LETTER LI. Lady Louiſa G. to Lady Jane S.

I HAVE kept faith with my father, and given Sir George Revel another hearing. He has juſt left me.

I believe the ſilly man thought to dazzle me by the finery of his perſon, for he was moſt ſumptuouſly dreſſed; that timidity and em⯑baraſſment, which a real lover would have felt in his predicament, he did not even affect, for he approached me with a gay complacent air, and in a kind of raillying tone opened the con⯑verſation, as follows:—

[2]I hope, Lady Louiſa, I have now the honor to approach you in a more favorable moment, than when we laſt met at the Opera; I flatter myſelf I am indebted to your voluntary good will for this happineſs, and that I am not too preſumptuous in ſuppoſing your ſentiments have changed in my favor.

I muſt own to you I felt my heart riſe againſt him for the manner even more than the mat⯑ter of this ſpeech, and I had ſo ſtrong a pro⯑penſity to humble his ſelf-aſſurance, as well as to ſhorten a diſagreeable converſation, that I immediately replied to him in theſe words:

Sir George Revel, if you want that generous indignation which naturally revolts from every favor that is extorted from the beſtower, I am ſorry to diſcover that the only valuable attri⯑bute, which belongs to pride, is that which you do not poſſeſs.

I perceive, Madam, by this ſample of your ſeverity, that whatever pride I may be poſſeſſed of, I ſhall have occaſion for it all; ſome pride I muſt of neceſſity have had, or I could never have aſpired to addreſs the fineſt woman in the world, with a ſpirit the moſt implacable.

Suppoſe then you was to waſte no more [3] time upon that implacable ſpirit; for though you may not be inclined to conſult my repoſe, yet it is to be preſumed you have ſome conſi⯑deration for your own.

All the conſideration in life for both, my adorable Lady Louiſa: for your's in the firſt place, to whoſe enjoyments I am prepared to dedicate every thing that fortune can purchaſe or pleaſure beſtow; to my own in the ſecond degree, becauſe you are all that I deſire on earth, and without you I muſt be miſerable.

You are maſter of my time, Sir George; I muſt hear whatever you are pleaſed to ſay.

Yes, Madam, you took a very early oppor⯑tunity of telling me this interview was extorted from you; you did not ſuffer me to indulge the hope that you had been aſſenting to it: you let me know betimes that I am not the object of your preſent inclinations, and your eyes directed me to find out my rival; but ſo mean a rival is not worth my notice; whilſt I am looking up to Lady Louiſa I cannot pay attention to the worm that is crawling in the duſt; I muſt believe that my devotion and aſſiduities will in the end prevail, and as no in⯑ferior beauty can ſatisfy my ambition, whilſt I [4] have fortune and pretenſions to aſpire to your Ladyſhip, I ſhall perſevere in ſpite of all re⯑pulſes to adore you.

You have again taken upon you, without any licence, to point out an imaginary rival, which, as a creature merely of your own brain, you have my free leave to deſcribe as you pleaſe; but believe me, Sir George Revel, it is very poſſible for me to decline the honor of your addreſſes, and yet be without the plea of any other attachment.

Ah! Madam, I am under no difficulty to account for your prejudices againſt me; I know how apt we are to contract the habits and opi⯑nions of thoſe we live with; I cannot forget that your Ladyſhip has a mother, who diſ⯑miſſed me from her doors; I can recollect whom ſhe employed in that honorable office, and I muſt not wonder if the mother's favorite is the daughter's paſſion.

Your inſinuations, I now replied, ſavour ſo ſtrongly of a purpoſed inſult, that they would warrant me in an immediate diſavowal of any further intercourſe or converſation with you; but the character of my mother is not to be glanced at even in the ſlighteſt manner, with⯑out [5] a full inveſtigation of the falſehoods upon which you ground thoſe inſinuations.

Falſehoods do you call them! is it not noto⯑rious to all the world—?

What, I demanded, what is notorious to all the world?

The partiality of Lady G. to her creature Arundel.

I now roſe from my ſeat, and, whilſt my heart ſwelled with indignation—I will not conſent, ſaid I, to hold any further diſcourſe with the defamer of my mother; and as it is for her ſake only that I have endured this interview, ſo I now proteſt that until you have atoned to her, until I ſee her in this very houſe, reſtored to her family, and hear from her own lips that ſhe is heartily and ſincerely reconciled to you, and joins her authority with my father's for compelling me to another conference, (which I think will not haſtily happen) no force nor perſuaſion, not a thouſand deaths, if it were poſſible to ſuffer them, ſhall prevail with me to commit myſelf to your company any more.

With theſe words I abruptly left him to his meditations, and retiring to my chamber, gave [6] a vent to my full heart; and, having in part diſcharged the burthen by the relief of tears, I reſort to this conſolatory taſk, and pour forth the ſorrows of my ſoul into the ear of a friend.

Farewell.

LETTER LII. Arundel to Charles Mortlake.

I AM ſetting out for Arundel-houſe, from which I ſhall write to you, and give you an account of the works going on at the Par⯑ſonage.

As I know you have full occupation for the preſent at Cambridge, and muſt have ſome time to prepare yourſelf and take leave of your friends, I wiſh you not to think of coming into Kent, till you hear from me that things are in ſome ſtate of readineſs for your reception.

Alas, my dear Charles, I bluſh when I re⯑collect the vain and idle hope, which like a [7] cloud has ſhrunk from my embrace: the poſt⯑ſcript of my laſt letter, if you have it to refer to, will explain to you what I mean. That viſion did not appear at Lady Treville's; there was no angel form for my ſight, no angel voice for my ear; the phantom, which in my dream I ſaw, which with my hands I handled, and which in my imagination I careſſed, whilſt tears of love and tenderneſs fell from her melt⯑ing eyes, is vaniſhed into air.

Nor is this all;—ſuch things might paſs away, and yet hope might be left behind; in⯑ſtead of which, deſpair ſupplies her place; for I hear with horror that the aſſaſſin of my peace hath been permitted to renew his viſits.

The daemons of Ambition, Avarice and Re⯑venge have ſeized the father's heart, and he is driving an ingenuous mind upon the precipice of ruin; a noble nature will be ſacrificed by the ſentence of an arbitrary parent.

My heart bleeds with ſorrow.—Why ſhould I diſguiſe the truth?—It burns with indig⯑nation.

Shall I repent of the chaſtiſement, which I gave Lord G.? I diſdain ſuch meanneſs. I will rather glory in the ſhare I had, when the [8] temple of this Dagon was tumbled to the ground, though my hopes are cruſhed beneath its ruins in the fall.

I will reſort to the country, and there I will ſtrive to ſolace an aching heart by the placid occupation of embelliſhing a beautiful ſpot, in which it hath been my happy chance to plant a virtuous and beloved friend.

Farewell.

LETTER LIII. Lady Jane S. to Lady Louiſa G.

THOU art made for love, my ſweet Louiſa, and love is made for thee, and ſtill you make bad work between you. What are you puzzling about? Do not you ſee that Arun⯑del doats upon you? Do not you know that you doat upon him? What do you want to know more? Shall fathers and mothers, and aunts and couſins, ſit in council upon my af⯑fections? Will they bear the miſery of my diſappointment? Shall they direct the motions of my heart? You have compromiſed with [9] your father, ſo would not I: you have pro⯑miſed not to communicate with the man you love, ſo would not I: you have conſented to receive the ſtale addreſſes of the man you ab⯑hor; I would not do it, if it was to ſave the whole ſpecies.

How much to be preferred is my pride and my poverty, before your wealth and your hu⯑mility!

Thank Heaven, Scotland is ſtill the land of matrimonial liberty. I love my brother—my God, how I love him! He is my laſt ſupport in life, my beſt, my only friend; but was he to attempt to check the tide of my affections, he might as well turn the current of the winds, ſtem the flow of the ocean, or beat back the emanation of the ſun, and whelm the world in darkneſs by the breath of his mouth.

That Sir George Revel is my averſion; I never ſaw him, but no matter; 'tis enough for me that he had the cowardly principle to draw his ſword upon an unarmed man: had he the wealth of the world, and all the outward graces that ever centered in the human form, I would whiſtle him down the wind. Though I am a beggar, recollect I am a beggar en⯑nobled [10] by the blood of Scottiſh kings: I'll marry honor in rags, but I'll have no com⯑merce with a miſcreant, though in a robe of ſtate.

I much doubt, my dear Louiſa, if at this moment I have a fair Scottiſh pound, which I can truly call my own, and independantly command to beſtow where I will; the clothes that cover and the meal that feeds me, are my brother's; but as I ſhare his purſe, I ſhare his blood; I will do no wrong to either, nor ſhall any one do wrong to me. I can defend my own honor, I am competent alſo to make my own choice: my hero will ſupport me with his life, but he will never think of overruling me by his will.

Arundel is a noble fellow; the man, who feared not to provoke the father whilſt he ad⯑mired the daughter, is a man to my heart's content, and I know no authority, which na⯑ture has given to a parent, that can oblige me to adopt his reſentments, when they ſpring from meanneſs, or prevent me from admiring that principle, which is founded in honor.

Your Arundel is the nephew of my Arun⯑del, of that glorious creature, who perhaps at [11] this moment is bleeding in his country's ſer⯑vice, and, with my gallant hero by his ſide, vollying the Britiſh thunder on our enemies, and has he not an hereditary claim upon my heart? Ah! my dear Louiſa, had you my ſpirit of rebellion added to your propenſity to the tender paſſion, all this combuſtion would have been avoided, and one reſolute ſtep ſtrait forwards would have ſaved thouſands, which you have now to take through crooked paths and round-about roads before you ſhall arrive weary and jaded at the end of your journey.

If Love aſſails me, which he has not yet thought fit to do to any ſerious porpoſe, I will make a ſhort battle of it; he ſhall not waſte my ſtrength with manoeuvres, for I will put the affair to iſſue at once. 'Tis to this reſo⯑lution I am now indebted for having brought a love-ſuit to its concluſion, which might elſe have been as tedious as a ſuit in Chancery; for my gentleman was one of thoſe pruden⯑tial, worldly-minded dealers, who wait for bet⯑ter times, and look ſo cloſely to what is called the main chance, as to let all other chances go by them without thinking them worth atten⯑tion. I am ſpeaking of Sir Adam Crichton, [12] whom you remember dancing after me all laſt winter in London, and a pretty dance I led him. Fortune threw him in my way again at Edinborough: and being a perſon, whom few women could look upon with indifference, I confeſs I was not diſpleaſed to find him renew his addreſſes with more ardor than at the firſt.

Many days had not paſſed in this manner, when Sir Adam took his opportunity of mak⯑ing certain honorable propoſals to me, declar⯑ing, in all due phraſe and emphaſis proper to a lover, that his fate depended on my anſwer, he could not ſurvive a refuſal; the happineſs of his life, nay, his very life itſelf, was in this moment to be decided, he trembled for the iſſue, yet he flattered himſelf I was too noble to have encouraged him to hope, only to plunge him in diſappointment and deſpair. Whilſt this rhapſody was going on he kept his eyes fixt upon me, and as I was certainly not diſ⯑pleaſed to ſee ſo handſome a lover at my feet, he no ſooner perceived the impreſſion he had made on a ſoft ſilly heart, which never learnt to play the hypocrite, than catching me in his arms, as if already in poſſeſſion of his prize, [13] he rapturouſly exclaimed—My life, my ſoul! Oh let me hope that ſmile conſents! Oh ſuf⯑fer your tranſported lover thus to welcome the auſpicious omen, thus to ſeal our happy union with a fond embrace!—

A thought now ſtruck me (naturally enough, you will ſay, as my lover was a Scottiſh man) that in the midſt of theſe raptures he might poſſibly be in a miſtake as to his own diſinte⯑reſtedneſs; for, as a vulgar error had gone out in our country, that I was to inherit my aunt Selkirk's fortune, it was not impoſſible but this worthy gentleman might have fallen into the trap, which one or two of his predeceſſors had ſtumbled over in time paſt, and therefore I thought it beſt to make a clear field before we proceeded to further action, by removing all ſuch ſtumbling-blocks out of his way.

A few words ſufficed to aſſure him that I was to all intents and purpoſes a compleat beggar, and until Jupiter ſent another golden ſhower from the ſkies, likely ſo to remain to the end of my days. As Sir Adam was a wiſe and prudent man in the main, though his ideas had been a little ſubtilized juſt now by the heat of his imagination, I believe he would have been [14] heartily glad to have diſpenſed with all the rap⯑tures of his late embrace, had he even claſped the goddeſs Venus in his arms; and though it was life or death with him but a minute before, whilſt my aunt Selkirk was behind the cur⯑tain, yet now it was pretty clear there were ſome things dearer to him than life itſelf; and if I had not ſmiled quite ſo tenderly upon him, he would have ſtruggled hard to ſurvive the diſappointment of his hopes: in ſhort, at that moment I much doubt if he would not rather have taken my aunt Selkirk herſelf in his arms, for the next embrace, than poor needy Lady Jane.

Figure to yourſelf ſome greedy contractor, in the very moment of driving his bargain with the miniſter for the plunder of the pub⯑lic, preſented by that miniſter with an order for refunding the peculations he had amaſſed, and you may form ſome idea of Sir Adam's countenance at this inſtant.

I muſt take ſome credit to myſelf for reſiſt⯑ing a certain malicious impulſe, which tempt⯑ed me to indulge a little raillery at his ex⯑pence; but charity prevailed over contempt, and, as I ſaw enough to convince me I was [15] in company with a very ſordid fellow, me⯑thought the ſooner I was rid of ſuch ſociety the better.

I ſuſpect, my good Sir Adam, ſaid I, we are both in a miſtake juſt now; you in ſuppoſing me not ſo poor as I really am, I in believing you more diſintereſted than in fact you are: let us therefore content ourſelves with the diſ⯑covery we have mutually made of each other's diſpoſition: I am ſatisfied you could have lik⯑ed me, if it had been your intereſt ſo to do; you are ſatisfied I could have liked you, if you had not preferred your intereſt. Thus then the account ſtands between us—You have offered marriage, and taken an embrace by way of earneſt and in pledge of faith: take your offer back again, I releaſe you from it; and as for the embrace, much good may it do you, let it paſs! my aunt Selkirk is in the fault of that; therefore you may return it to her the firſt time you meet, or to any other rich old dowager like her, whoſe money-bags may tempt you to beſtow it on their owner.—Exit Sir Adam: he is off, good man! My life! my ſoul! my idol!—all thoſe charming words are vaniſhed into air, and your poor [16] ſolitary Jane remains like her poor ſolitary tree— ‘To wail the winter of her hopes.’ Apropos to that tree; my dear Louiſa, would you believe that in my viſit to it this evening, as the ſun was ſetting under the weſtern moun⯑tains, I encountered a ſlip-ſhod Sybil under its branches in the very act of meagre inſpiration, chaunting out the following doleful ditty to the tune of Roſline Caſtle. I took the words from her mouth, and as you are well ac⯑quainted with the ſtrain, I ſend you the Sy⯑bil's ditty, which you may apply to the tune, ſuppoſing the firſt ſtanza to be my queſtion, and the laſt your anſwer to it; obſerving only that the two laſt lines of each ſtanza are to be repeated in the ſtrain.

Farewell.

LETTER LIV. Lady Louiſa G. to the Counteſs of G.

ALAS, my deareſt mother, to what extre⯑mities have I been driven ſince our laſt unhappy parting!

My father, though diveſted of his office, and no longer courting parliamentary ſupport, is not diveſted of his partiality for Sir George Revel: he reſents my behavior to him in a very high degree, and hath again broke out [18] into the bittereſt invectives againſt you and Mr. Arundel, for being in a combination againſt him, and even hinted (with indigna⯑tion I repeat it to you), that you engaged Mr. Arundel in a preconcerted quarrel with Sir George, that by diſpatching him out of the way you might make an opening for your favorite, as he calls that gentleman, to carry on a deſign, which he pretends to believe you had formed of marrying him to me.

Inveterate againſt him for the ſpeech he made in parliament, of which the town yet rings with applauſe, he keeps no meaſures in his reſentment, but throws out certain inſinua⯑tions, which no one, who had not bidden fare⯑well to truth and delicacy, could have ſuggeſt⯑ed, and which with juſt abhorrence I forbear to mention.

In concluſion, he drove me to the painful al⯑ternative, either to admit Sir George Revel to renew his addreſſes, or to be excluded from any farther correſpondence or communication with you. I ſubmitted to receive the viſits of that odious man again, for this is temporizing only;—but if I would conſent to his propoſals, and cloſe with the full wiſhes of my deluded [19] father, then I might effect a reconciliation in my family, then I might reſtore a baniſhed mother to her home, his arms ſhould be open to receive you, and all be peace and harmony again.

The ſelf-fame day preſented me with the ſight of my unwelcome viſitor Sir George: abject as he is to ſue to me, who had before diſcarded him, ſtill he could not ſo keep down his proud ſpirit as tamely to endure the ſlights I put upon him. At laſt he gave a looſe to his audacious tongue, charging me with hav⯑ing attached my heart to ſome more happy ri⯑val, and preſuming to ſay I had contracted that attachment by copying your Ladyſhip in your prepoſſeſſion for a certain favorite, plainly pointing at Mr. Arundel.

This inſolent inſinuation ſtung me to the quick, and, whilſt my blood boiled with indig⯑nation, I declared to him no force ſhould pre⯑vail over me to admit the man into my pre⯑ſence, who dared to revile the character of my mother. It was on your account, I plainly told him, that I then ſuffered his viſit, and until he had completely atoned to you for his calumnious inſinuation, till I ſaw you again [20] reinſtated in your family, and received from your lips an aſſurance of reconciliation, I would never ſee him more, whatever I might undergo from the diſpleaſure of my father.

With this denunciation I abruptly left him; and here the matter reſts at preſent.

And now, my beloved, my indulgent mo⯑ther, what remains but that I open all my heart to you? Amidſt all the falſehoods this calumniator uttered, ſtill I muſt acknowledge he is fatally too right in one conjecture.—Ah! Madam, it is my hard fate to love and to deſpair: a ſecret paſſion preys upon my heart, my health ſinks under it. Would you know the real ſource of all thoſe ſtrange viciſ⯑ſitudes, thoſe incoherencies, by which my ſpirits have been agitated for ſome time paſt, date your account of them from the very hour in which I firſt encountered the all-conquer⯑ing eyes of Arundel.

You know him well; you with cooler ob⯑ſervation have more nearly contemplated the perfection of his character, the charms of his perſon. I am the victim of a hopeleſs paſſion, and loſt without redemption. If neceſſity did not now extort it from me, it had ſtill re⯑mained [21] a ſecret even from you; but as I fore⯑ſee you will be applied to by Sir George Re⯑vel very ſpeedily, not improbably by my fa⯑ther himſelf, it would be unjuſt not to apprize you of the real ſituation of my heart; at the ſame time it would be ungenerous to convey a wiſh that you ſhould ſacrifice a moment, that is now the criſis of your reconciliation, to any unavailing efforts in my deſperate cauſe. No, my deareſt mother, make your peace with my father, and leave me to ſtruggle with my fate.

The breach between him and Arundel is now become incurable: no circumſtances can ever move him to eſpouſe the cauſe of one ſo hoſtile, ſo obnoxious, one whom he has of⯑fended, and by whom he is offended beyond reparation. At the ſame time, no paſſion however ſtrong, no treatment however ſevere, ſhall drive me upon clandeſtine, deſperate meaſures, which, though the precedents, al⯑ready numerous, were multiplied by numbers more, I never will reſort to.

Return therefore in peace, and be once more in the boſom of your family: I will gladly pay the ranſom for your deliverance, [22] and ſhall glory in my ſufferings. If I muſt be made the victim of compulſion, if my father, obſtinately bent upon his purpoſe, will drag me to the altar, he ſhall ſhortly after have the taſk of carrying me to the grave.

Farewell.

LETTER LV. The Counteſs of G. to Lady Louiſa G.

RENT with ten thouſand agonizing ſenſa⯑tions, a mother's bleeding heart bleſſes and bids adieu to her beloved child.

May that protecting Being, to whoſe throne my ſupplications ſhall aſcend in your behalf, direct and graciouſly ſupport you in this dan⯑gerous criſis! I can no longer help you; the only duty I can now perform is to remove a ſtumbling-block from your path; the only offering I can make is to bleſs and to pray for you.

[23]Yet before I totally reſign the duties of a parent, and ſecede from a world which I renounce, to an aſylum where I ſhall be ſhel⯑tered from the malice and even from the re⯑membrance of my oppreſſors, I leave with you my ſolemn exhortation and proteſt againſt your marriage with that worthleſs Revel.

Mark me, Louiſa! if ever you conſent to yield your hand to him, and ſtamp your con⯑ſcience with a lie before the altar of your God, expect the vengeance you deſerve!

Was your father now before me, I ſhould not hold back a tittle of the truth which I ut⯑ter: judge then if we can reunite; judge if our meeting would not blow theſe flames into a fiercer heat, and own with me it is the wiſeſt, kindeſt meaſure I can take in this extremity, to avoid an interview by concealing myſelf in ſome foreign country from his ſearch.

And now it only remains, as the laſt mater⯑nal duty which is left me, to ſpeak to you of Arundel.

Ah! why would you conceal from me your paſſion for the moſt engaging, the moſt ami⯑able of men? Alas, my child, why would you not confide to me the very firſt emotions [24] he created in your heart? But let that paſs! late as your confeſſion is, I thank you for it from my ſoul, and with the ſame ſincerity of heart I ſeal your choice with my moſt abſolute conſent, and ſanctify it with my ardent prayers for its ſucceſs.

In his virtue you will find a guide, in his courage a protector, in his arms a bleſſing: to him I bequeath you; he alone deſerves you; with him you will be happy.

More I might add; much more would not exhauſt the topic; but let this ſuffice!

Farewell.

LETTER LVI. Arundel to the Counteſs of G.

WERE I to follow the impulſe of my heart upon the receipt of your moſt flattering letter, the perſon not the pen of Arundel would have the happy office of ex⯑preſſing [25] to you my ſenſibility of your good⯑neſs, and giving vent to a devoted heart, that overflows with gratitude; frown not, moſt ex⯑alted of your ſex, if I preſume to add—with affection.

Let me recollect what I was, till you con⯑deſcended to regard me with kindneſs, to foſ⯑ter me by your compaſſion, to tranſplant me into the ſoil, where I have flouriſhed by your favor: Conſider me in the next place, as I now am, a man who by nature am endowed with the warmeſt feelings of the heart, by gratitude inſpired with every ardent emotion, whilſt I am only meditating on your bounty, how then ſhall I command myſelf, when pre⯑ſent with you? When I ſhall ſee your eyes ſuffuſed with tears, and the pureſt boſom in creation labouring with ſighs, will not my ſpirit be in arms to avenge thoſe wrongs that have provoked your ſorrows? Had nature formed me of leſs penetrable ſtuff, or not compounded you with every tender grace, with every ſoft expreſſive character of female lovelineſs, I might controul my temper, though I pitied your afflictions: as it is, my deſperation might only aggravate your ſufferings, and the reſent⯑ment [26] of your Lord, that I have now drawn upon myſelf alone, might then be directed with accumulated malice againſt you.

There is ſuch venom in ſome hearts againſt you, and ſo ready are they to ſeize the ſmalleſt opening for giving vent to it, that I declare to you I ſcarce dare to turn my eyes, much leſs my ſteps, towards that quarter of the country where you inhabit: the poiſon is pre⯑pared, an opportunity is only wanting to ad⯑miniſter it.

Having ſtated this, I remain at your com⯑mand. Danger is only terrible to me as it af⯑fects you. If you, who are armed in inno⯑cence, ſet it at defiance, I, who am all devo⯑tion, hold every thing but your commands beneath my notice.

Farewell.

LETTER LVII. The Counteſs af G. to Arundel.

YES, Arundel, I adopt your counſel; my eyes are open to my danger and we meet no more.

Though my affection for you, (why ſhould I not own what you muſt have diſcovered?) yes, let me ſay, though my affection for you were inconſiderate enough to brave all conſe⯑quences, yet I cannot bear the thought of ſa⯑crificing you; and that ſelf-denial, which per⯑haps is inſufficient for my own preſervation, for your's becomes unconquerable.

I conjure you by all that is ſacred to man not to ſtir a ſtep towards me this day; to-mor⯑row I ſhall be out of your reach: my abode will not be known to you, nor to my family; it will not be in England.

Start not at this meaſure, for it is a neceſſary one; you will ſee all my motives and admit [28] the juſtice of them, when I diſcloſe to you a ſecret, which is of the laſt importance both to your peace of mind and to my own—Louiſa loves you.—Now, Arundel, have I not reaſon for what I do? That I may yield up every wiſh of my heart, and transfer them all entire and unperverted to the happineſs of my child, and to the completion of her future union with the object of her love, I retire to ſecret ſoli⯑tude and healing meditation.

If I did not know Louiſa's worth, I could not bring myſelf to form a wiſh that ſhe may be your's; but believe me, Arundel,for I de⯑clare it to you in the fullneſs and ſincerity of my heart, a nobler nature is not to be found en earth: ſhe is generous in the beſt ſenſe of the word, of a clear and candid ſpirit, pure in principle, but alive to all the tender paſſions to exceſs: I ſpeak to you without reſerve; there is your only danger, it is there you muſt apply your ſtricteſt guard; to you I conſign a truſt, you (if Heaven grants my prayer) will fill that place, which hard neceſſity now forces me to recede from.

In this and all things elſe I rely upon your honor, faithfulneſs and diſcretion; if I recover [29] my tranquillity in the retirement to which I am going, you ſhall hear from me again, if not, farewell for ever.

LETTER LVIII. The Earl to the Counteſs of G.

LADY Louiſa having conſented to reſtore peace and harmony to her family by yield⯑ing to a renewal of Sir George Revel's ad⯑dreſſes, with a reference to your Ladyſhip for your voice and acquieſcence in the matter, nothing is now wanting to put that moſt de⯑ſirable match in train but your concurrence and advice; you have it therefore now in your power in the ſame inſtant to eſtabliſh your daughter in a moſt enviable ſituation, open my arms to welcome you once more into the hearts of your family, and for ever annihilate all differences between us.

As there have been ſome unlucky miſunder⯑ſtandings between you and Sir George Revel, [30] which ought now to be put an end to, that gentleman propoſes waiting upon you in per⯑ſon, as a mark of his reſpect, and I will not doubt of your receiving his compliment in ſuch a manner, as ſhall lay the foundation of a laſting cordiality between you for the time to come.

LETTER LIX. The Counteſs to ths Earl of G.

THE conditions of my conſenting to Loui⯑ſa's union with Sir George Revel would be very tempting, if I were not ſatisfied that her happineſs would thereby be ſacrificed to our reconciliation: in this perſuaſion, I will never ſelfiſhly yield that conſent, which is to make her miſerable, but on the contrary do in the moſt ſolemn manner proteſt againſt the match.

LETTER LX. Sir George Revel to the Earl of G.

SOME buſineſs having occurred, which may probably detain me a day or two from town, I beg leave to report to your Lordſhip the event of my expedition into Kent.

On my arrival at the houſe which Lady G. had inhabited, I was informed by a ſervant, that ſhe had juſt left it to return no more: I deſired to know to what place ſhe had remov⯑ed; he could not tell where his Lady was gone, he had been paid his wages and was diſcharged. Perceiving he was a clowniſh country fellow, I offered him money if he would inform me of the truth; he perſiſted in the ſame anſwer: I aſked him who accompa⯑nied his Lady on her journey; a maid-ſervant was in the poſt-chaiſe with her, and one man attended on horſeback; nobody elſe was of the party. Did he know any body who could inform me where ſhe was gone, as I had buſi⯑neſs [32] of importance; he knew nobody who could give me that information; he was ſure none of his fellow-ſervants had been in the ſe⯑cret, elſe he ſhould have known it from them: upon recollection, he ſaid perhaps the gentle⯑man, for whom he had a letter, might be able to tell: upon aſking the name of the gentle⯑man for whom he had the letter, he ſaid it was Arundel, and that he had the letter then in his charge, which he was ordered to carry to Arun⯑del-houſe and deliver with his own hands.

A thought then ſtruck me to aſk him if he knew the perſon of Mr. Arundel, and the fel⯑low ſaying he did not, I thought it an allowa⯑ble fraud in ſuch a caſe to tell him, that was very true, elſe he would have known he was now ſpeaking to that very perſon, for I was Mr. Arundel and had come purpoſely to en⯑quire for the letter, which I was in expectation of; upon which I ſlipped a few pieces into his hand and got poſſeſſion of the letter.

As there ſeems ſome myſtery in this corre⯑ſpondence with your Lady and Mr. Arundel, knowing the terms your Lordſhip is upon with that ingrateful gentleman, I hope I ſhall not incur your diſpleaſure by the means I took for [33] intercepting a letter, which may very poſſibly explain ſome particulars you may wiſh to be informed of, and at leaſt diſcover where it is ſhe has removed to: I now incloſe it to your Lordſhip, ſealed and entire as I received it, that you may open it or not as you ſee fit.

It does not become me to be officious in matters of family concern, and I hope your Lordſhip will believe I am the laſt perſon to offend your delicacy in that reſpect; but I cannot avoid a remark upon the time, which Mr. Arundel choſe for going into the country, neither is it to be overlooked that her Lady⯑ſhip choſe a reſidence within a few miles of this gentleman's houſe: Is it to be ſuppoſed that he is not in the ſecret of this ſudden mea⯑ſure, which had it been the meaſure of any other perſon than of Lady G. I ſhould take the liberty to call an abſolute elopement? But if I could have doubted of his knowledge of the ſcheme from the reſpect which I am in⯑clined to bear to every member of your Lord⯑ſhip's family, I could not now have perſiſted in my incredulity ſince the diſcourſe I have held with Lady G.'s ſervant, and the facts which he has related to me with ſuch an air of [34] natural ſimplicity, as will not ſuffer me to doubt of his veracity.

If Lady G. has written confidentially and explicitly to your Lordſhip, all things may be well, and for that reaſon I forbear to trouble you with the depoſition of this domeſtic evi⯑dence for the preſent; but if this is not done to your ſatisfaction, I ſhould preſume it will be proper to enquire into facts, and hear the man himſelf; for which purpoſe I ſhall keep him in my hands, till I am further informed of your pleaſure.

Farewell.

LETTER LXI. The Earl of G. to Sir George Revel.

NOTHING could be more fortunate than your intercepting that letter, which has revealed a plot of the darkeſt and moſt diabolical nature: I entreat of you to come to me directly, that we may conſult how to tra⯑verſe [35] this inſidious proceeding; I ſhall reſerve the letter for our meeting, let it ſuffice for the preſent when I inform you, with no leſs indig⯑nation than horror, that our very worſt conjec⯑tures are too fully verified, and that my caſt-off Secretary has been conſpiring with my caſt-off wife to ſeduce the affections of my daughter, and violate the honor of my family by mixing my blood with that of a fellow, whom I deteſt above every thing that walks the earth.

Farewell.

LETTER LXII. Arundel to Charles Mortlake.

LETTER LXIII. Lady Louiſa G. to Lady Jane S.

ALL joy to my beloved friend! Your gallant brother has acquired both fame and fortune under the auſpices of Captain Arundel. What happy ſtar is this, that ſeems to ſhine with ſuch peculiar favor on that illuſ⯑trious name! The nephew triumphs in elo⯑quence, [43] the uncle conquers in arms. All Lon⯑don is in a tumult of joy; the ſame bonfires, which blaze for the victory, uſher in the au⯑ſpicious commencement of a new Adminiſtra⯑tion: the overthrow is compleat, the whole cabinet is diſſolved, and not a wreck left be⯑hind; my father does not fall alone; this is his only conſolation.

I take for granted you will now come out of Scotland to embrace and welcome your be⯑loved hero. I hear prodigious accounts of the treaſure captured in the Spaniſh prizes. The breaches time has made in the fortune of your antient houſe will be now repaired, and the old caſtle itſelf feel a renovation of its priſtine ſplendor. Above all things it de⯑lights me to reflect upon the mortification, which your mercenary lover will experience. Wretch, who puts no value on the treaſures of the mind, whoſe callous heart, not the charms of the moſt lovely form can touch! let him dig for happineſs in the bowels of the earth, let him ranſack the veins of the mine for the vir⯑tues of the heart. Mean as he is, I ſhall not wonder if he has the audacity to renew his ad⯑dreſſes to you.

[44]I thank the poetic ſybil for her ſong; it ſooths my melancholy; I hope ſoon to meet her transformed into a young and blooming muſe: I will then ſalute her with the tune of Roſline Caſtle to her own pathetic words.

My poor mother is gone ſuddenly from her houſe in Kent, and left England—Alas! I know not whither ſhe has turned her exiled ſteps. All is myſterious and ſad. Sir George Revel, vainly hoping to make his peace, ſet out in ſearch of her, but came too late; ſhe had departed that morning. I believe he is ſtill in the neighbourhood; ſomething is on foot between him and my father, but what I know not: a cloud is gathering; time will develope its contents; I ſhall meet it with firmneſs.

Farewell.

LETTER LXIV. The Earl of G. to Sir George Revel.

IT is clear to me, me dear Sir George, that this letter you intercepted is only one of a number, that have paſſed between Arundel and my wife to the ſame wicked and inſidious pur⯑poſes: the prejudices their cabal has pro⯑duced in my daughter's mind are too ſtubborn to give way to gentle efforts; theſe have been tried to no purpoſe, and it is now time to take more lively meaſures for bringing her to a ſenſe of her own happineſs as well as of her duty to me.

