Your careful
SYLPH.
LETTER XXVI.
To THE SYLPH.
It is happy for me, if my actions have stood so much in my favour, as to make any return for the obligations, which I feel I want words to express. Alas! what would have become of me without the friendly, the paternal admonitions of my kind Sylph! Spare me not, tell me all my faults--for, notwithstanding your partiality, I find them numerous. I feel the necessity of having those admonitions often inforced; and am apprehensive I shall grow troublesome to you.
Will, then, my friend allow me to have recourse to him on any important occasion--or what may appear so to me? Surely an implicit observance of his precepts will be the least return I can make for his disinterested interposition in my favour--and thus, as it were, stepping in between me and ruin. Believe me, my heart overflows with a grateful sense of these unmerited benefits--and feels the strongest resolution to persevere in the paths of rect.i.tude so kindly pointed out to me by the hand of Heaven.
I experience a sincere affliction, that the renunciation of part of my future subsistence should not have had the desired effect; but _none_ that I have parted with it. My husband is young, and blest with a most excellent const.i.tution, which even _his_ irregularities have not injured. I am young likewise, but of a more delicate frame, which the repeated hurries I have for many months past lived in (joined to a variety of other causes, from anxieties and inquietude of mind) have not a little impaired; so that I have not a remote idea of living to want what I have already bestowed, or may hereafter resign, for the benefit of my husband"s creditors. Yet in this, as well as every thing else, I will submit to your more enlightened judgment--and abide most chearfully by your decision.
Would to Heaven Sir William would listen to such an adviser! He yet might retrieve his affairs. We yet might be happy. But, alas! he will not suffer his reason to have any sway over his actions. He hurries on to ruin with hasty strides--nor ever casts one look behind.
The perturbation these sad reflections create in my bosom will apologize to my worthy guide for the abruptness of this conclusion, as well as the incorrectness of the whole. May Heaven reward you! prays your ever grateful,
JULIA STANLEY.
VOLUME II
LETTER XXVII.
To Miss GRENVILLE.
I feel easier in my mind, my dearest Louisa, since I have established a sort of correspondence with the Sylph. I can now, when any intricate circ.u.mstance arises, which your distance may disable you from being serviceable in, have an almost immediate a.s.sistance in, or at least the concurrence of--my Sylph, my guardian angel!
In a letter I received from him the other day, he told me, "a time might come when he should lose his influence over me; however remote the period, as there was a possibility of his living to see it, the _idea_ filled his mind with sorrow. The only method his skill could divine, of still possessing the privilege of superintending my concerns, would be to have some pledge from me. He flattered himself I should not scruple to indulge this only weakness of _humanity_ he discovered, since I might rest a.s.sured he had it neither in his will or inclination to make an ill use of my condescension." The rest of the letter contained advice as usual. I only made this extract to tell you my determination on this head. I think to send a little locket with my hair in it. The _design_ I have formed in my own mind, and, when it is compleated, will describe it to you.
I have seriously reflected on what I had written to you in my last concerning Miss Finch and (let me not practice disingenuity to my beloved sister) the Baron Ton-hausen. Miss Finch called on me yesterday morning--she brought her work. "I am come," said she, "to spend some hours with you." "I wish," returned I, "you would enlarge your plan, and make it the whole day."
"With all my heart," she replied, "if you are to be alone; for I wish to have a good deal of chat with you; and hope we shall have no male impertinents break-in upon our little female _tete-a-tete_." I knew Sir William was out for the day, and gave orders I should not be at home to any one.
As soon as we were quite by ourselves, "Lord!" said she, "I was monstrously flurried coming hither, for I met Montague in the Park, and could 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 ask her some questions concerning that gentleman, and the occasion of her rupture 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 was necessary to love one"s husband, in order to be happy in marriage." "You astonish 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 with nothing but pleasure--let the means of procuring it be, almost, what you will. We marry--but without any notion of its being an union for life--only a few years; and then we make a second choice. But I have lately thought otherwise; and in consequence of these my more serious reflections, am convinced Colonel Montague and I might make a fashionable couple, but never a happy one. I used to laugh at his gaieties, and foolishly thought myself flattered by the attentions of a man whom half my s.e.x had found dangerous; but I never loved him; that I am 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 no influence over these professed rakes; these rakes upon principle, as that iniquitous Lord Chesterfield has taught our youth to be. Only look at yourself, I do not mean to flatter you; what effect has your mildness, your thousand and ten thousand good qualities, for I will not pretend to enumerate them, had over the mind of your husband? None. On my conscience, I believe it has only made him worse; because he knew he never should be censured by such a pattern of meekness. And what chance should such an one as I have with one of these _modern_ husbands? I fear me, I should become a _modern_ wife. I think I am not vainglorious, when I say I have not a bad heart, and am ambitious of emulating a good example. On these considerations alone, I resolved to give the Colonel his dismission. He pretended to be much hurt by my determination; but I really believe the loss of my fortune is his greatest disappointment, as I find he has two, if not more, mistresses to console him."
