thesweepstake-pool at the commerce-table, which you will extremely obligeme to sit down to; but for me, I play no more.—I shall have a pleasurein seeing you play; but I own I feel myself too much discomposed withill fortune; and I am not unreasonable enough to be pleased with themisfortunes of others. I have armed my mind against the shafts ofridicule, that I see pointed at me; but, while I leave others the fullliberty of following their own schemes of diversion, I dare say, nonewill refuse me the same privilege."—We all stared with astonishment;but the devil a one offered to say a word, except against sitting downto divide her property;—there we entered into a general protest; so weset down, at least I can answer for myself, to an insipid game.—LadyStanley was marked down as a fine pigeon by some of our ladies, and asa delicious morçeau by the men. The gentle Baron seemed all aghast. Ifancy he is a little disappointed in his expectations too.—Perhaps hehas formed hopes that his soft sighs and respectful behaviour may havetouched the lovely Julia's heart. He felt himself flattered, no doubt,at her giving him the preference in borrowing from his purse. Well then,his hopes are derangé, as well as mine.—But, courage, mi Lor, Ishall play another game now; and peradventure, as safe a one, if notmore so, than what I planned before.—I will not, however, anticipate apleasure (which needs no addition should I succeed) or add to mymortification should I fail, by expatiating on it at present.

Adieu! dear Montague! Excuse my boring you with these trifles;—for toa man in love, every thing is trifling except the trifle thatpossesses his heart; and to one who is not under the guidance of thesoft deity, that is the greatest trifle (to use a Hibernicism) ofall.

I am your's most cordially,

BIDDULPH.

LETTER XXIII.

To Miss GRENVILLE.

Well, my dear Louisa, the important point I related the particulars ofin my last is quite settled, and Sir William has been able to satisfysome rapacious creditors. Would to heaven I could tell you, the butcher,baker, &c. were in the list! No, my sister; the creditors are a vile setof gamblers, or, in the language of the polite world—Black-legs.Thus is the purpose of my heart entirely frustrated, and the laudablyindustrious tradesman defrauded of his due. But how long will theyremain satisfied with being repeatedly put by with empty promises, whichare never kept? Good God! how is this to end? I give myself up to themost gloomy reflections, and see no point of time when we shall beextricated from the cruel dilemmas in which Sir William's imprudence hasinvolved us. I vainly fancied, I should gain some advantages, at leastraise myself in his opinion, from my generosity; but I find, on thecontrary, he only laughs at me for being such a simpleton, to supposethe sale of five hundred a-year would set him to rights. It is plain, Ihave got no credit by my condescension, for he has not spent one day athome since; and his temper, when I do see him, seems more uncertain thanever.—Oh! Louisa! and do all young women give up their families, theirhand, and virgin-affections, to be thus recompensed? But why do I letfall these expressions? Alas! they fall with my tears; and I can no moresuppress the one than the other; I ought, however, and indeed doendeavour against both. I seek to arm my soul to support the evils withwhich I see myself surrounded. I beseech heaven to afford me strength,for I too plainly see I am deprived of all other resources. I forget tocaution you, my dear sister, against acquainting my father, that I havegiven up part of my jointure; and lest, when I am unburthening theweight of my over-charged bosom to you, I should in future omit thiscautionary reserve, do you, my Louisa, keep those little passages asecret within your own kind sympathizing breast; and add not to myaffliction, by planting such daggers in the heart of my dear—more dearthan ever—parent. You know I have pledged my honour to you, I willnever, by my own conduct, accumulate the distresses this fatal union hasbrought on me. Though every vow on his part is broken through, yet Iwill remember I am his wife,—and, what is more, your sister. Wouldyou believe it? he—Sir William I mean—is quite displeased that I havegiven up cards, and very politely told me, I should be looked on as afool by all his acquaintance,—and himself not much better, for marryingsuch an ignorant uninstructed rustic. To this tender and husband-likespeech, I returned no other answer, than that "my conscience should bethe rule and guide of my actions; and that, I was certain, would neverlead me to disgrace him." I left the room, as I found some difficulty instifling the resentment which rose at his indignant treatment. But Ishall grow callous in time; I have so far conquered my weakness, asnever to let a tear drop in his presence. Those indications ofself-sorrow have no effect on him, unless, indeed, he had any point togain by it; and then he would feign a tenderness foreign to his nature,but which might induct the ignorant uninstructed fool to yield up everything to him.

Perhaps he knows it not; but I might have instructors enough;—but hehas taught me sufficient of evil—thank God! to make me despise themall. From my unhappy connexions with one, I learn to hate and detest thewhole race of rakes; I might add, of both sexes. I tremble to think whatI might have been, had I not been blessed with a virtuous education, andhad the best of patterns in my beloved sister. Thus I was earlyinitiated in virtue; and let me be grateful to my kind Sylph, whoseknowledge of human nature has enabled him to be so serviceable to me: heis a sort of second conscience to me:—What would the Sylph say? Iwhisper to myself. Would he approve? I flatter myself, that,insignificant as I am, I am yet the care of heaven; and while I dependon that merciful Providence and its vicegerents, I shall not fall intothose dreadful pits that are open on every side: but, to strengthen myreliances, let me have the prayers of my dear Louisa; for every supportis necessary for her faithful Julia.

LETTER XXIV.

TO THE SAME.

I have repeatedly mentioned to my Louisa, how earnestly I wished to havemore frequent communications with my Sylph. A thought struck me theother day, of the practicability of effecting such a scheme. I knew Iwas safe from detection, as no one on earth, yourself excepted, knew ofhis agency in my affairs. I therefore addressed an advertisem*nt to myinvisible friend, which I sent to the St. James's Chronicle, couched inthis concise manner.

TO THE SYLPH

"Grateful for the friendly admonition, the receiver of the Sylph'sfavour is desirous of having the power of expressing it more largelythan is possible through this channel. If still intitled to protection,begs to be informed, how a private letter may reach his hand."

I have not leisure nor inclination to make a long digression, or wouldtell you, the St. James's is a news-paper which is the fashionablevehicle of intelligence; and from the circ*mstance alone of itsadmission into all families, and meeting all eyes, I chose it to conveymy wishes to the Sylph. The next evening I had the satisfaction offinding those wishes answered; and the further pleasure (as you will seeby the enclosed copy) of being assured of his approbation of the step Ihave taken.

And now for a little of family-affairs. You know I have a certainallowance, of what is called pin-money;—my quarter having been due forsome time, I thought I might as well have it in my own possession,—notthat I am poor, for I assure you, on the contrary, I have generally aquarter in hand, though I am not in debt. I sent Win to Harris's thesteward, for my stipend. She returned, with his duty to me, acquaintingme, it was not in his power at present to honour my note, not having anycash in hand. Surprized at his inability of furnishing a hundred andfifty pounds, I desired to speak with him; when he gave me so melancholya detail of his master's circ*mstances, as makes me dread theconsequences. He is surrounded with Jew-brokers; for, in this Christianland, Jews are the money-negotiators; and such wretches as you wouldtremble to behold are admitted into the private recesses of the Great,and caressed as their better-angels. These infernal agents procure themmoney; for which they pay fifty, a hundred, and sometimes two hundredper Cent. Am I wrong in styling them infernal? Do they not make thesilly people who trust in them pay very dear for the means ofaccomplishing their own destruction? Like those miserable beings theyused to call Witches, who were said to sell their souls to the Devilfor everlasting, to have the power of doing temporary mischief uponearth.

These now form the bosom-associates of my husband. Ah! wonder not theimage of thy sister is banished thence! rather rejoice with me, that hepays that reverence to virtue and decency as to distinguish me from thatdreadful herd of which his chief companions are composed.

I go very little from home—In truth, I have no creature to go with.—Iavoid Lord Biddulph, because I hate him; and (dare I whisper it to myLouisa?) I estrange myself from the Baron, lest I should be too partialto the numerous good qualities I cannot but see, and yet which it wouldbe dangerous to contemplate too often. Oh, Louisa! why are there notmany such men? His merit would not so forcibly strike me, if I couldfind any one in the circle of my acquaintance who could come incompetition with him; for, be assured, it is not the tincture of theskin which I admire; not because fairest, but best. But where shalla married-woman find excuse to seek for, and admire, merit in any otherthan her husband? I will banish this too, too amiable man from mythoughts. As my Sylph says, such men (under the circ*mstances I am in)are infinitely more dangerous than a Biddulph. Yet, can one fall by thehand of virtue?—Alas! this is deceitful sophistry. If I give myself upto temptation, how dare I flatter myself I shall be delivered fromevil?

Could two men be more opposite than what Sir William appeared atWoodley-vale, and what he now is?—for too surely, that wasappearance—this reality. Think of him then sitting in your library,reading by turns with my dear father some instructive and amusingauthor, while we listened to their joint comments; what lively sallieswe discovered in him; and how we all united in approving the naturalflow of good spirits, chastened as we thought with the principles ofvirtue! See him now—But my pen refuses to draw the pain-inspiringportrait. Alas! it would but be a copy of what I have so repeatedlytraced in my frequent letters; a copy from which we should turn withdisgust, bordering on contempt. This we should do, were the characterunknown or indifferent to us. But how must that woman feel—who sees inthe picture the well-known features of a man, whom she is bound by hervows to love, honour, and obey? Your tenderness, my sister, will teachyou to pity so unhappy a wretch. I will not, however, tax thattenderness too much. I will not dwell on the melancholy theme.

But I lose sight of my purpose, in thus contrasting Sir William tohimself; I meant to infer, from the total change which seems to havetaken place in him, that other men may be the same, could the sameopportunity of developing their characters present itself. Thus, thoughthe Baron wears this semblance of an angel—yet it may be assumed. Whatwill not men do to carry a favourite point? He saw the open and avowedprinciples of libertinism in Lord Biddulph disgusted me from the first.He, therefore, may conceal the same invidious intention under theseducing form of every virtue. The simile of the robber and the beggar,in the Sylph's first letter, occurs to my recollection. Yet, perhaps, Iam injuring the Baron by my suspicion. He may have had virtue enough tosuppress those feelings in my favour, which my situation shouldcertainly destroy in a virtuous breast.—Nay, I believe, I may makemyself wholly easy on that head. He has, for some time, paid greatattention to Miss Finch, who, I find, has totally broke with ColonelMontague. Certainly, if we should pay any deference to appearance, shewill make a much better election by chusing Baron Ton-hausen, than theColonel. She has lately—Miss Finch, I should say—has lately spent moretime with me than any other lady—for my two first companions I havetaken an opportunity of civilly dropping. I took care to be from homewhenever they called by accident—and always to have some priorengagement when they proposed meeting by design.

Miss Finch is by much the least reprehensible character I have metwith.—But, as Lady Besford once said, one can form no opinion of what awoman is while she is single. She must keep within the rules ofdecorum. The single state is not a state of freedom. Only the marriedladies have that privilege. But, as far as one can judge, there is nodanger in the acquaintance of Miss Finch. I own, I like her, for havingrefused Colonel Montague, and yet, (Oh! human nature!) on looking overwhat I have written, I have expressed myself disrespectfully, on thesupposition that she saw Ton-hausen with the same eyes as a certainfoolish creature that shall be nameless.

LETTER XXV.

Enclosed in the foregoing.

TO Lady STANLEY.

The satisfaction of a benevolent heart will ever be its own recompense;but not its only reward, as you have sweetly assured me, by theadvertisem*nt that blessed my eyes last night. I beheld, with pleasure,that my admonitions have not lost their intended effect. I should havebeen most cruelly disappointed, and have given up my knowledge of thehuman heart as imperfect, had I found you incorrigible to my advice. ButI have heretofore told you, I was thoroughly acquainted with theexcellencies of your mind. Your renunciation of your favourite game, andcards in general, give every reason to justify my sentiments of you. Ihave formed the most exalted idea of you.—And you alone can destroy thealtar I have raised to your divinity. All the incense I dare hope toreceive from you, is a just and implicit observance of my dictates,while they are influenced by virtue, of which none but you canproperly judge, since to none but yourself they are addressed. Doubts, Iam convinced, may arise in your mind concerning this invisible agency.As far as is necessary, I will satisfy those doubts. But to be for everconcealed from your knowledge as to identity, your own good sense willsee too clearly the necessity of, to need any illustration from my pen.If I admired you before—how much has that admiration encreased from thechearful acquiescence you have paid to my injunctions! Go on, then, mybeloved charge! Pursue the road of virtue; and be assured, howeverrugged the path, and tedious the way, you will, one day, arrive at thegoal, and find her "in her own form—how lovely!" I had almost said, aslovely as yourself.

Perhaps, you will think this last expression too warm, and favouringmore of the man—than the Rosicrusian philosopher.—But be not alarmed.By the most rigid observance of virtue it is we attain this superiorityover the rest of mankind; and only by this course can we maintain it—weare not, however, divested of our sensibilities; nay, I believe, as theyhave not been vitiated by contamination, they are more tremblinglyalive than other mortals usually are. In the human character, I couldbe of no use to you; in the Sylphiad, of the utmost. Look on me, then,only in the light of a preternatural being—and if my sentiments shouldsometimes flow in a more earthly stile—yet, take my word as a Sylph,they shall never be such as shall corrupt your heart. To guard it fromthe corruptions of mortals, is my sole view in the lectures I havegiven, or shall from time to time give you.

I saw and admired the laudable motive which induced you to give up partof your settlement. Would to heaven, for your sake, it had been attendedwith the happy consequences you flattered yourself with seeing. Alas!all the produce of that is squandered after the rest. Beware how you areprevailed on to resign any more; for, I question not, you will haveapplication made you very soon for the remainder, or at least part ofit: but take this advice of your true and disinterested friend. The timemay come, and from the unhappy propensities of Sir William, I must fearit will not be long ere it does come, when both he and you may have noother resource than what your jointure affords you. By this ill-placedbenevolence you will deprive yourself of the means of supporting him,when all other means will have totally failed. Let this be your plea toresist his importunities.

When you shall be disposed to make me the repository of yourconfidential thoughts, you may direct to A.B. at Anderton'scoffee-house. I rely on your prudence, to take no measures to discoverme. May you be as happy as you deserve, or, in one word, as I wish you!

Your careful

SYLPH.

LETTER XXVI.

To THE SYLPH.

It is happy for me, if my actions have stood so much in my favour, as tomake any return for the obligations, which I feel I want words toexpress. Alas! what would have become of me without the friendly, thepaternal admonitions of my kind Sylph! Spare me not, tell me all myfaults—for, notwithstanding your partiality, I find them numerous. Ifeel the necessity of having those admonitions often inforced; and amapprehensive I shall grow troublesome to you.

Will, then, my friend allow me to have recourse to him on any importantoccasion—or what may appear so to me? Surely an implicit observance ofhis precepts will be the least return I can make for his disinterestedinterposition in my favour—and thus, as it were, stepping in between meand ruin. Believe me, my heart overflows with a grateful sense of theseunmerited benefits—and feels the strongest resolution to persevere inthe paths of rectitude so kindly pointed out to me by the hand ofHeaven.

I experience a sincere affliction, that the renunciation of part of myfuture subsistence should not have had the desired effect; but nonethat I have parted with it. My husband is young, and blest with a mostexcellent constitution, which even his irregularities have notinjured. I am young likewise, but of a more delicate frame, which therepeated hurries I have for many months past lived in (joined to avariety of other causes, from anxieties and inquietude of mind) have nota little impaired; so that I have not a remote idea of living to wantwhat I have already bestowed, or may hereafter resign, for the benefitof my husband's creditors. Yet in this, as well as every thing else, Iwill submit to your more enlightened judgment—and abide most chearfullyby your decision.

Would to Heaven Sir William would listen to such an adviser! He yetmight retrieve his affairs. We yet might be happy. But, alas! he willnot suffer his reason to have any sway over his actions. He hurries onto ruin with hasty strides—nor ever casts one look behind.

The perturbation these sad reflections create in my bosom will apologizeto my worthy guide for the abruptness of this conclusion, as well as theincorrectness of the whole. May Heaven reward you! prays your evergrateful,

JULIA STANLEY.

VOLUME II

LETTER XXVII.

To Miss GRENVILLE.

I feel easier in my mind, my dearest Louisa, since I have established asort of correspondence with the Sylph. I can now, when any intricatecirc*mstance arises, which your distance may disable you from beingserviceable in, have an almost immediate assistance in, or at least theconcurrence of—my Sylph, my guardian angel!

In a letter I received from him the other day, he told me, "a time mightcome when he should lose his influence over me; however remote theperiod, as there was a possibility of his living to see it, the ideafilled his mind with sorrow. The only method his skill could divine, ofstill possessing the privilege of superintending my concerns, would beto have some pledge from me. He flattered himself I should not scrupleto indulge this only weakness of humanity he discovered, since I mightrest assured he had it neither in his will or inclination to make an illuse of my condescension." The rest of the letter contained advice asusual. I only made this extract to tell you my determination on thishead. I think to send a little locket with my hair in it. The design Ihave formed in my own mind, and, when it is compleated, will describe itto you.

I have seriously reflected on what I had written to you in my lastconcerning Miss Finch and (let me not practice disingenuity to mybeloved sister) the Baron Ton-hausen. Miss Finch called on me yesterdaymorning—she brought her work. "I am come," said she, "to spend somehours with you." "I wish," returned I, "you would enlarge your plan, andmake it the whole day."

"With all my heart," she replied, "if you are to be alone; for I wish tohave a good deal of chat with you; and hope we shall have no maleimpertinents break-in upon our little female tête-à-tête." I knew SirWilliam was out for the day, and gave orders I should not be at home toany one.

As soon as we were quite by ourselves, "Lord!" said she, "I wasmonstrously flurried coming hither, for I met Montague in the Park, andcould hardly get clear of him—I was fearful he would follow me here."As she first mentioned him, I thought it gave me a kind of right to askher some questions concerning that gentleman, and the occasion of herrupture with him. She answered me very candidly—"To tell you the truth,my dear Lady Stanley, it is but lately I had much idea that it wasnecessary to love one's husband, in order to be happy in marriage." "Youastonish me," I cried. "Nay, but hear me. Reflect how we young women,who are born in the air of the court, are bred. Our heads filled withnothing but pleasure—let the means of procuring it be, almost, what youwill. We marry—but without any notion of its being an union forlife—only a few years; and then we make a second choice. But I havelately thought otherwise; and in consequence of these my more seriousreflections, am convinced Colonel Montague and I might make afashionable couple, but never a happy one. I used to laugh at hisgaieties, and foolishly thought myself flattered by the attentions of aman whom half my sex had found dangerous; but I never loved him; that Iam now more convinced of than ever: and as to reforming his morals—oh!it would not be worth the pains, if the thing was possible.

"Let the women be ever so exemplary, their conduct will have noinfluence over these professed rakes; these rakes upon principle, asthat iniquitous Lord Chesterfield has taught our youth to be. Only lookat yourself, I do not mean to flatter you; what effect has yourmildness, your thousand and ten thousand good qualities, for I will notpretend to enumerate them, had over the mind of your husband? None. Onmy conscience, I believe it has only made him worse; because he knew henever should be censured by such a pattern of meekness. And what chanceshould such an one as I have with one of these modern husbands? I fearme, I should become a modern wife. I think I am not vainglorious, whenI say I have not a bad heart, and am ambitious of emulating a goodexample. On these considerations alone, I resolved to give the Colonelhis dismission. He pretended to be much hurt by my determination; but Ireally believe the loss of my fortune is his greatest disappointment, asI find he has two, if not more, mistresses to console him."

"It would hardly be fair," said I, "after your candid declaration, tocall any part in question, or else I should be tempted to ask you, ifyou had really no other motive for your rejection of the Colonel'ssuit?"

"You scrutinize pretty closely," returned Miss Finch, blushing; "but Iwill make no concealments; I have a man in my eye, with whom, I think,the longer the union lasted, the happier I, at least, should be."

"Do I know the happy man?"

"Indeed you do; and one of some consequence too."

"It cannot be Lord Biddulph?"

"Lord Biddulph!—No, indeed!—not Lord Biddulph, I assure your Ladyship;though he has a title, but not an English one."

To you, my dear Louisa, I use no reserve. I felt a sickishness and chillall over me; but recovering instantly, or rather, I fear, desirous ofappearing unaffected by what she said, I immediately rejoined—"So then,I may wish the Baron joy of his conquest." A faint smile, which barelyconcealed my anguish, accompanied my speech.

"Why should I be ashamed of saying I think the Baron the most amiableman in the world? though it is but lately I have allowed his superiormerit the preference; indeed, I did not know so much of him as withinthese few weeks I have had opportunity."

"He is certainly very amiable," said I. "But don't you think it veryclose?" (I felt ill.) "I believe I must open the window for a littleair. Pursue your panegyric, my dear Miss Finch. I was rather overcome bythe warmth of the day; I am better now—pray proceed."

