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THE 
 
 TWO MENTORS 
 
 MODERN STORY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE OLD ENGLISH BARON. 
 
 A nmn cannot possess any thing better than a good woman, 
 " nor any thing worse than a bad one." 
 
 SiMONIDES. 
 Translated by Addison, Spectator, 209. 
 
 THE THIRD EDITION, 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR J. MAWIVLIN, POULTRY. 
 
 1803. 
 
G. Woodfall, Printer^ 
 Paternofier'Tow. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 1 HE Author of the following Sheets 
 returns her most grateful Acknow- 
 ledgments to the Public, for their 
 Approbation of her former Publica- 
 tions : She requests their Indulgence 
 towards the present Work, hoping 
 that as it is calculated to recommend 
 and promote the social and domestic 
 Virtues, by representing them as the 
 only Means of Happiness, it may in 
 some degree claim and deserve their 
 generous Protection, 
 
Digitized -by tine Internet Arcliive 
 in 2010 witli funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 littp://www.arcliive.org/details/twomentorsmodernOOreev 
 
THE 
 
 TWO MENTOllS 
 
 A 
 
 MODERN STORY. 
 
 LETTER I. 
 
 RICHARD MUNDEN, ESQ. TO EDWARO 
 SAVILLE, ESQ. 
 
 YOUNG man! 
 
 1 TAKE it very ill that I have not heard from 
 you since you left London ! — Do not I stand in 
 the place of a father to you? — Nay, have I 
 not been more than o. father to you: for I am 
 no relation by blood, but your guardian only, 
 and the friend of your deceased father? 
 
 First, I released you from the harsh disci- 
 pline of a pedagogue, and forbade him to lash 
 you into karning, alias pedantry ; which only 
 serves to narrow and depress the spirit of a 
 gentleman, or else to make him conceited and 
 overbearing. — Secondly, I follovsred you witli 
 my good offices afterwards, to mitigate the fa- 
 tigues of education, and to make you an accom" 
 
 B 
 
2 
 fUhhed many with as little trouble to yourself as 
 possible. 
 
 From my -first knowledge of you, I perceived 
 that there were several obstacles in the way of 
 my wishes for you. 
 
 First, an aspect of thoughtfulness and care, 
 that gives you the air of a tradesman, instead 
 of the degagce address of a fine gentleman ; 
 and, secondly, that mean, sneaking quality of 
 bashfulness, which loses all your consequence 
 in mixed company, and makes you appear like 
 a school-boy trembling under the ferula. To 
 remedy the last defect, I sent you to Westmin- 
 sttr School, which has generally been an eff^ic- 
 t'ual cure ioT it; and I hoped an acquaintance 
 with the -world would wear off the first. In the 
 next place, I sent you to Cambridge, not to 
 stvidy the viuthernatics, which are the ton of that 
 place at this time ; no, nor yet the classics, 
 ^j^hich are quite out oi fashion: and still less 
 theology t or the cixil law: — no, Edward, my de- 
 sign was to introduce you to the acquaintance 
 of the young men of fortune and fashion there, 
 and to pave the way to your preferment in fu- 
 ture, by making an interest with them. 
 
 From the college, 1 brought you to the capital, 
 and introduced you into the world, recommend- 
 ing you to a polite circle of my friends there. 
 Still I saw the first traces upon youj and my 
 
3 
 
 friends saw it also. — ^This will not do for a man 
 of the world, said a certain noblenian; this ward 
 of yours has the air of a college pedant! — What 
 shall It do with liiui, said I? — Carry the young 
 man into the company of women of taste and 
 spirit, who know life and all the joj/s of it, said 
 my friend. It is there he must receive the polish, 
 the ton, the Jinishing strokes of a fine gentleman. 
 Give him' lord Chesterfield's Letters to his Son; 
 let him study them closely:, they will do for him 
 more than all your schools and universities. — I 
 followed my friend's directions. He introduced 
 me to Lady Belmour, as the person best qua- 
 lified to give you this polish so much want' 
 ed, and so indespensably requisite. I carried 
 you into her company, that she might obser^^'e 
 your person and qualifications; she spoke better 
 of both than I expected. " Saville is a fine 
 young fellow," said she; " he wants only to 
 converse with our sex, and to receive hhfnishing 
 from us ; send him to me for one summer, and 
 1 warrant I will give you a good account of 
 him." 
 
 I accepted her offer with proper acknowledg- 
 ments. She did you the honour to invite you 
 with a party of her select friends to her country 
 seat; a favour you received with the coldness 
 of a Carthusian friar: however, you obliged ms 
 E 2 
 
so far as not to refuse it; and that gave me 
 some hoi)es of you. 
 
 All these advantages have I thrown in your 
 v.'ay, Edward; but it depends upon yourself to 
 make a right application of them. You do not 
 want understanding; otherwise I would not rea- 
 son with you, and account for every step I have 
 taken for your service. — I loved your father; I 
 I am inclined to love you. I have no children, 
 nor near relations. 
 
 Spell this, and put it together, if you have 
 sense and spirit in you; but if you disappoint 
 and disgrace me, look to it, Edward: — Your 
 father was a man of spirit; he lived too fast 
 for his health and fortune; — you have not yet 
 begun to live at all. — Open your eyes to the 
 happiness that awaits you : — the world and all 
 its charms are Ijefore you: they invite 5'our 
 senses to enjoy them; and you ought to swim 
 in your proper element. 
 
 Lady Belmoui-'s house is the seat of pleasure: 
 —the goddess of Love resides there in person; 
 may she touch and polish your heart, and bless 
 you with her kindest influence! — If you want 
 money, let me know it; and your draft upon 
 me shall be answered immediately.— Attend to 
 Lady Belmour's advice and instructions. Write 
 to me, or let me hear from her^ that you are 
 
 1 
 
o 
 
 all that .s/ic wishes you Yo be; and I will call 
 i)i3'self your most affectionate friend and guar*- 
 Uian, 
 
 Richard Mundex. 
 
 LETTER II. 
 
 THE REVEREND MR. JOilXSON TO EDWARD 
 SAVILLE, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 The pleasure I took in executing the office of 
 college-tutor to you here, left an agreeable hn- 
 pression upon my mind. — The ingenuousness of 
 your heart, and the sweetness of your disposi- 
 tion, engaged my affections to you at the tme^ 
 and have made me interested in every thing 
 that has befallen you since. I have made en- 
 quiry after your situation and conduct, and have 
 gained intelligence of every step you have taken 
 since you left college. Your Guardian — good 
 heaven ! what a guardian for a virtuous youth ! 
 — finding you have not acquired the ton of 
 fashionable life, nor the spirit of vanity and dis- 
 sipation, has sent you to Lady Belmour to finish 
 your education, and to give you what he calls 
 the POLISH oi Q.Jine gentleman. 
 
 I am told moreover, that you have not yet 
 disgraced the character you acquired in the 
 n 3 
 
6 
 
 early part of your life, that you have not quitted' 
 the path of virtue, and followed that of vice: 
 but that you are in the situation of the young 
 Hercules, balancing between Virtue and P/ea- 
 sure. 
 
 From these circumstances I have formed a 
 Ziish and a hope, that I might still be of some 
 service to youj by shewing you the dangers that 
 surround you, and pointing out the path whereby 
 you may escape them. You are thrown upon 
 the island of Calypso, — she orders her nymphs 
 to spread their toils for you, and to exert all 
 their wiles to ensnare you: nor is the goddess 
 herself without attractions. 
 
 Sensual pleasure is an enchanted cup, it in- 
 toxicates the heart, and weakens the reason; 
 while the soul is in the state of inebriation, aU 
 its nobler faculties are suspended, if not lost. 
 The heart is insensibly corrupted and depraved, 
 it loses by degrees all its finest perceptions, and 
 at length becomes wholly immersed in grossncss 
 and brutality. Oh, Saville, was your heart 
 made for suih a state! — Does not your honest 
 heart disdain the bondage? — I cannot believe 
 those chains sit easy on you, till you tell me 
 tlu :y do. If my conjectures and hopes are well 
 founded, write to me, and either encourage or 
 forbid my future admonitions. 
 
 Lady lielniour is the Priestess of Venus, she 
 
7 
 
 is the convenient friend of both sexes. — She 
 keep* a gaming-house all the winter in London, 
 and is visited by people of rank and character, 
 such as this age allows of: — in the summer slie 
 carries on her business in the country, — there 
 she provides mistresses for youths of quality and 
 fortune, and husbands for girls of fashionable 
 education and doubtful virtue. Old jointured 
 dowagers purchase young husbands, and tooth- 
 less dotards young wives, through her media- 
 tion; — she condescends to accept a considera- 
 tion for her profligate services. She has me- 
 thodized pleasure into a syatem, and conducts 
 her offices with an air of decorum and regula- 
 rity, that conceals the deformity of vice from 
 its deceived and captivated votaries. 
 
 Beware, oh beloved and amiable youth, of her 
 seducing arts! — If you have hitherto avoided, 
 make haste to escape them. If you have been 
 betrayed into the snare, break your fetters be- 
 fore habit has rivetted them upon you. 
 
 I will pursue you with my friendship and 
 counsel, till you refuse me with scorn and con- 
 tempt; — till I am well assured, that you have 
 given up your nobler hopes and virtuous pro- 
 spects; — till you become the voluntary votary 
 of vice and folly, I will call myself your affec- 
 tionate friend, servant, and monitor, 
 
 Jarvis Johnsos. 
 
 B 4 
 
LETTER III. 
 
 3WR. SAVILLE TO MU. JOHNSOX, 
 SJK, 
 
 I HAVE been most agreeably surprized by a 
 ietter from my worthy tutor and friend Mr. 
 Johnson, and still more gratified by the con- 
 tents, upon which I have often meditated with 
 renewed pleasure. Is it possible, that the qua- 
 lities he imputes to me can have given me a 
 place in his memory? — Oh no! It is his en- 
 larged and benevolent soul, that, in pity to my 
 yovith and situation, has induced him to extend 
 his hand to my assistance, in order to extricate 
 me from the snares of vice and folly. 
 
 Thus do wise and good men give consequence 
 to those they instruct, in order to lead them 
 into the paths of virtue. A man who thinks 
 himself unable to overcome temptation, will sink 
 into inactivity and despondency; and he who is 
 encouraged to exert his ability, will do it effec- 
 tually. 
 
 Yes, my tutor, my friend, my monitor; I ac- 
 knowledge the generous artifice you have used 
 with me, which has answered your kind inten- 
 tion; by giving me credit with myself, you have 
 encouraged me to aspire to your friendship. 
 To whatever motive I am indebted for it. i re- 
 
9' 
 reive it as a gift from heaven. I have oftpn ' 
 wished for such a friend, though I hardly dared 
 to hope such an one would be granted me. 
 You have held up the light of truth before my 
 eyes, have shewn me the dangers that surround 
 me, and directed me how to escape them. 
 
 I embrace your friendship witii my whole 
 heart?— Continue, dear Sir, your generous cares- 
 for me; I will be accountable to you for my 
 future conduct; I will acquaint you with every 
 step I take ; — both my actions and motives shall 
 be open to your inspection; you shall be to me 
 as a second conscience, and your admonitions 
 shall encourage or restrain all my undertakings. 
 What Sylph, or what Genius, gives you intelli- 
 gence of every thing that happens to me? — It 
 is a good spirit, I am certain, because it is one 
 of yowr familiars. He tells you the truth, when 
 he compares this mansion to Calypso's island;, 
 and 3'et I think it still moi^c resembles the Isle 
 of Cyprus. — The nymphs and swains here breathe 
 that air of softness and voluptuousness which is- 
 so contagious to all who encourage its influence. 
 I have hitherto resisted the charm ; but how long 
 I should have continued to do so, is uncertain. 
 My heart, at times, seemed ready to give way; 
 but you have held over me the shield of Mi- 
 nerva; the enchantment is dissolved, and I f< el 
 myself delivered. 
 
 B 5 
 
•10 
 
 As the first proof of that ir,g(nuousncss, which 
 indeed is the only ([uaUty I presume to chiiin li5 
 r/?// own, I send you inclosed a letter I have lately 
 received from 7iiij virtuous guardian. My heart 
 rises with indignation, mingled with contempt, 
 •whenever I think on hi/n and his instructions to 
 me. His company and advice misled my father 
 into courses which brought upon him both shame 
 and sorrow. Upon his death-bed, he severely 
 repented the sins and follies of a life spent un- 
 profitably to himself and others. I have often 
 wondered that he did not alter his will, which 
 gave this man the care of my person and for- 
 tune, who ever since has been labouring to con- 
 taminate my mind with his own vile principles. 
 God of his goodness gave me a wise and virtuous 
 mother, the greatest blessing a child can re- 
 ceive. Her precepts were the guide of my 
 childhood, and her remembrance will ever be 
 sacred to me. 
 
 My mother was the victim of my father's irre- 
 gularities, and she died praying for his reforma- 
 tion. She also prayed that I might be preserved 
 from the contagion of a bad example. My father 
 laughed at her prayers, and predictions, mid pro- 
 phecies, as he then called them; and for several 
 years entirely forgot them, and the dear saint that 
 uttered them; but in the days of his last sickness 
 tLey ru^^ed into his THemcri/^ to his bitter griet 
 
Jl 
 
 and regret, and reproached him with his past 
 conduct. He then spoke of my mother as a *«- 
 perior being; he lamented his cruel and ungene- 
 rous behaviour to her; he exhorted me to follow 
 her example, and to avoid his own; by this cir- 
 cumstance, mi/ opinions and principles received 
 their conjirmution. 
 
 She was taken from me too soon, or she would 
 have been my director and monitor to this hour. 
 But to supply her loss, Heaven has sent me a 
 preceptor and friend in Mr. Johnson; by his ad- 
 vice and assistance I trust I shall escape the la- 
 byrinth of vice and folly, into which Mun-den and 
 his emissaries have brought me. 
 
 I will tell you, my dear Sir, all that has passed 
 here lately, if you can think it worth your at- 
 tention; when you shall be acquainted with all 
 the circumstances of my present situation, you 
 will give me your advice upon it. — If you judge 
 it necessary, I will immediately burst the bands 
 that keep me here, and come to you at Cam- 
 bridge : but I have either convinced ov persuaded 
 myself, that though I dwell in the land of vice 
 and folly, I am engaged in the service of virtue ; 
 you shall decide on this subject. 
 
 Write to me soon ; give me your advice, in~ 
 struction, correction; I will receive them with 
 6ubmi8siou and obedience. — Assure yourself of 
 » 6 
 
12 
 my eternal gratitude for your friendship and 
 protection to, dear Sir, your pupil, friend, and 
 servant, 
 
 Edward Saville, 
 
 LETTER IV. 
 
 MR. JOHNSON TO MR. SAVILLE. 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 Your letter gave me great pleasure, for it ha^ 
 shewn me that you have entered fully into my 
 intentions, and that you accept me as your friend- 
 and monitor. 
 
 I shall directly enter upon my office, and my 
 first act of it shall be to forward the letter you 
 inclosed me for Mr. Munden.* 
 
 I am upon the whole well pleased with it, and 
 take it as a proof of your sincerity, and a secu- 
 rity for the steadiness of your principles, since 
 you are neither ashamed nor afraid to avow 
 them, when you are properly called upon, I 
 do exceedingly desire to know all that has be- 
 fallen you at Lady Belmour's; and how it is pos- 
 sible that in the regions of vice you can be em- 
 ployed in the service of virtue. 
 
 Your ingenuousness bids me hope every thing 
 
 * This letter does not appear; but its purport may be ga- 
 thered from iHbse^ucnt incidents.. 
 
13 
 
 that is right; but, if you should have deviated' 
 from the strait path of 'virtue, you need not 
 fear to confess it to me, for you will find me 
 an indulgent friend, and not an austere cor- 
 rector. 
 
 My curiosity is excited to know whether Ca- 
 lypso is indeed the enchantress I have heard her 
 described — how she governs the pupils of her 
 academy, how she sustains her consequence 
 ■with them while she lures them into her toils.— 
 Write every thing that you think will be either 
 interesting or entertaining to me, without re- 
 serve. — Be assured that you will meet with in- 
 dulgence wherever it is necessary, with appro- 
 bation where deserved, with advice where want- 
 ed ; for I am, with truth and sincerity,. 
 Dear Sir, 
 Your affectionate friend and servant, 
 
 Jartis Jounson, 
 
 LETTER V. 
 mr". kundej* to lady belmour. 
 
 MADAM, 
 
 I PRESVME to acquaint your Ladyship with a 
 circumstance or two relating to the saucy boy 
 1 lately recommended to your notice and favour. 
 
14- 
 
 —I wrote to him a letter full o{ fatherly advice 
 and affection; but the young puppy sets me at 
 nought — tells me he is wiser than I, that my ac- 
 quaintance are not to his taste, that he is de- 
 termined to be his oTon master, and to choose 
 his o-wn friends. If he continues to treat me in 
 this manner, I will give him vp for ever, arjd 
 choose some stranger to be my heir, instead of 
 the son of my friend. 
 
 I beg to know your Ladyship's opinion of 
 Savillc, and to have your advice how to proceed 
 with him. 
 
 He has sense enough — learning more than 
 enough — spirit and generosity, but aU in the 
 wrong places. — Every canting, whining, unfor- 
 tunate wretch has the power to draw his money 
 from him ; but he is frugal to a fault m every 
 gentleman-like expence. — lie has the spirit to 
 bid defiance to his best friend, and the mauvaise 
 honte in good com})any. He has no ambition, 
 nor yet the softer passions, or at least he has 
 never shewn any signs of them. Whenever I 
 go about to penetrate into his character, he foils 
 me in the attempt, and turns my own weapons 
 upon me. 
 
 I depend upon your Ladyship's penetration 
 to discover how he is to be managed, and to 
 let me know it; and as you spiak of him, so I 
 
15 
 
 shall act to~u:ard$ Iiim, for I know your Lady- 
 sliip's discernmeat, and I rely upon your judg- 
 ment. 
 
 I am, 
 Your Ladyship's most obedient servant, 
 
 Richard Mundejt. 
 
 LETTER yi. 
 Lady belmouu to mr. mundey. 
 
 Mr. m UN den may rest assured that Lady 
 Belmour has always in view the ohjcct of his 
 care and affection, and follows him with her at- 
 tentions ; she sees no reason to despair of 
 making him every thing that hisjriead uis/ies him 
 to be. 
 
 After all, men are very imperfect preceptors ; 
 it is not by reason and document that the polish 
 of life is required. See what eukzLord or buckram 
 figures, the youth step from the school and col- 
 lege into the world! — It is by conversing with 
 our sex they become accomplished; we cultivate 
 the keart, and polish the Jiianners. ISIen who 
 have had seftse and spirit enough to shake off 
 the fetters of lulgar prejudices, have acknow- 
 ledged the advantages they have derived from 
 us, and have endeavoured to extend them to 
 others. There have been schools of this kind 
 
IG 
 
 both among the ancients and the moderns, 
 Greece had her Aspasias, Lconfium, and Thais.' 
 The accomphslied Alcibiudes was an example 
 of the benefits of this society. Rome had her 
 Fulviu's and Anrdia's. And France has had the 
 glory to stand alone among the vwderjis, in the 
 reining and iinproxing upon these polite aca- 
 demies. From the days of the enclianting Ninon, 
 there has been a succession of ladies who have 
 employed themselves in polishing the manners 
 of the youth, and cultivating their hearts — We 
 are at this day aiming at an imitation of their 
 taste and elegance, but we do it badly ; we have 
 lost our own preciseness and ceremony, but we 
 have not yet acquired the na'kete and noncJia- 
 lance of our accomplished neighbours. How- 
 ever, as all improvements are made by degrees, 
 there is great reason to hope that we may in time 
 acquire them. The ferocity and bluntness of 
 this country is giving way to the delicacy and 
 refinement of the continent ; our language is 
 daily improving and polishing,^ our ladies have 
 an air of ease and freedom, they throw off the 
 priinness and reserve of past times, and the re- 
 st'-ainfs of rigid systems, which inspire illiberal 
 sentiments and manners. — In this state of im- 
 proved society I aspire to have })iy name descend 
 to posterity, as one of those woir.en of spirit, 
 ■who lend their hands to forward the eftbrts of. 
 
others; to emancipate the youth of both sexes 
 from the ignorance and prejudices o[ Gothic times 
 and manners. 
 
 Your pupil wears a veil of shyness and re- 
 serve, through which it is difficult to penetrate: 
 — no matter; we shall find out the way to make 
 him throw it aside. The traveller, whom the 
 wind and storm could not oblige to throw ofi' 
 his cloak, Avas induced by the warm sun to cast 
 it away. — We will awaken his passions, the ani- 
 mating sun-shine of love shall warm his heart, 
 he shall throw away the cloak, and we shall see 
 what kind of a man there is under it. 
 
 Do not be impatient. — Leave the event to 
 me,— I will be answerable for the success— I 
 will tell you every thing that is material for you 
 to know. I am obliged by your confidence and 
 esteem, and will approve myself, . 
 Sir, 
 Your sincere friend and humble servant, 
 
 Amelia-Sophja-Wilhelmina Belmour, 
 
 LETTER VIL 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO MR. JOHNSON. 
 MY DEAR MENTOR, 
 
 1 WILL now discharge my promise, by giving 
 you a faitliful actxjunt of all that has passed 
 
18 
 
 during my visit here: when you have the whok 
 story before you, you will judge of the nature 
 cf my situation, the dangers and ten>ptatious 
 that surround mc, and of my ability and in- 
 tention to escape them. As soon as the king's 
 birth-day was past, I received a summons to 
 attend Lady Relmour to her country seat. I 
 was honoured with a place in her own coach, 
 with Sir George Richmore and Miss Elford, 
 with whom he has a temporary counexion.— 
 We found several couples ready-paired in th« 
 ARK (if you will allow me the expression), and 
 waiting our arrival, for none came but what 
 brought his mate, or expected to find one here— • 
 Mr. Morris and Miss Barnham, Mr. Lewson 
 and Miss Alarshall, Sir John Lacy and Miss Wil- 
 son. — There was also a certain Mr. Armstrong, 
 who seemed to pay his homage to our Lady 
 Governess, and a Miss La Noue, who, as I have 
 reason to believe, was intended for my partner; 
 several other pairs were expected. — Parties of 
 pleasure of all kinds were proposed, when the 
 remainder of the company should arrive. 
 
 They were in raptures of joy at our arrival ; 
 her Ladyship welcomed us with equal politeness 
 and vivacity. 
 
 My dear friends, welcome to the land of wit, 
 love, and liberty! enjoy yourselves in your own 
 way J be ^^ujipj/ here, and / must he 4o. 
 
19 
 
 Tiicy chatted, laughed, danced, sung, ami 
 tried by every way to show their wit and their 
 happiness; I was the only person that seemed 
 insensible to the pleasures around me. 
 
 This mansion is large and convenient ^ it be- 
 longed to a West India merchant, who lived 
 in the great style for about fifteen years; then 
 sunk into ruin and obscurity, and died in the 
 Fleet. His wife died soon after; his children 
 were minors ; his fortune is in the hands of his 
 creditors; and his afiairs cannot be settled till 
 his eldest son comes of age, who is now but in 
 his thirteenth year. The assignees let this house 
 to Lady Belmour, and it suits her purpose ex- 
 actly: — she can accommodate a great number 
 of visitors : she keeps several carriages, a stable 
 of good horses, and many servants; for she 
 makes it a condition, that her guests shall bring 
 none, but be attended by those of her own 
 choosing; — but there is every accommodation 
 that can be wished for ease, pleasure, and 
 luxury. 
 
 Her ladyship is a fine and a graceful woman, 
 about forty years, but docs not choose to be 
 thought so far advanced, — " ancitnt PhiUis has 
 young graces" — fat, but not unwieldy, just 
 " I'aimable embonpoint •"—^•dsy and polite in her 
 deportment, with some wit, liiore satire, and 
 every fashionable accomplishuieut* 
 
20 
 
 She has an ah- of freedom and assurance bor- 
 dering upon voluptuousness ; when she is not 
 pleased, it is tempered with hauglitiness to those 
 who have offended her: at other times she' as- 
 sumes the most insinuating air and manner, and 
 when she tries to please she is almost irresistible. 
 
 There is an air of freedom and levit)^ and 
 vet not absolute indecency in the conversations 
 that pass here after dinner and supper. The 
 morning, every person spends as he pleases ; 
 some ride out, some walk, some read ; — the 
 ladies make working parties, or sometimes mu- 
 sical ones; there is a music-room with instru- 
 ments of all sorts, and books of the most fashion- 
 able compositions. 
 
 Here you breathe the air of affluence, luxury, 
 and voluptuousness; there is every incitement 
 offered to every one of the senses in turn; I re- 
 sisted them, and was for some time merely a 
 spectator of the scenes before me. Lady Bel- 
 mour behaved with the utmost politeness to 
 me, and seemed to leave me at liberty to amuse - 
 myself as I thought proper. 
 
 When she found that I took no particular no- 
 tice of any person, but seemed to be reserved 
 and abstracted, and to consider the company 
 before me only as subjects for speculation, she 
 V)egan her attack upon me in the most artful 
 manner. She asked me how I liked the coua- 
 
21 
 
 try, her villa, her friends, the men, the women, 
 and at last Miss La Noue ? I answered her briefly 
 and coldly; and to the last question, rery u-e//. 
 
 She laughed scornfully;— Is that your way of 
 commending a fine girl, Su-? — Yes, said I, I 
 think her a fine young woman. — She put up her 
 lip; — Perhaps you do not admire a Brunette? 
 what style of beauty is most to your taste ? — It 
 is not complexion, said I, nor the colour of the 
 hair, or the eye, that makes a woman attract- 
 ing. — What is it then? said she, smiling. It is 
 the tout ensemble, which is not easy to describe.— 
 Very well, Sir, it is easier to feel than to describe; 
 is it not? — I believe so, Madam. — Well, Sir, go 
 on. — I am entirely of your Ladyship's opinion. 
 No, not entirelj/, for you do not like Miss La 
 Noue. — I did not say so. Madam. — No, Sir, but 
 your behaviour does. How can you see a fine 
 girl, disengaged, looking at you with eyes that 
 speak nothing like disapprobation or disdain, 
 and yet pay no homage to her charms ? She has 
 wit and spirit as well as form; and you would 
 find her capable of conversing, and entertaining 
 you, if you would make an ej'ort to speak to 
 her. — I have no doubt of it, said I; the lady 
 deserves all that your Ladyship says of her. 
 But why should you wish me to be particular in 
 my notice to her.? — I wish it J Ridiculous ideal 
 You are the loser. La Noue does not want ad- 
 
Tniters. — ^I dare say not, INIadam; but T have no 
 pretensions. Go thy way, Cymon! thou hast a 
 fur-m, but no animation. 
 
 Some of the company came to us, and broko 
 ofi' the conference. 
 
 J'rom this day t^alypso and her nymphs ex- 
 erted all the arts of their profession to allure me 
 into the snares of Cupid; and finding them in- 
 effectual to subdue the stubborn heart that re- 
 sisted tl>em, they set the men upon me, who ex- 
 ercised tlieir wit at every Aveapon of raillery 
 and ridicule, but all in vain. I wrapt myself up 
 in impenetrable reserve, and baffled all their 
 attempts upon me. 
 
 I declined most of the parties abroad ; I can 
 always amuse myself at home. Sometimes 1 
 retired into the library to read, at others into 
 tl>e music-room, and practised new lessons upon 
 the harpsichord : but these sedentary amuse- 
 ments affected my health and spirits; I began 
 to find exercise necessary; yet I would not go 
 out in the parties, but rose early in the morn- 
 ing, and walked or rode before breakfast. 
 
 In one of my morning rambies I made an ac- 
 quaintance with a gentleman farmer who was 
 walking over his grounds ; and upon further 
 knowledge I find him deserving of my friend- 
 ship. I will give you a hasty sketch of his his- 
 tory. 5 
 
23 
 
 His name is Franklin, a man of genteel birth 
 and education ; he inherited an estate of about 
 five hundred pounds a year; he married, for 
 love, a woman without a shilling. They set out 
 in a style much above their fortunes, and ran 
 out of bounds, till they were involved in debts 
 and difficulties. Just as they were on the brink 
 af ruin, a relation of ]\Irs. Franklin, who took 
 no notice of her while a poor unportioned girl, 
 hearing she was well married, left her a fortune 
 of five thousand pounds, whicii restored them 
 to competence and happiness. i\Ir. Franklin 
 paid off his debts, cleared his estate, took a 
 farm into his own hands, studied agriculture 
 and ccconomy, and was successful in his practice 
 of them : his wife tamed her thoughts and at- 
 tention to the domestic duties arxi virtues with 
 equal success; in the course often years they 
 arre become rich, happy, and respectable. 
 
 Mr. Franklin encourages me to cultivate his 
 friendship; he begins to lay his reserve aside, 
 fce raUies me on my situation ; but he has given 
 me a serious warning of Caly3>so and her 
 nymphs; and I have convinced him of my ho- 
 nour and principles. 
 
 He seconds your admonitions, and offers me 
 bis advice or assistance whenever I shall find 
 myself to stand in need of them. I often call 
 upon him in my morning excursions, and we 
 
. 24 
 
 seem to be more and more pleased witii eacli 
 other's company. 
 
 You will often hear of him in the course of 
 my adventures here. I will now conclude this 
 pacquet, and bid you adieu for this time ; but 
 you shall soon hear further from. 
 
 Dear Sir, yours faithfully, 
 
 Edward Saville. 
 
 LETTER VIII. 
 
 Mil. SAVILLE TO MR. JOHNSOX. 
 SIR, 
 
 I SHALL now proceed in my narration without 
 further preface or apology. From the time I 
 became acquainted with Mr, Franklin, I used 
 myself to call on hira frequently; and his con- 
 versation was a resource from the cliagrin I re- 
 ceived in my disagreeable situation. 
 
 After I, had been here some weeks, two ladies 
 
 came hither in a post-chaise from. I ■, 
 
 of whom I must give you a particular account. 
 Mrs. Crosby is a woman of fashion in everjj sense 
 of the word. — She is lately separated from her 
 husband ; for what woman of taste and spirit can 
 bear the insupportable fatigues and restraints of 
 conjugal duties and employments, to v.hich her 
 cruel husbaad would have confined her? But 
 
L'5 
 
 f.he has found the way to burst the fetters, and 
 recover her liberty. 
 
 Her companion, a ISIiss Jones, of whom I 
 have much to tell you. — We were sitting at tea 
 when these ladies arrived : — Lady Belmour re^ 
 ceived Mrs, Crosby with open arms, and con- 
 gratulated herself and the company on sucli aa 
 acquisition to their society. 
 
 She looked very coldly on Miss Jones, and 
 just nodded to her; but her chaperon obliged 
 her to alter her behaviour. 
 
 Let me, said she, have the honour to recon- 
 cile Miss Jones to her friend and patroness; 
 she is now sensible that Lady Belmour always 
 deserved that title ; and I know your Ladyship's 
 geiierosity and greatness of soul too well, to think 
 you harbour any resentment against poor Sukey 
 for her misapprehension ; receive her once again 
 under your protection. 
 
 At your request, my dear friend, I will, said 
 •my Lady; and, if it is not her own fault, she 
 shall find me still her best friend. She then 
 embraced the young lady, who had tears in her 
 eyes (as I imagined) from the consciousness of 
 having ofiended her. 
 
 She courtsied low, but was silent; — we sat 
 down, and returned to our tea. — There was in 
 Miss Jones's deportment something different 
 from the females 1 had yet seen in this house. 
 
26 
 "Tliere was a decenc}- in hei' manners, and an air 
 of melanclioly diftused over ber countenance, 
 which rendered her more interesting t(J me than 
 any person in the society. I was disposed to 
 scrutinize her person and t:haracter ; but Lady 
 Belmour's eye intercepted mine whenever it 
 ■wandered towards her ; and seemed to say,— 
 you have no business to enquire after that girL — 
 I was the more inchned to observe both /icr and 
 the ladies who called themselves her yHewfl'.f. — 
 They seemed to treat the young woman with an 
 air of superiority; they called her Siike}/, witiiout 
 any addition ; she seemed dispirited and humbled 
 before them. 
 
 Lady Belmour and Mrs. Crosby were profuse 
 in their professions of friendship to each other, 
 and in compliments upon the great and superior 
 qualities they both possessed. — The words, 
 greatness of soul — /ligk sentiments — enlarged ideas 
 — liberal tninds^ Sec. flew about, and were as 
 readily accepted as if deserted; and perhaps more 
 so, for true merit is jnodest, and fearful of taking 
 too much to itself : however the conversation 
 this evening was really more rational and agree- 
 able than I had heard since I came hither, and 
 I ventured to take a more than usual part in it. 
 
 The next morning I rose earlier than the rest 
 of the company, went into the music-room, and 
 gat down to the harpsichord, where I played 
 
 1 
 
27 
 
 for two hours, without any idea of being over- 
 heard. 
 
 At length I spied a wliite hand and arm upon 
 my left shoulder, and started. It was Lady 
 Belmour herself who surprised me. — She has a 
 remarkably fine hand and arm ; it then looked 
 so beautiful that I was tempted to pay homage 
 to it. — I was stopped by a violent burst of 
 laughter, that checked me, and made me recol- 
 lect that the tempter was at my elbow. — Upon 
 my word, Sir, I did not think you were so great 
 a proficient in music! — I I'elt myself confused 
 and uneasy at this tete a tete. But she relieved 
 me by her easy and familiar chit-chat. — Sit still, 
 Saville, said she, and oblige me with another 
 lesson. — I did so. She complimented me. — ■ 
 What a pity, said she, that you hide your talents 
 as assiduously as others display them ! I wish 
 you were more communicative to your friends, 
 for their sakes, and your own. You are with 
 people who know how to distinguish merit, Sir ; 
 but you are so reserved, that you will not suffer 
 them to know your value. 
 
 Her air and manner were so insinuating, that 
 I could not avoid ansv/ering her politeness. 
 She praised, she flattered me ; she tried to gain 
 my esteem and confidence. She asked me how 
 I liked Mrs. Crosby and Miss Jones. My notice 
 of the latter did not pass unobserved. I ,aa- 
 
28 
 
 ■swcied in general leriua, but with scc?)ii/tg frank- 
 ness. She seemed to wind about me in order 
 to gain access to my heart: I was aware of her, 
 and was upon my guard. 
 
 Our conversation was interrupted by Mrs. 
 Crosby. I was desired to play again, was again 
 apphiuded and sohcited, till more company came 
 in and sunmioned us to breakfast. I resumed 
 mv reserve, but kept an eye upon the grand 
 enchantresfi, in order to find out what schemes 
 she was forming for rae ; and yet at times my 
 heart reproached me with ingratitude for her 
 politeness and attention to me. 
 
 This day was chiefly spent in con\'cr3ation, 
 and we had parties of cards in the evening, IMiss 
 Jones was silent and melancholy. 
 
 The next morning I rose with an intention to 
 ride to Franklin's before breakfast ; but, going 
 into the stable, the servant told me the horse 
 was lame. I determined to take the air, so I 
 sauntered about the fields for an hour, and then 
 came round into the garden-grounds, and from 
 thence v.ent into a pavilion, at the end of the 
 pleasure garden, wiiere I surprised a lady, as 
 she did me.. Jt was Miss Jones; she was leaning 
 her head upon her hand, and weeping bitterly. 
 She was very much confused at my approach ; 
 she rose up, and oflered to retire. I begged 
 par^an for my intrusioD, which I assured her was 
 
■59- 
 acciflentiil, and insisted on leaving iior a;; I 
 found her. — Sir, suid she, I beg a favour of 
 you ? — ()f me, IMadam ! What can I do for you >' 
 ' — It is, Sir, that you will have the goodness not 
 to mention your seeing me here, and still less 
 how you found me. — I will not, Madam, yoa 
 may depend upon me. I am concerned, Madam, 
 to see that you are not quite happy. I perceived 
 it yesterday. I wish it was in my power to alle- 
 viate your sorrows; — Alas! said she, the cuw.'^e 
 of my distress cannot be alleviated. — Surely it 
 may, said I; all hunian woes may be mitigated; 
 I sincerely pity you, for I believe your distress 
 must arise from vir-tuous motiTCS.' — She covered 
 her face with both her hands. — Oh ! Sir, said 
 slie, I believe you are too good for this house. 
 If 1 dared to tell you — but what right have I to 
 trouble you ? 
 
 Dear Gladam, if I can be of any service to 
 you, do not scruple to trust me .? I am a man 
 ef honour, and as such 'Dear Sir, excuse me 
 if I ask you one question — Are you any relation 
 or friend of Lady Belmour's ? — Neither, Madam. 
 —Well, Sir, I think extremely well of you, for 
 your generous pity to a stranger. — I am obliged 
 to your good opinion, Madam ; but what a man 
 must he be who can see an amiable woman ia 
 tears, and not wish to relieve her distress ? 
 
 Oh, Sir, you are too good to nae. Yon 
 c3 
 
30 
 
 mentioned distress arising from virtuous motives, 
 1 would not for the world deceive or impose 
 upon you. I dare not rank myself with the 
 good; and yet I can truly say that my distress 
 arises from virtuous motives. But, Sir, the hour 
 of breakfast approaches. I must not be seen 
 with you. I shall be suspected of — I know not 
 what ; and you will be ridiculed on my account; 
 let us separate : perhaps another time an oppor- 
 tunity may offer for m.e to communicate the cause 
 of my distress, and ask your advice upon it. — 
 You do me honour, Madam ; will you meet 
 m.e here to-morrov/ morning at seven o'clock?— 
 She paused, — I will, Sir; I think I perceive in 
 you a man of honour and principle. I will meet 
 you, Sir; but let us not go in together.— 
 Good-morning, Madam, I leave you this in- 
 stant. — I did so, and went round the outside of 
 the garden, and came in at the great gate. 
 
 E. S. 
 
 IN CONTINUATION. 
 
 MY curiosity was raised by the morning's ad- 
 venture, and my mind was employed the whole 
 day in reflecting upon it, and in conjectures upon 
 the subject of Miss Jones's distress, which I made 
 no doubt proceeded from Ludy Belmour's de- 
 signs upon her. 
 
31 
 
 Si):iietlmcs I fancied tliis coiiJiJc/uc of Miss 
 Jone:^ was only a scheine to dravv nie into au 
 engagement with her ; a minute after, I smiled 
 at the suggestions of my fancy, and reflected 
 that we are as oi'ten outwitted by ourselves as by 
 others, when \\c indulge suspicions of any kind. 
 I wished impatiently for the hour when I was 
 to meet Sukey ; if slie was artful, I was pre- 
 pared to baffle hers, or her patroness's designs 
 upon me. 
 
 I rose early in the morning. I hastened to 
 the pixvilion with a book in my hand, and saun- 
 t<?r6u ixijOut iyi Hear an uour ofior© Siie came 
 thither. At length I saw her coming towards 
 me with a downcast eye and timid aspect. 
 When she began to speak; it was in a low and 
 tremulous voice. 
 
 Sir, said she, I am afraid you will think me 
 very free, upon so short an acquaintance, to 
 trouble 3'ou with my story. 
 
 Madam, you honour me by your confidence; 
 I shall be happy to do you any service that is 
 consistent with my principles, which are not 
 exactly conformable to those of the lad^ of this 
 hoKsc. — That is what puzzles me, said she : you 
 seem to know Lady Belmour's character, and yet 
 I find you with her society. — I came not hither 
 by inclination, jNIadam, but at the desire of a 
 gentleman v.ho calls himself my friend. I shall 
 c 4 
 
■ 32 
 not stay here long ; but, whiLt I cio, I am iir 
 spectator, and not an actor in the Drama that is 
 represented here. Tell me, without scruple, 
 how I can serve you ; I ain already inclined to 
 be your friend, and I believe yovu' btory will 
 confirm me so. 
 
 Indeed, Sir, said she, I want a friend. I will 
 at all events tell you the particulars of my un- 
 happy situation, and then you will judge whether 
 I am most to be blamed or pitied. 
 
 iMy father and mother were upper servants in 
 two noble families ; my father by their interest 
 obtained .1- nlace in the custonis. 
 
 Their income was sufficient with prudence to 
 support their family in a decent and respectable 
 inaiuicr; but the habit of iuiitUting the manners. 
 Ui their supc-iors, in the way of life they had 
 seen, made them go to the extent of their for- 
 tune, and sometimes exceed it. They also re- 
 tained a kind of strviliti/ in their behaviour, 
 which led them to do services of cicri/ kind to 
 those who had it in their power to make them 
 fcftam rtturni. My poor father became at 
 length sensible of the folly and danger of such 
 a conduct ; he is now pining under heartfelt 
 grief and remorse for what is past ; but my 
 mother continues to act upon the same principles,. 
 Ihoiigh her daughter's ruin is one of the conse- 
 qucnce^: of \i. '^h^: boasts of the friends she has 
 
33 
 
 made, and the conveniences she derives from It« 
 1'his way of thinking and acting is among the 
 obhgations she owes to Lady Belmour. I was 
 the first-bora of this marriage. Lady Belmour 
 w as my godmother : if she had promised and 
 vowed, that I should zvors/iip the pomps and. 
 vanities of the world, and sacrifice every things 
 to them, she bad been a faithful sponsor ; for 
 every precept of hers was directly opposite tO' 
 those of the Catechism. 
 
 She inspired me with the love of dress and 
 pleasure ; she laughed me out of that natural 
 reserve which is given by Heaven to be the 
 guard of female virtue. She taught me to des- 
 pise unfashionable doctrines and persons ; she 
 carried me to public places, and shewed me 
 young women, who lived in all the gaieties of 
 life, without any apparent means to support 
 them* She told me that handsome girls might 
 always make their fortunes, if it were not their 
 own faults. Thus educated, thus prepared for 
 ruin, she threw me in the way of young men of 
 high rank and fortune, who were unprincipled' 
 in all that regarded our sex. 
 
 I was gratified by the homage tliey paid mej 
 I took to myself all the merit their dattery^ 
 bestowed upon me; I was intoxicated, with' 
 vanity^ or I never could have believed tliafe 
 Lord C ■ »"■" — would make me his wife, esp.e= 
 
■ 34 
 
 cially after I had been his mistress. He per- 
 suaded me to put myself under his protection ; 
 and Lady Belmour seconding his designs, I fell a 
 victim to Ihem. 
 
 Here she covered her face, and wept. — Dear 
 Madam, proceed ! said I. I pity you with my 
 heart and soul ; indeed you are more to he pitied 
 than blamed. — She resumed her narrative. — A 
 transient dream of pleasure succeeded ; but I 
 soon awoke to real misery. My weak heart, 
 and perverted judgment, believed in promises 
 g{ eternal constancy and 7ieve) failing love. Alas! 
 how common the deception! and. how common 
 the too late conviction! In two months the 
 ardour of his passion abated ; in another he 
 grew tired of me, and sought a new object of 
 his depraved appetite. 
 
 During his occasional absences, the mistress 
 of the house where I lodged lent me some books 
 to read, for I complained of being too much 
 alone : among these were some that opened my 
 mental eye, and shewed me the misery of my 
 situation : I was struck with horror and remorse, 
 and unavailing penitence. 
 
 I got acquainted with this good woman, and 
 opened my heart to her : she saw and pitied my 
 distress ; she lent me other books that spoke 
 of pardon aod peace to the returning sinner ; 
 
35 
 
 these I eagerly studied, and made them my con* 
 staiit companions. 
 
 When Lord C returned, I received 
 
 him with coldness and disgust. He desired an 
 explanation of this behaviour, and I gave him 
 such an one as he did not expect. He laughed 
 at my scruples and at my penitence. — Sukcy, 
 says he, I intended to come to an explanation 
 with you, but you have prevented me : ta!<e 
 courage, my girl ! these fancies v,'il] soon wear 
 off. I will send Lady Belmour to comfort you, 
 and to do the office of a friend between us. I 
 am glad to find that you are as willing to part 
 as I am. Adieu, my charmer !— So saj'ing, lies 
 went from me, and in an hour after Lady Bel- 
 mour came. She enumerated the advantages 
 arising from such connections as these ; said^ 
 that men were fickle creatures, but their for- 
 tunes were convenient to us ; that we should 
 bear with their faults, and make advantage by 
 their weaknesses, for in them lay our strength 
 and wisdom. 
 
 She then acquainted me that Lord C 
 had deposited a bond of five hundred pounds in 
 her hands for my use, which would efi'ectually 
 comfort me for his loss. A few more such 
 affairs as this, my dear, said she, will make 
 your fortune, and set you above the world, 
 c 6 
 
■so 
 
 I made no reply to her arguments, birt only 
 begged her to give me the bond.— No, my cliild, 
 not yet, said she ; you are too young and igno- 
 rant to act for yourself. I will keep it for you ^ 
 and when I see a proper time, I will either sur- 
 render it, or employ it for your service. 
 
 I demanded the bond, and said I had earned 
 it too dearly. She laughed.— You shall go with 
 me into the country in the summer, and then 
 we shall talk further on this subject, said she.— 
 She left me in the suUens, as she called it ; 
 and said, when I was in a better humour she 
 would see me again. She called again two days 
 after ; she made me a new proposal, as she 
 called it, and a settlement, from another party 
 I had not yet seen. I refused it with disdain. 
 I asked for my bond, and was again refused* 
 I was angry; we quarrelled; she called me sauce- 
 box, and left me in wrath, saying, she would see 
 me no mere till I knew better the value of her 
 friendship. I resolved to leave my lodging, to 
 sell all my clothes and trinkets, and with the 
 money put myself into business ; but my ap- 
 pearance gave suspicions of my character. I 
 desired the mistress of my lodgings to recom- 
 mend me to any lady of character that wanted a 
 companion ; she spoke to a widow lady, who 
 took me upon her word, and I joyfully went to 
 her house, I had not been there many week?/ 
 
before Lady Bclmour found means to inform my 
 protectress of my late connexion with Lord 
 C ' ; in consequence of which she dis- 
 
 missed me immediately, without examining into 
 the particulars of my story and situation. 
 
 I kept up my spirits till this event, and then 
 they forsook me. I went home to my father's 
 house almost in despair. My father was moved 
 with my distress ; but my mother reproached 
 me with ingratitude to Lady Belmour, and told 
 me I must ask her pardon, before she would re- 
 ceive me to her favour. 
 
 Mrs. Crosby soon after visited my mother^ 
 and joined with her to persuade me to visit 
 Lady Belmour with her, and that she would 
 use her influence with her to forgive me, and to 
 restore my bond. This argument prevailed with 
 me to come hither, for I knew there was no other 
 method to recover it ; and if I could prevail on 
 Lady Belmour to give it me, I have now an offer 
 ©f entering into business, in partnership with a 
 woman of character. 
 
 Since I came hither. Lady Belmour has hinted 
 to me, that my reconciliation with Aer depends 
 upon an implicit obedience to all her commands; 
 and that she has expectations upon me, which 
 will soon be further explained, and that will 
 put it in my power to make my own terms 
 with her. 
 
I dread this explanation ; I know too well her 
 character and employment. I am fearful of 
 being exposed to new attacks ; of dangers, and 
 perhaps insults, in this place ; in which case I 
 have no friend to protect me from Lady Bel- 
 mour's power. I am resolved not to enter into 
 any new connexiun; if I should find myself in this 
 dangerous situation, I will fly from it ; if I could 
 depend upon any friend to favour my escape, I 
 should be less apprehensive and more easy. I 
 would not for the world engage you, Sir, in any 
 contest cr difficulty. I have told you nothing 
 but simple truth ; I seek not to conceal or ex- 
 tenuate my faults or follies ; I thank God, I 
 have seen them early ,^ and am determined to 
 avoid them in future, and to lead a life of so- 
 briety and virtue; but I am disappointed of the 
 ?/icans to put my resolutions in practice, and re- 
 mam at present in a very disagreeable and pre- 
 carious situation. I am afraid of others, and I 
 am afraid of mi/self; lest either iiiterest or plea- 
 sure should tempt me to return into the path I 
 have but just escaped, and habit confirm me the 
 slave of vice during my life. 
 
 Here Miss Jones ended her narrative, and 
 with the greatest diffidence waited my sentence 
 upon it. I comforted and re-assured her; pitied 
 her misfortunes, and commended her virtuous 
 resolutions. 
 
o9 
 
 I promised to be her friend and protector, in 
 case slie should want my assistance. We sepa- 
 rated after having agreed to behave with the 
 same distance and reserve as hitherto in com- 
 pany, and to communicate to each other every 
 thing that we could discover in regard to Lady 
 Belmour's designs upon either of us» 
 
 Some days after these incidents, there arrived 
 two gentlemen in an elegant post-chaise, with 
 flaming liveries. On the first view of it the 
 ladies exclaimed, It is dear Mr. Livermore ! I 
 ran out to see this welcome visitor ; when I sav/ 
 step out of the carriage a figure that excited 
 such an inclination to laugh as I could hardly 
 suppress^ He was dressed in the gayest and 
 most effeminate style, with a person that set all 
 his ornaments at defiance. 
 
 A broad red face, embroidered v/ith large 
 pimples with white heads ; a wide mouth full of 
 yellow straggling teeth, with an affected smile 
 upon it ; a clumsy person overdressed, with au 
 air and manner that beggars all description. 
 He walked as if he was dancing ; he lisped wheu 
 he spoke : if any man had strove to render af- 
 fectation detestable, he would have imitated him. 
 
 This Adonis was accompanied by a Mr. Allen, 
 his parasite : by their reception, you w^ould have 
 supposed they were the most beautiful and 
 amiable among the children of men. 
 
40 
 
 From the time this cher mignon arrived here, 
 I observed Miss Jones's countenance wore a veil 
 of deep concern. Lady Behnour watched every 
 turn of her eye, and every look that passed 
 between her and me. I snatched a moment's 
 opportunity, to say to her, — INIeet me in the 
 pavilion to-morrow morning i;t six o'clock ! 
 
 The next mornnig I went, to my appointment, 
 by five o'clock, and sauntered about for an hour,, 
 which I thought as long as three. At length the 
 lady appeared. — Alas! Sir, said she, I am in- 
 volved in a, new perplexity. This coxcomb Liver- 
 more. — This Adonis, said L- — ^\Vell, Sir, tliis ac- 
 complished favourite of Lady llelmour and Mrs. 
 Crosby, encouraged by them, has had the as- 
 surance to offer nie a settlement, which I have 
 answered with proper indignation and contempt. 
 Lady Belmour laughed, sneeringly, — Pretty airs, 
 Sukey ! and to me that know you ! — ^Yes, Ma- 
 dam, so you do, to my cost, I am sure. — Saucy 
 slut! And so you think to pass yourself upon 
 that novice Saville, for a piece of virtuous com- 
 position! I see your aim, and I shall cross it. 
 
 Indeed, ^Madam, you are mistaken ; I have 
 no design upon Mr. Saville ; nor he upon me.— 
 That I shall know more certainly hereafter ; 
 but,, in the mean time, pray, Ma'am, how do 
 you intend to dispose of yourself ? — If, said I, 
 >our Ladyship would restore me the bond m 
 
41 
 
 \our possession, I would employ it in tnuiej,, 
 and lead a life more suitable to my inclination. — 
 I believe you lie, child ! said she, haughtily. — 
 No, indeed. Madam ; I am serious in this inten- 
 tion. — Then you are a fool, said she, and cannot 
 discern your own interest : but, to convince you 
 that I do not mean to I'ob you of yom propcrt]/^ 
 I will tell you 7/iy intentions ; I am still more 
 your friend than you deserve; lam endeavour- 
 ing to procure you an establishment for life. 
 Mr. Livermore has made you a noble ofter; he 
 will share his fortune with you, while you can 
 letaiu his heart, and settle two hundred a year 
 upon you for Hfo. You refuse his proposal be- 
 cause you do not like his person ; foolish pre- 
 judice ! or else because you have other views^ 
 which I percetve plainly enough, for I am not 
 to be imposed on by your Magdalen airs. 
 
 As soon as you are engaged- in- a new con- 
 nexion, I will put the bond into your hand.s, 
 but not before ; for I will not put it in your 
 power to reproach me for what is- past, nor yet 
 to expose me and my society o{ friends to the 
 animadversion of the ignorant, the maliciovSf 
 nor the hypocritical part of the world, by making, 
 you independent of me. 
 
 Soon after, Mr. Livermore came, and w:th 
 all his aftectation and grimace declared a passion 
 for n;e^ and renewed his proposal.. To have 
 
■ 42 
 
 mentioned a virtuous motive of refusal, would 
 have been to speak an unknown language to 
 him, and have brought upon me the ridicule 
 and contempt of the whole Society : I therefore 
 told him, as plainly as I dared, that his person 
 was not agreeable to me. — Ah, Madam, said 
 he, am I then so unfortunate as not to please 
 you? There are those that — Excuse mysincerity^ 
 Sir, said I, but I would ratlier give mj/.sc/f to a 
 ploughman, than sell inifsclf to a prince. — He 
 shrugged, sighed, bowed — Ak crudele, iiigrafo, 
 tijraniw! adio, mio Carol — He danced out of 
 the room backwards ; and, though my mind was 
 strongly agitated, I could hardly restrain my 
 laughter till he was out of sight ; but 1 have 
 been serious enough ever since. 
 
 You are very ingenuous, said I. I am this 
 moment thinking how I can be of service to you. 
 Lady Belmour thinks there is an understanding 
 between you and me ; let us encourage this 
 notion, it will prevent her forming other con- 
 nexions for either of us. I shall enjoy great 
 pleasure in deceiving her penetration, and at the 
 same time assisting you. I shall own jnyself 
 your protector; under this character I will de- 
 mand your bond of her; when you have it in 
 your possession, you may employ it as you 
 think best. We will leave this house together ; 
 vou shall pursue your own schemes, and you 
 
i3 
 
 may depeiid upon my friendship, and furtlir'i 
 assistance, if necessary ; for it is incumbent on 
 me to convince you, it was not merely curiofiity 
 that made me take a part in what concerns you. 
 She looked down, bowed, blushed, and hesi- 
 tated ; atlast she spoke, — Oh, Sir! you are too 
 good and too generous, to deceive or impose on 
 any person; I am infinitely obliged for your good 
 opinion, and for the friendship 3'ou offer me : 
 but, alas, Sir! neither you nor I can impose on 
 Lady Belmour : she is as cunning as Lucifer ; 
 sometimes I think she can read what passes iu 
 the hearts of people. She will discover your ar- 
 tifice, and will either contrive to separate us, 
 or else she will endeavour to bring our supposed 
 connexion to reality. 1 v,'arn you of it now, Sir, 
 lest you should hereafter think me in any degree 
 accessary to her designs. — My good girl, said I, 
 I am pleased with your generous frankness ; it 
 confirms my intention ; only take i/07tr part m it, 
 and I will take all the blame that happens to 
 myself; give me your hand upon it. — She did 
 so. — Let us begin our plan directly; we will walk 
 together in sight of the house. — Oh, Sir, said 
 she, you are not aware of the dangers of this 
 scheme ; if we are seen together. Lady Belmour 
 will have her plots against us. — Let her see us, 
 said I ; let them all see us, and make their re^ 
 marks, it will forward my design.— But, Sir, if 
 
■ 44 
 Mr. Livermore should resent r — I should be tli- 
 "jcrted, and would make him a,n object ot" enter- 
 tainment to all the society ; but I know he 
 dares not. 
 
 She came reluctantly into my scheme. I took 
 her hand, and led her in sight of tlie house ; we- 
 were soon observed, and bhewn to the rest.. 
 They tailed us to breakfast ; I led her to the 
 company. We had looks, nods, and winks., 
 thrown at us from all quarters. Lady Belmour 
 seemed in doubt whether to encourage or separate 
 us. She rallied me ; I returned it. She called, 
 me Cymon, and asked me if that was my Iphigene 
 or my Sylvia? — No matter, said I, so long as it' 
 is not my Urganda. — She put up her lip. Mrs, 
 Crosby took my part ; she made Lady Belmouc 
 laugh off her auger. These sober fellows,, said 
 she, when their hearts are touched the first 
 time, are dragons in love and assurance. 
 
 Finding me steady and undaunted, she wished 
 me joy on the discovery that I had a heart. I 
 thanked her ; and said, I hoped she would let 
 ywe have the credit of the discovery. The rest 
 congratulated me and Sukey; she looked con- 
 fused and uneasy. 
 
 Mr. Livermore looked disdainfully at us, and 
 turned all his attentions to Miss La None, who 
 received them graciously. After the first open- 
 ing, they let us enjoy our conversatious quietly. 
 
45 
 
 After this project of mine had taken place^ 
 1 took a part in several parties of pleasure, and 
 made Sukey my companion iu them. One day 
 that we had been on an excursion, Lady Belmour 
 met us at our return with a note in her hand, 
 ■which she was reading. — My sprightly lads and 
 lovely girls, listen to me ! You are all invited to 
 a rural ball on Thursday next. — We all gathered 
 round her, and begged to know to whom we 
 were obliged for this invitation. 
 
 A gentleman farmer in the next parish, said 
 our lady, Mr. A. Collins by name, is lately come 
 to the possession of an estate of about two 
 hundred a year, by the death of an old batchelor, 
 his very distant relation. This young man has 
 notions in his head, tliat he ought not to live in 
 obscurity, but be known and make ajigvre among 
 his new neighbours ; to this end he is going to 
 call them together, to celebrate his birth-day: 
 he has done us the honour to invite us among 
 the rest, and sends this note, which I shall read 
 to you. 
 
 " Mr. Andrew Collins presents liis mosthumble 
 ** respects and compliments to my Lady Bel- 
 *' mour, and all the gentlemen and ladies be- 
 ** longing unto her good family, and begs they 
 ** will do him the great honour and favour to 
 *' give him their company to a farra^er's dinner. 
 
4<J 
 
 " supper, and dance, at Oak-Hall, on Thursdav, 
 " August 20." 
 
 Now what say you, my children ? Shall we 
 go and give the farmer a lesson of good breed- 
 ing ? Shall we show him how to act his part on 
 the stage of life, and initiate him into the mys- 
 teries of the goddess of fashion ? what say you ?— 
 What your ladyship pleases, was the general 
 answer. — Well then, I say, let us go. I foresee 
 much amusement, we shall meet there some of 
 the stiiict/ small geiifry, who have had the imper- 
 tinence to decline our society ; we will mortify 
 them by our politeness and hilarity, and we shall 
 see some fine subjects to exercise our wit and 
 humour upon. Girls, what say you to a gentle- 
 man farmer ? is there any of you that will set 
 your cap at hun ? — Yes, I will, said Nancy El- 
 ford. 
 
 I do not give my consent to that, said Sir 
 George Richmore, her paramour; I cannot spare 
 Nancy this summer, vi'hatevcr I may do the next. 
 
 Be quiet, Sir Georgy, said my lady, you shall 
 not spoil the girl's marriage ; thou shalt have 
 him, Nancy, if thou wilt, and I will manage it 
 for thee. I know a person that would suit the 
 Farmer better (looking at my friend Suke}); but 
 she has thought proper to cater for herself, so I 
 shall leave ker to her fate; but enough of this 
 
47 
 kind. Well, my boys and girls, hold yourselves 
 ill readiness against Thursday. 
 
 As we walked into the drawing-room, I said 
 to Sukey Jones, So the poor farmer is already 
 disposed of ? — Aye, said she, and it might have 
 been jnij fortune, you find, if I had been more 
 obedient. — Well, said I, let them go on at their 
 peril 1 
 
 All the evening after, we practised cotillions, 
 and other dances, in order to surprize the coun- 
 trv folk at farmer Collins's assembly. 
 
 The morning after I rose early, and rode to 
 INIr. Franklin's. He kindly reproached me with 
 my long absence, and pressed me to stay and 
 breakfast v/iih liiin ; at his request I sat down 
 with him and his fauiily. His wiie is amiable 
 and obliging ; his children have the rose of 
 health upon their cheeks, and the smile of in- 
 nocence and peace beautifies their features. I 
 enjoyed the dear domestic circle, and partook 
 of their happiness. 
 
 As we were sitting at the table, a gentleman 
 came in whom I had never seen before. He 
 came forward in a genteel and familiar way, 
 saying, — Sit still, my good friends; no ceremony 
 with me, I insist. JMr. Franklin, I rejoice to see 
 you well, and happy with your amiable family. 
 Franklin rose, and took his hand ; Welcome, 
 thrice welcome home, dear Mr, Selby ! I hope 
 
4S 
 you are now come to fix among us! — I am, Sir ; 
 I have brought my happiness home with me, 
 and shall have nothing to carry me from yovi 
 again. — Vou are then married to Miss Bennet? — 
 Ko, I am not yet so happy. Our dear mother 
 wished us to be married at our own village, and 
 I could not refuse her any thing, but I hope it 
 -vvill not be delayed much longer. — Is Mrs. Ben- 
 jiet to live with you at the parsonage ? — No, my 
 friend, she and Miss Melcombe will reside at 
 the house I purchased lately, and be our best 
 neighbours; and your family I reckon as the next 
 to them in our estimation. — I see a card upon 
 your table ; have you not had an invitation to 
 Coilins's ball next Thursday ? — Yes; and so have 
 you, I suppose? — You are right; and the ladies, 
 are not they too invited ? — Yes, certainly; but 
 they will not go, nor I neither. — And why, Sir? 
 —Because Lady Belmour and her gang are to 
 be there ; the foolish fellow thought he gave 
 'himself consequence by inviting them. I shall 
 not carry our dear little girls into such company. 
 -—Take care of what you say, Sir, for this gentle- 
 man is one of Lady Belmour's family.— No, 
 surely! — Yes, certainly. But do not be frighten- 
 ed: he is my friend. This is the gentleman whom 
 I mentioned to IMr. Butler, your curate ; and 
 whom he mentioned to Mr. Jarvis. 
 
