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EVELINA: 
 
 | OR 
 
 THE HISTORY 
 
 oF 
 
 A YOUNG LADY'S INTRODUCTION TO THK 
 i WORLD. 
 
 BY MISS BURNEY. 
 
 le LONDON: 
 | Geom ebIsHED BY J. 8. PRATT. 
 
 MDCCCXLV. 
 
O, Author of my being !—far more dear 
 
 To me than light, than nourishment, or rest, 
 Hygeia’s blessing, Rapture’s burning tear, 
 
 Or the life-blood that mantles in my breast ! 
 
 If in my heart the love of virtue glows, 
 Tis planted there by an unerring rule : 
 From thy example the pure flame arose, 
 
 Thy life my precept—thy good works my schoo 
 
 s thy num‘rous virtues trace 
 
 Could my weak pow 
 ar should be repress d; 
 
 By filial love each fe 
 The blush of incapacity I'd chase, 
 And stand, recorder of thy worth, confess'd. 
 
 But since my niggard stars that gift refuse, 
 Concealment is the only boon I claim 5 
 Obscure be still the unsuccessful Muse, 
 Who cannot raise, but would not sink, thy fame. 
 
 Oh! of my life at once the source and joy! 
 If e’er thy eyes these feeble lines survey, 
 
 Let not their folly their intent destroy 5 
 Accept the tribute—but forget the lay. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In the republic of letters there is no member of such 
 
 ined by his brethr 
 less hard 
 > class of wr! 
 
 ich the votaries 
 
 rior rank, or who is so much disd 
 the quill, as the humble 
 in the world at large, sit 
 ters, perhaps not one ca 
 sre numerous, but less ré spectable 
 while in the annals of those few of our predecessors 
 iti ndebted for being sa 
 from depravity, we can trace 
 Johnson, Marivaux 1d 
 
 1ovelist 3 
 
 to whom this species 
 from contempt, and res 
 such names as Rouss ’ 
 Richardson, and Smollett, no mant eed 
 from the same post; thou many, 
 sich at finding themselves distanced. 
 
 The following letters are presented to the public—for 
 such by novel writers, novel readers will be call d—with a 
 very singular mixture of timidity and confi ce, resulting 
 fromthe peculiar situation of the editor; who, though 
 trembling for their success 1 a consciousness of their 
 imperfections, yet fears not being involved in their dis- 
 grace, while happily wrapped up in a mantle of impene- 
 trable obscurity. 
 
 To draw characters from nature, though not from 1 
 and to mark the manners of the times, is the attempted 
 plan of the follow ig letters. For this purpose, a young 
 female, educated in the most secluded retirement makes, 
 at the age of seventeen, her first appearance upon the great 
 and busy stage of life with a virtuous mind, @ cultivated 
 understanding, and & feeling heart, he ignorance of the 
 forms, and inexperience in the manners of the world, oc- 
 casion all the little incidents which these volumes recor 
 and which from the natural progression of the life of a 
 
 blush Z g 
 
 ts 
 
 it 
 
 eo 
 
 SALAS S 
 
 ie LEE Ahk bth Lied 
 
 LEGLSILE LES FEI 
 
Viii PREFACE. 
 
 young woman of obscure birth, but conspicuous beauty 
 for the six months after her entrance into the world. 
 
 Perhaps, were it possible to effect the total extirpation 
 of novels, our young ladiesin general, and boarding-school 
 damsels in particular, might profit from their annihilation; 
 but since the distemper they have spread seems incurable, 
 since their contagion bids defiance to the medicine of ava- 
 rice or reprehension, and since they are found to bafile all 
 the mental art of physic, save what is prescribed by the 
 slow regimen of Time, and bitter diet of Experience; sure- 
 ly all attempts to contribute to the number of those which 
 may be read, ifnot with advantage, at least without injury 
 ought rather to be encouraged than contemned. 
 
 Let me therefore, prepare for disappointment those who 
 in the perusal of these sheets entertain the gentle expecta- 
 tion of being transported to the fantastic regions of ro- 
 mance, where fiction is coloured by all the gay tints of 
 luxurious imagination, where reason is an outcast, and 
 where the sublimity of the marvellous rejects all aid from 
 sober Probability. The heroine of these memoirs, young 
 artless, and inexperienced, is 
 
 No faultless monster that the world ne’er saw; 
 
 but the offspring of Nature, and of Nature in her simplest 
 attire. 
 
 The candour of my readers I have not the impertinence 
 to doubt, and to their indulgence | am sensible I have no 
 claim; I have, therefore, only to entreat, that my own 
 words pronounce not my condemnation; and that what I 
 have here ventured tosay in regard to imitation, may be 
 understood as it is meant, in a general sense; and not to 
 be imputed to an opinion of my own originally; which [ 
 have not the vanity, the folly, or the blindness to entertain. 
 
 Whatever may be the fate of these letters, the editor ig 
 satisfied they will meet with justice ; and commits them to 
 
 the press, though hopeless of fame, yet not regardless of 
 censure. 
 
 SNOT 
 
hI 
 sin, 
 r is 
 to 
 
 of 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 Rev. Mr. Villars. 
 
 Howard Grove, Kent, 
 
 Lady Howard to th 
 
 1 Sir, be more painful toa 
 cessity of communicating 
 Indeed it is sometimes 
 relater or the 
 
 Gan any thing, my goo 
 friendly mind, than ane 
 disagreeable int: lligence ? 
 difficult to determine, whether the 
 receiver of evil tiding is most to be pitied. 
 
 I have just had a letter from Madame Duval; 
 she is totally at a loss in what manner to behave; 
 rous to repair the wrongs she has 
 ld to believe her blame- 
 another the odium 
 one she is answer- 
 times abusive, 
 
 she seems de 
 yet wishes the wor 
 less. She would fain east upon 
 of those misfortunes for which al 
 Her letter is violent, some 
 and that of you /—you, to whom she is under ob- 
 ligations W hich are greater even than her faults, 
 but to whose advice she wickedly imputes all the 
 sufferings of her much injured daughter, the 
 late Lady Belmont. The chief purport of her 
 writing 1 will acquaint you with; the letter itself 
 is not worthy of your notice. 
 
 She tells me that she has, for many years past, 
 been in continual expectation of making a jour- 
 ney to England, whieh prevented her writing for 
 information concerning this melancholy subject, 
 by giving her hopes of making personal inquiries; 
 but family occurrences have still detained her in 
 
 done, 
 
 able. 
 
 eCP 
 
 Lee 
 
 MALEAE LP hed 
 
 fs 
 
EVELINAs 
 
 France, which country she now sees no prospect 
 of quitting. She has, therefore, lately used her 
 utmost endeavours to obtain a faithful account of 
 whatever related to her ill-advised daughter: the 
 result of which giving her some reason to appre- 
 hend, that, upon her death-bed she bequeathed 
 an infant orphan to the world, she most graei- 
 ously says that if you, with whom she understands 
 the child is placed, will procure authentic proofs 
 of its relationship to her, you may send it to Pa- 
 ris, where she will properly provide for it. 
 
 This woman is undoubtedly, at length, self- 
 convicted of her most unnatural behaviour; it is 
 evident from her writing, that she is still as vul- 
 gar and illiterate as when her first husband, Mr. 
 Evelyn, had the weakness to marry her; nor does 
 she at all apologize for addressing herself to me, 
 thongh T was’only once in her company. 
 
 Her letter has excited in my daughter Mirvan 
 a strong desire to be informed of the motives 
 which induced madame Duval to abandon the un- 
 fortunate lady Belmont, at atime when a mo- 
 ther’s protection was peculiarly necessary for her 
 peace and her reputation. Notwithstanding I 
 was personally acquainted with all the parties 
 concerned in this affair, the subject always ap- 
 peared of too delicate a nature to be spoken of 
 with the principals; I cannot, therefore, Satisfy 
 Mrs. Mirvan otherwise than by applying to you. 
 
 By saying that you may send the child, madamo 
 Duval aims at conferring, where she most owes 
 obligation. I pretend not to give you advice: 
 you, to whose generous protection this helpless 
 orphan is indebted for every thing, aré the best 
 
 and 
 am 
 
 ness 
 
 you. 
 M 
 
 ind 
 
 amid 
 thei 
 form, 
 wor 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 judge of what she ought to do; but I 
 
 and only 
 concerned at, the trouble and uneasi- 
 
 am much 
 ness which th 
 you. 
 
 My daughter and my grandchild join with me 
 in desiring to be most kindly remembered to the 
 amiable girl, and they bid me remind you, that 
 sward Grove, which we were 
 
 the annual visit to Ho 
 formerly promised, has been discontinued for 
 
 more than four years. 
 I am, my dear sir, with great regard, 
 Your most obedient friend and servant, 
 M. HOWARD, 
 
 is unworthy woman may occasion 
 
 Mr. Villars to Lady Howard. 
 
 Your lady 
 
 1 
 hip did but too well foresee the per- 
 plexity and uneasifiess of which madame Duval’s 
 letter has been productive. However, 1 ought 
 rather to be thankful that I have so many years 
 remained unmolested, than repine at my present 
 embarrassment, since it proves, at least, that this 
 wretched woman is at length awakened to re- 
 
 morse. 
 
 In regard to my answe 
 your ladyship to write tor 
 not upon any ac count intentions 
 Duval; but [ have weighty, nay unanswerable 
 reasons for detaining her grand daughter at pre- 
 gent in England : the principal of which is, that 
 it was the earnest desire of one to whose will she 
 owes implicit duty. Madame Duval may be as- 
 
 sured, that. she meets with the utmost attention 
 
 r, Dmust humbly request 
 his effect: that I would 
 lly offend madame 
 
14 EVELINA, 
 
 and tenderness; that her education, however 
 short of my wishes, almost exceeds my abilities; 
 and I flatter myself, when the time arrives that 
 she shall pay her duty to her grandmother, ma- 
 dame Duval will find no reason to be dissatisfied 
 with what has been done for her, 
 
 Your ladyship will not, I am sure, be surprised 
 at this answer. Madame Duval is by no means a 
 proper companion or guardian for a young wo- 
 man : she is at onee unedueated and unprincipled ; 
 ungentle in temper, and unamiable in manners. 
 I have long known that she has persuaded herself 
 to harbour an aversion for me. Unhappy woman! 
 1 can only regard her as an object of pity. 
 
 I dare not hesitate at a request from Mrs, Mir- 
 van; yet, in complying with it, I shall, for her 
 own sake, be as concise as I possibly can: since 
 the cruel transactions which preceded the birth 
 of my ward can afford no entertainment to a 
 mind so humane as hers, 
 
 Your ladyship may probably have heard, that I 
 had the honour to accompany Mr, Evelyn, the 
 grandfather of my young charge, when upon 
 his travels in the capacity of a tutor, His un- 
 happy marriage, immediately upon his return to 
 England, with madame Duval, when a waiting 
 girl at a tavern, contrary to the advice and entrea- 
 ties of his friends, among whom I was myself the 
 most urgent, induced him to abandon his native 
 land, and fix his abode in Franee. Thither he 
 was followed by shame and repentance,—feelings 
 whieh his heart was not framed to support ; for, 
 notwithstanding he had been too weak to resist 
 the allurements of beauty, which nature, thongh 
 
EVELINA. 15 
 
 @ niggard to her of every other boon, and with a 
 lavish hand bestowed on his wife ; yet he was @ 
 young man of excellent character, and, till thus 
 unaccountably infatuated, of unblemished con- 
 duct. He survived this ill-judged marriage but 
 two years. Upon his death-bed, with an unsteady 
 hand, he wrote me the following note : 
 
 * My friend, forget your resentment in favour of 
 your humanity :—a father, trembling for the wel- 
 fare of his child, beque aths her to your care—O 
 Villars! hear! pity! and relieve me? 
 
 Had my circumstances permitted me, I should 
 have answered these words by an immediate jour- 
 to Paris: but I was obliged to act by the 
 of a friend, who was upon the spot, and 
 
 ney 
 agency 
 present at the opening of the will. 
 
 Mr. Evelyn left tome a legacy of a thousand 
 pounds, and the whole guardianship of his daugh- 
 ter‘s person till her eighteenth year, conjuring me, 
 in the most affecting terms, to take the charge of 
 her education till she was able to act with pro- 
 priety for herself ; but, in regard to fortune, he left 
 her wholly dependent on her mother, to whose 
 tenderness he earnestly recommended her. 
 
 Thus, though he would not, toa woman low 
 bred and illiberal as Mrs. Evelyn, trust the con- 
 duct and morals of his daughter, he nevertheless 
 thought proper to secure to her the respect and 
 duty which, from her own child, were certainly 
 her due ; but unhappily, it never occurred to him 
 that the mother, on her part, could fail in affee- 
 
 tion or justice. 
 Miss Evelyn, madam, from the second to the 
 
 eighteenth year « sher life, was brought up under 
 
 nd tai a tps 
 
 a pala 
 
 Lath thd ateniht tide 
 
 tithe 
 
 be 
 
 Chas 
 
Pe cei lacs aed 
 
 16 EVELINA. 
 
 my care, anp, except when at school, under my 
 roof. I need not speak to your ladyship of the vir- 
 tues of thatexcellent youngereature. Sheloyed me 
 as her father ; nor was Mr. Villars less valued by 
 her ; while to me she became so dear, that her 
 loss was liitle less afilicting than that which I have 
 since sustained of Mrs, Villars herself. 
 
 At that period of her life we parted ; her mo- 
 ther then married to monsieur Duval, sent for her 
 to Paris. How often have I since regretted that 
 I did not accompany her thither !__ Protected and 
 Supported by me, the misery and disgrace which 
 awaited her might perhaps have been avoided. But, 
 to be brief—madame Duval, at the instigation of 
 her husband, earnestly, or rather tyrannically, en- 
 deavoured to effect an union between Miss Evelyn 
 and one of hisnephews. -And when she found her 
 power inadequate to her attempt, enraged at her 
 non compliance, she treated her with the grossest 
 unkindness, and threatened her with poverty and 
 ruin. 
 
 Miss Evelyn, to whom wrath and violence had 
 hitherto been strangers, soon grew weary of such 
 usage, and rashly,and without a witness, consented 
 to a private marriage with Sir John Belmont, a 
 very profligate young man, who had but too suc- 
 cessfully found means to insinuate-himself into 
 her favour. He promised to conduct her to Eng- 
 land—he did,—O, madam, you know the rest !— 
 Disappointed of the fortune he expected, by the 
 inexorable rancour the Duvals, he infamously 
 burnt the certificate of the marriage, and denied 
 that they had ever been united, 
 
EVELINA. 17 
 
 She flew to me for protection. With what 
 mixed transports of joy and anguish did T again 
 
 my advice, she endeavoured to pro- 
 
 see her! |! 
 —but in vain; her 
 
 credulity had been no n atch for his art. 
 
 Every body believed her imnocent, from the 
 guiltless tenor of her unspotted youth, and from 
 the known libertinism of her barbarous betrayer. 
 Yet her sufferings were too acute for her tender 
 nd the same moment that gave birth to 
 
 nt, put an end at once to the sorrows and 
 
 cure prot fi her m 
 
 frame ; 
 her it 
 the life of its mother. 
 
 The rage of madam Duval at her elopement 
 abated not while this injur dvictim of cruelty yet 
 drew breath. bably intended in ti to 
 have pardoned her: b was not allowed. 
 When she was informed 
 told that the mies of grief 
 which she w ized occasioned her a severe fit of 
 illn But from the time of her recovery to the 
 date of her letter to your ladyship, I had never 
 hieard that she manifested any desire to be made 
 acquainted with the circumstances which attend- 
 ed the death of lady Belmont, and the birth of her 
 
 Qi} 
 pne 
 
 of her death, I have been 
 * and remorse with 
 
 helpless child, 
 The child, madam, shall never, while life is lent 
 
 he has sustained. I have che- 
 
 supported her, from her 
 *; and so 
 
 me, know the loss 
 rished, succoured, 2 
 to her sixteenth y 
 my care 1 affection, that 
 cumscribed by the de- 
 
 who may be sensible 
 ng to eternal rest in 
 
 earli¢ 
 amply has she re 
 my fondest wish is now cir 
 sire of bestowing her on on¢ 
 of her worth, and then sinkix 
 her arms. 
 
 Cidde 
 
 A 
 
 es 
 
 APL A 
 
 i 
 
18 EVELINA, 
 
 Thus it happened, that the education of the fa- 
 ther, daughter, and grand daughter, has devolved 
 onme! What infinite misery have the two first 
 caused me! Should the fate of the dear survivor 
 be equally adverse, how wretched will be the end 
 of my cares—the end of my days! 
 
 Even had madame Duval merited the charge 
 she claims, I fear my fortitude would have been 
 unequal to such a parting ; but, being such as she 
 is, not only my affection, but my humanity, recoils 
 at the barbarous idea of serting the sacred trust 
 reposed in me. Indeed, I could but ill support 
 her former yearly visits to the respectable mansion 
 at Howard G : pardon me, dear madam, and 
 do not think me insensible of the honour which 
 your ladyship’s condescension confers upon us 
 both, but so deep is the impression which the mis- 
 fortunes of her mother bave made on my heart, 
 that she does not, even for a moment, quit my 
 sight, without exciting apprehensions and terrors 
 which almost overpower me, Such, madam, ismy 
 tenderness, and such my weakness !—But she is 
 the only tie I have upon earth, and I trust to your 
 ladyship’s goodness not to judge of my feelings 
 with severity, 
 
 I beg leave to present my humble 
 
 respects to 
 Mrs. and Miss Mirvan: 
 
 and have the honour to be, 
 Madam, your ladyship’s most obedient, 
 
 And most humble servant, 
 ARTHUR VILLARS, 
 
LADY HOWARD TO THE REY. MR, VILLARS, 
 
 Dear sir, Howard Grove, March 8. 
 Your! 
 so long and tedious an illness, how grateful to 
 yourel{ and to your friends must be your returning 
 healt You have the heart wishes of every in- 
 dividual of this place for its continuance and in- 
 ere: 
 
 Will you not think I tal 
 knowledged recovery, if I once more venture to 
 land Howard Grove together? 
 nber the patience with which 
 e¢ with her 
 
 st letter gave me infinite pleasure: after 
 
 dvantage of your ac- 
 
 sn 
 
 Yet you must 
 we submitte your de { 
 during the bad state of your he alth, though it was 
 with much reluctance we forbore to solicit her com= 
 pany. My grand daught in particular, has 
 searce been able to repress her eagerness to meet 
 again the friend of her infancy, and, for my own 
 part, it is very ongly my wish to manifest the 
 régard I had for the unfortunate lady Belmont, 
 by proving serviceable to her child; which seems 
 t can be paid to her 
 
 mention your pt 
 zi 
 
 Pr 
 
 to 
 
 re OF NovTy 
 
 to me the best respect 
 memory. Permit me, therefore, a plan which 
 Mrs :d, in consequence of 
 your r 
 
 Mirvan and I had foi 
 on to health. 
 
 I would not frighten you; but do you think 
 you ould bear to part with your young companion 
 
 ! Mrs. Mirvan proposes 
 
 for two or three month 
 to spend the ensuing spring in London, whither 
 for the first time, my grand-child will accompany 
 her, Now, my good friend, it is very much their 
 wish te enlarge and enliven their party by the 
 
26 EVELINA. 
 
 addition of your amiable ward, who would share, 
 equally with her own daughter, the care and at- 
 tention of Mrs. Mirvan, Do not start at this pro- 
 posal ; it is time that she should see something 
 of the world. When young peopleare too rigidly 
 sequestered from it, their lively and romantic 
 imaginations paint it to them as a paradise of 
 which they have been beguiled ; but when they 
 are shown it properly, and in due time, see it 
 such as it really is, equally shared by pain and 
 pleasure, hope and disappointment. 
 
 You haye nothing to apprehend from her meet~ 
 ing with sir John Belmont, as that abandoned 
 man is now abroad, and not expected home this 
 year, 
 
 Well, my good sir, what say you to our scheme ? 
 I hope it will meet with your approbation; but if 
 it should not, be assured I can never object to any 
 decision of one who is so much respected and es- 
 teemed as Mr. Villars, by 
 
 His most faithful, humble servant, 
 M. HOWARD, 
 
 Mr, Villars to Lady Howard, 
 Berry Hill, March 12, 
 
 I am grieved, madam, to appear obstinate, and T 
 blush to incur the imputation of selfishness, In 
 detaining my young charge thus long with myself 
 in the country, I consulted not solely my own in- 
 clination, Destined, in all probability, to possess 
 a very moderate fortune, I wished to contract her 
 views to something within it, The mind isk 
 naturally prone to pleasure, but too east 
 
 trib 
 that 
 ajc 
 lady 
 ball 
 
 at y 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 to dissipation ; it has been my study to guard her 
 against their delusions, by preparing her to expect 
 —and to despise them. But the time draws on for 
 experience and observation to take the place of 
 instruction. If I have, in some measure, rendered 
 her capable of using one with discretion, and mak- 
 ing the other with improvement, I shall rejoice 
 ice of having largely con- 
 
 myself with the as 
 tributed to her welfare, She is now of an age 
 that happiness is ea to attend,—let her then 
 enjoy it ! I commit her to the protection of your 
 may be found worthy 
 fied she will meet with 
 
 ladyship, and only hope 
 
 half the goodness I am sati 
 
 at your hospitable mansion. 
 Thus far, madam, I cheerfully submit to your 
 
 desire. In confiding my ward to the care of the 
 
 lady Howara, I can feel no uneasiness from 
 from the loss of her 
 
 absence, but what will arise f 
 company, since 1 shall be as well convinced of her 
 safety as if she were under my own roof,—But 
 can your ladyship be ser 
 duce her to the gaieties of a London life? Per- 
 mit me to ask, for what end, or for what purpose 2 
 A youthful mind is seldom totally free from ambi- 
 tion ; to curb that, is the first step to content- 
 ment, since to diminish expectation is to increase 
 enjoyment. I apprehend nothing more than too 
 much raising her hopes and her hopes and her 
 views, which the natural vivacity of her disposi- 
 tion would render but too easy to effect. The 
 e of Mrs. Mirvan are all in the 
 
 This artless young creature, 
 auty to escape notice, has too 
 different to it; but she 
 
 jous in proposing to intro- 
 i s 
 
 town acquaintance 
 circle of high life. 
 with too much be 
 much sensibility to be in 
 
 aaled Ge, ALLE LA 
 
 a 
 
 #. 
 
 - 
 
 as 
 eS 
 
 LET 
 
 ? 
 
 tes 
 
 io 
 
 Ch hdbs 
 
22 EVELINA. 
 
 has too little wealth to be sought with propriety 
 by men of the fashionable world. 
 
 Consider, madam, the peculiar cruelty of her 
 situation. Only child ofa wealthy baronet, whose 
 person she has never seen, whose character she hag 
 reason to abhor, and whose name she is forbidden 
 to claim: entitled as she is to lawfully inherit his 
 fortune and estate, is there any probability that he 
 will properly own her? And while he continues 
 to persevere in di savowing his marriage with Miss 
 
 Evelyn, she shall never, at the expense of her mo- 
 ther’s honour, receive a part of her right as the 
 donation of his bounty. 
 
 And as to Mr. Evelyn’s estate, I have no doubt 
 but that madame Duval and her relations will dis 
 pose of it among themselves, 
 
 It seems, therefore, as if this deserted child, 
 though legally heiress of two large fortunes, must 
 owe all her rational expectations to adoption and 
 friendship. Yet her income will be such as may 
 make her happy, if she is disposed to be so in pri- 
 vate life; though it will by no means allow her to 
 enjoy the luxury of a London fine lady. 
 
 Let Miss Mirvan, then, madam, shine in all the 
 splendour of high life: but suffer my child still to 
 enjoy the pleasures of humble retirement, with a 
 mind to which greater views are unknown. 
 
 I hope this reasoning will be honoured with your 
 approbation ; and I have yet another motive which 
 has some weight with me; I would not willingly 
 give offence to any human being; and surely ma- 
 dame Duval might accuse me of injustice, if, while 
 I refuse to let her grand-daughter wait upon her, 
 
EVELINA, 23 
 
 T consent that she should join a party of pleasure 
 to London. 
 In sending her to Howard Grove, not one of 
 
 these scruplesarise ; and therefore Mrs. Clinton, 
 
 a most wor her nurse, and 
 now my er thither 
 next wet 
 
 her by the name of 
 neighbour d that 
 timate ie left her to my 
 ] ght it neces 
 th the melanc sholy 
 r birth; for though 7 
 ling her from curiosity 
 
 Though I have alw 
 Anville, and repor 
 her father, ir 
 guardiansh 
 should he 
 circumsta 
 am very desi 
 and impertinence, by concealing h 
 and story, yet I we yuld not leave it in the powe rof 
 eck her gentle nature with a tale of 
 
 er name, family, 
 
 chance to s! 
 so much sorrow. 
 
 You must not, madam, expect toomuct! from my 
 pupil; she is quite a little rustic i knows no- 
 thing of the world; and though her education 
 has been the best I could bestow in this retired 
 place, to which Dorchester, the nearest town, is 
 seven miles distant, yet I sh ould not be surprised 
 if you should discover in her a thousand deficien- 
 cies of which I have never dreamt. She wust be 
 very much altere sd since she was last in Howard 
 Grove. But I will nothing of her; I leave 
 her to your la yship’s own observations, of which 
 1 beg a faithful relation; and am, 
 
 Dear madam, 
 With great respect, 
 Your humble and obedient servant, 
 ARTHUR VILLARS 
 
 ‘ 
 ~ 
 ¥ 
 
 RS 
 
 Ce hat Mal 
 
 IOLP ? 
 
 PALI 
 
 (hbttie 
 
 eee: 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Myr. Villars to Lady Howard. 
 
 Dear Madam, March 18, 
 This letter will be delivered to you by my child, 
 —the child of my adoption,—my affection! Un- 
 blest with one natural friend, she merits ‘a thou- 
 sand. I send her to you innocent as an angel, 
 and artless as purity itself; and I send yon with 
 her the heart of your friend, the only hope he has 
 on earth, the subject of his tenderest thoughts, 
 and the object of his latest cares. She is one, 
 madam, for whom alone I have lately wished to 
 live ; and she is one whom to serve I would with 
 transport die! Restore her but to me all inno- 
 cence as you receive her, and the fondest hope of 
 my heart will be amply gratified. 
 
 A. VILLARS. 
 —_—_— 
 
 Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 
 Dear and Rev. Sir, Howard Grove, 
 The solemn manner in which you have committed 
 your child to my care, has in some measure damp- 
 ed the pleasure which I receive from the trust, as 
 it makes me fear that you suffer from your com- 
 pliance, in which case I shall very sincerely blame 
 myself for the earnestness with which I have re- 
 quested this favour ; but remember, my good sir, 
 she is within a few days’ summons; and be assur- 
 
 ed, I will not detain her a moment longer than 
 you wish, 
 
 You desire my opinion of her. 
 She is a little angel! I cannot wonder that you 
 
sought to monopolise 
 finding it impossible. 
 
 ideas of comp 
 ject of pra 
 any other, } 
 pass it unnotice 1. 
 ved her educat 
 
 derstanding ; 
 remarked, that folly 
 
 same gentien 
 
 the same 
 formerly so much 
 character seems truly ing 
 at the same time 
 an excellent unde 
 she hasa certain al 
 that is extremely interesting. 
 