I ſay to you in confidence, that my ſuſpi⯑cions of Arundel go to all poſſible lengths: I believe he has been a traitor to me and the ſe⯑ducer of my wife's honor: What elſe could be the purport of that ſecret correſpondence, which was carried on to the very moment of Lady G.'s flight out of England? What could provoke her to that flight, except to purſue her ſcandalous commerce with more ſecurity [46] in a foreign kingdom? Why does ſhe con⯑ceal the place of her destination from her whole family? Arundel, and only Arundel, is privy to it, and thus the virulence of his nature will be gratified with a double revenge, having corrupted my wife he will poſſeſs himſelf of my daughter—Vengeance ſeize the villain! ſuch injuries are too deep: Oh, that my age, my rank and condition in life were not ſuch as tie up my hands againſt taking perſonal re⯑venge upon ſuch a traitor.

The curſe of it is, that this letter, which you have ſtopt, diſcloſes nothing of their con⯑nection, which can criminate him with my wife. I inſert a copy of it for your peruſal.

This is the letter; a delicate method her Ladyſhip takes of teaching him to cajole her huſband: how you ſtand with her is pretty clear, and duely conſiderate ſhe ſeems to be of the ſafety of her favorite. What would I not give for the ſight of that intelligence which reſpects Louiſa! This plainly points to you the tenor of their correſpondence. Where is that ſervant, from whom you got the letter? He might be a very uſeful man; if we could fix ſtrong circumſtances of guilt upon Arun⯑del, it is not in the nature of things, that Louiſa could think of him but with loathing and abhorrence. If you can work the truth out of that fellow, I ſhall not ſhrink from it: be the conſequences what they may, I am for fathoming this foul buſineſs to the very dregs.

I have told Louiſa nothing of the inter⯑cepted letter, nor ſhall I till I have further communication with you.

Farewell.

LETTER LXV. Sir George Revel to the Earl of G.

THE ſervant you are ſo deſirous of exa⯑mining, is now in my hands. He is a ſtubborn, unwilling informer, but I am more ready to believe he ſpeaks the truth, from the pains it requires to extort it from him. Alas! my Lord, it is a very black affair; conſult your heart a ſecond time, and conſider well be⯑fore you call upon me for the facts. If you will follow my advice, you will remain in voluntary ignorance.

Farewell.

LETTER LXVI. The Earl of G. to Sir George Revel.

HAVE I not already told you that I am prepared to meet the worſt? Why will you dally with my patience, as if I wanted re⯑ſolution, [49] or ſtill harboured an unmanly weak⯑neſs for a guilty wife. Let me hear the fel⯑low's depoſition.

Farewell.

LETTER LXVII. Sir George Revel to the Earl of G.

BY a confeſſion with difficulty obtained from Lady G.'s ſervant it appears, that an aſſignation was made, and a meeting had in conſequence within a certain grove at the bot⯑tom of her garden, where there is a ſmall plea⯑ſure-houſe, conveniently equipt for the pur⯑poſe. The perſon of Mr. Arundel, though he had attempted to diſguiſe it, was known to her ladyſhip's London ſervant, and from her my informer was certified as to his identity; that he did actually come to the place appointed, was admitted to your Lady in the pleaſure-houſe, and was there alone with her for the ſpace of an hour, to theſe facts he was himſelf a witneſs. It ſeems her Ladyſhip gave huſh-money [50] to her woman, who was privy to the aſſignation, and ſhe betrayed it (as is the com⯑mon practice of ſuch gentry) to this fellow, who was her lover and no doubt in her good graces.

And is it now poſſible the delicacy of Lady Louiſa's nature ſhall not revolt with horror from the ſeducer of a mother's virtue?

I am aware this charge cannot be imparted to her without its coming to the knowledge of Mr. Arundel; her Ladyſhip will probably put that out of queſtion; but let the guilty tremble; I fear not his reſentment; my part in the buſineſs I am ready to avow; as the inveſtigator of truth, I am fearleſs as to conſequences; in the character of your Lord⯑ſhip's friend, and in hope of being honored with a ſtill nearer name, I am not only pre⯑pared, but forward to face the worſt of dan⯑gers, that can reſult from the rage and deſpe⯑ration of a detected villain. Let him face me point to point; other arguments I have held with him, others I will hold no more; the war of words is not my war; in defending and proving by the logic of the ſchools I am not expert; I have not lived with gownſmen; the [51] ſword has been my ſtudy; it was once my profeſſion; the more accurſed he, who drove me out of that profeſſion!

In three ſeveral affairs at home and abroad I have come off untouched, and as many times left my antagoniſt on the ground. So let it be with Arundel! To that fate I devote him.

Farewell.

P. S. As you may poſſibly require to ſee this man, and receive his depoſition from his mouth, I have taken all poſſible pains to re⯑tain him for that purpoſe; but the fellow, fearful of the revenge, which Mr. Arundel or his friends might take means to execute againſt him, would not be perſuaded to ut⯑ter a word, till I promiſed him his free li⯑berty upon declaring the truth: of that he has availed himſelf, and is out of my reach.

LETTER LXVIII. The Earl of G. to Sir George Revel.

HOW ſhall I expreſs my thanks to you for developing this dark and infamous affair? At length the horrid truth comes out; and the world, which with its uſual misjudging malignity has hitherto ſtampt my behavior to Lady G. with the falſe character of cruelty, will now of force acknowledge the juſtice of my reſentment, and at the ſame time admire the mildneſs of it, if once the infamy of that woman becomes public: but whether I ſhould carry the matter to that length or not, is with me a very ſerious queſtion. I have had too much experience of the world's way of judging in theſe affairs, not to be aware that the huſband always makes a very contemp⯑tible figure on the occaſion. People are very willing to find excuſes in his conduct for the offending party, and with this view take great pains to ſcrape together all the dirty ſtories [53] they can collect on the ſcore of retaliation: in the mean time the broad ſhame ſtares him in the face and every body hoots the cuckold as he paſſes.

Now this is a degree of ignominy, which I cannot ſtand, neither is it to be preſumed that I can have ſo ſtrictly ſquared my actions by the rule of moral purity, as to ſay that no breach of nuptial fidelity has occurred on my part; this falls to the lot of few men to boaſt of, and ſome things, I am ſenſible, have paſſed with me of too public a nature to be controverted. Lady G. to do her juſtice, has been a very diſcreet and prudent woman, this affair only excepted; ſhe has been altogether ſo quiet and unofficious in her high ſtation, that ſhe has made no enemies, and many friends: on the contrary, I have been long held up to the public in an unpopular point of view, and am now recently ſtript of that power and place which would elſe be ſome protection to me; ſtript by the very hands of that political phaenomenon, who is the author of my ſhame, and the object of the world's unbounded flattery, who at this very moment is conſpicuouſly the favorite of fame and for⯑tune. [54] Is there an inſtance upon record of any young man ſtarting forth on a ſudden into ſuch a career, ſuch an unexpected diſplay of talents as to diſtance all our moſt admired and beſt eſtabliſhed orators upon his very firſt eſſay in the houſe? Of force I muſt confeſs there is no ſuch inſtance. I proteſt to you, my dear Sir George (with bitterneſs of heart I ſpeak it), it was his hand that firſt ſhook our fabric to the foundation; and now, mark his indignant ſpirit! he refuſes office, he re⯑ſiſts any ſhare of the ſpoil, (Deſtruction ſeize his pride!) he glories in his independance, and in the revolution of a few months, emer⯑ging from the obſcurity of a college, becomes the man of the people, and the fine gentleman of the age: all this while Fortune ſhowers down upon him her favors without ceaſing: Sir Francis Arundel is now dying, and his ſon by a chance blow is removed out of the courſe of ſucceſſion, that this nephew may in⯑herit the family eſtate: his other uncle goes out upon a cruiſe, and the ſame happy chance throws a prize into his teeth, that is the richeſt capture of the war: in ſhort, the very winds conſpire to waft wealth and proſperity [55] into his arms. And now if I were to bring my appeal againſt his treachery before the pub⯑lic, prejudice would cry me down, and whilſt a few moralizing ſentimentaliſts ſhook their heads at the account and ſilently condemned him, the bulk of mankind would take part with him, and all the faſhionable world would ſpeak ſcornfully of me, and call him a very fine fellow for the gallantry of the deed.

Theſe are amongſt the conſequences which I foreſee would enſue, if we were to make the affair public; and therefore as the ſecret is known only to you, with you I would wiſh it to reſt for the preſent at leaſt, and until I am compelled to draw it forth in my own de⯑fence.

But as there is nothing which I more ar⯑dently deſire than to have the honor of calling you my ſon-in-law, nor any thing on this ſide hell which I ſo hate and abhor as this violator of my honor, this incendiary, who has abuſed the protection of my houſe for the traiterous purpoſe of ſeducing the affections of my only child, there is no ſtep I would not take to fruſtrate his evil intentions, and promote your honorable, ones.

[56]On my part there can be no repugnance to expoſe this infamous tranſaction to Louiſa; but, as I muſt thereby commit you, I cannot take upon my conſcience the conſequences that may follow; ſo that at all events I ſhall wait till I have the honor of ſeeing you: then if it is done, it muſt be your own act, or (which is the ſame thing) I muſt commu⯑nicate it at your ſpecial deſire. Though I have all poſſible confidence in your courage and ſkill, yet I am apt to think the fellow you will have to deal with does not want that ſpirit, which will puſh him upon extremities; at leaſt he has thoſe at his elbow who will prompt him to it; for Captain Arundel and the Earl of S. are now in the ſame houſe with him.

I am afflitted, I confeſs, but not ſur⯑prized.—I muſt regret the conditions by which the informer got his releaſe. Had he been forthcoming, the onus probandi would have laid on him, you would have been clear of all reſponſibility; by his ſeceſſion the affair becomes perſonal. I beſeech you, my dear Sir George, let not your zeal for my honor carry you beyond the bounds of prudence; [57] weigh the matter well: I ſhall not let a ſyl⯑lable tranſpire till we meet.

Farewell.

LETTER LXIX. Charles Mortlake to Arundel.

I TAKE the firſt opportunity of informing you, that I arrived at Arundel-houſe laſt night, and found a very comfortable recep⯑tion from the good old houſekeeper, who ful⯑filled your orders very faithfully and took great care of me.

I think it a grand and venerable manſion; and with the park and grounds about it I am quite in raptures. This morning betimes I took my walk to the parſonage, or rather to the rural palace, which your laviſh generoſity is preparing for a very humble and unſuitable poſſeſſor. In the name of wonder, my dear Arundel, what do you take me for? If I were as great as Thomas à Becket I might make [58] bold to live in it, but being only plain Charles Mortlake, I am aſhamed to look it in the face. In truth I can't conceive that any parſon will be fit to inhabit it, unleſs one of the blood-royal ſhall in future time take or⯑ders and turn pariſh prieſt under your patron⯑age. Your maſter-workman ſhewed me the plan he was upon, and aſked me if I had any additions to make to it; I was then ſtanding in the library, like Abon Haſſan in the Ca⯑liph's apartment, doubting whether I was awake or in a dream, when the queſtion rouſing me from my reverie, I ſtared the man full in the face—Additions, Sir, cried I, I preſume you mean retrenchments.—Pardon me, Sir, replied he, unleſs you have any im⯑provements to propoſe, we muſt exactly pur⯑ſue Mr. Arundel's directions.—Be it ſo, I an⯑ſwered, execute his orders—and immediately I turned into the garden, attracted by the moſt enchanting view that ever met my eyes:—a noble river rolled at my feet; beyond it the country took a gradual aſcent, expanding its various beauties in all the pride and wanton⯑neſs of nature: but what enraptured me moſt was to find it was not inanimate nature, not [59] ſimply groves, lawns, or river, I was to feed my ſight with, but a proſpect warm and alive with human habitations, farms and cottages interſperſed; a ſcene glowing with rural hap⯑pineſs, a landſcape for the heart no leſs than for the eye.—I ſtood and gazed—the contem⯑plation overpowered me; the torrent of thy bounty ruſhed upon my ſoul; it was the reſiſt⯑leſs impulſe of gratitude, and the tears flowed from my eyes. This is the gift of Arundel, I cried—‘Deus nobis haec otia fecit.’

At this inſtant I was accoſted by a venerable old man with ſilver locks, who was ſuper⯑intending a ſet of laborers employed in beau⯑tifying and dreſſing the charming ſpot I was upon: I readily underſtood he was your uncle's gardener; but inſtead of talking to me about the works he was engaged in, with joy painted in his countenance he immediately broke forth—Oh Sir! we have this inſtant got the news, the glorious news; and we hope you will give us leave to ſet the bells a-ring⯑ing in honor of Captain John's victory. By all means, my good friend, by all means, I [60] replied; and let the people break off work, and be merry; and to make them ſo, take this money in my purſe; let the whole village have a holiday: the heart that is not warmed on ſuch an occaſion is not the heart of an Engliſhman.—Sir, replied he, Reverend Sir, I beg your pardon; pray you be not offended at my boldneſs; you are an honorable gentle⯑man, and a generous; but how ſhould you not, ſeeing you are the friend of our young maſter?—But indeed, Sir, I muſt beg leave to return your money; his Honor has ſent us down wherewithal to make a day of it: there is meat to be dreſſed and beer to be drank, enough for all the neighbourhood: I pray you, Sir, let me not affront you, nor get anger of my maſter.—Be ſatisfied, my good friend, I replied, I will not intrude upon the generoſity of your maſter; he is my patron, let him be your's alſo, and let no other name have a ſhare in the feſtivity of this day but the name of Arundel.—I beg your pardon, Sir, replied the veteran, we ſhall make bold to drink a health to our new rector, and ſhall not forget your bounty, though we dare not accept it.—Having ſaid this, he gave a ſignal to his [61] men; down at once fell ſpades, houghs, and pickaxes, away flew the whole bevy at a word; in the ſame moment out burſt the hive from the houſe-door, carpenters, bricklayers, and laborers; the bells began their peal, ſix in number, and to my great joy very muſical; the people ſhouted in chorus, Long live the brave Captain Arundel! And all the noble family, cried the old gardener.—Amen! echoed my heart; Amen, it now re-echoes again.

LETTER LXX. Arundel to Charles Mortlake.

I AM delighted to hear of your holiday at Arundel. Yeſterday in the forenoon, as I was walking to the Admiralty upon enquiry after my uncle, juſt as I was entering the court, a large old tumbril of a coach with ſix horſes and three poſtilions was driving to the gate; two ſailors were ſeated on the box, in [62] ſcarlet jackets, and upon the roof two more in flowered cotton waiſtcoats with long ſilk handkerchiefs round their necks, looſe and fluttering in the wind. I made one of a mul⯑titude, which ſoon collected round the gate, and immediately heard a cry of Captain Arun⯑del for ever! echoed by three cheers from the fellows aloft.

My heart bounded with joy and I darted through the throng to the coach-door, which no ſooner opened, than out bolted my uncle John, and in an inſtant I ſprung into the hero's arms. With rapture I beheld him ſafe, ſound, and in health; he was accompanied by the young Earl of S. (the Captain of his brave frigate), an old ſeaman with a wrapper round his head, and two noble boys in mid⯑ſhipmen's uniform. As ſoon as we got into the hall, which was a work of ſome time, my uncle preſented me to Lord S. crying out to me, Here, Frank, I preſent you to a noble officer, who is an honor to the navy of Bri⯑tain;—then turning to Lord S. he added, My Lord, I beg you will love this boy for my ſake. We embraced, and if Lord S. felt the ſame emotions as I did, our friendſhip is [63] eſtabliſhed for life. My uncle then demanded if Sir Francis was alive and well? Alive, I told him he was, but little more: he ſhook his head, and cried, The worſe luck, repeat⯑ing it more than once.—I told him in few words my ſituation with Sir Francis, ſinking however the cataſtrophe of my couſin.—This ſeemed to pleaſe him much, and he ſaid, If you are upon ſuch terms, all's well! Go home and leave us to do our buſineſs here; tell my brother I ſhall come to dinner and bring my friend Lord S. with me: theſe youngſters muſt ſcout away to their fathers and mothers, naming two noble families, which it ſeems they belonged to.

Immediately I left the place, and haſtening back to Groſvenor ſquare, informed my uncle of my happy rencontre. The gallant old Ge⯑neral, though in a very feeble ſtate, would be carried into the eating-parlour to receive his viſitors at dinner-time; and thanks be to God! one day of true enjoyment was added to his life; for his ſenſes ſeemed to brighten with the pleaſure, and we paſſed ſome hours together of ſo ſuperior a ſort, that even ſick⯑neſs and infirmity could not daſh his joys.

[64]He inſiſted with my uncle, that both him⯑ſelf and Lord S. ſhould take up their lodging in his houſe; this was readily accepted by him, and at laſt agreed to by his Lordſhip alſo; and this morning I attended upon them both to the King's levee, where I was witneſs to the very gracious reception which my ſovereign gave to theſe deſerving officers. My uncle John, whoſe athletic figure is more formed for the quarter-deck than the court, attracted every body's eyes, and, conſidering it was a firſt performance, acquitted himſelf to admi⯑ration. You muſt picture to yourſelf a rough and martial figure above ſix feet high, his head bald to the crown, and a few grey curling locks in his neck, with a deep cut acroſs his fore⯑head, over which he wears a black patch; and to this you muſt affix a face, which defies the winds of heaven, let them viſit it as rough⯑ly as they may; and ſuch is my uncle John; a majeſtic figure on his proper element, but rather uncouth in a courtly circle. When the royal hand was ſtretched out for the cuſtom⯑ary ceremonial, the zealous hero fell on his knees, and ſeizing it with more good-will than grace, ſaluted it with a ſmack, not quite [65] ſo loud as the morning gun, yet ſmart enough to ſurprize the delicate nerves of the well-bred perſonages there aſſembled. I confeſs it rather ſtartled me, but ſeeing it received with a ſmile of ſo much condeſcenſion and benevolence, I was the better reconciled to the unuſual cor⯑diality, which accompanied the performance. In the dialogue of the ſcene, the hero's mo⯑deſty was no leſs conſpicuous than his ardor had been in the action of it; that counte⯑nance, which the enemies of his country could not compel to change its hue, now coloured at the gracious praiſes of his ſovereign, and was overſpread with bluſhes, that would not have diſgraced the maiden cheek, when firſt preſented to the ſalute of majeſty; and my ears tingled whilſt I heard him utter theſe words, in reply to the many gracious ſpeeches that had been made to him:—Sir, your Ma⯑jeſty's goodneſs over-rates my ſmall deſerts; the humbleſt of your ſubjects has no honor to boaſt of, but the honor of commanding a ſhip's company in perfect diſcipline, and bravely officered; and I had been the moſt abject of beings, if the gallant ſupport I received from the Earl of S. my noble col⯑league, [66] had not inſpired me to emulate his valor, and jointly exert myſelf in the ſervice of the moſt gracious ſovereign on earth.—I did not loſe the look with which this was received; it was more than words could have uttered, it would have repaid the triumphs of a Rodney or the diſcoveries of a Cook.

It was now in turn for the brave Earl of S. to receive thoſe praiſes, which the father of his people and the patron of merit knows ſo well to beſtow. I never ſaw a finer perſon than this young nobleman, faſhioned as if he had lived all his days in a court, yet with all the manli⯑neſs that marks the hero, he ſeems formed for conqueſts over both the ſexes: he is of the nobleſt blood in Scotland, though the fortune of his houſe, by a variety of events in time paſt, has been ſo impaired as to leave him a very ſcanty inheritance for the ſupport of his dig⯑nity. He has ſerved under my uncle from the time he went firſt to ſea, and ſeems to bear him all the duty and affection of a ſon; he was promoted to a ſloop for his gallantry in boarding an enemy's ſhip, when he was my uncle's firſt lieutenant, and this cruize was the firſt he had taken in the capacity of poſt-cap⯑tain; [67] the rich capture he has now made will reſtore the ſplendor of his family, and furniſh him the means of generoſity to an only ſiſter, to whom he is moſt affectionately devoted: he talks of her in raptures, and ſeems to rejoice in his good fortune only as he may ſhare it with her. Lady Jane S. is now on her road out of Scotland and he expects her hourly; Sir Francis tells me ſhe is a moſt lovely girl, the very image of his Lordſhip, and, what endears her to me more than all, the friend of my adored Louiſa.

Inſolent!—to dare to call her my Louiſa; and yet, believe me, I would not barter the hope that now brightens in my proſpect for all the treaſures of the world.—Hear me only and then judge.

Laſt night Lord S. and I went to Lady Treville's: my good uncle John, having per⯑formed his court ceremonies to his heart's content, was ſo exhilarated on the occaſion, and made ſuch frequent libations to his Ma⯑jeſty's health, to the navy of Old England, and a ſtring of ſea-toaſts, which he is humo⯑rouſly expert in, together with all the manual accompaniments thereunto belonging, that [68] though he could not drive my Lord and me beyond the verge of ſobriety, he fairly puſhed us to the utmoſt edge of it, ſo that I went to the good old Lady's animated at leaſt, if not elevated; and finding a party aſſembled ac⯑cording to cuſtom for a little concert, whom ſhould my eyes encounter, ready ſeated at the harpſichord, but the Cecilia, the ſaint of har⯑mony and my ſoul's idol, my divine Louiſa? A lover's ſight hath the rapidity of lightning; my eyes inſtantaneouſly caught her charming form, and every other object became inviſible to me.—Oh Charles, Charles! ſuch a glowing bluſh mounted in her cheeks, ſuch a gleam of ſunſhine darted from her eyes, and I ſaw my ſilent welcome in a ſmile of ſo much ſweet⯑neſs, (let me not boaſt too much if I preſume to ſay) of ſo much love, that I was tranſported out of myſelf: wild as I was and out of all government of diſcretion, I flew to the en⯑chanting object of my adoration with an enthu⯑ſiaſm, that obeyed no forms, and ſhould cer⯑tainly have dropt upon my knee at her feet, if ſhe had not been more quick to foreſee and prevent my deſign, than I was to execute it—Mr. Arundel! ſhe cried, in that tone of alarm, [69] which to the ear of ſenſibility communicates a volume in a word: it was enough; I recollect⯑ed myſelf in the inſtant, and her glove having fallen from her lap, or more probably ſhe having deſignedly dropt it, the attitude I had devoted to other purpoſes was very aptly ap⯑plied to a more ordinary act of common polite⯑neſs. Enough however had paſſed to throw her into a confuſion, that whilſt it made me bluſh for what ſhe ſuffered, perfectly enchanted me with the lovely manner of it.—Oh Charles, there was a magic in it, that was irrreſiſtibly charming; ſhe rallied me with ſuch eyes, ſhe recovered herſelf with ſo much exquiſite ad⯑dreſs, and intuitively diſcovering all that was paſſing in my mind, and no leſs quick in diſ⯑cerning the elevation of my ſpirits, with an archneſs in her look and tittering at the ſame time, ſhe ſaid to me half aloud—You have been dining, Mr. Arundel!—Then addreſſing herſelf to Lord S. ſhe added—I think your Lordſhip kiſſed hands to-day.—Yes, Madam, ſaid he, and I expected to have ſeen Arundel repeat the ceremony to-night.—To ſo fair a ſovereign, I replied, the adoration of the heart is the fitter ſervice, and I ſtand corrected.— [70] Well, well, returned ſhe, if you are a loyal ſubject, let me have a proof of your obedience by taking up your inſtrument at the word of command and gratifying this good company with the ſound of it. Upon the word I flew to my poſt, the charmer of all ears as well as eyes ſelected the very ſong, ſhe firſt performed at Spring Grove, and whiſpering me as ſhe ar⯑ranged it on her deſk, ſaid, This ſong is be⯑come a great favorite with me; I hope you will not like it the leſs for being an old ac⯑quaintance;—but harkye, Mr. Arundel, added ſhe, do not leave me in the paſſages, for I am ſo fluttered I ſcarce know how to attempt it.—By Heaven! I murmured in her ear, by Heaven you are an angel, you have the beauty of an angel and the forbearance of one, or you would order me out of the room.—No, no, ſhe anſwered, we cannot part from you; you have a plea for your good ſpirits; I give you joy of your happineſs, you cannot poſſeſs more than I wiſh you.—But huſh!—not another word; ſo begin.

If I was ever vain enough to approve of my own performance, it was at this moment; I ſupported her till I found ſhe had the full [71] command of her voice, and then I only gave ſuch occaſional aids as added to its brilliancy: nothing could exceed the ſtile in which ſhe ſung; every body was charmed, every ear was feaſted, every eye ſeemed to gaze upon her with delight; it was a circle of friends in per⯑fect good-humour with each other—of harmo⯑ny in every ſenſe of the word; not a glance of envy, not a ſcowl of jealouſy to cloud the ſun⯑ſhine of the ſoul; I never knew a moment of ſuch heart-felt rapture.

When the ſong was over, Lady Louiſa beckoned Lord S. to her, and with a ſmile, in which benevolence and beauty contended for the pre-eminence, told him ſhe had a little ballad written by a Scottiſh muſe, a dear friend of his and her's, adapted alſo to a Scottiſh tune, which ſhe would give him for the ſake of the author; and then turning to me bade me take up my violin and make out an extem⯑porary accompaniment to the old air of Roſ⯑line Caſtle; ſhe then began a little plaintive ballad, which Lady Jane S. had written, be⯑ginning with the words—

[72] Which, though ſhe addreſſed to Maria, I have a ſhrewd ſuſpicion was a ſubſtitution of her own in place of Louiſa. I filled up an accom⯑paniment as well as I could impromptu, and when the words were concluded went on with variations upon the motiva, as the muſicians call it, which in the flow of ſpirits I then felt came ſpontaneouſly, and with ſo free a fancy as well as execution, that I really believe I acquitted myſelf very tolerably; but whether it deſerved praiſe or not, the good-humour of the audience beſtowed it, and the lovely Louiſa putting two enchanting hands together, which, if their delicacy could have provoked applauſe, meant to beſtow it, I was ſo bewitch⯑ed with the ſweet ſight of it, that I could no longer reſiſt the impulſe, but gently encloſing the beauteous captives within mine, I again releaſed them with an ardent kiſs.

Summer never ſhowered freſher roſes on the vale of Sharan, than this ſaucy action ſpread upon her cheeks, nay, Charles, her very bo⯑ſom took the dye and glittered through the gauze that ſhaded it.—Upon my word! ſhe ſaid—and ſmiled a heavenly ſmile—Sacred be the impreſſion upon my lips for ever! never [73] ſhall they violate the purity of that celeſtial touch, whilſt they can utter breath: I ſtand in wonder at myſelf whilſt I reflect upon the deed; I think the world could not have brib⯑ed me to attempt it at any preceding moment of my life: I was certainly beſide myſelf.

A ſudden tremor ſeized me, fearing I had offended; but, oh my dear Charles, ſhe cheared me with ſuch a look, how was it that I did not run delirious at the ſight of it? My hand ſhakes, my very brain turns, as I reflect upon it.—I will remove this enchantreſs out of your ſight.—The ſcene preſſes to its exit; Lady Treville had ſtept up to her, and in a whiſper, which was meant for me to overhear, ſaid, My dear Lady Louiſa, you and your chaperon, Mrs. Courtenhall, muſt do me the honor to ſup; I ſhall aſk nobody but Lord S. and per⯑haps this ſcraper, but that will be accordingly as he behaves. It ſhall be quite a private party.—Ten thouſand thanks to my good Lady Treville, replied Lady Louiſa; I need not ſay how happy it would make me, but it is impoſſible: I am abſent from home upon ſufferance, and perhaps, added ſhe, turning her intelligent and ſoft eyes upon me, I have [74] already too far treſpaſſed upon a forbidden pleaſure; I muſt be gone this inſtant.—Theſe words were uttered with a ſigh, which opened all my fate upon me and daſhed my joys at once into ſadneſs.

Deſperate however againſt all appearances, I followed her out of the room, and offered my hand to conduct her down the ſtairs; ſhe ac⯑cepted it moſt complacently, nay, ſhe even ſeemed to have expected it, and inſtead of ſpeaking to her ſervants, turned with me into the eating parlour, which opened to the hall. Ah Lady Louiſa! ſaid I as we entered, I am ſhocked to think that I am the interdicted ob⯑ject, which expels you from ſociety; ſuffer me, I beſeech you, this inſtant to leave the houſe.—Not for the world, ſhe replied; but, without waſting more words upon a ſubject, which I muſt not enlarge upon, permit me to aſk you if you have ſeen my mother, for I underſtand you have been in her neighbourhood.—I told her I had not.—Could I tell where ſhe was gone?—I aſſured her I could not; I under⯑ſtood it was out of England, but I could form no gueſs at the place; and I was ſorry to per⯑ceive by her queſtion that it was equally a [75] ſecret from her.—It is indeed, ſhe replied, and as you cannot give me information, I deſpair of it by any other channel, for I confeſs to you I ſuppoſed you was in correſpondence with her.—There was ſomething in her manner of ſaying this, that determined me to be explicit as to the letters I had received from Lady G. as well as with reſpect to the other particulars ſhe had enquired into; I therefore ſaid—Upon my honor, Lady Louiſa, I am totally without a gueſs where that excellent lady, whoſe ſitua⯑tion is ſo painful to my mind, has thought fit to retire to; I thought it due to the reſpect and gratitude I bear her to write to her before my coming into the country, diſtantly to ſound her inclinations, if a viſit might be acceptable to her; this drew a ſhort but very gracious anſwer from her Ladyſhip, in which ſhe ſeem⯑ed to allow of it; but upon my arrival at Arun⯑del-houſe, I thought it an attention, which I owed to the peculiarity of her ſituation, to write a ſecond time, ſubmitting it to her diſ⯑cretion to reconſider of the propoſal; and I truſt the real motives for my heſitation need not be juſtified to you, but that they ſpeak for themſelves.—To this ſhe aſſented with a nod, [76] and I then concluded by telling her I had re⯑ceived an anſwer to this note, in which Lady G. acquieſced in the propriety of thoſe motives, and informed me that ſhe was going out of England without telling me where.—I am glad you have told me this, ſhe replied, be⯑cauſe I think it not impoſſible I ſhall hear the ſtory differently ſtated, and I am deter⯑mined to believe nothing to the contrary of what you have told me; and now, concluded ſhe, I am afraid I muſt take leave of you. Oh, Lady Louiſa, I exclaimed, and at the ſame time preſſed her unreſiſting hand, may I hope I have not offended you?—Heavens, Mr. Arundel, offended me! where was your obſervation, if you could ſuſpect it?—I know you are all goodneſs, condeſcenſion, gentle⯑neſs; but the ſudden joy of ſeeing you was too much for me; you conquer every ſenſe at once; you are miſtreſs over every heart.—And yet there is but one, Mr. Arundel, on which I wiſh to leave a laſting impreſſion.—The look ſhe gave me pointed the application, I had been inſenſible could I have miſſed it; again I preſſed my lips upon her hand, and with faultering voice replied—Am I too pre⯑ſumptuous, [77] Lady Louiſa, when I ſay your image is indelibly imprinted on my heart? when I aſpire to tell the moſt exalted of her ſex, that I doat upon you to diſtraction? yes, Madam, hopeleſs as I am, unapproachable though you are, an angel moving in a ſphere above my reach, ſtill I will adore you, ſtill my prayers ſhall follow you, and my devoted heart, though fated to deſpair, perſiſt to love till the hand of death ſhall ſtop its motion.—As I was pronouncing theſe words I felt a tear drop upon my hand, when directing my eyes to the fount from which it fell, I ſaw her beau⯑teous countenance ſurrendered to the tendereſt and fondeſt emotions; as ſhe ſtood in a poſ⯑ture inclining towards me, I expected ſhe would fall, and was prepared to catch her in my arms; but a ſudden recollection ſeemed to awaken her, and caſting her eyes upon Mrs. Courtenhall, who was waiting in the room, Mr. Arundel, ſhe ſaid, if you really feel the love which you expreſs, you need not yield to the deſpair you ſeem to apprehend; I never ſtudied to diſguiſe my feelings, and you can⯑not fail to have diſcovered them; interpret them therefore in the way moſt acceptable to [78] yourſelf, and believe me incapable of diſſimu⯑lation. On this you may depend, that though I will never take a ſtep in direct diſobedience to a father's authority, I will not ſacrifice my happineſs in life to a compliance with his par⯑tiality for any man, whom my heart cannot approve.

So ſaying, ſhe turned haſtily away, and ſee⯑ing me about to follow her to the door, ſhe bade me ſtay where I was till ſhe was gone, and taking hold of Mrs. Courtenhall's arm haſtened out of the room, beſtowing on me a look at parting, that ſaid Farewell in a lan⯑guage, that no eyes can ſpeak ſo eloquently as hers.

I rejoined the company up ſtairs, who were too delicate to make the leaſt remark upon my abſence, and after a little more muſic our party diſperſed, leaving nobody but Lord S. and myſelf with Lady Treville, who was juſt telling his Lordſhip, that ſhe hoped his ſiſter would accept of an apartment in her houſe upon her arrival in town, and that ſhe had written a letter for that purpoſe to be given to her at Hatfield, where ſhe would change horſes; when our attention being called off by [79] a rapping at the door, whilſt we were proteſt⯑ing againſt the admiſſion of ſo unſeaſonable a viſitor, who ſhould enter the room but Lady Jane herſelf? Inſtantly ſhe flew into her bro⯑ther's arms, who ran to her with equal tran⯑ſport—My Archibald, my hero, ſhe exclaim⯑ed, thus may we ever meet! thus may I ever glory in my brother!—I marked her counte⯑nance, it was illuminated with joy, the fires that ſparkled in her eyes would not admit a tear to quench them; ſhe was the very model of a Roman ſiſter, congratulating a beloved brother on his triumph:—again ſhe claſped him in her arms and cried—Well done, my Archibald! well done; And all this victory gained without a wound? thank Heaven! that honor I can well away with.—She now ad⯑dreſſed herſelf to Lady Treville in a ſtile of po⯑liteneſs that quite charmed me; for this young lady, Charles, has a peculiar grace in all ſhe does, which I cannot well deſcribe to you: when Lady Treville preſented me to her, ſhe received me with a moſt ſweet, yet penetrat⯑ing look, which ſeemed to tell me ſhe was no ſtranger to my ambitious love. Though ſhe had ſcarce allowed herſelf to reſt upon her [80] journey, ſhe would not own to any fatigue, and after we had ſupped her ſpirits were ſo gay and freſh, and ſhe had ſo many enquiries to make about the action, ſo many civil things to ſay to the lady of the houſe, and talked in ſo delightful a ſtile of my adored Louiſa, whilſt ſhe archly contrived to draw out my whole heart upon the ſubject, that the minutes poſt⯑ed ſo faſt away upon the wings of joy, that time was totally forgotten by all but our good old hoſteſs, who was beſt acquainted with it, and had moſt reaſon to remember it; at length ſhe brought us to a proper ſenſe of Lady Jane's repoſe, and with an air of mo⯑therly authority, in her lively good-humoured manner, cried out—Be gone, young men, to your quarters; be gone this moment: though Lady Jane is a goddeſs, ſhe cannot live with⯑out ſleep.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXI. Arundel to Charles Mortlake.

