VOLUME II

Soon after Lord Munster's arrival in London, he wrote Lady Darnley the following letter.

From the Earl of Munster to the Countess of Darnley.

'My Dear Aunt,

Over powered as I am with a weight of obligations, I should think myself highly wanting to my own feelings, were I in any one instance in my future life to leave you dubious of my gratitude, or the earnest desire I have of conforming to your wishes.

You have, my dear Madam, expressed your desire I should marry; but that, my dear aunt, is impossible at present. But I revere that state: men who laugh at a serious engagement, have never known the allurements of modesty when blended with affability; nor felt the power of beauty, when innocence has increased its force. This has been my case, and my heart is already a prey to a hopeless passion. But it is necessary to carry you back some years, in order to give a recital of its commencement.

The amiable character of Mr Vanhagen, my landlord at Rotterdam, you are already acquainted with: his humanity and benevolence inspired me with the greatest respect. The advantages his countrymen have over us, are their industry, vigilance, and wariness: But they in general exert them to excess, by which means they turn their virtues into vices. Their industry becomes rapine, their vigilance fraud, their wariness cunning. But my worthy landlord possessed all the virtues.

He had in the early part of his life resided much at Venice, and brought from thence the economy and frugality which distinguish them in their private families, their temperance, their inviolable secrecy of public and private affairs, and a certain steadiness and serenity to which the English are supposed to be utter strangers. His long residence there, made him well known to the duchess de Salis, whose distant relation he had married.

This lady had resided some years at Rotterdam with her family. She was only daughter to the Count de Trevier, was heiress to a large fortune, and possessed exquisite beauty, good-sense, and every accomplishment that was likely to preserve and to improve the authority beauty gives to make it _indefectible_ and _interminable_. But the duke, her husband, unfortunately was soon satiated with the regularity of her virtues: His affections could not long be preserved by a woman of her amiable undisguised character. When custom had taken off the edge from his passion, he endeavoured to rouse his torpid mind by a change of object. That vivacity which the tender passions impart to pleasure, was a powerful incentive for him to indulge them. His heart found fresh delight in gallantry, to which he was naturally prone: a dangerous delight, which, habituating the mind to the most lively transports, gives it a distaste to all moderate and temperate enjoyments: from thence forward the innocent and tranquil joys which nature offers, lose all their relish. His sophisticated mind made him blind to the merit of his wife, who loved him tenderly.--She felt most severely his neglect, and contracted insensibly a settled melancholy, which served the more effectually to alienate his affections from her. She became miserable:--and no temper can be so invincibly good as to hold out against the siege of constant slights and neglects. Misfortunes she had strength of mind to support, and death she could have encountered with greater resolution than the displeasure and peevishness of the man she loved. Wherever there is love, there is a degree of fear--we are naturally afraid of offending, or of doing any thing which may lessen us in the esteem of an object that is dear to us: and if we are conscious of any act by which we may have incurred displeasure, we are impatient and miserable, till, by intreaties and tokens of submission, we have expiated the offence and are restored to favor.

By the duchess's earnest solicitude to please, she destroyed her own purpose, and her obedience, like water flung upon a raging fire, only inflamed her husband's follies; and therefore, when he was in an ill humour, the duke vented his range on her. He did not care _how_ often _he quarrelled_ with, or, to speak more properly, how often he _insulted_ her; for that could not be called a quarrel wherein she acted no part but _that of suffering_. But though his displeasure was grievous to her, yet she could bear it better than his indifference--for resentment argues some degree of regard. But whilst she was breaking her heart for him, he passed his time in gallantry--though his affections were always the satire of a woman's virtue--the ruin of a woman's reputation.

A favourite mistress, by pursuing a different plan from that of the duchess, secured his affections. She kept alive his ardour by her caprices. _Affectation_ always exceeds the _reality_. But is not the extravagance of some men's fancy to be pitied, who lodge all their passions in a mistress, a dog, or a horse, which but in general do them no service but what they are prompted to through necessity or instinct? Art and cunning are _unknown_ to a woman of virtue, whose conduct is determined by her principles, whose anxiety alone is excited by affection.

After five years, in which the duchess had a son and a daughter, and in which she had experienced many of the _vexations_, but few of the _satisfactions_ of a married state; the duke left her, and resided entirely in Paris with his mistress. She retired to the country, to a family-seat of her father's, and devoted her time entirely to the education of her children, and that of a young lady (of great beauty and fortune) whose mother with her last breath bequeathed to her care.

She from time to time wrote the duke letters, expressing great resignation, and such a tenderness for him as she thought might have power to touch his heart. "I am obedient to your wishes," said she, "I will not urge, with one unwelcome word, this unkindness--I'll conceal it--If your heart has made a choice more worthy, I forgive it--pursue your pleasures--drive without a rein your passions--I am the mistress of my own mind, that shall not mutiny--If I retrieve you, I shall be thankful--If not, you _are_ and must be still _my lord_."

To letters such as these she never received any answer! as the charms of a woman's eloquence never have any force, when those of her person are expired (in the eyes of her lover I mean): it might be perhaps as easy to persuade a man to dance, who had lost the use of his limbs.

I shall pass over the first ten years of her retirement, as they furnish nothing more than the unwearied attentions she took in employing every means for the instruction of her son, daughter, and ward. I shall only observe, that the regularity of her conduct gained her the esteem of every one. She was a friend to virtue under any denomination, and an enemy to vice under any colour. She established an institution for the provision of the infirm and destitute. This was constructed on that wise and excellent plan, that excludes the undeserving from participating in the charity, and extends only to those who, from their real necessities, are proper objects of benevolence.--At that period she was advised to take her son to the capital. But she wisely considered that the education which commonly attends high birth or great fortune, very often corrupts or sophisticates nature; whilst in those of the middle state she remains unmixed and unaltered. I have somewhere read; _Jamais les grandes passions et les grandes vertus ne sont nées, & ne se sont nourries que dans le silence & la retrait. L'homme en societé perd tous ses traits distinctifs: ce n'est plus qu' une froide copie de ce qui l'environne. Voilà pour quelle raison on nous accuse de manquer de caractere: nous ne vivons pas assez avec nous-mêmes, & nous empruntons trop des autres_.

The duchess procured for her son's tutor, a very respectable man, who was at the utmost pains in forming his morals, and improving his understanding; while so many of the degenerate nobility in great cities are trifling away their time and their fortunes, in idle dissipations, in sensual enjoyments, or irrational diversions, and making mere amusement the great business of their lives. Happiness and merit are the result, not so much of truth and knowledge, as of attaining integrity and moderation. Many ridiculed the duchess's plan of education, of debarring herself from those pleasures and enjoyments her youth, rank, and beauty so well intitled her to: But she often observed it would be the height of imbecility to judge of her felicity by the imagination of others; considering nothing under the title of happiness, but what she wished to be in the possession of, or what was the result of her own voluntary choice. Women of the world counteract their intention, in so assiduously courting pleasure, as it only makes it fly further from them. They will not understand, that pleasure is to be purchased, and that industry is the price of it; to reject the one, is to renounce the other. They are to learn that pleasure, which they idolize, must now and then be _quitted_ in order to be _regained_. They have tried in vain to perpetuate it, by attempting variety and refinement. Their fertile invention has multiplied the objects of amusement, and created new ones every day, without making any real acquisition. All these fantastic pleasures, which are founded on variety, make no lasting impressions on the mind; they only serve to prove the impossibility of permanent happiness, of which some women entertain _chimerical expectations_: but the duchess was too rational to make amusement her principal object. A woman that is hurried away by a fondness for it, is, generally speaking, a very useless member of the community: A party of pleasure will make her forget every connection: and she is often sick without knowing _where_ her complaint _lies_, because she has nothing _to do_, and is tired of being _well_.

The duchess had loved her husband passionately. If any person had a desire of ingratiating themselves with her, they had only to begin by him: To praise, to please, or admire him, opened to them a reception in her heart. But our best virtues, when pushed to a certain degree, are on the point of becoming vices: She soon found she was to blame, in dedicating herself too fondly even to this beloved object. She exhausted her whole sensibility on him, and in proportion to the strength of her attachment, was the mortification she endured in being abandoned by him. But had not even this been her fate, the extravagant excesses of passion are but too generally followed by an intolerable langour. The woman who wishes to preserve her husband's affection, should be careful to conceal from him the extent of _hers_: there should be always something left for him to expect. Fancy governs mankind: and when the imagination is cloyed, reason is a slave to caprice.

Women do not want judgment to determine, penetration to foresee, nor resolution to execute; and Providence has not given them beauty to create love, without understanding to preserve it. The pleasures of which they are susceptible, are proportioned to the capacity and just extent of their feelings. They are not made for those raptures which transport them beyond themselves: these are a kind of convulsions, which can never last. But there are infinite numbers of pleasures, which, though they make slighter impressions, are nevertheless more valuable. These are renewed every day under different forms, and instead of excluding each other, unite together in happy concert, producing that temperate glow of mind which preserves it vigorous, and keeps it in a delightful equanimity. How much are those of the fair-sex to be pitied who are insensible to such attainments, and who look upon life as gloomy, which is exempt from the agitation of unruly passions! As such prepossessions deprive them of pleasures which are much preferable to those which arise from dangerous attachments, the duchess knew how to make choice of her amusements, and _improved_ her _understanding_ at the same time that she _gratified_ her _feelings_. Life to those who know how to make a proper use of it, is strewed with delights of every kind, which, in their turn, flatter the senses and the mind; but the latter is never so agreeably engaged as in the conversation of intelligent persons, who are capable of conveying both instruction and entertainment. The duchess preferred the conversation of _such_, to _men of the world_; being sensible she had every thing _to gain_ on _one side_, and every thing _to lose_ on _the other_.

The Baron de Luce resided in the same part of the country. He was a man of great gallantry, wit, and humour. He judged it impossible that a woman in the bloom of beauty, possessed of the united advantages resulting from rank, riches, and youth, should retire to an obscure part of the world, and sequester herself from (what he judged) the pleasures of life, without being _compelled_ by her husband or _prompted_ by some secret inclination which she wished to conceal. Determined to unravel this mystery, and to amuse himself during the time he staid in the neighbourhood, he tried to insinuate himself into her good opinion--but without giving any offence she avoided entering into his plans. He still persisted in his intentions, judging, as he wrote well, the duchess would be glad to enter into a correspondence; but he found nothing in the reception she gave him that was for his purpose, _to embellish the history of his amours_. But what he undertook at first from vanity, became at last sufficient punishment for him. The more he saw of her conduct the more his respect increased, but which instead of making him relinquish his _intentions_ (from a conviction of the inefficacy of the pursuit) made him persist _in them_, as he _then felt_ the passion which at _first he feigned_.

The duchess knew the predicament on which she stood; but as _the hatred_ of men of a certain character is _less_ pernicious than _their love_, she gave orders never to admit him into her presence. The good or bad reputation of women depends not so much upon the propriety of their own conduct, as it does upon a lucky or unlucky combination of circumstances in certain situations. Some men calumniate them for no other reason, but because they are in love with them. They revenge themselves upon them for the want of that merit which renders them despicable in their eyes. This was the case with the Baron; he insinuated there were reasons which he knew that rendered it highly proper for the duchess to live in the manner _she did_, speaking in a _style_ which conveyed more than met the ear! The people he addressed greedily listened to what seemed to bring the duchess more on a footing with themselves; a thousand stories were circulated to her prejudice (though innocence itself): Thus if there be but the least foundation for slander, some people believe themselves fully authorized to publish whatever malice _dares invent_. But there are no enemies more dangerous to the reputation of women, than lovers that cannot gain the reciprocal affection of their mistresses. These reports were confirmed from another cause--A lady of fortune in the neighbourhood became much attached to a man who resided with the duchess as her son's tutor; he was ingenuous, sensible, and much respected. She offered him her hand, and as she possessed a handsome fortune could not conceive how he could decline that happiness. As he was constantly at home, agreeable to the stories that had been circulated, she concluded at once (and then affirmed) he was a favourite of the duchess.

Self-love is of the nature of the polypus; though you sever her branches or arms, and even divide her trunk, yet she finds means to reproduce herself. In consequence of the information the duke received from this lady, who wrote to him in the character of an anonymous friend, he left Paris and his mistress abruptly; and, to the great surprise of his wife, came to--. He accosted her in a distant, but respectful manner.--Nothing gives so sharp a point to one's aversion as good-breeding--The duchess, unconscious of having given him any occasion of offence, was highly delighted at his return, flattering herself with a return of his affection. And as she considered him the aggressor, received him graciously, insisting that no mention should be made of past transactions; assuring him that she still retained the same love for him, and as she regarded him as the first of human beings, had perhaps been too sanguine in expecting his constancy, as so many temptations must occur from his superiority to the rest of mankind. She thought he was but too amiable--that his very vices had charms beyond other men's _virtues_. Adding that (grievous as his neglect had been to her) yet she had never done anything that could reflect upon his honor! He heard her in a sullen humour; his inclinations _were revived_ by remarking, that time, instead of _diminishing_, had _added to her charms_: this increased his resentment, and he answered, that the worst a bad woman can do, is to make herself ridiculous; it is on herself only that she can entail infamy--but men of honor have a degree of it to maintain, superior to that which is in a woman's keeping. Had she had a mind to retaliate, she might easily have said, that a man of honor and virtue which, in themselves indeed, are always inseparably connected, are but too often separated in the absurd and extravagant opinions of mankind. For what a strange perversion of reason is it, to call a person a man of honor who has scarcely a grain of virtue! She only observed, we are indeed civilized into brutes; and a false idea of honor has almost reduced us into Hob's first state of nature, by making us barbarous. Honor now is no more than an imaginary being, worshipped by men of _the world_, to which they frequently offer human sacrifices. He told her she needed not _be troubled for her minion_: and retiring to rest, left her quite at a loss to account for his conduct.

It is not sufficient we know our own innocence; it is necessary, for a woman's happiness, not to be suspected.

For unfortunately after she has been once censured (however falsely) she must expect the envenomed shafts of malice ever ready to be let fly at her, and that in the transaction of any affairs that will admit of two interpretations (to avoid the worst, and enjoy an unblemished reputation). It is not enough to govern herself with propriety, there must be nothing that will carry two interpretations in the _accidents of her life_: A woman must therefore be necessarily always guilty, when innocence has need of many justifications. Happy are those who are not exposed to such inconveniences!

The Duke most injudiciously next morning publicly dismissed the object of his jealousy, and, by his want of prudence, confirmed every thing that had been falsely alledged against his innocent wife, who continued ignorant of it for some months.

When acquainted with it--The less ground she saw for the reports against her honor, the more courage and greater resolution she had to condemn them. She thought herself unfortunate to have lost the merit of her innocence by scandalous reports which she thanked Heaven she had not incurred by her guilt: and was so far from slighting the probabilities that might confirm opinions founded against her, that she by no means thought herself in the same situation with others, who had never _been contemned_, and that consequently she was not at liberty to act on some occasions as _they might do_.

How many women _err_ from the obstinacy of people in defaming them--they give up the point, despairing of success in conciliating the esteem of a world who never _retract censure_--It is not with detraction as it is with other things that displease by repetition: Stories that have been told a thousand times, are still new when revived to the prejudice of another. The duchess bore all these calumnies with patience, _which_ was never yet a _solitary virtue_: like an angler she endeavoured to humour the duke's waywardness, flattering herself that her study to please would conquer his disagreeable temper; and that if she could not become a pleasing wife, she might at least be thought an agreeable companion, a serviceable friend. Hope was the only blessing left us, when Pandora's fatal box let out all the numberless evils which infest these sublunary regions. But she was at last obliged to resign all ideas of submitting longer to his caprices. He became jealous even of his menial servants; and she could speak to no man without incurring his suspicions; which produced to her the most mortifying scenes. Like that conqueror of China, who forced his subjects into a general revolt, because he wanted to oblige them to cut their hair and their nails, he reduced her to form the resolution of leaving him, because (as he represented it) _he had dismissed a servant_. But it was in reality his temper and abuse that occasioned it--and when she was under the necessity of taking that step, she rather let the world judge amiss of her, than justify herself at her husband's expense. No condescensions on her part could affect _him_, as daily experience convinced her, that from a consciousness of the part he _himself had acted_, he could never _love her_. Are there not many occasions in life in which it would be reasonable to say, _I conjure you to forget and forgive the injury you have done me_?

They at last parted amicably: she came to Rotterdam with her family, and there I contracted an intimacy with her son, who was an amiable young man about my own age. There I first beheld the lovely Adelaude, Countess de Sons, the duchess's ward: the first time I saw _her_, and the charming Julia, I know I had _a heart_; until then I was insensible--These young ladies were instructed in all the arts of Minerva; Julia was skilled in music; but the countess's voice was, accompanied with the lyre, more moving than that of Orpheus. Her hair hung waving in the wind without any ornament, which the duchess had taught her to despise: her motions were all perfectly easy, her smiles enchanting! Without dress she had beauty, unconscious of any, and thus were heightened all her charms.

The marquis enquired what I thought of his sister, and her fair friend? I answered, "They were charming," and asked if it was possible he had resisted the charms of the beautiful countess? He replied, "I will own to you, my dear friend, I have not: Adelaude is formed for love; my heart is naturally susceptible; she has been my constant companion: he must be something more, or something less than a man (a god or a devil) who hath escaped, or who can resist love's empire.--The gods of the heathens could not; Jupiter, Mars, Mercury, Apollo, their amours are as famous as their names: so that sturdiness in human nature, where it is found, which can resist, argues plainly how much the devil is wrought up in the composition. But if my sensibility had not been so great, yet so many opportunities she has had to engage my affections, could not fail of rivetting me her's for ever," "You are beloved then" said I hastily. "Yes," replied he, "Adelaude calls me her dearest brother; but entertains no ideas beyond that relation; and I am fearful of letting her know the extent of my sentiments, lest it should render her constrained in her manner to me; and the charming _naiveté_ of her behaviour forms the charms of my life! The marks of that innocent affection, which first attached me to her, have hitherto been looked upon as a childish play: and as no one has troubled their head about the consequences of it, I have taken care to profit by the liberty allowed me.--You make me no answer!--Wherefore this gloomy silence, your dejected air, and languishing looks?" I pretended an indisposition, and left him under the greatest oppressure of spirits; I loved, I adored the charming Countess! judge then of the horror of my situation.--

How many sacrifices could I not willingly have made to friendship! My passion I thought was indeed the only one I could not make: how was it possible I should? but convinced of the happiness of my rival, what did I not suffer? I saw a pair of happy lovers, suited to each other; I thought it would be safe to alienate her affections; and considered myself only in the light of a dependent on your bounty: in such a situation, had my friend been uninterested, could I hazard addressing a young lady of the countess's rank and fortune? I became melancholy and _distrait_. Many people, and particularly those who have no idea of that delicacy of passion peculiar to susceptible minds, looked on me as a particular kind of a young man. To please such persons, I must have devoted my time to them: you will easily conceive then, I could well enough bear the want of their good opinion. Such become the artificers of their own misfortunes, by the false idea they form of pleasure, and they philtre (if I may use the term) their own sorrows.

It was what is called pleasure, that sunk into ruin the ancient states of Greece; that destroyed the Romans, that overturns cities; that corrupts courts; that exhausts the fortunes of the great; that consumes youth; that has a retinue composed of satiety, indigence, sickness, and death. But _my passion_, as much as a _dislike_ to their _manner of life_, secured me from _their dissipations_. The constant endeavours I used to suppress an inclination I could not overcome, had a fatal effect on my constitution--I was threatened with a consumption!--This I carefully concealed, lest your kindness should have urged my removal from a place, which I could not determine to quit: though I carefully avoided the sight of those who were interesting to me in it.

At this time the marquis received a peremptory command to rejoin his father. He came to me in the greatest distress: "How", said he, "can I resolve to leave the countess?--She is now beautiful as an angel, exclusive of her immense fortune; to remain single cannot possibly be long in her power, for her beauty must necessarily strike every eye, and charm every heart. But I will go and unburthen myself to my father; her riches and rank will insure his approbation. You, my friend, alone are acquainted with the secret of my heart. See the lovely Adelaude often; to you I confide the secrets of my soul. Farewel."