 Say no more, Butler has told me all, Franklin, 
 3 
 
45) 
 
 v^nn must inlrotlucc nic. — I rose, and bowed. 
 Franklin took a hand of each of us, and joined 
 them. — Sir, said T, I shall be happy to be of your 
 acquaintance, if Mr. Franklin will answer for 
 nie. — Yes, said he, I will' be your god-father to 
 this gentleman, our rector ; and the v/ortliy suc- 
 cessor to our late excellent pastor, JMr.Bennet.— 
 In the course of a very agreeable conversation it 
 appeared, that Mr. Butler n-as the person who 
 gave Mr. JohiTSon intelligence of the situation of 
 one Mr. Savilie, who resided at the Island of 
 Calypso. This circumstance set aside further 
 ceremony, and in an hour's time we became 
 friends, and familiar ones too. 
 
 I left this company with extreme reluctance, 
 and they were as unwillifjg to part with 'me. I 
 tore myself away, and came home but just in 
 time for dinner. 
 
 Lady Belm.our interrogated me like a school- 
 boy, and I made lier saucy answers. My friend 
 Sukey desired me to testify, that 5^ knew nothing 
 of my absence or return. I told her, I did not 
 hold myself accountable to any hody for my mo- 
 tions. — LadyBelmour drew up, and looked statel}". 
 
 In the evening another coxcomb arris'ed here, 
 
 Lord S , who paid his homage to Mrs. Crosby, 
 
 After this ball is over, you shall hear from mc 
 again; for this time I bid you adieu. 
 
 Yours, faithfully, 
 
 D E. vSaVILI.E' 
 
50 
 
 LETTER IX. 
 
 MR. JOHNSON TO Mil. SAVILLE. 
 
 I THANK you, my dear Sir, for your communi- 
 cations; the sincerity with which you paint every 
 emotion of your own heart, as well as others, is 
 truly amiable. The former part of your conduct 
 is unexceptionable ; but excuse me if I doubt 
 the prudence of the latter. The scheme which 
 vou have so hastily formed, and begun to exe- 
 cute, is attended with much danger to yourself, 
 and may probably lead you into the labyrinth 
 which you have hitherto avoided ; and give oc- 
 casion to those who have set snares in your way 
 to triumph in their success. 
 
 Miss Jones is, by your account, an amiable 
 young woman ; her modesty and ingenuousness 
 have more charms for your untainted heart, 
 than all the factitious graces of her competitors. 
 This game of playing at making love generally 
 ends in good earnest ; I am doubtful whether 
 this precaution will come in time to be of service 
 to you. 
 
 Be not, however, frightened at my remon- 
 strance; tell me the worst that has happened, 
 and I will advise you how to make the best of 
 it, for you may yet recover, and be the stronger 
 for your fall. 
 
SI 
 
 I could say much on the subject, but I will 
 wait your reply. If you are not fast bound in 
 those soft fetters which seem light till you want 
 to cast than off, leave Calypso's Island, ai.d 
 hasten to your sincere and affectionate friend, 
 
 Johnson. 
 
 LETTER X. 
 
 MU. SAVILLE TO MR. JOHNSON. 
 
 On Wednesday, two new members of our society 
 made their first appearance here, a Mrs. Watkins 
 and a Miss Freewill. The former, a little deform - 
 ed figure, with all the affected airs and graces that 
 render beauty itself disgusting: she was patched 
 and painted, trimmed, flounced, and furbelowed, 
 till, as Farquhar e,xpresses it, you could not see 
 her head for her tail. The latter, a pert, lively 
 hoiden, just broke loose from a boarding-school, 
 with so many natural charms, and so many ac- 
 quired graces, that it was not easy to distinguish 
 between them. There was, however, an attrac- 
 tion about her, and I felt a degree of the mag- 
 netism, till reason called me to account, and 
 toid me they were only sensual attractions, and 
 that she had none for a cultivated mind. 
 
 Before the arrival of this young enchantress, 
 I was actually debating with myself whether 
 Susan Jones would not be, an agreeable compa- 
 P 2 
 
• 52 
 
 niou for mc. I perceived in her a kind of pru- 
 dery, more pleasing to nie, than an open attack 
 upon my heart; she looked as if she wished to 
 please mc, and yet feared to please too much. 
 In the moments of cool and sober reflexion, I 
 disdained the vile suggestions, and one glimpse 
 of a retrospect with }'0u, my dear iMonitor, put 
 them all to flight. 
 
 jNIy first interview with this lively girl turned 
 the scale on her side ; my heart seemed to want 
 only an object to fix its afi'cctions. Miss Free- 
 v.fli distinguished me early; she enquired who 
 and what I was. Lady Belmour introduced us 
 to each other in form: she seemed to wish we 
 might like each other; she spoke well of each 
 to the other; and told me that Miss Freewill 
 had a very handsome fortune. 
 
 I understood that this young hoiden Lad 
 eloped from the lady under whose care her guar- 
 dian had placed her, and had taken her first 
 st-^p into life under the auspices of INIr. Wat- 
 kins, who had brought her to Lady Belmour's, 
 in order to introduce her into the best company. 
 This fair lady pointed the artillery of her eyes 
 directly at my heart. I perceived her attack, 
 and was upon the defensive. Lady Belmour 
 whispered me^-Oh Saville! what an insensible 
 •wretch thou art! here were a girl worthy of the 
 homage of thy heart, whicli thou hast surrender- 
 
cd to that unanimated prude, Sukey Jones. — I 
 was disconcerted; but, recovering, I said, My 
 heart refuses the election of another, it will 
 choose its own mistress, and be its own moni- 
 tor. — Saucebox ! said she, bo more civilized, or 
 I shall give thee up to thy fate. — Notwithstand- ' 
 ing the airs I assum.ed, I was not easy with my- 
 self. I found nivielf exactly in the situation of 
 the young Teleuiachus, in the Island of Cyprus. 
 
 Telemachus thought on his Mentor, as one 
 departed to the Elysian fields, and this encou- 
 raged his weakness, as being freed from the re- 
 straint of his admonitions: but I thought on my 
 living Mentor, and it strengthened my resolu- 
 tion, which before was in a tottering state. 
 
 These reflexions awakened my mind, and put 
 me upon my guard both against myself and 
 those around me. 
 
 The young enchantress seemed to take plea- 
 sure in teazing me; the rest of the company 
 took the hint, and encouraged her to persevere 
 in doing so. — She asked Lady Belmour, Can 
 Mr. Saville sing } can he play ? can he talk r — 
 They enjoyed my embarrassment. After dinner 
 we all went into the saloon, music was called 
 for — Can Mr. Saville dance? — No, said Lady 
 Belmour, he can do nothing that he is desired or 
 wished to do ; do not give yourself any trouble 
 ai)Out such an insensible creature, my dear Miss 
 X) 3 
 
54 
 Freewill. — Mrs, Crosby rallied me upon my 
 want of courage to answer so fair a challenger. 
 I started up, bowed, and presented my hand to 
 the lady, I had the good fortune to acquit 
 myself to hers and the company's satisfaction. 
 The Syren danced charmingly. Several minuets 
 uere danced, I performed a second with my 
 friend IMiss Jones, who seemed pleased with my 
 attentions, I\iiss Freewill tossed up her head 
 ■with an air of contempt, for Sukey's minuet 
 -would not do after hers: but I remembered my 
 situation, and tlioughl it safer to continue my 
 notice to her. 
 
 Lady Belmour commended my dancing. — I 
 hope, said I, I have convinced your ladyship, 
 and the company, that I do not always refuse 
 their commands. — You are a strange creature, 
 said she, you can please if you will, but you are 
 *n humourist, and are not to be advised. I sup- 
 pose if I should call upon you to-morrov/ even- 
 ing to dance a minuet, you will refuse me .'— 
 No, Madam, I will not, if you give me that lady 
 for my partner. — Well, said she, that is some- 
 thing like: I shall try you. — In the evening I 
 vias called out to a person who wanted to speak 
 with me. It was Mr. Franklin's servant, who 
 brought a letter from his master, which he was 
 ordered to deliver to none but my own hands. 
 The contents as follow: 
 
55 
 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 WE are informed that Lady Bclmour intends 
 Mr. Collins the favour of recommending a part- 
 nerfor life, as well as for to-morrow evening, of 
 which you dropt a hint also at our last meeting. 
 It is resolved, on our part, to v,arn him of Lis 
 danger, and to assist him to escape it. 
 
 The principal reason of my gi"ving you this 
 trouble is, to inform you that there will be some 
 grotesque figures at Farmer Collins's ball to- 
 morrow, who are not entirely unknown to you; 
 but you are desired not to know, nor to guess 
 at them, nor thejr business there, nor to glv(i 
 the least hint. 
 
 Perhaps there may be of this party some 
 country girls, who might compare with any of 
 Calypso's nymphs ; we will allow of your curio- 
 sity in respect to them, for you cannot discover 
 more than you know. , 
 
 If you behave to our satisfaction, you may 
 stand a chance to know and be known to them 
 hereafter. So wishing you an agreeable partr.er 
 for the evening, 
 
 I remain your faithful friend, 
 
 and obedient servant, 
 
 John Franklix. 
 
 Wednesday Afternoon, 
 
 I put my letter carefully into a private pocket, 
 and returned to the company : they were inqui- 
 D 4 
 
sitive; but I evaded their questions. Miss Free- 
 will Jlirted with me evidently, and her forward- 
 ness was the only shield against her attractions-. 
 To avoid the danger of her eyes, I directed nay 
 attentions to Miss Jooes, who was treated rather 
 cavalierly on my account; I danced with her 
 till supper-time, after which we broke into par- 
 ties. 
 
 We separated early j and went to our respec- 
 tive apartments; x^eserving ourselves for the 
 morrow. 
 
 I THAVK you, my dear paternal friend, for 
 your wise and seasonable admonition, it came in 
 time for me; and yet it might have come too 
 late, if something unforeseen had not interposed 
 between me and the dangers you foresaw. 
 
 1 have a long story to tell you, but must re- 
 late all the circumstances in the order in which 
 they happened. I will begin with the rustic, 
 ball, of which I promised an account. 
 
 When we arrived at Collins's \vg were shewn- 
 into a large old-fashioned wainscotted hall, well 
 lighted, by a contrivance of lixing bits of clay 
 aji round the room, and putting candles into 
 them. There was a great number of oaken 
 phinks laid across chairs at convenient distances, 
 so as to make seats for all the company. The 
 atcomai'jd aliens, though rusticj,. were conve- 
 
57 
 nient. RounJ every candle socket (as I may 
 call it) was a wreath of green, intermixed with 
 flowers, which had a good effect. Our arrival 
 seemed to put the house in a bustle; our host 
 came and paid his compliments, and acknow- 
 ledged the honour that was done him, in a 
 manner courteous, though awkward. He was 
 dressed in a handsome suit of second mourning, 
 and his hair very tolerably dressed, for which 
 purpose a hair-dresser was fetched from the towa 
 of I — — ; silk stockings, and every article of his 
 dress in a style above his situation, and indeed he 
 looked as if he thought it added much to his 
 consequence. After the first compliments, Lady 
 Belmour, with the most polite and insinuating 
 air and manner, took CoUins's hand (which was 
 none of the softest), and with the smile of a 
 goddess said, My dear Sir, will you give me 
 leave to recom.mend a partner to you fur this 
 evening ? — Collins bowed — blushed — hesitated. 
 —1 saw in a moment that the hint had been 
 
 given . — M a — M a — iNI adam — s aid lie 1 — I — 
 
 I — have consulted a friend who understands 
 these matters better than I do; and he has told 
 me, that it is customary upon these occasions,, 
 to change partners every dance ;^ and I intend, 
 if your Ladyship has no objection, to follow his 
 direction ?— By all means, answered our Lady- 
 ship. — The rest of the company encored, By all 
 s> 5 
 
. 58 
 means.— But Sir, said she, will you not intro- 
 duce us to the rest of your company ? — -Madam, 
 said he, I will bring them to you, for our par- 
 lour is too small now the company is encreased. 
 —He went out, and in three minutes returned, 
 followed by a numerous company, composed of 
 all the principal farmers, uith their wives and 
 daughters; spruce tradesmen; and small gen- 
 try in the neighbourhood. We saluted them 
 in the politest manner, and desired them to be 
 seated, 
 
 Collins, by the assistances of his //vV/irf (whoiH 
 I shall introduce to you by and by), acquitted 
 himself very properly as master of the house, 
 and the ceremonies also; the music was called 
 for, a very decent band; they piaysd a piece or 
 two byway of prelude, and we were preparing 
 to dance, when a knocking was heard at the oul- 
 ward door; it opened, and two couple of stran- 
 gers made their appearance; the women were 
 masked, the men painted and disguised; one 
 seemed a sailor, the other a fanner cf the lowest 
 order. The latter came forward, and made an 
 aukward bow before he spoke. — Hearing, said 
 he, that Master Collins liad a feast en this day, 
 we made bold to come hither to see the enter- 
 tainment, and to congratulate him on the in- 
 crease of his fortune. My name is John Bull; 
 my comrade's, Sam Eov/ling; these girls are our 
 
59 
 
 sweethearts; that is enough to say about us. 
 For the rest, we must trust to Master Colhns's 
 hospitality for our welcome. Collins welcomed 
 them with an air of ease and freedom, that 
 shewed he had been advertised of their visit. 
 They took their places among the farmer's fanu- 
 lies. The seeming farmer made a sign to Col- 
 lins, and he ordered the music to play a minuet. 
 
 Collins stept up to Lady Belmour: he begged 
 that she would do him the honour to open his 
 ball, and to take out a gentleman whom she 
 thought proper for her partner. My I.ady looked 
 astonished at the politeness and propriety of this 
 address (which I plainly understood as a part of 
 the lesson he had been taught) ; she answered, 
 Then, Mr. Collins, I shall take no other than 
 yourself. He bowed to the ground, took her 
 hand, and led her down with a very good grace, 
 and looked less abashed than could have been 
 expected. But wot you well, the youth had 
 been in training a month before, under an itine- 
 rant dancing-master, and was prepared to ex- 
 hibit his person in a minuet^ to the great asto- 
 nishment of all his friends and neighbours, who 
 stared incessantly, and could hardly believe their 
 own eyes. 
 
 Collins walked his minuet, for it could not be 
 called dancing, but seemed in continual fear of 
 blundering: my lady looked like the goddess of 
 
 I>(3 
 
ease and plenty, and moved very gracefLilly.. 
 Any body, unacquainted with her character, 
 must hcTve been prejudiced in her favour. She 
 behaved with such politeness to CoUins, as 
 helped him through the part he was acting ; 
 and whicli he perfoi-med better than could be 
 expected; he handed my lady back to her seat 
 with great applause; the poor fellow pufTed and 
 blowed,, and wiped his face; he had worthed him- 
 self into a violent perspiration, and it was some 
 minutes before he recovered his voice or his- 
 courage. When he was able, he asked my Lady. 
 to tell him who should be taken out, and he 
 should take it as the greatest favour she could 
 do him. She was pleased with the office, and. 
 
 called out Lord S and Mrs. Crosby; they 
 
 danced a very good minuet ; Sir George Rich- 
 more and Miss La Noue ; Mr. Morris, and 
 Miss Elford. Mr. Livermore and Mrs. Wat- 
 kins ! never did I see a couple more completely 
 ridiculous ; a smile or a simper sat upon the 
 faces of the whole company. Mr. John Bull 
 Ixiughed without fear or ceremony ; I edged 
 towards him, to take a nearer notice of him. — - 
 Neighbours, said he, those figures there are a 
 Jijie gentleman and Sijine ladi/ ! they are of use 
 to those who can observe what they see, for they 
 make fashion and affectation as odious and con- 
 temptiblfi as they ought to be,. Look at them,. 
 
61 
 
 and then you will learn to despise them, and' 
 such as imitate them !— I approached him ; Have 
 a little mercy, farmer, said I! — No, said he, I 
 will have none, I am here, like the Clown in the 
 old comedy, to point out folly and to chastise it» 
 Look to yourself,, young gentleman; if you de- 
 serve my lash, you shall feel it. — Indeed! said 
 I. I will then look about me, and know my 
 company. — Be quiet, Saville, said he, observe 
 your directions, and get away to your own com- 
 pany. — I was about to reply, when I heard my- 
 self called out.— Lady Belmour said, I now ex- 
 pect the performance of your promise. — With' 
 pleasure, said I; and immediately took out Miss 
 Freewill, whose face glowed with apparent satis- 
 faction. She danced capitally; I did my best, 
 and we were warmly applauded. — This minuet,, 
 said Lady B — , makes amends for the last, in a 
 whisper to me. — I bowed, and went back to my 
 friend John Bull. — Will you do me the favour to 
 correct me, said L? — Go your way, and do not 
 be vain, said he. — I was again called away to 
 join in a cotilion, which was not too well per- 
 formed ; after which I went in search for the far- 
 mer ; but, instead of him, I met with the sailor.. 
 —He took my hand; What cheer, brother? — I 
 do not know yet, said I, till I am better ac- 
 quainted with my company. — What, said he, are 
 you so pleased with the farmer, tliat you have; 
 1 
 
. 62 
 
 nothing to say to his companion? — Not till be 
 has introduced me to him, said I. — Avast there! 
 I am his kinsman. — What of that? — You need 
 not be asl.amed to shake hands with a sailor ; 
 mind that, brother: perhaps I could show you 
 a tight little brig under my care, as well worth 
 your attack, as any of those fine-rigged frigates 
 there, with all their colours flying. — Perhaps so, 
 said I; but, if I remember my instructions, I am 
 forbidden to enquire too much. — You are very 
 obedient, said he ; perhaps it was only designed 
 to whet your curiosity. It is true, they are not 
 to be gazed on by profane or vulgar eyes, but 
 that should exciie you the more. — You deal in 
 paradoxes, said I. Show me to the rest of the 
 company! — Not yet, said he; but when the fine 
 folks are set into dancing, I will make a signal, 
 and you may follow me out if you think it worth 
 your while. — I shall expect it impatient!}', said 
 I. — While we were speaking, tlie forms were re- 
 moving, and they were preparing for country 
 ddnces. I saw Lady Belmour in conference with 
 the farmer, who seemed not to spare her auy 
 more than the rest of the company. I got near 
 enough to hear them, and observed that ahe had 
 the address to elude all his arrows ofw.it and sa- 
 tire, and returned them with superior courtesy 
 and politeness. I heard him say — The deuce is 
 xh the woman! Will you neither fight nor fly? 
 
63 
 
 — Neither, said she, but I will stand my ground. 
 I am sure that you are something above your 
 appearance, and I will take my revenge on you 
 for your impertinence, by commanding you to 
 dance a minuet with me. — I dance! I play the 
 monkey ! Not I, truly. — Harkee, friend, said she; 
 i/oii must ehhi^r Jig/tt or Jit/, in spite of your wU 
 and satire. As a genthvinn, I can take your 
 reproofs, and respect your intention; but as a ' 
 clown, I cannot submit to them, but will desire 
 some gentleman here to turn you out of the 
 room: so now you know the alternative. — There 
 is none, said he ; I find myself obliged to accept 
 5'our challenge; I respect your wit and polite^ 
 ness, and would be amongst the foremost to pay 
 homage to it, if your heart were as good as 
 your exteriors. — She bit her lip, and bade him 
 call to the musicians to play a minuet. I was 
 all astonishment, and they soon had a large 
 circle round them. The farmer danced in cha- 
 racter, and made some extraordinary gesticula- 
 tions; but at the conclusion he assumed the gen- 
 tleman, and making a bow, thanked her ladyship 
 for the honour she had done hirn, and at that 
 instant I recognized my friend John Franklin in 
 him. 
 
 tie came to me soon after. — I have made your 
 governness feel my lash ; and I should have said 
 more to her, but her politeiiess checked nae^ and 
 
. 64^ 
 
 her wit over-matched me. — You are the first 
 character here to-night, farmer, said I; but I 
 am afraid you will become too remarkable, and 
 be obnoxious to the displeasure, and perhaps 
 the revenge, of some people here. — I fear no- 
 thing, said he, my motive is my support; I came 
 hither to keep my country neighbours from being 
 dazzled by the false glare of fashion and folly. 
 .1 have shewn them the reverse of the picture, 
 and they look upon your lady Belmour with the 
 contempt she deserves. — And do you think you 
 are not known? — I care not much, said he; but 
 she and her crew don't know me; nor you of 
 course. — There you are mistaken, said I. You 
 are my friend Franklin. — Hush, said he; go to 
 your company, or I v.ill be even with you. — • 
 I give you leave, said I. — What fine girl is that 
 you took out for your minuet } Is that your Miss 
 Jones.? — No, said I; it is ]Miss Freewill; how do 
 you like her? — She dances too well to please me, 
 said he. — How is that explaiued.? — I would not 
 for the world that a mistress, a sister, or a daugh- 
 ter of mine, danced so well. — And why so? — 
 Because she must have lost the Jirst blush of 
 virgin modesty, before she could exhibit her per- 
 son to the utmost advantage. — A truce with mo- 
 ralizing, said I, I long to know your friend the 
 sailor, and to see the girls you have in charge. 
 —You shall see them in due time, Sayiilej, 
 
65 
 
 but go now and take a partner, the dance la 
 begun. 
 
 I saw Miss Jones without a partner; I went 
 directly to her, and we danced through it: after 
 it was finished, I saw the sailor waving his hand- 
 kerchief upon his stick. I excused myself to 
 my partner, and followed him out directly. He 
 led me into a distant room, where was Mr. Sel- 
 by, Mr. Franklin, and the two lasses in masks. 
 I ^saluted them, and they welcomed me. — I wish 
 you all success, my friends, in your laudable 
 undertaking. We have succeeded, said Mr. Sel- 
 by; the young fellow knows his danger, and is 
 aware of it; and the good people of the village 
 know how to estimate the fine people at the hall. 
 You have done more than this, said I; you 
 liave taught Mr. Collins how to acquit himself 
 properly on these occasions. But leaving this 
 subject; — Have I not a right, Mr. Franklin, to 
 expect that you should gratify my curiosity, 
 which you have evidently intended to raise. — 
 Explain yourself, said Mr, Selby. — ^It is I that 
 must explain, said Mr. Franklin; but first let 
 me introduce you to one who longs impatiently 
 to take your hand. — So saying, he called back 
 tlie sailor who was going out at the door: Sam 
 Elliot ; come hither first ! When instantly the 
 sailor came, and offered me his hand. — This 
 young man, said Fraukliu, is a kinsman o{ mip.e^ 
 
66 
 
 wlio is desirous to be better known to 5Tr. Sa- 
 ville. He is real!}/ a sailor, as I am a farmer ; 
 so that we can hardly be said to act a part in the 
 Drama, for the chararters are our own. 
 
 We saluted in a friendl}' manner, and I then 
 said, Still it remains to introduce me to the 
 ladies. I expect that j-ou make me amends for 
 the suspense you have caused. — Now comes the 
 explanation, said Franklin; I do confess that I 
 have excited Mr. Saville's curiosity, but it is 
 you, Sir, that mast gratify it, I have given him 
 leave to expect an introduction to our two girls 
 here. 
 
 I\Ir. Selby laughed. Surely there needed not 
 so much ceremony to introduce him to two 
 country girls, whom he must think unworthy of 
 his notice, after the Freewill's and Jones's who 
 are contending for it. — Spare me, dear Sir! said 
 I, I profess myself an admirer of beauty, when 
 adorned by virtue and simplicity of manners^ 
 Do not prejudice these ladies against me; I 
 am no favourite of any ladies here, nor have I 
 any favourite amongst them, but I aspire to the 
 favour of the worthies of the sex, and disclaim 
 all other intercourse with it. — Mr. Selby smiled: 
 Hear him, ladies; hear him! This is Mr, Sa- 
 ville, whom I have told you of already. Sir, 
 this is Miss Bennet, my wife elect; 1 mention 
 this circumstance, that you may guard your 
 
67 
 heart. — lie laughed at this precaution, and then 
 unmasked the hidy, and ahewed ine a very smart 
 and agreeable brunette; with an intelligent eye, 
 and an arch smile, that said, I can be a wag upon 
 occasion ! I begged her to think ftivourably of me,, 
 notwithstanding the company she found me in. 
 
 She courtsied gracefully and silently. Then 
 Franklin took the other lady's hand, and led her 
 to me. — This, Sir, said he, is Miss Sophia IMel- 
 ccmbe, J^JissBennet's foster-sister, and the sister 
 of her heart, who lionours me with her company 
 under my protection this night. She seemed to 
 unmask reluctantly; Franklin assisted her, and 
 disclosed to my^ eyes the loveliest maiden they 
 ever beheld j a fair complexion, dark blue eyes, 
 with long eye-lashes; auburn hair, inclining to 
 the chesnut; a smile that might have disarmed 
 a tyrant, and such dimples as Love himself might 
 point his arrows at; an air of the most perfect 
 modesty, without any mauvaise honte; she looked 
 intelligence, delicacy, and sv/eetness. I stood 
 surprized like another Cymon, and could now 
 liave told Lady Belmour that I had really found 
 an Iphigene. I gazed so intently, that I paid 
 my compliments aukwardly, and with some con- 
 fusion. She blushed at my gazings, and seemed 
 to withdraw from my notice. I recollected my- 
 self, and asked her to honour me with her hand 
 in a country-dance. — No, Sir, said she, not after 
 
• 6s 
 
 such dancers as you have engaged this evening.— 
 I hope this will not hinder you, Madam ? — No, 
 Sir; excuse me, I shall not dance at all. — I am 
 very sorry for it. 
 
 I made the same offer to Miss Bennet, who 
 also declined it very politely. They both spoke 
 in praise of Miss Freewill's dancing, and said it 
 was pity so fme a young lady should have fallen 
 into such company. I agreed with them. — Why, 
 said jMr. Franklin, don't you warn her of her 
 danger } does your knight-errantry extend no 
 farther than to IMiss Jones ? — I do not deserve 
 that reproach, said I; the case is very different. 
 Miss Jones came hither against her inclination ; 
 Miss Freewill came of her own accord, nay, 
 eloped from her friends to come ; the one is 
 trying to escape the snares set for her, the other 
 is running blindfold into them. To warn her^ 
 would be to-.raise a hornet's nest about my ears. 
 I — You say true, said Mr. Selby; but if that 
 young lady is yet uncorrupted, one would wish 
 to save her from ruin.— Let the farmer give her 
 a hint, said I; his assumed character will war- 
 rant so great a liberty. — I v/ill find an opportunity 
 to do it, said he, in the course of the evening. — 
 INIr. Collins came in at this time ; he looked 
 round him, and was surprized to see me there. — 
 He bowed. Sir, said he, you are enquired after 
 iu the ball-roora. — Mr. Selby said, I'his gentle- 
 
G9 
 man is our friend. — Tlien, said ?ilr. Collins, I 
 may speak before him. Pray, Sir, where shall 
 we have our cold collection ? There are none 
 of the parlours big enough for the company. 
 
 Let a table be spread in this room, said Mr. 
 Selby, and let them come in parties, a few at a 
 time ; that will be much better than the parade 
 of a supper. — Very well, said Collins, it shall 
 be so then. — He then approached the ladies, and 
 asked Miss Melcombe to take a dance with him. 
 She made him the same answer she did to me. 
 
 JMr. Franklin was going into the ball-room, 
 and asked me to go with him. 1 took him aside. 
 
 — Tell me, said I, who is that angel? He 
 
 smiled. — She is a virgin widow. — A virgin widow ! 
 You have raised my curiosity, and you ought to 
 gratify it. — This is not the time for it, said he ; 
 but I will do it briefl3\ She w-as engaged to 
 young Benuet, the son of our late rector ; he 
 was a fine promising young man, who died in his 
 twenty-second year; which misfortune so af- 
 fected our excellent pastor, that though in ap- 
 pearance he was perfectly resigned, yet from 
 that time his health declined. Mr. Selby now 
 enjoys the living he would have inherited j and 
 he is the son and comforter of Mrs. Bennet, who 
 is one of the best of women. 
 
 I must ask Mr. Selby to let you into the parti- 
 culars of the family, and its past and present 
 
70 
 
 situation ; and you must w-tiit whh patience the 
 time and season for it. 
 
 I will do so, said I ; but excuse my present 
 curiosity; — Does Collins aspire to— —To what ? 
 To that elegant creature ? 
 
 So, so ; what put this thought into your head r 
 — Upon my word, your observation is hasty, 
 and so is your apprehension. Let us stop here. 
 However, I will tell you, she is above Collins's 
 hopes and expectations ; her rank and family 
 are superior to 3'ours, Sir. Let this suffice at 
 present ; let us return to the ball-room. 
 
 I went back, and took my leave of him and 
 the ladies. He said, I shall be glad to see you, 
 Sir, at the parsonage. 
 
 I left them reluctantly, and returned to the 
 ball-room, where I found Franklin talking to 
 Miss Freewill. I kept back, till he made me a 
 sign to advance, and I then took his place. 
 ISliss Freewill sitting still ! said I, how is this ? 
 — It is because I chose it, said she. That strange 
 man has been talking to me, and saying the 
 oddest things ! — I dare say they were sincere at 
 least, said I, for he speaks bold truths. 
 
 Why he said some things that phased me, 
 some that mortified me, and some iXvAif lightened 
 me. Do you think I may believe him ? What is 
 your opinion of him! 
 
 I think he assumes a low character, in order 
 
71 
 
 to be of service to some persons in this com- 
 pany. — So I thought; for he has a great deal of 
 wit, and as much satire. — Truth, said I, has a 
 harsh countenance to those who are unused or un- 
 ivUling to converse with her. — So it seems, Sir ; 
 for he tells me that I dance too well, and he does 
 not like me fur it; that it is immoral for a 
 woman to dress too much, and to display her 
 charms to all the world. He told me that I 
 kept verv bad rompan;:, and that, as a friend, 
 he advised me to leave ii as soon as possible. 
 He said, I suppose you expect to be married .' 
 Let me tell you that no man in his censes would 
 marry a woman that had ever set her foot over 
 Lady Belmour's threshold. In short, he gave 
 such a character of the house I am now in, that 
 I do not know what to think of my situation ; 
 he said, that r/ou were the only honest man in 
 the family, and that I might appeal to you tor 
 the truth of what he said; and added, that he 
 would not answer for you, if you staid there 
 much longer, for the house was contagious, and 
 th,e plague was easily catched.— Now, Sir, what 
 am I to believe .^ Is Lady lielmour such a person 
 as he describes? Is her house a school of vice 
 and folly ? Pray tell me the truth. — I must beg, 
 Madam, said I, that you will make a prudent 
 use of what that worthy man has told you -, it is 
 but too true. 
 
• 72 
 
 Lord bless me ! said she ; I was told slie was 
 one of the most polite and accomplished women 
 in the world ; and that her house was the onhj 
 place to finish a young person's education. 
 
 To finis/{ it, indeed, said I; her accomplish- 
 ments and her insinuating manners make her a 
 dangerous friend. 
 
 And you, Sir, what makes you stay here, 
 since you do not approve it ? — I came here, 
 Madam, at the desire of my virtuous Giim-dian ; 
 and I continue here to serve a good girl, who 
 is intangled in a disagreeable situation.— Miss 
 Jones, 1 suppose ? — The same. 
 
 Are you not then (she hesitated) attached to 
 Miss Jones ? — No otherwise than as to a de- 
 serving woman. I would serve her, or you, 
 Madam, or any other lady, without having any 
 private interest in view; but this also is a secret, 
 which I beg you not to divulge. You have 
 stepped into the world ratlier rashly, but this 
 visit will instruct you as much as many years ex- 
 perience. Don't be discouraged ; don't alter 
 your behaviour, Madam ; let this subject rest 
 awhile, we will find an opportunity of renewing 
 it hereafter, I see Lady Belmour's eye is upon 
 us ; favour me with your Imnd, and let us go 
 down this dance together. — I have but little spirits 
 to dance, after what I have heard, said she. — 
 Keep up your spirits, Madam; all will end well, 
 
fs 
 
 axid yon will be tviser, and better, and happier for 
 the escape you will have. — So saying, I whisked 
 her into tUe dance where we happened to be, 
 and we seemed as active as any of the rest. 
 
 As soon as the dance was ended, we wers 
 summoned to the collation. I beckoned Sukey 
 Jones, and,, offering an arm to each lady, con- 
 ducted them into the parlour, and seated them 
 aaid myself at one end of the table. Lady Bel- 
 mour shouted — Crosby ! look at Saville, with a 
 girl on each hand of himi — They both laughed 
 aloud, and were joined by many of their own 
 company, — Joy, joy to you Saville! happy fellow! 
 
 This ought not to be allowed, said Richmore. 
 Saville, yoa must spare one of the ladies, or 
 admit another gentleman. — At the ladies plea- 
 sure, said I. — No, said IMiss Freewill, I desire 
 no more gentlemen here. — Nor I, said IMiss 
 Jones; I desire no other protector.— Protector ! 
 said Lady Belmour; who would have thought it? 
 —Be quiet. Lady Belmour, said I, and let us 
 alone ! You are hard to be pleased ; sometimes 
 I take too little notice af the ladies, and some- 
 times too much ; I expected that you would have 
 encouraged and applauded me. — She shrugged, 
 and said,— It is a strange mortal! I do not un- 
 derstand him. 
 
 I exerted ail my spirits, and distinguished my- 
 self at supper. I prated incessantly ; they pUed 
 
74 
 me with healths; but I had the address to answer 
 them in fair water for the most part ; kept my- 
 self sober, and passed for a strong head, and a 
 spirited fellow. The farmer came among us ; he 
 made many arch remarks ; and, affecting igno- 
 rance of polite life and manners, he satirised 
 them in the severest manner. He then remarked 
 upon the alterations in the manners of the lower 
 kinds of people, their absurd imitations of those 
 in upper life, and their degeneracy in conse- 
 quence. He gave master Collins some rules that 
 made him look small ; and told him that he 
 hoped he would see enough of high life to-nighi, 
 to make him shun it ever after. 
 
 I walked up to him ; Enough, farmer, said I! 
 leave off while you are well ; this is a night of 
 festivity.— I stand corrected, answered the far- 
 mer, and I say no more. 
 
 After supper was over, Lady Belmour and her 
 company adjourned to the ball-room, and the 
 inferior gentry sat down to the same table ; we 
 went to dancing again. 
 
 In the intervals I sought for the two charming 
 rustics, but they were sent home before we rose 
 from supper, as Franklin whispered me. The 
 carriages were ordered at one o'clock, but we 
 did not get away till two. Collins waited on 
 Lady Belmour to her coach. She had an air of 
 chagrin under an assumed gaiety. As soon as 
 
75 
 
 we reached home, I retired to my apartment, 
 and slept away the fatigues of the evening. 
 
 On Friday we did not meet together till dinner- 
 time. Lady Belmour seemed grave, and in the 
 pouts. Miss Freewill was grown steadj' ; each 
 seemed to observe the other. Sukey Jones vei-y 
 serious. '.> 
 
 Mrs, Crosby observed that we all looked 
 fatigued, she recommended a walk in the air: 
 after we had drunk our wine, we adjourned into 
 the garden. I took a separate walk ; my two 
 female friends followed me. — I rejoice, said I, 
 to see you together ; let me recommend each to 
 the other as more than nominal friends ; it is my 
 wish to be of service to you both. — Ah, Sir! said 
 Sukey, I fear there are snares laid for i/ou and 
 for tne too: Lady Belmour is contriving to sepa- 
 rate us. — I tell you, Sukey, said I, that I will 
 over-reach her. Let her do mischief at her peril ! 
 I will detect and expose her. — Ah, Sir, Lady 
 Belmour is resolved to make Miss Freewill think 
 ill of me, and of you. — But thus warned, she 
 cannot effect it, said I. My dear Madam, what- 
 ever you may hear and see, be assured that my 
 friendship for Miss Jones is as innocent as that of 
 a brother to his sister. — I believe it,* said she, 
 and they shall not make me alter my opinion.— 
 Lady Belmour threatens we, Sir, said Miss Jonej, 
 E 2 
 
76 
 
 —let her threaten, said I; we shall see what 
 will come of it. 
 
 INIiss Freewill said, I have asked Mrs.Watkins 
 how long she intends to stay here ; and she says 
 —Why? are you tired of this family ? — No, said 
 I; but you promised to make another visit be- 
 fore you returned. — So I will, said she; but I 
 must at least finish my week here. 
 
 At our return to the house, Lady Belmour 
 looked at me with an air of threatening, yet 
 affected to be extremely polite and agreeable. 
 I saw she was meditating mischief, but I could 
 not conceive vvhat kind of revenge she would 
 take of me, for my cavalier treatment of her. 
 We made parties at cards. Lady Belmour ob- 
 served that ] was hoarse. I suid, I had a slight 
 t^cld, but 1 made no account of it. — Sukey, said 
 she, in a voice louder than ordinary, take care 
 of yoMT friend/ it is your office to nurse him,— 
 In what manlier, r>ladam ? answered she. I da 
 not perceive that Mr. Saville is ill enough to 
 "•A?ant my good offices, or I should certainly ten- 
 der them.— What manner'? said my Lady: why 
 by ordering some sack-whey for him when he 
 goes to bed, and giving it yourself. 
 
 i shall obey you, Madam, answered Sukey.— 
 I laughed, and said, they were both too good 
 to me ; for I really supposed it was only a jest. 
 J played whist, aud spent the evening in the 
 
77 
 
 usual way. Finding my hoarseness increase, I 
 retired early. — LadyBelmour said, Do not fasten 
 your door, Saville, I shall see your whey admi- 
 i.istered myself. — Your Ladyship is very obliging, 
 said I ; and, wishing them a good night, I re- 
 tired to my apartment. 
 
 I had a momentary scruple about fastening 
 my door, but I thought it would make me ap- 
 pear extremely ridiculous: she will not surely 
 come to bed to me herself, said I ; and I think no- 
 body else would have the assurance to attempt it. 
 
 ^Vhen I had been in bed about half an hour, 
 I licard the footing of several people coming my 
 way ; I had laid my sword behind my pillow, in 
 case any of the men should aflront me. I ex- 
 pected their arrival with some impatience, and 
 a foreboding of something disagreeable, though 
 I knew not what. Presently the door opened, 
 and Sukey Jones entered with a bason of whey, 
 followed by Lady Belmour, and Mrs. Crosby with 
 a candle in her hand. At this sight my fears 
 vanished; I sat up, and, laughing, said, Ladies, 
 you do me too much honour ; I am ashamed to 
 give you all this trouble. — No compliments, said 
 LadyBelmour, I always take care of my guests; 
 I have more regard for 9/ou, Saville, than you 
 have yet deserved of me, but you will know your 
 friends in titne. — I began to make speeches, but 
 she stopped me. — Come, drink your whey, said 
 E 3 
 
7^ 
 
 ghe. Sukey, go round to the other side.— She 
 did so, when Lady Belmour brought a small 
 table, and set down her candle upon it ; then 
 pulhng Mrs. Crosby by the sleeve, they both 
 hurried out of the room, slapped the door after 
 them, locked it, and took the key away with 
 them, and then burst into a horse laugli. Lady 
 Belmour called out. Good night, Saville ! I 
 thought it proper to leave your nurse to watch 
 you, and you are both very much obliged to vie. 
 
 The Devil ! said I ; his cloven foot appears at 
 last. Sukey sat down on a chair, and burst into 
 tears. I laughed, — Come, said I, it is well it is 
 no worse; take courage, my girl ! do not be afraid 
 of me, and I shall not of you. 
 
 Oh! said she, this blow was premeditated; 
 but I dare not say all I think, lest we should be 
 overheard. — Sit still a moment, said I; since 
 they have the key of the room, I think it will be 
 proper to prevent their coming in again. 1 
 jumped out of bed, put on my stockings, shoes, 
 and night-gown, and went to the door, which I 
 bolted on the inside. Now, said I, we are safe 
 from intrusion; I beg that you will accept of the 
 bed, and I will sit in the great chair. — Indeed I 
 will not, said she. I insist upon your going to- 
 bed, and I will sit in the chair; you will increase 
 your cold, and the fault will be laid upon your 
 nurse.— Nonsense ! said I : if I had conjectured 
 
79 
 the use she would have made of my cold, I 
 would have concealed or denied it. However, 
 as slie has shut us up together, let us at least 
 converse freely. Since you have scruples about 
 going to-bed, we will sit up, and contrive how 
 to bailie the schemes of this old iNIessalina of 
 ours. 
 
 I carried the table round to the other side. 
 Kow, Sukey, said I, this table shall be the bar- 
 rier betvveen us. I on this side, you on that ; 
 and now let me tell you the use I will make of 
 this adventure. To-morrow I will avow myself 
 yQur protector, and as such I will demand your 
 bund of Lady Belmour. When that is obtained, 
 you shall put in execution the plan you have 
 hinted at, but have never yet fully explained to 
 me. Forget our awkward situation ; look upon 
 me as a man of honour, and your friend ; and 
 as such tell me wliat you purpose to do with 
 yourself. 
 
 After some prefacing, she told me she had a 
 friend, the widow of a master's mate in the navy, 
 who, being left with a small sum of money, and 
 three children, set up a slop-shop in the Borough 
 of Southwark; that she had many friends in the 
 navy who had made it a point to buy of her ; 
 tliat her business was considerable, and she 
 wanted an assistant; that she had offered to take 
 E 4 
 
her as a partner, if she could bring two hundred 
 pounds into the business. — If I get my bond, said 
 she, I intend to put the two hundred into this 
 partnership, and with the rest buy stock into the 
 three per cents, which I am told is the best way 
 of employing it. Very well, said I, you have 
 thought very prudently how to dispose of it, and 
 if you want any further a; sistance call upon me, 
 for I am resolved to be your friend, in every 
 good sense of the word. — God reward you, Sir, 
 said she ; but how shall I get away from this 
 house ? — Leave that to me, said I, I will con- 
 trive an elopement for you, and be thought in- 
 nocent of it myself — You promise well, said she, 
 and I shall wait the performance. And now I 
 will tell you as much as I knowof Lady Belmour's 
 intentions. She has told me several times that I 
 was not open enough to her ; that there was 
 Eometljing ynyiferious in your attachment to me, 
 and threatened that she v/ould know before long 
 what terms you and I were upon. Since Miss 
 Freewill came hither, she has been still more 
 displeased with me. She told me, what indeed 
 every body sees, that Miss Freewill has a par- 
 tiality for you, Sir ; and said, that if I had not 
 been in the v:aij, you would have devoted your- 
 self to her. She hinted, that she wished to pro- 
 mote a marriage between vou, which would 
 
81 
 
 have been greatly to your advantage, had not 
 such a little paltry shit as I stood in tlie way of 
 her designs for you. 
 
 That she beheved your cavalier behaviour to 
 //i?r was owing to 7ne; that she was certain you 
 had imbibed a prejudice against her, and that it 
 could proceed from nobody but tne. She cori- 
 cluded with saying, that she would oblige you to 
 declare yourself shortly; if you preferred me to 
 Miss Freewill, every body should see and bear 
 witness to it; if not, you should set me at liberty 
 to receive other proposals ; hut that neither of 
 us should deceive her, nor yet treat her imperti- 
 nently; and threatened a punishment for us both. 
 You now see how she has executed her scheme, 
 or at least a part of it ; and it will be wisdom in 
 you to guard against what remains. — Upon my 
 word, Sukey, said I, LadyBelmour is a scholar 
 of MacMavel's; and she has brought me into such 
 a situation, that I can no longer remain indo- 
 lent in her house ; she has found me employ- 
 ment, and I v/ill begin this coming day to exe- 
 cute my plan of operations, if you will promise 
 to second me? — That I v.'ill, Sir; for you give 
 me hope that my deliverance makes me a part 
 of it. 
 
 As soon as the dawn appeared, I opened the 
 shutters towards the East, and we both paid our 
 homage to the rising sun; admired his beauty 
 
82 
 
 and magnificence, and did not forget our orisons 
 to the Power who created that glorious luminary. 
 This rising sun shall bear witness to our virtuous 
 friendship, said I, and remember it is to lust as 
 long as our lives! 
 
 We chatted upon various subjects till eight 
 o'clock, at which hour Lady Belmour rapped at 
 the door. I demanded, Who is there ? — A friend, 
 said she : come, rise, and prepare for breakfast ! 
 
 I winked at Sukey, to give her her cue. We 
 shall not come down to breakfast, said I ; indulge 
 us so far as to send it into the room.— Oh, very 
 well, said she, laughing, I will do so, whenever 
 you choose to have it. — In half an hour, said I, 
 we will be ready for it. — She went laughing away 
 to make her report. — Now, Sukey, said I, set 
 yourself in order, that you may not appear to 
 have sat up all night. I will receive company 
 in my night-gown ; and pray let us receive their 
 compliments with a good grace. — Sukey shook 
 her head, and looked silly; I did not look (yver- 
 wise. When I heard the trampling of feet in 
 the gallery, I unbolted the door; and in came 
 Lady Belmour, Mrs. Crosby, and a servant maidj 
 who brought the breakfast equipage. 
 
 They both congratulated us maliciously, and 
 enquired after my cold, which was rather worse 
 than better. They laughed, and said a thousand 
 impertinent things. I saluted them both, and 
 
83 
 
 answered tliem in their own way. At length 
 they retired, saying, Get your breakfast, and 
 we will return again. — Lady. Belmour said, I 
 have a nuptial present for you. — So, so, said I, 
 the bond is coming. — Phoh, said she, somebody 
 else is coming. — Presently entered a servant with 
 Miss Jones's portmanteau, hat-box, and all the 
 rest of her paraphernalia. I burst out a laugh- 
 ing; Bag and baggage, said I. — I cannot laugh, 
 said she; it is a very serious affair. — I will make 
 it a. Jest before I have done, said I, and so shall 
 you; come, ea,t your breakfast, child! — I have 
 no stomach to *eat, said she: what will this end 
 m ? — I said every thing to encourage her, but 
 she could not refrain from tears. — Clear up your 
 countenance, said I, here comes our governess. 
 —She came in with Mrs. Crosby, and, approach- 
 ing Sukey, said, I rejoice that you two are come 
 to a right understanding. And now. Madam 
 Sukey, I will restore the bond you have behaved 
 so impertinently about; and I choose to do it 
 before Mrs. Crosby, that she may bear witness I 
 never intended to rob you of it. And i/ou. Sir, 
 be pleased to know, that this prude received this 
 from Lord C— — , as a consideration for four 
 months cohabitation. 
 
 Poor Sukey could not stand this attack ; she 
 burst into tears, and withdrew to the opposite 
 window. I took the bond from Lady Belmour, 
 e6 
 
■ 84. 
 lest she should withdraw it. — Have a little mercy, 
 Lady Behiiour, said I; S u key has never e/eceirerf 
 me, nor concealed any thing it concerned me to 
 hicxD. — Very well, Sir, then I hope you will re- 
 toard her virtue (with a sneer she spoke it), by 
 making her a handsome allowance. 
 
 Sukey, said I, will you leave that to me, or- 
 shall Lady Belmour make the terms? She took 
 courage to speak : — Sir, I acknowledge your pro- 
 tection, and I trust to your generosity in all 
 things. 
 
 Then you are a fool, child ; but no matter, 
 you will know the world better than to trust it 
 hereafter; and you have behaved so mpcrtinently 
 in the last offair, that I do not desire to be your 
 trustee again. But, Sir, I expect a present my- 
 self upon this occasion, said she. — I have o?ie in 
 stoi'e for you, Madam, said I; but you must 
 •wait a. Jew days for it.— Oh, as to that, said she, 
 I leave it, as Sukey says, to your generosity. 
 But now things are settled between you, I desire 
 you will not play the fool with poor Freewill; 
 upon my life, Saville, that girl likes you too 
 well! 
 
 I hope not, Madam, said I; I have nothing 
 to charge myself with upon that young lady's 
 account, nop^ will she complain of me. — I had 
 other views for you, said she, but you are a 
 headstrong hoy^ and will have every thing your 
 
85 
 
 oxon \v2.y; I have given up the reins, and wliat 
 more can I do to gain your good word? — Only 
 one thing at this time, Lady Behnour; that i§, 
 order a servant to get my horse readjs I will 
 take an airing before dinner, and I will meet you 
 all at three o'clock. — See, said Lady Belmour, 
 with what an air he commands about him; and 
 I am to take his orders, as a receipt in full for 
 my good offices ! — Come, said Mrs. Crosby, be 
 at peace with him ; I think he has acquitted him- 
 self surprizingly well, much better than I ex- 
 pected, I assure you. — Your servant, ladies, 
 said I; I thank you for all your (I hesitated) 
 goodness to me. — They courtesied, I bowed; 
 they laughed, I echoed them ; they retired, and 
 I execrated them in suitable language. 
 
 While I was dressing, I gave her instructions 
 for her behaviour. — And what, said she, must I 
 say to Miss Freewill ? I cannot look her in the 
 i-Ace.— Apropos, said I, I will write a note to her, 
 and do you lind an opportunity to give it her. I 
 took my pen, and wrote as follows: 
 
 " Notwithstanding appearances, believe aH 
 that was said to you the evening before last,— 
 distrust those of whom you have been warned; 
 a few days will explain what now appears inex- 
 plicable: respect virtue and her friends; there is 
 nothing else upon earth respectable. Oberon." 
 
 Havins folded and sealed this note, I bad 
 
• «5 
 
 Sukcy good-morrow; and went down stairs, 
 through the hall, and into the stable; mounted 
 my horse, and rode to Franklin's as fast as pos- 
 sible. I made haste to tell my friend all that 
 had past since we met at CoUins's assembly. 
 He frequently interrupted me by his jest and 
 raillery. His remarks and enquiries at last 
 raised my anger, and I began to swear to the 
 truth of my assertions. — Hear me, said I, and be 
 convinced of my veracity : Miss Jones and myself 
 are both resolved to leave Lady Belmour's ; but 
 if we go together, you and all the world will be- 
 lieve our connexion. I want therefore to favour 
 her escape, and to stay some time in this neigh- 
 bourhood. I hoped to have found you enough 
 my friend to assist me in this design, but your 
 tehaviour discourages me. Am I to look upon 
 you as my friend or not ? This affair will decide 
 the question once and for ever. 
 
 He took my hand, and assumed a serious air. 
 .—My friend, you have takeh my raillery too 
 seriously; I admire^ I applaud your conduct, and 
 will do every thing in my power to assist you ia 
 •this affair. Listen to me in your turn! I will 
 
 send my servant to I , to take a place in the 
 
 «tage for Miss Jones, for any day that you shall 
 appoint, and then you must contrive the manner 
 of her escape; I will lend you a servant, with a 
 double horse, to convey her to I——, and you 
 
S7 
 Khali command me in any thing further that is 
 for your service. Now are you satisfied with 
 me? 
 
 I embraced him. Forgive me, dear Franklin, 
 and accept my thanks! Let your servant go this 
 day and take a place for to-morrow; this night 
 1 will favour her escape, and to-morrow I will 
 look out for a lodging for myself. — I will re- 
 commend you to one, said Franklin. — You will 
 oblige me infinitely, said I ; a clean bed-cham- 
 ber, and the use of a parlour, will be sufficient. 
 •—There is such an one at your service, under 
 this roof; and you will do me a favour by ac- 
 cepting it.— Dear friend, I thank you ; but I can- 
 not give you the trouble, unless you v/ill allow 
 me to make you an acknowledgment . — Don't af- 
 front me, Mr. Saville ! I can afford a skelter for 
 my friend, and his company shall repay me* 
 Beside, I shall share in the disappointment of 
 Lady Belmour's snares, and enjoy her mortified' 
 tion . 
 
 I shall communicate my pleasure to my friend 
 Selby : I shall introduce you to a vsrorthy family, 
 .and you shall share in viy joys and comforts; 
 you deserve the friendship and applause of all 
 good men for your noble behaviour. 
 
 I was transported with joy at the prospect he 
 opened to me, and saw in the back ground more 
 than was expressed. I talked over my scbeme of 
 
departure with new spirits, and seemed to tread 
 upon air. I was impatient to return, tiiat I 
 might prepare for the execution of it. In short, 
 I went back another man from what I came 
 thither; got home within my time, drest, and 
 prepared to meet the company at dinner. I came 
 among them with an air of gniety and humour, 
 answered all their raUIerits, made my repartees 
 with spirit and vivacity. They complimented 
 me upon the alteration in my behaviour; and 
 Lady Belmour was efiectually deceived, and en- 
 joyed her success. Miss Freewill looked serious, 
 and seemed to doubt every thing and ever)' body: 
 1 paid her particular attention, without neglect- 
 ing Miss Jones, who seemed to take good omens 
 from my apparent cheerfulness. 
 
 Before we rose from table, I was told that a 
 person desired to speak with me. I went out 
 directly; it was Franklin's servant. He told me 
 he had taken a place in the stage for London, 
 and asked what time and place he should attend 
 me with a double horse. I made him follow me 
 to a place nearly under the window of my apart- 
 ment, and ordered him to mark the place, and^ 
 be there by dawn of day. The stage was to 
 set out at six, and I allowed two hours for thera 
 to reach it. I hade him be diligent and secret, 
 and I would reward his care and trouble. 
 
 I sent him off without letting him enter ths 
 
89 
 
 house a second time. I went back to the com- 
 pany.— Whom have you had to speak with you, 
 Saville ? said Lady Belmour. — A servant of Mr. 
 Franklin's, said I. — Oh! that is a new acquaint- 
 ance of yours, said she. — No, said I, it is more 
 than seven weeks old. — A farmer in this neigh- 
 bourhood ! said she. — A gentleman by birth and 
 education, said I; 'a, farmer by accident, or ra- 
 ther by good fortune ; a friend of ?nine by choice 
 and election. — She gave her head a toss, and 
 looked disdain. I went on, — My friend re- 
 proaches me kindly for giving him so little of 
 my company; he desires to see me to-morrow.— 
 And do you go ? said she. — I believe I shall, said 
 I; butlhavenotmadean absolute promise. — You 
 are quite a monarch, said she; your will is your 
 law. — Not absolutely, said I; it is restrained by 
 the laws of humanity and civilization, as all kings 
 ought to be. 
 
 You will submit to no laws but your own, said 
 she; and I must leave you to them, or have done 
 with you. — I made her no further reply. We 
 soon after rose from table, and began to break 
 into parties; I took INIiss Jones's hand, and led 
 her aside, — Sukey, said I, be cheerful; the hour 
 of deliverance is at hand. — Is it indeed ? said she. 
 How soon? — This night is the last that you stay 
 in this liouse, unless it is your choice to continue 
 in it.' — How can you make such a supposition? 
 
■ 90 
 said she. — I smiled, and whispered her. Take 
 an opportunity of retiring up stairs, pack up your 
 things, and get ready to depart. — She answered, 
 I understand you. Sir, and will obcij yuu present- 
 ly. — Lady Belmour catched her word. — Obedient 
 creaturt ! said she. — Sukey blushed, and with- 
 drew. I took no notice, but proposed a walk as 
 usual. Miss Freewill avoided me, and seemed 
 in the pouts. The rest of the company walked, 
 conversed, romped in pairs, some danced upon 
 the terrace, and every one amused himself as he 
 pleased. 
 
 Miss Jones came down to tea; we made par- 
 ties at cards; I took an opportunity to whisper 
 her, Retire unobserved after supper.— I was more 
 lively than common. Lady Belmour took no- 
 tice of my behaviour, and seemed pleased with 
 me. I made several ironical compliments to her 
 and Mrs. Crosby; they retorted witli equal sin- 
 ceritij at least : wit and gallantry flew about. I was 
 more at ease than I had yet appeared, and they 
 seemed surprized at my pleasantry. — I fancy, 
 
 Saville, said Lady B , you will hear from 
 
 Mr. Mundeu soon; I wrote to him tliis day, to 
 let him know how happy we all are. — I have no 
 doubt of your Ladyship's good offices upon all 
 occasions, said I; there will soon come a time 
 when 1 shall shew my gr at it ude in a. proper manner. 
 
 She exulted in her supposed success, and 
 
91 
 
 I said every thing that could lull into se- 
 curity. After some time I rose up to retire. 
 When I went into the chamber, I observed 
 that the key was taken away. I asked Sukey 
 who had it? — Myself, said she; I took care of 
 that six hours ago.— That is well, said I; give it 
 me now. — I took it, and locked the door on the 
 inside. — Now, said I, we are safe. I insist upon 
 it, that you lie down upon the bed; I will nod 
 in the great chair, and be ready to wake you at 
 the hour appointed : after you are gone, I will 
 take my repose. — We had a contest upon this 
 point, but at last she consented to take some 
 rest. I took a book and read for some time; 
 at last I fell asleep, and did not awake till Ije- 
 tween two and three o'clock. I then opened 
 the window, and looked for day-xight. I un- 
 locked and uiibolted the door; the noise awaken- 
 ed my friend; she feared we were discovered; 
 I soon quieted her mind; she rose and got ready 
 for her journey. — Now, Sukey, said I, a little 
 critical courage is required; the opening the 
 hall-door is all that I am in pain about; you 
 must assist me with your hand, if necessary. — 
 Soon after, our attendant appeared; he whistled 
 softly. I beckoned with my hand, and pointed 
 to the door. Now for it, said I. She trembled 
 like a leaf; I encouraged her, but I felt a very 
 disagreeable sensation myself. We took ofi' our 
 
92 
 shoes; I took the candle and went first. Fol- 
 low me boldly, said I. Down stairs we went; 
 she carried our shoes in her hand. We came to 
 the hall-dcor; she took the candle, and I went 
 to work to take down a large iron bar without 
 noise; it was not a \ery easy job, but at last I 
 effected t. I made some noise in unlocking the 
 door. — We shall le heard, said she. — No matter, 
 said I; you shall return no more, and I fear no- 
 thing for myself. — I opened the door, and beck- 
 oned our assistant. Now, Sukey, said I, sit you 
 down, and compose yourself; Robin and I will 
 go >ip stairs again and bring down your baggage. 
 She would not be persuaded, but went out of 
 the house directly, and stood by the horse, hold- 
 ing the bridle. Robin and I went and fetched 
 her baggage, creeping along like housebreakers. 
 While he was cording the portmanteau, and 
 fastening it upon the horse, I took an affection- 
 ate farewell of my friend Sukey, and touched 
 her lips, the Jirst and last time; for then, as 
 Yoriik says, the victory was compleat. Take 
 this pocket-book for my sake, said I, the con- 
 tents will be of service upon your journey. 
 There is also a direction to my atiornev, who 
 will negotiate your bond for you, and employ 
 your money: there is a letter for him, which 
 you must send to the penny-post. God bless 
 you, and adieu! 
 
93 
 
 The grateful girl could not speak for tears; 
 she kneeled down, she embraced my knees, she 
 lifted up her clasped hands to heaven, and looked 
 a blessing upon me, but she could not articulate 
 a word. Robin mounted his horse; I lifted Sukey 
 upon the pillion, shook her hand, and bade her 
 once more adieu. I told Robin to go softly, 
 and attend to the lady's orders, and then returrj 
 and appear at the same window, and I would 
 make him a sign to retreat or advance. 
 
 I then returned into the house, fastened the 
 door as before with some difficulty, and then 
 retired to my apartment unheard and unseen, 
 bolted my chamber-door, and threw myself 
 upon the bed, where I slept till past seven 
 o'clock; when I was awakened by one of the ser- 
 vants, who asked when and where I would break- 
 fast? I bade her bring the breakfast up stairs in 
 half an hour: I then rose, drew the curtains all 
 round the bed, and waited the maid's arrival. 
 When I let her in, I made signs that the lady 
 was asleep, and must not be disturbed. I told 
 her to order the servant to saddle my horse di- 
 rectly, and I would ride out as soon as I had 
 breakfasted. 
 
 I had intended to send my portmanteau to 
 Franklin's by Robin, but had over-slept myself, 
 and missed the opportunity. I dressed myself,' 
 put necessaries for present use into my pocket, 
 
 i 
 
, 94. 
 packed up my portmanteau, and locked it; then 
 wrote a card and put upon it, with this inscrip- 
 tion, ' To be sent to INIr. Saville, by a person 
 who will come for it.' I wrote also, upon a 
 piece of paper which I left upon the table, in a 
 larger hand than common. 
 
 * This is to certify whom it may concern, that 
 Miss Jones is gone to London,- and that Mr. 
 Saville is to be found at JNIr. Franklin's in the 
 village of S 
 
 I then went down stairs very composedly; the 
 ladies were not stirring; but I saw several of the 
 men, and wished them a good-morrow: they re- 
 turned it, and I went into the stable, mounted 
 my horse, and rode to Franklin's; diverting my- 
 self by the way with their surprize, and Lady 
 Belmour's resentment at losing two of her sc/iO' 
 lars, who had run away from her school. 
 
 Franklin was at breakfast; he laughed hear- 
 tily at my appearance, with my pockets stuffed 
 out like a smuggler. I gave him an account of 
 the night's adventures, and my own elopement 
 afterwards. He congratulated me in the warmest 
 manner, commended my conduct, and welcomed 
 me to his house, which he desired me to use as my 
 own as long as I could make it agreeable to me. 
 
 And now being escaped from the dangers and 
 temptations that lately surrounded me, for which 
 I return thanks to Heaven first, and next to the 
 
95 
 counsel of my most valuable friend, it is time 
 that I should close this enormous pacquet, which 
 
 •I shall send by the carrier from I . 
 
 Congratulate me, my friend ; I am in a vir- 
 tuous and amiable family, a delightful resting- 
 place, after a laborious passage through an en- 
 chanted island full of doubts and dangers. 
 
 LETIER XI. 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO MR. JOHNSON'. 
 