"Well then, it is not because he is handsome that I give him thispreference; for I do not know whether Montague has not a finer person.observe, I make this a doubt, for I think those marks of the small-poxgive an additional expression to his features. What say you?"

"I am no competent judge;" I answered, "but, in my opinion, those who domost justice to Baron Ton-hausen, will forget, or overlook, the gracesof his person, in the contemplation of the more estimable, because morepermanent, beauties of his mind."

"What an elegant panegyrist you are! in three words you have comprizedhis eulogium, which I should have spent hours about, and not socompleated at last. But the opportunity I hinted at having had of late,of discovering more of the Baron's character, is this: I was one daywalking in the Park with some ladies; the Baron joined us; awell-looking old man, but meanly dressed, met us; he fixed his eyes onTon-hausen; he started, then, clasping his hands together, exclaimedwith eagerness, 'It is, it must be he! O, Sir! O, thou best of men!' 'Mygood friend,' said the Baron, while his face was crimsoned over, 'mygood friend, I am glad to see you in health; but be more moderate.' Inever before thought him handsome; but such a look of benevolenceaccompanied his soft accents, that I fancied him something more thanmortal. 'Pardon my too lively expressions,' the old man answered, 'butgratitude—oh for such benefits! you, Sir, may, and have a right tocommand my lips; but my eyes—my eyes will bear testimony.' His voicewas now almost choaked with sobs, and the tears flowed plentifully. Iwas extremely moved at this scene, and had likewise a little femalecuriosity excited to develope this mystery. I saw the Baron wished toconceal his own and the old man's emotions, so walked a little asidewith him. I took that opportunity of whispering my servant to find out,if possible, where this man came from, and discover the state of thisadventure. The ladies and myself naturally were chatting on thissubject, when the Baron rejoined our party. 'Poor fellow', said he, 'heis so full of gratitude for my having rendered a slight piece of serviceto his family, and fancies he owes every blessing in life to me, forhaving placed two or three of his children out in the world.' We wereunanimous in praising the generosity of the Baron, and were making somehard reflections on the infrequency of such examples among the affluent,when Montague came up; he begged to know on whom we were so severe; Itold him in three words—and pointed to the object of the Baron'sbounty. He looked a little chagrined, which I attributed to mycommendations of this late instance of worth, as, I believe, I expressedmyself with that generous warmth which a benevolent action excites in abreast capable of feeling, and wishing to emulate, such patterns. Aftermy return home, my servant told me he had followed the old man to hislodgings, which were in an obscure part of the town, where he saw himreceived by a woman nearly his own age, a beautiful girl of eighteen,and two little boys. James, who is really an adroit fellow, farthersaid, that, by way of introduction, he told them to whom he was servant;that his lady was attached to their interest from something the Baronhad mentioned concerning them, and had, in earnest of her futureintentions, sent them a half-guinea. At the name of the Baron, the oldfolks lifted up their hands and blessed him; the girl blushed, and castdown her eyes; and, said James, 'I thought, my lady, she seemed to prayfor him with greater fervour than the rest.' 'He is the noblest of men!'echoed the old pair. 'He is indeed!' sighed the young girl. 'My heart,my lady, ran over at my eyes to see the thankfulness of these poorpeople. They begged me to make their grateful acknowledgments to yourladyship for your bounty, and hoped the worthy Baron would convince youit was not thrown away on base or forgetful folks.' James was notfarther inquisitive about their affairs, judging, very properly, that Ishould chuse to make some inquiries myself.

"The next day I happened to meet the Baron at your house. I hinted tohim how much my curiosity had been excited by the adventure in the Park.He made very light of it, saying, his services were only common ones;but that the object having had a tolerable education, his expressionswere rather adapted to his own feelings than to the merit of thebenefit. 'Ah! Baron,' I cried, 'there is more in this affair than youthink proper to communicate. I shall not cease persecuting you till youlet me a little more into it. I feel myself interested, and you mustoblige me with a recital of the circ*mstances; for which purpose I willset you down in my vis-à-vis.''Are you not aware, my dear Miss Finch,of the pain you will put me to in resounding my own praise?—What can bemore perplexing to a modest man?' 'A truce with your modesty in thisinstance,' I replied; 'be just to yourself, and generously indulgentto me.' He bowed, and promised to gratify my desire. When we wereseated, 'I will now obey you, Madam,' said the Baron. 'A young fellow,who was the lover of the daughter to the old man you saw yesterday, wasinveigled by some soldiers to inlist in Colonel Montague's regiment. Thepresent times are so critical, that the idea of a soldier's life is fullof terror in the breast of a tender female. Nancy Johnson was in a stateof distraction, which the consciousness of her being rather too severein a late dispute with her lover served to heighten, as she fanciedherself the cause of his resolution. Being a fine young man of six feet,he was too eligible an object for the Colonel to wish to part from.Great intercession, however, was made, but to no effect, for he wasordered to join the regiment. You must conceive the distress of thewhole family; the poor girl broken-hearted; her parents hanging over herin anguish, and, ardent to restore the peace of mind of their darling,forming the determination of coming up to town to solicit his dischargefrom the Colonel. By accident I became acquainted with their distressedsituation, and, from my intimacy with Montague, procured them theblessing they sought for. I have provided him with a small place, andmade a trifling addition to her portion. They are shortly to bemarried; and of course, I hope, happy. And now, madam,' he continued, 'Ihave acquitted myself of my engagement to you.' I thanked him for hisrecital, and said, 'I doubted not his pleasure was near as great astheirs; for to a mind like his, a benevolent action must carry a greatreward with it.' 'Happiness and pleasure,' he answered, 'are bothcomparative in some degree; and to feel them in their most exquisitesense, must be after having been deprived of them for a long time—wesee ourselves possessed of them when hope had forsaken us. When thehappiness of man depends on relative objects, he will be frequentlyliable to disappointment. I have found it so. I have seen every prop, onwhich I had built my schemes of felicity, sink one after the other; noother resource was then left, but to endeavor to form that happiness inothers, which fate had for ever prevented my enjoying; and when Isucceed, I feel a pleasure which for a moment prevents obtrudingthoughts from rankling in my bosom. But I ask your pardon—I am tooserious—tho' my tête-à-têtes with the ladies are usually so.' I toldhim, such reflections as his conversation gave rise to, excited moreheart-felt pleasure than the broadest mirth could e'er bestow; that Itoo was serious, and I hoped should be a better woman as long as Ilived, from the resolution I had formed of attending, for the future, tothe happiness of others more than I had done. Here our conversationended, for we arrived at his house. I went home full of the idea of theBaron and his recital; which, tho' I gave him credit for, I did notimplicitly believe, at least as to circ*mstance, tho' I might tosubstance. I was kept waking the whole night, in comparing the severalparts of the Baron's and James's accounts. In short, the more Iruminated, the more I was convinced there was more in it than the Baronhad revealed; and Montague being an actor in the play, did not a littlecontribute to my desire of peeping behind the curtain, and having thewhole drama before me. Accordingly, as soon as I had breakfasted, Iordered my carriage, and took James for my guide. When we came to theend of the street, I got out, and away I tramped to Johnson's lodgings.I made James go up first, and apprize them of my coming; and, out of thegoodness of his heart, in order to relieve their minds from theperplexity which inferiority always excites, James told them, I was thebest lady in the world, and might, for charity, pass for the Baron'ssister. I heard this as I ascended the stair-case. But, when I entered,I was really struck with the figure of the young girl. Divested of allornament—without the aid of dress, or any external advantage, I think Inever beheld a more beautiful object. I apologized for the abruptness ofmy appearance amongst them, but added, I doubted not, as a friend of theBaron's and an encourager of merit, I should not be unwelcome. I beggedthem to go on with their several employments. They received me with thatkind of embarrassment which is usual with people circ*mstanced as theyare, who fancy themselves under obligations to the affluent for treatingthem with common civility. That they might recover their spirits, Iaddressed myself to the two little boys, and emptied my pockets to amusethem. I told the good old pair what the Baron had related to me; butfairly added I did not believe he had told me all the truth, which Iattributed to his delicacy. 'Oh!' said the young girl, 'with the bestand most noble of minds, the Baron possesses the greatest delicacy; butI need not tell you so; you, Madam, I doubt not, are acquainted with hisexcellencies; and may he, in you, receive his earthly reward for thegood he has done to us! Oh, Madam! he has saved me, both soul and body;but for him, I had been the most undone of all creatures. Sure he wasour better angel, sent down to stand between us and destruction.'

'Wonder not, madam,' said the father, 'at the lively expressions of mychild; gratitude is the best master of eloquence; she feels, Madam—weall feel the force of the advantages we derive from that worthy man.Good God! what had been our situation at this moment, had we not owedour deliverance to the Baron!' 'I am not,' said I, 'entirely acquaintedwith the whole of your story; the Baron, I am certain, concealed greatpart; but I should be happy to hear the particulars.'

"The old man assured me he had a pleasure in reciting a tale whichreflected so much honour on the Baron; 'and let me,' said he, 'in thepride of my heart, let me add, no disgrace on me or mine; for, Madam,poverty, in the eye of the right-judging, is no disgrace. Heaven is mywitness, I never repined at my lowly station, till by that I wasdeprived of the means of rescuing my beloved family from their distress.But what would riches have availed me, had the evil befallen me fromwhich that godlike man extricated us? Oh! Madam, the wealth of worldscould not have conveyed one ray of comfort to my heart, if I could nothave looked all round my family, and said, tho' we are poor, we arevirtuous, my children.

'It would be impertinent to trouble you, Madam, with a prolix account ofmy parentage and family. I was once master of a little charity-school,but by unavoidable misfortunes I lost it. My eldest daughter, who sitsthere, was tenderly beloved by a young man in our village, whose virtueswould have reflected honour on the most elevated character. She didample justice to his merit. We looked forward to the happy hour thatwas to render our child so, and had formed a thousand little schemes ofrational delight, to enliven our evening of life; in one short momentthe sun of our joy was overcast, and promised to set in lasting night.On a fatal day, my Nancy was seen by a gentleman in the army, who wasdown on a visit to a neighbouring squire, my landlord; her figureattracted his notice, and he followed her to our peaceful dwelling. Hermother and I were absent with a sick relation, and her protector was outat work with a farmer at some distance. He obtruded himself into ourhouse, and begged a draught of ale; my daughter, whose innocencesuspected no ill, freely gave him a mug, of which he just sipped; then,putting it down, swore he would next taste the nectar of her lips. Sherepelled his boldness with all her strength, which, however, would haveavailed her but little, had not our next-door neighbour, seeing afine-looking man follow her in, harboured a suspicion that all was notright, and took an opportunity of coming in to borrow something. Nancywas happy to see her, and begged her to stay till our return, pretendingshe could not procure her what she wanted till then. Finding himselfdisappointed, Colonel Montague (I suppose, Madam, you know him), wentaway, when Nancy informed our neighbour of his proceedings. She hadhardly recovered herself from her perturbation when we came home. I feltmyself exceedingly alarmed at her account; more particularly as I learntthe Colonel was a man of intrigue, and proposed staying some time in thecountry. I resolved never to leave my daughter at home by herself, orsuffer her to go out without her intended husband. But the vigilance ofa fond father was too easily eluded by the subtilties of an enterprisingman, who spared neither time nor money to compass his illaudableschemes. By presents he corrupted that neighbour, whose timelyinterposition had preserved my child inviolate. From the friendship shehad expressed for us, we placed the utmost confidence in her, and, nextto ourselves, intrusted her with the future welfare of our daughter.When the out-posts are corrupted, what fort can remain unendangered?It is, I believe, a received opinion, that more women are seduced fromthe path of virtue by their own sex, than by ours. Whether it is, thatthe unlimited faith they are apt to put in their own sex weakens thebarriers of virtue, and renders them less powerful against the attacksof the men, or that, suspecting no sinister view, they throw off theirguard; it is certain that an artful and vicious woman is infinitely amore to be dreaded companion, than the most abandoned libertine. Thisfalse friend used from time to time to administer the poison of flatteryto the tender unsuspicious daughter of innocence. What female is freefrom the seeds of vanity? And unfortunately, this bad woman was but toowell versed in this destructive art. She continually was introducinginstances of handsome girls who had made their fortunes merely from thatcirc*mstance. That, to be sure, the young man, her sweetheart, hadmerit; but what a pity a person like her's should be lost to the world!That she believed the Colonel to be too much a man of honour to seduce ayoung woman, though he might like to divert himself with them. What afine opportunity it would be to raise her family, like Pamela Andrews;and accordingly placed in the hands of my child those perniciousvolumes. Ah! Madam, what wonder such artifices should prevail over theignorant mind of a young rustic! Alas! they sunk too deep. Nancy firstlearnt to disrelish the honest, artless effusions of her first lover'sheart. His language was insipid after the luscious speeches, and ardentbut dishonourable warmth of Mr. B—, in the books before-mentioned.Taught to despise simplicity, she was easily led to suffer the Colonelto plead for pardon for his late boldness. My poor girl's head was nowcompletely turned, to see such an accomplished man kneeling at her feetsuing for forgiveness and using the most refined expressions; andelevating her to a Goddess, that he may debase her to the lowest dregsof human kind. Oh! Madam, what have not such wretches to answer for! TheColonel's professions, however, at present, were all within the boundsof honour. A man never scruples to make engagements which he neverpurposes to fulfill, and which he takes care no one shall ever be ableto claim. He was very profuse of promises, judging it the most likelymethod of triumphing over her virtue by appearing to respect it. Thingswere proceeding thus; when, finding the Colonel's continued stay in ourneighbourhood, I became anxious to conclude my daughter's union, hoping,that when he should see her married, he would entirely lay his schemesaside; for, by his hovering about our village, I could not remainsatisfied, or prevent disagreeable apprehensions arising. My daughterwas too artless to frame any excuse to protract her wedding, and equallyso, not to discover, by her confusion, that her sentiments werechanged. My intended son-in-law saw too clearly that change; perhapshe had heard more than I had. He made rather a too sharp observation onthe alteration in his mistress's features. Duty and respect kept hersilent to me, but to him she made an acrimonious reply. He had been thatday at market, and had taken a too free draught of ale. His spirits hadbeen elevated by my information, that I would that evening fix hiswedding-day. The damp on my daughter's brow had therefore a greatereffect on him. He could not brook her reply, and his answer to it was asarcastic reflection on those women who were undone by the red-coats.This touched too nearly; and, after darting a look of the most ineffablecontempt on him, Nancy declared, whatever might be the consequence, shewould never give her hand to a man who had dared to treat her on the eveof her marriage with such unexampled insolence; so saying, she left theroom. I was sorry matters had gone so far, and wished to reconcile thepair, but both were too haughty to yield to the intercessions I made;and he left us with a fixed resolution of making her repent, as he said.As is too common in such cases, the public-house seemed the properestasylum for the disappointed lover. He there met with a recruitingserjeant of the Colonel's, who, we since find, was sent on purpose toour village, to get Nancy's future husband out of the way. The baitunhappily took, and before morning he was enlisted in the king'sservice. His father and mother, half distracted, ran to our house, tolearn the cause of this rash action in their son. Nancy, whose virtuousattachment to her former lover had only been lulled to sleep, now feltit rouze with redoubled violence. She pictured to herself the dangers hewas now going to encounter, and accused herself with being the cause.Judging of the influence she had over the Colonel, she flew into hispresence; she begged, she conjured him, to give the precipitate youngsoldier his discharge. He told her, 'he could freely grant any thing toher petition, but that it was too much his interest to remove the onlyobstacle to his happiness out of the way, for him to be able to complywith her request. However,' continued he, taking her hand, 'my Nancy hasit in her power to preserve the young man.' 'Oh!' cried she, 'how freelywould I exert that power!' 'Be mine this moment,' said he, 'and I willpromise on my honour to discharge him.' 'By that sacred word,' saidNancy, 'I beg you, Sir, to reflect on the cruelty of your conduct to me!what generous professions you have made voluntarily to me! how sincerelyhave you promised me your friendship! and does all this end in a designto render me the most criminal of beings?' 'My angel,' cried theColonel, throwing his arms round her waist, and pressing her hand to hislips, 'give not so harsh a name to my intentions. No disgrace shallbefall you. You are a sensible girl; and I need not, I am sure, tellyou, that, circ*mstanced as I am in life, it would be utterlyimpossible to marry you. I adore you; you know it; do not then play thesex upon me, and treat me with rigour, because I have candidly confessedI cannot live without you. Consent to bestow on me the possession ofyour charming person, and I will hide your lovely blushes in my fondbosom; while you shall whisper to my enraptured ear, that I shall stillhave the delightful privilege of an husband, and Will Parker shall bearthe name. This little delicious private treaty shall be known only toourselves. Speak, my angel, or rather let me read your willingness inyour lovely eyes.' 'If I have been silent, Sir,' said my poor girl,'believe me, it is the horror which I feel at your proposal, whichstruck me dumb. But, thus called upon, let me say, I bless Heaven, forhaving allowed me to see your cloven-foot, while yet I can be out of itsreach. You may wound me to the soul, and (no longer able to conceal hertears) you have most sorely wounded me through the side of William; butI will never consent to enlarge him at the price of my honour. We arepoor people. He has not had the advantages of education as you have had;but, lowly as his mind is, I am convinced he would first die, before Ishould suffer for his sake. Permit me, Sir, to leave you, deeplyaffected with the disappointments I have sustained; and more so, thatin part I have brought them on myself.' Luckily at this moment a servantcame in with a letter. 'You are now engaged, Sir,' she added, strivingto hide her distress from the man. 'Stay, young woman,' said theColonel, 'I have something more to say to you on this head.' 'I thankyou Sir,' said she, curtseying, 'but I will take the liberty of sendingmy father to hear what further you may have to say on this subject.' Heendeavoured to detain her, but she took this opportunity of escaping. Onher return, she threw her arms round her mother's neck, unable to speakfor sobs. Good God! what were our feelings on seeing her distress! dyingto hear, yet dreading to enquire. My wife folded her speechless child toher bosom, and in all the agony of despair besought her to explain thismournful silence. Nancy slid from her mother's incircling arms, and sunkupon her knees, hiding her face in her lap: at last she sobbed out, 'shewas undone for ever; her William would be hurried away, and the Colonelwas the basest of men.' These broken sentences served but to add to ourdistraction. We urged a full account; but it was a long time before wecould learn the whole particulars. The poor girl now made a full recitalof all her folly, in having listened so long to the artful addresses ofColonel Montague, and the no less artful persuasions of our perfidiousneighbour; and concluded, by imploring our forgiveness. It would havebeen the height of cruelty, to have added to the already deeply woundedNancy. We assured her of our pardon, and spoke all the comfortablethings we could devise. She grew tolerably calm, and we talkedcomposedly of applying to some persons whom we hoped might assist us.Just at this juncture, a confused noise made us run to the door, when webeheld some soldiers marching, and dragging with them the unfortunateWilliam loaded with irons, and hand-cuffed. On my hastily demanding whyhe was thus treated like a felon, the serjeant answered, he had beendetected in an attempt to desert; but that he would be tried to-morrow,and might escape with five hundred lashes; but, if he did not mend hismanners for the future, he would be shot, as all such cowardly dogsought to be; and added, they were on the march the regiment. Figure toyourself, Madam, what was now the situation of poor Nancy. Imaginationcan hardly picture so distressed an object. A heavy stupor seemed totake intire possession of all her faculties. Unless strongly urged, shenever opened her lips, and then only to breathe out the mostheart-piercing complaints. Towards the morning, she appeared inclinableto doze; and her mother left her bed-side, and went to her own. When werose, my wife's first business was to go and see how her child fared;but what was her grief and astonishment, to find the bed cold, and herdarling fled! A small scrap of paper, containing these few distractedwords, was all the information we could gain:

'My dearest father and mother, make no inquiry after the most forlorn ofall wretches. I am undeserving of your least regard. I fear, I haveforfeited that of Heaven. Yet pray for me: I am myself unable, as Ishall prove myself unworthy. I am in despair; what that despair may leadto, I dare not tell: I dare hardly think. Farewell. May my brothers andsisters repay you the tenderness which has been thrown away on A.Johnson!' My wife's shrieks reached my affrighted ears; I flew to her,and felt a thousand conflicting passions, while I read the dreadfulscroll. We ran about the yard and little field, every moment terrifiedwith the idea of seeing our beloved child's corpse; for what otherinterpretation could we put on the alarming notice we had received, butthat to destroy herself was her intention? All our inquiry failed. Ithen formed the resolution of going up to London, as I heard theregiment was ordered to quarters near town, and hoped there. After afruitless search of some days, our strength, and what little money wehad collected, nearly exhausted, it pleased the mercy of heaven to raiseus up a friend; one, who, like an angel, bestowed every comfort upon us;in short, all comforts in one—our dear wanderer: restored her to uspure and undefiled, and obtained us the felicity of looking forward tobetter days. But I will pursue my long detail with some method, andfollow my poor distressed daughter thro' all the sad variety of woe shewas doomed to encounter. She told us, that, as soon as her mother hadleft her room, she rose and dressed herself, wrote the little melancholynote, then stole softly out of the house, resolving to follow theregiment, and to preserve her lover by resigning herself to the basewishes of the Colonel; that she had taken the gloomy resolution ofdestroying herself, as soon as his discharge was signed, as she couldnot support the idea of living in infamy. Without money, she followedthem, at a painful distance, on foot, and sustained herself from thesprings and a few berries; she arrived at the market-town where theywere to take up their quarters; and the first news that struck her earwas, that a fine young fellow was just then receiving part of fivehundred lashes for desertion; her trembling limbs just bore her to thedreadful scene; she saw the back of her William streaming with blood;she heard his agonizing groans! she saw—she heard no more! She sunkinsensible on the ground. The compassion of the crowd around her, soon,too soon, restored her to a sense of her distress. The object of it was,at this moment, taken from the halberts, and was conveying away, tohave such applications to his lacerated back as should preserve his lifeto a renewal of his torture. He was led by the spot where my child wassupported; he instantly knew her. 'Oh! Nancy,' he cried, 'what do Isee?' 'A wretch,' she exclaimed, 'but one who will do you justice.Should my death have prevented this, freely would I have submitted tothe most painful. Yes, my William, I would have died to have releasedyou from those bonds, and the exquisite torture I have been witness to;but the cruel Colonel is deaf to intreaty; nothing but my everlastingruin can preserve you. Yet you shall be preserved; and heaven will, Ihope, have that mercy on my poor soul, which, this basest of men willnot shew.' The wretches, who had the care of poor William, hurried himaway, nor would suffer him to speak. Nancy strove to run after them, butfell a second time, through weakness and distress of mind. Heaven sentamongst the spectators that best of men, the noble-minded Baron. Averseto such scenes of cruel discipline, he came that way by accident; struckwith the appearance of my frantic daughter, he stopped to make someinquiry. He stayed till the crowd had dispersed, and then addressedhimself to this forlorn victim of woe. Despair had rendered her whollyunreserved; and she related, in few words, the unhappy resolution shewas obliged to take, to secure her lover from a repetition of hissufferings. 'If I will devote myself to infamy to Colonel Montague,'said she, 'my dear William will be released. Hard as the terms are, Icannot refuse. See, see!' she screamed out, 'how the blood runs! Oh!stop thy barbarous hand!' She raved, and then fell into a fit again. Thegood Baron intreated some people, who were near, to take care of her.They removed the distracted creature to a house in the town, where somecomfortable things were given her by an apothecary, which the care ofthe Baron provided.

