LOVE & FREINDSHIP
AND
OTHER EARLY WORKS

A Collection of Juvenile Writings

By Jane Austen


CONTENTS

 LOVE AND FREINDSHIP
 LETTER the FIRST From ISABEL to LAURA
 LETTER 2nd LAURA to ISABEL
 LETTER 3rd LAURA to MARIANNE
 LETTER 4th Laura to MARIANNE
 LETTER 5th LAURA to MARIANNE
 LETTER 6th LAURA to MARIANNE
 LETTER 7th LAURA to MARIANNE
 LETTER 8th LAURA to MARIANNE, in continuation
 LETTER the 9th From the same to the same
 LETTER 10th LAURA in continuation
 LETTER 11th LAURA in continuation
 LETTER the 12th LAURA in continuation
 LETTER the 13th LAURA in continuation
 LETTER the 14th LAURA in continuation
 LETTER the 15th LAURA in continuation.

 AN UNFINISHED NOVEL IN LETTERS
 LESLEY CASTLE
 LETTER the FIRST is from Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL
 LETTER the SECOND From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY in answer.
 LETTER the THIRD From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss C. LUTTERELL
 LETTER the FOURTH From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY
 LETTER the FIFTH Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL
 LETTER the SIXTH LADY LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL
 LETTER the SEVENTH From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY
 LETTER the EIGHTH Miss LUTTERELL to Mrs MARLOWE
 LETTER the NINTH Mrs MARLOWE to Miss LUTTERELL
 LETTER the TENTH From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL

 THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND

 A COLLECTION OF LETTERS
 To Miss COOPER
 LETTER the FIRST From a MOTHER to her FREIND.
 LETTER the SECOND From a YOUNG LADY crossed in Love to her freind
 LETTER the THIRD From a YOUNG LADY in distressed Circumstances to her freind
 LETTER the FOURTH From a YOUNG LADY rather impertinent to her freind
 LETTER the FIFTH From a YOUNG LADY very much in love to her Freind

 THE FEMALE PHILOSOPHER

 THE FIRST ACT OF A COMEDY

 A LETTER from a YOUNG LADY, whose feelings being too strong
 A TOUR THROUGH WALES—in a LETTER from a YOUNG LADY—

 A TALE.




LOVE AND FREINDSHIP


TO MADAME LA COMTESSE DE FEUILLIDE THIS NOVEL IS INSCRIBED BY HER
OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT THE AUTHOR.


“Deceived in Freindship and Betrayed in Love.”




LETTER the FIRST
From ISABEL to LAURA


How often, in answer to my repeated intreaties that you would give my
Daughter a regular detail of the Misfortunes and Adventures of your
Life, have you said “No, my freind never will I comply with your
request till I may be no longer in Danger of again experiencing such
dreadful ones.”

Surely that time is now at hand. You are this day 55. If a woman may
ever be said to be in safety from the determined Perseverance of
disagreeable Lovers and the cruel Persecutions of obstinate Fathers,
surely it must be at such a time of Life.

Isabel




LETTER 2nd
LAURA to ISABEL


Altho’ I cannot agree with you in supposing that I shall never again be
exposed to Misfortunes as unmerited as those I have already
experienced, yet to avoid the imputation of Obstinacy or ill-nature, I
will gratify the curiosity of your daughter; and may the fortitude with
which I have suffered the many afflictions of my past Life, prove to
her a useful lesson for the support of those which may befall her in
her own.

Laura




LETTER 3rd
LAURA to MARIANNE


As the Daughter of my most intimate freind I think you entitled to that
knowledge of my unhappy story, which your Mother has so often solicited
me to give you.

My Father was a native of Ireland and an inhabitant of Wales; my Mother
was the natural Daughter of a Scotch Peer by an italian Opera-girl—I
was born in Spain and received my Education at a Convent in France.

When I had reached my eighteenth Year I was recalled by my Parents to
my paternal roof in Wales. Our mansion was situated in one of the most
romantic parts of the Vale of Uske. Tho’ my Charms are now considerably
softened and somewhat impaired by the Misfortunes I have undergone, I
was once beautiful. But lovely as I was the Graces of my Person were
the least of my Perfections. Of every accomplishment accustomary to my
sex, I was Mistress. When in the Convent, my progress had always
exceeded my instructions, my Acquirements had been wonderfull for my
age, and I had shortly surpassed my Masters.

In my Mind, every Virtue that could adorn it was centered; it was the
Rendez-vous of every good Quality and of every noble sentiment.

A sensibility too tremblingly alive to every affliction of my Freinds,
my Acquaintance and particularly to every affliction of my own, was my
only fault, if a fault it could be called. Alas! how altered now! Tho’
indeed my own Misfortunes do not make less impression on me than they
ever did, yet now I never feel for those of an other. My
accomplishments too, begin to fade—I can neither sing so well nor Dance
so gracefully as I once did—and I have entirely forgot the _Minuet Dela
Cour_.

Adeiu.
Laura.




LETTER 4th
Laura to MARIANNE


Our neighbourhood was small, for it consisted only of your Mother. She
may probably have already told you that being left by her Parents in
indigent Circumstances she had retired into Wales on eoconomical
motives. There it was our freindship first commenced. Isobel was then
one and twenty. Tho’ pleasing both in her Person and Manners (between
ourselves) she never possessed the hundredth part of my Beauty or
Accomplishments. Isabel had seen the World. She had passed 2 Years at
one of the first Boarding-schools in London; had spent a fortnight in
Bath and had supped one night in Southampton.

“Beware my Laura (she would often say) Beware of the insipid Vanities
and idle Dissipations of the Metropolis of England; Beware of the
unmeaning Luxuries of Bath and of the stinking fish of Southampton.”

“Alas! (exclaimed I) how am I to avoid those evils I shall never be
exposed to? What probability is there of my ever tasting the
Dissipations of London, the Luxuries of Bath, or the stinking Fish of
Southampton? I who am doomed to waste my Days of Youth and Beauty in an
humble Cottage in the Vale of Uske.”

Ah! little did I then think I was ordained so soon to quit that humble
Cottage for the Deceitfull Pleasures of the World.

Adeiu.
Laura.




LETTER 5th
LAURA to MARIANNE


One Evening in December as my Father, my Mother and myself, were
arranged in social converse round our Fireside, we were on a sudden
greatly astonished, by hearing a violent knocking on the outward door
of our rustic Cot.

My Father started—“What noise is that,” (said he.) “It sounds like a
loud rapping at the door”—(replied my Mother.) “it does indeed.” (cried
I.) “I am of your opinion; (said my Father) it certainly does appear to
proceed from some uncommon violence exerted against our unoffending
door.” “Yes (exclaimed I) I cannot help thinking it must be somebody
who knocks for admittance.”

“That is another point (replied he;) We must not pretend to determine
on what motive the person may knock—tho’ that someone _does_ rap at the
door, I am partly convinced.”

Here, a 2d tremendous rap interrupted my Father in his speech, and
somewhat alarmed my Mother and me.

“Had we better not go and see who it is? (said she) the servants are
out.” “I think we had.” (replied I.) “Certainly, (added my Father) by
all means.” “Shall we go now?” (said my Mother,) “The sooner the
better.” (answered he.) “Oh! let no time be lost” (cried I.)

A third more violent Rap than ever again assaulted our ears. “I am
certain there is somebody knocking at the Door.” (said my Mother.) “I
think there must,” (replied my Father) “I fancy the servants are
returned; (said I) I think I hear Mary going to the Door.” “I’m glad of
it (cried my Father) for I long to know who it is.”

I was right in my conjecture; for Mary instantly entering the Room,
informed us that a young Gentleman and his Servant were at the door,
who had lossed their way, were very cold and begged leave to warm
themselves by our fire.

“Won’t you admit them?” (said I.) “You have no objection, my Dear?”
(said my Father.) “None in the World.” (replied my Mother.)

Mary, without waiting for any further commands immediately left the
room and quickly returned introducing the most beauteous and amiable
Youth, I had ever beheld. The servant she kept to herself.

My natural sensibility had already been greatly affected by the
sufferings of the unfortunate stranger and no sooner did I first behold
him, than I felt that on him the happiness or Misery of my future Life
must depend.

Adeiu.
Laura.




LETTER 6th
LAURA to MARIANNE


The noble Youth informed us that his name was Lindsay—for particular
reasons however I shall conceal it under that of Talbot. He told us
that he was the son of an English Baronet, that his Mother had been for
many years no more and that he had a Sister of the middle size. “My
Father (he continued) is a mean and mercenary wretch—it is only to such
particular freinds as this Dear Party that I would thus betray his
failings. Your Virtues my amiable Polydore (addressing himself to my
father) yours Dear Claudia and yours my Charming Laura call on me to
repose in you, my confidence.” We bowed. “My Father seduced by the
false glare of Fortune and the Deluding Pomp of Title, insisted on my
giving my hand to Lady Dorothea. No never exclaimed I. Lady Dorothea is
lovely and Engaging; I prefer no woman to her; but know Sir, that I
scorn to marry her in compliance with your Wishes. No! Never shall it
be said that I obliged my Father.”

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

“Sir Edward was surprised; he had perhaps little expected to meet with
so spirited an opposition to his will. “Where, Edward in the name of
wonder (said he) did you pick up this unmeaning gibberish? You have
been studying Novels I suspect.” I scorned to answer: it would have
been beneath my dignity. I mounted my Horse and followed by my faithful
William set forth for my Aunts.”

“My Father’s house is situated in Bedfordshire, my Aunt’s in Middlesex,
and tho’ I flatter myself with being a tolerable proficient in
Geography, I know not how it happened, but I found myself entering this
beautifull Vale which I find is in South Wales, when I had expected to
have reached my Aunts.”

“After having wandered some time on the Banks of the Uske without
knowing which way to go, I began to lament my cruel Destiny in the
bitterest and most pathetic Manner. It was now perfectly dark, not a
single star was there to direct my steps, and I know not what might
have befallen me had I not at length discerned thro’ the solemn Gloom
that surrounded me a distant light, which as I approached it, I
discovered to be the chearfull Blaze of your fire. Impelled by the
combination of Misfortunes under which I laboured, namely Fear, Cold
and Hunger I hesitated not to ask admittance which at length I have
gained; and now my Adorable Laura (continued he taking my Hand) when
may I hope to receive that reward of all the painfull sufferings I have
undergone during the course of my attachment to you, to which I have
ever aspired. Oh! when will you reward me with Yourself?”

“This instant, Dear and Amiable Edward.” (replied I.). We were
immediately united by my Father, who tho’ he had never taken orders had
been bred to the Church.

Adeiu.
Laura.




LETTER 7th
LAURA to MARIANNE


We remained but a few days after our Marriage, in the Vale of Uske.
After taking an affecting Farewell of my Father, my Mother and my
Isabel, I accompanied Edward to his Aunt’s in Middlesex. Philippa
received us both with every expression of affectionate Love. My arrival
was indeed a most agreable surprise to her as she had not only been
totally ignorant of my Marriage with her Nephew, but had never even had
the slightest idea of there being such a person in the World.

Augusta, the sister of Edward was on a visit to her when we arrived. I
found her exactly what her Brother had described her to be—of the
middle size. She received me with equal surprise though not with equal
Cordiality, as Philippa. There was a disagreable coldness and
Forbidding Reserve in her reception of me which was equally distressing
and Unexpected. None of that interesting Sensibility or amiable
simpathy in her manners and Address to me when we first met which
should have distinguished our introduction to each other. Her Language
was neither warm, nor affectionate, her expressions of regard were
neither animated nor cordial; her arms were not opened to receive me to
her Heart, tho’ my own were extended to press her to mine.

A short Conversation between Augusta and her Brother, which I
accidentally overheard encreased my dislike to her, and convinced me
that her Heart was no more formed for the soft ties of Love than for
the endearing intercourse of Freindship.

“But do you think that my Father will ever be reconciled to this
imprudent connection?” (said Augusta.)

“Augusta (replied the noble Youth) I thought you had a better opinion
of me, than to imagine I would so abjectly degrade myself as to
consider my Father’s Concurrence in any of my affairs, either of
Consequence or concern to me. Tell me Augusta with sincerity; did you
ever know me consult his inclinations or follow his Advice in the least
trifling Particular since the age of fifteen?”

“Edward (replied she) you are surely too diffident in your own praise.
Since you were fifteen only! My Dear Brother since you were five years
old, I entirely acquit you of ever having willingly contributed to the
satisfaction of your Father. But still I am not without apprehensions
of your being shortly obliged to degrade yourself in your own eyes by
seeking a support for your wife in the Generosity of Sir Edward.”

“Never, never Augusta will I so demean myself. (said Edward). Support!
What support will Laura want which she can receive from him?”

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

“Victuals and Drink! (replied my Husband in a most nobly contemptuous
Manner) and dost thou then imagine that there is no other support for
an exalted mind (such as is my Laura’s) than the mean and indelicate
employment of Eating and Drinking?”

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

“And did you then never feel the pleasing Pangs of Love, Augusta?
(replied my Edward). Does it appear impossible to your vile and
corrupted Palate, to exist on Love? Can you not conceive the Luxury of
living in every distress that Poverty can inflict, with the object of
your tenderest affection?”

“You are too ridiculous (said Augusta) to argue with; perhaps however
you may in time be convinced that...”

Here I was prevented from hearing the remainder of her speech, by the
appearance of a very Handsome young Woman, who was ushured into the
Room at the Door of which I had been listening. On hearing her
announced by the Name of “Lady Dorothea,” I instantly quitted my Post
and followed her into the Parlour, for I well remembered that she was
the Lady, proposed as a Wife for my Edward by the Cruel and Unrelenting
Baronet.

Altho’ Lady Dorothea’s visit was nominally to Philippa and Augusta, yet
I have some reason to imagine that (acquainted with the Marriage and
arrival of Edward) to see me was a principal motive to it.

I soon perceived that tho’ Lovely and Elegant in her Person and tho’
Easy and Polite in her Address, she was of that inferior order of
Beings with regard to Delicate Feeling, tender Sentiments, and refined
Sensibility, of which Augusta was one.

She staid but half an hour and neither in the Course of her Visit,
confided to me any of her secret thoughts, nor requested me to confide
in her, any of Mine. You will easily imagine therefore my Dear Marianne
that I could not feel any ardent affection or very sincere Attachment
for Lady Dorothea.

Adeiu.
Laura.




LETTER 8th
LAURA to MARIANNE, in continuation


Lady Dorothea had not left us long before another visitor as unexpected
a one as her Ladyship, was announced. It was Sir Edward, who informed
by Augusta of her Brother’s marriage, came doubtless to reproach him
for having dared to unite himself to me without his Knowledge. But
Edward foreseeing his design, approached him with heroic fortitude as
soon as he entered the Room, and addressed him in the following Manner.

“Sir Edward, I know the motive of your Journey here—You come with the
base Design of reproaching me for having entered into an indissoluble
engagement with my Laura without your Consent. But Sir, I glory in the
Act—. It is my greatest boast that I have incurred the displeasure of
my Father!”

So saying, he took my hand and whilst Sir Edward, Philippa, and Augusta
were doubtless reflecting with admiration on his undaunted Bravery, led
me from the Parlour to his Father’s Carriage which yet remained at the
Door and in which we were instantly conveyed from the pursuit of Sir
Edward.

The Postilions had at first received orders only to take the London
road; as soon as we had sufficiently reflected However, we ordered them
to Drive to M——. the seat of Edward’s most particular freind, which was
but a few miles distant.

At M——. we arrived in a few hours; and on sending in our names were
immediately admitted to Sophia, the Wife of Edward’s freind. After
having been deprived during the course of 3 weeks of a real freind (for
such I term your Mother) imagine my transports at beholding one, most
truly worthy of the Name. Sophia was rather above the middle size; most
elegantly formed. A soft languor spread over her lovely features, but
increased their Beauty—. It was the Charectarestic of her Mind—. She
was all sensibility and Feeling. We flew into each others arms and
after having exchanged vows of mutual Freindship for the rest of our
Lives, instantly unfolded to each other the most inward secrets of our
Hearts—. We were interrupted in the delightfull Employment by the
entrance of Augustus, (Edward’s freind) who was just returned from a
solitary ramble.

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

“My Life! my Soul!” (exclaimed the former) “My adorable angel!”
(replied the latter) as they flew into each other’s arms. It was too
pathetic for the feelings of Sophia and myself—We fainted alternately
on a sofa.

Adeiu
Laura.




LETTER the 9th
From the same to the same


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

“Sir Edward is greatly incensed by your abrupt departure; he has taken
back Augusta to Bedfordshire. Much as I wish to enjoy again your
charming society, I cannot determine to snatch you from that, of such
dear and deserving Freinds—When your Visit to them is terminated, I
trust you will return to the arms of your”

“Philippa.”


We returned a suitable answer to this affectionate Note and after
thanking her for her kind invitation assured her that we would
certainly avail ourselves of it, whenever we might have no other place
to go to. Tho’ certainly nothing could to any reasonable Being, have
appeared more satisfactory, than so gratefull a reply to her
invitation, yet I know not how it was, but she was certainly capricious
enough to be displeased with our behaviour and in a few weeks after,
either to revenge our Conduct, or releive her own solitude, married a
young and illiterate Fortune-hunter. This imprudent step (tho’ we were
sensible that it would probably deprive us of that fortune which
Philippa had ever taught us to expect) could not on our own accounts,
excite from our exalted minds a single sigh; yet fearfull lest it might
prove a source of endless misery to the deluded Bride, our trembling
Sensibility was greatly affected when we were first informed of the
Event. The affectionate Entreaties of Augustus and Sophia that we would
for ever consider their House as our Home, easily prevailed on us to
determine never more to leave them, In the society of my Edward and
this Amiable Pair, I passed the happiest moments of my Life; Our time
was most delightfully spent, in mutual Protestations of Freindship, and
in vows of unalterable Love, in which we were secure from being
interrupted, by intruding and disagreable Visitors, as Augustus and
Sophia had on their first Entrance in the Neighbourhood, taken due care
to inform the surrounding Families, that as their happiness centered
wholly in themselves, they wished for no other society. But alas! my
Dear Marianne such Happiness as I then enjoyed was too perfect to be
lasting. A most severe and unexpected Blow at once destroyed every
sensation of Pleasure. Convinced as you must be from what I have
already told you concerning Augustus and Sophia, that there never were
a happier Couple, I need not I imagine, inform you that their union had
been contrary to the inclinations of their Cruel and Mercenery Parents;
who had vainly endeavoured with obstinate Perseverance to force them
into a Marriage with those whom they had ever abhorred; but with a
Heroic Fortitude worthy to be related and admired, they had both,
constantly refused to submit to such despotic Power.

After having so nobly disentangled themselves from the shackles of
Parental Authority, by a Clandestine Marriage, they were determined
never to forfeit the good opinion they had gained in the World, in so
doing, by accepting any proposals of reconciliation that might be
offered them by their Fathers—to this farther tryal of their noble
independance however they never were exposed.

They had been married but a few months when our visit to them commenced
during which time they had been amply supported by a considerable sum
of money which Augustus had gracefully purloined from his unworthy
father’s Escritoire, a few days before his union with Sophia.

By our arrival their Expenses were considerably encreased tho’ their
means for supplying them were then nearly exhausted. But they, Exalted
Creatures! scorned to reflect a moment on their pecuniary Distresses
and would have blushed at the idea of paying their Debts.—Alas! what
was their Reward for such disinterested Behaviour! The beautifull
Augustus was arrested and we were all undone. Such perfidious Treachery
in the merciless perpetrators of the Deed will shock your gentle nature
Dearest Marianne as much as it then affected the Delicate sensibility
of Edward, Sophia, your Laura, and of Augustus himself. To compleat
such unparalelled Barbarity we were informed that an Execution in the
House would shortly take place. Ah! what could we do but what we did!
We sighed and fainted on the sofa.

Adeiu
Laura.