The marquis set out, and soon informed me that his father would not yet hear of his marriage, and had insisted on his immediately joining a regiment in which he had procured him a command: It was in time of war; his honor at stake, and love was subordinate to his glory. The susceptible mind is capable of enjoying a thousand exquisite delights to which those are strangers, whose pleasures are less refined; but what chagrin, what regret, what pain does not so delicate a passion bring on the heart that entertains it? _Quand on est né trop tendre, on ne doit pas aimer_, says some French author. But the sufferings of my friend could not equal mine; the object of my passion being daily before my eyes heightened my inquietude. The general characters of men, I am apt to believe, are determined by their natural constitutions, as their particular actions are by their immediate objects. The innocent marks of partiality she honored me with, made me in constant fears of acting dishonorably to the marquis. The duchess fell soon after into a languishing illness, which in a short time put a period to her life: The duke came, but _too late_, to receive her last breath. He at first appeared inconsolable for her death; but his grief insensibly decreased, and softened into that mournful and tender regard, which a sense of her merit, and his own unkindness to her, could not fail of exacting from him. Disgusted at an union, which had caused him (from his own errors) so much uneasiness, he formed a resolution carefully to avoid entering again into a similar engagement. But he saw every day before him the lovely Adelaude: he loved her; it was perhaps impossible for him to do otherwise. He declared his passion; but was rejected: The countess told him her affections were engaged! Next day I received the following letter.

From the Countess de Sons to the Earl of Munster.

My Lord,

I am well aware of the delicacy which prescribes certain observances to our sex. But there is no rule in life which must not vary with circumstances. Come to me this evening: Julia will be with me--Adieu.

ADELAUDE de SONS.

I went--Abashed at the step she had taken, the cheeks of the lovely Adelaude glowed with the most lovely red; her eyes sparkled with the brightest lustre; while the loves and graces hovered around her charming form, and fluttered on her breast--Love, almighty love, preceded her steps, when she approached me. Heavens! how quick my heart beat at that instant with pleasing hope! I endeavoured to speak to her, but hesitated and trembled. After a few moments' expressive silence, I desired to know what commands she meant to honor me with? She was greatly confused, but at length told me the dilemma she was in from the declaration of the duke's passion. To support my politics, I began and talked of my friend.

She told me that his partiality was no secret to her, although he had never disclosed it, but that she rejoiced at his absence, as it would enable him to triumph over a passion she could _not return_. Surprised at this declaration, I should have been wanting to myself not to improve it. But love only can give an idea of those pleasures we enjoyed in each other's company with reciprocal tenderness. But _it_ affords few sweets that are not dashed with a mixture of bitterness. Happy moments! how soon ye fled! a sad remembrance only of that delightful interval left behind. Ah no, it is impossible I should ever forget that day in which she first confessed those sentiments for me my heart had long divined, the assurance of which, nevertheless, gave me inexpressible transport. But when I reflected on my friend, and that of my depressed circumstances, it gave a sudden check to my joy. My sighs, my tears, made known to her the distress of my heart! I could only utter the name of _my friend_, and wrung my hands in despair. She soothed my uneasiness. "This is the fatal stroke I feared" said the gentle Adelaude; "this is what my foreboding heart presaged. But your interest does not interfere with his, for whom I never experienced any thing more but that of a _sisterly affection_."

I then acquainted her with my dependent situation: that I should be hurt at allying her so unsuitably, though had I had the wealth of worlds it would have been hers. She told me her estate was sufficient to enrich me: that the duke talked of leaving Rotterdam; she dreaded being in the power of a man so impetuous, who would stick at nothing to gratify his passions; and that she would place herself under my protection. Infatuated I was, not to comply with her request! My friend's woes wounded me to the quick: false honor determined me to write and inform him of the state of the affair, previous to my taking advantage of her inclination for me. I wrote instantly to the marquis; but a few days after the duke set out for Italy with his family. The night before their departure I saw the countess. "Thou must go," said I, "and with thee all my joy, my happiness, my only hope--Go, and take with thee all my heart holds dear, all that is left for me is despair. Reason will resume its empire over love, and you will forget a poor unfortunate, who hath nothing to offer but the most pure and ardent affection; an affection in which consists all the happiness of his life."

"Ah, my lord," said she, "forbear to speak a language so injurious to your merit and my sentiments. Can I cease to love you? Can I forget you? No! whilst my heart beats it will be yours, and yours only--I will preserve myself for you, and nothing can ever make me forgetful of the engagements I have made with you."

The conflict of contending passions had tortured me so much, that I confess, I was rather relieved, when they set out, and when it was out of my power to have realized the charming scheme the countess had suggested to me. What forbearance did it not cost me? Nothing is more common than for men to declaim against those things which they are not in a capacity to enjoy: Diogenes said to Aristippus the courtier, as he passed him in his tub, "If you could content yourself, as I do, with _bread_ and _garlic_, you would not be the _slave_ of the King of Syracuse:" "Are you," replied Aristippus, "if you _knew_ how to _live with princes_, you would not make such _bad cheer_."

Perhaps the circumstances of age, health, and fortune, vary the taste, and regulate the appetites of mankind more than reason and reflection.

But everything conspired to render the sacrifice I had made a _great one_ to _friendship_. I soon received the following letter from Julia.

"My Lord,

The countess is so closely watched, that she cannot write. Would to God you had followed your inclinations! We are going to Sweden: follow us, if possible, and repair the error you have committed. I am fearful she will be constrained to choose another husband. Adieu.

JULIA de VILLEROI."

Upon the receipt of this letter I went to Sweden; but could hear no tidings of those I pursued. I became quite melancholy, and seldom went abroad, but could not refuse being introduced by the Baron de R---- to the Queen Dowager, who is an exalted character: she is sister to the reigning King of Prussia, is the avowed protectress of letters, and encourager of merit: and during her husband's life possessed an almost unlimited influence over affairs of state; but at present leads a more retired and secluded life. She is perfect mistress of Latin, as well as the modern languages.

The present King of Sweden at the age of twenty-six changed the form of government, without blood or difficulty. Sweden can boast of her two Gustavus's, the first and second; nor are her Christina, or her Charles, unknown to fame. In what country is not the name of Peter celebrated, the greatest legislator that modern times have seen? Hearing no tidings of the duke's family, I made out my northern tour. In Denmark the sun of genius has not yet blazed from a throne, and shed a temporary lustre on the surrounding darkness; if we except the celebrated Margaret de Waldemar, to whom history has given the epithet of the _Semiramis_ of the north, who united under her reign all the kingdoms beneath the polar sky, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden. There are, however, two favourite monarchs of Danish story. The first of these was Christian IV, who was the opponent and competitor of Gustavus Adolphus, but with far inferior fame. The last was Frederic IV. This prince loved the arts, and made two visits to Italy, one previous to his ascending the throne, and one after it. During a carnival at Venice, he resided in that city, and in one evening is said to have won, at the card-table, a bank worth one hundred thousand pounds sterling, which he immediately presented to a noble Venetian lady, in whose house this happened, and whose whole fortunes were involved in this game of chance: All the company were in masque.

I cannot omit mentioning the literary merit of the ladies in Denmark; which has already been taken notice of by Lord Molesworth, who says, that Tycho Brahe's sister, and especially Dorothea Engelerechtie, may contend with the famous poetesses of the ancients. The lady Brigetta Tot has translated Seneca the philosopher into the Danish tongue, with all the elegance any language is capable of, and has conspired with our ingenious countrywoman Miss Carter[27], to shew that the most rugged philosophy of the stoics must submit, when the fair-sex is pleased to conquer. But I forget who I am writing to--Thanks to your extensive reading--I have nothing to tell you that has been written and published before. I shall only observe, that I met with many ingenious men abroad who held the English cheap. I can account for this in no other way, than that they form their judgment of us only by the _philosophical transactions_. Absorbed in deep melancholy, on account of my ignorance of the fate of Countess de Sons, I went little into company, but applied myself constantly to study: I amused myself in painting; the cataract of the river Dahl is the subject of one of my pieces. The tremendous roar of these cataracts, which, when close, is superior to the loudest thunder; the vapours which rise incessantly from them, and even obscure them from the eye in many parts; the agitation of the river below for several hundred yards before it resumes its former tranquillity; and the sides covered with tall firs; form one of the most picturesque and astonishing scenes to be beheld in nature's volume.

Wrapt up one day in the contemplation of this scene, Lord Ogilby whom I became acquainted with at Upsal, approached me under an apparent agitation of spirits. We lived much together, but I had observed him very absent, and missed him several evenings. My Lord, said he, near this place resides all that my soul holds dear: I am in love--in love, to a degree I never felt till now. I am myself astonished at it. But blame me not until you see the object of my affections. He said, that he had been charmed with a young woman's figure and beauty, and that she appeared to be possessed of the greatest modesty, prudence, and good humour. He finished his panegyric with saying, _how happy will that man be who first inspires her gentle heart with love_!

I accompanied Lord Ogilby (who remained silent) for about a hundred yards, when we approached a cottage.

A window being opened, he said to me, There, my Lord, you can see her without being observed. I looked, and beheld a most exquisite Beauty. She was of a fair complexion, had fine full blue languishing eyes, which sparked through the long lashes of their beautiful lids, and expressed, with the most innocent simplicity, all that an insipid coquet attempts in vain. When she perceived we looked at her, it heightened the vermilion on her cheeks, through the consciousness that they betrayed the extreme sensibility of her heart; and if even the rest of her person had not been equally engaging, yet the bewitching sweetness of her countenance alone would have intitled her to be ranked among the first class of pleasing Beauties.--A beautiful boy of about two years of age, whose hair flowed in natural ringlets like her own, was playing beside her while she was making some artificial flowers. Her dress was a brown camblet jacket and petticoat clasped at the breast.

Upon perceiving us she arose, and received us with the greatest politeness--It was easy for us to conceive she had been accustomed to genteel life. She acquainted us that whatever honor we might do her in condescending to come into that poor cottage, yet she must for the future desire we would not repeat our visit. As it was entirely contrary to her plans, and to those views which determined her to retire to that place. There appeared in her a timid bashfulness; but as this seemed to proceed from the fear of _my friend_, who had been importunate lover, and was a proof of the purity of her heart instead of an awkwardness, it appeared a grace. Yes, I repeat it, this bashfulness appeared in her quite engaging; for as the shade in a beautiful picture, it served to set off the masterly strokes of the piece. Lord Ogilby assured her in my hearing, that he had no views but which were highly honourable, that if she would give him her hand he would make her his wife. "I am one of those, said he, who have ever despised the common prejudices of mankind, particularly in the affair of love. A fine person, a graceful carriage, an amiable disposition, are all the titles or wealth I should look for in a woman. You possess all these advantages, and to them add the greatest delicacy of sentiment--so many charms compensate for the want of those other qualifications the injustice of fortune has deprived you of."--"Hymen, my lord, answered she, can have no joys for me, and I am sure will never light his torch on my account; for I have fountains of tears which would soon extinguish it!" What was my surprise to discover this beautiful girl (for her age did not appear to exceed eighteen) so accomplished, that she could read the Iliad of Homer, the Georgics of Virgil, the inimitable Cervantes, and the plays of Terence, in the original languages, with great ease! She was a _Hebe_, with the head of a philosopher, the knowledge of a divine, accompanied with all the exterior accomplishments the most finished education could bestow. As we found her fond of reading, we carried her a book of periodical papers then just written at Vienna. The next time I saw her I inquired if she approved of it--she replied she was no judge; but that she apprehended humour in writing chiefly consists in an imitation of the foibles or absurdities of mankind; so our pleasure in this species of composition, arises from comparing the picture with the original in nature, which she had no opportunity of doing.

In the works of our own countrymen we have frequent opportunities of making this comparison, as the originals are generally before us: But when we read the productions of foreigners, as their portraits are copied from manners with which we are not sufficiently acquainted, they must often appear forced and unnatural. There is a cast of humour, as well as of manners, peculiar to each country; and this is what makes every nation give the preference to its own humorous subjects. Nor is this preference ill founded, since the several drawings are made from originals widely different from each other; and as in portrait-painting, the value of the picture is enhanced by our connections with the person who sat for it; so here we must approve those pieces the originals of which we are best acquainted with. The language of humour is also in every country different from that used upon common occasions, which makes foreign satire an exotic of too delicate a nature to bear transplanting.

I was not surprised at my friend's situation; nothing I _then_ supposed could have secured my own heart from her attractions but its being pre-engaged. All the great heroes, the scripture worthies in particular, have had their _Delilah's_, to whose bewitching charms they have _one and all yielded_; reluctantly some, and fondly others; _these_ proving their wisdom, and _those_ their folly; since _there is no enchantment against beauty_, nor any thing it cannot enchant.

But notwithstanding my predilection in her favor, prudence suggested to me that my friend's passion might hurry him into an improper connection. I therefore inquired particularly concerning this lovely woman. I found she had resided there fifteen months, having brought with her a maid, and the child whom we had seen: that soon after her arrival she had disposed of some valuable effects; and that she had employed herself since that period in making artificial flowers, which her maid carried to--and disposed of them: that it was with great pleasure they observed she was now much more cheerful than she had been at first. That she was very regular in her conduct; never saw any person, nor went abroad but for divine service or a little air and exercise. This account served only to increase my friend's passion. He left nothing unsaid, nothing undone, to convince her of his sincerity; but she remained inexorable! We were there one day; when I took the liberty of remonstrating with her on this subject: She was affected, and said, "My lord, you distress me greatly; but at once to relieve myself _from your_ friend's importunities, and to prove _to you_ how unavailable _his_ pursuit _is_, I must be reduced to the humiliating detail of _my sorrows_: then, pointing to the lovely boy, she added, that cherub calls me _mother_, although his cruel father has not given me the name _of wife_: let this, my lord, render you unsolicitous concerning me."

Lord Ogilby, though struck at the intelligence, assured her, that she was infinitely superior in his eyes to women of the world, who vainly flatter themselves, that, while they appear _not_ to be conscious of their errors, mankind never discover _their follies_! that he respected her candour, he would be a father to her lovely boy, and, by his tender faithful attachment, atone for her former disappointment. She said every thing a sensible heart could feel on the sense she had of the honor he did in addressing her on such honorable terms, in the strange situation he found her in; but added, her heart might break, but that in breaking it must be the entire property of Sir Harry Bingley!

I am very sensible, my lords, continued Miss Harris, that the foibles of those to whom we are indebted for our existence, though open to the attack of all the world beside, ought to be sacred to us. But it is incumbent on me to paint my father's character, in order to inform you of the origin of my misfortunes. He was the younger son of a family of distinction, had received every advantage of education, and had travelled all over the world; which he himself said had divested him of many narrow prejudices! But this was not sufficient for him--he must triumph over reason and nature. He was too wise to adopt the opinions of his fore-fathers, yet at the same time too indolent to establish any of his own; and as he lived without system, he made present convenience the rule of his conduct. His virtues consequently were _accidental_--but his vices _habitual_. A clergyman that kept him company countenanced _his errors_, and confirmed _my belief_, that religious duties were only an _imposition on the vulgar_. I am sure, my lord, you must agree with me in thinking that _immorality_ in a _clergyman_ is as unpardonable as _cowardice_ in a _soldier_. _One_ flies from the foes of his _king_ and _country_; the _other_ justifies the _enemies of his God_. My father married a young lady of large fortune. She had received a very religious education, and had too much sensibility not to be exceedingly wounded at his infidelity. He told her it was very well she thought as _she did_--that all capacities cannot command a sufficient degree of attention to pursue the intricacies of philosophical speculation; neither if they could, are they endowed with proper powers of perception to discern and judge for themselves. As these must necessarily be governed by prejudices, if you remove them, you leave such weak objects without any principle _whatever_.

My mother answered, that the apostles were no _meta-physicians_: nor did their blessed master teach them any thing that should make them so. Wherefore she contented herself with their plain instructions, finding much more satisfaction from them than she did from any human writers, especially those who use so many and so nice distinctions, tending more to _puzzle_ than _enlighten_ the understanding, and having little effect upon the heart to make it better. It is to me, I own, (said she) no recommendation of any cause, that the abettors of it are obliged to have recourse to _abstruse terms_, and especially when they introduce such terms into any system that pretends to be Christian. I admire no scholastic phrases, or terms of art, when applied to a doctrine which is matter of revelation only; and wherein neither schools nor arts have any thing to say further, nor can say any thing more clearly or more certainly than what God hath said. I am far from commending any imposition upon men's judgment, or any dictating by one man what is to be believed by another! But here my father interrupted her; and, in a passion, made use of terms delicacy prevents a repetition of--adding, neither _man_ nor _woman_ should dictate or make a fool of him! That religion, etc. etc. varied in different countries, as he had often observed something in the climate, soil, or situation of _each_, which had great influence in establishing its particular mode of superstition. Thus in Syria they worship the sun, moon, and stars, as they live in a flat country, enjoying a constant serenity of sky; and the origin and progress of that error may be traced in a certain connection between those objects of worship considered physically, and their characters as divinities.

Thus the pomp and magnificence with which the sun is worshipped in Syria, said he, and the human victims sacrificed to him, seem altogether to mark an awful reverence, paid rather to his power than to his beneficence, in a country where the violence of his heat is destructive to vegetation, as it is in many other respects very troublesome to the inhabitants. Superstition, since the world began, has consisted of every particular, which either people's _fears_ or their _follies_, either the _strength_ of their _imagination_, or the _weakness_ of their _judgment_, or the _design_ and _artifice_ of their _leaders_, taught them to _embrace_, in order to please any being, or order of beings, superior to themselves, whom they made the objects of their religious regards. My mother answered, that the unbeliever changes nothing of the design of God, when he dares to rise up against him--He ever enters into his plan, where the evil concurs with the good, for the harmony of _this_ world, and the good of the _next_. I need not, my lords, tire you with an account of these particulars, further than to mark the difference of my parents characters--these arguments recurring often, in the end produced such contentions, that it impaired my mother's health--she died, and left me under the guidance of a father, _totally unfit_ for that _important trust_ He endeavoured to impress me with his sentiments of religion, etc. If I imbibed his ideas, could I be blamed for it? Is it not injurious and ridiculous to censure others for thinking in the same manner we ourselves should have done under the same circumstances? For if we do not consult our reason (which in matters of religion is prohibited us) the capacity and credulity of individuals are different, in consequence of their diversity of temperament, education, and experience. And it would be still more absurd to reprobate the rest of mankind, for not believing what we ourselves do _not_, nor can be made _to believe_. But to return to my father: About a year after my mother's death, when I was only eight years old, he set out for Italy, and returned home inebriated with a love for antiquity--He could sit all day in contemplation of a statue without a nose, and doated on the decays with greater love than the self-loved Narcissus did on his beauty. Sir Harry Bingley did me the honor to address me; but my father, on his first proposal, would not hear of it; he wished me to marry a brother antiquarian, who was desirous, among other pieces of age and time, to have one young face be seen to call him father. My lover told him, he would pray to Heaven to have merit or deserve me--He returned, "When your prayer is answered, renew your suit; but if you stay till then, you must have spectacles to see her beauty with." Had Sir Harry appeared to him like a Sibyl's son, or with a face rugged as father Nilus is pictured on the hangings, it would have been otherwise. But the qualities, which recommended him _to me_, produced the contrary effect on _my father_.