'By his indefatigable industry, the Baron discovered the basestcollusion between the Colonel and serjeant; that, by the instigation ofthe former, the latter had been tampering with the young recruit, aboutprocuring his discharge for a sum of money, which he being at that timeunable to advance, the serjeant was to connive at his escape, andreceive the stipulated reward by instalments. This infamous league wascontrived to have a plea for tormenting poor William, hoping, by thatmeans, to effect the ruin of Nancy. The whole of this black transactionbeing unravelled, the Baron went to Colonel Montague, to whom he talkedin pretty severe terms. The Colonel, at first, was very warm, and wantedmuch to decide the affair, as he said, in an honourable way. The Baronreplied, 'it was too dishonourable a piece of business to be thusdecided; that he went on sure grounds; that he would prosecute theserjeant for wilful and corrupt perjury; and how honourably it wouldsound, that the Colonel of the regiment had conspired with such a fellowto procure an innocent man so ignominious a punishment.' As this was notan affair of common gallantry, the Colonel was fearful of the exposureof it; therefore, to hush it up, signed the discharge, remitted theremaining infliction of discipline, and gave a note of two hundredpounds for the young people to begin the world with. The Barongenerously added the same sum. I had heard my daughter was near town;the circ*mstances of her distress were aggravated in the accounts I hadreceived. Providence, in pity to my age and infirmities, at last broughtus together. I advertised her in the papers: and our guardian angel usedsuch means to discover my lodgings, as had the desired effect. Mychildren are now happy; they were married last week. Our generousprotector gave Nancy to her faithful William. We propose leaving thisplace soon; and shall finish our days in praying for the happiness ofour benefactor.'

"You will suppose," continued Miss Finch, "my dear Lady Stanley, howmuch I was affected with this little narrative. I left the good folkswith my heart filled with resentment against Montague, and complacencytowards Ton-hausen. You will believe I did not hesitate long about thedismission of the former; and my frequent conversations on this headwith the latter has made him a very favourable interest in my bosom. Notthat I have the vanity to think he possesses any predilection in myfavour; but, till I see a man I like as well as him, I will not receivethe addresses of any one."

We joined in our commendation of the generous Baron. The manner in whichhe disclaimed all praise, Miss Finch said, served only to render himstill more praise-worthy. He begged her to keep this little affair asecret, and particularly from me. I asked Miss Finch, why he should makethat request? "I know not indeed," she answered, "except that, knowing Iwas more intimate with you than any one beside, he might mention yourname by way of enforcing the restriction." Soon after this, Miss Finchtook leave.

Oh, Louisa! dare I, even to your indulgent bosom, confide my secretthoughts? How did I lament not being in the Park the day of thisadventure. I might then have been the envied confidante of theamiable Ton-hausen. They have had frequent conversations in consequence.The softness which the melancholy detail gave to Miss Finch's looks andexpressions, have deeply impressed the mind of the Baron. Should I haveshewn less sensibility? I have, indeed, rather sought to conceal thetenderness of my soul. I have been constrained to do so. Miss Finch hasgiven her's full scope, and has riveted the chain which her beauty andaccomplishments first forged. But what am I doing? Oh! my sister, chideme for thus giving loose to such expressions. How much am I to blame!How infinitely more prudent is the Baron! He begged that I, of allpersons, should not know his generosity. Heavens! what an idea does thatgive birth to! He has seen—Oh! Louisa, what will become of me, if heshould have discovered the struggles of my soul? If he should havesearched into the recesses of my heart, and developed the thin veil Ispread over the feelings I have laboured incessantly to overcome! Hethen, perhaps, wished to conceal his excellencies from me, lest I shouldbe too partial to them. I ought then to copy his discretion. I will doso; Yes, Louisa, I will drive his image from my bosom! I ought—I knowit would be my interest to wish him married to Miss Finch, or any onethat would make him happy. I am culpable in harbouring the remotestdesire of his preserving his attachment to me. He has had virtue enough.to conquer so improper an attachment; and, if improper in him, howinfinitely more so in me! But I will dwell no longer on this forbiddensubject; let me set bounds to my pen, as an earnest that I most trulymean to do so to my thoughts.

Think what an enormous packet I shall send you. Preserve your affectionfor me, my dearest sister; and, trust to my asseverations, you shallhave no cause to blush for

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XXVIII.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

This morning I dispatched to Anderton's Coffee-house the most elegantlocket in hair that you ever saw. May I be permitted to say thus much,when the design was all my own? Yet, why not give myself praise when Ican? The locket is in the form and size of that bracelet I sent you; thedevice, an altar, on which is inscribed these words, To Gratitude, anelegant figure of a woman making an offering on her knees, and a wingedcherub bearing the incense to heaven. A narrow plait of hair, about thebreadth of penny ribbon, is fastened on each side the locket, near thetop, by three diamonds, and united with a bow of diamonds, by which itmay hang to a ribbon. I assure you, it is exceedingly pretty. I hope theSylph will approve of it. I forget to tell you, as the hair was takenfrom my head by your dear hand before I married, I took the fancy ofputting the initials J. G. instead of J. S. It was a whim that seizedme, because the hair did never belong to J.S.

Adieu!

JULIA.

LETTER XXIX.

From the SYLPH to Lady STANLEY.

Will my amiable charge be ever thus encreasing my veneration, my almostadoration of her perfections? Yes, Julia; still pursue these methods,and my whole life will be too confined a period to render you myacknowledgments. Its best services have, and ever shall be, devoted toyour advantage. I have no other business, and, I am sure, no otherpleasure, in this world, than to watch over your interest; and, if Ishould at any time be so fortunate as to have procured you the smallestshare of felicity, or saved you from the minutest inquietude, I shallfeel myself amply repaid; repaid! Where have I learnt so cold anexpression? from the earth-born sons of clay? I shall feel a blissbeyond the sensation of a mortal!

None but a mind delicate as your own can form an idea of the sentimentaljoy I experienced on seeing the letters J.G. on the most elegant ofdevices, an emblem of the lovely giver! There was a purity, a chastenessof thought, in the design, which can only be conceived; all expressionwould be faint; even my Julia can hardly define it. Wonder not at myboundless partiality to you. You know not, you see not, yourself, as Iknow and see you. I pierce through the recesses of your soul; eachfold expands itself to my eye; the struggles of your mind are open to myview; I see how nobly your virtue towers over the involuntary tributeyou pay to concealed merit. But be not uneasy. Feel not humiliated, thatthe secret of your mind is discovered to me. Heaven sees our thoughts,and reads our hearts; we know it; but feel no restraint therefrom.Consider me as Heaven's agent, and be not dismayed at the idea ofhaving a window in your breast, when only the sincerest, the mostdisinterested of your friends, is allowed the privilege of lookingthrough it. Adieu! May the blest above (thy only superiors), guard youfrom ill! So prays your

SYLPH.

LETTER XXX.

To the SYLPH.

Though encouraged by the commendations of my Sylph, I tremble when youtell me the most retired secrets of my soul are open to your view. Yousay you have seen its struggles. Oh! that you alone have seen them!Could I be assured, that one other is yet a stranger to thosestruggles, I should feel no more humiliated (though that word is notsufficiently strong to express my meaning), than I do in my confessionsto Heaven; because I am taught to believe, that our thoughts areinvoluntary, and that we are not answerable for them, unless they tendto excite us to evil actions. Mine, thank God! have done me no othermischief, than robbing me of that repose, which, perhaps, had I beenblest with insensibility, might have been my portion. But a very largeshare of insensibility must have been dealt out to me, to have guardedme from my sense of merit in one person, and my feeling no affliction atthe want of it in another, that other too, with whose fate mine isunavoidably connected. I must do myself that justice to say, my heartwould have remained fixed with my hand, had my husband remained thesame. Had he known no change, my affections would have centered inhim; that is, I should have passed through life a duteous and observantpartner of his cares and pleasures. When I married, I had never lovedany but my own relations; indeed I had seen no one to love. Thelanguage, and its emotions, were equally strangers to my ears or heart.Sir William Stanley was the first man who used the one, andconsequently, in a bosom so young and inexperienced as mine, created theother. He told me, he loved. I blushed, and felt confused; unhappily, Iconstrued these indications of self-love into an attachment for him.Although this bore but a small relation to love, yet, in a breast wherevirtue and a natural tenderness resided, it would have been sufficientto have guarded my heart from receiving any other impression. He did so,till repeated slights and irregularities on one hand, and on the otherall the virtues and graces that can adorn and beautify the mind, raiseda conflict in my bosom, that has destroyed my peace, and hurt myconstitution. I have a beloved sister, who deserves all the affection Ibear her; from her I have concealed nothing. She has read every secretof my heart; for, when I wrote to her, reserve was banished from my pen.This unfortunate predilection, which, believe me, I have from the firstcombated with all my force, has given my Louisa, who has the tenderestsoul, the utmost uneasiness. I have very lately assured her, my resolvesto conquer this fatal attachment are fixed and permanent. I doubt (andshe thinks perhaps) I have too often indulged myself in dwelling uponthe dangerous subject in my frequent letters. I have given my word Iwill mention him no more. Oh! my Sylph! how has he risen in my esteemfrom a recent story I have heard of him! How hard is my fate (you canread my thoughts, so that to endeavour to soften the expression would beneedless), that I am constrained to obey the man I can neither love norhonour! and, alas! love the man, who is not, nor can be, any thing tome.

I have vowed to my sister, myself, and now to you, that, however hardlytreated, yet virtue and rectitude shall be my guide. I arrogate no greatmerit to myself in still preserving myself untainted in this vortex offolly and vice. No one falls all at once; and I have no temptation to doso. The man I esteem above all others is superior to all others. Hismanners refined, generous, virtuous, humane; oh! when shall I fill thecatalogue of his excellent qualities? He pays a deference to me, atleast used to do, because I was not tinctured with the licentiousfashion of the times; he would lose that esteem for me, were I to actwithout decency and discretion; and I hope I know enough of my heart, tosay, I should no longer feel an attachment for him, did he countenancevice. Alas! what is to be inferred from this, but that I shall carrythis fatal preference with me to the grave! Let me, however, descend toit, without bringing disgrace on myself, sorrow on my belovedrelations, and repentance on my Sylph, for having thrown away hiscounsels on an ingrate; and I will peacefully retire from a world forwhose pleasures I have very little taste. Adieu.

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XXXI.

TO Lady STANLEY.

My dearest Sister,

It is with infinite pleasure I receive your promise, of no longerindulging your pen with a subject which has too much engaged yourthoughts of late; a pleasure, heightened by the assurance, that yoursilence in future shall be an earnest of banishing an image from youridea, which I cannot but own, from the picture you have drawn, is veryamiable, and, for that reason, very dangerous. I will, my Julia, emulateyour example; this shall be the last letter that treats on thisto-be-forbidden theme. Permit me, therefore, to make some comment onyour long letter. Sure never two people were more strongly contrastedthan the Baron and the Colonel. The one seems the kindly sun, cherishingthe tender herbage of the field; the other, the blasting mildew,breathing its pestiferous venom over every beautiful plant and flower.However, do you, my love, only regard them as virtue and vicepersonified; look on them as patterns and examples; view them in noother light; for in no other can they be of any advantage to you. Youare extremely reprehensible (I hope, and believe, I shall never haveoccasion to use such harsh language again) in your strictures on thesupposed change in the Baron's sentiments. You absolutely seem toregret, if not express anger, that he has had virtue sufficient toresist the violence of an improper attachment. The efforts he has made,and my partiality for you supposes them not to have been easily made,ought to convince you, the conquest over ourselves is possible, thoughoftentimes difficult. It is, I believe, (and I may say I am certain frommy own experience) a very mistaken notion, that we nourish ourafflictions, by keeping them to ourselves. I said, I know soexperimentally. While I indulged myself, and your tenderness induced youto do the same, in lamenting in the most pathetic language the perfidyof Mr. Montgomery and Emily Wingrove, I increased the wounds which thatperfidy occasioned; but, when I took the resolution of nevermentioning their names, or ever suffering myself to dwell on formerscenes, burning every letter I had received from either; though theseefforts cost me floods of tears, and many sleepless nights, yet, intime, my reflections lost much of their poignancy; and I chieflyattribute it to my steady adherence to my laudable resolution. Hedeserved not my tenderness, even if only because he was married toanother. This is the first time I have suffered my pen to write his namesince that determination; nor does he now ever mix with my thoughtsunless by chance, and then quite as an indifferent person. I haverecalled his idea for no other reason, than to convince you, that,although painful, yet self-conquest is attainable. You will not think Iam endued with less sensibility than you are; and I had long beenauthorized to indulge my attachment to this ingrate, and had long beencruelly deceived into a belief, that his regard was equal to mine;while, from the first, you could have no hope to lead you on byflowery footsteps to the confines of disappointment and despair; forto those goals does that fallacious phantom too frequently lead. Youenvy Miss Finch the distinction which accident induced the Baron to payher, by making her his confidante. Had you been on the spot, it ispossible you might have shared his confidence; but, believe me, I amthankful to Heaven, that chance threw you not in his way; with yournatural tenderness, and your unhappy predilection, I tremble for whatmight have been the consequence of frequent conversations, in which pityand compassion bore so large a share, as perhaps might have supersededevery other consideration. I wish from my soul, and hope my Julia willsoon join my wish, that the Baron may be in earnest in his attention toMiss Finch. I wish to have him married, that his engagements mayincrease, and prevent your seeing him so often, as you now do, forundoubtedly your difficulty will be greater; but consider, my dearJulia, your triumph will be greater likewise. It is sometimes harderto turn one's eyes from a pleasing object than one's thoughts; yet thereis nothing which may not be achieved by resolution and perseverance;both of which, I question not, my beloved will exert, if it be but tolighten the oppressed mind of her faithful

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER XXXII.

To the SYLPH.

Will my kind guardian candidly inform me if he thinks I may comply withthe desire of Sir William, in going next Thursday to the masquerade atthe Pantheon? Without your previous advice, I would not willinglyconsent. Is it a diversion of which I may participate without danger?Though I doubt there is hardly decency enough left in this part of theworld, that vice need wear a mask; yet do not people give a greaterscope to their licentious inclinations while under that veil? However,if you think I may venture with safety, I will indulge my husband, whoseems to have set his mind on my accompanying his party thither. MissFinch has promised to go if I go; and, as she has been often to thosemotley meetings, assures me she will take care of me. Sir William doesnot know of my application to that lady; but I did so, merely to gaintime to inform you, that I might have your sanction (or be justified byyour advising the contrary), either to accept or reject the invitation.

I am ever your obliged,

J.S.

LETTER XXXIII.

From the SYLPH.

When the face is masked, the mind is uncovered. From the conduct andlanguage of those who frequent masquerades, we may judge of theprinciples of their souls. A modest woman will blush in the dark; and aman of honour would scorn to use expressions while behind a vizor, whichhe would not openly avow in the face of day. A masquerade is then thecriterion, by which you should form your opinion of people; and, as Ibelieve I have before observed to my Julia, that female companions areeither the safest or most dangerous of any, you may make this trial,whether Miss F. is, or is not, one in whom you may confide. When I sayconfide, I would not be understood that you should place an unlimitedconfidence in her; there is no occasion to lay our hearts bare to theinspection of all our intimates; we should lessen the compliment we meanto pay to our particular friends, by destroying that distinguishingmark. But you want a female companion. Indeed, for your sake, I shouldwish you one older than Miss F. and a married woman; yet, unless she wasvery prudent, you had better be the leader than the led;therefore, upon the whole, perhaps it is as well as it is.

I shall never enough admire your amiable condescension, in asking (in amanner) my permission to go to the Pantheon. And at the same time I feelthe delicacy of your situation, and the effect it must have on a womanof your exquisite sensibility, to be constrained to appeal to another inan article wherein her husband ought to be the properest guide.Unhappily for you, Sir William will find so many engagements, that theprotection of his wife must be left either to her own discretion, or tostrangers. But your Sylph, my Julia, will never desert you. You requestmy leave to go thither. I freely grant that, and even more than youdesire. I will meet my charge among the motley groupe. I do not demand adescription of your dress; for, oh! what disguise can conceal you fromhim whose heart only vibrates in union with yours? I will not inform youhow I shall be habited that night, as I have not a doubt but that Ishall soon be discovered by you, though I shall be invisible to allbeside. Only you will see me; and I, of course, shall only see you;you, who are all and every thing in this world to your faithfulattendant

SYLPH.

LETTER XXXIV.

To the SYLPH.

Will you ever thus be adding to my weight of obligation! Yes! my Sylph!be still thus kind, thus indulgent; and be assured your benevolenceshall be repaid by my steady adherence to your virtuous counsel. Adieu!Thursday is eagerly wished for by your's,

J.S.

LETTER XXXV.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Enclosed my Louisa will find some letters which have passed between theSylph and your Julia. I have sent them, to inform you of my beingpresent at a masquerade, in compliance with the taste of Sir William,who was very desirous of my exhibiting myself there. As he has of latenever intimated an inclination to have me in any of his parties tillthis whim seized him, I thought it would not become me to refuse myconsent. You will find, however, I was not so dutiful a wife as to payan implicit obedience to his mandate, without taking the concurrence ofmy guardian angel on the subject. My dear, you must be firstcirc*mstanced as I am (which Heaven forbid!), before you can form anidea of the satisfaction I felt on the assurances of my Sylph's beingpresent. No words can convey it to you. It seemed as if I was going toenjoy the ultimate wish of my heart. As to my dress, I told Sir WilliamI would leave the choice of it to him, not doubting, in matters ofelegant taste, he would be far superior to me. I made him thiscompliment, as I have been long convinced he has no other pleasure inpossessing me, than what is excited by the admiration which other peoplebestow on me. Nay, he has said, unless he heard every body say his wifewas one of the handsomest women at court, he would never suffer her toappear there, or any where else.

That I might do credit to his taste, I was to be most superblybrilliant; and Sir William desired to see my jewels. He objected totheir manner of being set, though they were quite new-done when hemarried. But now these were detestable, horridly outré, and sobarbarously antique, that I could only appear as Rembrandt's Wife, orsome such relic of ancient history. As I had promised to be guided byhim, I acquiesced in what I thought a very unnecessary expense; but wasmuch laughed at, when I expressed my amazement at the jeweller's sayingthe setting would come to about two hundred pounds. This is well worthwhile for an evening's amusem*nt, for they are now in such whimsicalforms, that they will be scarce fit for any other purpose. And oh! myLouisa! do you not think I was cut to the soul when I had this painfulreflection to make, that many honest and industrious tradesmen are everyday dunning for their lawful demands, while we are thus throwing awayhundreds after hundreds, without affording the least heartfeltsatisfaction?