THIS morning at ſix o'clock my bounte⯑ous benefactor cloſed his eyes for ever: Sir Francis Arundel is no more: death, whom he had ſo often braved in the field, ſtole upon him unawares in his ſleep, and extinguiſhed him without a groan. Few are the days I have lived with him and known him, many and vaſt are the obligations I owe him. He has been a dying man ever ſince the fatal event, which bereft him of his ſon; the happy day he paſſed with my uncle John on his ar⯑rival was the laſt enjoyment he had of his ſenſes, and except the time he accompanied me to the Houſe of Commons, he has never been out of his doors ſince I have been with him.

As his corpſe muſt be interred in the family vault at Arundel, I ſhall come down to at⯑tend the funeral; and, that all things may be [82] in proper order for that ſolemnity, I intend to leave town to-morrow, and ſhall be accom⯑panied by my uncle John: you will be ſo good to inform the houſekeeper of this, that ſhe may provide accordingly and expect us by dinner-time.

As ſoon as the funeral is over, Lord S. has promiſed to come down to us, and if we can prevail upon Lady Treville to accompany Lady Jane, (which I do not deſpair of) they will be of the party; ſhould that take place, you will have an opportunity of ſeeing old age and youth in their moſt amiable characters: guard your heart well, for if it is as open to love as it is to friendſhip and benevolence, farewell to its tranquillity, if you come within the glance of Lady Jane's bright eyes.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXII. Lady Jane S. to Lady Louiſa G.

WAS it not a moſt obliging act of Lady Treville to come with me hither, by which I was enabled to accompany my bro⯑ther, and enjoy the ſociety of ſome of the moſt amiable people living, in one of the moſt de⯑lightful ſcenes?

I am greatly ſtruck with the natural beau⯑ties of this place, and though the manſion is antient, yet it is in a ſtately ſtile, and the prin⯑cipal apartments are really very fine.

The funeral was over before our arrival, and the worthy General now ſleeps with his anceſ⯑tors; his corpſe was attended to the vault by the heir and Captain Arundel, and the ſervice performed by Mr. Mortlake, the new rector of this pariſh and the boſom friend of his pa⯑tron: Mr. Arundel's father, now Sir Joſeph, declined being preſent either at the funeral, or at the opening of the will; I ſuſpect he is a [84] very unpleaſant kind of being [...] Captain John informs me, that the eſtate is a good nine thouſand a year in land, and he thinks the ready money cannot be leſs than twenty thou⯑ſand pounds to the heir, when all legacies are paid—and if you add to this, ſaid he, the pick⯑ings of my old carcaſe, when the fates have diſpoſed of it, Frank will be a warm fellow.

I have told my dear Louiſa how much I was pleaſed with the man of her heart at our firſt meeting; I now find there is no leſs to love than to admire in him. Do you know, Louiſa, that Lord S. and I agree in thinking him extremely like you? Can I ſpeak in higher commendation of his perſon, than when I proteſt to you, I am not conſcious that I flatter him? I muſt be⯑lieve you are deſtined for each other. Oh, that my dear Louiſa was here with us! my poor head will be quite turned by the attentions, which are paid me; think only what a contraſt to the dreary ſolitude of my native caſtle! Here am I Queen regent of an empire, which I truſt is deſtined to a fitter as well as fairer ſovereign; every face I meet reflects the ſmile of benevolence upon me: Is it not the very quinteſſence of human happineſs to be center⯑ed [85] in the hearts of thoſe we love, to be em⯑boſomed in the ſociety of the Virtues?

As Sir Francis had a well-regulated family of ſervants, and lived in a ſtile very ſuitable to his fortune, our friend has very little trouble with his domeſtic arrangements; the works he is carrying on at the Parſonage Houſe ſeem to be his principal occupation at preſent, and for the preſent he turns a deaf ear to all projects for the embelliſhment of his own domain.—It is the firſt object with me, (he ſaid this morning, as we were walking in the park) to make Mortlake happy in his ſituation; as for this old manſion and its premiſſes, I will do no⯑thing more than keep it in its preſent good repair, till the time may come that I may con⯑ſult a better taſte than my own for the im⯑provement of it. Then pauſing for a few mo⯑ments, with a ſigh he exclaimed—But what are theſe preſumptuous hopes, which I in⯑dulge? Ah, Lady Jane, I delude myſelf; I do but walk in a vain ſhadow: all the favors of fortune are but loſt upon me; I cannot enjoy them; Was ever man ſo courted by proſpe⯑rity? See how happineſs ſolicits me! Look at thoſe heroes!—here he pointed to his uncle [86] and my brother, who were walking together arm in arm towards the river—How am I honored in calling one uncle, and the other friend? Carry your eye up to that houſe, which hangs over the river they are going to: Is it not a charming ſpot? and how ought I to be bleſt in the friend which poſſeſſes it! What a delightful ſenſation do I feel when I contemplate that habitation, and ſay within myſelf, in that aſylum I have placed the friend of my heart, the gentleſt, kindeſt, beſt of hu⯑man beings! Oh, Lady Jane, if ever there was a faultleſs creature, Mortlake is the man.—This methinks is bleſſing enough for any one perſon's ſhare in life; but, as if fortune woul [...] never be weary of her favors to me, ſhe has added to her other gifts the happineſs and ho⯑nor, which I am this moment enjoying with a friend as amiable as ſhe is noble, in whoſe heart I do not deſpair at humble diſtance to participate with my Louiſa herſelf—I give you his own flattering words, my dear, though I ought to bluſh for my aſſurance. Shall I pro⯑ceed? ſtand aſide, vanity! and I will—Yes, Lady Jane, he continued, you have a wo⯑man's feelings, and an angel's pity, you can [87] underſtand and commiſerate the inquietudes of a heart ſo empaſſioned as mine is; you can ſuffer me to talk of my ſoul's idol, you can hear me with patience, and can allow for the extravagancies of a diſcourſe, which obſerves no order—but I will reſtrain myſelf, he add⯑ed, let us join your brother.

He and the old Captain were at that inſtant very buſily employed upon the launch of a new boat, juſt arrived from London: theſe heroes, who had ſo lately triumphed over the flag of Spain, were ſtript to their ſhirts and oc⯑cupied in the humble office of tallowing the bottom of a wherry; and ſo ardent were they both in their taſk, that I doubt if the very odour of their work was not grateful to their noſtrils: a country fellow was ſtanding by them, gaping with ſurprize, but totally out of employment. As the weather is ſupremely fine, we propoſe to go upon the Medway this evening, and under ſuch command, I ſhould not tremble to encounter Scylla and Charybdis in all their poetical terrors.

Mortlake was ſtanding on the oppoſite bank, upon a terrace in his garden which butts againſt the river: at the end of this ter⯑race [88] there is a landing-place, where a little boat, which ſerves to ferry him over the wa⯑ter, was moored to the ſhore; and as we ap⯑proached, we heard the old Captain roaring out to the Doctor, as he calls him, to puſh his boat acroſs the ſtream, and take the lady on board, for that I was coming to viſit him. Upon this ſummons he came over; where⯑upon Arundel and I ſtept into the boat, and though our worthy ferryman ſeemed to me to acquit himſelf very expertly, yet this old ſon of the ocean kept jibing and jeering at him, in his ſea language, every inch of the way, ſtanding all the while in his ſhirt, with the ſleeves tuck'd up to his elbows, no hat upon his head, and his bald pate ſhining in the ſun, a tremendous gaſh acroſs his forehead plaiſ⯑tered over with a huge black patch, and of ſo gigantic a form, that it is no wonder he is terrible to his enemies, when I declare even I, who doat upon him, could not ſurvey his figure without trembling. Mr. Mort⯑lake, who delights in his humour, kept up the water language with a great deal of pleaſantry, till he landed us at the foot of the ſtairs which lead to his terrace: here, in ſtepping out of [89] the boat, which was rather unſteady, my foot ſlipt, and I ſhould certainly have had a very ugly fall upon the edge of the boat backwards, if Mortlake had not with great addreſs caught me in his arms. My dear brother, whoſe eyes were upon me, gave a loud ſhriek; but when he ſaw me ſafe, he called out to my preſerver—Well handled, my brave fellow! keep hold of what you've got; you deſerve her for your pains.—Whether it was this raillery of my brother's, or the alarm of my danger, or what elſe I know not, but he had no ſooner ſet me on my feet, than the colour went from his cheeks, his whole frame trembled, and if he had not ſquatted down upon the ſteps, I think verily he would have fainted. I con⯑feſs to you I was very much touched with his ſenſibility, and ſo was Arundel.—Lord S. ran down to the river-ſide, and cried out,—My dear Mortlake, I hope you are not hurt.—By this time he was recovering, and having aſſured my brother that no harm had befallen either of us, we walked up the garden lawn to the houſe. We entered the library by a glaſs door, and in my life I was never ſo enchanted with the elegant ſimplicity and proportion of [90] a room before. By the preparations for the books, it ſhould ſeem the collection is conſi⯑derable, and I am told they are very well ſe⯑lected; in ſhort, they are worthy both of the giver and receiver. Nobody can beſtow with ſuch a grace as Arundel; nobody can apply them to better purpoſe than Mortlake. We went over the houſe, and I am charmed with every part of it; the bed-rooms, a dreſſing-room and drawing-room, are yet unfur⯑niſhed, and Mr. Arundel ſaid, he had drawn me thither on purpoſe to avail himſelf of my taſte in the choice of the papers and cottons, of which he laid before me a variety of pat⯑terns. Help us out, I beſeech you, Lady Jane, ſaid he, for we college drones are but ſorry judges in theſe matters.

Whilſt I ſate down to examine a large par⯑cel of theſe ſamples, one of the workmen called Mr. Arundel out of the room; and how it was I know not, but I confeſs to you, my dear Louiſa, I felt a little queeriſh juſt now, finding myſelf alone with a very handſome and a very young man, in the awkward office of chuſing beds and curtains, whilſt he was folding and unfolding and hovering about [91] me; ſo I fairly threw the work aſide for the time, and told him I would wait till Mr. Arundel returned. Mortlake, whoſe ſenſibi⯑lity nothing can eſcape, and who perhaps had not quite recovered his former agitation, now bluſhed like ſcarlet, and I have no doubt I looked ſilly enough, for I confeſs my bro⯑ther's words, though probably ſpoken in mere pleaſantry, without meaning, had put my heart into no ſmall flutter. In this ſituation we both ſtood ſilent for a time, and irreſolute what to ſay or do next. On theſe occaſions a woman generally is the firſt to find her tongue, and I began to talk of the eſcape I had had, and to thank him for his care and protection of me, which I was afraid had oc⯑caſioned him ſome pain or hurt, which he did not own to.—He aſſured me that he felt no pain but what aroſe from my danger, and even the apprehenſion of any harm befalling me, was more than he could bear.—But we muſt not truſt you to the boat any more, added he, and I will deſire Arundel to ſend for his carriage to take you home by the road. I had now recovered from my embaraſſment, and calling him back as he was going out of [92] the room, declared againſt the carriage, tell⯑ing him we ſhould never hear an end of the old Captain's raillery, if we gave the cauſe up ſo cowardly: beſides, added I, it would be⯑tray a want of confidence in my conductor, which would be very ingrateful in me to do. 'Tis your conductor, replied he, who wants confidence in himſelf, when he has ſuch a treaſure in his charge.—Nay, anſwered I, but what will my brother ſay to that, if you deſert a ſtation which he commanded you to keep; won't there be ſomething like mutiny in that?—Ah Madam, he replied, if Lord S. pro⯑motes me to an honor ſo infinitely above my merits, how ought an humble man to act in ſuch a caſe?—I dare ſay, ſaid I, Lord S. is too good a judge of merit, not to know that humility is one of the ſureſt marks which be⯑long to it.—Mr. Arundel now returned, and put a ſtop to a converſation that was growing rather ſerious. We now paſſed a few minutes longer in the houſe, took a walk round the garden, and repaſſing the river, found a car⯑riage in waiting for us on the park ſide and ſo returned to the houſe together.

[93]Immediately on my arrival, a ſervant gave me the following letter, which completely ve⯑rifies your prediction.

[94]As ſoon as I had read this curious epiſtle, I took my brother aſide, and relating to him what had paſſed between Sir Adam and me at Edenborough, gave him the letter. Having peruſed it, he cried out—The devil take the aſſurance of this fellow! he deſerves to be ex⯑poſed for his meanneſs; but, however, ſend him his anſwer and diſmiſs him: and let it be explicit enough to ſilence him for the time to come; for ſome of our countrymen, Jane, are not eaſily put by from their point.

I ſat down immediately, and wrote the fol⯑lowing ſhort anſwer:

This I diſpatched by his ſervant, and hoped to hear no more of my lover; when behold, in leſs than the ſpace of half an hour, a ſervant announced him to Mr. Arundel, who ſeemed much ſurprized at the name of a viſitor, to whom he was a perfect ſtranger; [95] but as there was no heſitation to be made, in point of politeneſs, about receiving him, or⯑ders were given to ſhew Sir Adam Crichton into the room. Lord S. had juſt time to whiſper a few words to Mr. Arundel, when the gentleman made his entrance into the room where we were all aſſembled; the old Captain and Mortlake being juſt then en⯑gaged at the backgammon table, and paying little attention to what was going forward. As ſoon as Sir Adam had made his apologies to Mr. Arundel, which he performed with a great deal of civil circumlocution, he aſked leave to ſpeak with me alone; upon which my brother demanded, if he had not had an anſwer from Lady Jane already? he acknow⯑ledged to have received a ſhort note; but hoped I would yet indulge him with an op⯑portunity of explaining himſelf. Upon this Arundel and Mortlake roſe up, and were preparing to leave the room; but as I was reſolute againſt any converſation with him, I requeſted them to ſtay, for that Sir Adam and I had no private buſineſs whatever. Lord S. now addreſſed him in a ſerious tone as fol⯑lows:—Sir Adam Crichton, you have heard [96] my ſiſter's reſolution; and therefore I muſt on her behalf inſiſt upon it, that you do not preſs her with another word upon the ſubject: upon theſe conditions, if you chuſe to honor us with your company, I think I may anſwer for my friend Mr. Arundel, that all civilities will be paid to Sir Adam Crichton in his houſe.—Certainly, if Sir Adam will do me that honor, ſaid Mr. Arundel, yet coolly enough.—The old Captain, who did not underſtand a word of all this, was bawling out to Mortlake to reſume his game at backgammon; but in vain, I never ſaw ſo reſtleſs a creature, he was in all parts of the room by turns, and never quiet in any. Obſerving this, the Com⯑mander grew out of patience, and being to⯑tally in the dark, and not over quick at ſee⯑ing into the cauſes and reaſons of things, vo⯑ciferated ſtill louder, crying out, Come, come, Doctor, bear a hand; where the plague art capering to? What the dickens is all this to thee? Don't run away from the game, when I have a gammon in my tables?

During this a perfect ſilence had reigned in our quarter, whilſt Sir Adam's eyes had gone a progreſs round the room, ſometimes look⯑ing [97] inquiſitively at my brother, then piteouſly at me, then enviouſly at Arundel, honoring me, as I believe, with a ſuſpicion that he had ſpied out a rival; and very naturally con⯑cluding, from the ſuperiority he there beheld, that his cauſe muſt be hopeleſs, he roſe at length from his chair without uttering a word, made a very awkward bow and de⯑parted.

Mr. Arundel followed him to the hall door, performing all the rights of hoſpitality with great politeneſs, when the Baronet as he was parting took courage and ſaid—I perceive, Sir, you are the happy man; to which your friend made reply—I am indeed, Sir, every body muſt be happy in the ſociety of Lady Jane S.—There's a declaration for you? Ah my poor forſaken Louiſa! are you not heart⯑broken with jealouſy?

Well! Lady Jane, ſaid Arundel as he re⯑turned to us with a ſmile upon his counte⯑nance, your lover has made a notable diſco⯑very amongſt us, he has found out the happy man, who has thruſt him out of your heart.—Happy man indeed! I replied, and who may he be?—Look about you, ſaid he, your lover [98] is in the room.—Is he ſo? cried the gallant veteran in a voice of thunder, and ſtarting from his ſeat very gallantly ſeized hold of my hand, ſaying, Then I claim her for my prize, and if any man is bold enough to diſpute it with me, let him come on; I will burn, ſink, and deſtroy him in an hurry.—Ah Lady Jane! Lady Jane! it is in vain to diſguiſe it; I ſaw the tender looks you gave me, when I was in the elegant employ of tallowing the boat's bottom: come, confeſs, was not that the fa⯑vorable moment? I knew you could not ſtand this bald pate and black patch. Harkye, Doctor, put in the banns, and ſplice your bell⯑ropes, for we will have a merry peal.

The old man's raillery ſaved ſome certain embaraſſments that were viſible amongſt us, and thus ended the adventure of Sir Adam Crichton.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXIII. Lady Jane S. to Lady Louiſa G.

I HAVE had a lecture from Lady Tre⯑ville this morning: Do you know, my dear Jane, ſays ſhe, that you are making poor Mortlake moſt compleatly in love with you? now this I muſt chide you for, becauſe, take notice, though it may be ſport to you, it is death to him.

But perhaps I do not mean to let him die.

Then what do you mean, you giddy crea⯑ture?

Any thing rather than incur your diſplea⯑ſure and give you juſt occaſion for chiding me; which, if I was capable of playing the coquette with ſo excellent a creature, I ſhould richly deſerve.

The Lord be good unto me! my dear girl, why, he is a parſon.

Very true; and Sir Adam Crichton is a Ba⯑ronet, and I am an Earl's daughter, and yet I [100] can deſpiſe the man of money and admire the man of merit.

Well to be ſure this is mighty fine and ro⯑mantic, but you are jeſting with me all this while.

Pardon me, my dear Lady, you have taken the very way to make me ſerious; for if you are founded in your obſervation, and I have really made the impreſſion upon Mortlake's heart which you ſuſpect, I have not that trivial mind to revolt from his profeſſion, or ſlight a virtuous man becauſe devoted to the ſervice of his God. Shall the colour of a man's cloaths, or the cut of his hair diſguſt my vani⯑ty, and decide againſt a character, in which every perfection of heart and head, every ex⯑cellence of mind and perſon apparently unite? If I am to conſult my eye, where can it reſt upon a finer perſon than Mortlake's? if I am to be guided by my judgment, can it direct me to a worthier choice?

But a parſon's wife, my dear—Only think of Lady Jane S. young, noble, blooming, beauteous, the admiration of the whole town, the pattern of all elegance and the ſoul of all ſocieties—a parſon's wife.

[101]And why not? If Lady Jane prefers tran⯑quillity to diſſipation, ſolid happineſs to fleeting pleaſures; if Lady Jane prefers the bleſſings of the poor to the admiration of the town; Lady Jane will not regret that ſhe is no longer the ſoul of thoſe ſocieties, which her ſoul can⯑not approve; and though ſhe does not mean to leſſen her attentions to elegance, yet as a pat⯑tern of it ſhe would not wiſh to be diſtinguiſh⯑ed, whilſt there are ſo many nobler patterns for her emulation.

But your family, my dear child, your noble, I may ſay, your royal blood!—then above all, the Earl your brother! he will now expect to eſtabliſh you in ſome great connection; you ſaw with what indignity he ſpurned at the al⯑liance of Sir Adam Crichton; what will he ſay to that of Mortlake?

You miſtake my brother's motives for treat⯑ing Sir Adam's propoſals with contempt; the man, not his alliance, is contemptible: my bro⯑ther will not ſeek out matches of intereſt or am⯑bition for me; he is too honorable to wiſh to enſlave my affections, and he knows my ſpirit too well to attempt it; the authority he holds with me is of my giving, not of his exacting; [102] it ſprings from the love I bear him, from the opinion I entertain of his judgment and the re⯑verence I pay to his virtues; but neither he, nor any creature living or that ever did live, ſhall preſcribe to me in that important choice, which is to decide the happineſs or miſery of my fu⯑ture days; much leſs will I be ſwayed from my judgment by the deſpicable pride of fa⯑mily, the ſordid lure of intereſt, or ſilly cry of faſhion, which looks no further than the ſur⯑face of the man, and cannot ſee the light of the ſoul, if the body be habited in black.

Now then we are agreed, concluded the old lady; I have played a little harmleſs artifice upon you, and have touched methinks upon every point that could probe the feelings of a woman of diſtinction, circumſtanced as you are. Had I found you tender in any part, and ſhrinking from the touch, I had trembled for your danger; but you have even bettered my very beſt opinion, and are more than ever dear to me.—And now, changing her tone and countenance in a moment, ſhe began to railly me about the ſimplicity of my dreſs, which ſhe ſaid was all ſubtlety and contrivance, that I might not awe a modeſt lover by appearances [103] —and there in truth ſhe was not out of her gueſs—I am ſure, ſhe ſaid, this white linen ſurplice and veſtal hood, with all their chaſte accompaniments are levelled at the parſonage; but you are miſtaken, child, in their effect; inſtead of hiding they enhance your charms; Lady Jane in her court dreſs is only a fine wo⯑man, in this ſaint-like habit ſhe is ſomething more, and though a heathen prieſt in the ſpirit of enthuſiaſm might prevail upon himſelf to ſacrifice you as a victim at the altar, no Chriſ⯑tian prieſt will ever venture to approach ſo ſpiritualized a being with the carnal ideas of love. My life upon it, the humble Mortlake will not dare to approach you any otherwiſe than on his knees.—And if he does approach me on his knees, my dear lady, I replied, he will not find me ſo ſpiritualized as you ſeem to make me: I have hitherto kept love at a diſ⯑tance, or at beſt played with him as a child with her kitten; when Sir Adam knelt at my feet I could have gone on with my needle and not pricked my fingers; I could have counted the buttons upon his coat, or numbered every curl in his hair, he might have moulded my hand between his till he was weary without [104] putting my pulſe out of its pace; but oh Hea⯑vens! if a finger of this charming fellow does but touch my glove, it ſets my heart into a flutter, and when he caught me in his arms as I was falling into the river, how did I wiſh he would have taken my brother at his word and held me there for life!

Heyday, heyday! ſhe cried, ſtark ſtaring mad already; why this is next kin to love at firſt ſight.—Well, well, ſuch things may have been, but they are too long paſt for me to re⯑member them. However ſince it is ſo, you have no time to throw away, chuſe your papers and your printed cottons, and ſet the uphol⯑ſterer to work as faſt you can, before he has done his job, you will be ready for your's, or I am miſtaken.—But come, my dear, let us go down to breakfaſt; too much love upon an empty ſtomach is not good for the conſtitu⯑tion.

This learned dialogue had kept our tongues ſo long in motion, that when we came into the breakfaſt room we found the gentlemen wait⯑ing for us, and were ſaluted by the old Cap⯑tain with a whiſtle to the tune of the boatſwain, when he pipes all hands to the meſs. As I [105] was about to ſeat myſelf at the table where I was to officiate, Mortlake ran with a chair for me, though a man with more obſervation and leſs zeal might eaſily have found out there was no want of it; I am afraid I had already ſate down, but you know a lady may have a pre⯑ference for ſuch a trifle as an odd chair, and ſo to make ſhort of a trifle, I quitted my own and took his. Immediately my wicked bro⯑ther cried out—Mortlake, there is promotion for you, Jane has ſhifted her flag, and you have nothing to do but take poſt by ſucceſſion.—I can only ſay he did not avail himſelf of the hint; but having full employment in com⯑bating my own embaraſſment I cannot give any account how Mortlake diſpoſed of his.

After breakfaſt my brother drew me out into the garden, and during our walk we had the following converſation:

I flatter myſelf, my dear Jane, now you have diſcarded your unworthy lover you mean to ſupply the vacancy in your heart with one more deſerving.

Ah, brother! love you know is like death, the neceſſary end, it will come when it will come.

[106]And have you no hints and intimations of his approach at preſent?

Humph! that is a trapping queſtion me⯑thinks; do you ſpy out any ſuch?

Why to ſay the truth I ſuſpect you have a little inclination to croſs the water.

Aye, but you ſee I ſtumbled in the paſſage.

True, but it was only to fall into a young man's arms; it was ſo that William the Nor⯑man ſtumbled upon Engliſh ground at his landing, but remember it was a lucky omen, for he conquered and took poſſeſſion of the ſoil he fell on.

And did you mean to make a caſe in point, when you bid my preſerver keep poſſeſſion of what he had ſaved?

Upon my honor, Jane, if you can ſee your happineſs in humble life, my pride will never ſtand in the way of it; ſo you can but dwell with content, whether it is in a palace or a parſonage I ſhall equally rejoice.—Perhaps I ſhould not have ſaid quite ſo much awhile ago, but ſince I have now fortune ſufficient to make you affluent with the man of your choice, be his condition what it may, if that man's [107] mind and perſon, if his temper, underſtanding and manners are altogether ſuch as you ap⯑prove, and love attracts your heart to his, I ſhould be baſe in the extreme were I to inter⯑poſe a wiſh in bar of your affections: no, my dear ſiſter, let me rather prompt you to purſue your paſſion, when it leads to an object ſo de⯑ſerving; nobility can never degrade itſelf by an alliance with virtue.

There ſpoke my brother! I exclaimed, and at the ſame time claſped him in my arms—this it is to poſſeſs the ſoul of a hero. But now deal freely with me, my dear Archibald, I added; and as my heart is open, all its warmth and all its weakneſs as well known to you as the features of my face, have you ſeen any thing in me, have you diſcovered any thing in Mortlake, which ſeems to threaten future diſcontent between us? Have you any alarm for our happineſs? What is there in myſelf to correct, what in him to diſapprove and guard myſelf againſt?

I will anſwer you ſincerely; and for yourſelf firſt—If I did not know you as I do, I might ſuppoſe your character was ill adapted to the ſober line of life, in which he moves; I might [108] ſuppoſe your high and ardent ſpirit, your vi⯑vacity and brilliant talents, your elegance of manners, mind and perſon, were qualities that never could ſubmit to a retired and humble deſtination; but I know you better; I have ſeen you in the ſolitude of Fergus Caſtle, in the melancholy duty of an attendant on a dying grandmother, loſt to the world and to herſelf; I have ſeen you patiently enduring the re⯑ſtraints of poverty, and according yourſelf to the narroweſt ſyſtem of frugality without a murmur; I know you have no pride but that of principle, no contempt but of vice and meanneſs, and though you have underſtanding, figure and addreſs to grace the higheſt rank in life, vivacity to give them a diſplay and paſ⯑ſions to impel them into action, yet I know your mind is ſo ſtrong fortified with reaſon and your ſoul ſo firmly anchored in religion, that I have had not the ſmalleſt doubt of your ſe⯑curity.

As for Mortlake; though I want no other teſt of his merit than the friendſhip which Arundel entertains for him, and though my education does not enable me to form any judgment of an underſtanding and knowledge [109] ſo ſuperior to what I can boaſt of, yet of his heart I flatter myſelf I am entitled to ſpeak, of his candour, modeſty, benevolence, ſweet⯑neſs of temper I cannot fail to be a judge, for they are as conſpicuous as the light, evident as truth itſelf: his manners are of the pureſt ſort, and though not ſuch as faſhion adopts, yet are they what the fineſt gentleman might make the model of his practice. Though his ſpirit is gentle, it is as highly empaſſioned and as warm, my ſweet Jane, even as your own: his ſoul is all benevolence, his religion is phi⯑lanthropy, active, liberal, tolerating, untainted by hypocriſy, and not clouded by gloom, but lively, gay and ſocial. As to his external, I can only ſay that a ſweeter countenance and a finer perſon I have no where ſeen; of that you muſt; judge for yourſelf, and if your eyes ſpeak the language of your heart, which I can⯑not doubt of, they have told him in pretty plain terms what an intereſt he has there. With reſpect to all the eſſentials of domeſtic happineſs, this moſt beautiful ſpot in which Arundel has placed him, the elegant and comfortable habitation he has provided for him, the decent income he derives from his [110] living, the little paternal property he enjoys, and your portion of that treaſure, which is only valuable to me as I can ſhare it with you, will put you ſo compleatly at your eaſe in point of fortune, that I foreſee nothing that can add to the happy proſpect in your view, but an event, which I hope Providence will bring to paſs, the union of your charming and beloved friend with the only man living who deſerves her.

That indeed, I eagerly obſerved, would be a conſummation of my bliſs; that would make me ſupremely happy, and ſurely we may pre⯑ſume that Heaven, which formed them for each other, will complete its own deſigns by uniting them: then indeed, when friend is joined to friend, from the terrace of my little garden with a joy unallayed by envy I ſhall ſurvey the neighbouring manſion, where my Louiſa dwells with her beloved Arundel: United in the bonds of harmony with ſuch a family how ſe⯑rene will be my life! bleſt in the affections of my huſband, my underſtanding enlarged by his inſtructions, and my heart animated by his virtues, think with what tranſport I ſhall meet my heroic brother returning from his wars [111] with conqueſt, having finiſhed his career of glory, and welcome him into the arms of peace, ‘Weaving freſh laurels for his honor'd brow.’

Here we were ſtopt in our dialogue by an elegant and graceful form, habited in deep mourning, who approached without obſerving us; he was engaged in contemplating a minia⯑ture pourtrait, which he held in his hand, and on which his eyes were moſt lovingly fixt.—Need I ſay it was Arundel? Need I add that the object of his contemplation was the copy of the faireſt face in the creation, the gift of my Louiſa to her faithful Jane, and her loan to this enamoured lover? Could I withhold from him this friendly ſolace of his medita⯑tions, this reflection of an image imprinted on his heart? I truſt you will not think I have miſuſed your favor by imparting it to him.—Ah, Lady Jane, he cried, this was a daring painter— ‘How could he look upon thoſe eyes and live?’ He then ſhut the ſhagreen caſe, in which the pic⯑ture is encloſed, and returned it to me, ſaying [112] —I believe I have got this book by heart.—I hope you will ſoon have the original in poſ⯑ſeſſion, replied my brother, you may then purſue your ſtudies according to ^*Horace's inſtruction both by night and by day.—Oh heavenly hope, replied Arundel, on which my imagination dwells, how kindly you conſole me! but when I aſk myſelf on what founda⯑tion it is built, how like the baſeleſs fabric of a viſion does it then appear! though I am well aſſured that Lady Louiſa will neither be per⯑ſuaded nor compelled into a marriage with Sir George Revel, yet how can I flatter myſelf that any future time or circumſtance can re⯑concile the hoſtile mind of Lord G. to me? He hath not the gift of forgiveneſs, nor I the art of hypocriſy, where then is my hope?—Cannot you anſwer that query, ſaid my bro⯑ther to me.—In my own caſe, I replied, I could readily anſwer it, in my friend's I can⯑not; the ſeeds of rebellion ſo rank in my na⯑ture, in her pure mind take no root; filial obedience in her is a principle ſhe cannot vio⯑late, [113] nay I am perſuaded ſhe would ſacrifice the happineſs of her life, or even life itſelf, rather than tranſgreſs a duty, which ſhe regards as interdictory againſt her own inclinations, though ſhe may not admit it to be compulſory upon them.—I conceive, ſaid Arundel, you have very correctly underſtood her rule of acting, and I will as correctly conform to it, be the event as fatal to my happineſs as I fear it will be; if I could perſuade her to an act, with which her gentle mind would reproach her, it is what the world would not bribe me to attempt; no, I muſt ſubmit, I am neither capable of perverting her filial piety, nor of conciliating her father's rooted animoſity. At the ſame time I know my pretenſions; it is no vanity in me to ſay, for it is no merit of my own which enables me to ſay it, that if heredi⯑tary honors paſs for any thing, the name of Arundel may ſtand upon the line with any name in Europe; weigh it, it is as heavy, con⯑jure with it, it will raiſe a ſpirit as ſoon as Bourbon or Naſſau. The fortune I inherit by the bounty of the deceaſed, though not to be compared with Sir George Revel's, is ſuch however as the parent of no lady could object [114] to; for as it is, without adverting to other con⯑tingencies, it more than trebles the eſtate, which will devolve upon Lady Louiſa with the barony, that in failure of a ſon and heir goes to her; the reſt of his Lordſhip's eſtate is in cloſe entail upon the male heir: add to this, that the generoſity of my uncle John has opened other mines upon me, which might tempt Lord G. if avarice were his ruling paſ⯑ſion, to ſtifle his reſentment and wave all ob⯑jections againſt me; but I will neither conſent to take the prize out of the victor's generous hand, who earned it, nor will I ſo inſult Lord G. as to ſuppoſe he can be bribed by any of⯑fers, however ſplendid, to relax from his hoſ⯑tility.