 You have no reason to tr 
 h she has lived ; since that 
 is acquired by an 
 her so well 
 
 obliging, ined to 
 
 with great satis 
 .en this amiable 
 1ose heart 15 as fre 
 
 I observe, 
 fection betwe 
 daughter, wl 
 or conceit as t 
 
 since much is 
 where nothing is 
 have them love each other 
 
 BVELINA. 
 her: neither ought you, at 
 
 person answer my most refined 
 beauty ; and this, though a sub- 
 important to you or me than 
 so striki ; 
 Had I not known irom whom 
 neation, L should at first tht 
 
 , have been in pain for her un- 
 
 it has been lons 
 
 CABLES 
 
 it is not possible to 
 
 LGA 
 
 Lote 
 
 Cala ama 
 
 and justly 
 
 r sought alliance with 
 
 ‘a 
 
 } 
 
 LEE 
 
 ss in her manners, 
 
 graces in her motions, that I S| 
 admired in her mother. Her OR 
 \genuous and simple 5 and “3 
 
 ny 
 
 that nature has blessed her with 
 
 rstanding and quickr 
 r of inexperience and innocency 
 
 1¢88 Of parts, 
 
 ? 
 
 egret the retirement in 
 politeness which 
 
 bide 
 
 aintance with high life, is 
 
 acqu = 
 a natural desire of 
 
 supplied by 
 a deportment infinitely enga- 
 
 faction, a growing af- 
 girl and my grand- 
 e from selfishness 
 friend is from all 
 mutually useful, 
 to be expected from emulation 
 to be feared from envy- I would 
 as sisters, and recipro- 
 
 hat of her young 
 regard may be 
 
ey 3 ania 
 
 "iil 
 
 26 EVELINA, 
 
 cally supply the place of that tender and happy 
 relationship to which neitherof them has a natural 
 claim. 
 
 Be satisfied, my good sir, that your child shall 
 meet with the same attention as our own. We | 
 all join in most hearty wishes for your health and | 
 happiness, and in returning our sincere thanks 
 for the favour you have conferred on us, 
 
 I am, dear sir, 
 Your most faithful servant, 
 M. HOWARD. 
 
 eee, | ie 
 
 { Lady Howard to the Rev. Mr. Villars, 
 
 Howard Grove, March 26, 
 Be not alarmed, my worthy friend, at my so 
 speedily troubling you again; I seldom use the 
 ceremony of waiting for answers, or writing with 
 any regularity, and I have at present immediate 
 occasion for begging your patience, 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan has Just received a letter from her 
 long absent husband, containing the welcome 
 news of his hoping to reach London by the be- fi 
 ginning of next week, My daughter and the 
 captain have been Separated almost soven years, 
 and it would therefore be needless to say what 
 joy, surprise, and consequently confusion, his at 
 present unexpected return has caused at Howard 
 Grove, Mrs, Mirvan, you cannot doubt, will go 
 instantly to town to meet him; her daughter is 
 under a thousand obligations to attend hers ] 
 grieve that her mother cannot. 
 
 And now, my good sir, I almost blush to pro- 
 ceed :—but, tell me, may I ask—will you permit 
 
BVELINAs 27 
 r child may accompany them? Do you 
 
 sonable, but consider the many in- 
 London the 
 
 —that you 
 think us unre? 
 ducements which 
 
 conspire to make 
 esent she can be in. The is 
 
 happiest place at pr 
 
 joyful occasion of the journey; the gaiety of the te 
 
 whole party, Oppo ed tothe dull life she must ie 
 
 lead, 1 t there with a solitary old woman for ‘i! 
 
 her sole companion, while she so well knows the ; 
 H 
 
 enjoyed by the rest of 
 
 cheerit and felicity 
 ances that seem to merit 
 
 the family;—are circu 
 
 your considera 
 
 My daughter des 
 you will g 
 
 .3 her best compliments to 
 rant her request, but j 
 i 
 
 you ifs she says, 
 
 got else. 
 Adieu, my dear sir; we all hope every thing ¢ 
 from your goodness. » 
 M. HOWARD. 
 —— 
 
 rey, Mr. Villars. 
 March 26. 
 every 
 
 Evelina to 
 
 Howard Grove, 
 to be the house of joys 
 and a laugh is at every body’s 
 It is quite amusing to walk about and 
 fusion. A room leading to 
 captain Mirvan’s study, 
 
 €’ lady Howard does not sit a moment in a place, 
 Fi Miss Mirvan is making caps: every body so busy! 
 ’ —such flying from room to room !—so many or- 
 ders given and retracted, 
 thing but hurry and perturbation. 
 
 Well, but, my dear sir, 1 am desired to make Hee 
 a request to you. I hope you will not think me 
 an encroacher: lady Howard insists upon ™my 
 
 Ts house seems 
 face wears 2 smile, 
 service. 
 see the general con 
 
 the garden is fitting up for 
 
 and given again,—no- 
 
#VELINA, 
 
 writing !—yet I hardly know how. to go on; @ 
 petition implies a want,—and haye you left me 
 one? No, indeed. 
 
 I am half ashamed of myself for beginning this 
 letter. But these dear ladies are so pressing—I 
 cannot, for my life, resist wishing for the pleasures 
 they offer me,—provided you do not disapprove 
 them. 
 
 They are to make a very short stay in town, 
 The captain will meet them in a day ortwo. Mrs, 
 Mirvan and her sweet daughter both go; what a 
 happy party! Yet I am not very eager to ac- 
 company them; at least I-shall he contented to 
 remain where I am, if you desire that I should, 
 
 Assured, my dearest sir, of your goodneas, your 
 bounty, and your indulgent kindness, ought I to 
 form a wish that has not your sanction? Decide 
 for me, therefore, without the least apprehension, 
 that I shall be uneasy or discontented. While I 
 am yet in suspense, perhaps I may hope; but I 
 am most certain, that when you have once deter- 
 mined I shall not repine. 
 
 They tell me that London is now in full splen- 
 dour, two play-houses are open,—the opera-house, 
 —Ranelagh, and the Pantheon.—You see I have 
 learned all their names, However, pray don’t 
 suppose that I make any point of going; for I 
 shall hardly sigh to see them depart without me, 
 though -I shall probably never meet with such 
 another opportunity, and, indeed, their domestic 
 happiness will be sc great, it is natural to wish to 
 partake of it. 
 
 I believe I am bewitched! I made a resolution, 
 when I began, that I would not be urgent: but 
 
EVELINA. 29 
 will not suffer me 
 
 T must acknow- 
 yermission. 
 
 rather my thoughts, 
 I acknowledge, 
 ishing for your Pp 
 I have made this 
 
 have read it if 
 But I will not 
 
 my pen, or 
 to keep it—for 
 ledge, I cannot help w 
 
 L almost repent alre ady that 
 pray forget that you 
 this journey 1s displeasing to you. 
 write any longer; for the more I think of this af- 
 fair, the | indifferent to it { find myself. 
 
 You will not, I am sure, send a refusal without 
 reasons unanswerable, and therefore J shall cheer- 
 fully acquiesce. Yet I hope—! hope you will be 
 able to permit me to go! 
 
 I am, with the utmost affee 
 Gratitude, and duty, your 
 EVELINA— 
 
 confession : 
 
 ion, 
 
 {nville, and what other 
 
 T cannot to you sign - 
 name can I claim? 
 
 Mrs. Villars to Ev lina. 
 
 Berry Hill, March 28th, 
 entreaty, is 2 power 
 I aim not at an 
 of liberty, yet I 
 
 To resist the urgency of 
 which I have not yet acquired : 
 authority which deprives you 
 would not guide myself by @ prudence which 
 should save me the pangs of repentance. Your 
 ; impatience to fly toa place which your jmagina- 
 ' @ tion has painted to you in colours so attractive, 
 surprises me not; | have only to hope, that. the 
 liveliness of your may not deceive you: 
 | to refuse, would be raising it still higher. To see 
 
 my Evelina happy, 1s to see myself without a wish 5 
 
 go then, my child; and may that Heaven, which 
 
 fancy 
 
30 EVELINA. 
 
 aione can direct, pregerve and strengthen you! 
 To that my love, will I daily offer prayers for your 
 felicity. O may it guard, watch over you, and 
 keep vice as distant from your person as from your 
 heart. 
 
 ARTHUR VILLARS, 
 
 Licelina to the Rev. My, Villars. 
 Queen-Ann Street, London, April 2, 
 THIs moment arrived, 
 
 Just going to Drury lane 
 theatre, The cel 
 
 ebrated Mr. Garrick performs 
 Ranger, lam quite in ecstacy. So is Miss Mir- 
 van. How fortunate that he 
 play! We would not let Mrs, 
 consented to go, 
 
 dress, for we have had no time to Londonise our- 
 selves: but we teazed her into compliance, and so 
 we are to sit in some obscure place that she may 
 not be seen. Asto me, 1 should be alike unknown 
 
 in the most conspicuous or most private part of 
 the house. 
 
 should happen to 
 Mirvan rest till she 
 Her chief objection was to our 
 
 I can write no more now. 
 to breathe—only just this, the house and streets 
 are not quite so superb as I expected. However, 
 I have seen nothing yet, so T ought not to judge. 
 Well; adieu, my dearest sir, for the present, I 
 could not forbear writing a few words instantly 
 on my arrival, though { Suppose my letter of 
 thanks for your consent is still on the read, 
 
 I have hardly time 
 
 Sunday, 
 This morning we went to Portland chapel; and 
 
 Afterwards we walked in the mall of St, James's 
 
 ilo 
 
EVELINAs 31 
 Park, which by no means answered my expecta- 
 tions: it isa long straight walk of dirty gravel, 
 very uneasy to the feet; and at each end, instead 
 prospect, nothing is to be seen but 
 
 of an open 
 houses built of brick. When Mrs. Mirvan point- 
 
 ed out the Palace to me—I think I was never 
 much more surprised. 
 However, the walk was 
 ed gay, and set med pleased ; aud 
 ‘+h dressed, that M Mirvan 
 at them. Mrs. 
 
 yery agreeable to us; 
 
 every body lo 
 the ladies were so mut 
 and I could do noth 
 Mirvan met several of ) 
 
 for I never saw so! 
 
 s. No wonder, 
 sembled together 
 
 before. I looked about for some ef my acqual 
 tance but in vain! for I saw not one person that 
 
 T knew, which is very odd, for all the w orld seem- 
 ed there. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan says we are not to walk 
 Sunday, even if we should be in 
 
 in the 
 
 Park again next 
 town, because there is bette r company in Kensing- 
 rdens; but really, if you had seen how much 
 
 ton-ga 
 d, you would not think that 
 
 every body was dresse 
 
 possible. 
 Monday. 
 
 vening to a private ball, 
 
 We are to go this 
 shionable lady of 
 
 given by Mrs. Stanley. a very 
 Mrs. Mirvan’s acquaintance. 
 
 We have been @ shopping as Mrs. Mirvan ealls 
 it, all this morning, to buy silks ps, gauzes, and 
 
 cay 5, | 
 so forth. 
 
 TI 
 cially 
 men belonging to eac 
 care, by bowing or smirking, 
 
 » shops are 
 
 really very entertaining, espe- 
 the mercers ; there seem to be six or seyen 
 h shop; and every one took 
 M : 
 to be noticed, We 
 
Ts dadeeibeel iain See 
 
 a2 EVELINA. 
 
 were conducted from one to another, and carried 
 from room to room with so much ceremony, that 
 at first I was almost afraid to go on. 
 
 I thought I should never have chosen a silk: 
 for they produced so many, I knew not which to 
 fix upon: and they recommended them all so 
 strongly, that I fancy they thought I only wanted 
 persuasion to buy every thing they showed me, 1 
 
 And indeed they took so much trouble, that I was 
 almost ashamed I could not. 
 
 At the milliners, the ladies we met were so 
 much dressed, that I should rather have imagined 
 they were making visits than purchases. But 
 what most diverted me was, that we were more 
 frequently served by men than by women; and 
 such men ! so finical, so affected! they seemed to 
 understand every part of 2 woman’s dress better 
 than we do ourselves; and they recommended 
 caps and ribbands with an air of so much impor-~ 
 tance, that I wished to ask them how long they 
 had left off wearing them. 
 
 The dispatch with which they work in these 
 great shops is amazing, for they have promised me 
 a complete suit of linen against the evening. 
 
 I have just had my hair dressed. You can’t 
 think how oddly my head feels; full of powder 
 and black pins, and a great cushion on the top of ; 
 it. I believe you would hardly know me, for my ; 
 face looks quite different to what it did before my 
 hair was dressed. When I shall be able to make 
 use of a comb for myself I cannot tell; for my 
 hair is so much entangled, frizzled they call it, 
 that I fear it will be very difficult, 
 
 J am half afraid of this ball to-night: for, you 
 
EVELINA» 33 
 
 sy danced but at school : hows 
 
 know, I have nevé 
 nothing init 
 
 ever, Miss Mirvan says there is 
 Yet I wish it was over. 
 
 Adieu, my dear sir; pray excu 
 perhaps I may improve by being in 
 will be less un- 
 
 se the wretched 
 
 stuff I write; 
 
 this town, and then my letters 
 
 worthy your re ing. Meantime, I am, 
 Your dutiful and affectionate, 
 
 thou 1 unpolished, 
 EVELINA. 
 Poor Miss Mirvan cannot we one of the caps 
 she made, bec ss her hair too large for 
 them, 
 og 
 
 Evelina in Continuation. 
 April 5, Tuesday morning 4 
 
 Queen- Ann street, 
 and shall give all this 
 
 T HAVE a vast deal to s 
 morning to my pen. 
 every evening the adventut 
 impracticable . for the diver 
 late, that if I began my letters after them, I could 
 not go to bed at all. 
 
 We passed a most ex 
 
 As to my plan of writing 
 1s of the day, I find it 
 
 ions bere are 80 very 
 
 traordinary evening. A 
 I this was calle i, so I expe eted to have 
 four or five couple; but Lord! my 
 half the world! Two 
 very large roo of company ; in one 
 were cards for the elderly ladies, and in the other 
 were the dancers. My mamma Mirvan, for she 
 ber child, said she would sit with 
 were provided with part- 
 
 private bal 
 seen about 
 I believe I saw 
 
 dear sir, 
 ms were full 
 
 always calls me 
 Maria and me till we 
 ners, and then join the ¢ 
 
 sard players. 
 € 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 The gentlemen, as they passed and repassed, 
 looked as if they thought we were quite at their 
 disposal and only waiting for the honour of their 
 commands; and they sauntered about in a careless 
 indolent manner, as if with a view to keep us in 
 suspense. I don’t speak of this in regard to Miss 
 Mirvan and myself only, but to the ladies in gene- 
 ral; and I thought it so provoking, that I deter- 
 mined in my own mind that, far from humouring 
 such airs, 1 would rather not dance at all, than 
 with any one who should seem to think me ready 
 to accept the first partner who would condescend 
 to take me. 
 
 Not long after, a young man, who had for some 
 time looked at us with a kind of negligent imper« 
 tinence, advanced on tiptoe tewards me; he had 
 
 a set smile on his face, and his dress wasso foppish, 
 that I really believe he even wished to be stared at; 
 and yet he was very ugly. 
 
 Bowing almost to the ground with a sort of 
 Swing, and waving his hand with the greatest con- 
 
 ceit, after a short and silly pause, he said, Madam 
 —may I presume it ?—stopt, offering to take my 
 hand. I drew it back, but could scarce forbear 
 laughing. Allow me, madam, continued he, af- 
 fectedly breaking off every half moment, the ho- 
 nour and happiness—if I am not so unhappy as 
 to address you too late—to have the happiness and 
 honour—., 
 
 Again he would have taken my hand; but bow- 
 ing my head, I begged to be excused, and turned 
 to Miss Mirvin to conceal my laughter. He then 
 desired to know if I had already engaged myself 
 to some more fortunate man? I said no, and that 
 
EVELIN 
 
 ould not dance at all, He would 
 disengaged, in hopes I 
 
 some rid iculous 
 
 nself, he told 
 
 keep h 
 should relent ; and then, 
 
 yeeches of sorrow and di t, though his 
 
 ble smile, | 
 
 e have since recollected, 
 dialogue Mrs. Mirvan was 
 of the hou And very 
 soon after, another gentleman, o seemed about 
 1d-twenty years 0 caily but not foppishly 
 t dsome, with an 
 
 ntry, desired to 
 
 conyer 
 
 air of mixed poli 
 
 know if I 
 ugh I am 
 
 my hand, 
 receive 
 
 sure I know n 
 from me; but 
 
 us, | find, are 
 
 any distinction of 
 
 y oL pre I 
 lam sure I coloured; for 
 
 ‘ing 
 
 persons, < 
 
 Well, I bowed, and 
 indeed I was frightened at the t houghts of danc 
 
 hate ore so many peo} all stranger» and, which 
 
 a stranger: however, that was un- 
 
 though I looked round the room 
 
 person that I 
 
 avoidable ; 
 several times, I could not see or 
 
 knew. And so he took my 
 
 join in the dance. 
 verbefore we arrived, for we 
 
 Theminuets were OV 
 late by the milliners making us wait for 
 
 were kept 
 
 our things. 
 He seemed very des rous of entering into con- 
 yersation with me; bu 1 was seized with such @ 
 
 if panic, that I sah, hardly speak a word, and no- 
 thing but the shame of so soon changing my mind 
 
ae 
 ov 
 
 prevented my returning to my seat, and declining 
 to dance at all, 
 
 He appeared to be surprised at my terror, which 
 I helieve was but tooapparent: however, he asked 
 
 ns though I fear he must think it very 
 
 strange, for I did not choose to tell h it was 
 
 owing to my never before dancing but with aschool 
 
 His conversation was sensible and spirited ; his 
 air and address were open and noble: his manners 
 gentle, attentive, and infinitely engaging ; his per- 
 son was all elegance, and countenance the most 
 animated and expressive I have ever seen, 
 
 In a short time we were joined by Miss Mirvan, 
 who stood next couple to us. But how was I 
 startled when she whispered me that my partner 
 wasanobleman! Thisgave me new alarm: how 
 will he be provoked, thought [, when he finc 
 what a simple rustic he has honoured with h 
 choice! one whose ignorance of the world makes 
 her perpetually fear doing something wrong ! 
 
 That he should be so much my superior every 
 way te disconcerted me 3 and you will suppose 
 my spirits were not much raised when I heard a 
 lady, in passing us, say, This is the most difficult 
 dance I ever saw. 
 
 O dear, then, cried Maria to her partner, with 
 your leave, I'll sit down till the next. 
 
 So will I too, then, cried I, for I am sure I can 
 hardly stand. 
 
 3ut you must speak to your partner first, an- 
 swered she; for he had turned aside to talk with 
 some gentlemen. However, I had not sufficient 
 courage to address him; and so a way we all 
 
EVELINA. Sy] 
 
 three tripped, and seated ourselves 
 end of the room. 
 
 But unfortunately for me, Miss Mirvan soon af- 
 
 ter suffered herself to be prevailed upon to 
 
 tempt the dance ; a! d just as she rose to §9, § 
 eried, My dé 
 ville. walking about the room in search of you. 
 
 l dear girl! cried I! but 
 And now I was more un- 
 given the world to 
 begged of her to 
 
 Don’t leave me then, 
 
 ged to go. 
 
 she was ob] 
 easy than ever; L would have 
 have seen Mrs. Mirvan, and 
 
 for what, thought I, can 
 
 make my apologies 
 
 possibly say to him 
 
 he must either conc 
 for any one brought up in 
 
 ys, can have no id 
 
 ude me a fool, or I 
 
 the great 
 accustomed to its wé 
 sort of fears as mine. 
 t My confusion increased when I 
 he was every where 
 perplexity and surprise ; but wh 
 
 him move towa 
 ready to sink with sh 
 it absolutely impossible to keep my 
 I could not think ofa word to say 
 so 1 rose, and walked hastily 
 
 > and distress 
 
 \ room, resolving to stay with Mrs 
 of the evening, and not to dance at all. But be- 
 h fore I could find her, lord Orville saw and ap- 
 
 proached me. 
 He begged to know if I v 
 
 may easily imagine how much 
 T made no answer; but hung 
 h and looked on my fan. 
 
 t He then, with an air the most r 
 
 at another 
 
 wt, yonder is your partner, lord Or- 
 
 1 excuse for running away ? 
 lf mad; 
 world, and 
 a of such 
 
 observed tha 
 
 secking me, with apparet 
 
 s the place where I sat, I was 
 1 found 
 seat, because 
 or myself; and 
 towards the eard 
 Mirvan the rest 
 
 as not well? You 
 I was embarrassed. 
 g my head likea fool, 
 
 espectfully seri- 
 
3 EVELINA. 
 
 ous, asked if hé had been so unhappy as to offend 
 me? 
 
 No, indeed! cried I; and in hopes of changing 
 the discourse, and preventing his further inquiries, 
 T desired to know if he had seen the young lady 
 who had been conversing with me ? 
 
 No ;—but would I honour him with any com- 
 mands to her ? 
 
 O by no means! 
 
 Was there any other person with whom I wish- 
 ed to speak ? 
 
 I said no, before I knew I had answered at all. 
 
 Should he have the pleasure of bringing me any 
 refreshment ? 
 
 I bowed, almost involuntarily. And away he 
 flew. 
 
 I was quite ashamed of being so troublesome, 
 and so much above myself as these seeming airs 
 made me appear; but indeed I was too much 
 confused to think or act with any consistency. 
 
 If he had not been as swift as lightning, I don’t 
 know whether I should not have stolen away 
 again; but he returned in a moment, When I 
 had drank a 3s of lemonade, he hoped, he said, 
 that I would again honour him with my hand, as 
 a new dance was just begun. J had not the pre- 
 sence of mind to say a single word, and so I let 
 him once more lead me to the place I had left. 
 
 Shocked to find how silly, how childish a part 
 Thad acted, my former fears of dancing before 
 such a company, and with sucha partner, return- 
 ed more forcibly than ever. I suppose he per- 
 ceived my uneasiness ; for hé entreated me to sit 
 down again if dancing was disagrééable to me. 
 
EVELINA. 39 
 
 But I was quite satisfied with the folly { had al- 
 ready shown ; and therefore declined his offer, 
 though I was really scarce able to stand. 
 
 -onscious disadvantages, you may 
 wr sir, how ill 1 acquitted 
 myself. But though I both expected and deserv- 
 ed to find him very much mortified and displeased 
 at his ill fortune in the choice he had made; yet, 
 to my very great relief, he appeared to be even 
 contented, and very much assiste d and encouraged 
 me. ‘The people in high life have too much pre- 
 I believe, to seem disconcerted, or 
 
 Under such « 
 ine, my de 
 
 easily im 
 
 sence of mind, 
 out of humour, 
 been the person of the most 
 ld not bave met with more attention 
 
 however they may feel : for had I 
 consequence in the 
 
 room, I ¢ 
 and respect. 
 
 When the dance was over, seeing me still very 
 much flurried, he led me toa s at, saying that he 
 would not suffer me to fatigue myself from polite- 
 
 ness, 
 
 And then, if my capacity, or even if my spirits 
 had been better, in how animated a conv ersation 
 might I have been engaged! it was then I saw 
 that the rank of lord Orville was his least recom~ 
 mendation, his understanding and his manners 
 being far more disti guished. His remarks upon 
 the company in general were so apt, so just, so 
 lively, I am almost surprised myself that they did 
 not reanimate me; but indeed I was too well 
 convinced of the ridiculous part I had myself 
 played before so nice an observer, to be able to 
 enjoy his pleasantry ; So self compassion gaye me 
 feeling for others. Yet I had not the courage to 
 attempt either to defend them, or to rally in my 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 turn; but listened to him in silent embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 When he found this, he changed the subject, 
 and talked of public places, and public perform- 
 ers; but he soon discovered that I was totally ig- 
 norant of them. 
 
 He then, very ingeniously, turned the diseourse 
 to the amusements and occupations of the coun- 
 try. 
 
 It now struck me, that he was resolved to try 
 whether or not I was capable of talking upon any 
 subject. This put so great a constraint upon my 
 thoughts, that I was unable to go further than a 
 monosyllable, and not even so far when I could 
 possibly avoid it. 
 
 We were sitting in this manner, he conversing 
 with all gaiety, I looking down with all foolish- 
 ness, when that fop who had first asked me to 
 dance, with a most ridiculous solemnity approach- 
 ed, and after a profound bow or two, said, ‘I 
 humbly beg pardon, madam,—and of you too, 
 my lord,—for which must doubtless be more 
 delectable—than what I have the honour to offer ; 
 but é 
 
 I interrupted him—TI blush for my folly,—with 
 laughing; yet I could not help it; for added to 
 the man’s stately foppishness, (and he actually 
 took snuff between every two or three words, ) 
 when I looked round at Lord Orville, I saw much 
 extreme surprise in his face,—the cause of which 
 appeared so absurd, that I could not for my life 
 preserve my gravity. 
 
 Thad not laughed before from the time I had 
 left Miss Mirvan, and I had much better haye 
 
eried then. 
 the beau, I know no 
 
 Lord Orville actually stared’ at me 5 } 
 t his name, looked quite en- 5 
 Refrain, madam, said he, with an impor- j 
 
 moments refrain !—I have but a ] 
 
 te | 
 
 to trouble you 
 what aceident 
 honour of your hand ? 
 
 Accident, sir! 
 
 Yes, accident, 
 liberty to obser 
 be no common one-~ 
 
 it ought to 
 a lady to be 
 A econtust 
 
 I have only danced,at 
 heedless I was, 
 the impropriety of ret 
 wards accepting 
 at the recollection: 
 rushing into 
 
 some warmth, said, 
 « such an accusation ! 
 The creature 
 low bow, an¢ 
 
 ous I ever saw, 
 me to accuse the 
 to distinguish ¢ 
 lordship. 
 gainie bowet 
 
 Was ever anythi 
 to die with shame. 
 lord Orville; while I, 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 with—May I know to 
 I must attribute not having the 
 
 ated I, much astonished. 
 .—for surely —jJ must 
 —pardon me, madam— 
 
 —that should tempt i 
 
 rep 
 
 mada 
 
 ilty of ill-manners y 
 
 ow for the t time entered 
 
 I had heard of the rules 
 
 sever at one before,— i 
 iddy and 
 
 tt 
 
 that “1 had not once considered 
 
 ising one partner, and after- 
 another. I was thunderstruck 
 but while. these thoughts 
 Jord Orville, with 
 
 my head, 
 sity 18 incapable of 
 
 This lady, 
 
 —for | am very angry with him— 
 1 with a grin the most malici- 
 My lord, s id he, far be it from 
 
 lady, for having the discernment 
 
 rd prefer—the superior attrac- We 
 
 and walked off. 
 ig? Iwas ready i 
 exclaimed | 
 
 ng so provokit 
 What acoxcomb ! 
 without knowing what I } 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 did, rose hastily, and moving off, I can’t imagine, 
 eried I, where Mrs. Mirvan has hid herself ! 
 
 Give me leave to see, answered he. I bowed 
 and sat down, not ng to meet his eyes; for 
 what must he think of me, between my blunder, 
 and the supposed preference ? 
 
 He returned in a moment, and told me that 
 Mrs. Mirvan was at cards, but would be glad to 
 see me: and I went immediately. There was but 
 one chair vacant: so, to my great relief, lord 
 Orville presently left us. I then told Mrs. Mir- 
 van my disasters ; and she good-naturedly blamed 
 herself for not having better instructed me; but 
 said, she had taken it for granted that I must 
 know such common customs. However, the man 
 may, I think, be satisfied with dis pretty speech, 
 and carry his resentment nofatther. 
 
 In a short time lord Orville returned, I con- 
 sented with the best grace I could, to go down 
 another dance, for Ivhad had time to recollect my- 
 self; and thereforsiresolved to use some exertion, 
 and, if possiblés appear less a fool than I had 
 hitherto done, for it occurred to me, insignificant 
 as I was, compared toa man of rank and figure ; 
 yet since he had been so unfortunate as to make 
 choice of me for a partner, why I should endea- 
 your to make the best of it. 
 
 The dance, however, was short, and he spoke 
 very little; so I had no opportunity of putting my 
 resolution in practice. He was satisfied, I sup- 
 pose with his former successless efforts foedraw 
 me out; or, rather, I fancied, he had been in- 
 quiring who I was. This rather disconcerted me, 
 and the spirits I had determined to exert again 
 
HVELINA- 
 
 falled me. Tired, ashamed, and mortified, I beg- 
 ged to sit down till we returned home, which I 1 
 did soon alter. Lord Orville did me the honour pt 
 to the coach, talking all the w f 
 
 to hand me 
 the honour I had done him / O these fashion- { 
 
 able people! 
 Well, my dear sir, was it not a strange even- rege 
 ing? I could not help 
 
 ps ticular, be- Fi 
 But it was now 
 
 eause to me, 
 Iam, with all love and duty, : 
 
 time to conclude. 
 
 your 
 EVELINA. 
 
 being thus 
 
 every thing is new. 
 
 ina in contin 
 
 1d to the troubles of last 
 
 TuEReE is to be no er 
 between persuasion 
 
 night. I have this moment, 
 gathered from Maria the most euri- 
 
 hat ever I heard. You will be at 
 but, my dear sir, have 
 
 ‘and laughter, 
 ous dialogue t 
 first startled at my yanity * 
 patience ! 
 