"It would hardly be fair," said I, "after your candid declaration, to call any part in question, or else I should be tempted to ask you, if you had really no other motive for your rejection of the Colonel"s suit?"
"You scrutinize pretty closely," returned Miss Finch, blushing; "but I will 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 a.s.sure your Ladyship; though _he_ has a t.i.tle, but not an English one."
To you, my dear Louisa, I use no reserve. I felt a sickishness and chill all over me; but recovering instantly, or rather, I fear, desirous of appearing unaffected by what she said, I immediately rejoined--"So then, I may wish the _Baron_ joy of his conquest." A faint smile, which barely concealed my anguish, accompanied my speech.
"Why should I be ashamed of saying I think the Baron the most amiable man in the world? though it is but lately I have allowed his superior merit the preference; indeed, I did not know so much of him as within these few weeks I have had opportunity."
"He is certainly very amiable," said I. "But don"t you think it very close?" (I felt ill.) "I believe I must open the window for a little air. Pursue your panegyric, my dear Miss Finch. I was rather overcome by the warmth of the day; I am better now--pray proceed."
"Well then, it is not because he is handsome that I give him this preference; 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-pox give an additional expression to his features. What say you?"
"I am no competent judge;" I answered, "but, in my opinion, those who do most justice to Baron Ton-hausen, will forget, or overlook, the graces of his person, in the contemplation of the more estimable, because more permanent, beauties of his mind."
"What an elegant panegyrist you are! in three words you have comprized his eulogium, which I should have spent hours about, and not so compleated 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 day walking in the Park with some ladies; the Baron joined us; a well-looking old man, but meanly dressed, met us; he fixed his eyes on Ton-hausen; he started, then, clasping his hands together, exclaimed with eagerness, "It is, it must be he! O, Sir! O, thou best of men!" "My good friend," said the Baron, while his face was crimsoned over, "my good friend, I am glad to see you in health; but be more moderate." I never before thought him handsome; but such a look of benevolence accompanied his soft accents, that I fancied him something more than mortal. "Pardon my too lively expressions," the old man answered, "but grat.i.tude--oh for such benefits! you, Sir, may, and have a right to command my lips; but my eyes--my eyes will bear testimony." His voice was now almost choaked with sobs, and the tears flowed plentifully. I was extremely moved at this scene, and had likewise a little female curiosity excited to develope this mystery. I saw the Baron wished to conceal his own and the old man"s emotions, so walked a little aside with him. I took that opportunity of whispering my servant to find out, if possible, where this man came from, and discover the state of this adventure. The ladies and myself naturally were chatting on this subject, when the Baron rejoined our party. "Poor fellow", said he, "he is so full of grat.i.tude for my having rendered a slight piece of service to his family, and fancies he owes every blessing in life to me, for having placed two or three of his children out in the world." We were unanimous in praising the generosity of the Baron, and were making some hard reflections on the infrequency of such examples among the affluent, when Montague came up; he begged to know on whom we were so severe; I told him in three words--and pointed to the object of the Baron"s bounty. He looked a little chagrined, which I attributed to my commendations of this late instance of worth, as, I believe, I expressed myself with that generous warmth which a benevolent action excites in a breast capable of feeling, and wishing to emulate, such patterns. After my return home, my servant told me he had followed the old man to his lodgings, which were in an obscure part of the town, where he saw him received by a woman nearly his own age, a beautiful girl of eighteen, and two little boys. James, who is really an _adroit_ fellow, farther said, that, by way of introduction, he told them to whom he was servant; that his lady was attached to their interest from something the Baron had mentioned concerning them, and had, in earnest of her future intentions, sent them a half-guinea. At the name of the Baron, the old folks lifted up their hands and blessed him; the girl blushed, and cast down her eyes; and, said James, "I thought, my lady, she seemed to pray for him with greater fervour than the rest." "He is the n.o.blest 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 poor people. They begged me to make their grateful acknowledgments to your ladyship for your bounty, and hoped the worthy Baron would convince you it was not thrown away on base or forgetful folks." James was not farther inquisitive about their affairs, judging, very properly, that I should chuse to make some inquiries myself.