 I SHALL not wait for the acknowledgment of 
 my last pacquet to my dear friend, but proceed 
 to give you, journal-wise, the continuation of my 
 adventures here, 
 
 Mr, Selby called here in the afternoon of the 
 day I came hither ; we had a most agreeable 
 conversation with him, Franklin informed him 
 of the state of my affairs ; and he gave his ap- 
 probation of my conduct, as you, my friend, 
 would have done, had you been present. He 
 appointed the morrow to bring his elected, and 
 her mother, and friend, to spend the day with 
 Mr. Franklin, who desired, on his part, that he 
 %vould likewise bring IMr. Butler, of whom I have 
 made mention before ; and he promised to use 
 his influence with him. — Mr. Butler, said Selby, 
 is a singular character in this age ; I will give 
 Mr. Saville some traits of him. He is a man of 
 5 
 
deep learning, strict virtue, and invincible mo- 
 desty, of austere manners, but of the most be- 
 nevolent and liberal heart, making allowances 
 for every one but himself. His merit at college 
 was very conspicuous, but his modesty frustrated 
 the effects of it. He is poory and, what is re- 
 markable, he has no desire to be otha-wise: a 
 little, he says, suffices nature; and he has no 
 superfluous vanities or appetites to feed. He has 
 some opinions that are not quite orthodox, but 
 he does not impose them upon others; and no- 
 body discovers them by his sermons, which are 
 plain and practical; his tenets are only known to 
 his most intimate friends ; a resident curacy is 
 the utmost of his ambition ; and the liberty of a 
 better library than he can afford to purchase, is 
 all the luxury he aspires to. 
 
 Mr. Franklin now expressed to Mr. Selby some 
 surprize at the delay of his marriage. — It is in 
 compliance with the request of our dear mother, 
 said he ; she wishes us to wait till the year is 
 completed, from the death of Mr. Bennet. I 
 pay her the most implicit obedience; the time 
 of my noviciate is nearly expired, and I hope 
 within a month to be the husband of my dear 
 Anna !Maria, and the happiest of men. In the 
 mean time I am repairing the parsonage, and 
 preparing to receive its mistress. My regard for 
 hftr is of such a nature, as will, I trusty rather 
 
37 
 
 increase than diminish with time and r.gc ; may 
 \vc be as happy as her excellent parents were ! 
 and 1 cannot wish for greater earthly happiness ; 
 but may it continue longer unbroken ! — Onr 
 friend here, said Franklin, has shewn much cu- 
 riosity concerning the Bennet family, and still 
 more about IMiss Mdcombe. I have promised to 
 use my interest with you, Sir, that it may be 
 gratified.'— Selby smiled, I must first use 7nine 
 with Mrs. Bennet. But let "Mr. Saville see a little 
 more of us; he can hardly tell at present whe- 
 ther Jie likes us or not. — I declared that I could 
 tell it with as much certainty as if we had been 
 acquainted for twenty years. 
 
 Many lively things passed between Franklin 
 and Selby; and I thought the evening too short, 
 tliough I wished impatiently for the morrow ; 
 and the night seemed as much too long, Mrs. 
 Franklin is a good wife and mother ; she is not 
 a shining character in the conxcrsation way, but 
 she is all that a man ought to \\'i%\\ for in domestic 
 life ; an excellent manager without any ostenta- 
 tious display of it ; elegantly ?ieat, without being 
 a slave to her house and furniture; every thing 
 stands in the right place; every thing is brought 
 in the right season; you hear no scolding of ser- 
 vants ; see no uneasiness in the mistress ; the 
 family business goes on as regularly as a good 
 clock that keeps the time without your being 
 
• 98 
 always setting it faster or slower. Every one 
 looks easy and contented, and this I take to be 
 a criterion of a well-conducted family. A good 
 and plentiful table, but not covered with incite- 
 rnents to gluttony; plain food neatly dressed ; 
 good ale of their own brewing, and wines of 
 their own making, which I preferred to foreign 
 produce, though Franklin insisted upon my 
 drinking his port, which indeed was good, but I 
 chose to conform to the family style in every thing. 
 
 At length this impatiently expected morrow- 
 came, and brought in its train the family I so 
 much desired to meet ; the hours seemed to 
 move slower than usual till they arrived. 
 
 You will, I know, expect a particular de- 
 scription of these ladies, though I have given you 
 3 slight sketch of the young ones, and they shall 
 therefore be set aside till I have introduced Mrs. 
 Fennet to your acquaintance. She is about 
 forty-five years of age, her aspect is intelligent, 
 but the striking character upon it is benevolence, 
 and a sweet complacency in her manner, that 
 encourages you to converse with her. I think I 
 could reveal every thought of my heart to her. 
 She looks like the parent of all that approach 
 her, and the two young ladies look up to her 
 witli equal love and reverence ; their eyes refer 
 every question to her decision. It would be im- 
 nossible to discover which is the child of naturcy 
 
&nd which of adoption, unlci^s j-ou were told it, 
 tlie regards and attentions are so equallj' dis- 
 pensed and returned. Selby pays her the respect 
 of a 5071, and she returns him the same attention, 
 or rather 7nore than she pays to her daughters, 
 so let me call them, for no children can be 
 more dutiful, no sisters more afiectionate to 
 each other. 
 
 Miss Bennet is a charming young woman, but 
 Miss Melcombe is an angel. The one you could 
 wish to be familiar with, but the other you dare 
 not approach too near; without pride or vanity, 
 she inspires respect and awe; a savage could not 
 offer rudeness to her; the form of a Venus, with 
 the chastity of Diana. 
 
 She seems rather of a serious turn; Miss 
 Bennet is more lively, though the friends they 
 have lost were nearer to her blood, but perhaps 
 not in affection. 
 
 But has that fair creature loved already? 
 What tlien ? The object was doubtless worthy of 
 her; yet I could wish she had never loved, and 
 that I was destined to inspire her with the Jirst 
 idea of the tender passion. For, oh! my dear 
 friend, I feel that I do love her with the purest 
 and at the same time the warmest passion. To 
 you I have no reserves. I feel that this dear 
 lady is vayfaie. I can think of no other object, 
 I can speak of no other. Bear with me, pity 
 f2 
 
100 
 
 me, encourage my hope ! When I can recollect 
 myself, I will take up my pen again. 
 
 I said but little, for my attention was wholly 
 absorbed. I will try to recollect however some 
 part of the conversation. Every person present 
 was highly agreeable to me; the day passed 
 away too fast. I begged Mrs. Bennet's permis- 
 sion to pay my respects to her. She answered; 
 that she looked on me as a member of Mr. 
 Franklin's family, and should bo glad to see me 
 with them. The reply was, methinks, rather 
 ungracious; but her smiling and complacent 
 manner concealed it from me at the time: upon 
 reflection, I do not half like it. Franklin spoke 
 handsomely of me, and recommended me to her 
 favour; she commended his kindness and hospi- 
 tality to me. Selby had told her of my elope- 
 ment from Lady Belmour's; the ladies all smiled 
 at the circumstances; and Mrs. Bennet said, 
 The consequences of the action must determine 
 the merit of it; that it was pity so young a gen- 
 tleman should be left without a guide at iiis first 
 entrance into life. Selby then told her, that I 
 had chosen Mr. Johnson to be that guide, and 
 that he had undertaken the office. She praised 
 this Mr. Johnson, and spoke highly of his cha- 
 racter and merits from report, for she had no 
 
lOi 
 
 personal knowledge of him. I was abashed at 
 tlie difficulties before me, for I found I was to 
 undergo a probation, before I could be admitted 
 to the honour of her acquaintance, and received 
 in her family upon my own account. 
 
 ?.lr. Butler came just as we were sitting down 
 to dinner, lie only returned the friendly salu- 
 tations of the company, and spoke no more till 
 the ladies withdrew into the other parlour. 8elby 
 Vrhispered me — We do not usually part with tliO 
 ladies, but Butler will not talk in their company. 
 —He then tried to make him speak. I thanked 
 him for the good offices he had done me. lie 
 answered, That it was not he, but his friend Mr. 
 Jarvis, who had written to Mr. Johnson, and at 
 his desire had informed him of my situation. 
 
 I said, I was equally obliged to his relation, 
 as the information came originally from him. 
 After this introduction he went on; Selby drew 
 him in, and made him converse upon many in- 
 teresting subjects; and he spoke well upon all. 
 What a pity that a man of universal knowledge 
 shouldlie under such a disqualification. I find 
 it is necessary to converse with men, as well as 
 books, to qualify a man for an intercourse with 
 the world : even a boy, a novice like myself, has 
 more courage in a mixed company, than this 
 inan of genius and learning united. 
 
 When we went to tea with the ladies, Butler 
 r 3 
 
.•vras mule again, and nothing but monosyllables 
 could be got from him. Selby said, I have dis- 
 covered that Mr. Saville is a good scholar: he 
 shall come to see us at the parsonage; and, 
 Butler, you shall read lectures to us both. — 
 Franklin begged that he might be allowed to be 
 present, and a day was fixed in the following 
 week for this purpose. 
 
 After tea, a party at whist was made; I took 
 every opportunity of recommending myself to 
 the favour of Mrs. Bennet, whose character rose 
 upon me every time she spoke; the young ladies 
 threw off some part of their reserve, and were 
 perfectly agreeable. 
 
 I considered this party as a perfect contrast to 
 that I had so lately been engaged in. An agree- 
 able woman, whose conversation is seasoned 
 with wit, and bounded by modesty, is an angelic 
 creature, compared with one whose language is 
 indelicate, and whose eyes assist the tongue in 
 conveying loose ideas to the heart. I compared 
 Mrs. Bennet with Lady Belmour; I looked on 
 one with respect even to reverence, on the other 
 with mingled indignation and contempt. If wo- 
 men knew the interest of their sex, none would 
 throw off at least the appearance of virtue and 
 modesty ; a bold woman is shocking. 
 
 This amiable family staid supper with us; they 
 went away between ten asd eleven. The ladies 
 
103 
 
 went in a neat post-chaise, which is intended to 
 serve the two families when divided : Selby and 
 Butler were tlieir escort, attended by a boy in 
 livery. The day was too short for me, and the 
 night was but a mental enjoyment of the past 
 scenes. I slept not till day-light, and even now 
 I enjoy the recollection at the distance of several 
 days. 
 
 In the morning I saunter about with Franklin, 
 and observe his directions to his servants and 
 workmen; I think I will endeavour to learn the 
 theory of this larming business. When I have 
 collected a sufficient stock of knowledge, I may 
 take a farm into my own hands, and live in the 
 same style that Franklin does. If I could pro- 
 cure such a helpmate as I have in my mind's eye, 
 what a paradise would that farm be to me ! But 
 1 have much ground to go over first. 
 
 Thursday. Well, my friend, I have spent an 
 agreeable day at the parsonage. Mr, Butler 
 gave us a lecture before dinner; we are going 
 through the classics again with new pleasure and 
 alacrity. ' Mr. Selby is every thing; the scholar, 
 the clergyman, the farmer, the gentleman in 
 turn, and shines in all these characters, without 
 affectation in either. 
 
 I hoped the ladies would have met us, but 
 ' was disappointed. Franklin and I returned home 
 to supper; he remarked my disappuiniment, and 
 F 4 
 
•104. 
 smiled at it. Selby told me, he hoped I would 
 iind the way by myself to his house, when Mr. 
 Frankliu was otherwise engaged. I promised 
 that I would very soon show him my sense of 
 the favour. 
 
 Saturday 'Eveiiing. Yesterday I took a walk 
 to the parsonage. Mr. Selby received me with 
 that friendly and familiar air which banishes all 
 reserve. I told him the situation of my heart 
 with regard to Miss Melcombe, and asked his 
 hiterest with her and Mrs. Bennet, He paused, 
 he hesitated. — I wish, said he, to do you ser- 
 vice. I believe you are worthy of that amiable 
 
 girl; but He stopped. — But "what? said I. 
 
 What objection can there be to your attempting 
 to serve me, even if it should not succeed ? — ■ 
 That young lady's situation is a particular one; 
 I do not know whether Mrs. Bennet will permit 
 me to explain it; I will however ask her permis- 
 sion in your behalf. 
 
 You seem iikel}' to be a cold advocate, said I, 
 discouraged by his air and manner. It seems to 
 me that you do not think me worthy of your 
 friendship, or tlie dear lady's acceptance. — You 
 are extremely mistaken, said he ; I never liked 
 a man so v/ell, upon so short an 8,cquaintance. 
 I am going to give you a proof of it, by iuviling 
 
105 
 
 j^ou to my wedding, which I hope will be cele- 
 brated next week. 
 
 You do me both honour and pleasure, said I j 
 I will be your brideman. But let me implore 
 your good offices with the lady. — I have a thought 
 for your service, said he. On that day, when 
 Mrs. Bennet will grant me almost any favour I 
 can ask, I will beg of her leave to communicate 
 to you the memoirs of the Bennet family. They 
 include Miss Melcombe's history from the hour 
 of her birth, and they will explain the peculia- 
 rity of her situation. I will make known your 
 pretensions to Mrs. Bennet ; for I will have no 
 clandestine courtships under my roof. Mrs, 
 Bennet must decide the important question; and 
 she will do what is best for you both. You may 
 judge by what J have now said of my frankness. 
 and sincerity. — I thank you for both with my 
 whole heart, said I; you have bound me to you 
 by a tye that can never be broken. — After this^ 
 I acquainted him with the state of my fortune, 
 as far as I knew it myself, 
 
 I returned home to dinner, and to m;y surprise 
 feund a card from Lady Belmour as follows : 
 
 Friday', 
 
 " Lady Belmour presents compliments to Mr. 
 Saville. Notwithstanding his cavalier treatment 
 of her and her friends, she will be glad of his 
 J 5 
 
106 
 
 company to dinner to-day, to meet an old 
 school-fellow, and to receive a pacquet from 
 Mr. Munden." 
 
 I really felt like a school-boy who expects 
 chastisement. — I will not go, said I ; let her 
 send every day an invitation ! — Mr. Franklin 
 laughed at my distress. I see, said he, she is 
 trying to lure you back again. — And if ever I put 
 myself into her power, said I, I deserve all that 
 follows. 
 
 I told him all that had passed between me and 
 Mr. Selby, and he felicitated me. I expect, said 
 he, an invitation to the wedding, and I think it 
 will be a very proper introduction to your court- 
 ship: we shall keep you among us, I perceive.—- 
 I am happily situated, said I, even to my heart's 
 wishes ; but I cannot continue with you, unless 
 you will allow me to become your boarder.— Wq 
 will talk of that hereafter, said he ; and led me 
 into the dining-parlour, where I apologized for 
 my stay. Mrs. Franklin received my excuse 
 with a smiling countenance ; only saying, If the 
 dinner be spoiled, the loss is your own, and 
 you must bear it patiently. 
 
 This card of Lady Belmour's dwelt upon my 
 mind ; it seemed to me that she was contriving 
 some scheme to entice me back to her house, 
 lest I should tell tales out of school. I 
 told Franklin so,— Supj^osc, said he, she should 
 
107 
 carry you off as her prisoner? She has spirit 
 enough for an Armida, but 1 fear you have not 
 gallantry sufficient for a Rinaldo. 
 
 'J'his morning, as I Was sitting at breakfast 
 with my friend and his family, a servant an- 
 nounced a gentleman on horseback, who desired 
 to speak with me. Show him in by all means,. 
 said Franklin, laughing, and do not trust your- 
 self out of doors with him : desire the gentleman 
 to walk in. Presently the door opened ; and 
 who should appear but my old school-fellow 
 George Clayton ! we saluted with mutual free- 
 dom and familiarity. Mr. Franklin desired him 
 to be seated ; and said any friend of mine was 
 welcome to use his house. Clayton looked hard 
 at me, and smiled. — You look, said he, like the 
 same Edward Saville whom I knew and loved at 
 Westminster School ; your behaviour is like the 
 same person : both are different from what I 
 expected, from the account I have lately heard 
 of you. — Explain, my friend, said L From whom 
 have you heard this account of me ?— He smiled. 
 —From Lady Belmour, said Franklin. — Clayton 
 smiled again. — What, said I, are you the school- 
 fellow I was invited to meet? — ^The very same, 
 said he j but you would not trust yourself in my 
 company.-— Yes, in j/oiir company, said I, but 
 not in that of your society'. 
 
 Well, said he, every one has a right to choose 
 i 6 
 
108 
 
 his company. — I was silent. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Franklin left the room to us : he threw a look 
 at me, which seemed to say, How will you get 
 cut of this difficulty? — When they were gone, 
 I collected myself and answered him. This 
 charge, from a friend and school-fellow, deserves 
 a serious answer. There are certain situations 
 in which politeness must give way to sincerity. 
 She attacked me with all her arts; I eluded 
 them witli all my skill. Finding tt;at I was no 
 easy victim, she threw off the mask, and behaved 
 ■with the most unparalleled effrontery. 
 
 Lady Belmour first laid ceremony aside with 
 me; and I did the same by //fr. I left her house 
 sans ceremonie, and in a way that I intended 
 should show my contempt of her designs and 
 her principles ; and I do not repent it. 
 
 Clayton repeated, — Unparalleled effrontery ! 
 Poor Lady Belmour! Poor George Clayton! thou 
 art one of this society so despised, so contemp- 
 tible ; but which can however retort the con- 
 tempt it has received. I suppose some canting 
 Methodist-preacher has converted thee, and 
 thou hast condemned thyself to such society as 
 he recommends. — Stop there, George! said I ; 
 yon never were more mistaken : Lady Belmour 
 and her society are ranch more likely to be 
 converted to Methodism than myself. At the 
 decline of a profligate life, people are glad to 
 
109 
 
 take shelter in implicit faith, and to embrace 
 ^vhatever is ofteied as a substitute for virtucy 
 uhich requires hibour and self-denial; while 
 faith carries theni by a short road to the hope, I 
 might rather say the presumption, of future hap- 
 piness. There are many different roads through 
 life ; I have chosen mine, you have a right to 
 choose yours. I see with concern it is not what 
 I could have wished for you ; but I give you up 
 to it, and break off this conversation, in which 
 both of us have spoken too freely; let us excuse 
 each other, and part like friends. 
 
 Perhaps we may, said he. Let us compro- 
 mise ; but I am sorry to see you so resolute. 
 I hoped to prevail upon you to return with me 
 to dinner at Lady Belmour's ; must I give it up ? 
 —You must indeed, Sir : I will not again enter 
 her house. 
 
 If you would venture yourself with me, said 
 he, I vvould pass my word for your safe return* 
 I assumed a serious aspect, — You are going to 
 preach again, said he.- — Not to you, Sir, said L— • 
 Well, if I must give up my commission, here,, 
 said he, taking a letter out of his pocket, here 
 is something for you; it is from old-Munden: 
 you did not learn these precise notions from 
 him, I am sure. — I took the letter, and read it, 
 I shall enclose it to you in this pacquet; it con- 
 tained a remittance of two hundred, pounds m 
 3 
 
.110 
 
 Bank notes. I considered a minute, and then 
 asked liim to wait a little, while I wrote a note 
 to Lady Belmour. He again entreated me to 
 return with him ; and tried every art, to no 
 purpose. 
 
 At last he tlireatened me with the vengeance 
 of her Ladyship. He teazed me out of patience, 
 and we parted with barely civility; for he re- 
 fused to carry either letter or message with him; 
 and, had I not kept a guard upon myself, he 
 had obliged me to quarrel with him. 
 
 He left me very much out of humour; and 
 when Franklin returned, I related the whole of 
 our conference to him. He applauded my be- 
 haviour, saying, It was more difficult to stand 
 my ground against raillery., than against temp- 
 tation, passion, or any seduction whatever, and 
 I considered what passed between me and Clay- 
 ton as the conclusion of my acquaintance with 
 liitrt and the whole society. 
 
 Upon further consideration, I determined to 
 write a note to Lady Belmour, in answer to her 
 card to me, and to take a civil leave of her and 
 her associates. She had been disappointed m 
 her expectations upon my pocket, as well as my 
 person, and I resolved to discharge all ap- 
 pearance of obligation to her; accordingly I 
 sent the following note, enclosing a bill for 
 thirty pounds. 
 
1 1 1 
 
 * Mr. Saville presents compliments to Lady 
 Belmour ; the same motives that impelled liiia 
 to leave her house, prevent his accepting her 
 polite invitation to dinner ; he returns thanks 
 for the civilities he received at her mansion, 
 and begs her acceptance of the trifle enclosed, 
 being the consideration which her Ladyship de- 
 maiided of him in return for her entertainment 
 and good offices, of which he shall always retain 
 a perfect remembrance.' 
 
 Sunday — I spent in the duties which I had too 
 much neglected for several months past. Mr. 
 Selby is devout and proper in his offices, without 
 affectation, pedantry, or formality. 
 
 INIrs. Bennet and her two daughters (so let me 
 call them), were at church, and with them ano- 
 ther young woman, whom they allowed to visit 
 them, and improve by conversing with them ; 
 her name is Grove, a farmer's daughter, lately 
 come to a pretty fortune by the death of a 
 grandmother. — Franklin tells me she is laid out 
 for a wife for Mr. Collins ; and Mr. Selby does 
 all in his power to promote the match. 
 
 In the evening Mr. Selby called upon us ; he 
 delivered Mrs. Rennet's compliments to Mr, and 
 Mrs. Franklin, and their guest, desiring their 
 eompany to dine at her house on the morrow. 
 We accepted the invitation with pleasure,— But 
 when, said Mr. FraAlilin, is your happy day?— » 
 
• 112 
 
 You shall know that to-morrow, said he. Mr. 
 Collins will be my other brideman ; Saville has 
 offered, Miss jNlelcombe will be his partner ; 
 Miss Grove, Collius's. — Do you know, said Frank- 
 Jtin, that Saville had a mind to be jealous of 
 Collins's attention to Miss Melcombe ? — It is a 
 proof of his penetration. Collins did actually 
 make an offer of himself to INIiss JNlelcombe. He 
 was refused, but not with the pride and disdain 
 that many fine women show upon such occasions. 
 He was told she was not a proper wife for him ; 
 but Mrs. Bennet commenxled his intention to 
 marry, and asked him to let her have the honour 
 to recommend a wife to him. She has since 
 pointed out Dolly Grove as a proper person. 
 Collins thanked her, but said he must take some 
 time to get over his disappointment with Miss 
 Melcombe ; and he looks at her, as if unwilling 
 to give up his hopes. — But he is refused, said I? 
 — Selby smiled, he is absoluteli/.^-Theu I will 
 hope, said I. 
 
 I enclose Mr. Munden's letter. Let me have 
 the pleasure of hearing from you soon, 
 
 And believe me always 
 
 most gratefully yours, 
 E. Saville. 
 
1J3 
 LETTER XII. 
 
 MU. MUNDEN TO MR. SAVILLE, 
 MY DEAR BOY, 
 
 "Y ou n last letter was an impertinent one; but I 
 have since heard, with great pleasure, that you 
 are come to a better way of thinking. — Lady 
 Belmour is your true friend ; she excused you to 
 me; she told me you would, in due time, be all 
 that I wished you. 
 
 Her last confirms her prognostics concerning, 
 you. She says you are so much improved both 
 in person and behaviour, that I should hardly 
 know you. But you are an obstinate self-willed 
 fellow, and will not suffer her to lead your choice 
 in any thing, and so 3'ou have fallen in love as 
 you thought proper, you young dog you ! How- 
 ever, I am glad that you have discovered yourself 
 to have certain passions and propensities, and 
 that you can speak for yourself upon some oc- 
 casions; it will give you proper courage to speak 
 upon oti^ers, aye upon all.—- Now mind what I 
 say, Edward, for I am a veteran in these caaes. 
 — Let this girl be your friend, or your cowpatuov^ 
 or what you please, but don't»let her be your 
 mistress indeed ; keep her humble and obedient 
 to your will and pleasure. — Don't go to maka 
 her a settlement, for t^iat is to make her inde- 
 
114. 
 
 pendent of you, but make her more or less, ac* 
 cording as she deserves of you. 
 
 When you come to town, I will teach you how 
 to manage her ; in the mean time I send you a 
 remittance of 2001. I suppose you will want to 
 make the girl some presents, and you must also 
 make an acknowledgment to Lady Belmour ; a 
 bank note of 301. will be sufficient. When you 
 come to London, I will settle accounts with you, 
 and give up my trust. — I should think a few years 
 travel would be of service to you ; we will speak 
 of that and other matters at your return. — I hope 
 yet to make a great man of you, Edward, and 
 then I shall be proud of you, as the work of my 
 own hands. — Present my best compliments to 
 Lady Belmour and her friends ; and believe me, 
 Your aflettionate and sincerest friend, 
 
 Richard MuNDEN. 
 
 LETTER Xin. 
 
 MISS JONES TO MR. SAVILLE. 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 As you were my deliverer from a state of vice 
 and folly, you have a right to be informed what 
 use I make of my liberty. I am happy in the 
 situation which I mentioned to you. Your lawyer 
 was so kind as to advance me tvvo hundred poundo 
 
115 
 
 >pon rny bond, and takes upon him to negociatc 
 mine with Lord C— — — — ; and this obligation 
 I owe likewise to your goodness. Mrs. Searle, 
 my partner, has very good business, and she has 
 many friends in the navy. I pass for a widow, 
 and all her friends are mine also. 
 
 Constant employment drives away disagreeable 
 thought, and I feel myself happier than ever I 
 was before ; and I hope to obtain that peace and 
 tranquillity which attends those who are com- 
 mendably employed. 
 
 As often as I return thanks to my Creator for 
 his infinite mercy in rescuing me from a state of 
 sin and foll)% and giving me comfortable hopes 
 of peace hei"e, and happiness hereafter, I shall 
 remember my benefactor both in my prayers and 
 praises; and I will implore for him every blessing 
 that heaven can bestow. 
 
 I am, dear and worthy Sir, 
 Your most obliged and grateful servant, 
 
 S. Joxas, 
 
 LETTER XIV. 
 
 MR. JOHNSON TO MR. SAVILLE. 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 I OWE you many acknowledgements for the en- 
 tertainment your pacquets have afforded me. 
 I congratulate you on your victory, and -oa 
 
llff 
 
 5'our defeat also, for 3'oa are absolutely a captivef 
 though a voluntary one. 
 
 The first time the heart is subdued is com- 
 monly the crisis of our lives ; and the following 
 part takes its character from this event. An 
 early attachment to a virtuous and amiable 
 woman cultivates and ripens every great and 
 noble quality; an attachment to a bad woman 
 leads to a life of folly, vice, and misery. 
 
 I would nut wish a young man to marry so 
 early as at your age ; but I would liave iiim en- 
 gaged in a courtship and correspondence with a 
 woman qualified to be in time an amiable wife 
 and mother ; I would have him meet with some 
 difficulties, as an exercise to his patience and 
 fortitude ; 1 would have him subdue them by his 
 virtue and activity, and at length receive the 
 reward of his courage and fidelity. What a for- 
 tunate man are you, to fall into the acquaintance 
 and obtain the friendship of such a family ! It is 
 not a very easy thing for a good young man to 
 choose a v\ ife that is worthy of him. — -The young 
 women of the present times are very agreeable 
 companions for an hour, for an afternoon's con- 
 versation, for an evening's entertainment ; but 
 for wives ! — look at the wives of tlae great world ! 
 —look at the husbands too, see — judge — reflect ! 
 and thank God you have escaped the danger of 
 A fashionable wife. The pupils of folly and fop- 
 
117 
 
 peiy are terrible companions for life. I would 
 send those young men I love, into the country 
 for a wife ; and warn them not to make her too 
 well acquainted with a town life afterwards. 
 This latter part of my lesson may yet be in 
 time for you ; and it is not certain that you may 
 not want the former : you have a great deal of 
 ground to go over, before you are sure of Miss 
 Melcombe. 
 
 Study agriculture, study economy ; both are 
 necessary, both will be beneficial when you are 
 settled for life. 
 
 I respect Mr. Franklin, I love Mr. Selby, I 
 revere Mrs. Bennet and her amiable daughters ; 
 cultivate their friendship and esteem, my young 
 friend ; deserve their affection, and you will 
 obtain it. 
 
 Continue your narrative to me ; if it is pos- 
 sible, let me know the history of the Bennet 
 family. 
 
 Every thing that is interesting to you, will be 
 so to your friend, 
 
 Johnson, 
 
 LETTER XV. 
 
 MR. SAA'ILLE TO MR. JOHNSON. 
 
 J irANK you, dear Sir, for your paternal les- 
 sons, they can never be unseasonable or unwel- 
 come to me. 
 
lis 
 
 At the conclusion of my last, I told ''ou I 
 was engaged to spend the following day at Mrs. 
 Bennet's ; it proved a delightful one to mc. 
 
 Miss Melcombe plays sweetly ; she ?peaks 
 French, she reads Italian, she has been taugl.t 
 the elements of several sciences; but she con- 
 ceals them with as much care as most ladies take 
 to display them. 
 
 My proficiency in music seemed to recom- 
 mend me to the favour of the ladies. Mr. Selby 
 plays on the violin, Mr. Franklin on the, bass- 
 viol: we played several trio's and quartette's in 
 the evening, and sung many songs, chiefly out 
 of Handel's compositions. 
 
 The wedding-day was declared by IVIrs.Bennet 
 to be next Thursday, and all the company pre- 
 sent virere invited ; we are to breakfast at Blrs. 
 Bennet's, and to dine at the parsonage. INIr. 
 A. Collins is invited to meet us. 
 
 On Tuesday morning I took a walk to the 
 parsonage: the young ladies were there, looking 
 . over the house. I was permitted to accompany 
 them home with Selby. Miss Melcombe leaned 
 upon my arm; and yet, though I had her to my- 
 self, I could not for my life begin the subject 
 I most wished to engage her ear to listen to. 
 
 I suffered this precious opportunity to escape 
 me, waited on her home, and left Selby at the 
 liouse, — happy man ! — and returned alone to Mr. 
 3 
 
119 
 
 Franklin's, accusing myself all the way of folly 
 and false delicacy. 
 
 As I was buried in these ruminations, two 
 men came by on horse-back ; they stopped, and. 
 
 called to me by name. It was Lord S and 
 
 Mr. Clayton, two of Lady Beimour's disciples, 
 whom I have introduced to you before. 
 
 I saluted them coolly, and was going forward ; 
 but Clayton called out — Do not run away, Sa- 
 ville; suffer me to say a few words to you, they 
 shall not be of the hostile kind. I behaved 
 rudely to you last time I -saw you: I ask your 
 pardon. — So saying, he jumped off his horse, 
 antl came and took my hand. I gave it him 
 cheerfully, and we walked together, he leading 
 his horse. 
 
 Lord S— — said, Who was that dhmegirl that 
 was hanging upon your arm this morning, Sa- 
 ville? — A }Oung lady v/ho is under the care of 
 Mrs. Bennet, said I; but not an acquaintance 
 for your Lordship or Lady Belmour. — I know 
 that, said he, laughingv 
 
 Come, Saville, do not be afraid of us, we are 
 not so bad as you think us; we respect those 
 who are realli/ virtuous women, though we make 
 free with those who only pretend to be so. But 
 pray, my good modest friend, answer me a ques- 
 tion that I have long wished to ask you; What 
 is your opinion of Miss Freewill ?— I will answer 
 
yo\i, said I, I believe she is a virtuous girl, 
 but aa indiscreet one. 
 
 I am glad to hear you say so, for — shall I 
 confess it? I adore that girl! I love her up to 
 
 inarriage, if I was certain But, Saville, did 
 
 you never make love to her, mjest or in earnest? 
 —No, never, upon my honour ! but I paid her 
 some attention, because I thought she deserved 
 it. — Thank you, Saville, you have set my heart 
 at ease; I was confoundedly jealous of you. 
 She paid you some attention, though — too much 
 for me. She speaks of you with emotion, and 
 will not suffer any body to open their lips against 
 you. — That is owing to her generosity, said I; 
 she defends an innocent man when he is unjustly 
 traduced. 
 
 Pray, said Lord S- ' ' , what is become of 
 ^liss Jones? She is one of INIr. Saville's flock. 
 You must enquire somewhere else, my Lord, 
 said L I have staid in this neighbourhood to 
 convince every body; that I have no connexion 
 with Miss Jones. ■ A Joseph-^yea, a Joseph ! 
 said Lord S ; but that fine girl that I saw 
 
 you lead to-day, who is she? — My Lord, you 
 ntust excuse me. 
 
 I wish, said Clayton, you would give me a 
 bill upon Miss Freewill. — I do not understand 
 you, said \. — A bill of credit, said he. Say that 
 you know mej that I am an honest fellow, and 
 
121 
 30 forth. — Not I, indeed, Sir; make your ^trr 
 credit with her. 
 
 . We came to a style that kd to Franklin's 
 house. — Gentlemen, bonjour ! said I, and jumped 
 over the style; they wished me a good day, and 
 went their own road. 
 
 I told Franklin my adventure, and worried 
 myself and him with doubts and fears of I know 
 not what. I wislied Miss Melcombe had never 
 
 been seen by Lord S . Franklin laughed at 
 
 me. — Surely, ■said he, in such a country as ours 
 there is nothing to apprehend; are we not 
 under the protection of the laws ? what are you 
 afraid of? — I do not know exactly, said I; but 
 wherever ther^; is something to ho,pe-, there is al- 
 ways something to fear. 
 
 Fridaij. The day is come and gone, that was 
 wished for so long. Selby is happy, while I am 
 in doubts and fears; however, my hopes rise in 
 my heart's barometer. I am not hated, I am 
 not rejected; I have been heard with compla- 
 cency, if not with pity. We met at Mrs. Ben- 
 net's, and breakfasted there, and from thence 
 went to church. There was an air of sedate 
 cheerfulness upon the whole company ; but none 
 of the rapturous and riotous joy which blazes 
 for a day and then expires. The excellent Mrs. 
 Bennet called upon her daughter to be cheerful. 
 Some ^iris, said she, think it necessary to be- 
 
 G 
 
'IQ'2 
 
 have as if they were averse to their own wishes. 
 Detestable aftcctation ! It is a very bad compli- 
 ment to the bridegroom, to look unhappy or re- 
 luctant upon these occasions. — I will endeavour 
 to behave as becomes your daughter, jNladam, 
 answered the amiable bride. — Selby's eyes spoke 
 his grateful sensibilities. We arrived at the 
 church. 
 
 Mr. Butler prepared for the sacred office ; 
 jMr. Selby offered his hand to his bride, she gave 
 her's with apparent pleasure. The office was 
 performed; the ]a.dy spoke out her part of it; 
 her mother, by a nod, encouraged her to do so. 
 We all stood round the table. I looked a thou- 
 .sand tender things to my fair partner, and took 
 courage to whisper softly to her, What a solemn 
 office ! What sacred words ! How sweet to speak 
 and to hear, between two hearts united and con- 
 secrated by virtue ; they kindle my wishes and 
 aspirations after the same happiness. Oh, that 
 I dared to sai/ my hopes! She blushed and looked 
 down. 
 
 After the ceremony was concluded, we ad- 
 journed to the Parsonage, and there renewed our 
 congratulations and wishes for their happiness. 
 
 Mr. Selby thanked Mrs. Bennet for the in- 
 estimable present she had made him (she gave 
 the bride at the altar). — My future behaviour 
 shall show how dear it is to me ; it is my wish 
 
123 
 
 and hope to restore the blessings which time has 
 ravished from j^ou, and to be your son in every 
 respect. — With pleasure, with pride, I acknow- 
 iedge my son ! said she. — I have a particular 
 favour to ask of my dear mother, said IMr. Selby, 
 but it shall not he Just uoxv; she will give me her 
 company alone to hear it. — She smiled : I cannot 
 think what it can be, said she; however, it must 
 be a very strange one, that I can refuse my son 
 upon this day. The bride smiled like an angel, 
 but her joy overiiowed at her eyes; her mother 
 embraced and blessed her. She held out her 
 hand to Miss Melcombe, who kissed it; she em- 
 braced her. — My dear Sophia ! my other daugh- 
 ter! my sister! said the bride; will you receive 
 a brother from me ? IMr. Selby then saluted her.— 
 Let me be your brother at present, said he; per- 
 haps hereafter I may aspire to the honour of 
 being your /flif//e;-. Sophiasighed; the tear started 
 from her eye. — How sweet to have a father! 
 said she ; and how unfortunate to be forgotten 
 by him ! — Mrs. Bennet took her hand. Be com- 
 forted, my child; Heaxen, in lieu of that father^ 
 has given you a mother, a sister, and a brother ; 
 and perhaps your father may one day recollect 
 and acknov.ledge his child. Let us not think of 
 any thing this day that can sadden our hearts.— f 
 Our conversation afterwards became general ; 
 we walked in the garden before dinner; Mr. 
 g2 
 
■ 124- 
 Selby took Mrs, Rennet aside, and kept her some 
 time ; after which he came and took my hand to 
 lead me to Mrs, Bennet. — I have explained your 
 pretensions, said he, to my mother ; you must 
 now speak for yourself. 
 
 I did so, but with more hesitation than I 
 •wished ; and afterwards I took your last letter 
 out -of my pocket, and presented it to Mrs. Ben- 
 net as a kind of credential, in respect to my 
 proposu'l. She read it over. — It is, indeed, much 
 m your favour, Sir ; but I must blame you, my 
 son, for giving Mr. Saville room to expect to see 
 the memoirs of our f am ily ; you see he has raised 
 the same expectation in Mr. .Johnson also : they 
 ■were never meant to be shewn out of the family. 
 
 i do not see how it could well be avoided, 
 said be. As to ^Ir. Johnson, you know his cha- 
 racter, and i should ihink you might allow him 
 to see the Manuscript without one objection. 
 To say truth, said Mrs. Bennet, it has less im- 
 propriety to trust him with it, than so young a 
 gentleman as him before us. 
 
 I will answer, Madam, for Mr. Saville's ho- 
 nour ; I know he may be trusted, I pass my 
 ■a:ord for him. 
 
 Permit me^ Madam, said I, to offer myself os 
 a candidate for the dear lady's favour; I will 
 submit to any trial, to any time of probation, to 
 any conditions.. — But, Sir, Miss Melcombe has 
 
]25 
 
 3. father living. — I w'll apply to him, if 1 may be 
 30 happy to obtain your favour and recommen- 
 dation. 
 
 Well, Sir, it is my son's request ; I cannot re- 
 fuse his warm exertion of his influence in your 
 behalf on this day. You shall read the papers ; 
 you shall send them to Mr. Johnson, and he 
 shall advise you and us, 
 
 Mr. Selby expressed his joy and gratitude m 
 proper terms. We returned to company, and 
 our friends looks told us they were no strangers 
 to our business. I drew Miss Melcombe aside ; 
 I made my confession with more courage than I 
 expected; she heard me with complacency: she 
 told me she had -a. father, who had the only right 
 to dispose of her. She allowed me to visit her 
 as a fritnd, and did not forbid me to hope for 
 her favour. 
 
 Mrs. Bennet took Mr. Collins and Miss Grove 
 apart; she recommended them to each other. 
 She seemed the Juno-Matrona; the arbiter and 
 protector of conjugal Imppiness. 
 
 At two o'clock we sat down to a well-ordered 
 and plentiful dinner ; v.-e sat some time after- 
 wards. We played, we sung ; every one endea- 
 voured to promote the happiness of the rest. 
 
 At ten o'clock the ladies all retired. Mrs. 
 Bennet and Miss Melcombe slept at tine Parso- 
 nage; we took the hint, and withdrew soon after, 
 G 3 
 
126 
 
 wishing Mr. Selby a long continuance of his do- 
 mestic happiness.— Let us see you often, my dear 
 friends, said he. — You may be sure of me, said 
 I; you have bound me to you for hfe. — V/e came 
 away at eleven. 
 
 At my return home, I found a letter from 
 Mr. Clayton, the contents as follows : 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 I beg your excise for my past behaviour, and 
 that you will grant me a favour, which will ac- 
 celerate my happiness. It is, that you will speak 
 a word in my behalf to the charming JMiss Free- 
 Avill, to whom I have offered myself in marriage. 
 She thinks and speaks of you in high terms, such 
 as would make me mad with jealousy, if I did 
 not believe you to be in love in another place. 
 Forget my vanity and folly, and do an act of 
 generous friendship for your old school-fellow 
 and friend, 
 
 GiiORGE Clayton. 
 
 I sat down and wrote the following answer 
 immediately, for Mr. Frauklin's servant to carry 
 
 ia the morning. 
 
 Sir, 
 I must beg to be excused as to the credentials 
 you require of me ; I am r.oi sufficiently ac- 
 quainted v/ith lMis-3 Freewill to use so great a 
 
127 
 liberty ; nor with your conduct and character, to 
 be able to pass my word for your virtue to u 
 ladj/, though I might for your honour to a gent'<:- 
 vian. Hov/ever, your resolution to marry, con- 
 firms my hope of your becoming a good membi-r 
 of society^ and I wish you success in your pie- 
 sent laudable pursuit ; for, in my opinion, t'le 
 path of virtue is the only road to iiappines?. 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 
 Your most humble servant, 
 
 E. Saville. 
 
 S.!tiirJay JlIciT.iig, 
 
 I have just received the precious manuscript 
 'from Mr. Selby; it aftbrds me sufficient subject 
 for meditation of every kind. I am allowed to 
 send it to Mr. Johnson. 
 
 LETTER XVI. 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO MR. JOHNSON'. 
 
 I CAN now tell you that I am as happy as a man 
 in a state of probation can be. 
 
 I have been permitted to explain myself; to 
 open my heart to the mistress of it. She heard 
 me with complacency, though not with emotion; 
 she smiled upon me, and checked the ardour of 
 my declaration. 
 
 I hope, said she, I am above afifectation or de- 
 
-128 
 ceit. I would uot raise hopes I do not mean t© 
 encourage ; our acquaintance is of a very late 
 date : your character is not yet established, mine 
 is hardly tbrnied. I have made no resolution for 
 or against marriage. I think it is the most 
 eligible state^ and that a woman stands in need 
 of a protector through life. I think very well of 
 you, ]Mr. Saville. Indeed I like your company 
 too well to give up your acquaintance, unless 
 there was a necessity for it. 
 
 I blessed her for this declaration, and was 
 going to express my gratitude as a l&ver. But 
 she stopped me. — Do not interrupt me, Sir, I 
 have premeditated what I am saying. I will re- 
 ceive you as my friend^ and as a candidate for 
 my favour, but not as a contracted lover. We 
 will be good friends, and remain upon this foot- 
 ing for one entire year from the date of our first 
 acquaintance. ^ 
 
 I sighed. Oh Sophia, this is an act of arbi- 
 trary power; this i» a cfeuel quarantine ! but what 
 am 1 to expect «t the end of this long, long 
 probation ? In the course of this year, said she, 
 we shall knoyf,eacl) other'* disposition, our vir- 
 tues, and our faults ; is it not better that we 
 should have a reason for our liking or disliking 
 each other? Mr, Selby waited patiently his time 
 of probation. 
 
 Well, my dear Madam, but at the end of the 
 
l?9 
 year -w^at am I to expect? — Nothing certain. 
 Sir; if we then like each other well enough to 
 make a serious engagement, Mrs. Bennet will 
 apply to my father for his consent, and then you 
 will have my permission to make proposals to 
 him. You know how I am circumstanced ; and 
 I am resolved to perform my duty to my pa- 
 rent, however he may behave towards me. 
 
 Hard terms, my dear lady ! but such as I 
 must accept, if I can obtain no better. I de- 
 vote myself wholly to you, Madam, dispose of 
 me as you please: yet I murmured at her insen- 
 sibilit}'; we joined our friends, who were ap- 
 prized of all that had passed between us. 
 
 Sophia looked triumphantly; I rather deject- 
 edi Tvlrs. Selby challenged me; What Sir, are 
 you dissatisfied with my Sophia; if so, I shall 
 declare against you! — I submit, Madam, to her 
 laws and yours.— Very well, said Mr. Selby, 
 then all is as it should be.. 
 
 From this time Sophia has treated me with 
 more ease and freedom: she encourages me to 
 bfchave as a friend, but will not hear a word in 
 the style of a lover. In all otlier respects I am 
 the happiest of men. 
 
 MiTi. Selby has recommended Mn Butler to a 
 curacy ver}' near; he has given him a room in 
 his own house, where he comes and goes when- 
 ever, he pleases,, with free access to a very good 
 G 5 
 
130 
 library, the late i\Ir. Bennet's, to ■which Mr. 
 Selby has made considerable additions. 
 
 Sometimes we read and converse with the 
 learned, but oftener with the ladies, in the most 
 delightful of all society, where the senseg polish 
 and improve each other. 
 
 These, my dear friend, are the true, because 
 the rational pleasures, such as increase by re- 
 flection. 
 
 I have a letter from Miss Jones, which I en- 
 close to you. I rejoice that she is likely to be 
 so well established the remainder of her life, and 
 hope the former part of it will be forgotten. As 
 I have looked upon her as still in some degree 
 under my protection, I am happy to be relieved 
 from any further interposition in her affairs. But 
 I do not perfectly understand what she means 
 by putting myself upon my guard, and being 
 aware of some impending danger to myself, or 
 those I love. 
 
 Adieu, my friend. I expect the return of 
 my pacquetj and a letter with your strictures 
 upon it. 
 
 Yours sincerely, 
 
 E. Saville. 
 
131 
 
 EPISODE. 
 
 MEMOinS of WILLIAM BENNET, CLERK, AND 
 HIS FAMILY. 
 
 At the request of my dear children, I sit down 
 to write these memoirs of the most interestiiJg 
 events of my life, for their satisfaction, and the 
 benefit of our posterity. 
 
 The virtues of our ancestors, are examples for 
 us to imitate; their failings and defects are 
 Avarnings for us to avoid them. We can only 
 propose the example and the warning ; but tiie 
 right application of both, depends on those who 
 receive them. If the soil is prepared by due 
 cultivation, it will bring forth twenty, fifty, or an 
 hundredfold. May such be the increase in the 
 minds of my amiable and beloved children! 
 
 I am descended from a good family, which 
 formerly lived in a state of affluence; but by 
 the expences of our ancestors, and the increase 
 of luxury, was reduced to a small estate, which 
 descended to an eldest son: my father was the 
 younger brother; he was a clergyman of the 
 church of England, who united the Christian 
 faith and morals, in his doctrine and in his 
 practice. I am the younger of two sons; tlie 
 extravagances and profligacy of the eldest (who 
 died at twenty-five years of age, of the conse- 
 G 6 
 
152 
 ^uence cf his irregularities) obliged my father to 
 restrain himself in his expences for me. I early- 
 declared, my wishes towards the profession of my 
 father, whom I aspired to resemble in every re- 
 spect. ]\Iy godfather, assisted him in the ex- 
 pieiice of an university education for me. I 
 went through my studies there with credit and 
 success; and afterwards took upon me the office 
 of college-tutor to several youths of fortune and 
 family. Among these was a young gentleman,, 
 whose name was Lucas. He was bred up at 
 Westminster School^ where, by his riotous com- 
 panions, he was early initiated into all the mys" 
 tsries of vice and folly, which are but too well 
 knov/n to the youth of tlie present age : froin 
 thence he was sent to Oxford, where he made 
 acquaintance with some young men of an en- 
 thusiastic turn, who led him into the abys& of 
 Methodism. A mind, convicted of sin, is glad, 
 to lay hold on any thing that will be accepted as 
 a substitute for virtue; but in a short time after, 
 his reason revolted against this implicit faith, 
 From one extreme point he flew to the other; 
 he read th<: works of Bolingbroke, Hume, and 
 Voltaire, and fancied himself convinced by their 
 doctrine: he renounced the tenets of Chris- 
 tianity, and became a professed advocate for 
 Inftdelity. 
 
 la this stat£ J found him. I put into his 
 
133 
 
 hand's, Tillctson, Clarke, Sherlock, and Mr, 
 Locke's Reasonableness of Christianity. By rea- 
 soning upon them-, I had the happiness to con- 
 vince him of his errors in judgment, and to re- 
 concile his reason to his faith; and he orce 
 more owned himself a Christian. 
 
 lie publicly declared his obligations to me^ 
 I gained much credit by his conversion. H-e 
 wrote to his mother and told her how much he 
 valued me. In consequence 1 received a most 
 polite invitation to accompany him into Staf- 
 fordshire; my friend urged me to accept it: 
 and, with my father's permission, I attended him 
 to his family seat, where I met with a joyful 
 welcome from the family, which cor^ist^d of 
 Mr. Lucas's mother, a respectable lady; Mjs. 
 H«rton, her sister; a woman-grown daughter 
 of each of these ladies ; and another youog 
 woman, a relation and dependant upon the 
 family. 
 
 ^Ir. Lucas had been early spoiled, by the 
 fond indulgence of his mother to her only son. 
 But he now professed a reformation of evsry 
 kind, and attribut-ed all to my friendship. Mrs, 
 Lucas ofi'ered me presents of value, which I re- 
 fused; and said, that her son's friendship was 
 my best recompence. The young ladies were 
 both handsome and amiable. Miss Lucas was 
 generally thought the finest woman. Miss Hor- 
 
• 154> 
 ton was much lower in stature; but whenever 
 she spoke or smiled, she had a thousand inex- 
 pressible graces about her mouth; her person 
 seemed to receive new animation, and every 
 word she spoke found its way directly to the 
 heart. To mine, it spoke a language new and 
 expressive; and made an impression there, which 
 neither time nor absence could ever erase. I 
 dared not declare my passion, but preserved a 
 distance and reserve becoming my situation and 
 late acquaintance. There was however a secret 
 intercourse between us, though we seemed mu- 
 tually afraid of each other. Mr. Lucas pre- 
 sented me to all his neighbours as the chosen 
 friend of his heart, and one'Jto whom he owed 
 great obligations. Our visit passed agreeably, 
 upon the whole ; but I had two causes of pain 
 at my departure; one, a too apparent attention 
 of IMiss Lucas to myself; the other was, the un- 
 certainty of my situation with respect to Miss 
 Horton. 
 
 Soon after our return to Oxford I received a 
 letter from JNIr. Withers, with a proposal for me 
 to accompany Mr. Lucas in his intended tour 
 through France and Italy. I begged leave to 
 decline this offer, as my father w^as advanced in 
 years, and declining in his health. 
 
 This answer was not satisfactory. Soon after 
 I received a letter from Mrs. Lucas, requesting 
 1 
 
135 
 
 mo, for her son's sake, to give Iiim my company. 
 She invited me to repeat my visit, and to settle 
 the terms of our agreement, as soon as we could 
 be spared from college duties, 
 
 I sent this and the former letter to my dear 
 -father, and desired him to answer this proposal 
 for me in whatever manner he pleased. My 
 father declared against it in the strongest man- 
 ner. He aaiswered Mrs. Lucas's letter, declining 
 the proposal ; at the same time acitnowledging 
 her kindness and generosity towards me, and 
 begging the continuance of her friendship and 
 esteem for me. But to me he gave much stronger 
 reasons for his refusal. 
 
 " I have seldom known a young man make 
 '* this Tour, said he, but he returned the worse 
 " for it, either in principles or practice, but most 
 •' commonly in both." 
 
 After this admonition from my father, I per- 
 severed in my refusal. Soon after, I was ho- 
 noured with a letter from ]Miss Lucas, acquaint- 
 inff me that her mother was not well enough to 
 write herself, but that she requested me, by her- 
 hand, to look out for her, and to recommend a 
 proper person to be her son's companion; for 
 that he would not permit any person to assume 
 the title of his governor. 
 
 I acquitted myself of this commission. I re- 
 commended, a worthy young man of the name of 
 
IS6 
 
 Bates, who gladly accepted the offer. H'e fte- 
 companied Mr, Lucas and myself on a visit to 
 his mother, where the terms were settled, and 
 every thing agreed. While we were there, Mrs. 
 Lucas, who had long been in a declining state, 
 died. Her son and daughter were deeply affecti- 
 ed by her death. 
 
 l>uring my second visit here, I explained my-- 
 self to Miss Horton, and solicited her favour. 
 She received my address with modest confidence; 
 she confessed it gave her pleasure, but she fore- 
 saw a great obstacle in the way of our mutual 
 happiness. — Miss Lucas loves you,. Sir^ said she; 
 she has a good fortune, she has many fine qua- 
 lities; I shall be sorry to be a hindrance to your 
 making your fortune. I assured her of my love, 
 and of my honour; that if she would share my 
 lot, which was likely to be an humble one, I 
 ■would refuse the highest rank or fortune for her 
 sake. We agreed to keep our engagement secret, 
 till such time as I should be in a situation. to 
 marry;. and, to conceal our mutual affection from 
 the eye of observation. Miss Lucas behaved 
 with the utmost attention and politeness to me. 
 I staid only till Mr., Lucas made the necessary 
 preparations for his departure, which made our 
 adieus very affecting on all sides. I accompaT 
 nied him and his companion to Harwich, from 
 whence he proposed going through Holland 
 5 
 
137 
 
 and Flanders before he should make the t©ur of 
 France. 
 
 At parting he embraced me with tears in his 
 eyes. I shall never forget the obligations I owe 
 you, my dear Bennet; I shall fulfil my mother's 
 request, and my own inclination, in giving you 
 the first living that is vaeant; I promise it to 
 you, and you may rely upon my word. 
 
 I made my grateful acknowledgments in suit- 
 able terms; I recommended Mr. Bates and him 
 to each other's care, and returned with a heavy 
 heart to Oxford. 
 
 During my stay with him, I received a letter 
 from the gentleman who had been guardian to 
 Mr. Lucas, which contained a formal proposal 
 of Miss Lucas's hand and fortune, which he was 
 authorized to make me; and acquainted me 
 that the lady's fortune was full ten thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 My confusion was so great upon reading this 
 letter, that my father desired to know the cause 
 of it. I then opened my heart to him, and told 
 liim of my engagement to Miss Horton. — There 
 is no room for a moment's doubt, said my fa- 
 ther; even if your heart were not so deeply at- 
 tached, an engagement of this kind is sacred. 
 
 I am entirely of your opinion. Sir, said I ; I 
 will write that I am engaged already, and can- 
 not accept the proposal. — -Then you will act like 
 
13S 
 an honest man, said he, and you may expect 
 the blessing of heaven upon your engagement.— 
 I wrote accordingly, that my heart and my pro- 
 mise were already engaged, and that I had not 
 the shadow of a wish to be released from my 
 vows. — I wrote also to Miss Ilorton, acquainted 
 her with the proposal I had received, gave her a 
 transcript of my answer to it, and referred my- 
 self entirely to her pleasure in respect to the de- 
 claring of our engagements. — I waited with im- 
 patience, and not without uneasiness, for an 
 answer to my letter; a thousand disagreeable 
 apprehensions disturbed my mind : at length the 
 expected letter came, and opened a new scene 
 of action to me, which decided the principal 
 events of my life. I transcribe it in this place. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 Your letters have produced strange effects; it 
 was some time before I could comj ose my mind 
 enough to give you an account of them. 
 
 Our engagement is, indeed, declared ; but I 
 must go back to the time when my cousin was 
 expecting your answer to h^r proposal. 
 
 She threw out hints to my mother and m«, 
 that she Iiad a treaty of marriage under consi- 
 deration, and that she was certain both of us 
 would approve her choice. 
 
 At length Mc Withers came, and brought 
 
139 
 
 your answer; which produced a great alteration 
 in Miss Lucas, who grew silent, reserved, and 
 unhappy. She shunned our company, except 
 at meals, and then withdrew soon after. Your 
 letter to me arrived a few days after, and I then 
 understood perfectly the cause of her uneasiness. 
 
 My. mother begged her to communicate the 
 cause of her concern to her; but she desired her 
 to excuse her. She looked at me as if expecting 
 me to speak to her. 1 looked down, blushed, 
 and kept a profound silence. Whether my be- 
 haviour raised her suspicions, I don't know; but 
 one day, while I was walking in the garden, she 
 went into my room, looked into my drawers, 
 and found there several of your letters, but 
 above all your last to me. This discovery roused 
 her from her silent melancholy. She came down 
 stairs, rang the bell violently, and ordered the 
 servant to call me: " Bid Miss Horton come to 
 me." When I went into the parlour, her pas- 
 sion exceeded all description. She called me 
 traitor! deceiver! every thing that was bad. 1 
 guessed the matter presently; I pitied her, and 
 endeavoured to keep my temper and ray resolu- 
 tion. I gave way in silence, and let her run 
 herself out of breath. 
 
 When my mother came in, she found us in 
 this situation; she was astonished past expres- 
 sion, and could only say. What is the matter? 
 
140 
 
 —Here, Madam ? see here whal a daughter yoiv 
 have! what a friend 1 1 what a serpent I have 
 fostered in my bosom, and now it stings me to 
 death! — So saying, she gave my mother your 
 letter, and then sunk back into her chair. 
 
 I besought my mother not to judge of me 
 hardly, that I could not accuse myself of any 
 thing wrong, except concealing your addresses 
 from her; as for the rest, 1 had r.ot deceived or 
 betrayed any one^ That I had reason to com- 
 plain of my cousin, for looking into my papers; 
 but that she had been puniihed severely for it, 
 and I forgave and pilied her. — Pity me I said 
 she; am I fallen so low as to excite your pity? 
 No, I hate, detest, and despise you! Go from 
 my house, 1 will harbour you no longer ! 
 
 My dear cousin, moderate your passion, and 
 hear me; suffer me to tell my story, and to jus- 
 tify myself. 
 
 I will h^ar nothing; I know enough : you have 
 robbed me ! — Robbed you. Madam 1 — Yes, 
 robbed mn of the only thing I valued upon earth: 
 have yuu not stolen Bennet's heart from me ? — 
 No, Madam, he made a voluntary gift of it to 
 me, before you had any pretensions to it.— Don't 
 talk to me; get out of my sight! I shall go dis- 
 tracted if you remain here! — My mother said, 
 Maria, leave us; go to your own chamber, and 
 I will come to you ?oor«. 
 
141 
 
 1 left tliem together, and went up to ray 
 cnamber, v/here I spent a wretched hour, ac- 
 cusing myself as if I had committed the greatest 
 critTxC. At length my mother canit to me; I 
 threw myself at her feet, ai;id begged her to hear 
 me. 
 
 I told her the whole of our connexion, from 
 the very first hour that you honoured me with 
 your notice. She heard me patiently and kind- 
 ly.; she raised and embraced me. 
 
 My dear child, be comforted, repose your 
 sorrows in the bosom of your parent; this is an 
 indiscreet connexion according to the world's 
 judgment; but, if Mr. Bennet prefers poverty 
 with you, to affluence with another, what right 
 have I to refuse my consent? the heart will 
 choose for itself; and if the attachment be 
 founded upon virtue, it must be a crime to op- 
 pose it. I must leave it to you to choose your 
 own lot ; it is you that must abide by it. 
 
 I gave my dear mother a thousand thanks and 
 blessings for her goodness; I told her the con- 
 cern I was under for my cousin, and my wishes 
 for her peace and happiness. My dear, we must 
 leave this house directly; perhaps when this af- 
 fair is blowii over, she may wish to see mc again ; 
 but you, I am afraid, she never will. I will take 
 a proper leave of her, and if she will permit it, 
 you shall do the same.— My mother's kindness 
 
 \ 
 
142 
 
 calmed my ruffled spirits; she went from one to 
 the other all the day; she tried to promote a re- 
 conciliation, but my cousin would hear no rea- 
 son. The next day my mother went to Mr. 
 Styles's, a tenant of the family; she asked him 
 to take us to lodge and board for some time. 
 
 At my mother's return, we prepared for our 
 departure : I begged to take leave of my cousin, 
 but she refused to see me. 
 
 I find it high time to conclude this letter. Di- 
 rect to me as you will see in the cover; write to 
 ine soon ; restore my peace and tranquillity, and 
 dispose of me as you please, 
 
 INIaria Hortok." 
 
 I read this letter with great emotion, and 
 then ga\e it to my father, and asked his advice 
 how to proceed. — There is but one way, said he ; 
 write to I\Irs. Horton immediately; otfer this 
 house as an asylum to her and her daughter. — 
 You are the best of fathers, said I ; and I can 
 never express my sense of your kindness to me ! 
 —You shall give me a daughter, said he, that 
 shall be the comfort of my old age. — I flew to 
 my father, I embraced and thanked him, more 
 indeed by actions than words, for my joy rose 
 almost to rapture. — He observed me. — liarkee, 
 young man ! let me lower you a little ; how are 
 you to maintain a wife? — Dear Sir, said I, she 
 
143 
 
 brings me a little fortune of her own; I shall 
 get a double curacy; and your goodness will 
 piece out a scanty income, till such time as I 
 can get some preferment. — And when is that to 
 be ? said my father, smiling. 
 
 Sir, I have a promise from Mr. Lucas. — My 
 father shook his head. — Yon shall marry the 
 lady, said he, and you shall be my curate, till 
 you can do better. You shall be all my boarders, 
 and you must pray for my life, that you may 
 still have a house over your head. Go, write 
 your letters, and pursue the plan I have chalked 
 out. — I wrote to Miss Horton in the terms of an 
 accepted lover; and prevailed on my father to 
 write himself to Mrs. Horton, as the invitation 
 would come more properly from him. I told 
 them I should only wait for their answer, and 
 set out immediately to fetch them to my father's 
 house. 
 
 We received answers as soon as they could 
 possibly reach us. — Mrs. Horton thought it was 
 better for us to wait some time, till Miss Lucas's 
 resentment should be abated, before we married. 
 
 I was of a different opinion; that when once 
 our marriage was celebrated, and there was no 
 remedy. Miss Lucas would return to a right way 
 of thinking. I wrote to Mrs. Horton, and told 
 her she might expect to see me soon after the 
 
144 
 
 fetter, for I would be kept at that distance no 
 longer. 
 
 Accordingly I went over the week following, 
 and was received as I wished to be both by mo- 
 ther and daughter; they told me they sent every 
 day since they left the hall, to enquire after Miss 
 Lucas's health: the answer was, Very well, but 
 she saw no company. It was debated whether 
 I should tend in my own name, and whether I 
 should not wait on her. 
 