Signor Crustino, whom he favored, had presented him with books, that he said were written before the Punic war; and some of Terence's hundred and fifty comedies that were lost in the Adriatic sea, when he returned from banishment.--There were powerful inducements--He commanded me to marry him: I expostulated, but without effect. Had Sir Harry Bingley been old in any thing, even in iniquity, I believe he would have shown him some respect. Had he not, said he, the indiscretion to betray weakness, even to myself? did not he mention that his _old_ rents produced one thousand a year; but that he had made _new_ leases, and doubled them; and by the sale of a gallery of pictures had paid his father's debts? O such preposterous folly! he values more his gold, than whatever Apelles or Phidias have invented! "What is more honorable than age?" said he: "Is not wisdom entailed on it? It takes the pre-eminence in everything: antiquities are the registers, the chronicles of the age, and speak the truth of history better than a hundred of your printed commentaries!" It was in vain I pleaded a contrary opinion; my tears had no power to mollify his stony heart. I was ordered to prepare for my wedding; which I was determined, at all events, should not take place. In the mean time Sir Harry Bingley's passion was increased by the difficulty of obtaining me, as the lovers of the fair Danäe desired her more when she was locked up in the brazen tower. He was importunate with me to elope: inclination pressed hard on one side, duty on the other; I was torn with contending passions: my distraction was increased by the preparations for the marriage feast. My father took his bill of fare out of Athenæus, and ordered the most surprizing dishes imaginable. But I was reprieved by a most extraordinary accident--He was possessed of a couple of old manuscripts, said to have been found in a wall, and stored up with the foundation: he supposed them the writing of some prophetess--They were, he said, of the old Roman binding: And though the characters were so imperfect, that time had eaten out the letters, and the dust made a parenthesis betwixt every syllable, yet he was inconsolable upon discovering he had lost them; and suspected his brother antiquary of the theft, _such_ generally being very _adroit_ on _pilfering_--Words arose on the subject; they parted in wrath; my father declaring the marriage should not be celebrated. Signor Crustino next day wrote a mollifying letter, intreating his acceptance of several other manuscripts, which he said were dug out of the ruins of Aquileia, after it was sacked by Attila, King of the Hunns.--But he returned them with indignation, and took to his bed, where he remained nine months in a very lingering condition--then died--leaving me a prey to the oppressive insolence of proud prosperity.--It is that only which can inflict a wound on the ingenuous mind.--These are the stings of poverty! Misfortunes never create respect: dependence of course meets with many slights--On such occasions, some show their _malice_, and are witty on our _misfortunes_; others their judgment, by sage reflections on our conduct; but few their charity.--They alone have a right to censure, who have hearts to assist: the rest is cruelty, not justice[28].

I found that my father's collection of curiosities, for which he had expended all his fortune, did no more than pay his debts. On this occasion all my acquaintances forsook me. A rich aunt was the only person who recollected such a being existed (my lover excepted). She afforded me help, but more as if she had been giving _alms_ to a _stranger_, than _relief_ to a relation. How few are acquainted with the art of conferring favors in that happy manner that doubles the value of the obligation! If in doing good, people consulted the circumstances and inclinations of those they oblige--if, instead of shocking their self-love, (inherent in us all) they knew how to take advantage of it, with as much address as the flatterer employs to gain his ends, the empire of morality would long ago have extended its bounds, and the numbers of its adherents would have greatly increased.--This is the more easily done, as the _distressed_ think any mark of attention shown them by the _wealthy_, _a real favor_--But _neglect_ in general is the _portion_ of the _necessitous_--and _outrage alone_ employed to recover _the guilty_.

Lord Ogilby could not help here, with some warmth, asking where Sir Harry Bingley was all this time. Miss Harris bowed, and resumed her story. "Alas!" said she, "the Marquis of M---- his uncle, on whom he had considerable expectations, insisted on his marrying Lady Ann Frivolité--and though he absolutely declined this overture, he thought in prudence, he ought to defer for some time entering into another engagement until he could bring his uncle to hearken to it."

My necessities increasing, relying entirely on the honor of my lover, I permitted him to conduct me to a seat he had in a remote part of the country--It was a frightful dismal house surrounded with yews and willows, whose different forms recalled to my ideas Ovid's Metamorphoses, and made me sometimes ready to bemoan the fate of unhappy lovers converted into evergreens by the supposed enchantress of this dreary mansion. The house had been long uninhabited: by the blackness of the walls, the circular fires, vast cauldrons, yawning mouths of ovens and furnaces, one would conclude, it was either the forge of Vulcan, the cave of Polypheme, or the temple of Moloch. The hangings of the apartments were indeed the finest in the world; that is to say, which Arachne spins from her own bowels. But the affection, the tender respectful behaviour of my lover was _everything to me_. He said he made no doubt but the marquis, when convinced of my merit, would approve of his passion! Unwilling to see him continue in so delusive an error, I told him there was little probability of reviving the golden age in his family; or, hoping that the benevolence of his own heart would become epidemical, was an illusion! that relations or parents saw things in a very different light from their children; as the sentiment of the former arose from cool reflection, and as those of the latter commonly resulted from the caprice of an irregular imagination, or the violence of an impetuous passion, which prompted them to act sometimes in direct opposition to the salutary advice of their best friends.--He replied, that granting that were even the case--the Marquis of M---- could not live for ever--but that no power on earth could induce him to sacrifice his happiness; that he had a _competent_, though not _great_ estate of his own--and would marry me directly, if I chose it, or would take the most solemn oath imaginable, to do it as soon as circumstances rendered it prudent with safety. I consequently rejected agreeing to his proposal: I could not bear the idea of my lover's running the risk of losing a family inheritance on my account; though a possibility of possession altering his sentiments, never entered into my imagination. We remained three months together, the happiest time of my life: Happy moments, how soon you fled, never, never to return!

Miss Harris here blushed and stopped; we encouraged her to proceed. With some hesitation, she added, At that time my lover's importunity prevailed; I resigned myself to his wishes. I had his solemn promise he would ratify our engagement at the altar; and my father had instilled notions into me of marriage being only a civil institution: he had often said, that the marriages among the Israelites were not attended with any religious ceremonies, except the prayers of the father of the family, and the standers by, to beg the blessing of God. We have examples of it in the marriage of Rebecca with Isaac, of Ruth with Boaz. We do not read that God acted the part of a priest to join Adam and Eve together, only that of a father to the young woman, in giving her away--_For he brought her to the man_: We do not see, he used to say, that there were any sacrifices offered upon the occasion; that they went to the temple, or sent to the priests. So that it was no more than a civil contract. I also knew the present custom in Sicily and in Holland. Thus I justified myself _to myself_, though not effectually; but I was willing then _to believe_ what I _wished_; as no inconvenience _to myself_ could equally affect me in its consequences, as my lover losing his fortune on _my account_, which made me decline marrying him at that time. And I firmly relied on his honor, whom from that time I considered, and shall do, as my husband. With this difference--if a woman survives her husband, after some time set apart for decency, there are many circumstances may combine to render a second attachment eligible. But one who like me has evinced a weakness must be more exemplary in every other part of her character, and more tenacious in her conduct, least the _particular affection_ which occasioned _her error_, should be imputed to her as a _depravity_. The event will prove, how requisite it is, for the good of society, that certain rules should be established, the infringers of which ought to suffer, for the good of the community.

The effect of our passion was soon evident in my person--but sorry I am to relate, grieved to repeat it--he left me; and at a time when I expected every minute to become a mother; without affording me one single line to _comfort_ or _relieve_ my mind from a state of distraction, little short of madness. I was at last told he had been obliged to set out on confidential business to the continent! Alas, in what way did I lose his confidence? His _glory_ was dearer to me than my _own life_; and had he told me of the circumstances, I should have _urged_ his _departure_, instead of wishing to _protract_ his stay.

I was in despair for his unkindness! Had my steps been strewed with flowers, had I been possessed of every outward accommodation wealth could bestow, alas, how unavailing would all these advantages have been to me! but in my situation, oppressed, afflicted, and surrounded with mortifications, ignorant even of the means of my future support, and that of his child, how dreadfully were my woes increased! This mark of his inattention redoubled my grief. An assortment of flowers, plants, etc. arrived after his departure, which only served to remind me of the happiness I had proposed myself from their cultivation in his company: but I could not live by their scent, like a Dutch damsel, nor was I descended of Cameleons that could be kept with air. In my despair I refused all kind of nourishment; but a worthy girl who lived with me, recovered me from this _reverie_. If you are resolved, madam, (said she) never to eat a morsel more during your existence, your behaviour at present is very consistent; but if you design ever to do so, believe me that this is the best time you can possibly do so for yourself, exclusive of your child, who must suffer with you. The last argument was a prevailing one--I enquired for food, and eat greedily.

I was soon afterwards delivered of a lovely boy--I took him in my arms--each feature depicted his beloved, though cruel father! He has since been my only solace, comfort, and happiness--were I hunted out of society, and were I to meet with every species of abuse on _his account_, he would be infinitely more interesting to me than all that the world could confer upon me.

After two months, during which time I flattered myself I should hear from Sir Harry, though my hopes proved too sanguine, I removed from his house--I cared not where I went, if distant from a place he could discover me in, at a time when his capricious passion might bring him back to me. Many unfortunate women, in such a situation, give themselves up (as Ariadne did) to Bacchus, from the day they are deserted--But a superior education taught me better. My maid's brother was a captain of a ship; I agreed with him to bring us to this place. My child justified my keeping a few valuable trinkets Sir Harry had given me, which I should otherwise have returned--I set out, and, philosopher-like, carried all my possessions about me. These trinkets, and industry, have hitherto supported us--I revere virtue, though I have unhappily swerved from the established rules of virtue _in my country_--but I have the same warm affection for virtuous people, the same tenderness for the unhappy, and the same regard for those whom prosperity hath not blinded!

Lord Ogilby replied, Sir Harry Bingley must have been nursed among rocks, and suckled by tigers, to have used you thus! But you, even now, would prefer being the object of his licentious passion, rather than to become my virtuous wife! Miss Harris bowed, and replied, I flattered myself, my lord, that I had, though not without great confusion to myself, made you acquainted with my character--I therefore am highly superior to the inference you have indelicately made. I shall owe my future innocence to the sense I have of my lover's perfidy; as the sore wound the viper gives, the viper best cures. But my unfortunate circumstances exclude my ever thinking of any other of the sex: All the rest of mankind _are_, and must remain to me _a distinct species_. I would much rather die a thousand deaths, than that my heart should have once conceived such a thought! I have imprinted him in my heart in such deep characters, that nothing can rase it out, unless it rub my heart out. Although he has left me to be for ever miserable--may he be blessed--and may the fair-one whom he selects to be his happy, happy wife, love him the hundredth part I did! In this cottage will I remain! here dedicate my life to industry, to procure for the child of the man I love, the means of food and education: and when the great God calls upon me to offer up an account of all my deeds, I _cannot_, _do not_ believe, I shall be found very defective in what his justice will exact from me. Though I lament the error I fell into, and am now convinced that we can have no distinct notions of human happiness, without the previous knowledge of the human constitution, of all its active and perceptive powers, and their natural objects: therefore the most natural method of proceeding in the science of morals, is to begin with inquiring into our several natural determinations, and the objects from whence our happiness can arise.--This, my lord, I have carefully done--my resolution is consequently fixed. Lord Ogilby again said, Madam, let me still intreat you to consider--If you have any hopes of his return, of all old debts, love, when it comes to be so, is paid the most unwillingly; and all you get by your constancy, is the loss of that beauty for _one lover_, which independent of my proposal to you, would procure you the vows, sacrifice, and service, of _a thousand_! She renewed her thanks for his lordship's good opinion; added, she entertained no hopes such as he had suggested, and must only beg leave to add, before she concluded, after entreating we would conceal his name, that it was not only a partiality for his person, but admiration of his character, that must bind her for ever his.

Lord Ogilby consigned a sum of money with her maid, that in case indisposition should interfere with her plans, she should still encounter no inconveniences.

I should not, my dear Aunt, have detained you so long with this story, did I not know your friendship to Sir Harry Bingley--I founded his sentiments, he is still fondly attached to this lovely woman--Honor, and a responsible situation, obliged him to leave her at the time, and his letters miscarried by the sudden death of a friend he entrusted them to. No part of my life, said he, can I recollect with so much satisfaction, as that which I spent with my lovely wife, for _such_ I shall ever consider her. I reflect on the supposed injuries she thinks she has received from me, and I lament I know not _where she is_ to make her every reparation in my power. Immediately on my arrival, I went to the place where I had left her--but no trace remained; she was fled, and had carried along with her the fruit of our affection. I have been fatigued with inquiries to no purpose--and conclude her dead; perhaps with grief for my supposed ingratitude.

Without letting Sir Harry know I was acquainted with his story, I discovered every thing from him I wished; and had the pleasure of hearing of his present independent fortunes, which put it in his power to realize the truth of his professions to Miss Harris. I sent off a courier to her--she is now on her return to England.

But to return to my own affairs--I went to Italy, but could hear no tidings of the Duke de Salis; was only informed, that his son, after some irregularities inherent in youth, had made a very good figure in the army, but for some time past had not been heard of--Nor was it known to what place the duke had retired. To amuse my chagrin, I went one evening to masquerade at Venice, in the time of the carnival, and fell in chat with a very agreeable young gentleman and his sister. They politely hoped our acquaintance would not cease at the end of the ball, and solicited a continuance of it--with this I very cheerfully complied. I went--and am mortified to betray my weakness to you; but truth obliges me to confess, that notwithstanding the pre-engagement of my heart for the Countess de Sons, yet I could not resist the attractions of Mademoiselle de Querci: my passion for her commenced the first moment I saw her; and her charming behaviour hourly increased it. She was majestic in her appearance; and in her were combined all the qualities that can make desirable the woman I adore.

The more I saw her, the more was her empire confirmed over me; but still dubious of the Countess's fate, and conscious of my pre-engagement, honor kept me silent. I had every reason to flatter myself my address would have been acceptable, but my passion was subordinate to that sense of honor my former obligations subjected me to. It is hard to account for the motions of the human heart, or trace the little springs that give rise to its affections--numberless latent accidents contribute to raise or allay them, without our being sensible of their secret influence. Thus situated, I came to England at your request. The uncertainty of the Countess's fate renders me wretched, while, to confess the truth, Mademoiselle de Querci haunts my imagination. But _your_ felicity alleviates _my_ uneasiness--as your joys or sorrows must ever be reverberated on the heart of

Your ladyship's obliged And affectionate nephew, MUNSTER.'

From Lady Eliza Finlay, to the Countess of Darnley. London.

'My Dear Aunt,

This is a place I often wished to come to, but the peaceful satisfaction I have had in your company makes me in vain find it in your absence--everything I see, everything I hear, is so contrary to reason, that, without diverting one's self of that quality, it is impossible to be pleased with any thing, though the novelty may engage one's attention at first. All here appear to adopt the reigning ideas, and fashionable pursuits, with as much pleasure as I feel in conforming to the principles which your kind instructions and edifying example have implanted in my mind. They do not, however, appear to me to be happy, and, like comedians (who are not diverted with the amusement they occasion) regret being condemned to communicate a pleasure which they do not partake, and lament not having received, from a different education, other tastes, other talents, and other manners. I connect myself as little as possible with them; as in epidemic distempers we are only secure whilst we escape the touch of the contagious person; and with respect to wounds of the mind, they are like those of the body. These extravagancies I might, perhaps, some months ago have considered in a less serious manner, but the evident melancholy in which my brother is, shews me the vanity of everything in this world--So handsome in his person, so accomplished in his manners--possessing everything the world places a value on--and yet too apparently wretched. The Marquis of P----, Lord Sombre, and his other friends, endeavour in vain to rouse him out of his _reveries_.--You are possessed of such philosophy, that you may look upon this matter in another light; as for me, who have _strong passions_, and that inseparable companion of them, _weak reason_, I cannot help being seriously alarmed. My beloved brother has undoubtedly some secret cause of disquietude--he sighs at times as if his heart would break! This affects me very sensibly; I never was so unhappy in my life; besides, I have not my dear Aunt to give a friendly check to my extravagance of spirits, so am afraid of hazarding anything.--Every person looks formally at me. When your friend the Duchess of W---- introduced me to Lady Charlotte Sombre, she said she pleased herself with thinking what a harmony would arise between us; for in the character, said she, I drew _of her_ to you, she only sat _for yours_. Lady Charlotte is very agreeable, lively, and entertaining. Lord Sombre, I fancy, is what you would esteem a superior character; he is noble, and has a soul; a thing questioned much in most of the gay youths whom we converse with. He appears to have fine feelings--I intend to be on my guard before him--a man of true taste and delicacy prefers the smile of the soul, to noisy mirth.

Lady Charlotte is addressed by Sir Alexander French--he told her, his love would be eternal! That is, said she, neither to have _beginning_ nor _end_. Sir Alexander is a very great coxcomb, she therefore gives him no encouragement; and amused me with an account of him--her brother checked her, and said there is an ostentation in these kind of confidences, which he was mortified to observe in her--that at least she should respect a man she had rendered unhappy, and who had almost lost his reason on her account. She replied, it were indeed a trifling sacrifice, were it even so, as he had so little to part with, that it made the loss inconsiderable--love, said she, never makes such a bustle in hearts like his--his is a _laughing_, not a _melancholy_ Cupid. She has the charms of an angel, and dresses with the greatest simplicity, regarding the colour and make of her cloaths, rather than the quality.

When Lady Charlotte shewed me the _Arcadia_ of my mother's painting[29], all the tender passions were up in my soul: I requested to be left alone, and bursting into tears, I partly relieved the emotions of my heart--Lord Sombre surprised me in this situation--I was too much agitated at first to return him an answer to some obliging things he said, but at last made an apology for my weakness! His Lordship told me, the sensibility I testified confirmed him in the high ideas he entertained of my character. He then expatiated to me on a subject very agreeable, _my mother's virtues_. That the gentleman who educated him had been well acquainted with her--who said, that good sense and genius were united in her, and that by study, reflection, and application, she had improved her talents in the happiest manner--having acquired a superiority in thinking, speaking, writing, and acting--and in manners, her behaviour, language, and understanding, were inexpressibly charming.

The discourse of people here, my dear Aunt, appears to me malicious; their civilities feigned; their confidences false; and their friendships resemble a rose, which pricks the hand of him who smells it. Every animal seeks its food, digs itself a hole, or builds itself a nest--sleeps--and dies. It is a melancholy reflection that the greatest part of mankind do _no more_. The employment which distinguishes them most from other animals, is the care of cloathing themselves, and their enmity to each other--the first of these engages the attention of millions of the younger people in this great city--while the more aged employ themselves in the last. Although pride is observable in a peacock and a horse, passion, in a tiger, gluttony in a wolf, envy in a dog, laziness in a monkey, and treachery in a cat, yet one does not find, in any animal whatever, falseness to their own species.

A love of play, and building, are the characteristics of this age--our sex imitates the other as far as they can in the former--and having no _terra firma_ for the latter, and not contented with the ancient custom of castle-building, erect fabrics on their heads three stores high. The rage of building is so great, that nothing can check their ardour in it, although it has been the ruin of many individuals; and there are at present (it is said) fifteen hundred uninhabited houses in the two parishes of Saint Mary-le-bone and Pancras. Though the fortunes of most individuals are decreased in value by the rise of the prices of provisions, and other articles of expense, yet the houses, good enough twenty years ago, are now judged inadequate. Among many other reasons alledged for this, every woman of any tolerable fashion requires a room for her wardrobe: what formerly could be kept in a chest, occupies the space of a large apartment, as gowns (on account of their trimmings) cannot be folded.

In short, my dear Aunt, all seem to walk in a vain show, and the curls of _the head_ are more attended to, than the sensations of _the heart_.

I hope Mrs Dorothea Bingley is become more reasonable than to wish to force my dear friend's inclination to marry a man she detests. Don't you think, my dear aunt, that marrying to increase love, is like gaming to become rich; they only lose what little stock they had before.

My brother desires his respectful compliments to you, as I beg mine may be acceptable to your Lord; and I ever am, with the greatest esteem,

Your ladyship's affectionate, And obliged niece, ELIZA FINLAY.

From the Countess of Darnley to Lady Eliza Finlay

My Dear Niece,

As in my present situation[30] I am interdicted from writing--I shall only indulge myself in a few words to you. The civilities you have received from all friends give me great pleasure. Brought up in the lap of friendship, I am not surprised, that upon your first emerging into the great world you should feel the coldness of the common address of strangers. It is possible those very accomplishments which delighted your fond aunt and friends, _interested_ for your welfare, procure you the envy of _uninterested observers_. But if any one denies you the praises your merit claims, betray not any mortification at their want of candour, as your sensibility would afford them a malicious pleasure.