Oh my Louiſa! what a man this is! though nature caſt him in a mould to ſtrike our eyes with admiration at the very inſtant of behold⯑ing him, yet ſhe has endowed his mind with ſomething ſo ſuperior to external grace, that every hour encreaſes our eſteem and love; for my part I perfectly venerate him as a kind of being of a higher order; I love him, truſt him, converſe with him without any of that timid reſerve or holding back, ſo natural to the [115] ſhyneſs of our ſex; ſuch is the delicacy of his nature, that when alone with him, I ſeem in company with my Louiſa; I tender myſelf to him as a partner in his private meditations, becauſe I can perceive it ſooths his mind to talk with me of his and my Louiſa; taken from you in preſence, not in heart, he finds re⯑lief in converſation, which he knows full well can never weary me, nor need we dread the languor of repetition, when you are the ſub⯑ject, in whom we can ſtill find new charms, new virtues to admire and praiſe, without ex⯑hauſting the ſupply that feeds us with variety.

Here I muſt break off, as we are now going upon the river in the new wherry, which our ſea Captains have put into perfect trim: the afternoon is charming; our commanders are waiting at the place of embarkation; I hear the voice of Lady Treville ſummoning me to the party in the gayeſt and moſt exhilarating tone; ſhe ſtands on the lawn under my win⯑dow arm in arm with Arundel, Mortlake is waiting unengaged, and caſts up a wiſhful look, in which, amidſt the modeſt diffidence that characters his face, I can diſcern a faint and glimmering expectation, the embryo of a [116] hope that I ſhall deſtine him to the ſame friendly and familiar office.—Yes, Mortlake, thou ſhalt have thy hope, my arm ſhall be ſup⯑ported upon thine, nor one alone, but both are ready to enfold thee; my conſcious heart ac⯑knowledges it cannot beſtow a joy on thee greater, than that which it receives by giving.

Farewell!—I fly to him with ſuch impa⯑tience, that if he has eyes he muſt diſcover me: Ah me! he has diſcovered me;—I have given him a ſmile of aſſignation, that has tranſported him: I am betrayed!—no mat⯑ter, I cannot counterfeit, nor would I, if I could.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXIV. Lady Louiſa G. to Lady Jane S.

ALAS! that mine ſhould be the deſtiny to blaſt the happineſs of thoſe I love, to put to hazard, perhaps, (Oh horror beyond thought!) to deſtroy a life far dearer to me than my own.

Arundel hath been repreſented to me as the vileſt of men, muſt I add! as the ſeducer, the violator of my mother's honor. The cir⯑cumſtances, reported to me by my father, ori⯑ginate from Sir George Revel, and are ſimply theſe:—

A note from my mother to Arundel, written at the inſtant of her departure, was intercepted by Sir George Revel on the ſpot, who arrived at her houſe juſt after ſhe had left it, and found means to get this letter out of the ſer⯑vant's hands, who was entruſted to deliver it.

This letter I ſaw in her own hand-writing, and read it myſelf—It is little elſe than a ſhort [118] adieu; ſhe wiſhes him not to aggravate Lord G.; ſhe conjures him to avoid freſh diſſen⯑ſions with Sir George Revel, but ſhe plainly hints at intelligence heretofore imparted to him by herſelf with reſpect to me—This is the whole of it, and this alone would have been an attack, I could eaſily enough have put by in ſilence, had it not been followed by other cir⯑cumſtances, fabricated by the very father of lies, the author of all miſchief; for that wretch, Sir George Revel, pretends he has a depoſition of the ſervant, from whom he got the letter, charging my guiltleſs mother with a criminal aſſignation, and meeting with Arundel in a certain building within a grove, adjoining to her garden, and aſſerting that of this meeting he was an eye-witneſs.

Such is my perſuaſion of the purity and honor of the parties concerned, that had I no other grounds for diſbelieving this abomi⯑nable and malicious fiction, I could not harbour a ſuſpicion to their prejudice; but when I call to mind the zeal with which ſhe recommends my union with Arundel, and the prayers ſhe offers up for its ſucceſs, is it in nature to ſup⯑poſe this accuſation can be true? Is there a [119] parent living ſo devoid of conſcience? If to the diſgrace of human nature ſuch a monſter does exiſt, it cannot be my mother. Another circumſtance there is, which ſtamps the horrid tale with falſehood; the informer has diſap⯑peared, and as the whole charge reſts upon the hearſay evidence and veracity of Sir George Revel, who does not deny that he con⯑nived at the fellow's eſcape by promiſe pre⯑viouſly engaged, we are left to conclude that either no ſuch informer exiſts, and the entire ſtory is a malicious fabrication of Sir George's, or elſe that there is ſuch groſs and palpable ſubornation in the caſe, that the fugitive, con⯑ſcious of his perjury, dares not abide the ſcrutiny, nor meet the accuſed face to face.

But all this while, glaring as theſe circum⯑ſtances are, my father credits, or pretends to credit, the tale, and the reputation of my in⯑nocent mother is to be blaſted through the world, whenever he thinks fit to appeal to it, and divert the public odium from himſelf to her. Can this be ſuffered? rather let me aſk, Can it be prevented otherwiſe than by appeal⯑ing to Arundel? And yet what horrors ago⯑nize my heart, when I reflect upon the dan⯑ger [120] of that meaſure! Alas, my friend, this diſappointed, deſperate man thirſts for his blood; my fatal preference dooms him to the aſſaſſin's ſword; I am the murderer of Arun⯑del.

This is the diabolical plot, which that wretch has been hatching in his journey into Kent; Heaven forbid I ſhould ſay my father is an ac⯑complice in it, truth compels me to own that he is the willing dupe of it. To what pur⯑poſe then ſhould I be ſilent towards you, or you towards Arundel? for if it comes not to his ears through my channel, it will through my father, who affects to credit it; it will be char⯑ged upon him by that monſter, who avows it and provokes me to reveal it.

Were any one but myſelf the reporter of it to Arundel, how would he be aſſured of my entire rejection and abhorrence of the falſe⯑hood? Silence might give him a ſuſpicion that I was baſe enough to doubt, whereas I am prepared to give him full, compleat and unequivocal proof of confidence, by making common cauſe with him, and throwing my⯑ſelf reſolutely into the arms of the very man whom they accuſe: yes, Arundel, be this my [121] refutation of the charge! thus let me defend the ſlandered character of an innocent parent! No other cauſe could juſtify me to myſelf for ſuch a ſtep, but this makes diſobedience vir⯑tue; in the defence of innocence my ſpirit riſes to a pitch, that emulates even thy heroiſm, my beloved Jane!

Can the daughter wed with the corrupter of the mother? this is their language. My na⯑ture ſhudders at the thought—Be this the teſt then of my confidence in Arundel! I will ſtake my ſoul upon his truth: Can I depoſe more ſtrongly to his innocence? Oaths may be given for purpoſes, friends have been perjured for friends; but who ever drew ſuch horrors on their head, as I now invoke on mine upon the iſſue of this falſehood? Glaring as hell it⯑ſelf muſt be the lie, that I would at ſuch peril refute.

Exert yourſelf for a friend, whoſe heart is rent with agonies; conſult your noble bro⯑ther; deviſe ſome means for preventing the ef⯑fuſion of blood, dearer than that which flows from my afflicted heart; ſay to Arundel that I am ready to eſcape with him to that aſy⯑lum of fond fugitives, which till now I ne⯑ver [122] dreamt of reſorting to: let him not delay a moment, but come in ſecrecy to London; our marriage will ſtamp the lie upon Sir George; there needs no more to blaſt his ſtory. Arundel as my huſband has anſwered his accuſer fully; there can be then no appeal to the ſword; the world will hoot the villain as he paſſes; he will ſtand upon perpetual re⯑cord a liar confuted and confeſt.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXV. Lady Jane S. to Lady Louiſa G.

I HAVE no words, that can expreſs to you my indignation againſt that monſter Re⯑vel, my feelings for the injured Arundel, or the juſt encomiums which are due to your he⯑roic, generous conduct.

To the letter I incloſe let me refer you for the grateful ſentiments of a man, whoſe whole ſoul is yours: it ſeems to me as if he did not [123] feel the venom of the accuſation, ſo tranſ⯑ported is he with the proof of your acquittal of him, of your confidence—Oh, generous Louiſa—of your unſhaken love.

If ever truth and honor inhabited the hu⯑man heart, it is in Arundel's they dwell, un⯑ſpotted, uncontaminated.

My gallant brother perfectly adores you: his noble blood is all on fire; and though he is my deareſt hope on earth, I am proud to lend him to the cauſe of Arundel: I ſee him inliſt in his ſervice without a ſigh, and I glory in the zeal and ardor of his friendſhip.

They are gone forth—let me adjure you by the moſt earneſt entreaties not to torture your too feeling, anxious thoughts, with ima⯑ginary terrors; be patient, ſtifle all enquiries whither they are gone, and what they are about; put up your prayers to the Avenger of all wickedneſs; confide in him and he will bring it to paſs.

I have a pacquet of papers ſealed up and committed to me by Arundel, which, if occa⯑ſion requires, I am bidden to deliver into your hands.

It is at the joint requeſt of all parties that I [124] remain here under the protection of Lady Treville, who kindly conſents to ſtay with me; Captain Arundel, with Mr. Mortlake, now make up the reliques of our late happy family.

It was on the conſideration of my abiding here that the veteran conſented to remain be⯑hind. His admiration of his beloved Lady Louiſa riſes to enthuſiaſm; he raves as loudly in your praiſes, as in the execrations which he vents againſt the wretch who has diſturbed our peace; on him he pours a torrent of con⯑tempt, expreſſed in ſuch an unintelligible, ri⯑diculous medley of ſea phraſes, that it is ſcarce poſſible to keep my countenance, though the few ideas to be collected from them are not always of the cleanlieſt ſort.

Mortlake, the mildeſt of all Heaven's crea⯑tures, is for ever occupied in qualifying his fury, or conſoling my anxiety: his pious and pacific nature argues thus—An honeſt man will never want the means of detecting falſe⯑hood and expoſing a liar, without reſorting to thoſe violent meaſures, which wear the com⯑plexion of revenge rather than of juſtice. If I hold up a villain to the world's contempt, it [125] is all the puniſhment a villain can receive on earth; but if I call him our, and put my cauſe to the arbitration of the ſword, and if he boldly anſwers to the call, I ſet a var⯑niſh on his crimes to ſcreen him from con⯑tempt, and the world, whilſt it acknowledges his reſolution in the conteſt, forgets or par⯑dons the guilt that puts it into action.

Theſe are arguments which Captain Arun⯑del would juſt as well comprehend if they were delivered in the Hebrew language; and accordingly he anſwers them, as he would an enemy at ſea, who hailed him in an un⯑known tongue—from the mouth of his guns. Theſe again are as unintelligible to the pa⯑cific controverter of his opinions; for, being uttered in a language not to be found either amongſt the living or the dead, they cannot reach the intellects of Mortlake, who mo⯑deſtly retreats in ſilence from the field, and leaves it to the louder diſputant to ſpend his fury in the deſart air.

For my part, though I have all the feelings of my ſex about me, I would not wiſh theſe generous friends to act but as they do; for whilſt I muſt in conſcience admit the truth of [126] Mortlake's argument, I cannot bring my heart to diſapprove of Arundel's ſpirit.

May Heaven watch over them and you! My more than ever dear Louiſa, farewell.

LETTER LXXVI. Arundel to Lady Louiſa G. incloſed in the above.

THAT the ſame aſſaſſin, who attempted my life, ſhould now attempt my reputa⯑tion, I can well believe; and perhaps, if the malicious falſehood had been only aimed at me, contempt had been its proper refutation; but when a crime of the blackeſt dye is fabri⯑cated by a villain, for the purpoſe of fixing it upon the ſpotleſs character of a defenceleſs abſent Lady, and the huſband of that Lady is ſo groſsly credulous, or elſe ſo wilfully cruel, as to give his ſanction to the tale, can I, her only advocate, deſert her cauſe? Will even thy arms, generous Louiſa, ſhelter me from [127] diſgrace? Can cowardice find an aſylum even in Paradiſe itſelf?

The informer, if ſuch a perſon exiſts, who pretends to have been an eye-witneſs of a meeting, which before God I ſolemnly de⯑clare never did take place, muſt be called for, and confronted: in that caſe Sir George Re⯑vel will be no otherwiſe reſponſible than for the fidelity of his report, and for an explana⯑tion of his motives in ſtopping the letter, an action deſpicable and mean upon the face of it. But if Sir George will not, or cannot, pro⯑duce his informer, the charge reſts upon aſſer⯑tion, and can only be anſwered by aſſertion; for where the perſon calumniated cannot con⯑fute the calumny by proving the negative, no⯑thing more ſeems to be in his power but to give it the flatteſt and fulleſt contradiction.

And now what language can I employ to give expreſſion to my gratitude for your une⯑qualled generoſity? With what devotion I adore and love you, my life and not my lips muſt prove. That you are confident and that I am conſcious of my innocence, is a re⯑flection that will arm me againſt all dangers; but the world hath its demands upon me ſtill; [128] the honor of your injured mother, my own, and (what is dearer than my own) your ho⯑nor, my adored Louiſa, calls upon me to ſtand forth in its defence and vindication. Let that happineſs, which you generouſly tender to me as preſent and immediate, be my future prize and reward, when truth ſhall have triumphed over falſehood, when the de⯑famer of virtue ſhall have received his me⯑rited chaſtiſement, and when it ſhall be in no one's power to ſay that I clandeſtinely took refuge in thoſe arms, whoſe earthly bliſs, like that of Heaven itſelf, is only to be earned by perſeverance, ſufferings and trials.

Farewell, thou all that is amiable and ex⯑cellent! Heaven only knows how dear thou art to

LETTER LXXVII. Arundel to Captain John Arundel.

OUR noble friend, Lord S. has had two fruitleſs interviews with Sir George Re⯑vel. He will not, nay I am perſuaded he cannot, produce the informer; he is himſelf the author and contriver of the calumny.

As for the intercepted letter, it is ſo ſe⯑condary a matter, that Lord S. no longer dwelt upon it, than ſerved to repreſent the meanneſs of the tranſaction.

It was demanded of Sir George, if he would accompany my friend to the houſe of Lord G. recapitulate the charge in his pre⯑ſence, as he pretends to have heard it from the mouth of the informer, meet the evidence which Lord S. was provided with for refuting the falſehood of the charge, and upon that proof acknowledge himſelf to have been miſ⯑informed and deceived.—He would accede to no one particular of this propoſition; he abided in his belief, he retraced no one item [130] of what he had ſaid, he would not produce the informer, he repented not of having inter⯑cepted the letter, but repented only of having ever in time paſt made an apology to a man, whom it would have been a merit to have ſent out of the world, before he had com⯑mitted ſuch crimes as render him unfit to re⯑main in it.

You, my dear uncle, whoſe heart is the ſeat of honor, can readily ſuggeſt to your own thoughts the alternative which muſt follow. My noble friend has fulfilled this part of his commiſſion as ably and as honorably as he had done the former part of it. A few days abſence from England will ſet us upon ground, from which not even the royal au⯑thority can interdict us. The name of Arun⯑del was not committed to me to be diſgraced in my keeping; nor ſhall the malice, envy, falſehood of this wretch eſcape my vengeance: the vindication of a lady's character, whom cruelty has exiled and malice defamed, the refutation of a moſt infamous attack upon my honor, and through me upon yourſelf, upon the memory of my deceaſed benefactor, upon all who wear, or ever did wear, the name of [131] Arundel, are now at iſſue; and if the weight of wrongs like theſe, if the juſtice of a cauſe like mine, cannot edge my ſword and animate my heart, what can? They do, my gallant uncle, doubt it not; fear not for me; your own blood beats in my veins; I have your heroic image in my mind's eye, and I depart ſecure of conqueſt.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXVIII. Sir George Revel to the Earl of G.

I AM juſt landed at Oftend upon a little tour of pleaſure, where I am to have the honor of meeting a certain friend of your's on the confines of the Auſtrian territory, to ſettle a ſmall matter in diſpute between us, that can't ſo conveniently be adjuſted upon Eng⯑liſh ground.

I do not forget an apoſtrophe in one of [132] your Lordſhip's letters to me, whereby you lament your diſability by age and rank from taking perſonal vengeance upon Arundel: from that moment I adopted your revenge, and, having once given him a taſte of my ſword, I mean now to give him a full meal of it.

Sir John Macarthy More, an officer in the Emperor's ſervice and my approved good friend, attends me on this trip; a better man, whether as ſecond or principal, never ſtept into a field. The young Earl of S. accompa⯑nies Arundel; and, in ſpite of all his bluſhing honors freſh upon him, let him look well to himſelf; he will not have to deal with Spa⯑niards in this buſineſs, nor will he have barri⯑cades to ſcreen him.

The gentlemen are gone forward to their rendezvous, and have left a note to ſay they ſhall have nobody in their ſuit but a ſurgeon and valet de chambre. I ſhall ſend Sir John before me to mark out the ground and agree upon preliminaries with the noble Earl.

The ſword is to be our weapon—happy choice for me! His Scottiſh Lordſhip was [133] nationally preciſe in meaſuring our reſpective weapons: if a workman is to be known by his tools, I muſt confeſs that my antagoniſt ſent me a reſpectable ſample of his art; it ſhould be the inſtrument of a maſter: but where can this academic have ſtudied that noble ſcience in its beſt ſchool? Conceited pedant! he little knows with whom he has to deal: he ruſhes deſperate on his own deſtruction; few hours and ſhort remain for him ere he ſhall be food for worms.

When next I write to you, this upſtart fa⯑vorite of fortune, this emancipated dependant, who arraigns your Lordſhip in the ſenate, forces you from the helm of the ſtate, ſeduces your revolted wife, and even ſhakes the alle⯑giance of your wavering daughter, ſhall be no more.—So much for Arundel!

Farewell.

LETTER LXXIX. Arundel to Captain John Arundel.

IT is as I predicted; juſtice hath ſtruck the blow: the affair is over, and Sir George Revel, deſperately wounded in two places, can ſcarce be ſaid to ſurvive.

The ſpot our ſeconds made choice of for our meeting was about a mile from the Au⯑ſtrian barrier, in the center of a ſmall grove, not above a hundred paces from the road-ſide, where we left our carriages in waiting, with a ſervant in each, none but our reſpective ſe⯑conds and ſurgeons accompanying us to the ground.

It was between five and ſix in the morning when Lord S. and myſelf arrived upon the ground; and in leſs than a quarter of an hour Sir George appeared, with his friend in the Auſtrian uniform, and a foreign regimental ſurgeon.

When we were within a few paces of each [135] other he ſtopt, and I took off my hat to him, which he returned in like manner with his, throwing it, however, behind him to ſome diſ⯑tance at the ſame time. Seeing him do this, I took for granted he was getting himſelf ready to ſet to without loſs of time, and there⯑upon began to ſtrip myſelf to a linen waiſt⯑coat; when addreſſing me by my name, he cried out—Hold a moment with your leave; I deſire the true grounds of my quarrel with you may be underſtood: you are a raſh, pre⯑ſumptuous young man; and it is to chaſtiſe your arrogance in aſpiring to be my rival with Lady Louiſa, that I come hither: as for your connection with Lady G. I have no concern with that but as it ſerves to give you an intereſt with her daughter; and to convince you that I ſcorn to draw my ſword in the ſup⯑port of an untruth, I now tell you, that the depoſition of the footman is a fiction.

As ſoon as he ſaid this, I called upon my friend Lord S. to take notice of his words and remember them. I ſpeak them for that very purpoſe, replied he; his Lordſhip is welcome to make what uſe of them he ſees fit: I take away no lady's reputation; I diſ⯑dain it.

[136]Certify what you now ſay, and give it me under your hand, I exclaimed, and I am ſatisfied.

No, Sir, anſwered he, it is for the vin⯑dication of my own character, it is for the honor of truth, I ſay this, not for your ſatiſ⯑faction: I have made one apology too many already, and you ſhall never have another from me: I am not come ſo far to make a childiſh buſineſs of it; I am determined to correct your inſolence, and aſſert my own ſu⯑perior claim to Lady Louiſa; ſlight meaſures won't ſerve me: your temerity has choſen a weapon I am maſter of; that, and only that, ſhall now decide upon our lives and our pre⯑tenſions.

Having ſo ſaid, he threw off his coat and waiſtcoat, and both drawing our ſwords at the ſame inſtant, we advanced upon each other as men determined to conquer or to die.

He did himſelf no more than juſtice i [...] what he ſaid; he was indeed a maſter of his weapon, and, having ſome advantage of the higher ground, preſſed upon me ſo fiercely, and at the ſame time kept ſo ſtrong a guard, that I found it neceſſary to give back for a [137] while, and wait his onſet on the defenſive. In this way I continued to foil him ſo fre⯑quently, that he began to loſe his temper; which Sir John Macarthy More obſerving, called to him to fight more coolly; for which he was taken up pretty ſmartly by my friend the Earl of S. who warned him to be ſilent. At this moment, with a vehement oath, he made a home-thruſt at my breaſt, which I contrived to paſs over my ſhoulder, and in the inſtant puſhed my ſword through his body, cloſing in upon him with the ſame motion: he reeled with the blow, and in falling caught hold with his left hand and pulled me to the ground upon him: I held faſt of his right wriſt, ſo that he could not uſe his ſword, which he ſtruggled to recover from my gripe. In the ſame moment I heard the claſhing of ſwords over my back as I laid upon the body of my antagoniſt, and found our ſeconds were engaged; I ſprung upon my legs, and quitting hold of Sir George, whom I believed to be expiring, ex⯑tricated my ſword from his body, and ruſhed between them. His ſurgeon now ran up to him, thinking him to be dying; but he [138] raiſing himſelf nimbly on his legs, called out to him to be gone, and I had by this time parted our ſeconds: Sir George Revel once more attacked me with the fury of a deſperate man in his laſt moments; his countenance was horrible, he yelled with agony and fought like one that was frantic, whilſt the blood ſpouted from his wound; ſtill there was diſ⯑cretion in his madneſs, for his art had not de⯑ſerted him to the laſt, and his attack for a ſhort time was more dangerous than ever: I com⯑manded myſelf ſo far as to ſpare him upon two or three openings, for I wiſhed not to give him another wound; but ſelf-preſervation put me upon other meaſures, and coming ſuddenly within his guard I lodged my point in his right breaſt, paſſing it clear through the fleſh of his ſword arm and pinning it as it were to his ribs; his weapon dropt from his hand, and he fell backwards on the ground at his length, crying out, he was killed.

His ſecond ran to him and ſupported him till the ſurgeon came up: he diſcharged great⯑ly from the mouth, and then cloſing his eyes fell back and as I thought in that moment expired. I intreated, I implored Sir John not [139] to think of renewing any diſagreement with my friend, and that more blood might not be ſpilt upon a quarrel that, by the evidence of the dying man, which he himſelf had heard him deliver, might have been atoned for with⯑out theſe fatal conſequences. I called upon Mr. L * * *, my ſurgeon, and requeſted him to give his aſſiſtance to the dying man; this he very readily complied with, and the foreign ſurgeon ſoon diſcovering how much more ex⯑pert he was than himſelf, reſigned the chief part of the work to him, and acted rather as an aſſiſtant than principal, applauding him in very high terms all the while. The opera⯑tion was indeed like magic; the ſluices were ſtaunched, the wounds were bound up, and a reviving cordial was adminiſtered almoſt at the ſame inſtant: the wounded man opened his eyes, and gave ſigns of coming to his ſenſes.—I conjure you, Sir, cried Mr. L. on your life do not attempt to ſpeak, or ſtir; be perfectly quiet, and I am not out of hope to ſave you.

My chaiſe let down at the back and had conveniencies to ſerve as a litter, which my friendly ſurgeon had contrived for me in Lon⯑don: [140] on the mattraſs we laid Sir George Revel, and ſo conveyed him through the little grove to the chaiſe in waiting, our valets aſ⯑ſiſting us in carrying him. Whilſt this was in operation we diſcovered a good deal of blood on the ſleeve of Lord S.'s right arm, and upon examination found it proceeded from a ſlight puncture in the fleſh. This alſo my ſurgeon dreſſed upon the ſpot; and now Sir John Ma⯑carthy More, perceiving that his ſword had wounded him in the ſcuffle, gallantly cried out—The great God forbid that I ſhould draw blood from the veins of a Britiſh officer whilſt I have life: give me your hand, my ſweet boy, and may you live to fight your country's bat⯑tles and conquer like a brave fellow as you are; for by my faith and ſoul you have ene⯑mies enough and to ſpare (the devil fire them all) without my turning againſt you.—Lord S. readily ſhook hands with him, and thus to my great ſatisfaction a reconciliation took place between them.

When we had placed Sir George Revel in the chaiſe, we had two miles to the next vil⯑lage, and the ſurgeons ſeemed to think it doubtful if he could bear the carriage ſo far. [141] There was a houſe within ſight, at the bottom of one of the avenues in the grove, where we fought, which by its ſituation and appearance ſeemed to belong to the owner of the place, and as it was ſo near at hand Mr. L. adviſed us to apply for admiſſion there, as no time was to be loſt. Sir John Macarthy More im⯑mediately mounted one of our ſervants horſes, and in a few minutes returned to tell us, that he had ſucceeded in obtaining a reception for the wounded gentleman and his ſurgeons, but that the lady of the houſe recommended it to me and my ſecond to get within the barrier as faſt as we could.

As Sir George's danger was ſo preſſing and his ſurgeon very anxiouſly ſolicited the aſſiſt⯑ance of Mr. L. I conſented to releaſe him upon his aſſuring me that no harm could be⯑fall Lord S. whoſe wound was perfectly ſafe and would want no dreſſing till the next morn⯑ing, when at fartheſt he would not fail to be with us; having appointed therefore our place of meeting in the town of —, Lord S. and I drove off in Sir George Revel's chaiſe, leav⯑ing him in mine to the care of the ſurgeons [142] and his friend Sir John, who ſlowly proceeded with him down the avenue towards the houſe.

Being now ſafely lodged at Oſtend, and by the bleſſing of Providence unhurt, except by my anxiety for Sir George, I ſend this to you by expreſs, hoping that it will ſet your mind entirely at reſt, eſpecially as I can aſſure you Lord S. is in no manner of danger from the wound in his arm, which though ſlight pre⯑vents him for the preſent from uſing his pen: we ſhall wait the event of a day or two, and then ſet out for England.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXX. The Earl of S. to the Earl of G.

THOUGH I write with difficulty, having a ſlight wound in my right arm, I gladly make the effort, to inform your Lordſhip, that Sir George Revel, before he entered into ac⯑tion with Mr. Arundel, declared in my hear⯑ing [143] voluntarily and explicitly, that the informa⯑tion he pretended to have received from Lady G.'s footman, reſpecting an interview between her Ladyſhip and Mr. Arundel, was a fiction.

This declaration I myſelf heard, and though the hopeleſs ſituation of Sir George Revel af⯑fords little chance of his living to repeat it, I pledge my ſacred honor to your Lordſhip that I am a witneſs to its being made; for the truth of which I may appeal not only to the party accuſed, but to Sir John Macarthy More, who was preſent as Sir George's ſecond, and Mr. L. who accompanied my friend as his ſurgeon, and whoſe character and integrity are well known to your Lordſhip.

Juſtice has decided for Arundel, who has conquered without a wound.

LETTER LXXXI. Lady Jane S. to Lady Louiſa G.

I SEND you a copy of Arundel's letter to his uncle, which will inform you of the ſucceſsful termination of an affair, that has, I hope, been kept ſecret from you till the receipt of this.

What a dreadful puniſhment has fallen on the head of that injurious, deſperate man, Sir George Revel! Society will have nothing to regret at his death, and yet I cannot help wiſh⯑ing for his recovery, if it were only in conſi⯑deration of Arundel, who no doubt will be greatly pained at ſending an unprepared, im⯑penitent being out of the world.

How will your heart alternately be filled with terrors and with tranſports, whilſt you read this narrative! Amidſt its feelings for your own beloved hero, I perſuade myſelf you will feel a ſympathetic emotion of pity and applauſe for mine alſo, whoſe generous blood has flowed in the ſervice of his friend.

[145]I am ſure there is a paſſage in the incloſed, that will give you peculiar ſatisfaction; I al⯑lude to the acknowledgment, which that un⯑happy wretch made before he began the com⯑bat: this I think will be admitted by Lord G. himſelf as deciſive for the exculpation of your injured mother, and if there is nothing ſtrikes you in the narrative as improper for your father's eye, which I preſume there is not, you will have a fair opportunity of vindicating a parent's character, and doing juſtice to an innocent man at the ſame time; but of this you are the beſt judge, and no doubt will go⯑vern yourſelf as time and ſeaſon may accord with circumſtances.

It is now ſunſhine and fair weather once again in our little circle: the brave old ſeaman has ſtrove to put a good countenance upon the time ſince his nephew's abſence, but in ſpite of all his bluſtering many a deep ſigh found its way, and a heavy cloud upon his brow betrayed the inward ſadneſs of his ſoul: the joy of his heart now overflows at his eyes, and he is for ever conning over his nephew's letter: he has got a company of the farmers together in the ſteward's parlour, and is at this moment ſitting [146] in a cloud of tobacco, carouſing over a huge bowl of punch and entertaining them with ſea ſtories and adventures, whilſt the houſe echoes with their jollity.

Not ſo Mortlake; his pious tranſports are directed to the ſupreme Diſpenſer of all bleſ⯑ſings, and the joy he feels on Arundel's ſafety is tinctured with a ſtrong concern for his re⯑ſponſibility on Sir George Revel's account, whoſe lamentable ſituation he deeply commi⯑ſerates.

Every day, every hour the character of this extraordinary young man riſes in my eſteem.—But I repreſs the volubility of my pen, and wait till the happy intelligence of your health and peace of mind put the ſpring in motion.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXXII. Lady Louiſa G. to Lady Jane S.

STRONG indeed muſt be your nerves, my dear Jane, to copy ſuch a narrative as you have incloſed to me; mine yet tremble with horror at the peruſal of it.

What a ſavage animal is man! how fero⯑cious in his wrath! how bloody in his reſent⯑ments! how terrible even in his death!

I am haunted by a ſpectre horrible to look upon: I ſee the figure of Revel gaſhed with wounds and beſmeared with blood; his coun⯑tenance is deformed with rage; he ſtares frightfully upon me, and his dying yells ring in my ears. On the other hand I ſee Arundel, like a commiſſioned angel in the act to puniſh, ſtriking him to the earth; benevolence beams from his eyes, he gives the blow of juſtice with reluctance, and drops a tear of pity on his fallen foe.

What I have ſuffered in the dreadful inte⯑rim [148] ſince the receipt of Arundel's letter in⯑cloſed in your's, words cannot utter: my agonies were ſuch as to alarm and melt my father's heart; his care of me has been tender in the extreme; he endeavoured to delude me out of my apprehenſions, but in vain, the op⯑preſſion that weighed down his own ſpirits was too viſible to eſcape my notice; it ſufficiently informed me what was paſſing in his own mind; the dreadful buſineſs in operation hung upon his conſcience: in his heart I am ſure he acquitted my mother even before the con⯑feſſion of Sir George Revel put her innocence out of doubt.

You will ſtart when I tell you, that in the anguiſh of my ſoul I diſguiſed not any of its moſt ſecret affections, but avowed my love for Arundel openly and without reſerve in his hearing—and he heard it not with patience only, but with pity, with complacence—I de⯑voted myſelf by the moſt ſolemn vows to me⯑lancholy, to deſpair, to death itſelf, if Arundel ſurvived not the impending conflict. I ex⯑poſed to my father's ſight the letter I had received from him, and I made no ſcruple to declare the offer I had deſperately tendered [149] him of a clandeſtine marriage: the horror which my father felt at this propoſal was con⯑verted into admiration, when he peruſed the letter, wherein Arundel ſo honorably declines the offer.—This man, cried he, compels me to admire him.—Theſe words were as a ſignal to my eager ſpirit to break forth; the torrent of my paſſion forced its way; I wept, entreat⯑ed, threw myſelf before his feet upon my knees, and called aloud on Heaven for its protection to Arundel, for its vengeance upon his mur⯑derer.—In this inſtant arrived a letter from your brother to my father, which announced the completion of my prayers; the cauſe of juſtice was triumphant, innocence was reſcued from danger, guilt devoted to death; Heaven's hand was viſible; my grateful heart was over⯑powered by the vouchſafement, it pauſed in reverence of the awful preſence; I ſunk upon the floor and fainted in the effort of adora⯑tion.

And now, my Jane, do you demand of me if I ſympathize with you in pity and ap⯑plauſe of your heroic brother? Oh! from my ſoul I love him.—May victory attend him ever! May ſame crown him with laurels, [150] fortune enrich him with ſpoils! and for the generous blood he ſhed for Arundel, it is as dear to me as the drops that fell from my ſad heart, the fountain of my life is not more pre⯑cious.

Dear to me alſo is that other thunderbolt of war, that boiſterous ſon of the ocean, brave old uncle John; nature has made him of pre⯑cious materials, though of rough workman⯑ſhip; in antient time, I am told, our ſea officers were in general ſuch as Captain Arundel is now; the modern claſs, of which your noble Archibald is a bright example, are more courtly and no leſs courageous.