LETTER 10th
LAURA in continuation


When we were somewhat recovered from the overpowering Effusions of our
grief, Edward desired that we would consider what was the most prudent
step to be taken in our unhappy situation while he repaired to his
imprisoned freind to lament over his misfortunes. We promised that we
would, and he set forwards on his journey to Town. During his absence
we faithfully complied with his Desire and after the most mature
Deliberation, at length agreed that the best thing we could do was to
leave the House; of which we every moment expected the officers of
Justice to take possession. We waited therefore with the greatest
impatience, for the return of Edward in order to impart to him the
result of our Deliberations. But no Edward appeared. In vain did we
count the tedious moments of his absence—in vain did we weep—in vain
even did we sigh—no Edward returned—. This was too cruel, too
unexpected a Blow to our Gentle Sensibility—we could not support it—we
could only faint. At length collecting all the Resolution I was
Mistress of, I arose and after packing up some necessary apparel for
Sophia and myself, I dragged her to a Carriage I had ordered and we
instantly set out for London. As the Habitation of Augustus was within
twelve miles of Town, it was not long e’er we arrived there, and no
sooner had we entered Holboun than letting down one of the Front
Glasses I enquired of every decent-looking Person that we passed “If
they had seen my Edward?”

But as we drove too rapidly to allow them to answer my repeated
Enquiries, I gained little, or indeed, no information concerning him.
“Where am I to drive?” said the Postilion. “To Newgate Gentle Youth
(replied I), to see Augustus.” “Oh! no, no, (exclaimed Sophia) I cannot
go to Newgate; I shall not be able to support the sight of my Augustus
in so cruel a confinement—my feelings are sufficiently shocked by the
_recital_, of his Distress, but to behold it will overpower my
Sensibility.” As I perfectly agreed with her in the Justice of her
Sentiments the Postilion was instantly directed to return into the
Country. You may perhaps have been somewhat surprised my Dearest
Marianne, that in the Distress I then endured, destitute of any
support, and unprovided with any Habitation, I should never once have
remembered my Father and Mother or my paternal Cottage in the Vale of
Uske. To account for this seeming forgetfullness I must inform you of a
trifling circumstance concerning them which I have as yet never
mentioned. The death of my Parents a few weeks after my Departure, is
the circumstance I allude to. By their decease I became the lawfull
Inheritress of their House and Fortune. But alas! the House had never
been their own and their Fortune had only been an Annuity on their own
Lives. Such is the Depravity of the World! To your Mother I should have
returned with Pleasure, should have been happy to have introduced to
her, my charming Sophia and should with Chearfullness have passed the
remainder of my Life in their dear Society in the Vale of Uske, had not
one obstacle to the execution of so agreable a scheme, intervened;
which was the Marriage and Removal of your Mother to a distant part of
Ireland.

Adeiu.
Laura.




LETTER 11th
LAURA in continuation


“I have a Relation in Scotland (said Sophia to me as we left London)
who I am certain would not hesitate in receiving me.” “Shall I order
the Boy to drive there?” said I—but instantly recollecting myself,
exclaimed, “Alas I fear it will be too long a Journey for the Horses.”
Unwilling however to act only from my own inadequate Knowledge of the
Strength and Abilities of Horses, I consulted the Postilion, who was
entirely of my Opinion concerning the Affair. We therefore determined
to change Horses at the next Town and to travel Post the remainder of
the Journey—. When we arrived at the last Inn we were to stop at, which
was but a few miles from the House of Sophia’s Relation, unwilling to
intrude our Society on him unexpected and unthought of, we wrote a very
elegant and well penned Note to him containing an account of our
Destitute and melancholy Situation, and of our intention to spend some
months with him in Scotland. As soon as we had dispatched this Letter,
we immediately prepared to follow it in person and were stepping into
the Carriage for that Purpose when our attention was attracted by the
Entrance of a coroneted Coach and 4 into the Inn-yard. A Gentleman
considerably advanced in years descended from it. At his first
Appearance my Sensibility was wonderfully affected and e’er I had gazed
at him a 2d time, an instinctive sympathy whispered to my Heart, that
he was my Grandfather. Convinced that I could not be mistaken in my
conjecture I instantly sprang from the Carriage I had just entered, and
following the Venerable Stranger into the Room he had been shewn to, I
threw myself on my knees before him and besought him to acknowledge me
as his Grand Child. He started, and having attentively examined my
features, raised me from the Ground and throwing his Grand-fatherly
arms around my Neck, exclaimed, “Acknowledge thee! Yes dear resemblance
of my Laurina and Laurina’s Daughter, sweet image of my Claudia and my
Claudia’s Mother, I do acknowledge thee as the Daughter of the one and
the Grandaughter of the other.” While he was thus tenderly embracing
me, Sophia astonished at my precipitate Departure, entered the Room in
search of me. No sooner had she caught the eye of the venerable Peer,
than he exclaimed with every mark of Astonishment—“Another
Grandaughter! Yes, yes, I see you are the Daughter of my Laurina’s
eldest Girl; your resemblance to the beauteous Matilda sufficiently
proclaims it. “Oh!” replied Sophia, “when I first beheld you the
instinct of Nature whispered me that we were in some degree related—But
whether Grandfathers, or Grandmothers, I could not pretend to
determine.” He folded her in his arms, and whilst they were tenderly
embracing, the Door of the Apartment opened and a most beautifull young
Man appeared. On perceiving him Lord St. Clair started and retreating
back a few paces, with uplifted Hands, said, “Another Grand-child! What
an unexpected Happiness is this! to discover in the space of 3 minutes,
as many of my Descendants! This I am certain is Philander the son of my
Laurina’s 3d girl the amiable Bertha; there wants now but the presence
of Gustavus to compleat the Union of my Laurina’s Grand-Children.”

“And here he is; (said a Gracefull Youth who that instant entered the
room) here is the Gustavus you desire to see. I am the son of Agatha
your Laurina’s 4th and youngest Daughter,” “I see you are indeed;
replied Lord St. Clair—But tell me (continued he looking fearfully
towards the Door) tell me, have I any other Grand-children in the
House.” “None my Lord.” “Then I will provide for you all without
farther delay—Here are 4 Banknotes of 50£ each—Take them and remember I
have done the Duty of a Grandfather.” He instantly left the Room and
immediately afterwards the House.

Adeiu.
Laura.




LETTER the 12th
LAURA in continuation


You may imagine how greatly we were surprised by the sudden departure
of Lord St Clair. “Ignoble Grand-sire!” exclaimed Sophia. “Unworthy
Grandfather!” said I, and instantly fainted in each other’s arms. How
long we remained in this situation I know not; but when we recovered we
found ourselves alone, without either Gustavus, Philander, or the
Banknotes. As we were deploring our unhappy fate, the Door of the
Apartment opened and “Macdonald” was announced. He was Sophia’s cousin.
The haste with which he came to our releif so soon after the receipt of
our Note, spoke so greatly in his favour that I hesitated not to
pronounce him at first sight, a tender and simpathetic Freind. Alas! he
little deserved the name—for though he told us that he was much
concerned at our Misfortunes, yet by his own account it appeared that
the perusal of them, had neither drawn from him a single sigh, nor
induced him to bestow one curse on our vindictive stars—. He told
Sophia that his Daughter depended on her returning with him to
Macdonald-Hall, and that as his Cousin’s freind he should be happy to
see me there also. To Macdonald-Hall, therefore we went, and were
received with great kindness by Janetta the Daughter of Macdonald, and
the Mistress of the Mansion. Janetta was then only fifteen; naturally
well disposed, endowed with a susceptible Heart, and a simpathetic
Disposition, she might, had these amiable qualities been properly
encouraged, have been an ornament to human Nature; but unfortunately
her Father possessed not a soul sufficiently exalted to admire so
promising a Disposition, and had endeavoured by every means on his
power to prevent it encreasing with her Years. He had actually so far
extinguished the natural noble Sensibility of her Heart, as to prevail
on her to accept an offer from a young Man of his Recommendation. They
were to be married in a few months, and Graham, was in the House when
we arrived. _We_ soon saw through his character. He was just such a Man
as one might have expected to be the choice of Macdonald. They said he
was Sensible, well-informed, and Agreable; we did not pretend to Judge
of such trifles, but as we were convinced he had no soul, that he had
never read the sorrows of Werter, and that his Hair bore not the least
resemblance to auburn, we were certain that Janetta could feel no
affection for him, or at least that she ought to feel none. The very
circumstance of his being her father’s choice too, was so much in his
disfavour, that had he been deserving her, in every other respect yet
_that_ of itself ought to have been a sufficient reason in the Eyes of
Janetta for rejecting him. These considerations we were determined to
represent to her in their proper light and doubted not of meeting with
the desired success from one naturally so well disposed; whose errors
in the affair had only arisen from a want of proper confidence in her
own opinion, and a suitable contempt of her father’s. We found her
indeed all that our warmest wishes could have hoped for; we had no
difficulty to convince her that it was impossible she could love
Graham, or that it was her Duty to disobey her Father; the only thing
at which she rather seemed to hesitate was our assertion that she must
be attached to some other Person. For some time, she persevered in
declaring that she knew no other young man for whom she had the the
smallest Affection; but upon explaining the impossibility of such a
thing she said that she beleived she _did like_ Captain M’Kenrie better
than any one she knew besides. This confession satisfied us and after
having enumerated the good Qualities of M’Kenrie and assured her that
she was violently in love with him, we desired to know whether he had
ever in any wise declared his affection to her.

“So far from having ever declared it, I have no reason to imagine that
he has ever felt any for me.” said Janetta. “That he certainly adores
you (replied Sophia) there can be no doubt—. The Attachment must be
reciprocal. Did he never gaze on you with admiration—tenderly press
your hand—drop an involantary tear—and leave the room abruptly?” “Never
(replied she) that I remember—he has always left the room indeed when
his visit has been ended, but has never gone away particularly abruptly
or without making a bow.” Indeed my Love (said I) you must be
mistaken—for it is absolutely impossible that he should ever have left
you but with Confusion, Despair, and Precipitation. Consider but for a
moment Janetta, and you must be convinced how absurd it is to suppose
that he could ever make a Bow, or behave like any other Person.” Having
settled this Point to our satisfaction, the next we took into
consideration was, to determine in what manner we should inform
M’Kenrie of the favourable Opinion Janetta entertained of him.... We at
length agreed to acquaint him with it by an anonymous Letter which
Sophia drew up in the following manner.

“Oh! happy Lover of the beautifull Janetta, oh! amiable Possessor of
_her_ Heart whose hand is destined to another, why do you thus delay a
confession of your attachment to the amiable Object of it? Oh! consider
that a few weeks will at once put an end to every flattering Hope that
you may now entertain, by uniting the unfortunate Victim of her
father’s Cruelty to the execrable and detested Graham.”

“Alas! why do you thus so cruelly connive at the projected Misery of
her and of yourself by delaying to communicate that scheme which had
doubtless long possessed your imagination? A secret Union will at once
secure the felicity of both.”

The amiable M’Kenrie, whose modesty as he afterwards assured us had
been the only reason of his having so long concealed the violence of
his affection for Janetta, on receiving this Billet flew on the wings
of Love to Macdonald-Hall, and so powerfully pleaded his Attachment to
her who inspired it, that after a few more private interveiws, Sophia
and I experienced the satisfaction of seeing them depart for
Gretna-Green, which they chose for the celebration of their Nuptials,
in preference to any other place although it was at a considerable
distance from Macdonald-Hall.

Adeiu
Laura.




LETTER the 13th
LAURA in continuation


They had been gone nearly a couple of Hours, before either Macdonald or
Graham had entertained any suspicion of the affair. And they might not
even then have suspected it, but for the following little Accident.
Sophia happening one day to open a private Drawer in Macdonald’s
Library with one of her own keys, discovered that it was the Place
where he kept his Papers of consequence and amongst them some bank
notes of considerable amount. This discovery she imparted to me; and
having agreed together that it would be a proper treatment of so vile a
Wretch as Macdonald to deprive him of money, perhaps dishonestly
gained, it was determined that the next time we should either of us
happen to go that way, we would take one or more of the Bank notes from
the drawer. This well meant Plan we had often successfully put in
Execution; but alas! on the very day of Janetta’s Escape, as Sophia was
majestically removing the 5th Bank-note from the Drawer to her own
purse, she was suddenly most impertinently interrupted in her
employment by the entrance of Macdonald himself, in a most abrupt and
precipitate Manner. Sophia (who though naturally all winning sweetness
could when occasions demanded it call forth the Dignity of her sex)
instantly put on a most forbidding look, and darting an angry frown on
the undaunted culprit, demanded in a haughty tone of voice “Wherefore
her retirement was thus insolently broken in on?” The unblushing
Macdonald, without even endeavouring to exculpate himself from the
crime he was charged with, meanly endeavoured to reproach Sophia with
ignobly defrauding him of his money... The dignity of Sophia was
wounded; “Wretch (exclaimed she, hastily replacing the Bank-note in the
Drawer) how darest thou to accuse me of an Act, of which the bare idea
makes me blush?” The base wretch was still unconvinced and continued to
upbraid the justly-offended Sophia in such opprobious Language, that at
length he so greatly provoked the gentle sweetness of her Nature, as to
induce her to revenge herself on him by informing him of Janetta’s
Elopement, and of the active Part we had both taken in the affair. At
this period of their Quarrel I entered the Library and was as you may
imagine equally offended as Sophia at the ill-grounded accusations of
the malevolent and contemptible Macdonald. “Base Miscreant! (cried I)
how canst thou thus undauntedly endeavour to sully the spotless
reputation of such bright Excellence? Why dost thou not suspect _my_
innocence as soon?” “Be satisfied Madam (replied he) I _do_ suspect it,
and therefore must desire that you will both leave this House in less
than half an hour.”

“We shall go willingly; (answered Sophia) our hearts have long detested
thee, and nothing but our freindship for thy Daughter could have
induced us to remain so long beneath thy roof.”

“Your Freindship for my Daughter has indeed been most powerfully
exerted by throwing her into the arms of an unprincipled
Fortune-hunter.” (replied he)

“Yes, (exclaimed I) amidst every misfortune, it will afford us some
consolation to reflect that by this one act of Freindship to Janetta,
we have amply discharged every obligation that we have received from
her father.”

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

As soon as we had packed up our wardrobe and valuables, we left
Macdonald Hall, and after having walked about a mile and a half we sate
down by the side of a clear limpid stream to refresh our exhausted
limbs. The place was suited to meditation. A grove of full-grown Elms
sheltered us from the East—. A Bed of full-grown Nettles from the
West—. Before us ran the murmuring brook and behind us ran the
turn-pike road. We were in a mood for contemplation and in a
Disposition to enjoy so beautifull a spot. A mutual silence which had
for some time reigned between us, was at length broke by my
exclaiming—“What a lovely scene! Alas why are not Edward and Augustus
here to enjoy its Beauties with us?”

“Ah! my beloved Laura (cried Sophia) for pity’s sake forbear recalling
to my remembrance the unhappy situation of my imprisoned Husband. Alas,
what would I not give to learn the fate of my Augustus! to know if he
is still in Newgate, or if he is yet hung. But never shall I be able so
far to conquer my tender sensibility as to enquire after him. Oh! do
not I beseech you ever let me again hear you repeat his beloved name—.
It affects me too deeply—. I cannot bear to hear him mentioned it
wounds my feelings.”

“Excuse me my Sophia for having thus unwillingly offended you—” replied
I—and then changing the conversation, desired her to admire the noble
Grandeur of the Elms which sheltered us from the Eastern Zephyr. “Alas!
my Laura (returned she) avoid so melancholy a subject, I intreat you.
Do not again wound my Sensibility by observations on those elms. They
remind me of Augustus. He was like them, tall, magestic—he possessed
that noble grandeur which you admire in them.”

I was silent, fearfull lest I might any more unwillingly distress her
by fixing on any other subject of conversation which might again remind
her of Augustus.

“Why do you not speak my Laura? (said she after a short pause) “I
cannot support this silence you must not leave me to my own
reflections; they ever recur to Augustus.”

“What a beautifull sky! (said I) How charmingly is the azure varied by
those delicate streaks of white!”

“Oh! my Laura (replied she hastily withdrawing her Eyes from a
momentary glance at the sky) do not thus distress me by calling my
Attention to an object which so cruelly reminds me of my Augustus’s
blue sattin waistcoat striped in white! In pity to your unhappy freind
avoid a subject so distressing.” What could I do? The feelings of
Sophia were at that time so exquisite, and the tenderness she felt for
Augustus so poignant that I had not power to start any other topic,
justly fearing that it might in some unforseen manner again awaken all
her sensibility by directing her thoughts to her Husband. Yet to be
silent would be cruel; she had intreated me to talk.

From this Dilemma I was most fortunately releived by an accident truly
apropos; it was the lucky overturning of a Gentleman’s Phaeton, on the
road which ran murmuring behind us. It was a most fortunate accident as
it diverted the attention of Sophia from the melancholy reflections
which she had been before indulging. We instantly quitted our seats and
ran to the rescue of those who but a few moments before had been in so
elevated a situation as a fashionably high Phaeton, but who were now
laid low and sprawling in the Dust. “What an ample subject for
reflection on the uncertain Enjoyments of this World, would not that
Phaeton and the Life of Cardinal Wolsey afford a thinking Mind!” said I
to Sophia as we were hastening to the field of Action.

She had not time to answer me, for every thought was now engaged by the
horrid spectacle before us. Two Gentlemen most elegantly attired but
weltering in their blood was what first struck our Eyes—we
approached—they were Edward and Augustus—. Yes dearest Marianne they
were our Husbands. Sophia shreiked and fainted on the ground—I screamed
and instantly ran mad—. We remained thus mutually deprived of our
senses, some minutes, and on regaining them were deprived of them
again. For an Hour and a Quarter did we continue in this unfortunate
situation—Sophia fainting every moment and I running mad as often. At
length a groan from the hapless Edward (who alone retained any share of
life) restored us to ourselves. Had we indeed before imagined that
either of them lived, we should have been more sparing of our Greif—but
as we had supposed when we first beheld them that they were no more, we
knew that nothing could remain to be done but what we were about. No
sooner did we therefore hear my Edward’s groan than postponing our
lamentations for the present, we hastily ran to the Dear Youth and
kneeling on each side of him implored him not to die—. “Laura (said He
fixing his now languid Eyes on me) I fear I have been overturned.”

I was overjoyed to find him yet sensible.

“Oh! tell me Edward (said I) tell me I beseech you before you die, what
has befallen you since that unhappy Day in which Augustus was arrested
and we were separated—”

“I will” (said he) and instantly fetching a deep sigh, Expired—. Sophia
immediately sank again into a swoon—. _My_ greif was more audible. My
Voice faltered, My Eyes assumed a vacant stare, my face became as pale
as Death, and my senses were considerably impaired—.

“Talk not to me of Phaetons (said I, raving in a frantic, incoherent
manner)—Give me a violin—. I’ll play to him and sooth him in his
melancholy Hours—Beware ye gentle Nymphs of Cupid’s Thunderbolts, avoid
the piercing shafts of Jupiter—Look at that grove of Firs—I see a Leg
of Mutton—They told me Edward was not Dead; but they deceived me—they
took him for a cucumber—” Thus I continued wildly exclaiming on my
Edward’s Death—. For two Hours did I rave thus madly and should not
then have left off, as I was not in the least fatigued, had not Sophia
who was just recovered from her swoon, intreated me to consider that
Night was now approaching and that the Damps began to fall. “And
whither shall we go (said I) to shelter us from either?” “To that white
Cottage.” (replied she pointing to a neat Building which rose up amidst
the grove of Elms and which I had not before observed—) I agreed and we
instantly walked to it—we knocked at the door—it was opened by an old
woman; on being requested to afford us a Night’s Lodging, she informed
us that her House was but small, that she had only two Bedrooms, but
that However we should be wellcome to one of them. We were satisfied
and followed the good woman into the House where we were greatly
cheered by the sight of a comfortable fire—. She was a widow and had
only one Daughter, who was then just seventeen—One of the best of ages;
but alas! she was very plain and her name was Bridget..... Nothing
therfore could be expected from her—she could not be supposed to
possess either exalted Ideas, Delicate Feelings or refined
Sensibilities—. She was nothing more than a mere good-tempered, civil
and obliging young woman; as such we could scarcely dislike here—she
was only an Object of Contempt—.