I have ever made it a rule, before I vexed myself about people's appearing to slight me, to consider the character of the person, and to discover the motives of his acting; and I very often found it was with no design to affront me, but that the party was so humoursome as even to be insupportable _to himself_. I have so long indulged myself in the society of a few friends I love, that I am but ill suited for the world, as anything unreasonable _vexes me_, and the want of sincerity _offends me_. Mrs Dorothea Bingley continues to persecute her niece on account of Mr Bennet! Nothing appears to me so barbarous. I feel myself the happiest of women, and of wives, and enjoy my felicity with a double _goût_, by reflecting upon the restrictions I put on my inclinations for so many years. And I am perfectly convinced, it is not until women have got over their early years, that they can taste the delightful pleasure of loving and being beloved. But no felicity is perfect in this world, and I find my joy allayed from the observations I made on your brother's apparent melancholy. To see you and him happy, and properly allied, are circumstances I still must look forward to with great anxiety. I am very apt to believe man a much greater machine than he is generally supposed to be. "Whoever (says Dr Johnson) shall inquire by what motives he was determined on important occasions, will find them such as his pride will scarcely suffer him to confess; some sudden ardour of desire, some uncertain glimpse of advantage, some petty competition, some inaccurate conclusion, or some example implicitly reverenced."

Such are too often the causes of our resolves. Rousseau says, if you would understand the men, study the women--I myself think that it is difficult to know what a man's conduct will be, until you are acquainted with his wife's character, particularly when he enters into that connexion at an early period of his life.

My best affections ever attend you and your brother, in which my lord most sincerely joins.

FRANCES DARNLEY.

From Miss Bingley to Lady Eliza Finlay.

'Dear Madam,

Agreeable to your desire I write you a long letter in hopes of making you laugh (for your letter to me gave me the vapours, you appeared so serious, so unlike yourself)--it is probable I may not effect my intention; but it will be a proof to you of my affection. My aunt has been even rude to Sir James Mordaunt, told him that he need not presume on my partiality for him, that I had nothing to say in regard to disposing of myself--that he must _treat with her_. He answered her with some heat, that he had no idea of modern marriages, where their lawyer is the priest that joins them; and the banns of matrimony are the indentures, land and ring--That in short he had no notion of treating for a wife as he would buy stock of a broker--that if she chose to give me her fortune, it _was well_--if not, we could live _without it_! lovers you know, my dear Lady Eliza, are always philosophers!--Your fortune, answered my good aunt, won't be a superfluous maintenance for a family, and you shall not have a shilling of mine! Very true, returned Sir James; but where content attends a competency more is _unnecessary_.

I hope, said she, you are in the court party and may get a pension? Sir James told her he was not; but if he were it would be worse for him, as the principles by which the court govern themselves are literally these: The man who has trumpeted their merits for years, cannot on any provocation assume an opposite character, without impeaching his judgment and proving the instability of his attachment--Our enemies it is wisdom to buy; but our friends will either be firm in our cause from motives of interest, or silent sufferers from motives of pride--Therefore, said he, good madam, laughing, I mean to rise by being _in the opposition_--as most of the great men have done before me! but, turning to me, said, I never yet opened my mouth in that celebrated assembly, but to give utterance to an occasional little monosyllable: But I may improve in time.

My aunt detains Mr Bennet for hours together, as Aristæus held Proteus to deliver oracles, judging I shall be charmed with his learning and oratory; but I should like him infinitely better if she would imitate Dulness, who kept the Muses in the Dunciad to silence them. But for this eternal teazer's _presence_, and your _absence_, (which by the by increased my consequence) I should have enjoyed the races very much. Mrs Damer, on whom nature has bestowed an understanding greatly superior to her form, confesses you are handsome; whilst Miss Maydew, who has no other ambition than that of attracting applause by the charms of her person, allows you good sense. We seldom withhold the applause which is due to virtues or accomplishments for which we cannot value ourselves.

As to news, Mrs Trevors is parted with her husband: she put the poor man out of all patience by her sameness of character: If he made an observation, she assented; if he altered his mind, she gave a nod. She was always the same tune, the same object, that is to say _the same woman_. Perfectly agreed, no quarrels indeed subsisted between them, but they _fell asleep_. Water freezes only in stagnation. Indifference hung over them like a cloud, and irksome passed the hours, which might have flown with a swift pace, perhaps, had they been passed with your humble servant.

The world would have been already laid in ruins if the elements that compose it did not maintain it by their discordant concord. If water did not resist fire by its coldness and humidity it would have reduced all into ashes, and having no further nutriment would have consumed itself. I will not lose Sir James's heart from this cause. Diversity of opinions shall quicken our conversation--Opposition shall not be wanting on my part to cheer _his heart_, and make his time pass _agreeably_. An accommodating temper is all a man ought to expect in a wife; more than this is disgusting--I am very apt to believe that though a man of spirit would not suffer his wife to dictate to him, yet he would as soon talk to a parrot, or be the companion of a monkey, as of one who is his eccho on every occasion. It is very possible with some men to be _too good_. But there are no rules without exceptions; for was my husband very perverse I would (follow the late example of the _Premier_[31] with the Opposition) revenge myself on him by agreeing in opinion with him, which would oblige him to commence hostilities with himself if he meant to _continue the dispute_.

Our ancient neighbour Lady Ogle married the other day a young ensign in the guards, although you know she has more diseases than Galen ever wrote of--at every cough resigns some of her teeth, and every night screws off her leg--scarcely has her own nose, and by the course of nature ought to have kneeled in marble, or lifted up her arms in stone twenty years ago. In apology for her conduct, she says, it was merely to procure herself _a friend_. But as experience does not coincide with her ladyship's expectations, I should marry Mr Bennet, to _get rid of him_, were it not for my penchant _elsewhere_. I look upon all these romantic notions of Platonic, or spiritual love, as highly ridiculous. Our passions were bestowed on us for wise purposes. When precepts of virtue are strained too high, they are either impracticable or become vicious in their consequences.

The captain, _her friend_, is contriving a _visto_ through some _woods_ on _her estate_, to pay _his debts_; she tells every body, however, that he is not only possessed of _all the graces_, but an independant fortune. The next heir to the estate happens to be of a different opinion--his picture of captain Plume is _all shade_, hers _all light_. The former awkwardly imitates the style of Rembrandt, and with a dark pencil loves to describe hideous wrinkles and deformed features--but the latter artfully copies the taste of Titian, and brightens the canvas with all the lively glow of colouring. Perhaps if light and shade were properly blended together, we might behold a real likeness.--I don't like him. I mistake much if he is not conceited--you know I pretend a little to be a physiognomist as well as a botanist. In the natural world the external form of plants afford us a hint for a conjecture of their virtues. Almost all the plants of the same kinds are of the same virtues. The poisonous plants, natives of our soil, are hardly a dozen, and these are characterized even to the eye by something singular or dismal in the aspect.

When I wrote you I was jealous of Sir James's attentions to Miss Ords, I did not wish to be understood _au piè du lettre_--She has a vacant countenance, her youth only renders her _passable_. Her wit is not picquante, nor her manners alluring. She can answer _yes_ and _no_, with tolerable success, nay sometimes hazards further: and when she goes to a comedy does not intreat the company to instruct her _when_ she should laugh. Her father lives _en Prince_: like Lucullus, he _plundered all Asia_ to assist him _in house-keeping_. Sir James was very lively in his usual way--She said she did not like puns, and had never made one in her life--I could not help answering--It's my opinion _you never will_.

You ask me if I have got no more lovers? To talk ingenuously with you--no; I know not what further inconveniences such an acquisition might put me to: and as it might probably happen (not on _my account_, but for my _aunt's acres_) I have whispered my passion for Sir James Mordaunt as a secret to Mrs M----; so you need not doubt but it has spread. She is an antiquated virgin, who endeavours to make chastity atone for the want of every other virtue. She wanted me sadly to ask her some question; I mortified my own curiosity, to punish her propensity to detraction.

Lady Dun is at last expired, notwithstanding the prayers of the faithful. Had she lived any longer, her _piety_ must have ruined _her family_ by her total want of economy, as she did the reputation of her neighbours by scandal.

_Can so much gall in holy breasts reside?_ Boileau's Lutrin. Canto I.

I met the following story lately in an old book; the writer appears to have been a person of great judgment, and not in _the least_ given to credulity. He relates, that a certain man who had a wife that made this world his purgatory (though, according to the _common acceptation_, she was _virtuous_ and prudent) happening to die some little time after her, he went to paradise, as soon as the breath was out of his body, as a reward for his patience in this world; being come to the gate, he knocks, the good man St Peter opens the door, and desires him very civilly to walk in, and take what seat in heaven he pleased. The husband stopped a moment to recollect himself; and then asks St Peter, Whether or not his wife was there? The good Saint answered in the affirmative: upon which the honest man, without staying for any thing further, takes to his heels and makes for the road to hell; rather choosing to renounce heaven, than be in the same place with his dear rib, whom he was well assured would, out of the abundance of her virtue, make heaven as great a hell to him, as she had done this earth.

I must now, my dear friend, tell you what sincerely grieves me. My brother equals _yours_ in melancholy: before he went abroad, no man whatever had better spirits; but now, although he does not complain of any particular disorder, yet is he always indisposed--ever wretched, constantly sighing and lamenting. This affects my spirits much: "_my heart is not of that rock, nor my soul careless as that sea, which lifts its blue waves to every blast, and rolls beneath the storm!_" But truth obliges me to confess that I cannot go on with my admired poet as--"_The virgins_ have not as yet _beheld me silent in the hall_!" No, no no, it is not come to that yet! I relieve you from my company--be sensible of the obligation--let me hear from you soon, and believe me,

Your ladyship's affectionate friend, H. BINGLEY.'

From Lady Eliza Finlay to Miss Bingley.

'My dear Harriot,

Many thanks for your agreeable letter, your _gaieté de coeur_ always pleases me, _Vive la bagatelle!_

But, my dear friend, I am uneasy at your aunt's persisting in her persecution of you on Mr Bennet's account. He seems to me to be a person rather created to fill up a vacuum in nature, than to perform any active good in it. His want of sensibility is sufficient to prepossess me against him--There are in the occurrences of a married life so many trials of a man's humanity that he whose want of tenderness might pass unobserved had he continued single--must often appear a very monster considered as a husband. May you be blessed in that state with the man of your heart! I agree with you that opposition, carried on without violence, gives a dignity to our condescension; but we must not carry this too far or we may counteract our design of preserving the heart we have gained.

To manage men requires more dexterity than to win them, as the consequence of most _love matches_ evinces.

You ask a thousand questions, having never been in London yourself, on account of your aunt's apprehensions of a disease she had not the resolution of giving you at an early period of life[32]. I told you that you must not expect any characters from me, as I was always an enemy to detraction, and few there are that merit commendation. Let us, my dear friend, regulate our _own conduct_, rather than condemn that _of others_: but as I cannot refuse you anything you ask (though I may wonder at your asking) I will suppose we are chatting over a dish of tea, and giving our opinion of a gown or a cap, and will tell you who suits my taste, or who my reason contemns, with as little meaning as if I talked of the gown and not the woman: and this I the more readily do, as I know you will not betray the confidence I place in you.

The truth is, however, I am perfectly astonished at the strange characters this town abounds with; and stupified (_if I may_ be allowed the expression) with what I have heard: but, as Shakespeare allows Desdemona to speak after she was smothered, you will permit me to write though I have lost my understanding. And as it was the choice of certain great men to be intelligible, it is probable my present state of mind will lead me to imitate them. But on second thoughts, my being not _au fait_ to the subject may perhaps make me excel in it. Men often expatiate _best_ on what they _least understand_, by the same rule that people in general are contrary to what they would seem.

The Mantuan Swain lived constantly at court: Horace wrote in celebration of a country life when he resided in Rome: and it is well known travels, voyages, etc. to every part of the world have been written in London. Why should I not then, Eliza Finlay Spinster, attempt delineating manners, which I have really seen? My scruples would intrude--that perhaps I am not sufficiently informed, as I have only resided here a month; but these vanish on the recollection that I must certainly be in the right in the above position--Otherwise, could it be possible for Mr Blacklock[33], a poet blind from his birth, to describe visible objects with more spirit and justness, than others blessed with the most perfect sight? Could certain orators, famous for their _extravagance_, harangue on _economy_--Or the learned at Venice employ father Piaggi to copy the manuscript found at Herculaneum (though he is unacquainted with Greek, the language they are written in)--Or could our own countrymen, the _learned_, _judicious_ body in Warwick-lane, refuse to admit to be their associates in the science of _Æsculapius_, any but those who have studied where--_medicine is not taught_? After such precedents as these, it is clear I cannot err, in informing you of what--_I know little about_. Besides, it is an established rule of prudence, on the contrary, never to commit yourself by talking or writing on a subject the world gives you the credit of understanding, as you have _nothing_ to _gain_ but _much_ to _lose_. This consideration no doubt induced one author[34] to omit in his tragedy _morality_, which should be the ground-work of every fable, and deterred another[34] from acknowledging providence, though it so eminently presided, and was so conspicuously displayed in the miraculous escapes made in the voyages he wrote of. This being premised, I will now begin boldly to _relate_ many things I cannot _comprehend_.

_Miss Ton_ accompanied me to the opera; I was amazed at the height of her head, and how her chair had failed to crush the fabric of feathers and frivolity which rose above each other! I could not think she had flown, though she was composed of cork and feather; and willing to be informed how she had managed it (as ignorance, you know, is reprehensible) I ventured to ask her the question. She returned me a look of contempt (as if to pity my ignorance) saying, she always took care to prevent a misfortune of that kind! When I go to court, said she, as heads are wore lower[35] there--I fit like your old woman upon the seat of the chair, which is convenient enough on account of one's trimmings, but when I go to the opera, where _fancy directs_ and _fashion prevails_, I say my prayers the whole way--that is to say, I kneel _on the bottom of the chair_. I admired her ingenuity; only observed, I hoped it did not fatigue her knees so much as to prevent her from going to church next day! O, not in the least, said she; but I always go to the drawing-room of a Sunday! except when I go to the Chapel-royal--_the closet there_, indeed, that is no bad public place--nobody but people of fashion are admitted, and it is really sometimes very amusing! The truth is, if one liked church very much, there is time enough to dress afterwards; for it is not _the rage_ which a certain set to go to the drawing-room until your old-fashioned people are coming away. Oh the dear delight of meeting these dowdies on their _retour_ home to their spouses and family dinners at _four o'clock_. Then we make such glorious confusion! I took the liberty of saying that I thought the respect due to their Majesties had induced every body to be in the drawing-room previous to their appearance! Oh, not at all, child, said she--except your _formal ones_! But why, said I, madam, need you go to court of a Sunday, why not of a Thursday as well? Of a Thursday! Nobody goes of a Thursday! Pardon me, replied I, the Duchess of W---- introduced me on that day! That may be, replied Miss _Ton_, her Grace is very old, wrinkles make her religious--but none but such, or courtiers, go of a Thursday! I again took the liberty of telling her that it had also been a very full drawing-room--Then, said she, it must have been the Thursday after the birthday--or some particular day; for otherwise few of a certain set, who understand _the rage_, would go. The _rage_, said I, madam! I am again at a loss; did I hear you right? O, perfectly well, said she; the _ton_, was formerly the word, but _the rage_, has lately been adopted from the French! (It is to be hoped, that the Parisians will also, from their late partiality for _English Gauzes_, _Silks_, _Linens_, _etc._ induce us to adopt _them also_, instead of too often procuring these articles from France.)

Forgetful of the imprudence I was going to commit--I told Miss _Ton_ her prayers had proved ineffectual--her largest feather was snapped in two. Is it possible! exclaimed she, and reddened prodigiously.--Shocked at the blunder I had made, and pitying her weakness, I gave her my bottle of Eau de Luce; and not caring to hazard any further on so interesting a subject, lest it should hurt her nerves, I turned the conversation to what was more indifferent--a sister of her's, who _had died in child-bed a fortnight before_.

(This, my dear friend--to philosophise--no abstract evil exists; for whatever calamities human life is subject to, their evil depends merely on our own sensibility.)

Sir Timothy Clinquant rejoined us. He is handsome, has a good opinion of himself, and is no stranger to the art of flattery. She lamented to him the accident of her feather. From a knowledge of human nature, that nothing pleases so much as to have a defect of any kind turned into a beauty--he assured her the feather being broke gave it an air of negligence so perfectly adapted to the _contour_ of her fine face, that he could not be convinced, but that she _accidentally_ on _purpose_ afforded it _that grace_. Thus was she restored to good-humour.--I can tell you little of what I saw; Miss Ton's head intercepted my view of the stage: _her rage_ of going late having prevented our getting any other but end seats, and she sat before me. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth there was a law made to restrict the growth of ruffs: I wish our legislators,[36] who, in this accommodating age, do sometimes condescend to bestow their attention on trifles, would take the size of heads into their consideration. Mr Walpole observes, in his anecdotes of painting in England, that in the reign of the two first Edwards, the ladies erected such pyramids on their heads that the face became the center of the body.

An eminent physician has declared, that more deformed children have been brought into the world this last year than for twenty years before, on account of the ladies stooping in their carriages--One thing I am certain of--it makes them contract a habit of frowning, that furrows their foreheads.

A fine lady is the least part of herself, and is every morning put together like some instrument. Dress is the subject eternally discussed. Gulliver tells us, that the sages of Laputa, having substituted things in place of words, carried along with them such things as were necessary to express the particular business they intended to discourse on.--Were this the case, it would be a great relief; but alas! they do no more here than propose the subject. But to return to the opera--Miss _Ton_, in telling me who the people were, said they were _horrid creatures_, that is to say, censorious or _awkward_, because _not of her particular set_.

But what was my surprise to perceive her familiarly afterwards whispering to one, curtsying to another, telling a third how unfortunate she had been in not being at home when she did her the honor of calling on her! I could not help testifying my astonishment at her conduct!--She laughed, and said--I am civil to those people, as the Indians worship the devil--_for fear_. Besides, said she, the last Lady has a rich brother lately come from India. In days of yore women married for a title, a fine seat, etc.--A title is very agreeable, but a _fine seat_, the very idea of it gives me the vapours! I would rather marry a London justice than a lord lieutenant of the county. It did very well formerly (when people were so dull as to be able to bear their own thoughts) to live moping at an old family place; but manners are _now_ too much improved for _that_: and a nabob's cash, without the appendages of the seats of his ancestors, will suffice to carry me one season to Spa, another to Tunbridge, etc. etc.--In marrying a nabob, there is a moral security of never being buried in the country. I am no _devot_, but I believe there is such a thing as conscience; and, as few of these continental heroes can bear to listen to their silent monitor--it induces them to lead _exactly the kind of life I like_--to _exclude reflection_!

I answered, that she was too severe; I made no doubt but that a man may get rich across the Atlantic, without wounding his honor, and all the finer feelings of humanity by peculation and extortion, which leaves the possessors more wretched than pale-eyed poverty with all its whole train of meagre haunts. To change the conversation, I said, so madam, I find you intend to marry. Yes, said she, _to be sure_--But I hope in god I shall have no children to _spoil my shape_. I cannot here refrain from telling you a circumstance I saw occur myself. We dined at Lady ----'s; I observed a lady change colour--Mrs. ---- whispered to her, that ladies in her situation (for she appeared with child) were apt to be _indisposed_. She seemed hurt at the supposition, and denied any thing was the matter with her! As by the conversation it appeared she had _already had children_, I was at a loss to account for _her conduct_. Colonel H----, her husband, appeared very uneasy--an inquisitive look of kindness, a tender affectionate concern, were strongly depicted on his manly countenance--his anxiety appeared to me to proceed from that fond attachment arising from loving another better than one's self. I entered into his ideas, contemplated her happiness, and as he is not a very young (though agreeable) man, the apparent attention he paid her confirmed me in what you know was always my sentiments, that _such_ make the _best husbands_. Desirous of relieving his anxiety by contributing to her ease, I begged she would permit me to accompany her to another apartment. As her uneasiness had greatly increased--she was under a necessity of accepting my offer--and fainted as soon as she got into Mr. ----'s library. The alarmed and fond husband followed, who intreated a maid might be called to cut the lacing of her stays. He was much affected, and, addressing Lady Charlotte Sombre and me, said, There, young ladies, lies a victim of the fashion! Before I brought her to this town--she was the delighted mother of three fine children--but these fond sensations are now lost in the trifling consideration of a _fine shape_; and though in the last month of her pregnancy, she has a vanity in flattering herself she cannot be thought in _that situation_! The lady was carried home, and we heard next day she had been delivered of a _still-born child_.