As for that piece of human excellence, who, being your Mortlake, is mine alſo, he ſeems born to put complainers out of countenance and ſhew the world how pure a man may be. That you have gained a treaſure in his heart I can well believe, that he will meet a bleſſing in your arms I am perfectly aſſured: how the world may think fit to comment upon your choice will little concern you, when you have turned your back upon its vain and fooliſh opinions; if I thought that choice would be leſs happy for its being humble, I ſhould [151] think you had made a ſacrifice to the paſ⯑ſion of the moment, but I know your nature is ſuperior to ambition, envy, avarice and every ſordid propenſity; I join with your be⯑loved Earl in every trait and deſcription of your character, and ſubſcribe my warmeſt wiſhes to his for your ſpeedy union. Your's is a ſpirit of activity and fire, it does not deal in delay; convinced of his love for you (and how indeed ſhould that be doubted?) you muſt diſ⯑ſipate his timid diffidence, and condeſcend to copy the example of a ſpirit far leſs heroic than your own, that of your poor trembling Louiſa, whom fear made bold, and love in⯑ſpired with reſolution to offer her free heart to Arundel. You are now as it were alone with Mortlake, every hour you have him in your eye, opportunity courts you, and the time is your own: are, there no ſequeſtered walks, no ſhady groves, ‘No haunts propitious to the voice of love?’ Sure they would ſpring ſpontaneouſly where Arundel inhabits. Where is the ſpot, in which you met him honoring my poor reſemblance with his flattering contemplation? that ſpot [152] muſt ſurely be auſpicious to a lover; at leaſt for friendſhip's ſake, if not for love's, ſelect it, ſo may we date our happineſs from the ſame individual lot of earth.—Oh Jane! ſhould that be ſo, ſhould Heaven conſent to bleſs me alſo with the object of my ſoul's fond affection, I will pay that turf a tribute of my gratitude, I will ornament it with an edifice, and, as my love almoſt amounts to idolatry, I will indulge its ſuperſtition with a temple, where the Or⯑phean hand of Romney ſhall make the very walls alive, and by the animating touches of his creative pencil conſecrate the fabric to Im⯑mortality.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXXIII. Lady Jane S. to Lady Louiſa G.

BEGIN your temple without loſs of time: Mortlake and I have conſecrated the ſpot to love, and nothing is wanting for the cere⯑mony of laying the foundation-ſtone but the preſence of the patroneſs.

Let us rear our fane according to the chaſte ſimplicity of antient Greece; let us keep the eſtabliſhed orders to the purity of their text, without any modern interpolations, and, to make them correſpond to the characters of the happy pair, whoſe union they record, let the manly ſolidity of the Doric ſupport the female elegance of the Ionic.

Give your favorite painter an ample and unbroken area for the diſplay of his genius; and, as the temple is to be ſacred to connubial love, let him take the fable of Pſyche and her various labours for his ſubject, conſummating the whole with a magnificent compoſition of [154] the wedding ceremony. Remember I bargain for a dome, as well for the painter's lights, as for the ſolemnity of the edifice; and in a ſa⯑criſty apart from the fane let me have the pourtrait of my Louiſa, ſimple, unadorned, Caecilia-like, breathing harmony and inſpiring love. I recollect ſome lines addreſſed to the celebrated artiſt we are ſpeaking of, by a huſ⯑band as inſtructions for the pourtrait of his wife, which, till Arundel ſupplies you with better, may ſerve the preſent purpoſe, with the ſimple tranſpoſition of a name—

To confeſs the truth to you, I had once begun to think that there was no ſuch thing as love in my nature: I had been often flattered by young men and ſometimes pleaſed, but I never liked any one well enough to ſuffer pain for [155] his ſake; no admirer ever broke my reſt by night, or ſpoiled one meal in the day by over-occupation of my thoughts: now Mortlake on the contrary abſolutely ſtarved me into a liking for him; a wild cat would have been tamed by the diſcipline he gave me; I ſhould have died of mere inanition in a few days, if I had not made him ſenſible of my caſe: but how to do this has been the taſk; for the creature has none of that forward intuition, which many of our faſhionable ſparks have in ſuch prematu⯑rity, that they pretend to ſpy out a lady's ma⯑lady before ſhe ſickens: he is ſo humble, ſo diffident of his own ſkill, that I deſpaired of making him even underſtand the ſymptoms; how then, my dear Louiſa, could I expect a cure?

Some days went over my head before I could fairly talk down this ſame empty title of mine, which ſtood like a proud porter at the door of his lips and never let a word make its paſſage, that did not pay the tax which form and ceremony exact: at laſt with much pains and labour I got a tack to my title, and he began occaſionally to ſay—Dear Lady Jane: on that hint I ſpake, and I kept more than pace with his [156] familiarity by repaying him with—My dear Mr. Mortlake.

I had a kind of commiſſion going on at the parſonage, and we held frequent councils there in affairs of taſte; we rambled together all over the garden, though it was not always to ſuper⯑intend the works that we went thither; ſome⯑times the boat, inſtead of carrying us acroſs the ſtream, wafted us down to new ſcenes, where the proſpect tempted us to moor our veſſel and make excurſions into the country; here our talk became tender and confidential; we interchanged the ſtories of our lives, which, though not marked with extraordinary inci⯑dents, drew our hearts nearer to each other, and began to throw reſerve aſide: wherever ſhade and ſolitude invited us to a temporary repoſe, I was commodiouſly weary and we ſate down together to reſt ourſelves: nature has a thouſand modeſt methods of explaining herſelf in theſe intereſting ſituations; the verieſt no⯑vice in love will fall upon them inſtinctively, and there wants no comment to the language of the eyes: certain it is we loſt no ground by theſe baiting-places, and it is my opinion we ſhould have made a tedious journey of it with⯑out them.

[157]I am now coming to the conſecrated ſpot, where your future temple is to ariſe; there is a hanging grove, which flanks the current of the ſilver Medway; here the bank is ſteep and lofty, and there is a kind of rough alcove ſhaped out of the cliff, wherein is a matted bench, which ſome of Arundel's predeceſſors have maliciouſly embowered with flowering ſhrubs, which ſo invitingly ſurround it as to make it a perfect love-trap. From this very ſeat your Arundel, I make no doubt, was re⯑turning, when we ſurpriſed him within a few yards of it, though we did not at that time diſcover it; but as he has not yet put up a board in the ſuburban ſtile to warn unwary in⯑truders againſt men-traps and pits, which the foot of curioſity may fall into, poor Mortlake and myſelf, as any other undeſigning ſouls might have done, wandered heedleſsly into the midſt of it, thinking no harm, and behold there we were caught! The river glided ſilent⯑ly at our feet, the breeze wafted odours and the birds chaunted their own feſtive hymeneals around us.

This is a delicious retreat, ſaid Mortlake, you ſeem weary with your walk; the ſun is [158] hot, will you reſt yourſelf in this ſhady ſeat?—I ſaw my danger, but I am of a family, you know, not much given to fear, ſo I accepted the challenge, and entered in nothing doubting: I ſate down on the matted bench, whilſt Mort⯑lake reſpectfully continued on his feet; 'twas an awkward arrangement, and methought we did not converſe with eaſe in our different at⯑titudes; it was ſelfiſh withal, ſo I invited him to ſit down beſide me; now this ſpiteful bench was rather ſtinted in its meaſure for two ſitters, unleſs they were very cloſe friends indeed; in making room for him we were tumbled toge⯑ther I know not how, and I ſaw his cheeks ſuffuſed with bluſhes: to divert his emba⯑raſſment, and perhaps in ſome degree to re⯑lieve my own, I began with an affected air of indifference to ſtart a converſation about his affairs at the parſonage; they ſeemed to have ſlipt his memory, I am not ſure he juſt then knew whereabouts the parſonage ſtood: I talked about the diſpoſal of the furniture, which he had referred to my taſte, and began to fit the chambers one by one; I might as well have talked to him of the chambers of [159] King Solomon, his ideas could not ſtir a ſtep beyond the matted bench.

Why you are loſt, my friend, cried I; What are you meditating upon? He ſighed and turned his eyes fondly upon me. I had my an⯑ſwer without the coſt of a word. Ah, Mort⯑lake, ſaid I, you have ſomething at your heart, which you will not confide to me.—It is not fit I ſhould, he replied: ſend me for ever from your ſight, but pity me and for⯑give.—He was ſilent; his agitation affected me, it communicated itſelf to my heart, I could not ſpeak to him: he roſe from his ſeat, and ſeemed heſitating if he ſhould not leave me; I gave him a look, 'twas not a diſ⯑couraging one, and he ſate down once more by my ſide—You do not treat me with your na⯑tural ſincerity, I ſaid, you do not hold me worthy of your thoughts.—Ah, Madam, he replied, the thoughts I entertain of your Lady⯑ſhip are ſuch as my tongue cannot find words expreſſive enough to give utterance to; I know too well my own unworthineſs to diſ⯑courſe on ſuch a ſubject, and I reſpect your delicacy too much to attempt it; meditation, [160] however, is a privilege the humbleſt of man⯑kind may enjoy, and though my looks may too viſibly betray what paſſes in my heart, yet I hope you will not think I tranſgreſs againſt reſpect, whilſt I adore at humble diſtance and abſtain from words.

If you only flatter me with your eyes, I an⯑ſwered, ſuch flattery will not be ſerious to either of us; but if your heart approves of me, I truſt you do not think me proud, mercenary or ambitious. Of theſe bad qualities I hope I have acquitted myſelf in part at leaſt, to your conviction, for Sir Adam Crichton is ex⯑tremely rich, and I am very poor; he is noble withal as far as birth can ennoble him: Do you think then my ambition aſpires yet higher? You think rightly; it aſpires to character, to underſtanding, to the true affections of a vir⯑tuous heart, on which I may repoſe my hap⯑pineſs; and that once found, what is the world to me?—Lovelieſt and beſt of all Hea⯑ven's works! he rapturouſly exclaimed, and dropping on his knee claſped both my hands in his; Oh pardon me, he cried, I know not what I do; my paſſion is my maſter; you are too noble to deſpiſe an humble creature at [161] your feet, who doats upon you even to diſtrac⯑tion.—Here his voice faultered, his head dropt upon my knees, he hid his face between my hands and I felt the tears guſhing from his eyes.—Riſe, riſe! ſaid I, and meet a heart as fond, as tender as your own.—Oh Heaven! he exclaimed, and falling into my arms, which were opened to enfold him, we ſealed our faith with an embrace, which love inſpired and honor ſanctified.—Yes, my Louiſa, theſe were joys indeed; even now I feel the throbbing tumult at my heart; Silence and Solitude, the friends of Love, were all around us; Diſſimu⯑lation, Avarice, Ambition dared not to pro⯑phane the hallowed ſpot. Come then, come hither with thine Arundel, here interchange your vows, and on the twice-conſecrated ground erect the altar of connubial Love!

And now have I not obeyed the inſtruc⯑tions in your laſt intereſting letter? Your com⯑mands have precipitated my advances; but let me tell you with what joy I ſee your proſ⯑pect brighten, as your father relents; the courage, truth and generoſity of Arundel muſt triumph at laſt; may your next meet⯑ing be ſpeedy and propitious! Should a [162] happy reconciliation take place, of which I have ſome joyous preſentiments, call to mind our mutual engagement to be preſent at each other's marriage; fulfil your promiſe, if it be poſſible, and grace your humble friend upon her nuptials: if form will not allow of your be⯑ing Arundel's gueſt, we have an apartment at the parſonage, which I flatter myſelf you would not be diſpleaſed with. Am I quite romantic to build any hopes upon this wiſhed-for favor? Heaven grant I may be ſpeedily called upon to repay it! Your deſtiny, my lovely friend, will then devote you to a ſta⯑tion, ſplendid as affluence can make it, where you will have room to exerciſe the generous virtues you poſſeſs: it would afford me un⯑ſpeakable delight to have you take a view of theſe enhanting ſcenes, which long to hail you as their miſtreſs. Oh! that your father would indeed relent. How happy we might be! we ſhould then live within the horizon of each other's proſpect, you, as becomes you, in a lofty palace, we in a private manſion, de⯑corated by your bounty, and reflecting chear⯑fulneſs and grateful ſmiles upon our benefac⯑tors.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXXIV. Arundel to Charles Mortlake.

THOUGH Lord S. will be the bearer of this, who will give you the particulars of what has paſſed ſince the date of my laſt letter to my uncle, I cannot excuſe myſelf from writing to you, as it is probable I may be detained in town ſome days to come, and I have ſomething more to ſay than can well be conveyed by word of mouth.

My return to England was retarded by the anxious deſire I had to wait the event of Sir George Revel's wounds: I thought his caſe without hope, but I have now left him in a promiſing way to find his cure from the hand of time and the great ſkill of Mr. L. who has conſented to ſtay with him ſome time longer.

By one of the moſt extraordinary incidents chance ever produced (if indeed it ought to be aſcribed to chance) it ſo happened that the houſe in the wood, to which he was conveyed [164] from the ground we engaged on, was the very houſe, to which that virtuous exile Lady G. had retired. I have not ſeen her nor had any correſpondence with her by letter, but I learn from Sir John Macarthy More, that an old lady, the widow of a certain Baron Polberg, who was an intimate of her father's, is the pre⯑ſent owner of that houſe and a ſmall eſtate, which lies about it: with this lady ſhe has kept up an occaſional correſpondence and done her many friendly offices ſince the death of the Baron; to this retirement ſhe betook herſelf in her diſtreſs, and with this old lady ſhe boards, living in the ſtricteſt privacy, and totally ſequeſtered from all other ſociety.

When Sir George Revel was brought in wounded and expiring, ſhe generouſly exerted herſelf for his relief, and, ſuperior to all mo⯑tives of reſentment, furniſhed him with every thing her care and aſſiduity could contribute towards his comfort and accommodation. It is to the credit of human nature that Sir George was not inſenſible to theſe acts of benignity, and in token of his repentance ſeized the firſt moments in his power for dictating a full re⯑cantation of the charge he had laid againſt [165] her; this he addreſſed to Lady Louiſa, and tranſmitted to me by the hands of Sir John Macarthy More, accompanied with a note, of which the following is a copy.

With this pacquet Sir John delivered me a verbal meſſage from Lady G. deſiring me to haſten my return to England, and aſſuring me every thing in her power ſhould be done for the recovery of Sir George Revel; having made a ſuitable reply to this meſſage, and writ⯑ten an anſwer to Sir George's note, Lord S. and I ſet out on our return.

Upon our arrival in London Lord S. was ſo good as to call upon Lord G. to explain to him the purport of the paper I was charged with from Sir George Revel, and to know from his Lordſhip if I was to have the honor of delivering this paper to Lady Louiſa with my own hands, or not. Lord G. ſaid he could [166] hardly ſuppoſe a viſit in his houſe would be very agreeable to me: to which my friend re⯑plied, that as the whole of a very infamous proceeding againſt me jointly with Lady G. was now laid open, to his Lordſhip's full and perfect ſatisfaction, he muſt take the liberty to remark, it was but reaſonable for me to ex⯑pect ſome ſuch acknowledgment on his part, might aſſure me of his ſuſpicions being done away, and quiet my mind on a ſubject, which had expoſed me to ſo much unmerited danger and diſturbance. Lord G. very rea⯑dily admitted that ſuch an acknowledgment was due to me, and that if I required it as an act of juſtice, as ſuch he could have no ob⯑jection to comply with it; but he doubted if Lady Louiſa was well enough to leave her chamber. An hour was then appointed for my coming, and Lord S. returned to me with this report.

I was punctual to the time, and was imme⯑diately admitted to his Lordſhip; who re⯑ceived me courteouſly, but with a good deal of embaraſſment in his manner. He was alone, and apologized for Lady Louiſa, who was too ill to leave her chamber. I delivered [167] Sir George Revel's pacquet into his hands, tell⯑ing him it had been ſent to me under a flying ſeal, and ſhewing him Sir George's note, wherein he deſires me to peruſe it, and deli⯑ver it to its addreſs. He was pleaſed to ſay, that ſuch a depoſition to the truth could not fail to be conſidered by him as a full and compleat exculpation of the parties, whom that unhappy man had ſo unjuſtly accuſed. It was a foul tranſaction, of which he ſhould ſay the leſs, as the guilty perſon had ſo dearly atoned for it. With reſpect to his Lady's conduct, he confeſſed that her haſty eſcape out of England, and the ſecrecy ſhe obſerved on that occaſion, had been ſtaggering cir⯑cumſtances in his opinion; and he owned it put his credulity to ſome ſtretch to believe that the choice of a ſpot ſo near her reſidence, and the conveying the wounded man to the very houſe itſelf, were merely the effects of chance.—In anſwer to this, I aſſured his Lordſhip in the moſt ſolemn manner, that I was never once conſulted in the choice of the ground, which was pointed out to Lord S. by Sir George's ſecond, who was a foreign offi⯑cer, [168] and well acquainted with the country; that for my own part, I had not the moſt diſ⯑tant gueſs at the place Lady G. had choſen for her reſidence, before this event happened; and that neither myſelf, nor Lord S. on my behalf, had ever ſeen Lady G. entered her houſe, or correſponded with her, ſince my leaving England till the preſent moment; and though the incident he alluded to was indeed a very extraordinary one, yet I muſt obſerve to his Lordſhip, that Providence oftentimes takes means as extraordinary for the vindi⯑cation of innocence and the detection of guilt. In this light I regarded the meeting of Sir George Revel and his much-injured Lady, whoſe humanity, extending itſelf even to her worſt enemy in his diſtreſs, wrought a happy change in that enemy's heart, by turning it to repentance, and drawing forth a confeſſion moſt ſeaſonable for her juſtification and his Lordſhip's repoſe. Senſible that no one, who had ſo abuſed your confidence, I added, could with any face aſpire to your Lordſhip's alli⯑ance, Sir George Revel has very properly underſtood his ſituation, by withdrawing all [169] pretenſions to Lady Louiſa, which is the pur⯑port of the letter I have had the honor to de⯑liver to you.

Mr. Arundel, he replied, whatever terms you and I may be upon now or hereafter, yet on this occaſion I deſire you will once for all receive my full and unreſerved declaration, that I give perfect credit to your veracity and honor; and I rejoice withal that you are re⯑turned in ſafety and unhurt.—For this I thanked him, and declared myſelf perfectly ſatisfied.—He then demanded if I was leaving town; and upon my ſaying I had ſome buſi⯑neſs at the Admiralty on my uncle's account, which might detain me a day or two, he was pleaſed to anſwer, that he was glad of it, and hoped it was a promotion to a flag, which his gallant ſervices ſo richly merited. This was alſo very courteous on his part, and I ex⯑preſſed my ſenſibility for his kind expreſſions, informing him that I had ſtrong reaſon to be⯑lieve that promotion would take place.

Lord G. now took up the pacquet I had delivered to him, and obſerved, that as I had apprized him of the contents, the matter did not ſo preſs but that I might make my own op⯑portunity [170] for giving them in perſon to Lady Louiſa; and to confeſs the truth, ſays he, I have uſed a little deceit in not informing her of this meeting, fearing that her ſpirits were not in a proper ſtate to undergo the agitation it would give her: I will therefore inform her of your arrival, and ſhe ſhall let you know when ſhe is prepared to expect you.

I requeſted him not to return Sir George's letter to me, but to give it to Lady Louiſa in my abſence, as it would be a more delicate time for her to peruſe it at her leiſure; and I gave him my moſt grateful thanks for the confidence he repoſed in me, by allowing me to hope for the happineſs of paying my re⯑ſpects to Lady Louiſa in perſon.

He very handſomely replied, that he did not think he ſhould ever repent of any confi⯑dence he repoſed in me, having received ſo ſtrong a proof of my very honorable con⯑duct towards his daughter, in an affair which ſhe had confided to him, and for which he held himſelf very ſeriouſly indebted to me.

I ſtared with aſtoniſhment at theſe words, which ſeemed ſo evidently to apply to a cer⯑tain propoſal I thought myſelf bound to de⯑cline, [171] but which I could not have believed Lady Louiſa would have had the reſolution to diſcloſe to her father; and I own I augured very inauſpiciouſly from her ſo doing; but the behavior of Lord G. was either very arti⯑ficial, or moſt extremely encouraging, for we parted with ſmiles of complacency, and a promiſe on his ſide that I ſhould very ſoon hear from Lady Louiſa when ſhe would re⯑ceive my viſit.

What can this myſterious behaviour por⯑tend? What am I to expect from this viſit, ſanctioned as it is by the authority of her father? Hath my declining her propoſal been ſo miſunderſtood in its motives, as to have ex⯑cited her reſentment againſt me, and brought her to deſpiſe me for my want of ſpirit? That would be hard indeed; I ought not ſo to judge of her; and yet how elſe can I ac⯑count for her diſcloſing it to her father, but as a peace-offering on her part, and a thorough renunciation of me for ever? Oh! Charles, my heart is tortured by ſuſpenſe: I am in agony till my fate is decided.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXXV. Sir George Revel to Lady Louiſa G.

PROVIDENCE having ſo directed it, that I ſhould owe the little hopes I have of life to the humanity of the perſon whom I have moſt cruelly injured, I eagerly embrace the firſt return of my ſenſes to exonerate a guilty conſcience, by confeſſing to your La⯑dyſhip, that the ſtories which you have heard reported from the evidence of Lady G.'s ſer⯑vant, are falſehoods, fabricated for the diſin⯑genuous purpoſe of detaching your affections from my late antagoniſt Mr. Arundel, to whoſe innocence this acknowledgment is no leſs due than to your noble and virtuous parent.

This declaration is entirely voluntary, and I freely made it on the field before we began the duel, which has juſtly proved ſo fatal to me. Mr. Arundel would then have acquitted me, if I would have conſented to what I am [173] now doing; but jealouſy and reſentment had hardened my heart againſt a rival happier and more worthy than myſelf, and my paſſion would not ſuffer me to liſten to the plea of juſtice: preſuming on my ſkill, I meditated to deſtroy him, but the hand of Heaven turn⯑ed my purpoſe againſt myſelf.

I now lie expiring, as I believe, on the bed which your mother's charity affords me, with one wound through my body and two others in my breaſt and arm, the agony of which is not half ſo racking as thoſe remorſeful horrors that afflict my mind. Tortured in my exit out of this world, and trembling for my entrance into the next, thoſe horrors would be inſupportable, had not the ſame injured excellence, whoſe hand reaches the cordial to my lips, adminiſtered the like cordial to my ſoul, by aſſuring me of her forgiveneſs.

Leſt it ſhould be ſuſpected by any one that Mr. Arundel had a hand in appointing me to this ſpot, as knowing it to be the place of Lady G.'s reſidence, I do ſolemnly aſſure you, that he had no voice in the appointment, and that the place of our meeting was pitched upon by my ſecond Sir John Macarthy More, [174] from his knowledge of the ſpot, and acceded to by the Earl of S. on the behalf of Mr. Arundel, without any privity or ſuggeſtion on his part.

If what ſeems ſo impoſſible to my expecta⯑tions, ſhould nevertheleſs come to paſs, and by the favor of Heaven I ſhould in courſe of time recover from this deplorable ſituation, it will be long before I ſhall reviſit England. Many years muſt elapſe and long abſence from the ſcene of my diſgrace muſt intervene, before the wounds of my mind can be healed after theſe in my body have found their cure: baniſh from your memory therefore the very name of Revel, and give your father my Lord G. to underſtand that the defamer of his wife is too ſenſible of his own demerit, what⯑ever he may think of it, ever to aſpire to be the huſband of his daughter; and though the ungenerous wound I once gave Arundel is, I truſt, atoned for by theſe I have received from him, yet the injury I have attempted to do him in your thoughts, and the juſtice due to a virtuous and elevated character, compel me in conſcience to declare, that the man whom I had devoted to death, as being loved by [175] you, is of all men living the only one who truly merits that moſt happy diſtinction.

I dictate this to my friend Sir John Macar⯑thy More, and ſign it with my own hand in preſence of your noble mother and Mr. L. who is known to you; a very honorable man, to whoſe ſkill and humanity I am infinitely indebted: they are privy to the contents, and will witneſs the authenticity of them. Sir John will carry it to Mr. Arundel, who is now at —, and has remained there ever ſince our affair, without one viſit to this houſe. To him it will be communicated, and by him as I hope delivered into your hands.—May Heaven in him reward and bleſs you!

LETTER LXXXVI. Lady Jane S. to Lady Louiſa G.

I SHALL now give my dear Louiſa the concluſion of my life, character and beha⯑vior; then recommend myſelf to your prayers and prepare for execution.

My brother came down to Arundel-houſe this day before dinner. If I was writing a novel and not a hiſtory, I would give you a pathetic deſcription of our meeting and em⯑braces, in which I would float my page with a flood of tears, that ſhould almoſt threaten a ſecond deluge.

Though my lover and I had come to a perfect underſtanding with each other, I had reſerved myſelf for the arrival of my brother, without letting the old Captain into the ſe⯑cret; and as for his diſcovering it by the vir⯑tue of his own ſagacity in love affairs, there was not a chance on the tables; I never ſaw a creature ſo commodiouſly blind, deaf and incurious in my days.

[177]Some ſiſters, in my dependant ſituation, would have been in a fine puzzle how to break a matter of this ſort to ſome brothers, on whom their dependance reſted; but I had no ſuch difficulties to encounter with mine, and if I had, ſtill I ſhould have taken no other method than I did, which was naturally to tell him in a very few words that Mortlake and I had agreed upon a marriage.

Very well, ſaid my brother, you have done right to pleaſe yourſelf; and upon my ſoul, Jane, I give you credit for a good eye; for I don't know a finer young fellow in all Eng⯑land.

Pooh! replied I, don't be ridiculous; do you think I chuſe by the eye?—No, no, re⯑turned he, Mortlake is a very honeſt, worthy lad withal, and one I ſhall be proud to call my brother-in-law. May I die, if I think you could have choſen better in the three king⯑doms; ſo there's an end of that; the next thing is to ſet you up in the world with ſome⯑thing to live comfortably upon, and we muſt go to the Spaniſh dollars for that; the Dons, many thanks to 'em, have provided you with a dower.

[178]Hold there, my dear generous brother, I replied, you and I ſhall not agree upon that bargain; I muſt not forget, if you do, that the Earl of S. will require more to maintain him than the parſon's wife, and ſuch I intend to be to all intents and purpoſes.—But the brats, ſaid he, muſt have ſomething to main⯑tain them, and there'll be no ſcarcity of them, Jane; I can't carry them all out to ſea with me.—Well, replied I, the girls cannot be poorer than their mother was, and if the boys are but as brave as their uncle, they'll fight through the world I warrant 'em.—Aye, and conquer it too I hope, he cried, before they have done with it: but all this is nothing to the purpoſe; I ſhall ſay no more to you upon this ſubject; brother Mortlake and I will ſet⯑tle that affair between ourſelves. You have nothing to do but marry as faſt as you can, for Captain Arundel and I ſhall be bruſhing out again very ſpeedily, and I would fain ſee my dear ſiſter ſafe moored before I looſe the foreſail.—So ſaying, the noble youth tenderly embraced me, when before my heart could give a vent to the grateful ſenſations with which it glowed, the call of the old Captain [179] broke up our conference, and ſummoned us to the dinner-room.

There was ſomething ſo pointedly engaging in the manner with which my brother took Mortlake by the hand, when he joined the company, that it told more to my feelings than a volume of fine ſpeeches could have ex⯑preſſed: I remarked the effect it had upon Mortlake, and I am ſure his feelings ſympa⯑thized with mine; joy gliſtened in his eyes; all paſſed in ſilence, but where's the poet that can find words for what that ſilence ut⯑tered? Oh! how I deteſt a chattering fine-ſpoken ſentamentaliſt: give me the mute elo⯑quence of the heart; that only is the genuine language of love and benevolence.

After dinner Lady Treville, knowing that all things were well underſtood between my brother and me from a hint I had given her, and loving at her heart, as you well know, a little good-natured miſchief, began to queſ⯑tion Mortlake how his preparations went on at the parſonage, obſerving that it was much too good a houſe for a ſingle man, and that it would now behove him to look out for a wife.—This was hint enough for my brother, [180] who immediately cloſed in with it by ſaying he would anſwer for Mortlake that he would take a wife of his recommending; upon which the old Captain loudly declared that he would venture a wager he named the lady, for that it could be none other than the gunner's daughter, which it ſeems is a cant phraſe for a dozen laſhes at the gun.

It is what I ſhould have well deſerved for my preſumption, ſaid this amiable young man, (his face covered with bluſhes) if ambition had any ſhare in my affections, or if I could have been daring enough to have grounded a hope upon that charming condeſcenſion, which though I could not chuſe but admire, I was not ſo bold as to approach.—What is the man talking about? cried the rough old ſeaman, I can't make out a word that he is ſaying.—I don't know how you ſhould, ſaid Lady Treville, for he is talking about love.—No, no, anſwered he, that hook won't hold, my Lady; I know too much of love to believe that; love is a damn'd noiſy, quarrelſome companion; the Doctor there is as meek as Moſes; love is all talk and bluſter, ſtorm and tempeſt; I have been in love myſelf, and it [181] always ſets me a ſwearing, becauſe, do you ſee, it throws me out of my courſe and puts me upon t'other tack; now Mortlake keeps on his way fair and eaſy; nobody ſhall make me believe he is in love.—Perhaps ſome of the company may be of a different opinion, re⯑plied ſhe; for inſtance there is Lady Jane; I'll refer the caſe to her.—With all my heart, cried the captain, Lady Jane knows bet⯑ter things; I'll be judged by Lady Jane.—Agreed, anſwered the good lady, who ſo fit to decide upon Mortlake's paſſion, as ſhe who inſpires it?—Come, my dear Jane, added my brother, give ſentence upon your friend.—My ſentence, I replied, will be paſſed upon myſelf, for if he does not love, I am of all women moſt miſerable.—Mortlake was ſitting next to me; he ſprung from his chair, ſeized my hand, and preſſing it to his lips with an animation that even ſtartled me—Then I take Heaven to witneſs, he cried, that my ſoul doats upon you; my heart beats with love that cannot be uttered; I do but live whilſt you approve of me, and every moment of my life ſhall be de⯑voted to gratitude and love for the unſpeak⯑able bleſſing you have beſtowed upon me.— [182] That's right, cried the hearty old Commander, the man's as mad as a March-hare, I give it up, I give it up; I don't ſay but what he is in love now, but I will ſtand to what I did ſay, that he was not in love before. Egad! Mort⯑lake, thou art an honeſt fellow, a lad after my own heart; if you could be in love with that charming creature and in your ſenſes at the ſame time, I would not own you for a man: I told you all I knew what love was, and here's my lady would have perſuaded me out of my ſenſes: by the Lord Harry but I'll make the dollars jump for this! My dear, dear boy, he cried, addreſſing himſelf to my brother, I hope all this is to your good liking.—To my very heart's content, replied my be⯑loved brother.—Then about ſhe goes! roared out the old blade, a health to the happy cou⯑ple! Harkye, Mortlake, do it juſtice, and I will ſtock your cellars for your life to come. Damn it, Archey! you and I took the Dons in the nick of time; aye, boy, and we'll have another bruſh amongſt them; thank God, we need not go far to find an enemy. Come, wheel it about! (taking a full glaſs in his hand) my dear, dear Lady Jane, you muſt let [183] me love you like a child of my own, like my own dear Archibald, like my own boy Frank, (why the plague is not he here at this mo⯑ment?) May all happineſs befall you! may you be bleſt in the arms of an honeſt man! for you are a noble, generous, lovely girl, and I adore your ſpirit for throwing off that pig⯑tailed puppy with his pouch full of money, and taking this worthy fellow with a round curl and a black coat, but a heart that is worth all the mines of Peru.

This is but coarſe ſtuff, you will ſay, but it is honeſt, and has ſerved to hurry me out of all my embarraſſments, and now I have no⯑thing to encounter but the eyes of Arundel—Oh ſend him to us, with the fires of love and joy ſparkling in their brighteſt luſtre! but if you would compleat the wiſh, come with him yourſelf, then where in all the world ſhall there be found a circle of ſuch happineſs as our's?

The grotto awaits you: Mortlake and I do not fail to viſit it, and this evening I rambled thither by myſelf; I had not long repoſed myſelf in this enchanted ſpot, before the ſelf⯑ſame ſybil, who accoſted me under the tree of [184] Fergus, viſited me again in this diſtant ſoli⯑tude, and with ſomewhat more of the poetic fury in her voice than the cold region of the North had inſpired her with, chanted forth the following ſtanzas:—

LETTER LXXXVII. Charles Mortlake to Arundel.

THAT partiality, which you pronounced upon in its infancy, has exceeded your warmeſt predictions: Lady Jane has verified the character you gave her, and thoſe atten⯑tions, which I thought could only be the effect of a little female vanity, I now perceive ſprung ſincerely from the heart. Could I ſuppoſe that ſo much beauty, youth and vivacity, ſuch high pretenſions as ſhe derives from rank, fa⯑mily and condition, could ever condeſcend to the humble lot in which I am placed, and bid [186] adieu to all the pleaſures, all the pride of life? I muſt have had an unreaſonable ſhare of pre⯑ſumption to have thought of her any other⯑wiſe than I did: but after you and her brother had left us I confeſs to you there were open⯑ings enough in her behaviour to have inſpired a man of leſs diffidence than myſelf with very flattering hopes. Our walks were longer and more frequent, ſhe was induſtrious to find out the moſt ſolitary places, and our converſations became more ſerious and particular: for a time indeed our mutual anxiety in your ab⯑ſence allowed of no reflections but upon the dreadful errand you were engaged in; we did little elſe but mingle ſighs and ſorrows, and neither party was qualified to act the comforter to the other: as ſoon as the joyful tidings of your ſafety arrived, though qualified with ſome little terrors for her beloved brother, our ſpi⯑rits revived, and as this was followed by further accounts, which ſet her mind at eaſe about Lord S. our happineſs was without alloy.