Adeiu
Laura.




LETTER the 14th
LAURA in continuation


Arm yourself my amiable young Freind with all the philosophy you are
Mistress of; summon up all the fortitude you possess, for alas! in the
perusal of the following Pages your sensibility will be most severely
tried. Ah! what were the misfortunes I had before experienced and which
I have already related to you, to the one I am now going to inform you
of. The Death of my Father and my Mother and my Husband though almost
more than my gentle Nature could support, were trifles in comparison to
the misfortune I am now proceeding to relate. The morning after our
arrival at the Cottage, Sophia complained of a violent pain in her
delicate limbs, accompanied with a disagreable Head-ake She attributed
it to a cold caught by her continued faintings in the open air as the
Dew was falling the Evening before. This I feared was but too probably
the case; since how could it be otherwise accounted for that I should
have escaped the same indisposition, but by supposing that the bodily
Exertions I had undergone in my repeated fits of frenzy had so
effectually circulated and warmed my Blood as to make me proof against
the chilling Damps of Night, whereas, Sophia lying totally inactive on
the ground must have been exposed to all their severity. I was most
seriously alarmed by her illness which trifling as it may appear to
you, a certain instinctive sensibility whispered me, would in the End
be fatal to her.

Alas! my fears were but too fully justified; she grew gradually
worse—and I daily became more alarmed for her. At length she was
obliged to confine herself solely to the Bed allotted us by our worthy
Landlady—. Her disorder turned to a galloping Consumption and in a few
days carried her off. Amidst all my Lamentations for her (and violent
you may suppose they were) I yet received some consolation in the
reflection of my having paid every attention to her, that could be
offered, in her illness. I had wept over her every Day—had bathed her
sweet face with my tears and had pressed her fair Hands continually in
mine—. “My beloved Laura (said she to me a few Hours before she died)
take warning from my unhappy End and avoid the imprudent conduct which
had occasioned it... Beware of fainting-fits... Though at the time they
may be refreshing and agreable yet beleive me they will in the end, if
too often repeated and at improper seasons, prove destructive to your
Constitution... My fate will teach you this.. I die a Martyr to my
greif for the loss of Augustus.. One fatal swoon has cost me my Life..
Beware of swoons Dear Laura.... A frenzy fit is not one quarter so
pernicious; it is an exercise to the Body and if not too violent, is I
dare say conducive to Health in its consequences—Run mad as often as
you chuse; but do not faint—”

These were the last words she ever addressed to me.. It was her dieing
Advice to her afflicted Laura, who has ever most faithfully adhered to
it.

After having attended my lamented freind to her Early Grave, I
immediately (tho’ late at night) left the detested Village in which she
died, and near which had expired my Husband and Augustus. I had not
walked many yards from it before I was overtaken by a stage-coach, in
which I instantly took a place, determined to proceed in it to
Edinburgh, where I hoped to find some kind some pitying Freind who
would receive and comfort me in my afflictions.

It was so dark when I entered the Coach that I could not distinguish
the Number of my Fellow-travellers; I could only perceive that they
were many. Regardless however of anything concerning them, I gave
myself up to my own sad Reflections. A general silence prevailed—A
silence, which was by nothing interrupted but by the loud and repeated
snores of one of the Party.

“What an illiterate villain must that man be! (thought I to myself)
What a total want of delicate refinement must he have, who can thus
shock our senses by such a brutal noise! He must I am certain be
capable of every bad action! There is no crime too black for such a
Character!” Thus reasoned I within myself, and doubtless such were the
reflections of my fellow travellers.

At length, returning Day enabled me to behold the unprincipled
Scoundrel who had so violently disturbed my feelings. It was Sir Edward
the father of my Deceased Husband. By his side sate Augusta, and on the
same seat with me were your Mother and Lady Dorothea. Imagine my
surprise at finding myself thus seated amongst my old Acquaintance.
Great as was my astonishment, it was yet increased, when on looking out
of Windows, I beheld the Husband of Philippa, with Philippa by his
side, on the Coachbox and when on looking behind I beheld, Philander
and Gustavus in the Basket. “Oh! Heavens, (exclaimed I) is it possible
that I should so unexpectedly be surrounded by my nearest Relations and
Connections?” These words roused the rest of the Party, and every eye
was directed to the corner in which I sat. “Oh! my Isabel (continued I
throwing myself across Lady Dorothea into her arms) receive once more
to your Bosom the unfortunate Laura. Alas! when we last parted in the
Vale of Usk, I was happy in being united to the best of Edwards; I had
then a Father and a Mother, and had never known misfortunes—But now
deprived of every freind but you—”

“What! (interrupted Augusta) is my Brother dead then? Tell us I intreat
you what is become of him?” “Yes, cold and insensible Nymph, (replied
I) that luckless swain your Brother, is no more, and you may now glory
in being the Heiress of Sir Edward’s fortune.”

Although I had always despised her from the Day I had overheard her
conversation with my Edward, yet in civility I complied with hers and
Sir Edward’s intreaties that I would inform them of the whole
melancholy affair. They were greatly shocked—even the obdurate Heart of
Sir Edward and the insensible one of Augusta, were touched with sorrow,
by the unhappy tale. At the request of your Mother I related to them
every other misfortune which had befallen me since we parted. Of the
imprisonment of Augustus and the absence of Edward—of our arrival in
Scotland—of our unexpected Meeting with our Grand-father and our
cousins—of our visit to Macdonald-Hall—of the singular service we there
performed towards Janetta—of her Fathers ingratitude for it.. of his
inhuman Behaviour, unaccountable suspicions, and barbarous treatment of
us, in obliging us to leave the House.. of our lamentations on the loss
of Edward and Augustus and finally of the melancholy Death of my
beloved Companion.

Pity and surprise were strongly depictured in your Mother’s
countenance, during the whole of my narration, but I am sorry to say,
that to the eternal reproach of her sensibility, the latter infinitely
predominated. Nay, faultless as my conduct had certainly been during
the whole course of my late misfortunes and adventures, she pretended
to find fault with my behaviour in many of the situations in which I
had been placed. As I was sensible myself, that I had always behaved in
a manner which reflected Honour on my Feelings and Refinement, I paid
little attention to what she said, and desired her to satisfy my
Curiosity by informing me how she came there, instead of wounding my
spotless reputation with unjustifiable Reproaches. As soon as she had
complyed with my wishes in this particular and had given me an accurate
detail of every thing that had befallen her since our separation (the
particulars of which if you are not already acquainted with, your
Mother will give you) I applied to Augusta for the same information
respecting herself, Sir Edward and Lady Dorothea.

She told me that having a considerable taste for the Beauties of
Nature, her curiosity to behold the delightful scenes it exhibited in
that part of the World had been so much raised by Gilpin’s Tour to the
Highlands, that she had prevailed on her Father to undertake a Tour to
Scotland and had persuaded Lady Dorothea to accompany them. That they
had arrived at Edinburgh a few Days before and from thence had made
daily Excursions into the Country around in the Stage Coach they were
then in, from one of which Excursions they were at that time returning.
My next enquiries were concerning Philippa and her Husband, the latter
of whom I learned having spent all her fortune, had recourse for
subsistence to the talent in which, he had always most excelled,
namely, Driving, and that having sold every thing which belonged to
them except their Coach, had converted it into a Stage and in order to
be removed from any of his former Acquaintance, had driven it to
Edinburgh from whence he went to Sterling every other Day. That
Philippa still retaining her affection for her ungratefull Husband, had
followed him to Scotland and generally accompanied him in his little
Excursions to Sterling. “It has only been to throw a little money into
their Pockets (continued Augusta) that my Father has always travelled
in their Coach to veiw the beauties of the Country since our arrival in
Scotland—for it would certainly have been much more agreable to us, to
visit the Highlands in a Postchaise than merely to travel from
Edinburgh to Sterling and from Sterling to Edinburgh every other Day in
a crowded and uncomfortable Stage.” I perfectly agreed with her in her
sentiments on the affair, and secretly blamed Sir Edward for thus
sacrificing his Daughter’s Pleasure for the sake of a ridiculous old
woman whose folly in marrying so young a man ought to be punished. His
Behaviour however was entirely of a peice with his general Character;
for what could be expected from a man who possessed not the smallest
atom of Sensibility, who scarcely knew the meaning of simpathy, and who
actually snored—.

Adeiu
Laura.




LETTER the 15th
LAURA in continuation.


When we arrived at the town where we were to Breakfast, I was
determined to speak with Philander and Gustavus, and to that purpose as
soon as I left the Carriage, I went to the Basket and tenderly enquired
after their Health, expressing my fears of the uneasiness of their
situation. At first they seemed rather confused at my appearance
dreading no doubt that I might call them to account for the money which
our Grandfather had left me and which they had unjustly deprived me of,
but finding that I mentioned nothing of the Matter, they desired me to
step into the Basket as we might there converse with greater ease.
Accordingly I entered and whilst the rest of the party were devouring
green tea and buttered toast, we feasted ourselves in a more refined
and sentimental Manner by a confidential Conversation. I informed them
of every thing which had befallen me during the course of my life, and
at my request they related to me every incident of theirs.

“We are the sons as you already know, of the two youngest Daughters
which Lord St Clair had by Laurina an italian opera girl. Our mothers
could neither of them exactly ascertain who were our Father, though it
is generally beleived that Philander, is the son of one Philip Jones a
Bricklayer and that my Father was one Gregory Staves a Staymaker of
Edinburgh. This is however of little consequence for as our Mothers
were certainly never married to either of them it reflects no Dishonour
on our Blood, which is of a most ancient and unpolluted kind. Bertha
(the Mother of Philander) and Agatha (my own Mother) always lived
together. They were neither of them very rich; their united fortunes
had originally amounted to nine thousand Pounds, but as they had always
lived on the principal of it, when we were fifteen it was diminished to
nine Hundred. This nine Hundred they always kept in a Drawer in one of
the Tables which stood in our common sitting Parlour, for the
convenience of having it always at Hand. Whether it was from this
circumstance, of its being easily taken, or from a wish of being
independant, or from an excess of sensibility (for which we were always
remarkable) I cannot now determine, but certain it is that when we had
reached our 15th year, we took the nine Hundred Pounds and ran away.
Having obtained this prize we were determined to manage it with
eoconomy and not to spend it either with folly or Extravagance. To this
purpose we therefore divided it into nine parcels, one of which we
devoted to Victuals, the 2d to Drink, the 3d to Housekeeping, the 4th
to Carriages, the 5th to Horses, the 6th to Servants, the 7th to
Amusements, the 8th to Cloathes and the 9th to Silver Buckles. Having
thus arranged our Expences for two months (for we expected to make the
nine Hundred Pounds last as long) we hastened to London and had the
good luck to spend it in 7 weeks and a Day which was 6 Days sooner than
we had intended. As soon as we had thus happily disencumbered ourselves
from the weight of so much money, we began to think of returning to our
Mothers, but accidentally hearing that they were both starved to Death,
we gave over the design and determined to engage ourselves to some
strolling Company of Players, as we had always a turn for the Stage.
Accordingly we offered our services to one and were accepted; our
Company was indeed rather small, as it consisted only of the Manager
his wife and ourselves, but there were fewer to pay and the only
inconvenience attending it was the Scarcity of Plays which for want of
People to fill the Characters, we could perform. We did not mind
trifles however—. One of our most admired Performances was _Macbeth_,
in which we were truly great. The Manager always played _Banquo_
himself, his Wife my _Lady Macbeth_. I did the _Three Witches_ and
Philander acted _all the rest_. To say the truth this tragedy was not
only the Best, but the only Play that we ever performed; and after
having acted it all over England, and Wales, we came to Scotland to
exhibit it over the remainder of Great Britain. We happened to be
quartered in that very Town, where you came and met your Grandfather—.
We were in the Inn-yard when his Carriage entered and perceiving by the
arms to whom it belonged, and knowing that Lord St Clair was our
Grandfather, we agreed to endeavour to get something from him by
discovering the Relationship—. You know how well it succeeded—. Having
obtained the two Hundred Pounds, we instantly left the Town, leaving
our Manager and his Wife to act _Macbeth_ by themselves, and took the
road to Sterling, where we spent our little fortune with great _eclat_.
We are now returning to Edinburgh in order to get some preferment in
the Acting way; and such my Dear Cousin is our History.”

I thanked the amiable Youth for his entertaining narration, and after
expressing my wishes for their Welfare and Happiness, left them in
their little Habitation and returned to my other Freinds who
impatiently expected me.

My adventures are now drawing to a close my dearest Marianne; at least
for the present.

When we arrived at Edinburgh Sir Edward told me that as the Widow of
his son, he desired I would accept from his Hands of four Hundred a
year. I graciously promised that I would, but could not help observing
that the unsimpathetic Baronet offered it more on account of my being
the Widow of Edward than in being the refined and amiable Laura.

I took up my Residence in a Romantic Village in the Highlands of
Scotland where I have ever since continued, and where I can
uninterrupted by unmeaning Visits, indulge in a melancholy solitude, my
unceasing Lamentations for the Death of my Father, my Mother, my
Husband and my Freind.

Augusta has been for several years united to Graham the Man of all
others most suited to her; she became acquainted with him during her
stay in Scotland.

Sir Edward in hopes of gaining an Heir to his Title and Estate, at the
same time married Lady Dorothea—. His wishes have been answered.

Philander and Gustavus, after having raised their reputation by their
Performances in the Theatrical Line at Edinburgh, removed to Covent
Garden, where they still exhibit under the assumed names of _Luvis_ and
_Quick_.

Philippa has long paid the Debt of Nature, Her Husband however still
continues to drive the Stage-Coach from Edinburgh to Sterling:—

Adeiu my Dearest Marianne.
Laura.


Finis


June 13th 1790.




LESLEY CASTLE
AN UNFINISHED NOVEL IN LETTERS


To HENRY THOMAS AUSTEN Esqre.


Sir

I am now availing myself of the Liberty you have frequently honoured me
with of dedicating one of my Novels to you. That it is unfinished, I
greive; yet fear that from me, it will always remain so; that as far as
it is carried, it should be so trifling and so unworthy of you, is
another concern to your obliged humble

Servant
The Author


Messrs Demand and Co—please to pay Jane Austen Spinster the sum of one
hundred guineas on account of your Humble Servant.

H. T. Austen


£105. 0. 0.




LESLEY CASTLE




LETTER the FIRST is from
Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL


Lesley Castle Janry 3rd—1792.

My Brother has just left us. “Matilda (said he at parting) you and
Margaret will I am certain take all the care of my dear little one,
that she might have received from an indulgent, and affectionate and
amiable Mother.” Tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke these
words—the remembrance of her, who had so wantonly disgraced the
Maternal character and so openly violated the conjugal Duties,
prevented his adding anything farther; he embraced his sweet Child and
after saluting Matilda and Me hastily broke from us and seating himself
in his Chaise, pursued the road to Aberdeen. Never was there a better
young Man! Ah! how little did he deserve the misfortunes he has
experienced in the Marriage state. So good a Husband to so bad a Wife!
for you know my dear Charlotte that the Worthless Louisa left him, her
Child and reputation a few weeks ago in company with Danvers and
dishonour. Never was there a sweeter face, a finer form, or a less
amiable Heart than Louisa owned! Her child already possesses the
personal Charms of her unhappy Mother! May she inherit from her Father
all his mental ones! Lesley is at present but five and twenty, and has
already given himself up to melancholy and Despair; what a difference
between him and his Father! Sir George is 57 and still remains the
Beau, the flighty stripling, the gay Lad, and sprightly Youngster, that
his Son was really about five years back, and that _he_ has affected to
appear ever since my remembrance. While our father is fluttering about
the streets of London, gay, dissipated, and Thoughtless at the age of
57, Matilda and I continue secluded from Mankind in our old and
Mouldering Castle, which is situated two miles from Perth on a bold
projecting Rock, and commands an extensive veiw of the Town and its
delightful Environs. But tho’ retired from almost all the World, (for
we visit no one but the M’Leods, The M’Kenzies, the M’Phersons, the
M’Cartneys, the M’Donalds, The M’kinnons, the M’lellans, the M’kays,
the Macbeths and the Macduffs) we are neither dull nor unhappy; on the
contrary there never were two more lively, more agreable or more witty
girls, than we are; not an hour in the Day hangs heavy on our Hands. We
read, we work, we walk, and when fatigued with these Employments
releive our spirits, either by a lively song, a graceful Dance, or by
some smart bon-mot, and witty repartee. We are handsome my dear
Charlotte, very handsome and the greatest of our Perfections is, that
we are entirely insensible of them ourselves. But why do I thus dwell
on myself! Let me rather repeat the praise of our dear little Neice the
innocent Louisa, who is at present sweetly smiling in a gentle Nap, as
she reposes on the sofa. The dear Creature is just turned of two years
old; as handsome as tho’ 2 and 20, as sensible as tho’ 2 and 30, and as
prudent as tho’ 2 and 40. To convince you of this, I must inform you
that she has a very fine complexion and very pretty features, that she
already knows the two first letters in the Alphabet, and that she never
tears her frocks—. If I have not now convinced you of her Beauty, Sense
and Prudence, I have nothing more to urge in support of my assertion,
and you will therefore have no way of deciding the Affair but by coming
to Lesley-Castle, and by a personal acquaintance with Louisa, determine
for yourself. Ah! my dear Freind, how happy should I be to see you
within these venerable Walls! It is now four years since my removal
from School has separated me from you; that two such tender Hearts, so
closely linked together by the ties of simpathy and Freindship, should
be so widely removed from each other, is vastly moving. I live in
Perthshire, You in Sussex. We might meet in London, were my Father
disposed to carry me there, and were your Mother to be there at the
same time. We might meet at Bath, at Tunbridge, or anywhere else
indeed, could we but be at the same place together. We have only to
hope that such a period may arrive. My Father does not return to us
till Autumn; my Brother will leave Scotland in a few Days; he is
impatient to travel. Mistaken Youth! He vainly flatters himself that
change of Air will heal the Wounds of a broken Heart! You will join
with me I am certain my dear Charlotte, in prayers for the recovery of
the unhappy Lesley’s peace of Mind, which must ever be essential to
that of your sincere freind

M. Lesley.




LETTER the SECOND
From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY in answer.