"The next day I happened to meet the Baron at your house. I hinted to him 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 expressions were rather adapted to his own feelings than to the merit of the benefit. "Ah! Baron," I cried, "there is more in this affair than you think proper to communicate. I shall not cease persecuting you till you let me a little more into it. I feel myself interested, and you must oblige me with a recital of the circ.u.mstances; for which purpose I will set you down in my _vis-a-vis_."Are you not aware, my dear Miss Finch, of the pain you will put me to in resounding my own praise?--What can be more perplexing to a modest man?" "A truce with your modesty in this instance," I replied; "be _just_ to yourself, and _generously indulgent_ to me." He bowed, and promised to gratify my desire. When we were seated, "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, was inveigled by some soldiers to inlist in Colonel Montague"s regiment. The present times are so critical, that the idea of a soldier"s life is full of terror in the breast of a tender female. Nancy Johnson was in a state of distraction, which the consciousness of her being rather too severe in a late dispute with her lover served to heighten, as she fancied herself 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 was ordered to join the regiment. You must conceive the distress of the whole family; the poor girl broken-hearted; her parents hanging over her in anguish, and, ardent to restore the peace of mind of their darling, forming the determination of coming up to town to solicit his discharge from the Colonel. By accident I became acquainted with their distressed situation, and, from my intimacy with Montague, procured them the blessing they sought for. I have provided him with a small place, and made a trifling addition to her portion. They are shortly to be married; and of course, I hope, happy. And now, madam," he continued, "I have acquitted myself of my engagement to you." I thanked him for his recital, and said, "I doubted not his pleasure was near as great as theirs; for to a mind like his, a benevolent action must carry a great reward with it." "Happiness and pleasure," he answered, "are both comparative in some degree; and to feel them in their most exquisite sense, must be after having been deprived of them for a long time--we see ourselves possessed of them when hope had forsaken us. When the happiness of man depends on relative objects, he will be frequently liable to disappointment. I have found it so. I have seen every prop, on which I had built my schemes of felicity, sink one after the other; no other resource was then left, but to endeavor to form that happiness in others, which fate had for ever prevented my enjoying; and when I succeed, I feel a pleasure which for a moment prevents obtruding thoughts from rankling in my bosom. But I ask your pardon--I am too serious--tho" my _tete-a-tetes_ with the ladies are usually so." I told him, such reflections as his conversation gave rise to, excited more heart-felt pleasure than the broadest mirth could e"er bestow; that _I_ too was serious, and I hoped should be a better woman as long as I lived, from the resolution I had formed of attending, for the future, to the happiness of others more than I had done. Here our conversation ended, for we arrived at his house. I went home full of the idea of the Baron and his recital; which, tho" I gave him credit for, I did not implicitly believe, at least as to circ.u.mstance, tho" I might to substance. I was kept waking the whole night, in comparing the several parts of the Baron"s and James"s accounts. In short, the more I ruminated, the more I was convinced there was more in it than the Baron had revealed; and Montague being an actor in the play, did not a little contribute to my desire of _peeping behind the curtain_, and having the whole _drama_ before me. Accordingly, as soon as I had breakfasted, I ordered my carriage, and took James for my guide. When we came to the end 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 the goodness of his heart, in order to relieve their minds from the perplexity which inferiority always excites, James told them, I was the best lady in the world, and might, for charity, pa.s.s for the Baron"s sister. 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 all ornament--without the aid of dress, or any external advantage, I think I never beheld a more beautiful object. I apologized for the abruptness of my appearance amongst them, but added, I doubted not, as a friend of the Baron"s and an encourager of merit, I should not be unwelcome. I begged them to go on with their several employments. They received me with that kind of embarra.s.sment which is usual with people circ.u.mstanced as they are, who fancy themselves under obligations to the affluent for treating them with common civility. That they might recover their spirits, I addressed myself to the two little boys, and emptied my pockets to amuse them. I told the good old pair what the Baron had related to me; but fairly added I did not believe he had told me all the truth, which I attributed to his delicacy. "Oh!" said the young girl, "with the best and most n.o.ble of minds, the Baron possesses the greatest delicacy; but I need not tell you so; you, Madam, I doubt not, are acquainted with his excellencies; and may he, in you, receive his earthly reward for the good 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 was our better angel, sent down to stand between us and destruction."
"Wonder not, madam," said the father, "at the lively expressions of my child; grat.i.tude is the best master of eloquence; she feels, Madam--we all feel the force of the advantages we derive from that worthy man.
Good G.o.d! what had been our situation at this moment, had we not owed our deliverance to the Baron!" "I am not," said I, "entirely acquainted with the whole of your story; the Baron, I am certain, concealed great part; but I should be happy to hear the particulars."
"The old man a.s.sured me he had a pleasure in reciting a tale which reflected so much honour on the Baron; "and let me," said he, "in the pride 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 my witness, I never repined at my lowly station, till by that I was deprived of the means of rescuing my beloved family from their distress.
But what would riches have availed me, had the evil befallen me from which that G.o.dlike man extricated us? Oh! Madam, the wealth of worlds could not have conveyed one ray of comfort to my heart, if I could not have looked all round my family, and said, tho" we are poor, we are virtuous, my children.