Anxious as I was to know my fate, I am ſatisfied I ſhould never have found reſolution to declare myſelf, had not her encouragement, conſpiring with a moſt tempting opportunity, [187] in a manner extorted it from me. It was then very awkwardly brought out with ſo much trepidation and terror, that it is my wonder how ſhe could underſtand me; but her gene⯑rous heart diſdained to make ſport of my weakneſs, and ſhe had too much pity for my painful ſtruggles to indulge herſelf in prolong⯑ing them: in ſhort, my dear Arundel, I am confounded by my own good fortune, and ſcarce believe the bleſſing I am poſſeſt of: the gallant Earl of S. has ratified his ſiſter's hum⯑ble choice with a liberality, which we found it difficult to reduce within the bounds of mo⯑deration; Lady Jane is ſurely the moſt diſin⯑tereſted as well as the moſt amiable of Hea⯑ven's creatures; ſhe ſays my income is affluence ſhe has never been accuſtomed to; ſhe has laid down a plan for our domeſtic oeconomy with the greateſt preciſion, and formed her little eſtabliſhment of ſervants upon the ſcale of our moderate circumſtances with every attention to our future comfort and content. She has ſuperintended every thing that is going for⯑ward at the parſonage, and in furniſhing and fitting the houſe, as well as in the directions ſhe has given about the works you put in mo⯑tion [188] without doors, you will find ſhe has been a frugal manager of your unlimited generoſity. The library is now compleated and a charming room it is; there are four excellent bed-cham⯑bers, and two with little dreſſing-rooms and cloſets attached to them, all furniſhed with the greateſt neatneſs and ſimplicity. Her heart is ſet upon ſeeing Lady Louiſa at our wedding, which only waits your return to be fixed for an early day. I am afraid to ſay how much I wiſh to ſee you, leſt I ſhould provoke your friendſhip to comply with my deſires at the expence of engagements more important and more intereſting to your own immediate hap⯑pineſs.

Oh my dear Arundel, when ſhall I hear that Heaven has turned the heart of that obdu⯑rate father, who is now the ſole bar to your happineſs with your lovely Lady Louiſa? Is there no hope of her complying with the wiſhes of Lady Jane? Alas! I fear it is in vain to think of it. Time and patience will bring all things round; Providence has done wonders in your favor already; continue to deſerve its bounty, and there is no doubt but you will be bleſt.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXXVIII. Arundel to Charles Mortlake.

SOON after I had diſpatched my laſt letter, which left me in the utmoſt anxiety of mind, I was ſurpriſed with a viſit from Lord G. I was alone and had fallen into ſuch a gloomy train of thoughts, that I could not meet the ſight of him without the greateſt tre⯑pidation, poſſeſſed as I was with the idea that he was come to pronounce ſentence upon my hopes; but when he drew forth a letter from his pocket, and told me he was commiſſioned by Lady Louiſa to preſent it to me, methought I ſhould have fainted at the inſtant; it ſeemed as if the ſmile with which he delivered it was put on by malice to give a keener inſult to my feelings, and holding it unopened in my trem⯑bling hand—My Lord, ſaid I, if this letter, which you have given me, contains the fatal ſentence, which muſt extinguiſh the faint hope that hardly glimmers in my breaſt, I do be⯑ſeech [190] you let me hear it from your lips, and ſpare me the agony of a peruſal, which will throw me into ſuch a ſituation, as the bittereſt enemy could not contemplate without pain and pity: if my offences againſt you and my preſumption in aſpiring to Lady Louiſa's fa⯑vor, deſerve the puniſhment of a contemptu⯑ous refuſal, for the honor of humanity do not aggravate that puniſhment by taking on your⯑ſelf the office of a tormentor, and feaſting your eyes with the agonies you inflict.—Upon my word, Mr. Arundel, replied he, I am not privy to the contents of that letter; I have ſimply the honor of being her Ladyſhip's meſſenger; but I am free to confeſs to you that it is an honor I ſhould have declined, if I could have ſuppoſed myſelf the bearer of any unwelcome news to you, for I come hither with a heart very thoroughly diſpoſed to make peace, and if you will break the ſeal of my commiſſion, I ſhall be very much miſtaken if it does not tally with my wiſhes.—I opened the letter, and immediately caſt my eye upon theſe tranſ⯑porting words—

My tranſport overpowered me; I could not ſpeak; I could not reſtrain my tears; I threw myſelf at the feet of Lord G. He raiſed me in his arms and tenderly embraced me—Thus let us ſeal our peace for ever, he cried; hence⯑forth let us be ſon and father! Louiſa is your own.—He would ſcarce ſuffer me to make him any reply, much leſs to endeavor at ex⯑preſſing all my ſenſibility on this tranſporting occaſion: I dare ſay, he cried, Louiſa's letter is a very eager ſummons, and you are no leſs eager to obey it; and yet I am diſpoſed to treſ⯑paſs on your attention for a very few minutes, whilſt I account to you for the ſudden revolu⯑tion which you diſcover in my mind towards [192] you; and for this you are in the firſt place in⯑debted to Louiſa's honorable ſincerity, in con⯑feſſing to me that ſhe had gone the length of offering you a clandeſtine marriage; I own to you this was a ſtep, which I never apprehended ſhe would take, having paſſed her word to me againſt it, but when no other means appeared to her of preventing your duel with Sir George Revel, in the extremity of her diſtreſs no won⯑der if duty, and even honor itſelf, could not hold out againſt a ſuperior paſſion, and if any means appeared lawful to preſerve a life ſo dear and ſo invaluable to her: I therefore ac⯑quit her, but at the ſame time I very highly reſpect you for the noble manner in which you declined her propoſal; but when I further underſtood that Sir George Revel had revoked his charge, of which I was firſt informed by Lord S. and read the letter you brought to Louiſa, which by ſo full a confeſſion on his part entirely does away every ſhadow of ſuſ⯑picion that could remain in my mind, with what juſtice could I any longer hold out againſt you, or pretend to exerciſe that right in Louiſa to your disfavor, which I owed ſingly to your honor and forbearance? No, Mr. Arundel, [193] even though you had been without excuſe for your public oppoſition to me, which to my ſhame I muſt own is not the caſe, yet under ſuch circumſtances, injured as you had been by the falſeſt and baſeſt accuſations, aſſaulted both in life and reputation by an aſſaſſin whom I bluſh to think was foſtered and adopted by me, unexceptionable in your family, fortune and character, maſter of the affections of my daughter in the moſt honorable manner, and backed with the moſt zealous approbation of her mother, what ſort of man, or rather mon⯑ſter, muſt I have been to have oppoſed myſelf to ſuch pretenſions? You have therefore free and unreſerved acceſs to my Louiſa; write to her, viſit her, purſue the dictates of your af⯑fection; I cannot doubt your honor, my con⯑fidence in you is eſtabliſhed upon proof, and, as you are in abſolute poſſeſſion of the daugh⯑ter's heart, I truſt you will not refuſe to be received into the father's.

No, my Lord, I replied, it is a tender which I accept with gratitude and will endeavor to deſerve, but I am ſo confounded with my good fortune, that I am in the ſtate of a man, who is haſtily awakened from a dream, the impreſ⯑ſion [194] of which he cannot ſpeedily ſhake off, nor recover ſenſes enough to diſcern the objects that ſurround him; I ſcarce believe my hap⯑pineſs to be real.

Truſt me, Arundel, he replied, you will find no friend ſo zealous as a converted ene⯑my; and now he began to make enquiries about my ſtay in town, and whether I would accom⯑pany Lady Louiſa and him to Spring Grove. To this I anſwered, that I muſt go down to Arundel Houſe, to take leave of my uncle John and Lord S. who would ſoon be ordered out to ſea, and who were there waiting with Lady Jane S. and old Lady Treville, in hour⯑ly expectation of my return.

His Lordſhip admitted the ſufficiency of my plea, and with a kind of ſlyneſs in his manner, aſked what was to become of Lady Jane when her brother went to ſea: I ſmiled at this and ſaid, I doubted if I was at liberty to anſwer his queſtion. Come, come, ſaid he, your ſecret is not worth keeping; ſhe is going to be married out of hand to your friend Mortlake; you think yourſelf mighty cunning, but for once I am beforehand with you.—Then ſaid I, Lady Louiſa is a tell-tale; [195] I have juſt received a letter from Mortlake, and ſhe, I ſuppoſe, has had one from the bride-elect.—She has ſo, replied he, and a ſtrong de⯑mand upon her at the ſame time, on the ſcore of an old promiſe, to be preſent at her wedding; but how is this to be performed? A country parſonage is ſeldom very capacious, though I am told you have made this quite elegant; and as for Arundel Houſe, I ſuppoſe you would not admit Louiſa and me into that for the world.—My Lord, anſwered I, you are de⯑termined to overpower me with your kindneſs and condeſcenſion.—I would willingly try if you will have better luck in your own houſe, Arundel, than you have had in mine: hither⯑to I think you are indebted to me for no⯑thing but aſſaſſinations, duels, and calumnious charges: let us ſee if we cannot repair theſe miſcarriages by a peaceful meeting, and a pleaſant party at Arundel Houſe: make me known to your gallant uncle; let me be ac⯑quainted with this lucky friend of your's, who is carrying off one of the fineſt and livelieſt young women of the age in the face of all the fine men of rank, fortune, and faſhion, who [196] would never think of taking orders to make their way with a handſome girl of high diſ⯑tinction. Who in the name of wonder would ſuppoſe the church to be the road to preferr⯑ment of that ſort?

I cannot wonder at your Lordſhip's queſ⯑tion, as you are not acquainted with the perſon and qualities of my friend Mortlake, and per⯑haps take meaſure of Lady Jane by the gene⯑ral ſtandard of her contemporaries: but if you will fulfil the hopes you have given me, by honoring me with your company at Arundel Houſe, I do not doubt but a very ſhort ac⯑quaintance with the object of her Ladyſhip's choice will convince you of the ſuperior good ſenſe ſhe has ſhewn in making it.

Well, ſays he, let us go and try our joint intereſt with Louiſa, to perſuade her to this journey; if ſhe acquits herſelf well as bride⯑maid, it will be a good kind of rehearſal be⯑fore ſhe performs as principal; but remember I condition for the violin; give me muſic and I will not interrupt your love; feed my ears well and I ſhall not quarrel with you for the reſt of your entertainment; you are but a young [197] houſekeeper, and I condition againſt being fêted; poſtpone that till Louiſa preſides at your table, and then we ſhall know whom to blame, if the eſtabliſhment is not according to form and order.

Now therefore, Mortlake, announce this to your ſoul's better part, tell it to the whole worthy circle, let them ſhare in the felicity of your friend; I ſhall follow this letter cloſe at the heels, yet I write, becauſe even moments ſhould be anticipated, when they are charged with tidings of ſuch joy. Whiſper my good houſekeeper in the ear, and let her ſet her brooms and mops in motion; preſs forward the works at your own houſe with vigour, and incenſe the chamber that is deſtined to re⯑ceive you to the arms of your beloved.—Oh Charles, Charles! what will become of you and me! can we outlive our tranſports? We have not lowered our conſtitutions to that cold blood, which the ſtale hackneyed ſenſualiſts of this voluptuous town reduce themſelves to; we never waſted nature's genial fount, never unſtrung her bow, nor to the loathed embrace of harlots proſtituted our manly vigour; even our hearts will offer up their maiden oblations [198] to the reſpective goddeſſes of their idolatry: we never loved before; hereafter we ſhall ne⯑ver ceaſe to love.

I ſhall ſend down expreſs the beſt Piano⯑forte I can purchaſe; I am determined alſo to hang the late Lady Arundel's dreſſing-room and bed-chamber afreſh for my divine Louiſa to repoſe in; for this purpoſe I ſhall diſpatch a ſmall ſquadron of nimble artiſts from hence, who will decorate it in a trice; the bed, to which thoſe heavenly, thoſe enchanting limbs are to be committed, ſhall not be quite unwor⯑thy of the jewel it encaſes; I will keep it ſacred and untouched till ſhe reviſits again; I will kneel to it, as before a conſecrated altar, and there I will offer up my prayers to Heaven for bleſ⯑ſings multiplied upon her head.—Oh, Heaven and Earth! what raptures have I been now receiving! ſhe loves me, Charles, beyond the power of love to ſpeak of. Lord G. (for which kind act may my grateful lips ever bleſs and praiſe him!) ſent me up alone to her chamber; I found her all impatience, ecſtacy and love; ſhe ſprung with open arms to my embrace; paſſion like her's diſdains reſerve, a ſoul ſo noble ſpurns at all the petty forms of [199] coy diſſimulation; words had diſgraced her feeling, tears were her better eloquence and tranſports my more flattering welcome. How long I held her in my arms, let thoſe, who could have numbered moments ſo employed, declare; I cannot gueſs at time, in which my ſenſes were entranced: upon her unreſiſting lips I ſealed my gratitude, I left my ſoul.—At length ſhe murmured out—Oh, Arundel! no more! ſupport me to my chair: I bore her in my arms; the nerves of Love are ſtrong as the Nemaean lion's nerves; I placed her on the ſeat, then threw myſelf upon my knees, and with my arms around her waiſt ſupported my almoſt lifeleſs charmer, hanging her ſweet head and drooping like a lily. When her ſpirits had in ſome degree ſubſided, and ſhe began to recover, ſhe drew forth a locket richly ſet, containing her own miniature, to which ſhe had affixed a ribband, and began to faſten it round my neck; I ſuffered her to complete her work, then claſping her hands and preſſing them with the preſent they con⯑tained to my grateful lips, ſmothered them with kiſſes.—I now gently ſolicited to know when I might be bleſt with the divine original. [200] —This day, this hour, this inſtant, ſhe repli⯑ed; but now contain yourſelf; be prudent for my ſake; if it be poſſible, I love you but too well. Come, talk to me of ſome more quiet ſubject; but not a word of your affair beyond ſea; my heart cannot bear it; tell me about Mortlake and my charming Jane; dear girl, how I adore her! There is a heart, my Arun⯑del! I am ſure the object of her choice de⯑ſerves her; I know he is poſſeſſed of every manly, virtuous, and engaging quality, be⯑cauſe he is your choſen friend; I therefore boldly pronounce him worthy of his happi⯑neſs; but why do I anticipate a pleaſure I am ſo ſoon to enjoy? I am coming down to viſit you: ſhall I be welcome, Arundel? I think you will not turn me from your doors.—But I might ramble thus for ever, and I have al⯑ready ſaid enough to ſatisfy you of my hap⯑pineſs. If I write more I ſhall be with you before you can have read my letter through.

Farewell.

LETTER LXXXIX. The Counteſs to the Earl of G.

AS the ſolitude, to which your diſcarded wife has retreated, is by an extraordinary chance now become known to you, I think that you ſhould alſo know the motives for my coming hither.

Whilſt our wiſhes for the diſpoſal of our daughter in marriage were ſo oppoſite to each other, and you ſuſpected me of taking an ac⯑tive part againſt Sir George Revel, there ap⯑peared to me no ſtep ſo likely to remove thoſe ſuſpicions, as totally to ſeclude myſelf from all communication with my family.

When I thus broke from the deareſt tie in nature, and ſacrificed to your repoſe the ten⯑der affections of a mother, I fondly thought I might eſcape your cenſure, though I did not flatter myſelf with the hopes of your approba⯑tion: but I was not ſuffered to remain in quiet oblivion; even in this ſolitude I was ſtill to be the mark and butt of malice; a new accuſation [202] was ſtarted againſt me by an unhappy man, who has dearly atoned for his injuſtice. I took my accuſer into my houſe covered with wounds, and at the laſt gaſp of life: the com⯑punctions of a guilty conſcience, the terrors of impending death, and gratitude for my un⯑merited attentions, conſpired to produce that confeſſion, which I hope has reached your hand, and brought ſuch conviction with it as you can no longer withſtand.

I have now a claim upon your juſtice for reſtoring me to my family, from which you cruelly expelled me, and if this is in your me⯑ditation to do, I muſt plainly tell you, that ſo long as you perſiſt in excluding Mr. Arun⯑del, you exclude me. If I am innocent, can he be guilty? The ſame atonement is due to both, and I reject every offer of reconcile⯑ment which does not include him. Huſbands have been known to pardon guilty wives, and many have received a penitent offender into their family again, but pardon is not ſo readily extended to the partner of their guilt, and no man lives who would contaminate his blood by marrying the daughter to the ſedu⯑cer of the mother. Let this then be the teſt [203] of my innocence, and your compleat perſuaſion of it: beſtow your daughter upon the man ſhe loves; by one generous act you will give happineſs to your child, bring a bleſſing on yourſelf, make a friend of him whom you have injuriouſly treated, and heal the wounded heart of a wife, who returns to you on theſe con⯑ditions, or returns no more.

LETTER XC. The Earl to the Counteſs of G.

I HAVE received your letter, and you are obeyed: Mr. Arundel has this day ob⯑tained my full conſent and approbation for as ſpeedy a marriage with our daughter as cir⯑cumſtances will admit; his conduct has been, in all reſpects, that of a man of perfect honor; and in making this ſacrifice of my private re⯑ſentments, I have done no more than I ought to do upon conviction of my being the firſt aggreſſor, with this aggravation of the affront [204] I put upon him, that I then regarded him in the light of a dependant.

I flatter myſelf you will not doubt that an acknowledgment like this can only be the re⯑ſult of a ſtrict ſelf-examination, and to this I am now indebted for a ſerenity of mind and temper, which I never before experienced.

The ſavage attack Sir George Revel made upon Mr. Arundel, in conſequence of what paſſed at Spring Grove, and the unjuſt grounds of that bloody rencontre, which took place between them, wherein your reputation was traiterouſly attempted, could not fail to open my eyes to the real character of the man whom I ſo zealouſly and blindly abetted. The dread⯑ful chaſtiſement his guilt has received from the hand of Arundel, the very extraordinary inci⯑dent of his being carried at the point of death to your houſe, and the confeſſion which the terrors of his ſituation in that criſis extorted from his conſcience, are all events combined, as it ſhould ſeem, by the very hand of Hea⯑ven, and the reflections they have awakened in my mind have effectually turned it to the truth. I now ſee your innocence, I feel your ſufferings, and I deteſt myſelf for the cruel [205] wrongs I have done you. As the character of Sir George Revel ſinks upon the review, that of Arundel riſes in my eſteem: Can I then re⯑fuſe my daughter to ſuch a man, ſupported too by ſuch an advocate as yourſelf, and beloved by Louiſa to a degree beyond example? Could I have held out againſt her love, againſt your ſolicitation, and againſt his merits, I had been indeed obdurate: add to this, that ſuch is now his eſtabliſhment in point of fortune, reputa⯑tion and pretenſions of all ſorts, that I ſhall be found to have conſulted our daughter's inte⯑reſt in this match not leſs than her happineſs: his family is of the nobleſt in the kingdom, and the beſt recommendation I can give of my own is, that it has in times paſt branched from the root of the Arundels.

All this while here is the gallant Earl of S. his friend and ſecond, who in point of pedi⯑gree would not vail his bonnet to the Bour⯑bons, ſees his ſiſter Lady Jane beſtow herſelf upon a country parſon, and applauds her choice: young Mortlake, Arundel's intimate, is the happy man; he is ſettled in Arundel's own pariſh, who has eſtabliſhed him there in a very good living, and fitted up a parſonage-houſe [206] for him and Lady Jane, which I hear is one of the moſt elegant things upon a mode⯑rate ſcale in all England. This young bride-elect has been ſome time with her brother living at Arundel Houſe, and there ſhe com⯑menced her acquaintance with Mortlake, who has the character of a moſt amiable and ex⯑cellent young man. Louiſa and I are to be preſent at the wedding, which is to take place in a few days, and we ſhall be enter⯑tained in Mr. Arundel's houſe: he is ſetting out for the country directly, and we ſhall go down a day or two before the wedding, and immediately after the ceremony ſet out for Spring Grove, where Arundel has promiſed to accompany us: his uncle John and Lord S. are to ſet out at the ſame time to take com⯑mand of their ſhips; and thus we ſhall leave the bride and bridegroom to themſelves, which I think is very well planned for their comfort and repoſe.

I need not attempt to tell you how very much our dear ardent girl is in love with this engaging young man; you know her diſ⯑poſition well, and can paint it to yourſelf: much leſs can I deſcribe to you her agonies, [207] whilſt he was abſent upon that dreadful er⯑rand; Heaven forbid I ſhould ever behold her ſuch a ſpectacle again! nothing you can con⯑ceive will exceed it. Sure no human crea⯑ture ever loved as ſhe does. I think two more perfect creatures were never caſt in human mould: I contemplate their forms with wonder and delight, and I declare to you I find a ſympathetic kind of likeneſs in their features, which ſeems to mark them out as deſtined for each other. It was a tranſport to behold them kneeling before me, her hand in his, and both their countenances animated with joy and gratitude: I bleſſed them in your name as well as my own; I raiſed them and embraced them in my arms; then taking our child by the hand, I deſired Arundel to receive her as a pledge of future friendſhip, never to ceaſe between us. I deſcribed her to him as ſhe is, a creature formed in the ex⯑treme of all that is generous in nature, ardent in affection and benevolent in ſoul; I be⯑ſeeched of him to guard a ſpirit ſo open and defenceleſs from the dangers of a crafty and deſigning world; to cheriſh her with his love and counſel her with his underſtanding. To [208] her I ſaid in few words—Daughter, I have beſtowed you upon the man of your heart; remember what is due to his honor, to your own, to mine, to your abſent mother's.

In this moment I experienced a new de⯑light, ſuperior to any I had ever known, the delight of giving happineſs to a beloved child. The gratitude of theſe young people was a paſſion, that like their love defies deſcription. And now have I deſerved your pardon? can you withhold from me that pity and forgive⯑neſs you beſtowed on Revel? will you not re⯑turn to me? In the mean time, as you have made Arundel's marriage a previous condi⯑tion, I ſhall expedite it without much regard to the tardy proceedings of the law. I may promiſe myſelf not to be oppoſed by Louiſa in this, for I think of all Love's votaries ſhe is the trueſt. I hope to conclude the affair at Spring Grove in a few days after our return from the wedding of Lady Jane: in the in⯑terim I ſend this to you by our faithful old ſervant Daviſon, and I pray you to keep him with you, as I am ſhocked to reflect how poorly you muſt be waited upon.

[209]Your virtue, my excellent Louiſa, has been tried and purified like gold in the fire; my unworthineſs of ſo great a bleſſing has de⯑prived me of many happy days, but I am at laſt awakened to an underſtanding of you and myſelf. Whilſt the vanity and buſtle of office engroſſed my worldly thoughts, your modeſt unaſſuming character ſcarce attracted my at⯑tention; a revolution, which I no longer la⯑ment, has put an end to all ambitious pur⯑ſuits, and left me in a ſituation more favorable to reflection: henceforth my purſuits ſhall be addreſſed to worthier objects, and the firſt of theſe will be to regain your good opinion and eſteem.

Louiſa ſhall write to you from Arundel Houſe, and ſend you all particulars. I ſend you a letter of credit upon the bank of Meſſ. Puyſieux and Co. at Oſtend, which you will make uſe of without limitation, as your oc⯑caſions may require.

I ſhall be impatient till I hear from you again.

Farewell.

LETTER XCI. Lady Louiſa to the Counteſs of G.

I AM happy in confirming to my deareſt mother the happy tidings which my father ſent by the conveyance of Daviſon; every thing which has ſince occurred convinces me of the entire revolution which his mind has undergone with reſpect to you and Mr. Arun⯑del; at the ſame time nothing can exceed his tenderneſs and kindneſs to me.

We arrived at the place, whence this is dated, yeſterday in the forenoon: Mr. Arun⯑del met us on horſeback about three miles from the houſe, and conducted us through his grounds and a fine avenue cut through a noble wood by a private road. This is really a grand place: the park is bold and romantic, the river quite delightful, and the houſe far beyond what I expected from the owner's ac⯑count of it. It is old and irregular, but very capacious, and contains ſome noble apart⯑ments, [211] which are more ſtriking to me than all our modern elegance. My father is in rap⯑tures, particularly with a collection of family portraits in the hall and gallery, many of which are by Vandyke and other capital maſ⯑ters, which you know are quite his paſſion.

Nothing ever equalled the reſpectful and cordial reception Arundel gave my father; when he met our coach he diſmounted from his horſe, came up to the window and wel⯑comed us with the moſt grateful tranſports: we preſented him our hands, both which he ſaluted in the manner ſo peculiarly his own; my father's with a filial devotion, mine with a lover's ardour.

Upon our entering the hall he embraced my father in preſence of the company, who had there arranged themſelves to receive us: ſomething he ſaid, which I loſt in my hurry of ſpirits, but I heard the words—You have made this a joyful houſe, my Lord.—Lady Jane S. Lady Treville, and my ever honored Lord S. met us in the hall: if I ſay that I flew into the arms of my beloved Jane, I ſcarce exceed the truth; my father ſeconded me with a gallantry that quite charmed me— [212] I ever admired you, Lady Jane, henceforward I adore you, were the words with which he addreſſed her.—To the gallant Earl I whiſ⯑pered in a murmuring voice—Oh! my Lord S. my heart is too full to thank you: may Heaven reward your generous friendſhip!—All the world muſt love Arundel, he replied; you alone deſerve him.—We were now uſher⯑ed into a ſtately old room, fitted with Nor⯑way oak and hung with pictures, where the majeſtic figure of the brave John Arundel preſented itſelf to our awe-ſtruck eyes, like one of the coloſſal heroes of ancient days, or it might be John of Gaunt himſelf. As Arun⯑del was leading me by the hand to preſent me to him, I proteſt my knees knocked together and my heart trembled within me, for his gi⯑gantic ſtature and martial air, with a tremen⯑dous gaſh acroſs his forehead, which has no hair to ſhelter it, would be too terrible to ap⯑proach, if Nature had not thrown a gleam of benevolence over his countenance, which ſeems to ſay to the pigmies of creation—Come near! I will not harm you.—He took my quivering hands in his, raiſed them to his lips, whilſt he ſtooped to kiſs them, and [213] whilſt the big tears courſed one another down his manly cheek—God Almighty bleſs you, my dear Lady, he exclaimed, you are a lovely creature; by the Lord, nephew Francis, ſhe is as beautiful as an angel!—Pardon my va⯑nity, my dear mother, for repeating his words; I give them to you as characteriſtic of the man, and tell you things naturally as they paſſed.

One inſtance of Arundel's elegant attention to me I muſt not omit: upon entering the apartment appropriated to my uſe, I perceived it had been newly furniſhed for the occaſion with ſilk hangings, diſpoſed in a moſt brilliant and ſtriking taſte, after a faſhion which was new to me, being drawn up in folds ſomething like the draperies of a tent; the bed in parti⯑lar was one of the moſt beautiful things I have ever ſeen. In my anti-room and on my dreſſing-table there was every thing for uſe and ornament that art and nature could ſupply, not forgetting a profuſion of the ſweeteſt flowers, which he knows I am ſo fond of: over the chimney he had hung a moſt enchanting Saint Cecilia, divinely con⯑ceived [214] and executed by our Romney; a maſ⯑ter-piece of modern art.

After trifling a little at my looking-glaſs, and a few repairs, which a duſty journey had made neceſſary, I came down to the com⯑pany, and in a few minutes after Mortlake entered the room: Jane's lovely face was ſcarlet on the occaſion; Arundel flew to him, as much to relieve his modeſt embarraſſment as to preſent him to Lord G. and me, which he did with that graceful ſweetneſs inſeparable from his minuteſt actions, but on this occaſion it was peculiarly conſpicuous; not a word was uttered by him or me, when we were preſented to each other, but the firſt view I caught of his face opened all the character of his mind: it is a countenance of the moſt touching caſt; it cannot be called an unempaſ⯑ſioned humility that prevails in it, and yet there is ſuch a ſweet and almoſt feminine ſubmiſſion in his eyes, that you would think no injuries could rouſe him; it is in truth the emanation of an angel's mind, and when he ſmiles it is benevolence itſelf; his mouth and teeth are exquiſite, I cannot praiſe them more than by [215] telling you they are a counterpart of Arun⯑del's; his voice ſoft, tender, and melodious, and an expreſſion in his features as various and changeable as can well be imagined. In ſhort, I give Jane all the credit in the world, for he is elegantly and indeed very finely formed in his perſon, of a manly make and becoming ſtature; and when his eyes glanced upon her I was well convinced they were no idle engines in the hands of Love.

That gay ſoul old Lady Treville did the honors of the table at dinner, which was admirably well ſerved and attended: I never ſaw my father in ſuch ſpirits; he was in rap⯑tures with the old Captain, whom for the fu⯑ture we are to call by a higher title, for after the cloth was removed, and a health or two was gone round, Arundel preſented him with a paper, which announced his promo⯑tion to a Rear admiral's flag, and at the ſame time appointed him to take command of a ſquadron fitting for immediate ſervice, in which the Earl of S. is to have a line-of-battle ſhip under his old commander. The old lady at the head of the table, with the gallantry of a Frenchwoman, threw her glove [216] to the Admiral, and bid him tackle that to his flag, and beware how he parted with the favors of a lady. It was a fair challenge, and the veteran did not flinch it, for he ſtart⯑ed from his ſeat, marched to the head of the table, ſaluted the old lady and the younger ones in turn, then ſat down in great ſtate, and with a loud voice jovially cried out—Now let the enemies of Great Britain keep their diſ⯑tance, for by the Lord I am invincible;—then turning to Lord S. exclaimed—What ſay you, my brave Archibald? which was accompa⯑nied with a hearty ſhake of the hand, and other ſea ceremonies and endearments, which I cannot explain. In ſhort he is the life and ſoul of our circle, but it requires a proper ſhare of nerves to reliſh his converſation, for he talks as loud as if he was in a ſtorm, and his laugh is a perfect feu-de-joie; he has a thouſand ſea-tricks which he practiſes upon Lord S. and a ſet of jokes ready made for the occaſion that I dare ſay have a great deal of humour in their own language, but to me were perfectly unintelligible. Arundel ma⯑nages him with great addreſs, but Lord G. is ſo devoted to him, that he only ſtudies how to [217] pleaſe him and indulge his humour. He doats upon Jane and calls her daughter, and in truth has proved himſelf a father to her noble brother: his generoſity to the betrothed couple has already ſhewn itſelf in a great cargo of wines and various articles of houſe-keeping, which has made its appearance at the parſonage.

The afternoon being delicious, we made a little excurſion on the Medway in a four-oared wherry, rowed by the Admiral's and Lord S.'s ſervants, who are of the amphibious ſort, and as it ſhould ſeem part of their crew. The Admiral took the helm and kept roaring to them all the way from behind us, not without a due proportion of ſuch phraſes as had novelty at leaſt to recommend them. We cut through the water at a prodigious rate, and as we paſſed under Mortlake's ter⯑race it was with joy I ſurveyed the charming ſpot, where my fair friend is deſtined to reſide with one of the moſt amiable of men. We did not land, but returned the more expedi⯑tiouſly, as Arundel was impatient to give my father his promiſed treat of a little muſic. To-morrow morning we intend to devote to a [218] more particular view of that delicious ſpot, which Arundel has embelliſhed with ſo much fondneſs and with ſuch elegance of taſte.

Upon our return to the houſe we found a room prepared for our muſic, with an ad⯑mirable piano-forte, new for the occaſion, and put in excellent tune and order by a man ſent down from the maker for the purpoſe: an elegant ſervice of ices and other refreſhments was ſet out. The room, the inſtrument, Arundel's delightful accompaniment, the joy of heart I then felt, the ſight of faces ſo dear to me, their flattering applauſes and my un⯑common flow of health and ſpirits, all conſpired to call out my ſmall powers to their beſt advan⯑tage: Arundel was Orpheus himſelf, his very eyes were melodious, nothing but harmony was to be diſcovered in his countenance. We took care to ſelect my father's favorites, and we had the ſatisfaction to give him pleaſure and content by every thing we undertook.

When we retired to our apartments for the night, Arundel took the candles from the ſer⯑vant, who was waiting in the hall to light me to my chamber, and aſked me if he might not be honored by that office. My father ſeeing [219] this, cried out—By all means, by all means, my girl, keep him to his duty. Whereupon I permitted it, and he walked before me into my dreſſing-room, from which my ſervant in⯑ſtantly retired, and I found myſelf alone with him.—I cannot behave ſo ill to you in your own houſe, I ſaid, as not to aſk you to ſit down.—He immediately threw himſelf at my feet—In what words ſhall I thank you, my ſoul's idol, for this happy day? Was ever man ſo honored or ſo bleſt? Oh! my Louiſa, how ſhall I deſerve this goodneſs? My heart over⯑flows with love and gratitude.—I tenderly be⯑ſeeched him to ariſe; I raiſed him from the ground—Arundel, I replied, my heart is ſo entirely your's, you poſſeſs ſo wholly every thought, every movement in my mind, and my confidence in you is ſo unbounded, that I keep no reſerve before you: know then there does not live a creature ſo devoted as I am to my Arundel; for you alone I live; your's only I am and ever will be; you are the unrivalled maſter of my affections.

Ah, my beloved mother, do you tremble for your fond empaſſioned daughter? Trem⯑ble not, I beſeech you; his delicacy did not [220] permit him to ſtay another minute: May all good angels watch over you, he cried! may your dreams be happy! Farewell! I muſt attend upon your father.