 Tt musihave passed while I was 
 Mrs. Mirvan in the card-room. Maria was taking 
 1 saw Jord Orville advancing 
 nself; but he did not 
 nmediately recollected A: 
 
 sitting with 
 
 some refreshment, ant 
 for the same purpose hit 
 know her, though she it 
 him. Presently after, 4 very gay-looking man, | 
 up to him, cried, Why my lord, 
 
 ith your lovely partner ? 
 
 ord Orville with a smile ; 
 
 stepping hastily 
 what have you done w 
 Nothing ! answered li 
 and a shrug- 
 By Jove, cried the man, she is the most beauti- } 
 fulveréature T ever saw in my life! } 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 Lord Orville, as be well might, laughed but 
 answered, Yes, a pretty modest looking girl, 
 
 O my lord, cried the madman, she is an angel, 
 
 A silent one, returned he. 
 
 Why ay, my lord, how stands she as to that? 
 She looks all intelligence and expression, 
 
 A poor weak girl! answered lord Orville, shak- 
 ing his head, 
 
 By Jove, cried the other, I am glad to hear it. 
 
 At that moment, the same odious ereature who 
 had been my former tormentor joined them, Ad- 
 dressing lord Orville with great respect, he said, I 
 beg pardon, my lord—if I , as I fear might 
 be the case—rather too severe in my censure of 
 the lady who is honoured with your protection— 
 but, my lord, ill-breeding is apt to provoke a man, 
 
 Ill-breeding! eried my unknown champion, 
 impossible! that elegant face can never be so vile 
 a mask ! 
 
 O, sir, as to that, answered he, you must allow 
 me to judge; for though I pay all deference to 
 your opinion—in other things,—yet I hépe you 
 will grant—and I appeal to your lordship also— 
 that I am not totally despicable as a judge of 
 good or ill manners, 
 
 I was so wholly ignorant, said lord Orville, 
 gravely, of the provocation you might have had, 
 that I could not but be surprised at your singular 
 resentment, 
 
 It was far from my intention, answered he, to 
 offend your lordship ; but really fora person who 
 is nobody, to give herself such airs,—I-own I 
 could not command my passions, For, my lord, 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 though I have made diligent inquiry—I cannot bee 
 learn who she is. Hrs ae 
 By what I can make out, cried my defender, " 
 she must be a country parson’s daughter. ee | 
 He! he! he! v good, "pon honour, cried le 
 so I could have sworn by her i 
 
 the fop ;—w 
 manners. 
 And then, delighted 
 
 I suppose, to 
 
 at his own wit, he laughed 
 
 peat it. ik 
 
 demanded the ; 
 ; 
 
 and went away 
 But what the deuce 
 other. 
 Why a very fo 
 ville; your Ellen first r 
 then—danced with me. 
 
 all this 
 
 affair, answered lord Or- 
 
 efused this cox »omb, and 
 
 This is all I can gather i 
 
 of it. 
 
 , 0, Orville, returned he, you are a happy man ! 
 —But ill-bred ?—I can never bel it! And 
 she looks too sens le to be ignorant. 
 
 Whether ignorant or mischievous, I will not 
 pretend to determine 5 but certain it is, she at- 
 tended to all I could say to her, though I have 
 
 _\ meally fatigued myself with fruitless endeavours 
 
 immoveable gra- 
 
 to entertain her, with the most 
 vity ; but no sooner did Lovel begin his com- 
 
 plaint, than she was s¢ ized with a fit of laughing, A 
 au, and then enjoying / 
 
 first affronting the poor be it 
 iheation. rs 
 Ha! ha! ha! why there is some g : 
 that, my lord, though perhaps rather—rustie. 
 Here Maria was called to dance, and so heard 
 
 no more. 
 4 Now tell me, my dear sir, did you ever know i 
 
 “any thing more provoking ? A poor weak girl! 
 ignorant or mischicvous! What nuortifying words! 
 " 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 I am resolved, however, that I will never again be 
 tempted to go to an assembly. I wish I had been 
 in Dorsetshire. 
 
 Well, after this, you will not be surprised that 
 lord Orville contented himself with an enquiry 
 after our healt morning, by his servant, 
 
 imself to call, as Miss Mirvan 
 had told mehe would ; but perhaps it may only be 
 a country custom, 
 
 I would not live here forthe world. I care not 
 how soon we leave town. London soon grows 
 tiresome. 1 wish the captain would come. 
 
 Ton we go to Ranelagh. If any of those 
 three gentlemen who conversed so freely about me 
 should be there—but I wont think of it. 
 
 Thursday morning. 
 
 Well, my dear sir, we went to Ranelagh. It is 
 a charming place ; and the brilliancy of the lights, 
 on my first entrance, made me almost think I was 
 in some enchanted castle or fairy palace, for all 
 looked like magic to me. 
 
 The very first person I saw was lord Orville. I 
 felt so confused !——but he did not see me. After 
 tea, Mrs. Mirvan being tired, Maria and I walked 
 round the room alone. Then again we saw him, 
 standing by the orchestra. We, too, stopped to 
 hear a singer. He bowed to me: I curtsied, and 
 Tam sure I coloured. We soon walked on, not 
 liking our situation : however, he did not follow 
 us; and when we passed by the orchestra again, 
 he was gone, Afterwards, in the course of the 
 evening we met him several times; but he was al- 
 ways with some party, and never spoke to us, 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 though when ever he chanced to meet my eyes, he 
 condescended to bow. 
 
 I cannot but be t at the opinion he enter- 
 
 tains of me. Iti 1e my own yayiour caus- 
 ed _vyet he is himself the most < cable, and, 
 seemingly, the most amiat ] n in the world, 
 
 and therefore itis that [am grieved to be thought 
 ill of by him : for of whose esteem ought we to be 
 f se who most merit 0 
 
 own? 
 
 ambitious, if not o 
 
 — But it is too late to r« flect upon thisnow. Well, 
 
 IT can’t he it—However, I think I have done 
 
 with ass¢ 
 This morning was destined for j 
 hops, and so forth; but my head 
 
 nbhes. 
 
 wumg § 
 
 auctions, curiou Pp 
 
 ached, and I was not in a humour to be amused, 
 and so | made them go without me, though very 
 unwillingly. They are all kindness. 
 
 And now I am sorry | did not a 
 for | know not what to do with myself. 1 had re- 
 solved not to go to the play tonight ; but I believe 
 Ishall. I short, I hardly care whether I do or 
 
 ccompany them, 
 
 not. 
 
 * + : * # 
 
 ight I had done wrong ! Mrs. Mirvan and 
 
 I thoug 
 Maria haye been half the town over, and so en- 
 staid at home to 
 
 tertained !—while 1 like a fool, 
 
 do nothing. And. at an auction in Pall-mall, who 
 
 should they meet butlord Orville! He sat next to 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan, and Ikeda great deal together, 
 
 but she gave me no account of the conversation 
 i may never have such another opportunity of 
 
 seeing London 1 am quite sorry that [owas ngt of 
 
EVELINAs 
 
 the party ; but I deserve this mortification, for 
 having indulged my ill humour, 
 
 Thursday night. 
 
 Weare just returned from the play, which was 
 King Lear, and has made me very sad. We did 
 not see any body we knew, 
 
 Well, adieu ; it is too late to write more. 
 
 Friday. 
 
 Captain Mirvan is arrived, I have not spirits to 
 give an account of his introduction, for he has 
 really shocked me. I do not like him. He seems 
 to be surly, vulgar, and disagreeable. 
 
 Almost the same moment that Maria was pre- 
 sented to him, he began some rude jests upon the 
 bad shape of her nose, and called her a tall ill- 
 formed thing. She bore it with the utmost good- 
 humour; but that kind and sweet tempered wo- 
 mar, Mrs, Mirvan, deserved a better lot. I am 
 amazed she would marry him. 
 
 For my own part, I have been so shy, that I 
 have ‘hardly spoken to him, or him to me, I can- 
 not imagine why the family was so rejoiced at his 
 return, If he had spent his whole life abroad, I 
 should have supposed they might rather have been 
 thankful than sorrowful, FLowever, I hore they 
 do not think soillof himasI do. Atleast, 1 am 
 sure they have too much prudence to make it 
 known. 
 
 Saturday night. 
 We have been to the opera, and I am still more 
 pleased than I was on Tuesday. I could have 
 thought myself in Paradise, but for continual talk- 
 
EVELINA» 48 
 
 ing of the company around me. Wesatin the pit, 
 gh a style, 
 
 where every body was dressed in so | 
 that if I had been less delighted with the perform- 
 
 ance, my eyes would have found me sufficient en- 
 
 tertainment in looking at the ladies, 
 
 I was very glad | did not sit next the captain ; 
 for he could not bear the music of singers, and 
 eryations on both. 
 
 was extremely gross in his obs 
 When the opera was over, we went into a place 
 called the coffee-room, where ladies as well as 
 gentlemen ¢ There are all sorts of re- 
 
 freshments, and the company walk about, and 
 freedom as in a pri- 
 
 semble. 
 
 chat with the same ease and 
 yate room, 
 
 On Monday we go to a ridotto, and on Wednes- 
 day we return to Howard Grove. The captain 
 says he won't stay here to be smoked wit lih any 
 longer ; but having been seven years $7 
 he will return to the country, and 
 
 a burning 
 
 sink into a fair weather chap. 
 Adieu, my dear sir. 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION, 
 
 My dear sir, Tuesday, April ll. . 
 Wx came home from the ridotto so late, or rather 
 so early, that it was not possible for me to write. 
 Indeed we did not go—you will be frightened to 
 hear it—till past eleven o'elock : but nobody does. 
 A termble reverse of the order of nature! We 
 sleep with the sun, and wake with the moon. 
 
 The room was very magnificent, tlie lights and 
 nr 
 
50 EVELINA, 
 
 decorations were brilliant, and the company gay 
 and splendid. But I should have told you, that I 
 made many objections to being of the party, ac- 
 cording to the resolution I had formed. How- 
 ever, Maria laughed me out of my scruples, and so 
 once again I went to an assembly. 
 
 Miss Mirvan danced a minuet; but I had not 
 the courage to follow her example. In our walks 
 I saw lord Orville. He was quite alone, but did 
 not observe us, Yet as he seemed of no party, I 
 thought it was not impossible that he might join 
 us ; and though I did not wish much to dance at 
 all—yet, as I was more acquainted with him than 
 with any other person in the room, I must own I 
 could not help thinking it would be infinitely 
 more desirable to dance again with him than with 
 an entire stranger. ‘lo be sure, after all that had 
 passed it was very ridiculous to suppose it even 
 probable that lord Orville would again honour me 
 with his choice ; yet I am compelled to confess my 
 absurdity, by way of explaining what follows. 
 
 Miss Mirvan was soon engaged ; and presently 
 afcer a very fashionable gay looking man, who 
 seemed about thirty years of age, addressed him- 
 self to me, and begged to have the honour of 
 dancing with me. Now Maria’s partner was a 
 gentleman of Mrs. Mirvan’s acquaintance ; for 
 she had told us it was highly improper for young 
 women to dance with strangers at any public as- 
 sembly. Indeed it was by no means my wish to 
 do so; yet I did not like to confine myself from 
 dancing at all ; neither did I dare refuse this gen- 
 tleman as I had done Mr. Lovel, and then, if any 
 acquaintance should offer, accept him: and so, 
 
KVELINA. 
 
 all these reasons combining, induced me to tell 
 
 him—yet I blush to write it to you !—that I was } 
 
 already engaged ; by which I meant to keep my- i 
 
 self at liberty to dance, or not, as mé tters should ee 
 
 fall out. 4 
 I sappose my ce neciousness betrayed my arti- \ 
 
 fice, for he looked at me as if incredulous; and, 
 tisficd with my answer and 
 ne to my expectation, 
 
 walked at my side, 1d, with the greatest ease 
 tiou in the free style 
 
 imaginable, began a c 1 
 which only belongs to old and intimate acquai 
 tance. But what was most 
 me a thousand questions concerning they 
 to whom I was enga And at | 
 Ts it really possible that a man whon 
 honoured with ) ‘ 
 hand to profit from your goodness: 
 
 I felt extremely foolish 5 and begged Mrs. Mir- 
 
 van to lead me to a seat; 
 The captain sat next her; and to my 
 
 instead of being 
 leaving me, accor 
 
 j 
 
 provoking, he asked 
 
 which she very oblig- 
 
 ingly did. 
 
 great surpris >, this gentleman thought proper to ° 
 follow, and seat himself next to me. 
 What an insensible ! continued he; why, ma- 
 dam, you are missing the most delightful dance 
 in the world !—the man must be either mad or a 
 fool—W hich do you ine to think him your- 
 self? 
 Neither, sir, answered I, in some confusion, 
 He begged my pardon for the freedom of his g I 
 supposition, saying, I was rea y off my guard, By 
 from astonishment that any man can be so much i 
 
 and so unaccountably his own enemy. But, 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 where madam, can he possibly be?—has he left 
 the room ; or has he not been in it ? 
 
 Indeed, sir, said I peevishly, 1 know nothing 
 of him. 
 
 I don’t wonder that you were so disconcerted, 
 madam; it is really yery provoking. The best 
 part of the evening will be absolutely lost. He 
 deserves not that you should wait for him, 
 
 I do not, sir, said I, and I beg you to— 
 
 Mortifying, indeed, madam, interrupted he,—a 
 lady to wait for a gentleman!—O fie !—careless 
 fellow !— What can detain him ?—Will you give 
 me leave to seek him ? 
 
 If you please sir, answered I, quite terrified 
 lest Mrs, Mirvan should attend to him; for she 
 looked very much surprised to see me enter into 
 conversation with a stranger. 
 
 With all my heart, cried he; pray, what coat 
 has he on ? 
 
 Indeed I never looked at it. 
 
 Out upon him! eried he ; What did he address 
 you in a coat not worth looking at?—What a 
 shabby wreteh! 
 
 How ridiculous! I really could not help 
 laughing, which I fear encouraged him, for he 
 went on— : 
 
 Charming creature! and can you really bear ill 
 usage with so much sweetness? Can you, like 
 patience on a monument, smile in the midst of 
 disappointment ?—For tay part, though I am not 
 the offended person, my indignation is so great, 
 that I long to kick the fellow round the room !— 
 unless, indeed, (hesitating and looking earnestly 
 
EVELINA. 53 
 
 at me), unless, indeed,—it is a partner of your 
 own creating ? 
 
 I was dreadfully abashed, and could not make 
 any answer. ‘ 
 
 But no! cried he (again, and with warmth,) it 
 eannot be that you are so cruel! Softness itself 
 is painted in your eyes.— You could not, surely, 
 have the barbarity so wantonly to trifle with my 
 misery. 
 
 I turned away from this nonsense with real dis- 
 gust. Mrs. Mirvan saw my confusion, but was 
 perplexed what to think to it, and I could not 
 explain to her the cause, lest the captain should 
 hear me, I therefore proposed to walk, she con- 
 sented, and we all arose ; but, would you believe 
 it? this man had the assurance to rise too, and 
 walk close by my side, as if of my party 
 
 Now, cried he, I hope we shall see this ingrate. 
 —Is that he ?—(pointing to an old man who was 
 lame)—or that? And in this manner he asked 
 me of whoever was old or ugly inthe room. f 
 made no sort of answer ; and when he found that 
 I was resolutely silent, and walked on as much 
 as I could without observing him, he suddenly 
 stamped his foot, and cried out in a passion, Fool, 
 idiot, booby! 
 
 I turned hastily toward him; O, madam, con- 
 tinned he, forgive my vehemence; but I am dis- 
 
 tracted to think there should exist a wretch who 
 ean slight a blessing for which I would forfeit my 
 life!—O that I could but meet him! I would 
 soon—But I grow angry: pardon me, madam, 
 my passions are violent, and your injuries affect 
 me? 
 
 ek easiest 
 
 ota 
 
 cy 7 
 LILAAAG LEE EAP 
 
 Sz 
 
 FIL 
 ht tow ek 
 
 oe abet 
 
 MELPLILELD bc 
 
 PEE? 
 
 ALF, 
 
 SEFILEL) 
 
 tL: 
 
54 EVELINAs 
 
 I began to apprehend he was a madman, and 
 stared at him with the utmost astonishment. I 
 see you are moved, madam, said he; generous 
 creature !—upon my soul, | am;—I entreat you, 
 most lovely of mortals! J entreat you to be easy. 
 
 Indeed, sir, said I, very seriously, I must in- 
 sist upon you leaving me: you are quite a stran- 
 ger to me, and I am both unused and averse to 
 your language and manners, 
 
 This seemed to have some effect on him, He 
 made me a low bow, begged me'pardon, and yow- 
 ed he would not for the world offend me, 
 
 Then, sir, you must leaye me, eried I, Lam 
 gone, madam, I am gone, with a most tragical 
 air; and -he marched away at a quick pace out of 
 sight in a moment; but before I had time to con- 
 gratulate myself, he was again at my elbow. 
 
 And could you really let me go,and not be 
 y2—Can you see me suffer torments inex- 
 sible, and yet retain all your fayour for that 
 
 miscreant who flies you 2—Ungrateful puppy! 
 I could bastinado him! 
 
 For Heavens sake, my dear, cried Mrs, Mir- 
 van, who is he talking of ? 
 
 Indeed, I do not know, madam, said 1; but I 
 wish he would leave me. 
 
 What’s all that there ? cried the captain, 
 
 The man made a low bow, and said, Only, sir, 
 a slight objection which this young lady makes to 
 dancing with me, and which I am endeavouring 
 to obviate. I shall think myself greatly honoured 
 if you will intercede for me. 
 
 That lady, sir, said the captain, coldly, is her 
 own mistress, And he walked sullenly on, 
 
EVELINA, 55 
 
 who looked de- 
 
 You, madam, said the man, 
 I hope, will have 
 
 lighted, to Mrs. Mirvan, you, 
 the goodness to speak for me, 
 
 Sir, answered she gravely, I have 
 being acquainted with you. 
 you have, ma’m, cried he, un- 
 daunted, you will honour me with your approba- 
 tion: but, while I am yet unknown to you, it 
 would be truly generous in you to countenance 
 me: andI flatter myself, madam, that you will 
 not have cause to repent it. 
 
 Mrs, Mirvan, with an em 
 
 I do not at all mean, sir, 
 gentleman—but— 
 
 But what, madam ?—that doubt removed, why 
 a but? 
 
 Well, sir, said Mrs. Mirvan (with a good hu- 
 moured smile) I willeven treat you with your own 
 plainness, and try what effect that will have on 
 you: ] must therefore tell you, once for all— 
 
 O pardon me, madam! interrupted he'eagerly, 
 you must not proceed with those words once for 
 all ; no, if I have been too plain, and, though a 
 a rebuke, remember, dear ladies, 
 that if you copy, you ought in justice to excuse me, 
 
 We both stared at the man’s strange behaviour. 
 
 Be nobler than your sex, continued he, turning 
 to us, honour me with one dance, and give up the 
 ingrate who has merited so ill your patience, 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan looked with astonishment at us 
 both. 
 
 Who does he speak 
 mentioned. 
 
 O madam! 
 
 not the plea- 
 
 sure of 
 I hope when 
 
 parrassed air, replied, 
 to doubt your being a 
 
 man, deserves 
 
 of, my dear,—you never 
 
 exclaimed he, he was not worth 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 montioning—it is a pity he was ever thought of ; 
 but let us forget his existence, One dance is all 
 I solicit. Permit me, madam the honour of this 
 young lady’s hand; it will be a favour I shall ever 
 most gratefully acknowledge 
 
 Sir, answered she, favours and strangers have 
 with me no connexion. 
 
 If you have hitherto, said he, confined your be-- 
 nevolence to your intimaté friends, suffer me to 
 be the first for whom your charity is enlarged. 
 
 Well, sir, I know not what to say to you,— 
 but— 
 
 He stopped her but with so many urgent en- 
 treaties, that she at last told me, I must either go 
 down one dance, or avoid his importunities by 
 returning home. I hesitated which alternative 
 to choose; but this impetuous man at length 
 prevailed, and I was obliged to consent to dance 
 with him, 
 
 And thus was my deviation from truth punish- 
 ed; and thus did this man’s determined boldness 
 conquer, 
 
 During the dance, before we were too much 
 engaged in it for conversation, he was extremely 
 provoking about my partner, and tried every 
 means in his power to make me own that I had 
 deceived him; which, though I would not so far 
 humble myself as to acknowledge, was indeed but 
 too obvious. 
 
 Lord Orville, I fancy, did not dance at all. He 
 seemed to have a large acquaintance, and joined 
 several different parties ; but you will easily sup~ 
 pose I was not much pleased to see him, in a few 
 
EVELINA. 57 
 
 minutes after I was gone, walk to the place I had 
 just left, and bow to and join Mrs. Mirvan ! 
 How unlucky I thought myself, that I had not 
 “onger withstood this stranger’s importunities ! 
 The moment we had gone down the dance, I was 
 hastening away from him; but he stopped me, 
 and said, that I could by no means return to my 
 party without giving offence, before we had done 
 our duty of walking up the dance. As I know 
 nothing at all of these rules and customs, | was 
 obliged to submit to his directions ; but I fancy I 
 looked rather uneasy, for he took notice of my 
 inattention, saying, in his free way, Whence that 
 anxiety ?—Why are those lovely eyes perpetually 
 
 averted ? 
 1 wish you would say no more to me, 
 have already destroyed all my 
 
 sir, cried 
 
 I, peevishly; you 
 happiness for this evening. 
 
 Good Heavens! what is it I 
 have I merited this scorn ? 
 
 You have tormented me to death ; you have 
 forced me from my friends, and intruded yourself 
 upon me, against my will, for a partner. 
 
 Surely, my dear madam, we ought to be better 
 friends, since there seems to be something of sym- 
 pathy in the frankness of our dispositions. —And 
 yet were not an angel, how do you think I could 
 brook such contempt ? 
 
 If I have offended you, eried I, you have but to 
 vy I wish you would ! 
 said he, half laughing, why 
 
 have done ?—How 
 
 leave me—and O hov 
 My dear creature, 
 where could you be e¢ 
 Where I most sincerely 
 How conscious you mus 
 
 jucated ? 
 wish I was now! 
 t be, all beautiful that 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 you are, that those charming airs serve only to 
 heighten the blooom of your complexion ! 
 
 Your freedom, sir, where you are more ac- 
 quainted, may perhaps be less disagreeable ; but to 
 me,— 
 
 You do me justice, cried he, interrupting me ; 
 yes, I do indeed improve your acquaintance ; you 
 will hereafter be quite charmed with me, 
 
 Hereafter, sir, | hope I shall never— 
 
 O hush!—hush!—have you forgot the situation 
 in which I found you?—Have you forgot, that 
 when deserted, I pursued you,—when betrayed, I 
 adored you ?—but for me— 
 
 But for you, sir, I might perhaps have been 
 happy. 
 
 What then, am I to conelude that, but for me, 
 your partner would have appeared ?—Poor fel- 
 low!—and did my presence awe him ? 
 
 I wish his presence, sir, could awe you! 
 
 His presence !—Perhaps then you see him ? 
 
 Perhaps, sir, I do, cried I, quite wearied of his 
 raillery, 
 
 Where ?—where ?—for Heayen‘s sake shew me 
 the wretch ! 
 
 Wretch, sir! 
 
 O a very savage !—a sneaking, shame-faced des- 
 picable puppy ! 
 
 I know not what bewitched me—but my pride 
 was hurt, and my spirits were tired, and—in short 
 T had the folly, looking at lord Orville, to repeat, 
 despicable you think ? 
 
 His eyes instantly followed mine; Why, is that 
 the gentleman ? 
 
 I made no answer; I could not affirm, and I 
 
EVELINA 
 
 would not deny !—for T hoped to be relieved from 
 his teasing by his mistake. 
 
 The very moment we had 
 our duty, I« agerly desired to return to 
 yan. 
 
 To your partner, I pres 
 very gravely. 
 
 This quite confou 
 mischievous man,igno 
 aself to lord Orvil 
 artifice. Fool 
 1 T now feared what I 
 re to avoid lord 
 
 done what we ealled 
 Mrs. Mir- 
 
 sume, madam ? said he, 
 
 nded me. I dreaded lest this 
 rapt of his rank, should ad- 
 dress him le, and say something 
 which might expose MY to involve 
 myself in such difficultie 
 had before wished; and th¢ refo 
 Orville, I was obliged o propose g ng 
 down another dance, ly to sink 
 with shame while [ spoke. 
 But your partner, ma’am ? 
 very solemn air, perhaps he may resent 
 ing you; 21f you will give me leave to as 
 sent— : 
 Not for the universe. 
 Who is he madam ? 
 I wished myself a hundred miies off. 
 peated his question, What is his name £ 
 Nothing —nobody—I don’t know— 
 a He assumed a most imports 
 —not know 2>—Give me leave, 
 recommend this caution to you; 
 public witha strangers;—with one 
 are unacquainted with,—who ma, 
 } turer,—a man of no character : 
 ts impertinence you may expose yourself. 
 Was ever any thing s° 
 id! help laughing in spite of my yexation, 
 
 myself t 
 though I was reac 
 
 said he, affecting 2 
 
 ant solemnity + How 
 my dear madam, to 
 Never dance in 
 whose name you 
 y beamere adven- 
 consider to what 
 
 ridiculous ? IT could not 
 
 aatstate 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 At this instant, Mrs. Mirvan, followed by lord 
 Orville, walked up to us. You will easily believe 
 it was not difficult for me to recover my gravity ; 
 but what was my consternation, when this strange 
 man, destined to be the scourge of my artifice, 
 exclaimed, Ha! my lord Orville !—J protest Idid 
 notsknow your lordship. What can I say for my 
 usurpation !—Yet, faith my lord, such a prize was 
 not to be neglected, 
 
 My shame and confusion were unspeakable, 
 Who could have supposed or foreseen that this 
 man knew lord Orville? But falsehood is not 
 more unjustifiable than unsafe. 
 
 Lord Orville—well he might—looked all amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 The philosophic coldness of your lordship, con- 
 tinued this odious creature, every man is not en- 
 dowed with. I have used my utmost endeavours 
 to entertain this lady, though I fear without suc- 
 cess: and your lordship will not bea little flatter~ 
 ed if acquainted with the difficulty which attend- 
 ed my procuring the honour of only one dance, 
 Then, turning to me, who was sinking with shame 
 
 while lord Orville stood motionless, and Miss Mirs || 
 
 van astonished—he suddenly seized my hand, say- 
 ing, Think, my lord, what must be my reluctance 
 to resign this fair hand to your lordship ! 
 
 In the same instant, lord Orville took it of him; 
 I coloured violently, and made an effort to recover 
 it. You do me too much honour, sir, cried he, 
 with an air of gallantry, pressing it to his lips be- 
 fore he let it go; however, I shall be happy to 
 profit by it, if this lady, turning to Mrs, Miryan, 
 will permit me to seek for her party. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 To compel him thus to dance, I could not en- 
 dure; and cagerly called out, By no means—not 
 | for the world—I must beg— 
 Will you honour me, madam, with your com- 
 mands? cried my tormentor, may I seek the 
 4 lady’s party ? 
 No, sir, answered I, turning from him, 
 What shall be done, my dear ? said Mrs. Mirvan. 
 Nothing, ma’am ; y thing, I mean 
 i) But do you dance, or not 2 You see his lord- 
 
 4 Ship waits. 
 I hope not—I beg that—I would not for the 
 
 world—I am sure I ought to—to— 
 
 I could no speak ; but that confident man, de- 
 termining to discover whether or not I had de- 
 . ceived him, said to Lord Orville, who stood sus- 
 , pended, My lord, this affair, which at present 
 seems perplexed | will briefly explain :—this lady 
 . proposed to me another dance,—nothing could 
 , have made me more happy,—! only wished for 
 your lordship’s permission 5 which, if now grant- 
 ed, will, 1 am persuaded, set every thing right. 
 