 Mrs. Horton wrote a conciliatory letter to 
 Miss Lucas, saying, That finding her residence 
 in that neighbourliood was disagreeable to her, 
 she had accepted of an asylum offered by a 
 friend. I thought proper to write to her myself, 
 though against the advice and opinion of the 
 ladies* Bly letter was as follows : 
 
 " Madam, 
 
 The respect I bear Miss Lucas, both for her 
 own and her brother's sake, obliges me to pay 
 her my compliments during my stay in her 
 neighbourhood. I am extremely concerned that 
 my engagement to Miss Horton should have 
 been the cause of a misunderstanding between 
 such near and worthy relations. I honour Miss 
 Lucas for her fuu^ qualities, and think I cannot 
 be deceived in my opinion of her. I believe that 
 
145 
 
 time and reflexion will restore her to those 
 friends, whom misapprehension has driven to 
 banishment. 
 
 I could not be so near, and not let it be known 
 to you, as I am not conscious of any action that 
 requires to be concealed or disguised. — I shall 
 at all times be proud to obey your commands in 
 any thing in which you will accept my services ; 
 and shall ever preserve a grateful remembrance 
 of the friendship with which I once was honoured. 
 I am, Madam, 
 Your most obliged ^d obedient Servant, 
 
 William Bennet." 
 
 I staid three days after these letters were sent 
 to the hall ; and finding there was no answer 'to 
 be expected, my ladies and I set out upon our 
 journey, and arrived safely at my native village 
 and my well-known happy home. 
 
 My dear father received us with so much cor« 
 jdiality, as won the hearts of his two amiable 
 guests. Mrs. Horton's politeness, and my dear 
 Maria's attentions, had the same effect on him. 
 
 After a generous contest which shewed the 
 high opinion each party had of the other, it was 
 agreed that Miss Horton's fortune should be 
 vested in trustees hands, and settled on her and 
 Ixer children. She and I left every thing of this 
 kind to our parents. An honest attorney made 
 n 
 
• 146 
 
 the writings ; and as soon as they were finished' 
 and executed, my father married me to my dear 
 Maria, and made me the happiest of men ; ge- 
 nerous by nature, frugal by necessity, she spared 
 from herself to reUeve the wants of others. She 
 never spent a penny idly, nor bought any thing 
 superfluous to adorn her person ; yet there was 
 such neatness and elegance in her dress and 
 manner, that any body would have given her 
 credit for three times the money she expended. 
 
 To my father and her own mother, the most 
 dutiful and tender of children; to me, a most 
 amiable wife. I doated upon her, and yet thought 
 I could not love her enough. 
 
 Suck was — Oh rather let me bless heaven that 
 I can say, such is the woman who honoured me 
 •with her hand! such is the mother I gave to my 
 children ; such are the qualities a man should 
 seek for, in the woman he chooses for his com- 
 panion through life. 
 
 I will check my pen which knows not how to 
 stop on this subject, and only utter the final wish 
 of my soul, which is (if God so please) that I 
 may not survive this excellent woman.— I pro- 
 ceed with my history. 
 
 About three months after my marriage, I re- 
 ceived a letter from Mr. Lucas, in which he re- 
 membered his former friendship. He said, he 
 had a strange letter from his sister, in which she 
 
147 
 
 cnmplaiued, that I had behaved unhandsomely 
 to her, and made a difference between her and 
 her relations ; desiring him not to give me the 
 living he had promised, but keep it for one more 
 worthy of it. He said, she had told him no par- 
 ticulars, and therefore he desired to hear them 
 from me. He desired me to write to him at 
 Montpelier, where he was at that time, and 
 should stay some months on accountof his health, 
 which was not good enough to proceed to Italy, 
 
 I wrote an answer immediately, in which I 
 guarded the lady's honour as carefully as my 
 own. I told liim, that I had presumed to solicit 
 Miss Horton's hand, without consulting Miss 
 Lucas ; that she resented my behaviour ; that I 
 was actually married to his fair cousin j that I 
 relied upon his friendship to reconcile us both to 
 his sister, for whom I had every sentiment of 
 esteem and respect ; and hoped his return would 
 reunite us all. 
 
 I received an answer to this letter as soon as 
 I could expect; and also one from Mr. Bates, 
 -expressing his apprehensions for Mr. Lucas's life, 
 and fearing a consumption, 
 
 Mr. Lucas expressed himself to the same effect, 
 
 and I began ardently to wish for his return. I 
 
 wrote to urge him to come back, if his health 
 
 was not soon re-established. I gave him some 
 
 H 2 
 
148 
 
 serious advice, and assured him of my warm 
 aftection towards him. 
 
 Mr. Bates answered this letter on his behalf; 
 said, that he was in a place recommended for 
 his disorder ; that he would not go to Italy, un- 
 less he were quite restored ; that his conduct 
 had been prudent and regular in all respects ; 
 that he had frequently serious conferences with 
 him ; that he repented sincerely the follies and 
 errors of his youth. 
 
 I wrote again to Mr. Bates, desiring him by all 
 means to let Miss Lucas know the situation of her 
 brother: and wished him to come home directly, 
 if he was able to bear the journey. Afterwards 
 I consulted my wife and mother, whether it 
 would not be better to give Miss Lucas immediate 
 notice of her brother's danger ; it was thought 
 proper to do so, but not under either of our hands. 
 
 My father used the pen and wrote as follows : 
 
 " A warm and sincere friend to Miss Lucas, 
 thinks it is his duty to advertise her, that her 
 brother is in a very bad state of health at Mont- 
 pelier ; that his malady is of the consumptiv* 
 kind, and it is apprehended be is in some dangen. 
 He leaves it to Miss Lucas to make what use she 
 thinks best of this information; but in case a 
 dreaded event had happened, before she was 
 prepared, he could not have forgiven himself, 
 
 PlIILOCLES." 
 
i49 
 
 We found ourselves more easy and satisfied 
 after we had given this information ; we en- 
 quired what use was made of it ; and heard that 
 IMiss Lucas was set out for the continent pre- 
 sently after receiving our letter. — Oh, said T, 
 that h^he had not banished her friends ! I would 
 ctieerfuUy have attended her to ]\Iontpelier, and 
 have paid the duties of friendship to both sistei 
 and brother. 
 
 Soon after the axrival of Miss Lucas at Mont- 
 pelier, Mr. Bates wrote me word of this event ; 
 he supposed from whom she received the intelli- 
 gence of her brother's illness; he rejoiced that 
 she was present, to see that all kind of attention 
 and care was paid to her brother, of whose re- 
 covery there were but little hopes. 
 
 I wrote to Mr. Bates, and received his answers 
 constantly, with an account of the progress of 
 Mr. Lucas's distemper, and at last of Iiis death. 
 He died like a man, and like a Christian, be- 
 queathed his whole fortune to his sister, but 
 reminded her of his obligations to Mr. Bates 
 and me. 
 
 Miss Lucas determined to bring his body home, 
 to be interred with his ancestors. Mr. Bates 
 attended it ; he gave me notice of his arrival, 
 I went uninvited, and attended the funeral of 
 my friend. I set out the minute after, travelled 
 all night, and came hastily home. 
 H 3 
 
150 
 
 It was full two months after the funeral, that 
 one day, as I was in my study, my wife came to 
 me with marks of surprize in her countenance. 
 —My dear William, said she, prepkre for a 
 surprize — Of what kind, my love, said I? — Said 
 she, There is a chaise and six horses now entered 
 our yard ; a mourning one, with two servants in 
 mourning ; it can be but one person in the world. 
 — Let us go, said I ; let us hasten to meet her ! 
 
 I took her hand, and led her out. The servant 
 came to meet us, to tell us that a lady was come 
 into the parlour. I hastened thither ; Maria 
 hung upon my arm, I felt somewhat confused ! 
 As soon as we entered the room, Miss Lucas 
 ran into her cousin's arms, the tears flowed fast 
 down her cheeks. Forgive me, Maria ! my dear 
 cousin, forgive me ! said she. — Maria could not 
 speak; she embraced her cousin, she wept, but 
 could not presently answer her. 
 
 ]\Iiss Lucas repeated, Can you forgive me ?— 
 Porgive you ! oh my cousin, my friend ! I have 
 never ceased to love you ! — Then you are an 
 angel ! but you always were my superior in every 
 thing. I have never been happy since our sepa- 
 ration; and I come now to seek your forgiveness, 
 that I may be at peace with myself. — Don't say 
 so! my dear cousin! said Maria. I knew your 
 heart could not reseut always ; I knew it would 
 ■return to mine ; I knew you better than you did 
 
151 
 
 yourself. — You are too good, said Miss Lucas ; 
 tut I have more pardons to ask, — turning to me. 
 Not one word in that style, my dear Madam! 
 Yes, o?ie xvord, Sir ; Was it not you that ad- 
 vised me of my brother's situation ? — It was, 
 Madam. — I knew it could be nobody else. Oh, 
 Sir, you have lost a friend ! — She wept. — But I 
 will restore another to you. I have seen my 
 faults, thank God! and I live in hopes to amend 
 them. — I begged her to say nothing that could 
 occasion disagreeable recollections ; she became 
 more composed. She asked for her aunt ; who 
 had been preparing to see her without emotion. 
 
 When she came to us, Miss Lucas ran and 
 embraced lier. 
 
 After our first emotions were abated, she pre- 
 sented each of us with a ring with her brother's 
 hair, set round with brilliants ;— " By my bro- 
 ther's order," said she. 
 
 She said every thing generous and kind, and 
 seemed to enjoy this reconciliation as the first 
 wish of her heart. 
 
 I\Iy father was surprized to see so fine a ladVj 
 and to hear her generous confession of her past 
 faults : she said, it was the first happy hour she 
 had enjoyed, from the day her aunt and cousin 
 left her house. 
 
 After dinner, when the servants were with- 
 drawn, she said, I have but one thing mors tO 
 H 4< 
 
15'2 
 »ay, m}' brother desired that I would give the 
 two livings, as they should fall, to you and Mr. 
 Bates ; the option shall be yours, Sir. — I offered 
 to speak. — I will receive no thanks, said she; I 
 only fulfil the desire of your friend, who blessed 
 you with his last breath. 
 
 After this she seemed to recover her spirits. 
 She spent a week with us, and behaved with the 
 greatest kindness and politeness to us all. 
 
 Soon after Miss Lucas returned home, she 
 was very pressing to her aunt to come over to 
 her: Our dear mother was unwilling to leave us; 
 she delayed her departure till the summer. Miss 
 Lucas continued urging her by letter, and gave 
 such reasons as made it impossible to refuse her. 
 
 " 1 am besieged, my dear aunt, said she ; the 
 fortune I inherit is the occasion of much trouble 
 to me : I am as much tormented with suitors as 
 Penelope was of old. JMr. Withers is against 
 me; he says it is my duty to marry, and en- 
 courages new suitors as fast as I send away the 
 old ones. 
 
 " If my dear aunt will not come to me, I will 
 shut up my house, go to a distant part, change 
 my name, and conceal my fortune, that I may 
 enjoy my own comforts, and live after my own 
 manner." 
 
 Mrs. Horton wrote in answer, " That she was 
 preparing to v ait upon htr." 
 
153 
 
 Mrs. Horton and Miss Lucas, wrote in turn to 
 my wife, and informed us of every thing that 
 passed with them. 
 
 The year following brought forward a new 
 series of events, that ended in the accomplish- 
 ment of all our wishes. The first step towards 
 it was, that one of the livings in Miss Lucas's 
 gift became vacant. 
 
 It was in an unpleasant situation, a lonely 
 village, far removed from all our friends. 
 
 The other living, was Miss Lucas's own parish, 
 which she supposed v.ould be more desirable to 
 myself and my wife : if I chose to wait for that, 
 I might depend upon it. 
 
 I answered her letter to this effect : *' That I 
 was under the same obligation to Miss Lucas, 
 whether I accepted or declined it ; that I should 
 refuse any preferment, hovrever advantageous, 
 that could interfere with the duty and affection 
 I owed to fay dear father ; and that ail other 
 considerations vanished before it. 
 
 Secondly, that I had a predilection in favour 
 of the dear village where I was born, and where- 
 in I had spent so many happy years : that my 
 father intended to use his interest with the pa- 
 tron, for the next turn of the living of S— — - 
 for me; or, that if my father's application should 
 not s-ucceed, I would wait in expectation of her 
 goodness, in regard to the other livingj but thatj, 
 II 5 
 
whateverthe event might be, slie had botmd mc 
 and mine to her, in an cttrnal bond of gtautude 
 and obligation." 
 
 This letter Mrs. Ilorton gave to her cousin ; 
 slie smiled on reading it. Tell your son, said 
 she, that he is a proud man, and chooses to be 
 obliged to any body rather than to me ; but tell 
 him also, that I will yet be revenged on him. Bid 
 him apply to the patron of the living of S-— — , 
 and let me know the result as soon as possible. 
 
 She said this in a manner that shewed her real 
 intention to serve me. 
 
 My father applied directly to the patron of 
 
 the living of S ; he was a worldly-minded 
 
 man, who thought of nothing but to make the 
 most of every thing. He took some weeks to 
 consider of the proposal, and then wrote to my 
 father, " That though his father had given away 
 the living to him, as a proof of his friendship, 
 there was no reason why he should do it to his 
 son; that times were altered, expences increased, 
 and that he could not afford to give away things 
 of so much value ; but, if my father would give 
 him five hundred pounds for the next turn of 
 the living, he might then resign it, and he would 
 present it to his son; but otherwise it should 
 remain as it was." 
 
 We were under some difficulty to relate this 
 treaty to Miss Lucas. I wrote to Mrs. Horton, 
 
155 
 told her of this treaty, and that my fattier iiad 
 an objection to the proposal of purchasing the 
 next turn of the living for me ; that I had given 
 it up, and had turned my wishes and expecta- 
 tions another way. 
 
 INIy father received a leiter from Miss Lucas 
 immediately on the receipt of mine, desiring 
 him to proceed no farther in this business. 
 
 Generous, noble-minded woman! said my fa- 
 ther ; she will have her revenge, and she shall 
 take her own way. 
 
 A few weeks after, my father received another 
 letter from our patroness. 
 
 " The business is done, Sir; you will resign 
 your living, and I shall present your son to it ; 
 I have purchased the advowson, and will be 
 patroness myself. Tell your son I sliall pay him 
 a visit shortly, and bring his mother with me, 
 upon condition that her daughter will not detain 
 her, but let her return with me." 
 
 She came soon after. Miss Lucas enjoyed 
 our satisfaction, but yet there seemed a cloud 
 upon her brow, at times. One day after dinner 
 she spoke to us : — " I want to make known mf 
 present situation to you all, my dear friends ; 
 but for my life I cannot tell the story myself. 
 1 will give my aunt Horton leave to do it, but it 
 must be when I am not present. I will retire to 
 tny chamber, and leave her to tell you all thatl 
 h6 
 
15^ 
 ■\]?i's!i you to kno'.v," — So saying, she retired j 
 and our curiosity being strongly excited, we 
 begged my dear mother to gratify it, which she 
 did by relating what follows : 
 
 *' I need not tell you, my dearest children, 
 that Miss Lucas has had many oflers of marriage 
 since her brother died ; she has refused them, 
 upon a presumption that her fortune was their 
 principal object. I need not tell you that she 
 has a noble, frank, and generous heart ; she has- 
 always said, " I would rather confer than receive 
 an obligation ; I had rather engage a man's- 
 gratitude, than that he should demand mine." 
 
 *' After this preface, I must inform you, that 
 about three months ago a young gentleman, 
 whose name is Valentine Lucas, paid a visit to 
 our friend Mr. Withers. He told him that h? 
 had been informed, that a part of the family 
 estate was entailed upon the male heir ; that he 
 was the person that had the right to claim it ; 
 that out of respect to Miss Lucas's character,, 
 he was desirous to spare her every thing that 
 could possibly give he'r uneasiness; that he would 
 submit his claim to the arbitration of some of 
 the most eminent men of the law, if Miss Lucas 
 would do the same. 
 
 " Mr. Withers was extremely pleased with the 
 young man's person and address ; he enquired 
 mto his character and fortune. He heard that 
 1 
 
157 
 
 Le was of a small fortune, not more than three 
 hundred a year; was bred to the law, just called 
 to the bar, of good character and abilities, and 
 of great expectations in his profession. He 
 made his report to Miss Lucas, who was at first 
 a good deal surprized and disconcerted. Mr, 
 Withers urged her to see the gentleman, and to 
 hear what he would say upon the subject. lie 
 brought him to pay his respects ; the lady was 
 pleased with his person and behaviour, which 
 was exceedingly modest and respectful. Mr. 
 Withers observed them both, and, at his return, 
 had a long conversation with Mr. Lucas ; in the 
 course of which, he asked him whether he should 
 not like a compromise at the lady's expence I 
 The young gentleman urged him to explain his 
 meaning. Why, said Mr. Withers, if I were a 
 young man in 3701/r situation, I would try my 
 fortune with the lady, cheat the lawyers, and 
 share the estate with her only. 
 
 " Dear Sir, said Mr. Lucas, you surprize me ! 
 with my little fortune, how can I presume? 
 
 " If your fortune equalled hers, would you ad- 
 dress htr 9 — Sir, I would, by heaven!' said he. — 
 Very well. Will you give me leave to tell her so I 
 —If, Sir, — if you think she will not be offended. 
 • I would not for the world that she should think 
 aae wanting in respect to her.— These sentimenis 
 
■ 158 
 are the most likely to make you esteemed by 
 her, Sir. I know Miss Lucas has a generous, 
 noble heart, and I wish her to marry ; I think 
 she could not make a more proper choice.— 
 Dear Sir, you transport me l:)y your goodness ! 
 " The next day Mr. Withers cartve and told the 
 whole story to Miss Lucas. She was oiiended 
 with him ; but the good old man urged her with 
 so much eloquence and reason on his side, that 
 he served his client effectually, and at lerigth 
 she consented to receive his visits, and to hear 
 him speak for himself. 
 
 **■ I seconded Mr. Withers in his remonstrances, 
 telling her that she ought to marry. 
 
 " The gentleman came to visit her ; and the 
 oftener he came, the more merit we discovered 
 in him : in short, he is very likely to succeed in 
 his suit to her ; and she will, I make no doubt, 
 confirm her own happiness when she completes 
 his. She was resolved to provide for my dear 
 children before she gives up her power over her 
 own fortune. She has wanted to tell you this 
 story, but had not the courage ; but now you 
 have heard it, you will, I dare say, rather 
 strengthen than weaken her resolution to marry." 
 We were overjoyed to hear of her intention, 
 and, at her return to the company, we congra- 
 tulated her on her resolution. 
 
159 
 
 She received our compliments with kindness 
 and affection; and hoped we would visit her ni 
 Staffordshire. 
 
 She asked our permission to keep my mother 
 with her till her marriage was over. — I believe, 
 said she, I sVi^l keep my aunt till you come to 
 fetch her home. 
 
 After a fortnight's stay, she returned home, 
 and carried our mother with her, whom we 
 cheerfully spared, in hope she would soon take 
 up her residence with us entirely. 
 
 About a month after her return home, Miss 
 Lucas made her lover happy. INIr. Withers was 
 the nuptial father, and seemed as much de- 
 lighted as if he had married his own daughter, 
 for he was interested in every thing that con- 
 cerned the honour and happiness of Miss Lucas. 
 
 After two months were elapsed, and my mo- 
 ther made no mention of returning to us, my 
 wife wrote to urge it, being desirous that she 
 should be with her before she should be brought- 
 to-bed; saying, she could live without her no 
 longer. JMrs. Lucas wrote to my wife in answer. 
 I transcribe a part of her letter to her. 
 
 " I cannot resist your plea for your mother's 
 return ; but it disappoints my intention, which 
 *.vas, that you should have come to fetch her. 
 However, if you will not grant me this favour, 
 ^ou must another; you must part with Mr. Beit» 
 6 
 
i6o 
 net, and send him to conduct your mother home; 
 I have a reason for this request. Mr. Lucas is 
 very desirous of being acquainted with your hus- 
 band. This man assumes the authority of an 
 husband, my dear Maria; he pretends to have 
 more generosity than myself. I shall not ex- 
 plain myself fartiier : send your husband over, 
 we will not keep him from you long, and will 
 return him not xoorse than he comes; oh that you 
 would accompany him, and share the happiness 
 
 of your friend ! 
 
 Anna Lucas.'^ 
 
 I could not avoid going, though it was with 
 great reluctance. I left my wife; my father pro- 
 mised to take care of her till my return, and to 
 advise me of her health every post. 
 
 At my arrival, I met with the most cordial 
 reception from IMr. and Mrs. Lucas. I found 
 him a modest, sensible, and amiable man; like 
 minds are easily acquainted, and we soon be- 
 came familiar friends. The second day after my 
 arrival, he told me the parish where they re- 
 sided had lost its rector, and offered the living 
 to my acceptance. I answered as befoi-e, that 
 I preferred my present residence to any other; 
 for the same reasons as formerl}^ that I would 
 not accept any farther preferment, unless I could 
 perform the duties of it. — Why then, said Mrs. 
 Lucas, we must give it to Mr. Bates, who at 
 
l6i 
 
 present is in a &tate of banibhment at D— — '. 
 —But I forgot (said she, looking grave) that I 
 am married: have I your leave, Sir, to do this? 
 —My dear angel! said he, don't ask my leave 
 to dispose of your own propert}'. I adore your 
 benevolence and generosity ! seldom, very sel- 
 dom, do you perform any thing that can be 
 mended: but let me, in return, ask, if I have 
 your haxe to do what I proposed? — You have, 
 Sir; " I will contend with you upon this thc??ic; 
 it is the only one, I trust, that we shall ever 
 contend about." — He bowed gracefully to her. 
 Then turning to me, You must do us the favour, 
 Sir, as you don't accept this living, to accept 
 
 the perpetual advowson of the living of S , 
 
 as a donation of friendship and relationship 
 from us both. — No, Sir, said our cousin, from 
 Mr. Lucas only; it is his own thought and his 
 own proposal, and he .shall have the whole cre- 
 dit of it. — I was confounded at their generosity, 
 I otiered to decline it, but they would take no 
 denial. 
 
 Mrs. Horton and myself expressed our grati- 
 tude in the warmest language our hearts sug- 
 gested. They stopped us short, saying, Our 
 friendship was their recompence, — The next day, 
 at their desire, I wrote to Mr. Bates to come 
 over. I wrote also to Mr. Bilson, the curate, 
 eiK^uiring into the particulars oi his situation*, 
 
■ 162 
 and giving him reason to hope for better shortly. 
 — Our generous patrons enjoyed the pure and 
 subhme pleasure, of making three families com- 
 pletely happy at the same time. Though I was 
 happy in this respected and beloved family, I 
 grudged every day I stayed ; for I longed to re- 
 turn to my dear Maria, who 1 knew reckoned 
 the hours of my absence. 
 
 They acknowledged the justness of our plea, 
 and excused us for this time; saying, we should 
 make them amends in future. 
 
 Mr. Lucas said, I hope our fair cousin will 
 bring you a son, to succeed you in your own 
 living. I offer myself as sponsor for him, if you 
 are not provided. — I thanked him for the ho- 
 nour, and gladly accepted it. — Mrs. Lucas of- 
 fere<l to be godmother; and Mr. Withers the 
 other godfather. — It seems, said Mrs. Ilorton, 
 that you are certain of a S07i, but if you should 
 be mistaken ? — Then, said Mr. Withers, we will 
 reserve ourselves for another time. We hastened 
 home, beivig impatient to meet those dear and 
 tender friends, who expected us with impatience 
 at least equal to our own. Their joy at our re- 
 turn rose almost to rapture; but my dear father's 
 looks were a great abatement to mine ; he as- 
 sumed a cheerful count-enance, and strove to 
 conceal the alteration from us all. He encou- 
 raged our joy; he said every thmg that could 
 
163 
 
 make us easy; he told me that my return had 
 made him well, and renewed his youth: But I 
 think, William, said he, that I cannot part with 
 you again ; for it seems as if my health, as well 
 as happiness, depended upon you. 
 
 The tears started from my eyes. Oh that it 
 depended upon me, said I, to prolong that life 
 so dear to me ! — I embraced him, and wept over 
 him. — Why it does, said my dear father; I will 
 live as long as I can for your sake; and if you 
 did not wish it, I should not have lived so long 
 as I have done. Come, tell us all that has hap- 
 pened since our separation. 
 
 I related our cousin's noble behaviour to us 
 and to others, and communicated the hapoiness 
 I felt to my hearers; and we united our blessings 
 and prayers for our benefactors. 
 
 At kngth my wishes and prayers were an- 
 swered ; my dear Maria brought me a son within 
 a week after my return home, to the inexpres- 
 sible joy of every part of my family. My dear 
 father was so interested in this happy event, 
 that he was continually visiting the room, that 
 he might see the child ; several times in the day 
 he looked at him, and seemed anxious after 
 every thing that related to him. 
 
 My dear Maria nursed the child herself; and, 
 happily, her health seemed to improve in the 
 discharge of the tender office. 
 
1(J4 
 
 My dear father's decline could no longer be 
 Concealed; I saw and lamented itj without 
 power to prevent it. I besought him to have 
 advice from the most eminent physicians. He 
 smiled. — Do you think, my son, they can renew 
 my youth? I know my disorder, it is the lot of 
 mortality; did you think I was iinmortal? I 
 have lived long enough; I see my children hap- 
 py; you are well provided for; I have nothing 
 more to wi^h or to hope for; I am willing to de- 
 part when Heaven calls me. Your sister's hus- 
 band is not a man after my own heart, but I will 
 discharge my duty to him and her; send for them, 
 my son ; I will see them once more, and take a 
 proper leave of them. I wrote immediately for 
 them to come to us. Mr. Bloomfield, who had 
 married my sister, was a wealthy farmer, a close, 
 sordid, selfish man, who had but one thing in 
 his head, which was accumulating riches. 
 
 He had married my sister for love, and af- 
 terwards bragged of his generosity, and even re- 
 pruaclned her with her obligations to liim. She 
 was a quiet, iiarmless, inoffensive woman;, she 
 did not contend with his imperious temper, but 
 sunk into a state of acquiescence, obeyed him 
 implicitly, and gave up every otlier wish, and 
 every other friend. 
 
 Upon tliis occasion he brought her to visit her 
 father; but, instead of shewing any concern for 
 
l65 
 
 him, this man enquired what he had done for 
 Lis daughter; said, he had heard that some good 
 fortune had fallen to him lately, and that he had 
 bestowed it all upon his son. 
 
 You have been misinformed, said my father; 
 a relation of my son's wife purchased the ad- 
 vowson of my living for him. I did nothing 
 more than resign the living a short time sooner 
 than death would have taken it from me. I 
 gave no money, I lost none, for my son would 
 never receive any part of the income of it se 
 long as I live. I have left my own little fortune 
 equally for you and my son; the only distinc- 
 tion I have made in his favour is this : I have 
 left him all the furniture, plate, and linen of 
 this house, with the farming stock and utensils; 
 and I have left him my executor, and residuary 
 legatee, that you may not have it in your power 
 to give him trouble. I think I have done what 
 justice requires; my heart is easy and satisfied; 
 and it is not in your power to disturb the peace 
 of my mind, nor to make any alteration in it. 
 
 This son of earth would have objected to my 
 father's disposal of his property, but it was to 
 no purpose. 
 
 M}' sister showed a true filial concern and 
 affection for her father; but was under so much 
 restraint in her husband's presence, that she 
 shewed little attention to any person but himself. 
 
• l65 
 
 jMy dear father died without pain or regret; 
 I never left his pillow; he expired in my arms, 
 with his hand in mine. His last words were a 
 blessing upon me and mine; and a pious resig- 
 nation of his soul into the hands of its Creator. 
 
 In the course of the same year, Mrs. Lucas 
 in treated my mother to come over, to be pre- 
 sent at her delivery, and to initiate her into the 
 mysteries of Juno Lucina. 
 
 This request could not be denied. Mrs. Ilor- 
 ton went over, and was present at the birth of 
 a son and heir, who gave joy to his parents, 
 and to all the friends of the family. At the end 
 of a month, Mrs. Lucas wrote to ask as a fa- 
 vour, that we would come to fetch our mother 
 home; we went accordingly, and earned our 
 3'oung son with us; we rejoiced with our friends 
 upon these additional blessings, and spent a 
 happy month with them, during which, I did the 
 office of a friend to IMr. Bates: I married him 
 to Mrs. Mary Mills, who was a distant relation 
 of our cousin Lucas, and had been the super- 
 iutendant of her family ever since the death of 
 her mother, Mr. and Mrs. Lucas made the 
 new-married pair many presents, and procured 
 them every thing requisite to the comfort and 
 convenience of their situation. 
 
 We parted with great reluctance on all sides; 
 S.S all of us foresaw tliat our families increasing, 
 
167 
 
 and tlic duties of my situation, would render it 
 inconvenient to visit so often in future as we 
 had done hitherto. 
 
 ^Ve returned to our own home, and enjoyed 
 the comforts that heaven had given us, in a con- 
 stant and regular way of life, that afforded very 
 little variety. 
 
 The following year Mr. Withers died in a good 
 old age, beloved and regrelted by all that knew 
 him. 
 
 This year our mother declined going into 
 Staffordshire; as she grew into years, longjour- 
 nies became inconvenient and fatiguing to her; 
 and, beside, her children grew more unwilling to 
 spare her, and she did not like to lose so much of 
 their company. 
 
 About three years after the birth of my son, 
 my wife brought nie a daughter, whom she also 
 nursed herself; and finding the child grow strong 
 and healthy (more so than any she had yet 
 borne) she suckled her longer than the usual 
 time, because it seemed to agree with both 
 mother and child. I mention this circumstance, 
 because it proved of great consequence, on the 
 interesting event which happened soon after; 
 which introduced into our family a most dear 
 child, and, as I hope, a future mother of it ; I 
 "will therefore be particular in my narrative of- 
 that event. 
 
• 168 
 It was on the 18tli of October, 17 — , as I was 
 sitting in the parlour with my wife and mother; 
 they working at the needle, I reading to them; 
 a post-chaise stopped at our door. The servant 
 came to us, and told us that a gentleman and 
 lady desired to speak with me instantly. I went 
 to the door directly; I saw there a young gen- 
 tleman, whose countenance shewed marks of the 
 utmost distress. — I asked what commands he had 
 for me? He seized my hand, pressed it earnestly, 
 and spoke. Dear Sir! worthy gentleman ! you 
 are a clergyman, you must have humanity. Take 
 pity on an unfortunate pair, who are in distress 
 of a peculiar kind ! This lady, my dear wife, is 
 in labour; she was taken ill upon the road, she 
 cannot reach the place whither we were going, 
 and where we were expected; it is full ten miles 
 further; my wife has been in fits; she will expire 
 on the road, unless your goodness will assist us. 
 Have pity upon us, and take us under your I'oof, 
 and God will reward your humanity ! 
 
 The gentleman's distress touched my heart ; 
 it answered in his behalf, and dictated my reply, 
 —I ran into the parlour. — INIy love, said I, here 
 is a call upon our humanity; a most distressful . 
 situation; come and assist me to answer it.— 
 We hastened to the chaise; the gentleman re- 
 peated the particulars of the case in the accents 
 of nature, oppressed with grief and tenderness. 
 
lo9 
 
 My wile desifed me to assist him in bringing the 
 lady into our house. I opened the doer of the 
 chaise; the lady was in a fit; we hfted her out, 
 and carried her into the parlour; the servants 
 came and offered their assistance. We tried the 
 usual methods to recover the lady; our mother 
 came to advise us. My wife supported the lady 
 in her arms, and every one strove to be of ser- 
 vice to her; the husband was in agonies of grief 
 all this time. At length she opened her eyes; 
 she looked round her, and then fixed them on 
 her husband, and spoke,— My dear, am I at 
 
 B r — No, my life, said he, you are in an lios- 
 
 pitable family, who have had the goodness to take 
 us under their roof. We stopped at two houses 
 before, and they refused to take us in; but we 
 have found the good Samaritan at last, God 
 reward him and his tender wife!- — She looked 
 up at my wife, who was bending over her. 
 
 My mother brought some wine ; she made 
 the lady take a little; the gentleman did the 
 r>ame. Let us, said she, carry the lady up stairs/ 
 while she is a little better.— Her husband and 
 mj'self did so, but she fainted again while we 
 o'were removing her. We left her in the hand? 
 of the women of our family, and fetched up 
 stairs the trunk that contained their necessaries; 
 the gentleman paid the post-chaise, and sent if. 
 away, 
 
 I 
 
• 170 
 
 Soon after, my servant returned with the good 
 woman; she went directly up stairs; and I took 
 the gentleman into the parlour, and asked him 
 to give me the particulars of his situation, which 
 he related briefly as follows. 
 
 " I am the onlj^ son of a man of rank and 
 fortune; my father had chosen a wife for me, 
 but ray heart refused the election of another, 
 and would choose its own partner for life. I 
 am privately married to that dear woman whom 
 you have seen with me; I was obliged to con- 
 ceal it from my father, and therefore I secured 
 her an asylum at a great distance from liim 
 against her hour of trial. Unfortunately I de- 
 layed too long our journey thither, on account 
 of some accidental hindrances; but I hoped to 
 have been there to-night. Through that un- 
 happy delay we are subjected to this distress, 
 which I ardently pray may have no bad conse- 
 quences." 
 
 I comforted him in the best manner I could, 
 and put him in hope that all would end happily. 
 Wiiile we were talking together, my mother en- 
 tered the room with the midwife, and their looks 
 boded no good ending of this business. 
 
 The good woman said, — Sir, this lady's case 
 is past my skill, she has been too long without 
 proper assistance j you must send for some gen- 
 
171 
 
 tieman of the faculty, upon whose skill you can 
 rely, for the lady is in very great clanger. 
 
 This account threw us back into all our fears 
 again. — I took my horse directly, and rode as 
 upon life and death: I was so fortunate as to 
 find the doctor at home, and brought him with 
 me in less time than could have been expected; 
 t-elling him the case by the wa}-. 
 
 The tender heart of my dear Maria suffered 
 greatly on this occasion ; but she resolved to 
 obey its dictates, to stay with the poor lady, 
 and give her every comfort and assistance in her 
 power. 
 
 When I arrived with the doctor, I carried him 
 directly to the lady ; I took the afflicted hus- 
 band away, and left the doctor to the duties of 
 his profession. In half an hour he came to us 
 with a countenance of deep concern. Mr. Ben- 
 net, said he, you have called me to an unfortu- 
 nate business. I think it my duty to tell you 
 that the lady is in the utmost danger. 
 
 The husband Jthrew himself in agonies at the 
 doctor's feet; he assured him of his reliance 
 upon him. — Save my wife, said he, and ask what 
 you will for your reward. — Reward, Sir, answer- 
 ed he; I would freely give an hundred pounds to 
 be as many miles another way; and that any 
 other man had the office and the reward; but I 
 will make an effort to save both the mother and 
 I 2 
 
". 172 
 chiM, and will act as a man who is accountable 
 at a higher tribunal, than that of the opinion of 
 men. — He went out of the room with tears in 
 liis eyes, and left us overwhelmed with grief and 
 despair. 
 
 It was about two hours before we heard any 
 tiling from above; at length Mrs. Morton came 
 into the room with her eyes swelled with weep- 
 mg, and her voice faltering. — The lady is dt/i- 
 icrcd, said she; both she and the child are alive y 
 but it is very uncertain how long they will be so. 
 1'he gentleman rose up; he embraced my mother, 
 and thanked her for her goodness. God re- 
 ward you, Madam ! you have given me a glimpse 
 of hope. 
 
 My Lord! says Mrs. Horton, for such I find 
 you are, you should make us acquainted with 
 your name and family; you have no friends that 
 better deserve your confidence. 
 
 He told us that he was the only son of the 
 carl of D , and that his father knew no- 
 thing of his marriage or his journey, but thought 
 him at his seat in Bedfordshire. — But, Madam, 
 added he, may I not see my love ? — Not at pre- 
 sent, said she, — May I not see the doctor.? — I 
 have prevailed on him to stay till the lady is out 
 
 of danger, or till Oh don't, do not suppose 
 
 it, said he! I cannot bear the idea: she must 
 not, shall not die! — It is our duty, Sir, to resiga 
 
176 
 
 Co the will of iicaven. So saying, ms' mothf-r 
 retired, and left us iu a state of doubt, fear, and 
 anxiety, whicli yet was too soon ended. I sat 
 peribrming the useless office of advising a com- 
 posure, which I could not attain. After somi'; 
 hours spent in this nianner, the doctor came to 
 us. — Sir, said he. to Lord E , your wife de- 
 sires to see you once more; but you must ue 
 composed, or you will disturb her last moment^. 
 • — He began to rave again. — This will not do. 
 Sir; you must not see her, unless you can com- 
 mand yourself. — Not see her! said he; who shall 
 hinder me! — I will, Sir, said the doctor; and to 
 will every one in the house. — Well, but I ziill 
 be patient as a man can be; lead me to her!— 
 We led him up stairs, and into the room. I 
 was a spectator of the mournful scene; my wife 
 was supporting the dying lady, her arm was 
 under her head, and she held my Maria's hand 
 to her lips. Mrs. Horton held the child, for the 
 mother to take a last look of it. The lady 
 spoke in a lov/ and tremulous voice. You will 
 be the mother of my child? — I xvill, said my 
 wife, in a faltering voice, she shall be as dear 
 to me as my own.— Thank you, my dear friend, 
 God bless you! — The husband ran to the bed- 
 side; he kneeled by it; he sobbed, but could 
 not speak ; he took her hand with my wife's in 
 it; she tried to turned that way, but could not,— 
 I 3 
 
17 1 
 
 She said, Farewcl, my dci^r lord ! take care of 
 VQuiself. Do not grieve for me; your father, vour 
 child! live — long and hap]>y. God bless — bless, 
 keep you! — She fell into a fit with this exertion. 
 YVe carried the distracted man out of the room, 
 and she expired in a few minutes after. The 
 -hushand was in aLonies; he raved till his strength 
 %vas exhausted, and then sunk into fainting fits. 
 I brjrged the doctor to stay with us to take care 
 of him. — I will bleed him, said he; I make no 
 doubt he will soon recover; this kind of grief is 
 not fatal; it is the si!e??t kind, that preys upon 
 the heart. — He bled the patient, we laid him 
 down upon abed; I left my servant and a neigh- 
 bour's son to v/atch with him, with orders to call 
 me if 1 was wanted. The doctor went away, 
 and promised to call the next day; but my first 
 care was for those dearer to me than myself. I 
 went and fetched my wife and mother from the 
 scene of death. I intreated them to go and take 
 some repose; they retired together, and I threw 
 myself mto an armed chair in the same room ; 
 ileep kindly visited us all, and repaired in a de- 
 gree the fat'.gue and vexation of the wretched 
 ni^ht we had p:!Esed, I first awoke, stole softly- 
 cut cf the room, and went to visit my patient; 
 who was somewhat more composed and rational, 
 but had m;-.nyj"e turns of passion, which were 
 happily allayed by itars which he shed plenti- 
 
ITS 
 
 fully. I wept with him in silence; he poureff 
 forth his acknowledgments for my tender sym- 
 pathy! he vowed eternal friendship to me and 
 mine, while he sliould live upon earth. 
 
 I besought him to leave it to us to pay the last 
 ■dlities to his departed wife. I told him that my 
 father had buiit a large vault for himself and 
 family, and we would give our guest a place in it; 
 he emb)-aced me with tears and thanks. He took 
 out his pocket-book, and put into my hand two 
 bank bills of an hundred pounds each: I offered 
 to return one of them. — Keep them, my dear 
 friend, said he, to answer incidental expences. 
 Alas ! I hoped to make a different use of them. 
 
 I stepped out, and gave some necessary orders 
 concerning the body ; and sent for proper assis- 
 tants, in order to put things in train for a decent 
 disposal of it. My wife and mother arose, and 
 the family began again to put on an appearance 
 
 of regularity. Lord B refused dining with 
 
 us, and kept his chamber, which I thought best 
 for my friend's sake; but towards night, my wife 
 had been missing some time, and, as I supposed, 
 was attending to her children. I sought her all 
 over the house. At last I found her in the nur- 
 sery. I found her — oh divine benevolence! 
 emanation of the Divinity ! first of Christian vir- 
 tues ! — I found her giving her own breast to the 
 poor little orphan child, while the tears rolled 
 I 4 
 
176 
 
 down licr cheeks in compassion for it. I kneeled 
 involuntarily to her as to a superior being. — Oh 
 Maria ! — my angel wife ! Tins action is worthy 
 of thee, and few beside thee would have per- 
 formed it. 
 
 My love, said she, forgive my doing it with- 
 out first asking your permission ! but I have pro- 
 mised to be a mother to this poor baby, and I 
 mean to perform it religiously; it is high time 
 that our daughter should be weaned; and I will 
 preserve her diet for this child, as long as she 
 has need of it. 
 
 Excuse you! my love, said I; I adore you 
 for it ! 
 
 I left her, to return to Lord B . — My 
 
 lord, said I, your daughter will live; we have 
 got her a nurse, — such a nurse, as neither you 
 nor I could ever have expected. — What already? 
 said he. — I had much ado to make him under- 
 stand or believe this news; but his tears and 
 blessings spoke his gratitude for it. I consulted 
 my wife and mother concerning the funeral ; I 
 .advised Lord B— — — to depart first, but he in- 
 sisted upon attending it ; I waved it for the pre- 
 sent, saying, if you are able, my lord. — When 
 he first sav/ my wife, he kneeled to her; called 
 her his guardian angel ! his patroness ! tiie mo- 
 ther of his child ! '• I will find a way to show 
 my sense of my obligaticns to you, Madam, and 
 
177 
 
 to defray your expences for my poor infant."-— 
 On the day of the funeral, we kept in a back- 
 ward room. Lord B attempted to visit the 
 
 coffin, but was not able, I seat to a neighbour 
 clergyman, and begged him to perform the ser- 
 vice of the cliurch. 
 
 I kept with Lord B ; I amused him ; and 
 
 the body was carried out of the house without 
 his knowing it; he expected that I should offi- 
 ciate, and wondered at the delay. When all 
 was over, I told him; he thanked me, and 
 blessed me, but had a violent ebullition of grief 
 and passion upon it. 
 
 The next day I took the liberty to advise Lord 
 E to remove as soon as possible from the 
 
 scene of his distress; he took it kindly, and pre- 
 pared to do so. I offered to account to him for 
 the money he entrusted to my care, but he re- 
 fused it. — My dear Sir, said he, don't think that 
 I mean this trifle as any return for my obliga- 
 tions to you. Hear me. Sir : I shall be of age 
 in a month, and then I shall receive a legacy 
 from an aunt ; life is uncertain ; I ought to dc 
 something towards providing for this poor child, 
 I will deposit a sum in your hands for her use 
 and benefit ; the interest of it, you will accept 
 for her board and necessaries. Don't say onf; 
 word in answer; I have taken my resolution.— 
 Sir, said I, it will be proper the child should be 
 I 5 
 
178 
 baptized.-'— By all means, taid he. — By whaS 
 name would you have her be called .? — Bv her 
 dear mother's, Sophia Melcombe. — Then you 
 don't choose she .should he knowu to be vour 
 daughter.? — Not at present, said he; as my mar- 
 riage was not known to my. father, it is better it 
 should continue a secret for some time longer, 
 ■- — That shall be as you please. — After some fur- 
 ther conference, v.-e agreed to send to I for 
 
 a post-chaise, and that he should depart the 
 next day. The child was baptized; the father 
 named it; lie embraced and blessed it. We took 
 
 a most aflecting leave of Lord E ; he was 
 
 scarcely able to speak a word. He embraced 
 me, threw himself into the chaise, and departed 
 in a flood of tears, with his hat pulled over his 
 face : he waved his hand as long as he could see 
 us, and v^'e seemed as if we had parted with a 
 near relation. 
 
 After some days we returned to the duties of 
 our station and employments. The little or- 
 phan, by my wife's tender care and offices, be* 
 gan to thrive; and to promise to reward our 
 humanity towards Ler. The pleasure all our 
 children afforded us, amply rewarded our cares. 
 for them. About ten days after Lord B's depar- 
 ture, we received the following letter from hirn r 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " When I reflect upon the scenes lately past. 
 
179 
 
 my heart is overwhelmed with grief one while, 
 and presently after, it is raised by the most ar- 
 dent gratitude ; I endeavour to dwell on this last 
 sensation, and to overcome the first. — When I 
 think on the hospitality, generosity, sensibility, 
 and goodness of you and your lady — you seem 
 like pitying angels sent by heaven to save me 
 from despair; surely there is not such another 
 pair upon earth ! — May heaven protect and re- 
 ward you both here and hereafter! — But these 
 are only words; the feelings of my heart are 
 uiiutterable towards you. Friend and brother 
 of my soul ! — accept the overflowings of a heart 
 that would, but cannot express its love and gra- 
 titude. 
 
 " I have net yet seen my father; as soon as I 
 can do something better than talking, I will 
 visit yon; in the mean time my wishes and 
 prayers shall be daily offered for you and your 
 beloved family. 
 
 "I am, your bi'other, friend, and servant, 
 
 (( g » 
 
 About a month after, I received a second 
 letter. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Bennet, 
 " I will do myself the pleasure to wait on you 
 one day in the course of the next week. I think 
 
 every day a week till I see you at S ; but_^ 
 
 I 6 
 
189 
 
 alas ! I must pass by the church, before I cai3 
 have the pleasure of embracuVg my friend. 
 
 « B ." 
 
 Within a \veek after I received this letter, 
 
 Lord B came to S : he embraced me 
 
 vith tears, but they seemed to flow easy, and 
 he soon got the better of them. The sight of 
 his httle girl gave him emotions of a joyful kind ; 
 he almost stifled her with his kisses. He called 
 her the likeness of his departed saint; the pre- 
 cious relick ; his only comfort ! He thanked my 
 ^vife in raptures of gratitude; he paid his respects 
 to my mother, whose tenderness he had not for- 
 gotten. He remembered the servants; to whom 
 he had omitted, in his afitliction, to make ac- 
 knowledgments. I told him that his Lordship's 
 beneficence had enabled me to make the requi- 
 site acknowledgments to every person that had 
 given tlieir attendance in the hour of trouble; 
 that we would now enjoy an hour of comfort to- 
 ^ethef^ and look forward to happier times and 
 prospects. He agreed with me, that it was right 
 to enjoy the blessings that remained, and suffer 
 them to comfort us for those that were lost. 
 
 We spent a cheerful evening, and were de- 
 lighted with the politeness and amiable qualities 
 of our guest. 
 
 The next day, as we were sitting after dinner. 
 
181 
 
 Lord B ■ look out his pocket-book. — Suffer 
 
 me, Sir, to enter upon the subject that is nearest 
 my heart. This poor child's provision depends 
 entirely upon me; life is uncertain; I ought to 
 do what is in my power for her, and I cannot be 
 easy till I have done it. I have told you that I 
 took hold of a hint of my father, to let him be- 
 lieve that I had some debts of honour, in order 
 to prevent his farther enquiry into the use I 
 should make of my legacy, I have not told an 
 untruth; this is a debt of honour in the strictest 
 sense. 
 
 I shall deposit in your hands these bills for 
 two thousand pounds, to be employed as you 
 shall think proper. 
 
 . The interest is to go for her board and necessary 
 txpences, and you must not offer to give me any 
 account of it. . 
 
 I I insist upon it, Mr. Bennet; you will affront 
 me, by your saying a word in reply to this my 
 fixed resolution! 
 
 1 Suffer me, my Lord, to say one word; not to 
 disapprove of your action, it is at once just and 
 generous; but to give you a bond for your secu- 
 rity and the child's also. 
 
 No, Sir, I will not accept it; if I should be 
 taken away, (a case I am providing for), and 
 this obligation should be found, you will be liable 
 to repa^ it, and then I should have done nothing. 
 
182 
 —Then, Sir, said I, let the bond be deposited 
 in a third hand, — No, I will not do that. Have 
 I not seen, have I not felt the effects of your 
 good heart and principles ? If I cannot trust ^oz<, 
 whom can I rely on! But I know my man, and 
 that is enou2;h. Say no more; I know I am 
 doing my duty, and you must take your share of 
 the charge heaven has entrusted to our care. 
 Let us say no more. 
 
 He staid ten days with us, during which time 
 he behaved like an affectionate friend and bro- 
 ther to myself and family. 
 
 We had several conversations upon religious 
 and moral- subjects; and I had the satisfaction 
 to iind liim well instructed in both respects. He 
 returned in a post-chaise, us he came. I attended 
 
 him to 1 , spent an evening with him there,. 
 
 and returned home the next day. 
 
 From Lord B 's departure, every thing in 
 
 my family v-'cui on in the usual way; the children 
 grew and improved; my son began to speak and 
 to observe, and he afforded me a constant fund 
 cf delight and employment. 
 
 Lord B— — went to France within a month 
 after he left us. He wrote rne several letters 
 from thence, but forbad me to answer Uiem till 
 he should return, when he w ould appoint a place 
 for me to direct to hirn, 
 
 In one of them be says, '* 1 shall j:iot return. 
 1 
 
U3 
 
 to Englanc! till after the ISth of October, t/ia« 
 dai/ I shall devote to lore smd friendship ; I bhall 
 send you my meditations upon it." He was as 
 good as his word, and sent me a sheet of paper 
 with his recollections and remarks on the past 
 events ; they were tender, resigned, and grate- 
 ful, and raised still higher my opinion of his 
 principles. His Lordship did not return till the ' 
 spring follow'ing, nor till after frequent and ur- 
 gent importunities from the Earl his father, wha 
 grew impatient to conclude a treaty of marriage 
 for him. 
 
 Soon after his arrival, Lord B wrote ta 
 
 mc as follows : 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 " I am at length returned to my matrimonial 
 destiny ; the noose has been preparing ever since 
 I have been absent. I could no longer refuse 
 the solicitations of a parent who really loves me 
 to excess. The day after my arrival in town, 
 he attacked me upon the subject. I told him,. 
 I was come home with a resolution to obey him, 
 and to sacrifice my wishes to his. — No, mv dear 
 son, said he,, you shall not do that; though Miss 
 Graiatham is the lady I wish you to marry,, 
 though I am in actual treaty with her guardian,^ 
 nay, though I know it has been mentioned to. 
 the lady^ who has consented to wait your return,. 
 
184 
 
 and would listen to no other proposal; notwith- 
 standing all this, if you see any thing, upon a 
 farther acquaintance with Miss Grantham, that 
 gives you disgust, if you cannot overcome your 
 dislike to her, I have still another person in 
 view, — it is Lady Mary C . 
 
 " I replied, that I had no particular dislike to 
 either of the ladies; that I would see them both, 
 and endeavour to like her whom he recom- 
 mended. — Ah, that indifference ! said he. But 
 I will take such a consent as I can obtain, be- 
 cause it is my most ardent wish to see you mar- 
 ried. — A few days after, the Earl carried me to 
 an assembly where both the ladies were. Miss 
 Grantham seemed actually confused at my ap- 
 proach; it was evident she had been apprized of 
 meeting me. I paid my respects to her, but was 
 almost in equal confusion. My father watched 
 every motion that I made, and I behaved to his 
 satisfaction. At my return he asked me impa- 
 tiently, which of the ladies I liked best? I an- 
 swered, Miss Grantham, past comparison ; she 
 has more understanding, and less pride. 
 
 " I am glad of it with all my heart, for I am 
 sure by her looks that she likes you; she is sen- 
 sible and prudent, and has a thousand fine qua- 
 lities, beside a large fortune. But when will you 
 
 wait on her, B ? — I answered, Whenever 
 
 your Lordship pleases.— He embraced fne, and 
 
185 
 
 was ill raptures of joy. The very next day he 
 carried me to pay my respects to the lady; she 
 is really a handsome, accomplished, and agree- 
 able woman: my Lord has put every thing /« 
 train., and I am in the high road to matrimony. 
 I know you will approve my resolution; my 
 heart at times revolts against a new engagement, 
 but reason and duty arc on my father's side, and 
 I am determined to obey him. If I can possiblj^ 
 get away before I ^ra fettered, I will pay you a 
 
 visit at S ; but I seem like an animal that 
 
 is fastened to its cage, and cannot go beyond 
 the length of my chain. 
 
 " My heart beats towards you all, and parti- 
 cularly to the poor little orphan ; I long to see 
 and embrace her. 
 
 " Present my afiectionate regards to your wife 
 end mother, and to the dear little ones; and 
 believe me always 
 
 *' Your affectionate friend, 
 
 " B . 
 
 " P. S. I send you some covers, to write to 
 me often." 
 
 In a month after I received another letter as 
 follows: 
 
 " All is over, my friend; I am once more 
 married; my father is in extasies of joy; my 
 wife is pleased with mc; she is really a woman 
 
isS 
 
 of merit, and deserves my attcnticns. As soon 
 as- 1 can break away for a week, and make a 
 decent excuse for my absence, I will see you r 
 till when, give me credit for the continuation of 
 my wishes and regards to you and yours, 
 
 " B ;" 
 
 We expected Lord B for several weeks in 
 
 vain; and when we had given over all thoughts 
 of seeing him, he dropt in upon us one day un- 
 expectedly; but such an alteration did we per- 
 ceive in him, that we were almost ready to doubt 
 if it was the same man : he was gaily drest, and 
 his air and manner corresponded with his clothes. 
 However, he seemed rejoiced to see us; but yet 
 methought there was something of dignity and 
 distance about him ; something that said, I am 
 your superior. He asked for the children^ with- 
 out particularizing one from the rest. My wife 
 ran to fetch them; she brought in the little or- 
 phan; my son and daughter came with them ; 
 she gave the child to the father's arms; he 
 looked earnestly at it, and sighed. It has the 
 mother's features ! said he; I should know it 
 among a thousand children. — I am glad of it, 
 my lord, said I ; it will always be a claim to your 
 patei'nal affection. — Yes, past doubt, said he. — 
 She can walk, my "lord, .said my wife, and be- 
 gins to prattle. Come hither, my dear, and 
 
1S7 
 lead her, said she, speaking to lier son. — He 
 came, and ^vas proud to lead her along the room; 
 he called his sister to take the other hand. 
 
 Lord B was delighted. — iMy little friend, 
 
 said he to my son, which of your two compa- 
 nions do you love best? — Sir, said he, I love 
 
 them both best.— How is that ? said lord B . 
 
 Why, Sir, this is my little sister, and this is my 
 
 little a-//e.— Lord B smiled : That is verj^ 
 
 ■well explained; do you hear him, Mr. Bennet? — •. 
 My lord, said I, don't think we have taught him 
 this; upon my word the thought is his own!— 
 It is a happy one, said my lord : if I give my 
 consent, 1 hope you will not refuse yours .? — I 
 •will check him for it, my lord, in time. — Why 
 then you are a prouder man than T ; for upon my 
 honour I mean what I say! I shall think this 
 little girl well disposed of, if you will engraft her 
 into your family. She owes you the duty of a 
 child already; and, if the little man hold in the 
 same mind, and the girl likes him, as I am S7xre 
 she will, she cannot be any where so well be- 
 stowed. 
 
 If your lordship holds in the same mind, said T, 
 we certainly can have no objection. — -Then give 
 me your hand, and it is a match. What say 
 you, Madam? — I say as my husband does, said 
 Mrs. Bennet; I am sure she is as dear to m« as 
 my own children. — Why then we are all of one 
 
188 
 
 mind, said my lord; and I swear to you that this 
 alliance will give me the greatest pleasure, and 
 take much care from me. Sophia is your daugh- 
 ter, madam, from this day forward. 
 
 We had a good deal of pleasantry upon this 
 
 subject; and I saw clearly that lord B was 
 
 pleased to get the child off his hands. However 
 he behaved both with kindness and politeness to 
 us all; lie offered us many presents, but we de- 
 clined them all. 
 
 He spent four days with us in high spirits, 
 and then returned home, telling me, he would 
 always send me covers to write tu him; and de- 
 siring to be informed, from time to time, of 
 every thing interesting that should pass in my 
 family. 
 
 From this time lord B began to grow slack 
 
 in his correspondence with me ; though he still 
 preserved the same kindness and politeness in 
 his manners and expressions. — " Let me know 
 what passes i?i }/ our family that is likely to be in- 
 teresting to me. Tell me how all your children 
 get forward, at your leisure." 
 
 Within a year after his marriage he wrote to 
 me, — " Congratulate me, dear Sir, on the birth 
 of a son and heir ; it completes the happiness of 
 my father, my wife, and myself." — Alas, poor 
 Sophia! said my dear Maria, thou art of no 
 consequence in the scale against a son; thou wilt 
 
189 
 
 be forgotten by thy father; but thou wilt be still 
 dearer to thy foster parents for this reason. 
 
 I heard nothing from lord B for seven 
 
 months after. I then wrote to acquaint him 
 - that we intended to inoculate our children, and 
 to ask. whether he had any objection to his 
 Sophia being of the party; his answer was; 
 
 " I leave it to }ou, my dear Sir, to do the 
 same for Sophia, as for yojir other children. I 
 cannot disapprove any thing you propose; write 
 to me when all is over." 
 
 Towards the end of the same year he wrote 
 again. 
 
 " I rejoice to hear that your children are all 
 perfectly recovered, and in better health than 
 before. I am very happy in my married state ; 
 my wife is a very prudent and managing woman; 
 she takes all trouble and care from me. A 
 second son is born to me, and I fancy myself a 
 person of great consequence, and am every day 
 more satisfied with my situation." 
 
 The following year my lord sent three lottery 
 tickets—'* for your three children, said he, to 
 be equal sharers in each other's good or bad for- 
 tune. My time is so filled up, that I cannot 
 write so often as formerly, but am always yours.'' 
 — One of the tickets came up a prize of a thou- 
 sand pounds, of which I advised lord B ■ 
 To which he wrote a very short billet. 
 
" I rejoice in the good fortune ot your children ; 
 let it be equally divided between them. Re- 
 member me to all your family." I wrote to him 
 as often as he sent me covers, for he forbad me 
 to write without them. The coldness of his letters 
 seemed to throw me to a greater distance ; I 
 found it dififiicult to speak to him with the same 
 ease and freedom as formerly. However, I 
 dropt many hints of the alteration, of which h<; 
 took no kind of notice. I gave him an invitation 
 to come over. " Shall we never again see your 
 
 '* lordship at S ? I am loth to believe you 
 
 " have resolved against it. I wish you to be 
 *' an eye-witness of the improvement cf your 
 " Sophia ; allow yourself to see her, and you 
 *' must love her." In my lord's answer to this 
 he says, 
 
 " I have not resolved against visiting you at 
 
 S , but my engagements will not allow me to 
 
 fix any time. Perhaps I may drop in upon you, 
 when you least expect me. I do not forget those 
 who have a constant title to my affection; but 
 my reasons against disclosing a certain secret 
 grow every day stronger." 
 
 In another letter, the following year, there 
 was another remove. 
 
 " You will oblige me infinitely, my dear Mr. 
 Bennet, if you will, in your future letters, omit 
 the wordsj j/owr daughter, and your Sophiaj and 
 
191 
 only speak of her as one of your own children. 
 I know you will blame me, but I have my reasons 
 for this precaution. 
 
 It was now very clear to us, that my lord never 
 uitended to acknowledge his daughter; his wife 
 bad brought him four children, two of each sex. 
 He had no mind that Sophia should claim any 
 share of his fortune with these ; he had por- 
 tioned her off, and transplanted her into another 
 family. The child was endeared to us by every 
 circumstance of her birth and situation ; but she 
 grew still dearer bv the amiable qualities which 
 she disclosed ; we knew no difference between 
 her and our own, except a certain tender com- 
 passion that seemed to give her in many respects 
 a kind of prtference. — My wife gave it as her 
 opinion, that this child should have some ad- 
 vantages in her education above our own. It is 
 not impossible, said she, that she may one day 
 be acknowledged as the child of a noble family ; 
 she may be raised to an higher station. I would 
 not have her be thought unworth} of it, by those 
 who respect external accomplishments above 
 mental ones. I am not fond of boarding-schools 
 in general. I prefer a home education for my 
 own daughter, but I will enquire after one for 
 Sophia ; and whenever 1 hear of a proper one, I 
 will send her for a few years. When she comes 
 home to us at the vacation^ \fe shall see and 
 
• IS* 
 judge of her improvements, and they will be of 
 service to our child, who loves her so well, that 
 she will endeavour to be like Sophia in every 
 respect. 
 
 Our motheif was of the same opinion ; and I 
 left it entirely to them to act as they thought 
 proper. I sent my son to a gentleman of excel- 
 lent character, not only for learning, but for the 
 strictest attention to the morals and manners of 
 his pupils. Sophia was sent to a school recom- 
 mended by a lady in our neighbourhood, whose 
 daughters were educated there. 
 
 We missed the children exceedingly ; our 
 daughter was for some time inconsohible, but 
 our joy at their return made us amends for their 
 absence. The affection between our daughter 
 and Sophia became more observable : we knew 
 not till this separation how much the dear child 
 loved us all. 
 
 Her sorrow at leaving us was affecting ; my 
 wife was hurt at it.— -We parted with tears on all 
 sides, and reminded each other of the next vaca- 
 tion when we should meet again. 
 
 At the next Christmas, when we were all to- 
 gether, and rejoicing in the dear circle of do- 
 mestic happiness; Sophia said, I have a request 
 to make to my dear papa and mama, which will 
 make me very happy if it is granted ; and if 
 refused, I shall be very miserable. — My dear 
 
W3 
 
 cliild, said my wife, what can that be ? . your 
 earnestness alarms me.— The child ran and threw 
 her arms about my wife's neck ; she wept in her 
 bosom;— Speak, my love, said she ; and, if it be 
 not very improper, it shall be granted. 
 