I have now given you a circumſtantial jour⯑nal of our firſt day. The next morning when we met at breakfaſt Mortlake attended to con⯑duct us to the parſonage; the weather was divinely fine, and Arundel and I had had a little walk in the garden, where we had amuſed ourſelves with projecting alterations and improvements: the carriages attended at the door to convey us to the river-ſide, and we ferried over the ſtream to a landing-place at the foot of Mortlake's terrace, which brought us by a regular aſcent up a very beautiful ſawn to the houſe, which we entered by a glaſs door, that opens into a library, elegantly fitted and compleatly furniſhed with books, which I underſtand is a very fine collection: this is abſolutely a moſt enchanting room, and not the leſs ſo in my eyes for containing a half-length portrait of Arundel over the chimney, admi⯑rably painted by Gainſborough. There are upon the ſame floor an eating-parlour, draw⯑ing-room, and a little dreſſing-room for the [221] maſter of the houſe; above ſtairs are four bed-chambers and two dreſſing-rooms; Jane's apartment, which ſhe is to take poſſeſſion of to-morrow (this being the eve of her wedding-day) is furniſhed with great taſte and ſimpli⯑city; her dreſſing-table diſplayed ſome elegant tokens of her brother's liberality, and my fa⯑ther having very kindly deſired I would pro⯑vide myſelf with ſome wedding token for my friend, and given me a very handſome ſum for the purpoſe, I left upon the table an en⯑amelled watch, with chain and trinkers, of the beſt pattern and workmanſhip I could pur⯑chaſe in London, which the dear girl flattered me by accepting in the moſt gracious manner: Mortlake ſeemed extremely pleaſed with it, and my Arundel above meaſure. This happy couple are compleatly eſtabliſhed by the libe⯑rality of their friends; they have a ſmall but ſeemingly well-choſen family of houſe-ſervants, and are ſtocked with every thing without doors as well as within, which can be neceſſary for their comfort; every thing in and about the houſe was finiſhed at Arundel's expence; their plate, linen and equipage were given them by Lord S. and the Admiral has ſtored their cel⯑lars; [222] they have a very neat and modeſt poſt-chaiſe with a pair of horſes, and Jane, who is an admirable rider, has a favorite mare for the ſide-ſaddle, which her beloved purchaſed in the neighbourhood. All theſe things we ſaw, not omitting the minuteſt article; judge with what tranſport I ſurveyed this prelude to their happineſs, but you can have no idea of the effect it had upon my father. Oh! my dear Madam, he is a new man, and he ſeems as if he was tranſplanted into a new world.—Where have I been, he cries, all this while, and what have I been doing? This is happineſs; this is the true ambition; what a phantom have I been following!—He obſerved to me in a whiſper, that this was the very houſe in the world to charm you above all the palaces of the great. Oh that ſhe was here preſent! added he, and then he declared to me, that as ſoon as he was bleſſed with your ſociety again, he would retire to the country, new model his family by reducing the ſcale, and diſpoſe of his houſe in town, and, if you approved of it, of his villa alſo: he is charmed with Mort⯑lake, and applauds Lady Jane to the ſkies. As we were walking down the garden towards [223] the river, on our return, he drew me aſide to expreſs how delighted he was with the ſcene of happineſs he had been ſurveying, and what joy it gave him to reflect that I ſhould have ſuch an amiable couple for my near neighbours and inſeparable friends; he then aſked me if I ap⯑proved of his requeſting Mortlake to come to Spring Grove to perform a ceremony for me and Arundel, which he hoped would take place in a few days. I ſaid that I ſuppoſed Arundel would ſettle that with his friend.—No, no, he replied, you may depend upon it he will not entrench upon the lady's prerogative in that particular, but there can be no doubt of its being a moſt acceptable choice to him, and therefore with your leave I will make the requeſt both to Mortlake and Lady Jane, the firſt opportunity I have of ſpeaking to them a⯑part; I hope they will not much regret the trou⯑ble of a ſhort journey upon ſuch an occaſion: but upon ſecond thoughts, added he, perhaps it is a compliment that in the firſt place ſhould be offered to Sir Joſeph Arundel, though I ſuſpect there is not the greateſt harmony in that quarter; however I will conſult with Arundel before I take any ſtep in the matter: [224] indeed if my old tutor the Dean had been now living, I know not how I could have paſſed him over, but his death leaves me free from any other obligations, and by the way, Louiſa, I have now a donative to diſpoſe of, which his deceaſe has vacated, that would exactly fit this amiable young man, and being one of thoſe douceurs in the church, which are not attended with the cure of ſouls, it can in no caſe detach him from his reſidence here. What ſay you to this, my dear? you have all been making wedding preſents, may I not throw in mine amongſt the reſt? Had I been in office I muſt have attended to the demands of intereſt, now it is in my power to indulge the impulſe of friendſhip.—Is not this a moſt pleaſing inſtance of a mind awakened to its genuine ſenſibility? Can I give you a better proof of a temper happily reformed? Oh! my beloved mother, Providence will repay your ſufferings; there is happineſs yet in ſtore for you; the hour, I hope, is approaching faſt, when I ſhall preſs you to my grateful heart and feel the preſſure of your fond protecting arms: with what ten⯑derneſs did my Arundel talk of you this morning, as we converſed together in our [225] walk before breakfaſt! It is not in my power to convey to you the one half of what he ſaid with any juſtice to his ſentiments, and if I could repeat his words, it would be impoſſible to repeat his manner, which is ſo peculiarly his own. I muſt not however omit to tell you, that amongſt other kindneſſes he offered to bring me to you as ſoon as we were married for the purpoſe of eſcorting you home, and I ſhould add that my father has ſignified his in⯑tention of coming to you in perſon, as ſoon as that event has taken place: tell me, therefore, if it will be agreeable to you that Arundel and I ſhould accompany him on the journey; be aſſured it will afford us unfeigned pleaſure.

I muſt now bring my journal to a conclu⯑ſion, becauſe I make a point of dating from this place, and our departure is fixt for to⯑morrow immediately after the wedding, that we may reach Spring Grove before night. Arundel goes with us, and my father brought his coach that we might have his company by the way: when our ceremony has taken place we ſhall ſet off for Arundel Houſe.—Oh Hea⯑vens! my dear mother, my heart palpitates with alarms, which I cannot deſcribe; yet Arundel is tender, there is mercy in his eyes; [226] I love, I doat upon him to diſtraction; why ſhould I dread what I ſo much deſire? why am I in theſe terrors?

You know my friend Jane, amongſt a thou⯑ſand other agremens, has a talent for poetry; you have ſeen ſome ſpecimens of her verſes: when I was in Mortlake's library this morning, as my father was expatiating upon the charms of retirement and tranquillity in ſuch a de⯑lightful ſpot, Mortlake ſecretly put into my hand a copy of the following little poem ad⯑dreſſed to Solitude, which with great difficulty he had perſuaded Jane to let him tranſcribe.—I give theſe lines to your Ladyſhip, ſaid he, aſſured that you will prize them for the ſake of the beloved author.—I ſend them to you, my dear mother, as I think the general ſenti⯑ment is of that moral and contemplative caſt, that will harmonize with your feelings in your preſent ſolitude.

LETTER XCII. Sir Joſeph Arundel to his Son.

I HEAR, with equal ſhame and horror, that you, my ſon (alas! that I muſt call you ſuch) have killed a noble gentleman, Sir George Revel, in a duel; your going into a foreign country to evade the laws, which ob⯑tain in your own, mark the deliberation of the act, and ſhow how unworthy you are to be a member of that legiſlative body, who ſhould jointly and ſeverally protect the peace and or⯑der of the ſtate, from which you have made yourſelf a voluntary outlaw.

I hear withal that your quarrel with the deceaſed, whoſe blood is upon your conſcience, aroſe from a vain competition you entered into with him for the favor of a certain noble heireſs: great indeed muſt have been your preſumption, and only to be equalled by your abſurdity (give me leave to ſay) when you could aſpire to the daughter of the Earl of G. [230] whom you repaid for patronizing you in po⯑verty by a moſt virulent oppoſition to him, when by the wheel of fortune you had been thrown into Parliament.

What notions muſt you have entertained of your own conſequence, when you could pro⯑poſe yourſelf as a rival to Sir George Revel; and where muſt have been your ſenſes, when the way you took to recommend yourſelf to the daughter was by offering inſults to the fa⯑ther?

The bloody triumph you have had may be matter of exultation to you, and your uncle John and other ferocious companions, who make war their trade, and glory in the ſlaugh⯑ter of their fellow-creatures; but to me, who am a preacher of peace, it is horrible in the extreme, and it becomes my melancholy duty as a parent to make an effort, however hope⯑leſs, for awakening your conſcience to a ſenſe of theſe enormities, beſeeching Heaven to turn your heart to repentance and avert the judg⯑ment, which muſt otherwiſe overtake you.

LETTER XCIII. Francis to Sir Joſeph Arundel.

THAT I have been compelled into a duel with Sir George Revel is true, but that I have his blood upon my conſcience is not a fact, as that gentleman is out of danger from his wounds; neither will I believe, were I at liberty to explain all the motives, which neceſ⯑ſitated me to meet his ſword, that even you would condemn me for the conſequences, had they been as fatal as you ſuppoſe.

Surely, Sir, it is the part of every one who judges another to hear before he condemns, and I humbly conceive that paternal juſtice is not ſingly exempt from that obligation; yet I have repeatedly fallen under your ſentence upon information only; I ſhall therefore be ſilent from appeal, and leave my character to ſpeak for itſelf: when you are diſpoſed to think more favorably of me, it ſhall be from convic⯑tion [232] of facts, and not from pleas and remon⯑ſtrances on my part.

It may very well appear preſumptuous in me to aſpire to the daughter of the Earl of G. and yet if the ſucceſs of that preſumption is any anſwer to the charge of abſurdity which you impute to me, you will find it in the let⯑ter which I have the honor to incloſe to you, from the father of that lady.

LETTER XCIV. The Earl of G. to Sir Joſeph Arundel.

IF you are as ſenſible of the unparalleled merits of your excellent ſon, as every one who knows him is, you will allow that I have great cauſe to pride myſelf in the hope I enter⯑tain of being ſoon to participate with you in the honor and happineſs of calling him ſon.

The love, which my daughter conceived for this amiable youth from the firſt day ſhe ſaw [233] him, the very high opinion which Lady G. hath ever had of his character, and the very delicate and honorable manner in which he has behaved towards me and mine under cir⯑cumſtances the moſt trying, cruel and unjuſt, from which nothing but his own true courage and the hand of Providence over his life could have protected him, have all conſpired to open my eyes to his uncommon merit, and to rouſe me from a deluſion I reflect upon with ſhame and remorſe.

As you and I have been old friends, I hope this alliance will not make us leſs cordial than before, but I muſt ingenuouſly ſay this will entirely depend upon the meaſure of your af⯑fection to a moſt excellent ſon; for I ſhould think it unpardonable if you, who are his fa⯑ther by nature, ſhould love him leſs than I who am only his father by law.

LETTER XCV. Captain John to Sir Joſeph Arundel.

THOUGH I am your younger brother, and underſtand myſelf well enough to know I can't argue with you in the way of learning, yet I believe I know a little of what is called common ſenſe, and I hope I am not totally ignorant of what is called common juſ⯑tice, though I am as you ſay one of thoſe fero⯑cious people, who make war their trade.

I don't know what you mean by a trade, brother, but I hope it is a trade I need not be aſhamed of, and as for what I have earned by it, which is no trifle, I let you know that I intend to leave it all to your ſon, unleſs you can point out to me any honeſter or worthier man in the King of England's dominions.

As ferocious as you may think me, I hope I [235] have more human nature in my heart than to write to my ſon, if I had one, as you have wrote to Frank. Before you find fault, brother Joſeph, why don't you ſtop to find where the fault lies? I believe that is juſtice, and I am miſtaken if it is not Chriſtianity into the bar⯑gain.

I don't mean to offend you, do you ſee, whereby I am bruſhing out to ſea again, and like enough may never let eyes on you again; therefore take what I ſay in good part, for I am a plain man, and neither mean to flatter or affront any man, much leſs a brother.

Frank is a going to be married to my Lady Louiſa G. and I am ſorry I can't wait to ſee the laſt hand put to the job; but as war is a trade, you know, brother, it is a trade that muſt be followed or loſt: however I have left my bleſſing with him, and my will into the bargain, neither of which will, I hope, do him any harm, if I don't live to come back again. I don't find fault with your preaching peace, brother Francis, and I can't ſee why you ſhould be angry with me for following war, when I am bid to do it, in the defence of my [236] country: if it was not for ſome of us ferocious animals, who venture our lives for Old Eng⯑land, I queſtion if you peaceable folks would have a church over your heads to ſay your prayers in.

Farewell, brother Joſeph, I have wrote you a monſtrous long letter, but take it in good part; when you preach up peace, remember to practiſe it; bleſs God for the good ſon he has given you, and add a little ejaculation, when you are about it, for

LETTER XCVI. Lady Louiſa G. to the Counteſs of G.

YESTERDAY was the auſpicious day that united Lady Jane to her beloved Mortlake, and tranſported me to this place with my beloved Arundel. We all attended the happy couple to the altar, where the cere⯑mony was performed by a neighbouring clergy⯑man, an old friend of the houſe of Arundel. Jane deported herſelf with all the fortitude and compoſure in the world, and made her reſpon⯑ſes audibly and firmly: not quite ſo her eſpouſ⯑ed; and as for poor me, I trembled moſt in⯑continently, and whenever my eye caught a glimpſe of Arundel, there were no bounds to my tremor. Awful as the ceremony is in it⯑ſelf, and more particularly ſo as it appeared to me when deciding upon the fate of a beloved friend, yet, to my ſhame, I confeſs I was more than once moſt ſadly put to it to keep my [238] countenance, when the old Admiral roared out the reſponſes ſo much above the key-note of the clerk, and the reſt of us, who made up the congregation, that I and even Arundel him⯑ſelf were forced to cram our handkerchiefs into our mouths, eſpecially as the good man was not always very correct, and occaſionally took ſome ſmall liberties with the text, parti⯑cularly where the miniſter repeated—Be unto them a tower of ſtrength—the Admiral ſung out in a voice of thunder, as if he was upon his own quarter-deck, From the face of all our enemies—at which moment I am perſuaded he had a ſide-way hit at the French and Spani⯑ards, for his voice was not only particularly exalted, but there was an energy in his tone, which convinces me he had them in his thoughts: he had a large folio prayer-book ſpread before him and a huge pair of ſpec⯑tacles on his noſe, which made him as irre⯑ſiſtible to the ſight as to the hearing.

After the ceremony was over we repaired to the parſonage, where an elegant little col⯑lation was ſet out in the library, and here with tears of joy I embraced and congratulat⯑ed my beloved Lady Jane Mortlake: Lord S. [239] and the Admiral were ſetting off for London as well as ourſelves, ſo that we all parted from the bride and bridegroom at the ſame moment. Alas! the fortitude, which my poor Jane had exerted at the altar, here for⯑ſook her at the moment, when ſhe found her⯑ſelf, perhaps, for the laſt time (which Heaven avert!) in the arms of her beloved brother.—Oh, my dear, dear Archibald, ſhe cried, may the God of all mercies preſerve thee from death, and give thee victory in battle! Go, my hero! go to certain conqueſt, and let not my fond weakneſs unman thee; thy ſiſter ſhall pray for thee, Mortlake ſhall put up his prayers to that gracious Being, whoſe bleſſ⯑ing is upon us in this moment of our union, and who will not refuſe the petitions of his faith⯑ful ſervant—And oh, my father and my friend, ſhe added, (throwing her arms round the neck of the gallant Admiral, who ſtooped to em⯑brace her) may you return with freſh laurels, to the joy of your friends here preſent, and to the glory of your country! She now threw herſelf down on the couch, whilſt tears ſuch as heroes ſhed fell from the eyes of the de⯑parting warriors.—Let us ſeize this moment [240] and be gone, ſaid my father; Mr. Mortlake, we beg you will ſtay with your lady, and take no further notice of us.—The word was inſtant⯑ly obeyed by all; Arundel took my hand, the Admiral put his arm under the Earl's, and my father led the way: we threw ourſelves with⯑out ceremony into our reſpective carriages, and were whirled away with a rapidity, which thoſe who have not travelled poſt in England have no idea of.

Thus is grief compounded in our brighteſt joys, and the cup of bleſſing is for ever daſhed with tears.—My father firſt broke ſilence, by deſiring us to take our own converſation with⯑out regarding him, as he ſhould amuſe himſelf with his own thoughts and reflections upon the ſcenes he had left behind, without interrupt⯑ing us in our diſcourſe: Conſider yourſelves, my dear children, ſaid he, as man and wife elect, talk over your own little projects, follow your own inclinations, your endearments, your fondneſſes to each other, as if nobody was preſent, or at moſt an old nurſe, who will only drop a ſalt tear over your careſſes, and chuckle at the happineſs of her beloved bantling.

Having ſo ſaid, he took the hand of Arundel [241] and drew him to that ſide of the coach where I was ſeated by myſelf, ſtretching him⯑ſelf over the back ſeat at the ſame time, in an attitude as if he was going to ſleep.—My ſweet Louiſa, ſays Arundel, ſince your father is no longer preſent, I muſt give ſome vent to my heart, by telling you how deeply it is affected by his goodneſs to us both; the honor he has done me by this viſit, the confidence he repoſes in me on all occaſions, and the happineſs he has ſhowered upon me in bleſſing me with all my ſoul holds dear on this ſide heaven, have raiſed emotions in my heart, that I ſhall never be in a capacity of doing juſtice to; you, my charmer, muſt find occaſion for telling him how truly I revere and love him; I know no other way of expreſſing my gratitude to him, but by my everlaſting devotion to his lovely daughter.

My father took my hand, and joining it to Arundel's, tenderly pronounced a bleſſing up⯑on us, and as my head reclined on Arundel's ſhoulder, contemplated us with a look of infi⯑nite ſenſibility and affection. We then by de⯑grees fell into diſcourſe upon the happy event of the morning, and of Jane's ſolemn and com⯑poſed [242] behaviour at the altar, with which my father was greatly ſtruck, but owned that the Admiral's reſponſes put his muſcles to the trial: he demanded of me, if I thought I could ſtand the office as heroically as ſhe did; I ſhook my head and Arundel ſmiled upon me; he then began to praiſe her to the ſkies for her noble qualities, and declared he was never more affected than by her manner of parting from her brother; my father was no leſs warm in his encomiums upon Mortlake, which made Arundel's fine eyes gliſten with delight: we talked over their whole eſtabliſhment, and my father was in raptures whilſt he expatiated on the Paradiſe, as he called it, in which they were placed, ſaying to Arundel with a ſmile—The only fault I can find with you, ſon Arun⯑del, is, that you are too rich.—This put me in mind of Jane's addreſs to Solitude, which I ſent you in my laſt letter, and having a copy in my pocket-book, I made Arundel read the lines aloud; by ſuch an audience the beloved author was ſure to be applauded.

We next amuſed ourſelves with planning projects of improvements at Arundel Houſe, [243] in which I ſtiffly contended for the antient lares, which to my taſte were infinitely more venerable than all the extravagancies of mo⯑dern foppery in brick and plaiſter; ſome⯑thing I allowed might be admitted without violating their prerogative, but ſtill I thought the line was to be followed which they point⯑ed out, and in this Arundel agreed with me. My father obſerved that he ſeemed to be very well eſtabliſhed in point of ſervants, and for his part he could not ſee any occaſion he had to encreaſe them: Arundel acknowledged that he did not think it could add to our happi⯑neſs to be encumbered with a very numerous ſuite of idlers, and ſeemed to apply to me for my opinion in the matter. I told him that my notions of domeſtic oeconomy had been formed upon your leſſons and inſtructions repeatedly im⯑printed on my thoughts, and confirmed by what little judgment and experience I could boaſt of, ſo that I was at no loſs to expreſs myſelf with⯑out heſitation on the ſubject. I ſet out by ſaying, that as I wiſhed to acquit myſelf as became the miſtreſs of his family, it was the firſt point with me to have my houſehold upon ſuch a ſcale as I could compleatly ſuperintend and [244] manage; if I had a parcel of ſuperfluous and idle people about me, how could I undertake for this? I would wiſh my huſband in the firſt place to take an exact computation of his in⯑come, clear and unencumbered as it came into his hands; upon that computation I would have him lay down his general ſcale of ex⯑pence, and regulate every article of it, as far as could be done upon previous calculation; upon this there ought to be a conſiderable balance for contingencies of various ſorts, ſuch as building, improving, bounties, and a long liſt of unforeſeen demands upon his taſte or charity. Beyond this income, be it what it may, I would on no account ſuffer my expences to go; wherever they threa⯑tened to exceed it, the reform muſt be im⯑mediate and effectual; for there could be no peace in my mind while his fortune was diminiſhing, and the greater that fortune was, the greater would be my ſelf reproach for ſo inexcuſable a waſte of it. That mere parade I deteſted from my heart, and next to gaming I held electioneering as a moſt unjuſtifiable and ſenſeleſs profuſion of property. That I took the opportunity now to ſay in the moſt [245] peremptory manner, and I hoped my fa⯑ther, who heard me ſay it, would not diſ⯑commend me for it, that I would abſolutely not conſent to accept a ſingle diamond from the hands of Arundel.—Here Arundel ſtared, and my father nodded aſſent with a ſmile of ap⯑probation.—As for plate, I perceived he had enough of it, and equipage to pleaſe me muſt be as ſimple and unpretending as poſſible. I wiſhed to rival no lady, pure or impure, in the ſplendor of her carriage. I was too proud to pique myſelf upon ſuch diſtinctions, for the merit of which I was to reſort to Long-acre. The chief part of our time, money and atten⯑tion would, I hoped, be addreſſed to the country, and there I ſhould wiſh to be carry⯑ing on a conſtant and gradual improvement, rather than a rapid and expenſive one; not only as it would be a laſting pleaſure to us, who were occupied in it, but as it would give a more permanent employment to our labo⯑rious poor; of them I ſhould be ambitious of collecting a colony about me, lodged in com⯑fortable cottages within my eye, and not driven into holes and corners of the earth to make room for my unſocial and tyrannical [246] ideas of monopolizing a whole country for what is falſely called ornament and proſpect; their habitations would be the beſt ornament of my proſpect, their population my pride, and the contemplation of their comforts my reward.—Here Arundel in an ecſtacy of joy threw his arms round my neck and ſmothered me with kiſſes. My father clapt his hands as it were involuntarily together, and ex⯑claimed aloud, That's right, my dear Arun⯑del, ſhe challenges your love.—Theſe tender and encouraging careſſes prompted me to pro⯑ceed yet further, and I reſumed my diſcourſe in ſubſtance as follows:—Regularity in hours is eſſential to the good order and comfort of a family; in the country there is no excuſe for not conforming to it, neither can I by any means approve of thoſe fine people, who adopt their London hours in their country houſes, putting their neighbours who viſit them either out of their own habits and cuſ⯑toms, or (which is worſe) teaching them to copy bad examples, and ſo corrupting the ſimplicity of manners, ſo well becoming their condition and fortune. This is a thing that I abominate; it is founded in affectation of [247] high life; the very people who adopt it ſuffer by it; it is unſocial, inſulting and ridiculous in the extreme. No one can contend that it is a better diſtribution of a day in ſummer (which is generally the ſeaſon when the rich retire into the country) to riſe in the hear of the forenoon, take our exerciſe in the mid⯑day, and dedicate the refreſhing hours of evening to the indolence and luxury of the table. Surely ſuch an arrangement of hours is the reverſe of every thing that pleaſure would teach us, were we to conſult no other guide; but there are a thouſand other rea⯑ſons againſt it, which are aggravations of its abſurdity. As for my table, I would cau⯑tiouſly avoid that overbearing ſplendor, which ſeems more calculated to diſplay my own conſequence, than to contribute to the com⯑fort of my gueſts. I would wiſh to do no⯑thing that ſhould pique my neighbours of inferior fortune into emulation, or provoke their envy: I would keep an uniform table, in which comfort ſhould be chiefly conſidered and elegance by no means overlooked; all ſhould be welcome, and ſet dinners as much a poſſible avoided: my ſupreme ſocial delight [248] would be to engage ſuch a party of amiable and entertaining people within my own family circle as would make the hours, that we paſſed within doors, both lively and improv⯑ing; men and women of elegant minds, peo⯑ple of talents, eminent artiſts, reſpectable fo⯑reigners, pleaſant and good-natured compa⯑nions, who have the faculty of exhilarating our convivial hours, are thoſe whoſe ſociety I ſhould covet, and the happy caſe with which we have at laſt learnt to live with each other under the ſame roof, would leave me ſtill at my leiſure for all the demands which the care of my family might have upon me in the mean time. Upon this ſyſtem I do not ſee any opening in a man of fortune's time for the inſipid diſſipations of a liſtleſs life, for the deſperate reſource of gaming, for the perpe⯑tual hurry of journies from place to place, for the whim of a racehorſe, or even the din of a pack of hounds. What an endleſs fund of amuſing occupation is there in a domeſtic farm! Whilſt my huſband ſuperintended the more intereſting concerns of ſtock and culti⯑vation, I could find perpetual employment in the ſmaller departments; and I think there is [249] nothing would give me ſuch health and plea⯑ſure as to be ſo engaged. I ſhould regret the day, when I was to quit my dairy for London and the drawing-room—And now methinks I muſt have pretty well wearied you both with my reveries.

They were ſo polite as to aſſure me they were by no means tired of liſtening to me; and Arundel, with an air of the greateſt ſince⯑rity, proteſted, that he had ſet down every word in his memory, and would faithfully adhere to it, by adopting my ſyſtem with the ſtricteſt conformity to every rule.

Thus, my dear mother, our time inſenſibly paſſed away, whilſt we were rapidly approach⯑ing to our journey's end, which ſet us ſafely down at Spring Grove before the darkneſs overtook us, where, after a night of happy re⯑poſe, in which the events of the day were compounded into a dream, wherein my hap⯑pineſs was painted afreſh in all the wild and glowing colours of romantic fancy, I aroſe to execute this pleaſing taſk, and then to realize the viſions of the night by flying into the arms of love and Arundel.

Farewell.

LETTER XCVI Arundel to Charles Mortlake.

UXORIOUS Mortlake, if thou canſt ſpare a moment from the enchanting arms of thy adored wife, give your ear to a lover, happy in his approach to the bleſſing he is eagerly expecting, and yet tantalized by that happineſs from not having poſſeſſed it, as thou haſt thine: I will not long entrench upon thy tranſports.

To a married ear I can ſay more than I would commit to the inflammable brain of a bachelor, as thou waſt a day or two ago.

This lovely creature charms me into phren⯑zy; I am in a ſtate of mental intoxication with the fondneſs ſhe beſtows upon me. I have a thouſand minds to tell her fairly that I cannot, that I will not bear it. What does ſhe think of me? Oh Heavens! ſhe thinks neither of me, nor of herſelf. How ſhould I [251] expect mercy when ſhe has none for her own feelings! We muſt be married without the conveyancers; the law crawls like the tortoiſe, we fly towards the goal like the nimble hare in the fable.—Carry not my alluſion any further, Mortlake, for we will not halt by the way; at leaſt if human reſolution can hold out againſt more than human beauty, againſt more than human paſſion.

There! now ſhe will not let me write to thee—Look, where it comes again!—Was that all you came for?—Oh Louiſa, thou haſt a ſoul of love embodied in the moſt attractive form of beauty—Enchantreſs, Syren, Witch! why did you put on that alluring diſhabille? why did you diſpoſe your auburn locks in thoſe enſnaring ringlets? what means that negligent ſimplicity, that half-diſcovering, half-concealing veil, that only hides the ſurface not the ſhape of your ſwelling boſom, the very model of perfection, into which my ſenſes ſink even on the very ſight? She has ſet my hand a trembling, and I cannot proceed.

Oh Heavens! the angel form is here again, and now ſhe comes to dictate to me; I am to take up my pen and write whilſt ſhe hovers [252] over me—It is impoſſible, my charming Lou⯑iſa, whilſt you ſtand within my reach in that alluring attitude; if you mean me to be your ſcribe you muſt not come within the glance of my eyes; poſt yourſelf in that chair behind me, and then begin with your inſtructions.

You are to tell Lady Jane Mortlake, that Louiſa cannot write to her, and yet ſhe expects to be written to.—So much for her Ladyſhip's modeſty.—She demands of me if I have not ſomething to ſay to you about your coming hither.—Ah! what a blunder have I commit⯑ted! that was only a hint for my private ear, and not to be committed to your's.—She bluſhes to the eyes, and inſiſts upon my ſtrik⯑ing it out; for it alludes to our wedding, which I muſt plainly tell you ſtands for this day ſe'nnight, ſo now you muſt concert with Lady Jane accordingly: I own I wiſh it very ſincerely, and if without particular inconveni⯑ence to your lady or yourſelf you could com⯑ply with my requeſt, I ſhould be happy that the friend of my heart would tie that indiſſo⯑luble band, which I mean to keep for ever ſa⯑cred and inviolate. This is in ſubſtance what the lovely bluſhes on the cheeks of my Louiſa [253] mean to dictate to me; you, who have ſeen them, know their eloquence, and I dare be⯑lieve will not prove yourſelf inſenſible to their perſuaſion.

When I aſk her what ſhe has elſe in charge to her beloved friend, ſhe ſays ſhe will truſt me with no more meſſages, and bids me leave off writing.—What muſt I do? what would you do in the like caſe?—Obey: friendſhip, give place! O love, what a monopolizer art thou!

Farewell.

LETTER XCVIII. Lady Jane Mortlake to Lady Louiſa G.

IN the maideniſh ſimplicity of my heart I promiſed you a long letter, but I muſt break my word with you. Out of all the many injunctions which you laid upon me, I can obey one only, and that is—literally to write and no more. I know my dear Louiſa [254] will be in a pet with me, but I will leave it to time to apologize for my indolence; before many days come to an end you may have ſympathetic motives for acquitting me.

I am ſure Mr. Mortlake will obey the call of his friend and come to you at Spring Grove, when the happy day is fixt; but I rather think I muſt forego the undertaking, eſpecially as you will come down to Arundel Houſe on the day of your marriage, and to that reſolution I would adviſe you to adhere.

But is this the languid ſtile I ſhould uſe to my Louiſa? No, I will not cloſe my letter till I aſſure you, gratefully aſſure you, every proſ⯑pect of happineſs opens upon me—exceſs of it you know, my dear, will overpower the ſpi⯑rits, and even force us to put on the very ſymptoms of ſorrow. I am charmed with every thing about me; external comforts ſur⯑round me in abundance; ‘But I have that within which paſſeth ſhew.’ Theſe are but the ſymphonies (if I may ſo call them) the accompaniments of that ſuperior ſtrain of harmony, which breathes in every look, action, and endearing movement of my [255] beloved Mortlake; ſuch a heavenly temper beams upon me, ſuch a gay, ſerene and placid mind, affections ſo inexpreſſibly tender, ſuch love, ſuch ardour; oh, my Louiſa, what a trea⯑ſure am I bleſſed with in this ineſtimable man! As for his underſtanding, it ſeems to me like an exhauſtleſs mine of the pureſt ore; he and your matchleſs Arundel have not miſpent the early morning of their life in diſſipation and intemperance, but with a prudent forecaſt have been ſtoring up reſources for the even⯑ing of their day, for the night, wherein no one can work.

In a very few days I hope I ſhall begin to apportion out my time upon ſyſtem, and regu⯑late both my little family and myſelf: I do not mean to engroſs my huſband's hours ſo entirely, as not to leave him a part of the day in which his library ſhall be unapproachable by me; I ſhould be unpardonable were I to break in upon duties of ſo ſerious a nature as belong to his function, and to which he is ſo conſcientiouſly devoted; his ſtudies therefore have a claim upon him which I ſhall hold as ſacred, and thoſe hours I ſhall paſs in my do⯑meſtic employments, and, when they do not [256] call upon me, in ſuch reading as he ſhall re⯑commend for inſtruction or amuſement. But when in addition to thoſe reſources I caſt my eyes upon thoſe neighbouring turrets, which will ſoon be occupied by the friend of my heart, what is there wanting to compleat my proſpect? what but to merit a continuance of theſe bleſſings by gratitude to the God who beſtows them?

Farewell.

LETTER XCIX. Sir Joſeph Arundel to the Earl of G.

THE reſpect, with which I have ever looked up to your Lordſhip, and the elevated rank in which you ſtand, would never have permitted me to think of an alliance with your family but as the moſt improbable of all events, had not your letter informed me that an union between your amiable noble daughter and my [257] ſon is likely ſoon to take place, under the ſanction of your conſent and good liking.

My Lord, I am at a loſs what words to uſe upon this occaſion: I cannot deny that I have ſeen ſome particulars of Mr. Arundel's con⯑duct with an eye of diſpleaſure, and I have given him my fatherly reproof accordingly: of this ſort have been his deportment in Par⯑liament, and his duel with Sir George Revel; I confeſs I wrote harſhly to him on thoſe to⯑pics; but I will not be obſtinate againſt convic⯑tion; I may have been miſinformed, nay more than that, I may have erred in judgment; but my intentions have been ſincere. You are pleaſed to take his defence very warmly upon yourſelf, and your words muſt ever have the greateſt weight with me; ſtronger proof can⯑not be given of the confidence you have in him than that you have thought him worthy of being honored with the hand of Lady Lou⯑iſa, your only child: this is a teſtimony as honorable to him as it is unexpected by me, and above all hope of mine.

My Lord, I am a ſequeſtered man and move in a very private ſphere; a title indeed has deſcended upon me, but it has deſcended empty; it did not pleaſe my brother Francis, [258] living or dying, to take any notice of me, and I am given to underſtand by my brother John, that no part of his ſpoils are likely to be be⯑ſtowed on me: theſe accumulations center in my ſon; his fortune is ample and independant, and therefore as he does not want my help, I the leſs wonder at the contempt he ſhews for my opinion or advice: it is from your Lord⯑ſhip I learn the honor and happineſs which await him.

But though I have thus detached myſelf from the world and all its ambition, yet I am a man, and have the feelings of a man, and conſiſtently with thoſe feelings it will be im⯑poſſible for me to preſent my neglected perſon at the haughty doors of that unbrotherly man⯑ſion, whoſe owner never permitted me to enter them, nor gave me the welcome I had a right to expect. This I flatter myſelf will appear ſo natural to your Lordſhip, that you will al⯑low it a ſufficient excuſe for my ſeeming omiſ⯑ſion, if I do not pay that reſpect to Lady Lou⯑iſa in her married ſtate, which as your Lord⯑ſhip's daughter I have ever entertained for her.