Glenford Febry 12

I have a thousand excuses to beg for having so long delayed thanking
you my dear Peggy for your agreable Letter, which beleive me I should
not have deferred doing, had not every moment of my time during the
last five weeks been so fully employed in the necessary arrangements
for my sisters wedding, as to allow me no time to devote either to you
or myself. And now what provokes me more than anything else is that the
Match is broke off, and all my Labour thrown away. Imagine how great
the Dissapointment must be to me, when you consider that after having
laboured both by Night and by Day, in order to get the Wedding dinner
ready by the time appointed, after having roasted Beef, Broiled Mutton,
and Stewed Soup enough to last the new-married Couple through the
Honey-moon, I had the mortification of finding that I had been
Roasting, Broiling and Stewing both the Meat and Myself to no purpose.
Indeed my dear Freind, I never remember suffering any vexation equal to
what I experienced on last Monday when my sister came running to me in
the store-room with her face as White as a Whipt syllabub, and told me
that Hervey had been thrown from his Horse, had fractured his Scull and
was pronounced by his surgeon to be in the most emminent Danger. “Good
God! (said I) you dont say so? Why what in the name of Heaven will
become of all the Victuals! We shall never be able to eat it while it
is good. However, we’ll call in the Surgeon to help us. I shall be able
to manage the Sir-loin myself, my Mother will eat the soup, and You and
the Doctor must finish the rest.” Here I was interrupted, by seeing my
poor Sister fall down to appearance Lifeless upon one of the Chests,
where we keep our Table linen. I immediately called my Mother and the
Maids, and at last we brought her to herself again; as soon as ever she
was sensible, she expressed a determination of going instantly to
Henry, and was so wildly bent on this Scheme, that we had the greatest
Difficulty in the World to prevent her putting it in execution; at last
however more by Force than Entreaty we prevailed on her to go into her
room; we laid her upon the Bed, and she continued for some Hours in the
most dreadful Convulsions. My Mother and I continued in the room with
her, and when any intervals of tolerable Composure in Eloisa would
allow us, we joined in heartfelt lamentations on the dreadful Waste in
our provisions which this Event must occasion, and in concerting some
plan for getting rid of them. We agreed that the best thing we could do
was to begin eating them immediately, and accordingly we ordered up the
cold Ham and Fowls, and instantly began our Devouring Plan on them with
great Alacrity. We would have persuaded Eloisa to have taken a Wing of
a Chicken, but she would not be persuaded. She was however much quieter
than she had been; the convulsions she had before suffered having given
way to an almost perfect Insensibility. We endeavoured to rouse her by
every means in our power, but to no purpose. I talked to her of Henry.
“Dear Eloisa (said I) there’s no occasion for your crying so much about
such a trifle. (for I was willing to make light of it in order to
comfort her) I beg you would not mind it—You see it does not vex me in
the least; though perhaps I may suffer most from it after all; for I
shall not only be obliged to eat up all the Victuals I have dressed
already, but must if Henry should recover (which however is not very
likely) dress as much for you again; or should he die (as I suppose he
will) I shall still have to prepare a Dinner for you whenever you marry
any one else. So you see that tho’ perhaps for the present it may
afflict you to think of Henry’s sufferings, Yet I dare say he’ll die
soon, and then his pain will be over and you will be easy, whereas my
Trouble will last much longer for work as hard as I may, I am certain
that the pantry cannot be cleared in less than a fortnight.” Thus I did
all in my power to console her, but without any effect, and at last as
I saw that she did not seem to listen to me, I said no more, but
leaving her with my Mother I took down the remains of The Ham and
Chicken, and sent William to ask how Henry did. He was not expected to
live many Hours; he died the same day. We took all possible care to
break the melancholy Event to Eloisa in the tenderest manner; yet in
spite of every precaution, her sufferings on hearing it were too
violent for her reason, and she continued for many hours in a high
Delirium. She is still extremely ill, and her Physicians are greatly
afraid of her going into a Decline. We are therefore preparing for
Bristol, where we mean to be in the course of the next week. And now my
dear Margaret let me talk a little of your affairs; and in the first
place I must inform you that it is confidently reported, your Father is
going to be married; I am very unwilling to beleive so unpleasing a
report, and at the same time cannot wholly discredit it. I have written
to my freind Susan Fitzgerald, for information concerning it, which as
she is at present in Town, she will be very able to give me. I know not
who is the Lady. I think your Brother is extremely right in the
resolution he has taken of travelling, as it will perhaps contribute to
obliterate from his remembrance, those disagreable Events, which have
lately so much afflicted him—I am happy to find that tho’ secluded from
all the World, neither you nor Matilda are dull or unhappy—that you may
never know what it is to, be either is the wish of your sincerely
affectionate

C.L.


P. S. I have this instant received an answer from my freind Susan,
which I enclose to you, and on which you will make your own
reflections.

The enclosed LETTER

My dear CHARLOTTE

You could not have applied for information concerning the report of Sir
George Lesleys Marriage, to any one better able to give it you than I
am. Sir George is certainly married; I was myself present at the
Ceremony, which you will not be surprised at when I subscribe myself
your

Affectionate
Susan Lesley




LETTER the THIRD
From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss C. LUTTERELL


Lesley Castle February the 16th

I _have_ made my own reflections on the letter you enclosed to me, my
Dear Charlotte and I will now tell you what those reflections were. I
reflected that if by this second Marriage Sir George should have a
second family, our fortunes must be considerably diminushed—that if his
Wife should be of an extravagant turn, she would encourage him to
persevere in that gay and Dissipated way of Life to which little
encouragement would be necessary, and which has I fear already proved
but too detrimental to his health and fortune—that she would now become
Mistress of those Jewels which once adorned our Mother, and which Sir
George had always promised us—that if they did not come into Perthshire
I should not be able to gratify my curiosity of beholding my
Mother-in-law and that if they did, Matilda would no longer sit at the
head of her Father’s table—. These my dear Charlotte were the
melancholy reflections which crowded into my imagination after perusing
Susan’s letter to you, and which instantly occurred to Matilda when she
had perused it likewise. The same ideas, the same fears, immediately
occupied her Mind, and I know not which reflection distressed her most,
whether the probable Diminution of our Fortunes, or her own
Consequence. We both wish very much to know whether Lady Lesley is
handsome and what is your opinion of her; as you honour her with the
appellation of your freind, we flatter ourselves that she must be
amiable. My Brother is already in Paris. He intends to quit it in a few
Days, and to begin his route to Italy. He writes in a most chearfull
manner, says that the air of France has greatly recovered both his
Health and Spirits; that he has now entirely ceased to think of Louisa
with any degree either of Pity or Affection, that he even feels himself
obliged to her for her Elopement, as he thinks it very good fun to be
single again. By this, you may perceive that he has entirely regained
that chearful Gaiety, and sprightly Wit, for which he was once so
remarkable. When he first became acquainted with Louisa which was
little more than three years ago, he was one of the most lively, the
most agreable young Men of the age—. I beleive you never yet heard the
particulars of his first acquaintance with her. It commenced at our
cousin Colonel Drummond’s; at whose house in Cumberland he spent the
Christmas, in which he attained the age of two and twenty. Louisa
Burton was the Daughter of a distant Relation of Mrs. Drummond, who
dieing a few Months before in extreme poverty, left his only Child then
about eighteen to the protection of any of his Relations who would
protect her. Mrs. Drummond was the only one who found herself so
disposed—Louisa was therefore removed from a miserable Cottage in
Yorkshire to an elegant Mansion in Cumberland, and from every pecuniary
Distress that Poverty could inflict, to every elegant Enjoyment that
Money could purchase—. Louisa was naturally ill-tempered and Cunning;
but she had been taught to disguise her real Disposition, under the
appearance of insinuating Sweetness, by a father who but too well knew,
that to be married, would be the only chance she would have of not
being starved, and who flattered himself that with such an extroidinary
share of personal beauty, joined to a gentleness of Manners, and an
engaging address, she might stand a good chance of pleasing some young
Man who might afford to marry a girl without a Shilling. Louisa
perfectly entered into her father’s schemes and was determined to
forward them with all her care and attention. By dint of Perseverance
and Application, she had at length so thoroughly disguised her natural
disposition under the mask of Innocence, and Softness, as to impose
upon every one who had not by a long and constant intimacy with her
discovered her real Character. Such was Louisa when the hapless Lesley
first beheld her at Drummond-house. His heart which (to use your
favourite comparison) was as delicate as sweet and as tender as a
Whipt-syllabub, could not resist her attractions. In a very few Days,
he was falling in love, shortly after actually fell, and before he had
known her a Month, he had married her. My Father was at first highly
displeased at so hasty and imprudent a connection; but when he found
that they did not mind it, he soon became perfectly reconciled to the
match. The Estate near Aberdeen which my brother possesses by the
bounty of his great Uncle independant of Sir George, was entirely
sufficient to support him and my Sister in Elegance and Ease. For the
first twelvemonth, no one could be happier than Lesley, and no one more
amiable to appearance than Louisa, and so plausibly did she act and so
cautiously behave that tho’ Matilda and I often spent several weeks
together with them, yet we neither of us had any suspicion of her real
Disposition. After the birth of Louisa however, which one would have
thought would have strengthened her regard for Lesley, the mask she had
so long supported was by degrees thrown aside, and as probably she then
thought herself secure in the affection of her Husband (which did
indeed appear if possible augmented by the birth of his Child) she
seemed to take no pains to prevent that affection from ever
diminushing. Our visits therefore to Dunbeath, were now less frequent
and by far less agreable than they used to be. Our absence was however
never either mentioned or lamented by Louisa who in the society of
young Danvers with whom she became acquainted at Aberdeen (he was at
one of the Universities there,) felt infinitely happier than in that of
Matilda and your freind, tho’ there certainly never were pleasanter
girls than we are. You know the sad end of all Lesleys connubial
happiness; I will not repeat it—. Adeiu my dear Charlotte; although I
have not yet mentioned anything of the matter, I hope you will do me
the justice to beleive that I _think_ and _feel_, a great deal for your
Sisters affliction. I do not doubt but that the healthy air of the
Bristol downs will intirely remove it, by erasing from her Mind the
remembrance of Henry. I am my dear Charlotte yrs ever

M. L.




LETTER the FOURTH
From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY


Bristol February 27th

My Dear Peggy

I have but just received your letter, which being directed to Sussex
while I was at Bristol was obliged to be forwarded to me here, and from
some unaccountable Delay, has but this instant reached me—. I return
you many thanks for the account it contains of Lesley’s acquaintance,
Love and Marriage with Louisa, which has not the less entertained me
for having often been repeated to me before.

I have the satisfaction of informing you that we have every reason to
imagine our pantry is by this time nearly cleared, as we left
Particular orders with the servants to eat as hard as they possibly
could, and to call in a couple of Chairwomen to assist them. We brought
a cold Pigeon pye, a cold turkey, a cold tongue, and half a dozen
Jellies with us, which we were lucky enough with the help of our
Landlady, her husband, and their three children, to get rid of, in less
than two days after our arrival. Poor Eloisa is still so very
indifferent both in Health and Spirits, that I very much fear, the air
of the Bristol downs, healthy as it is, has not been able to drive poor
Henry from her remembrance.

You ask me whether your new Mother in law is handsome and amiable—I
will now give you an exact description of her bodily and mental charms.
She is short, and extremely well made; is naturally pale, but rouges a
good deal; has fine eyes, and fine teeth, as she will take care to let
you know as soon as she sees you, and is altogether very pretty. She is
remarkably good-tempered when she has her own way, and very lively when
she is not out of humour. She is naturally extravagant and not very
affected; she never reads anything but the letters she receives from
me, and never writes anything but her answers to them. She plays, sings
and Dances, but has no taste for either, and excells in none, tho’ she
says she is passionately fond of all. Perhaps you may flatter me so far
as to be surprised that one of whom I speak with so little affection
should be my particular freind; but to tell you the truth, our
freindship arose rather from Caprice on her side than Esteem on mine.
We spent two or three days together with a Lady in Berkshire with whom
we both happened to be connected—. During our visit, the Weather being
remarkably bad, and our party particularly stupid, she was so good as
to conceive a violent partiality for me, which very soon settled in a
downright Freindship and ended in an established correspondence. She is
probably by this time as tired of me, as I am of her; but as she is too
Polite and I am too civil to say so, our letters are still as frequent
and affectionate as ever, and our Attachment as firm and sincere as
when it first commenced. As she had a great taste for the pleasures of
London, and of Brighthelmstone, she will I dare say find some
difficulty in prevailing on herself even to satisfy the curiosity I
dare say she feels of beholding you, at the expence of quitting those
favourite haunts of Dissipation, for the melancholy tho’ venerable
gloom of the castle you inhabit. Perhaps however if she finds her
health impaired by too much amusement, she may acquire fortitude
sufficient to undertake a Journey to Scotland in the hope of its
Proving at least beneficial to her health, if not conducive to her
happiness. Your fears I am sorry to say, concerning your father’s
extravagance, your own fortunes, your Mothers Jewels and your Sister’s
consequence, I should suppose are but too well founded. My freind
herself has four thousand pounds, and will probably spend nearly as
much every year in Dress and Public places, if she can get it—she will
certainly not endeavour to reclaim Sir George from the manner of living
to which he has been so long accustomed, and there is therefore some
reason to fear that you will be very well off, if you get any fortune
at all. The Jewels I should imagine too will undoubtedly be hers, and
there is too much reason to think that she will preside at her Husbands
table in preference to his Daughter. But as so melancholy a subject
must necessarily extremely distress you, I will no longer dwell on it—.

Eloisa’s indisposition has brought us to Bristol at so unfashionable a
season of the year, that we have actually seen but one genteel family
since we came. Mr and Mrs Marlowe are very agreable people; the ill
health of their little boy occasioned their arrival here; you may
imagine that being the only family with whom we can converse, we are of
course on a footing of intimacy with them; we see them indeed almost
every day, and dined with them yesterday. We spent a very pleasant Day,
and had a very good Dinner, tho’ to be sure the Veal was terribly
underdone, and the Curry had no seasoning. I could not help wishing all
dinner-time that I had been at the dressing it—. A brother of Mrs
Marlowe, Mr Cleveland is with them at present; he is a good-looking
young Man, and seems to have a good deal to say for himself. I tell
Eloisa that she should set her cap at him, but she does not at all seem
to relish the proposal. I should like to see the girl married and
Cleveland has a very good estate. Perhaps you may wonder that I do not
consider _myself_ as well as my Sister in my matrimonial Projects; but
to tell you the truth I never wish to act a more principal part at a
Wedding than the superintending and directing the Dinner, and therefore
while I can get any of my acquaintance to marry for me, I shall never
think of doing it myself, as I very much suspect that I should not have
so much time for dressing my own Wedding-dinner, as for dressing that
of my freinds.

Yours sincerely
C. L.




LETTER the FIFTH
Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL


Lesley-Castle March 18th

On the same day that I received your last kind letter, Matilda received
one from Sir George which was dated from Edinburgh, and informed us
that he should do himself the pleasure of introducing Lady Lesley to us
on the following evening. This as you may suppose considerably
surprised us, particularly as your account of her Ladyship had given us
reason to imagine there was little chance of her visiting Scotland at a
time that London must be so gay. As it was our business however to be
delighted at such a mark of condescension as a visit from Sir George
and Lady Lesley, we prepared to return them an answer expressive of the
happiness we enjoyed in expectation of such a Blessing, when luckily
recollecting that as they were to reach the Castle the next Evening, it
would be impossible for my father to receive it before he left
Edinburgh, we contented ourselves with leaving them to suppose that we
were as happy as we ought to be. At nine in the Evening on the
following day, they came, accompanied by one of Lady Lesleys brothers.
Her Ladyship perfectly answers the description you sent me of her,
except that I do not think her so pretty as you seem to consider her.
She has not a bad face, but there is something so extremely unmajestic
in her little diminutive figure, as to render her in comparison with
the elegant height of Matilda and Myself, an insignificant Dwarf. Her
curiosity to see us (which must have been great to bring her more than
four hundred miles) being now perfectly gratified, she already begins
to mention their return to town, and has desired us to accompany her.
We cannot refuse her request since it is seconded by the commands of
our Father, and thirded by the entreaties of Mr. Fitzgerald who is
certainly one of the most pleasing young Men, I ever beheld. It is not
yet determined when we are to go, but when ever we do we shall
certainly take our little Louisa with us. Adeiu my dear Charlotte;
Matilda unites in best wishes to you, and Eloisa, with yours ever

M. L.




LETTER the SIXTH
LADY LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL


Lesley-Castle March 20th

We arrived here my sweet Freind about a fortnight ago, and I already
heartily repent that I ever left our charming House in Portman-square
for such a dismal old weather-beaten Castle as this. You can form no
idea sufficiently hideous, of its dungeon-like form. It is actually
perched upon a Rock to appearance so totally inaccessible, that I
expected to have been pulled up by a rope; and sincerely repented
having gratified my curiosity to behold my Daughters at the expence of
being obliged to enter their prison in so dangerous and ridiculous a
manner. But as soon as I once found myself safely arrived in the inside
of this tremendous building, I comforted myself with the hope of having
my spirits revived, by the sight of two beautifull girls, such as the
Miss Lesleys had been represented to me, at Edinburgh. But here again,
I met with nothing but Disappointment and Surprise. Matilda and
Margaret Lesley are two great, tall, out of the way, over-grown, girls,
just of a proper size to inhabit a Castle almost as large in comparison
as themselves. I wish my dear Charlotte that you could but behold these
Scotch giants; I am sure they would frighten you out of your wits. They
will do very well as foils to myself, so I have invited them to
accompany me to London where I hope to be in the course of a fortnight.
Besides these two fair Damsels, I found a little humoured Brat here who
I beleive is some relation to them, they told me who she was, and gave
me a long rigmerole story of her father and a Miss _Somebody_ which I
have entirely forgot. I hate scandal and detest Children. I have been
plagued ever since I came here with tiresome visits from a parcel of
Scotch wretches, with terrible hard-names; they were so civil, gave me
so many invitations, and talked of coming again so soon, that I could
not help affronting them. I suppose I shall not see them any more, and
yet as a family party we are so stupid, that I do not know what to do
with myself. These girls have no Music, but Scotch airs, no Drawings
but Scotch Mountains, and no Books but Scotch Poems—and I hate
everything Scotch. In general I can spend half the Day at my toilett
with a great deal of pleasure, but why should I dress here, since there
is not a creature in the House whom I have any wish to please. I have
just had a conversation with my Brother in which he has greatly
offended me, and which as I have nothing more entertaining to send you
I will gave you the particulars of. You must know that I have for these
4 or 5 Days past strongly suspected William of entertaining a
partiality to my eldest Daughter. I own indeed that had _I_ been
inclined to fall in love with any woman, I should not have made choice
of Matilda Lesley for the object of my passion; for there is nothing I
hate so much as a tall Woman: but however there is no accounting for
some men’s taste and as William is himself nearly six feet high, it is
not wonderful that he should be partial to that height. Now as I have a
very great affection for my Brother and should be extremely sorry to
see him unhappy, which I suppose he means to be if he cannot marry
Matilda, as moreover I know that his circumstances will not allow him
to marry any one without a fortune, and that Matilda’s is entirely
dependant on her Father, who will neither have his own inclination nor
my permission to give her anything at present, I thought it would be
doing a good-natured action by my Brother to let him know as much, in
order that he might choose for himself, whether to conquer his passion,
or Love and Despair. Accordingly finding myself this Morning alone with
him in one of the horrid old rooms of this Castle, I opened the cause
to him in the following Manner.

“Well my dear William what do you think of these girls? for my part, I
do not find them so plain as I expected: but perhaps you may think me
partial to the Daughters of my Husband and perhaps you are right—They
are indeed so very like Sir George that it is natural to think”—

“My Dear Susan (cried he in a tone of the greatest amazement) You do
not really think they bear the least resemblance to their Father! He is
so very plain!—but I beg your pardon—I had entirely forgotten to whom I
was speaking—”

“Oh! pray dont mind me; (replied I) every one knows Sir George is
horribly ugly, and I assure you I always thought him a fright.”

“You surprise me extremely (answered William) by what you say both with
respect to Sir George and his Daughters. You cannot think your Husband
so deficient in personal Charms as you speak of, nor can you surely see
any resemblance between him and the Miss Lesleys who are in my opinion
perfectly unlike him and perfectly Handsome.”

“If that is your opinion with regard to the girls it certainly is no
proof of their Fathers beauty, for if they are perfectly unlike him and
very handsome at the same time, it is natural to suppose that he is
very plain.”

“By no means, (said he) for what may be pretty in a Woman, may be very
unpleasing in a Man.”

“But you yourself (replied I) but a few minutes ago allowed him to be
very plain.”

“Men are no Judges of Beauty in their own Sex.” (said he).

“Neither Men nor Women can think Sir George tolerable.”

“Well, well, (said he) we will not dispute about _his_ Beauty, but your
opinion of his _Daughters_ is surely very singular, for if I understood
you right, you said you did not find them so plain as you expected to
do!”

“Why, do _you_ find them plainer then?” (said I).

“I can scarcely beleive you to be serious (returned he) when you speak
of their persons in so extroidinary a Manner. Do not you think the Miss
Lesleys are two very handsome young Women?”

“Lord! No! (cried I) I think them terribly plain!”

“Plain! (replied He) My dear Susan, you cannot really think so! Why
what single Feature in the face of either of them, can you possibly
find fault with?”