Well, at last my dress was completed; but what character I assumed Iknow not, unless I was the epitome of the folly of this world. I thoughtmyself only an agent to support all the frippery and finery ofTavistock-street; but, however, I received many compliments on thefigure I made; and some people of the first fashion pronounced me to bequite the thing. They say, one may believe the women when they praiseone of their own sex, and Miss Finch said, I had contrived to heightenand improve every charm with which Nature had endowed me. Sir Williamseemed to tread on air, to see and hear the commendations which werelavished on me from all sides. To a man of his taste, I am no more thanany fashionable piece of furniture or new equipage; or, what will comenearer our idea of things, a beautiful prospect, which a man fancies heshall never be tired of beholding, and therefore builds himself an housewithin view of it; by that time he is fixed, he hardly remembers whatwas his motive, nor ever feels any pleasure but in pointing out itsvarious perfections to his guests; his vanity is awhile gratified, buteven that soon loses its goût; and he wonders how others can bepleased with objects now grown familiar, and, consequently, indifferentto him. But I am running quite out of the course. Suppose me nowdressed, and mingling with a fantastic groupe of all kinds of forms andfigures, striving to disengage my eyes from the throng, to single out mySylph. Our usual party was there; Miss Finch, Lady Barton, a distantrelation of her's, the Baron, Lord Biddulph, and some others; but it wasimpossible to keep long together. Sometimes I found myself with one;then they were gone, and I was tête-à-tête with somebody else; for agood while I observed a mask, who looked like a fortune-teller, followedme about, particularly when the Baron and Miss Finch were with me. Ithought I must say something, so I asked him if he would tell me myfortune. "Go into the next room," said he, in a whisper, "and you shallsee one more learned in the occult science than you think; but I shallsay no more while you are surrounded with so many observers." Nothing isso easy as to get away from your company in a crowd: I slipped fromthem, and went into a room which was nearly empty, and still followed bythe conjuror. I seated myself on a sopha, and just turned my head round,when I perceived the most elegant creature that imagination can formplaced by me. I started, half-breathless with surprize. "Be not alarmed,my Julia," said the phantom, (for such I at first thought it) "be notalarmed at the appearance of your Sylph." He took my hand in his, and,pressing it gently, speaking all the while in a soft kind of whisper,"Does my amiable charge repent her condescension in teaching me tobelieve she would be pleased to see her faithful adherent?" I begged himto attribute my tremor to the hurry of spirits so new a scene excited,and, in part, to the pleasure his presence afforded me. But, before Iproceed, I will describe his dress: his figure in itself seems the mostperfect I ever saw; the finest harmony of shape; a waistcoat andbreeches of silver tissue, exactly fitted to his body; buskins of thesame, fringed, &c.; a blue silk mantle depending from one shoulder, towhich it was secured by a diamond epaulette, falling in beautiful foldsupon the ground; this robe was starred all over with plated silver,which had a most brilliant effect; on each shoulder was placed atransparent wing of painted gauze, which looked like peaco*cks feathers;a cap, suitable to the whole dress, which was certainly the most elegantand best contrived that can be imagined. I gazed on him with the mostperfect admiration. Ah! how I longed to see his face, which the enviousmask concealed. His hair hung in sportive ringlets; and just carelesslyrestrained from wandering too far by a white ribband. In more, the mostluxuriant fancy could hardly create a more captivating object. When myastonishment a little subsided, I found utterance. "How is it possible Ishould be so great a favourite of fortune as to interest you in mywelfare?" "We have each our task allotted us," he answered, "from thebeginning of the world, and it was my happy privilege to watch over yourdestiny." "I speak to you as a man," said I, "but you answer only as aSylph."

"Believe me," he replied, "it is the safest character I can assume. Imust divest myself of my feelings as a man, or I should be too muchenamoured to be serviceable to you: I shut my eyes to the beauties ofyour person, which excites tumultuous raptures in the chastest bosom,and only allow myself the free contemplation of your interiorperfections. There your virtue secures me, and renders my attachment aspure as your own pure breast. I could not, however, resist thisopportunity of paying my personal devoir to you, and yet I feel toosensibly I shall be a sufferer from my indulgence; but I will neverforget that I am placed over you as your guardian-angel and protector,and that my sole business on earth is to secure you from the wiles andsnares which are daily practised against youth and beauty. What does myexcellent pupil say? Does she still chearfully submit herself to myguidance?" While he spoke this, he had again taken my hand, and pressedit with rapture to his bosom, which, beating with violence, I own causedno small emotion in mine. I gently withdrew my hand, and said, with ascomposed a voice as I could command, "Yes, my Sylph, I do most readilyresign myself to your protection, and shall never feel a wish to put anyrestriction on it, while I am enabled to judge of you from your owncriterion; while virtue presides over your lessons; while yourinstructions are calculated to make me a good and respectable character,I can form no wish to depart from them." He felt the delicacy of thereproof, and, sighing, said, "Let me never depart from that sacredcharacter! Let me still remember I am your Sylph! But I believe I havebefore said, a time may come when you will no longer stand in need of myinterposition. Shall I own to you, I sicken at the idea of my beinguseless to you?" "The time can never arrive in which you will not beserviceable to me, or, at least, when I shall not be inclined to ask andfollow your advice." "Amiable Julia! may I venture to ask you thisquestion? If fate should ever put it in your power to make a secondchoice, would you consult your Sylph?" "Hear me," cried I, "while I giveyou my hand on it, and attest heaven to witness my vow: that if I shouldhave the fate (which may that heaven avert!) to outlive Sir William, Iwill abide by your decision; neither my hand nor affections shall bedisposed of without your concurrence. My obligations to you areunbounded; my confidence in you shall likewise be the same; I can makeno other return than to resign myself solely to your guidance in thatand every other concern of moment to me."

"Are you aware of what you have said, Lady Stanley?"

"It is past recall," I answered; "and if the vow could return again intomy bosom, it should only be to issue thence more strongly ratified."

"Oh!" cried he, clasping his hands together, "Oh! thou merciful Father,make me but worthy of this amiable, and most excellent of all thycreatures' confidence! None but the most accurst of villains could abusesuch goodness. The blameless purity and innocent simplicity of yourheart would make a convert of a libertine." "Alas!" said I, "that, Ifear, is impossible; but how infinitely happy should I be, if my utmostefforts could work the least reformation in my husband! Could I butprevail on him to quit this destructive place, and retire into thepeaceful country, I should esteem myself a fortunate woman."

"And could you really quit these gay scenes, nor cast one longinglingering look behind?"

"Yes," I replied with vivacity, "nor even cast a thought onwhat I had left behind!"

"Would no one be remembered with a tender regret? Would your Sylph beentirely forgotten?"

"My Sylph," I answered, "is possessed of the power of omnipresence; hewould still be with me, wherever I went."

"And would no other ever be thought of? You blush, Lady Stanley; theface is the needle which points to the polar-star, the heart; from thatinformation, may I not conclude, some one, whom you would leave behind,would mix with your ideas in your retirement, and that, even insolitude, you would not be alone?"

I felt my cheeks glow while he spoke; but, as I was a mask, I did notsuppose the Sylph could discover the emotion his discourse caused."Since," said I in a faultering voice, "you are capable of reading myheart, it is unnecessary to declare its sentiments to you; but it wouldbe my purpose, in retirement, to obliterate every idea which mightconduce to rob my mind of peace; I should endeavour to reform as well asmy husband; and if he would oblige me by such a compliance to my will, Ishould think I could do no less than seek to amuse him, and should,indeed, devote my whole time and study to that purpose."

"You may think I probe too deep: but is not your desire of retirementstronger, since you have conceived the idea of the Baron's entertaininga penchant for Miss Finch, than it has been heretofore?"

I sighed—"Indeed you do probe very deep; and the pain you cause isexquisite: but I know it is your friendly concern for me; and it proveshow needful it is to apply some remedy for the wound, the examination ofwhich is so acute. Instruct me, ought I to wish him married? Should I behappier if he was so? And if he married Miss Finch, should I not be asmuch exposed to danger as at present, for his amiable qualities are moreof the domestic kind?"

"I hardly know how to answer to these interrogatories; nor am I a judgeof the heart and inclinations of the Baron; only thus much: if you haveever had any cause to believe him impressed with your idea, I cannotsuppose it possible for Miss Finch, or any other woman, to obliteratethat idea. But, the heart of man is deceitful above all things. Forthe sake of your interest, I wish Sir William would adopt your plan,though I have my doubts that his affairs are not in the power of anyceconomy to arrange; and this consideration urges me to enforce what Ihave before advised, that you do not surrender up any farther part ofyour jointure, as that may, too soon, be your sole support; and I haveseen a recent proof of what mean subterfuges some men are necessitatedto fly to, in order to extricate themselves for a little time. But theroom fills; our conversation may be noticed; and, in this age ofdissipation and licentiousness, to escape censure we must not straywithin the limits of impropriety. Your having been so long tête-à-têtewith any character will be observed. Adieu therefore for thepresent—see, Miss Finch is approaching." I turned my eye towards thedoor; the Sylph rose—I did the same—he pressed my hand on his quittingit; I cast my eye round, but I saw him no more; how he escaped my view Iknow not. Miss Finch by this time bustled through the crowd, and askedme where I had been, and whether I had seen the Baron, whom she haddispatched to seek after me?

The Baron then coming up, rallied me for hiding myself from the party,and losing a share of merriment which had been occasioned by twowhimsical masks making themselves very ridiculous to entertain thecompany. I assured them I had not quitted that place after I missed themin the great room; but, however, adding, that I had determined to waitthere till some of the party joined me, as I had not courage to venturea tour of the rooms by myself. To be sure all this account was notstrictly true; but I was obliged to make some excuse for my behaviour,which otherwise might have caused some suspicion. They willinglyaccompanied me through every room, but my eyes could no where fix on theobject they were in search of, and therefore returned from their surveydissatisfied. I complained of fatigue, which was really true, for I hadno pleasure in the hurry and confusion of the multitude, and it grewlate. I shall frighten you, Louisa, by telling you the hour; but we didnot go till twelve at night. I soon met with Sir William, and on myexpressing an inclination to retire, to my great astonishment, insteadof censuring, he commended my resolution, and hasted to the door toprocure my carriage. When you proceed, my dear Louisa, you will wonderat my being able to pursue, in so methodical a manner, this littlenarrative; but I have taken some time to let my thoughts subside, that Imight not anticipate any circ*mstance of an event that may be productiveof very serious consequences. Well then, pleased as I was with SirWilliam's ready compliance with my request of returning, suppose meseated in my chair, and giving way to some hopes that he would yet seehis errors, and some method be pitched on to relieve all. He was readyto hand me out of the chair, and led me up stairs into my dressing-room.I had taken off my mask, as it was very warm; he still kept his on, andtalked in the same kind of voice he practised at the masquerade. He paidme most profuse compliments on the beauty of my dress, and, throwing hisarms round my waist, congratulated himself on possessing such an angel,at the same time kissing my face and bosom with such a strange kind ofeagerness as made me suppose he was intoxicated; and, under that idea,being very desirous of disengaging myself from his arms, I struggled toget away from him. He pressed me to go to bed; and, in short, hisbehaviour was unaccountable: at last, on my persisting to intreat him tolet me go, he blew out one of the candles. I then used all my force, andburst from him, and at that instant his mask gave way; and in the dressof my husband, (Oh, Louisa! judge, if you can, of my terror) I beheldthat villain Lord Biddulph.

"Curse on my folly!" cried he, "that I could not restrain my rapturestill I had you secure."

"Thou most insolent of wretches!" said I, throwing the most contemptuouslooks at him, "how dared you assume the dress of my husband, to treat mewith such indignity?" While I spoke, I rang the bell with some violence.

He attempted to make some apology for his indiscretion, urging the forceof his passion, the power of my charms, and such stuff.

I stopped him short, by telling him, the only apology I should acceptwould be his instantly quitting the house, and never insulting me againwith his presence. With a most malignant sneer on his countenance, hesaid, "I might indeed have supposed my caresses were disagreeable, whenoffered under the character of an husband; I had been more blest, atleast better received, had I worn the dress of the Baron. All men, LadyStanley, are not so blind as Sir William." I felt myself ready to expirewith confusion and anger at his base insinuation.

"Your hint," said I, "is as void of truth as you are of honour; Idespise both equally; but would advise you to be cautious how you daretraduce characters so opposite to your own."

By this time a servant came in; and the hateful wretch walked off,insolently wishing me a good repose, and humming an Italian air, thoughit was visible what chagrin was painted on his face. Preston came intothe room, to assist me in undressing:—she is by no means a favourite ofmine; and, as I was extremely fatigued and unable to sit up, I did notchuse to leave my door open till Sir William came home, nor did I careto trust her with the key. I asked for Winifred. She told me, she hadbeen in bed some hours. "Let her be called then," said I. "Can't I dowhat your ladyship wants?"

"No; I chuse to have Win sit with me." "I will attend your ladyship, ifyou please."

"It would give me more pleasure if you would obey, than dispute myorders." I was vexed to the soul, and spoke with a peevishness unusualto me. She went out of the room, muttering to herself. I locked thedoor, terrified lest that monster had concealed himself somewhere in thehouse; nor would I open it till I heard Win speak. Poor girl! she got upwith all the chearfulness in the world, and sat by my bed-side tillmorning, Sir William not returning the whole night. My fatigue, and theperturbation of mind I laboured under, together with the totaldeprivation of sleep, contributed to make me extremely ill. But howshall I describe to you, my dear Louisa, the horror which the reflectionof this adventure excited in me?

Though I had, by the mercy of heaven, escaped the danger, yet theapprehension it left on my mind is not, to be told; and then the tacitapprehension which the base wretch threw on my character, by daring tosay, he had been more welcome under another appearance, struck soforcibly on my heart, that I thought I should expire, from the fears ofhis traducing my fame; for what might I not expect from such aconsummate villain, who had so recently proved to what enormous lengthshe could go to accomplish his purposes? The blessing of havingfrustrated his evil design could hardly calm my terrors; I thought Iheard him each moment, and the agitation of my mind operated soviolently on my frame, that my bed actually shook under me. Win sufferedextremely from her fears of my being dangerously ill, and wanted tohave my leave to send for a physician; but I too well knew it was not inthe power of medicine to administer relief to my feelings; and, aftertelling her I was much better, begged her not to quit my room at anyrate.

About eleven I rose, so weak and dispirited, that I could hardly supportmyself. Soon after, I heard Sir William's voice; I had scarce strengthleft to speak to him; he looked pale and forlorn. I had had a conflictwithin myself, whether I should relate the behaviour of Lord Biddulph tomy husband, lest the consequences should be fatal; but my spirits wereso totally exhausted, that I could not articulate a sentence withouttears. "What is the matter, Julia, with you," said he, taking my hand;"you seem fatigued to death. What a poor rake you are!"

"I have had something more than fatigue to discompose me," answered I,sobbing; "and I think I have some reproaches to make you, for notattending me home as you promised."

"Why Lord Biddulph promised to see you home. I saw him afterwards; andhe told me, he left you at your own house."

"Lord Biddulph!" said I, with the most scornful air; "and did he tellyou likewise of the insolence of his behaviour? Perhaps he promised youtoo, that he would insult me in my own house."

"Hey-day, Julia! what's in the wind now? Lord Biddulph insult you! praylet me into the whole of this affair?" I then related the particulars ofhis impudent conduct, and what I conceived his design to be, togetherwith the repulse I had given him.

Sir William seemed extremely chagrined; and said, he should talk in aserious manner on the occasion to Lord Biddulph; and, if his answerswere not satisfactory, he should lie under the necessity of calling himto account in the field. Terrified lest death should be the consequenceof a quarrel between this infamous Lord and my husband, I conjured SirWilliam not to take any notice of the affair, any otherwise than to giveup his acquaintance; a circ*mstance much wished for by me, as I havegreat reason to believe, Sir William's passion for play was excited byhis intimacy with him; and, perhaps, may have led him to all theenormities he has too readily, and too rapidly, plunged himself into. Hemade no scruple to assure me, that he should find no difficulty inrelinquishing the acquaintance; and joined with me, that a silentcontempt would be the most cutting reproof to a man of his cast. On mypart, I am resolved my doors shall never grant him access again; and, ifSir William should entirely break with him (which, after this atrociousbehaviour, I think he must), I may be very happy that I have been theinstrument, since I have had such an escape.

But still, Louisa, the innuendo of Lord Biddulph disturbs my peace. Howshall I quiet my apprehensions? Does he dare scrutinize my conduct, andharbour suspicions of my predilection for a certain unfortunate? Base asis his soul, he cannot entertain an idea of the purity of a virtuousattachment! Ah! that speech of his has sunk deep in my memory; no timewill efface it. When I have been struggling too—yes, Louisa, when Ihave been combating this fatal—But what am I doing? Why do I use theseinterdicted expressions? I have done. Alas! what is become of myboasting? If I cannot prescribe rules to a pen, which I can, in onemoment, throw into the fire; how shall I restrain the secret murmuringsof my mind, whose thoughts I can with difficulty silence, or evencontrol? Adieu! your's, more than her own,

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER XXXVI.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Alas! Louisa, fresh difficulties arise every day; and every day I findan exertion of my spirits more necessary, and myself less able to exertthem. Sir William told me this morning, that he had lost frequent sumsto Lord Biddulph (it wounds my soul to write his detested name); andsince it was prudent to give up the acquaintance, it became highlyincumbent on him to discharge these play-debts, for which purpose hemust have recourse to me, and apprehended he should find no difficulty,as I had expressed my wish of his breaking immediately with hislordship. This was only the prelude to a proposal of my resignation ofmy marriage articles. My ready compliance with his former demandsemboldened him to be urgent with me on this occasion. At first, I madesome scruples, alledging the necessity there was of keeping something byus for a future day, as I had too much reason to apprehend, that what Icould call my own would be all we should have to support us. Thisremonstrance of mine, however just, threw Sir William into a rage; hepaced about the room like a madman; swore that his difficultiesproceeded from my damned prudery; and that I should extricate him, orabide by the consequences. In short, Louisa, he appeared in a lightentirely new to me; I was almost petrified with terror, and absolutelythought once he would beat me, for he came up to me with such fiercelooks, and seized me by the arm, which he actually bruised with hisgrasp, and bade me, at my peril, refuse to surrender the writings tohim. After giving me a violent shake, he pushed me from him with suchforce that I fell down, unable to support myself, from the tremblingwith which my whole frame was possessed.

"Don't think to practise any of the cursed arts of your sex upon me;don't pretend to throw yourself into fits."

"I scorn your imputation, Sir William," said I, half fainting andbreathless, "nor shall I make any resistance or opposition to yourleaving me a beggar. I have now reason to believe I shall not live towant what you are determined to force from me, as these violent methodswill soon deprive me of my existence, even if you would withhold themurderous knife."

"Come, none of your damned whining; let me have the papers; and let usnot think any more about it." He offered to raise me. "I want not yourassistance," said I. "Oh! you are sulky, are you; but I shall let youknow, Madam, these airs will not do with me." I had seated myself on achair, and leaned my elbow on a table, supporting my head with my hand;he snatched my hand away from my face, while he was making the lastspeech. "What the devil! am I to wait all day for the papers? Where arethe keys?" "Take them," said I, drawing them from my pocket; "do whatyou will, provided you leave me to myself." "Damned sex!" cried he."Wives or mistresses, by Heaven! you are all alike." So saying, he wentout of the room, and, opening my bureau, possessed himself of theparchment so much desired by him. I have not seen him since, and now itis past eleven. What a fate is mine! However, I have no more to give up;so he cannot storm at, or threaten me again, since I am now a beggar aswell as himself. I shall sit about an hour longer, and then I shallfasten my door for the night; and I hope he will not insist on myopening it for him. I make Win lie in a little bed in a closet within myroom. She is the only domestic I can place the least confidence in. Shesees my eyes red with weeping; she sheds tears, but asks no questions.Farewell, my dearest Louisa: pity the sufferings of thy sister, whofeels every woe augmented by the grief she causes in your sympathizingbreast.

Adieu! Adieu!

J.S.

LETTER XXXVII.

From the SYLPH.