Lord Spangle asked Miss _Ton_, how soon she got to bed the other morning? Not, my Lord, until eight--you know we did not sit down to dinner until twelve at night. Not until twelve at night! said I. No, returned she; you know nobody dines till after the opera: it was _Danzi's_ benefit; all the world were there, and there were many songs _encored_.--Dinner was ordered by eleven; but Lady Peccedillo was not at the opera--her monkey died, and she had not nerves for seeing Lord ---- who is always there, and who she esteems the direct image of her dead favourite. Her hair-dresser was ordered at ten, but disappointed her--and dinner was retarded on her account. Pray, said I, at what time did you sup? Why, we sat down to cards at two o'clock, played until six, then went to supper, and parted half an hour after seven! I find, said I, that the people of the _ton_ reckon the time according to the _Mosaic_ custom, where the evening and the morning make the day. But pray, madam, what becomes of your servants all this time? I hope you only appoint them to attend you home? Servants! Lord, Madam, nobody thinks of their servants! I do not see myself what business servants have to sleep _at all_! I can do very well with three hours sleep, and I expect next winter to bring myself to two[37]!

You say that lady and Mrs. ---- have been lately abused, even by their own friends, that is to say--those they associated most with--Would you know the reason? My dear friend, they have left off play, at which they generally lost considerably. The first of these ladies, from unavoidable misfortunes, altered her plans in life: the last, from a different cause--Her family remonstrated, her husband frowned; but they remonstrated, and he frowned to _no purpose_! Her luck turned, her passion increased for that dangerous amusement, yet she took a resolution, and would _play no more_.--She who was before set down as an agreeable acquaintance, was now deemed capricious, and the eyes of her card-playing acquaintances, who were before _blind_ to her _real imperfections_, became now _scrupulously attentive_ to her _imaginary errors_. Many various conjectures were formed for the reasons of her conduct--many allegations made that she had formed _an attachment_, or was deterred by _spouses's directions_! To clear her at once from these imputations, neither of which (be they _crimes or virtues_) she has a mind capable of--The truth is--she has beautiful teeth--and accidentally read Mr Tolver's book, where he considers the passions as internal causes of their diseases.

_Errors_ proceeding from the _sensations of the heart_, are not _those_ of this age. I was told there had been a long attachment between Lady ---- and Colonel ----. I deplored, I pitied her! He is now abroad in a dangerous situation! What anxiety, what wretchedness must she not suffer! How surprised I was to find--she never misses _a public place_. The Duchess of W---- was much amused at my simplicity--Formerly (said she) if a woman had the misfortune _to love where_ she could not avow it--decency induced her carefully to conceal her weakness--but now it is _quite otherwise_--The soft sensations find no admittance into their sophisticated hearts--though they have no objection to a man of fashion _in their train_.--And a certain set of _the ton_, or _the rage_ go so far as even studiously to afford an appearance _of what_ in reality never entered into _their imaginations_!

I think I hear you say, how strange! But everything is so I think in this place. I met Lady Bab Cork-rump the other day: My dear Lady Eliza, said she, I love a comedy of all things; pray let us go to one soon. I am disengaged next Thursday--That is very lucky, returned I; I have _a box that evening: it is our favourite play_; and _Mrs Abington acts_!--That is _delightful_, said she! And, added I, it is a charity play for the dispensary of the infant poor--upwards of twenty-six thousand children have been relieved by this humane institution since its commencement nine years ago. Lady Bab heard the above impatiently.--It is a charity play, you say, madam!--I don't know, I believe my brother expects some friends from the country. I suppose it will be no disappointment to your ladyship if I _don't go_?--O, not in the least, said I--Thus the idea of _Charity_ makes a fine lady shrink (as if it were contagious) into herself, and prevented Lady Bab from going to a place her inclination otherwise induced her to.

Lady Bab seems to have a great partiality for Sir Hugh, our neighbour--Since he got his fortune--his riots are generosity--carelessness, the freedom of his soul--his prodigalities, an easiness of mind proportioned to his estate. He quarrelled the other day with Captain Essence on her account; and I was alarmed to the greatest degree for the consequences! she laughed at my fears, assuring me there was no kind of danger in what I apprehended. The gentlemen, said she, have renounced the conduct of heroes. The custom of wagers is the happy succedaneum, and prevents much blood-shed. Thus matters of dispute are left in _tranquil doubt_, until the period arrives for _its_ no less _tranquil decision_. It turned out as she said; Captain Essence wagered with Sir Hugh, that _the new club in Saint James's Street would be the ruin of Lord ----, before the old one vis-à-vis had knocked up General ----_.

I have spent so much money on _bagatelles_, that I cannot help regretting the expenditure of what if otherwise applied might have produced such beneficial effects.--But if we commit some follies, we are sufficiently kept in countenance by the other sex. Modern story tells us the late King of Poland was so much captivated with forty-eight china vases, that he purchased them of the late King of Prussia at the price of a _whole regiment of dragoons_.

You know, my dear friend, how many elogiums have been bestowed on Lady Darnley, on account of the aids she afforded for the disquisition of the particular genius's which distinguished the young people, to prevent a misapplication of the talents of the rising generation. "Is it not by a misapplication of talents," said one, "that our present mortifications arise? Many a man miscarrying in one profession, would have succeeded happily in another. Hence we see so many heads applied to what requires thinking, which might have been applied to their country's good in the manner of the ancient use of _battering rams_, and have been run against stone walls _without the least danger of being hurt_.--If the mechanic should invert all the principles which compose the knowledge of that science; if he should assign the wheels to be the principle of motion, the spring to run round and be moved, the weight to vibrate and regulate, and the pendulum to urge; would not all mankind deride such a machine, because it could not perform its office? Is not this the unhappy case of this country at present? have not our enemies taken the advantage of it?"

But to leave politics--which I owe to the observations of an old gentleman, who has too much reason to be chagrined with the procrastination in the conduct of public affairs, as it has affected the interest of his private family--I am most sincerely concerned on account of your aunt's apparent obstinacy in favour of Mr Bennet. Parents, imagining that years _impart wisdom_, which have only _altered tastes_, are apt to be arbitrary in their determinations, and dress in the furs, which become the ice of old-age, the glowing blood of youth. But do not, my dear friend, barter your happiness for splendour. I suppose (but do not take my supposition for an oracle) that it is not likely I shall every marry--If I do not, my fortune shall be yours; being ever most affectionately

Your sincere friend ELIZA FINLAY.

From the Earl of Munster to the Countess of Darnley.

My dear Aunt,

Since I wrote you last, I walked one day in the city. A _black man_, _well dressed_, fell down in the street: as none was near, I run, took him in my arms, and carried him into a house of refreshment, where I immediately procured him assistance. Upon his recovery he acknowledged his obligations to me, and said, that but for me he must have died:--and at the end of the lottery of life, our last minutes, like benefit tickets left in the wheel, rise in their valuation. I accompanied him home, where I saw his wife; who, though as black as the collyed night, is as ingenious, sensible, and agreeable a woman as can be found among the daughters of England. He inquired of her for a friend; who arriving, to my inexpressible surprise proved to be the Marquis de Villeroy, but so emaciated that the eye of friendship could not behold him without shedding tears--he knew me at once, and ran to my embrace--This, said he to the black gentleman, is Lord Munster, my friend, the companion of my youth.

After the joy we mutually testified at meeting, I could not help testifying my surprise at the alteration in his person! My Lord, replied he, I will acquaint you with the most extraordinary history that ever occurred to any one. Upon the receipt of your letter, I made no doubt, in the first impulse of passion, but you had betrayed me; I suddenly left the army, and travelled day and night until I took shipping for Rotterdam. On my arrival at that place, I found my father had left it; and was also informed of the honorable part you had acted, and that I had falsely flattered myself with the Countess's affection. I lamented your misfortune and my impatience, as on reflection I was sensible of the imprudence I had committed in leaving my post--I was determined, however, not to lie under any imputation of cowardice--I returned to--waited on the general officer--acquainted him with the real truth, obtained forgiveness of my fault, which was afterwards looked upon in a proper light, as I had the good fortune to distinguish myself soon after in two engagements. Upon our being ordered into winter-quarters, I obtained leave of absence, and was resolved if possible to discover to what place my father had retired; for although my love was hopeless, I flattered myself still with having it in my power to rescue the Countess de Sons from his _tyranny_, and restore her _to you_.

My servant one day, with a face of joy, communicated to me that he had learned my father lived at a house near Marseilles. He heard this, he said, from a brother, who had an intrigue with one of the Duchess's maids.--Is the duke then married? said I.--Alas, my friend, said the Marquis, I am sorry to inform you, the object of your affections fell a victim to my father's designs--he compelled her to give him her hand!--I found he had turned the Countess's fortune into cash and jewels, on which he lived, being desirous of concealing the place of his abode, jealous to the last degree of her being seen! With this view all his servants _were females_.

Notwithstanding these precautions, his domestics talked of his peculiarities; which occasioned interrogatories concerning his funds of expense. These the inquirers soon discovered were in specie in the house: this determined them to rob him. My servant's brother, who was courting the Duchess's maid, informed her _of me_; next day received a letter from my sister, who promised to admit me one night into the house, where she directed me to come in disguise with my servant!--Thus was I made a tool of by these ruffians: they meant to effect the robbery by _my means_; and if detected, flattered themselves they would be pardoned _on my account_! At the time appointed I went; Julia let me in, leaving the door open for my servant. She was beginning to inform me of all their distresses, when our ears were assaulted by an alarm-bell!--in an instant the house was filled with people; I heard my father say, Where is the rascal who calls himself my son? My servant, upon being discovered, had informed him, that I had hired him and his three companions (whom he had introduced into the house) to murder and rob him, and to carry off the ladies! It was in vain I assured him to the contrary; he would not hearken to me; he recollected how much I had been in love with his charming ward; he upbraided me with my wickedness, and perhaps did believe me guilty.

This affair, I make no doubt, has been misrepresented in the world--we have no true histories, but such as have been written by those who were sincere enough to relate what they experienced, in what relates to themselves.

I was seized, and carried to a dungeon until my trial; when, without a hearing, I was condemned for life to be a galley-slave, and sent for that purpose on board the gallies at Marseilles. The labour of a _galley-slave_, is become a proverb; nor is it without reason that this may be reckoned the greatest fatigue that can be inflicted on wretchedness.

Imagine six men chained to their seats, entirely naked as when born, sitting with one foot on a block of timber fixed to the footstool; the other lifted up against the bench before them, holding in their hands an oar of an enormous size. Imagine them lengthening their bodies, their arms stretched out to push the oar over the backs of those before them; who are also themselves in a similar attitude. Having thus advanced their oar, they raise that end which they hold in their hands, to plunge the opposite in the sea; which done, they throw themselves back upon their benches below, which are somewhat hollowed to receive them. But none but those who have seen them labour can conceive how much they endure: none but such could be persuaded that human strength could sustain the fatigue which they undergo for an hour successively. But what cannot necessity and cruelty make men do? Almost impossibilities. Certainly no galley can be navigated in any other way, than by a crew of slaves, over whom a _comite_ may exercise the most unbounded authority. No free man could continue at the oar an hour unwearied: yet a slave must sometimes lengthen out his toil for ten, twelve, nay, for twenty hours, without the smallest intermission. On these occasions the _comites_, or some of the other mariners, put into the mouths of those wretches a bit of bread steeped in wine, to prevent their fainting through excess of fatigue or hunger, while their hands are employed upon the oar. At such times are heard nothing but horrid blasphemies, loud bursts of despair, or ejaculations to Heaven; all the slaves streaming with blood, while their unpitying taskmasters mix oaths and threats, and the smacking of whips, to fill up this dreadful harmony.

At this time the captain roars to the _comite_ to redouble his blows; and when any one drops from his oar in a swoon, (which not unfrequently happens) he is whipped while any remains of life appear, and then thrown into the sea, without any farther ceremony. The _Diable Boitteux_, in order to make _Cleofas_ sensible of the happy condition of an inquisitor, tells him, Was not I a Dæmon, I would be an inquisitor? Were the devil to become a mortal, he would incline to be the _comite_ to the galley-slaves at Marseilles, whose hearts are inlapidated by cruelty.

How these slaves are fed, to enable them to support such enormous toil, may be judged from the following account.--When it was necessary we should take some refreshment, the captain ordered _the dogs to their mess_. He only meant by this, that we should be served with beans, the usual food allowed us. These are indeed most intolerable eating, and what nothing but the most pinching hunger could dispense with. They are ill boiled, with scarce any oil, a little salt, and all to be eaten out of a capacious cauldron, not the cleanest in the world, as may easily be conceived.

I was never so hungry but that I preferred eating my portion of bread dipped in vinegar and water to this mess, which even offended the sense of smelling. However, these, and twenty-two ounces of biscuit, are all the food allowed for a galley-slave. Each of the crew receives four ounces of this beverage; that is, provided none of it be secreted before it is brought upon deck, which is not unfrequently the case.

I once had the curiosity to count the number of beans which a brother slave had got for all his portion, which amounted to just thirty; and those of the little black bean, commonly called horse-beans. We did not even commiserate one another. To pity, we must be acquainted with the sufferings of our fellow-creatures, but not feel them. When we know by experience what pain is, we pity those who suffer; but when we ourselves are in pain, we then feel only what we ourselves undergo. In every station, subject to the calamities of life, we allow to others that share of our sensibility only which we have no occasion for ourselves. People in ease, people in affluence, may think otherwise, but it is not _in nature_.

Dreadful as this was, I have always thought death a punishment that was no way adequate to the crimes of some public villains who have been punished with it; and I am certain the most cowardly among men, would prefer it to being a galley-slave. We are condemned to death by nature; the sentence of the law, and the hand of the hangman, only anticipate a few months or days; but to be daily wishing for death, as a friend, to relieve us, and to be debarred of all means of meeting him, is such a quintessence of wretchedness as would, I believe, make all mankind keep a strict guard upon their actions, that they may avoid falling into it.[38]

From this infernal state of existence I was delivered by Mr Worthy, who is a slave-merchant--he saw, and pitied my distress--he had accidentally saved the life of one of the ruffians who had assisted in the attempt to rob my father. This man afterwards, upon his death-bed, acquainted his good master of my situation, who promised to release me. This was effected by his giving a large sum to the captain and the _comite_. The secret was told me; it was agreed I should pretend to faint, and appear insensible; when I should be thrown into the sea as dead--This happily succeeded.

Nothing can be more unjust than to confine the instance of humanity within the narrow circle of a few European nations. The noble, the generous, the humane dispositions are diffused throughout all nature, and exert their engaging force wherever a body of men subsists. Virtue and vice are mingled in all societies: we have savages in Italy; and there are worthy men amongst those we call savages. Christians do often those things which a modest heathen would blush at, and, while they boast of their religion, are strangers to the common laws of humanity. It should be the boast of a wise man to despise nothing that he is not well acquainted with, and to do justice to all mankind, of whatever country or complexion.--Virtue, like the rays of the sun, shines over the whole habitable globe, enlivens the moral, as that the material world, and exerts its benign influences from the _scorching equinox_ to the _frozen poles_. We feel its force; all communities are bound together by its magnetic influence; and without it the nations of Barbary would be covered with devastation, and no more inhabited than the scorching sands of its inhospitable deserts.

Mr Worthy no sooner cast his eyes on me, and perceived my sorrow, than pity, tenderness, and compassion glowed in his countenance; his eyes moistened with generous sympathy, and the first word he spoke convinced me that he already felt _all I had suffered_. But there is no pleasure so transporting to him, as to be in any way instrumental in making any of the human species happy.

I acquiesced in the justice of these sentiments--and could not sufficiently admire the fortitude which had supported the Marquis under such unheard-of trials! And as our sense of many high enjoyments, both natural and moral, is exceedingly heightened by our having observed or experienced many of the contrary evils; he bids fair at least to be contented, when he looks back to the horrors he has escaped. The poet says,

The heart can ne'er a transport know That never felt a pain.

It may easily be conceived the Marquis is most anxious to inquire after his family--but gratitude to Mr Worthy has made him accompany him to England.

When I seemed to compassionate his sufferings, his gratitude assumed a grateful humility; but the moment I appeared the least inattentive to his misfortunes, his countenance collected such an air of dignity, as not only reproached my seeming want of sensibility, but reminded me also, that his sufferings were not the consequences of guilt, nor could in the least degree lessen his greatness of mind.

I find Mr Worthy has a law-suit depending; when that is settled he is to accompany my friend to Italy. He appears to me a very acute, sensible man;--we were talking the other day of the disturbances at Madras, and of the strange conduct of the people in Leadenhall-Street--He said it put him in mind of Anacharsus's observation to Solon, as they were returning from a public assembly, 'That he could not help being greatly astonished to find, that, in their deliberations, it was the _wise that spoke_, and that _fools that decided_.' I believe, in public assemblies, this will be found generally to be the case, where party governs, and the most powerful cabal is generally composed of the least rational.

I attend these dear friends everywhere. The Marquis is an _amateur_, and his taste will be highly gratified, when at Munster-house, to view the prodigies of _your creation_--he is a descendant of the Medici family: consequently highly charmed with the character of the Countess of Darnley. But this is a subject, I am incapable of entering upon--to praise exquisite merit is perhaps the most difficult part of polite writing, and which I have no talents for; but which if I possessed, I should tire you with what few other ladies ever yet was--_their own praises_. But I will yield to none in what I value myself upon, being truly and affectionately.

Yours MUNSTER

The Marquis de Villeroy became much enamoured with Lady Eliza, whose compassion for his misfortunes had so far softened her heart in his favor, that she listened to him first with complacency, afterwards with tenderness, and at last with the most lively interest. Congenial souls soon form an union. She acknowledged her partiality for him, but that no predilection whatever could induce her to leave her country and friends. This opinion was greatly strengthened by the idea she entertained of the inconstancy of mankind, and the little regard they pay to women after a few years possession.

The Marquis thought his renouncing his native country would be too great a sacrifice to be offered at the altar of the Graces. Yet the idea of parting with Lady Eliza was what he was unable to support.--She told him it would be in vain to think of making her soften the rigour of her decree; for it proceeded from a firmness, which nothing could conquer! for, from all her observations in life, no love ever lasted long enough to make it worth while to sacrifice every thing else to it; the _Paradisiac_ vision of eternal constancy having long vanished from these sublunary regions:--and that unless he would reside in England--she never would be his!--A sigh, which stole from him, conveyed to Lady Eliza the height of his despair--his embarrassment and dejection increased her regard for him, while it awakened a tender commiseration for them, believing herself entirely the cause of them. She therefore thought it incumbent on her to endeavour to remove them by every attention in her power.--In consequence of this consideration in his favor, she strove to look cheerful, though she was not a little hurt at finding it absolutely necessary to reject so amiable and deserving a man.

The Marquis, perceiving that remonstrances would be ineffectual, took his leave with a heart distracted by grief, perplexity, and despair! Being naturally of a restless, gloomy disposition, and of violent passions, in his despair he thought his adventures had been so extraordinary that he was doomed to be wretched! and formed a resolution of laying violent hands on himself: and the more he meditated on his situation, the more strongly was he confirmed in his precipitate resolution. Yet, as the instinct of self-preservation is one of the strongest in our frame, it inspired him with a counter-idea, that of renouncing Italy; this only acquiescence being requisite to recommend him to Lady Eliza, without whom his life would be a burthen. He communicated his intentions to Lord Munster, who apprised his sister of this proof of the Marquis's attachment for her.