 It is, IMadam, that you will either send my 
 dear Anna Maria to school with me, or else let 
 me stay at home with her; I cannot bear to leave 
 all those I love, and to be sent among those 
 who do not care for me, nor I for them. 
 
 I must consider of it, my dear ; it is not a 
 question to be directly ansv/ered ; it is of some 
 consequence, — Only tell me that you are not 
 angry with me, Madam; I am afraid you are?— 
 No, my dear Sophia, I cannot be angry at a re- 
 quest that shews so strongly your affection to us. 
 1 will consult Mr. Bennet and my mother, and 
 iet you know our determination; but let my dear 
 child be assured, that her happiness is of as 
 much consequence to us as our own ; be easy, 
 be happy, my love, or else we shall not be so. 
 
 At our next evening's conversation, this sub- 
 ject was discussed. I gave my consent that my 
 daughter should return with Sophia to school : 
 when it was declared, the dear children were 
 equally rejoiced. 
 
 My wife ordered that Sophia should be taught 
 French, music, drawing, and many other things 
 that are the embellishments of the female cha- 
 
 K 
 
19^ 
 racter, and which she thought unnecessary for 
 • the humbler situation of her own child ; but the 
 affection of these two children rendered her pre- 
 caution useless, for whatever Sophia learned, 
 she always taught to tlie sister of her heart. 
 
 My sou likewise grew a ftne youth, and was 
 all that my heart could wish both in person and 
 mind. 
 
 We kept up a constant correspondence with 
 the Lucas family, and our friendship was never 
 interrupted or abated. INIrs. Lucas brought her 
 husband three sons, and two daughters; they 
 lived together in the most perfect harmony ; 
 'they visited us three times in the course of ten 
 years, and we paid them two visits ; we rejoiced 
 with each other on the promising qualities of 
 our children, not one on either side had either 
 defect or blemish. 
 
 Lord B had reduced his correspondence 
 
 with me to very short limits ; once or sometimes 
 txcice a year, very short letters ; and had not, 
 for many years past, once mentioned Sophia as 
 bis daughter. Upon the death of the earl his 
 father, I wrote him a long and serious letter. 
 I remonstrated, as became my function, on the 
 duties of the parent, and the cruelty of casting 
 off an innocent and unoffending child : and, lest 
 he should think I had any view to aggrandize my 
 own family by his alliance, I told him that tl;e 
 
195 
 
 day that restored lady Sophia to her family, 
 should put an end to my expectations on my 
 son's behalf, 
 
 I received a short letter in answer : 
 
 " You are very serious, my dear Mr. Beniaet. 
 " I will not just 710W enter upon the subject; but 
 " I will ere long tell you all that I think about it. 
 *' I forgive your remonstrance, it is in character. 
 *' I respect and love you the 7nore for it. I do 
 " not think I have done badly for my charge, in 
 *' having put it under your and Mrs. Bennet's care. 
 
 *' I am, and ever will be, your friend, &c. 
 
 " D ■." 
 
 In less than a month after this, I received the 
 following, which was written in a hand evidently 
 disguised : 
 
 " SIRj 
 
 " You will shortly receive a visit from Mr. 
 ^rlelcombe, the father of Miss Sophia Melcombe, 
 your charge ; but you are desired to know him 
 bif no other name, as you love him or his daughter, 
 
 ** PUILOSOPIIOS." 
 
 This kept us in continual expectation; \vb sent 
 for the girls from school, and prepared our 
 Sophia to see her father. 
 
 One day the following week, as we were sitting 
 in my study, my servant came to tell me a 
 K 2 
 
gentleman was at the door; but the gentlemati 
 followed him so close, that he had hardly time 
 
 to announce him. I rose to meet Lord D •, 
 
 who came forward and embr|iced me more af- 
 fectionately than, I believe, I returned it ; for I 
 was not pleased with him. — Where is INIrs. Ben- 
 net ! said he ; where are the children ? — In the 
 parlour, said I; but let me speak to you first 
 alone! Not a word will I hear, said he, till I 
 have seen them ; but don't tell me which is So- 
 phia ; let me find her out. — He went out ; I fol- 
 lowed him into the room, where my wife and 
 children were sitting at their needle. I did not 
 announce him ; my tongue refused to favour the 
 deception. — Sit still, Mrs, Bennet, said he; sit 
 still, j'oung ladies; I will not disturb you.* — He 
 v/ent to each of the girls, and looked earnestly 
 at both.— Then taking Sophia's hand, This is 
 she ? said be, lool'ang at me. — Let nature inform 
 you, said I ? it is said, she has done wonders in 
 this %cay. 
 
 I cannot be mistaken, said he ; this is my 
 child ! The child fell upon her knees to him ; he 
 raised, embraced her, and took her upon his 
 Jinee; he looked earnestly in her face, till the 
 child was abashed ; she hid her face, and wept. 
 
 My dear, said Mrs. Bennet, look up ; it is 
 your fat her ! — Lord D folded her in his arms, 
 jhe tear started in his eyes.— My child, said he, 
 
197 
 
 I am your father, I feel that I am ! look at me, 
 speak to me, I long to hear your voice. — Give 
 her a little time, Sir, said my wife : the child is 
 abashed. Come to me, my Sophia! — The child 
 ran to my wife, and wepi in her arms. 
 
 He then saluted my daughter, and seemed 
 surprised at their stature and improvements. — I 
 must be grown an old fellow, said my lord, to 
 have such a tall daughter. — Sophia was just 
 turned of eleven years ; my child was thirteen 
 months older, but they were nearly of the same 
 height ; my Anna was rather more plump ; 
 Sophia was slender, and finely made. 
 
 It was some time before she could take cou- 
 rage to speak before her father ; but the first 
 time she opened her mouth, he seemed to devour 
 her words — " The mother's loice exactly, said 
 he, it speaks to my heart." — I am glad of it, Sir, 
 said I.— He smiled. It says more than all your 
 eloquence. Sir, said he ; but I shall reply to both 
 at a proper time. — My dear, said he, come to 
 me ; what shall I give you .? tell me if there is 
 any thing you want or wish ! — Nothing, Sir, said 
 she; my good friends don't let me want any 
 thing ; and they grant me all my wishes. — Sweet 
 creatare! said he, your good friends indeed! — 
 Speak to her in French, Sir, said Mrs. Bennet; 
 she can answer you.— Indeed ! said he ; I am 
 afraid you are at too great expence for her 
 K 3 
 
198 
 education.— No, indeed, said my wife, she can 
 very well afford it. My lov-e, tell your papa, 
 that if he will send you a harpsichord, that is 
 the only xiish you have not been indulged in ; 
 but tell him so in French,— She did so, and he 
 \va.s delighted with her : he replied in the same 
 language, that he would send her one very soon. 
 I was a silent spectator of this scene, and en- 
 joyed it sincerely ; she shewed her father some 
 of her drawings, and other works. — Upon my 
 honour! said he, she wants no accomplishments 
 that could be given her in a higher station ; she 
 has lost no time. 
 
 I am glad, Sir, that you are pleased with what 
 has been done for her, said I ; our affection for 
 her would be a sufficient inducement to us to do 
 justice to her talents; she deserves it, for we 
 never have had any occasion to correct, or eveu 
 to contradict her. — But you say nothing of your 
 own daughter, said he. — I smiled, and repeated : 
 
 Two lovely berries growing on one stem, 
 And with two seeming bodies, but one heart; 
 Like to a double cherry seeming parted, 
 And yet an union in partition. 
 
 Shakspeare, 
 
 Charming, ciiarming! said my Lord: sweet 
 pan- of friends!— He took out his pocket-book; 
 by gave his daugliter two bank-notes.— -Now, 
 
said he, my sweet girl, keep one of tiiese fol* 
 yourself, and give the other to your sister. You 
 call her so, clou' t you ?-*-Yes, Sir, always, said 
 Sophia ; but I do not know the value of either 
 of these. 
 
 lie opened them, and shewed her. — This is 
 thirty pounds, and this is tXL-enfy. — Sophia ran to 
 her companion, raid gave iier the thirty, INIy 
 Anna made a low courtesy to my Lord, and 
 carried it to her mother. — I hope you will take 
 this, mamma, for I do not want it, nor know 
 the use of it.— -Nor 1 neither, said Sophia. Pray, 
 maiiuiia, take mine too. — Lovely creatures ! said 
 he} I am delighted with thern both. — With your 
 leave, Sir, said my wife, they shall both receive 
 the money in small portion:) from me, I will be 
 their steward. But, my Anna; you must not 
 take the larger note though Sophia offers it, it. is 
 a proof that she loves you better ihan herself.-— 
 That I do, indeed ! said Sophia, and I give it 
 her with all m\ heart. — I like that s; irit, said 
 my Lord; I gave it her on purpose to see whe- 
 ther self was predominant in her ; 1 am trans- 
 ported to see that it is not. 
 
 Next day, when the children were withdrawn, 
 
 my Lord D entered upon the subject he had 
 
 only hinted at befort. 
 
 I am going, Mr. Bennet, to reply to your re- 
 monstrance ; and to shew you that reason and 
 
200 
 
 not caprice is the regulator of my conduct. You 
 are a man of 5e«se, oi learning, of z right judg- 
 ment in 7nost things, but you have taken th« 
 wrong side of the argument betn-cen tis. Who 
 knows better than 3/0M, that neither birth, nor 
 title, nor riches, are the things that constitute- 
 happiness? You know that it is oftener found in a* 
 middling station, than in those ahove or bdow it ;. 
 you are yourself happy in this station, and have 
 not a icish beyond it. 
 
 I have placed my daughter in it : she is happy , 
 she tells vte so, and yet you ivant me to take her 
 out of it. Is X\\\^ judging right? Suppose I were 
 to take her from you, who love her so well; and 
 place her under the care and authority of a 
 mother-in-law, who has/bj/r children of herorun; 
 do you think it would promote her happiness? 
 Might it not destroy her peace, and 77iine too} 
 beside a thousand petty distresses that attend on 
 pride and parade, which this peaceful happy tillage 
 is free from. Taking these and many other cir- 
 runistances together, my heart acfjuits me of 
 ciiher want of care or afftction for my child; and 
 tells me I have provided in the bat manner for 
 her happiness. Now, Sir, I have ansvyered your 
 remonstrance fidly, I believe! 
 
 I smiled, shook my head, and after a short 
 pause, said — If I remain silent, your Lordship 
 will think I am coniinccd hyyvnr argiancat i I 
 
201 
 
 must therefore reply to it. There is no argu- 
 ment, iiowever specious and plausible, that can 
 tupersede the eternal laws of nature and oi reason. 
 They ordain, that a father should take upon 
 himself the care, the education, the protection 
 of his child. If a man were at liberty to accept 
 or to transfer any of the great duties of life to 
 another person, he would be contented to perform 
 most of them by proxy. 
 
 Your child might have fallen into base and 
 sordid hands, that would have devoured her 
 property, insulted her person, and depressed the 
 nohle faculties of her mind. This will not there- 
 fore acquit you of the duties of a father. You 
 put me in mind of those parents among the 
 Greeks, who exposed those children wljom they 
 did not choose to bring up and provide for ; 
 with this difference, however, that their lam al- 
 lowed of such a practice, but our divine law for- 
 bids it, even if the heart should give a dispensa- 
 tion for it. 
 
 My Lord bent his brow.— Sir, said he, you are 
 very severe upon me.— Truth, said I, appears to 
 be severe to those who resist or oppose her dic- 
 tates —Mr. Bennet, said he, these are liberties 
 that you are not entitled to take with me.—-l 
 think otherwise, my Lord, that both truth and 
 justice give me a title to use them upon this occw 
 cicn; to say nothing of the duties of lay function. 
 X5 
 
202 
 
 —-My Lord rose up in anger: he v/alked out of 
 tlie room,' and into the garden. 
 
 I am afraid, said my wife, that you have of- 
 fended him. — Perhaps so, said I, but I am per- 
 forming a duty that I am called to. — But for the 
 dear child's sake ! said she. — Do not be frighten- 
 ed, my love ; my Lord is a man of reason, he 
 ■will recollect himself. 
 
 Let me send Sophia to him, she will soften 
 him more than all your reasoning. — That i.s right, 
 said I ; vi^omen know best where their strength 
 lies. — And when to use it properly .—-\ hope such 
 women as yov, my dear; but send for Sophia.— 
 She did so. — Sophia, said I, I have offended 
 your father, he is walking in the garden : go to 
 him, my child ; ask him to walk in ; tell him 
 that I have finished all that I had to say to him, 
 and shall never more speak on the subject, unless 
 he begins it. Can you remember, love? — She 
 repeated v/hat I had said. — She was gone half 
 an hour, and returned with her father; the 
 traces of displeasure were still upon his brow. 
 He desired the child to leave us for a few minutes. 
 ■ — Sir, said he, I have only one thing more to 
 say; if =you wish to be released from ihe care of 
 the ckildj I will take her from you; and I shall 
 find some other place to put her in, for I shall 
 not take her to my own house. 
 
 Oh not for the worldl said Mrs, Bennet, I 
 
203 
 
 could not bear to part with my ,So;t>/^/c.— Nor 
 would I to any man living, but to her father ; 
 said I, but if that cannot be, I will supply his 
 place to her. — I never wished it otherwise, said 
 my Lord. You, Madam, have a right to her, 
 in preference to every body ; but it seemed to 
 me,, that your husband wished to be rid of her.— • 
 No, my lord, said she, he did 7iot, could not, 
 wish it; let me be the mediator. Mr. Bennet 
 has done what lie thinks his dutt/; but as he can- 
 not obtain iiis wishes, he will do what is the next 
 best for the child; he loves the child as well as 
 either of us do. — And I will love her more than 
 ever, said I, if her father will allow me to do so. 
 
 — ]Mrs. Bennet went to Lord D ; she took 
 
 his hand — Will you permit me, my Lord ? — Dis- 
 pose . of it as you please, most amiable of wo- 
 men ! — My dear husband, said she. — I advanced, 
 and gave my hand; she joined them. — Let this 
 be the last debate on this tender subject, said 
 she. — Be it so, s.aid my Lord. We sat down, 
 the children were called m : and thus ended the 
 interesting subject. 
 
 After dinner my Lord said, — I inteixied t& 
 have left you to-day, but I will stay anotho? 
 night for your sak^. Madam, to convince you 
 that air is forgotten on my part ; honour me 
 with your good opinion, and I will endeavour to 
 deserve it. — On the morro-.v he departed: he 
 
 TS.G 
 
204 
 
 took a most affectionate leave of his daughter, 
 who did not seem so mucli affected as himself; 
 a very polite one of me and the rest of my family. 
 I was now fully convinced that Sophia would 
 never be publicly acknowledged for his daughter. 
 From this time my Lord wrote but once a 
 year. He sent an harpsichord to Sophia ac- 
 cording to promise, and advised her of it by a 
 letter without any signature. He made her no 
 more presents afterwards, nor has since visited 
 us, or shewn an^/ desire to see or converse with 
 his daughter; but is reckoned a good. husband 
 and father to his second family, to whom all his 
 cares and attentions are devoted. 
 
 The following year was distinguished by two 
 remarkable events in my family; the first was 
 the death of Mrs. Horton. I felt her loss very 
 much, and my wife still more. I was obliged to 
 use every argument that religion and philosophy 
 could suggest, to abate the excess of her grief. 
 The children succeeded better; they diverted it. 
 Grief is more easily amused than reasoned away. 
 She seemed fonder than ever of her two daugh- 
 ters. 1 told her that heaven had most graciously 
 ordained, that the rising generation should supply 
 to us the loss of the foregoing one. 
 
 Time, reason, and our ckildrens company, took 
 off by degrees the edge of our grief, and restored 
 our relish for society. We kept up a friendly 
 
205 
 
 intercourse with most of the families in cur own 
 and the next parish, but had no very intimate 
 friendship with any but our cousin Lucas's family. 
 The second interesting event of tiiis year was, 
 my sending my son to Cambridge. He went just 
 before, to visit Mr. and Mrs. Lucas at their de- 
 sire; and their eldest son went the year after, as 
 a Commoner to the same College, 
 
 My wife took the two girls from school the 
 same year, and they became her inseparable 
 companions. 
 
 AVe used to long for the return of my son from 
 college, his presence completed our happiness ; 
 but in his absence he wrote constantly, and told 
 us every thing that happened to him. 
 
 I demanded of him an account of all those 
 young men with whom he had acquaintance. 
 He used to describe them to me, and I was al- 
 ways watchful, for my son's sake, lest he should 
 be led by improper company into errors in con- 
 duct. 
 
 He wrote me word, that young Lucas was of 
 an high, ungovernable spirit ; that he was not 
 beloved by many; that he kept up an appearance 
 of civility to him, on account of the relationship 
 between their parents; but that he expected so 
 much homage and attention, that, if it was not 
 out of respect to his parents, he should never 
 go into his company. 
 
206r 
 
 The year following he wrote, — " I have made 
 a new acquaintance, and, if my father will allow 
 it, a friend, his name Gerard Selby, a gentle- 
 man of good birth, virtuous manners, and pretty 
 fortune. He is two years above my standing, 
 and knows much more of the world than I do ; 
 and he is so kind as to give me advice in many 
 things that I was ignorant how to act in. I have 
 been obliged to him upoa many occasions. I 
 ask it as a favour to me. Sir, that you will per- 
 mit me to invite Mr. Selby to come with me at 
 my next vacation ; and then you will see and 
 judge, whether my heart has made a worthy 
 election of a friend. 
 
 My best wishes and most affectionate regards 
 attend my mother and the dear girls ; and, to 
 my father, my heart's duty and aflections. 
 
 V. Ben NET." 
 I had the happiness of hearing from my friends 
 at Cambridge, that my son's behaviour and cha- 
 racter were unexceptionable. I likewise heard 
 an excellent character of young Selby ; and I de- 
 sired my son to invite him to visit us, in my 
 «ame as well as his own. 
 
 The young men came according to invitation, 
 and their company made a considerable addition 
 to the happiness of our little circle. Myself, 
 my wife, and the two dear girls, endeavoured 
 to make the visit as agreeable as.possible. 
 
207 
 
 We sometimes read to the ladies, and at others 
 conversed with them. We found young Selby as 
 amiable as his friend had represented him : the 
 youth was an adept in music, he played on the 
 violin;^ Miss Melcombe played on the harpsi- 
 chord ; both she and my Anna-Maria sung very 
 agreeably. In the mornings they walked, and 
 sometimes the girls with them ; who now began 
 to expect and receive marks of attention, from 
 the youth of the other sex. In short, every hour 
 was filled up delightfully, and the time passed 
 away too fast for us. 
 
 My wife and I began to observe the behaviour 
 of the young girls, and also of our son. I asked 
 her opinion, whether she thought that Valentine 
 paid any particular attention to JNIiss Melcombe? 
 — I cannot say he does at present, said she; yoii 
 know I have never spoken out concerning our 
 wishes, but only by very distant hints. I think 
 it better to wait till his inclination unfolds itself, 
 and then to give him hopes of succeeding by de- 
 grees; I would not have him be too secure.— 
 All that I fear, said I, is, lest either of them 
 should incline another way; and I am actually 
 afraid of this young Selby, who is very amiable. 
 —I think, said my wife, it would not be amiss 
 to insiimafe a hint of that kind to Valentine, and 
 see what use he will make of it ; but it must 
 be done with the utmost delicacy.— I leave it 
 
 i 
 
308 
 
 to yuu, my love, said I ; only let me know t!i2 
 result. 
 
 A few days after, 1 asked my wife whether 
 she had sounded her son on the interesting sub- 
 ject. — 1 have, said she ; but he seems rather to 
 avoid it. I told liim, that his friend was a 
 dangerous man to bring among young women. 
 Suppose, said I, he should conceive a passion 
 for tithei' of your sisters, or citJier of thetn for 
 hiin f We might be thought to have interested 
 views, as the young man's fortune is superior to 
 ours. — Don't be afraid, Madam, said he ; Selby 
 is a mdn of honour, and will behave as such in 
 all respects. — You seem very indifferent about 
 it, Valentne, said 1. — Perhaps I am not, said 
 he. — Perhaps, said I, you may wish him to liice 
 one of them? — -Why not*, Madam? said he— It 
 is a mother's part, said I, to guard all points, 
 and to look to all contingencies. — -Nobody can 
 doubt your prudence, Madam ; but once again, 
 you have nothing to fear.— You are very reserved 
 to your mother, Valentine.— Excuse me this 
 time, Madam ; the next visit we make here, I 
 •will be more explicit.— Perhaps it were better 
 you were so now, said I. — Excuse me, my dear 
 mother, my friend's secrets are not 7n//zc,— That 
 is true, said I ; and pray remember that nay pre- 
 cautions are sacred also j a mother fears every 
 thing for the children of her heart. 
 
20^ 
 
 Tiiey are sacred with me, Madam, and ever 
 shall be. — And so ended our conversalion, from 
 which I can gather nothing decisive. 
 
 During this visit, I observed that young Selby 
 paid great attention to Mrs. Bennet, more indeed 
 than to the girls; he seemed perfectly sensible 
 of her merit upon all occasions. Once he said, 
 that the greatest happiness of a man's life, was 
 to have a woman of merit for his wife. — You, 
 Sir, are a happy man in this, and indeed in all 
 other respects. 
 
 When the time came for the young men to re- 
 turn to college, we parted with them with equal 
 reluctance on all sides. After they were gone, 
 we talked over every past scene of happiness, 
 and often sighed over the recollections. 
 
 At the next excursion fi'om college, Mr. Selby 
 urged my son to visit his uncle with him. — It is a 
 visit of duty, said he ; and when it is discharged, 
 I will make you and> myself amends by a more 
 
 agreeable one to the dear village of S . Mr. 
 
 Selby 's uncle was also his guardian ; he was more 
 than of age, but his uncle had not yet given up 
 his trust, nor settled his account. Young Selby 
 went with a resolution to demand both. The old 
 man had two daughters ; he was desirous that 
 his nephew should marry one of them. 
 
 In the course of this disagreeable visit, Mr, 
 Selby 's uncle let him know, that he was not in- 
 
2J0 
 
 clined to settle accounts with h'fm, until he was 
 assured that he would marry one of his daughters. 
 
 I\Ir. Selby, finding himself pressed, spoke 
 pJabilif his refusal — I anv sorry, said he, to be 
 obliged to expose the character and principles 
 of my mother's brother, but you have maxle it 
 necessary. Know, Sir, that I will throw off the 
 fetters of my ckildkood; and that 1 will not put on 
 the fetters of matrimonii, but at my own time, 
 and by my own choice, which, I assure you, uill 
 ?i of fall u^ou either of your daughters. So say- 
 ing, he went into the stable, and ordered the 
 horses tb be got ready; he then acquainted his 
 friend with all that liad passed, and told him his 
 resolution to go away directly. The old man 
 endeavoured to detain them ; but they took a 
 civil leave of the ladies, and rode away directly. 
 
 Selby was continually making comparisons 
 between this visit, and that to us. 
 
 Mr. Selby, soon after his return, employed a 
 gentleman, eminent in the law, to bring his 
 uncle to account, when it appeared that he had 
 embezzled the greatest part of his income dur- 
 ing his minority. This was what he expected ; 
 but he determined not to expose his uncle to 
 public shame and punishment. He therefore 
 otfered, if he would ojily account for tlie last 
 year, that he might not begin the world without 
 current cash, he would give him a discharge for 
 
211 
 
 the rest. The estate was between four and five 
 hundred a year; his uncle could not have spent 
 more than an hundred a year for him while at 
 school, and he had been allowed two hundred 
 since he had been "at college; in a minority of 
 seven years, the sum due was comiderable ; but 
 this good young man cheerfully gave a discharge 
 for it, rather than prosecute his mother's bro- 
 ther. After this aftair was finally settled, Selby 
 was impatient to come with my son to S 
 The young men's joy sparkled in their e}'es when 
 they entered my house; young Selby rushed into 
 my arms, as a son would to the most tender 
 father. 
 
 I swear to you, my dear Sir, said he, that 
 I have not known so happy a moment as this, 
 since I was last in this house. My son succeeded 
 liim, while Selby saluted the ladies, which he 
 did in raptures of joy. Valentine seemed equally 
 happy, and the girls appeared to make no diffe- 
 rence between them. I determined within myself ^ 
 to know both their hearts before they returned to 
 Cambridge. Their behaviour was easy, frank, 
 and affectionate to every person in the family ; 
 Selby had most vivacity; Valentine's charac- 
 teristic was a sweet placidness of temper, which 
 nothing could discompose; with the greatest de- 
 delicacy of manners. My daughter was of a 
 sprightly turn, and used to crMver, our conversa= 
 
212 
 
 Hons ; Sophia jMelcombc was more serious. My 
 heart felt the merits of them all; and enjoyed 
 the dear little social circle, round my table, 
 with more inward satisfaction, than external 
 expression ; and my dearest partner's joy rose 
 to her intelligent eyes, and often overflowed 
 them. Selby grew as dear to us as any of the 
 rest, and shewed us the same marks of affection. 
 I had consulted my wife, and we both agreed 
 that Sophia should be told every circumstance 
 of her birth and situation. Her father had not 
 fiSrbid it, becaiise he did not think of it ; other- 
 wise he certainly 'would, as it w-as a part of his 
 plan. She shed many tears at the relation; she 
 thanked God for having given her such parents, 
 m lieu of him who refused to own her. At the 
 same time, my wife told her there was a part of 
 her father's plan, that she had not yet disclosed; 
 and that she would v/ait till the time was ripe for 
 it. — Sophia blushed ; she bowed to her, and 
 said, 1 rely upon you, Madam, entirely, and am 
 at your disposal. Tliis looked as if she suspected 
 the treaty of marriage. My wife said no more 
 at that time. About a week after our scholars 
 made their second visit, as I was sitting in my 
 study, young Selby tapped at the door. — Come 
 in, said I ! — He did so — Do I interrupt you. 
 Sir? — Not at all, said I; sit down, Sir, lam 
 glad of your company. — He seemed to have 
 
213 
 
 ■something of importance to communicate. He 
 blushed, hesitated, and looked confused. To 
 relieve him, I began to talk of books, and to 
 lead him into conversation. He collected him- 
 self, and turned the discourse on his own affairs. 
 Again I turned the discourse on other subjects. 
 He soon returned to his own situation. I then 
 -applauded his behaviour to his uncle, and said, 
 that every thing I had seen or heard of him had 
 increastd my esteem for him. 
 
 Ah, Sir, said be, I do indeed aspire to your 
 friendship; but this is not all. I expect from 
 you the coivpltfion of my earthly happiness.— 
 From me; said I; explain yourself ! — I — I — I — 
 vrish to -be one of your children, Sir; to call you 
 my father, and Mrs. Bennet my mother. In 
 short, Sir, I wish to obtain your favour, and 
 that oi your daughter. — fVkick of my daughters.? 
 said I, smiling. — Oh, Sir, you cannot surely 
 doubt! Is not one of them engaged already? 
 
 How do you know that ? said I.— -There is but 
 one voay, Sir ; your son warned me before I en- 
 tered the house. — Indeed ! said I. — But, Sir, it 
 was a needless precaution ; . from the first week 
 I was acquainted with JMiss Bennet, my heart 
 had tnad€ its election. I was not then of age, 
 nor yet sufficiently acquainted with my own eir- 
 ■cumstances ; but the moment I could come to an 
 explanation uitk you, Sir, I resolved to do it. 
 
• r3 1 4 
 
 I could not be easy till I had opened my heart to 
 you, and I trust in your goodness to treat it 
 kindly and properly. 
 
 My good 3'ouiig man ! said I, you are very 
 young to think on marriage, and my daughter 
 is a mere child. I do not mean to marry at 
 present, Sir; but, for fear that any one should 
 inttrfere between myself and my happiness, I 
 thought I could not mention it too soon. 
 
 Your fortune is too much above ours; my 
 <3aughter will not have more than a thousand 
 pounds; which is exactly what her mother 
 brought me. — He looked displeased. 
 
 Sir, said he, would fortune have made any 
 difference, in your choice of that excellent wo- 
 man?— I smiled. I have some reasons, Sir, to 
 think it would not, said I. — ^Then do me the jus- 
 tice to think I have the same sentiments, and the 
 same feelings. — Excuse me, dear Mr. Selby ; I 
 am apprehensive that the world will think the ad- 
 vantages too great on our side, in case this alliance 
 should ever take place.— The u^orld shall not 
 choose my loife. Sir ; and I am known to have 
 too ?nuch spirit to have one itnposed on me.— My 
 daughter is but just seventeen, said I ; it is too 
 early for her to marry, and I think for you too. 
 —I agree to that. Sir; I would therefore make 
 my court to Miss Bennet, rather by silent assi- 
 duities, than by words.— I smiled, That is the 
 
5215 
 
 same thing, Mr. Selby ; lovers can converse by 
 intuition. — He smiled ; I believe that may be, 
 Sir; but \ would not attempt it without your 
 permission. — My dear youth, I am convinced of 
 your honour, and of your merit in every respect. 
 I am only afraid of your making an engagement, 
 of whick you might hereafter repent. — That is 
 impossible, said he. But, Sir, hear my reasons 
 for wishing to do so. A young man of good 
 principles, whose aflections are engaged, will 
 say to himself, when under a temptation, how 
 dare I do thus, or thus, when I am engaged to 
 a woman of virtue, whose judgment must con- 
 demn it ! Her idea will be like a guardian angel, 
 constantly attending me, and leading me to de- 
 serve the crown of my felicity. — My dear young 
 man, I am charmed with your virtue and gox)d 
 sense, and am proud of such a conquest for my 
 daughter. Let me, however, consult my -wife; 
 I do nothing without her concurrence. — I leave 
 the decision of my fate in her hands and yours, 
 Sir ; dispose of me as you think proper. Make 
 me your son, at your own time, and in your own 
 manner, and I cannot but be happy.- — Upon this 
 he rose up, bowed gracefully, and retired. 
 
 I was impatient to tell my wife of this expla- 
 nation. She was overjoyed at it. — We both 
 agreed, that some years hence it would be the 
 most desirable alliance in the world. 
 
■ 216 
 
 ''.Ve were both highly pleased at our son's ijru" 
 deuce in warning Mr. Selby. Some time after, 
 as my son was speaking to me upon the subject 
 of Mr. Selby's alliance, and expressing the plea- 
 sure he took in the prospect of Selby's being 
 united to uur family by every tye of love and 
 friendship; I asked him smiling, if he had yet 
 discovered that he had a heart. — He blushed, 
 and smiled.— Seeing a volume of Corneille's 
 works before me, he turned to the Cid, and 
 pointed to Rodrigo's answer to his father. Tout 
 autre que vwn Pere.'— Very applicable, young 
 man, said I; but how came you so well ac- 
 quainted with Corneille .' — I will tell you, said 
 he, Sir ; Selby understands the modern lau* 
 guages, and he is my tutor in them. I am a 
 better Grecian than he, and sometimes he reads 
 the old Greek authors with me ; and thus we as- 
 sist each other. — These are the mutual advan- 
 tages of virtuous friendship, said I; and I am 
 the happiest of fathers. 
 
 AnoUier day, as INIr. Selby and I were speak- 
 ing of the French writers, he mentioned the two 
 dramatic pieces, le Fils Naturel, and le Pere dt 
 famille. lie entered into a discussion of their 
 beauties and defects. — In the first of these co- 
 medies, the writer supposes the principal inci- 
 dents in a family history to be woven into a 
 dramatic piece ; and, by order of the father of 
 5 
 
217 
 It, liiis piece to be represented annually, in or- 
 der to preserve the remembrance of the most 
 interestuig events. Nay, he orders this custom 
 to be continued after his death, and an old gen- 
 tleman his friend to supply the place in his exhi- 
 bition. It is really surprizing to observe, how 
 very naturally every circumstance is described 
 and represented. 
 
 According to our system, said I, every family 
 might furnish a dramatic entertainment out of 
 the most interesting events that have happened 
 in it. — I think, said Mrs. Bennet, that ours 
 would afford a. good subject, or perhaps two. 
 This thought amused us, and we pursued it the 
 whole evening. 
 
 To be rather more serious, said Mr. Selby, I 
 really think, that, if every father of a family would 
 write down the principal -events in it, it would 
 be of use to his posterity, and it would be a 
 means to excite his children to good and laud- 
 able actioiK, in order to be well spoken of in the 
 family history. 
 
 You almost persuade me, said I, to write my 
 own. — I wish most ardently that you would, said 
 Mrs. Bennet. — My son and daughters, and Mr. 
 Selby, all joined to persuade me to undertake it; 
 and here, my dear children, is the origin of my 
 present employments 
 
218 . 
 
 After a montli spent thus liappily, we seemed 
 more unwilling than ever to part with our friends. 
 I was obliged to use manjr arguments, to make 
 us look forward to the time of meeting again, 
 in order to support the separation. Among 
 others, I told them that I should renew the 
 pleasures I had enjoyed, by writing them down; 
 and they would be repeated to the ladies, when I 
 should read the story to tkeyn. 
 
 The j-oung men were delighted with the design, 
 —Let us take care, said Valentine, so to con- 
 duct ourselves, that we may make a good ap- 
 pearance in the History.-— \ depend upon you 
 both, said I, to furnish me with subjects for the 
 continuaiion of it. 
 
 We reeeived their adieu ; and the same day I 
 began to write my family history , which 1 design 
 to Bring up to this period ; and to wait the deci- 
 sion of some important events, before I proceed 
 any farther. I am at this instant one of the hap" 
 pitst of mankind, in mv present blessings and fu- 
 ture prospects; which while I enjoy, I lift my 
 heart in ardent gratitude and awful reverence to 
 the Supreme Fountain of all my happiness; be- 
 seeching him that I may never be so absorbed in 
 earthly pursuits, as to lose sight of the Divine 
 Bounty from whence I receive them ? All the 
 good things that are distributed over the face of 
 
219 
 this earthly globe, are but as so many rivulets 
 flowing from the inexhaustible ocean, of the 
 |3oarr, the wisdom, and the goodness of God. 
 
 CONTINUATION OF THE FAMILY HISTORY. 
 
 March IS, i?"— 
 
 Never, oh never, let mortal man boast of 
 his happiness on this side of the grave ! For 
 vain, fleeting, and transitory is the state of hu- 
 man felicity ! Let him who reads these sheets,, 
 be warned of this truth; and, having heard of 
 my joys, let him listen to my sorrows. 
 
 Yesterday, my darhng, the son of my heart's 
 ■wishes, was brought home in a state between 
 life and death. He, and his friend and brother,. 
 Gerard Selby, crossed a water swoln with late 
 rains; they were carried down the stream some 
 way; Selby's horse swam; his servant turned 
 back, and called for assistance; but my son's 
 horse plunged, and was carried into a current. 
 When Valentine saw the danger, he threw him- 
 self off, and endeavoured to swim to land ; but 
 his strength failed, and he sunk once. At this 
 iiistant Selby's servant came with several assis- 
 tants; they got a boat that was fastened hard- 
 by, and came directly to the place: my son 
 rose, and Selby's servant seized his hand, the 
 1.2 
 
220 
 rest took hold of las clothes; they drew hhn 
 kito the boat, and brought him over to the other 
 sidej where Selby was aheady safely landed, 
 and standing in agonies, waiting their arrival. 
 JNIy son was then luirdly sensible of his situation ; 
 they carried him to the first house at hand, and 
 used all possibly means for his recovery. As 
 soon as he could speak, he begged to be carried 
 home immediately. Their clothes were to come 
 after them by the waggon from Cambridge to 
 
 1 , and they had no change of apparel; the 
 
 cottagers could not furnish them. Mr. Selby 
 sent his servant forward for a post-chaise; in 
 the mean time they took oft' my son's clothes, 
 and dried them as well as they could. The ser- 
 vant had a wallet with two shirts in it, which 
 enabled them to change their linen. 
 
 The servant returned with the post-chaise as 
 soon as possible. The gentlemen got into it, 
 and the servant rode his master's horse ; in this 
 manner they came forward to S— — ; the ser- 
 vant came first, and prepared us to expect some 
 fatal accident. In a moment our joy was 
 changed to the most bitter grief. The young 
 men made the best of it, and assured us all was 
 well; but my son was so ill, that I thought pro- 
 per to send to I for a physician. He or- 
 dered him proper medicines, and I sat up with 
 fcim myself. He had very disturbed rest, and 
 
221 
 
 ^ras feverish all night. To-day he is something 
 better, and my hopes are above my fears. 
 
 Oh, gracious Heaven, spare my son ! or take 
 mv life instead of his; for in his, are included 
 mine and his mother's t 
 
 March l6. A dreadful night we have past; 
 my son's fever run very high ; a strong delirium. 
 Selby sat up with him. My heart is overwhelmed 
 with grief and apprehension. My dear wife pre- 
 serves her fortitude of mind; she comforts me; 
 she looks cheerful. The girls are drowned in 
 tears. I can write no more. 
 
 March 17. A better night; quiet rest several 
 hours. 
 
 My family are assembled at breakfast. — Oh 
 gracious Heaven, let me not presume! let me 
 iiot despair ! 
 
 March 18. God be praised! my dear son is 
 out of danger, if there be no relapse; the doctor 
 pronounces it so. 
 
 Let us return thanks to the Father of mercies! 
 
 March \Q. We are all joy and gratitude. We 
 cannot speak to eachother williout tears of joy. 
 My son lives; he comforts his parents; he thanks 
 his friends. 
 
 We have all been assembled in his room. We 
 have paid our united thanks and praises to 
 heaven. 
 
 March 20. This day ourhope3 are ccnf rmed; 
 i- 3 
 
o'2>2 
 
 my son is easy and cheerful ; he has said a thou- 
 sand tender and obliging things to every one of 
 his friends. His heart is atiected at our tender 
 grief and solicitude for his recovery. Selby has 
 resumed his cheerfuhiess ; he begins to be plea- 
 sant with us ; he has spoken to his Anna upon a 
 tender suhject; he caJls Valentine brother, and 
 Mrs. Bennet his inother. 
 
 This day, as the tv.o lovely girls approached 
 my son's bed, he held out a band to each of 
 them. He begged his sister to be grateful to his 
 dear Selby, for his kindntiKs to him. 
 
 lie then let go her hand, and took Sophia's 
 in both his own. lie looked earnestly in her 
 face, and said, — If I hud died, yo\x would have 
 lost a brother; but if I Ike, you will find in me 
 a loxer, ardent aijd sincere. Henceforward you 
 must give me hope that I shall live for you, or 
 f'lse I shall live to be vnhuppi/. So saying, he 
 kissed Iier iiand, and drew her to the chair by 
 his bed-side. Sophia blushed deeply; the tears 
 stood in her eyes. She sat down, covered her 
 face with her handkerchief, and was silent. 
 
 Selby said, — My dear friends, I beseech you 
 to let your love scenes, be in the comic style ! 
 No more tragedy, for heaven's sake ! After 
 this, our conversation took a more cheerful turn, 
 and we spent the remainder of the day as happily 
 as we had done the former vacations. 
 
2'23 
 
 March 2 1 . My son came down stairs. He 
 assumed an air of cheerfulness, and even viva- 
 city ; but his pale cheeks too plainly shewed how 
 much he had suffered, and he was very weak. 
 IloweVer we all strove to be cheerful, and to 
 encourage our hopes and wishes. 
 
 March 22. We received visits of friendship 
 and congratulation on my son's recovery; and 
 the following day we accompanied him on an 
 airing. He was apparently better, and very 
 lively. 
 
 March 25. My son is perfectly recovered, 
 but he looks pale and wan: he says he is quite 
 well. Ileavett be praised ! 
 
 April 20. A month is passed bince the dread- 
 ful accident. All is well, and my young men 
 are preparing to return to college. Valentine 
 .will take his degree, and Selby will be ordained, 
 before they return to us again. The girls are as 
 lively as birds, and we are determined not to 
 show any signs of sadness at their departure. 
 
 Jpril 2(5. The dear youths are gone. We 
 are all very low and dejected ; we assume airs of 
 braiert/, but they will not support us. The girls 
 affect reserve and distance; but I see and feel 
 with joy, that tlieir hearts are united. 
 
 God preserve rny dear children! And all 
 things of v.'orldly conceru will be as notiiing tp 
 iue m the balance ! 
 
 L 4 
 
224. 
 
 May 1. Letters from our drar young men;, 
 Valentine's was addressed to me; Selby's to my 
 wife. Both speak of their journey by short 
 stages, to favour Valentine's tender health. 
 
 Selby's letter requests the favour of corre- 
 sponding with my wife, and through /jer with his 
 ■mistress. 
 
 My wife permits her daughters to write to her 
 sons. The dear girls are rather distressed how 
 to address tliem. My Anna says she will mortify 
 their vanity, lest they should be too secure. 
 
 For want of other materials, I will transcribe 
 the young women's letters. 
 
 " As you each thought proper to address your 
 lf.tter to both my sister and stlj\ and from your 
 J'rit'nd as well as yourself, I shall reply to both, 
 and perhaps for both of vs. 
 
 So you think yourselves quite secure of u?; 
 end already begin to treat us as your subjects? 
 Now it is my opinion that our history will be 
 very dull and tiresome, unless some difficulties 
 are thrown in the way, to excite your spirits, 
 and enliven your imagination. I think you ought 
 to have rivals to contend with, and perils to en- 
 counter; and I would not have you be too- cer- 
 tain that you tvill not. 
 
 Last Sunday Mr. J. Rowland; a bachelor ia 
 
2C5 
 our village, not above jixt and forty y appeared 
 at church in a new suit of light-green clothes; 
 he made me a very significant bow, and I am told 
 he intends to offer me his person and fortune. 
 -Look to it, Selby ! you ^o not know what allure- 
 ments may be in them. 
 
 Nay, other folks have their admirers and their 
 horns as well as 7. And, once again, do not be 
 too secure of us. You took us at a disadtantage 
 in an hour of grief and compassion ; but now that 
 we have recovered our spirits, we do not intend 
 to be so easily won. 1 leave it to Sophia to say 
 what she pleases; she is a gentle soul, and loves 
 to give pleasure rather than pain: I think there 
 ought to be a due proportion of both. — Tell us 
 that you are both well and happy, and we will 
 keep up the ball with you; but don't deceive us, 
 in order to make us ^^ny you: if you do, expect 
 reprisals from 
 
 A. M. B£NNET." 
 
 \ 
 
 " Gentlemen, 
 
 ** I cONfORM to my sister Anna's address, 
 and will say a few^words to you both. She is- 
 a dear saucy girl; but threatens more than she 
 means to execute. I dare say your knowledge 
 of her and of yourselves^ will enable you to sup- 
 port her resentment. 
 
 I am much obliged for the books you sent me; 
 1.5 
 
226 
 
 but I think the lady is an outrageous coquet. I 
 tell my Anna that it" she had been introduced 
 into the great world, she would have resembled 
 Marianne, in more than ojie respect. She threatens 
 reverige for the sarcasm., as she calls it. 
 
 I am very nmch concerned, that M. Marivaux 
 did not live to finii^h it, and that no writer of equal 
 merit has since attempted it. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Bennet write; so I leave family 
 subjects to them. 
 
 I earnestly with to hear that you are in perfect 
 health, and that you think of your friends here, 
 as often as they do of you. 
 
 Sophia Melcombe." 
 
 May 20. A letter from Mr. Melcombe, as he 
 chooses to be called, enquiring after my fami- 
 ly : whetlicr my children are not yet marriage 
 able, and whether 1 mean to fulfil my engage- 
 ment. 
 
 May 24. I have answered this letter; have 
 claimed the agreement; have acquainted him with 
 the late accident; with my daughter's engage- 
 ment to Mr. Sell)y, and with the present state of 
 my family. 
 
 June 15. A letter from Mr. Lucas, with a 
 desire to know my sons opinion of his son's cha- 
 racter and behaviour at Cambridge ; having 
 heard complaints of his proud and arrogant be- 
 
t27 
 havioor tli^re. In my answer. I bogged to be 
 excused giving particulars, as f;x>m my son's in- 
 formation ; but in general, that I believe he is 
 not mishiformed. 
 
 June C2. My wife came to me in my study; 
 she enquired after my health and spirits; she 
 talked upon serious subjects, particularly upon 
 resignation to the divine will. — Suppose, said she, 
 your £on were taken from you by a sudden stroke^ 
 or hy a lingering sickness; which would be the 
 most supportable ? — My heart sunk within mr. 
 I fear, I fear! said I, you have some bad news 
 to communicate; is my son dangerouslij ill?'—! 
 hope not, said she; but you ought to arm your- 
 self with resolution. — Have you heard any thing 
 particular, said I ? I am sure,«jny love, this warn- 
 ing is not for nothing"? — She drew two letters out 
 ©f her pocket. — Let us read them together, said 
 Bhe; perhaps my fears may have raagnilied the 
 danger.— I read them ; and then threw them be- 
 tween these leaves. Alas — I have not spirits to 
 transcribe them. 
 
 I will pray for patience and resignation; and 
 submit to the disposal of Providence in all 
 things.- 
 
 TO MRS. BEX NET. 
 
 ■" I. CANNOT prevail upon myself to be silent 
 any longer, on a. subject that gives me infinite 
 1.6 
 
\Q78 
 
 concern, though I know I shall communicate at 
 least an equal share of it; but I dread the effects 
 of a sut'prize. My dear friend and brother Va-? 
 lentine, is in a very bad state of health, and has 
 many symptoms of the consumptive kind. I have 
 had the best advice for him ; 1 have made him 
 observe the regimen prescribed by I>r. H : 
 
 He rides out every day, he drinks asses milk, he 
 takes every medicine that is ordered ; but, alas, 
 I don't see much amendment. I beg of you. 
 Madam, to inform INJr. Bennet of these particu- 
 lars, in the way that you think will be least 
 alarming to him. I know your prudence and 
 aftection; I trust in your piety and fortitude. 
 I wait your orders; ant}-, upon the first sum- 
 mons, I will bring my patient home, if you think 
 his presence will give satisfaction to you or his 
 lather. I devote myself wholly to your service, 
 and earnestly beg that you will look upon me as 
 your son a-nd servant, 
 
 G. Selby." 
 
 TO MISS BENNET. 
 
 " With what transport could I answer my 
 dear Anna JSIaria's sprightly letter, if niy heart 
 were at ease! 
 
 " Alas, beloved of my soul! there is no occa- 
 sion to seek for perils to encounter, for difficiilties 
 to overcome; when we reflect on the wicertain 
 
229 
 Unure upon which poor mortals hold their eartli- 
 ly happiness. Even at this moment, I perceive 
 the approach of trouble and affliction; in which 
 I fear distant, as well as present, evils. — Arm 
 yourself, my dearest, with Christian philosophy, 
 to withstand the approaching trial. — Your bro- 
 ther and mine is, I fear, in a. declining xuay, — You 
 will be called upon to be the support and com- 
 fort of yowY father, mother, sister, and lover. I 
 will be your associate in every act of piety and 
 aftection ; and, by sharing this burthen, endea- 
 vour to lighten it to you all. 
 
 " Let me ask your advice in a point of iirt' 
 portance. Do you think it will be less distress- 
 ing to your revered parents, to see your brother, 
 or to hear of him? I am yours and theirs eii- 
 tirely; let me know their pleasure, and I will 
 immediately obey it. If I can perceive any fair 
 vourable symptoms, I will instantly inform you 
 of it ; but the disorder is evidently upon his 
 lungs, and I fear is the consequence of the late 
 unfortunate accident i and he is emaciated to a 
 great degree in a short time. Perhaps my love 
 may increase my fears above the dangev ; but I 
 dare not attempt to conceal ov exte?iuaie them, to 
 any part of your family. Favour me with an 
 answer as soon as possible; tell me your parents 
 determination, and I will hold myself in, readi- 
 ness to obey their sunimons, if they desire, as I 
 
830 
 
 ^appose they will, io see their dear Vakntm^i 
 Otherwise I will here perform ^very duty of love 
 and friendship, for I am theirs and yours while 
 X have life. 
 
 G. SiLBY." 
 
 June 30. I have written to Selby, desiring 
 fcim to bring wiy son to my arms witli all cou- 
 ^•enif^nt speed, that I may see him as long as 
 heaven permits me to enjoy that happiness. 
 
 Jul\f 9- ^ ^■'Q r^ow preparing to meet my 
 trial; I expect my sons every hour. I will pray 
 ior composure and fortitude. 
 
 /w(y 12. I have seen my son and have read 
 his sentence in his pallid countenance and ema- 
 ciated body.^ All my family are overwhelmed 
 witli grief; yet every onestrives to conceal their 
 portion, list they should increase that of the 
 rest. What a scene of tender grief, and speak- 
 ing silence ! 
 
 The dearest of women suppresses hex emo- 
 tions, and employs every art of soothing ten- 
 derness to comfort her unhappy husband; siie 
 looks and acts like a siiperior being. 
 
 Excellent woman 1 — ^I will strive to imitate 
 tJiee; and to take and give comfort, to ail those 
 who love me. 
 
 Jul)) 20. — The greatest loss a human creature 
 can sustain, is that of a promising child. When 
 
531 
 
 a parent dies, the child is comforted, because it 
 is according to the order of nature; but when 
 the child dies before the parent, the order of 
 nature seems to be reversed. It is a great 
 trial ; hut how can any transitory grief, hurt a 
 being assured of immortality ? 
 
 July '2.7 . — There are no hopes of my son's re- 
 covery; he knows his situation; he has perform- 
 ed all those acts which our religion enjoins; he 
 has taken the most affecting fare wel of every one 
 of his friends. — He said to Sophia, *' IMay you, 
 my beloved and contracted bride, meet with a 
 husband every way my superior. I always had 
 a kind of presentiment that we should Tiever be 
 united, and for this reason I restrained myself in 
 my behaviour towards you; I rejoice that I did 
 so; and hope it will lessen your. regret for me. 
 All of you join in comforting my father. Re- 
 member, my dear parents, that this is only a 
 temporary separation. I hope — 1 believe-— I am 
 Certain we shall meet again !" 
 
 I treasure up every word that falls fronj the 
 lips of my angelic son. — Alas ! I know not how 
 soon 
 
 August J. — " The Lord gave, and the Lord 
 *• hath taken away; and blessed be the name of 
 " the Lord I" 
 
 Here endeth the history, the earthly kopss,. 
 •tind the nam€ of Benuet. 
 
232 
 
 CONTiyOATION OF THE FAMILY HISTORY BT 
 G. SELBY. 
 
 Mrs. Benhet gives me her permission to re- 
 capitulate the past melanchuly events, so far as 
 to connect them with the succeeding part of the 
 family history. Though the na?ne of Be/tnet is 
 lost, his posterity are not extinct, the hopes of 
 his children revive, and they look forward to 
 the blessings which Providence reserves for them. 
 The death of the friend and brother of my 
 heart, was a severe stroke to every person in 
 the family. Though my soul was penetrated 
 with grief, I was obliged to conceal it, and to 
 be the comforter of the rest: this affliction sunk 
 the deepest into the mind of I\Ir. Bennet, yet 
 both he and his excellent wife strove to conceal 
 their grief from each other. Mrs. Bennet ex- 
 erted her utmost resolution, and gave an exam- 
 ple to the rest of us. Mr. Bennet strove to do 
 the same; whenever his grief became too appO' 
 rent, he used to retire into his stiidi/, and there 
 implore Heaven to grant him fortitude and com- 
 posure; but he lost his rest, and his appetite, 
 and sometimes was sick and fainting. We made 
 him take the air often, and I insisted upon per- 
 forming hh pastoral dutiss.. Mrs. Bennet ob- 
 served every turn in his countenance ; and used 
 
253 
 
 every method to amuse his mind, and restore 
 his health. 
 
 By her desire I wrote to the Earl of D , 
 informing him of Mr. V. Bennet's death, ]Mr. 
 Benriet's state of health, and his daughter's en- 
 gagement to me. 
 
 In the last stage of Mr. V. Bennet's sickness, 
 Mr. Lucas wrote to his father, desiring that be 
 might accompany his two eldest sons in a tour 
 through Switzerland, and part of Germany. By 
 Mr. Bennet's order, I gave him an account of 
 the hopeless state of young Bennet, and the si- 
 tuation of the rest of the family. Afterwards, 
 I wrote him word of the young man's death, 
 and the effect of it upon his father. We now 
 received letters of friendship and condolence 
 from him. Mr. Bennet seemed to revive, and 
 to exert all the resolution he was master of to 
 overcome his grief. He continued to retire into 
 his study several times in the day, and some- 
 times staid several hours there. Mrs. Bennet 
 and myself thought he was too often and too 
 long alone; we hinted so much to him; but he 
 assured us that the time he spent there, was tlie 
 4'0?/rce of the amendment we perceived in him; 
 and that both his health and spirits were the 
 better for it. 
 
 One day that Mrs. Eennet was uneasy at his 
 long stay there, I went and tapt at the door; it 
 
^4 
 
 was a quarter of ar^ hour before I had any an- 
 swer; at last I heard him speak in a faltering 
 voice that alarmed me. He opened the door, 
 and spoke imperfectly; he asked my pardon, 
 and told me he had fallen asleep. After he was 
 somewhat recovered, I led him into the parlour, 
 and told j\Irs. Bennet the reason we staid so 
 long; he looked so placid and cheerful, that she 
 was quite satisfied. 
 
 From this day we perceived a gradual altera- 
 tion in Mr. Bennet; he grew heavy, sleepy, le- 
 thargic; he looked perfectly easy; but after 
 eating, or whenever his attention was not kejtt 
 ,vp, he dropped asleep. 
 
 Mrs. Bennet soon observed it, and mentioned it 
 to me. I could not deny that I saw it as plainly. 
 
 The event too well justified our fears. AVe 
 sent for an eminent physician, and proceeded 
 by his directions; but his distemper gained 
 ground. lie was easy and happy, unless when 
 disturbed; and then he would beg U5 to leave 
 him. I am well and happy, he would say; why 
 do you interrupt me ! Ouce, when he saw Mrs. 
 Bennet in tears, he seemed in great emotion.— 
 Do not let me see you weep, he said ; I cannot 
 ijear it! — -Another time he said to her, I am 
 going to leave yon, wife of my soul I You must 
 i§ive this living to Selby, and make him your 
 Aua.— Aaotlier time, J am going to be -happy; 
 
235 
 
 ■why should you be wretched ! We shall meet 
 again hereafter. 
 
 i\Ir. Beunet died thirteen months after his 
 son. Never was man more beloved and la- 
 mented ; the whole parish were present at his 
 funeral, at which I assisted as chief mourner. 
 I paid the sad last duties to my fritnd and my 
 father, whom I loved as much as one human 
 being could love another. 
 
 This shock, though long expected, was se- 
 verely felt by Mrs. Bennet, insomuch that her 
 children were alarmed for her life; a life of in- 
 finiie value to them. Their attentions were so 
 tender, that she could not but be affected by 
 them. She promised them to wrestle with her 
 grief, and to look forward to the comforts that 
 remained to her; to endeavour to live for them. 
 
 After the first edge of the grief of the family 
 ■was a little abated, I wrote to Mrs. Lucas, in- 
 forming her of Mr. Bennet's death. She wrote 
 an answer, and conjured Mrs. Bennet, by their 
 long friendship and near relationship, to leave the 
 scene of her late sorrows, and come to lier in 
 Staffordshire; to spend some time there, till her 
 grief should be softened by degrees, and her health 
 established by change of air, exercise, and the 
 company of her friends. She desired her to bring 
 all her children without scruple, and her own ser- 
 vants to attend her, 3he iDesoaght her to make 
 
^235 
 
 no excuses, for that she would not accept any; 
 and desired us to bring her without dehiy, tor 
 that she was certain her cousin's grief would not 
 
 abate while she staid at S . 
 
 ^Ve all seconded Mrs. Lucas's invitation, and 
 besouglit Mrs. Bennet to accept it. It was with 
 tlie utmost difficulty we prevailed on her. I 
 wrote to Mrs. Lucas, that as soon as we had 
 
 performed some necessary duties at S , we 
 
 would thankfully accept her invitation. 
 
 Mrs. Bennet was obliged to attend to busi- 
 ness, which in tlie xerij act turned her mind from 
 the objects of her distress to those of her aj^ec- 
 tion. She was the executrix of the will. 
 
 Just at this time, my good friend Mr. Butler 
 took refuge in our parish; he had been ill-used 
 and persecuted for his supposed opinions. 
 
 As soon as I was inducted to the living of 
 
 S , I engaged Mr. Butler to be my curate 
 
 for one year, and prevailed on a farmer in the 
 parish to take him into his family as a boarder. 
 I next wrote to Lord D— — , by Mrs. Bennet's 
 order, and in her name, begging him to suffer 
 Miss Melcombe to continue with the remains of 
 the Beniiet family. The young lady vi.ro te also 
 herself, but with exexy precaution, lest she should 
 offend l)er haughty parent. It was as follows: 
 
 *' Sophia Melcombe, with every sentimeut of 
 duty and obedience, requests of the geullemaa 
 
2^7 
 v/he has hitherto been her guardian, that he will 
 permit her to remain in that family, to which 
 her heart is allied by every tye of gratitude and 
 affection." 
 
 Lord D answered her lettea*, to Mrs. 
 
 Bennet; he lamented the loss of her husband 
 a4)d son ; he thanked her for her aftection and 
 care to his ward; he desired that she might con- 
 tinue under her protcctioji, as long as it should 
 be agreeable to all the parties concerned, 
 
 Sophia's fortune had been placed in the public 
 funds by Mr, Bennet during her childhood^ and 
 he ordered, by his will, that as soon as she 
 ^lould come of age, it should be surrendered 
 into her own hands. He had saved, and added* 
 to it, sufficient to make it full three thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 Every point relating to the executorship being 
 settled, I conducted Mrs. Bennet and her daugh- 
 ters to the house of Mrs. Lucas, wliere she was 
 most cordially received. 
 
 I took up my residence with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Bates, who treated me as an old and intimate 
 friend, or rather as the son of Mrs, Bennet. 
 The lenient hand of time, the good offices of 
 her friends., the piety and goodness of her own 
 heart, enabled that excellent woman to reduce 
 the excess of her grief within the limits of rea- 
 son; and her aftection for her remaining chii- 
 
2J8 
 dreii, made her interested in all that concerned 
 them. 
 
 Some months after Mr. Bennet's death, I 
 ventured to solicit her to confirm my engage- 
 ment to her daughter. She told me, she wished 
 me to defer our marriage till the year wasj^idh/ 
 expired, and we should return to the village of 
 
 I shall not, said she, reside at the parsonage; 
 I have a little house in my eye, which I intend 
 to purchase; it shall be fitted up for Sophia and 
 me; we will be your neighbours and friends, 
 and we will ehare your hopes and comforts. 
 
 The eldest Lucas, came to his parents house 
 to take his leave, before he went on his travels. 
 The second son came also from a visit to a rela- 
 tion of his father's; he was an amiable youth, 
 and the reverse of his brother in every thing. 
 
 The elder brother took particular notice of 
 Miss Melcombe, but in a manner that shewed 
 he thought he did her too much honour by it. 
 She had an xmfeigned dislike to him, and avoided 
 his company as much as possible. The second 
 directed his attentions to Miss Bennet, but in 
 a manner the most engaging and polite. He 
 lamented her engagement to me, and determined 
 to suppress his passion; hoping that time, ab- 
 sence, and travelling, would enable him to 
 overcome it. He behaved as a friend and bro- 
 
239 
 thcr to me; owned his wishes, but frankly re- 
 signed all pretensions. 
 
 The elder Lucas took an impertinent liberty 
 with Miss Melcombe; she repulsed him, with 
 spirit equal to his own. 
 
 He resented her disdain; he told her it was 
 time for her to forget Valentine Bennet. She 
 answered him, that she never desired to forget 
 him; — But, said she, if Valentine Bennet had 
 neveT lived on earth, I could never have loved 
 Valentine Lucas. — He was in a rage; he threat- 
 ened revenge. 
 
 She thought proper to relate the whole story 
 to Mrs. Bennet; and this circumstance made us 
 turn our eyes homeward, thinking it best to put 
 an end to our visit, 
 
 Mrs. Lucas was unwilling to consent to her 
 departure. — You have not yet finished your year, 
 my dear cousin, said she; and that was the 
 time I proposed to detain you here: I cannot 
 consent to part with you, till it is expired. 
 
 ^Irs. Bennet hinted, that there were some 
 circumstances that rendered it proper to abridge 
 that term. Mrs. Lucas insisted upon knowing 
 what they were. Her cousin could not refuse 
 her ; she told her in confidence all that had 
 passed. 
 
 Mrs. Lucas was vexed at her son's behaviour. 
 
240 
 
 —Would to God, said she, that Valentine could 
 engage Miss Melcombe's aftections ! but I fear 
 his behaviour has given her a disgust to him. I 
 wli make himi ask h-er pardon; and, perhaps, 
 some time hence, when he has seen more of 
 the world, and knows how to give others tlie 
 saane consequence he takes to himself; he may 
 become worthy of her favour. I sincerely wish 
 it could be so. 
 
 Miss Melcombe is the only person to decide 
 this point, said Mrs, Bennet: I should wish to 
 be excused interfering in this matter. I think 
 it would be better to let it rest; especially as 
 Mr. V.Lucas depends on Miss Melcombe's keep- 
 ing it from you, unless he should offend her 
 again. — You say true, my dear cousin. Let it 
 rest till Valentine returns from his travels; it is 
 best that in these cases the heart should take its 
 owu course. I will be silent in regard to what 
 you have told me, and leave the event to Pro- 
 vidence. 
 
 Mrs. Bennet thought it proper that I should 
 
 return to S , to prepare for her reception ; 
 
 and then invite her to come home. She gave 
 me a commission to purchase the house she de- 
 sired to have, for herself and Miss Melcombe. 
 