“Oh! trust me for that; (replied I). Come I will begin with the
eldest—with Matilda. Shall I, William?” (I looked as cunning as I could
when I said it, in order to shame him).

“They are so much alike (said he) that I should suppose the faults of
one, would be the faults of both.”

“Well, then, in the first place; they are both so horribly tall!”

“They are _taller_ than you are indeed.” (said he with a saucy smile.)

“Nay, (said I), I know nothing of that.”

“Well, but (he continued) tho’ they may be above the common size, their
figures are perfectly elegant; and as to their faces, their Eyes are
beautifull.”

“I never can think such tremendous, knock-me-down figures in the least
degree elegant, and as for their eyes, they are so tall that I never
could strain my neck enough to look at them.”

“Nay, (replied he) I know not whether you may not be in the right in
not attempting it, for perhaps they might dazzle you with their
Lustre.”

“Oh! Certainly. (said I, with the greatest complacency, for I assure
you my dearest Charlotte I was not in the least offended tho’ by what
followed, one would suppose that William was conscious of having given
me just cause to be so, for coming up to me and taking my hand, he
said) “You must not look so grave Susan; you will make me fear I have
offended you!”

“Offended me! Dear Brother, how came such a thought in your head!
(returned I) No really! I assure you that I am not in the least
surprised at your being so warm an advocate for the Beauty of these
girls.”—

“Well, but (interrupted William) remember that we have not yet
concluded our dispute concerning them. What fault do you find with
their complexion?”

“They are so horridly pale.”

“They have always a little colour, and after any exercise it is
considerably heightened.”

“Yes, but if there should ever happen to be any rain in this part of
the world, they will never be able raise more than their common
stock—except indeed they amuse themselves with running up and Down
these horrid old galleries and Antichambers.”

“Well, (replied my Brother in a tone of vexation, and glancing an
impertinent look at me) if they _have_ but little colour, at least, it
is all their own.”

This was too much my dear Charlotte, for I am certain that he had the
impudence by that look, of pretending to suspect the reality of mine.
But you I am sure will vindicate my character whenever you may hear it
so cruelly aspersed, for you can witness how often I have protested
against wearing Rouge, and how much I always told you I disliked it.
And I assure you that my opinions are still the same.—. Well, not
bearing to be so suspected by my Brother, I left the room immediately,
and have been ever since in my own Dressing-room writing to you. What a
long letter have I made of it! But you must not expect to receive such
from me when I get to Town; for it is only at Lesley castle, that one
has time to write even to a Charlotte Lutterell.—. I was so much vexed
by William’s glance, that I could not summon Patience enough, to stay
and give him that advice respecting his attachment to Matilda which had
first induced me from pure Love to him to begin the conversation; and I
am now so thoroughly convinced by it, of his violent passion for her,
that I am certain he would never hear reason on the subject, and I
shall there fore give myself no more trouble either about him or his
favourite. Adeiu my dear girl—

Yrs affectionately Susan L.




LETTER the SEVENTH
From Miss C. LUTTERELL to Miss M. LESLEY


Bristol the 27th of March

I have received Letters from you and your Mother-in-law within this
week which have greatly entertained me, as I find by them that you are
both downright jealous of each others Beauty. It is very odd that two
pretty Women tho’ actually Mother and Daughter cannot be in the same
House without falling out about their faces. Do be convinced that you
are both perfectly handsome and say no more of the Matter. I suppose
this letter must be directed to Portman Square where probably (great as
is your affection for Lesley Castle) you will not be sorry to find
yourself. In spite of all that people may say about Green fields and
the Country I was always of opinion that London and its amusements must
be very agreable for a while, and should be very happy could my
Mother’s income allow her to jockey us into its Public-places, during
Winter. I always longed particularly to go to Vaux-hall, to see whether
the cold Beef there is cut so thin as it is reported, for I have a sly
suspicion that few people understand the art of cutting a slice of cold
Beef so well as I do: nay it would be hard if I did not know something
of the Matter, for it was a part of my Education that I took by far the
most pains with. Mama always found me _her_ best scholar, tho’ when
Papa was alive Eloisa was _his_. Never to be sure were there two more
different Dispositions in the World. We both loved Reading. _She_
preferred Histories, and I Receipts. She loved drawing, Pictures, and I
drawing Pullets. No one could sing a better song than she, and no one
make a better Pye than I.—And so it has always continued since we have
been no longer children. The only difference is that all disputes on
the superior excellence of our Employments _then_ so frequent are now
no more. We have for many years entered into an agreement always to
admire each other’s works; I never fail listening to _her_ Music, and
she is as constant in eating my pies. Such at least was the case till
Henry Hervey made his appearance in Sussex. Before the arrival of his
Aunt in our neighbourhood where she established herself you know about
a twelvemonth ago, his visits to her had been at stated times, and of
equal and settled Duration; but on her removal to the Hall which is
within a walk from our House, they became both more frequent and
longer. This as you may suppose could not be pleasing to Mrs Diana who
is a professed enemy to everything which is not directed by Decorum and
Formality, or which bears the least resemblance to Ease and
Good-breeding. Nay so great was her aversion to her Nephews behaviour
that I have often heard her give such hints of it before his face that
had not Henry at such times been engaged in conversation with Eloisa,
they must have caught his Attention and have very much distressed him.
The alteration in my Sisters behaviour which I have before hinted at,
now took place. The Agreement we had entered into of admiring each
others productions she no longer seemed to regard, and tho’ I
constantly applauded even every Country-dance, she played, yet not even
a pidgeon-pye of my making could obtain from her a single word of
approbation. This was certainly enough to put any one in a Passion;
however, I was as cool as a cream-cheese and having formed my plan and
concerted a scheme of Revenge, I was determined to let her have her own
way and not even to make her a single reproach. My scheme was to treat
her as she treated me, and tho’ she might even draw my own Picture or
play Malbrook (which is the only tune I ever really liked) not to say
so much as “Thank you Eloisa;” tho’ I had for many years constantly
hollowed whenever she played, _Bravo_, _Bravissimo_, _her_, _Da capo_,
_allegretto con expressione_, and _Poco presto_ with many other such
outlandish words, all of them as Eloisa told me expressive of my
Admiration; and so indeed I suppose they are, as I see some of them in
every Page of every Music book, being the sentiments I imagine of the
composer.

I executed my Plan with great Punctuality. I can not say success, for
alas! my silence while she played seemed not in the least to displease
her; on the contrary she actually said to me one day “Well Charlotte, I
am very glad to find that you have at last left off that ridiculous
custom of applauding my Execution on the Harpsichord till you made _my_
head ake, and yourself hoarse. I feel very much obliged to you for
keeping your admiration to yourself.” I never shall forget the very
witty answer I made to this speech. “Eloisa (said I) I beg you would be
quite at your Ease with respect to all such fears in future, for be
assured that I shall always keep my admiration to myself and my own
pursuits and never extend it to yours.” This was the only very severe
thing I ever said in my Life; not but that I have often felt myself
extremely satirical but it was the only time I ever made my feelings
public.

I suppose there never were two Young people who had a greater affection
for each other than Henry and Eloisa; no, the Love of your Brother for
Miss Burton could not be so strong tho’ it might be more violent. You
may imagine therefore how provoked my Sister must have been to have him
play her such a trick. Poor girl! she still laments his Death with
undiminished constancy, notwithstanding he has been dead more than six
weeks; but some People mind such things more than others. The ill state
of Health into which his loss has thrown her makes her so weak, and so
unable to support the least exertion, that she has been in tears all
this Morning merely from having taken leave of Mrs. Marlowe who with
her Husband, Brother and Child are to leave Bristol this morning. I am
sorry to have them go because they are the only family with whom we
have here any acquaintance, but I never thought of crying; to be sure
Eloisa and Mrs Marlowe have always been more together than with me, and
have therefore contracted a kind of affection for each other, which
does not make Tears so inexcusable in them as they would be in me. The
Marlowes are going to Town; Cliveland accompanies them; as neither
Eloisa nor I could catch him I hope you or Matilda may have better
Luck. I know not when we shall leave Bristol, Eloisa’s spirits are so
low that she is very averse to moving, and yet is certainly by no means
mended by her residence here. A week or two will I hope determine our
Measures—in the mean time believe me

and etc—and etc—Charlotte Lutterell.




LETTER the EIGHTH
Miss LUTTERELL to Mrs MARLOWE


Bristol April 4th

I feel myself greatly obliged to you my dear Emma for such a mark of
your affection as I flatter myself was conveyed in the proposal you
made me of our Corresponding; I assure you that it will be a great
releif to me to write to you and as long as my Health and Spirits will
allow me, you will find me a very constant correspondent; I will not
say an entertaining one, for you know my situation suffciently not to
be ignorant that in me Mirth would be improper and I know my own Heart
too well not to be sensible that it would be unnatural. You must not
expect news for we see no one with whom we are in the least acquainted,
or in whose proceedings we have any Interest. You must not expect
scandal for by the same rule we are equally debarred either from
hearing or inventing it.—You must expect from me nothing but the
melancholy effusions of a broken Heart which is ever reverting to the
Happiness it once enjoyed and which ill supports its present
wretchedness. The Possibility of being able to write, to speak, to you
of my lost Henry will be a luxury to me, and your goodness will not I
know refuse to read what it will so much releive my Heart to write. I
once thought that to have what is in general called a Freind (I mean
one of my own sex to whom I might speak with less reserve than to any
other person) independant of my sister would never be an object of my
wishes, but how much was I mistaken! Charlotte is too much engrossed by
two confidential correspondents of that sort, to supply the place of
one to me, and I hope you will not think me girlishly romantic, when I
say that to have some kind and compassionate Freind who might listen to
my sorrows without endeavouring to console me was what I had for some
time wished for, when our acquaintance with you, the intimacy which
followed it and the particular affectionate attention you paid me
almost from the first, caused me to entertain the flattering Idea of
those attentions being improved on a closer acquaintance into a
Freindship which, if you were what my wishes formed you would be the
greatest Happiness I could be capable of enjoying. To find that such
Hopes are realised is a satisfaction indeed, a satisfaction which is
now almost the only one I can ever experience.—I feel myself so languid
that I am sure were you with me you would oblige me to leave off
writing, and I cannot give you a greater proof of my affection for you
than by acting, as I know you would wish me to do, whether Absent or
Present. I am my dear Emmas sincere freind

E. L.




LETTER the NINTH
Mrs MARLOWE to Miss LUTTERELL


Grosvenor Street, April 10th

Need I say my dear Eloisa how wellcome your letter was to me I cannot
give a greater proof of the pleasure I received from it, or of the
Desire I feel that our Correspondence may be regular and frequent than
by setting you so good an example as I now do in answering it before
the end of the week—. But do not imagine that I claim any merit in
being so punctual; on the contrary I assure you, that it is a far
greater Gratification to me to write to you, than to spend the Evening
either at a Concert or a Ball. Mr Marlowe is so desirous of my
appearing at some of the Public places every evening that I do not like
to refuse him, but at the same time so much wish to remain at Home,
that independant of the Pleasure I experience in devoting any portion
of my Time to my Dear Eloisa, yet the Liberty I claim from having a
letter to write of spending an Evening at home with my little Boy, you
know me well enough to be sensible, will of itself be a sufficient
Inducement (if one is necessary) to my maintaining with Pleasure a
Correspondence with you. As to the subject of your letters to me,
whether grave or merry, if they concern you they must be equally
interesting to me; not but that I think the melancholy Indulgence of
your own sorrows by repeating them and dwelling on them to me, will
only encourage and increase them, and that it will be more prudent in
you to avoid so sad a subject; but yet knowing as I do what a soothing
and melancholy Pleasure it must afford you, I cannot prevail on myself
to deny you so great an Indulgence, and will only insist on your not
expecting me to encourage you in it, by my own letters; on the contrary
I intend to fill them with such lively Wit and enlivening Humour as
shall even provoke a smile in the sweet but sorrowfull countenance of
my Eloisa.

In the first place you are to learn that I have met your sisters three
freinds Lady Lesley and her Daughters, twice in Public since I have
been here. I know you will be impatient to hear my opinion of the
Beauty of three Ladies of whom you have heard so much. Now, as you are
too ill and too unhappy to be vain, I think I may venture to inform you
that I like none of their faces so well as I do your own. Yet they are
all handsome—Lady Lesley indeed I have seen before; her Daughters I
beleive would in general be said to have a finer face than her
Ladyship, and yet what with the charms of a Blooming complexion, a
little Affectation and a great deal of small-talk, (in each of which
she is superior to the young Ladies) she will I dare say gain herself
as many admirers as the more regular features of Matilda, and Margaret.
I am sure you will agree with me in saying that they can none of them
be of a proper size for real Beauty, when you know that two of them are
taller and the other shorter than ourselves. In spite of this Defect
(or rather by reason of it) there is something very noble and majestic
in the figures of the Miss Lesleys, and something agreably lively in
the appearance of their pretty little Mother-in-law. But tho’ one may
be majestic and the other lively, yet the faces of neither possess that
Bewitching sweetness of my Eloisas, which her present languor is so far
from diminushing. What would my Husband and Brother say of us, if they
knew all the fine things I have been saying to you in this letter. It
is very hard that a pretty woman is never to be told she is so by any
one of her own sex without that person’s being suspected to be either
her determined Enemy, or her professed Toad-eater. How much more
amiable are women in that particular! One man may say forty civil
things to another without our supposing that he is ever paid for it,
and provided he does his Duty by our sex, we care not how Polite he is
to his own.

Mrs Lutterell will be so good as to accept my compliments, Charlotte,
my Love, and Eloisa the best wishes for the recovery of her Health and
Spirits that can be offered by her affectionate Freind

E. Marlowe.


I am afraid this letter will be but a poor specimen of my Powers in the
witty way; and your opinion of them will not be greatly increased when
I assure you that I have been as entertaining as I possibly could.




LETTER the TENTH
From Miss MARGARET LESLEY to Miss CHARLOTTE LUTTERELL


Portman Square April 13th

MY DEAR CHARLOTTE

We left Lesley-Castle on the 28th of last Month, and arrived safely in
London after a Journey of seven Days; I had the pleasure of finding
your Letter here waiting my Arrival, for which you have my grateful
Thanks. Ah! my dear Freind I every day more regret the serene and
tranquil Pleasures of the Castle we have left, in exchange for the
uncertain and unequal Amusements of this vaunted City. Not that I will
pretend to assert that these uncertain and unequal Amusements are in
the least Degree unpleasing to me; on the contrary I enjoy them
extremely and should enjoy them even more, were I not certain that
every appearance I make in Public but rivetts the Chains of those
unhappy Beings whose Passion it is impossible not to pity, tho’ it is
out of my power to return. In short my Dear Charlotte it is my
sensibility for the sufferings of so many amiable young Men, my Dislike
of the extreme admiration I meet with, and my aversion to being so
celebrated both in Public, in Private, in Papers, and in Printshops,
that are the reasons why I cannot more fully enjoy, the Amusements so
various and pleasing of London. How often have I wished that I
possessed as little Personal Beauty as you do; that my figure were as
inelegant; my face as unlovely; and my appearance as unpleasing as
yours! But ah! what little chance is there of so desirable an Event; I
have had the small-pox, and must therefore submit to my unhappy fate.

I am now going to intrust you my dear Charlotte with a secret which has
long disturbed the tranquility of my days, and which is of a kind to
require the most inviolable Secrecy from you. Last Monday se’night
Matilda and I accompanied Lady Lesley to a Rout at the Honourable Mrs
Kickabout’s; we were escorted by Mr Fitzgerald who is a very amiable
young Man in the main, tho’ perhaps a little singular in his Taste—He
is in love with Matilda—. We had scarcely paid our Compliments to the
Lady of the House and curtseyed to half a score different people when
my Attention was attracted by the appearance of a Young Man the most
lovely of his Sex, who at that moment entered the Room with another
Gentleman and Lady. From the first moment I beheld him, I was certain
that on him depended the future Happiness of my Life. Imagine my
surprise when he was introduced to me by the name of Cleveland—I
instantly recognised him as the Brother of Mrs Marlowe, and the
acquaintance of my Charlotte at Bristol. Mr and Mrs M. were the
gentleman and Lady who accompanied him. (You do not think Mrs Marlowe
handsome?) The elegant address of Mr Cleveland, his polished Manners
and Delightful Bow, at once confirmed my attachment. He did not speak;
but I can imagine everything he would have said, had he opened his
Mouth. I can picture to myself the cultivated Understanding, the Noble
sentiments, and elegant Language which would have shone so conspicuous
in the conversation of Mr Cleveland. The approach of Sir James Gower
(one of my too numerous admirers) prevented the Discovery of any such
Powers, by putting an end to a Conversation we had never commenced, and
by attracting my attention to himself. But oh! how inferior are the
accomplishments of Sir James to those of his so greatly envied Rival!
Sir James is one of the most frequent of our Visitors, and is almost
always of our Parties. We have since often met Mr and Mrs Marlowe but
no Cleveland—he is always engaged some where else. Mrs Marlowe fatigues
me to Death every time I see her by her tiresome Conversations about
you and Eloisa. She is so stupid! I live in the hope of seeing her
irrisistable Brother to night, as we are going to Lady Flambeaus, who
is I know intimate with the Marlowes. Our party will be Lady Lesley,
Matilda, Fitzgerald, Sir James Gower, and myself. We see little of Sir
George, who is almost always at the gaming-table. Ah! my poor Fortune
where art thou by this time? We see more of Lady L. who always makes
her appearance (highly rouged) at Dinner-time. Alas! what Delightful
Jewels will she be decked in this evening at Lady Flambeau’s! Yet I
wonder how she can herself delight in wearing them; surely she must be
sensible of the ridiculous impropriety of loading her little diminutive
figure with such superfluous ornaments; is it possible that she can not
know how greatly superior an elegant simplicity is to the most studied
apparel? Would she but Present them to Matilda and me, how greatly
should we be obliged to her, How becoming would Diamonds be on our fine
majestic figures! And how surprising it is that such an Idea should
never have occurred to _her_. I am sure if I have reflected in this
manner once, I have fifty times. Whenever I see Lady Lesley dressed in
them such reflections immediately come across me. My own Mother’s
Jewels too! But I will say no more on so melancholy a subject—let me
entertain you with something more pleasing—Matilda had a letter this
morning from Lesley, by which we have the pleasure of finding that he
is at Naples has turned Roman-Catholic, obtained one of the Pope’s
Bulls for annulling his 1st Marriage and has since actually married a
Neapolitan Lady of great Rank and Fortune. He tells us moreover that
much the same sort of affair has befallen his first wife the worthless
Louisa who is likewise at Naples had turned Roman-catholic, and is soon
to be married to a Neapolitan Nobleman of great and Distinguished
merit. He says, that they are at present very good Freinds, have quite
forgiven all past errors and intend in future to be very good
Neighbours. He invites Matilda and me to pay him a visit to Italy and
to bring him his little Louisa whom both her Mother, Step-mother, and
himself are equally desirous of beholding. As to our accepting his
invitation, it is at Present very uncertain; Lady Lesley advises us to
go without loss of time; Fitzgerald offers to escort us there, but
Matilda has some doubts of the Propriety of such a scheme—she owns it
would be very agreable. I am certain she likes the Fellow. My Father
desires us not to be in a hurry, as perhaps if we wait a few months
both he and Lady Lesley will do themselves the pleasure of attending
us. Lady Lesley says no, that nothing will ever tempt her to forego the
Amusements of Brighthelmstone for a Journey to Italy merely to see our
Brother. “No (says the disagreable Woman) I have once in my life been
fool enough to travel I dont know how many hundred Miles to see two of
the Family, and I found it did not answer, so Deuce take me, if ever I
am so foolish again.” So says her Ladyship, but Sir George still
Perseveres in saying that perhaps in a month or two, they may accompany
us.

Adeiu my Dear Charlotte
Yrs faithful Margaret Lesley.




THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND

FROM
THE REIGN OF HENRY THE 4TH
TO
THE DEATH OF CHARLES THE 1ST

BY A PARTIAL, PREJUDICED, AND IGNORANT HISTORIAN.




To Miss Austen, eldest daughter of the Rev. George Austen, this work is
inscribed with all due respect by

THE AUTHOR.


N.B. There will be very few Dates in this History.




THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND


HENRY the 4th


Henry the 4th ascended the throne of England much to his own
satisfaction in the year 1399, after having prevailed on his cousin and
predecessor Richard the 2nd, to resign it to him, and to retire for the
rest of his life to Pomfret Castle, where he happened to be murdered.
It is to be supposed that Henry was married, since he had certainly
four sons, but it is not in my power to inform the Reader who was his
wife. Be this as it may, he did not live for ever, but falling ill, his
son the Prince of Wales came and took away the crown; whereupon the
King made a long speech, for which I must refer the Reader to
Shakespear’s Plays, and the Prince made a still longer. Things being
thus settled between them the King died, and was succeeded by his son
Henry who had previously beat Sir William Gascoigne.

HENRY the 5th


This Prince after he succeeded to the throne grew quite reformed and
amiable, forsaking all his dissipated companions, and never thrashing
Sir William again. During his reign, Lord Cobham was burnt alive, but I
forget what for. His Majesty then turned his thoughts to France, where
he went and fought the famous Battle of Agincourt. He afterwards
married the King’s daughter Catherine, a very agreable woman by
Shakespear’s account. In spite of all this however he died, and was
succeeded by his son Henry.

HENRY the 6th


I cannot say much for this Monarch’s sense. Nor would I if I could, for
he was a Lancastrian. I suppose you know all about the Wars between him
and the Duke of York who was of the right side; if you do not, you had
better read some other History, for I shall not be very diffuse in
this, meaning by it only to vent my spleen _against_, and shew my
Hatred _to_ all those people whose parties or principles do not suit
with mine, and not to give information. This King married Margaret of
Anjou, a Woman whose distresses and misfortunes were so great as almost
to make me who hate her, pity her. It was in this reign that Joan of
Arc lived and made such a _row_ among the English. They should not have
burnt her—but they did. There were several Battles between the Yorkists
and Lancastrians, in which the former (as they ought) usually
conquered. At length they were entirely overcome; The King was
murdered—The Queen was sent home—and Edward the 4th ascended the
Throne.

EDWARD the 4th


This Monarch was famous only for his Beauty and his Courage, of which
the Picture we have here given of him, and his undaunted Behaviour in
marrying one Woman while he was engaged to another, are sufficient
proofs. His Wife was Elizabeth Woodville, a Widow who, poor Woman! was
afterwards confined in a Convent by that Monster of Iniquity and
Avarice Henry the 7th. One of Edward’s Mistresses was Jane Shore, who
has had a play written about her, but it is a tragedy and therefore not
worth reading. Having performed all these noble actions, his Majesty
died, and was succeeded by his son.

EDWARD the 5th


This unfortunate Prince lived so little a while that nobody had him to
draw his picture. He was murdered by his Uncle’s Contrivance, whose
name was Richard the 3rd.

RICHARD the 3rd


The Character of this Prince has been in general very severely treated
by Historians, but as he was a _York_, I am rather inclined to suppose
him a very respectable Man. It has indeed been confidently asserted
that he killed his two Nephews and his Wife, but it has also been
declared that he did _not_ kill his two Nephews, which I am inclined to
beleive true; and if this is the case, it may also be affirmed that he
did not kill his Wife, for if Perkin Warbeck was really the Duke of
York, why might not Lambert Simnel be the Widow of Richard. Whether
innocent or guilty, he did not reign long in peace, for Henry Tudor E.
of Richmond as great a villain as ever lived, made a great fuss about
getting the Crown and having killed the King at the battle of Bosworth,
he succeeded to it.

HENRY the 7th


This Monarch soon after his accession married the Princess Elizabeth of
York, by which alliance he plainly proved that he thought his own right
inferior to hers, tho’ he pretended to the contrary. By this Marriage
he had two sons and two daughters, the elder of which Daughters was
married to the King of Scotland and had the happiness of being
grandmother to one of the first Characters in the World. But of _her_,
I shall have occasion to speak more at large in future. The youngest,
Mary, married first the King of France and secondly the D. of Suffolk,
by whom she had one daughter, afterwards the Mother of Lady Jane Grey,
who tho’ inferior to her lovely Cousin the Queen of Scots, was yet an
amiable young woman and famous for reading Greek while other people
were hunting. It was in the reign of Henry the 7th that Perkin Warbeck
and Lambert Simnel before mentioned made their appearance, the former
of whom was set in the stocks, took shelter in Beaulieu Abbey, and was
beheaded with the Earl of Warwick, and the latter was taken into the
Kings kitchen. His Majesty died and was succeeded by his son Henry
whose only merit was his not being _quite_ so bad as his daughter
Elizabeth.

HENRY the 8th


It would be an affront to my Readers were I to suppose that they were
not as well acquainted with the particulars of this King’s reign as I
am myself. It will therefore be saving _them_ the task of reading again
what they have read before, and _myself_ the trouble of writing what I
do not perfectly recollect, by giving only a slight sketch of the
principal Events which marked his reign. Among these may be ranked
Cardinal Wolsey’s telling the father Abbott of Leicester Abbey that “he
was come to lay his bones among them,” the reformation in Religion and
the King’s riding through the streets of London with Anna Bullen. It is
however but Justice, and my Duty to declare that this amiable Woman was
entirely innocent of the Crimes with which she was accused, and of
which her Beauty, her Elegance, and her Sprightliness were sufficient
proofs, not to mention her solemn Protestations of Innocence, the
weakness of the Charges against her, and the King’s Character; all of
which add some confirmation, tho’ perhaps but slight ones when in
comparison with those before alledged in her favour. Tho’ I do not
profess giving many dates, yet as I think it proper to give some and
shall of course make choice of those which it is most necessary for the
Reader to know, I think it right to inform him that her letter to the
King was dated on the 6th of May. The Crimes and Cruelties of this
Prince, were too numerous to be mentioned, (as this history I trust has
fully shown;) and nothing can be said in his vindication, but that his
abolishing Religious Houses and leaving them to the ruinous
depredations of time has been of infinite use to the landscape of
England in general, which probably was a principal motive for his doing
it, since otherwise why should a Man who was of no Religion himself be
at so much trouble to abolish one which had for ages been established
in the Kingdom. His Majesty’s 5th Wife was the Duke of Norfolk’s Neice
who, tho’ universally acquitted of the crimes for which she was
beheaded, has been by many people supposed to have led an abandoned
life before her Marriage—of this however I have many doubts, since she
was a relation of that noble Duke of Norfolk who was so warm in the
Queen of Scotland’s cause, and who at last fell a victim to it. The
Kings last wife contrived to survive him, but with difficulty effected
it. He was succeeded by his only son Edward.

EDWARD the 6th


As this prince was only nine years old at the time of his Father’s
death, he was considered by many people as too young to govern, and the
late King happening to be of the same opinion, his mother’s Brother the
Duke of Somerset was chosen Protector of the realm during his minority.
This Man was on the whole of a very amiable Character, and is somewhat
of a favourite with me, tho’ I would by no means pretend to affirm that
he was equal to those first of Men Robert Earl of Essex, Delamere, or
Gilpin. He was beheaded, of which he might with reason have been proud,
had he known that such was the death of Mary Queen of Scotland; but as
it was impossible that he should be conscious of what had never
happened, it does not appear that he felt particularly delighted with
the manner of it. After his decease the Duke of Northumberland had the
care of the King and the Kingdom, and performed his trust of both so
well that the King died and the Kingdom was left to his daughter in law
the Lady Jane Grey, who has been already mentioned as reading Greek.
Whether she really understood that language or whether such a study
proceeded only from an excess of vanity for which I beleive she was
always rather remarkable, is uncertain. Whatever might be the cause,
she preserved the same appearance of knowledge, and contempt of what
was generally esteemed pleasure, during the whole of her life, for she
declared herself displeased with being appointed Queen, and while
conducting to the scaffold, she wrote a sentence in Latin and another
in Greek on seeing the dead Body of her Husband accidentally passing
that way.

MARY


This woman had the good luck of being advanced to the throne of
England, in spite of the superior pretensions, Merit, and Beauty of her
Cousins Mary Queen of Scotland and Jane Grey. Nor can I pity the
Kingdom for the misfortunes they experienced during her Reign, since
they fully deserved them, for having allowed her to succeed her
Brother—which was a double peice of folly, since they might have
foreseen that as she died without children, she would be succeeded by
that disgrace to humanity, that pest of society, Elizabeth. Many were
the people who fell martyrs to the protestant Religion during her
reign; I suppose not fewer than a dozen. She married Philip King of
Spain who in her sister’s reign was famous for building Armadas. She
died without issue, and then the dreadful moment came in which the
destroyer of all comfort, the deceitful Betrayer of trust reposed in
her, and the Murderess of her Cousin succeeded to the Throne.——

ELIZABETH


It was the peculiar misfortune of this Woman to have bad
Ministers—Since wicked as she herself was, she could not have committed
such extensive mischeif, had not these vile and abandoned Men connived
at, and encouraged her in her Crimes. I know that it has by many people
been asserted and beleived that Lord Burleigh, Sir Francis Walsingham,
and the rest of those who filled the cheif offices of State were
deserving, experienced, and able Ministers. But oh! how blinded such
writers and such Readers must be to true Merit, to Merit despised,
neglected and defamed, if they can persist in such opinions when they
reflect that these men, these boasted men were such scandals to their
Country and their sex as to allow and assist their Queen in confining
for the space of nineteen years, a _Woman_ who if the claims of
Relationship and Merit were of no avail, yet as a Queen and as one who
condescended to place confidence in her, had every reason to expect
assistance and protection; and at length in allowing Elizabeth to bring
this amiable Woman to an untimely, unmerited, and scandalous Death. Can
any one if he reflects but for a moment on this blot, this everlasting
blot upon their understanding and their Character, allow any praise to
Lord Burleigh or Sir Francis Walsingham? Oh! what must this bewitching
Princess whose only freind was then the Duke of Norfolk, and whose only
ones now Mr Whitaker, Mrs Lefroy, Mrs Knight and myself, who was
abandoned by her son, confined by her Cousin, abused, reproached and
vilified by all, what must not her most noble mind have suffered when
informed that Elizabeth had given orders for her Death! Yet she bore it
with a most unshaken fortitude, firm in her mind; constant in her
Religion; and prepared herself to meet the cruel fate to which she was
doomed, with a magnanimity that would alone proceed from conscious
Innocence. And yet could you Reader have beleived it possible that some
hardened and zealous Protestants have even abused her for that
steadfastness in the Catholic Religion which reflected on her so much
credit? But this is a striking proof of _their_ narrow souls and
prejudiced Judgements who accuse her. She was executed in the Great
Hall at Fortheringay Castle (sacred Place!) on Wednesday the 8th of
February 1586—to the everlasting Reproach of Elizabeth, her Ministers,
and of England in general. It may not be unnecessary before I entirely
conclude my account of this ill-fated Queen, to observe that she had
been accused of several crimes during the time of her reigning in
Scotland, of which I now most seriously do assure my Reader that she
was entirely innocent; having never been guilty of anything more than
Imprudencies into which she was betrayed by the openness of her Heart,
her Youth, and her Education. Having I trust by this assurance entirely
done away every Suspicion and every doubt which might have arisen in
the Reader’s mind, from what other Historians have written of her, I
shall proceed to mention the remaining Events that marked Elizabeth’s
reign. It was about this time that Sir Francis Drake the first English
Navigator who sailed round the World, lived, to be the ornament of his
Country and his profession. Yet great as he was, and justly celebrated
as a sailor, I cannot help foreseeing that he will be equalled in this
or the next Century by one who tho’ now but young, already promises to
answer all the ardent and sanguine expectations of his Relations and
Freinds, amongst whom I may class the amiable Lady to whom this work is
dedicated, and my no less amiable self.

Though of a different profession, and shining in a different sphere of
Life, yet equally conspicuous in the Character of an _Earl_, as Drake
was in that of a _Sailor_, was Robert Devereux Lord Essex. This
unfortunate young Man was not unlike in character to that equally
unfortunate one _Frederic Delamere_. The simile may be carried still
farther, and Elizabeth the torment of Essex may be compared to the
Emmeline of Delamere. It would be endless to recount the misfortunes of
this noble and gallant Earl. It is sufficient to say that he was
beheaded on the 25th of Feb, after having been Lord Lieutenant of
Ireland, after having clapped his hand on his sword, and after
performing many other services to his Country. Elizabeth did not long
survive his loss, and died so miserable that were it not an injury to
the memory of Mary I should pity her.

JAMES the 1st


Though this King had some faults, among which and as the most
principal, was his allowing his Mother’s death, yet considered on the
whole I cannot help liking him. He married Anne of Denmark, and had
several Children; fortunately for him his eldest son Prince Henry died
before his father or he might have experienced the evils which befell
his unfortunate Brother.

As I am myself partial to the roman catholic religion, it is with
infinite regret that I am obliged to blame the Behaviour of any Member
of it: yet Truth being I think very excusable in an Historian, I am
necessitated to say that in this reign the roman Catholics of England
did not behave like Gentlemen to the protestants. Their Behaviour
indeed to the Royal Family and both Houses of Parliament might justly
be considered by them as very uncivil, and even Sir Henry Percy tho’
certainly the best bred man of the party, had none of that general
politeness which is so universally pleasing, as his attentions were
entirely confined to Lord Mounteagle.

Sir Walter Raleigh flourished in this and the preceeding reign, and is
by many people held in great veneration and respect—But as he was an
enemy of the noble Essex, I have nothing to say in praise of him, and
must refer all those who may wish to be acquainted with the particulars
of his life, to Mr Sheridan’s play of the Critic, where they will find
many interesting anecdotes as well of him as of his friend Sir
Christopher Hatton.—His Majesty was of that amiable disposition which
inclines to Freindship, and in such points was possessed of a keener
penetration in discovering Merit than many other people. I once heard
an excellent Sharade on a Carpet, of which the subject I am now on
reminds me, and as I think it may afford my Readers some amusement to
_find it out_, I shall here take the liberty of presenting it to them.

SHARADE


My first is what my second was to King James the 1st, and you tread on
my whole.

The principal favourites of his Majesty were Car, who was afterwards
created Earl of Somerset and whose name perhaps may have some share in
the above mentioned Sharade, and George Villiers afterwards Duke of
Buckingham. On his Majesty’s death he was succeeded by his son Charles.

CHARLES the 1st


This amiable Monarch seems born to have suffered misfortunes equal to
those of his lovely Grandmother; misfortunes which he could not deserve
since he was her descendant. Never certainly were there before so many
detestable Characters at one time in England as in this Period of its
History; never were amiable men so scarce. The number of them
throughout the whole Kingdom amounting only to _five_, besides the
inhabitants of Oxford who were always loyal to their King and faithful
to his interests. The names of this noble five who never forgot the
duty of the subject, or swerved from their attachment to his Majesty,
were as follows—The King himself, ever stedfast in his own
support—Archbishop Laud, Earl of Strafford, Viscount Faulkland and Duke
of Ormond, who were scarcely less strenuous or zealous in the cause.
While the _villains_ of the time would make too long a list to be
written or read; I shall therefore content myself with mentioning the
leaders of the Gang. Cromwell, Fairfax, Hampden, and Pym may be
considered as the original Causers of all the disturbances, Distresses,
and Civil Wars in which England for many years was embroiled. In this
reign as well as in that of Elizabeth, I am obliged in spite of my
attachment to the Scotch, to consider them as equally guilty with the
generality of the English, since they dared to think differently from
their Sovereign, to forget the Adoration which as _Stuarts_ it was
their Duty to pay them, to rebel against, dethrone and imprison the
unfortunate Mary; to oppose, to deceive, and to sell the no less
unfortunate Charles. The Events of this Monarch’s reign are too
numerous for my pen, and indeed the recital of any Events (except what
I make myself) is uninteresting to me; my principal reason for
undertaking the History of England being to Prove the innocence of the
Queen of Scotland, which I flatter myself with having effectually done,
and to abuse Elizabeth, tho’ I am rather fearful of having fallen short
in the latter part of my scheme.—As therefore it is not my intention to
give any particular account of the distresses into which this King was
involved through the misconduct and Cruelty of his Parliament, I shall
satisfy myself with vindicating him from the Reproach of Arbitrary and
tyrannical Government with which he has often been charged. This, I
feel, is not difficult to be done, for with one argument I am certain
of satisfying every sensible and well disposed person whose opinions
have been properly guided by a good Education—and this Argument is that
he was a STUART.

FINIS


Saturday Nov: 26th 1791.




A COLLECTION OF LETTERS




To Miss COOPER


COUSIN

Conscious of the Charming Character which in every Country, and every
Clime in Christendom is Cried, Concerning you, with Caution and Care I
Commend to your Charitable Criticism this Clever Collection of Curious
Comments, which have been Carefully Culled, Collected and Classed by
your Comical Cousin

The Author




A COLLECTION OF LETTERS




LETTER the FIRST
From a MOTHER to her FREIND.


My Children begin now to claim all my attention in different Manner
from that in which they have been used to receive it, as they are now
arrived at that age when it is necessary for them in some measure to
become conversant with the World, My Augusta is 17 and her sister
scarcely a twelvemonth younger. I flatter myself that their education
has been such as will not disgrace their appearance in the World, and
that _they_ will not disgrace their Education I have every reason to
beleive. Indeed they are sweet Girls—. Sensible yet
unaffected—Accomplished yet Easy—. Lively yet Gentle—. As their
progress in every thing they have learnt has been always the same, I am
willing to forget the difference of age, and to introduce them together
into Public. This very Evening is fixed on as their first _entrée_ into
Life, as we are to drink tea with Mrs Cope and her Daughter. I am glad
that we are to meet no one, for my Girls sake, as it would be awkward
for them to enter too wide a Circle on the very first day. But we shall
proceed by degrees.—Tomorrow Mr Stanly’s family will drink tea with us,
and perhaps the Miss Phillips’s will meet them. On Tuesday we shall pay
Morning Visits—On Wednesday we are to dine at Westbrook. On Thursday we
have Company at home. On Friday we are to be at a Private Concert at
Sir John Wynna’s—and on Saturday we expect Miss Dawson to call in the
Morning—which will complete my Daughters Introduction into Life. How
they will bear so much dissipation I cannot imagine; of their spirits I
have no fear, I only dread their health.


This mighty affair is now happily over, and my Girls _are out_. As the
moment approached for our departure, you can have no idea how the sweet
Creatures trembled with fear and expectation. Before the Carriage drove
to the door, I called them into my dressing-room, and as soon as they
were seated thus addressed them. “My dear Girls the moment is now
arrived when I am to reap the rewards of all my Anxieties and Labours
towards you during your Education. You are this Evening to enter a
World in which you will meet with many wonderfull Things; Yet let me
warn you against suffering yourselves to be meanly swayed by the
Follies and Vices of others, for beleive me my beloved Children that if
you do—I shall be very sorry for it.” They both assured me that they
would ever remember my advice with Gratitude, and follow it with
attention; That they were prepared to find a World full of things to
amaze and to shock them: but that they trusted their behaviour would
never give me reason to repent the Watchful Care with which I had
presided over their infancy and formed their Minds—” “With such
expectations and such intentions (cried I) I can have nothing to fear
from you—and can chearfully conduct you to Mrs Cope’s without a fear of
your being seduced by her Example, or contaminated by her Follies.
Come, then my Children (added I) the Carriage is driving to the door,
and I will not a moment delay the happiness you are so impatient to
enjoy.” When we arrived at Warleigh, poor Augusta could scarcely
breathe, while Margaret was all Life and Rapture. “The long-expected
Moment is now arrived (said she) and we shall soon be in the World.”—In
a few Moments we were in Mrs Cope’s parlour, where with her daughter
she sate ready to receive us. I observed with delight the impression my
Children made on them—. They were indeed two sweet, elegant-looking
Girls, and tho’ somewhat abashed from the peculiarity of their
situation, yet there was an ease in their Manners and address which
could not fail of pleasing—. Imagine my dear Madam how delighted I must
have been in beholding as I did, how attentively they observed every
object they saw, how disgusted with some Things, how enchanted with
others, how astonished at all! On the whole however they returned in
raptures with the World, its Inhabitants, and Manners.