Flattered to the greatest degree at the strength of his affection, she promised to give him her hand on his return from Italy--where he must necessarily go, to prove the identity of his person, and to take possession of his fortune.

The Marquis made immediate preparations for his journey, and soon set out, accompanied by his friend Mr Worthy, Mrs Worthy accompanying Lady Eliza to Munster-house--Soon after their arrival Lord and Lady Darnley rejoined them with their little son, her ladyship being too tender a mother to leave him behind her, or to commit him to the care of any but herself. The tender brain of _Newton_, or _Alexander_, altered in their infancy by a small compression, or slight commotion, might have rendered the first stupid, and the other a wise King--Yet people in general, though emulous of obtaining wealth for their heirs, commit them to the care of uninterested hirelings. Sir Harry Bingley, his aunt and sister, and most of the parties already introduced to the reader, assembled at Munster house to spend the summer.

Mrs Lee had rejected every overture from her husband for a reconciliation, whilst his health and fortune lasted--but to a mind like hers, misfortunes cancelled every injury--His fortune ruined, his health impaired, he plunged deeper and deeper into every species of excess. This soon brought him to the greatest distress, and he was so much reduced as to be in want of the common necessaries of life. Mrs Lee, upon being informed of his deplorable situation, immediately converted that villa in Wales, of which there has been a description given[39], into money, paid her husband's debts, and accompanied him at a wretched hovel, to which his poverty, the consequence of his crimes, and infidelity (_to her_) had reduced him.--There she continued, shewing him every attention until his decease; when she came with Lady Darnley to Munster-house.

Lady Eliza soon received the following Letter from the Marquis de Villeroy.

Madam, Venice.

On my arrival at this place, I found that, on the report of my death, my father had consigned over his estate to a near relation of mine--who knew me at once, though so emaciated, and has acted in the most honorable manner to me. My father has retired to La-Trappe in France: thither my duty must lead me, previous to the happiness I shall receive in throwing myself at your feet.

Were I disposed to draw the most engaging _portrait_ imaginable, I could easily find a subject; but as you may possibly wish for an intimate acquaintance with the original, I shall omit the attempt, since it would be difficult for you to obtain it from that principle in human nature which makes us strangers _to ourselves_.

I shall detain your ladyship no longer, than to request you will inform my friend, your brother, that I am mortified to be unable to deliver his letter to Mademoiselle de Querci--no such person can be found.

Need I paint that passion I have given you such proofs of?--No; all descriptions would fall short of my feelings. I will ever yield to every wish your soul can form; you are entirely absolute, unless you should attempt impossibilities, amongst which I reckon this as the greatest--for me to breathe a moment without being entirely and inviolably yours.

DE VILLEROY.

It may here be, perhaps, proper to inform the reader of what perhaps his own sagacity may have made him anticipate--The Duke de Salis had neither been able, by intreaties or threats, to compel the Countess de Sons to marry him, though he had given out that she had; this induced him to keep both her and his daughter closely confined. It has been already related, how he had consigned over his son as a house-breaker;--when he found him condemned to the gallies--like the cruel inconsistency of an _Admiral's[40] judges_--he laid himself under the necessity of declaiming the equity of his own sentence--and when he found the decree against his son was inevitable--unable to bear the reproaches of his inward monitor, and listening to the whispers of a gloomy disposition, he became almost frantic--In this situation of mind, torn with the agonies of grief, he became more careless of his ward--and the Countess and Julia escaped from him--After his conduct to his son--they trembled lest in some act of despair he should on some future occasion equal the past scene, which _chilled them with horror_--The Countess was seized with the small-pox, which altered her features considerably, without impairing her beauty; this circumstance facilitated their eluding all search after them from the Duke, as Julia wore men's clothes; and they supported themselves by the sale of jewels.

The intelligent reader now perceives, that Mademoiselle Querci and her brother, were no other than the Countess de Sons and Julia, whom Lord Munster had met at Venice.

When the Duke de Salis retired to La-Trappe, the Countess de Sons appeared, and took possession of her fortune. She had remained constantly and sincerely attached to Lord Munster was flattered by his attentions at Venice, and found her esteem increased by the regard he paid to his pre engagements; but would not at that time discover herself, fearing that she only flattered herself that he saw her with the eyes of affection, and lest the small-pox had made _such_ an alteration, as might change his sentiments. Upon the Marquis de Villeroy's arrival in Italy, she was highly charmed to receive a letter from Lord Munster addressed to Mademoiselle de Querci, and determined to accompany him and Julia to England; but this was carefully concealed, to render the discovery more pleasing.

In the mean time, the family at Munster-house passed their time most agreeably, though Lord Munster, Sir Harry Bingley, and Mrs Lee, (who knew nothing of Mr Villars) often were melancholy and _distrait_.

Lord Munster made great preparations to celebrate the anniversary of Lady Darnley's wedding-day: on which occasion a number of buildings were added to those already mentioned on the pleasure-grounds--As all the best artificers were on the spot, these were executed in the ablest manner. One temple he finished without the inspection of any one.

On the morning of the masquerade, walking out with Sir Harry Bingley, he told him he should be glad to have his opinion of it. In this temple was painted the _cataract_ of the river Dahl, which he had drawn on the spot[41]--the cottage where Miss Harris resided--and herself at work, in the same way in which he saw her, with her lovely boy playing beside her (Miss Harris had permitted Lord Munster to draw her picture, and he had fortunately taken an exact likeness)--Sir Harry Bingley started at beholding it, and exclaimed, 'It is her, it is, by Heaven, it is her! What artist drew the picture? it is, it is herself!'--he then sunk almost motionless in a chair!--Lord Munster carelessly answered--'Bingley, are you mad? That picture _cannot_ concern you; I painted it from life! Where did you see her? Answer but that question, and I am gone, gone that instant; the world should not detain me!' 'It is, it is, my Lord, the lovely woman I told you of. But her graces were yet more charming still than her beauty! an external glare of beauty may _captivate the eye, and ravish the sight_; but it is the graces that win the heart, that powerfully attract every faculty of a kindred mind!--I loved her, and was beloved! She loved my person, not my fortune. Her tenderness, her affection were my only joy!' 'Why then, replied Lord Munster, did you leave her? but make yourself easy on her account; she can be nothing to you; I expect her soon in England.'--'In England!'--'Yes, Sir, in England, I fancy by this time she is married to my friend Ogilby.' 'Lord Ogilby!' 'Yes; he was passionately in love with her: she absolutely refused him; but it is not likely, possessing such beauty, such perfections--slighted by the author of her exclusion from every dear and valuable claim in society, relations, friends, reputation, and protection--that she should continue deaf to the earnest solicitations of _another_, who can restore her to these advantages--such a man as Ogilby, a tender lover, who would sacrifice his time and fortune to her, and who promised he would be _a father to her boy_.'

Sir Henry's senses appeared suspended.--He at last repeated, 'Distraction, madness, fury! But, by the great God of Heaven--he shall not be a _father to my boy_!' The agitation of his spirits rendered him almost unintelligible: Lord Munster could only understand that he intended to set out directly--he therefore dissuaded him from it--telling him, that if he refused staying that day (on which he meant to mark his respect to Lady Darnley) that he must renounce his friendship for ever! 'My Lord, returned he, I honor, I love you; your virtues demand the first, your amiable engaging qualities the last; but were you God instead of man you should not detain me!--A few hours may render her the wife of the happy Ogilby! There is damnation in that thought!'--As Lord Munster had contrived an agreeable surprise to Sir Henry--and Miss Harris and her child were actually arrived, and concealed at Mr Burt's, who had taken a separate house, for retirement,--it was necessary he should detain him; and as he had forgot to ask where there scene represented _was_, he availed himself of that circumstance, saying, 'Since, Sir, I cannot command your _complaisance_, I may at least enforce your _obedience_, for you know not _where_ to go, without I tell you--and my lips shall be sealed up _for ever_, unless you pass this night here--If in the morning you choose to set off, I will instruct you in every particular.' In the time Lord Munster was enjoying Sir Harry's happiness--some of his friends were equally engaged for him. The Countess de Sons and Julia, the Marquis de Villeroy, Mr Villars, and Mr Worthy, came to London before the masquerade--Mr Villars wrote to Lord Darnley, acquainting him privately with their arrival, and it was agreed in return they should all make their appearance on that occasion.

This entertainment was executed equal to the munificence and taste of Lord Munster--and as it was given entirely in honor of Lady Darnley, the principal objects in his arrangements had a reference to her. Never was parental affection more fondly evinced, never was filial gratitude more entire.--It has been already observed, that nothing was ever more elegantly planned than Munster Village, the farm adjoining, and the pleasure-grounds which lead to the house: in the farm you wandered from variety to variety; buildings of great utility and much fancy, groves inspiring different sensations, from the lucid summits that wake the mind to gaiety, to the dark brown or _clair obscure_ of trees crowding their branches together in the vale, which possess the soul with home-felt contemplation.

Above three hundred of the nobility and people of fashion in the neighbourhood were invited. Lord and Lady Darnley, Lord Munster, Lady Eliza, and Mr Worthy, were the only people unmarked. They received the company in the temple of Minerva, which faced a fine piece of water, on which there is an island. The river represented the Styx[42], the island Elysium, and Charon ferried over passengers. His boat landing, the names of Demosthenes, Aristotle, Pindar, Plato, Apelles, Phidias, and Praxiteles, were announced to Lady Darnley--They were all dressed in Grecian habits. Demosthenes, in an elegant harangue, acquainted her, that the wise Minos had indulged them in their request, of taking that opportunity of doing homage to her superlative merit, and to return her thanks for reviving their memories in the encouragement she gave to the arts and sciences, as under her patronage the Muses had made Munster Village their capital seat. He then expatiated on the advantages she had procured to society--the influence of the philosophic spirit in humanizing the mind, and preparing it for intellectual exertion and delicate pleasures--in exploring, by the help of geometry, the system of the universe--in promoting navigation, agriculture, medicine, and moral and political science. Lady Darnley (though totally unprepared, being ignorant of her nephew's plans) made a very ready and polite answer, returning them thanks for the honor they did her, which (she said) as it could afford them no other _pleasure_, than that of _obliging_, rendered the obligation greater. Demosthenes replied, that great geniuses are always superior to their own abilities.

Some time after Charon was observed to land some passengers in Roman habits; they proved to be Cicero, Lucretius, Livy, Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Varro, Tibullus, and Vitruvius. Cicero advancing, made Lady Darnley a speech similar to that of Demosthenes--as like thoughts will be ever born of the like subjects, by people who live in corresponding periods of the _progression of manners_. In such cases some considerable _similarity_ of expression may be occasioned by the agency of _general principles_. Lady Darnley made a gracious reply, intimating her small merit, and the apprehensions she felt that physical causes might impede her good intentions; that her powers had been limited; but that she was far from thinking with Boileau, that wherever there is a Mæccenas, a Virgil or an Horace will arise, (curtsying to these gentlemen.) Cicero observed to her the happiness she enjoyed in living at a _period_ distinguished by men of such shining abilities in every department!

Lady Darnley answered, that he honored her countrymen very much: that she acknowledged we have at present very able men in every department; but that in morality she was afraid we have refined more upon the _vices_ of the ancients than _their virtues_, and she could not help questioning whether there was any minister, magistrate, or lawyer, now in Europe, who could explain the discoveries of Newton, or the ideas of Leibnitz, in the same manner as the principles of Zeno, Plato, and Epicurus, had been illustrated at Rome[43].

He thanked her for her polite compliment, and retired with his companions.

They were succeeded by Italians, who were announced Lawrence de Medicis, Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian, Ariosto, and Tasso. Lawrence de Medicis expressed his happiness from having been permitted the honor of paying his respects to her, and admiring the works of her creation, and complimented her in the name of his friends for the encouragement she had afforded the arts.--She said, the applause of the worthy is too valuable to be received with indifference; but still modestly declined the praises bestowed on her, saying, she had endeavoured to follow _his_ example, although the imitation was _a faint one_; and that the only commendation she aspired to was from _the attempt_. That without her assistance, she made no doubt, if physical causes did not prevent it[44], that the society for the encouragement of arts, manufactures, and commerce in London, is well calculated to diffuse a spirit of taste in this nation--a society, which, without neglecting what tends more immediately to the improvement of agriculture, and the necessary arts of life, gives the most honorable encouragement to those which are elegant and ornamental. Had such a society been instituted fifty years ago, London, perhaps by this time, would have been the grand seat of the arts, as it is the envied seat of freedom.

Michael Angelo, that celebrated restorer of the arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture, expressed how infinitely he was charmed with Munster Village[45].--'What is really beautiful, said he, does not depend either upon fashion, or times; there may be _different ways_ of expressing things in different ages; but there can only _be one_ of conceiving them properly.' The temple, in which they were, was adorned with the paintings of Raphael[46], copied by an able artist. Lady Darnley, pointing to these, (and addressing him) said 'There is proof how much we fall short, how faintly we copy originals!'--Raphael replied, that her ladyship did him much honor; the pieces she had selected, had met with the suffrage of the public; but that, in his own acceptation, _the cartoons_ were the best of his performances--which he apprehended a juster prevailing taste at present condemned: Otherwise the father of his people, approved of by Minos--so good so indulgent a prince to his subjects--would not lock them up from public observations.--Lady Darnley was here quite at a loss; she blushed, hesitated, unwilling either to refuse her sovereign _taste_ or _philanthropy_!

Lawrence de Medicis perceiving her situation, in pity of her confusion, retired with his company.

Charon again landed a groupe of figures; their dress declared them English, of the reign of King Charles II--They proved to be the Duke of Buckingham[47], Sir William Petty, Mr Dryden, Mr Locke, Mr Waller, etc. The Duke addressed Lady Darnley with that polite address peculiar to himself in his age, and which has since been sedulously studied, to the prevention of qualities which it should only be the harbinger of--he expatiated on her merit; that she had obliged the whole nation, as every one individual might receive improvement or pleasure by her means.--Lady Darnley returned him a most gracious answer, still intimating her apprehensions, that the arts perhaps were not likely to thrive in this soil, where our pursuits, opinions, and inclinations, vary with the weather--that the declension of letters after the reign of Charles II. but too fully justified her opinion.--The Duke answered her, that indeed that was the common and received opinion, and that the reign she mentioned was the Augustan age in England; but that he had the honor to assure her, that a just taste was by no means then formed.--The progress of philological learning, and the _Belles Lettres_ was obstructed by the institution of the Royal Society, which turned the thoughts of men of genius to physical inquiries.--To that body we were indebted for the discoveries relating to light, the principle of gravitation, the motion of the fixed stars, the geometry of transcidental qualities; but that it was left to her ladyship to revive the agreeable arts, for which her name must be handed down to posterity with honor.

The following dialogue ensued between Charon and a Beau.

Beau.--I have seen all parts of the world, and should like to take a view of Elysium, being rather tired of this side of the Styx.

[48] Mercury to Charon.--He is too frivolous an animal to present to the wife Minos!

Charon.--Minos, Sir, knows nothing of _the graces_--but if you please I will row you to the infernal regions.

Beau.--With all my heart, I believe I shall meet more people of fashion there[49]; but, good master Charon, in what way shall I pass my time?

Charon.--If you are fond of doing nothing (a favourite passion with many fine gentlemen) Theseus will readily resign his seat to you: or if it is your genius, like many others, to choose to be,

'_Though without business, yet in full employ,_'

you may join Sisyphus, or accompany the Danaides.

Beau.--Neither of these will suit me; _idleness_ is _insipid_, and I _detest business_! But are there no public places?

Charon.--O! yes; great variety: each person in that place pursues those inclinations, whereby he had been swayed, or had rendered himself remarkable here on earth.

Beau.--There are fine women then, of course?

Charon.--As to women, no seraglio in the world comes up to it; as a part of whatever the world, since its creation, has ever yet produced, of lovely and enchanting amongst women are there assembled.--There you may view and gaze, with admiration, upon Helen, whose bewitching charms were so destructive to the family, the city, and the empire of King Priam.--On each side of her are Galatea, and Bressis, Lais, Phryne, and thousands more--There also you may behold in all their charms, in the full lustre of attraction, and decked in every grace, some of those happy fair-ones, whom the greatest poets, so lavish in their praise, have in their lays immortalised; such, amongst many others, are the Corinna of Ovid, the Lydia of Horace, the Lesbia of Catullus, the Delia of Tibullus, the Licoris of Gallus, and the Cynthia of Propertius.

Beau.--I will go; I am enchanted with the idea of seeing these _dear creatures_.--But I will shiver the wheel and distaff of the Destinies against the wall, and spoil their housewifery--I'll take their spindle, where hang the threads of human life like beams driven from the sun, and mix them all together, kings and beggars! But hark'ee, master Charon, is there good music? I cannot do well without music!

Charon.--There are all kinds of concerto's and opera's, both vocal and instrumental, executed by the very _best_ of the Italians, and the most celebrated voices from every part of the world. There are various pieces performed in all languages, and in all kinds of taste, for the universal satisfaction of the audience. Those who have a taste for ancient music, will be more gratified than they can be in Tottenham-street[50]. They will hear with admiration the gentle flute of Marsius, be ravished with the thorough-bass of Stentor, and expire with delight at the thrilling note of Misurus's trumpet.

Beau.--All this is charming; but what sort of a table is kept? One cannot altogether live on _love_ and _music_, though one must _languish_ and _expire_ without them, as well _as with them_!

Charon.--If you are fond of good cheer, you have nothing to do but to pay a visit to Tantalus. Are you thirsty? The Styx, the Cocytus, and the Phlegethon present their waves to your acceptance.

Beau.--I should indeed rather prefer the nectar of the Gods--but as I shall not stay long (for I make it a rule never to stay long in a place) water may suffice!

Charon.--It would have been as easy to have escaped from the Labyrinth of Dædalus, as the infernal regions!

Beau.--I have always (though as wild as March, and inconstant as April) been a favourite with the fair! Ariadne procured for her Theseus a means of escape.

Charon.--I make no doubt, from your conversation, that you are not only the favourite, but the blessed Adonis of all the women: but _that_ will avail you nothing. Lucifer, the unpitying Lucifer, though you should promise to offer him every day three hundred bulls in sacrifice[51], would not lend you even one of the smallest of his imps to help you to get out.

Beau.--Did not Hercules escape from it, and carry Cerberus along with him? Did not Æneas (with the assistance of the golden bough, and led by the Cumæan Sybil) take the same journey to pay a visit to his father? Why may not I, like Orpheus, go to visit it while living?

Charon.--Orpheus was particularly indulged, and Eurydice restored to him on account of his charming voice, and the delightful music of his lyre! You have no such pretensions. But Alecto, Megara, and Tysiphone, will receive you graciously and open the gates of _Tartarus_ to you. The least of your exploits will entitle you to their attentions:--they are too good, too reasonable, too indulgent to require from you the very great pains you have taken, through the whole course of your life, to recommend yourself to them.

Beau.--Let us go then, old boy! I will try what a little flattery will do with them! I can _say with Cæsar_, I wonder what fear is!--(Aside) But my heart plaguily misgives me for _all that_! but in my circumstances I must change for the better; my money is gone; and as I never gamed, I cannot expect the _club_, _or the waiters at the club_, to make _a subscription for me_!

Two peers and a baronet applied to Charon, to ferry them over to Munster-house: but Mercury again interfered, telling Lord C----d that although he had been thought in the world not to have been _sans quelque goût_ in the _belle maniere_, and had been an encourager of the _Belles Lettres_, yet as Minos only permitted them to come back to the world (in the present case) to do honor to superlative feminine merit, none but such who had paid a proper respect to the sex in their life-time could be indulged in that pleasure. But if he would burn his book (wherein he depreciates women, and considers them only as the toys of dalliance) in _the fiery billows of Phlegethon_, he would intercede for him with Minos. This the peer rejecting, his brother the baronet intreated to be permitted to go in his stead; but Mercury reminded him, he had pulled down a house built by Inigo Jones, and therefore could have no pretensions to taste!

Lord L----n was ferried over by himself; and after paying his compliments to Lady Darnley, returned; when the following dialogue took place in Elysium between his lordship, and the other peer above mentioned.