I find my admonitions have failed, and my Julia has relinquished all herfuture dependence. Did you not promise an implicit obedience to myadvice? How comes it then, that your husband triumphs in having thepower of still visiting the gaming-tables, and betting with the utmostéclat? Settlements, as the late Lord Hardwicke used to say, are thefoolishest bonds in nature, since there never yet was a woman who mightnot be kissed or kicked out of it: which of those methods Sir Williamhas adopted, I know not; but it is plain it was a successful one. I pityyou, my Julia; I grieve for you; and much fear, now Sir William has lostall restraint, he will lose the appearance of it likewise. What resourcewill he pursue next? Be on your guard, my most amiable friend; myforesight deceives me, or your danger is great. For when a man can oncelose his humanity, so far as to deprive his wife of the means ofsubsisting herself, I much, very much fear he will so effectually losehis honour likewise, as to make a property of her's. May I judge tooseverely! May Sir William be an exception to my rule! And oh! may you,the fairest work of Heaven, be equally its care!

Adieu!

LETTER XXXVIII.

To the SYLPH.

Alas! I look for comfort when I open my kind Sylph's letters; yet inthis before me you only point out the shoals and quicksands—but holdnot out your sustaining hand, to guide me through the devious path. Ihave disobeyed your behest; but you know not how I have been urged, andmy pained soul cannot support the repetition. I will ever be implicit inmy obedience to you, as far as I am concerned only; as to thisparticular point, you would not have had me disobeyed my husband, I amsure. Indeed I could do no other than I did. If he should make an illuse of the sums raised, I am not answerable for it; but, if he had beendriven to any fatal exigence through my refusal, my wretchedness wouldhave been more exquisite than it now is, which I think would haveexceeded what I could have supported. Something is in agitation now; butwhat I am totally a stranger to. I have just heard from one of myservants, that Mr. Stanley, an uncle of Sir William's, is expected intown. Would to Heaven he may have the will and power to extricate us!but I hear he is of a most morose temper, and was never on good termswith his nephew. The dangers you hint at, I hope, and pray withoutceasing to Heaven, to be delivered from. Oh! that Sir William wouldpermit me to return to my dear father and sister! in their kind embracesI should lose the remembrance of the tempests I have undergone; like thepoor shipwrecked mariner, I should hail the friendly port, and never,never trust the deceitful ocean more. But ah! how fruitless this wish!Here I am doomed to stay, a wretch undone.

Adieu!

J.S.

LETTER XXXIX.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

The Baron called here this morning. Don't be angry with me, my dearestLouisa, for mentioning his name, this will indeed be the last time.Never more will thy sister behold him. He is gone; yes, Louisa, I shallnever see him again. But will his looks, his sighs, and tears, beforgotten? Oh! never, never! He came to bid me adieu, "Could I but leaveyou happy," he cried in scarce articulate accents—"Was I but blest withthe remote hope of your having your merit rewarded in this world, Ishould quit you with less regret and anguish. Oh! Lady Stanley! best ofwomen! I mean not to lay claim to your gratitude; far be such an ideafrom my soul! but for your sake I leave the kingdom."

"For mine!" I exclaimed, clasping my hands wildly together, hardlyknowing what I said or did, "What! leave me! Leave the kingdom for mysake! Oh! my God! what advantage can accrue to me by losing"—I couldnot proceed; my voice failed me, and I remained the petrified statue ofdespair.

"Lady Stanley," said he with an assumed calmness, "be composed, and hearme. In an age like this, where the examples of vice are so many and soprevalent, though a woman is chaste as the icicle that hangs on Diana'stemple, still she will be suspected; and, was the sun never to look uponher, yet she would be tainted by the envenomed breath of slander. LadyAnne Parker has dared in a public company to say, that the most virtuousand lovely of her sex will speedily find consolation for the infidelityof her husband, by making reprisals; her malevolence has farther inducedher to point her finger to one, who adores all the virtues with whichHeaven first endued woman in your form. A voluntary banishment on myside may wipe off this transient eclipse of the fairest and most amiablecharacter in the world, and the beauties of it shine forth with greaterlustre, like the diamond, which can only be sullied by the breath, andwhich evaporates in an instant, and beams with fresh brilliancy. I wouldnot wish you to look into my heart," added he with a softened voice,"lest your compassion might affect you too much; yet you know not, younever can know, what I have suffered, and must for ever suffer.

"Condemn'd, alas! whole ages to deplore,
And image charms I must behold no more."

I sat motionless during his speech; but, finding him silent, and, Ibelieve, from his emotions, unable to proceed, "Behold," cried I, "withwhat a composed resignation I submit to my fate. I hoped I had been tooinconsiderable to have excited the tongue of slander, or fix its stingin my bosom. But may you, my friend, regain your peace and happiness inyour native country!"

"My native country!" exclaimed he, "What is my native country, what thewhole globe itself, to that spot which contains all? But I will say nomore. I dare not trust myself, I must not. Oh Julia! forgive me! Adieu,for ever!" I had no voice to detain him; I suffered him to quit theroom, and my eyes lost sight of him—for ever!

I remained with my eyes stupidly fixed on the door. Oh! Louisa, dare Itell you? my soul seemed to follow him; and all my sufferings have beentrivial to this. To be esteemed by him, to be worthy his regard, andread his approbation in his speaking eyes; this was my support, thissustained me, nor suffered my feet to strike against a stone in thisdisfigured path of destruction. He was my polar star. But he is gone,and knows not how much I loved him. I knew it not myself; else how couldI promise never to speak, never to think of him again? But whence thesewild expressions? Oh! pardon the effusions of phrenetic fancy. I knownot what I have said. I am lost, lost!

J.S.

LETTER XL.

TO Colonel MONTAGUE.

Congratulate me, my dear Jack, on having beat the Baron out of the pit.He is off, my boy! and now I may play a safer game; for, betweenourselves, I have as much inclination to sleep in a whole skin, assomebody else you and I know of. I have really been more successful thanI could have flattered myself I should be; but the devil still stands myfriend, which is but grateful to be sure, as the devil is in it if onegood turn does not deserve another; and I have helped his sable divinityto many a good job in my day. The summit of my wishes was to remove thistroublesome fellow; but he has taken himself clean out of the kingdom,lest the fame of his Dulcinea should suffer in the Morning Post. He,if any man could, would not scruple drubbing that Hydra of scandal;but then the stain would still remain where the blot had been made. Ithink you will be glad that he is punished at any rate for hisimpertinent interference in your late affair with the recruit'ssweetheart. These delicate minds are ever contriving their own misery;and, from their exquisite sensibility, find out the method of refiningon torture. Thus, in a fit of heroics, he has banished himself from theonly woman he loves; and who in a short time, unless my ammunitionfails, or my mine springs, too soon he might have a chance of beinghappy with, was he cast in mortal mould.—But I take it, he is one ofthat sort which Madame Sevigne calls "a pumkin fried in snow," orengendered between a Lapland sailor and a mermaid on the icy plains ofGreenland. Even the charms of Julia can but just warm him. He does notburn like me. The consuming fire of Etna riots not in his veins, or hewould have lost all consideration, but that of the completion of hiswhims. Mine have become ten times more eager from the resistance I havemet with. Fool that I was! not to be able to keep a rein over mytransports, till I had extinguished the lights! but to see her beforeme, my pulse beating with tumultuous passion, and my villainous fancyanticipating the tempting scene, all conspired to give such spirit to mycaresses, as ill suited with the character I assumed of an indifferenthusband. Like Calista of old, she soon discovered the God under thesemblance of Diana. Heavens! how she fired up, and like the leopard,appeared more beauteous when heightened by anger? But in vain, my prettytrembler, in vain you struggle in the toils; thy price is paid, and thouwilt soon be mine. Stanley has lost every thing to me but his propertyin his wife's person; and though perhaps he may make a few wry faces, hemust digest that bitter pill. He has obliged her to give up all herjointure, so she has now no dependance. What a fool he is! but he hasever been so; the most palpable cheat passes on him; and though he ismorally certain, that to play and to lose is one and the same thing,yet nothing can cure his cursed itch of gaming. Notwithstanding all theremonstrances I have made, and the dissuasives I have daily used, heis bent upon his own destruction; and, since that is plainly the case,why may not I, and a few clever fellows like myself, take advantage ofhis egregious folly?

It was but yesterday I met him. "I am most consumedly in the flat key,Biddulph," said he; "I know not what to do with myself. For God's sake!let us have a little touch at billiards, picquet, or something, to drivethe devil melancholy out of my citadel (touching his bosom), for, by mysoul, I believe I shall make away with myself, if left to my ownagreeable meditations." As usual, I advised him to reflect how muchluck had run against him, and begged him to be cautious; that Ipositively had no pleasure in playing with one who never turned a game;that I should look out for some one who understood billiards well enoughto be my conqueror. "What the devil!" cried he, "you think me a novice?come, come, I will convince you, to your sorrow, I know something of thegame; I'll bet you five hundred, Biddulph, that I pocket your ball infive minutes."

"You can't beat me," said I, "and I will give you three."

"I'll be damned if I accept three; no, no, let us play on the square."So to it we went; and as usual it ended. The more he loses, the moreimpetuous and eager he is to play.

There will be a confounded bustle soon; his uncle, old Stanley, iscoming up to town. In disposing of his wife's jointure, part of whichwas connected with an estate of Squaretoes, the affair has consequentlyreached his ears, and he is all fury upon the occasion. I believe therehas been a little chicanery practised between Sir William and hislawyer, which will prove but an ugly business. However, thanks to myforesight in these matters, I am out of the scrape; but I can see theBaronet is cursedly off the hooks, from the idea of its transpiring, andhad rather see the Devil than the Don. He has burnt his fingers, andsmarts till he roars again. Adieu! dear Jack:

Remember thy old friend,

BIDDULPH.

LETTER XLI.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

My storm of grief is now a little appeased; and I think I ought toapologize to my dearest Louisa, for making her so free a participator ofmy phrenzy; yet I doubt not of your forgiveness on this, as well as manyoccasions, reflecting with the liveliest gratitude on the extremetenderness you have ever shewn me.

The morning after I had written that incoherent letter to you, MissFinch paid me a visit. She took no notice of the dejection of mycountenance, which I am convinced was but too visible; but, putting on achearful air, though I thought she too looked melancholy when she firstcame in, "I am come to tell you, my dear Lady Stanley," said she, "thatyou must go to Lady D—'s route this evening; you know you are engaged,and I design you for my chaperon." "Excuse me, my dear," returned I, "Icannot think of going thither, and was just going to send a card to thatpurpose."

"Lady Stanley," she replied, "you must go indeed. I have a veryparticular reason for urging you to make your appearance there." "And Ihave as particular a reason," said I, turning away my head to conceal atear that would unbidden start in my eye, "to prevent my going there orany where else at present."

Her eyes were moistened; when, taking my hand in her's, and looking upin my face with the utmost friendliness, "My amiable Lady Stanley, itgrieves my soul, to think any of the licentious wretches in this townshould dare asperse such excellence as your's; but that infamouscreature, Lady Anne, said last night, in the coffee-room at the opera,that she had heard Lady Stanley took to heart (was her expression) thedeparture of Baron Ton-hausen; and that she and Miss Finch hadquarrelled about their gallant. Believe me, I could sooner have lost thepower of speech, than have communicated so disagreeable a piece ofintelligence to you, but that I think it highly incumbent on you, byappearing with chearfulness in public with me, to frustrate themalevolence of that spightful woman as much as we both can."

"What have I done to that vile woman?" said I, giving a loose to mytears; "In what have I injured her, that she should thus seek to blackenmy name?"

"Dared to be virtuous, while she is infamous," answered MissFinch;—"but, however, my dear Lady Stanley, you perceive the necessityof contradicting her assertion of our having quarrelled on any account;and nothing can so effectually do it as our appearing together in goodspirits."

"Mine," cried I, "are broken entirely. I have no wish to wear thesemblance of pleasure, while my heart is bowed down with woe."

"But we must do disagreeable things sometimes to keep up appearances.That vile woman, as you justly call her, would be happy to have it inher power to spread her calumny; we may in part prevent it: besides, Ipromised the Baron I would not let you sit moping at home, but draw youout into company, at the same time giving you as much of mine as Icould, and as I found agreeable to you."

"I beg you to be assured, my dear, that the company of no one can bemore so than your's. And, as I have no doubts of your sincere wish formy welfare, I will readily submit myself to your discretion. But howshall I be able to confront that infamous Lady Anne, who will mostprobably be there?" "Never mind her; let conscious merit support you.Reflect on your own worth, nor cast one thought on such a wretch. I willdine with you; and in the evening we will prepare for this visit."

I made no enquiry why the Baron recommended me so strongly to MissFinch. I thought such enquiry might lead us farther than was prudent;besides, I knew Miss Finch had a tendre for him, and therefore,through the course of the day, I never mentioned his name. Miss Finchwas equally delicate as myself; our discourse then naturally fell onindifferent subjects; and I found I grew towards the evening much morecomposed than I had been for some time. The party was large; but, toavoid conversation as much as possible, I sat down to a quadrille-tablewith Miss Finch; and, encouraged by her looks and smiles, which Ibelieve the good girl forced into her countenance to give me spirits, Igot through the evening tolerably well. The next morning, I walked withmy friend into the Park. I never dine out, as I would wish always to beat home at meal-times, lest Sir William should chuse to give me hiscompany, but that is very seldom the case; and as to the evenings, Inever see him, as he does not come home till three or four in themorning, and often stays out the whole night. We have of course separateapartments. Adieu, my beloved! Would to God I could fly into your arms,and there forget my sorrows!

Your's, most affectionately,

J.S.

LETTER XLII.

TO Lord BIDDULPH.

For Heaven's sake, my dear Lord, let me see you instantly; or on secondthoughts (though I am too much perplexed to be able to arrange themproperly) I will lay before you the accursed difficulties with which Iam surrounded, and then I shall beg the favour of you to go to SirGeorge Brudenel, and see what you can do with him. Sure the devil owesme some heavy grudge; every thing goes against me. Old Stanley hasrubbed through a damned fit of the gout. Oh! that I could kill him witha wish! I then should be a free man again.

You see I make no scruple of applying to you, relying firmly on yourprofessions of friendship; and assure yourself I shall be most happy insubscribing to any terms that you may propose for your own security; forfourteen thousand six hundred pounds I must have by Friday, if I pawn mysoul twenty times for the sum. If you don't assist me, I have but oneother method (you understand me), though I should be unwilling to bedriven to such a procedure. But I am (except my hopes in you) alldespair.

Adieu!

W. STANLEY.

LETTER XLIII.

Enclosed in the foregoing.

TO Sir WILLIAM STANLEY.

Sir,

I am extremely concerned, and as equally surprized, to find by mylawyer, that the Pemberton estate was not your's to dispose of. He tellsme it is, after the death of your wife, the sole property of your uncle;Mr. Dawson (who is Mr. Stanley's lawyer) having clearly proved it to himby the deeds, which he swears he is possessed of. How then, Sir William,am I to reconcile this intelligence with the transactions between us? Ihave paid into your hands the sum of fourteen thousand six hundredpounds; and (I am sorry to write so harshly) have received a forged deedof conveyance. Mr. Dawson has assured Stevens, my lawyer, that hisclient never signed that conveyance. I should be very unwilling to bringyou, or any gentleman, into such a dilemma; but you may suppose I shouldbe as sorry to lose such a sum for nothing; nor, indeed, could I consentto injure my heirs by such a negligence. I hope it will suit you toreplace the above sum in the hands of my banker, and I will not hesitateto conceal the writings now in my possession; but the money must be paidby Friday next. You will reflect on this maturely, as you must know inwhat a predicament you at present stand, and what must be theconsequence of such an affair coming under the cognizance of the law.

I remain, Sir,

Your humble servant,

GEORGE BRUDENEL.

LETTER XLIV.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

I write to you, my dearest Louisa, under the greatest agitation ofspirits; and know no other method of quieting them, than communicatingmy griefs to you. But alas! how can you remedy the evils of which Icomplain? or how shall I describe them to you? How many times I haverepeated, how hard is my fate! Yes, Louisa! and I must still repeatthe same. In short, what have I to trust to? I see nothing before me butthe effects of deep despair. I tremble at every sound, and everyfootstep seems to be the harbinger of some disaster.

Sir William breakfasted with me this morning, the first time these threeweeks, I believe. A letter was brought him. He changed countenance onthe perusal of it; and, starting up, traversed the room in greatdisorder. "Any ill news, Sir William?" I asked. He heeded me not, butrang the bell with violence. "Get the chariot ready directly—No, giveme my hat and sword." Before they could be brought, he again changed hismind. He would then write a note. He took the standish, folded somepaper, wrote, blotted, and tore many sheets, bit his lips, struck hisforehead, and acted a thousand extravagances. I could contain myself nolonger. "Whatever may be the consequence of your anger, Sir William,"said I, "I must insist on knowing what sudden turn of affairs hasoccasioned this present distress. For Heaven's sake! do not refuse tocommunicate your trouble. I cannot support the agony your agitation hasthrown me into."

"And you would be less able to support it, were I to communicate it."

"If you have any pity for me," cried I, rising, and going up to him, "Iconjure you by that pity to disclose the cause of your disorder. Were Icertain of being unable to bear the shock, yet I would meet it withcalmness, rather than be thus kept in the most dreadful suspence."

"Suffice it then," cried he, throwing out his arm, "I am ruined forever."

"Ruined!" I repeated with a faint voice.

"Yes!" he answered, starting on his feet, and muttering curses betweenhis teeth. Then, after a fearful pause, "There is but one way, but oneway to escape this impending evil."

"oh!" cried I, "may you fall on the right way! but, perhaps, things maynot be so bad as you apprehend; you know I have valuable jewels; let mefetch them for you; the sale of them will produce a great deal ofmoney."

"Jewels! O God! they are gone, you have no jewels."

"Indeed, my dear Sir William," I replied, shocked to death at seeing thedeplorable way he was in; and fearing, from his saying they were gone,that his head was hurt—"Indeed, my dear Sir William, I have them in myown cabinet," and immediately fetched them to him. He snatched them outof my hand, and, dashing them on the floor, "Why do you bring me thesedamned baubles; your diamonds are gone; these are only paste."

"What do you mean?" I cried, all astonishment, "I am sure they are suchas I received them from you."

"I know it very well; but I sold them when you thought them new-set; andnow I am more pushed than ever."

"They were your's, Sir William," said I, stifling my resentment, as Ithought he was now sufficiently punished, "you had therefore a right todispose of them whenever you chose; and, had you made me theconfidante of your intention, I should not have opposed it; I am onlysorry you should have been so distressed as to have yielded to such anecessity, for though my confidence in you, and my ignorance in jewels,might prevent my knowing them to be counterfeits, yet, no doubt, everybody who has seen me in them must have discovered their fallacy. Howcontemptible then have you made us appear!"

"oh! for God's sake, let me hear no more about them; let them all go tothe devil; I have things of more consequence to attend to." At thismoment a Mr. Brooksbank was announced. "By heaven," cried Sir William,"we are all undone! Brooksbank! blown to the devil! Lady Stanley, youmay retire to your own room; I have some business of a private naturewith this gentleman."

I obeyed, leaving my husband with this gentleman, whom I think theworst-looking fellow I ever saw in my life, and retired to my ownapartment to give vent to the sorrow which flowed in on every side. "Oh!good God!" I cried, bursting into floods of tears, "what a changeeighteen months has made! A princely fortune dissipated, and a man ofhonour, at least one who appeared as such, reduced to the poorsubterfuge of stealing his wife's jewels, to pay gaming debts, andsupport kept mistresses!" These were my sad and solitary reflections.What a wretched hand has he made of it! and how deplorable is mysituation! Alas! to what resource can he next fly? What is to become ofus! I have no claim to any farther bounty from my own family: like theprodigal son, I have received my portion; and although I have not beenthe squanderer, yet it is all gone, and I may be reduced to feed on thehusks of acorns; at least, I am sure I eat bitter herbs. Surely, I amvisited with these calamities for the sins of my grandfather! May theysoon be expiated!

That wretch Lord Biddulph has been here, and, after some conversation,he has taken Sir William out in his chariot. Thank heaven, I saw himnot; but Win brought me this intelligence. I would send for Miss Finch,to afford me a little consolation; but she is confined at home by afeverish complaint. I cannot think of going out while things are in thisstate; so I literally seem a prisoner in my own house. Oh! that I hadnever, never seen it! Adieu! Adieu!

J.S.

LETTER XLV.

TO Col. MONTAGUE.

I acquainted you, some time since, of Stanley's affairs being quitederangé, and that he had practised an unsuccessful manœuvre onBrudenel. A pretty piece of business he has made of it, and his worshipstands a fair chance of swinging for forgery, unless I contribute myassistance to extricate him, by enabling him to replace the money. As toraising any in the ordinary way, it is not in his power, as all hisestates are settled on old Stanley, he (Sir William) having no children;and he is inexorable. There may be something to be said in the oldfellow's favour too; he has advanced thousand after thousand, till he istired out, for giving him money is really only throwing water into asieve.