 3 I glowed with indignation. No, sir—it is your 
 ,, absence, and that alone can set every thing right. 
 
 For heaven’s sake, my dear, cried Mrs, Mirvan, 
 who could no longer contain her surprise, what 
 does all this mean ? were you pre-engaged ? bad 
 lord Orville—— tog 
 
 No. madam, cried I, only—only I did gibt 
 know that gentleman, and so,—and so I thought, 
 I intended—I—— 
 
 Overpowered by all that hac 
 atrength to make my mortifyi 
 
 i passed, I had not 
 ng explanation ;— 
 
62 EVELINA. 
 
 my spirits quite failed me, and I burst into tears, 
 
 They all seemed shocked and amazed. 
 
 What is the matter, my dearest love? cried 
 Mrs. Mirvan, with the kindest concern. 
 
 What have I done! and ran officiously for a 
 glass of water. 
 ~ However, a hint was sufficient for lord Orville, 
 who comprehended all I would have explained, 
 He immediately led me to a seat, and said, in a 
 low voice, Be not distressed, I beseech you; I 
 shall ever think myname honoured by your making 
 use of it. 
 
 This politeness relieved me. A general murmur 
 had alarmed Miss Mirvan, who instantly flew to 
 me; while lord Orville, the moment Mrs. Mirvan 
 had taken the water, led my tormentor away. 
 
 For Feaven’s sake, dear madam, cried I, let m¢ 
 go home ;—indeed I cannot stay here any longer 
 
 Let us all go, cried my kind Ms é 
 
 But the captain, what will he say ?—I had bets 
 ter go home in a chair, 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan consented, and I rose to departs 
 Lord Orville and that man both came to me 
 The first, with an attention I but ill merited from 
 him, led me to achair; while the other followed, 
 pestering me with apologies, I wished to have 
 made mine to lord Orville, but was too much 
 ashamed. 
 
 It was about one o'clock, Mrs. Mirvan’s ser- 
 vants saw me home, 
 
 And now,—what again shall ever tempt me to 
 an assembly? I dread to hear what you will 
 think of me, my most dear and honoured sir: you 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 will need your utmost partiality to receive me 
 
 without displeasure. 
 
 This morning lord Orville has sent to inquire 
 after our health; and sir Clement Will ugh by 
 (for that I find is the name of my persecutor) h 
 d not go down sta till he was 
 
 us 
 
 called but I woul 
 gone, 
 
 Adieu, my dear sir; Heaven restore me safely 
 to you! I wish J was to go immediately to Berry 
 Hill ; yet the wish is u ul to Mrs. Mirvan, 
 and therefore I will ré hall write an 
 account of the fantoceini from Howard Grove, We 
 have not been to half the public places that are 
 
 say you will think we 
 
 Re 
 sinnumer- 
 
 now open, though I dz ay 
 But they are almost a 
 
 10 fill them. 
 
 have been to all. 
 able as the persons wi 
 
 Evelina in Continua fon. 
 Queen- Ann-street, April 13. 
 my dearest sir, 
 
 How much will you be surprised, 
 ondon, of your 
 
 at receiving another letter from L 
 Eyelina’s writing! But believe me, i us not 
 my fault, neither is it my happiness, that I am 
 still here: our journey has been postponed by an 
 accident equally unexpected and disagreeable. 
 We went last night to see the fantoccini, where 
 we had infinite entertainment from the perform- 
 ance of a little comedy in French and Italian, by 
 puppets, so admirably managed, that they both 
 astonished and diverted us all, except the captain, 
 who. has a fixed and most prejudiced hatred 
 
 against what is not English. 
 
 vache 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 When it was over, while we waited for the 
 coach, a tall elderly woman brushed quickly past }¥ 
 us, calling out, My God, what shall | do? 
 
 Why, what would you do? cried the captain. 
 
 Ma foi, monsicur, answered she, 1 have lost 
 my company, and in this place I don’t know no- 
 body. 
 
 There was something foreign in her accent 
 though it was difficult to discover whether she was | 
 an English or a French woman. She was very 
 well dressed : and seemed so entirely at a loss what | 
 to do, that Mrs. Mirvan proposed to the captain 
 to assist her. 
 
 Assist her! eried he, ay, with all my heart ;— 
 let a link-boy call her a coach, 
 
 There was not one to be hand, and it rained 
 very fast. 
 
 Mon Dieu! exclaimed the stranger, what shall 
 become of me? Je suis au desespoir! i 
 
 Dear sir, cried Miss Mirvan, pray let us take 
 the poor lady into our coach. She is quite alone, 
 and a foreigner 
 
 She’s never the better for that, answered he; 
 she may be a woman of the town, for any thing 
 you know. 
 
 She does not appear such, said Mrs. Mirvan ; 
 and indeed she seems much distressed, that we 
 shall but follow the golden rule, if we carry herto 
 her lodgings, 
 
 You are mighty fond of new acquaintance, 
 returned he; but first let us know if she be going 
 our way. 
 
EVELINA. 4D 
 
 Upon enquiry, we found that she lived in Ox- 
 ford some disputing, the captain, 
 surlily and with a 
 admit her into bis coach 5 though he s 
 ed us that he was determined she sl 
 too much obliged to him, for he seemed absolutely 
 
 bent upon quarrelling with he 
 sien no other reason, th 
 
 road ; and al 
 
 ad grace, conseated to 
 
 convine- 
 
 «for whic 
 ; for whl 
 
 inhospitality I could a 
 that she appeared to be a foreigner. 
 
 The conversation began by her telling us 
 she had been in England only two days; that 
 belonging to her were Pari 
 1 hackney coach, as herown 
 vaited for 
 
 ians, and 
 
 gentlemen 
 had left her to see for 
 carriage was abroad : 
 them till she was quite frightened, and c 
 that they had lost themselves. 
 And pray, s d the cap ain, W 
 
 yneluded 
 
 s without an Englishu 
 
 a public pla 
 r, answered she, because none of my 
 
 Ma foi, s 
 acquaintance are in town, 
 
 Why, then, said he, [ll tell you what, your st 
 way is to go out of it y urself. x 
 
 Pardi monsieur, returned she, and so I shall for 
 I promise you, I think the English a parcel of 
 brutes ! and I‘ll go back to France as fast as Lean, 
 for I wouln not live among none of you. 
 
 Who wants you 2 cried the captain : do you sup- 
 pose, madam French, we bavet ot enough of other 
 nations to pick our Pp ckets already? Ill warrant 
 you there 1s no need for you for to put in your oar. 
 
 Pick your pockets, sir! I wish nobody wanted 
 et no more than I do: and Ill 
 nough. But there's 
 
 to pick your pock 
 promise you you'd be safe e 
 z 
 
66 EVELINA. 
 
 no nation under the sun can beat the English for 
 ill-politeness ; for my part, | hate the very sight of 
 them; and so I shall only just visit a person of 
 quality or two of my particular acquaintance, and 
 then I shall go back again to France. 
 
 Ay, do, cried he ; and then go to the devil to- 
 gether for that’s the fittest voyage for the French 
 and the quality. 
 
 We'll take care, however, cried the stranger 
 with great vehemence, not to admit none of your 
 vulgar, unmannered English among us. 
 
 O never fear, returned he, coolly, we shan*tdis- 
 pute the point with you; you and the quality may 
 have the devil ali to yourselv: 
 
 Desirous of changing the subject of a conversa- 
 tion which now became very alarming, Moss Mir- 
 van called out Lord, how slow the man drives! 
 
 Never mind, Moli, said her father; I'll warrant 
 you he'll drive fast enough to-morrow, when you 
 are going to Howard Grove. 
 
 To Howard Grove! exclaimed the stranger,— 
 why mon Diew, do you know lady Howard ? 
 
 Why, what if we do? answered he; that's no- 
 thing to you; she's none of your quality, I'll pro- 
 muse you, 
 
 Who told you that ? cried she; you don‘t know 
 nothing about the matter; besides you are the ill- 
 breddest person I ever see ; and as to your know- 
 ing lady Howard, I don’t believe no such thing: 
 unless, indeed, you are her steward. 
 
 The captain, swearing terribly, said with great 
 fury, You would much sooner be taken for her 
 washer-woman. 
 
 Her wash woman, indeed !—Ha, ha, ha, why 
 
EVELINA. 67 
 
 you han‘t no eyes : did you ever see a wash woman 
 
 in such a gown as this ?—Besides I'm no such 
 } 
 
 and 
 
 id 
 
 mean person, for I‘m as good as lady How 
 sides I‘m now come to E 
 
 as rich too, and b 
 to visit her. 
 
 You may spare your 
 plied the captain ; she has paupers enough about 
 
 if that there trouble, re- 
 
 her already. 
 
 Paupers, mister! no more a pauper than j 
 self, nor so much neither :—but you are a low 
 dirty fellow! and I shan’t stoop to take any more 
 no 
 
 ir- 
 
 ~aptain izing 
 captain, seizing 
 
 Dirty fellow ! e: 
 both her wrists; hark you, Mrs. Frog 
 hold your tongue: for L must m: 
 tell you if you don't, that I shall mak 
 mony of tripping you out of tk 
 you may lie in the mud till som 
 come to help you out of it. 
 
 Their increasing Ff on quite terrified u 
 Mrs. Mirvan was beginning to remonstrate with 
 the captain, when we were all silenced by what 
 follows. 
 
 Let me go, villain that you are! let me go, or 
 I'll promise you I'll get you put into prison for 
 this usage. 1’m no common person, | as 
 and ma foi, I'll go to} istice Fielding about you 5 
 gor I’m a person of f 
 know it, or my name an‘t Daval. 
 
 1 heard no more 4 amazed, frightened, and un- 
 speakably shocked, an involunt 
 of Gracious Heaven ! es ped me, and, more dead 
 than alive, I sunk into Mrs. Mirvan‘s arms. But 
 let me draw a veil overa scene too eruel for a heart 
 
 g, you'd best 
 1 to 
 
 bol 
 
 no ¢ 
 
 1d there 
 
 indow 
 
 16 OF your 
 
 sure you 5 
 
 ashion, and Lil make you 
 
 ry exclamation 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 so compassionately tender as yours ;it is sufficient 
 that you know this supposed foreigner proved to 
 be madame Duval,—the grandmother of your 
 Evelina, 
 
 O sir, to discover so near a relation in a wo- 
 man who had thus introduced herselfi—what 
 would become of me, were it not for you, my pro- 
 tector, my friend, and my refuge? 
 
 My extreme concern, and Mrs, Miryan’s sur- 
 prise, immediately betrayed me, But I will not 
 shock you with the manner of her acknowledging 
 me, or the bitterness, the grossness—1 cannot 
 otherwise express myself,—with which she spoke 
 of those unhappy past transactions you haye so 
 pathetically related to me. All the misery of a 
 much injured parent, dear, though never seen 5 
 regretted, though never known, crowded so for- 
 eibly upon my memory, that they rendered this 
 iaterview—one only expected—the most afflicting 
 f can ever know. 
 
 When we stopped at her lodgings she desired 
 me to accompany her into the house, and said 
 she could easily procure a room for me to sleep 
 in. Alarmed and trembling, I turned to Mrs. 
 Mivvan. My daughter, madam, said that sweet 
 Woman, cannot so abruptly part with her young 
 fried ; you must allow a little time to wean them 
 from eaca other. 
 
 Pardon me, madam, answered madame Duyal 
 (who from the time of her being know somewhat 
 softened her manners,) miss can’t possibly be so 
 nearly connected to this child as I am, 
 
 No matter for that, cried the captain (who es- 
 poused my cause to satisfy his own pique, thoug, 
 
EVELINA: 69 
 
 an awkward apology had passed between them,) 
 she was sent to us; and so, d’ye see, we don't 
 choose to part with her. 
 
 I promised to wait upon her at what time she 
 pleased the next day: and, after a short debate, 
 she desired me to breakfast with her, and we pro- 
 ceeded to Queen-Ann-street. 
 
 What an unfortunate adventure! I could not 
 close my eyes the whole night. A thousand times 
 T wished I had never left Berry Hill: however, 
 my return thither shall be accelerated to the 
 utmost of my power; and, once more in that 
 abode of tranquil happiness, [ will suffer no temp- 
 tation to allure me elsewhere. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan was so kind as to accompany me 
 to madam Duval‘s house this morning. The cap- 
 tain, too, offered his service ; which I declined, 
 from a fear she should suppose I meant: to insult 
 her, 
 
 She frowned most terribly upon Mrs, Mirvan 5 
 but she received me with as much tenderness as 
 T believe she is capable of feeling. Indeed, our 
 meeting seems really to have affected her ; for 
 when, overcome. by the variety of emotiéns which 
 the sight of her occasioned, I almost fainted in 
 her arms, she burst into tears, and said, Let me 
 not lose my poor daughter a second time! This 
 unexpected humanity softened me extremely 5 
 but she very soon excited my warmest indigna- 
 tion, by the ungrateful mention she made of the 
 best of men, my dear and most generous benefac- 
 tor. However, grief and anger mutually gave 
 way to terror, upon her avowing the intention of 
 her visiting England was to make me return with 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 her to France, This, she said, was a plan she 
 had formed from the instant she had heard of my 
 birth; which, she protested, did not reach her 
 ears till I must have been twelve years of age 5 
 but monsieur Duval, who she declared was the 
 worst husband in the world, would not permit her 
 to do any thing she wished: he had been dead 
 but three months ; which had been employed in 
 arranging certain affairs, that were no sooner 
 settled than she set off for England, She was 
 already out of mourning, for she said nobody here 
 could tell how long she had been a widow. 
 
 She must have been married very early in life; 
 what her age is I do not know; but she really 
 looks to be less than fifty.» She dresses very gaily, 
 paints very high, and the traces of her former 
 beauty are still very visible in her face. j 
 
 I know not when, or how, this visit would have 
 ended, had not the eaptain called for Mrs. Mirvan, 
 and absolutely insisted upon my attending her. | 
 He is become, very suddenly, so warmly my friend, 
 that I quite dread his officiousness. Mrs. Mirvan, 
 however, whose principal study seems to be heal- 
 ing those wounds which her husband inflicts, ap- 
 peased madame Duval’s wrath, by a very polite | 
 invitation to drink tea, and spend the evening 
 here. Not without great difficulty was the ‘cap- 
 tain prevailed upon to defer his journey some time 
 longer; but what could be done? It would have 
 been indecent for me to have quitted the town 
 the very instant I discovered that madame Duval 
 was in it; and to have staid here solely under her 
 protection—Mrs. Mirvan, thank heaven, was too 
 kind for such a thought. That she should follow 
 
EVELINAs 
 
 us to Howard Grove I almost equall Jed. 
 Tt is therefore determined, that we yemain in Lon- 
 don for some days, ora week; though the ca n 
 the old French hag, as 
 
 has declared tl 
 pleased to call her, shall fare never the better for 
 it. 
 
 My only hope is to get safe to Berry Hill ; 
 wheré, counselled and sheltered by you, I shall 
 have nothing more to fear. Adieu, my ever dear 
 and most honoured s I shall have no happiness 
 
 till I am again with you. 
 
 gerry Hi 
 
 that my Evelina would, 
 
 Tn the belief and hope } 
 ere now, have bid adieu to London, I had intend- 
 ed to have deferred wri r till I heard of her r 
 turn to Howard Grove ; but the letter I have this 
 
 with intelligence of madame 
 and, demands an immediate 
 
 moment received, 
 Duval’s arrival in Er 
 answer. 
 
 Her journey hither equally grieves and alarms 
 me. How much did I pity my child, when-J read 
 of a discovery at once so unexpected and un- 
 wished! I have long dreaded this meeting and 
 its consequen to claim you seems to follow 
 acknowledging you. tT am well acquainted 
 with her disposition, and have for many years 
 forescen the contest which now threatens us. 
 
 Cruel as are the circumstances of this affair, 
 you must not, my love, suffer it to depress your 
 spirits 5 remember, that while life is lent me, £ 
 will deyote it to your service; and, for future 
 
 eS 3 
 
 ro 
 
72 EVELINA, 
 
 time, I will make such provision as shall seem to 
 me most conducive to your future happiness. 
 Secure of my protection, and relying on my ten- 
 derness, let no apprehensions of madame Duval 
 disturb your peace: conduct yourself towards her 
 with all the ect and deference due to so near 
 a relation, remembering always, that the failure 
 of duty on her part can by no means justify any 
 neglect on yours. Indeed, the more forcibly you 
 are struck with improprieties and misconduct in 
 another, the greater should be your observance 
 and diligence to avoid even the shadow of similar 
 errors. Be careful, therefore, that no remissness 
 of attention, no indifference of obliging, make 
 known to her the independence [I assure you of; 
 bit when she fixes the time for her leaving Eng- 
 land, trust to me the task of refusing your at- 
 tending her; disagreeable to myself, I own, it 
 will be; yet to you it will be improper, if not 
 impossible, 
 
 In ard to her opinion of me, I am more 
 sorry than surprised at her determined blindness; 
 the palliation which she feels the want of, for her 
 own conduct, leads her to seek for failings in all 
 who were concerned in those unhappy transae- 
 tions which she has so much reason to lament. 
 And this, as it is the course, so we must in some 
 measure consider it as the excuse of her inyete- 
 racy. 
 
 How grateful to me are your wishes to return 
 to Berry Hill! Your lengthened stay in London, 
 and the dissipation in which I find you are inyol- 
 ved, fill me with uneasiness. I mean not, how- 
 ever, that I would have you sequester yourself 
 
~ 
 5 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 elong, since Mrs. 
 roof which your 
 eusable. 
 
 from the party to which you b 
 Mirvan might thence infer a rep 
 youth and her kindness would render ine 
 I will not, therefore, enlarge upon this subject; 
 but content myself with telling you, that I shall 
 heartily rejoice when J hear Of your sé fe arrival 
 at Howard Grove, for which place J hope you will 
 be preparing at the time you receive this letter. 
 
 I cannot too much thank you, my best Evelina, 
 for the minuteness of your communications, 
 Continue to me this indulgence, for I should be 
 miserable if in ignorance of your proceedings. 
 
 How new to you is the scene of life in which 
 aged 1—balls—pl 
 tos !—Ah, my child! at your return hither, how 
 will you bear the change 2? My heart tre mbles 
 for your future happin¢ s5.—Yet will I hope every 
 thing from the unsullied whiteness of your soul, 
 and the native liveliness of your disposition. 
 
 Iam sure I need not y, how much more I 
 ased with the mistake of your inexperience 
 ll, than with the attempted adop- 
 iers at the ridotto. 
 
 LysS— operas—ridot- 
 
 you are ent 
 
 was ple 
 at the private ba 
 tion of more fe hionable mant 
 But your confusion and mortifications were such 
 as to entirely silence all reproois on my part. 
 
 I hope you will see no more of sir Clement 
 Willoughby, whose conversation and boldness 
 are extremely disgustful to me. I was gratified 
 by the good nature of lord Orville, upon your 
 of his name; but I hope you will 
 tit to such @ trial. 
 dear child; and grant 
 nor, yice may ever rob 
 t, which resulting from 
 
 making use 
 never again pu 
 
 Heaven bless thee, my 
 that neither misfortune 
 thee of that gaiety of hear 
 
74 EVELINA, 
 
 innocence, while it constitutes your own, contri« 
 butes also to the felicity of all who know you! 
 ARTHUR VILLARS. 
 
 Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 
 
 Queen-Ann street, April 14, Thursdaymorning, 
 Berore our dinner was over yesterday, madame 
 Duval came to tea; though it will lessen your sur- 
 prise, to hear that if was near five o’clock, for we 
 never dine till the day is almost over. She was 
 asked into another room while table was clear= 
 ed, and then was invited to partake of the desert, 
 
 She was attended bya French gentleman, whom 
 she introduced by the name of monsieur du Bois; 
 Mrs, Mirvan received them both with her usual 
 politeness ; but the captain looked very much dis- 
 pleased ; and after a short silence, very sternly 
 said to madame Duval, Pray, who asked you to 
 bring that there spark with you? 
 
 Oh, cried she, I never go no where without 
 him 
 
 Another short silence ensued, which was ter- 
 minated by the captain’s turning roughly to the 
 foreigner, and saying Do you know, monseer, that 
 you are the first Frenchman I ever let come into 
 my house ? 
 
 Monsieur du Bois made a profound bow. He 
 speaks no English, and understands it so imper= 
 fectly, that he might possibly imagine he had re- 
 ceived a compliment, 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan endeavoured to divertthecaptain’s 
 ill humour by starting new subjects: but he left 
 to her all the trouble of supporting them, and 
 
EVELINA, 75 
 rin gloomy silence, except 
 offered of uttering some 
 h. Finding her € fforts to 
 render the evenjt ereeable were fruitless, Mrs. 
 Mirvan proposed a party to Ranelagh. ne 
 Duval joyfully consented to it 5 and the capt 
 though he railed against the dissipation of the 
 women, did not oppose it; and therefore Maria 
 and Tran up stairs to dress ourselves. 
 
 Before we were word was brought us 
 that Sir Clement Willoughby was in the drawing 
 room. He introduced hi f under the pretence 
 
 of inquiring afterall our he alt and entered the 
 ir of an uaintance 35 
 
 Jeaned back in his chai 
 when any opportunity 
 sarcasm upon the Frene 
 
 in, 
 
 hs 
 
 yoom with the easy 
 though Mrs. Mirvan confesses 
 harrassed when he found how 
 ceived, not only by the eaptain, but by hersell. 
 
 I was extremely disconcerted at the thoughts 
 of seeing this man again, and did not go down 
 stairs till I was called to tea. He was then deeply 
 iscourse upon French manners with 
 1 and the captain : and the subject 
 9 engross him, that he did not, 
 ance into the room. Their 
 n greativehemence 5 
 the superiority 
 
 smed eni- 
 
 was Te- 
 
 engaged in a a 
 madame Duva 
 seemed so entirely t 
 at first, cbserve mY entr 
 a was supported wit 
 
 roughly maintaining 
 of the English in every particular, and madame 
 Duval warmly réfusing to allow ofitin any: while 
 sir Clement exerted all ‘his powers of argument 
 and of ridicule, to second and strengthen whatever 
 was advanced by the captain : for he had the 
 sagacity to discover, that he could take no method 
 0 effectual for making the master of the house 
 his friend, as to make madame Duval his ‘enemy 5 
 
 conversatior 
 the captain 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 and indeed, in 4 very short time, he had reason to 
 congratulate himself upon his successful dis~ 
 eernment. 
 
 As soon as he saw me, he made a most respect- 
 ful bow, and hoped I had not suffered from the 
 fatigue of the ridotto: I made no other answer 
 than a slight inclination of the head, for I was 
 very much ashamed of the whole affair. He then 
 returned to the disputants ; where he managed 
 the argument so skilfully, at once provoking 
 madame Duval, and delighting the captain, that 
 T could not forbear admiring his address, though 
 I condemned his subtlety. Mrs. Mirvan, dreading 
 such violent antagonists, attempted frequently to 
 change the subject ; and she might have succeed~ 
 ed, but for the interposition of sir Clement, who 
 would not suffer it to be given up, and supported 
 it with such humour and satire, that he seems to 
 haye won the captain’s heart ; though their united 
 forees soenraged and overpowered madame Duval 
 that she really trembled with passion, 
 
 I was very glad when Mrs. Mirvan said it was 
 time to be gone, Sir Clement rose to take leave ; 
 but the captain very cordially invited him to join 
 our party: he had an engagement, he said, but 
 would give it up to have that pleasure. 
 
 Some little confusion ensued in regard to our 
 manner of setting off. Mrs, Mirvan offered ma- 
 dame Duval a place in her coach, and proposed 
 that we four females should go altogether ; how- 
 ever, this she rejected, declaring she would by no 
 means go so far without a gentleman, and wonder~ 
 ing so polite a lady could make so English a pro- 
 posal, Sir Clement Willoughby said, his chariot 
 
Uy d 
 
 RVELINA- 77 
 
 was waiting at the door, and begged to know if it 
 It was at last decided that 
 
 could be of any use. 
 e called for monsieur du 
 
 a hackney-coach should b 
 Bois and madame Duval, in which the captain, 
 st, sir Clement, went also, Mrs. 
 , and I hada peaceful and com- 
 
 and, at his req 
 and Miss Mirvatr 
 fortable ride by ourselves. 
 
 I doubt not but they quarrelled all the way; 
 1 every one seemed 
 we joined parties, 
 2d as much as pos- 
 
 for when we met at Ranel 
 out of humour; and though 
 poor madame Duval was avo 
 sible by all but me. 
 
 The room was so very much crowded, that but 
 for the uncommon assiduity of Sir Clemept Wil- 
 longhby, we should not have been able to procure 
 a box) for that is the name given to arched re-~ 
 cesses that are appropriated for tea parties) till 
 half the company had retired. As we were taking 
 possession of our places, some ladies of Mrs. Mir- 
 yan’s acquaintance stopped to speak to her, and 
 persuaded her to take a round with them. When 
 she returned to us, what was my surprise to see 
 that Lord Orville had joined her party! The 
 ladies walked on: Mrs. Mirvan seated herself, and 
 made aslight though respectful invitation to Lord 
 Orville to drink his tea with us; which, to my no 
 small consternation, he accepted, 
 
 I felt a confusion unspeakable at again seeing 
 him, from the recollection of the ridotto adven- 
 ture: nor did my situation lessen it; for I was 
 seated between madame Duval and Sir Clement, 
 who seemed as jittle as myself to desire Lord 
 Orville’s presence. Indeed, the continued wrang 
 
 ling and ill breeding of captain Mirvan and Ma- 
 
9 
 
 78 EVELINAs 
 
 dame Duval made me blush that I belonged to 
 them. And poor Mrs. Mirvan and her amiable 
 daughter had still less reason to be satisfied. 
 
 A general silence ensued after he was seated ; 
 his appearance, from different motives, gave an 
 universal restraint to every body. What his own 
 reasons were for honouring us with his company, 
 I cannot imagine; unless, indeed, he had a euri- 
 osity to know whether 1 should invent any new 
 impertinence concerning him. 
 
 The first speech was made by madame Duval, 
 who said, It’s quite a shocking thing to see ladies 
 come to so gentle a place as Ranelagh with hats 
 on; it has a monstrous vulgar look : I can’t think 
 what they wear them for. There isnosuch thing 
 to be seen in Paris, 
 
 Indeed, cried Sir Clement, I must own myself 
 no advocate for hats; I am sorry the ladies ever 
 invented or adopted so tantalising a fashion y/for, 
 where there is beauty, they only serve to shade it; 
 and where there is none, to excite a most unavail- 
 ing curiosity. J fancy they were eriginally worn 
 by some young and whimsical coquette. 
 
 More likely, answered the captain, they were 
 invented by some wrinkled old hag, who’d a mind 
 for to keep the young fellows in chance, let them 
 be never so weary, 
 
 I don’t know what you may do in England, 
 cried Madame Duval, but I know in Paris no 
 woman needn't be at such a trouble as that to be 
 taken very genteel notice of. 
 
 Why, will you pretend for to say, returned the 
 captain, that they don’t distingnish the old from 
 the young there as well as here ? 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 They don’t make no distinguishments at all, 
 
 said she ; they’re vastly too polite. 
 More fools they ; cried the capt in, sneeringly. 
 1 Sir Clement, that, for 
 
 Would to He 
 our own sakes, we hmen too were blest with 
 
 ting a bl ! 
 vil do you make such 
 
 so accommo 
 
 Why the ayer as 
 that ? demanded the capt in; them are the first 
 k + but I sup- 
 t sort of work. 
 
 foolish words I've hear 
 pose you're not much used 
 
 Did you ever make a r before since you 
 were a sniveller? 
 Ay, now, eried madam another 
 
 to talk- 
 in Paris nobody 
 
 of the inpolitenc 8S 
 
 about religion, no more than 
 
 about politics 
 Why then, answered he 
 no more care of their souls than of th 
 and so both one and t’other go to old Nick. 
 Well, if they do, said she, who’s the worse, so 
 
 long as they don’t say nothing about it? It’s the 
 
 tiresomest thing in the world to be always talking 
 i and nobody that’s ever 
 
 of them sort of things 
 been abroad troubles their heads about them. 
 Pray, then, cried the captain, since you know 
 so much of the matter, beso good as to tell us 
 what they do trout le their heads about ?— Hey, 
 sir Clement! ha’n’t we 2 right to know that 
 much ? 
 A very 
 ment, and I expect 
 lady’s answer. 
 
 y take 
 
 unt ry; 
 
 isa sign the 
 
 c 
 
 comprehensive question, said sir Cle- 
 much instruction from the 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Come, madame, continued the captain, never 
 flinch ; speak at once, don‘t stop for thinking. 
 