Lord C----d.---- Your lordship may believe that I could have no great pleasure in seeing a woman's follies: I was only desirous of inquiring what they are doing at home, or in America? Did I desire to punish an enemy in the severest manner, I would inflict nothing worse upon him than to oblige him to listen to all the follies in which he has no share, and to be witness to gaieties in which he cannot partake. My heart was never dilated by the amplitude of generous principles; nothing was ever interesting to me, but in proportion as it contributed to my _own_ particular _gratifications_. Curiosity now however prevailed with me to attempt going to discover in what way they are going on, being apprehensive of the consequences of the measures formerly adopted. Whoever would deprive men of their natural rights, is an enemy to the race of men; and he that thinks it can be effectuated without universal mischief, is a stranger to the ways of Providence; the most invariable rule of which is, That nothing contradictory to its original laws shall ever be accomplished, either of a physical or moral nature, without bringing ruin on that people which has instituted it. How few are capable of distinguishing the good and pernicious effects which will follow the instituting a new law, before it is enacted! To remedy present evils, they make a law which brings greater mischiefs along with it, though imperceptible to their shallow capacities. No two understandings on earth are more different than a judicial and legislative; many men enjoy the first, who have not the least emanation of the second. When a law is to be founded, which depends on the first principles in human nature, there genius only can effectuate any discovery of truth; the mind must dart forward into futurity, from the principles which it knows in human nature: a genius of quite a different kind from that of distinguishing between right and wrong in any particular case. The first only can form the legislator, and plan laws of utility and public good, the latter decide of the consequences of them when they are made. The one capacity is the most rare, most excellent and beneficial blessing bestowed on man; the other to be found in almost all mankind, or attainable by habit, yet useful when confined to its proper sphere of action, and not permitted to rove, with the imagination of the superior _few_, amongst the regions of exalted genius.

Lord L----n.---- It is not enough, my Lord, that the English are a _miserable_, they render themselves a _ridiculous_ people: And, after all the noise the brawlers make in the lower house, they only fight the battles, aid the wishes of the Americans, and exalt the triumph of the French! In private life it is reckoned a good expedient, for the sake of an easy, quiet life, to be patient and submissive under what are supposed _necessary evils_: but I differ so much from this maxim, that I am convinced those will ever be _trod upon_ who _creep_; and that certain submissions derogatory to a sense of honor in an individual or the nation, never _prevent the blow_, though it may be _protracted_ for a reason, in order to lay it on with a redoubled force at a time our strength is weakened, and that we are debilitated by our mortifications and a sense of the submissions we have made injurious to the honor of an individual or the pride of the nation. It is a mortifying area, but must have its place in the annals of this disgraced kingdom, whilst extravagance and every species of gaieties daily increase.

I am sorry to acquaint your Lordship, that the publication of your book has given in England the same wound to morality and business as the publication of _the spirit of laws_ has given in France to the monarchical constitution. The English study nothing now but the _Graces_. Procrastination is the _ton_, because any thing _abrupt is ungraceful_. The increase of manners has always been thought as imperceptible as the hand of a clock, which though in constant motion cannot be distinguished in _that motion_. But your book has occasioned a more rapid change: your countrymen having exchanged the _armour of Mars_ for the _amours of Venus_, their _greatness of mind_ and _magnanimity_ for _trifling pursuits_; and, instead of speaking forcibly in the senate, they whine a tale of love in the ear of their mistresses: having descended suddenly, like skilful musicians, from the _forte_ and the _pomposo_ to the _pia_ and the _pianissimo_. Refinement will bring us back to barbarity--far be it from me to suppose such an event can happen suddenly; but in the course of a few years, I make no doubt, as a man in days of yore that could read _had the benefit of clergy_, so will a man be esteemed an able minister, or an expert negotiator of business, if he can write a pretty sonnet--or dance a good minuet.

Lord C----d.---- The graces, my lord, I still say, the graces for ever--and as to dancing, can there be any science more useful for a minister to learn--to figure _out_ with a good grace, never to _lose time_, and not even to nod, instead of _sleeping a century_?[52]

Two other passengers applied to Charon to ferry them over the Styx, Homer and Ossian.

Mercury told Charon that he might carry Homer to Olympus, and place him with the Demigods; but he could not be permitted to go to Munster-house, for the same reason Lord C----d had been rejected: But Ossian had a just claim to that indulgence.

The Chief of other years being landed, addressed Lady Darnley as follows:

Ossian.----I have escaped from _the narrow-house_[53]! I have crossed _Col-amon_[54], O daughter of Munster, to behold thy glory. My joy returns as when I first beheld the maid, the white-bosomed daughter of strangers, _Moina_[55] with the dark blue eyes: But _Crimiona_[56] should be thy name, for thou art the guiding star of the women of Albion, who mark no years with their deeds! Time rolls on, seasons return, but they are still unknown. Vanity is their recompence; and when their years shall have an end, no grey stone shall rise to their renown! But the departure of thy soul shall be a stream of light! A thousand bards shall sing of thy praise; and the maids of harmony, with their trembling harps, shall relate thy mighty deeds!

Thy son, when the years of his youth shall arise, will raise the mould about thy stone, and bid it speak to other years! The joy of his grief will be great! Like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul. He will say, 'she will not come forth in her beauty, will move no more in the steps of her loveliness: but she will be like the rainbow on streams, or the gilding of sun-beams on the hills! She has not fallen unknown! Her fame surrounded her like light; her rays, like those of the sun, cherished all on whom they fell. Her wealth was the support of the needy; the weak rested secure in her halls! She softened at the sight of the sad; her blue eyes rolled in tears for the afflicted; her breast of snow heaved for the oppressed; and the moving of her lips assuaged their grief!--O sons of Albion, may you behold her son, like the _halo_ of the _rainbow_, exhibit _the same_ though _fainter colours_!'

Lady Darnley.--Father of heroes, dweller of eddying winds, thy praise gladdens my heart! My soul is exalted, my fame secured, by the voice of Conna[57]! Thou hast been a beam of light to latter times, as thy mighty deeds have been remembered, though thou hast long been a blast!

Thy renown grew only on the fall of the haughty; thy foes were the sons of the guilty; but thine arms rescued the feeble!

Thou wentest forth in echoing steel, and conquered the king of many isles: He brought thee his daughter Oina-moral, as an offering of peace. She was gentle as the evening breeze; her hair was of a raven black, and her bosom vied in whiteness with the _Canna_[58] on the Fuar-Bhean[59].--And though thy locks were young, yielded her to the hero she loved[60]! But like unto Cathmor[61] of old, I perceive the sound of thy praises is displeasing to thine ear!

Ossian.--Just praise, like the water of a _clear fountain_, was ever pleasant to my taste; but I never rejoiced in unmerited applause, resigning that _muddy joy_ to the sons of later days!

It is true, O daughter of Albion, that, surrounded by the valiant in arms, I conquered the king of many isles--that he presented the maid to me in her loveliness as an offering of peace! She purpled the morn with blushes as she approached, and scattered such bright rays, as the sun might have dressed his beams with for that day's glory! But she had given her heart to another, and met my eyes of love with sorrow! In thrilling notes vibrating from her inmost soul, she conveyed to me the pangs of her heart! 'Breaker of the shield (said she) give ear unto the voice of mourning, attend to my tale, of woe--a tale, which though thy eyes of steel are used more to strike fire than shed a tear, must have that power to move thee.'

My parents had seen many returning seasons with their springs, but no offspring of theirs arose. My mother lamented a disgrace, scarce known amongst the daughters of Caledonia. She consulted the cunning-man of the rock: He said, 'Daughter, be of good cheer; take the son of thine adversary that is low, rear him; thy piety will be rewarded; thou shalt have a daughter whom thou _must give him to wife_!' When she declared this unto my father (as she was stricken in years) there immediately ran a smile over his face, like the little ruffling of water when a gentle breeze breathes upon the surface of a lake; but he adopted Tonthormid, and some moons after I came forth as a flower; but as the bud, hit with an envious worm ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, or dedicate his beauty to the sun, dies, so shall I soon fly away as a shadow. Not the white down that decks the silver swan is more unlike the sooty raven's back, than my lover from the rest of his sex. Bred up with him, my first accents were attuned to love; he took delight in my infantine caresses. Time ran on with its years--My father corrected my tenderness; and I became sensible of my error as soon as I was conscious of my feelings. Tonthormid also, from our inequality of fortune, tried to suppress his passion, judging what was then a lambent fire, would soon blaze into a flame! True love, like the lily of the vale, is fond of concealment; but, as the fragrancy of the one occasions its discovery, so does the concealment of the other prove its reality! I loved and was beloved; my father saw, and approved our passion. A succession of moons had not frozen the genial current of his soul, nor repeated shocks blunted all its tenderest sensations--But we were ignorant of his intentions. When he appointed us to meet him at his cave of contemplation, the heart of Tonthormid palpitated with fear, mine with hope--we had a considerable way to go, but _remained silent_!--we walked through a pleasant grassy walk, shaded with rows of lime-trees, at the side of which ran along, in plaintive murmurs, a crystal brook, on the side of whose mazy and translucent stream were planted bushes of various kinds, with birds in high harmony on the sprays.

Arrived at the cave, my father announced to my lover that he must prepare to accompany him to battle! Aghast he stood, silent as the midnight hour, unmoved as the statue of despair! The venerable Chief reproached him for his coldness.

'Alas! said he, the din of arms is no more offensive to my ear than the murmuring of falling waters, the vernal breeze sighing through the leaves, or the melodious song of the evening nightingale; but if we should fall in battle, what will become of this lovely maid?'

My father, swearing by the great Loda, promised I should be his--if we conquered--but reminded him, that

'Love should be the zephyr, not the whirlwind of the soul!'

Tonthormid was all rapture, while every line in my countenance, witnessed my satisfaction. We were restored to that unexpected tranquility of spirits, which naturally follows a great dejection in most minds, when the first pangs are somewhat abated--not unlike that stillness in the sky which is sometimes observed when two opposite and gentle winds have just overcome one another's motion--or like the tide at the moment of high water, before it has received the contrary direction.

They set out, receiving my caresses, intermixed with smiles and tears, like an April sun shining through transient showers. They met the foe, _conquered_, and _returned_.

The feast of shells was prepared, the maids of mirth attended with their harps, and the rising sun would have beheld me Tonthormid's! The virgins envied me in the hall, my steps were strewed with flowers, and I was happiest, where a thousand are happy. The subtile air was calm from mists, and water with her curled waves swept the bounded channels of the deep; the nightingales were heard in the grove, and soothed my soul with tender tales of love; not a breeze breathed through the trees; all nature was still, as if it paid homage to our passion. But oh! my summer's day was soon turned into winter's night! Ah, soul ambition! which like water-floods, not channel bound, dost neighbours overrun!--fell violence leaped forth like thunder wrapped in a ball of fire! Thou camest with thy men of steel; I beheld thee from the clefts of the rock; terrors turned upon me, like an earthquake they shook my trembling heart! they still pursue my soul as the wind. My joy is withered; my welfare has passed away like a cloud; my comforts have been like winter suns, that rise late and set betimes, set with thick clouds, that hide their light at noon!'

Thus sang the maid in her grief, like the _Lus-cromicina_, bending in pensive silence, a beautiful flower drooping in the shade, wanting the beams of the sun to revive it. She soon perceived my heart was not made of brass, or carved from the stony rock. Hope animated her weakened spirits, whilst the dignity of her soul irradiated every feature; the blush of modesty stole over the cheek, and the graces dwelt on her coral lips. Sweet as the dew from heaven her lovely accents fell, and moved me. She proceeded, 'I see my tears have mollified thy heart! If fame tells true, never over the fallen did thine eyes rejoice, and thou knowest the herbs on the hill![62] Restore me then to the hero that is low; my tears will refresh him, as the dew of the morning doth the green herbage!--He mocked at fear; never retired from the foe, or was ever vanquished, but by the son of Fingal! Glorious is it to thee, O hero! great will be thy renown; thou hast subdued the first of men!

Were the earth his bed, a rock his pillow, his curtain heaven, with him alone could I be blessed! From a rock that weeps a running crystal, I will fill his shell cup. I'll gently raise his weakened body[63], and the murmur of this water, instead of music, shall charm him into sleep; and whilst he sleeps my cares shall watch to preserve him from the beast of prey! The fern on the heath, if cut a thousand times, represents the same figure--so is the image of my love engraved on the inmost core of my heart! I hold the _thread_ of his peace: can I forget its delicate texture, or that it is warped with _those_ of his heart? I could grow to my hero like ivy; but like the aspenleaf I tremble, like the sensitive plant I shrink back at thy approach! Thou mayest swim against the stream with a crab, feed against the wind with the deer, but thou canst never possess my heart! Love for him, or grief, are the only passions that can fill the heart of Oinamoral! But thou mayest go forth in echoing steel and increase thy glory--or the hearts of a thousand other virgins, will beat an unison to thy sighs, and return thy passion!'

Thus sung the daughter of many isles; her trembling harp was turned to mourning, and her lute into the voice of them that weep. My heart was never wrought of steel, nor hewn out of the rugged pebble; but she would have extracted honey out of the rock, and oil out of the flinty rock! My heart was _tender_, though my _arm was strong_! I resigned her to the man of her soul! But I had the supreme delight of exhaling the falling tear from the cheek of beauty, as when the pearly dew on the surface of the narcissus, and the snow-drop evaporates at the kindly instance of the solar ray. Had I been deaf to her tale of woe, I should have merited a cold chill to extinguish my flame, as if a _thousand winters_ contracted _into one_, scattered their snow and froze the very centre! No praises can be due for refraining from barbarity, unknown till the sons of refinement came into the world!

Lady Darnley.--A great mind is ever tenacious of even the shadow of a favor received, but loses the idea of a benefit conferred--In what way, O first of men! shall I welcome thy approach? Wilt thou partake of the feast of shells, or be honored with the dangers of the chase?

Ossian.--Chase was never to me such sport as the battle of the shields! But this is a tale of the times of old, the deeds of the days of other years; manners alter with times, as the earth by the seasons. Let the sons of Albion listen to the voice of Conna, 'Never search for battle, nor fear it when it comes.'

Ossian retired, and a hangman from the assizes told Lady Darnley, that she had ruined his trade; for, all the poor of the country-side being employed in manufactures, etc. they had no inducement to steal, theft being the necessary consequence of idleness[64].

The hangman retired; and Lady Darnley was addressed by a few women in tattered robes. Making an apology for their dress, they said, it was her ladyship who had condemned them to those unseemly garbs. She inquired, In what way she was culpable to them? They answered, By not only promoting industry, which was highly detrimental to their interests, but also procuring by her munificence theatrical and other entertainments for mankind, which completed their misfortunes, as it rendered ineffectual their allurements:--that they might formerly (out of the profits of their industry) have purchased annuities, like other eminent personages in the age, and _lived comfortably_ on the _distresses of others_; but that they had always too much conscience, and too great and generous souls for that:--that they were now reduced to the alternative of removing from that part of the country, or starving where they were; and, preferring the first to the last, they had determined to go to Birmingham, where, under the auspices of the magistrates[65] of that place, they would have a good chance of succeeding in their profession; as it had always been found that recreations of some kind are necessary, and that if innocent amusements were denied, mankind would have recourse to the other.

The Goddess of Folly, with her cap and bells, approached Lady Darnley; who, smiling, asked her what had procured her the honor of her company? She answered, That being excluded at all other times from these regions, it induced her to come then, where she flattered herself, for one night in her life, not to be ridiculed; as it is only Absurdity that laughs at Folly. Her ladyship replied, That none indeed were entitled to smile at another's weakness, who are conscious of their own.

Miss Bingley, by her aunt's request, was in the character of a pastoral shepherdess, and affected to by vastly coy, and a great huntress. She said she wielded the crook and the javelin with equal dexterity; and that though she was terrified at the voice or appearance of a lover, yet she made nothing of lopping off the head of a wild boar, or of thrusting a spear into the jaws of a lion. She was pursued by (James Mordaunt as) a pastoral lover. Lady Darnley told her that such swains are mighty good-natured, and never do any mischief to any _but themselves_; a leap from a rock, or a plunge into a river, being their usual catastrophe.

Lord Munster walked away with Sir Harry Bingley, and shewed him, on one of the back grounds a cottage similar to that represented in the temple above-mentioned. They advanced, and saw Miss Harris, and her lovely boy playing at her feet. Sir Harry fixed his eyes, and with a peculiar wildness exclaimed, Sport not, my friend, with my sorrows!--Lord Munster assured him of the reality; but he almost swooned away at the discovery, and was perfectly enchanted with his lovely boy. Every explanation taking place to their mutual satisfaction, Mr Burt being in the secret, and some more friends, the ceremony was immediately performed, and Miss Harris was introduced that very evening, as Lady Bingley, to the family at Munster-house.

Lord Munster, leaving this happy pair, joined Lord Sombre; two ladies passed by them, one in a habit similar to that Mademoiselle de Querci had wore at the masquerade at Venice: the other had assumed the figure of Diana. Struck with their majestic appearance, they followed them. The mask of the latter dropped, as if ashamed to conceal so much beauty. Lord Sombre stooping, instantly restored to her the _unfaithful_ guardian of her charms. The lady, covered with that agreeable confusion inherent to the sex, apologized for the trouble she had given him! He replied, he could not but acknowledge that it was a trouble to him to be the instrument of depriving the company of the sight of so much beauty. That, Sir, replied she, may be your opinion; but my intention is to see, and _not be seen_. But a lady, replied his lordship, who represents Diana, would appear more in character if she could consent not _to be concealed_, nor to hide those beams of brightness which were designed to be the light of the world. Sir, said she, if I must support my character, it is not at all the less in my power because my mask is on, being still the moon though in eclipse--but my intention of appearing in the character of Diana, was to keep Actæon at a distance.

In the mean time Lord Munster had neither seen or heard the above conversation, the whole powers of his soul being absorbed in attention to the lady first mentioned. But what were his emotions, when he knew the well known voice of Mademoiselle de Querci! She told him, that she believed he was the gentleman who was still denominated at Venice _Il Febo del Inghilterra_! He told her, it was impossible he could have any pretensions to so flattering a distinction; but intreated to know whether he could believe that he had the happiness of addressing the woman he adored, whom from motives of honor he had been induced to suppress his passion for, but which scruples on his part he had been relieved from since that period? Mademoiselle de Querci (for it was she herself) answered, that every apology he could make for his infidelity to the Countess de Sons, would only lessen him in her esteem, as, to her certain knowledge, she was still single, and fondly attached to him. Had it been otherwise (said she) my Lord, I should have cheerfully _consented_ to what I must now refuse, as I never will act in opposition to the interest of the Countess. Lord Munster, flattered at her coming to Munster-house, asked if she was perfectly sincere in the favourable hint she had given him--that nothing but his pre-engagement would have prevented her from according herself to his wishes? She answered, I desire, my Lord, you'll not judge me by your country-women; for, from what I have heard of their characters, there is no well-bred woman who ever makes any pretensions to _sincerity_. Does not every body say what they do not mean, and promise what they never intend to perform? and yet all of them, to a single woman, will compliment the justness of your remarks.--In Italy we are more sincere; and I now have the honor to assure you, that nothing at present occupies my thoughts, or interests me equal to your fulfilling of your engagements with the Countess de Sons, whose constancy for you demands on your part every return. In saying this, a sigh escaped Mademoiselle de Querci, which took refuge in Lord Munster's bosom--while her blushes raised hopes which her tongue denied confirming! Her lover felt a severe struggle between love and honor.--The most severe misfortune to a virtuous man is to be in such a state that he can hardly so act as to approve his own conduct. But his distraction was increased, in finding Mademoiselle de Querci had taken advantage of his _reverie_ to retire, with a composure that deceived his vigilance, and an address which prevented his distrust.--He went every where in pursuit of her, but she eluded his search.