 By this time the melancholy year drew towards 
 a conclusion. I received Mrs. Bennet's orders 
 
241 
 
 to come and conduct her and her family home 
 to their beloved village ; and I joyfully hastened 
 to obey the welcome summons. 
 
 At my arrival I found the young Lucas's were 
 gone, which gave me great pleasure.— Mr. Va- 
 lentine had asked pardon for his behaviour to 
 Miss Melcombe; but I understood from her that 
 it was in consequence of a hint from his mother, 
 that Miss IMelcombe was descended from a fa- 
 mily superior to his own. The lady understood 
 it so ; and it gave her the highest contempt for 
 him. 
 
 August 20. I made an acquaintance with Ed- 
 ward Saville, Esq. an amiable and accomplished 
 young gentleman. 
 
 After some time spent in preparations, Mrs. 
 Bennet was settled in her new habitation, and 
 promised to complete my happiness as soon as 
 the year should be expired. 
 
 September 21. May this day begin a new and 
 auspicious aera! This day Gerard Selby and 
 Amia Maria Bennet, were united in the holy 
 bands of marriage, in the parish church of S— — , 
 Mrs. Bennet gave her daughter to me, Mr, 
 Butler performed the ceremony. 
 
 The same day Edward Saville, Esq. made a 
 proposal of marriage to Miss Sophia Melcombe, 
 in the presence of my revered mother and my- 
 ielf. 
 
242 
 
 LETTER XVir. 
 
 Mil. SAVILLE TO MR. JOHNSOIf. 
 
 -Friend of my virtue and my happiness! to 
 you I must disclose my grief: I am almost dis- 
 tracted ! forgive me if I utter nonsense, phrensy, 
 and extravagance ! The charmer of my soul, 
 the arbiter of my happiness, is lost, is carried 
 off! Oh, Heaven! Sojjhia Melcombe is stolen 
 away from us. 
 
 The dear creature was walking with Dolly 
 Grove from Mrs. Bennetts to the parsonage; two 
 men watched them, till they came out of sight 
 of any house; they then seized upon Sophia, 
 and hurried her between them to a post-chaise 
 at some distance; both she and her companion 
 shrieked in vain for help. 
 
 They did not attempt to detain Miss Grove : she 
 came running to the parsonage out of breath; she 
 could not speak, but sat down, and fainted away. 
 
 Upon her recovery, she related the above par- 
 ticulars, which have thrown us into a state of 
 confusion and distraction. 
 
 My apprehensions point out the author of 
 this cruel mischief; that infernal woman, and 
 her emissaries! Yes, I now understand it, — 
 ibis is tlie revenge they threatened upon me; 
 laut I will hazard my life and fortvuie to discover 
 this mystery of malice. 
 
243 
 
 Mr. Selby is gone up to the hall; "he wifl 
 speak to that base woman; he wiii bear what 
 she says, and judge by her behaviour what share 
 ^he has in this villainy. In the mean time, my 
 horses are getting ready to pursue them. 
 
 Young Elliott, of whom I have made mention 
 before, came to Mr. Franklin's two days ago; 
 he has offered his service to go with me, in pur- 
 suit of the darling of every heart in this family. 
 
 We shall go to I , and take a post-chaise 
 
 there; a lad whom I had lately hired, will at- 
 tend us on horseback; we shall travel night and 
 day till we overtake them. 
 
 Mr. Selby is returned: he can learn nothing 
 from the female magician of that inchanted cas- 
 tle. She heard his story with seeming surprize. 
 — Bless me ! said she, how extraordinary this 
 adventure ! how similar to what has happened 
 to myself ! This very morning, a young gentle- 
 man and lady eloped from my house. I am ig- 
 norant of their scheme, but I suppose they will 
 be heard of on the other side of the Tweed. — ■ 
 IMr. Selby v/as very serious with her: he told 
 her, that Miss Melcombe's relations were peo- 
 ple of distinction ; that they would call to a se- 
 vere account, all that had any hand in this vile 
 action. He soothed, he threatened her, but 
 all in vain: she denied any knowledge of the 
 action, or the persons concerned in it: but at 
 M 9. 
 
244 
 
 the same time he saw iu her eye a look of tri- 
 umph and satisfaction, the mahgnant triumph 
 of vice over exemplary virtue. 
 
 He left her in indignation, and hastened back 
 to acquaint us with the unsuccessful effort he 
 had made. 
 
 My mind presages, that Lord S— — is the 
 traitor who has carried away Sophia ; and that 
 Clayton and IMiss Freewill, are the other pair. 
 I will find them living or dead. 
 
 Honest Sam Elliott is ray companion and 
 comforter. I shall write to Mr. Selby a minute 
 account of every thing, and he will transmit it 
 to you till I can find leisure to write to you. 
 My next will be from London. 
 
 Adieu, my heart's friend and monitor, 
 
 Edward Saville. 
 
 LETTER XVIIL 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO THE REV. MR. SELBY. 
 
 CohbesUr, Monday, IZ o'clock. 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 V» HiLE the horses were changing, I bought a 
 quire of paper and a paper-case, which now 
 serves me as a desk to write upon. I have al- 
 ready the satisfaction of knowing that I am in 
 
245 
 
 the right track. I am now certain that Lord 
 
 S and Mr. Clayton are the traitors j every 
 
 circumstance confirms it. 
 
 At a village called Ardleigh, three miles from 
 Colchester, we met two pair of horses with the 
 postillions; they were very hot, and it immedi- 
 ately occurred to Elliott and me, that they were 
 those hired by our adventurers. We stopped 
 and questioned them. 
 
 I put money into their hands, and they told 
 
 me all they knew. They were hired at I ■; 
 
 the post-chaises belonged to two gentlemen ; 
 each had an additional pair of horses to his own. 
 
 Each gentleman had a lady with him ; they 
 all answered the description I made of them. 
 One lady had on a riding-dress, that was un- 
 doubtedly Miss Freewill ; the other had a linen 
 gown and coat^ and a hat trimmed with green 
 ribband. Too surely it was my angel Sophia, 
 the true Simplex Mvnditiis. 
 
 The men saw but a glimpse of the ladies, for 
 the blinds were drawn up all the way. 
 
 The relays met them on Ardleigh Heath. We 
 hastened full speed after them, in hope to over- 
 take them ; but it seems they went on the back 
 side of the town, we went the forward way, and 
 they have again got the start of us. We changed 
 horses with all possible expedition ; and again 
 we renew our chace. 
 
 M 3 
 
ti46 
 
 Elliott longs to engage them, in his phrase. 
 If I could but see them in the offing, says he, 
 I, warrant I would soon be up with them. 
 
 ' Witham. 
 
 Again we have met the hack-horses on their 
 return. Tlie artful villains always contrive to 
 change horses, before they come into the post- 
 town?. They must have servants, to order and 
 get them ready the moment they arrive ; but by 
 speaking to the postilions, we shall go to the 
 same houses. 
 
 Srentwood, 
 
 The horses belonging to these felons are left 
 here; they have taken fresh ones to Ilford. The 
 landlord of the White-Hart tells us, that one of 
 the gentlemen is a Lord, and the other a Baron- 
 knight; one of them is brother to one of the 
 ladies, the other a lover of the other lady; that 
 she was going to steal a marriage with a man of 
 low degree, but her brother prevented her ; and 
 is going to carry them abroa4« to prevent the 
 story from being kno\VTi. 
 
 Artful villains! this accounted for the ladies 
 reluctance to go with them. 
 
 He saj's, the ladies were lifted into the post- 
 chaises ; and the men bid the postilions drive 
 like devils, for they should be late hoaie. Oh 
 that home, where is it to be found! f will have; 
 no home myself, till I know v;hcvG. that is. 
 
247 
 
 Ilford. 
 
 Confusion and disappointment ! The ravishers 
 have again escaped us. We are tired and faint. 
 
 I am almost in despair ; these men have or- 
 dered their postilions to drive them to some place 
 in the borough of Suuthwark ; the landlord ia 
 positive to this circumstance. I have desired 
 him to get intelligence of the place where they 
 stop, and I will reward him amply for his trouble. 
 
 I want little food, and no rest, till I know that 
 CUV Sophia is in safety. 
 
 South'ii.'ari. 
 
 Intercepted, disappointed, fatigued in body 
 and mind ; niortiiied to death, and almost dis- 
 tracted ! 
 
 Once within sight of the chaises ; my servant 
 making signs to the postilions to hasten after 
 them, when we were stopped by two or three 
 cursed carts and drays in Whitechajcl ; Elliott 
 and I, urging, praying, threatening ia vain, 
 When these devilish impediments were removed, 
 the chaises were out of sight. 
 
 Oar postilions went whi}>ping and driving over 
 London Bridge, and to the Sun Inn in the 
 Borough : and now here we are, without any 
 chance of getting nearer to them, 
 
 I would set out again directly, but Elliott and 
 the servants are against me. 
 
 I will not §end you a letter in this state of 
 uncertainty. I will walk out whiie the horses 
 AX 4 
 
248 
 are getting ready. When I think of what Sophia 
 may suffer, I am almost distracted. Oh that I 
 could meet the villain that has stolen her away J 
 I would risk my life to recover her, and punish 
 him. 
 
 Soiithitiark, 5 o'clock, Tuesday Afternoon. 
 
 Here I am still, my friend ; but I am quite 
 another man than when I spoke with you last. 
 Hope warms my heart, and bids me communi- 
 cate its cheering influence to all the friends of 
 my dear Sophia. 
 
 With the first ray of light, I sallied forth into 
 tlie street, hardly knowing which way I went. 
 I had not gone far, before I saw over a shop- 
 door, the name of Searle. I instantly recollected 
 the name of Miss Jones's partner in trade ; and 
 it occurred to me, that she might possibly be of 
 service to me, by making enquiries after such 
 persons as our fugitives, and whether they were 
 lodged in the Borough. 
 
 I asked for Mrs. Jones; observing her hint, 
 that ihe passed for a widow. Presently after, I 
 heard her voice, saying, Who can want me thus 
 early ? As soon as she saw me, she set up a kind 
 of shout for joy. — Mr. Saville ! how happy I am 
 to see you here, Sir! But, if I am not mistaken, 
 you do not look well nor happy ?-^Indeed I am 
 neither, at this time ; but I could not pass this 
 door without enquiring after your health, Madam,. 
 
'249 
 
 i should have been mortified to the last degree 
 if you had, Sir. Pray walk into the parlour.— 
 No, Madam, I cannot now stay; I am in pur- 
 suit of a villain, who has robbed me of all that is 
 dear to me. — Robbed you of all that is dear, did 
 you say? Is it a lady that you have lost, Sir?— 
 Too surely it is; and I have reason to suspect it 
 is one of Lady Belmour's crew, that has carried 
 her away. Farewell, Madam. — Stay, Sir; per- 
 haps I may be able to give you some tidings of 
 her. — Would to heaven you could ! — Permit me 
 to try for it. She smiled, and went on. 
 
 " Whereas a gentleman and 1-ady eloped from 
 Lady Belmour's seat yesterday morning ; who- 
 ever brings tidings of them, shall receive the 
 acknowledgments of Edward Saville, Esq. beside 
 the rewards of their own hearts. Am I right, 
 Sir?"— I shook my head. — Your account is only 
 in part, Madam ; there were two pairs. — Right 
 again. Sir; there were so. — Dear Madam, be 
 explicit. Do you know where they are lodged ?— 
 Not absolutely. Sir; but I know one that can 
 tell me. — You surprize and rejoice me. Tell me 
 all you know, for I am on the rack of impatience. 
 —Walk in then, Sir; the shop is not a proper 
 place. — She led me into the parlour, and seated 
 me and herself. Now, Sir, you must have 
 patience to hear me explain how I came by my 
 .M 5 
 
250 
 
 iiformation. I mentioned in my last letter to 
 you, a gentleman, ni}" good friend. — Your hus- 
 band, I presume? — No, Sir? but he visits me 
 with that expectation. About a fortnight ago, 
 this gentleman Mr, Barton, received a message 
 from Mr. James Marshall, who is a gentleman, 
 as they call it, to Lord S (^do not be impa- 
 tient, Sir ; you will find this preface necessary) 
 — i^Ir. Marshall was bred a sailor, and was ac- 
 quainted with Mr. Barton many years ago. He 
 sent for my friend to a tavern hard-by; and 
 after some conversation, and a profession of the 
 highest opinion of his honour and integrity, he 
 told him that he had pitched upon him to en- 
 trust with a secret of great consequence ; and 
 to execute a commission, which, when per- 
 formed, would lay an obligation upon Lord — — , 
 as well as himself; and obtain an ample recom- 
 pense beside. He then told him, that Lord 
 
 S , and a gentleman his friend, were to carry 
 
 off two ladies with whom they were in love; and 
 intended to marry them. 
 
 That they had resolved not to go to Scotland, 
 lest they should be pursued by guardians or by 
 rivals ; but they intended to go over to the 
 Continent, and to marry there ; to conceal for 
 a time their place of residence ; and, when it 
 should be convenient, they would own their 
 marriages, and returato their respectives homes. 
 
't\\eyvra.i\i a friend, said he, to provide them 
 a ship, and to carry thent over to Ostend, or to 
 some other neutral port. I wish that you, Sir, 
 would undertake this commission. — This com- 
 mission, answered Mr. Barton, is out of my 
 way ; I am now in the King's service ; and am 
 resolved to continue in it as long as I shall ga 
 to sea.— I am sorry for it, said Marshall; but 
 still you know a great many persons in the trading 
 vessels, you might easily find a man that would 
 be glad of this employment.— Why perhaps I 
 might, said INIr. Barton ; and since it will oblige 
 you, I will make enquiry for you. — But you mu.st 
 go about it directly, said Marshall, 
 
 I hope this elopement is to be with the ladies 
 consent, said Mr. Barton ; otherwise I will have 
 nothing to do with it. — Oh yes, past all doubt^ 
 answered Marshall ; the gentlemen are men of 
 nice honour, and generosity also, and you may 
 depend upon a handsome gratification for your 
 part of the commission. — Well, I will try what I 
 can do for you, and let you know my success,- 
 •aid Mr. Barton. After settling a mode of inter- 
 course, they parted. 
 
 Some days after this interview, Mr. Barton 
 was in company with a young man, who was 
 going to Ostend soon, as master of a tradmg 
 vessel ; he proposed this commission to him j 
 and he was willing to take the whole party ^ as 
 M 6 
 
passengers aboard his ship. Mr. Barton gavt 
 intelligence of this, to Mr. Marshall ; and he 
 desired Mr. Barton to make an agreement with 
 Capt. Dunton. IMarshall gave notice to his Lord, 
 and he prepared for the enterprize. Marshall 
 hired a house at Blackwall^ ready-furnished, 
 vhere they are to stay till the ship Is ready to sail. 
 They were expected there last night ; and Mr, 
 Barton was there to receive them. Capt. Dun- 
 ton is not yet come on board the ship; but Mr. 
 Barton is employed by him to attend the passen- 
 gers, and settle the terms with them. Every 
 thing is preparing on board the ship for their re- 
 ception ; but you are just come in time to lend 
 your assistance, or else to frustrate their schemes. 
 And now. Sir, I hope I have made yon some 
 amends for my tedious preface — have I not ? 
 
 My dear friend, said I, you surprise and re- 
 joice me past expression!— I am the most fortu- 
 nate of men to meet with you ! And I, Sir, am. a 
 fortunate woman, to be able to repay my bene- 
 factor for his goodness to me, by a service of 
 equal importance to himself. But really, Sir, I 
 did not think that Miss Freewill had been of so 
 much consequence to you.— Miss Freewill ! said 
 I ; how could you suppose it ? No, though I 
 would serve any woman in distress, she is not 
 the object of my affections.— Oh, then it is the 
 other lady, I suppose. May I ask her name.''-^ 
 
253 
 
 Miss Mekombe, said I; I hope you will one day 
 know her, ai>d be entitled to her friendship.— 
 But, Sir, are not the ladies carried away by their 
 own consent? — One of them I can swear is not; 
 and I have reason to think, the other is not 
 consenting. But when can I see ^Ir. Barton? 
 
 Sir- when he knows he has been imposed on 
 by a false story, he will in justice to his own 
 character, be yours and the ladies friend. — But 
 when shall I see him?- — Some time to-day, Sir, 
 or this evening at farthest. I will send for him 
 directly ; and then I will let you know ; where 
 are you to be found.? — At the sign of the Sun, 
 hard-by ; my friend and the servants are waiting 
 my retam. 
 
 I ran back to the inn, as if I went through the 
 air. Elliott was expecting me ; he was surprised 
 at the alteration in my looks. — I led him into 
 the parlour, and told him all that had passed. 
 He took his part in my good fortune. We sent 
 the chaise and postilions back to Ilford ; after 
 which I sat down with him to breakfast, with 
 some satisfaction; and I am now waiting impati- • 
 ently for my friend Miss Jones's summons. 
 
 Soutbivarki Wednesday N'oan. 
 
 I did not return to my inn, till a late hour 
 last night ; but I will now relate what passed in 
 the evenmg. 1 sat with my watch in my hand, 
 counting the minutes till seven o'clock, when J 
 
254 
 
 received the welcome message from my friend! 
 Susan Jones. Elliott and I ran thither in an 
 instant; we were introduced to Mrs. Searle, 
 Miss Jones, and Mr. Barton. Mr. Barton apo- 
 logized for accepting such an employment from 
 persons of whom he had no better knowledge^ 
 and said, that he would not for the world be 
 concerned in so base an action. — My good Sir, 
 said I, it is in your power to make ample amends 
 for what you have done ignorantly, but without 
 any ill design. Let us come to the point. Where 
 are these worse than robbers to be found. — Stop 
 a little while, Sir, and hear me ! You would 
 seek them ; a quarrel would ensue ; you would 
 fight them, but are you sure that you would get 
 the better of them? Perhaps you might be the 
 sufferers; and the ladies might not be delivered 
 after all. 
 
 What then would you advise me to do. Sir.?— 
 I am ready. Sir, to give you both my advice and 
 assistance : I wish as much as you do, to rescue 
 the ladies ; but I would do it with as little mis- 
 chief as possible. They were carried away by 
 stratagem, and I would recover them by the 
 same means. I think it would not be difficult 
 to effect it ; and I offer you my assistance for 
 this purpose. 
 
 There is some reason in what you say, Sir ; 
 but how then would yoa advise us to proceed? 
 
255 
 
 Why, Sir, I am trusted by the gentlemen ; I 
 can go to the house when I please ; I can carry 
 two or three stout lads with me, and either find 
 or make an opportmiity to free them. — Listen 
 to me, said Elliott : I will be one of these lads. 
 I will watch an opportunity to speak to them ;. 
 Miss Melcombe knows me, and she will put 
 herself under my protection ; and when I have 
 got the prizes in my possession, I will sheer off, 
 and bring them into any port you shall appoint. 
 
 Very well, said I ; and I will be of the party 
 also. 
 
 Avast there, brother, said he ; you are too 
 well known. — Let me have the command of this 
 expedition, said Barton. You shall both be 
 upon the spot ; this young gentleman shall go 
 to the house, and Mr. Saville shall hold himself 
 in readiness to take charge of the ladies. 
 
 I agreed to this proposal. Mr. Barton ad- 
 vised that we should disguise ourselves as com- 
 mon sailors, and that some of his lads should 
 attend us; that we should go to Blackwall, lodge 
 at the Mermaid, and wait there for his orders. 
 
 These preliminaries being settled, we spent 
 the evening very sociably. 
 
 I am now preparing for our expedition; 
 having put every thing in train. 
 
 Here we are, my dear friend, waiting the 
 
256 
 
 arnval of cur friend Mr. Barton to begin our 
 operations. 
 
 Mrs. Searle's shop furnished us with the ne- 
 cessary accoutrements ; and here are a party of 
 sailor-lads of us, all in the same uniform. I am 
 Jack Robinson, at your service; Elliott goes by 
 his own name ; for he is not known to the 
 wretches, who are a disgrace to the name of 
 cjentlemen ; two clever brisk lads of Barton's 
 crew, called Smith and Hardy, and my servant 
 Tom Styles, make up the whole company. 
 
 This Hardy is a clever young fellow ; he has 
 managed well to gain admittance to the castle 
 we are about to besiege, and to which w^ shall 
 soon make a nearer approach. 
 
 Hardy delivered his message to Mr. Marshall, 
 which was to inform him tha Capt. Dunton was 
 expected at the ship in two days ; or three at 
 farthest. He added, My master Barton has sent 
 three more hands for your service; they are at 
 the Mermaid, where they will wait your orders, 
 and obey your signals. 
 
 Marshall was very much pleased with his offers 
 of service; he told him that he might come to 
 the house whenever he pleased ; or, if he liked 
 it, he might lodge there, and the rest might 
 stay at the inn till they were wanteds 
 
 Elliott desires Hardy to introduce him to the 
 
2o7 
 servants ; and then I reckon, said he, tijat I 
 shall have gained the first step to our designed 
 attack. 
 
 Wednesday Night, II o' Clock. 
 
 The sailors are returned, shouted for joy of 
 their success ; they have been -well received m 
 the kitchen; Hardy danced a horn-pipe; Elliott 
 sung sea-songs; the servants enjoyed their com- 
 pany; sailors only -were always cheerful, they 
 said. 
 
 Lord S shewed himself to them ; he 
 
 thanked them for their assiduity in his service ; 
 he spoke highly of his regard for Mr. Barton, 
 lie ordered Marshall to entertain them with 
 whatever they liked best. They supped there, 
 and then returned to the inn to tell me their 
 success ; but Hardy goes back, and will sleep 
 in the house ; he seems already a favourite in 
 the family. Having thus happily begun our ope- 
 rations, I will dispatch this letter by the post, 
 for I know you will be impatient to hear of our 
 proceedings. 
 
 ~ Mrs. Searle and Mrs. Jones have offered their 
 liouse as an asylum to the ladies. I shall carry 
 them thither for the present, and I will ever re- 
 member their . kindness. Accept and divide 
 among you, the heart of your 
 
 Edward Saville. 
 
258 
 
 P. S, You may direct to John Robinson, sai- 
 lor, at the Mermaid, Blacl<wall. 
 
 LETTER XIX. 
 
 MR. SELBY TO EDWARD SAVILLE, E3Q<, 
 DEAR SIR^ 
 
 Accept the united thanks and blessings of all 
 my family, for your early and most welcome 
 intelligence. You will know by your own feel- 
 ings what we have suffered. 
 
 We entirely approve the method the worthy 
 Mr, Barton advises; proceed by stratagem by~ 
 all means; and, if you should fail of success, 
 my mother will write directly to the earl of 
 p. , inform him of all that has happened to his 
 daughter, and desire hini to apply to the laws of 
 the land for her recovery. In the mean time we 
 wish you to have the pleasui-e and the merit of 
 her deliverance; and we thank Mr. Elliott sin- 
 tjerely, for his generous friendship and assistance. 
 
 You will either send or carry the letter I in- 
 tlose to Mrs, Barclay, in Bloomsbury ; she is 
 my mother's half-sister. I have asked her pro- 
 tection for our beloved Sophia.. You will not 
 be displeased with an introduction to Mrs. Bar- 
 clay; she is a sensible, polite, and amiable vvo- 
 ttian. I think it likely that Mrs, Barclay will 
 
259 
 detain Our Sophia some time, to recover her 
 fatigues of body and mind; and to give her a 
 view of the capital, which she has never seen; 
 and I think it probable, that you will take lodg- 
 ings near them. 
 
 I should say much more of our obligations to 
 you, if I did not think that you already look for- 
 ward to a reward equal to the service you are 
 performing. Mr. and Mrs, Franklin unite in 
 affections, prayers, and blessings, for you; with 
 my wife and mother, and your sincere and af- 
 fectionate friend, 
 
 G, Sklby» 
 
 LETTER XX. 
 
 Jan. SAVILLE TO THE REV. MR. SELBY, 
 
 Blaekivall, Tbursdayt 
 
 This morning our friend Elliott is gone with 
 Hardy to take a survey of the enemy's fortifica-. 
 tions; he will lay a plan, he says, to storm the 
 castle, and take the garrison prisoners. He pro- 
 mises to be back by dinner. 
 
 Thursday Evening,, 
 
 Elliot was urged to stay to dinner; he ac- 
 cept the invitation with seeming modesty and 
 reluctance; he has picked up the following par- 
 ticulars. 
 
260 
 
 Marshall is chief manager ; and Mrs. Ca- 
 therine the housekeeper is his adjutant; she 
 attends the ladies, and watches all their mo- 
 tions. Under this woman, is a cook, and a 
 housemaid, both very ignorant and vulgar, and 
 capable of nothing but obedience; one footman 
 of Lord S— — 's, another of Mr. Clayton's ; they 
 are all quite easy, and secure of not being de- 
 tected. 
 
 Catherine suffers only herself and the house- 
 maid to approach the ladies ; they live upon 
 the first floor; the ladies' apartment is towards 
 the garden ; but when the gentlemen insist upon 
 their company, they go into the dining-room to 
 them. 
 
 Catherine says, they sleep together, and that 
 they look pale, and complain of bad rest. She 
 ridicules their delicacy. I can hardly bear the 
 idea of their sufferings; if I were to meet either 
 of the villians, I should trust their punishment 
 to no other hands than my own.— I could exe- 
 crate them. — But words are of no effect: — I will 
 speak by my actions. Haidy looks sweet upon, 
 the housemaid ; Elliott ogles Mrs. Catherine her- 
 self; she looks at him, with contempt and dis- 
 dain. 
 
 Black-wall, Friday, 
 
 Elliott made another visit in the evening; he 
 observed the house ; he went into the garden ^ 
 
261 
 
 he says he has planned a fine manoeuvre, but he 
 will not tell me what, till he sees the success. 
 
 Friday Neon. 
 
 Elliott is returned in high spirits. I could 
 hardly get him to tell his tale ; which is as fol- 
 lows: I went into the garden yesterday, in or- 
 der to discover which room was the ladies' 
 lodging. 
 
 This morning I took a long stick, tied my 
 handkerchief to the end of it, mounted a tree, 
 and waved it before the ladies' window: Hardy 
 kept a good look-out the while. Presently I saw 
 a pretty lady at the window; but I cannot say 
 which it was. I then lowered my flag; and, in- 
 stead of it, fixed a piece of paper in a cleft in 
 the stick, which I had ready prepared for the 
 opportunity; and put it close to the window. 
 The lady opened it, and took the paper ; upon 
 ■which I put my hand to my heart, in token of my 
 sincerity : then my finger upon my lips, to sig- 
 nify my secrecy; then bowed my body, and 
 waited her commands. 
 
 The words written on the paper were these ; 
 
 Be of good cheer, 
 Relief is near. 
 
 Soon after I saw two ladies, one of whom I im- 
 mediately knew was Miss Melcome ; they made 
 
 signs for me to wait. One of them took a pen- 
 3 
 
-262 
 
 ^il, and wrote on a slip of paper, which she 
 fastened to my flag as before : 
 
 I joy to hear relief is near ; 
 But joy with fear, until I hear 
 What friends are near to give us cheer. 
 Be you sincere, and meet me heie. 
 
 I took the note, kissed my hand, and descended 
 the tree ; ran into the house, and sat down with 
 the servants for a few minutes; drank a pint of 
 ale with them, and then came away. I would 
 not seem impatient, though I thought every mi- 
 nute an hour, till I liad brought you these good 
 tidings. 
 
 You will easily conceive my surprize and joy, 
 at this good omen ; we are both elevated by it. 
 We expect honest Barton this evening, and then 
 we will consult him about the grand attempt : 
 in the mean time I will write a note to Sophia, 
 and copy it for yours and the ladies' satisfaction. 
 
 TO MISS SOPHIA MRLCOMBE. 
 
 " Two faithful and true knights-errant, have 
 engaged to deliver the fair damsels, who have 
 been carried away by two false and treacherous 
 villains. They are commissioned by Miss Mei- 
 combe's dearest friends to guard her from in- 
 sults, and to convey her to a place of safety. 
 Anxious for her peace, they wish her to be well 
 1 
 
2^3 
 
 assured that her companion is to be trusted ; and 
 whether she is detained without her own consent. 
 If it be really so, they will also take charge of her, 
 and guard her likewise to the same asylum. Be 
 cautious, and burn this directly. You will hear 
 further soon. Prepare to depart by the first op- 
 portunity, which your true friends are watching 
 tojind, or make for your deliverance. 
 
 E. Saville. 
 S, Elliott." 
 
 Elliot goes again after diimer, and will watch 
 for an opportunity to give this note to Miss 
 Melcombe. 
 
 Friday evening. The note is delivered as the 
 former was. — Sophia smiled ; and kissed her 
 hand to Elliott. — Happy fellow ! 
 
 Captain Barton is come. Now for more ac- 
 tive measures. The worthy man has given his 
 advice as follows : 
 
 Captain Dunton is come to his ship this day : 
 it is his intention to invite the gentlemen to dine 
 with him on board it to-morrow, and to enter- 
 tain and make his agreement with them for their 
 passage to Ostend. I shall be present; which 
 will take away all suspicion of my being privy to 
 your undertaking. Whilst we are all on board the 
 ship, you must carry off the ladies. If you can 
 get Marshall out of the way, you can easily ma- 
 
25i 
 
 nage Catherine ; and you may make the other 
 servants beheve, that you are sent by the gentle- 
 men to entice the ladies on board the ship. You 
 must have chaises in readiness. 
 
 Bravo ! bravo ! said both Elliott and I ; we 
 will follow this plan exactly; and if it should be 
 frustrated, we will apply to the law for assistance 
 to recover the ladies. 
 
 Poor Freewill ! I have hardly thought of her, 
 my mind has been so engrossed by its mistress ; 
 but she shall share the blessing of recovered 
 liberty. My dear Sophia will befriend her in- 
 experienced youth, with her advice and assist- 
 ance ; and she will reap the benelit of expe- 
 rience, to conduct herself with prudence for the 
 remainder of her life, 
 
 Saturday Morning. I sat up all night: Barton 
 went to-bed : Elliott threw himself across two 
 chairs : Happy man ! he can sleep any where. 
 I have written a letter to INIrs. Barclay ; I have 
 also written another note to Sophia. 
 
 Elliott is gone to the house ; Barton on board 
 the ship ; Smith into the Borough for a hackney- 
 coach, to wait by the hour: we thought it better 
 than to take a carriage of any kind from this 
 place, lest it should be traced. Hardy is ^one 
 witii Elliott to keep watch. 
 
 Mr. Marshall will receive a penny-post letter 
 this morning, acquainting him that a relation of 
 
«65 
 
 Ills is in great distress, at a hcuse of confine- 
 ment in the city; and wishes to see him for half 
 ail hour, on business of the greatest consequence. 
 
 Mr. Barton gave us the name of his cousin; 
 who was the most intimate friend he had for- 
 nierl}', and a sailor. 
 
 Saturday, 11 o'Clock. EUliott has delivered 
 my note ; Sophia was waiting at the window for 
 hiai. She returned him another. 
 
 " S. M. has no doubt that her companion is 
 equally desirous of deliverance with herself. She 
 laments her former levity and inadvertency ; 
 both will be on their guard ; and wait patiently 
 the moment that restores their liberty." 
 
 A note from I\Ir. Barton by a stout sailor just 
 arrived: 
 
 *' Dear Sir, 
 " The bearer of this will be at your service, 
 if you want another assistant ; keep him at the 
 inn, as he will not be known at the house. The 
 gentlemen have accepted the invitation, and will 
 be here before three o'clock. Let Stokes, the 
 bearer, watch their coming on board, and bring 
 you notice. You know your signals. 1 shall 
 appear ignorant, and so will my lads ; but I 
 shall hope to see you very soon afterwards. 
 Pray let me know where to find you. 
 
 I am your most humble servant, 
 1'2 o'clock. "John Barton.'^ 
 
 N 
 
Q66 
 
 I have sent Stokes back to ISIr. Barton with 
 my address at Mrs, Barclay's; I shall take lodg- 
 ings as near her house as possible. As soon as 
 '.ve get to a stand of coaches, I shall quit that 
 ^'6 have hired, and take another to Bloomsbury," 
 to avoid pursuit. Elliott h gone back to the 
 house; he and Hardy are upon duty, waiting 
 for. my coming to begin the attack. 
 
 One o'clock. Stokes is returned ; he is set 
 upon the watch; and I am alone, counting the 
 minutes by my watch. Time now moves with 
 leaden feet to me. 
 
 Two o'clock. Elliott has been here to tell 
 me, that Marshall has told him he is obliged 
 to go into the city, after his Lord is gone on 
 board the ship. 
 
 Every thing seems to favour our undertaking. 
 I have sent Elliott back to his post; Stokes is 
 watching the gentlemen's going on board the 
 ship ; I am waiting for notice of JMarshall's de- 
 parture to visit his friend. Smith is returned 
 with a coach; he takes his post on the box, and 
 is drinking with the coachman ; but has orders 
 to be cautious not to order too much liquor. 
 
 Past 3 o'clock. The gentlemen are gone to 
 the ship; Stokes is here waiting with me, to hear 
 from the house; Hardy is this moment arrived 
 with orders for Stokes and Jack Robinson, alias 
 Edward Saville, to come directly. 
 
267 
 I fly tills moment, to the charmer of my heart 
 and to jfour fVieud, Mrs. Selby's sister, Sirs. 
 Bennet's daughter. 
 
 Saturday Night, XT, o Clocky Bloomshiiry. 
 
 ■ Rejoice with me, my dear friends ! Selby, 
 Franklin, and your ladies! IMiss Melcombe and 
 Miss Freewill, are safe lodged at Mrs. Barclay's. 
 I cannot now send particulars, but you shall 
 have them soon. Heaven be praised for our 
 success! Before I go to rest, I send this by 
 the post. I am this moment the happiest of 
 men, and more than ever yours, 
 
 Edward Saville. 
 
 LETTER XXI. 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO THE REV. MR. SELBT. 
 
 Sunday Ei'ening% 
 
 1 HIS day I have had the honour and pleasure 
 to attend Mrs. Barclay and the ladies to church, 
 I am going to drink tea at Mrs. Barclay's: if I 
 come away in time, I will bestow an hour upon 
 you; if not, you must wait till my spirits are 
 subsided. Sophia calls me her deliverer. Every 
 look towards me confesses her regard for me. 
 She expects me at this moment. — I fly to meet 
 her — adieu! 
 
 K 2 
 
2GS 
 
 noonday Morning. 
 
 I will now give you a detail of all Ihiit passed 
 on Saturday. I went directly to the house, at 
 Elliott's summons b}- Hardy, and was admitted 
 into the halH where I waited some minutes^ 
 which seemed so many hours. At length Elliott 
 came to mc; he told me the dinner had been 
 carried up into tlie Indies room, but they had 
 scarcely eat a mouthful. I can now, said he, 
 introduce you into the diniug-room, without 
 being seen by any body; and then you must en- 
 tice the ladies down stairs, and you may perhaps 
 steal out unobserved. Hardy is waiting upon the 
 stairs — lose no time. 
 
 I bade Stokes wait at the outward door, and 
 prevent any body from going out or into the 
 house; then followed Elliott up stairs, and went 
 directly into the dining-room. The ladies were 
 sitting at the table; at sight of me they started, 
 and Sophia said, — Fellow', what brings you 
 here? — Voi/r business, lady, said I; we are come 
 to give you llbert}'. Do you not know me r — 
 She looked hard at me. — I am Saville, said I; 
 and this is Elliott: lose no time, but trust your- 
 selves with us. — They both looked terrified, and 
 each exclaimed, Mr. Saville! — I took Sophia's 
 hand ; Have you got your bundles ready ? said 
 I; let us go this moment! — Elliott offered his to 
 Miss Freewill, saying, Fair lady, my hand, 
 
^69 
 heart, and life, are at your service. — We have 
 nothing here, said Sophia, but wliat our be- 
 travers have p ovided for iis. 
 
 They trembled so, they co\ild hardly stand, 
 lilliott and I, said every tking to encourage 
 tliem. — Now is the moment of deliverance, said 
 I; let it not pass, I beseech you! have courage, 
 dearest Sophia ! hasten away this instant. — 
 They rose up to go ; at that moment Catherine's 
 voice was heard upon the stairs, calling Elliott 
 to dinner: he answered, I am coming, Mrs. 
 Catherine I — Instantly she burst into the room — 
 Ke^day! wl>o have ue here.? — A friend and 
 shipmate of mine, Mrs. Catherine.— And what 
 brings him here pray? — To speak to me. — In the 
 ladies' apartment? said she; pray go down 
 both of you this minute! or I will give orders 
 to have you treated according to your deserts. 
 —Elliott winked at me. — This is no time for ce- 
 remony, said I.— Elliott came behind Catherine • 
 and put a handkerchief he had prepared over 
 her mouth. I t ed her hunds behind, and then 
 we pushed her into the inner room and locked 
 the door upon her. — Now this moment, said I; 
 for life, love, and liberty! — We took each our 
 charge, and went dov^^n the stairs hastily, but 
 with as little noise as possible. Stokes v/as at 
 the street door; Elliott called Hardy, and told 
 him where Catherine was. — You know your cue, 
 N 3 
 
said he; see us set oft', and then release her an?i 
 alarm the servants. — We ran to the coach as fast 
 as the ladies' fear would suffer them. Smith 
 jumped off the box, opened the door, and put 
 v.s in ; and then Stokes got up behind, and Smith 
 and Hardy returned back into the house. 
 
 The ladies were in great agitations; Sophia 
 Tvas ready to faint ; I s-upported and encouraged 
 her. I then took proper notice of Miss Free- 
 will, who seen:ied dejected and uneasy. 
 
 After we were got past London-bridge, they 
 both revived; and then began to enjoy their de- 
 liverance, and to pay me their acknowledgments. 
 — You are equally obliged to Mr. Elliott, who 
 likewise thinks himself honoured and happy in 
 being employed in your service. — Elliott an- 
 swered for himself, and they thanked him for 
 his gallantry in their service. We then.infonned 
 them of every step we had taken since their de- 
 parture, and explained all our contrivances; 
 and I did not forget to mention our obligations 
 to my friend Susan Jones, and her friend the 
 Y.orthy Mr. Barton. 
 
 Miss Freewill uas under evident dejection of 
 S).irits. Sophia called upon her to be cheerful; 
 slie burse into leans. Every one offered to com- 
 fort and encourage iier. — I am asnauied to be 
 uneasy at this time, it has the appearance of 
 ingratitude; but with v,h..t face can I intrude 
 
371 
 
 invbclf into the lady's house where you are cr<?- 
 Jug? I am a stranger to her, and my behaviour 
 must have an improper look. 
 
 My dear companion in trouble, said Sopliia, 
 do not mention such a thing: if I am a welcome 
 guest, my leilow-sufferer must be so too. Wait 
 a few days, and consider of it; I have no doubt, 
 that jNIrs. Barclay will receive you with the same 
 kindness as myself; if she does not, I will leave 
 her house, and we will go to lodgings together. 
 
 Spoken like yourself, said I; and I am sure 
 Miss Freewill will agree to whatever you pro- 
 pose. — I will indeed, said she. 
 
 When the coach stopped at Mrs. Barclay's, 
 Poor Freewill exclaimed, Let me beg the favour 
 of you ail, not to let this lady know that I ever 
 was at Lady Belmour's. — We assured her that 
 nothing should be said that could be construed 
 to her disadvantage. We all made rather an 
 awkward appearance at our introducticn to this 
 lady ! I apologised for not waiting upon her be- 
 fore, and gave my reasons for the delay; but 
 she behaved with so much frankness and polite- 
 ness, that she dissipated all our fears in a quar- 
 ter of an hour. — I told her that Miss Freewill 
 had been Miss Melcombe's companion in her 
 compelled flight; and explained the circum- 
 stances of their detention, Sophia, in the ten- 
 derest manner, asked her protection for her 
 
272 
 
 companion and friend. — Mrs. Barclay soon 
 stopped her solicitation, by assuring her of the 
 most cordial welcome, and that she thought 
 herself honoured by the charge of them both. 
 
 I begged Mrs. Ea'-clay to permit her servant 
 to gel a lodging for Mr. Elliott and myself, in 
 the same street. Accordingly, he took a lodg- 
 ing for us within a few doors. We all supped 
 together with tlie utmost cheerfulness; my ser- 
 vant came to us at nine o'clock, and we retired 
 at eleven to our new lodgings, arid left the ladies 
 to their rest, which was euualiy welcome to all 
 of us. 
 
 Miss IMelcombe will inclose a letter in my 
 cover. I congratulate your family, and myself 
 also; I am as happy as any man can be, in the 
 present tituation of our afi'airs; and always your 
 sincere friend and servant, 
 
 E, Saville' 
 
 LETTER XXII. 
 
 TUSS MELCOMBE TO MRS. BENNET. 
 
 1 DEMAND the felicitations of my dear mamma 
 and sister upon this happy occasion! — ! am 
 again restored to my dear friends, and they to 
 me. 
 
 I am equally obliged for Aliss Freewill as 
 
273 
 myself. — Poor young lady ! She is mortified 
 that the gentlemen should know the house from 
 whence she was taken. 
 
 My dear mamma will expect some account 
 of our flight, captivity, and treatment from the 
 men who thought proper to carry us off in so 
 strange a manner. 
 
 I'.Iy surprise was so great, that it overpowered 
 all my faculties. I was like a person in a fright- 
 ful dream, who strives to call out but cannot 
 speak; to run, but cannot move a step: so did 
 I endeavour to cry for help, but my voice fal- 
 tered, and my tongue seemed to stick to my 
 mouth. My ravisher perceived my inexpressible 
 terror and distress; he asked my pardon for the 
 step he had taken, he made me a thousand as- 
 surances of honourable treatment. After some 
 hours silent agony I was relieved by a shower of 
 tears; my courage revived ; and I resolved not 
 to desert myself, and to hope that Providence 
 would yet make a way for my escape. But vvhen 
 I thought of the distress of my dear mamma and 
 my beloved sister, and the trouble I should give 
 to the worthy Mr. Selby, who for their sakes 
 would do every thing to recover me, my heart 
 gave way to the tenderness of my affections, and 
 I shed torrents pf tears. Lord S left no- 
 thing unsaid to comfort me; and I must do him 
 t!ie justice to say, that his behaviour was respect- 
 N 5 
 
Q7-i> 
 ful and delicate, from Ibe first hour to the last that 
 I was in his company; but he doubtless tliought 
 tliis the oniy way to make himself an interest 
 in my favour. I will not deny, my dear friends, 
 that I thought of Mr. Saviiie often; nay, I pro- 
 i:iiised myself that he would pursue, and perhaps 
 rescue me ; but then I trembled at the encounter 
 
 between him and Lord S , which I thought 
 
 could not happen without mischief, if not mur- 
 thcr. 
 
 The Venetian blinds were drawn before all the 
 ■windows of the chaise, and it drove so fast that 
 I could see no objects distinctly. We passed 
 through the skirts of several towns, of which I 
 know not the naaires; but stopt not till we came 
 to Brentwood, as i liave since learned. 
 
 Lord S— — told me I should soon meet with 
 a female companion, who he hoped would prove 
 an agreeable friend. — I made very little reply to 
 any thing that he said. 
 
 It is a young lady who is going upon the same 
 excursion, said iie, under the care of a friend 
 of mine, lie is also a friend of Mr. Saville's, 
 Avho 1 believe is no stranger to you, Madam.— 
 I inade no reply, — He proceeded: Mr. Saviiie, 
 I suppose, has misrepresented me to you, Ma- 
 dam; as he has prejudiced Miss Freewill a^^ainst 
 Mr. Clayton. — 1 started. — We are not professed 
 lakes aiid libertiues, a§ he has, called us; we 
 
275 
 respect women of virtue and honour. We have 
 resolved to forsake all others; and to attach 
 ourselves to two such women, as might ensure 
 the regularity and happiness of the remainder 
 of our lives. 
 
 Surely, Sir, said I, 5'ou must have entertained 
 strange o])inions of these women of virtue and 
 honour you talk of, if you could suppose they 
 would be compelled to receive your addresses. 
 Suft'er me. Madam, to account for my opinions 
 and my actions also, I had heard your charac- 
 ter before I saw you; Farmer Hobson's daughr 
 ter, who was seduced into Lady Belmour's fa- 
 mily, but whose principles were never totally 
 corrupted, gave me such a character of you, 
 and of Miss Bennet, and of the excellent wo^- 
 mau her mother, that I ardently wisiied for g, 
 wife educated under her m.aternal eye. This 
 poor girl deserves your pity — (the virtuous are 
 ever the most ready to pity fallen innocence). 
 ^She wept while she gave me this account of that 
 worthy family; and wished herself the meanes,t 
 servant in it, rather than what she now was. 
 With infinite pleasure I see the tear of pity in 
 Miss INIelcombe's eye; she is above. the insolen,t 
 scorn of pretended virtue; she will not disdain 
 to hear, and to answer my honest suit ! — I co- 
 loured with anger and resentment; and, 1 dare 
 N 6 
 
27^ 
 
 {•B.V, looked with the scorn he described.— lie 
 proceeded : 
 
 Hear me, Madam, without prejudice. Thus 
 piepared to love, to revere you, I met you one 
 day in my walks; you were leaning upon Mr. 
 Saville'^s arm.i — (I turned from him) — At that 
 instant I thought I saw all the virtues personified. 
 I saw him afterwards: I enquired of him con- 
 cerning you; he refused to answer my enquiries; 
 he refused Mr. Clayton his interest with INIiss 
 Freewill. We were both convinced that he would 
 stand in the way of our application to you both. 
 Tiiis put us both upon other expedients, and 
 this compelled us to take the step ^'hich at pre- 
 sent gives you so much offence, but which I hope 
 you will one day forgive, if not approve. — I 
 cannot, Sir, sufi'er you to encourage that hope; 
 it would be injustice in me to give you sach 
 hope.— You are very cruel, Miss Metcombe ! 
 but I will not give up my hope, after the steps 
 I have taken to fulfil it. — The steps you have 
 taken are not the way to obtain it, Sir, 
 
 Every time he mentioned his expectations, I 
 forbad them; and kept up as much dignity and 
 distance as I could assume. At length the chaise 
 drove into the yard of an inn; he in a manner 
 carried me into a back-room, where I saw an- 
 other gentleman and lady. The gentlemen sa- 
 luted each other as dear and intimate friends; 
 
277 
 they presented the lady and me to each other; 
 she had been weephig, and looked more dejected 
 than I ; for my spirits were in some measure re- 
 covered, and I resolved to be upon my guard. 
 
 The gentlemen went out of the room and left 
 us together; but I heard them at the door, 
 speaking to a third person. I comforted my 
 companion, and gave her my best advice; to 
 pursue the same plan I had laid down for my- 
 self; to behave politely to these men, and keep 
 them by that means at a greater aistance than 
 by reproaches or rudeness. She thanked me for 
 my counsel, and promised to observe my direc- 
 tions. I looked out at the windows, which were 
 only towards the stables, and saw a servant sta- 
 tioned under our windows. I went to thedoor, 
 and there was another person; and went in 
 again, fully convinced that every method was 
 taken to prevent our escape. 
 
 Soon after, dinner was brought in by one of 
 their servants ; and none of the waiters were 
 
 suftered to appear. Mr. Marshall, Lord S 's 
 
 valet, stood at the door, and the other servants 
 brought the dishes in, followed by our tyrants ; 
 who came, and with the greatest obsequiousness 
 invited us to eat. We sat down in consequence 
 of the plan \ye had concerted; but you may be- 
 lieve we bad not much appetite to our dinner. 
 
278 
 
 They seemed transported to iiud us so compliant, 
 and redoubled their politeness towards us. 
 
 They paid us a profusion of compliments, to 
 which we made very little r-eply; and 1 told 
 them, if they desired our conversation, they 
 must speak upon such subjects as we could an- 
 swer them. After the servants had dined, we 
 were conveyed into the chaises, with the same 
 precaution as before into the house; and nobody 
 but their servants were sufiered to see us. We 
 were both comforted by the hopes of each other's 
 company and advice. 
 
 In the evening 1 felt ray spirits' sink as the 
 day-light abated; aid v.hen the chaise drove 
 into a court, and I saw high walls all round the 
 house we were carried to, my heart gave way, 
 and I felt all the horrors of my situation. 
 
 We were conducted up stairs into a large 
 dining-room, and trom thence into a bed-cham- 
 ber with a li^^ht closet in it. A woman of a bold 
 and forward behaviour addressed us, — Your 
 servant, my pretty ladies! You are welcome to 
 this house ! I am at your service to dress or mi-' 
 drtss you, or any kind of assistance you may 
 have occasion for. — We received her very coolly;, 
 and she seemed to think so; for she drew up, 
 and looked saucy. 
 
 Soon after, we were summoned to supper; 
 
279 
 ve vftre fatigued both in body and mind, and 
 begged their permission to retire. They did not 
 offer to detam us a moment ; but took leave of 
 us very politely, and wished us good repose j 
 assuring us, that the house, and every person 
 in it, were devoted to our service. 
 
 This bold woman (Catherine is her name) 
 came in soon after, and offered us her assist- 
 ance; we both refused it, and wished to remain 
 by ourselves. — In those drawers, said she, are 
 every thing you will have occasion for ; and 
 when V0u v^ill please to accept my attendance,- 
 if you ring that bell, I will wait on you. Till 
 then I wish you a good night. — So saying, she 
 ■went out of the room, and locked the door after 
 her.. 
 
 We then examined the lock, and found there 
 was a bolt, and also a bar on the inside ; and 
 having secured them, we went to-bed > and our 
 fatigue was so friendly to us, that it sent us to 
 rest ; but v^^e awoke early in the^ morning, and 
 iay forming a thousand schemes and wishes for 
 •our escape. 
 
 When Catherine tapped at the door, I opened 
 it ; she seemed surprized to see us ready dressed 
 ■without her assistance. — I suppose^ said she, I 
 may let the gentlemen know you are ready for 
 breakfast? — We made her very shoi-t answers j 
 
280 
 
 and she seemed to think us very proud, to s 
 person of her consequence. 
 
 When we were summoned to breakfast, we 
 went immediately; for I determined to give them 
 no cause to complain of our want of politeness, 
 lest they should use that as a pretence for be- 
 having otherwise to us. After compliments and 
 breakfast were past, and the servants withdrawn, 
 
 Lord S began to lay open his intentions. 
 
 He made proposals of marriage to me, in the 
 most express terms : Said, He knew I was not 
 of age; but that he would make such settlements 
 as my friends could not disapprove. — I answered, 
 That I had friends who would resent any ill- 
 treatment I might receive ; but that nobody had 
 a right to dispose of me, without my ov/n con- 
 sent ; and that I never would give that by com- 
 pulsion. 
 
 Mr. Clayton said, That they were men of 
 honour, and deserved to be treated with, upon 
 fair and equal terms ; that they expected we 
 ■would give their proposals a full and serious 
 consideration, for that their fate and ours de- 
 pended upon it. 
 
 I trust that our fate and yours, are in better 
 hands : to Heaven I commit them ! the wicked- 
 ness of men is counteracted by the wisdom of 
 Providence, to vvhom I appeal., and on svhorn I 
 
281 
 You are very serious, jSladam, said Mr. Clay- 
 ton. — lam so, Sir; the case requires it; my 
 faie, it seems, is in the balance. 
 
 He then talked of their honour, and their 
 principles; and the benefits they expected from 
 our conversation. Poor Miss Freewill wept, but 
 said little. They mentioned Mr. Saville, and 
 the ill offices they supposed he had done them. 
 I assured them that they were mistaken. 
 
 Miss Freewill said the same ; that INIr. Saville 
 had never attempted to bias lier, for or against 
 any person. 
 
 lie is a meddling, impertinent fellow, said 
 Mr. Clayton ; and has behaved very ungrate- 
 fully, to those who have treated him both ge- 
 nereusly and politely. — To Lady Belmour, I 
 suppose ? said I. — lie was ungrateful for her 
 good offices. — You do well, Sir, to justify your 
 friend. — However, Madam, I perceive that your 
 partiality for Mr. Saville, leads you to justify 
 him, at every one's expence.— Forbear, Clayton ! 
 said Lord S , I will not believe Miss Mel- 
 combe has any partiality for him. 
 
 It seems, said ]Miss Freewill, that Mr. Clayton 
 thinks every body partial to JMr. Saville, and 
 that he makes love to every body, for he is 
 jealous of his favour with every one. — D-mn the 
 fellow ! said Clayton, I hate to hear or to speak 
 of him. 
 
i?SxJ 
 
 I am neither afraid nor ashanjed to mention 
 ?Jr. Saville, said I; he is the friend of our sex, 
 because he is a friend to virtue ; he rnay there- 
 lore be said to be in favour justly with us all. 
 
 The next day, finding us steady, Lord S— — 
 artfully threw in a hint, that if our friendship 
 excluded them from the advantages they hoped 
 from it, they should wi&h they had not brought 
 us together. — Clayton, more warm and less 
 guarded, said, there were means to separate us. 
 
 —Lord S chid him; Clayton, you are wrong. 
 
 —To what eud, said Clayton, is all this sub- 
 mission ; when we receive nothing but disdain in 
 return for our politeness ? — Again you are wrong, 
 said Lord S . 
 
 Clayton muttered, This is only trifling, and 
 gains no ground. — They v/ould fain have engaged 
 us at cards ; they proposed whist, quadrille, 
 piquet, any thing; w^e declined all. I thought 
 any employment of this kind would lessen the 
 distance between us. She told me, that her 
 guardian was an old batchelor with strong pecu- 
 liarities, who despised women, and hated troul)!e 
 on their account; he had placed her Mith a 
 family of his own n-lations, v.ho were of low ex- 
 traction and education. The m.an thought all 
 female accomplibhnients superfluous, and treated 
 them with contempt; the woman allowed her to 
 read only books of devotion of her own choosing. 
 
•2S3 
 
 She used to carry her to the Tabernacle in an 
 evening, when she had rather have been in com- 
 pany with those of her own age and degree ; 
 in short, by her account, if anyone had strove 
 to make religion and seriousness disagreeable, 
 and to drive young people from it ; this Mrs. 
 Holden was the person for them to apply to. 
 Miss Freewill had complained to her guardian ; 
 she asked for liberty and for books. He ordered 
 her a Bible and Common-prayer-book, a Ma- 
 nual of Devotions, and a set of the Spectators ; 
 vhich, he said, were all the books a woman had 
 any occasion for. — She had conversed with young 
 people of birth and fortune ; she had imbibed 
 different notions of life and manners: she grew 
 impatient of restraint, and determined to shake 
 it off. 
 
 She made an acquaiiitance with Mrs. Watkins,- 
 who loved the world, and the pleasures of it, 
 too well to give them up as long as she could 
 keep her hold of them. IMiss PVeevvill made 
 complaints to her; and she advised her to leave 
 the Holdens the first opportunity. Soon after 
 this intimacy took place, IMrs. Watkins invited 
 her to go a tour with her through the eastern 
 counties; Lady Belmour's was the first visit they 
 made. — I see I was wrong, said she; I went from 
 one extreme to the other; but if ever I regain 
 
'23i 
 my liberty, I will apply to the lord chancellor, 
 and ask him to place me in a proper situation. 
 
 Every conversation we held with our ravishers, 
 became more seriuis and interesting than the 
 former. Lord S was offended by my stea- 
 diness; and Mr. Clayton grew out of patience 
 with us both. 
 
 They began to threaten to separate ns, unless 
 we would show them more kindness, and give 
 them some hope of succeeding with us. 
 
 Our affair began to grow very serious, it was 
 drawing to a crisis; when on the Friday morning, 
 as I was at the chamber-window, I saw a voung 
 man waving a handkerchief upon a long stick ; 
 I made a sign with my hand ; he then took off 
 the handkerchief, and put a piece of paper upon 
 it; jumped into a tree, and put the stick close 
 to tlie window. I opened it softl3\ and took 
 the paper, which contained only these words : 
 Be of good cheer — relief is near. 
 
 I answered this hint in the same kind of 
 doggrel ; and desired to know from whence I 
 was to expect it.— My companion was overjoyed, 
 and readily gave credit to the advertisement ; 
 but I was fearful of believing too much.- — Per- 
 haps, said I, this may be a stratagem to draw 
 us into their plot ; and when we think to escape, 
 we may be forced on board a ship : did you ob- 
 serve ? the uxan was drest as a sailor. 
 
2S5 
 
 This thought took off the comfort I should 
 otherwise have received. I grew more uneasy 
 every hour. I slept none the night following; 
 poor Fanny Freewill now had the advantage of 
 me, for she encouraged hope of deliverance, 
 and strove in vain to give me a share of it. 
 
 The next morning happily dispelled my doubts 
 and fears. Mr. Elliott delivered me a letter 
 signed by himself and Mr. .Saville, whose hand 
 I had seen before ; and I then recollected Mr. 
 Elliott's features, and signified to him that I 
 knew him. From that minute I recovered my 
 hopes and spirits ; and even our persecutors 
 
 took notice of our altered looks. Lord S 
 
 was pleased that we had recovered our spirits, 
 and hoped that time would reconcile us to our 
 destiny, as he called it. He therefore redoubled 
 his assiduities ; but Clavton was ill-humoured, 
 
 and often urged Lord S to separate us ; 
 
 saying, He had no hopes while we kept together. 
 
 I find that 'Sir. Saville has given you a parti- 
 cular account of every thing that passed wiihout 
 doors, therefore I shall not repeat what you 
 know already. You will conceive my distress, 
 and you will judge of my joy at my escape, and 
 of my gratitude to our deliverers. How much 
 am I obliged to all my friends ! to you, my dear 
 Mr. Selby, for my kind and polite reception at 
 Mrs. Barclay's; she is a most amiable woman ; 
 
2S(> 
 
 there is an ease and freedom in lier behaviour, 
 that shews the difference between the manners 
 of the capital, and those of the countr3^ 
 
 She was as well acquainted with us in half an 
 hour, as some people would in half a year. I 
 am still farther obliged to her on Miss Freewill's 
 account; she is equally polite and hospitable to 
 her. ^he insists upon our staying a week or two 
 with her, to make her amends, as she politely 
 says, for the care and concern we have given her. 
 
 She will shew me every thing worth notice in 
 London. Miss Freewill has been here more 
 than once; but she will attend me also to some 
 of the public places, if I will stay. This de- 
 pends upon my dear mamma ; if she gives me a 
 beckon with her pen, I will return home inmie- 
 diately ; but if she thinks it prudent and right to 
 stay, she will signify her consent. If I return 
 soon, I will ask, as a favour of her, that she 
 will permiit me to bring Miss Freewill with me to 
 stay a few weeks, till she can determine about 
 her future residence ; she is at present very un- 
 happy upon that subject. My mamma's good 
 advice would now be of the greatest benefit to 
 this young lady. Adieu, my dearest friends ! I 
 embrace you in my heart ; and my warmest 
 wishes and prayers attend you always, for I am 
 ever yours, 
 
 Sophia Melcombe. 
 
28/ 
 
 LETTER XX III. 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO THE REV. MR. SELBY. 
 
 Finding that Miss Melcombe bad written too 
 much for one cover, I sallied out this day in 
 pursuit of a senator to provide some more. I 
 
 went to 's ( offee-house, where I met Sir 
 
 James T , an old school-fellow, who readily 
 
 gave me half a dozen. There I understood, 
 that Lord S had but just left the coffee- 
 house, as I entered it. 
 
 While Sir James was writing the covers for 
 me, I sat down and wrote the following note for 
 Lord S . 
 
 " Lord S niay think himself fortunate, if 
 
 he does not hear from the friends of Miss Mel^ 
 combe and Miss Freewill soon, in a way that 
 would be disagreeable to him to answer : they 
 do not mean to oppose violence to violence, nor 
 to put themselves upon a level with men who 
 could act as he and his friend have done ; but 
 
 if Lord S and Mr. Clayton do not withdraw 
 
 themselves out of their reach, they will appeal to 
 the laws of this country, to punish the offenders, 
 and to hang out a warning to others. 
 
 Anonymous.'^ 
 
 I hope this threat will induce them to pursue 
 1 
 
2SS 
 
 their intended trip to Osteiid ; and will free the 
 ladies from any future attempts from them. 
 
 I beg the favour of you, my dear Sir, to send 
 all the letters I have written since I left your 
 house, to Mr. Johnson at Cambridge. I am 
 under an engagement to acquaint him with every 
 step I shall take. He will read them, and re- 
 turn them to you again directly. Accept and 
 distribute my warmest wishes and regards to 
 your own family, and to Mr. Franklin's. 
 I am always yours sincerely, 
 
 Edward Saville. 
 
 LETTER XXIV. 
 
 MH. SAVILLE TO THE REV, MR. SELBT, 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 A WEW incident has risen to your adventurers, 
 ■which occasions much speculation, without form- 
 ing any conclusion. — Samuel Elliott avows a 
 passion for Miss Freewill. — This fair lady has 
 been under great uneasiness of mind ever since 
 she recovered her liberty, without being able to 
 determine what use to make of it. — Mrs. Barclay 
 most kindly offered to write to her guardian, 
 and to represent all the circumstances of her 
 late excursion in the most favourable light : and 
 also to mention her objections to being at Tvlr, 
 
289 
 Holdeii's; and desire him to permit her to chooe^ 
 a proper family for a young lady of Miss Fr^- 
 wiil's fortune to reside in. 
 
 This lady's mediation is accepted most thank- 
 fully ; she will write in her own name, and ex- 
 pect an answer, 
 
 I have spent an evening with honest Mr. Bar- 
 ton, at Mrs. Searle's. — He managed admirably 
 with his employers, and they actually believe 
 him innocent of the ladies' escape. Hardy and 
 Smith went and released Mrs. Catherine as soon 
 as we were set off; they made a terrible report 
 of an army of men, who came upon them, and 
 forcibly carried off the ladies ; that Elliott was 
 bribed to take part with them ; but for their 
 parts they were incorruptible, and remained true 
 to their own Master Barton. I ordered Mr. 
 Barton to rev/ard their fidelity, and all who were 
 engaged in our service. Lord S— — — was terribly 
 mortified and grieved ; but Mr. Clayton behaved 
 like a madman.— Capt. Dunton knows nothing 
 to the contrary of our friend Barton's report ; 
 so the truth is known only to our select friends. 
 