In consequence of a hasty letter written by the Baronet, begging me touse all my interest with Brudenel, I thought it the better way to waiton Stanley myself, and talk the affair over with him, and, as he hadpromised to subscribe to any terms for my security, to make these termsmost pleasing to myself. Besides, I confess, I was unwilling to meet SirGeorge about such a black piece of business, not chusing likewise tosubject myself to the censures of that puritanic mortal, for havingdrawn Stanley into a love of play. I found Sir William under thegreatest disorder of spirits; Brooksbank was with him; that fellowcarries his conscience in his face; he is the portrait of villainy andturpitude. "For God's sake! my lord," cried Sir William (this you knowbeing his usual exclamation), "what is to be done in this cursedaffair? All my hopes are fixed on the assistance you have promised me."

"Why, faith, Sir William," I answered, "it is, as you say, a most cursedunlucky affair. I think Brooksbank has not acted with his accustomedcaution. As to what assistance I can afford you, you may firmly rely on,but I had a confounded tumble last night after you left us; by the bye,you was out of luck in absenting yourself; there was a great deal done;I lost upwards of seventeen thousand to the young Cub in less than anhour, and nine to the Count; so that I am a little out of elbows, whichhappens very unfortunate at this critical time."

"Then I am ruined for ever!" "No, no, not so bad neither, I dare say.What say you to Lady Stanley's diamonds, they are valuable."

"O Christ! they are gone long ago. I told her, I thought they wantednew-setting, and supplied her with paste, which she knew nothing of tillthis morning, that she offered them to me." (All this I knew very well,for D— the jeweller told me so, but I did not chuse to inform hisworship so much.) "You have a large quantity of plate." "All melted, mylord, but one service, and that I have borrowed money on." "Well, I havesomething more to offer; but, if you please, we will dismiss Mr.Brooksbank. I dare say he has other business." He took the hint, andleft us to ourselves.

When we were alone, I drew my chair close to him; he was leaning hishead on his hand, which rested on the table, in a most melancholyposture. "Stanley," said I, "what I am now going to say is a matterentirely between ourselves. You are no stranger to the passion I havelong entertained for your wife, and from your shewing no resentment forwhat I termed a frolic on the night of the masquerade, I have reason tobelieve, you will not be mortally offended at this my open avowal of myattachment. Hear me (for he changed his position, and seemed going tospeak): I adore Lady Stanley, I have repeatedly assured her of theviolence of my flame, but have ever met with the utmost coldness on herside; let me, however, have your permission, I will yet insure myselfsuccess." "What, Biddulph! consent to my own dishonour! What do you takeme for?" "What do I take you for?" cried I, with a smile, in which Iinfused a proper degree of contempt. "What will Sir George Brudenel takeyou for, you mean." "Curses, everlasting curses, blast me for my damnedlove of play! that has been my bane." "And I offer you your cure."

"The remedy is worse than the disease."

"Then submit to the disease, and sink under it. Sir William, your humbleservant," cried I, rising as if to go.

"Biddulph, my dear Biddulph," cried he, catching my hand, and graspingit with dying energy, "what are you about to do? You surely will notleave me in this damned exigency? Think of my situation! I have partedwith every means of raising more money, and eternal infamy will be theconsequence of this last cursed subterfuge of mine transpiring. Oh, myGod! how sunk am I! And will you not hold out your friendly arm?"

"I have already offered you proposals," I replied with an affectedcoldness, "which you do not think proper to accede to."

"Would you consign me to everlasting perdition?"

"Will you make no sacrifice to extricate yourself?"

"Yes; my life."

"What, at Tyburn?"

"Dam—n on the thought! oh! Biddulph, Biddulph, are there no othermeans? Reflect—the honour of my injured wife!" "Will not that sufferby your undergoing an ignominious death?"

"Ah! why do you thus stretch my heart-strings? Julia is virtuous, anddeserves a better fate than she has met with in me. What a wretch mustthat man be, who will consign his wife to infamy! No; sunk, lost, andruined as I am, I cannot yield to such baseness; I should be doublydamned."

"You know your own conscience best, and how much it will bear; I did notuse to think you so scrupulous; what I offer is as much for youradvantage as my own; nay, faith, for your advantage solely, as I mayhave a very good chance of succeeding with her bye and bye, when you canreap no benefit from it. All I ask of you is, your permission to giveyou an opportunity of suing for a divorce. Lay your damages as high asyou please, I will agree to any thing; and, as an earnest, will raisethis sum which distresses you so much; I am not tied down as you are; Ican mortgage any part of my estate. What do you say? Will you sign apaper, making over all right and title to your wife in my favour? Thereis no time to be lost, I can assure you. Your uncle Stanley's lawyer hasbeen with Brudenel; you know what hopes you have from that quarter; forthe sooner you are out of the way, the better for the next heir."

You never saw a poor devil so distressed and agitated as Stanley was; heshook like one under a fit of the tertian-ague. I used every argument Icould muster up, and conjured all the horrible ideas which were likelyto terrify a man of his cast; threatened, soothed, sneered: in short, Iat last gained my point, and he signed a commission for his owncuckoldom; which that I may be able to achieve soon, dear Venus grant! Itook him with me to consult with our broker about raising the money. Inthe evening I intend my visit to the lovely Julia. Oh! that I may beendued with sufficient eloquence to soften her gentle heart, heart, andtune it to the sweetest notes of love! But she is virtuous, as Stanleysays; that she is most truly: yet who knows how far resentment againsther brutal husband may induce her to go? If ever woman had provocation,she certainly has. O that she may be inclined to revenge herself on himfor his baseness to her! and that I may be the happy instrument ofeffecting it!

"Gods! what a thought is there!"

Adieu!

BIDDULPH.

LETTER XLVI.

To Miss GRENVILLE.

Oh! my Louisa, what will now become of your wretched sister? Surely thewide world contains not so forlorn a wretch, who has not been guilty ofany crime! But let me not keep you in suspence. In the afternoon of theday I wrote last (I told you Miss Finch was ill)—Oh! good God! I knownot what I write. I thought I would go and see her for an hour or two. Iordered the coach, and was just stepping into it, when an ill-lookingman (Lord bless me! I have seen none else lately) laid hold of my arm,saying, "Madam, you must not go into that carriage."

"What do you mean?" I asked with a voice of terror, thinking he was amadman.

"Nothing, my lady," he answered, "but an execution on Sir William."

"An execution! Oh, heavens! what execution?" I was breathless, and justfainting.

"They are bailiffs, my lady," said one of our servants: "my master isarrested for debt, and these men will seize every thing in the house;but you need not be terrified, your ladyship is safe, they cannot touchyou."

I ran back into the house with the utmost precipitation; all theservants seemed in commotion. I saw Preston; she was running up-stairswith a bundle in her hand. "Preston," said I, "what are you about?" "Oh!the bailiffs, the bailiffs, my lady!"

"They won't hurt you; I want you here."

"I can't come, indeed, my lady till I have disposed of these things; Imust throw them out of the window, or the bailiffs will seize them."

I could not get a servant near me but my faithful Win, who hung weepinground me; as for myself, I was too much agitated to shed a tear, orappear sensible of my misfortune.

Two of these horrid men came into the room. I demanded what they wanted.To see that none of the goods were carried out of the house, theyanswered. I asked them, if they knew where Sir William Stanley was. "Oh!he is safe enough," said one of them; "we can't touch him; he pleadsprivilege, as being a member of parliament; we can only take care of hisfurniture for him."

"And am I not allowed the same privilege? If so, how have you dared todetain me?"

"Detain you! why I hope your ladyship will not say as how we haveoffered to detain you? You may go where you please, provided you takenothing away with you."

"My lady was going out," said Win, sobbing, "and you would not sufferit."

"Not in that coach, mistress, to be sure; but don't go for to say westopped your lady. She may go when she will."

"Will one of you order me a chair or hackney coach? I have no businesshere." The last word melted me; and I sunk into a chair, giving way to acopious flood of tears. At that instant almost the detestable Biddulphentered the room. I started up—"Whence this intrusion, my lord?" Iasked with a haughty tone. "Are you come to join your insults with themisfortunes you have in great measure effected?"

"I take heaven to witness," answered he, "how much I was shocked to findan extent in your house; I had not the least idea of such a circ*mstancehappening. I, indeed, knew that Sir William was very much straitened formoney."

"Accursed be those," interrupted I, "ever accursed be those whosepernicious counsels and baleful examples have brought him into theseexigencies. I look on you, my lord, as one cruel cause of the ruin ofour house."

"Rather, Lady Stanley, call me the prop of your sinking house. View, inme, one who would die to render you service."

"Would to heaven you had done so long—long before I had seen you!"

"How unkind is that wish! I came, Madam, with the intention of beingserviceable to you. Do not then put such hard constructions on my words.I wished to consult with you on the most efficacious means to be usedfor Sir William's emolument. You know not what power you have!"

"Power! alas! what power have I?"

"The most unlimited," he replied, fixing his odious eyes on my face,which I returned by a look of the utmost scorn. "O Lady Stanley," hecontinued, "do not—do not, I intreat you, use me so hardly. Will youallow me to speak to you alone?"

"By no means."

"For God's sake do! Your servant shall remain in the next room, withinyour call. Let me beseech you to place some confidence in me. I havethat to relate concerning Sir William, which you would not chuse adomestic should hear. Dearest Lady Stanley, be not inexorable."

"You may go into that room, Win," said I, not deigning to answer thisimportunate man. "My lord," addressing myself to him, "you can havenothing to tell me to which I am a stranger; I know Sir William istotally ruined. This is known to every servant in the house."

"Believe me," said he, "the execution is the least part of the evil.That event happens daily among the great people: but there is an affairof another nature, the stain of which can never be wiped off. SirWilliam, by his necessities, has been plunged into the utmostdifficulties, and, to extricate himself, has used some unlawful means;in a word, he has committed a forgery."

"Impossible!" cried I, clasping my hands together in agony.

"It is too true; Sir George Brudenel has the forged deed now in hishands, and nothing can save him from an ignominious death, but theraising a large sum of money, which is quite out of his power. Indeed, Imight with some difficulty assist him."

"And will you not step forth to save him?" I asked with precipitation.

"What would you do to save him?" he asked in his turn, attempting totake my hand.

"Can you ask me such a question? To save his life, what would I not do?"

"You have the means in your power."

"Oh! name them quickly, and ease my heart of this load of distraction!It is more—much more than I can bear."

"Oh my lovely angel!" cried the horrid wretch, "would you but shew sometenderness to me! would you but listen to the most faithful, mostenamoured of men, much might be done. You would, by your sweetcondescension, bind me for ever to your interest, might I but flattermyself I should share your affection. Would you but give me theslightest mark of it, oh! how blest I should be! Say, my adorableJulia, can I ever hope to touch your heart?"

"Wretch!" cried I, "unhand me. How dare you have the insolence toaffront me again with the mention of your hateful passion? I believe allyou have uttered to be a base falsehood against Sir William. You havetaken an opportunity to insult his wife, at a time when you think himtoo much engaged to seek vengeance; otherwise your coward soul wouldshrink from the just resentment you ought to expect!"

"I am no coward, Madam," he replied, "but in my fears of offending theonly woman on whom my soul doats, and the only one whose scorn wouldwound me. I am not afraid of Sir William's resentment—I act but by hisconsent."

"By his consent!"

"Yes, my dear creature, by his. Come, I know you to be a woman of sense;you are acquainted with your husband's hand-writing, I presume. I havenot committed a forgery, I assure you. Look, Madam, on this paper; youwill see how much I need dread the just vengeance of an injured husband,when I have his especial mandate to take possession as soon as I cangain my lovely charmer's consent; and, oh! may just revenge inspire youto reward my labours!" He held a paper towards me; I attempted to snatchit out of his hand. "Not so, my sweet angel, I cannot part with it; butyou shall see the contents of it with all my heart."

Oh! Louisa, do I live to tell you what were those contents!—"I resignall right and title to my wife, Julia Stanley, to Lord Biddulph, oncondition that he pays into my hands the sum of fourteen thousand sixhundred pounds, which he enters into an engagement to perform. Witnessmy hand,

WILLIAM STANLEY."

Grief, resentment, and amazement, struck me dumb. "What say you to this,Lady Stanley? Should you not pique yourself on your fidelity to such agood husband, who takes so much care of you? You see how much he prizeshis life."

"Peace, monster! peace!" cried I. "You have taken a base, most baseadvantage of the wretch you have undone!"

"The fault is all your's; the cruelty with which you have treated me hasdriven me to the only course left of obtaining you. You have it in yourpower to save or condemn your husband."

"What, should I barter my soul to save one so profligate of his? Butthere are other resources yet left, and we yet may triumph over thee,thou cruel, worst of wretches!"

"Perhaps you may think there are hopes from old Stanley; there can benone, as he has caused this execution. It would half ruin your family toraise this sum, as there are many more debts which they would be calledupon to pay. Why then will you put it out of my power to extricate him?Let me have some influence over you! On my knees I intreat you to hearme. I swear by the great God that made me, I will marry you as soon as adivorce can be obtained. I have sworn the same to Sir William."

Think, my dearest Louisa, what a situation this was for me! I wasconstrained to rein-in my resentment, lest I should irritate this wretchto some act of violence—for I had but too much reason to believe I waswholly in his power. I had my senses sufficiently collected (for which Iowe my thanks to heaven) to make a clear retrospect of my forlorncondition—eight or ten strange fellows in the house, who, from thenature of their profession, must be hardened against every distress,and, perhaps, ready to join with the hand of oppression in injuring theunfortunate—my servants (in none of whom I could confide) most of thememployed in protecting, what they styled, their own property; and eithertotally regardless of me, or, what I more feared, might unite with thismy chief enemy in my destruction. As to the forgery, though the baresurmise threw me into agonies, I rather thought it a proof how far thevile Biddulph would proceed to terrify me, than reality; but the fatalpaper signed by Sir William—that was too evident to be disputed. Thisconflict of thought employed every faculty, and left mespeechless—Biddulph was still on his knees, "For heaven's sake," criedhe, "do not treat me with this scorn; make me not desperate! Ardent asmy passion is, I would not lose sight of my respect for you."

"That you have already done," I answered, "in thus openly avowing apassion, to me so highly disagreeable. Prove your respect, my lord, byquitting so unbecoming a posture, and leave the most unfortunate ofwomen to her destiny."

"Take care, take care, Madam," cried he, "how you drive me to despair; Ihave long, long adored you. My perseverance, notwithstanding yourfrowns, calls for some reward; and unless you assure me that in a futureday you will not be thus unkind, I shall not easily forego theopportunity which now offers."

"For mercy's sake!" exclaimed I, starting up, "what do you mean? LordBiddulph! How dare—I insist, Sir—leave me." I burst into tears, and,throwing myself again in my chair, gave free vent to all the anguish ofmy soul. He seemed moved. Again he knelt, and implored mypardon—"Forgive me!—Oh! forgive me, thou sweet excellence! I will nothereafter offend, if it is in nature to suppress the extreme violence ofmy love. You know not how extensive your sway is over my soul! Indeedyou do not!"

"On the condition of your leaving me directly, I will endeavour toforgive and forget what has passed," I sobbed out, for my heart was toofull of grief to articulate clearly.

"Urge me not to leave you, my angelic creature. Ah! seek not to drivethe man from your presence, who doats, doats on you to distraction.Think what a villain your husband is; think into what accumulateddistress he has plunged you. Behold, in me, one who will extricate youfrom all your difficulties; who will raise you to rank, title, andhonour; one whom you may make a convert. Oh! that I had met with youbefore this cursed engagement, I should have been the most blest of men.No vile passion would have interfered to sever my heart from mybeauteous wife; in her soft arms I should have found a balm for all thedisquietudes of the world, and learnt to despise all its empty delusivejoys in the solid bliss of being good and happy!" This fine harangue hadno weight with me, though I thought it convenient he should think I wasmoved by it. "Alas! my Lord," said I, "it is now too late to indulgethese ideas. I am doomed to be wretched; and my wretchedness feelsincrease, if I am the cause of making any earthly being so; yet, if youhave the tenderness for me you express, you must participate of my deepaffliction. Ask your own heart, if a breast, torn with anguish andsorrow, as mine is, can at present admit a thought of any othersentiment than the grief so melancholy a situation excites? In pity,therefore, to the woman you profess to love, leave me for this time. Isaid, I would forgive and forget; your compliance with my request may domore; it certainly will make me grateful."

"Dearest of all creatures," cried he, seizing my hand, and pressing itwith rapture to his bosom, "Dearest, best of women! what is there that Icould refuse you? Oh nothing, nothing; my soul is devoted to you. Butwhy leave you? Why may I not this moment reap the advantage of youryielding heart?"

"Away! away, my Lord," cried I, pushing him from me, "you promised torestrain your passion; why then is it thus boundless? Intitle yourselfto my consideration, before you thus demand returns."

"I make no demands. I have done. But I flattered myself I read your softwishes in your lovely eyes," [Detestable wretch! how my soul rose upagainst him! but fear restrained my tongue.] "But tell me, my adorableangel, if I tear myself from you now, when shall I be so happy as tobehold you again?"

"To-morrow," I answered; "I shall be in more composed spirits to-morrow,and then I will see you here; but do not expect too much. And now leaveme this moment, as I have said more than I ought."

"I obey, dearest Julia," cried the insolent creature, "I obey." And,blessed be Heaven! he left the room. I sprung to the door, anddouble-locked it; then called Win into the room, who had heard the wholeof this conversation. The poor soul was as pale as ashes; her looks werecontagious; I caught the infection; and, forgetting the distance betwixtus (but misery makes us all equal), I threw my arms round her, and shedfloods of tears into her faithful bosom. When my storms of grief had alittle subsided, or indeed when nature had exhausted her store, I becamemore calm, and had it in my power to consider what steps I should take,as you may believe I had nothing further from my intention than meetingthis vile man again. I soon came to the determination to send to MissFinch, as there was no one to whom I could apply for an asylum; I mean,for the present, as I am convinced I shall find the properest and mostwelcome in your's and my dear father's arms bye and bye. I rang thebell; one of the horrid bailiffs came for my orders. I desired to haveGriffith called to me. I wrote a note to Miss Finch, telling her in afew words the situation of my affairs, and that my dread was so great ofreceiving further insult from Lord Biddulph, that I could not supportthe idea of passing the night surrounded by such wretches, thereforeintreated her to send some one in whom she could confide, in hercarriage, to convey me to her for a little time, till I could hear frommy friends. In a quarter of an hour Griffith returned, with a billetcontaining only three lines—but oh, how much comfort. "My dearestcreature, my heart bleeds for your distresses; there is no one so properas your true friend to convey you hither. I will be with you in aninstant; your's, for ever,

MARIA FINCH."

I made Win bundle up a few night-cloaths and trifles that we both mightwant, and in a short time I found myself pressed to the bosom of my dearMaria. She had risen from her bed, where she had lain two days, to flyto my succour. Ah! how much am I indebted to her! By Miss Finch'sadvice, I wrote a few words to—oh! what shall I call him?—the man, myLouisa, who tore me from the fostering bosom of my beloved father, toabandon me to the miseries and infamy of the world! I wrote thus:

"Abandoned and forsaken by him to whom I alone ought to look up forprotection, I am (though, alas! unable) obliged to be the guardian of myown honour. I have left your house; happy, happy had it been for me,never to have entered it! I seek that asylum from strangers, I can nolonger meet with from my husband. I have suffered too much from my fatalconnexion with you, to feel disposed to consign myself to everlastinginfamy (notwithstanding I have your permission), to extricate you from atrivial inconvenience. Remember, this is the first instance in which Iever disobeyed your will. May you see your error, reform, and be happy!So prays your much-injured, but still faithful wife,

JULIA STANLEY."

Miss Finch, with the goodness of an angel, took me home with her; norwould she leave me a moment to myself. She has indulged me withpermission to write this account, to save me the trouble of repeating itto her. And now, my Louisa, and you, my dear honoured father, will youreceive your poor wanderer? Will you heal her heart-rending sorrows, andsuffer her to seek for happiness, at least a restoration of ease, inyour tender bosoms? Will you hush her cares, and teach her to kiss thehand which chastises her? Oh! how I long to pour forth my soul into thebreast from whence I expect to derive all my earthly comfort!

Adieu!

J.S.

LETTER XLVII.

TO Colonel MONTAGUE.

Well, Jack, we are all entrain. I believe we shall do in time. But oldSquaretoes has stole a march on us, and took out an extent against hisnephew. Did you ever hear of so unnatural a dog? It is true he has donea great deal for Sir William; and saw plainly, the more money he paid,the more extravagant his nephew grew; but still it was a damned affairtoo after all. I have been with my dear bewitching charmer. I have herpromise to admit me as a visitor tomorrow. I was a fool not to finishthe business to-night, as I could have bribed every one in the house toassist me. Your bailiffs are proper fellows for the purpose—but I loveto have my adorables meet me—almost half way. I shall, I hope gainher at last; and my victory will be a reward for all my pains andlabours.