Yrs Ever—A. F.




LETTER the SECOND
From a YOUNG LADY crossed in Love to her freind


Why should this last disappointment hang so heavily on my spirits? Why
should I feel it more, why should it wound me deeper than those I have
experienced before? Can it be that I have a greater affection for
Willoughby than I had for his amiable predecessors? Or is it that our
feelings become more acute from being often wounded? I must suppose my
dear Belle that this is the Case, since I am not conscious of being
more sincerely attached to Willoughby than I was to Neville, Fitzowen,
or either of the Crawfords, for all of whom I once felt the most
lasting affection that ever warmed a Woman’s heart. Tell me then dear
Belle why I still sigh when I think of the faithless Edward, or why I
weep when I behold his Bride, for too surely this is the case—. My
Freinds are all alarmed for me; They fear my declining health; they
lament my want of spirits; they dread the effects of both. In hopes of
releiving my melancholy, by directing my thoughts to other objects,
they have invited several of their freinds to spend the Christmas with
us. Lady Bridget Darkwood and her sister-in-law, Miss Jane are expected
on Friday; and Colonel Seaton’s family will be with us next week. This
is all most kindly meant by my Uncle and Cousins; but what can the
presence of a dozen indefferent people do to me, but weary and distress
me—. I will not finish my Letter till some of our Visitors are arrived.


Friday Evening Lady Bridget came this morning, and with her, her sweet
sister Miss Jane—. Although I have been acquainted with this charming
Woman above fifteen Years, yet I never before observed how lovely she
is. She is now about 35, and in spite of sickness, sorrow and Time is
more blooming than I ever saw a Girl of 17. I was delighted with her,
the moment she entered the house, and she appeared equally pleased with
me, attaching herself to me during the remainder of the day. There is
something so sweet, so mild in her Countenance, that she seems more
than Mortal. Her Conversation is as bewitching as her appearance; I
could not help telling her how much she engaged my admiration—. “Oh!
Miss Jane (said I)—and stopped from an inability at the moment of
expressing myself as I could wish—Oh! Miss Jane—(I repeated)—I could
not think of words to suit my feelings—She seemed waiting for my
speech—. I was confused—distressed—my thoughts were bewildered—and I
could only add—“How do you do?” She saw and felt for my Embarrassment
and with admirable presence of mind releived me from it by saying—“My
dear Sophia be not uneasy at having exposed yourself—I will turn the
Conversation without appearing to notice it. “Oh! how I loved her for
her kindness!” Do you ride as much as you used to do?” said she—. “I am
advised to ride by my Physician. We have delightful Rides round us, I
have a Charming horse, am uncommonly fond of the Amusement, replied I
quite recovered from my Confusion, and in short I ride a great deal.”
“You are in the right my Love,” said she. Then repeating the following
line which was an extempore and equally adapted to recommend both
Riding and Candour—

“Ride where you may, Be Candid where you can,” she added,” _I_ rode
once, but it is many years ago—She spoke this in so low and tremulous a
Voice, that I was silent—. Struck with her Manner of speaking I could
make no reply. “I have not ridden, continued she fixing her Eyes on my
face, since I was married.” I was never so surprised—“Married, Ma’am!”
I repeated. “You may well wear that look of astonishment, said she,
since what I have said must appear improbable to you—Yet nothing is
more true than that I once was married.”

“Then why are you called Miss Jane?”

“I married, my Sophia without the consent or knowledge of my father the
late Admiral Annesley. It was therefore necessary to keep the secret
from him and from every one, till some fortunate opportunity might
offer of revealing it—. Such an opportunity alas! was but too soon
given in the death of my dear Capt. Dashwood—Pardon these tears,
continued Miss Jane wiping her Eyes, I owe them to my Husband’s memory.
He fell my Sophia, while fighting for his Country in America after a
most happy Union of seven years—. My Children, two sweet Boys and a
Girl, who had constantly resided with my Father and me, passing with
him and with every one as the Children of a Brother (tho’ I had ever
been an only Child) had as yet been the comforts of my Life. But no
sooner had I lossed my Henry, than these sweet Creatures fell sick and
died—. Conceive dear Sophia what my feelings must have been when as an
Aunt I attended my Children to their early Grave—. My Father did not
survive them many weeks—He died, poor Good old man, happily ignorant to
his last hour of my Marriage.”

“But did not you own it, and assume his name at your husband’s death?”

“No; I could not bring myself to do it; more especially when in my
Children I lost all inducement for doing it. Lady Bridget, and yourself
are the only persons who are in the knowledge of my having ever been
either Wife or Mother. As I could not Prevail on myself to take the
name of Dashwood (a name which after my Henry’s death I could never
hear without emotion) and as I was conscious of having no right to that
of Annesley, I dropt all thoughts of either, and have made it a point
of bearing only my Christian one since my Father’s death.” She
paused—“Oh! my dear Miss Jane (said I) how infinitely am I obliged to
you for so entertaining a story! You cannot think how it has diverted
me! But have you quite done?”

“I have only to add my dear Sophia, that my Henry’s elder Brother
dieing about the same time, Lady Bridget became a Widow like myself,
and as we had always loved each other in idea from the high Character
in which we had ever been spoken of, though we had never met, we
determined to live together. We wrote to one another on the same
subject by the same post, so exactly did our feeling and our actions
coincide! We both eagerly embraced the proposals we gave and received
of becoming one family, and have from that time lived together in the
greatest affection.”

“And is this all? said I, I hope you have not done.”

“Indeed I have; and did you ever hear a story more pathetic?”

“I never did—and it is for that reason it pleases me so much, for when
one is unhappy nothing is so delightful to one’s sensations as to hear
of equal misery.”

“Ah! but my Sophia why _are you_ unhappy?”

“Have you not heard Madam of Willoughby’s Marriage?”

“But my love why lament _his_ perfidy, when you bore so well that of
many young Men before?”

“Ah! Madam, I was used to it then, but when Willoughby broke his
Engagements I had not been dissapointed for half a year.”

“Poor Girl!” said Miss Jane.




LETTER the THIRD
From a YOUNG LADY in distressed Circumstances to her freind


A few days ago I was at a private Ball given by Mr Ashburnham. As my
Mother never goes out she entrusted me to the care of Lady Greville who
did me the honour of calling for me in her way and of allowing me to
sit forwards, which is a favour about which I am very indifferent
especially as I know it is considered as confering a great obligation
on me “So Miss Maria (said her Ladyship as she saw me advancing to the
door of the Carriage) you seem very smart to night—_My_ poor Girls will
appear quite to disadvantage by _you_—I only hope your Mother may not
have distressed herself to set _you_ off. Have you got a new Gown on?”

“Yes Ma’am.” replied I with as much indifference as I could assume.

“Aye, and a fine one too I think—(feeling it, as by her permission I
seated myself by her) I dare say it is all very smart—But I must own,
for you know I always speak my mind, that I think it was quite a
needless piece of expence—Why could not you have worn your old striped
one? It is not my way to find fault with People because they are poor,
for I always think that they are more to be despised and pitied than
blamed for it, especially if they cannot help it, but at the same time
I must say that in my opinion your old striped Gown would have been
quite fine enough for its Wearer—for to tell you the truth (I always
speak my mind) I am very much afraid that one half of the people in the
room will not know whether you have a Gown on or not—But I suppose you
intend to make your fortune to night—. Well, the sooner the better; and
I wish you success.”

“Indeed Ma’am I have no such intention—”

“Who ever heard a young Lady own that she was a Fortune-hunter?” Miss
Greville laughed but I am sure Ellen felt for me.

“Was your Mother gone to bed before you left her?” said her Ladyship.

“Dear Ma’am, said Ellen it is but nine o’clock.”

“True Ellen, but Candles cost money, and Mrs Williams is too wise to be
extravagant.”

“She was just sitting down to supper Ma’am.”

“And what had she got for supper?” “I did not observe.” “Bread and
Cheese I suppose.” “I should never wish for a better supper.” said
Ellen. “You have never any reason replied her Mother, as a better is
always provided for you.” Miss Greville laughed excessively, as she
constantly does at her Mother’s wit.

Such is the humiliating Situation in which I am forced to appear while
riding in her Ladyship’s Coach—I dare not be impertinent, as my Mother
is always admonishing me to be humble and patient if I wish to make my
way in the world. She insists on my accepting every invitation of Lady
Greville, or you may be certain that I would never enter either her
House, or her Coach with the disagreable certainty I always have of
being abused for my Poverty while I am in them.—When we arrived at
Ashburnham, it was nearly ten o’clock, which was an hour and a half
later than we were desired to be there; but Lady Greville is too
fashionable (or fancies herself to be so) to be punctual. The Dancing
however was not begun as they waited for Miss Greville. I had not been
long in the room before I was engaged to dance by Mr Bernard, but just
as we were going to stand up, he recollected that his Servant had got
his white Gloves, and immediately ran out to fetch them. In the mean
time the Dancing began and Lady Greville in passing to another room
went exactly before me—She saw me and instantly stopping, said to me
though there were several people close to us,

“Hey day, Miss Maria! What cannot you get a partner? Poor Young Lady! I
am afraid your new Gown was put on for nothing. But do not despair;
perhaps you may get a hop before the Evening is over.” So saying, she
passed on without hearing my repeated assurance of being engaged, and
leaving me very much provoked at being so exposed before every one—Mr
Bernard however soon returned and by coming to me the moment he entered
the room, and leading me to the Dancers my Character I hope was cleared
from the imputation Lady Greville had thrown on it, in the eyes of all
the old Ladies who had heard her speech. I soon forgot all my vexations
in the pleasure of dancing and of having the most agreable partner in
the room. As he is moreover heir to a very large Estate I could see
that Lady Greville did not look very well pleased when she found who
had been his Choice—She was determined to mortify me, and accordingly
when we were sitting down between the dances, she came to me with
_more_ than her usual insulting importance attended by Miss Mason and
said loud enough to be heard by half the people in the room, “Pray Miss
Maria in what way of business was your Grandfather? for Miss Mason and
I cannot agree whether he was a Grocer or a Bookbinder.” I saw that she
wanted to mortify me, and was resolved if I possibly could to Prevent
her seeing that her scheme succeeded. “Neither Madam; he was a Wine
Merchant.” “Aye, I knew he was in some such low way—He broke did not
he?” “I beleive not Ma’am.” “Did not he abscond?” “I never heard that
he did.” “At least he died insolvent?” “I was never told so before.”
“Why, was not your _Father_ as poor as a Rat” “I fancy not.” “Was not
he in the Kings Bench once?” “I never saw him there.” She gave me
_such_ a look, and turned away in a great passion; while I was half
delighted with myself for my impertinence, and half afraid of being
thought too saucy. As Lady Greville was extremely angry with me, she
took no further notice of me all the Evening, and indeed had I been in
favour I should have been equally neglected, as she was got into a
Party of great folks and she never speaks to me when she can to anyone
else. Miss Greville was with her Mother’s party at supper, but Ellen
preferred staying with the Bernards and me. We had a very pleasant
Dance and as Lady G—slept all the way home, I had a very comfortable
ride.

The next day while we were at dinner Lady Greville’s Coach stopped at
the door, for that is the time of day she generally contrives it
should. She sent in a message by the servant to say that “she should
not get out but that Miss Maria must come to the Coach-door, as she
wanted to speak to her, and that she must make haste and come
immediately—” “What an impertinent Message Mama!” said I—“Go Maria—”
replied she—Accordingly I went and was obliged to stand there at her
Ladyships pleasure though the Wind was extremely high and very cold.

“Why I think Miss Maria you are not quite so smart as you were last
night—But I did not come to examine your dress, but to tell you that
you may dine with us the day after tomorrow—Not tomorrow, remember, do
not come tomorrow, for we expect Lord and Lady Clermont and Sir Thomas
Stanley’s family—There will be no occasion for your being very fine for
I shant send the Carriage—If it rains you may take an umbrella—” I
could hardly help laughing at hearing her give me leave to keep myself
dry—“And pray remember to be in time, for I shant wait—I hate my
Victuals over-done—But you need not come before the time—How does your
Mother do? She is at dinner is not she?” “Yes Ma’am we were in the
middle of dinner when your Ladyship came.” “I am afraid you find it
very cold Maria.” said Ellen. “Yes, it is an horrible East wind—said
her Mother—I assure you I can hardly bear the window down—But you are
used to be blown about by the wind Miss Maria and that is what has made
your Complexion so rudely and coarse. You young Ladies who cannot often
ride in a Carriage never mind what weather you trudge in, or how the
wind shews your legs. I would not have my Girls stand out of doors as
you do in such a day as this. But some sort of people have no feelings
either of cold or Delicacy—Well, remember that we shall expect you on
Thursday at 5 o’clock—You must tell your Maid to come for you at
night—There will be no Moon—and you will have an horrid walk home—My
compts to Your Mother—I am afraid your dinner will be cold—Drive on—”
And away she went, leaving me in a great passion with her as she always
does.

Maria Williams.




LETTER the FOURTH
From a YOUNG LADY rather impertinent to her freind


We dined yesterday with Mr Evelyn where we were introduced to a very
agreable looking Girl his Cousin. I was extremely pleased with her
appearance, for added to the charms of an engaging face, her manner and
voice had something peculiarly interesting in them. So much so, that
they inspired me with a great curiosity to know the history of her
Life, who were her Parents, where she came from, and what had befallen
her, for it was then only known that she was a relation of Mr Evelyn,
and that her name was Grenville. In the evening a favourable
opportunity offered to me of attempting at least to know what I wished
to know, for every one played at Cards but Mrs Evelyn, My Mother, Dr
Drayton, Miss Grenville and myself, and as the two former were engaged
in a whispering Conversation, and the Doctor fell asleep, we were of
necessity obliged to entertain each other. This was what I wished and
being determined not to remain in ignorance for want of asking, I began
the Conversation in the following Manner.

“Have you been long in Essex Ma’am?”

“I arrived on Tuesday.”

“You came from Derbyshire?”

“No, Ma’am! appearing surprised at my question, from Suffolk.” You will
think this a good dash of mine my dear Mary, but you know that I am not
wanting for Impudence when I have any end in veiw. “Are you pleased
with the Country Miss Grenville? Do you find it equal to the one you
have left?”

“Much superior Ma’am in point of Beauty.” She sighed. I longed to know
for why.

“But the face of any Country however beautiful said I, can be but a
poor consolation for the loss of one’s dearest Freinds.” She shook her
head, as if she felt the truth of what I said. My Curiosity was so much
raised, that I was resolved at any rate to satisfy it.

“You regret having left Suffolk then Miss Grenville?” “Indeed I do.”
“You were born there I suppose?” “Yes Ma’am I was and passed many happy
years there—”

“That is a great comfort—said I—I hope Ma’am that you never spent any
_un_happy one’s there.”

“Perfect Felicity is not the property of Mortals, and no one has a
right to expect uninterrupted Happiness.—_Some_ Misfortunes I have
certainly met with.”

“_What_ Misfortunes dear Ma’am? replied I, burning with impatience to
know every thing. “_None_ Ma’am I hope that have been the effect of any
wilfull fault in me.” “I dare say not Ma’am, and have no doubt but that
any sufferings you may have experienced could arise only from the
cruelties of Relations or the Errors of Freinds.” She sighed—“You seem
unhappy my dear Miss Grenville—Is it in my power to soften your
Misfortunes?” “_Your_ power Ma’am replied she extremely surprised; it
is in _no ones_ power to make me happy.” She pronounced these words in
so mournfull and solemn an accent, that for some time I had not courage
to reply. I was actually silenced. I recovered myself however in a few
moments and looking at her with all the affection I could, “My dear
Miss Grenville said I, you appear extremely young—and may probably
stand in need of some one’s advice whose regard for you, joined to
superior Age, perhaps superior Judgement might authorise her to give
it. I am that person, and I now challenge you to accept the offer I
make you of my Confidence and Freindship, in return to which I shall
only ask for yours—”

“You are extremely obliging Ma’am—said she—and I am highly flattered by
your attention to me—But I am in no difficulty, no doubt, no
uncertainty of situation in which any advice can be wanted. Whenever I
am however continued she brightening into a complaisant smile, I shall
know where to apply.”

I bowed, but felt a good deal mortified by such a repulse; still
however I had not given up my point. I found that by the appearance of
sentiment and Freindship nothing was to be gained and determined
therefore to renew my attacks by Questions and suppositions. “Do you
intend staying long in this part of England Miss Grenville?”

“Yes Ma’am, some time I beleive.”

“But how will Mr and Mrs Grenville bear your absence?”

“They are neither of them alive Ma’am.” This was an answer I did not
expect—I was quite silenced, and never felt so awkward in my Life—.




LETTER the FIFTH
From a YOUNG LADY very much in love to her Freind


My Uncle gets more stingy, my Aunt more particular, and I more in love
every day. What shall we all be at this rate by the end of the year! I
had this morning the happiness of receiving the following Letter from
my dear Musgrove.

Sackville St: Janry 7th


It is a month to day since I first beheld my lovely Henrietta, and the
sacred anniversary must and shall be kept in a manner becoming the
day—by writing to her. Never shall I forget the moment when her
Beauties first broke on my sight—No time as you well know can erase it
from my Memory. It was at Lady Scudamores. Happy Lady Scudamore to live
within a mile of the divine Henrietta! When the lovely Creature first
entered the room, oh! what were my sensations? The sight of you was
like the sight ofa wonderful fine Thing. I started—I gazed at her with
admiration—She appeared every moment more Charming, and the unfortunate
Musgrove became a captive to your Charms before I had time to look
about me. Yes Madam, I had the happiness of adoring you, an happiness
for which I cannot be too grateful. “What said he to himself is
Musgrove allowed to die for Henrietta? Enviable Mortal! and may he pine
for her who is the object of universal admiration, who is adored by a
Colonel, and toasted by a Baronet! Adorable Henrietta how beautiful you
are! I declare you are quite divine! You are more than Mortal. You are
an Angel. You are Venus herself. In short Madam you are the prettiest
Girl I ever saw in my Life—and her Beauty is encreased in her Musgroves
Eyes, by permitting him to love her and allowing me to hope. And ah!
Angelic Miss Henrietta Heaven is my witness how ardently I do hope for
the death of your villanous Uncle and his abandoned Wife, since my fair
one will not consent to be mine till their decease has placed her in
affluence above what my fortune can procure—. Though it is an
improvable Estate—. Cruel Henrietta to persist in such a resolution! I
am at Present with my sister where I mean to continue till my own house
which tho’ an excellent one is at Present somewhat out of repair, is
ready to receive me. Amiable princess of my Heart farewell—Of that
Heart which trembles while it signs itself Your most ardent Admirer and
devoted humble servt.

T. Musgrove.


There is a pattern for a Love-letter Matilda! Did you ever read such a
master-piece of Writing? Such sense, such sentiment, such purity of
Thought, such flow of Language and such unfeigned Love in one sheet?
No, never I can answer for it, since a Musgrove is not to be met with
by every Girl. Oh! how I long to be with him! I intend to send him the
following in answer to his Letter tomorrow.

My dearest Musgrove—. Words cannot express how happy your Letter made
me; I thought I should have cried for joy, for I love you better than
any body in the World. I think you the most amiable, and the handsomest
Man in England, and so to be sure you are. I never read so sweet a
Letter in my Life. Do write me another just like it, and tell me you
are in love with me in every other line. I quite die to see you. How
shall we manage to see one another? for we are so much in love that we
cannot live asunder. Oh! my dear Musgrove you cannot think how
impatiently I wait for the death of my Uncle and Aunt—If they will not
Die soon, I beleive I shall run mad, for I get more in love with you
every day of my Life.