 I assure you I am not going, answered she; 
 for as to what they do do, why they’ve enough to 
 do, | promise you, what with one thing or ano- 
 ther, 
 
 But what, what do they do, these famous mon- 
 seers? demanded the captain; can't you tell us? 
 Do they game ?—or drink ?—or fiddle ?—or are 
 they jockeys ?—or do they spend all their time in 
 flummering old women ? 
 
 As to that, sir—but indeed I shan‘t trouble 
 myself to answer such a parcel of low questions, 
 so don‘t ask me any more about it. And then, 
 to my great vexation, turning to Lord Oryille, 
 she said, Pray, sir, was you ever in Paris? 
 
 He only bowed, 
 
 And pray, sir, how did you like it ? 
 
 This comprehensive question, as sir Clement 
 would have called it, though it made him smile, 
 also made him hesitate ; however, his answer was 
 expressive of his approbation, 
 
 I thought you would like it, sir; because you 
 look so like a gentlemen. As to the captain, and 
 as to that other gentleman, why they may very 
 well not like what they don‘t know! for I suppose 
 sir, you was never abroad ? 
 
 Only three years, ma‘am, answered Sir Clement, 
 drily. 
 
 Well, that‘s very surprising! I should neyer 
 have thought it: however, I dare say, you only 
 kept company with the English. 
 
 Why, pray, who should he keep company with ? 
 cried the captain: what, I suppose you'd have 
 
EVELINAs 
 
 him ashamed of his own nation, like some other 
 people not a thousand miles off, on purpose to 
 shamed of him ? 
 
 make his own nation 
 1 very good thing if you‘d 
 
 I‘m sure it would 
 
 rT 
 
 go abroad yoursell. 
 How will y 
 come, please to 
 of that. 
 Where, why a gt 
 another person of you. 
 What, I suppose 
 Capers ?—and dre 
 in French gibberish ?—hey, wo id you ?—and 
 
 yowder, and d daub and make myself up like some 
 , ] 
 
 e good 
 
 ell me, where wou 
 
 t deal. They‘d make quite 
 
 ‘1 have me learn to cut 
 12) Wate 
 like a monkey ?—and palaver 
 
 other fo 
 
 { would have you to learn to be more p 
 . and not to talk to ladies in such a rude old- 
 ion way as th You, § as have been in 
 ain addr ng her to Lord Orville,) can 
 snglish gentleman how he ‘1 be despised, 
 if he was to talk in such an ungents el manner as 
 this before any foreigners. Why, there isn’t a 
 hair-dresser, nor a shoe- -maker, nor nobody, that 
 wouldn‘t blush to be in your company. 
 
 Why, look ye, me adam, answered ‘the captain, 
 as to your hair-pinchers and shoe blacks, you may 
 puff of the ic manners, and welcome; and I am 
 heartily glad you like ‘em so well: but as to me, 
 since you mus needs make so free of your advice, 
 T must e‘en tell you, ar kept company with 
 any such gentry. 
 
 Come, ladies and 
 as many of you as h 
 
 f 
 Paris, 
 tell thi 
 
 I nes 
 
 gentleman, said Mrs. Mirvan, 
 ave done tea I inyite to walk 
 r 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 with me. Maria and I started up instantly ; lord 
 Orville followed; and I question whether we 
 were not half round the room ére the angry dis- 
 putants knew that we had left the box. 
 
 As the husband of Mrs. Mirvan had borne so 
 large a share in this disagreeable altercation, lord 
 Orville forbore to make any comments upen it; 
 so that the subject was immediately dropt, and 
 the conversation became calmly sociable, and 
 politely cheerful, and, to every body but me, must 
 have been highly agreeable :—but as to myself, I 
 was so eagerly desirous of making some apology 
 to lord Orville, for the impertinence of which he 
 must have thought me guilty of the ridotto, and 
 yet so utterly unable to assume sufficient courage 
 to speak to him, concerning an affair in which I 
 had so terribly exposed myself, that I hardly ven- 
 tured to say a word all the time we were walking. 
 Besides, the knowledge of his contemptuous opi- 
 nion haunted and dispirited me, and made me 
 fear he might possibly misconstrue whatever I 
 should say. So that, far from enjoying a eonver- 
 sation which might, at any other time, have de- 
 lighted me, I continued silent, uncomfortable, 
 and ashamed. O sir, shall I ever again involve 
 myself in so foolish an embarrassment? J am 
 sure that, if I do, I shall deserve yet greater 
 mortification. 
 
 We were not joined by the rest of the party, till 
 we had taken three or four turns round the room ; 
 and then they were so quarrelsome, that Mrs, 
 Mirvan complained of being fatigued, and pro- 
 posed going home. No one dissented. Lord 
 Orville joined another party, having first made 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 an offer of his services, which the gentlemen de- 
 clined, and we proceeded to an outer room, where 
 we waited for the carriages. It was settled the 
 we should return to town in the same manner we 
 came to Ranelagh; and, accordingly, monsieur 
 du Bois handed madam Daval into a hackney 
 eoach, and was just preparing to follow her, 
 When she screamed, and jumped hastily out, de- 
 claring she was wet through all her clothes, In- 
 deed, upon exawination, the coach was found to 
 be in a dismal condition ; for the weather proved 
 very bad, and the rain had, though I know not 
 
 riage, 
 
 how, made its way into the ca 
 
 Mrs, and Miss Mirvan, and myself, were already 
 disposed of as before; but no sooner did the cap- 
 tain hear t account, without any cere~ 
 mony, he was so civil as to immediately take pos 
 Session of the vacant seat in his own coach, leay- 
 ing madame Duval and monsieur du Bois to take 
 eare of themselves. As to sir Clement Willough- 
 by, his own chariot was in waiting. 
 
 Linstantly begged permission to offer madame 
 Duval my own place, and made a motion to get 
 out; but Mrs, Mirvan stopped me, saying that I 
 should then be obliged to return to town with 
 only the foreigner, or sir Clement. 
 
 O never mind the old beldame, eried the cap- 
 tain; she‘s weather-proof, I*ll answer for her; 
 and besides, as we are all, I hope, Haglish, why, 
 she'll meet with no worse than she expects frcm 
 
 us, 
 I do not mean to defend her, said Mrs. Mirvan3 
 
 but, indeed, as she belongs to our party, we cane 
 
84 EVELINA, 
 
 not with any decency, leave the place till she is, 
 by some means, accommodated. 
 
 Lord, my dear, cried the captain, whom the 
 distress of madame Duval had put into very good 
 humour, why, she‘ll break her heart if she meets 
 with any civility from a filthy Englishman, 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan, however, prevailed ; and we all 
 got out of the coach to wait till madame Duval 
 could meet with some better carriage. We found 
 her, attended by monsieur du Bois, standing 
 amongst the servants, and very busy wiping her 
 negligee, and endeavouring to save it from being 
 stained by the wet, as she said it wasa new Lyons 
 silk. Sir Clement Willoughby offered her the 
 use of his chariot, but she had been too much 
 piqued by his raillery to accept it. We waited 
 some time, but in vain; for no hackney-coach 
 could be procured. The captain, at last, was 
 persuaded to accompany sir Clement himself, and 
 we four females were handed into Mrs. Mirvan‘s 
 carriage, though not before madam Duval had 
 insisted upon our making room for monsicur du 
 Bois, to which the captain only consented in pre- 
 ference to being incommodated by him in sir 
 Clement's chariot. 
 
 Our party drove off first. We were silent and 
 unsociable ; for the difficulties attending this ar- 
 rangement had made every one languid and fa- 
 tigued: Unsoviable, I must own, we continued ; 
 but very short was the duration of our silence, 
 as we had not proceeded thirty yards before every 
 voice was heard at ouce—for the coach was 
 broke down ! I suppose we concluded, of course, 
 that we were all half-killed, by the violent shrieks 
 
EVELINA» 
 
 that seemed to come.from every mouth. The 
 chariot was stopped, the servants came to our as 
 sistance, and we were taken out of the carri 
 without having been at all hurt. The night was 
 dark and wet; but I had scarco touched the 
 ground when I was lifted suddenly from it by sir 
 Clement Willoughby, who begged permission to 
 st me, though he did not wait to have it grant- 
 ed, but carried me in his ns back to Ranelagh. 
 
 He inquired very earnestly if I was not hurt by 
 the accident ? I assured him I was perfectly 
 safe, and free from injury ; and desired he would 
 leave me and return to the rest of the party, for 
 I was very uneasy to know whether y I been 
 equally fortunate. He told me he was happy in 
 being honoured with my commands, and would 
 joyfully execute them; but insisted upon first 
 conducting me toa warm room, as 1 had not 
 wholly escaped being wet. He did not regard my 
 objections; but made me follow him to an aparte 
 ment, where we found an excellent fire, and some 
 company waiting for carriages. 1 readily accept- 
 ed a seat, and then begged he would go. 
 
 And go, indeed, he did: but he returned in a 
 moment, telling me that the rain was more vio- 
 lent than ever, and that he had sent his servant 
 to offer their assistance, and acquaint the Mirvans 
 of my situation. I was very mad that he would 
 not go himself: but as my acquaintance with him 
 was so very slight, I did not think proper to urge 
 him contrary to his inclination, 
 
 Well, he drew a chair close to mine; and, after 
 again inquiring how I did, said, in a low voice, 
 You will pardon me, Miss Anville, if the eager= 
 
 a 
 
if. 
 tHe 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 irae viele 
 
 86 EVELINAs 
 
 ness I feel to vindicate myself, induces. me to 
 snatch this opportunity of making sincere ac- 
 knowledgements for the impertinence with which 
 TI tormented you at the last ridotto, Ican assure 
 you, madam, I have been a true and. sorrowful 
 penitent ever since ; but—shall I tell you honest- 
 ly what encouraged me to 
 
 He stopped, but I said nothing; for I thought 
 instantly of the conversation Miss Mirvan. had 
 overheard, and supposed he was going to tell me 
 himself what part lord Orville had. borne in it; 
 and really I did not wish to hear it repeated, 
 Indeed, the rest of his speech convinces me that 
 such was his intention ; with what view I know 
 not, except to make a merit of his defending me. 
 
 And yet, he continued, my excuse may only 
 expose my own credulity, and want of judgment 
 and penetration. I will, therefore, merely be- 
 geech your pardon, and hope that some future 
 time— 
 
 Just then the door was opened: by Sir Cle- 
 ment‘s servant, and I had the pleasure of seeing 
 the captain, Mrs, and Miss Mirvan enter the room, 
 
 O ho! cried the former, you have got a good 
 warm birth here; but we shall beat up your 
 quarters. Here, Lucy, Moll, come to the fire, 
 and dry your trumpery. But, hey-day,—why 
 where‘s old madam French ? 
 
 Good God ! cried I, is not Madame Duval with 
 you ? 
 
 With me! No,—thank God. 
 
 J was very uneasy to know what might have be- 
 come of her; and, if they would have suffered 
 me, I should have gone out in search of her mys 
 
| EVELINA. 87 
 
 self; but all the servants were despatched to find 
 her: and the captain said we might be very sure 
 her French beau would take eare of her. 
 
 We waited some time without any tidings, and i 
 were soon the only party in the room. My un- i 
 
 sased so much that Sir Clement now 
 made a voluntary offer of seeking her. However, 
 the same moment that he opened the door with 
 this design, she presente d herself at it, attended 
 by monsieur du Bois. 
 I was this instant, madam, 
 t seek for you. 
 You are mighty good, 
 when all the mischief‘s over. 
 She then entered,—in such a condition !—en- 
 i tirely covered with mud, and in so great a rage, 
 it was with difficulty she could speak. We all 
 ern, and offered our assistance 
 who no sooner beheld her 
 
 éasiness incre 
 
 said he, coming to 
 
 truly, cried she, to come 
 
 expressed our cone 
 —except the captain, 
 than he burst out into a loud laugh. 
 We endeavoured, by our enquiries and con- 
 
 dolements to prevent her attending to him ; and 
 she was for some time so wholly engrossed by her 
 anger and her distress, that we succeeded without 
 much trouble. We begged her to inform us how i 
 this accident had happened. How ! repeated she, ay 
 —why it was all along of your all going away, b 
 and there poor monsieur du Bois—but it wasn‘t | 
 his fault,—for he’s as bad off as me. 
 th All eyes were then turned to Monsieur du Bois, 
 
 whose clothe s were in the same miserable plight 
 
 with those of Madame Duval, and who, wet, ; 
 g, and disconsolate, had crept to the fire. 
 
 ‘bes shivering 
 The captain laughed yet more heartily: while 
 
on 
 
 3G EVELINAe 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan ashamed of his rudeness, repeated 
 her inquiries to madame Duval; who answered, 
 Why, we were a coming along, all in the rain, 
 monsieur du Bois was so obliging, though I am 
 sure it was unlucky obligingness for me, as to lift 
 me up in his arms to carry me over a place that 
 was ankle deep in mud; but instead of my being 
 ever the better for it, jushas we werein the worst 
 part,—I‘m sure I wish we had been fifty miles of, 
 -—for somehow or other his foot slipt,—at least, I 
 Suppose so,—though I eannot think how it haps 
 pened, for I was nosuch great weight :—but how- 
 ever that was, down we both came together, all 
 in the mud; and the more deep we got covered 
 with the nastiness—and my new Lyons negligee, 
 too, quite spoiled!—However, it‘s well we got up 
 at all, for we might have laid there till now, for 
 aught you all cared ; nobody never came near ns, 
 
 This recital put the captain into an exstacy 5 
 he went front the gentleman to the lady, and from 
 the lady to the gentleman, to enjoy alternately the 
 sight of their distress. He really shouted with 
 pleasure; and shaking monsieur du Bois strenu- 
 ously by the hand, wished him joy of haying 
 touched English ground; and then he held the 
 candle to madame Duval, that he might have a 
 more complete view of her disaster, declaring re- 
 peatedly, that he had never been better pleased 
 in his life, 
 
 The rage of poor madame Duval was unspeak- 
 able; she dashed the candle out of his hand, 
 stamped upon the floor, and, at last, spit in his 
 face, 
 
9 
 
 9 
 8 
 
 EVELINA, 
 This action seemed immediately to calm them 
 both, as the joy of the captain was converted into 
 resentment, and the wrath of madame Duval into 
 for he put his hands upon her st 
 ake, that she scream- 
 ame time, 
 
 fear: 10ulders, 
 and gave her so violent a s 
 ed out for help ; < ring her, at the 
 hat if she had been one ounce less old, or less 
 ugly, she should have had it all returned in her 
 
 own face. 
 
 Monsieur du Bois, who had 
 quietly at the fi 
 tulated very warmly with the cap 
 nor yet re 
 
 rased till sie quite 
 
 ited himself very 
 By approached them, and expos- 
 
 tain; but | he 
 rded; and 
 
 was neither understood 
 sadame Duval was not rele 
 sobbed with passion. 
 
 When they were parted, I entreated her to 
 permit the woman who haé the charge of the la- 
 dies’ cloaks to assist in drying her clothes; slie 
 
 sible to save 
 
 consented and we did what was poss 
 5 
 We were obliged to 
 
 uation near an hour 
 ld be found: and then 
 manner as before the 
 
 her from catching cold. 
 wait in this disagreeable sit 
 before a hackney coach cou 
 were disposed in the same 
 accident. 
 
 I am going this morning to see poor madame 
 Duval, and to inquire after her health, which T 
 think must have suffered by her last night's mis- 
 though, imdeed, she seems to be na- 
 
 fortunes 5 
 turally strong and hearty. 
 ll to-morrow. 
 
 Adieu, my dear sir, ti 
 
i 
 “e 
 } 
 | 
 4 
 } 
 { 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 EVELINA IN CONTINUATION, 
 Friday morning, April 15. 
 Sirk Clement Willoughby called here yesterday at 
 noon, and captain Mirvan invited him to dinner. 
 For my part, I spent the day in a manner the 
 most uncomfortable imaginable, 
 
 I found Madame Duval at breakfast in bed, 
 though Monsieur di Bois was in the chamber ; 
 which so much astonished me, that I was, invo- 
 luntarily, retiring, without considering how odd 
 an appearance my retreat would have, when ma- 
 dame Dural called me back, and laughed very 
 heartily at my ignorance of foreign customs, 
 
 The conversation, however, very soon took a 
 more serious turn ; for she began with great bit- 
 terness to inveigh against the barbarous brutality 
 of that fellow the captain, and the horrible ill- 
 breeding of the English in general: declaring she 
 would make her escape with all expedition from 
 80 beastly a nation, But nothing can be more 
 strangely absurd than to hear politeness recom- 
 mended in language so repugnant to it as that of 
 madame Duval. 
 
 She lamented, very mournfully, the fate of her 
 Lyons silk; and protested she had rather have 
 parted with all the rest of her wardrobe, because 
 it was the first gown she had bought to wear upon 
 leaving off her weeds, She has a very bad cold, 
 and Monsieur du Bois is so hoarse he can hardly 
 speak. 
 
 She insisted upon my staying with her all day; 
 as she intended, she said, to introduce me to some 
 
EVELINA» 91 
 
 ‘ons. 1 would very fain have ¢x- 
 she did not allow me any choice. 
 tions, one continued 
 and of answers on 
 together. 
 
 of my own relat 
 cused myself, but 
 Till the arrival of these rela 
 series of que stions on her side, 
 mine, filled up all the time we passed 
 Her curiosity was i she inquired into 
 action of my life, ur that 
 ives of all 
 
 iables 
 and every. partic 
 jon in the | 
 to avow the 
 
 1 
 
 eve 
 had fallen ut 
 I knew. Again she 
 most inveterate rancour 
 tor her deserted child and 
 with; and such ndignation her ingrati- 
 tude raised, that I would actually have quitted 
 her presence and house, had not, in 2 man- 
 ner the most peremptory, absolutely forbad me. 
 But what, good Heaven! can induce her to such 
 
 shocking injustice jend and father! I 
 
 have no commane his subject is 
 
 started. 
 
 She talked very much of taking me to Paris, and 
 said I greatly wanted the polish, of a French edu- 
 .. She Jamented that I had been brought 
 e country, which, she observed, had given 
 
 i nic. Howevers she bade 
 , many girls 
 
 der my observat 
 was so cruel a8 
 against the sole benefac- 
 erand child have met 
 
 was the 1 
 
 she 
 
 ,2 ©, my fr 
 1 of myself when t 
 
 cation, 
 up in th 
 me @ very 
 me not despair, for 
 much worse than me, 
 ladies after a few years residen 
 particularly instanced a Miss Polly Moore, daugh- 
 ter of a chandler’s shop woman, who, by an acci- 
 dent not worth relating, happened to be sent to 
 Paris, where, from an awkward ill bred girl, she 
 so much impr that she has since been taken 
 
 for a woman of qu 
 The relation to W 
 
 bumpkrnrs 
 she had know? 
 who had become yery fine 
 ee abroad; and she 
 
 oved, 
 ality. 
 
 hom she was pleased to intro- 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 duce me, consisted of a Mr. Branghton, who is 
 hernephew; and three of his children; the eldest 
 of whom isa son, and the two younger are daugh- 
 ters, 
 
 Mr. Branghton appears about forty years ofage, 
 He does not seem to want a common understand- 
 ing though he is very contracted and prejudiced ; 
 he has spent his whole time in the city, and I be- 
 lieve feels. a great contempt for all who reside else- 
 where, 
 
 His son seems weaker in his understanding, and 
 more gay in his temper; but his gaiety is that ofa 
 foolish overgrown School-boy, whose mirth consists 
 in noise and disturbance, He disdains his father 
 for his close attention to business, and love of mo- 
 ney; though he seems himself to have no talents, 
 spirit, or generosity, to make him superior to 
 either. His chief delight appears to be torment 
 ing and ridiculing his sisters; who, in return, 
 most heartily despise him, 
 
 Miss Branghton, the eldest daughter, is by no 
 means ugly; but looks proud, ill tempered, and 
 conceited. She hates the eity, though without 
 knowing why: for it ig easy to discover she has 
 lived no where else. 
 
 Miss Polly Branghton is rather pretty, very fool- 
 ish, very ignorant, very giddy, and } believe, very 
 good natured. 
 
 The first half hour was allotted to making them= 
 selves comfortable + for they complained of having 
 had a very dirty walk, as they came on foot from 
 Snow hill, where Mr. Branghton keeps a silver- 
 smith’s shop; and the young ladies had not only 
 their coats to brush, and shoes to dry, but toad- 
 
EVELINA, 935 
 just their head dress, which their bonnets had to- 
 tally discomposed. 
 
 The manner in whi 
 to introduce me to this famil 
 me. Here, my dear a relation 
 you little thought of: but you must know my poor 
 daughter C i 
 
 Madam Duval was pleased 
 extrem 
 
 1e, he 
 
 y shocked 
 
 line had this child after she run a- 
 way from me,—though I never knew nothing of 
 it, not 1, for a } while after; for they took 
 care to keep it a secret from , though the poor 
 child has never a friend in the world besides. 
 
 arted, aunt, said Miss 
 ame for her 
 
 te 
 
 Miss seems very tender | 
 Polly; and to be sure she‘s not to k 
 mamma‘s undutifulness, for she could‘nt help it. 
 
 Lord, no, answered she, and 1 yer took no 
 notice of it to he indeed, to that, my 
 own poor daughte t so much to blame as 
 you may think; for: 
 if it had not beer 
 told you of. 
 
 If aunt pl 
 we'll talk o° somewhat else, for Miss looks very 
 uneasylike. 
 
 The next subject that was chosen was the age 
 of the three young Branghtons and myself. The 
 son is twenty; thelaughters, upon hearing that 
 I was seventeen, said that was just the age of Miss 
 Polly, but their brother, after a long dispute, 
 proved that she was two years older, to the great 
 anger of both sisters, who agreed that he was very 
 ill-natured and spitetul. 
 
 When this point was settled, the question was 
 put, Which was the tallest? —We were desired to 
 Measure, as the Brapghtons were all of different 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 opinions. None of them, however, disputed my 
 being the tallest in the company; but, in regard 
 to one another, they were extremely quarrelsome ; 
 the brother insisted upon their measuring fair, 
 and not with heads and heels; but they would by 
 no means consent to lose those privileges of our 
 sex, and therefore the young man was cast, as 
 shortest; though he appealed to all present upon 
 the injustice of the decree. 
 
 This ceremony over, the young ladies began 
 very freely, to examine my dress, and to interro- 
 gate me concerning it. This apron’s your own 
 work, I suppose, Miss? both these sprigs a’n’t in 
 fashion now. Pray, ifit is not impertinent, what 
 might you give a yard for this lutestring?—Do 
 you make your own caps, Miss?—and many other 
 questions equally interesting and well bred. 
 
 They then asked me how I liked London? and 
 whether 1 should not think the country a very dull 
 place, when I returned thither? - Miss must try 
 ifshe can’t get a good husband, said Mr. Brangh- 
 ton, and then she may stay and live here. 
 
 The next topic was public places, or rather the 
 theatres, for they know of no other; and the mer- 
 its and defects of all the actors and actresses were 
 discussed; the young man here took the lead, and 
 seemed to be very conversant On the subject. But 
 during this time, what was my concern, and suffer 
 me to add, my indignation, when I found, by 
 some words I occasionally heard, that Madame 
 Duval was entertaining Mr. Branghton with all 
 the most secret.and cruel particulars of my situa- 
 tion! The eldest daughter was soon drawn to 
 them by the recital; the youngest and the son still 
 
RVELINA. 95 \ 
 
 | \kept"their places; intending, 1 believe, to divert 
 
 | |} me, though the conversation was all their own. 
 
 : Ina few minutes, Miss Branghton, coming sud- 
 
 + |denly up to her sister, exclaimed, Lord Polly, only | 
 ’ | think ! Miss never saw her papa! { 
 r Lord how odd! cried the other; why then, miss | 
 § | I suppose you wouldn’t know him? 
 
 This was quite too much for me; I rose hastily 
 and ran out of the room; but I soon regretted I 
 had so littlecommand of myself; for the two sis- 
 «| ters both followed, and insisted upon comforting 
 me, notwithstanding my earnest entreaties to be : 
 
 left alone. 
 i As soon as I returned to the company, madame 
 Doval said; Why my dear, what was the matter 
 with you ? why did you run away 80? 
 
 This question almost made me run again, for I 
 knew not how to answér it. But, is it not very 
 extraordinary that she can put me in 1ations so 
 shocking, and then wonder to find me sensible of 
 
 any concern ? 
 
 Mr, Branghton junior now inquired of me, whe- 
 ther I had seen the Tower or St. Paul’s ehurch 5 
 and upon my answering in the negative, they pro- 
 
 posed making a party to show them to me, Among 
 a: rape ep v My 
 other questions, they also asked, if l had ever seen 5 
 Ne 
 
 such a thing asan opera? I told them JT had. tt 
 Well, said Mr. Branghton, I never saw one in 
 my life, so long as I’ve lived in London; and I ‘ 
 one, if I live here as much 
 
 m never desire to see 
 
 longer. f 
 Lord, papa, cried Miss’ Polly, why not? you 
 
 might as well for once, for the curiosity of the t 
 
96 EVELINA, 
 
 thing ; besides, Miss Pomfret saw one, and she says 
 it was very pretty. 
 
 Miss will think us very vulgar, said Miss Brangh- 
 ton, to live in London, and never have been at an 
 opera: but it’s no fault of mine, [assure you miss, 
 only papa don’t like to go. 
 
 The result was, that a party was proposed, and 
 agreed to, for some early opportunity. I did not 
 dare to contradict them ; but I said that my time 
 while I remained in town, was at the disposal of 
 Mrs. Mirvan. However, J am sure I will not at- 
 tend them, if I can possibly avoid so doing. 
 
 When we parted, madame Duval desired to see 
 me the next day; and the Branghton’s told me 
 that the first time I went towards Snow hill they 
 should be very glad if 1 would call upon them. 
 
 I wish we may not meet again till that time ar- 
 rives. 
 
 I am sure I shall not be very ambitious of being 
 known to any more of my relations, if they have 
 any resemblance to those whose acquaintance I 
 haye been introduced to already, 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 I Hap just finished my letter to you this morning, 
 when a violent rapping at the door made me run 
 down stairs; and who should I see in the drawing- 
 room, but—lord Orville! 
 
 He was quite alone, for the family had not as- 
 sembled to breakfast. He inquired first of mine, 
 then of the health of Mrs, and Miss Mirvan, with 
 a degree of concern that rather surprised me, till 
 he said that he had just been informed of the 
 
EVELINA. $7 
 
 accident we had met with at Ranelagh. He ex- 
 pressed his sorrow upon the occasion with the ut- 
 most politeness, and lamented that he had not 
 been so fortunate as to hear of if in time to offer 
 his services. But I think, he added, sir Clement 
 Willoughby had the honour of assisting you ? 
 
 He was with captain Mirvan, my lord, 
 
 : I heard of his being of your party. 
 
 IT hope that flighty man has not been telling lord 
 Orville he only assisted me! However, he did not 
 pursue the subject; but said, This accident, though 
 extremely unfortunate, will not I hope, be the 
 means of frightening you from gracing Ranelagh 
 
 with your presence in future? 
 
 Our time, my lord, for London, is almost expired 
 already. 
 
 Indeed ! do you leave so very soon ? 
 
 O yes, my lord; our stay has already exceeded 
 our intentions, 
 
 Are you, then, so particularly partial to the 
 country ? 
 
 We merely came to town, my lord, to meet cap- 
 tain Mirvan. 
 