A magician with two enchanted knights addressed Lady Eliza, who (I have already observed) was dressed as a slave attending Mrs Worthy. He told her he would unfold her future fate, and, if she would retire to a place of privacy, he would convince her, and the queen she attended, that he was very well skilled in the science of astrology. Lord and Lady Darnley; Lord Sombre, Lord Munster, and Mrs Lee begged leave to accompany them. The two knights accompanied the magician, who he said must remain enchanted until they were released by the hands of their fair mistresses. After several magical incantations, he told Lady Eliza many things concerning the Marquis de Villeroi, and Mrs Lee of Mr Villars. But he astonished Lord Munster more particularly in telling him he was a _perplexed lover_--but assured him that he would be soon relieved from his anxiety; and that perhaps that very evening would terminate his adventures, and render all the present company joyful! Could you do this, replied Lord Munster, I would swear you had more wit than Mercury, or his son Autolycus, who was able to change black into white!

In the mean time two ladies appeared: They were majestic in their persons, and very magnificent in their apparel. The magician, addressing himself to the company, said, if it was agreeable, he would give them ocular proofs of his art. They answered, By all means! He then presented one of the enchanted knights to Lady Eliza, the other to Mrs Lee, and Lord Munster to one of the ladies who had just appeared (in the mean time Lord Darnley had prevented the admission of other company.)--He then desired them all to unmask. The agreeable discovery this produced is not easy to give an adequate idea of; as the magician was no other than Mr Worthy; the enchanted knights, the Marquis de Villeroi, and Mr Villars; and the Lady Mademoiselle de Querci.--Mr Worthy then, addressing Lord Munster, said, Your perplexity, my Lord, now ceases:--This Lady is the Countess de Sons (whose smiles confirmed her previous conversation with him that evening.) He made his suitable acknowledgments: whilst Lord Sombre was enchanted to discover, in the Countess's companion, his lovely Diana, who had changed her dress, and proved to be Julia, sister to the Marquis de Villeroi, and justly admired by all who saw her: Her shape was as fine as the statue of the Medician Venus, of as fine a complexion as the Leda of Corregio, with a sweetness of expression that would have made Guido paint no other face, if he had been alive.

The masquerade finished, which had afforded so much amusement, and conferred so much happiness on the parties. Lady Bingley was received by Lady Darnley with the utmost complacency. It is the imperfection of _human_ goodness to make its conscious worth an argument of want of mercy to those that are deficient: but Lady Darnley had thoroughly studied the most useful of all sciences, human nature, and was ever ready to make allowances for its defects. She was the more attentive to Lady Bingley, on account of her peculiar situation; while in the effusions of her gratitude there was a dignity that commanded as much respect as if she had been conferring a favor beyond that she acknowledged. Her relations, who abandoned her in her adversity--when alone true friendship can prove its superiority over its shadow, _worldly civility_--were now eager to pay their compliments to her.

Mr Villars was the only person who appeared unhappy at this time. Mrs Lee had been hurt at never hearing from him since her husband's death, and was confirmed that his present appearance was occasioned more from a concurrence of circumstances than from his own particular desire or inclination.--It was in vain he urged, that his having absented himself from England was occasioned by her refusing to see him previous to her husband's death; which circumstance he had been unapprised of, previous to his meeting the Marquis de Villeroi at Paris.--She answered, That he had neither been a lover that had the tenderness, nor a friend that had the generosity to interest himself for her; though he must have been sensible of her partiality, from the pains she took to avoid him:--that, concerning the strange event that had occurred relative to her husband and him, she had never taken any pains to justify herself; and she thought people in general were to blame that did so; for satire is generally levelled against persons, not vices, as there are few who wish to punish what does not put them out of humour, and they make a personal affront the pretended defender of virtue. If a woman, therefore, would _preserve her character_, this is the effectual way _of losing it_, and if she has _none to preserve_ she need not tell _all the world_ so.--'But (said she) as I must now decline your proffered hand, the offer of which does more honor to your generosity than the acceptance would to my prudence, I shall now disclose my sentiments to you without any disguise:--I was married to a man, whom I could not look up to with a consciousness of his superior understanding or worth; his treatment of me was injurious; my feelings I with difficulty suppressed: my quick apprehension of injury, and my partiality for you, made me indulge an inclination that aggravated to me the horrors of my situation.--I loved, and was utterly incapable of divesting myself of a passion, which, although often dangerous, is always delightful.--I was punished for my temerity; the calumny I met with, I justly incurred, from the appearance I had subjected myself to. When I parted from my husband, I would on no account see you--you went abroad; your caprice now brings you back; you judge it equitable, perhaps, to restore me to that world I relinquished on your account--but time has conquered my partiality, and, after my former experience in that state, I cannot help shuddering at a contract which nothing can dissolve but death. To me it is terrible to reflect, that it is a strangely unequal conflict, in which the man only ventures the loss of a few temporary pleasures, the woman the loss of liberty, and almost the privilege of opinion.--From the moment she's married she becomes the subject of an arbitrary lord; even her children, the mutual pledges of their affection, are absolutely in his power, and the law countenances him in the use of it--and a woman finds no redress for the indelicate abuses of an uncivil, a passionate, and avaricious, an inconstant, or even a drunken husband--from matrimonial decisions there is no appeal.'--Mr Villars said every thing to justify himself, adding, that the most candid mind will sometimes, under certain circumstances, deviate from itself; but it is the property _only_ of narrow minds to persist in prejudice against conviction.--As the quarrels between lovers are the renewal of love--these differences were soon settled, agreeable to their mutual wishes.

Mr Burt testified great joy at the celebration of the nuptials of his grandson--That good man died the next day, without any complaint, with a smile of complacency on his venerable face. In an age where men of letters seem so regardless of morals--in an age where they have endeavoured to persuade mankind, with but too much success, that the virtues of the mind and of the heart are incompatible--let them cast their eyes on the character of Mr Burt--When they find so many virtues united in a man, whose understanding was both sublime and just--when they find a man of his penetration to have been a strictly moral man--they will then, perhaps, be convinced that vice is the natural effect of an imperfect understanding.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See the Fifth Commandment.

[2] Pliny recommends ridicule as an admirable weapon against vice. It is surely better here employed, than as Shaftesbury recommends it, for the test of truth.

[3] _Tribuna_, a term applied to a building quite round, or such as consists of many sides and angles, as the famous room within the great Duke's gallery at Florence: sometimes it is applied for a building, whose area or plan is semicircular, as the section of a cupola.

[4] The reason polite literature is more cultivated in Paris than London, is on account of the university libraries, and academies of the former.

[5] The Chinese are said to adapt an admirable piece of policy; the son is always of the father's trade, which makes them admirable artisians. May not this be the cause of the small progress the arts have made in that part of the world, and of the dull uniformity and want of taste that distinguishes all their works?

[6] The enormous taxes the Spaniards lay on manufactures are the ruin of trade, which would otherwise flourish; and the people are reduced, by that misconduct in their rulers, to purchase from their enemies things they themselves could produce, if the artificers met with proper encouragement.

[7] Mr Wilkes, in the motion to refer to the consideration of the committee of supply the petition of the trustees of the _British Museum_.

[8] Dr Richard Terrick.

[9] Dr Robert Lowth.

[10] We may quote from the Zendavesta, a wise and benevolent maxim, which compensates for many an absurdity. He who sows the ground with care and diligence, acquires a greater flock of religious merit than he could gain by the repetition of ten thousand prayers.

_Zoraster's Institutes._

[11] See Voltaire's Hist. of the age of Lewis XIV.

[12] Vid. Vopiscus in Aureliano.

[13] Tacitus Annal. II. Flav. Vopiscus in vita Taciti Imperat.

[14] Ælius Lampridius in vita Heliogabali. Primus Romanorum holoserica veste usus fertur, cum jam subserica in usu essent.

[15] Procop. de bello Goth. p. 345.

[16] See Duhalde's description of China.

[17] In opposition to this, noblemen and men of fortune bred at the Dublin University, are excused from learning morality, as they can graduate without any skill in that science; the professor making no doubt, but that honesty necessarily springs up with nobility. The same University refused Swift his degree of _Batchelor of Arts for dulness and insufficiency_, but he at last obtained it _Speciali gratia_.

[18] This Lady Frances entertained no fears about: A French author justly observes, _Jamais on ne prend les vices d'une condition au dessous de la sienne: L'enfant du riche, par un sentiment d'orgueil, hausse les épaules sur les defauts du pauvre._

[19] The Empress Catharine II, whose name will be immortal, gave a code of laws to her empire, which contains a fifth part of the globe; and the first of her laws was to establish universal toleration. In France foreign protestants are admitted to all the rights of natives after working for a certain time in the manufactory of the Gobelines. The same policy has been adopted by the Spaniards.

[20] Ruben's pictures are _a toleration of all religions_. In one of the compartments of the Luxemburgh gallery, a cardinal introduces Mercury to Mary de Medicis, and Hymen supports her train at the sacrament of marriage, before an altar, on which are the images of God the Father, and Christ.

[21] As both are against nature, she in the end will get the better of them. The modern philosophers of Sweden seem agreed that the waters of the Baltic gradually sink in a regular proportion, which they have ventured to estimate at half an inch every year.--Twenty centuries ago, the flat country of Scandinavia must have been covered by the sea; such is the notion given us by Mela, Pliny, and Tacitus, of the vast countries round the Baltic. Adria, that ancient and famous city, which gave its name to the Gulph is now but a pitiful half drowned village.

[22] See Gilbert's treatise on the Court of Exchequer, chap. 2. well worthy the perusal of those who would be acquainted with the foundation of our constitution: also Mr de Lolme's book on the English Constitution, which has been mentioned in both houses of parliament, and has been commented on, and quoted by, the most celebrated writers of every party.

[23] See Bacon on government.

[24] I lately met with the following story, which affected me very much, and which I give in the original; it elucidates, that a return of affection seems absolutely necessary to the existence of the human heart. 'Un homme respectable, après avoir joué un grand rôle à Paris, y vivoit dans un reduit obscur, victime de l'infortune, et si indigent qu'il ne subsistoit que des aumônes de la paroisse; on lui remettoit par semaine la quantité du pain suffisante pour sa nourriture; il en fit demander davantage; le curé lui écrit pour l'engager à passer chez lui; il vient. Le curé s'informe s'il vit seul; et avec qui, Monsieur, repond-il, voudriez-vous que je vécasse? je suis malheureux, vous le voyez, puis que j'ai recours à charité, et tout le monde m'a abandonné, tout le monde! Mais, Monsieur, continue le curé, si vous êtes seul, pourquoi demandez vous plus de pain que ce qui vous est necessaire? L'autre paroit déconcerté; il avoue avec peine qu'il a un chien: le curé ne le laisse pas poursuivre; il lui fait observer qu'il n'est que le distributeur du pain des pauvres, et que l'honneteté exige absolument qu'il se defasse de son chien. Eh! Monsieur, s'ecrie en pleurant l'infortune, si je m'en défais, qui est ce qui m'aimera? Le pasteur attendri jusqu'aux larmes, tire sa bourse, et la lui donne, en disant, Prenez, Monsieur ceci m'appartient.'

[25] Chap. of St. Mark. XVI Chap. of St. Luke. VII Chap. of the Romans.

[26] Which was upheld in Heathen Rome, about the time we keep our Christmas.

[27] Miss Carter translated Epictetus

[28] Francis the First of France, who had heavily taxed his subjects, when told the people made very free with his character in their songs, answered, 'It would be very hard if they were not allowed _to sing for their money_.'

[29] See Vol. I. Page 47.

[30] She expected to lay in every day.

[31] In the conciliatory Measures proposed concerning America.

[32] The difference in the degrees of danger between suffering a person to take the small pox in the natural way, and communicating it by innoculation, is upon the lowest computation estimated _thirty_ to _one_ in favor of innoculation.

[33] Mr Blacklock may, in reality, be regarded as a prodigy--He is a man of a most amiable character, of singular ingenuity, and of very extraordinary attainments.

[34] Both clergymen.

[35] In compliment to the Queen, who has too much good sense to approve of what is ridiculous.

[36] Witness the purchase of a collection of antique and Etruscan vases, by the public money--and their enacting a lottery for toys.

[37] Thus do many women sacrifice their healths, without considering it is in vain to conquer nature. Man can subsist but for a determinate space only asleep or awake--by continual watching the incessant motion of the fibres would destroy their organic elasticity, and prevent their future reparation; and by continual sleeping, though the fibres are not fatigued, the nervous fluid would be gradually exhausted by the action of the organs of life, and would never be repaired.

[38] All misdemeanors are punished, among the Danes, by servitude in chains a longer or shorter time.

[39] Vol. I. Page 165.

[40] Admiral Byng; on which occasion the following verses were made, which I now present to the reader.

We the court-martial now begin to sicken, And find at last that we are conscience stricken. Sad suppliants in Byng's behalf we come, And humbly crave you would defer his doom! Bound by our oath, we cannot yet make clear What 'twas we meant, nor _never_ shall, we fear. We found him guilty, and we found him not; We wish'd him sav'd, yet wish'd him to be shot. But as at land, so did we find at sea: If we did one, the other could not be. Save him, great chief--your royal mercy show! Shoot him, dread chief--let royal justice flow! Relieve our consciences with pitying eye, And grant that Byng may neither live nor die!

[41] See Vol. II. Page 52.

[42] Elysium, Minos, Mercury, Charon, Styx, &c. are here necessarily introduced. If they should offend any pious or critical ears, I shall defend myself (as has been done before) by the solemn declaration which is always annexed by the Italian writers to works where they are obliged to use such expressions: '_Se havessi nomenato Fato, Fortuna, Destino, Elysio, Stigé, Etc. sono scarzi di penna poetica, non sentimenti di anema catolico._' If I have annexed Fate, Fortune, Destiny, Elysium, Styx, &c. they are only the sports of a poetical fancy, not the sentiments of a Catholic mind.

[43] By Cicero.

[44] According to the Abbé de Bos's hypothesis.

[45] Those in the shades are supposed acquainted with the transactions in the world.

[46] The pictures were, the Parnassus of Raphael--and the school of Athens, which is a most glorious performance, and worthy the hand of a divinity--The first is in the hall of Constantine at Rome, and contains no less than twenty-eight figures--two of which in particular, the one representing Justice, and the other Meekness, are incomparable--They were the last things he executed before his death--They contain all that is excellent in painting, whether we consider them in the beauty of the composition, the noble gracefulness of the characters, the uncommon greatness of the style of the draperies, or the wonderful force of colouring, light, and shade.

[47] He was sent over as Ambassador extraordinary to France on the King's restoration. He was received at that court with great distinction; which seldom considers more than the external appearance. His Grace possessed _all the graces_. Lewis XIV, then in the flower of his age, said he was the only _English_ gentleman he had ever seen.

[48] Deities interfere when they please--unseen by mortals!

[49] I Corinthians chap. i. v. 26.

[50] A concert established there in 1776.

[51] Horace, lib. ii. ode 14.

[52] Alludes to a circumstance that passed in the house of commons.

[53] _The narrow-house_, the grave.

[54] _Col-amon_, a narrow river.

[55] _Moina_, a woman soft in temper.

[56] _Crimona_, a woman with a great soul.

[57] Ossian is sometimes poetically called Conna.

[58] _Canna_, a sort of down, like, but whiter and shorter than cotton; it is very common on the hills of the highlands. They have attempted to spin it, but it was either too short, or the fingers that made the experiment too indelicate--Nothing can exceed the purity of its whiteness.

[59] _Fuar-Bhean_, cold mountains.

[60] Livy has justly raised the praise of Scipio, who restored to her lover the Celtiberian captive; which has been the favourite topic of eloquence in every age and every country. The author cannot think it merited such commendation, as to have acted otherwise would have been mere brutality--but if granted so liberally to Scipio, it cannot be refused to Ossian.

[61] Cathmor is represented in Ossian's poems, as lying down beside a river to have the sound of his praises lost in that of a water-fall.

[62] The Highlanders are peculiarly intelligent in understanding the virtue of plants in curing wounds--The regularity of their lives precludes all diseases, such as are incident to old age excepted.

[63] Tonthormid was supposed wounded by Ossian.

[64] In the years 1759 and 1760, when we were at war with France, there were but twenty-nine criminals who suffered at Tyburn. In the years 1770 and 1771, when we were at peace with all the world, the criminals condemned amounted to one hundred and fifty-one.

[65] Who opposed a licensed theatre there last year.

List of corrections

Page 7: Inserted single quotation mark But,' said she

Page 13: changed mens to men's conduce to men's happiness

Page 13: changed interefere to interfere I did not interfere when my father was concerned

Page 14: changed an to and I feel the greatest respect and tenderest regard

Page 17: changed melanocholy to melancholy informing her of the melancholy catastrophe

Page 24: changed estabishments to establishments rightly forming two establishments

Page 26: changed porcelaine to porcelain for a porcelain manufacture

Page 28: changed equisite to exquisite and of _exquisite classical taste_

Page 32: changed prosterity to posterity Latest posterity must hear with astonishment

Page 36: changed to to too wrong inclinations become too confirmed in us

Page 38: added period neglect there studies which raised their fathers.

Page 41: changed pesonal to personal a personal acquaintance with foreign climates

Page 43: changed stile to style (two times) Piccini's comic style the serious style of Sacchini

Page 43: changed excells to excels who excels on the hautboy

Page 44: added comma before etc. buildings, manufactures, schools, etc.

Page 49: changed senitments to sentiments The liberal sentiments you express

Page 49: added period and there be a mutual consent for separation.

Page 52: changed position of comma if it be not of the number of the virtues,

Page 57: changed supereme to supreme Is not this the supreme enjoyment

Page 58: changed ro to to who now continued to reside with

Page 62: changed moritifications to mortifications that she might have her mortifications

Page 70: changed nourriès to nourries ne se sont nourries que dans le silence

Page 70: changed ne'est to n'est ce n'est plus qu'une froide

Page 70: changed nous-mémes to nous-mêmes nous ne vivons pas assez avec nous-mêmes

Page 71: changed to to too dedicating herself too fondly even to this beloved object. She

Page 73: changed flander to slander Thus if there be but the least foundation for slander

Page 74: changed mens to men's that his very vices had charms beyond other men's _virtues_

Page 75: changed injudicously to injudiciously The Duke most injudiciously next morning publicly dismissed

Page 77: removed quotation mark I have not: Adelaude

Page 77: changed single to double quotation mark Wherefore this gloomy silence, your dejected air, and languishing looks?"

Page 83: changed firr to firs the sides covered with tall firs

Page 86: changed artifical to artificial that period in making artificial flowers

Page 89: changed comma to period produced the contrary effect on _my father_.

Page 90: changed indocuments to inducements There were powerful inducements

Page 95: changed philsopher to philosopher I set out, and, philosopher-like, carried all my possessions about me.

Page 104: changed quarels to quarrels no quarrels indeed subsisted between them

Page 104: changed aggreeably to agreeably and make his time pass _agreeably_.

Page 121: changed ever to every In every station, subject to the calamities of life

Page 121: changed villians to villains the crimes of some public villains

Page 123: changed contary to contrary many of the contrary evils

Page 124: changed remonstances to remonstrances The Marquis, perceiving that remonstrances would be ineffectual

Page 128: changed captivte to captivate an external glare of beauty may _captivate the eye, and ravish the sight_

Page 129: added single quotation mark I will instruct you in every particular.'

Page 133: added comma before etc. Mr Dryden, Mr Locke, Mr Waller, etc.

Page 136: changed wil to will what a little flattery will do with them!

Page 140: changed they to thy as thy mighty deeds have been remembered

Page 140: changed though to thou though thou hast long been a blast!

Page 146: changed pasied to passed two ladies passed by them

Page 146: changed similiar to similar one in a habit similar to that

Page 147: changed decieved to deceived with a composure that deceived his vigilance

Page 148: changed colon to period (whose smiles confirmed her previous conversation with him that evening.)

Footnote [10] on Page 31: changed Zendavsta to Zendavesta We may quote from the Zendavesta

Footnote [18] on page 38: changed bauffe to hausse hausse les épaules sur les defauts du pauvre.

Footnote [22] on Page 40: changed acqainted to acquainted those who would be acquainted with the foundation

Footnote [58] on Page 140: changed is to its Nothing can exceed the purity of its whiteness.