How happy your Sister is to enjoy the pleasure of your Company in her
house, and how happy every body in London must be because you are
there. I hope you will be so kind as to write to me again soon, for I
never read such sweet Letters as yours. I am my dearest Musgrove most
truly and faithfully yours for ever and ever

Henrietta Halton.


I hope he will like my answer; it is as good a one as I can write
though nothing to his; Indeed I had always heard what a dab he was at a
Love-letter. I saw him you know for the first time at Lady
Scudamores—And when I saw her Ladyship afterwards she asked me how I
liked her Cousin Musgrove?

“Why upon my word said I, I think he is a very handsome young Man.”

“I am glad you think so replied she, for he is distractedly in love
with you.”

“Law! Lady Scudamore said I, how can you talk so ridiculously?”

“Nay, t’is very true answered she, I assure you, for he was in love
with you from the first moment he beheld you.”

“I wish it may be true said I, for that is the only kind of love I
would give a farthing for—There is some sense in being in love at first
sight.”

“Well, I give you Joy of your conquest, replied Lady Scudamore, and I
beleive it to have been a very complete one; I am sure it is not a
contemptible one, for my Cousin is a charming young fellow, has seen a
great deal of the World, and writes the best Love-letters I ever read.”

This made me very happy, and I was excessively pleased with my
conquest. However, I thought it was proper to give myself a few Airs—so
I said to her—

“This is all very pretty Lady Scudamore, but you know that we young
Ladies who are Heiresses must not throw ourselves away upon Men who
have no fortune at all.”

“My dear Miss Halton said she, I am as much convinced of that as you
can be, and I do assure you that I should be the last person to
encourage your marrying anyone who had not some pretensions to expect a
fortune with you. Mr Musgrove is so far from being poor that he has an
estate of several hundreds an year which is capable of great
Improvement, and an excellent House, though at Present it is not quite
in repair.”

“If that is the case replied I, I have nothing more to say against him,
and if as you say he is an informed young Man and can write a good
Love-letter, I am sure I have no reason to find fault with him for
admiring me, tho’ perhaps I may not marry him for all that Lady
Scudamore.”

“You are certainly under no obligation to marry him answered her
Ladyship, except that which love himself will dictate to you, for if I
am not greatly mistaken you are at this very moment unknown to
yourself, cherishing a most tender affection for him.”

“Law, Lady Scudamore replied I blushing how can you think of such a
thing?”

“Because every look, every word betrays it, answered she; Come my dear
Henrietta, consider me as a freind, and be sincere with me—Do not you
prefer Mr Musgrove to any man of your acquaintance?”

“Pray do not ask me such questions Lady Scudamore, said I turning away
my head, for it is not fit for me to answer them.”

“Nay my Love replied she, now you confirm my suspicions. But why
Henrietta should you be ashamed to own a well-placed Love, or why
refuse to confide in me?”

“I am not ashamed to own it; said I taking Courage. I do not refuse to
confide in you or blush to say that I do love your cousin Mr Musgrove,
that I am sincerely attached to him, for it is no disgrace to love a
handsome Man. If he were plain indeed I might have had reason to be
ashamed of a passion which must have been mean since the object would
have been unworthy. But with such a figure and face, and such beautiful
hair as your Cousin has, why should I blush to own that such superior
merit has made an impression on me.”

“My sweet Girl (said Lady Scudamore embracing me with great affection)
what a delicate way of thinking you have in these matters, and what a
quick discernment for one of your years! Oh! how I honour you for such
Noble Sentiments!”

“Do you Ma’am said I; You are vastly obliging. But pray Lady Scudamore
did your Cousin himself tell you of his affection for me I shall like
him the better if he did, for what is a Lover without a Confidante?”

“Oh! my Love replied she, you were born for each other. Every word you
say more deeply convinces me that your Minds are actuated by the
invisible power of simpathy, for your opinions and sentiments so
exactly coincide. Nay, the colour of your Hair is not very different.
Yes my dear Girl, the poor despairing Musgrove did reveal to me the
story of his Love—. Nor was I surprised at it—I know not how it was,
but I had a kind of presentiment that he _would_ be in love with you.”

“Well, but how did he break it to you?”

“It was not till after supper. We were sitting round the fire together
talking on indifferent subjects, though to say the truth the
Conversation was cheifly on my side for he was thoughtful and silent,
when on a sudden he interrupted me in the midst of something I was
saying, by exclaiming in a most Theatrical tone—

Yes I’m in love I feel it now And Henrietta Halton has undone me

“Oh! What a sweet way replied I, of declaring his Passion! To make such
a couple of charming lines about me! What a pity it is that they are
not in rhime!”

“I am very glad you like it answered she; To be sure there was a great
deal of Taste in it. And are you in love with her, Cousin? said I. I am
very sorry for it, for unexceptionable as you are in every respect,
with a pretty Estate capable of Great improvements, and an excellent
House tho’ somewhat out of repair, yet who can hope to aspire with
success to the adorable Henrietta who has had an offer from a Colonel
and been toasted by a Baronet”—“_That_ I have—” cried I. Lady Scudamore
continued. “Ah dear Cousin replied he, I am so well convinced of the
little Chance I can have of winning her who is adored by thousands,
that I need no assurances of yours to make me more thoroughly so. Yet
surely neither you or the fair Henrietta herself will deny me the
exquisite Gratification of dieing for her, of falling a victim to her
Charms. And when I am dead”—continued her—

“Oh Lady Scudamore, said I wiping my eyes, that such a sweet Creature
should talk of dieing!”

“It is an affecting Circumstance indeed, replied Lady Scudamore.” “When
I am dead said he, let me be carried and lain at her feet, and perhaps
she may not disdain to drop a pitying tear on my poor remains.”

“Dear Lady Scudamore interrupted I, say no more on this affecting
subject. I cannot bear it.”

“Oh! how I admire the sweet sensibility of your Soul, and as I would
not for Worlds wound it too deeply, I will be silent.”

“Pray go on.” said I. She did so.

“And then added he, Ah! Cousin imagine what my transports will be when
I feel the dear precious drops trickle on my face! Who would not die to
haste such extacy! And when I am interred, may the divine Henrietta
bless some happier Youth with her affection, May he be as tenderly
attached to her as the hapless Musgrove and while _he_ crumbles to
dust, May they live an example of Felicity in the Conjugal state!”

Did you ever hear any thing so pathetic? What a charming wish, to be
lain at my feet when he was dead! Oh! what an exalted mind he must have
to be capable of such a wish! Lady Scudamore went on.

“Ah! my dear Cousin replied I to him, such noble behaviour as this,
must melt the heart of any woman however obdurate it may naturally be;
and could the divine Henrietta but hear your generous wishes for her
happiness, all gentle as is her mind, I have not a doubt but that she
would pity your affection and endeavour to return it.” “Oh! Cousin
answered he, do not endeavour to raise my hopes by such flattering
assurances. No, I cannot hope to please this angel of a Woman, and the
only thing which remains for me to do, is to die.” “True Love is ever
desponding replied I, but _I_ my dear Tom will give you even greater
hopes of conquering this fair one’s heart, than I have yet given you,
by assuring you that I watched her with the strictest attention during
the whole day, and could plainly discover that she cherishes in her
bosom though unknown to herself, a most tender affection for you.”

“Dear Lady Scudamore cried I, This is more than I ever knew!”

“Did not I say that it was unknown to yourself? I did not, continued I
to him, encourage you by saying this at first, that surprise might
render the pleasure still Greater.” “No Cousin replied he in a languid
voice, nothing will convince me that _I_ can have touched the heart of
Henrietta Halton, and if you are deceived yourself, do not attempt
deceiving me.” “In short my Love it was the work of some hours for me
to Persuade the poor despairing Youth that you had really a preference
for him; but when at last he could no longer deny the force of my
arguments, or discredit what I told him, his transports, his Raptures,
his Extacies are beyond my power to describe.”

“Oh! the dear Creature, cried I, how passionately he loves me! But dear
Lady Scudamore did you tell him that I was totally dependant on my
Uncle and Aunt?”

“Yes, I told him every thing.”

“And what did he say.”

“He exclaimed with virulence against Uncles and Aunts; Accused the laws
of England for allowing them to Possess their Estates when wanted by
their Nephews or Neices, and wished _he_ were in the House of Commons,
that he might reform the Legislature, and rectify all its abuses.”

“Oh! the sweet Man! What a spirit he has!” said I.

“He could not flatter himself he added, that the adorable Henrietta
would condescend for his sake to resign those Luxuries and that
splendor to which she had been used, and accept only in exchange the
Comforts and Elegancies which his limited Income could afford her, even
supposing that his house were in Readiness to receive her. I told him
that it could not be expected that she would; it would be doing her an
injustice to suppose her capable of giving up the power she now
possesses and so nobly uses of doing such extensive Good to the poorer
part of her fellow Creatures, merely for the gratification of you and
herself.”

“To be sure said I, I _am_ very Charitable every now and then. And what
did Mr Musgrove say to this?”

“He replied that he was under a melancholy necessity of owning the
truth of what I said, and that therefore if he should be the happy
Creature destined to be the Husband of the Beautiful Henrietta he must
bring himself to wait, however impatiently, for the fortunate day, when
she might be freed from the power of worthless Relations and able to
bestow herself on him.”

What a noble Creature he is! Oh! Matilda what a fortunate one I am, who
am to be his Wife! My Aunt is calling me to come and make the pies, so
adeiu my dear freind, and beleive me yours etc—

H. Halton.


Finis.




SCRAPS




To Miss FANNY CATHERINE AUSTEN


MY DEAR NEICE

As I am prevented by the great distance between Rowling and Steventon
from superintending your Education myself, the care of which will
probably on that account devolve on your Father and Mother, I think it
is my particular Duty to Prevent your feeling as much as possible the
want of my personal instructions, by addressing to you on paper my
Opinions and Admonitions on the conduct of Young Women, which you will
find expressed in the following pages.—

I am my dear Neice
Your affectionate Aunt
The Author.




THE FEMALE PHILOSOPHER

A LETTER

MY DEAR LOUISA

Your friend Mr Millar called upon us yesterday in his way to Bath,
whither he is going for his health; two of his daughters were with him,
but the eldest and the three Boys are with their Mother in Sussex.
Though you have often told me that Miss Millar was remarkably handsome,
you never mentioned anything of her Sisters’ beauty; yet they are
certainly extremely pretty. I’ll give you their description.—Julia is
eighteen; with a countenance in which Modesty, Sense and Dignity are
happily blended, she has a form which at once presents you with Grace,
Elegance and Symmetry. Charlotte who is just sixteen is shorter than
her Sister, and though her figure cannot boast the easy dignity of
Julia’s, yet it has a pleasing plumpness which is in a different way as
estimable. She is fair and her face is expressive sometimes of softness
the most bewitching, and at others of Vivacity the most striking. She
appears to have infinite Wit and a good humour unalterable; her
conversation during the half hour they set with us, was replete with
humourous sallies, Bonmots and repartees; while the sensible, the
amiable Julia uttered sentiments of Morality worthy of a heart like her
own. Mr Millar appeared to answer the character I had always received
of him. My Father met him with that look of Love, that social Shake,
and cordial kiss which marked his gladness at beholding an old and
valued freind from whom thro’ various circumstances he had been
separated nearly twenty years. Mr Millar observed (and very justly too)
that many events had befallen each during that interval of time, which
gave occasion to the lovely Julia for making most sensible reflections
on the many changes in their situation which so long a period had
occasioned, on the advantages of some, and the disadvantages of others.
From this subject she made a short digression to the instability of
human pleasures and the uncertainty of their duration, which led her to
observe that all earthly Joys must be imperfect. She was proceeding to
illustrate this doctrine by examples from the Lives of great Men when
the Carriage came to the Door and the amiable Moralist with her Father
and Sister was obliged to depart; but not without a promise of spending
five or six months with us on their return. We of course mentioned you,
and I assure you that ample Justice was done to your Merits by all.
“Louisa Clarke (said I) is in general a very pleasant Girl, yet
sometimes her good humour is clouded by Peevishness, Envy and Spite.
She neither wants Understanding or is without some pretensions to
Beauty, but these are so very trifling, that the value she sets on her
personal charms, and the adoration she expects them to be offered are
at once a striking example of her vanity, her pride, and her folly.” So
said I, and to my opinion everyone added weight by the concurrence of
their own.

Your affectionate
Arabella Smythe.




THE FIRST ACT OF A COMEDY


_Characters_

Popgun                 Maria
Charles                Pistolletta
Postilion              Hostess
Chorus of ploughboys   Cook
and                    and
Strephon               Chloe


SCENE—AN INN


_Enter_ Hostess, Charles, Maria, and Cook.


Hostess to Maria
If the gentry in the Lion should want beds, shew them number 9.

Maria
Yes Mistress.—_exit_ Maria

Hostess to Cook
If their Honours in the Moon ask for the bill of fare, give it them.

Cook
I will, I will. _exit_ Cook.

Hostess to Charles
If their Ladyships in the Sun ring their Bell—answer it.

Charles
Yes Madam. _exeunt_ Severally.

SCENE CHANGES TO THE MOON, and discovers Popgun and Pistoletta.


Pistoletta
Pray papa how far is it to London?

Popgun
My Girl, my Darling, my favourite of all my Children, who art the
picture of thy poor Mother who died two months ago, with whom I am
going to Town to marry to Strephon, and to whom I mean to bequeath my
whole Estate, it wants seven Miles.


SCENE CHANGES TO THE SUN—


_Enter_ Chloe and a chorus of ploughboys.


Chloe
Where am I? At Hounslow.—Where go I? To London—. What to do? To be
married—. Unto whom? Unto Strephon. Who is he? A Youth. Then I will
sing a song.

SONG


I go to Town
And when I come down,
I shall be married to Streephon.*
And that to me will be fun.


[* Note the two e’s]


Chorus


Be fun, be fun, be fun,
And that to me will be fun.


_Enter_ Cook—


Cook
Here is the bill of fare.

Chloe reads
2 Ducks, a leg of beef, a stinking partridge, and a tart.—I will have
the leg of beef and the partridge.

_Exit_ Cook.

And now I will sing another song.

SONG


I am going to have my dinner,
After which I shan’t be thinner,
I wish I had here Strephon
For he would carve the partridge if it should be a tough one.


Chorus


Tough one, tough one, tough one
For he would carve the partridge if it
Should be a tough one.


_Exit_ Chloe and Chorus.—

SCENE CHANGES TO THE INSIDE OF THE LION.


_Enter_ Strephon and Postilion.


Streph:)
You drove me from Staines to this place, from whence I mean to go to
Town to marry Chloe. How much is your due?

Post:
Eighteen pence.

Streph:
Alas, my freind, I have but a bad guinea with which I mean to support
myself in Town. But I will pawn to you an undirected Letter that I
received from Chloe.

Post:
Sir, I accept your offer.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.




A LETTER from a YOUNG LADY, whose feelings being too strong for her
Judgement led her into the commission of Errors which her Heart
disapproved.

Many have been the cares and vicissitudes of my past life, my beloved
Ellinor, and the only consolation I feel for their bitterness is that
on a close examination of my conduct, I am convinced that I have
strictly deserved them. I murdered my father at a very early period of
my Life, I have since murdered my Mother, and I am now going to murder
my Sister. I have changed my religion so often that at present I have
not an idea of any left. I have been a perjured witness in every public
tryal for these last twelve years; and I have forged my own Will. In
short there is scarcely a crime that I have not committed—But I am now
going to reform. Colonel Martin of the Horse guards has paid his
Addresses to me, and we are to be married in a few days. As there is
something singular in our Courtship, I will give you an account of it.
Colonel Martin is the second son of the late Sir John Martin who died
immensely rich, but bequeathing only one hundred thousand pound apeice
to his three younger Children, left the bulk of his fortune, about
eight Million to the present Sir Thomas. Upon his small pittance the
Colonel lived tolerably contented for nearly four months when he took
it into his head to determine on getting the whole of his eldest
Brother’s Estate. A new will was forged and the Colonel produced it in
Court—but nobody would swear to it’s being the right will except
himself, and he had sworn so much that Nobody beleived him. At that
moment I happened to be passing by the door of the Court, and was
beckoned in by the Judge who told the Colonel that I was a Lady ready
to witness anything for the cause of Justice, and advised him to apply
to me. In short the Affair was soon adjusted. The Colonel and I swore
to its’ being the right will, and Sir Thomas has been obliged to resign
all his illgotten wealth. The Colonel in gratitude waited on me the
next day with an offer of his hand—. I am now going to murder my
Sister.

Yours Ever,
Anna Parker.




A TOUR THROUGH WALES—
in a LETTER from a YOUNG LADY—


MY DEAR CLARA

I have been so long on the ramble that I have not till now had it in my
power to thank you for your Letter—. We left our dear home on last
Monday month; and proceeded on our tour through Wales, which is a
principality contiguous to England and gives the title to the Prince of
Wales. We travelled on horseback by preference. My Mother rode upon our
little poney and Fanny and I walked by her side or rather ran, for my
Mother is so fond of riding fast that she galloped all the way. You may
be sure that we were in a fine perspiration when we came to our place
of resting. Fanny has taken a great many Drawings of the Country, which
are very beautiful, tho’ perhaps not such exact resemblances as might
be wished, from their being taken as she ran along. It would astonish
you to see all the Shoes we wore out in our Tour. We determined to take
a good Stock with us and therefore each took a pair of our own besides
those we set off in. However we were obliged to have them both capped
and heelpeiced at Carmarthen, and at last when they were quite gone,
Mama was so kind as to lend us a pair of blue Sattin Slippers, of which
we each took one and hopped home from Hereford delightfully—

I am your ever affectionate
Elizabeth Johnson.




A TALE.


A Gentleman whose family name I shall conceal, bought a small Cottage
in Pembrokeshire about two years ago. This daring Action was suggested
to him by his elder Brother who promised to furnish two rooms and a
Closet for him, provided he would take a small house near the borders
of an extensive Forest, and about three Miles from the Sea. Wilhelminus
gladly accepted the offer and continued for some time searching after
such a retreat when he was one morning agreably releived from his
suspence by reading this advertisement in a Newspaper.

TO BE LETT


A Neat Cottage on the borders of an extensive forest and about three
Miles from the Sea. It is ready furnished except two rooms and a
Closet.

The delighted Wilhelminus posted away immediately to his brother, and
shewed him the advertisement. Robertus congratulated him and sent him
in his Carriage to take possession of the Cottage. After travelling for
three days and six nights without stopping, they arrived at the Forest
and following a track which led by it’s side down a steep Hill over
which ten Rivulets meandered, they reached the Cottage in half an hour.
Wilhelminus alighted, and after knocking for some time without
receiving any answer or hearing any one stir within, he opened the door
which was fastened only by a wooden latch and entered a small room,
which he immediately perceived to be one of the two that were
unfurnished—From thence he proceeded into a Closet equally bare. A pair
of stairs that went out of it led him into a room above, no less
destitute, and these apartments he found composed the whole of the
House. He was by no means displeased with this discovery, as he had the
comfort of reflecting that he should not be obliged to lay out anything
on furniture himself—. He returned immediately to his Brother, who took
him the next day to every Shop in Town, and bought what ever was
requisite to furnish the two rooms and the Closet, In a few days
everything was completed, and Wilhelminus returned to take possession
of his Cottage. Robertus accompanied him, with his Lady the amiable
Cecilia and her two lovely Sisters Arabella and Marina to whom
Wilhelminus was tenderly attached, and a large number of Attendants.—An
ordinary Genius might probably have been embarrassed, in endeavouring
to accomodate so large a party, but Wilhelminus with admirable presence
of mind gave orders for the immediate erection of two noble Tents in an
open spot in the Forest adjoining to the house. Their Construction was
both simple and elegant—A couple of old blankets, each supported by
four sticks, gave a striking proof of that taste for architecture and
that happy ease in overcoming difficulties which were some of
Wilhelminus’s most striking Virtues.