LETTER C. Mortlake to Arundel.

I HAVE received your ſummons and ſhall fly to obey it with every ardent wiſh, with every anxious prayer for your happineſs; it is my lot to have been the object of the marriage ceremony before I have been the performer of it in right of my function; may the com⯑mencement be auſpicious!

My dear Arundel, it is now the firſt time in my remembrance, that whilſt writing to you I have pauſed upon my pen, and found that my mind would not furniſh words to ſupply it. The fact is, my imagination is locked up by repletion, ſo many grateful thoughts throng and preſs upon it at the ſame moment, that language cannot extricate them: you have ſhowered down benefits upon your friend ſo faſt, that though I am in no danger of forget⯑ing them, I am in no capacity of particulariz⯑ing them. Wherever my eye goes, it meets [260] ſome remembrancer of your friendly genero⯑ſity: if I ſurvey my houſe, if I walk into my garden, if my ſight is directed to my church, I ſay within myſelf, O Arundel! theſe are thy works: but there is yet another object, on whom my eyes reſt with peculiar fondneſs, one dear to my ſight and in her perſon lovely, of whom I can with truth pronounce, this bleſ⯑ſing is the gift of Arundel—And as thy gift I will preſerve and prize it; I will lodge it in my heart, cheriſh it with unabating fondneſs, love, watch and tenderly protect it. Yes, may the God whom I adore forſake me, when I wrong that excellence, the condeſcending ſweetneſs of whoſe generous nature ſtooped to the humble mute admirer, who only ſighed at a diſtance, and, whilſt aſpiring to nothing more than pity, gained her love: and what a treaſure is that love! what a combination of charms are met together! beauty, that would have attracted all beholders without the aid of mental excellencies; a mind, that would have won all hearts without the help of perſonal attractions.

There was a myſtery in old times, which the ſuperſtition of the initiated keep ſacred from [261] all ears; there is a myſtery of modern times, which its own nonſenſe ſecures againſt diſco⯑very; but thoſe joys to which I have been ad⯑mitted, my dear Arundel, are undiſcoverable, becauſe they can never be deſcribed.

I find myſelf with a companion, in whoſe ſociety no hour of the day can be heavy; her lively genius gives a novelty to every ſubject, and we mutually inſtruct each other: ſhe tells me of the world as it is, I inform her of the world as it hath been. It gives me inexpreſ⯑ſible delight to find that her ſpirits are not damped by retirement and the tête-à-tête of a huſband, on the contrary their gaiety en⯑creaſes every day, and I may truly ſay we have never waked but to a joyful morning: the tem⯑porary depreſſion ſhe felt upon parting from her beloved brother is long ſince at an end, and her buoyant mind riſes ſuperior to thoſe gloomy and unſocial thoughts, which deal in melancholy predictions and feed their ſpleen with horrors of their own painting; ſhe on the contrary ſees all futurity in its brighteſt light, and by the force of a ſanguine fancy meets her gallant hero returning with freſh laurels to her arms, and feaſts upon the idea.

[262]As for me, who by one of the moſt rapid tranſitions of fortune am of a ſudden tranſ⯑planted from college rooms and the twentieth part of a bed-maker's attendance to the poſ⯑ſeſſion of an elegant houſe and a family of ſer⯑vants, what ſhould I have done without her help? Things, which no time would have brought to my underſtanding, ſhe ſees and comprehends in a moment; it is incredible with what facility ſhe arranges her domeſtic matters, and though every order is given with the moſt perfect ſweetneſs of temper, yet there is no trifling with her commands; the ſtricteſt obedience is exacted and of courſe obtained. The machine, now put in motion by her guid⯑ing hand, goes on mechanically and with cor⯑rect regularity, and for my part I ſhall be to⯑tally out of employ, unleſs I keep ſome little land in my hands, which my lovely friend ad⯑viſes me to do. She is accomptant-general of my finances, and has furniſhed herſelf with a huge vellum book, and all the apparatus of a clerk, which I ſhould never have thought of, and ſuffered accordingly: ſhe ſays our in⯑come will amply ſuffice for our eſtabliſhment, and leave ſome looſe money for unforeſeen [263] occaſions on the balance; but I had no op⯑portunity of talking with you about the very kind offer, which Lord G. made me of a do⯑native of £. 300 per annum, that has lately elapſed: I was really ſo oppreſſed with bounty from all hands, that I did not know what an⯑ſwer to make him, when I ought in gratitude to have ſaid a great deal; I muſt rely upon you to help me out, by telling him what an awkward animal I am, when my friends con⯑found me with their goodneſs, and at the ſame time be ſure to ſay in the moſt ſincere and na⯑tural way to his Lordſhip, that I muſt believe he has a number of expectants, who look up to him for favors, and whoſe long attendance has given them far better claims upon his pa⯑tronage than I can pretend to; if therefore he has any one of theſe in his eye, I beſeech him to paſs me over, and my gratitude will ſtill be paid to his good wiſhes. But if on the con⯑trary his deſire to do a grace to you in the perſon of your friend, prevails againſt all other claims, I then beg of him to add a further grace to his bounty by beſtowing it upon her, from whom I derive every preten⯑ſion and to whom I owe every bleſſing in [264] life, and let her, by whoſe hand I am raiſed, and on whoſe ſmiles I live, appropriate to her private purſe, that which to me would be a ſuperfluity. In God's name what am I? what right have I to be thus careſſed by fortune? I already ſink under the bleſſings I enjoy; my own unworthineſs flies in my face and I trem⯑ble for the trials which proſperity may expoſe me to. I am determined, Arundel, to humble myſelf even below what I am by nature; there is nobody but yourſelf and my deareſt Lady Jane to whom I dare give a vent to the hap⯑pineſs of my heart, for fear my exultation ſhould be miſtaken for inſult; to my country neighbours, and particulary to my brethren of the cloth, I am reſolved nothing ſhall eſcape me to provoke their ill opinion of me as a man intoxicated by good fortune, or to put them upon enquiring how I merited what has befallen me: in ſhort, my dear friend, I have called myſelf to a ſtrict account, and find I have no chance for preſerving the favor of Providence, but to humble myſelf with double diligence before God and man, and to pray for ſupport under the moſt dangerous of all trials, the trial of unmerited proſperity.

[265]Lady Jane was deſirous upon her wedding-day to give ſome little bounty to the poor of the pariſh, and conſulted me upon it; I ſhew⯑ed her a little book, in which I had minuted down the particulars of all the needy families, the number, ages and ſex of their children, with the occupation, condition and neceſſities of their parents; I had the ſatisfaction to ſee ſhe was very much pleaſed by this account, which ſhe conſidered as an inſtance of my at⯑tention to the duties of a pariſh prieſt; ſhe was at the trouble of copying my liſt, and has begun her viſitation in conſequence of it. I perceive I ſhall have nothing to do but write ſermons, and preach them in their ears on a Sunday, for my weekly duty will be in better hands.

Arundel, I repeat to you my reſolution of never quitting the flock, which you have put under my care: I will not make your bounty a ſtepping-ſtone to my ambition, and of this I took an early opportunity to appriſe Lady Jane, without which explanation I thought it would have been diſhonourable to have enter⯑ed into engagements with her: I need not ſay [266] that her noble and diſintereſted nature approv⯑ed of my reſolution.

I perceive I ſhall have a great paſſion for my garden, not only becauſe you have made it ſo alluring and beautiful, but becauſe Lady Jane ſeems to have a ſtrong attachment to it, and it is an amuſement in which I can have her company and participation: as for the li⯑brary, having now pretty well reconnoitred the whole of it, I muſt really conſider it as a very ſelect and well-choſen collection of books in good condition and of the beſt ſort. We for the preſent inhabit no other room, as the proſpect it commands is ſo charming.

Lady Jane bids me ſay that ſhe ſhall ac⯑company me to Spring Grove; though ſhe wrote doubtfully of it to Lady Louiſa. We ſhall be with you in the evening before the happy day.

Farewell.

LETTER CI. The Counteſs to the Earl of G.

YOUR letter has given peace to an afflict⯑ed heart, and if I pauſe upon the pleaſ⯑ing invitation it contains, theſe are my rea⯑ſons: The retirement to which I have for ſome time devoted myſelf, and the melancholy ſcene that has been under my review, whilſt Sir George Revel was in the houſe with me, have with other conſpiring cauſes leſt impreſſions on my ſpirits, which will probably diſqualify me for the reſt of my life from returning to that public ſtation your rank and fortune may re⯑quire me to appear in; with a mind alie⯑nated from the ſplendor of high life, and fa⯑culties incapacitated for ſtepping forward upon the conſpicuous ſtage of the great world, I think it juſt to appriſe you that I am no longer equal to the undertaking: reflection has cut ſo deep into my heart, that nothing but the ſoothing ſcenes of tranquillity and privacy can [268] perfectly reſtore it; diſſipation would but open all its wounds.

Let me not deceive you, nor give occaſion for future diſcontent, when you find yourſelf betrayed by pity into a ſtep, which you have cauſe to repent of. It is enough for me to know myſelf acquitted in your thoughts, to hear that my beloved child is happy, and now and then to find myſelf in the kind remem⯑brance of thoſe who are dear to me. Place me in ſome quiet retreat, where I may paſs my days in that obſcurity for which nature deſigned me, and if ever that happy period ſhall arrive, when your heart is ſated with worldly pleaſures and purſuits, turn to my ſo⯑litude, ſeek your humble friend, and my arms ſhall be open to receive and welcome you to purer and more peaceful ſcenes than thoſe you leave behind you.

Truſt me, my Lord, there is no worldly honor could befall you to give me half the joy I take in hearing you have conquered your reſentments againſt Arundel; it was a noble effort, and you have ſubdued the worſt ene⯑mies to your peace, that can haunt the human breaſt, anger and ſuſpicion. I read the ac⯑count [269] of your viſit to Arundel Houſe with tears of joy and gratitude; accept the thanks, the praiſes of a wife, to whom your happineſs and welfare are infinitely valuable; you have been employed in the heavenly office of diſ⯑penſing bleſſings to all around you; you have ſaved your child from miſery and diſgrace, and healed a mother's broken heart; theſe, my dear Lord, are glorious actions, theſe reflec⯑tions may be dwelt upon with laſting delight, theſe honors can never be taken from you.

I thank you for your kind attention to me in ſending Daviſon; he is a good creature and has been of great uſe and comfort to me; the money he brought with him is ſo much more than my occaſions call for, that I ſhall have no demand to make upon the credit you have given me at Oſtend: this ſupply in the mean time has enabled me to ſhew ſome little marks of my gratitude to Madame Polberg, which have been very ſeaſonable to the worthy crea⯑ture, and have added much to the few com⯑forts left for her in this life. You knew the Baron when he was in England, and it was under your adminiſtration he was employed by his court in a ſecret and confidential commiſ⯑ſion [270] to ours; as ſhe ſtates his caſe it muſt have been extremely hard, for the buſineſs having failed through no miſcarriage or fault of his, the poor Baron never could obtain indemnifica⯑tion for his charges, and having wearied out his health and exhauſted his fortune in a fruit⯑leſs ſolicitation at Vienna, he died and left his diſconſolate widow in very narrow circum⯑ſtances. You have flattered me with the hopes of coming to me after the wedding, unleſs I prevented you by ſetting out upon Daviſon's arrival: this I was ſtrongly tempted to do, that I might prevent your trouble; but great as was my joy when I received ſuch inſtances of your returning kindneſs, my health and ſpi⯑rits were ſtill unequal to the undertaking, for to ſay the truth I am far from well; a low fe⯑ver hangs about me, and I take little reſt or nouriſhment: come to me therefore, my dear Lord, and repay yourſelf by a double piece of charity, for I think you may be able to do Madame Polberg a ſervice with the Imperial miniſter, by ſtating the caſe of the Baron, as it came under your cognizance, and it is to be hoped that your teſtimony will aſſiſt her ſuit [271] for obtaining juſtice. Thus you ſhall at once receive the widow's bleſſing, and the grateful thanks of your devoted wife. Your preſence may repel this ſecret enemy that ſaps my health, if I ſee you happy and well pleaſed with me, the ſmile of kindneſs will repair a broken ſpirit; but if I hear that your retire⯑ment from office, and the happy marriage of Louiſa, have weaned your heart from the un⯑profitable purſuits of ambition, and if I find you diſpoſed to ſeek for peace and tranquillity in domeſtic life, and that a town houſe and a ſuburban villa can no longer detach you from the venerable ſeat of your anceſtors, all com⯑plaints will vaniſh before ſuch a bleſſed revo⯑lution, and there will be no bounds to my joy and thankfulneſs. Then I will return with you moſt gladly; from that moment my whole heart will be your's, and every hour of my life ſhall be dedicated to the delightful taſk of pleaſing and of ſerving you: then we ſhall live again in our children, our youth ſhall be re⯑novated in their's; in the contemplation of Louiſa's and Arundel's nuptial happineſs, we ſhall find a perpetual feaſt to our ſouls, and [272] perhaps enjoy the further felicity of ſeeing a young generation ariſe from the union of two noble families, heirs of the virtue, beauty and generoſity of their parents.

LETTER CII. The Counteſs to Lady Louiſa G.

ALL joy to my beloved child! Your mo⯑ther, who fled to this ſolitary dwelling with no better hope, than to ſecrete herſelf from calumny and unkindneſs, has found it a ſcene of buſy revolutions, ſelected as it were by Providence to perform its wonders in, and by the moſt extraordinary coincidence of chances to bring the accuſer face to face with the accuſed, and extort confeſſion from a guil⯑ty heart under the terrors of impending death.

What unexpected happineſs has followed the diſcovery of that wicked plot! How much beyond all hope was the preſervation of that [273] deſperate man, the leaſt of whoſe wounds ſeemed to take away all chance of life! How adorable was the divine Grace, which inſpired him with repentance, and moved him to make atonement for his crimes by a clear, compleat and explicit confeſſion! Who could have be⯑lieved that your father's heart would have been ſo converted from its reſentment, and turned upon the ſudden with ſuch benignity towards Arundel! What remained for you but to waſte your life in bewailing his obduracy, or elſe to have ſunk your character by precipi⯑tating yourſelf into a clandeſtine marriage againſt the proteſt of your parent? Hapleſs al⯑ternative! and yet where was your hope but in the choice of theſe difficulties?—When be⯑hold at once, in the moſt unexpected moment, the hand of Heaven is laid upon your father's heart, the quickening touch revives that con⯑ſcience, which ſeemed dead within him, the regenerate ſpirit of mercy inſpires him with new feelings, peace and reconciliation take place, Arundel is adopted, my prayers are granted and my child is bleſt.

Now, Louiſa, I conjure you by your gra⯑titude to that beneficent Power, which has [274] brought theſe mighty things to paſs, let theſe reflections never fade in your mind: remem⯑ber what it is you owe, a debt that your whole life can never overpay. Be dutiful, affectionate and tender to your father; remember what he has done for you; call to mind what daggers he has drawn from your boſom, and ſtrike not a thorn, though the ſlighteſt and leaſt painful, into his: cheriſh him in his age, pity him in his infirmities, ſooth him in thoſe liſtleſs hours, when life becomes a load: let him be ever welcome to your doors, open your arms to receive him, though he bring no mirth or gaiety with him, and make allowances for the dullneſs of that evening, which is too apt to cloſe the day, that has been ſacrificed to am⯑bition; though his mind may decay let not your charity loſe its vigour, and let the daugh⯑ter's hoſpitality be the parent's aſylum.

In my letter to your father I took the liberty of hinting to him how bleſt I ſhould be if he could detach his mind from worldly purſuits, and take this opportunity of his re⯑ceſs from office to ſeek tranquillity in the country: let me entreat you to co-operate with my wiſhes, and as your influence is [275] great, to exert it for his happineſs. Grant for a moment that he was reinſtated in his former poſt, what can he gain by it? not any new acceſſion of dignity; for what is that honor, of whoſe inſtability he has had ſuch recent ex⯑perience? and if he ſeeks it without obtain⯑ing it, a fruitleſs purſuit does but ſink his character and diſgrace his politics. On the contrary, if he avails himſelf of his diſmiſſion from public affairs, and without impatience or repining takes up the reſpectable character of an independant nobleman, all mankind will give him credit for the diſinteſtedneſs of his paſt ſervices, and not impute them to the greedineſs of power, but to a patriot zeal for his country's good.

As for your own conduct in a married ſtate, the leſſons which I ſhould have repeated have been ſo faithfully remembered by you, and ſo aptly applied, that you have antici⯑pated all I had to ſay on that ſubject: thoſe rules are now become your own, and I truſt you will never want perſeverance in following what your reaſon adopts.

In Mr. Mortlake and Lady Jane you will have the beſt neighbours in the world, and I [276] flatter myſelf they will both contribute to your happineſs and themſelves enjoy it. The ſpecimen you ſent me of her poetry pleaſed me much, and the ſubject ſtill better than the execution of it. I beg you will preſent to them my moſt cordial congratulations.

Mr. Arundel has ſo long commanded every good and zealous wiſh of my heart, that it would be but idle ceremony to repeat them now: as the huſband of my Louiſa he will have my warmeſt affection; but I muſt be⯑ſeech both him and you not to think of coming hither, as you kindly offered: no, my dear, that is a ſacrifice I will by no means allow you to make; and leſt what I have ſaid may not be ſufficient to divert you from it, remember that I poſitively forbid it. As my health is ſomewhat impaired, I think it not improbable I ſhall try a winter in the ſouth of France, to which I am adviſed, and have the offer of all neceſſary paſſports for the purpoſe. Let me hope I ſhall then return to you with better ſpirits, and a more eſta⯑bliſhed ſtate of health.

Sir George Revel is gone to Bareges, from which place he has written me a letter full of [277] acknowledgments; and I am well pleaſed to hear that he advances in his recovery. It will be long before he returns to England.

I had almoſt forgot a circumſtance, which I ſhould more properly have mentioned in my letter to your father; but I deſire you will tell him, that upon obſerving what you ſay to him and Mr. Arundel about diamonds, I ſhall be extremely happy, with his approbation, to transfer my jewels to you, and I do earneſtly requeſt he will conſent to my deſire. I deli⯑vered them into his hands when I left Lon⯑don, and I hope he will deliver them into your's. God bleſs you, my dear child!

Farewell.

LETTER CIII. Sir George Revel to the Counteſs of G.

A HEART ſo penetrated with your good⯑neſs as mine is cannot reſiſt the impulſe of gratitude, though I fear there is a degree of preſumption in thus repeating to you my thanks, or ſuppoſing that it can be in any de⯑gree intereſting to you to hear, that I reached this place with leſs pain and fatigue than I expected, and that I find myſelf much bene⯑fited ſince my arrival.

I ſaw with the deepeſt concern a very ſen⯑ſible alteration in your health, whilſt your charity was employed in reſtoring mine: the gentleman, who will have the honor of wait⯑ing upon you with this letter, Dr. Ramſay of Edenborough, is returning to his own country, having received his cure from theſe ſalutary waters; let not this ſmall but zealous effort offend you, and pardon me if I have availed [279] myſelf of the opportunity for tendering to you the advice of a perſon ſo eminent in his pro⯑feſſion, and ſo ardent to ſerve you. You have been, under Providence, the preſerver of my life; could I be the happy inſtrument of add⯑ing but one hour of health to your's, how bleſt ſhould I be!

LETTER CIV. Lady Louiſa Arundel to the Counteſs of G.

I AM juſt returned from the church, where before a crowd of ſpectators Arundel and your happy daughter have joined their hands and interchanged their wedded vows before the altar; the mild ſerenity of Arundel's coun⯑tenance, the pious harmony of Mortlake's voice, who performed the ſolemn office, and [280] the chearing looks of my father and Lady Jane, ſupported me through the moſt awful moment of my life. They tell me I acquitted myſelf with much propriety; I hope the wife of Arundel will ever do ſo.

The firſt commands my huſband lays upon me are to aſſure you of his moſt reſpectful de⯑votion, and I obey him with a heart, that over⯑flows with filial as with conjugal affection.

P. S. My father writes to you; we are ſet⯑ting off for Arundel Houſe.

LETTER CV. The Earl to the Counteſs of G.

I DISPATCH my ſervant Le Maitre with the joyful intelligence of our beloved daugh⯑ter's marriage, on which event I congratulate with you moſt cordially and moſt affection⯑ately.

The week that Arundel has paſſed here en⯑dears him to me above meaſure: never did I contemplate a character more truly amiable, and I flatter myſelf I am now received into his heart: he did not give himſelf ſo wholly up to lover like dalliances as to exclude me from his attentions, but on the contrary I had many hours in private with him, and in theſe friendly conferences he opened to me the whole ſtate of his affairs, and it was with plea⯑ſure I found him perfect maſter of them, and thoroughly diſpoſed to confine himſelf to ſuch a ſcheme of living, as will for ever ſecure him from exceeding them: I muſt do Louiſa the [282] juſtice to ſay that it is her plan, or rather your's, which he has adopted in its full extent; ſo ſolid an underſtanding as his will never depart from rules ſo eſſential to domeſtic comfort, and ſo conformable to right reaſon.

The bride and bridegroom ſet off in their poſt-chaiſe for Arundel Houſe ſoon after the ceremony was over, but I requeſted Mr. Mort⯑lake and Lady Jane to paſs the day with me, which they very charitably conſented to, and great comfort they afford me thereby, for they are lovely people.

I am now a ſolitary being upon earth till your friendly and forgiving heart ſhall receive me once again and for ever; to that virtuous, that bleſſed aſylum I am haſtening, impatient to atone to you for all your cruel ſufferings, and to approve myſelf a fond and faithful huſband for the reſt of our days.

Every thing in your letter (except the ac⯑count of your health, which heavily afflicts me) meets my perfect approbation: believe me on my word, Louiſa, I have taken a laſt leave of all the vanity and ambition of this world, and devote myſelf to you and thoſe endearing ties, [283] which wrap our hearts together. I have at laſt got ſight of tranquillity, and made ac⯑quaintance with true happineſs and peace of heart; ſhall I forfeit their acquaintance? Ne⯑ver. The reform you point out I have already put in motion, and my agent has inſtructions to ſet my houſe in town to ſale; the ſame ſhall be done by this villa, if you recommend it, but as it was once a favorite with you, I poſt⯑pone its ſentence till you give final judgment upon it: I have no holdings towards it; com⯑pared to the ſuperior claim of my hereditary reſidence it is but as a miſtreſs to a lawful wife, and I ſhall throw it off without a ſigh. Upon a cloſe review of my domeſtics I find a parcel of ſpoilt puppies fit for little elſe but furniſhing the hall of a Miniſter's houſe, and I have accordingly bequeathed them to the public, not chuſing to annex ſuch lumber to a ſober family upon a country eſtabliſhment; we will have no ſuch fellows about us. Arun⯑del's ſervants have been all drilled by the late general and are in perfect diſcipline; they are not a numerous corps but they are well train⯑ed, and move with the regularity of machines. I offered him our town houſe, if he had been [284] diſpoſed to have exchanged it for his own, but he ſays it is too large and ſtately and will have nothing to do with it. You would be charmed with the modeſt ſimplicity of their equipages; he is fond of horſes, but does not ſeem to have that paſſion for the ſtable, which young men of his age are ſo apt to have; his ruling paſſion is that which ſympathizes with our Louiſa's; a mutual love poſſeſſes them wholly; as for our dear doating girl, though you well know and have often trembled for the uncommon ſenſibility of her heart, and its proneneſs to the tendereſt of all affections, ſtill you can form no gueſs at the exceſſive fond⯑neſs every look, each word and every action expreſs for the beloved of her ſoul: I can ſpeak only of what I have ſeen, and doubtleſs ſhe has put ſome check upon herſelf in my company; what I have not ſeen can be only matter of conjecture, and as her darling's ſen⯑ſations ſeem to the full as quick as her own, I am apt to think for both their ſakes I have not married them an hour too ſoon, though our deeds are far from completed. Arundel would not take a guinea from my hands upon the marriage, as he knew I did not over-abound [285] in caſh: I forced a thouſand pounds upon Louiſa, out of which ſhe bought a few, and but a few, articles of apparel; as for pin⯑money ſhe rejected the idea with abhorrence. The rents of the eſtate, which with the barony of G. go to Louiſa in caſe I die without heir male, I have turned over to Arundel, and the reform I have made, and ſhall further make, in my eſtabliſhment, will more than anſwer to that defalcation of my income; ſo that you and I ſhall be more than rich enough for all the dignified enjoyments of life, and liberally provided for the charities of it; as for theſe beloved creatures, I only fear they will be wealthy to a ſurfeit.

I am only waiting for news of their ſafe ar⯑rival, and then I ſhall ſet out by the way of Margate and Oſtend, between which there is a pacquet-boat that paſſes under the Emperor's colours: I ſhall have no one but a ſervant with me, as I am prepared to find you in a very ſmall houſe, and beſeech you not to hurry your ſpirits about preparations for me; the humbleſt diet and the meaneſt lodging will be preferable to all earthly ſplendors in my eſti⯑mation, if you greet me with the ſmile of ap⯑probation [286] and forgiveneſs, and if I am ſo bleſt as to find you recovering of that indiſpoſition you complain of, and which has raiſed a thou⯑ſand anxious alarms in my boſom.

Le Maitre has orders to meet me at Oſtend with an account of your health and what other commands you may pleaſe to give him. In obedience to your wiſhes I have ſearched out ſome papers relative to Baron Polberg's nego⯑tiation in England, which I flatter myſelf will be of uſe to the widow's cauſe: the Imperial prime miniſter is a very noble gentleman, and a lover of juſtice; I don't deſpair of rendering Madame Polberg ſome ſervices, if her caſe is rightly ſtated.

Farewell.

LETTER CVI. Arundel to the Earl of G.

I SNATCH a haſty moment to aſſure your Lordſhip of our ſafe arrival and in early evening; we were conſiderably leſs time upon the road, than when we came up with you, for our carriage was light and the poſt-boys were peculiarly alert. Our dear Louiſa ſays ſhe has not only felt no fatigue by the way, but ſcarce believes ſhe has performed a jour⯑ney, as her mind was not upon the road but with the happy companion, who was ſeated by her ſide. That charming glow, ſo natural to her ſpirits, has never abated; even ſhe herſelf was never half ſo beautiful as at this moment; judge then what ſhe is: there is a luſtre in her eyes too dazzling to look upon: what an angel have you beſtowed upon me! Excuſe the incoherence of my letter, for I write to you a few words at a time, as I can prevail [288] with myſelf to take off my eyes from her en⯑chanting perſon. I am perſuaded that even Saint Anthony could not have recollected him⯑ſelf in her preſence, how then ſhould I keep any compoſure of thoughts or ſtile, whilſt ſhe is playing abou tthe room?—We are alone and in the picture-room where my venerable fore⯑fathers hang by the wall, gravely contemplat⯑ing their enamoured happy deſcendant. And am I miſtreſs of this houſe? ſhe ſays; will theſe grave perſonages acknowledge me as one of their family? Am I an Arundel?—and then ſhe makes a ſolemn obeiſance to the old Cardinal at the upper end of the room, which you contend to be a Titian. What can I do with ſuch a playful, ſuch an enchanting crea⯑ture? It is impoſſible to proceed.—Now ſhe has run to the piano-forte and begins to ſing; oh Heavens! with what expreſſion. She is irreſiſtible; ſhe maſters all the ſenſes at once. What can I ſay, my dear, my generous Lord! All that is left of me is your's.

Farewell.

LETTER CVII. Lady Louiſa Arundel to Lady Jane Mortlake.

HOW do you, my Lady Jane? I hear your Ladyſhip is juſt arrived, and I con⯑ceive it to be an indiſpenſable punctilio in country manners to enquire after my neigh⯑bours, and put them to the trouble of a letter, though they live at next door. Is the con⯑ſcience of your beloved at peace within it⯑ſelf? Does he repine at the miſchief he com⯑mitted yeſterday on the perſon of his friend, or does he feel as if he had done no miſchief at all? Me he has bleſt beyond the bounds of human happineſs, and whilſt I continue to feel and endeavor to deſerve the bleſſing he has pronounced, ſurely he will not repent of hav⯑ing pronounced it; if unabating love, fide⯑lity and devotion to my Arundel, are good ſe⯑curities for the conduct of a wife, to them I appeal without any fear of forfeiture.

Do not think I write to entice you from your houſe the very evening of your arrival; I [290] hope to morrow we ſhall dine together here at our old-faſhioned hour; in the mean time Arundel and I are not tired of each other's company. Oh, my ſweet Jane, my dear bridal ſiſter, how I long to embrace you, and inter⯑change with you thoſe warm and grateful ef⯑fuſions of the heart, which happineſs like our's inſpires! Had I been told before I married Arundel, that my love for him would admit of an increaſe, I ſhould have ſpurned at the idea, now I find it had been truly ſaid, for he is ten times dearer to me than ever; ſurely my affection is of a ſofter quality, the fires that love had lighted in my heart now melt it, and whilſt my eyes dwell on his engaging form, the tears inſtinctively flow from them, and though I ſmile, I weep: he is now out of the room giving ſome orders to his ſervants, elſe I could not write ſo compoſedly as I do. Tell me, my Jane, are not your ſenſations like mine? Methinks they are, for though you did not quite confeſs ſo much in words, your looks were true interpreters of a moſt tender heart. I have ſeen your animated features more alive, but never did you look ſo charm⯑ing as at Spring Grove.

[291]Thank Heaven! I have not brought Arun⯑del a farthing, for it is my glory to owe every thing to him. What a wretch ſhould I have been, had I ſuffered him to deck me out with diamonds! and now behold my generous mo⯑ther wiſhes me to take her's: I pauſe upon that offer; for what are all ſuch things to me? The jewel of my huſband's heart is all I covet to poſſeſs: groſs indeed would be my error, were I ſo to diſgrace myſelf with your diſin⯑tereſted example before me. No, Jane, I will be moderate in all things but my love, and humble as ſimplicity itſelf: there is nothing I more abhor than the idea of being a fine bride, and I neither affect to be popular with the milliners, nor to be made the ſubject of a puffing paragraph in a ſilly newſpaper.

But I am writing you a long letter, and we are to meet to-morrow; let me beg you will come an hour before dinner, or at leaſt ſend your dearer half to me, for I want to conſult his judgment. There is one thorn in the filial heart of my beloved Arundel, which I would fain attempt to draw; you will eaſily perceive that it points to his father; that un⯑feeling, envious parent has declared to Lord G. [292] that he cannot think of entering this houſe, which ſo late belonged to his deceaſed bro⯑ther, with whom he was at enmity, and who totally overlooked him in his will. Now it occurs to me that I might write to this Sir Jo⯑ſeph, and if Mr. Mortlake does not diſſuade from the undertaking, and will help me in the execution of it, a woman's hand, when armed with a weapon of his beſtowing, may ſtrike a hard blow upon a callous heart, and perhaps awaken it to ſome ſenſe of ſhame at leaſt, if nothing better can be done. Apprize your dear huſband of this, and let him turn it in his thoughts, but do not let him ſuppoſe I can think of ſending any letter to Sir Joſeph with⯑out ſhewing it firſt to Arundel, and having his ſanction for the attempt.

Farewell.

LETTER CVIII. The Earl of G. to Lady Louiſa Arundel.

I WRITE to you from the houſe of Ma⯑dame Polberg, where I arrived the day be⯑fore yeſterday, and had the ſatisfaction to find your dear mother in a fair way to reco⯑ver, though far from well. She had begun to receive great benefit from the preſcriptions of a Doctor Ramſay of Edenborough, who was then with her, and, who being on his return from Bareges, had been ſent thither by Sir George Revel, and I confeſs it was a mark of grateful attention to his benefactreſs, which gave me a very pleaſing impreſſion.

I will not awaken your ſenſibility by a de⯑ſcription of our meeting, further than to tell you in general words, that it was as tender and affecting as my penitence and her forgiveneſs could make it. I flatter myſelf the anguiſh of her mind is now healed, and that ſhe credits me for the ſincerity of the profeſſions I have [294] made to her: indeed I have both the evidence of her looks and the aſſurances of her phyſician to convince me of the very favorable altera⯑tion in her health and ſpirits in the ſhort time I have been with her: notwithſtanding this, I ſhall not have the happineſs of bringing her home with me immediately, as Dr. Ramſay very earneſtly adviſes her to winter in the ſouth of France, and I believe it will be de⯑cided for Montpelier as ſoon as I can pro⯑cure the proper paſſports, of which there is no doubt.

This unforeſeen journey will oblige me to throw ſome trouble on your dear huſband, to whom I ſhall take the liberty of addreſſing certain powers and commiſſions for the re⯑gulation of my affairs at home, particularly as to the ſale of my houſe in Groſvenor Square, and alſo of my villa at Spring Grove, both which we have jointly determined to diſpoſe of: I muſt likewiſe deſire him to forward the preſentation to Mr. Mortlake's donative, which I left in the hands of my worthy agent, Mr. Green of Lincoln's Inn.

This is the compleateſt ſolitude that can [295] well be imagined; it is early morning, and yet I have had the melancholy curioſity to viſit the ever memorable ſpot in the center of the adjoining wood, where your beloved huſband, like Heaven's avenging miniſter, ſtruck pride and calumny to the ground. It was a ſcene to call forth all the feelings of my heart; con⯑ſcience did not paſs it over lightly; I humbled myſelf to the earth, and poured forth my thankſgivings to that merciful Being, who has vouchſafed to ſhower ſuch bleſſings on his undeſerving creature.

Farewell.