 And does Miss Anville feel no concern at the 
 idea of the many mourners her absence will occa- 
 sion ? 
 
 O, my lord,—I‘m sure you don't think—I stop- 
 ped there ; for, indeed, I hardly knew what I was 
 going to say. My foolish embarrassment, I sup- 
 pose, was the cause of what followed; for he came 
 to me, and took my hand, saying, | do think, that 
 whoever has onee seen Miss Anville, must receive 
 an impression never to be forgotten, 
 
 a 
 
98 EVELINA, 
 
 This compliment,—from Lord Orville,—so sur- 
 prised me, that I could not speak; but felt myself 
 change colour, and stood for some moments silent, 
 and looking down; however, the instant I recol- 
 lected my situation, I withdrew my hand, and told 
 him that i would see if Mrs Mirvan was not dress- 
 ed, He did not oppose me—so away I went. 
 
 I met them all on the stairs, and returned with 
 them to breakfast. 
 
 YT have since been extremely angry with myself 
 for neglecting so excellent an opportunity of apolo- 
 gising for my behaviour at the ridotto; but, to 
 own the truth, that affair never once occurred to 
 me during the short fete-a-tcte which we had toge- 
 ther. But, if ever we should happen to be so 
 situated again, I will certainly mention it ; for I 
 am inexpressibly concerned at the thought of his 
 harbouring an opinion that Iam bold or imper- 
 tinent, and I could almost kill myself for having 
 given him the shadow of a reason for so shocking 
 an idea. 
 
 But was it not very odd that he should make 
 me such a compliment? I expected it not from 
 him ;—but gallantry, I believe, is common to all 
 men, whatever other qualities they may have in 
 particular. 
 
 Our bi ast was the most agreeable meal, if 
 it maybe called a meal, th e have had since 
 wecametotown. Indeed, but for madame Duval 
 I should like London extremely. * 
 
 The conversation of Jord Orville is really de- 
 lightful, His manners are so elegant, so gentle, 
 so unassuming, that they at once engage esteem, 
 and diffase complacence, Far from being indo- 
 
EVELINA; 99 
 
 lently satisfied with his own accomplishments, as 
 I haye already observed many men here are, 
 though without any pretensions to his merit, he 
 is most.assiduously attentive to please and to serve 
 all who are in his company ; and though his suc- 
 cess is invariable, he never manifests the smallest 
 
 degree of consciousness, 
 
 { could wish that you, my dearest sir, knew lord 
 Irville, because I am sure you would love him 5 
 and Ihave felt that wish for no other person I 
 haye seen since I came to London. I sometimes 
 imagine, that when his youth is flown, his vivacity 
 rement, he 
 
 abated, and his life is devoted to ret 
 will, perhaps, resemble him whom I most love and 
 
 honour. His present sweetness, politeness, and 
 diffidence, seem to promise in future the same 
 benevolence, dignity, and goodnes But I must 
 not expatiate upon tl 
 
 When lord Orville was gone,—and he made but 
 s preparing, most reluc- 
 
 subj 
 
 a very short visit,—I w: 
 tantly, to wait upon Madame Duval; but Mrs. 
 Mirvan proposed to the captain, that she should 
 :d to dinner in Queen Anne-street ; and 
 ished toask 
 
 be invi 
 he readily consented, for he said he w 
 after her Lyons negligee. 
 
 The invitation is accepted, and we expect her 
 
 everymoment. Butto me,it 1s very strange, that 
 is the uncontrolled mistress of her 
 oose to ex- 
 
 a2 woman ¥ 
 time, fortune, and actions, should 
 pose herself voluntarily to the rudeness of a man 
 ed to make her his sport. 
 w acquaintance; and, I fancy 
 
 who is. openly det 
 But she has very 
 scarce knows how to employ herself. 
 
 How great is my obligation to Mrs, Mirvan, for 
 
100 EVELINA. 
 
 bestowing hertime ina manner 80 disagreeable to 
 herself, merely to promote my happiness! Every 
 dispute in which her undeserving husband engages, 
 is productive of pain and uneasiness to herself; of 
 this I am so sensible, that I even besought her not 
 to send to madame Duval ; but she declared she 
 could not bear to have me pass all my time, while 
 in town, with her only. Indeed she could not be 
 more kind to me, were she your daughter. 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 
 Saturday morning, April 16, 
 Mapamg Duval was accompanied by Monsieur du 
 Bois. Iam surprised that she should choose to 
 introduce him where he is so unweleome: and, 
 indeed, it is strange that they should be so con- 
 stantly together; though I believe I should not 
 have taken notice of it, but captain Mirvan is 
 perpetually rallying me upon my grand-mamma's 
 beau. 
 
 They were both received by Mrs. Mirvan with 
 her usual good-breeding ; but the captain, most 
 proyokingly, attacked her immediately, saying, 
 Now, madam, you that have lived abroad, please 
 to tell me this here; which did you like best, the 
 warm room at Ranelagh, or the cold bath you) 
 went into afterwards? though, I assure you, you 
 look so well, that I should advise you to take 
 another dip, 
 
 Ma foi sir, cried she, nobody asked for your 
 advice, so you may as well keep it to yourself: 
 besides, it’s no uch joke to be splashed, and to 
 
EVELINA. 101 
 
 catch cold, and to spoil all one’s things, whatever 
 you may think of it. 
 
 Splashed, quoth I!—why I thought you were 
 soused all over.—Come, come, don’t mince the 
 matter; never spoil a good story; you know you 
 hadn’t a dry thread about you—fore George, I 
 shall never think on’t without hallooing ! such a 
 poor, forlorn, draggle tailed—gentlewoman ! and 
 poor monsecr French, here, like a drowned rat by 
 your side !— 
 
 Well, the worse pickle we was in, so much the 
 worser in you not to help us; for you knew where 
 we were fast enough, because while I laid in the 
 mud, I’m pretty sure I heard you snigger: so its 
 like enough you jostled us down yourself; for 
 monsieur du Bois says, that he is sure he had a 
 great jolt given him, or he shouldn’t have fell. 
 
 The captain laughed so immoderately, that he 
 really gave me also a suspicion that he was not 
 entirely innocent of the charge ; however, he dis- 
 claimed it very peremptorily. 
 
 Why then, continued she, if you didn’t do that, 
 why didn’t you come to help us? 
 
 Who, I ?—what, do you suppose I had forgot 
 I was an Englishman, a filthy, beastly English- 
 man ? 
 
 Very well, sir, very well; but I was a fool to 
 expect any better, for it’s all of a piece with the 
 rest; you know, you wanted to fling me out of 
 the coach window, the very first time ever I see 
 you; but Pll never go to Ranelagh with you no 
 more, that 1’m resolved; for, I dare say, if the 
 horses had runn’d over me, as I laid in that nas- 
 tiness, you’d never have stirred a step to save me, 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Lord, no, to be sure, ma’am, not for the world ! 
 Iknow your opinion of our nation too well, to 
 affront you by supposing a Frenchman would 
 want my assistance to protect you. Did you 
 think that monscer here and I had changed cha- 
 racters, and that he should pop you into the mud, 
 and I help you out of it? Ha! ha! ha! 
 
 O very well, sir, laugh on, it’s like your man- 
 ners! however, if poor monsieur du Bois hadn’t 
 met with that unlucky accident himself I shouldn't 
 have wanted nobody's help. 
 
 O, I promise you, madam, you’d never have 
 had mine; I knew my distance better: and as to 
 your being a little ducked, or so, why, to be sure, 
 monseer and you settled that between yourselves, 
 80 it was no business of mine. 
 
 What, then, I suppose you want to make me 
 believe as monsieur du Bois served me that trick 
 0” purpose ? 
 
 On purpose! ay, certainly: who ever doubted 
 that? Do you think a Frenchman ever made a | 
 blunder? If he had been some clumsy footed 
 English fellow, indeed, it might have been acci- | 
 dental: but what the devil signifies all your hop- 
 ping and capering with your dancing masters, if 
 you can’t balance yourselves upright ? 
 
 In the midst of this dialogue, sir Clement Wil- 
 loughby made his appearance. He affects to en- 
 ter the house with the freedom of an old acquaint- 
 ance; and this very easiness, which, to me, is as- 
 tonishing, is what most particularly recommends 
 him to the captain. Indeed, he seems very suc- 
 cessfully to study all the humours of that gentle- 
 man, 
 
EVELINA, 103 
 
 After having heartily welcomed him, You are 
 just come in time, my boy, said he, to settle a 
 little matter ofa dispute between this here gentle- 
 woman and 1. Do you know she has been trying 
 wove half lik 
 
 sr night ? 
 
 to persuade me, that she did not 
 
 the ducking monseer gave her tothe 
 { should have hoped, said sir C 
 r , 
 
 the friends! 
 
 h the 
 
 sted be- 
 
 nent, 
 
 utmost 
 tween that ic 
 ed them anal 
 
 ruard- 
 pr Bsgas lly disagree- 
 bly, t they might not 
 
 i y3; in which 
 ms to have 
 
 >, in my humble 
 to have inquired 
 or hard ground, 
 
 able to each 
 have disc 
 
 case the gent 
 
 been gu i 
 Opinion, it was bi 
 whether the lady 
 before he dropped her. 
 
 O very fine, ge ntlemen, very fine ied madame 
 Duval; you may try to ee us together by the 
 ears as much as you will; but i im not such an 
 
 ady 
 
 ignorant person as to be made a fool so easily ; so 
 you need not talk no more about it, for I see in- 
 to your designs. 
 
 Monsicur du Bois, who was just able to discover 
 sect upon wi “a the conversation turned, 
 
 the subj 
 made his defence, in Frene a with great solemnity : 
 
 he hoped, he 
 least, ackn« 
 of apeies 2-8 
 fend any lady, 
 but ha ut, on the contrary, im endeavouring as We 
 
 his duty, to save and guard her, he had hirdeelf 
 suffered, in a manner which he would forbear to 
 
 relate, but which, h greatly apprehended, he 
 
 id. that the company would, at 
 vo he did ‘bt come from a natic 
 
 é 
 d, consequently, that to wilfully of- 
 to him, utterly impossib “sh 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 should feel the ill effects of for many months; and 
 then, with a countenance exceedingly lengthened, 
 he added, that he hoped it would not be attri- 
 buted to him as national prejudice, when he own- 
 ed that he must, to the best of his memory, aver, 
 that this unfortunate fall was owing to a sudden 
 but violent push, which, he was shocked to say, 
 some malevolent person, with a design to his in- 
 jury, must certainly have given him; but whether 
 with a view to mortify him, by making him let 
 the lady fall, or whether merely to spoil her 
 clothes, he could not pretend to determine, 
 
 This disputation, was, at last, concluded by 
 Mrs. Mirvan’s proposing that we should all go to 
 the play at Drury-lane theatre, and, though ever 
 uneasy in her company, she very politely invited 
 madame Duval to be of our party ; however she 
 
 had a bad cold, and chose to nurseit. I was sorry 
 for her indisposition ; but I knew not how to be 
 sorry she did not accompany us, for she is—I 
 must not say what, but very unlike other people, 
 
 Bacall 
 Fvelina in continuation. 
 
 Our places were in the front row of a side box. 
 
 Sir Clement Willoughby, who knew our intention, 
 
 was at the door of the theatre, and handed us 
 
 from the carriage. 
 
 We had not been seated five minutes before 
 lord Orville, who was in the stage box, came to 
 us; and he honoured us with his company all the 
 evening. Miss Mirvan and T both rejoiced. that 
 madame Duval was absent, as we hoped for the 
 enjoyment of some conversation, uninterrupted by 
 
EVELINA, 105 
 
 her quarrels with the captain; but I soon found 
 that her presence would have made very little al- 
 teration ; for so far was I from daring to speak, 
 that I knew not where even to look. 
 
 The play was Love for Love; and though it is 
 fraught with wit and entertainment, I hope I shall 
 never see it represented again; for it 1s so ex- 
 tremely indelicate—to use the softest word I can 
 —that Miss Mirvan and I were perpetually out of 
 countenance, and could neither make any obser- 
 vations ourselves, nor venture to listen to those of 
 others, This was the more provoking, as lord 
 Orville was in excellent spirits, and exceedingly 
 entertaining. 
 
 When the play was over, I flattered myself I 
 should be able to look about me with less restraint, 
 as we intended to stay the farce ; but the curtain 
 had hardly dropped when the box door opened, 
 andin came Mr. Lovel, the man by whose foppery 
 and impertinence I was so much teased at the 
 ball where I first saw lord Orville. 
 
 I turned away my head, and began talking to 
 Miss Mirvan ; for I was desirous to avoid speak- 
 ing to him—but in vain; for, as soon as he had 
 made his compliments to lord Orville and sir Cle- 
 ment Willoughby, who returned them very coldly, 
 he bent his head forward and said to me, I hope 
 ma’am, you have enjoyed your health since I had 
 the honour—I beg ten thousand pardons, but, I 
 protest I was going to say the honour of dancing 
 with you—however, I mean the honour of seeing 
 you dance. 
 
 He spoke with a self-complacency that conyinc- 
 ed me that he had studied this address, by way 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 of making reprisals for my conduct at the ball ; I 
 bowed slightly, but made no answer. 
 
 After a short silence he again called my atten- 
 tion, by saying, in an easy negligent way, I think, 
 ma’am, you was never in town before ?—No, sir. 
 
 So I did presume, Doubtless ma’am, every 
 thing must be infinitely novel to you. Our cus- 
 toms, our manners, and les etiquettes de vous az- 
 ives can have very little resemblance to those you 
 have been used to. I imagine, ma’am, your retir 
 ment is at no very small distance from the capital ; 
 
 I was so much disconcerted at this sneering 
 speech, that I said not a word; though I ever 
 since thought my vexation stimulated and de- 
 lighted them. 
 
 The air we breathe here, however, ma’am, con- 
 tinued he, very conceitedly, though foreign to that 
 you have been accustomed to, has not, I hope been 
 at variance with your health ? 
 
 Mr. Lovel, said lord Orville, could not your eye 
 have spared that question ? 
 
 O, my lord; answered he, if kealth were the 
 only cause ofa lady’s bloom, my eye, I grant, had 
 been infallible from the first glance ; but— 
 
 Come, come, cried Mrs, Mirvan, I must beg no 
 insinuations, of that sort. Miss Anville’s colour, 
 as you have successfully tried, may, yon see, be 
 heightened ; but, I assure you, it would be past 
 your skill to lessen it. 
 
 ‘Pon honour, madam, returned he, you wrong 
 me; I presumed not to infer that rouge was the 
 only succedaneum for health; but really I have 
 known 80 many different causes for a lady’s eo- 
 lour, such as flushing—anger—mauvaise honte 
 
EVELINA, 107 
 
 —and so forth, that I never dared decide to which 
 it may be owing. 
 
 ‘As to such causes as them there, cried the cap- 
 tain, they must belong to those that they keep 
 company with. 
 
 Very true, captain, said Sir Clement: the na- 
 s nothing to do with occa- 
 ssion, or any. accidental 
 
 tural complexion 
 sional sallies of the fF 
 causes, 
 
 No, truly, returned the cay 
 othe 
 to putt 
 
 in: for now here's 
 r man, just now; 
 a pa: 
 3 fine a high eo- 
 
 me, why I look lik 
 and yet, if you wé 
 George you'd soon se 
 lour 
 she never so bedaubed. 
 
 But, said Lord Orville, the difference of natural 
 and of artificial colour seems to be very easily 
 discerned; that of nature is mottled, and varying : 
 that of art t, and too smooth; it wants that 
 animation, that glow, that indescribable some- 
 thing, which even now that Es it, wholly sur- 
 passes all my powers of expressiog. 
 
 Your lordship, said sir Clement, is universally 
 acknowledged to be a connor ur in beauty. 
 
 And you, sir Clement, returned he, an enthu- 
 
 sion, *fore 
 
 e me have <¢ 
 
 1 
 
 as any painted Jezebel in all this place, be 
 
 siast. 
 
 I am proud to own it, eried Clement; in such 
 and before such objects, enthusiasm is 
 consequence of not being blind. 
 vering, cried 
 
 a@ cause, 
 simply the 
 Prythee, a truce with all this pal 
 the captain: the women are vain enough already ; 
 no need for to puff, ‘em up more. 
 We must all submit to the commanding officer, 
 said sir Clement: therefore, let us call another 
 
108 ~ EVELINA, 
 
 subject. Pray, ladies, how have you been enter- 
 tained with the play? 
 
 Want of entertainment, said Mrs. Mirvan, is 
 its least fault; but I own there are objections to 
 it, which I should be glad to see removed. 
 
 I could have ventured to answer for the ladies, 
 said lord Orville, since Iam sure this is not a 
 play that can be honoured with their approbation. 
 
 What, I suppose it is not sentimental enough 5 
 cried the captain, or else it is too good for them ; 
 for I'll maintain it’s one of the best comedies in 
 our language, and has more wit in one scene than 
 there is in all the new plays put together, 
 
 For my part, said Mr. Lovel, I confess I seldom 
 listen to the players; one has so much to do, in 
 looking about and finding out one’s acquaintance 
 that really one has not time to mind the stage. 
 Pray, (most effectually fixing lis eyes upon a dia- 
 mond ring on his little finger) pray,—what was 
 the play to night ? 
 
 “Why, what the d—I, cried the captain, do you 
 come to the play without knowing what it is? 
 
 O yes, sir, yes, very frequently: I have no time 
 to read play bills; one merely comes to meet 
 one’s friends, and show that one’s alive. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha!—and so, cried the captain, it costs 
 you five shillings a night just to show you’re 
 alive! Well, "faith, my friends should all think 
 me dead and under ground before I‘d be at that 
 expense for’em, However,—this here you may 
 take from me—they’ll find you ont fast enough if 
 you have any thing to give °em—And 80 you've 
 been here all this time, and don’t know what the 
 play was? 
 
EVELINA. 109 
 
 ‘ The curtain then drew up, and our conversation 
 ceased. Mr. Lovel, finding we chose to attend to 
 § the players, left the box. » How strange it is, sir, 
 ) that this man, not contented with the large share y \ 
 
 of foppery and nonsense which he has from nature, 
 should think proper to affect yet more! for some- ‘ 
 thing he said of Tattle and of Miss Prue, conyin- 
 ced me that he really had listened to the play, 
 though he was so ridiculous and foolish as to pre- i 
 tend ignorance. 
 
 But how malicious and impertinent is this erea- 
 ture to talk to me in such a manner! Iam sure 
 I hope I shall never see him again, I should have 
 despised him heartily as a fop, had he neverspoken j 
 to me at all; but now, that he thinks proper to 
 resent his supposed ill usuage, Iam really quite 
 afraid of him. 
 
 The entertainment was, The Deuce isin him; 
 which lord Orville observed to be the most finish- 
 tite piece that was ever written in 
 
 ed elegant 7 
 English. 
 
 In our way home, Mrs. Mirvan put me into 
 some consternation by saying, it was evident, from 
 the resentment which this Mr. Lovel harbours of 
 my conduct, that he would think it a provocation ; 
 sufficiently important for a duel, if his courage i 
 equalled his wrath. Vi 
 
 Tam terrified at the very idea. Good Heaven! 
 that a man so weak and frivolous should be so re- 
 vengeful! However, if bravery would have ex- 
 cited him to affront lord Orville, how much rea- } 
 son have I to rejoice that cowardice makés him } 
 contented with venting his spleen upon me! But 
 
 on 
 
119 EVELIN Ae 
 
 we shall leaye town soon, and, I hope, see him no 
 more, 
 
 It was some consolation to me to hear from 
 Miss Mirvan, that, while he was speaking to me 
 80 eavalierly, lord Orville regarded him with 
 great indignation. 
 
 But, really, 1 think there ought to be a hook of 
 the laws and customs a-la mode, presented to alk 
 young people upon their first introduction into 
 public company. 
 
 To night we go to the Opera, where I expect 
 very great pleasure, We shall have the same party 
 as at the play ; for lord Orville said he should be 
 
 there ; and would look for us. 
 
 Evelina tn continuation. 
 I HAVE a volume to write of the adventures of 
 yesterday. 
 
 In the afternoon,—at Berry Hill I should hare 
 said the evening, for it was almost six o’clock,—< 
 while Miss Mirvan and I were dressing for thé 
 Opera, and in hig! spirits from the expectation of 
 great entertainment and pleasure, we heard a car- 
 e stop at the door, and concluded that sir 
 Clement Willoughby, with his usual assiduity, 
 was come to attend us to the Haymarket;, but, 
 in a few moments, what was our surprise to see 
 our chamber door flung open, and the two Miss 
 Branghtons enter the room! They adyanced® to 
 me with great familiarity, saying, How do you do, 
 cousin ?—so we’ve caught you at the glass !—well, 
 I’m determined I'll tell my brother of that! 
 
 Miss Mirvan, who had neyer before seen then, 
 
EVELINA. ill 
 
 and conld not at first imagine who they were, 
 looked so much astonished, that I was ready to 
 laugh myself, till the eldest said, We’re come to 
 take you to the Opera, miss; papa and my brother 
 are below and we are to ball for your grand mam- 
 
 a 
 Lf 
 ma as we go along. 
 
 Tam very sorry, answered I, that you should 
 have taken so much trouble, as I am engaged al- 
 ready, 
 
 En 
 the youngest; t 
 
 excuses, | dare say; 
 
 , never mind that, cried 
 ; young lady will make your 
 » doing as one would 
 
 zed! lord, 
 
 it’s only 
 
 be done by, you know. 
 
 Indeed, ma’am, said Miss Mirvan, I shall my- 
 self be very sorry to be deprived of Miss Anville’s 
 company this evening. 
 
 Well, miss, that is not so very good -natured in 
 yon, said Miss Branghton, consi dering we only 
 come to give our cousin pleaure; it’s no good to 
 us; it’s all upon her account; for we came I 
 don't know how much round about to take her 
 up, 
 
 Lam extremely obliged to you, said I, and very 
 sorry you have lost so much time: but I cannot 
 it, for Ts engaged myself without 
 
 possibly he 
 knowing you would call, 
 
 Lord, what : hat 2? said Miss Polly 
 youre no old ieidics and so you need’t be so very 
 formal: besides, I dare say those you are engaged 
 to arnt = so nearly related to you as we are. 
 
 I must beg you not to press me any further, 
 for LT assure you it is not in my power to attend 
 you. 
 
 Why, we came all out of the city on purpose: 
 
cn ely 
 
 112 EVELINA, 
 
 besides, your grand mamma expects you; and 
 pray what are we say to her. 
 
 Tell her, if you please, that I am much con- 
 cerned—but that I am pre-engaged. 
 
 And who to? demanded the abrupt Miss 
 Branghton. 
 
 To Mrs. Mirvan—and a large party, 
 
 And, pray, what are you all going to do, that 
 it would be such a weighty matter for you to come 
 along with us? 
 
 We are all going to—to the opera. 
 
 O dear, if that be all, why can’t we all go to- 
 gether? 
 
 I was extremely disconcerted at this forward 
 and ignorant behaviour, and yet their rudeness 
 very mich lessened my concern at refusing them. 
 Indeed, their d¥ess was such as would have ren- 
 dered their schemes of accompanying our party 
 impracticable, even if I had desired it; and this, 
 as they did not themselves find out, I was obliged, 
 in terms the least mortifying I could think of, to 
 tell them, 
 
 They were very much chagrined, and asked 
 
 _ where I should sit, 
 
 In the pit, answered TI, 
 
 In the pit; repeated Miss Branghton ; well, 
 really, I must own, jI should never have suppo- 
 sed that my gown was not good enough for the 
 pit : but come, Polly, let’s go; if Miss does not 
 think us fine enotigh for her, why to be sure she 
 may choose, 
 
 Surprised at this ignorance, I would have ex- 
 plained to them, that the pit at the Opera re- 
 quired the same dress as the boxes; but they 
 
VELINAs 
 
 were so much affronted they would not hear me ; 
 and, in great displeasure, left the room, saying, 
 they would not have troubled me, only the y 
 thought I should not be so proud with my own 
 relations, and that they had at least as good a 
 right to my compan gers, 
 
 I endeavoured to apologise, and would havetent 
 a long message to madame Duval; but they has- 
 tened away without listening to me; and I could 
 not follow them down , because [ was not 
 sed. The last words I heard them say were, 
 will be in a fine passion, 
 
 as st 
 
 dre 
 Well, her grandma 
 that’s one good thing 
 
 Madame du Val cal oon after the departure 
 of the Misses Branghton’s, and was quite in a 
 rage at my declining to go to the opera with her 
 induced to 
 
 party ; subsequently, however, Fowas 
 accompany her. On our way we took up the 
 Branghton’s, and having arrived at the 0} 
 
 were compelled to wander about for some time in 
 
 nay 
 
 consequence of none of oun party knowing the 
 proper entrance. 
 
 In a short time, howev 
 the door keeper’s bars, Mr. Br 
 ed for what part of the house t 
 They answered, the pit ; and regarded us all with 
 aid, 
 
 arrived at one of 
 nghton demand- 
 took money ? 
 
 great earnestness. The son then advancing, §: 
 * Sir, if you please, I beg that I. may treat mi 
 
 We'll settle that another time, answered Mr. 
 Branghton, and put down a guinea, 
 
 Two tickets of admission were given to him. 
 
 Mr. Branghton, in his turn; now stared at the 
 door keeper, and demanded what he meant by 
 giving him only two tickets for a guinea, 
 
 H 
 
114 EVELINA, 
 
 Only two, sir! said the man: why don’t you 
 know that the tickets are half a guinea each ? 
 
 Half a guinea each! repeated Mr. Branghton, 
 why I never heard of such a thing in my life ! 
 
 And pray, sir, how many will they admit? J 
 Just as usual, sir, one person each, 
 But one person for half a guinea !—why, I only 
 want to sit in the pit, friend. : 
 it Had not the ladies better sit in the gallery, sir; | | 
 i for theyll hardly choose to go into the pit with i 
 eo their hats on ? 
 ry O, as to that, cried Miss Branghton, if our hats ' 
 It are too high, we'll take them off when we get in. : 
 Re I shan’t mind it, for I did my hair on purpose. a 
 ; Another party then approaching, the door keep- 
 id er could no longer attend to Mr. Branghton, 4 
 r who taking up the guinea, told him it should be 
 if} long enough before he’d see it again, and walked 
 ear away. 
 The young ladies, in some confusion, expressed 
 1 their surprise that#heir papa should not know the ! 
 Ht opera prices, which, for their parts, they had read | 
 in the papers a thousand times. 
 ih The price of stocks, said he, is enough for me | § 
 { i to see after ; and I took it for granted that it was _ 
 wy the same thing here as at the play house, x 
 I knew well enough what the price was, said | * 
 the son; but I would not speak, becauso I } * 
 thought as we were so large a party they would | * 
 take less, k 
 
 The sisters both laughed very contemptuously 
 at the idea, and asked him if he ever heard of 
 people’s abating any thing at a public place ? 
 
 I don’t know whether I haye or no, answered 
 
wert 
 
 EVELINA. 115 
 
 he; but I am sure if they would, you'd like it so 
 much the worse. 
 
 Very true, Tom, cried Mr. Branghton ; tell a 
 woman that any thing is reasonable, and she’ll be 
 sure to hate it, 
 
 Well, said Miss Polly, I hope that aunt and 
 miss will be of our own side. for papa always takes 
 part with Tom. 
 
 Come, come, cried madame Duval, if you stand 
 talking here, we sha’nt get no place at all, 
 
 Mr. Branghton then inquired the way to the gal- 
 lery ; and when we came to the door-keeper, de- 
 manded what was to pay. 
 
 Then give me change, cried Mr, Branghton, 
 again putting down his guinea, 
 
 For how many, 
 
 Why—let’s see—for six. 
 
 sir? 
 
 For six, sir, why you’ye given me but a guinea, 
 
 Buta guinea; why, how much would you have ? 
 IT suppose it is’n’t half-a-guinea a piece here too ? 
 
 No sir, only five shilling, 
 
 Mr. Branghton again took up his unfortunate 
 guinea, and protested that he would submit to no 
 such imposition. I then proposed that we should 
 return home, but Madame Duval would not con- 
 sent, and we were conducted, by a woman who 
 sells books of the opera, to another gallery door, 
 where after some disputing, Mr. Branghton at last 
 pai’ ,and we all went up stairs. 
 