 After this affair was, discussed, Mr. Barton 
 besought my influence with Mrs.. Tones, to hasten 
 the day of his happiness. He had served me too 
 well, not to engage my services in return. I 
 urged her to make an lionest man happy, and 
 r^ecure a comfortable establishment for herself. 
 o 
 
- ':qo 
 
 At length she promised to give her hand to 
 'Sir. Barton One day this month. — 1 am to be at 
 ,the wedding. — Her father will be there also.— 
 ?.Irs. Searle will be married on the same day to 
 a friend of Mr. Barton's, Their shop is to be 
 transferred to the widow of another sailor, who 
 is in low circumstances ; and these worthy sea- 
 men give the stock in trade to her, for her 
 outset. 
 
 Our dear Sophia has recovered her looks and 
 her spirits. With every sentiment of friendship 
 and afiection, 
 
 I am, dear Sir, yours, faithfully, 
 
 ILdward Saville. 
 
 LETTER XXV. 
 
 \ 
 
 MRS. BENKET TO MISS MELCOMBE. 
 
 "With all the warmth and sincerity of maternal 
 affection, I congratulate the child of my heart 
 on her escape from her late danger, and on the 
 recovery of her liberty ; I cannot wish to deprive*^ 
 her of it so soon. — Enjoy it, my child, under 
 the restraints of virtue and of prudence ; which 
 I trust you will always retain, for your bosom 
 friends and companions. Mrs. Barclay is a 
 proper person to introduce you to such places 
 and persons as you would wish to know ; she is 
 
'29i 
 
 polite, sensible, and friendly; and will have 
 pleasure in performing the office of Chnpcron to 
 the sister and friend of IVIrs. Selby. 
 
 We are all under high obligations to Mr. Saville 
 and Mr. Elliott. I leave our acknowledgements 
 in your hands, my Sophia; lam certain they 
 will have an additional value to ]\Ir. Saville ; 
 liis merit with you is doubtless increased by his 
 services; you will let me know when you choose 
 I should acquaint your father with his generous 
 offer, and ask his consent to your engagement. 
 I shall be happy to serve you under the protec- 
 tion of a man worthy of you ; such a man I 
 believe Mr. Saville to be ; but you must judge 
 for yourself in this great article of life. 
 
 Your companion shall be welcome to me, for 
 as long as you please; my advice is at her ser- 
 vice whenever she desires it. 
 
 My daughter Selby writes, so I shall only 
 briefly say what is necessary ; she desires I will 
 not anticipate her thoughts. 
 
 God bless my dear child ! and direct her steps 
 in the paths of virtue and happiness! prays her 
 tender parent, 
 
 Maria Ben net. 
 
 2 
 
292 
 LETTER XXVL 
 
 MRS. SELBY TO JIISS MELCOMBE. 
 MY DEAR SOPHIA, 
 
 I DO most seriously rejoice with you upon your 
 happy deliverance ; and when I consider what 
 might have happened, I shudder at the danger, 
 and unite with my mother in returning thanks 
 to heaven for your escape. 
 
 After all flights of fancy, I wish your adven- 
 tures may end in the usual way, matrimony and 
 quietness. A country life, three fourths of the 
 year at least ; and one more wish — Oh, that 
 you may settle in this neighbourhood ! for how 
 shall I bear to be separated from my Sophia 
 for life ! 
 
 My dear Selby is, if possible, more attentive 
 to me since our marriage than before. lie tells 
 me he ought to make your absence as eas}' to 
 me as possible, and to wean me from the ex- 
 pectation of seeing you always near me, to pre- 
 pare me for our future separation. I put on airs 
 of bravery; but my heart will be heard in its 
 turn ; it feels the absence of my Sophia, and 
 dreads the continuation of it. I have uttered 
 a wish to my Selby, that a way might be found 
 to fjx you near us. He answers me mysteriously; 
 
'293 
 he even bids me hope it may not be impossible: 
 but he will not explain this hope, till it appears 
 nearer its iiecomplishment. I embrace it, how- 
 ever, in its present state; and build delightful 
 expectalious upon it. 
 
 It would give me too much pain, were I to 
 tell you all that we sufi'ered, during our uncer- 
 tainty of your safety. My dear mother does 
 not suffer half her tenderness for us to appear, 
 luiless in cases of emergency ; we wished, we 
 hoped, we prayed for you, incessantly. Onr 
 prayers were heard. The generous and amiable 
 Saville did not lose a minute in infoiming us of 
 every step he took, and every ra}' of hope that 
 he obtained ; he wrote the most minute parti- 
 culais to Mr. Selby; he knew that every thing 
 concerning you, must be interesting. I give 
 Mr. Saville all my interest with you, in return 
 for his goodness to us ; I will second his wishes 
 to obtain a short day of you : but take notice, 
 I have not yet told him so. But we must see 
 you here shortly: we must have your wedding 
 celebrated here ; and we will keep you with us 
 as long as we have influence with you. How I 
 long to return your good offices on my wedding- 
 day ! - . 
 
 Mr. Collins and Dolly Grove go on swim- 
 mingly. I reckon their nuptials may be cele- 
 brated at the same time as yours. Dolly 
 o 3 
 
f^9* 
 suffered much for you, and rejoiced with ns at 
 your deliverance. She sends her respects and 
 love to you. Mr. and Mrs. FrankMn send their 
 best regards to you: they excuse Mr. Saville's 
 writing to them, as they suppose his attendance 
 upon your ladyship, employs all the hours he 
 can spare from duty and business. My mother 
 speaks for herself; 1 for mvself and my hus- 
 band ; as Sophia's tenderest friends and relatives. 
 Adieuj my dear sister and friend, 
 
 I am ever yours, 
 
 Anna Makia Selby, 
 
 LETTER XXVII. 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO THE REV. MR. SELBY. 
 
 I SHALL continue my narrative to you, my 
 dear Sir; and through yOu, to Mr. Johnson and 
 Mr. Franklin. I\Iy time is employed at present 
 in the ladies' service. 
 
 I therefore acquaint you all, that I have had 
 an interview with Mr. Munden ; which pa!?sed 
 in passion and resentment on his part, with in- 
 trepidity and resoluiion on mine. 
 
 I desired him to settle his account with my 
 attorney. He reproached me with ingratitude 
 to himself, insolence to Lady Belmour, treachery 
 to Clayton, and impertinen«e to Lord S 
 
I defended myself against the first charge;- 
 and as to the opinion of Lady Belmour and her 
 friends, I was perfectly indilTerent. — What did I 
 propose doing ? He heard I was going to be mar- 
 ried to a girl of family, but no fortune. — If I 
 was, I had a right to please myself; was my an- 
 swer. — Then I had nothing to expect from hrm. 
 1 give up every expectation upon you, Sir; and 
 every kind of dependence on you. — He swore 
 cursed, and abused me. I made him a low bov/, 
 and retired from a volley of execrations. He 
 called me back ; but I ran out of the house, and 
 shall not go there again presently. 
 
 Miss Melcombe has seen the public streets and 
 buildings that are best worth notice; these are 
 our morning promenades : our evenings are spent 
 m visiting with Mrs. Barclay, or else at public 
 places. I leave it to Sophia to speak of them; an 
 engagement of this kind obliges me to conclude 
 this hastily. I am ever yours faithfully, 
 
 Edavaud Saville. 
 
 LETTER XXVin. 
 
 MISS MELCOMBE TO MRS. SELBY. 
 
 Accept my heart's acknowledgments, my dear 
 mamma and sister, for your kind pacquet just 
 received. This busy, hurrying, yet idle place, 
 carries my time away I can hardly tell how; but 
 o 4- 
 
25*? 
 I forego every trifling business or ehgfigemeftt, 
 and devote thi.s evening to you and friend- 
 ship. 
 
 - Mrs. Barclay has a very large acquaintance, 
 among which are those of all the denominations ; 
 and sometimes there is a mixture of these three 
 characters in the same person. Your people of 
 fashion are the most inexplicable to me, and the 
 least agreeable. They seem to me like people 
 that are acting a. part upon a stage ; they dis- 
 claim and conceal what is natural to them, and ' 
 assume a character that is not so; the whim of 
 the day, is their mirror of perfection ; by that 
 they regulate their dress, their airs and graces, 
 navj even tlieir phrases ; and as this whim is 
 subject to continual alteration, so their affecta- 
 tion varies likewise ; and in the course of one 
 year, nay, I am told in less time, it shifts its 
 course, and obliges its followers to resemble the 
 fane upon our steeple, driven to and fro by every 
 wind of fashion. 
 
 I have sometimes thought myself in a foreign 
 country. Surely, said I, these cannot bo Eng- 
 lish men aiid women ; v.-onien with the boldae£,-5 
 and intrepidity of men, and men with the softness 
 and et^'eminacy of women; both sexes embel- 
 lished with such CKtravagance of dress and man- 
 ners, as if they were vying with each other which 
 should leave nature id the greatcc4- distaace : yet 
 
297 
 the eye wliich is shocked at this appearance at 
 first, by degrees becomes familiarized to it. 
 
 Thus much may serve for my opinion of 
 fashion, and its votaries in general : if I can find 
 leisure, perhaps I may use my pen or my pencil, 
 to give you a sketch or two of particular sub- 
 jects. You know I sometimes catch a flying 
 likeness ; but you will think them caricaturas, 
 not realities. 
 
 Miss Freewill has had a letter from her guar- 
 dian, inclosed in one to Mrs. Barclay. — The old 
 wretch declaims in low and common-place lan- 
 guage, against the honour and utility of our sex. 
 lie is sorry he has any thing to do with us. He 
 requires poor Fanny to return to Mr. Holden's ; 
 and to stay there till she comes of age, which is 
 almost three years. What effect his mandate 
 will have, I know not ; perhaps it may drive her 
 to take the very step he thinks to prevent. She 
 declares with great spirit, that she will never 
 return to Holden's. You have given your opi- 
 nion on Elliott's side; 1 will shew it to iFanny; 
 but the men shall not know it: who would have 
 thought that my Anna would have spoken in fa- 
 vour of an elopement : nay, would have advised 
 a second ? In your ear let me whisper, that I am 
 persuaded, if she had any hopes of Mr. Saville, 
 she would encourage no other lover; she sees 
 clearly that his affections are engaged, and she 
 O 5 
 
298 
 
 actually wants a protector. Elliott is an honest 
 worthy young man, and has an ardent passion for 
 her. She is not very delicate in her notions or 
 sentiments. She has it in her power to make El- 
 liott's fortune. Hers was originally thirty thou- 
 sand pounds ; and there will be eight years mi- 
 Dority to account for, and a large sum in con- 
 sequence to add to the principal. 
 
 I don't know whether to wish this match to 
 take place or not ; but I wish that may happen, 
 which will be best for them both. 
 
 Mr. Saville's behaviour is unexceptionable; un- 
 der this conduct I can see that he relies upon my 
 gratitude, to make him a dearer interest in my 
 regard ; he seems more at ease with me, and yet 
 I cannot complain that he encroaches upon my 
 privileges. Shall I tell you a weakness of my 
 foolisrh heart ? Yes. I will not conceal one 
 thought of it from my dearest friends. I have 
 consented to prolong rny stay in Louden, in 
 order to indulge a foolish curiosity. I wish, I 
 long to see my father ! to see my brothers and 
 sisters ; to see any part of the family. My 
 heart beats towards them, and an involuntarj 
 tear starts into my eye, Avhenever 1 think on . 
 them. I vainly wish tbeit some accident may 
 threw me in their way, or them into mine. 
 
 I desired ^Ir. Saville to show me the part o'l 
 the town where they live; it is called Grosvenor- 
 
295 
 square; I went and walked round it. Mr. Sa- 
 ville indulged me; I looked at the outside of the 
 house, till I worked my passions into a fit of 
 tears. I wanted to see them go out, or come in; 
 I confessed my weakness to Mr. Saville, and he 
 kindly pitied and allowed for me; nay, he said, 
 he adored me for it. Oh could I present Mr. 
 Saville to my father! could I tell him what he 
 has done for me ! he would then give nie to 
 him properly, and I should not come to him as 
 an alien to my family ; one of a fortune so in- 
 ferior to what he may expect, that I should be 
 under too much obligation for my peace. You 
 will say I have a proud heart. I fear it is so ; 
 but this is my" whole ambition. Mr. Saville's 
 estate is eighteen hundred a year; his father had 
 mortgaged a part of it; but his minority will have 
 more than discharged the debt. Mr, Munden 
 has told him so. — He has been a good guardian, 
 in respect to his interest; though his morals are 
 very exceptionable, and he might have ruined 
 those of his ward. The more I know of Mr. 
 Saville, the more I esteem him> he has an excel- 
 lent heart, and as good a judgment; in short, if 
 I could give him my hand upon equal terms, 1 
 should be ready to do it ; but my proud heart 
 relucts against it in my present situation, and 
 my fancy suggests a hope that I may one day 
 give it him with my father's approbation, and 
 " 06 
 
300 
 
 e\en have our nuptials honoured by his pre- 
 sence. 
 
 Mrs. Biirclay is a very agreeable woman, yet 
 not quite what I should expect from her years 
 and situation. She is fond of company and 
 amusements; and has not those resources in 
 herself that my mamma has in herself, and en- 
 deavoui's to give her children. Perhaps I might 
 see a great many more ladies, before I saw one 
 like my manmia. Perhaps I may be too severe 
 in my opinion of Mrs. Barclay, but my dear 
 friends will excuse the unformed judgment' of 
 their Sophia. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay told me " she lost her first 
 Jover in a voyage to India. — With him (said she) 
 were buried all the refined and tender emotions 
 of my heart : I never felt the like, for any man 
 since. About two years after, an advantageous 
 match was proposed to me; my friends enlarged 
 upon the comforts included in such an establish- 
 ment. 
 
 " I pleaded my indifference; they made use of 
 it as an argument to induce me to accept it. 
 Since all men are indifferent to you, why not 
 accept our friend ? You have no bias against 
 him, and every other argument is in his favour. 
 Thus urged, I married Mr. Barclay, who was 
 very fond of me for a few months, which I con- 
 fess was not the happiest period of my married 
 
301 
 
 state; afterwards we sunk into a calm and tran- 
 quil state of polite indifference; he followed his 
 amusements, I mine; we both loved company, 
 and always agreed in material points. 
 
 " We lived twenty-five years together, with- 
 out one quarrel. He was of an easy temper ; 
 mine was not bad. We always behaved with 
 the utmost politeness to each other; and when 
 he died, he left me the greatest part of his for- 
 tune. 
 
 *' Ever since I have lived in the manner the 
 most agreeable to me. I love a town life — so- 
 ciety — amusement. I have always taken care 
 to avoid excesses of every kind ; I live with- 
 in my fortune ; enjoy the company of my 
 friends ; and I believe am as happy as most 
 people in the general lot of humanity. I ana 
 contented witli my situation, and that is as much 
 as I expect, and, to say truth, more than most 
 of those I am acquainted with can say." 
 
 How do you like Marriage Alamode, my 
 Anna ? — I do not find it much to my taste; and 
 yet this is one of the better kind ; for I hear 
 such stories of m.arried people of fashion, as I 
 should blush to repeat. They make no more 
 of talking of crim. con. in common conversation, 
 than of the most ordinary occurrences of the 
 day. — Continue, my dear friends, your wishes 
 and prayers for me; I have found their good 
 
3Q2 ^ 
 
 effects in ray past escape, and hope to do so in 
 my future conduct and situation. 
 
 Accept and distribute my love and good 
 wishes among my good friends and neighbours 
 around you; always reserving the best part 
 for your own family; my nearest and dearest 
 ft-iends. 
 
 I am always yours most affectionately, 
 
 Sophia Melcombe, 
 
 LETTER XXiX. 
 
 THE REVEUEND MR. SELEY TO EDWARD 
 SAVILLE, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR SIR, 
 
 Ilott have obliged us extremely by your com- 
 munications. The ladies present their acknow- 
 ledgments for the pacquet just received, con- 
 taining a short letter from you, and a long one 
 from Sophia ; they will reply to hers, and I am 
 very desirous of making a return in your own 
 way, by telling you some news from this corner, 
 in whicli I think you will take a share in the 
 satisfaction we propose to ourselves. 
 
 Our friend Juhn Franklin and myself have 
 been ever since the late exploit of Lord S— — 
 and Mr. Clayton, contriving to rid our neigh- 
 bourhood of your Lady Calypso, as you are 
 
SOS 
 
 pleased to call her. The seduction of farmer 
 liobson's daughter, one of my own flock, autho- 
 rizes me to use active measures, in order to pre- 
 serve the peace and the morals of my own parish, 
 
 Franklin and I have made strict inquiries into 
 her conduct and her fortune; and what resources 
 she has to support the great ex pence she lives 
 at : we find that she is deeply in arrears with all 
 the people she employs. We design to draw up 
 an army of bills in battle array against her, and 
 she must either pay them, or be arrested, or fly 
 the country. Most of the gentry you left there,, 
 have gone away; they are grown tired of the 
 country, and sigh for the town and its various 
 pleasures and dissipations. We have begun oue 
 attack, by sending in the bills, and desiring her 
 to appoint a time to discharge them; if she re- 
 fuses this, or if she is saucy, woe be to her ! 
 
 You are very happy in serving the ladies, and 
 your attentions are not ineffectual. I dare not 
 for my life tell tales out of school; I therefore 
 only give a hint, that we are all your firm friends 
 here; and when Sophia returns to us, we shall 
 speak a few words in your behalf that may be 
 effectual to tiie completion of your wishes; in 
 the mean time go on in your own way; I am 
 convinced that with women worth obtaining, de- 
 licacy, silent assiduities, and speaking silence, is 
 the surest method of paying court to them. 
 
304 
 
 In regard to Elliott's passion, I know not what 
 to say; it is not certain what kind of character 
 his Dulcinea may be; she is young and giddy, he 
 is too young to form her manners, his own are 
 yet unformed. Elliott must judge for himself. 
 
 Mr. Franklin writes to his kinsman; he and 
 his wife wish him to succeed ; they will offer to 
 lend him money upon lawful interest, to be re- 
 paid hereafter ; they are afraid the young couple 
 should fall into bad hands, and be ruined. 
 
 Andrew Collins and Dolly Grove are engaged 
 to each other; I have given the young man some 
 useful advice, and he takes it properly ; he will 
 discharge the ensigns of foppery, and become an 
 useful member of society. 
 
 In expectation of the denouement of your his- 
 tory, I remain 
 
 Your faithful friend and servant, 
 
 G. Selby, 
 
 LETTER XXX. 
 
 MR. J. FKANKLIN TO MR. S. ELLIOTT. 
 DEAR SAM, 
 
 I REJOICE to hear of your health, safety, and 
 success; and particularly of the prospect before 
 you. May your attack be successful, and the 
 
305 
 
 ship a lawful pri/e ! But, my dear lad, be cau- 
 tious how you procfed; and above all things, 
 how you take up money upon interest. There 
 are a kind of men, Avhose business it is to lend 
 money upon usury ; many unthinking young men 
 have ruined their fortunes before they came to 
 the possession of them. 
 
 If you marry directly, you must have money 
 for your outset; but how must it be raised? 
 Listen to me ! I will lend you a thousand pounds 
 upon your bond; to carry lawful intei:est, and 
 no more. Take care how you spend it ; per- 
 suade your lady to come and board witlvus here, 
 or else in some sober family in a country town. 
 London will swallow you up at a mouthful; you 
 must not live there. 
 
 I inclose a letter to Mr. Samuel Browning, 
 your great uncle and godfather ; as soon as the 
 fair lady has given you her promise, but not 
 before, carry this letter yourself to him at Peck- 
 ham ; tell him your story at the same time, and 
 mention your wants for the present moment, 
 though you are certain of a handsome fortunq 
 in a few years. I hope he will make you a 
 handsome present. As to your father, I know 
 he can do nothing for you ; his numerous family 
 call upon him for all that he can spare for their 
 establishment in life. Say nothing to tiim till all 
 is over: I will excuse you to him. 
 
306' 
 
 Do not let this affair hang long in suspense, 
 but finish it quickly one way or other. Carry 
 her to Scotland; and, as soon as you are fairly 
 spliced, as you would call it, bring your wife 
 hither; put her to school to Mrs. Bennet and 
 Mrs. Franklin, and let her learn the duties of a 
 wife ; and to find her own happiness, in that of 
 her husband and famil3\ 
 
 I inclose this in Mr. Selby's cover to Mr. Sa- 
 ville. I do not write to him till he does to me^ 
 I am the rather satisfied, because he treats Mr. 
 Johnson, whom he calls his Mentor, the same. 
 
 I inclose a bank-note for twenty pounds, lest 
 you should want cash for common expences. 
 
 Do you intend to continue in the service, or 
 will you strike your name off the list? I advise 
 nothing on this iiead; satisfy yourself, or per- 
 haps your wife, who v.'Ul then have a right to. 
 determine on this point for you. 
 
 Your cousin sends you her best wishes; she 
 and the dear babes are well and happy. I shall 
 take every opportunity to approve myself your 
 faithful friend iiid kinsman. 
 
 John Fr.'Inklin". 
 
307 
 LETTER XXXI. 
 
 MR. ELLIOTT TO MR. FRANKLIN, 
 MY DEAR FRA^KLI^•, 
 
 It is the pride and glory of my life to have so 
 generous a friend and kinsman as yourself. I 
 accept your kindness Avith all ray heart. I 
 thank j'ou for your counsel, and I will sail under 
 your command, till you think me able to ma- 
 nage my own ship on the ocean of life. My 
 little frigate has led me a brisk chase: she is a 
 girl of spirit, and wants a good deal of firing to 
 make her bring to; but she lowers her flag, my 
 boy, and surrenders to me. Huzza, friends ! the 
 victory is mine — Huzza! — I proposed going full 
 sail to Scotland; but Mrs. Barclay, who is in all 
 our secrets, and who is as clever a woman as 
 ever you knew, gave us better advice, as you 
 shall hear. — Why should you go so long a jour- 
 ney, when you can get marriea just as well here, 
 and as privately too ? Let the banns be published 
 in my parish-church; nobody there knows who 
 Samuel Elliott, single man, and Frances Free- 
 will, single woman, are; it will be much less 
 trouble and expence, and there will be very 
 little time lost, and every thing may be done in 
 the snug way, without any suspicion till all is 
 over. 
 
308 
 
 Mr, Savjlle is my friend, and will be my 
 bondsman. He has offered me his purse j he 
 suffers me to be at no kind of expence. 
 
 I observe what you say respecting frugality. 
 I would not injure my wife and her children, by 
 spending their money upon my own pleasures, 
 for the empire of the seal 1 will be her guard, 
 her protector, and her steward; but never could 
 I bear the thought of wasting her property : nay, 
 I have too much spirit to be maintained at her 
 expence; I will not turn my back upon my .pro- 
 fession; my country has need of the service of 
 all her children; I will not forsake her in the 
 time of danger, which is also a time of glory for 
 seamen. My Fanny is a noble girl, she does not 
 require it of me. 
 
 Well, but we have settled every thing. INIrs. 
 Barclay has sent a bill to be published in the 
 church on Sunday. On Monday, Mr. Saville 
 will have the goodness to give me his company 
 to my godfather's at Peckham, and he will speak 
 in my favour to him, which will support my 
 application. 
 
 Mr. Saville sends his love to you ; he says he 
 will redeem your good opinion, and spend some 
 time in your neighbourhood, as soon as we have 
 finished our business. Both he and Miss Mel- 
 combe will be present at our marriage: I see no 
 reason why their own, might not be celebrated 
 
509 
 at the same time; but I do not think he is hah' 
 so brisk in his courtship as I am. My best love 
 and gratitude attend yourself and family. My 
 respectful compliments to Mr, aud Mrs. Selby, 
 and Mrs. Bennet. 
 
 I am, my dearcoufin, 
 Your most obliged, 
 
 and affectionate kinsman, 
 
 Samuel Elliott, 
 P. S. I thank you heartily for the twenty 
 pound note. It is welcome to me, for I must 
 be new-rigged for my new expedition. 
 
 LETTER XXXII. 
 
 • MISg MELCOMBE TO MRS. SELBV. 
 
 I MAKE no doubt that the contents of Mr. 
 Elliott's letter will soon transpire to the Par- 
 sonage. He has gained the lady. Mr. Saville 
 loves him with fraternal affection; he calls him 
 his brother and friend ; he is gone with him to 
 Peckham, to confirm his application to his god- 
 father. 
 
 I did not intend to stir abroad till their re- 
 
 turn; but Mrs. Barclay has engaged us in a 
 
 party to the play to-night. Fanny Freewill 
 
 ■ seems more easy in her mind, since she has taken 
 
 her resolution ; . sshe says she saw it was impos- 
 
310 
 
 sible she could have a proper homt but her own. 
 or any protector but an husband. 
 
 JMimday £v*mng. 
 
 Oh, my dearest Anna! what an adventure! 
 My heart is in great agitation ; hope, fear, and 
 affection, take the rule of it in turn. It is iu 
 vain to go to bed ; I can have no rest till my 
 mind is more composed. 
 
 Wiien we came to the theatre, we seated our- 
 selves in a box ; the first row of which was taken 
 and kept by a genteel servant. In the midst of 
 the first act, two gentlemen came in, and seated 
 themselves before us: one seemed between thirty 
 and forty, the other a very young man, or rather 
 a youth, of a most amiable countenance, and 
 genteel deportment. 
 
 After the act was over, he turned towards us, 
 looked earnesly at me, and soon after addressed 
 me ; asked me, how I liked the play, and said 
 many polite and gallant things to me. — I told him 
 I could not yet form my judgment of it; but that 
 I had rather listen to the opinion of others, than 
 give my o wn.^He chatted upoiiseveral points ; at 
 length he begged me to accept a seat upon his row. 
 I excused myself, saying, I could not leave my 
 company. Upon which, he offered the whole seat 
 <o Mrs. Barclay and her company, and offered 
 to take theirs for himself and friend; she ac- 
 knowledged his politeness, but declined accept- 
 
311 
 
 iTig it. The gentleman, his companion, seemed 
 to think him too attentive to us, and gave liim 
 a look of disapprobation. The youth spoke to 
 him in a low voice; he answered in the same; 
 but, being interested, I wished to catch a word or 
 two. I heard him say, My Lord, I don't dis- 
 approve your taste, she looks truly amiable. I 
 blushed deeply, from a consciousness of hearing 
 what was not designed for my ear. Luckily the 
 curtain drew up, and called for the attention of 
 us all. I followed the actors with my eyes and 
 ears; but yet my heart gave me two or three 
 items of another kind. This amiable youth, is 
 called my Lord! What Lord can it be? — What 
 is that to me ? — By degrees, this inward monitor, 
 drew my attention from the stage. I looked at 
 my Lord attentively. If he should be — ? 
 Foolish suggestion ! — but as soon as it gained 
 admittance, it engrossed every thought, and 
 every wish. — I was soon put out of suspense ; a 
 young gentleman in the pit called to him, My 
 
 Lord B , are the ladies here to-night ? He 
 
 answered, No; they were prevented coming. 
 
 My heart leaped in my bosom. It is my bro- 
 ther, said I. — I was so much affected, that I 
 was obliged to hold my fan before my face. 
 
 The third act I know very little about, for 
 my heart fluttered incessantly, and the tear 
 started in my eye. I was obliged to make strong 
 
efforts to conceal my emotions. Lord B i 
 asked me several questions; but what sort of 
 answers I made, I know not. I was unhinged, 
 and could attend to nothing but my own sensa- 
 tions. 
 
 The library scene commanded my attention. 
 
 Lord B had seen it before; but he .observed 
 
 my looks, and asked my opinion; I answered, 
 It is interesting; but it is such a picture of hu- 
 man nature, as I do not wish to see. 
 
 In the interval between the fourth and fifth 
 act, we had again a short conference, and I 
 grew more and more pleased with him; my 
 heart yearned to call him its brother. 
 
 While Lord B was speaking to the gen- 
 tleman, who as Mrs. Barclay supposes was his 
 governor, I cast my eyes towards the upper 
 boxes, and there whom should I see, but my 
 
 late persecutor Lord S ! At sight of him, 
 
 I felt an emotion of a very different kind ; my 
 spirits failed me, my heart sunk, and I was ready 
 to faint; I laid my hand upon Miss Freewill's, 
 who sat next. I exclaimed, Look, look, there 
 he is! — Who is there? said she. What is the 
 matter ? — I still called out, Look there ! It i? 
 
 Lord S' . — Where ? said she. — I pointed with 
 
 my fan ; she was alarmed, but not so much as 
 I was. She told Mrs. Barclay. — Cannot we go 
 home? said I.— I^o, said Mrs. Barclay, you 
 
313 , 
 
 most 3tay till my servant comes. — Miss Freewill 
 held the salts to my nose ; my head turned round. 
 —Lord B turned his head, and saw me pale 
 
 and fainting. What is the matter with the lady ? 
 said he. — Mrs. Barclay answered, that I was 
 not well; that the heat of the house overcame 
 me. — I feared so, said he, for I have observed 
 her change colour several times in the course of 
 the evening. — Lord B went out of the box; 
 
 he enquired for Mrs. Barclay's servant, or his 
 own; and he ordered that whichever came first 
 should attend him ; in the mean time Mrs. Bar- 
 clay comforted and encouraged me. — Exert 
 yourself, my dear, said she; try to get the better 
 of this shock. If you go out of the house, it 
 vill make a bustle, and draw the attention of 
 the man you most fear; at present he does not 
 observe us; his attentions are directed to the 
 lady with him. Take courage, my love! and 
 wait with patience till our servant comes; as 
 soon as the coach is ready, I will attend you 
 home. — I tried to get the better of myself; I 
 changed places with the lady behind me; I re^ 
 tired from observation as much as possible ; 
 Miss Freewill changed her place likewise. Loa-d 
 B returned, and told us what he had or- 
 dered; and Mrs. Barclay paid my acknowledg- 
 ments, for I was too much discomposed to pa0 
 attention to any thing. 
 r 
 
314 
 
 In the midst of the farce, while the audience 
 were attentive to the feats of Harlequin Fortu- 
 
 natus, Lord B 's servant came; he offered 
 
 liis coach to Mrs. Barclay and her compaiiy. 
 She was going to decline it; but I said, Do, for 
 God's sake, let me go! — The gentleman with 
 
 Lord B said. Do you mean to go too? — I 
 
 do, said my Lord; but I will return to you di- 
 rectly. 
 
 He offered me his hand ; my macaroni, Mr. 
 Finnet, offered his to Miss Freewill ; another 
 gentleman attended i\Irs. Barclay; and we went 
 away directly, to my infinite joy. 
 
 Lord B attended us home; he behaved 
 
 with the utmost delicacy of attention towards 
 me. When we got home, he stepped out, and 
 handed me into the parlour : he thanked Mrs. 
 Barclay for the honour she had done him, iri 
 accepting so trifling a service; he hoped she 
 would permit him to call again to enquire after 
 the lady's health; at present he would not in- 
 trude, as he believed I wanted rest after my fa- 
 tigue. 
 
 He then very politely withdrew, and left us 
 all high in his praises. I then had leisure to 
 recollect myself; I begged pardon for giving 
 them so much trouble, and said I should not de- 
 sire to go to the play again in haste. 
 
 We sat and chatted till twelve o'clock, and 
 
315 
 
 tlicn retired to our respective apartments ; but 
 finding myself in no disposition to sleep, I re- ' 
 solved to write down my adventures of the 
 evening. I will now go and solicit sleep to visit 
 my couch, and wish that it may present to my 
 mind's eye, the image of my amiable brother. 
 
 Tuesday Mornvig. My wish was answered, I 
 have dreamed of my father, my brother, and 
 all the family ; I have been received into their 
 arms, and acknowledged for their relation. Oh 
 that these ideas may be realised ! 
 
 Tmsday Evening. Lord B— — has been here 
 to enquire after my health; he spent an agree- 
 able hour. He was extremely polite to my 
 friends, but he paid me very particular attentions. 
 The rest of our party have called or sent to 
 know how I do. We expect our knights-errant 
 back to-morrow; I long to acquaint them with 
 my adventure, and to consult Mr, Saville about 
 the use I may make of Lord B— — 's acquaint- 
 ance; I look upon it as the crisis of my con* 
 nection with my father's family. 
 
 Wednesday. Our two friends are returned 
 safe, well, and happy. Mr. Elliott has been 
 kindly received and entertained by his relation. 
 He made Mr, Elliott a present of bank-notes 
 for five hundred pounds. The young man de- 
 sired his godfather to take the charge of settling 
 lite lady's fortune upon her in the best mam^ier, 
 V 2 
 
sib 
 as soon as it shall be in her power. Miss Free- 
 will acknowledged his honour, and said. She 
 would, v/ithoul scruple, trust her fortune to his 
 protection, with her person. 
 
 Mr. Saville took me aside, and, with a sup- 
 plicating look, asked me if he was to have the 
 niortitication of seeing his friend made happy, 
 without advancing a step towards his own fe- 
 licity. 
 
 I waved the reply, and told him something 
 had happened that might perhaps lead to the 
 subject hereafter. I wish to consult you as my 
 assured friend, Sir. — You honour me, JMadam, 
 by your commands! — I then told him my ad- 
 venture at the plaj', and the visit that followed 
 it. He said, If it gave me pleasure, he would 
 claim a share of it; but as my father had shewn 
 such a steady resolution not to acknowledge me, 
 he thought it was more likely to displease him, 
 than to be of any service to me. — Suffer me, oh 
 Sophia! to say one word in my own behalf! If 
 you were actually married to a man of good 
 character and competent fortune, I think it far 
 more likely that the Earl would take proper no- 
 tice of you, than while you are single, and seem 
 to stand in need of his protection. Let me avail 
 myself of this occasion to urge you to be mine; 
 it is with pain that I have so long suppressed 
 the dictates of my heart. I have been implicit 
 
317 
 in my obedience to your commands; I have 
 stood by, and seen others who set out after 
 me in the race, reach the goal of happiness be- 
 fore me. And now I urge for your own sake, 
 as well as mine; cruel and indifferent as you are 
 to me ! 
 
 I -felt myself affected at this reproach. I he- 
 sitated to answer him. — Unjust and ungrateful! 
 said I; it is for your sake, as much a.% my orvn, 
 that I wish to be acknowledged for what I am.. 
 —Is it indeed ? said he, in the accent of joy; 
 tlien I atn ungrateful. Oh, my Sophia, forgive 
 me, and accept my acknowledgements ! It is 
 the first glimpse of hope you have bestowed 
 upon me for a long time: confirm it to me, my 
 angel! — I cannot, said I, consent to be yours, 
 till I have the hope that my father will accept 
 the office of one to me. But I am sensible of 
 your merit; I believe your affection for me is 
 true and sincere ; and I can never forget my ob- 
 ligation to you. — Speak not of obligation, said 
 he; love acquits all obligation ; it is the only 
 reward of a faithfid heart. Give me then love 
 for love, and I shall be laid under everlasting 
 obligation to my adored Sophia.. 
 
 Our conversation grew too tender; I returned 
 
 to the former subject. — Suffer me, Mr. Saville, 
 
 to wait the event of this new adventure. I wish 
 
 to make Lord B my friend; his very parti- 
 
 v3 
 
.118 
 
 culaT attention to me, may perhaps serve me as 
 an excuse for coming to an explanation with 
 him. I am almost tempted to hazard one, but 
 I will do nothing rashly; if I should own myself 
 his sister, I will recommend you to him as a 
 brother; let this satisfy you for the present.-— 
 It shall satisfy me, Madam; I will wait yuur 
 pleasure: but let me assure you, not with any 
 \iew to Lord D— — 's favour towards you, or 
 still less with any other expectations from him. 
 
 I finished our conversation, and returned to 
 company; but he seemed desirous to detain me 
 longer. 
 
 Mr. Elliott is making a pacquet to send to Mr, 
 Franklin; I shall send this under the same in- 
 closure. Let me hear from my dear friends at 
 S ; every thing from them will be interest- 
 ing to me. 
 
 My lieart's best Ipve, wishes, and prayers, 
 attend you all ! 
 
 I am yours always and equally, 
 
 SOPHIA MELCOMBE. 
 
 LETTER XXX in. 
 
 Mn. SEI.BY TO EDWARD SAVILLE, ESQ. 
 
 I AM delighted with the progress of your ad- 
 ventures. I am as happy as liuraanity is capable 
 
319 
 of; but our quiet course of life furnishes no in- 
 cident at present. 
 
 Our attack goes on hopefully. Your lady go- 
 verness is closely besieged, she cannot stir out 
 of doors; she promises largely, but performs 
 nothing. A day is set for the payment of her 
 debtsj if she fails, she knows the consequence. 
 
 Sophia is pursuing a scheme of her own, I 
 find; for my part I do not expect much from it: 
 however, it will either be the means of obliging 
 her father to acknowledge her, or it will put an 
 end to her expectations from that proud family; 
 either way it will make her mind easy about 
 them. Mr. Johnson has returned my papers, 
 ivith a polite note of acknowledgement, and a 
 letter which he desires me to forward to you. 
 
 After Elliott's wedding is over, I shall ask a 
 question about your returning to us; till then, 
 I use my patience, and am satisfied by hearing 
 of your proceedings. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 Yours sincerely and affectionately, 
 
 G. SELBY, 
 
 LEITER XXXIV. 
 
 MR. JOIfNSON TO EDWAUD 3AVILLE, ESQ, 
 
 I THANK you, my dear Sir, for the latest marks 
 
 of your attention. A young man engaged in 
 
 p 4 
 
3'20 
 
 the most interesting pursuit of his life, seldom 
 thinks at all of distant friends; especially of 
 those advanced in years, and who assume the 
 of/ice of j\Ionitors. 
 
 Every attention, undet these circumstances^ 
 is of ten-fold value. I esteem it as such, and 
 as the best proof that my counsels have been 
 ■well received, and well remembered. I am in- 
 finitely obliged by the communication of the 
 memoirs of the Bennet family j I remember the 
 writer at College, he was a virtuous and amiable 
 man; I loved him living, and 1 venerate his 
 memory. These memoirs are as interesting to 
 you, as to a,ny part of his family. I look upon 
 j-ou as a member of it, by your engagement to 
 the amiable Sophia. I hope your residence ia 
 London will not be much longer; the air of that 
 place is not favourable to simplicity of manners,- 
 nor yet to virtuous love. 
 
 Let me advise you, and do you advise young 
 Elliott, to remove from this place the fair part- 
 ners of your hearts; the poison of it, works in- 
 sensibly upon you and them; carry them where 
 they may breathe the purer air of virtue and 
 simplicity. 
 
 I wish to taste with you the sweets of the vil- 
 lage of S . I love, I revere the Parsonage- 
 house, both for its late and present possessors; 
 I must through you be acquainted with Mr. 
 
321 
 
 Selby, his honoured mother, and amiable wife. 
 iNIy heart warms within me when I think on the 
 Jiistory of these worthies; and all vanity and 
 parade slirink to nothing in the comparison. 
 
 The utmost happiness that human nature is. 
 capable of, is to be found in domestic life; those 
 who seek it any where else will seek in vain; 
 and those who cultivate social and domestic 
 virtues, will not fail to find enough to sweeten 
 all the cares and misfortunes to which this tran- 
 sitory state is liable. 
 
 When you are settled in this terrestrial Para- 
 dise, I will visit you, and rejoice in your happi- 
 ness. For the hastening of this period, you 
 have the wishes, affections, and prayers, of 
 Your faithful friend and servant, 
 
 Jarvis Johnson, 
 
 LETTER XXXV. 
 
 MISS MELCOMBE TO MRS, SELBY. 
 MY DEAR FRIEKD AND SISTER, 
 
 I HAVE brought myself into difficulties which 
 
 increase upon me every day. Lord B calls 
 
 here often ; he wishes to be alone with me ; be 
 absolutely makes love to me. Every time he 
 comes, I am tempted to tell him how nearly I 
 P 5 
 
3Qa 
 am related to him; but a certain fear, which' 
 proceeds from both love and duty to my fatlier,- 
 restrains me. 
 
 Mr. Saville and Lord B have met several 
 
 times; he is jealous of my attention to ISIr. Sa- 
 ville; he asks who he is; I answer, my friend, 
 and one to whom I have great obligations.— 
 }lappy man ! said Lord B— — , how I envy him 
 that distinction ! 
 
 I have been pressed to go to more public 
 places; but I beg to be excused. My situation 
 is critical; I have a thousand fears, hopes, anx- 
 ieties ; I perceive that the crisis of my fate is ap- 
 proaching. I think much, sleep little, eat less, 
 and am in no pleasant humour, though I have 
 nothing that ought to make me unhappy. I 
 •want to find out a way to come to an explana- 
 tion with Lord B . Amiable youth ! how 
 
 sincere, how affecting his partiality to me I I 
 must come to some determination — my resolu- 
 tion is taken — expect the result of it. 
 
 I will relate every particular of the interview 
 
 with Lord B . I have acquitted myself to 
 
 my own satisfaction ; my heart justifies me, and 
 I hope my friends will approve of my behaviour. 
 I was alone when Lord B— — came, I received 
 him with ease and freedom, which encouraged 
 him to declare a passion for mc, a first passion, 
 which he had never before felt for any woman, 
 3 
 
— Suffer mc, my Lord, to interrupt yon; I am 
 engaged to Mr. Saville. I should Lave told you 
 so before, but had not a proper opportunity.— 
 He lamented most pathetically his disappoint- 
 ment.— Hear me, my Lord; if I were not en- 
 gaged, there are a thousand reasons -why I could 
 never listen to your Lordship upon this subject; 
 if I were only to mention your extreme youth, 
 it would be sufficient; you are two years younger 
 thau I, but that is one of the least : let me in- 
 treat you never to mention this subject more.— 
 Cruel! said my Lord; why did you encourage 
 my acquaintance, only in order to break my 
 heart by your unkindness ? — " I will account 
 for it, if you will honour me with your attention. 
 From the first moment I saw you I formed a wish 
 to be acquainted with you; I found you so ami- 
 able, that my wish increased every time I saw 
 you; my Lord, I aspire to your friendship; nay, 
 it is necessary to my happiness ; but, my Lord) 
 it must be under the sanction of a father's per- 
 mission. You are surprised; I must, in som^ 
 degree, explain my pretension to the honour I 
 now solicit. The earl of D— — , your noble fa- 
 ther, had a very intimate friendship with my pa- 
 rents; I have received great and singular obli- 
 gations from him." My voice faltered here; I 
 wept.— Good Heaven ! said my Lord, you weep ! 
 Oh, that I were permitted to dry the tears that 
 p6 
 
324 
 fall from those speaking eyes! — He attempted 
 to take my hand; I withdrew it. — This visit, my 
 Lord, is the crisis of our friendship; I deh\yed 
 it, because I was unwilling to forego your com- 
 pany; but your open declaration obliges me to 
 hasten it: my Lord, you must tell your father, 
 that you have accidentally met with a young wo- 
 man whose name is Sophia Melcombe; that she 
 admired your person and qualities, and took 
 pleasure in your company; that, upon your so- 
 liciting a higher degree of friendship and inti- 
 macy, she thought it necessaiy to refer you to 
 his Lordship; and that, if he will honour her 
 with his permission to cultivate your friendship, 
 she will esteem it one of the first blessings of her 
 life.— My tears would accompany my words in 
 spite of my resolution.— What is that I see? said 
 Lord B— — ; such kindness, mingled with such 
 cruelty ! surely I am not hated ! — No, my Lord, 
 said I, you cannot be hated; you are formed to 
 be loved and esteemed. 1 cannot explain my- 
 self any further; it depends upon your father 
 to decide this point for us both ; it depends up- 
 on him, whether I am permitted to see you any- 
 more. Will you have the goodness to give the 
 Earl this piece of paper ? I have written my 
 name here, to prevent mistakes. This paper 
 will acquaint him who and where I am; the rest 
 I leave to his Lordship's decision. Adieu, my 
 
3'2a 
 
 Lord ! if ever we meet again, I shall be justified 
 in every part of my behaviour towards you; 
 and, if we do not, my best wishes and prayers 
 will ever attend you. — I rose upon this, and 
 went out of the room in tears; and left the dear 
 youth in the same situation. 
 
 He rung the bell soon after I went away. As 
 soon as he was gone, Mr. Saville came into the 
 dining-room ; I had retired into my chamber, 
 and as soon as I had in some measure conquered 
 my emotions, I went to him ; but they returned 
 when I related to him all that had passed be- 
 tween me and Lord B . Mr. Saville soothed 
 
 and comforted me; he kmdly allowed for my 
 weakness of spirits, and led to another subject, 
 his favourite one, which you will easily guess 
 without further explanation. When INIrs. Bar- 
 clay returned, she perceived the traces of the 
 emotions of my heart in my countenance; I told 
 her I had an interesting conversation with Lord 
 
 B , and probably we should see him no more. 
 
 She rallied me, and so did Miss Freewill, upon 
 it. They asked Mr. Saville, if he approved my 
 
 regard for Lord B ; I do, indeed, ladies, 
 
 said he ; and will do every thing in my power to 
 promote it. — Nay then, I am sure, we have no- 
 thing to do with it, said Miss Freewill. — My re- 
 gard for Lord B , said I, can never interfere- 
 
 with Mr. Saville's claim upon me. 
 
32G 
 
 I am tortured with impatience, to Lear what 
 
 effect Lord B 's report will have upon hia 
 
 father. Good night to my dear sister and mo- 
 ther. 
 
 IMy fate now draws towards its crisis. I thank 
 God my suspense will not last much longer! 
 this day will put an end to it. Read here a note 
 from the Earl of D . 
 
 " Lord D — — presents his compliments to 
 " Miss Sophia Melcombe ; he will call upon her 
 *• at seven this evening, and desires she will re- 
 '* ccive hinfi alone, without any witness to their 
 " interview." 
 
 I will see how this father behaves to me, and 
 act accordingly. Saville exerts all his abilities 
 and influence to encourage me ; I have told 
 Mrs. Barclay that I am to receive a visit from a 
 gentleman upon business of an interesting kind; 
 and begged her permission to see him alone in 
 the parlour. By no means, said she; the draw- 
 ing-room is at your service. 
 
 If I can be so happy as to receive a fatlier's 
 blessing; to receive a husband from his hand; 
 to embrace a brother; then will I think all my 
 cares and anxieties amply recompensed. 
 
 The Earl of D was punctual to his ap- 
 pointment; he was shown into the drawing- 
 room, while I was pouring out my heart before 
 
327 
 my Supreme Benefactor, and imploring his 
 blessing upon my hopes and wishes. When I 
 thought myself duly prepared to meet my father, 
 I went down to him with trembling limbs and 
 faltering voice ; but with a heart strengthened 
 by a firm reliance upon Heaven. My Lord was 
 waiting for me ; he looked impatient for the in- 
 terview. I courtesied very low, and was silent. 
 He advanced towards me ; he took both my 
 hands in his own; he looked earnestly in my face 
 a minute, and then saluted me tenderly. We 
 were both silent. After a pause of some minutes 
 he seemed to recollect himself. — Sophia Mel- 
 combe, what brings you to London ? 
 
 This address raised my spirits. I answered, 
 My Lord, I did not come hither of my own ac- 
 cord ; I was brought by compulsion. — How is 
 that? said he; who could compel you. — If your 
 Lordship will have patience to hear the story, I 
 will tell you every particular. — Sit down, my 
 child, said he; I am ready and willing to hear 
 you.-— My heart was softened by the kindness of 
 iiis expression ; but I bad it be stout, and not 
 give way to its own weakness. I told him first, 
 the character and situation of Lady Belmour; 
 her endeavours to corrupt Mr. Saville's virtue; 
 his leaving her house, and coming to Mr, Frank- 
 lin's ; his introduction to Mr. Selby's acquaint- 
 ance, to all the Bennet family, and to lae; the 
 
, 323 
 
 resentment and threatened revenge upon him; 
 
 Lord S^ and Mr. Clayton's request to him, 
 
 to introduce them to me, and to Miss Freewill; 
 
 his refusal to oblige them ; Lord S- and Mr. 
 
 Clayton's scheme against us, and the execution 
 of it; our treatment by them at Blackwall; Mr. 
 Saville and Mr. Elliott's pursuit of us ; their 
 meeting with Mr. Barton, and his information of 
 the designs of our persecutors to carry us to the 
 continent, and there oblige us to marry them ; 
 the stratagems of our friends, and its success ; 
 2\Irs. Barclay's kindness and liospitality, and her 
 relation to I\Ir. Selby; her invitation to us to 
 stay some time at her house, before our return 
 home. 
 
 Lord D heard me with patient attention 
 
 till I paused. — He said, INIy dear, I am satisfied 
 of the truth of the relation you have given me. 
 I am rejoiced at your escape, and for the friends 
 you have made. I am obliged to them for their 
 zeal and activity in your service. I will speak 
 of that hereafter; but how came you acquainted 
 with Lord B ? — I told him the story, ex- 
 actly as it happened; and enlarged upon the 
 
 pleasure I took in Lord B 's company. I 
 
 spoke highly of his accomplishments; and still 
 higher of the goodness of his heart. I then told 
 my Lord the particular notice he took of me; 
 and at last his declaration of love to me; that I 
 
3:9 
 
 found it necessary to appeal to his Lordship, aa 
 the person who ought to decide upon our regard 
 for each other; and that I had done this, in a 
 manner wliich I thought would be most agreeable 
 to his Lordship, as he seemed to make a point 
 of keeping his relation to me, a secret from all 
 his family. JMy heart gradually softened at re- 
 citing these particulars, till at length I burst into 
 tears, and remained silent. 
 
 Lord D drew his chair close to me; he 
 
 embraced me. — My sweet child, why do you 
 weep ? you have acted with the greatest pru- 
 dence : I applaud your behaviour, and I thank 
 you for it ! — " Oh, my Lord, it has cost me very 
 dear ! an hundred times I have been tempted to 
 
 declare my relation to Lord B ; I longed to 
 
 call him brother; to claim an interest in him; 
 and must I forego the sweet hope of enjoying 
 his friendship ? must I be still an alien to him, 
 though I know and love him, and though lie loves 
 me With equal aitection ?" I paused, and wept. 
 — We will speak of this point hereafter, said my 
 Lord ; in the mean time, tell me, who are these 
 gentlemen that were so much interested in the 
 bchall of the two fair ladies, as to run all hazards 
 to deliver them ? give me some account of them. 
 
 I answered, " ]\lr. Saville is a young gentle- 
 man of good fortune and character. jNIr. Elliott 
 ic a lieutenant in the navv; he is kinsman to Mr. 
 
330 
 
 Franklin, our good friend and neighbour in the 
 
 village of S ." — Well, said my Lord, but 
 
 how are these two gentlemen attached to the 
 tv/o ladies ; for I understand there must be some 
 inducement to them, to engage so deeply in their 
 cause? Do not blush, Sophia; but tell me 
 which of them is your lover! — I looked down, 
 and was confused; but recovering, I said, Miss 
 Freewill is an heiress of large fortune, which she 
 intends to bestow upon Mr. Elliott; who is an 
 honest, brave, and worthy young man. — She is 
 a girl of spirit, said my Lord, and I honour her 
 for it; but what of the other pair of lovers?— »» 
 Why, my Lord, the case is reversed with them; 
 Sophia is a poor girl of small fortune, and be- 
 longs to nobody ; and the generous Saville, 
 offers to make her the partner of his heart and 
 fortune. — Bravo ! said my Lord ; but Sophia has 
 some spirit too I see, and can feel herself under 
 too much obligation. — He smiled; but I looked 
 very serious. — Come, my Sophia, open your 
 heart to me: is ]\Ir. Saville a favoured lover? 
 if so, why have you not acquainted me with his 
 pretensions before now ? — " My Lord, you judge 
 rightly of my spirit; I thought myself under too 
 much obligation: Mrs. Bennet has urged me to 
 apply to you by her hand; I was undetermined 
 about it ; but this last obligation to Mr. Saville, 
 had almost overcome my reluctance to apply to 
 
331 
 your Lordship, when accident threw me in the 
 way of Ixjrd B -■; and his attention to me led 
 me to wish-—" I stopped.— To wish what, So- 
 phia f — To wish, that I might present to him a 
 brother and a friend worthy of him; and that I 
 might claim a share in their friendship. 
 
 Good girl ! said my Lord ; you have answered 
 all my questions hitherto, with a frankness un- 
 common in your sex; you shall not be a loser 
 by it; you have shewn me a noble heart, and I 
 ■•.ill place it to account here: (laying his hand 
 on his bosom.) I must ask one question more, 
 Sophia, and look that your answer is with equal 
 sincerity: does Mr. Saville know, whose daugh- 
 ter you are? — I now trembled, hesitated, and 
 was silent. — Your silence answers me, said he : 
 liow dared you tell him my secret, without my 
 permission .?— I tried to speak, but was some mo- 
 ments before I could look up. I wept, and said, 
 " At length, my Lord, Mr. Selby obtained Mrs. 
 Bennet's permission, to acquaint Mr. Saville 
 with my birth and parentage: they thought Mr. 
 Saville's generous proposal, deserved that he 
 s>hould know to whom he had ofiered his hand 
 and fortune. 
 
 I am answered, said my Lord ; Every body is 
 qvialilied to judge of my conduct, and to decide 
 upon it against me; nobody appeals to me, nor 
 suffers me to decide for them— it is well— I am 
 
352 
 to contend with every bod}', and to submi.t to 
 every one's reaso&s, against my own ; but I shall 
 think of every thing, and judge for myself. 
 
 My luOrd walked about in great discomposure. 
 We were silent for several minutes. At last I 
 throw myself at his feet, embraced his knees, 
 besought his forgiveness, aud his fatherly advice 
 and protection. While I was in this attitude, 
 
 the door opened, and in rushed Lord B . 
 
 The Earl's features had relaxed; he looked 
 softened; but upon his son's entiance,. they re- 
 sumed their sternness. — Impertinent boy ! who 
 sent for you.? — Nobody, my Lord, said he; I 
 came of my own accord. What have I done to 
 deserve so severe a rebuke .? — So, Sir, j-ou too 
 are come to sit in judgment upon your father? 
 •^Oh, not so ! my Lord, but to humble myself 
 at your feet; to implore your permission to visit 
 this amiable young lady; to esteem, to love, to 
 adore her. The youth threw himself down, and 
 kneeled beside me. We both wept, and looked 
 
 with supplicating eyes up to my Lord D . 
 
 He looked at us, till his heart relented ; his lips 
 quivered; his eyes overflowed. — There is no 
 bearing this! said he; it calls me tyrant! can I 
 spurn my kneeling children .-' Oh God, I can- 
 not do it! Oh my son; my daughter. — Vour 
 
 daughter! said Lord B ; is it possible! can 
 
 this dear lady be my sister ! — I sobbed, and 
 
faiuli'd away. When I recovered, I found my- 
 tselt" between my father and brother, with an arm 
 of each round my waist. — Sophia, my dear child, 
 said my father. — My tears now relieved me, and 
 I spoke. — Oh, my father ! my brother ! do you 
 Gc/iHoWerfge your Sophia? — It is all over, said 
 
 Lord D : two children have in one minute, 
 
 overset the purpose of many years. My son, 
 this lady is indeed your sister, and my legitimate 
 daughter; since I am obliged to acknowledge 
 her, I will not do it by halves. — I kneeled again; 
 I blessed, thanked, and prayed for him. He 
 raised and embraced me fervently.— Forgive me, 
 my child! I have not done you justice, but I 
 will endeavour to discharge my duty better 
 hereafter. — We all three wept, and renewed our 
 acknowledgements. It was half an hour before 
 we recovered from our emotion. Then Lord 
 X) related briefly to his son, the circum- 
 stances of his first marriage. — " The punish- 
 ment of my deceiving my father was severe, said 
 he : it cost me the life of my wife." — I took no- 
 tice of the application of his own case, to ttat 
 of his son. He told him in general terras the 
 loss of my mother, and my being put under the 
 ■care of !Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.— " But I did not 
 wholly desert my child, said he; I settled a sum 
 of money on her; I entrusted her to the care of 
 the best of men and of women. 
 
'' After I had performed my duties to m\ de- 
 parted wife, I remembered those that I owed to 
 a living father. After a year's mourning, I mar- 
 ried the h\dy whom my father had chosen for 
 
 me; which was your mother, my dear B . 
 
 I never had any reason to repent this engage- 
 ment, nor I beUeve has Lady D ■ When 
 your sister was very young, I contracted her to 
 the son of the worthy pair who took the charge 
 of her; and by this tie, I intended to reward 
 their tenderness to Sophia. When they grew 
 up, the engagement was accepted by the parties 
 concerned. Since that time, circumstances have 
 varied greatly. Young Bennet died before his 
 father, of the consequence of an unfortunate ac- 
 cident. Mr. Bennet survived but little more 
 than a year; his daughter is married into an- 
 other family : and thus, by a series of accidental 
 circumstances, Sophia has stood in need of a 
 pi'otector. She has found one in Mr. Saville^ 
 who has offered her his heart, hand, and for- 
 tune, without knowing her birth and parentage. 
 Was it not so, my dear? or did he know them, 
 before he declared himself your lover?" 
 
 No, indeed, my Lord. Mr. Saville knew not 
 my history, but in consequence of Iiis ofier to 
 me.— Verj well, m.y child; but I must in justice 
 to myself assure you, that after wliat you have 
 told me of this gentlemaa'a gallant behaviour 
 
335 
 
 towards you, I had resolved to pay my acknow- 
 ledgments to him, and to make him some amends 
 for it; and this, before I came to a resolution, 
 to acknowledge you publicly for my daughter.— 
 I thank your Lordship for this generous assur- 
 ance, which I receive wholly as your bounty, 
 and not as any claim of mine. — " My dear child> 
 you have a lawful claim upon me; and I will 
 never again give you cause to doubt my affection. 
 
 " But there is still a great difficulty in the 
 way of my declaring you mine to all my family. 
 Your mother, Sir, was proposed to me before I 
 was married to Sophia's mother; I preferred 
 her, and married her privately, to avoid tlue 
 other lady. 
 
 " This is the true reason why I never had the 
 courage to declare my first marriage; and this 
 reason ^till subsists: for the date of Sophia's 
 birth discovers the secret, which I have so long, 
 and so carefully concealed from my wife. 
 
 " Now you, my young counsellors, who have 
 driven me to this dilemma, try if you can help 
 me out of it," 
 
 Oh, my Lord, said I, this generous frankness 
 overwhelms me with love and gratitude ! Per- 
 mit me to answer it. I never wished to be a 
 sharer in your rank and fortune; it was only 
 your paternal affection, of which I so ardently 
 desired to partake. It was the friendship <ig[ this 
 
336 
 amiable youth, that I aspired to, without the 
 least view to any other advantages. 
 
 My Lord, let the secret rest with those who 
 ah'cady know it; honour INIr. Saville with your 
 notice and favour ; he will, I am sure, preserve 
 it inviolably: I renounce all pretensions to your 
 rank or fortune, only call me your child in pri- 
 vate, and sometimes honour me with your pre- 
 sence. These, my Lord, are all the wishes and 
 all the hopes of your Sophia. 
 
 Noble-minded Sophia ! generous child ! said 
 Lord D ' ; I acknowledge your merit, and 
 your dutiful resignation to me; but I must not 
 be overcome by your generosity; the time for 
 concealment is past, and I will now acknowledge 
 my child in the face of the world, and shew them 
 that I am proud of her^ 
 
 Again I kneeled and kissed his hand. Lord 
 
 B poured forth his acknowledgements for 
 
 his father's goodness to me ; he offered to give 
 up a part of what his father designed for him, to 
 add to his sister's fortune. — I refused it, and 
 told him I was rich in his affections, and desired 
 no other wealth. 
 
 Lord D applauded us both, and said, 
 
 This evening had given liim such pain and plea- 
 sure, that he could hardly sustain such strong 
 emotions. 
 
337 
 
 Let us, my childrcfn, finish this interesting 
 subject. Pray, my dear, where is Mr. Saville i 
 
 My Lord, he lodges in this street, and is fre- 
 quently here. — Perhaps he may be in the house 
 at this moment — be so good to enquire ! 
 
 I rang the bell, and the servant came in.— Is 
 ^Ir. Saville below with the ladies ?•— He is, Ma- 
 dam.— Give my compliments, and desire him to 
 walk up stairs. He withdrew. 
 
 Mr. Saville came immediately. I presented 
 
 him to Lord D , who took his hand, and 
 
 embraced him.— Sir, I am desirous to acknow- 
 ledge my obligations to you on this dear ciiild's 
 account ; for her obligations are mine. — " Let 
 me intreat you, my Lord, not to mention that 
 word again. If you honour me with your notice 
 and approbation; if this dear lady deigns to 
 listen to my vows, to accept the services of my 
 whole life, I shall think myself the happiest of 
 men ; I have nothing more to ask or wish." 
 
 Yes, you have still a further claim upon me, - 
 and for God's sake, Sir, do not think me so in- 
 sensible, and hard-hearted, as to refuse to So- 
 phia the rights and claims of so deserving a 
 child! Let me have the pleasure of joining your 
 hands. He did so; we both kneeled to hiin^ 
 and he blessed Xis. We returned his blessings 
 with tears.— Sir, said he, I know your generous 
 ofi'er; but Sophia has a right to a much larger 
 
338 
 portion of my fortune. — I beg, I beseech yon, 
 my Lord, not to mention it; it is Sophia that I 
 love for her own sake; I want no addition to her 
 fortune. 
 
