LETTER I.

_From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle._

TAREFIELD, JUNE 24th.

The short note which your father has, before this, delivered to you, and which I trust you have destroyed, my dear Lucy, as a proof unworthy to be preserved of your poor Rachel’s little advancement in self-knowledge, shall, if it be possible, be rendered useful to me as a warning against presumption. But although I have been taught by experience not to think too highly of my wisdom, yet I mean not, Lucy, to give up the reins to folly. You will have no more despairing rhapsodies from me. The question has been decided, and reason tells me, that in a difficulty which admits of no other alternative but that of either laughing or crying, it is but to take that which will least disagree with my constitution. You have, my dear Lucy, called me many times a twin sister of my favourite Beatrice. Whether you meant to compliment me as having a portion of her wit, or meant to repress in me the superabundance of her spirit and flippancy, remains with you to settle. I am contented with the resemblance, and I will, if I can, preserve a light heart, and _her_ disdain of fools and knaves. I will, however, effect my purpose of breaking through the web of mischief which now entangles me, without wishing “I were a man,” or “eating Mr. Flamall’s heart in the market-place;” a more severe punishment will only satiate my vengeance. He shall _live_ to feel the stings of a wounded conscience, and to see me _happy_.—But again Heathcot rises between me and my heroic intentions! Alas, my Lucy, it will, for a time at least, defeat every purpose of wisdom! I must weep! Its beloved inmates are before me! I see them silently glancing their humid eyes to my vacant place at their peaceful table; and, with looks of sympathy, pitying each other for the absence of their fondled, cherished Rachel. Who will now, my Lucy, defend you in your walks from the terrific cows? Who will now guard you from the wasp’s approach? Who will now explore your path in your evening’s ramble, and secure your timid footsteps from the tremendous frog? Alas! you have no Rachel Cowley to guard and to laugh at you! She is, and well may I say, alas! and alas! far remote from these her accustomed and sweet duties! She is too remote, also, to hear the gentle and persuasive admonitions of her Lucy. Who is there _here_ to repress with a smile my too volatile spirits, “to divert my petulance and check my pride?” Where am I now to seek that friend, whose approbation, like the dew from heaven, tempered my rough elements with her own simple and mild virtues? We were formed, Lucy, to be each other’s aid and support. We are made for Heathcot and contentment. Will Mr. Hardcastle persist, think you, in thus defeating, as it appears to me, the designs of Providence? Oh no! nor can he long remain unconvinced that my father was incapable of defrauding his child of those rights of nature which he granted to his slaves. He cannot, Lucy, persist long in prohibiting Horace from writing to me. He must perceive the injustice, as well as severity, of his present conduct. Never to write to the companion of my youth, to a _brother_ endeared to me by a thousand and a thousand fond remembrances of pure and unimpassioned affection! Surely this is being too rigid! Such is not Mr. Hardcastle’s mind. He will relent in compassion to himself. In this hope only can I find a relief from my present state of mind. I cannot, Lucy, support my plan of conduct with fortitude whilst I find your father thinks meanly of me; and is it not obvious, that he believes me weak and childish? Why am I not to be confided in? His honour is my own; Horace’s disgrace would be my destruction; and, again I repeat it, I would not now marry your brother were the _world_ your father so much dreads, to solicit me to be his wife. No, Lucy, Horace Hardcastle shall have no accounts to settle with my new _guardian_! Farewell, I cannot proceed. Mrs. Allen’s blessing and your Rachel’s must not be omitted. She is contended with me, and bids me tell you that I am a very good girl. Will not this please you? You smile.