 Madame Duval.complained very much of the 
 trouble of going so high; but Mr. Branghton de- 
 sired her not to hold the place too cheap; for 
 whatever you think, cried he, I assure you I paid 
 
116 EVELINA. 
 
 pit price; so don’t suppose I came here tosavemy | | 
 i money. k 
 Well to be sure, said Miss Branghton, there’s 
 no judging of a place by the outside, else, I must | & 
 needs say, there's nothing very extraordinary in | th 
 the staircase. mK 
 i But when we-entered the gallery, their amaze= | 
 J ment and disappointment became general. For | 
 { a few instants they looked at one another without | th 
 i speaking, and then they all broke silence at once, 
 a Lord, papa, exclaimed Miss Polly; why you ] i 
 ih have brought us to the one shilling gallery? t 
 i Ill be glad to give you two shillings, though, } t 
 t answered he, to pay. I was never so fooled out | | 
 i of my money before, since the hour of my birth. | 
 i Hither the door keeper's a knave, or this is the] \ 
 fi greatest imposition that ever was put upon the] 4 
 id public! 
 fA Ma fot, eried madame Duval, I never sat in] 4 
 such a mean place in all my life ;—why, its ashigh} 
 —we sha’n’t see nothing. lis 
 I thought at the time, said Mr. Branghton, it, 
 that three shillings was an excellent price for a 
 place in the gallery; but as we had been asked] wi 
 so much at the other doors, why I paid it without] # 
 many words; but then,to be sure, thinks I, it can | 
 never be like any other gallery; we shall'see some} }t 
 crinkum crankum or other for our money; but I 
 find it’s as arrant a take inas I met with. n 
 Why, it’s as like the twelve-penny~ gallery at] ti 
 Drury Lane, cried the son, as two-peas are to one] ¢ 
 another, I never knew father bit so before, y 
 
 Lord, said Miss Branghton, I thought it would 
 
 y 
 
$n 
 
 EVELINA» 
 
 117 
 
 have been quite a fine place,—all over, I don’t 
 know what,—and done quite in taste, 
 
 I this manner they continued to express their 
 dissatisfaction till the curtain drew up; after which 
 their observations were very curious. They made 
 no allowance for the customs, or even for the lan- 
 guage, of another country ; but formed all their re- 
 marks upon the comparisons with the English 
 theatre. 
 
 Notwithstanding my vexation at having been 
 forced into a party so very disagreeable, and that 
 too, from one so mt y;much the con- 
 trary—yet would they have suffered me to listen, 
 I should have forgotten every thing unpleasant, 
 and felt nothing but delight in hearing the sweet 
 voice of Signor Millico, the first singer; but they 
 tormented me with continual talking. 
 
 What a jabberingthey make! cried Mr. Brangh- 
 ton; there’s no knowing a word they say. Pray 
 what’s the reason they can’t as well sing in Eng- 
 lish >—but I suppose the fine folks would not like 
 it, if they could understand it, 
 
 How unnatural their action is!,'said the son; 
 why, now, Who ever saw an Englishman put him- 
 self in such out of the-way postures? 
 
 For my part, said Miss Polly, I think it’s very 
 pretty, only I don’t know what it means. 
 
 Lord, what does that signify ? cried her sister, 
 mayn’t one like a thing withovt being so very par- 
 ticular s—You may see that Miss likes it, and I 
 don’t suppose she knows more of the matter than 
 we do, 
 
 A gentleman, soon after, was so obliging as to 
 make room in the front row for Miss Branghton 
 
 Nn--so ve 
 
118 EVELINA. 
 
 and me. We had no sooner seated ourselves 
 than Miss Branghton exclaimed, Good gracious! 
 only see!—why, Polly, all the people in the pit 
 are without hats, dressed like any thing! 
 
 Lord, so they are!-—cried Miss Polly: well, I 
 never saw the like !— it’s worth coming to the 
 opera if one saw nothing else. 
 
 I was then able to distinguish the happy party I 
 had left; and I say that lord Orville had seated 
 himself next to Mrs. Mirvan. Sir Clement had his 
 eyes perpetually cast towards the five shilling gal- 
 lery, where I suppose he concluded that we were | 
 seated ; however, before the opera was over, I 
 have reason to believe that he had discovered me, 
 high and distant as I wasfrom him. Probably he 
 distinguished me by my head dress, 
 
 At the end of the first act, as the green curtain 
 
 dropped to prepare for the dance, they imagined 
 that the opera was done ; and Mr. Branghton ex- — 
 pressed great indignation that he had been tricked 
 out of his money with so little trouble. Now, if 
 any Englishman was to do such an impudent 
 thing as this, said he, why, he'd be pelted !— 
 but here, one of these outlandish song may do 
 
 just what he pleases, and come on, and Squeak out 
 a song or two and then pocket your money with- | 
 out further ceremony. 
 However, so determined he was to be dissatise — 
 fied, that before the conclusion of the third act he 
 found still more fault with the opera for being too — 
 long; and wondered whether they thought their 
 singing good enough to serve us for supper, q 
 During the symphony of a song of signor Milli- — 
 co’s, in the second act, young Mr, Branghton said, — 
 
EVELINA, 119 
 It’s my belief that fellow’s going to sing anothe 
 song! why there’s nothing but singing !— I won- 
 der when they’ll speak : 
 
 This song, which was slow and pathetic, ca 
 all my attention, and I leaned my head forwar 
 to avoid hearing their observations, that I might 
 listen without interruption: but upon turning 
 round, when the song was over, I found that I was 
 the object of general diversion to the whole party ; 
 for the Miss Branghtons were tittering, and the 
 two gentlemen making signs and faces at me, im- 
 plying their contempt of my affectation. 
 
 This discovery determined me to appear as inat- 
 tentive as themselves: but I was very much pro- 
 voked at being thus prevented enjoying the only 
 pleasure, which, in such a party, was within my 
 power. 
 
 So, Miss, said Mr. Branghton, you’re quite in 
 the fashion, I see; so you like operas? well I’m 
 not so polite; I can’t like a nonsense, let it be 
 never so much the taste. 
 
 But pray, Miss, said the son, what makes that 
 fellow look so doleful while he is singing? 
 
 Probably because the character he performs is 
 in distress. 
 
 Why, then, I think he might as well let alone 
 singing till he’s in a better cue: its out of al) na- 
 ture for a man to be piping when he's in distre 
 For my part, I never sing but when I’m mer 
 yet I love a song as well as most people. 
 
 When the curtain dropped they all rejoiced. 
 
 How do you like it?—and how do you like it? 
 passed from one to another with looks of the ut- 
 most contempt. As for me said Mr. Branghton, 
 
BVELINA, 
 
 they’ve caught me once; but if ever they do again 
 T)l give them leave to sing me to Bedlam for my 
 pains; for such a heap of stuff never did I hear: 
 thera is’nt one ounce of sense in the whole opera, 
 nothing but one continued squeaking and squall- 
 ing from beginuing to end. 
 
 If I had been in this pit, said Madame Duval, 
 J should have liked it vastly, for music is my pas- 
 sion; but sitting in such a place as this, is quite 
 unbearable, 
 
 Miss .Branghton, looking at me, declared that 
 she was not genteel enough to admire it. 
 
 Miss Polly confessed, that, if they would but 
 sing Laglish, she would like it very well. 
 
 The brother wished he could raise a riot in the 
 house, because then he might get his money again, 
 
 And finally, they all agreed that it was mon- 
 strous decor. 
 
 During the last dance I perceived standing near 
 the gallery door Sir Clement Willoughby. I was 
 extremely vexed, and would have given the world 
 to bave avoided being seen by him; my chief ob- 
 jection . from the apprehension that he would 
 hear Miss Branghton call me cowstn—lI fear you 
 will think this London journey has made me graw 
 very proud: but indeed this family is so low-bred 
 and vulgar, that I should be equally ashamed of 
 such a connexion in the country, or any where. 
 And really I had already been so much chagrined 
 that Sir Clement had been a witness of Madame 
 Duval’s power over me, that I could not bear to 
 be exposed to any further mortification. 
 
 As the seats cleared, by parties going away, sir 
 Clement approached nearer to us, The Miss 
 
EVELINA. 121 
 
 Branghtons observed with surprise, what a fine 
 gentleman was come into the gallery; and they 
 gave me great reason to expect, that they would 
 endeayour to attract his notice, by familiarity 
 with me, whenever he should join us; and so 1 
 formed a sort of plan to prevent any conversation. 
 1’m afraid you will think it wrong: and so do I 
 myself now;—bnt at the time I only considered 
 how | might avoid immediate humiliation, 
 
 ‘As soon as he was within two seats of us, he 
 spoke to me: I am very happy; Miss Anville, to 
 have found you, for the lad slow have each an 
 humble attendant, and therefore I am come to 
 offer my services here. 
 
 Why, then, cried I (not without hesitating) if 
 you please,—I will join them. : 
 
 Will you allow me the honour of conducting 
 you ? cried he, eager!) and instantly taking my 
 hand, he would haye marched away with me: but 
 L turned to madame Duval, and said, As our party 
 
 ve me leave, I 
 
 is so large, madam, if you will give 
 will go down to Mrs. Mirvan, that I may not 
 crowd you in the coach, 
 
 And then, without waiting for an answer, I suf- 
 fered sir Clement to hand me out of the gallery. 
 
 Madame Duval, I doubt nog, will be very angry 5 
 and so I am with myselfnow, and therefore I can- 
 not be surprised: but Mr. Branghton, Iam sure, 
 will easily comfort himself, in having escaped the 
 additional coach expense of carrying me to Queen 
 Ann street: as to his daughters, they had no time 
 to speak ; but I perceived they were in utteramaze- 
 ment. 
 My intention was to join Mrs, Mirvyan, and ac- 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 company herhome. Sir Clement was in high 
 spirits and good humour; and all the way we 
 went, I was fool enough to rejoice in secret at the 
 success of my plan: nor was it till I got down 
 stairs, and amidst the servants that any difficulty 
 occurred to me of meeting with my friends, 
 
 I then asked sir Clements how I should contrive 
 to acquaint Mrs. Mirvan that I had left madame 
 Duval ? 
 
 T fear it will be almost impossible to find her, 
 answered he; but you have no objection to per- 
 mitting me to see you safe home. 
 
 He then desired his servant who was waiting, 
 to order his chariot to draw up, 
 
 This quite startled me : I turned to him hastily, 
 and said that I could not think of going away 
 without Mrs, Mirvan. 
 
 But how can we meet with her? cried he; you 
 will not choose to go into the pit yourself; I can- 
 not send a servant there; and it is impossible for 
 me to go and leave you alone, 
 
 The truth of this was indisputable; and totally 
 silenced me, yet as soon asI could recollect my- 
 self, I determined not to go into his chariot, and 
 told him I believed I had best return to my party 
 up stairs, 
 
 He would not hear of this ; and earnestly en- 
 treated me not to withdraw the trust I had reposed 
 in him. 
 
 While he was speaking, I saw lord Orville, with 
 several ladies and gentlemen, coming from the pit 
 passage: unfortunately he saw me too, and, leaving 
 his company, advanced instantly towards me, and, 
 
we 
 
 he 
 the 
 
 ose 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 with an air and voice of surprise, said, Good God, 
 do I seo Miss Anville! 
 
 I now most severely felt the folly of my plan, 
 and the awkwardness of my situation; however, 
 T hastened to tell him, though in a hesitating 
 manner, that I was waiting for Mrs. Mirvan: but 
 what was my disappointment, when he acquainted 
 me that she was already gone home! 
 
 I was inexpressibly distressed ; to suffer lord Or- 
 ville to think me satisfied with the single protec- 
 tion of sir Clement Willoughby, I could not bear; 
 yet I was more than ever averse to returning to a 
 party which I dreaded his seeing. I stood some 
 moments in suspense, and could not help ex- 
 claiming, Good Heavens! what can I do? 
 
 Why, my dear madam, cried sir Clement, should 
 you be thus uneasy ?—you will reach Queen Anne 
 street almost as soon as Mrs. Mirvan, and I am 
 sure you cannot doubt being as safe. 
 
 I made no answer, and lord Orville then said, 
 My coach is here; and my servants are ready to 
 take any commands Miss Anville will honour me 
 with for them. I shall myself go home in a chair, 
 and therefore 
 
 How grateful did-I feel for a proposal so consi- 
 derate, and made with so much delicacy! Ishould 
 
 gladly have accepted it, had I been permitted, but 
 sir Clement would not let him even finish his 
 speech: he interrupted him with evident displea- 
 aure, and said, My lord, my own chariot is now at 
 the door. 
 
 And just then the servant came and told him 
 the carriage was ready. He begged to have the 
 honour of conducting me to it, and would have 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 taken my hand; but I drew it back, saying, I 
 cant—lI can't indeed! Pray, go by yourself—and 
 as to me, let me have a chair. 
 
 Impossible! cried he with vehemence; I can- 
 not think of trusting you with strange chairman, 
 —I cannot answer it to Mrs. Mirvan *—come, dear 
 madam, we shall be home in five minutes, 
 
 Again I stood suspended. With what joy would 
 I then have compromised with my pride, to have 
 been once more with madam Duval and the 
 Branghtons, provided I had not met with lord 
 Orville ; However, I flatter myself that he not 
 only saw but pitied my embarrassment ; for he 
 said in a tone of voice unusually softened, To offer 
 my services in the presence of sir Clement Wil- 
 loughby would be superfluous; but I hope I need 
 not assure Miss Anville how happy it would make 
 me to be of the least use to her. 
 
 I courtesied my thanks. Sir Clement, with 
 great earnestness, pressed me to go; and while I 
 was thus uneasily deliberating what to do, the 
 dance, I suppose, finished, for the people crowded 
 down stairs. Had lord Orville then repeated his 
 offer, 1 would have accepted it, notwithstanding 
 sir Clement's repugnance; but I fancy he thought 
 it would be impertinent. Ina very few minvtes 
 I heard madame Duval‘s yoice, as she descended 
 from the gallery. Well, cried I, hastily, if I must 
 go I stopped: but sir Clement immediately 
 handed me into his chariot, called ont Queen-Ann- 
 street, and then jumped in himself. Lord Orville, 
 with a bow anda half smile, wished me good 
 night. 
 
 My concern was so great at being seen and left 
 
25 
 
 EVELINA, 
 by lord Orville in so strange a situation, that I 
 should have been best pleased to have remained 
 wholly silent during our ride home; but sir Cle- 
 ment took care to prevent this, 
 
 He began by making many complaints of my 
 unwillingness to trust myself with him, and beg- 
 ged to know what could be the reason, This 
 question so much embarrassed me, that I could 
 not tell what to answer; but only said I was sorry 
 to have taken up so much of his time. 
 
 O Miss Anville, cried he, taking my hand, if 
 you knew with what transport I would dedicate 
 to you not only the present but all the future 
 time allotted to me, you would not injure me by 
 making such an apology. 
 
 I could not think of a work to say to this, nor 
 to a great many other equally fine speeches with 
 which he ran on ; though I would fain have with- 
 drawn my hand, and made almost continual at- 
 tempts; but in vain, for he actually grasped it 
 between both his, without any regard to my 
 resistance, 
 
 Soon after, he said that he believed the coach- 
 man was going the wrong way; and he called to 
 his servant, and gave him directions. Then again 
 addresing himself to me, How often, how assidu- 
 ously have I sought an opportunity of speaking to 
 you, without the presence of that brute, captain 
 Mirvan! Fortune has now kindly favoured me 
 with one; and permit me, again seizing my hand, 
 permit me to use it in telling you that I adore 
 you. 
 
 I was quite thunderstruck at this abrupt and 
 unexpected declaration, For some moments I 
 
a EVELINA. 
 
 was silent ; but when I recovered from my sur- 
 prise, I said, Indeed, sir, if you were determined 
 to make me repent leaving my own party so 
 foolishly, you hayé very well succeeded, 
 
 My dearest life, cried he, is it possible you can 
 be so cruel? Can you nature and your counte- 
 nance be so totally opposite? Can the sweet 
 bloom upon these charming cheeks, which appears 
 as much the result of good humouras of beauty. 
 
 O, Sir, cried I, interrupting him, this is very 3 
 fine; but I had hoped we had enough of this 
 sort of conversation at the ridotto, andI did not 
 expect you would so soon resume it. 
 
 What I then said, my sweet reproacher, was the 
 effect of a mistake, a profane idea, that your under- 
 standing held no competition with your beauty; 
 but now, now that I find you equally incomparable 
 in both, all words, all powers of speech, are too 
 feeble to express the admiration I feel of your 
 excellences, 
 
 Indeed, cried I, if your thoughts had any con- 
 nexion with your language, you would neyer sup- 
 pose that I could give credit to praise so very 
 much above my desert. 
 
 This speech which I made very gravely, occa- 
 sioned still stronger protestations ; which he con= 
 tinued to pour forth, and I continued to disclaim, 
 till T began to wonder that we were not in Queen- 
 Ann street, and begged he would desire the coach- 
 man to drive faster, 
 
 And does this little moment, cried he, which 
 is the first of happiness I have eyer known, does 
 it already appear so very long to you ? 
 
 1 am afraid the man has mistaken his way, 
 
iy 
 
 EVELINA, 127 
 
 answered I, or else we should ere now have been 
 at our jourgey‘s end. I must beg you will speak 
 to him. 
 
 And can you think meso much my own enemy! 
 —if my good genius has inspired the man with a 
 desire of prolonging my happiness, ean you expect 
 that I should counteract its indulgence ? 
 
 Inow began to apprehend that he had himself 
 ordered the manto go a wrong way; and I was so 
 much alarmed at the idea, that, the very instant 
 it occurred to me, I let down the glass, and made 
 a sudden effort to open the chariot door myself, 
 with a view of jumping into the street ; but he 
 caught hold of me, exclaiming, For Heaven’s sake 
 what is the matter ? : 
 
 I—I don’t know, cried I (quite out of breath). 
 
 I cannot imagine what youapprehend. Surely 
 you can have no doubts of my honour? 
 
 He drew me towards him as he spoke. I was 
 frightened dreadfully, and could hardly say, No, 
 sir, no,—none at all; only Mrs. Mirvan,—I think 
 she will be uneasy, 
 
 Whence this alarm, my dearest angel ?—what 
 can you fear ?—My life is at your devotion, and 
 can you then doubt my protection ? 
 
 And 30 saying, he passionately kissed my hand, 
 
 Never, in my whole life, have I been so terrified, 
 1 broke forcibly from him, and, putting my head 
 out of the window, called aloud to the man to 
 stop.— Where we then were, I know not; but I 
 saw not a human being, or I should called for 
 help. 
 
 Sir Clement, with great earnestness, endeayour- 
 ed to appease and compose me ; If you do notin 
 
EVELINAs 
 
 tend to murder me, cried I, for mercy’s for pity’s 
 4 sake, let me get out ! 
 Compose your spirits, my dearest @ife, cried he, 
 and I will do every thing you would have me, 
 And then he called to the man himself, and bid 
 him make haste to Queen-Ann-Street. This 
 stupid fellow, continued he, has certainly mistaken 
 my orders; but I hope you are now fully satisfied. 
 T made no answer, but kept my head at the 
 | ( window, watching which way he drove, but with- 
 4 out any comfort to myself, I was quite unacquaint- 
 } { ed with cither the right or the wrong. 
 ; Sir Clement now poured forth abundant pro- 
 i testations of honour, and assurances of respect, 
 entreating my pardon for having offended me, © 
 and beseeching my good opinion ; but I was quite 
 i} q silent, haying too much apprehension to make 
 : reproaches, and too much anger to speak without. 
 ; In this manner we went through several streets, 
 till at last, to my great terror, he suddenly order 
 ed the man to stop, and said, Miss Anville, we 
 are now within twenty yards of your house; but 
 I cannot bear to part with you, till you generously } 
 forgive me for the offence you have taken, and 
 promise not to make it known to the Mirvans. 
 
 I hesitated between fear and indignation. ; 
 , ; 
 Your reluctance to speak redoubles my contri~ 
 tion for having displeased you, since it shows the 
 
 reliance 1 might have on a promise which you 
 
 will not give without consideration. | 
 Tam yery, very much distressed, cried I; you 
 
 ask a promise which you must be sensible I ought 
 
 not to grant, and yet dare not refuse. 
 
 Drive on! cried he to the coachman——" Miss 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 Anville, I will not compel you ; I will exact no 
 promise, bug trust wholly to your generosit 
 
 This rather softened me; which advant 
 no sooner perceived than he determined to avai 
 himself of ; for he flung himself upon his knees 
 and pleaded with so much subm mn that I w 
 really obliged to forgive him, beeause his humili- 
 ation made me quite ashamed ; and, after that, 
 he would not let me rest till 1 gave him my word 
 that I would not complain of him to Mrs, Mirvan. 
 
 My own folly and pride, which had put me in 
 his power, were pleas which I could not but at- 
 tend to in his favour. However, I shall take 
 very particular care never to be again alone with 
 him. 
 
 When, at last, we arrived at our bouse, I was 
 so overjoyed, that I should certainly have par 
 doned him then, if | had not before. As 
 handed me up stairs, he scolded bis sey 
 and very angrily, for having gone so much out of 
 the way.—Miss Mirvan ran out to meet me ; 
 and who should [I see behind her, but lord Or- 
 ville! 
 
 All my joy now yanished, and gave place to 
 shame and confusion ; for I could not endure that 
 he should know how long a time Sir Clement and 
 I had been together, since I was not at liberty to 
 assign any reason for it. 
 
 They all expressed: great sati 
 me; and said they had been es 
 and surprised that J was so long coming home, as 
 they had heard from lord Orville that I was not 
 with madame Duval. S'r Clement, in an affect- 
 I 
 
 vant aloud, 
 
 ion at seeing 
 
 emely uneasy 
 
 a 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 1 passion, said, that his booby of a servant had 
 misunderstood his orders, and was @riving us to 
 the upper end of Piccadilly, For my part, I only 
 coloured ; for though I would not forfeit my word, 
 I yet disdained to confirm a tale in which I had 
 myself no belief. 
 
 Lord Orville, with great politeness, congratu- 
 lated me, that all the troubles of the evening had 
 so happily ended: and said that be had found it 
 impossible to return home, before he inquired af- 
 ter my safety. 
 
 In a very short time he took his leave, and sir 
 Clement followed him. As soon as they were 
 gone, Mrs. Mirvan, though with great softness, 
 blamed me for having quitted madame Duval. 
 Tassured her and with truth, that for the future 
 I would be more prudent. 
 
 The adventures of the evening so much discon- 
 certed me, that I could not sleep all might. T 
 am under the most cruel apprebensions lest lord 
 Orville should suppose my being on the gallery 
 stairs with sir Clement was a concerted scheme, 
 and even that our continuing so long together in 
 his chariot was with my approbation, since I did 
 not say a word on the subject, nor express any 
 dissatisfaction at the coachman’s pretended blun- 
 der. 
 
 Yet his coming hither to wait our arrival 
 though it seems to imply some doubt, shows also 
 some anxiety. Indeed, miss Mirvan says. that he 
 appeared extremely anxious, nay, uneasy and im- 
 patient for my return. If I did not fear to flat- 
 ter myself, I should think it not impossible but 
 
EVELINA, 141 
 
 that he had a suspicion of sir Clement's design, 
 and was therefore concerned for my safety. é 
 
 What a long letter is this! However I shall 
 not write many more from London ; for the cap- 
 tain said this morning, that he would leave town 
 on Tuesday next. Madame Duval will dine here 
 to day, and then she is to be told his intention. 
 
 I am very much amazed that she accepted Mrs. 
 Mirvan’s invitation as she was in such wrath yes- 
 terday, I fear that to-day I myself shall be the 
 principal object of her displeasure ; but 1 mnst 
 submit patiently, for I cannot defend myself, 
 
 Adieu, my dearest sir. Should this letter be 
 productive of any uneasiness to you, more than 
 ever shall I repent the needless imprudence which 
 it recites. 
 
 Evelina in continuations 
 Monday morning, April 18. 
 Mrs. Mirvan has just communicated to me an 
 anecdote concerning lord Orville, which has much 
 surprised, half pleased, and half pained me. 
 
 While they were sitting together during the 
 opera, he told her that he had been greatly con- 
 cerned at the impertinence which the young lady 
 under her protection had suffered from Mr. Lovel ; 
 but that he had the pleasure of assuring her, that 
 she had no future disturbance to apprehend from 
 him. 
 
 Mrs, Mirvan, with great eagerness, begged he 
 would explain himself; and said she hoped he had 
 not thought so insignificant an affair worthy of his 
 serious attention. 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 * There is nothing, answered he, which requires 
 more immediate notice than impertinence, for it 
 ever encroaches when it is tolerated. He then 
 added, that he believed he ought to apologise for 
 the liberty he had taken in interfering : but that, 
 as he regarded himself in the light ofa party con- 
 eerned, from having had the honour of dancing 
 with miss Anville, he could not possibly reconcile 
 to himself a patient neutrality. 
 
 He then proeeeded to tell her, that he had 
 waited upon Mr. Lovel the morning after. the 
 it had proved an amicable.one, 
 were neither entertaining nor 
 necessary; he only assured her, miss <Anville 
 inight be periectly y, since Mr. Lovel had en- 
 gaged his honour never to mention, or even to 
 hint at what had passed at Mrs, Stanley’s assem- 
 
 play 3 thatthe v 
 but the partieul 
 
 ly. . 
 
 “Mrs. Mirvan expressed her satisfaction at this 
 conclusion, and thanked him for his polite atten- 
 tion to her young friend. 
 
 It would be needles id he, to request that 
 this affair may never t ire, since Mrs, Mirvan 
 10t but see the ne ity of keeping it inviola- 
 cret; but i thought 1t incumbent upon me, 
 he young lady is under your protection, to 
 assure both you and her of Mr, Lovel’s future re- 
 spect. 
 
 Had Iknown of this visit previous to Lord Or- 
 vilie’s making it, what dreadful uneasiness would 
 it haye cost me! Yet that le should so much 
 inferest himself in securing me from offence, gives 
 me, | must own, an internal pleasure, greater 
 than I can express; for L feared he had too con- 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 temptuous an opinion of me to take any trouble 
 upon my account. Though, after all, this inter- 
 ference might rather be to satisfy his own deli- 
 eacy, than from thinking well of me. 
 
 3ut how cool, how quiet is'true courage} Who, 
 from seéing lord Orville at the play, would have 
 imagined his resentment would have hazarded his 
 life ? yet his displeasure was evident; though his 
 real bravery and his politeness equally guarded 
 him from entering into any diseussion in our pre- 
 sence, 
 
 Madame Duval, as I expected, was most terri- 
 bly angry yesterday; she scolded me for I believe 
 two hours, on account of having left her: and 
 protested she had been'so much surprised at my 
 going without giving her time to answer, that she 
 hardly knew whether she was awake or asleep, 
 But she assured me that if ever I did so again, 
 she would never more take me into public. And 
 she expressed an equal degree of displeasure 
 against sir Clement, because he had not even 
 spoken to her, and because he was always of the 
 captain’s side in an argument. The captain, as 
 bound in honour, warmly defended him, and then 
 followed a dispute in the usual s yle. 
 
 After dinner; Mrs. Mirvan introduced the sub- 
 jett of our leaving London. Madame Duval said 
 she should stay a month or two longer. The 
 captain told her she was welcome, but that he 
 and his family should go into the country on 
 Tuesday morning. 
 
 A most disagreeable scene followed. Madame 
 Duval insisted upon keeping me with her; but 
 Mrs, Mirvan said, that as I was actually engaged 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 ona visit to Lady Howard, who had only con- 
 sented to my leaving her for a few days, she could 
 not think of returning without me. 
 