I am interrupted. A messenger from Sir William. I must go instantly tothe Thatched-house tavern. What is in the wind now, I wonder?

Great God! Montague, what a sight have I been witness to! Stanley, theill-fated Stanley, has shot himself. The horror of the scene will neverbe worn from my memory. I see his mangled corse staring ghastly upon me.I tremble. Every nerve is affected. I cannot at present give you thehorrid particulars. I am more shocked than it is possible to conceive.Would to Heaven I had had no connexion with him! Oh! could I haveforeseen this unhappy event! but it is too, too late. The undoneself-destroyed wretch is gone to answer for his crimes; and you and Iare left to deplore the part we have had in corrupting his morals, andleading him on, step by step, to destruction.

My mind is a hell—I cannot reflect—I feel all despair andself-abasem*nt. I now thank God, I have not the weight of Lady Stanley'sseduction on my already overburdened conscience.

In what a different style I began this letter—with a pulse beating withanticipated evil, and my blood rioting in the idea of my fancied triumphover the virtue of the best and most injured of women. On the summons, Iflew to the Thatched-house. The waiter begged me to go up stairs. "Herehas a most unfortunate accident happened, my Lord. Poor Sir WilliamStanley has committed a rash action; I fear his life is in danger." Ithought he alluded to the affair of forgery, and in that persuasion madeanswer, "It is an ugly affair, to be sure; but, as to his life, thatwill be in no danger." "Oh! my Lord, I must not flatter you; the surgeondeclares he can live but a few hours." "Live! what do you say?" "He hasshot himself, my Lord." I hardly know how I got up stairs; but how greatwas my horror at the scene which presented itself to my affrighted view!Sir George Brudenel and Mr. Stanley were supporting him. He was notquite dead, but his last moments were on the close. Oh! the occurrencesof life will never for one instant obliterate from my recollection thelook which he gave me. He was speechless; but his eloquent silenceconveyed, in one glance of agony and despair, sentiments that sunk deepon my wounded conscience. His eyes were turned on me, when the handof death sealed them forever. I had thrown myself on my knees by him,and was pressing his hand. I did not utter a word, indeed I wasincapable of articulating a syllable. He had just sense remaining toknow me, and I thought strove to withdraw his hand from mine. I let itgo; and, seeing it fall almost lifeless, Mr. Stanley took it in his, aswell as he could; the expiring man grasped his uncle's hand, and sunkinto the shades of everlasting night. When we were convinced that allwas over with the unhappy creature, we left the room. Neither SirGeorge, nor Mr. Stanley, seemed inclined to enter into conversation; andmy heart ran over plentifully at my eyes. I gave myself up to myagonizing sorrow for some time. When I was a little recovered, Ienquired of the people of the house, how this fatal event happened. Tomsaid, Sir William came there about seven o'clock, and went up stairs inthe room we usually played in; that he looked very dejected, but calledfor coffee, and drank two dishes. He went from thence in an hour, andreturned again about ten. He walked about the room in great disorder. Ina short space, Sir George Brudenel and Mr. Stanley came and asked forhim. On carrying up their message, Sir William desired to be excusedseeing them for half an hour. Within that time, a note was brought himfrom his own house by Griffith, Lady Stanley's servant*. [* The billetwhich Lady Stanley wrote, previous to her quitting her husband's house.]His countenance changed on the perusal of it. "This then decides it," heexclaimed aloud. "I am now determined." He bade the waiter leave theroom, and bring him no more messages. In obedience to his commands, Tomwas going down stairs. Sir William shut the door after him hastily, andlocked it; and before Tom had got to the passage, he heard the report ofa pistol. Alarmed at the sound, and the previous disorder of SirWilliam, he ran into the room where were Brudenel and Stanley,entreating them for God's sake to go up, as he feared Sir William meantto do some desperate act. They ran up with the utmost precipitation, andBrudenel burst open the door. The self-devoted victim was in an armchair, hanging over on one side, his right cheek and ear torn almostoff, and speechless. He expressed great horror, and, they think,contrition, in his looks; and once clasped his hands together, andturned up his eyes to Heaven. He knew both the gentlemen. His uncle wasin the utmost agitation. "Oh! my dear Will," said he, "had you been lessprecipitate, we might have remedied all these evils." Poor Stanley fixedhis eyes on him, and faintly shook his head. Sir George too pressed hishand, saying, "My dear Stanley, you have been deceived, if you thoughtme your enemy. God forgive those who have brought you to this distress!"This (with the truest remorse of conscience I say it) bears hard on mycharacter. I did all in my power to prevent poor Stanley's meeting withSir George and his uncle, and laboured, with the utmost celerity, toconfirm him in the idea, that they were both inexorable, to further myschemes on his wife. As I found my company was not acceptable to thegentlemen, I returned home under the most violent dejection of spirits.Would to Heaven you were here! Yet, what consolation could you affordme? I rather fear you would add to the weight, instead of lightening it,as you could not speak peace to my mind, which is inconceivably hurt.

I am your's,

BIDDULPH.

LETTER XLVIII.

To Miss GRENVILLE.

Dear Madam,

A letter from Mr. Stanley* [* Mr. Stanley's letter is omitted.], whichaccompanies this, will inform you of the fatal catastrophe of theunfortunate Sir William Stanley. Do me the justice to believe I shallwith pleasure contribute all in my power to the ease and convenience ofLady Stanley, for whom I have the tenderest friendship.

We have concealed the whole of the shocking particulars of her husband'sfate from her ladyship, but her apprehensions lead her to surmize theworst. She is at present too much indisposed, to undertake a journeyinto Wales; but, as soon as she is able to travel, I shall do myself thehonour of conveying her to the arms of relations so deservedly dear toher.

Mr. Stanley is not a man who deals in professions; he therefore may havebeen silent as to his intentions in favour of his niece, which I know tobe very noble.

Lady Stanley tells me, she has done me the honour of mentioning my namefrequently in her correspondence with you. As a sister of so amiable awoman, I feel myself attached to Miss Grenville, and beg leave tosubscribe myself her obliged humble servant,

MARIA FINCH.

LETTER XLIX.

From the SYLPH.

The vicissitudes which you, my Julia, have experienced in your shortlife, must teach you how little dependence is to be placed in sublunaryenjoyments. By an inevitable stroke, you are again cast under theprotection of your first friends. If, in the vortex of folly where lateyou resided, my counsels preserved you from falling into any of itssnares, the reflection of being so happy an instrument will shorten thedreary path of life, and smooth the pillow of death. But my task, myhappy task, of superintending your footsteps is now over.

In the peaceful vale of innocence, no guide is necessary; for there allis virtuous, all beneficent, as yourself. You have passed manydistressing and trying scenes. But, however, never let despair takeplace in your bosom. To hope to be happy in this world, may bepresumptuous; to despair of being so, is certainly impious; and, thoughthe sun may rise and see us unblest, and, setting, leave us in misery;yet, on its return, it may behold us changed, and the face whichyesterday was clouded with tears may to-morrow brighten into smiles.Ignorant as we are of the events of to-morrow, let us not arrogantlysuppose there will be no end to the trouble which now surrounds us; and,by murmuring, arraign the hand of Providence.

There may be, to us finite beings, many seeming contradictions of theassertion, that, to be good is to be happy; but an infinite Beingknows it to be true in the enlarged view of things, and thereforeimplanted in our breasts the love of virtue. Our merit may not, indeed,meet with the reward which we seem to claim in this life; but we aremorally ascertained of reaping a plentiful harvest in the next.Persevere then, my amiable pupil, in the path you were formed to treadin, and rest assured, though a slow, a lasting recompence will succeed.May you meet with all the happiness you deserve in this world! and maythose most dear to you be the dispensers of it to you! Should any futureoccasion of your life make it necessary to consult me, you know how aletter will reach me; till then adieu!

Ever your faithful

SYLPH.

LETTER L.

TO Sir GEORGE BRUDENEL.

Woodley-vale.

My dear Sir George,

It is with the utmost pleasure, I assure you of my niece having borneher journey with less fatigue than we even could have hoped for. Thepleasing expectation of meeting with her beloved relations contributedtowards her support, and combated the afflictions she had tasted duringher separation from them and her native place. As we approached the laststage, her conflict increased, and both Miss Finch and myself used everymethod to re-compose her fluttered spirits; but, just as we were drivinginto the inn-yard where we were to change horses for the last time, sheclasped her hands together, exclaiming, "Oh, my God! my father'schaise!" and sunk back, very near fainting. I tried to laugh her out ofher extreme agitation. She had hardly power to get out of the coach;and, hobbling as you know me to be with the gout, an extraordinaryexertion was necessary on my part to support her, tottering as she was,into a parlour. I shall never be able to do justice to the scene whichpresented itself. Miss Grenville flew to meet her trembling sister. Themute expression of their features, the joy of meeting, the recollectionof past sorrows, oh! it is more than my pen can paint; it was more thanhuman nature could support; at least, it was with the utmost difficultyit could be supported till the venerable father approached to welcomehis lovely daughter. She sunk on her knees before him, and looked likea dying victim at the shrine of a much-loved saint. What agoniespossessed Mr. Grenville! He called for assistance; none of the partywere able, from their own emotions, to afford him any. At last the dearcreature recovered, and became tolerably calm; but this only lasted afew minutes. She was seated between her father and sister; she gazedfondly first on one, and then the other, and would attempt to speak; buther full heart could not find vent at her lips; her eyes were rivers,through which her sorrows flowed. I rose to retire for a little time,being overcome by the affecting view. She saw my intentions, and, risinglikewise, took my hand—"Don't leave us—I will be more myself—Don'tleave us, my second father!—Oh! Sir," turning to Mr. Grenville, "helpme to repay this generous, best of men, a small part of what my gratefulheart tells me is his due." "I receive him, my Julia," cried her father,"I receive him to my bosom as my brother." He embraced me, and LadyStanley threw an arm over each of our shoulders. Our spirits, after sometime, a little subsided, and we proceeded to this place. I was happythis meeting was over, as I all along dreaded the delicate sensibilityof my niece.

Oh! Sir George! how could my unhappy nephew be blind to such inestimablequalities as Julia possesses? Blind!—I recall the word: he was notblind to them; he could not, but he was misled by the cursed follies ofthe world, and entangled by its snares, till he lost all relish forwhatever was lovely and virtuous. Ill-fated young man! how deplorablewas thy end! Oh! may the mercy of Heaven be extended towards thee! Mayit forget its justice, nor be extreme to mark what was done amiss!

I find Julia was convinced he was hurried out of this life by his owndesperate act, but she forbears to enquire into what she says shedreads to be informed of. She appears to me (who knew her not in herhappier days) like a beautiful plant that had been chilled with anipping frost, which congealed, but could not destroy, its loveliness;the tenderness of her parent, like the sun, has chaced away the winter,and she daily expands, and discovers fresh charms. Her sistertoo—indeed we should see such women now and then, to reconcile us tothe trifling sex, who have laboured with the utmost celerity, and withtoo much success, to bring an odium on that most beautiful part of thecreation. You say you are tired of the women of your world. Theircaprices, their follies, to soften the expression, has caused thisdistaste in you. Come to Woodley-vale, and behold beauty ever attendedby (what should ever attend beauty) native innocence. The lovely widowis out of the question. I am in love with her myself, that is, as muchas an old fellow of sixty-four ought to be with a young girl ofnineteen; but her charming sister, I must bring you acquainted with her;yet, unless I was perfectly convinced, that you possess the best ofhearts, you should not even have a glance from her pretty blue eyes.Indeed, I believe I shall turn monopolizer in my dotage, and keep themall to myself. Julia is my child. Louisa has the merit with me(exclusive of her own superlative one) of being her sister. And mylittle Finch is a worthy girl; I adore her for her friendship to mydarling. Surely your heart must be impenetrable, if so much merit, andso much beauty, does not assert their sway over you.

Do you think that infamous fellow (I am sorry to express myself thuswhile speaking of a peer of our realm) Lord Biddulph is sincere in hisreformation? Perhaps returning health may renew in him vices which arebecome habitual from long practice. If he reflects at all, he has much,very much, to answer for throughout this unhappy affair. Indeed, he didnot spare himself in his conversation with me. If he sees his errors intime, he ought to be thankful to Heaven, for allowing that time tohim, which, by his pernicious counsels, he prevented the man he calledfriend from availing himself of. Adieu! my dear Sir George. May younever feel the want of that peace which goodness bosoms ever!

EDWARD STANLEY.

LETTER LI.

To Miss FINCH.

You are very sly, my dear Maria. Mr. Stanley assures me, you went toLady Barton's purposely to give her nephew, Sir George, the meeting. Isit so? and am I in danger of losing my friend? Or is it only thejocularity of my uncle on the occasion? Pray be communicative on thisaffair. I am sure I need not urge you on that head, as you have neverused any reserve to me. A mind of such integrity as your's requires nodisguises. What little I saw of Sir George Brudenel shews him to be aman worthy of my Maria. What an encomium I have paid him in one word!But, joking apart (for I do not believe you entertained an idea of arencontre with the young Baronet at Barton-house), Mr. Stanley says,with the utmost seriousness, that his friend Brudenel made him theconfidante of a penchant for our sweet Maria, some time since, onhis inviting him down hither, to pick up a wife unhackneyed in the waysof the world. However, don't be talked into a partiality for the swain,for none of us here have a wish to become match-makers.

And now I have done with the young man, permit me to add a word or twoconcerning the old one; I mean Mr. Stanley. He has, in the tenderest andmost friendly manner, settled on me two thousand a year (the sum fixedon another occasion) while I continue the widow of his unfortunatenephew; and if hereafter I should be induced to enter into otherengagements, I am to have fifteen thousand pounds at my own disposal.This, he says, justice prompts him to do; but adds, "I will not tell youhow far my affection would carry me, because the world would perhapscall me an old fool."

He leaves us next week, to make some preparation there for our receptionin a short time. I am to be mistress of his house; and he has made abargain with my father, that I shall spend half the year with him,either at Stanley-Park or Pemberton-Lodge. You may believe all thehappiness of my future life is centered in the hope of contributing tothe comfort of my father, and this my second parent. My views are verycirc*mscribed; however, I am more calm than I expected to have been,considering how much I have been tossed about in the stormy ocean. It isno wonder that I am sometimes under the deepest dejection of spirits,when I sit, as I often do, and reflect on past events. But I amconvinced I ought not to enquire too minutely into some fatalcirc*mstances. May the poor deluded victim meet with mercy! I draw aveil over his frailties. Ah! what errors are they which death cannotcancel? Who shall say, I will walk upright, my foot shall not slide orgo astray? Who knows how long he shall be upheld by the powerful handof God? The most presumptuous of us, if left to ourselves, may be guiltyof a lapse. Oh! may my trespasses be forgiven, as I forgive and forgethis!

My dear Maria will excuse my proceeding; the last apostrophe willconvince you of the impossibility of my continuing to use my pen.

Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

[The correspondence, for obvious reasons, is discontinued for somemonths. During the interval it appears, that an union had taken placebetween Sir George Brudenel and Miss Finch.—While Lady Stanley was onher accustomed visit to her uncle, she receives the following letterfrom Miss Grenville.]

LETTER LII.

TO Lady STANLEY. Melford-abbey,

This last week has been so much taken up, that I could not find one dayto tell my beloved Julia that she has not been one day out of mythoughts, tho' you have heard from me but once since I obeyed thesummons of our friend Jenny Melford, to be witness of her renunciationof that name. We are a large party here, and very brilliant.

I think I never was accounted vain; but, I assure you, I am almostinduced to be so, from the attention of a very agreeable man, who is anintimate acquaintance of Mr. Wynne's; a man of fortune, and, what willhave more weight with me, a man of strict principles. He has alreadymade himself some little interest in my heart, by some very benevolentactions, which we have by accident discovered. I don't know what willcome of it, but, if he should be importunate, I doubt I should not havepower to refuse him. My father is prodigiously taken with him; yet menare such deceitful mortals—well, time will shew—in the mean time,adieu!

Your's, most sincerely,

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER LIII.

TO Lady STANLEY.

I cannot resist writing to you, in consequence of a piece ofintelligence I received this morning from Mr. Spencer, the hero of mylast letter.

At breakfast Mr. Spencer said to Mr. Wynne—"You will have an additionto your party tomorrow; I have just had a letter from my friend HarryWoodley, informing me, that he will pay his devoir to you and yourfair bride before his journey to London." The name instantly struckme—"Harry Woodley!" I repeated.

"Why do you know Harry Woodley?" asked Mr. Spencer. "I once knew agentleman of that name," I answered, "whose father owned that estatemy father now possesses. I remember him a boy, when he was under thetuition of Mr. Jones, a worthy clergyman in our neighbourhood." "Thevery same," replied Mr. Spencer. "Harry is my most particular friend; Ihave long known him, and as long loved him with the tenderestaffection—an affection," whispered he, "which reigned unrivalled till Isaw you; he was the first, but now is second in my heart." Iblushed, but felt no anger at his boldness.

I shall not finish my letter till I have seen my old acquaintance; Iwish for to-morrow; I expressed my impatience to Mr. Spencer. "I shouldbe uneasy at your earnestness," said he, "did I not know that curiosityis incident to your sex; but I will let you into a secret: Harry's heartis engaged, and has long been so; therefore, throw not away your fireupon him, but preserve it, to cherish one who lives but in yoursmiles."

He is arrived (Mr. Woodley, I mean); we are all charmed with him. I knewhim instantly; tho' the beautiful boy is now flushed with manliness. Itis five years since we saw him last—he did not meet us without theutmost emotion, which we attributed to the recollection that we nowowned those lands which ought in right to have been his. He has,however, by Mr. Spencer's account, been very successful in life, and ismaster of a plentiful fortune. He seems to merit the favour of all theworld.

Adieu!

Your's most truly,

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER LIV.

TO Lady STANLEY.

Melford-Abbey.

Mr. Spencer tells me, it is a proof I have great ascendancy over him,since he has made me the confidante of his friend Woodley'sattachment. And who do you think is the object of it? To whom has theconstant youth paid his vows in secret, and worn away a series of yearsin hopeless, pining love? Ah! my Julia, who can inspire so tender, solasting, a flame as yourself? Yes! you are the saint before whose shrinethe faithful Woodley has bent his knee, and sworn eternal truth.

You must remember the many instances of esteem we have repeatedlyreceived from him. To me it was friendship; to my sister it waslove—and love of the purest, noblest kind.

He left Woodley-vale, you recollect, about five years ago. He left allhe held dear; all the soft hope which cherished life, in the flatteringidea of raising himself, by some fortunate stroke, to such an eminence,that he might boldly declare how much, how fondly, he adored his Julia.In the first instance, he was not mistaken—he has acquired a noblefortune. Plumed with hope and eager expectation, he flew toWoodley-vale, and the first sound that met his ear was—that the objectof his tenderest wishes was, a few weeks before his arrival, married. MyJulia! will not your tender sympathizing heart feel, in some degree, thecruel anxiety that must take place in the bosom which had been, during along journey, indulging itself in the fond hope of being happy—and justat that point of time, and at that place, where the happiness was tocommence, to be dashed at once from the scene of bliss, with the accountof his beloved's being married to another? What then remained for theill-fated youth, but to fly from those scenes where he had sustained sokeen a disappointment; and, without calling one glance on the plains theextravagance of his father had wrested from him, seek in the bosom ofhis friends an asylum?

He determined not to return till he was able to support the sight ofsuch interesting objects with composure. He proposed leaving England: hetravelled; but never one moment, in idea, wandered from the spot whichcontained all his soul held dear. Some months since, he becameacquainted with the event which has once more left you free. Hisdelicacy would not allow him to appear before you till the year was nearexpired. And now, if such unexampled constancy may plead for him, whatcompetitor need Harry Woodley fear?

I told you my father was much pleased with Mr. Spencer, but he is morethan pleased with his old acquaintance. You cannot imagine how much heinterests himself in the hope that his invariable attachment to you maymeet its due reward, by making, as he says, a proper impression on yourheart. He will return with us to Woodley-vale. My father's partiality isso great, that, I believe, should you be inclined to favour the faithfulHarry, he will be induced to make you the eldest, and settle Woodley onyou, that it may be transmitted to Harry's heirs; a step, which, I giveyou my honour, I shall have no objection to. Besides, it will be provingthe sincerity of Mr. Spencer's attachment to me—a proof I should not beaverse to making; for, you know, a burnt child dreads the fire. Theseyoung men take up all our attention; but I will not write a word moretill I have enquired after my dear old one. How does the worthy soul do?I doubt you have not sung to him lately, as the gout has returned withso much violence. You know, he said, your voice banished all pain. Praycontinue singing, or any thing which indicates returning chearfulness; ablessing I so much wish you. I have had a letter from Lady Brudenel; shecalls on me for my promised visit, but I begin to suspect I shall haveengagements enough on my hands bye and bye. I doubt my father is tiredof us both, as he is planning a scheme to get rid of us at once. Butdoes not this seeming eagerness proceed from that motive which guidesall his actions towards us—his extreme tenderness—the apprehension ofleaving us unconnected, and the infirmities of life hastening with largestrides on himself? Oh! my Julia! he is the best of fathers!