"It would be impertinent to trouble you, Madam, with a prolix account of my parentage and family. I was once master of a little charity-school, but by unavoidable misfortunes I lost it. My eldest daughter, who sits there, was tenderly beloved by a young man in our village, whose virtues would have reflected honour on the most elevated character. She did ample justice to his merit. We looked forward to the _happy_ hour that was to render our child so, and had formed a thousand little schemes of rational delight, to enliven our evening of life; in one short moment the 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 was down on a visit to a neighbouring squire, my landlord; her figure attracted his notice, and he followed her to our peaceful dwelling. Her mother and I were absent with a sick relation, and her protector was out at work with a farmer at some distance. He obtruded himself into our house, and begged a draught of ale; my daughter, whose innocence suspected 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. She repelled his boldness with all her strength, which, however, would have availed her but little, had not our next-door neighbour, seeing a fine-looking man follow her in, harboured a suspicion that all was not right, and took an opportunity of coming in to borrow something. Nancy was happy to see her, and begged her to stay till our return, pretending she could not procure her what she wanted till then. Finding himself disappointed, Colonel Montague (I suppose, Madam, you know him), went away, when Nancy informed our neighbour of his proceedings. She had hardly recovered herself from her perturbation when we came home. I felt myself exceedingly alarmed at her account; more particularly as I learnt the Colonel was a man of intrigue, and proposed staying some time in the country. I resolved never to leave my daughter at home by herself, or suffer her to go out without her intended husband. But the vigilance of a fond father was too easily eluded by the subtilties of an enterprising man, who spared neither time nor money to compa.s.s his illaudable schemes. By presents he corrupted _that_ neighbour, whose timely interposition had preserved my child inviolate. From the friendship she had expressed for us, we placed the utmost confidence in her, and, next to 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 from the path of virtue by their own s.e.x, than by ours. Whether it is, that the unlimited faith they are apt to put in their own s.e.x weakens the barriers of virtue, and renders them less powerful against the attacks of the men, or that, suspecting no sinister view, they throw off their guard; it is certain that an artful and vicious woman is infinitely a more to be dreaded companion, than the most abandoned libertine. This false friend used from time to time to administer the poison of flattery to the tender unsuspicious daughter of innocence. What female is free from the seeds of vanity? And unfortunately, this bad woman was but too well versed in this destructive art. She continually was introducing instances of handsome girls who had made their fortunes merely from that circ.u.mstance. That, to be sure, the young man, her sweetheart, had merit; 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 a young woman, though he might like to divert himself with them. What a fine opportunity it would be to raise her family, like _Pamela Andrews_; and accordingly placed in the hands of my child those pernicious volumes. Ah! Madam, what wonder such artifices should prevail over the ignorant mind of a young rustic! Alas! they sunk too deep. Nancy first learnt to disrelish the honest, artless effusions of her first lover"s heart. His language was insipid after the luscious speeches, and ardent but dishonourable warmth of Mr. B--, in the books before-mentioned.
Taught to despise simplicity, she was easily led to suffer the Colonel to plead for pardon for his late boldness. My poor girl"s head was now completely turned, to see such an accomplished man kneeling at her feet suing for forgiveness and using the most refined expressions; and elevating her to a G.o.ddess, that he may debase her to the lowest dregs of human kind. Oh! Madam, what have not such wretches to answer for! The Colonel"s professions, however, at present, were all within the bounds of honour. A man never scruples to make engagements which he never purposes to fulfill, and which he takes care no one shall ever be able to claim. He was very profuse of promises, judging it the most likely method of triumphing over her virtue by appearing to respect it. Things were proceeding thus; when, finding the Colonel"s continued stay in our neighbourhood, I became anxious to conclude my daughter"s union, hoping, that when he should see her married, he would entirely lay his schemes aside; for, by his hovering about our village, I could not remain satisfied, or prevent disagreeable apprehensions arising. My daughter was too artless to frame any excuse to protract her wedding, and equally _so_, not to discover, by her confusion, that her sentiments were changed. My intended son-in-law saw too clearly that _change_; perhaps he had heard more than I had. He made rather a too sharp observation on the alteration in his mistress"s features. Duty and respect kept her silent to me, but to him she made an acrimonious reply. He had been that day at market, and had taken a too free draught of ale. His spirits had been elevated by my information, that I would that evening fix his wedding-day. The damp on my daughter"s brow had therefore a greater effect on him. He could not brook her reply, and his answer to it was a sarcastic reflection on those women who were undone by the _red-coats_.
This touched too nearly; and, after darting a look of the most ineffable contempt on him, Nancy declared, whatever might be the consequence, she would never give her hand to a man who had dared to treat her on the eve of her marriage with such unexampled insolence; so saying, she left the room. I was sorry matters had gone so far, and wished to reconcile the pair, 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.