 " A generous mind, Sir, should not accept 
 all that a generous mind offers. I had my pri- 
 vate reasons, INIr. Saville, for declining to own 
 this young lady to my own family; thcv are now 
 over-ruled; I acknowledge her to all the world.'* 
 •^ — Mr. Saville was overwhelmed with joy and 
 gratitude, and could only express it in broken 
 accents. As soon as the Earl quitted him, Lord 
 
 B rushed into his arms ; called him friend 
 
 and brother, and hoped he would allow his 
 claim. Saville was transported; he returned 
 the dear youth's caresses, in accents of rapture. 
 
 Lord D desired us to be composed, and 
 
 listen to him. — There is one more person whom 
 I wish to see, before I leave this house ; it is the 
 mistress of it. 
 
 I will fetch her this moment, said Mr. Saville. 
 He flew down stairs. While he was gone, Lord 
 
 D said, Does Mrs. Barclay also know my 
 
 secret? Do not be frightened, Sophia; I will 
 not be angry with you any more. 
 
 No, my Lord, said I; I never told it to any 
 one, nor wished it known to any one, whom it 
 did not immediately concern. — I am glad of it, 
 for I shall have the pleasure to declare it my- 
 
339 
 self. — When Mrs. Barclay came in, my Lord 
 addressed her with respect and politeness. He 
 thanked her for her kindness and hospitality to 
 bis child ; whom he again acknowledged in the 
 fullest manner. She expressed surprise and 
 pleasure; she congratulated me, and all the 
 company present. 
 
 It grows late. — ITe looked at his watch. — I 
 must be going. — Mr. Saville, I shall expect to 
 see you soon. — I\Iy Lord, I will do myself the 
 honour to wait on you in a day or two. As soort 
 as I can get the writings of my estates, I will 
 deposit them in your Lordship's hands; and beg 
 of you to direct- the settlements. 
 
 I will accept the trust, Sir; and will deserve 
 your contidence. 
 
 He then saluted me affectionately, and wished 
 me good-night. He took leave of JMrs. Barclay. 
 
 Lord B did the same. Mr. Saville attended 
 
 them to the coach; and at his return, our com- 
 pliments and rejoicings were renewed; Elliott 
 and his Fanny joined us. 
 
 We sat together till a late hour, and at last 
 parted reluctantly. I shall send this letter by 
 the next post; I cannot confine my joy in my 
 own heart, I must communicate it to my friends. 
 Rejoice with me, oh my dear mamma Bennet ! 
 my heart's beloved sister Anna! my worthy 
 brother Selby ! 
 
 « 5 
 
340 
 I am at this moment the happiest creature iq 
 the world. I pray God to make me grateful 
 and worthy of it. I am ever yours. 
 
 Sophia. 
 
 LETTER XXXVI. 
 
 MR. SELBY TO EDWARD SAVILLE, ESQ. 
 
 Jov to Edward Saville, my chosen friend and 
 brother ! — Joy to the lovely Sophia, my Anna's 
 sister and mine, and the daughter of my ho- 
 noured mother, Mrs. Bennet ! 
 
 We do nothing but gossip over our mutual 
 congratulations, and repeat what we have said 
 ten times before. You have no friends, no re- 
 lations, that are more interested in your ha,ppi- 
 ness, than those in the village of S . 
 
 Now to business. — ^The lady Calypso has left 
 her island. She decamped silently last Thurs- 
 day- at .night, and has escaped the storm that 
 threatened her. Tiie bailiffs were to have en- 
 tered the house in a day or two, but she has 
 prevented them, which I am not sorry for. I 
 ^'ish she may find friends among her disciples 
 that will help her out of her troubles. I do not 
 wish her to suffer the least distress, only just 
 enough to awaken her to remorse and repen- 
 tance for her crimes. 
 
541 
 
 And now, my dear friend, I will open to yoa 
 a favourite project of mine; my wife and mother 
 are in transports "at the thoaglrts of it. If it be 
 not agreeable to you, at least it will prove the 
 sincerity of our affection to you and our dear 
 Sophia. 
 
 You have expressed a wish to settle in our 
 neighbourhood; it is now in your power to do 
 so. — I will, if you authorize me, apply to the as- 
 signees of the late Mr. Playford, for the house 
 Lady Belmour has just qviitted- They will be 
 glad to dispose of it for the remainder of the 
 children's minority. Such of the goods as were 
 hers, I can purchase of her creditors at a fair 
 valuation; and in that case you will have a 
 house ready to receive you and your lady, as 
 soon as you shall choose to leave London, 
 Pray let me know your pleasure as soon as pos- 
 sible, and I wilt not lose a minute in negociating 
 this business for you. 
 
 And now I have provided an house for you, 
 Sir ; I will try to obtain one for Mr. Elliott and 
 his lad}'. I will use my influence to persuade 
 my mother to come and live wholly at the Par- 
 sonage, and let her house to ]\lr. Elliott. If 
 both my schemes should succeed, I shall have 
 drawn a circle of neighbours round me, that 
 will form a rational society, and be the happiest 
 spot of ground in the three kingdoms. 
 q3 
 
342 
 
 What s«ays my friend to this scheme of life ? 
 has it any charms for him ? or, has London 
 given him a taste for her luxuries ? and does 
 Nature hold out her charms in vain ? I fear I 
 shall not have the pleasure to join your hands; 
 if it could be, I should enjoy it most ardently; 
 but if the father's presence will sanctify the 
 union, I resign my wish cheerfully, and will re- 
 joice at the transfer. 
 
 My wife writes to Sophia*; but I send my re- 
 spects to my aunt by your hands, and hope, 
 when you visit us, she will accompany you ; and 
 give me an opportunity of paying my acknow- 
 ledgments to her, for her kindness and hospi- 
 tality to my beloved friends. 
 
 I am, dear Sir, yours faithfully. 
 
 G. Selb.T* 
 
 LETTER XXXVIL 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO THE REV. MR. SELBY. 
 MY DEAR FRIEND, 
 
 Your letter demands an immediate answer. I 
 thank you most fervently for your wishes in 
 my behalf 1 I accept your good offices, and beg- 
 that you will immediately begin your treaty for 
 
 . * This letter do«s not appear. 
 
3\3 
 
 Lady lielmour's house, I am like one tran- 
 sported on the wings of imagination into the 
 regions of Arcadia. Oh, my friend, words can- 
 not express my sense of the delightful prospect 
 you have opened to my view; hasten to realize 
 it, and let me hasten to enjoy it! 
 
 I will give 3'ou some account of my interview 
 with Mr. Munden. j\|y last visit had left him 
 in displeasure with me; and the traces of it, 
 appeared on his countenance. — He said, What 
 brings you here, Sir ? I thought you had done 
 with me, as I have with you. — I answered, Duty 
 and gratitude bring me here. Sir. Mr. Brere- 
 wood informs me that I owe you many acknow- 
 ledgments for your care of my fortune; that you 
 have been a good guardian to me. My first care 
 is to pay my grateful thanks to you. My second 
 business is to inform you, that I am going to be 
 
 married to a daughter of the earl of D , and 
 
 that I desire your permission to put the wr.tings 
 of my estates into his lordship's hands — Mr. Mun- 
 den's features relaxed ; he looked astonished.— 
 
 You are going to be married to the earl of D '& 
 
 daughter ! — " Sir, Mr. Brerewood shall be ena-- 
 bled to satisfy you of it.^-^Weil, Sir, I did not 
 mean to infer that I doubted your veracity.— 
 But — but— to say truth, I did not think you had 
 bpirit enough to look up to such an alliance. 
 
 The dajightqr of Lord D ! Yes, he hds a 
 
 Q 4 
 
large estate and great interest, but then be has 
 a large family too— But then his interest! Yes, 
 he may be of great service to you. Well, Sir, 
 the writings are in Mr. Moretou's hands, Chan- 
 cery-lane; and you may have them when you 
 please. 
 
 I begged him to gi^re me an order to receive 
 them from Mr. Morcton. He consented. He 
 called for pen and ink, and wrote a note to Mr. 
 Moreton. Then holding out his hand, V/ell, 
 Edward, and so you wish to be friends with me? 
 . — I do, Sir, but not with any interested view.— 
 Well then, give me thy hand. — I did so — " Upon 
 my soul, Edward, thou art improved ! Love 
 makes a man. I see it plainly. If you will ac- 
 qviaint me with your proceedings — why — you 
 shall not repent it — tiiat is all.'' 
 
 I told him I would soon wait on him again ; 
 but that at this time I wa.5 in haste. I took my 
 leave, and hastened to Chancery-lane ; saw the 
 writings safe in l\Ir, Breicwood's hands; and 
 then liastened away to Southwark to the wed- 
 ding. The ceremony was over before I arrived; 
 and I ex< used myself for not being present, 
 being engaged in preparation for business of the 
 same kinc'. A large company of the friends of 
 the new-married pair were present. Mr. Jones 
 was then; his daughter presented him to me; 
 he thanked me for the services I had rendered 
 
345 
 to his daughter Susan. I stopped him short, 
 and saidy I had more than equal obligation to 
 her. The bride looked very serious; but the 
 company were lively, and dispelled her melan- 
 choly, of which they knew not the cause ; but I 
 did full well. 
 
 John Barton was in high spirits, and proud of 
 his bride; I told them of my own happy pro- 
 spects, and of Elliott's approaching nuptials; 
 and increased their mirth and festivity. 
 
 I took an opportunity of informing the bride, 
 of Lady Relmour's situation.; and of Mr. Scl- 
 by's endeavour to procure her house for me ; 
 she rejoiced at both. I shall often think of you 
 there, Madam, said I; and I will hope one day 
 to see you tliere.— Oh no, Sir! said she; never 
 will I be seea there again; some ill-natured or 
 unlucky person might recollect me, to my eternal 
 confusion. All my wish is now to fall into a dif- 
 ferent class of people, and never to be seen or 
 known by any of the circle that knew me for« 
 merly. I will endeavour to deserve my present 
 lot, . and to merit the worthy mart who has 
 placed me in a respectable situation.. 
 
 I honour you. Madam, for these sentiments ; 
 1 am certaia that you will- deserve your lot, and. 
 do credit to >our husband. The wedding folk* 
 insisted upon our dancing among them; we 
 could not get away before twelve o'clock, nofi- 
 d 5 
 
U6 
 
 then without much difficulty, and with a pfbmisC 
 to visit them again. The ladies at Mrs. Bar- 
 clay's refused to admit us, but sent us word it 
 was time for sober people to go to bed, whither 
 they were going ; so we were forced to go to our 
 lodgings, without paying our duty, and asking 
 blessing. 
 
 Sophia is making a pacquetto send to S— — -; 
 but I will not wait for it, lest any thing should 
 interfere between us and the treaty for the 
 house. 
 
 With the most grateful sense of your friend- 
 ship and good offices, 
 
 I am, dear Sir, 
 
 ever yours aftectionately, 
 
 Edwaud Saville. 
 
 LETTER XXXVIIl. 
 
 MISS MELCOMBE TO MRS. SELBY. 
 
 With a heart overflowing. with happiness, your 
 Sophia contiuues her narration. The day after 
 the solemn interview, I received a note from tlie 
 Earl himself, desiring to know how I did, after 
 the emotions i had sustained. I returned an 
 answer expressive of my duty and affection; the 
 same day, Mr. Saville called on him in Grosve- 
 jioy-squarCj with the same tender enquiries, 
 3 
 
347" 
 
 On Thurriday morning Lord B ■■ — called oa 
 me ; he said, he came by his own inclination, 
 and by his father's permission, to see how I was ; 
 and also to thank, me for every pai-t of rny con- 
 duct respecting himself. 
 
 I answered Lord B with assurances of 
 
 my eternal gratitude and affection: our conver- 
 sation was long; in the course of it, I asked 
 him if Lord D— — had yet mentioned me to 
 his lady. I believe not, said he ; it is a task 
 upon my father ; but I am certain he will per- 
 form his promise to you. 
 
 Lord B asked me for the particulars of 
 
 my adventure with Lord S ; in telling my 
 
 own story, I told that of my friend Frances; our 
 deliverance; Mr. Elliott's share of it; his pas- 
 sion for Fanny; the consequences of it; and the 
 present situation of these lovers. He desired I 
 ■M^<)uld introduce him to all my friends, that he 
 miglit know them. Lord B — — staid till three 
 o'clock before he departed. 
 . XiOfd D has honoured me with a morn- 
 ing visit. He made tender enquiries after my 
 health, and expressed great satisfaction in every • 
 part of my behaviour; and likewise in the af- 
 fection of Lord B and me, towards each 
 
 other. 
 
 Ke t■i^ea told me, that Mr. Saville had put 
 q6 
 
348 
 
 the writings of his estate into his hands, and that 
 he had given directions to his iawyer concerning 
 the settlements. Mr. Saville is impatient to cali 
 you his. I have consented to your union; and 
 I hope you will not make unnecessary delay, 
 my Sophia. — I bowed in silence. 
 
 Lord D then took out a very handsome 
 
 pocket-book— Take this, my Sophia; in it you 
 will find what is wanting for the necessary 
 preparation for your marriage. Mrs. Barclay 
 will favour you with her assistance, so will your 
 other friend ; she is a very fine young woman, 
 and I like her spirit. 
 
 I am desired to hasten you, in order that both 
 mairiages may Vje solemnized the same day.— My 
 Lord, said I, that can hardly be.— He smiled; 
 Not hardly y Sophia! there is no hardship in the 
 case; but gently, and kindly, and speedily, let 
 it be ! I know how you young ladies behave in 
 these cases ; but a father'.s wishes will, I know, 
 prevail with )ou!— His wishes, my Lord, are 
 commands with me. I know it, my dear girl.— 
 and especially, when his commands are the ac- 
 complishment of your own wishes. 
 
 I will soon introduce you to the rest of your 
 relations, but I must first make smooth the 
 way for you. 1 kissed his hand in thankfulness; 
 he embraced me, and took his leave for the 
 
3i9 
 morning. Lord D-^— is a most engaging man; 
 I love, revere, and admire him, more than I can 
 express. 
 
 A noble present, my dear Anna! Bank-notes 
 for five hundred pounds, for my preparations. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay and Miss Freewill are in tran- 
 sports at my father's kindness and geaeiosity, 
 and at his hurrying orders too. 
 
 Mr. Saville has been here, and I have com- 
 plained of his precipitation, and his cunning 
 in getting my father on his side. He claimed 
 the benefit of my father's influence, and the 
 ladies declared in his favour; every one is against 
 me, and all resolved to promote this double ce- 
 lebration. The coach is ordered, and we are 
 going about these preparations. Mrs. Barclay 
 is as much pleased with this bustle, as if it wa$. 
 upon her own account. • 
 
 I am in raptures at the explanation of Mr. 
 Selby's mystery: oh, my dearest friend! shall I 
 indeed be so happy as to live within reach of 
 you and my des^r mamma? shall I see you con- 
 tinually, advise with you, communicate all my 
 joys and griefs t6 you, and share yours in re- 
 turn ? This will be the crown of my happiness, 
 and I shall have nothing more to wish or pray 
 for, but a heart grateful to heavt n for such in- 
 estimable blessings as are now iu prospect be* 
 fore me, 
 
 2 
 
350 
 
 I liave just had a morning visit from Lord 
 B— — , my sweet brother! how precious is every 
 proof of his afiection to me! After some agree- 
 able conversation, he took a shagreen-case out 
 of his poclvet, and opening it, I saw a very hand- 
 some pair of bracelets; and in the centre of one 
 of them, his own dear image, done by a capital 
 hand. — Will )Ou, my dear sister, said he, honour 
 nie so far as to wear these for my sake ? — I ex- 
 claimed, The honour is mine! but the pleasure 
 exceeds it greatly, — He then kissed my hands, 
 and bowed most gracefully. I returned the same 
 homage to the dear picture. He was delighted. 
 —You "wili remember me when you look on this 
 shadow, gaid he. — 1 do not want this to remind 
 me of you, my Lord. You encourage me by 
 your amiable goodness, said he, to request a 
 favour in return. — Any thing in my power, my 
 Lord, you may cou.mand. — He bowed: It is 
 that you v»ill sit to the same artist; and let me 
 have the happiness to converse with your sha- 
 dow, wh*:n I cannot see the substance. — Vou 
 honour me too much, my Lord, but at the same 
 time 1 will have another copy taken, lor a dear 
 friend of mine. 
 
 Now do not expect me to tell you for Xb^Jiont 
 this other copy is desigutd: 1 shall not tell you 
 tU(l some time hence, I cannot say how long. 
 >ly Lord B— *— said a thousand poUte and 
 
351 
 
 ©biiuuig things to me, which encouraged me tc{ 
 ask liiin several interesting questions concerning 
 his mother, his brothers, and sisters — ^Take no- 
 tice, said he, that I insist upon the first place 
 in your affections. My eldest sister, Amelia, is 
 a fine girl, but she is proud and high-spirited; 
 the younger, Louisa, is not so handsome, but 
 more amiable; you will love her, and she you: 
 she is my favourite. My brother George is like 
 Amelia, proud and haughty, but generous and 
 friendly. My youngest brother, Lionel, is a 
 lovely boy, about twelve years old, and the dar- 
 ling of all the family; he is at school. George 
 has just got a commission in the army, I will 
 say nothing cf my mother to prepossess you ; 
 she is a good wife and mother, and very soli- 
 citous for her children's future establishment. 
 But I believe I am the least ambitious oJ the fa-. 
 nnly. — Mr. Saville came in betore Lord B 
 went away; they were equally giad to meet 
 each other; they conversed on several subjects, 
 and I had the pleasure to observe the same goo^- 
 principles, and the same right judgment, in 
 
 both. Lord B stayed till near dinner-time, 
 
 and then seemed to leave us reluctantly. 
 
 ]^Ir. Saville is contiiiually here. Mr. Brerewood 
 called oa Mr. Saville to-day: he tells him that 
 Lady Belmour has thrown herself into the liber- 
 
ties of the King's Bench, and laughs at her 
 creditors. 
 
 Miss Freewill has shewn me some beautiful 
 lockets of huir in various elegant designs; she 
 has given me a taste for them. I must have 
 something of this kind to present as keep-sakes, 
 for so she calls them. She and I are to ex- 
 change one of these trinkets; and I shall order 
 something of this kind for Mrs. Barclay. 
 
 Lord D has written to Mr. Saville, de- 
 
 siring him not to order an equipage; he has 
 bespoke a chariot and horses for the parade of 
 our nuptials. Mr. Saville has paid his acknow- 
 ledgements; but he says be will have a plain 
 eoacli for use and convenience, and that our 
 friends in the country may have their share of 
 it. My heart thanks him for this thought, and 
 my friends will love him for it. 
 
 I am going to fit clothes, and to spend time, 
 and more money at the shrine of Fashion; but 
 I look forward to a time of leisure and re- 
 flexion, when I shall endeavour to atone for the 
 hours thus spent; and employ ihe remainder of 
 my time to better purpose. I will now con- 
 clude this letter, with my heart's wishes and 
 regards to my dear mother and sister. 
 
 Sophia. 
 
LETTER XXXIX. 
 
 MISii MGLCOMBC TO MRS. SELBY. 
 
 I HAVE spent a whole morning in sitting for my- 
 picture. 
 
 Lord B— — attended us to Mr. , and 
 
 came home with us; Mrs. Barclay asked him to 
 dine with us; he accepted the invitation, and 
 sent a note to his father to excuse his absence 
 at home. 
 
 In the evening he took his leave before tea; 
 saying, He had business of a particular kind, 
 and perhaps might return again. 
 
 In about an hour and half we heard a violent 
 rap at the door, that bade us expect visitors. 
 Mrs. Barchiy had ordered her servant to deny 
 her to all chance visitors, and wondered who it 
 
 could be. Presently Lord B entered the room, 
 
 leading a young lady of a most amiable aspect, 
 and genteel person. He presented her to me by 
 
 the name of Lady Louisa B ; and me to her 
 
 by the appellation of Lady Sophia, which he 
 had never used before. We embraced each 
 other, and made the usual compliments. Lord 
 B apologized to Mrs. Barclay, for present- 
 ing his sister first to me. Lady Louisa paid hei^ 
 compliments to Mrs. Barclay and the company 
 
3i!4. 
 and Lord B' ■ led her into conversation witti 
 us. She is a fine young lady, not handsome, 
 but perfectly genteel and amiable. She expressed 
 a desire of being better acquainted with me, 
 which I most sincerely returned. I said, My 
 Lord, you can best inform me, whether I am 
 likely to have that honour and happiness.-— The 
 ice is broke, said he: be not impatient, my dear 
 sister; you will soon be presented to all the fa- 
 mily; my father permits Louisa fo visit you with 
 me this evening. 
 
 A new dress is brought home, on purpose for 
 me to appear in, when I am presented to Lady 
 D— — . I actually dread it. I fear I shall ap- 
 pear awkv/ard and confused before her, and even 
 xny modesty will lessen me in her opinion; how- 
 ever, I will exert all the courage in my power, 
 and endeavour to behave with some spirit upon 
 the occasion, as if I thought myself not unwor- 
 tliy to claim the right of a child in my own fa- 
 ther. 
 
 Lord B and his sister took their leave 
 
 before supper. Mrs. Barclay is to have a grand 
 rout to-morrow; I wish to be excused being at 
 it, but I am not allowed; all our company are 
 to be present, and to be stared at as contracted 
 lovers, for every body that comes here is toI(i 
 our situation. 
 
 Mrs. Barclay calls me Lady So})hia; but I 
 
3^5 
 
 liiive abselutely forbad the title to be used by 
 her, and all our own circle of friends; and I 
 
 forbid it to all those in the village of S ; I 
 
 would only wish to hear it from Lord D 's fa^ 
 
 mily, as it sets me upon an equal seat with my 
 proud relations. 
 
 I\Irs. Barcla^-'s rout is over, and I never de- 
 sire to see another. 
 
 As a spectator, I was entertained ; and could 
 have laughed at the company's expence, as very 
 probably they did at mine. I was wicked enough 
 to take two designs in my pocket-book. I have 
 copied them, and I send them for your enter- 
 tainment: you will think their dress and air ex- 
 aggerated, but you will be mistaken ; they are 
 only modelled by the standard of fashion. 
 
 A note from the Earl of D— — , with the sum- 
 mons I both wish and fear. 
 
 " Lord and Lady D 's compliments to 
 
 Mrs. Barclay and all her guests, and desire the 
 favour of their company next Thursday to din* 
 iier." 
 
 Mr. Elliott complains of the slowness of our 
 proceedings, and I of their hastiness. Saville 
 complains of my reserve to him; and, in short, 
 we are all dissatisfied. Oh, that this bustle was 
 all over, and I were with you at the Parsonage ! 
 these men are never satisfied. Mrs. Barclay is 
 the most obliging of women; we give her an iu- 
 
356 
 
 lanity of trouble; but she says. She takes plea- 
 sure in it, and she really appears to do so. If 
 I am so happy to have a house of my own, P 
 shall urge her to give me her company, and see 
 me settled in it. 
 
 Miss Freewill enjoys the parade of new clothes- 
 and ornaments, and she has no objection to a 
 town life: but she has not had the advantage of 
 a Mrs. Bennet to instruct her youth, and to 
 teach her how to distinguish between the real 
 comforts of life, and the vanities and parade of 
 it. I have no merit in knowing better how to 
 estimate them, for I only utter my miimma's 
 opinions in my own words; but her opinions are 
 truly mine, and I hope will be so as long as I 
 live. 
 
 I am called down stairs to receive my share 
 of a visit from some ladies who profess a great 
 regard for me, and are desirous of my company ; 
 but who, if I judge rightly, will, in three days 
 after I leave town, forget that they ever saw me. 
 
 Adieu for the present, my dearest friend. 
 
 Sophia B— —- 
 
 LETTER XL. 
 
 MR. SAVIXLE TO MR. SELBV. 
 
 jMy heart's treasure, my beloved Sophia, writes 
 continually to Mrs. Selby; I shall therefore outj 
 
357 
 
 speak of such things as make no part of her 
 letters. 
 
 I have seen Mr. Munden again : he was in a 
 very bad humour, and wanted somebody to vent 
 it upon; he questioned me concerning Lady 
 Behnour's past and present situation : he said, 
 Some enemy of her Ladyship's had stirred up her 
 creditors to take the step they had lately taken, 
 and he wished he knew who it was; perhaps I 
 could inform him ? — I said, " all that I knew 
 was, that she had been called upon to pay her 
 Just debts; that I saw nothing surprising in it, 
 for that though it was out of fashion in London 
 to pay tradesmen, it was still customary in the 
 <:ounti"y."— That is like your saucy remarks, Sir; 
 but Lady Belmour will find friends to assist her. 
 She talks of disposing of the lease of her house 
 there, I hear.— So much the better, said I, for 
 the village will have a happy riddance of her. 
 
 The settlements are getting ready under Lord 
 X) 's directions, and I am making every pre- 
 paration for the day that will fix me the happiest 
 of men. Sophia is employed in the same manner. 
 
 She resigns her will to her noble father, who 
 is now the kindest of parents; she consents to 
 give her hand to her adoring Saville ; but still she 
 is cold and reserved to me; she keeps me at the 
 greatest distance, and is offended if I use the 
 least degree of familiarity. I am mortified, and 
 
358 
 
 sometimes distressed, at her behaviour. — Will 
 you pity me, my friend ? or will you laugh at 
 me ? — I suspect the latter. 
 
 You will tell me, that I am a self-tormentor; 
 but if these thoughts arise in a too tender heart, 
 how can I help it? My whole heart, and all its 
 hopes and wishes, are absorbed in one pursuit, 
 in my Sophia ; and if my love is returned with 
 coldness and indifference, can I be satisfied- 
 can I be happy? I open my heart to you: ad- 
 vise me, comfort me, reprove me ; I will be 
 thankful for your admonitions. 
 
 After all, Sophia gives me her hand freely ; 
 she presented me to ber father; she acknow- 
 ledged esteem for me. I will accept her hand 
 with transport, and trust to my tender and af- 
 fectionate behaviour to make me an interest in 
 her heart. I hope soon to be enabled to tell 
 you my happy day. I hope to spend my Christ- 
 ruas with you. Sophia wishes to return to her 
 dear village, and dearer friends; and her plea- 
 sure is a law to me. 
 
 I urn always, dear Sir, 
 Yours, aftectionately, 
 
 Edavaud Savilli>; 
 
359 
 LETTER XLI. 
 
 Ma. SELBY TO EDWARD SAVILLE, ESQ. 
 
 I ANSWER your letter immediately, to acquaint 
 you that I am doing all in my power for your 
 service here, and that your last manoeuvre is of 
 equal use; for Lady Belmour has actually the 
 lease of the house in her possession, and may 
 dispose of it to another, if she can make any 
 advantage of it; therefore lose no time in ob- 
 taining it. Offer her a premium, nay, offer to 
 pay the arrears of the rent, rather than let it 
 escape you; at the same time, be careful to con- 
 ceal your name; let her not suspect you are the 
 person. As soon as you have finished your 
 treaty, let me know it, and I will take posses- 
 sion for you. jNIy wife and mother will give 
 me their assistance, to regulate your household, 
 and prepare for your reception. 
 
 And now for the other part of your letter. I 
 am in doubt whether to reprove or to laugh at 
 you — you deserve both; but, in my opinion, 
 Q, serious reproof is likely to be of the most ser- 
 vice, especially to a tender and sensible mind. 
 
 Sophia acknowledges you to her father, as a 
 favoured lover; she avows her regard for you; 
 she consents to go with you to the altar. What 
 more would you have.> Her behaviour is ex* 
 
3^0 
 
 actly what it ought to be; that dehcate and 
 chaiming retenu'e, is calculated to inspire you 
 with that respect, which should ever attend a 
 passion that is to be the foundation of the liap- 
 piness of your future life. She is not the play- 
 thiniJ of your idle hours, but the companion 
 and friend of your more serious ones ; the mis- 
 tress of your house ; the mother of your children 
 »— sacred and venerable ties! Those who ap- 
 proach the altar with due respect, are the most- 
 likely to preserve sacred the \ov;s they there 
 make before the Great Author of their being 
 and happiness. 
 
 With this lesson I conclude, and am always- 
 
 yours truly, 
 
 G, Selby. 
 
 LETTER XLII. 
 
 MISS MELCOMBE TO MRS. SELBY. 
 
 Rejoice with me, my dearest Anna! One of 
 the days I most dreaded is past. 
 
 Yesterday was, upon the whole, a happy day 
 to me; yet it was not without its allay. — I will 
 give you particulars. 
 
 About two o'clock Lord B— — came to fetch 
 me: he was richly drest, to do honour to me 
 and my friends; he is more amiable than hand- 
 
561 
 
 some, but he looks benevolent, andh as the smile 
 of an angel. He said every thing that could 
 encourage me to meet his mother without {car. 
 
 I was inquisitive. — He bade me fear nothing, 
 for that his father had found the certificate of 
 his first marriage, till when. Lady D per- 
 sisted in thinking me an illegitimate child ; and 
 Lord D was obliged to explain every cir- 
 cumstance of time, place, and manner, which 
 gave her some chagriuj but made her more com- 
 pilable afterwards. 
 
 I asked for further particulars. — lie smiled. — 
 Ah, Sophia ! you are one of Eve's daughter?. 
 — I can only tell you what I saw and heard ; for 
 I was present when the certificate was produced. 
 My mother frowned, and said there was no oc- 
 casion for me to be present.— I offered to with- 
 draw, but my father called me Back, and gave 
 the paper into my hand. Perhaps, Sir, said he, 
 you may have doubts, but this will convince 
 you. 
 
 My Lord, I want no other proof than your 
 word: I should be unpardonable to doubt what- 
 ever you affirm. — Melhinks, said my mother,, • 
 you need not compliment one parent, at an- 
 other's expence. — ^That is not my intention, said 
 I ; but when you see my sister, and know her 
 merit, I am certain your Ladyship will excuse 
 nie. — My father behaved kindly and tenderly to , 
 
 R 
 
362 
 
 us both. He praised my mother ; he -spoke teiv« 
 derly of her children : and reconciled her by his 
 endearments, to himseh", and to her son; and 
 she has since been more easy and satislied.—- = 
 By this accoant, I found that Lord D ■ had 
 trouble enough to smooth the umy for vie, which 
 was his own expression. 
 
 I\lr. Elliott and Miss Freewill, Mrs* Barclay 
 and Mr. Saville, came to us, handsomely dressed 
 •for the occasion. 
 
 For my part, I was surprised at my own 
 figure in the glass, and thought it was some 
 ether person. — This is not Sophia Melcombe, 
 said I to myself. Who is it then? Lady Sophia 
 B- '• Oh, I am your Ladyship's most obe- 
 dient humble servant ! But I do not like you 
 half so well as my old acquaintance. What then 
 is become of Sophia Melcombe.'' the beloved 
 name, which belonged to that amiable woman, 
 who loved her husband well enough to sacrifice 
 lier life, to preserve the secret of her marriage. 
 Ever dear, ever venerable, is that name, and 
 that recollection; it is enshrined in my memory, 
 once and for ever. 
 
 When our company were all ready, Lord 
 
 E observed that there were five of us, which 
 
 was one too many for the coach. 
 
 Will you, my dear Mr. Saville, permit me to 
 ask the favour of my dear sister's company ia 
 
363 
 
 tlic chariot with me? — My Lord, ai'.swered Mr.' 
 Saville, I freely resign her to you, and I am 
 never more happy than when we are honoured 
 with your company. 
 
 Lord B offered his hand to me, Saville 
 
 led Mrs. Barclay, Elliott his mistress, into the 
 carriages; and we set off for Grosvenor-square. 
 
 I w^as in flutters all the way: Lord B ^ said 
 
 every thing kind and encouraging, but my heart 
 was too much for my reason to govern. 
 
 When we arrived at the house, I trembled 
 exceedingly. Lord B— — turned my attention 
 to every thing that fell in our way ; he led me 
 into the drawing-room — the Earl met us; he 
 saluted me tenderly, and encouraged me. — Let 
 me present my daughter to her mother, said he. 
 —So saying, he led me to his Lady. I kneeled 
 to her; she raised and saluted me in silence. — 
 She is indeed a fine woman; but there is a pride 
 and dignity in her appearance, that strikes me 
 with awe and distance. 
 
 Lord D called Lady Amelia. -~I present 
 
 to you a sister who deserves your friendship. 
 Louisa, said he. — She came and embraced me. 
 I hope, 'said she, my dear sister Sophia will not 
 receive me as a stranger. I embraced her af- 
 fectionately, but was not able to utter a word. 
 
 The rc^^t of our company followed me. Lord 
 D presented them all to his Lady, who re- 
 ft 2 
 
364. 
 
 ceived them politely, but %vith an air of distance 
 and superiority. Lord D and his amiable 
 
 son were the only speakers for some minutes. 
 
 Lady Louisa placed herself next mc, and took 
 my hand in hers; and strove to give me courage 
 and composure. Her sister looked rather stately^- 
 and seemed to scrutinize us witli her eye. She 
 is a very fine young lady; in point of beauty, 
 the first of the family; but her looks chill you, 
 and keep you at distance; she is her niotiiers 
 likeness and favourite. ' 
 
 Mrs. Barclay has that ease in her behaviour, 
 that is the result of a constant intercourse with 
 the beau-monde. She entered into a conversa- 
 tion with the gentlemen ; for the ladies said but 
 little. Just before dinner entered Mr. George 
 
 13 '■—, my Lord's second son; he was announced 
 
 to all the company, and to me particularly. 
 lie is a fine manly youth, with spirit and viva- 
 city in his countenance; he is taller than Lord 
 
 B and of a darker complexion; black C3-es, 
 
 very bright and sensible ; he behaved very po- 
 litely to me, and addressed me frequently in 
 conversation. I thought he honoured me with 
 looks of approbation, and seemed desirous of a 
 farther acquaintance with me. Dinner shuffled 
 us together, and seemed to open our hearts; 
 we became more easy and familiar to each other. 
 
363 
 
 Lord D ' took polite notice of me at table, 
 
 and I began to recover my spirits and courage. 
 
 Lord I) beha\ed very kindly to me; he 
 
 insisted upon my drinking a second glass of v.inew 
 He bade nie keep up my spirits, for he had a 
 design upon me, that he would not explain just 
 now, but would before I went away. 
 
 He took great notice of Mr. Saville ; and so 
 
 did Lord B . When we rose from table, we 
 
 adjourned into the drawing-room, and began to 
 converse with more ease and freedom. Lord 
 
 D asked Mr. Saville, where he proposed to 
 
 reside after his marriage? He replied, Tiiat he 
 had always preferred a country-life for his fi.xed 
 Abode, and only meant to visit London occa- 
 sionally; that I was partial to the village where 
 I had lived in the early part of my life, and to 
 the worthy family with whom I resided ; that he 
 had the same partiality to both; that JNIr. Selby 
 was a most amiable man, and that he had the 
 same attachment to him, that I had to Mrs. 
 Selby. For all these reasons, he was deter- 
 mined to settle there ; and that he had just now 
 an opportunity of it, by taking a house withia 
 a mile of the Parsonage. 
 
 Lord B commended his resolution of 
 
 settling in the country ; he pointed out the dan- 
 gers of a town-life. He praised my attachment 
 & 3 
 
- ' 366 
 
 to my deS.r village and friends, and the prudent 
 intentions of us both: he then enquired where 
 was the house Mr. Saville mentioned? 
 
 Mr. Saville gave him a brief account of Lady 
 Belmour, her company, her character, her em- 
 ployment : he then mentioned her debts, and 
 her being obliged to leave that house in conse- 
 quence; her present situation, and his treaty 
 with her b}^ a third hand. Lord I>— — wished 
 him success; Mr. Saville described the house, 
 and the country round it. 
 
 Lord D asked, where Mr. Saville had his 
 
 education.? He gave him a brief account of it, 
 and of his guardian, Mr. Munden. He told my 
 Lord, that he had the happiness to have two 
 Mentors employed in finishing his education. 
 He described them both; he gave my Lord a 
 letter he lately leceived from Mr. Johnson, com- 
 mending his choice of a wife, and of a country- 
 life also. It is an excellent letter. 
 
 Lord D read it aloud, and admired every 
 
 part of it. 
 
 Lady D then took a share in the conver- 
 sation; she said several polite things to Mrs. 
 Barclay, on the subject of her protection to twQ 
 young ladies in our distressed situation. 
 
 Lord D seemed to accept every word 
 
 from her, as a favour to himself. Lord B— « 
 
$67 
 
 Kentioned the commencement of Ins acquaint- 
 ance with me; my alarm at the sight of Lord- 
 S ■■ , and all that followed afterwards. 
 
 The young ladies were interested in the whole 
 conversation, for they had not before heard any 
 particulars of our late and present situation'; 
 they listened attentively, and seemed pleased 
 with the information. I had little other share 
 in it, than to acknowledge the kindness and ge- 
 nerosity of all my dear friends. 
 
 Lady D asked if we chose to have cai'ds. 
 
 —My Lord said, he begged permission to an- 
 swer for us in the negative, for that lie had pro- 
 vided a different entertainment for us. Mr. Sa:- 
 ville smiled, and seemed to be in the secret. 
 Soon after a servant came in, and told my Lord 
 the gewtlenien were in the library. 
 
 My Lord arose. — Now I will explain myself: 
 the gentlemen of the law have brought home the 
 settleiuents, ]\L-. Saville; and we will take this 
 opportunity to execute them. 
 
 Sir, lead your elect wife into the room ; and 
 I beg that as many of her friends as choose it, 
 will follow us. 
 
 My Lord offered his hand to Mrs. Barclay,, 
 and went first; Mr. Saville and I followed them; 
 but I took Lady Louisa's hand, and said, Will 
 your Ladyship do me the honour of your com- 
 pany ? — She came directly. Elliott and Idi 
 E 4 
 
36s 
 
 Fanny; Lord B followed themj the rest 
 
 stayed behind. 
 
 Lord B went back to the drawing-room, 
 
 and soon returned with his brother George. 
 
 Lady D , and her daughter Amelia, thought 
 
 their presence too great an honour to us. 
 
 This was a new trial of my courage, and I 
 hardly know how I went through it. The writ- 
 ings were signed by the principals, and properly 
 witnessed and executed; and I rejoiced when it 
 was over. 
 
 The l<iwyers withdrew ; and afterwards Lord 
 
 D said, Kow, inv good frieud.s, beiore we 
 
 Ke]Mraie, let us fix the day for these two pair of 
 ]o'» e;s to complete tlieir happiness.— God bless 
 your Lordship! said Elliott; I have delayed my 
 Asedding above a week, that I might see my 
 friends made happy the same day I am; and now 
 I hope theic is nothing more to wait for. — No- 
 thing in tlie world, said Lord D ; let me 
 
 have the pleasure, to appoint the day. — V.'e were 
 nil silent.— I shall name a day in the next week, 
 and I Jioj-e the ladies will make no objection; 
 IMis. Barclay, you must give me your influence 
 ■?\ilh them. Let it be n"^<ct Tuesday. Saville 
 took my Lord's liand, and kissed it in raptures; 
 Klliott clapped his hands, and shouted for joy ; 
 he kissed mv Lord's baud al^o. — Moderate your 
 jov, my ciiildren. said n;y Lord, and lisieu to 
 
369 
 
 me, I will give orders for the wedding-day's en- 
 tertainment; it shall be at the St. Alban's tavern;- 
 I will meet you at church in the morning, and I 
 ■will do the office of a father to both these vounf^ 
 ladies; will you, madam, accept me?"^ — My 
 Lord, says Miss Freewill, it is an honour I could 
 not expect; but I receive it with due gratitude 
 and respect.— My Lord saluted us both, and the 
 rest of the men present had the assurance to' 
 follow his example. 
 
 We did not get away till one o'clock; and' 
 when we got home the gentlemen were very un- 
 governable, and vi-e had much ado to send them 
 home. At last Fanny and I made our escape 
 up stairs; and Mrs. Barclay soon after followed 
 us, after schooling the men, and turning thenv 
 out of doors, as they called it. Thus, my dear 
 friend, the most important day of my life is 
 iixed — join your prayers for my happiness ? I 
 shall soon have a third name to add to that of 
 your 
 
 Sophia* 
 
 LETTER XLllL 
 
 MR. 3AVILLE TO THE REV. MR. SELBY. 
 
 Sophia has written a long letter to Mrs. Sclby, 
 I asked her ?ome questions concerning the con#' 
 
 R 5 
 
370 
 
 ejnts; she blushed, and seeined jealous of my 
 curiosity. — Pray, Sir, said she, do you expect 
 to see the contents of my letters?— By no means, 
 madam, said I; I only v/ish to know what you 
 have written, that I may not repeat the same; 
 circumstances to our friends. — Well, Sir, I have 
 told them all that passed yesterday, so you need 
 not repeat any part of it. — I am answered, ma- 
 dam. 
 
 Lord D makes her fortune six thousand 
 
 pounds in present; and gives me leave to expect 
 it to be made ten, at his decease. Her jointure 
 is six hundred a year; and all the money she 
 brings, goes to portion the younger children of 
 our marriage; my Lord and I are mutually sa- 
 tisfied. 
 
 Mr. Brerewood has happily finished his treaty 
 with Lady Belmour. 
 
 I send you the lease by the coach to I — — , 
 and you will take possession of the house for 
 me, and do whatever you think necessai'y for 
 our reception. To any other man I should apo- 
 logize for the trouble I give you; but our ac- 
 knowledged and confirmed friendsliip warrants 
 my call upon you, and the study of my future 
 life shall be to enjoy and return it. Commend 
 me to the ladies, to Mr. and Mrs. Franklin, to 
 all who know me in your circle ; tell them I am 
 happy. You iiuow our day; let your -congratu- 
 
.371 
 
 lotions add to our felicity. Your thrice happy 
 friend, 
 
 Edavaud Sayille, 
 
 LETTER XLIV. 
 
 MISS MELCOMBE TO MRS. SELBY. 
 
 One more letter, my dearest Anna Maria, 
 while I am my own mistress, and can do as I. 
 please. Men are incroachers, my dear: already 
 my time is claimed by the master of my destiny; . 
 he grudges me the hours I spend in conversing 
 with my friends, and is jealous of my regard to 
 every one but himself. 
 
 Miss Freewill has received two curious letters, . 
 under cover, by Mrs. Barclay's former direc- 
 tion to a coffee-bouse in the city: one from her 
 guardian, ordering her on the receipt of it to re- 
 turn home. immediately to Mrs. Holden's; that 
 lie will pay her no money till she is under their 
 protection; and that, if she does not returnt 
 home soon, he will advertise her in the public 
 papers. The otfier from Mrs. Holden, in a vul- 
 gar but canting and fawning style, persuading 
 ber to return, and put herself under her motherly 
 wing, where she may be safe from the dangers 
 and temptations of this wicked v/orJd; proKii^»* 
 r6 
 
37 '2 
 iug that she shall have uu apartment to hersekv 
 and a servant on purpose to attend upoti her; 
 and her guardian will allow her fifty pouncs a 
 year for pocket-money, and ter make ducks and 
 dra/iCS of: she bids her consider what a disgrace 
 it will be, to have her name at full length in the 
 public newspapers; and desires she may know 
 where she is, that she may either come and fetchi 
 her, or else appoint where she may meet her on 
 the road. We have gossiped and laughed over 
 these letters, and Fanny is resolved to make a 
 spirited reply to them. 
 
 She has fulfilled her promise, as you shali 
 judge :— 
 
 " I Frances Freewill do acknowledge the re- ' 
 ceipt of two very impertinent letters from !Mr. 
 Marsden and Mrs. Holden, to wliich I am de- 
 ternjined to gwe full and sat is fact o/y ansivers in 
 the public papers, one day in the next week."— 
 London, Nov. 1779'- 
 
 The men arc delighted' with Fanny's spirit; 
 and Mrs. Barclay says it is an excellent reference 
 %o the papers, where they will read the account 
 of her marriage. 
 
 Elliott is in raptures with her; he admires 
 every word in the note, and says there never 
 ■was any thing so clever, in so small a compass. 
 
 Mr. Brerewood drank tea with us. The let- 
 ters were shewn to him, aiKl the answer likewise; 
 
373 
 
 Vic asked Miss Freewill many particulars con- 
 cerning her father's will; — she never saw it. 
 He intends to get a sight of it in the commons; 
 and to inquire how far hei' guardian's power ex- 
 tends, both with regard to her person and for- 
 tune. — Mr. Brerewood is a very sensible and po- 
 lite man; Mr. Saville has told you of his ma- 
 nagement, with regard to Lady Belmour. — I am 
 overjoyed that the treaty fo-r her house is con- 
 cluded; I long to go. thither, and to taste th« 
 pure and tranquil pleasures of the country, and 
 
 to enjoy tte society of my dear friends at S . 
 
 Expect me th^re as soon as I can get away with 
 the approbation of my dear and honoured fa- 
 ther; I think he is the dearer to me, for having 
 been .so long unkind, and so lately restored to 
 me. 
 
 Heaven grant me a deep and grateful sense of 
 the blessings that surround me ! — My two bro- 
 'thers have called upon me for a morning visit of 
 an hour; they poritel'y said, they would not en- 
 croach upon our time, which they supposed was 
 employed' in preparations for next Tuesday^ 
 
 Why is my heart heavy at times ? — I wish you 
 ■was with me ; I wish my mamma was here ; or 
 rather that I was with you, and that my brother 
 Selby was to perform the sacred ceremony that 
 fixes my destiny for life. The incomparable 
 itichardBon has well observed, ** that in the- 
 1 
 
374 
 
 mi(lf-t of happiness, the sighing heart will remind 
 us of imperfection." Assist with your prayers 
 and wishes, 
 
 Your sister and friend, 
 
 Sophia, 
 
 LETTER XLV. 
 
 MR. SELBY TO EDWARD SAVILLE, ESQ. 
 
 Ij NDER this cover you will receive the congra- 
 tulations of all and each of your avowed friends 
 at the Pa.rsonage ; accept the united wishes, 
 prayers, and blessings of this house, for your 
 present and future happiness ! Joy to Edward 
 Saville and his beloved Sophia! long and mu- 
 tual may it be I 
 
 My mother and wife both will write on the 
 occasion. 
 
 G* Selby. 
 
 I CANNOT suffer this day to pass over,, with-? 
 out adding my congratulation to those of the 
 other friends, of my dear Sophia, and her be- 
 loved Saville. — Joy, joy, joy, to you both! 
 ■" We shall celebrate the weddings here; we have 
 a wedding cake. Mr. Franklin's famiJy are with 
 us, and we will have our share of the pleasure 
 of this auspicious day. 
 
 Mr. Collins and Miss Grove were married la&t 
 
Thiu'sda}'; they will be with us in the eveningi 
 and we shall drink to your happiness. — Joy to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Elliott; joy and our best wishes I 
 —My mother leaves her house to them this day; 
 they may take the furniture as it stands, or hire 
 it with the house. — But what have I to do to prate 
 of business on this day? — away with it!— Let 
 me mention only my present joy, and. my future 
 wishes. — May your next letter fix the day of 
 your return to us ! I long to embrace my friend, 
 to share her joy, to run over her house, and see 
 that every thing there meets with her approbar^ 
 tion. In impatient expectation of this happi- 
 
 ness. 
 
 I am yours most affectionately, 
 
 Anna Maria Selby, 
 
 LETTER XLVL 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO THE REV. MR. SELBT. 
 
 May every kind wish and blessing from our . 
 dear friends at S be returned sevenfold up- 
 on their own heads! Thus wish and thus pray, 
 Edward Saville and his beloved Sophia! With 
 a heart overflowing with happiness, I sit down 
 to acknowledge every instance of your friencj- 
 ship, my dear Mr. Selby. 
 
 I will endeavour to compose my mind, aad 
 
S7S 
 
 give you some account of yesterday's events. / 
 shall write at times, as leisure serves ; for I ought - 
 to give you all a share in my happiness. I can- 
 not pay you a greater compliment than to deny 
 myself the enjoyment of my Sophia's company, 
 to converse vriih her friends and mine. 
 
 Yesterday morning we met by appointment at 
 
 St. Church. I carried Mr. Brerewood 
 
 with our part) ; Lord D brought his two 
 
 eldest sons and two daughters, a gentleman of 
 the law, and a young gentleman and lady, the 
 
 friends of his son L()rd B , and his daughters-, 
 
 ^ The brides were dressed charmingly, and 
 looked charmingly; but Sophia's sweet coun- 
 tenance wore a veil of timidity, which I strove 
 to disperse by every tender and delicate atten- 
 tion. I put her in mind of my dear Selby's happy 
 day, and of our revered mother's lesson to her 
 fair daughter on that occasion. She thanked 
 me for reminding her; and said. She would 
 keep her Anna's behaviour in her eye the whole 
 day, and endeavour to imitate it. The other 
 bride has more courage than Sophia; yet the 
 behaviour of both was extremely proper, and 
 did them credit in the eye of every beholder. 
 
 The ceremony was happily performed; I leave 
 it to the ladies to relate the interesting particu- 
 lars. Lord D claimed the right of a father 
 
 to both the brides ;. and mutual congratulations 
 
377 
 
 were given and received in the churdi ! after 
 which we adjourned to the St. Alban'a Tavern, 
 where a plentiful breakfast was prepared for us, 
 which we all did honour to. 
 
 After this refreslnnent, the compliments and 
 
 congratulations were renewed. Lord D 
 
 presented to Mrs. Barclay a fine diamond-ring, 
 as a token of friendship; and an acknowledge- 
 ment for her gencraus protection of both his 
 daughters, he said. She received it politely, and 
 observed, That Lady Sophia had already made 
 her a present the- most acceptable to her, in 
 giving her her picture. — It was well judged of 
 the dear girl, said my Lord; but I hope, Ma- 
 dam, you will allow her father a place ih the list 
 
 of your friends. — Lord D gave each of the 
 
 brides a diamond-hoop to wear over the wed- 
 ding-ring; which they received with proper ac- 
 knowledgments. Elliott was half mad with joy 
 
 and gratitude; he kneeled to Lord D , and 
 
 thanked him a thousand times for the honour he. 
 did to his fair bride; and said. His Lordship's 
 countenance, was a fresh obligation upon him, 
 to strive to deserve his happiness. 
 
 After our compliments were over, and we 
 were seated; my friend Mr. Brerewood arose^ 
 and, bowing, said^ I will now beg leave to en- 
 gage the attention of this honourable and happy 
 t;ompany; I have brought something that I hope 
 
57 S 
 
 will contribute to this day's entertainment.~We 
 all gazed, and listened to him; and I wondered 
 what he was going to say, when he drew a paper 
 out of his pocket and proceeded in his oration. 
 
 " I presume that this company are informed 
 in general terms, that this young lady's guardian 
 had abused the power her father's will gave him, 
 over her person and fortune; that he placed her 
 in a family where she was unpolitely treated, 
 and where her accommodations were in no re- 
 spect suitable to her fortrne. That in conse* 
 quence she was disgusted and unhappy, and 
 sought for acquaintance more ag'-eeable to her; 
 and at length was induced to put herself into the 
 protection of another guardian, and indeed the 
 most proper one, a worthy husband. I had a 
 desire to inform myself of the particulars of her 
 father's will, that I might know how far her 
 guardian's power extended ; and also in hopes 
 to be of some service to the young couple; who, 
 as I supposed, might meet with some difficulties 
 during the remainder of the young lady's mino- 
 rity. Accordingly I searched tlie Commons; I 
 found the will; I took a copy of it, which I have 
 now brought with me. But as reading a ivill is 
 liot the most agreeable amusement upon a wed- 
 ding-day, I v/ill only beg your patience while I 
 read a clause, which perhaps may be the moiit 
 satisfactory one in it. '* I do ord^r by this my 
 
379 
 
 ** will, that the said fortune shall be paid to mf 
 *' said daughter Frances Freewill, upon the day 
 ** of her coming to the age of twenty-one years, 
 ** or the day of her marriage, which ever shall 
 ** first happen." And now I shall claim a kiss 
 of the bride as my reward. 
 
 Here my friend concluded his speech. El- 
 liott started up, ran and embraced him; called 
 liim his best friend, and swore he should have 
 twenty kisses if he pleast d. 
 
 Every one of our little circle expressed our 
 joy, and the congratulations were renewed. Lord 
 D called us to order, but it was some mi- 
 nutes before he could be heard. He thanked 
 Mr. Brerewood for his intelligence, and desired, 
 that he would give the young people his advice 
 how to proceed. 
 
 I would advise, said Mr. Brerewood, that they 
 should send to Mr. Marsden, a copy of Mr, 
 Freewill's will; and with it a demand of the sur- 
 render of the trust, and an account of the in- 
 terest of the fortune, to be paid into the hands 
 of e person whom they shall appoint for that 
 purpose.— Very proper, said Lord D— - : whom 
 wiil 3'ou choose to appoint? — Elliott referred to 
 his lud)',— She answered very properly, If you 
 approve it, Sir, I think nobody can be so proper 
 as this gentleman, who has already approved 
 himself our friend.— You give me the greatest 
 
380 
 
 pleasure, ^radam, answered Elliott; it was my 
 wish, but I thouylit it right that the motion 
 should be yours. — I am pleased with 30U both, 
 
 said Lord D ; I am certain from tliis omen, 
 
 that you will act [;roperly in all other respects. 
 —I accept the employment, said Mr, Brere- 
 vood : and I will act for your benefit to the best 
 of my ability. — I will answer both for your abi- 
 lity and integrity, said Edward Saville; and I 
 rejoice with my friends on their falling into such 
 hands. 
 
 There is one thing more to be considered, said 
 tlie Earl; I think that Mr, Elliott ought to take 
 the earliest opportunity, of settling his lady's 
 fortune, upon her, and her heirs ; the generous 
 confidence she has reposed in him, deserves 
 that he should justify her choice of a guardian 
 of her person and fortune. Elliott rose, and 
 
 again kneeled to Lord D , INIy Lord, said 
 
 he, you have been so kind to act as a father to 
 this dear lady; will you, in that light, still act 
 for her? WUi you dire^ct what should be done 
 for her advantage, and give instructions to this 
 gentlenicin, Mr. Brerewood, to draw up writings 
 for that purpose; I will execute them with all 
 my soul; and shew you and all the world, that 
 her fortune was not my principal motive, when I 
 offered myself to her acceptance. I would only 
 be her steward said her protector; but i would 
 
381 
 
 no'' for the world injure her, or her fortune. Ir 
 your Lordship will be so good to take me under 
 your direction, you will lay me under everlasting 
 obligaiion. 
 
 You are an honest, worthy, generous young 
 man, said my Lord; I love you as you deserve, 
 and I will accept the trust. — I put myself into 
 your Lordship's hands, answered Mrs. Elliott, and 
 I thank God for having given me such noble and 
 generous friends; and I will ever acknowledge 
 Mr. Elliott's generosity, and study to make him 
 amends for it. — You have done that already, 
 said he, and it shall be the business of my whole 
 life, to shew my sense of the obligations you 
 have laid upon me. 
 
 Bravo! bravo! said the Earl; this is true spi- 
 rit. You must nominate your trustees, my dear 
 Madam; and then we will leave what remains 
 to Mr. Brerewood. — If I durst presume, said 
 she, I would name your Lordship. — You do me 
 honour, Madam: I accept the trust; and, if 
 you allow me, I will take Mr. Saville for an- 
 other ; and jMr. Brerewood shall be the acting 
 person for your service. Mr. and Mrs. Elliott 
 both mad€ their acknowledgments; and Mr, 
 Brerewood took notes in his book, of every par- 
 ticular. 
 
 This event being of some consequence, I have 
 given you a minute account of it. But I shall 
 
382 
 
 3io\v take my leave of you for the present. . 1 
 will, when I return, give you a brief account of 
 the rest of the day; at this time I shall only add, 
 that I am happy past all expression, and that I 
 am your friend and brother, 
 
 Edward Saville, 
 
 LETTER XLVII. 
 
 MR. SAVILLE TO MR. SELBY. 
 
 1 WILL now acquit myself of my promise, and 
 take up the thread of my narration of what 
 passed on the happiest day of my life. We had 
 a magnificent and well-ordered dinner, wilh the 
 best wines that could be procured ; the day was 
 honoured as a festival, by every one present; 
 the ladies were allowed to retire into another 
 room, where tea and coffee were ordered; we 
 soon followed them, by a general vote that there 
 %vas no society, no happiness, without them. 
 Lord D— — led the conversation, and was the 
 liveliest person present: my friend Elliott was 
 restrained by the persons of superior rank in 
 company.; pr his joy would have shown itself in 
 a riotousi style; but he behaved extremely well, 
 and did himself credit with every body. . After 
 tea, we were summoned into a large room well 
 lighted, with a. band of muair: in it. On our en- 
 
 5 
 
383 
 
 trance, tliej' played one of Abel's concertos; 
 
 after which Lord D desired Mr. Saville and 
 
 liis bride to open tlie ball; they obeyed, but with 
 some timidity before such judges : however they 
 came off with general applause. ]My Lord called 
 upon the other bride and bridegroom, to dance 
 a minuet; but Elliott begged to be excused, say- 
 ing, he should only disgrace his charming part- 
 ner. I begged of Lord B to supply his 
 
 place, which he did with great readiness. It was 
 an elegant minuet indeed, and far exceeded the 
 
 first: afterwards, ISIr. George B and Miss 
 
 Lortnn, the young lady who came with her bro- 
 ther at Lord B -'s invitation ; Lady Amelia 
 
 and j\Ir. Lorton; Lady Louisa and Edward Sa- 
 ville. We then danced a Cotillion ! then Lord 
 
 B and his sister Louisa, danced the Minuet 
 
 de la Cour, 
 
 .At Lord D 's earnest intreaty, Mrs. Bar- 
 clay walked a minuet with himj after which we 
 all went to country dances. ■ At twelve w-e were 
 summoned to supper; after which we thought 
 it too late to return into the ball-room : it was 
 agreed before we went to church, that I slfould 
 resign my lodgings to Elliott and his bride, and 
 that I should be allowed to take Fanny's place 
 at Mrs. Barclay's; we returned home according 
 to this happy allotment; but it was past two 
 o'clock before we arrived at our respective 
 homes. 
 
384 
 
 , On Wednesday we stayed at home, and en- 
 joyed our greatest happiness in the society of 
 our amiable brides. Mrs. Barclay insists upon^ 
 our eating at her table all together, so long as 
 we stay in town. In the evening, I devoted a 
 
 leisure hour to my dear friends at S ; and 
 
 Thursday I proceeded in my journal. I will now 
 briefly recite our present engagements; and from 
 them you will judge when you may expect to 
 see us. 
 
 On Sunday, we make our appearance at 
 church; where we shall return thanks for our 
 present blessings, and implore the benediction of 
 Heaven upon our engagements; after which we 
 
 are to dine at Lord D 's, and probably spend 
 
 the evening. On IMonday I have (with Mrs. 
 Barclay's permission) invited the worthy Mr. 
 John Barton and his lady to spend the evening 
 with us ; on that day, will be brought home an 
 handsome piece of plate, which I shall present 
 to that friendly pair. 
 
 W« shall then take our leave of that worthy 
 couple; but I shall never come to London with- 
 out visiting them ; and I hope they will visit us 
 in the country some time hence, when all the 
 past is forgotten. 
 
 On Tuesday Lord D— ^ — and his family are 
 to dine with Mrs. Barclav, and take leave of us 
 for this season. 
 
385 
 
 ' On Wednesday I design to carry my prize, my- 
 angel-wife, to pay compliments with me to Mr, 
 Munden, and to take leave of him, and to call 
 at some other places. In the evening, IMr. 
 Brerewood brings !Mr. Elliott's writings, to be 
 iigned and executed. 
 
 On Thursday we shall finish the preparations 
 for our journey; and either that evening, m* 
 Friday morning, will see us on the road to 
 S-— — ; where I already anticipate our recep- 
 tion, in the arms of our dear and amiable 
 friends. 
 
 I find a few more particulars to add, before 
 I close this letter. Mrs. Barclay accorapanits 
 ns to our new habitation; she is our guest, and 
 you must not be offended ; the next turn is yours. 
 Lord B— — and Lady Louisa, arc allowed to 
 give us their company, for one fortnight. I hear 
 
 that Lord S- and Mr. Clayton are really 
 
 gone over to the continent, and intend to go 
 through the Low Countries before they return. 
 
 When I recollect the whole of my past adven- 
 tures within the compass of six months, I am 
 struck with the reflexion of what dangers I have 
 escaped', and what happiness I have attained; I 
 bow my knee with awe and gratitude to the Gra- 
 cious Power who has enabled me to avoid the 
 fust, and to embrace-the latter. Oh, my friend ! 
 the pleasures of Virtue are the only true plea- 
 
38G 
 sures : I put"inyself under her direction for the 
 remainder of my life ; every new acquirement 
 in her sch( ol, shall only strengthen my resolu- 
 tion to persevere in the pursuit of her rewards : 
 and though I cannot attain to perfection, I will 
 use my utmost endeavours to come as near it as 
 human nature will permit me. Your friendship 
 shall crown my felicity here, and assist me in 
 preparing for a more perfect state hereafter. 
 Sophia salutes you allj with the happiest of 
 men, 
 
 Edward Saville. 
 
 P. S. Mr. Brerewood informs me that Lady 
 Belmour is in the greatest distress; she has an- 
 ticipated her income, and wants money for her 
 current expences. She has tried several of her 
 disciples, but they turn their back upon her. 
 Even Mr. Munden has refused to assist lier ; he 
 praises tny conduct, and condemns hers. Such 
 are the friendships of Vice and Profligacy ! there 
 is no reliance but upon the friends of Virtue : if 
 we were only to act with a view to our present 
 happiness, there is no other dependence, either 
 in prosperity or adversity — Virtue is the only 
 Thing certain upon earth ! 
 
 FINIS. 
 
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