Adieu! I am dressed en cavalier, and just going to mount my horse,accompanied by my two beaux. I wish you was here, as I own I should haveno objection to a tête-à-tête with Spencer; nor would Harry with you.But here—he is in the way.

Your's,

L. GRENVILLE.

LETTER LV.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Stanley-park.

Alas! my dearest Louisa, is it to me your last letter was addressed? tome, the sad victim of a fatal attachment? Torn as has been my heart bythe strange vicissitudes of life, am I an object fit to admit the brightray of joy? Unhappy Woodley, if thy destiny is to be decided by myvoice! It is—it must be ever against thee. Talk not to me, Louisa, oflove—of joy and happiness! Ever, ever, will they be strangers to mycare-worn breast. A little calm (oh! how deceitful!) had takenpossession of my mind, and seemed to chace away the dull melancholywhich habitual griefs had planted there. Ah! seek not to rob me of thesmall share allotted me. Speak not—write not of Woodley; my futurepeace depends upon it. The name of love has awakened a thousand,thousand pangs, which sorrow had hushed to rest; at least, I kept themto myself. I look on the evils of my life as a punishment for having toofreely indulged myself in a most reprehensible attachment. Never has myhand traced the fatal name! Never have I sighed it forth in the mostretired privacy! Never then, my Louisa, oh! never mention thedestructive passion to me more!

I remember the ill-fated youth—ill-fated, indeed, if cursed with somuch constancy! The first predilection I felt in favour of one toodear—was a faint similitude I thought I discovered between him andWoodley. But if I entertained a partiality at first for him, because hereminded me of a former companion, too soon he made such an interest inmy bosom, as left him superior there to all others. It is your fault,Louisa, that I have adverted to this painful, this forbidden subject.Why have you mentioned the pernicious theme?

Why should my father be so earnest to have me again enter into the paleof matrimony? If your prospects are flattering—indulge them, and behappy. I have tasted of the fruit—have found it bitter to the palate,and corroding to the heart. Urge me not then to run any more hazards; Ihave suffered sufficiently. Do not, in pity to Mr. Woodley, encourage inhim a hope, that perseverance may subdue my resolves. Fate is not moreinexorable. I should despise myself if I was capable, for one moment, ofwishing to give pain to any mortal. He cannot complain of me—he may ofDestiny; and, oh! what complaints have I not to make of her!

I have again perused your letter; I am not free, Louisa, even if myheart was not devoted to the unfortunate exile. Have I not sworn to myattendant Sylph? He, who preserved me in the day of trial? My vows areregistered in heaven! I will not recede from them! I believe he knows myheart, with all its weaknesses. Oh! my Louisa, do not distress me more.

Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER LVI.

TO Lady STANLEY.

Where has my Julia learnt this inflexibility of mind? or what virtue sorigid as to say, she is not free to enter into other engagements? Areyour affections to lie for ever buried in the grave of your unfortunatehusband? Heaven, who has given us renewable affections, will not condemnus for making a transfer of them, when the continuance of that affectioncan be of no farther advantage to the object. But your case isdifferent; you have attached yourself to a visionary idea! the man,whose memory you cherish, perhaps, thinks no longer of you; or would henot have sought you out before this? Are you to pass your life inmourning his absence, and not endeavour to do justice to the fidelity ofone of the most amiable of men?

Surely, my Julia, these sacrifices are not required of you! You condemnmy father for being so interested in the fate of his friend Woodley!—heonly requests you to see him. Why not see him as an acquaintance? Youcannot form the idea of my father's wishing to constrain you to accepthim! All he thinks of at present is, that you would not sufferprejudices to blind your reason. Woodley seeks not to subdue you byperseverance; only give him leave to try to please you; only allow himto pay you a visit. Surely, if you are as fixed as fate, you cannotapprehend the bare sight of him will overturn your resolves! You fearmore danger than there really is. Still we say—see him. My dearestJulia did not use to be inexorable! My father allows he has now no powerover you, even if he could form the idea of using it. What then have youto dread? Surely you have a negative voice! I am called upon—but willend with the strain I began. See him, and then refuse him your esteem,nay more, your tender affection, if you can.

Adieu!

Your's most sincerely,

LOUISA GRENVILLE.

LETTER LVII.

TO Miss GRENVILLE.

Oh, my Louisa! how is the style of your letters altered! Is this change(not improvement) owing to your attachment to Mr. Spencer? Can lovehave wrought this difference? If it has, may it be a stranger to mybosom!—for it has ceased to make my Louisa amiable!—she, who was onceall tenderness—all softness! who fondly soothed my distresses, andfelt for weakness which she never knew—

"It is not friendly, 'tis not maidenly;
Our sex, as well as I, may chide you for it,
Though I alone do feel the injury—"

you, to whom I have freely exposed all the failings of my wayward heart!in whose bosom I have reposed all its tumultuous beatings!—all itsanxieties!—Oh, Louisa! can you forget my confidence in you, whichwould not permit me to conceal even my errors? Why do you then join withmen in scorning your friend? You say, my father has now no power overme, even if he could form the idea of using power. Alas! you have alltoo much power over me! you have the power of rendering me forevermiserable, either by your persuasions to consign myself to eternalwretchedness; or by my inexorableness, as you call it, in flying inthe face of persons so dear to me!

How cruel it is in you to arraign the conduct of one to whose characteryou are a stranger! What has the man, who, unfortunately both forhimself and me, has been too much in my thoughts; what has he done, thatyou should so decisively pronounce him to be inconstant, and forgetfulof those who seemed so dear to him? Why is the delicacy of yourfavourite to be so much commended for his forbearance till the year ofmourning was near expired? And what proof that another may not beactuated by the same delicate motive?

But I will have done with these painful interrogatories; they only helpto wound my bosom, even more than you have done.

My good uncle is better.—You have wrung my heart—and, harsh andunbecoming as it may seem in your eyes, I will not return toWoodley-vale, till I am assured I shall not receive any morepersecutions on his account. Would he be content with my esteem, he mayeasily entitle himself to it by his still further forbearance.

My resolution is fixed—no matter what that is—there is no danger ofmaking any one a participator of my sorrows.

Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER LVIII.

To Miss GRENVILLE.

Stanley-park.

Louisa! why was this scheme laid? I cannot compose my thoughts even toask you the most simple question! Can you judge of my astonishment? theemotions with which I was seized? Oh! no, you cannot—you cannot,because you was never sunk so low in the depths of affliction as I havebeen; you never have experienced the extreme of joy and despair as Ihave done. Oh! you know nothing of what I feel!—of what I cannot findwords to express! Why don't you come hither?—I doubt whether I shallretain my senses till your arrival.

Adieu!

Your's for ever,

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER LIX.

TO Lady BRUDENEL.

Stanley-park.

Yes! my dear Maria, you shall be made acquainted with the extraordinarychange in your friend! You had all the mournful particulars of my pastlife before you. I was convinced of your worth, nor could refuse you myconfidence. But what is all this? I cannot spend my time, my precioustime, in prefacing the scenes which now surround me.

You know how depressed my mind was with sorrow at the earnestness withwhich my father and sister espoused the cause of Mr. Woodley. I wasready to sink under the dejection their perseverance occasioned,aggravated too by my tender, long-cherished attachment to theunfortunate Baron. [This is the first time my pen has traced that word.]

I was sitting yesterday morning in an alcove in the garden, ruminatingon the various scenes which I had experienced, and giving myself up tothe most melancholy presages, when I perceived a paper fall at my feet.I apprehended it had dropped from my pocket in taking out myhandkerchief, which a trickling tear had just before demanded. I stoopedto pick it up; and, to my surprize, found it sealed, and addressed tomyself. I hastily broke it open, and my wonder increased when I readthese words:

"I have been witness to the perturbation of your mind. How will youatone to your Sylph, for not availing yourself of the privilege ofmaking application to him in an emergency? If you have lost yourconfidence in him, he is the most wretched of beings. He flattershimself he may be instrumental to your future felicity. If you areinclined to be indebted to him for any share of it, you may have theopportunity of seeing him in five minutes. Arm yourself with resolution,most lovely, most adored of women; for he will appear under a semblancenot expected by you. You will see in him the most faithful and constantof human beings."

I was seized with such a trepidation, that I could hardly supportmyself; but, summoning all the strength of mind I could assume, I saidaloud, though in a tremulous voice, "Let me view my amiable Sylph!"—Butoh! what became of me, when at my feet I beheld the most wished-for, themost dreaded, Ton-hausen! I clasped my hands together, and shriekedwith the most frantic air, falling back half insensible on the seat."Curse on my precipitance!" he cried, throwing his arms round me. "Myangel! my Julia! look on the most forlorn of his sex, unless you pityme." "Pity you!" I exclaimed, with a faint accent—"Oh! from whence, andhow came you here?"

"Did not my Julia expect me?" he asked, in the softest voice, andsweetest manner.

"I expect you! How should I? alas! what intimation could I have of yourarrival?"

"From this," he replied, taking up the billet written by the Sylph."What do you mean? For Heaven's sake! rise, and unravel this mystery. Mybrain will burst with the torture of suspence."

"If the loveliest of women will pardon the stratagems I have practisedon her unsuspecting mind, I will rise, and rise the happiest of mortals.Yes, my beloved Julia, I am that invisible guide, that has so often ledyou through the wilds of life. I am that blissful being, whom yousupposed something supernatural."

"It is impossible," I cried, interrupting him, "it cannot be!"

"Will not my Julia recollect this poor pledge of her former confidence?"drawing from a ribband a locket of hair I had once sent to the Sylph."Is this, to me inestimable, gift no longer acknowledged by you? thisdear part of yourself, whose enchantment gave to my wounded soul all thenourishment she drew, which supported me when exiled from all that theworld had worth living for? Have you forgot the vows of lasting fidelitywith which the value of the present was enhanced? Oh! sure you have not.And yet you are silent. May I not have one word, one look?"

"Alas!" cried I, hiding my face from his glances; "what can I say? Whatcan I do? Oh! too well I remember all. The consciousness, that everysecret of my heart has been laid bare to your inspection, covers me withthe deepest confusion."

"Bear witness for me," cried he, "that I never made an ill use of thatknowledge. Have I ever presumed upon it? Could you ever discover, by thearrogance of Ton-hausen's conduct, that he had been the happyconfidant of your retired sentiments? Believe me, Lady Stanley, thatman will ever admire you most, who knows most your worth; and oh!, whoknows it more, who adores it more than I?"

"Still," said I, "I cannot compose my scattered senses. All appears adream; but, trust me, I doat on the illusion. I would not be undeceived,if I am in an error. I would fain persuade myself, that but one man onearth is acquainted with the softness, I will not call it weakness, ofmy soul; and he the only man who could inspire that softness." "Oh! bepersuaded, most angelic of women," said he, pressing my hand to hislips, "be persuaded of the truth of my assertion, that the Sylph and Iare one. You know how you were circ*mstanced."

"Yes! I was married before I had the happiness of being seen by you."

"No, you was not."

"Not married, before I was seen by you?"

"Most surely not. Years, years before that event, I knew, and, knowing,loved you—loved you with all the fondness of man, while my age was thatof a boy. Has Julia quite forgot her juvenile companions? Is the timeworn from her memory, when Harry Woodley used to weave the fanciedgarland for her?"

"Protect me, Heaven!" cried I, "sure I am in the land of shadows!"

"No," cried he, clasping me in his arms, and smiling at my apostrophe,"you shall find substance and substantial joys too here."

"Thou Proteus!" said I, withdrawing myself from his embrace, "what doyou mean by thus shifting characters, and each so potent?"

"To gain my charming Nymph," he answered. "But why should we thus wasteour time? Let me lead you to your father."

"My father! Is my father here?"

"Yes, he brought me hither; perhaps, as Woodley, an unwelcome visitant.But will you have the cruelty to reject him?" added he, looking slyly.

"Don't presume too much," I returned with a smile. "You have convincedme, you are capable of great artifice; but I shall insist on yourexplaining your whole plan of operations, as an atonement for yourdouble, nay treble dealing, for I think you are three in one. But I amimpatient to behold my father, whom, the moment before I saw you, I wasaccusing of cruelty, in seeking to urge me in the favour of one I wasdetermined never to see."

"But now you have seen him (it was all your sister required of you, youknow), will you be inexorable to his vows?"

"I am determined to be guided by my Sylph," cried I, "in this momentousinstance. That was my resolution, and still shall remain the same."

"Suppose thy Sylph had recommended you to bestow your hand on Woodley?What would have become of poor Ton-hausen?"

"My confidence in the Sylph was established on the conviction of hisbeing my safest guide; as such, he would never have urged me to bestowmy hand where my heart was refractory; but, admitting the possibility ofthe Sylph's pursuing such a measure, a negative voice would have beenallowed me; and no power, human or divine, should have constrained thatvoice to breathe out a vow of fidelity to any other than him to whom thesecrets of my heart have been so long known."

By this time we had nearly reached the house, from whence my fathersprung with the utmost alacrity to meet me. As he pressed me to hisvenerable bosom, "Can my Julia refuse the request of her father, toreceive, as the best pledge of his affection, this valuable present? Andwill she forgive the innocent trial we made of her fidelity to the mostamiable of men?"

"Ah! I know not what to say," cried I; "here has been sad managementamongst you. But I shall soon forget the heart-aches I have experienced,if they have removed from this gentleman any suspicions that I did notregard him for himself alone. He has, I think, adopted the character ofPrior's Henry; and I hope he is convinced that the faithful Emma is nota fiction of the poet's brain. I know not," I continued, "by what nameto call him."

"Call me your's," cried he, "and that will be the highest title Ishall ever aspire to. But you shall know all, as indeed you have a rightto do. Your sister, and soon, I hope, mine, related to you theattachment which I had formed for you in my tenderest years, which, likethe incision on the infant bark, grew with my growth, and strengthenedwith my strength. She likewise told you (but oh! how faint, howinadequate to my feelings!) the extreme anguish that seized me when Ifound you was married. Distraction surrounded me; I cannot give words tomy grief and despair. I fled from a place which had lost its onlyattractive power. In the first paroxysm of affliction, I knew not whatresolutions I formed. I wrote to Spencer—not to give rest or ease to myover-burdened heart; for that, alas! could receive no diminution—nor tocomplain; for surely I could not complain of you; my form was notimprinted on your mind, though your's had worn itself so deep a trace inmine. Spencer opposed my resolution of returning to Germany, where I hadformed some connexions (only friendly ones, my Julia, but, as such,infinitely tender). He it was that urged me to take the name ofTon-hausen, as that title belonged to an estate which devolved to mefrom the death of one of the most valuable men in the world, who hadsunk into his grave, as the only asylum from a combination of woes. Assome years had elapsed, in which I had increased in bulk and stature,joined to my having had the small-pox since I had been seen by you, hethought it more than probable you would not recollect my person. Ihardly know what I proposed to myself, from closing with him in thisscheme, only that I take Heaven to witness, I never meant to injure you;and I hope the whole tenor of my conduct has convinced you how sincere Iwas in that profession. From the great irregularity of your latehusband's life, I had a presentiment, that you would at one time orother be free from your engagements. I revered you as one, to whom Ihoped to be united; if not in this world, I might be a kindred-angelwith you in the next. Your virtuous soul could not find its congenialfriend in the riot and confusion in which you lived. I dared not trustmyself to offer to become your guide. I knew the extreme hazard I shouldrun; and that, with all the innocent intentions in the world, we mightboth be undone by our passions before reason could come to ourassistance. I soon saw I had the happiness to be distinguished by you!and that distinction, while it raised my admiration of you, excited inme the desire of rendering myself still more worthy of your esteem; buteven that esteem I refused myself the dear privilege of soliciting for.I acted with the utmost caution; and if, under the character of theSylph, I dived into the recesses of your soul, and drew from thence thesecret attachment you professed for the happy Baron, it was not so muchto gratify the vanity of my heart, as to put you on your guard, lestsome of the invidious wretches about you should propagate any reports toyour prejudice; and, dear as the sacrifice cost me, I tore myself fromyour loved presence on a sarcasm which Lady Anne Parker threw outconcerning us. I withdrew some miles from London, and left Spencer thereto apprize me of any change in your circ*mstances. I gave you tounderstand I had quitted the kingdom; but that was a severity I couldnot impose upon myself: however, I constrained myself to take aresolution of never again appearing in your presence till I should havethe liberty of indulging my passion without restraint. Nine parts of tenin the world may condemn my procedure as altogether romantic. I believefew will find it imitable; but I have nice feelings, and I could act noother than I did. I could not, you see, bear to be the rival of myself.That I have proved under both the characters I assumed; but had Ifound you had forgotten Ton-hausen, Woodley would have been deprived ofone of the most delicate pleasures a refined taste can experience. Andnow all that remains is to intreat the forgiveness of my amiable Julia,for these pious frauds; and to reassure her she shall, if the heartof man is not deceitful above all things, never repent the confidenceshe placed in her faithful Sylph, the affection she honoured the happyTon-hausen with, nor the esteem, notwithstanding his obstinateperseverance, which she charitably bestowed on that unfortunateknight-errant, Harry Woodley."

"Heaven send I never may!" said I. But really I shall be half afraid toventure the remainder of my life with such a variable being. However, myfather undertakes to answer for him in future.

I assure you, my dear Maria, you are much indebted to me for thisrecital, for I have borrowed the time out of the night, as the whole dayhas been taken up in a manner you may more easily guess than I candescribe.

Say every thing that is civil to Sir George on my part, as you areconscious I have no time to bestow on any other men than those by whom Iam surrounded. I expect my sister and her swain tomorrow.

Adieu!

I am your's ever

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER LX.

TO Lady BRUDENEL.

You would hardly know your old acquaintance again, he is so totallyaltered; you remember his pensive air, and gentle unassuming manner,which seemed to bespeak the protection of every one. Instead of allthis, he is so alert, so brisk, and has such a saucy assurance in hiswhole deportment, as really amazes; and, I freely own, delights me, as Iam happily convinced, that it is owing to myself that he is thusdifferent from what he was. Let him be what he will, he will ever bedear to me.

I wanted him to relate to me all the particulars of his friendFrederick, the late Baron's, misfortunes. He says, the recital wouldfill a volume, but that I shall peruse some papers on the subject sometime or other, when we are tired of being chearful, but that now we havebetter employment; I therefore submit for the present.

I admire my sister's choice very much; he is an agreeable man, andextremely lively: much more so naturally, notwithstanding the airs somefolks give themselves, than my Proteus. Louisa too is quite alive; Mr.Stanley has forgot the gout; and my father is ready to dance at thewedding of his eldest daughter, which, I suppose, will take place soon.

Pray how do you go on? Are you near your accouchement? or dare youventure to travel as far as Stanley-park? for my uncle will not partwith any of us yet.

Ah! I can write no longer; they threaten to snatch the pen from my hand;that I may prevent such a solecism in politeness, I will conclude, byassuring you of my tenderest wishes.

Adieu!

JULIA STANLEY.

LETTER LXI.

TO Lady STANLEY.

Upon my word, a pretty kind of a romantic adventure you have made of it,and the conclusion of the business just as it should be, and quite inthe line of poetical justice. Virtue triumphant, and Vice dragged ather chariot-wheels,—for I heard yesterday, that Lord Biddulph wasselling off all his moveables, and had moved himself out of the kingdom.Now my old friend Montague should be sent on board the Justitia, andall's well that ends well. As to your Proteus, with all his aliases,I think he must be quite a Machiavel in artifice. Heaven send he maynever change again! I should be half afraid of such a Will-of-the-wisplover. First this, then that, now the other, and always the same. Butbind him, bind him, Julia, in adamantine chains; make sure of him, whilehe is yet in your power; and follow, with all convenient speed, thedance your sister is going to lead off. Oh! she is in a mighty hurry!Let me hear what she will say when she has been married ten months, aspoor I have been! and here must be kept prisoner with all thedispositions in the world for freedom!

What an acquisition your two husbands will be! I bespeak them both forgod-fathers; pray tell them so. Do you know, I wanted to persuade SirGeorge to take a trip, just to see how you proceed in this affair; but,I blush to tell you, he would not hear of any such thing, because he isin expectation of a little impertinent visitor, and would not be fromhome for the world. Tell it not in Gath. Thank heaven, the dissolutetribe in London know nothing of it. But, I believe, none of our set willbe anxious about their sentiments. While we feel ourselves happy, weshall think it no sacrifice to give up all the nonsense and hurry of thebeau monde.

Adieu!

MARIA BRUDENEL.

FINIS.

Table of Contents

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