 Perhaps, if the captain had not interfered, the 
 good-breeding and mildnessof Mrs. Mirvan might 
 haye had some effect upon madame Duval ; but 
 he passes no opportunity of provoking her; and 
 therefore made so many gross and rude speeches, 
 all of which she retorted, that, in conelusion, she 
 yowed she would sooner go to law in right of her 
 relationship, than that I should be taken away 
 from her, 
 
 I heard this account from Mrs, Mirvan, who 
 was so kindly considerate as to give me a pre- 
 tence for quitting the room as soon as this dis- 
 pute began, lest Madame Duval should refer to 
 me, and insist on my obedience, 
 
 The final result of this conversation was, that 
 to soften matters for the present, madame Duval 
 should make one of the party to Howard Grove, 
 whither we were positively to go next Wednes- 
 day. And though we were none of us satisfied 
 with this plan, we knew not how to forma better, 
 Mrs. Mirvan is now writing to Lady Howard, to 
 excuse bringing this unexpected guest, and pre- 
 vent the disagreeable surprise which must other- 
 wise attend her reception. This dear lady seems 
 eternally studying my happiness and advantage. 
 
 To-night, we go to the Pantheon, which is the 
 last diversion we shall partake of in London; for 
 to morrow 
 
 * * * * * * * * 
 
 This moment, my dearest sir, I have received 
 
 your kind letter, 
 
EVELINA. 135 
 
 If you thought us too dissipated the first week» 
 Talmost fear to know what you will think of us 
 this second ; however, the Pantheon this evening 
 will probably be the last publie place which I 
 shall ever see. 
 
 The assurance of your support and protection 
 in regard.to madame Duval, though what I never 
 doubted, excites my utmost gratitude. How, in- 
 deed, cherished under your roof, the unhappy ob- 
 ject of your constant indulgence, how could I 
 have borne to become the slave of her tyrannical 
 humours:—Pardon me that I speak so hardly of 
 her; but whenever the idea of passing my days 
 with her oceurs to me, the comparison which 
 e all that forbears 
 
 naturally follows, takes from 1 
 ance which I believe, I owe 
 
 You are alread} 
 to be sure, then, his behaviour after 
 will not make his peace th you. I 
 more I reflect upon it the more 
 was entirely in his power, and it 1 
 to cause me so much terror. 
 
 O, my dearest sir, were I but worthy the pray- 
 ers and the wishes you offer for me, the utmost 
 ambition of my heart would be fully satisfied ! 
 but I greatly fear you will find me, now that [ 
 am out of the reach of your assisting prudence, 
 more weak and imperfect than you could have ex- 
 pected. 
 
 Ihave not now time to write another word, 
 for I must immediately hasten to dress for the 
 
 ith sir Clement : 
 
 the cpera 
 deed the 
 Iam. [I 
 
 s cruel in him 
 
 evening. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 
 Queen-Ann street, Tuesday, April 19. 
 
 TuxRe is something to me half melancholy in 
 writing an account of our last adventures in Lon- 
 don. However, as this day is merely appropriated 
 to packing and preparations for our journey, and 
 as I shall shortly have no more adventures to 
 write, I think I may as well complete my own 
 journal at once; and, when you have it altoge- 
 ther, I hope, my dear sir, you will send me your 
 observations and thoughts upon it to Howard 
 ve. 
 
 About eight o’clock we went to the Pantheon, 
 I was extremely struck with the beauty of the 
 building, which greatly surpassed whatever I 
 could have expected or imagined, Yet it has 
 more the appearance of a chapel than of a place 
 of diversion ; and, though I was quite charmed 
 with the magnificence of the room, I felt that I 
 could not be as gay and thoughtless there as at 
 Ranelagh ; for there is something in it which ra- 
 ther inspires awe and solemnity than mirth and 
 pleasure. However, perhaps, it may only have 
 this effect upon such a novice as myself, 
 
 I should have said, that our party consisted 
 only of captain, Mrs, and Miss Mirvan, as ma- 
 dame Duval spent the day in the city :—whiech I 
 own | could not lament. 
 
 There was a great deal of company: but the 
 first person we saw was sir Clement Willoughby. 
 He addressed us with his usual ease, and joined 
 us for the whole evening. I felt myself very un- 
 
EVELINA. 137 
 
 easy in his presence ; for I could not look at him, 
 nor hear him speak, without recollecting the cha- 
 riot adventure; but, to my great amazement, I 
 observed that he looked at me without the least 
 apparent discomposure, though, certainly, he 
 ought not to think of his behaviour without 
 blushing. I really wish I had not forgiven him, 
 and then he would not have ventured to speak to 
 me any more. 
 
 There was an exceeding good concert, but tco 
 much talking to hear it well. Indeed I am quite 
 astonished to find how little music is attended to 
 in silence; for though every body seems to ad- 
 mire, hardly any body listens. 
 
 When we returned home, we were all low 
 spirited. The evening’s entertainment had dis- 
 pleased the captain; and his displeasure, I be- 
 lieve, diseoncerted us all. 
 
 And here I thought to have concluded my let- 
 ter; but, to my great surprise, just now we had 
 a visit from lord Orville. He called, he said, to 
 pay his respects to us before we left town, and 
 made many inquiries concerning our return; and 
 when Mrs. Mirvan told him we were going into 
 the country without any view of again quitting it; 
 he expressed his concern in such terms—so po- 
 lite, so flattering, so serious—that I could hardly 
 forbear being sorry myself. Were I to go imme- 
 diately to Berry Hill, 1 am sure I should feel no- 
 thing but joy ;—but, now we are joined by this 
 captain and by madame Duval, I must own, I 
 expect very little pleasure at Howard Grove. 
 
 Before lord Orville went, Sir Clement. Wil- 
 loughby called, He was more grave than I had 
 
EVELINA: 
 
 ever seen him; and made several attempts to 
 speak to me in a low voice, and to assure me that 
 his regret upon the oceasion of our journey was 
 entirely upon my account, But I was not in 
 spirits, and could not dare to be teased by him, 
 However, he has so well paid his court to cap- 
 tain Mirvin, that he gave him a hearty invitation 
 to the Grove. At this he brightened,—and just 
 then lord Orville left. 
 
 No doubt but he was disgusted at this ill-timed, 
 ill-bred partiality ; for surely it was very wrong 
 to make an invitation before lord Orville in which 
 he was not ineluded! I was so much chagrined, 
 that, as he went, I left the room; and. I shall 
 not go down stairs till sir Clement has left. 
 
 Lord Orville cannot but observe his assiduous 
 endeavours to, ingratiate himself into my favour 5 
 and does not this extravagant civility of captain 
 Mirvan give him reason to suppose that it meets 
 with our general approbation? I cannot think 
 upon this subject without inexpressible uneasi- 
 ness ; and yet I can think of nothing else, 
 
 Adieu, my dearest sir, Pray write to me im- 
 mediately.» How many long letters has this oné 
 short fortnight produced! More than I may 
 probably ever write again. I fear I shall have 
 tired you with reading them: but you will now 
 have time to rest, for I shall find but little to say 
 in future. 
 
 Andnow, most honoured sir, with all the follies 
 and imperfections which I have thus faithfully re- 
 counted, can you, and with unabated kindness 
 suffer me to sign myself 
 
 Your dutiful and most affectionate 
 EVELINA ? 
 
 a a 
 
 = oe oe es 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 Mr. Villars to Evelina, 
 
 Berry Hill, April 22. 
 How much do I rejoice that I ean again address 
 my letters to Howard Grove! My Evelina would 
 have grieved had she known the anxiety of my 
 mind during her residence in the great world, 
 My apprehensions have been inexpressibly alarm~ 
 ing; and your journal, at once exciting and re- 
 lieving my fears, has almost wholly oceupied me 
 sinee the time of your dating it from London. 
 
 Sir Clement Willoughby must be an artful de- 
 signing man; I am extremely irritated at his con- 
 duct. The passion he pretends for you has nei+ 
 ther sincerity nor honour; the manner and the 
 opportunities he has chosen to declare it, are 
 bordering upon insult. 
 
 His unworthy behaviour after the opera con- 
 vinees me, that had not your vehemence frighten- 
 ed him, Queen Anne-street would have been the 
 last place whither he would have ordered his 
 chariot, O, my child, how thankful I am for your 
 escape! I need not now, ! am sure, enlarge upon 
 your indiscretion and want of thought, in so 
 hastily trusting yourself with a man so little 
 known to you, and whose gaiety and flightiness 
 should have put you on your guard. 
 
 The nobleman you met in the Pantheon, bold 
 and forward as you describe him to be, gives me 
 no apprehension ; no man who appears so openly 
 licentions, and who makes his attack with so little 
 regard to decorum, is one who, to a mind such as 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 my Evelina‘’s, can never be seen but with the dise 
 gust which his manners ought to excite. 
 
 But Sir Clement, though he seeks occasion to 
 five real offence, contrives to avoid all appearances 
 of intentional evil. He is far more dangerous, 
 because more artful: but I am happy to observe 
 that he seems to have made no impression upon 
 your heart; and therefore a very little care and 
 prudence may secure you from those designs which 
 I fear he has formed. 
 
 Lord Orville seems to be ofa better order of 
 beings. His spirited conduct to the meanlyim- 
 pertinent Lovel, and his anxiety for you after the 
 opera, prove him to be a man of sense and of feel- 
 ing, Doubtless he thought theré was much rea- 
 son to tremble for your safety while exposed to 
 the power of Sir Clement; and he acted witha 
 regard to real honour, that. will always ineline me 
 to think well of him, in so immediately aecquaint- 
 ing the Mirvan family of your situation. Many 
 men of this age, from a false and pretended deli+ 
 cacy to a friend, would have quietly pursued their 
 own affairs, and thought it more honourable to 
 leave an unsuspecting young creature to the mer- 
 ey of a libertine, than to risk his displeasure by 
 taking measures for her security. 
 
 Your evident concern at leaving London is very’ 
 natural, and yet it afflicts me. I ever dreaded 
 your being too much pleased with a life of dissipa- 
 tion, which youth and vivacity render but too” 
 alluring; and I almost regret the consent of your” 
 journey, which I had not the resolution to with- 
 hold. 
 
 Alas, my child, the artlessness of your nature, 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 and the simplicity of your education, alike unfit 
 you for the thorny paths of the great and busy 
 world, The supposed obscurity of your birth and 
 situation makes you liable to a thousand disagree- 
 } vs, but my 
 hopes for your future life, have ever centered in 
 the countr Shall 
 Imay di ym ¢ 
 
 yet my « 
 
 able advent 
 
 N only my vi 
 
 to you, that, however, 
 tin Mirvan in other respects 
 > town, its manners, inhabi- 
 pon a level with 
 harbour of fraud 
 
 pertinence; and 
 few things more fervently, than that you 
 
 nion of t 
 
 tants, and diversio 
 hisown ? Indeed it is the gener 
 
 lly, of duplicity ar 
 
 » taken a lasting } 
 
 emember, how 
 
 to a publie and dissipated life; in 
 we may doubtless find as muct 
 and vir 
 
 if 
 shall live to see my Evelina the ornament of her 
 neighbourhood, and the ide and delight of her 
 family; giving and receiving joy from such society 
 as may best deserve her aff 
 herself in such useful and innocent occupations 
 as may secure and merit the tenderest love of her 
 friends, and the worthiest satisfaction of her own 
 heart. 
 
 Such are my hopes, andsuch have been my ex- 
 ions. Disappoint them not, my beloved 
 
 in London, asin the country. 
 
 contented with a retired station, I stil hope I 
 
 ‘tion, and employing 
 
 pects 
 ehild: but cheer me with a few lines, that may 
 assure me, this one fortnight spent in town has 
 not undone the work of seventeen years spent in 
 the country. 
 
 ARTHUR VILLARS, 
 
Shs bed 
 
 ahahs nee eget ee 
 
 142 EVELINA, 
 
 EVELINA TO THE REV, MR, VILLARS, 
 
 Howard Grove, April 25, 
 No, my dear sir, no: the work of seventeen years 
 remains such as it was, ever unworthy your time 
 and your labour; but notmoreso now—at least I 
 hope not—than before that fortnight which has 
 so much alarmed you. 
 
 And yet I must confess, that I am not half so 
 happy here at present as I was ere I went to town; 
 but the’change is in the place, notin me, Captain 
 Mirvan and Madame Duval have ruined Howard 
 Grove. The harmony that reigned here is disturb- 
 ed, our schemes are broken, our way of lifeis 
 altered, and our comfort isdestroyed. But do not 
 suppose London to be the source of these evils; 
 fur had our excursions been anywhere else, 80 
 disagreeable an addition to our household must 
 haye caused the same change at our return, 
 
 I was sure you would be displeased with Sir Cle- — 
 
 ment Willoughby, and therefore lam by no means — 
 surprised at what you say of him; but for lord” 
 Orville—I must own I had greatly feared that my 
 weak and imperfect. account would not have pro- 
 
 cured him the good opinion which he so well d's 
 serves, and which I am delighted to find you seem ~ 
 to have of him. Q, sir, could I have done jus- 
 tice to the merit of which I believe him possessed: 
 —could I have pan ed him to yow such as he ap- 
 peared to me;—then, indeed, you would haye had 
 some idea of the claim which he has to your appro- 
 bation! 
 
EVELINA, 143 
 
 thing more passed previous to our journey hither 
 except a very violent quarrel between captain Mir- 
 van and madame Duval, As the captain intended 
 to travel on horseback, he had settled that we four 
 females should make use of his coach. Madame 
 Duval did not come to Queen Ann street till the 
 carriage had waited some time at the door; and 
 then attended by monsieur Bois, she made her 
 appearan 2c, 
 
 would not 
 isted that 
 2» coach, We 
 
 1, than madame 
 
 suffer them to enter the 
 ould immediately get i 
 obeyed: but were no sooner 
 
 we 58 
 
 Duval said, Come, monsieur du Bois, these girls 
 can make very good room for you: sit closer, chil- 
 dren. 
 
 Mrs. Mi 
 du Bois, afier makin; 
 crowding us, actually got into the coach, on the 
 side with Miss Mirvan and me, but no sooner 
 was he seated, than the captain, who had observ- 
 ed this transaction very quietly, walked up to the 
 coach door saying, ‘ What, neither with your leave, 
 nor by your leave? 
 
 M. du Boisseemed rather shocked, and began to 
 make abundance of excuses; but the captain nei- 
 ther understood nor regarded him, and very rough- 
 ly said, Look’ee, monseer. this here may bea 
 French fashion, for aught I know.—but give and 
 take is fair in all nations; and so now, d’ye see, 
 T'll make bold to’show you an English one. 
 
 And then, siezing his wrist, he made him jump 
 out of the coach. 
 
 M,. du Bois instantly put his hand upon his 
 
 an looked quite confounded; and M. 
 
 some apologies abont 
 
® 
 4 
 } 
 ae > 
 ihe} 
 ne t 
 1p 
 ie 
 | 
 
 144 EVELINA. 
 
 sword, and threatened to resent this indignity. 
 The captain, holding up his stick, hade him draw 
 at his peril. Mrr. Mirvan, greatly alarmed, got 
 out of the coach, and standing between them, en- 
 treated her husband to re-enter the house. 
 
 ‘None of your clack!? cried he, angrily; ‘what 
 the d—l, do you}suppose I can’t manage a French 
 man ? 
 
 Meantime, madame Duval called out to M. Du 
 Bois, ‘Zh, laissez le. bon ami, ne lo corrigez 
 pas; cest wa vilain bete qui een vaunt pas la 
 pene. 
 
 * Monsieur le captaine’ cried M, du Bois, 
 ‘voulez-vous bien me demander pardon?” 
 
 ‘Oho, you demand pardon, do you?’ said the 
 captain; ’I thought as much; I thought youd 
 come to :—so you have lost your relish for an Eng- 
 lish salutation, have you?’ strutting upto him with 
 looks of defiance. 
 
 A crowd was now gathering, and Mrs, Mirvan 
 again besought her husband to go into the house, 
 
 ‘Why, what a plagueis the woman afraid of ?— 
 Did you ever know a Frenchman that could not 
 take an affront ?—I warrant monscer knows what 
 he is about; don’t you, monseer?’ 
 
 M. du Bois, not understanding him, only said,” 
 
 * Plait-il, Monsieur}? 
 
 No.nor dish me neither, answered the captain; 
 but, be that as it may, what signifies our parley- 
 ing here? If you've any thing to propose, speak 
 at onee; if not, why let us go on our journey 
 without more ado. 
 
 ‘ Parbleu, le nsetends rien, mot!’ cried M. du 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 Bois, shrugging up his shoulders, and looking 
 very dismal. : 
 + Mrs. Mirvan advanced to him, and said in 
 French, that she was sure the captain had not any 
 intention to affront him begged he would de- 
 sist from a dispute which could only be productive 
 of mutual misunderstanding, as neither of them 
 knew the 1s the other. 
 
 This ( had the desired ef- 
 fect, and M. du Bois, making a bow to every one 
 except the capta wisely took up the point 
 und took leave, 
 
 We then hoped to proceed quietly on our jour- 
 ney: but the turbulent ca iptain would not yet per- 
 mit us. He approached madame Duval with an 
 exulting air, and said, Why, how's this, madame? 
 what, has your champion deserted you? why I 
 thought you told me, that you old gentlewomen 
 had it all your own way among them French 
 sparks? 
 
 As to that, sir, answered she, it’s not of no con- 
 sequence what you thought; for a person who can 
 béhave in such a low way may think what he 
 pleases for me, for I sha’n’t mind. 
 
 Why, then, mistress, since you must needs 
 make so free, cried he, please to tell me the rea- 
 son why you took the liberty to ask any of your 
 followers into my coach without my leave? Answer 
 me to that. 
 
 Why, then, pray, sir, returned she, tell me 
 the reason why you took the liberty to treat the 
 gentleman in such an unpolite way, as to take and 
 pull him neck and heels out ? I’m sure he hadnt 
 done nothing to affront you, nor nobody else; 
 K 
 
 and 
 
 nonstran 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 and I don’t know what great hurt he would have 
 done you, by just sitting still in the coach; he 
 would not have eat it. 
 
 What, do you think, then, that my horses have 
 nothing to do but to carry about*youf snivelling 
 Frenchmen? If you do, madame, I must make 
 bold to tell you, you are out, for Ill see ’em 
 hang’d first. 
 
 More brute you, then ! for they’ve never carried 
 nobody half so good, 
 
 Why, look’ce, madame, if you must needs pro- 
 voke me, I'll tell you a piece of my mind; you 
 must know, I can see as far into a millstone as 
 another man ; and so, if you thought for to fob me 
 off with one of your smirking French puppies for a 
 son in law, why, you'll find yourself in a hobble, 
 that’s all. 
 
 Sir, yon’re a ———— but I won’t say what ;— 
 but I protest I hadn’t no such a thought, no more 
 hadn’t monsieur du Bois, 
 
 My dear, said Mrs. Mirvan, we shall be very 
 late. 
 
 Well, well, answered he, get away then; off 
 with you as fast as you can, it’s hightime, As to 
 Molly, she’s fine lady enough in all conscience 5 
 I want none of your French chaps to make her 
 worse, 
 
 And so saying he mounted his horse, and we 
 drove off. And I could not but think with regret 
 of the different feelings we experienced upon 
 leaving London to what had belonged to our 
 entering it, 
 
 During the journey madame Duval was so very 
 violent against the captain, that she obliged Mrs. 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 Mirvan to tell her, that, when in her presence, she 
 must beg her to choose some other subject of dis- 
 course. 
 
 We had a most affectionate reception from lady 
 Howard, whose kindness and hospitality cannot 
 fail of making every body happy who is disposed 
 so to be, 
 
 Adieu, my de 
 hitherto n 
 
 rsir. I hope, though I have 
 ected to mention it, that you have 
 smbered me to whoever has made any 
 inquiry concerning me. 
 
 always rer 
 
 & 
 
 Howard Groye, / 
 O, My dear sir, I now te in 
 easiness s made a proposal 
 which ter » to death, and which Was a8 2n-= 
 expected as it is shockir 
 She had been employed for some hours this 
 afternoon in reading letters from London; and, 
 just about tea time, she sent for me into her room, 
 and said, with a look of great. satisfaction, Come 
 here, child;, Ihave got some yery 
 tell you; something that will surprise you, Vil 
 give you my word, for you ha’n't no notion of it, 
 I begged her to exp!ain herself; and then, in 
 terms which I cannot repeat, she said she had been 
 considering w! a shame ty was to see me such 
 a poor country ne face thing, wheni ought 
 to be a fine lady; and shat she had long, and 
 
 pril 27, 
 the greatest. un- 
 
 good news to 
 
 upon seyeral occasions, blushed for me, though 
 she must own the fault was none of mine; tor 
 nothing better could be expected from a girl who 
 
148 EVELINA, 
 
 had been soimmured. However, she assured me 
 she had, at length, hit upon a plan, which would 
 make quite another creature of me, 
 
 I waited, without much impatience, to hear 
 what this preface led to ; but I was soon awaken- 
 ed to more lively sensations, when she acquainted 
 me, that her intention was to prove my_birth- 
 right, and to claim, by law, the inheritance of my 
 real family! 
 
 It would be impossible for me to express my ex- 
 treme consternation when she thus unfolded her 
 scheme. My surprise. and terror, was equally 
 great ; I could say nothing; I heard her witha 
 silence which I had not power to break. 
 
 She then expatiated very warmly upon the ad- 
 vantages I should reap from her plan; talked in 
 a high style of my future grandeur ; assured me 
 how heartily I should despise almost every body 
 and every thing I had hitherto seen: predicted my 
 marrying into some family of the first rank in the 
 kingdom ; and, finally said I should spend a few 
 months in Paris, where my education and manners 
 might receive their last polish. 
 
 She enlarged also upon the delight she should 
 have, in common with myself, from mortifying the 
 pride of certain people, and showing them that she 
 was not to be slighted with impunity. 
 
 Inthe midst of this discourse, I was relieved by 
 a summons to tea, Madam Duval was in great 
 spirits ! but my emotion was too painful for con- 
 czalment, and every body inquired into the cause. 
 I would fain have waved the subject, but madame 
 Duval was determined to make it puvlic, She told 
 them that she had it in her head to make some- 
 
EVELINA. 149 
 
 thing of me,and that they should soon call me by 
 another name than that of Anville; and yet that 
 she was not going to have the child married 
 neither. 
 
 I could not endure to hear her proceed, and 
 was going to leave the room: which when lady 
 Howard perceived, she begged Madame Duval 
 would defer herintelligence to some other oppor- 
 tunity: but she was so eager to communicate her 
 scheme, that she could not bear delay: and there- 
 fore they suffered me to go without opposition. 
 Indeed, whenever my situation or affairs are men- 
 tioned by Madame Duval, she speaks of them with 
 such bluntness and severity, that I cannot be en- 
 joined a task more cruel than to hear her, 
 
 T was afterwards acquainted with some particu- 
 lars of the conversation by Miss Mirvan ; who told 
 me that madame Duval informed them of her plan 
 swith the utmost complacency, and seemed to think 
 herself very fortunate in having suggested it: but 
 soon after, she accidentally betrayed, that she 
 had’ been instigated to the scheme by her rela- 
 tions the Branghton’s, whose letters, which she 
 received to day, first mentioned the proposal. She 
 declared that she would have nothing to do with 
 any round about ways, but go openly and instant- 
 ly to law, in order to prove my birth, real name, 
 and title, to the estates of mvy ancestors. 
 
 How impertinent and officious, in these Brangh- 
 ton’s to interfere thus in my concerns! You can 
 hardly imagine what a disturbance this plan has 
 made in the family. The captain, without inquir- 
 ing into any particulars of the affair, has peremp- 
 torily declared himself against it, merely because 
 
150 EVELINA. 
 
 it has been proposed by Madame Duval ; and they 
 have battled the point together with great vio- 
 lenee. Mrs. Mirvan says, she will not even think 
 till she hears your opinion, But lady Howard to 
 my great surprise, openly avows her approbation 
 of Madame Duval’s intention: however, she will 
 write her reasons and sentiments upon the sub- 
 ject to you herself. 
 
 As to Miss Mirvan, she is my second self, and 
 neither hopes nor fears but as I do. And as to 
 me, I know not what to say, nor even what to 
 wish, I have often thought my fate peculiarly 
 cruel, to have but one parent, and from that one 
 to be banished for ever ; while, on the other side, 
 J have but too well known and felt the propriety 
 of the separation. And yet how much better may 
 we imagine, than I can express, the internal an- 
 guish which sometimes oppresses my heart, when I 
 reflect upon the strange indifference that must 
 occasion a father never to make the least inquiry 
 after the health, the welfare, or even the life of 
 his child! 
 
 O sir, to me the loss is nothing !—greatly, 
 sweetly, and most benevolently have you guarded 
 me from feeling it; but for him, I grieve indeed ! 
 —I must be divested, not merely of all filial piety, 
 but of all humanity, could I ever think upon this 
 subject, and not be Wounded to the soul. Again 
 I must repeat, I know not what to wish : think for 
 me, therefore, my dearest sir, and suffer my donbt- 
 ing mind, that knows not which way to direct its 
 hopes, to be guided by your wisdom and unerring 
 counsel, 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 LADY HOWARD TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS. 
 
 Howard Grove. 
 iter proof of the high opinion 
 
 Dear 5 
 I CANNOT give ¢ 
 IT haye of your candour, than by the liberty I am 
 now going to take, of presuming to offer you ad- 
 vice upon a subject concerning which you have so 
 just a claim to act for yours lf: but I know you 
 have too unaffected a loye of justice, to he partially 
 tenacious of your own judg 
 
 Madame Duval has been proposing & scheme 
 put us all in commotion, and against 
 
 1ent. 
 
 which has 
 which. at first, in common with the rest of my fa- 
 mily, I exclaimed: but, upon more mature consi-« 
 deration, 1 own my objections have almost wholly 
 vanished. 
 
 This scheme is no other than to commence & 
 lawsuit with sir John Belmont, to prove the va- 
 lidity of his marriage with Evelyn ; the necessary 
 consequences of whieh proof will be, securing his 
 fortune and estate to his daughter. 
 
 And why, my dear s should this not be? I 
 know that, upon first hearing, such a plan conve 
 ideas which must shock you ; but I know, too, 
 
 that your mind is superior to being governed by 
 any important cause on 
 eeable attendant circum- 
 
 prejudices, or to opposiz 
 account of a few diss 
 
 stances. 
 Your lovely charge, now first entering into life, 
 
 hasmerit which ought not to be buried in obscurity. 
 She seems born for an ornament to the w orld, Na- 
 ture has been bountiful to her of whateyer she 
 had to bestow; and the peculiar attention you 
 
7 ' 
 if 
 i 
 Bi 
 yy ag 
 ‘4 
 id 
 | Reet 
 ; 
 | 
 ; i 
 Li | ni 
 Gitees 8 
 
 ae 
 
 nan 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 have given to her education, has formed hermind 
 to a degree of excellence, that in one so young I 
 have scarce ever seen equalled. Fortune alone 
 has hitherto been sparing of her gifts; and-she, 
 too, now opens the way which leads to all that is 
 left to wish for her. 
 
 What your reason may have been, my good sir, 
 for so carefully concealing the birth, name, and 
 pretensions of this amiable girl, and forbearing to 
 make any claim upon sir John Belmont, I am to- 
 tally a stranger to; buat, without knowing, I 
 respect them, from the high opinion that I have 
 of your character and judgment; but I hope they 
 are not inseparable; for I cannot but think, that 
 it was never designed for one who seems meant 
 to grace the world, to have her life devoted to re- 
 tirement. 
 
 Surely sir John Belmont, wretch as he has 
 shown himself, could never see his accomplished 
 daughter, and not be proud to own her, and ea- 
 ger to secure her the inheritance of his fortune, 
 The admiration she met with in town, though 
 merely the effect of her external attractions, was 
 such, that Mrs. Mirvan assures me, she would 
 have had the mast splendid offers, had there not 
 seemed to be some mystery in regard to her birth, 
 which she was well informed was as siduously, 
 though vainly, endeavoured to be discovered. 
 
 Can it be right, my dear sir, that this promis- 
 ng young creature should be deprived of her for- 
 tune and rank of life to which she is lawfully 
 entitled, and which you have prepared her to 
 support and to use so nobly? To despise riches, 
 may, indeed, be philosophic; but to dispense 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 them worthily must surely be more beneficial to 
 mankind. 
 
 Perhaps a few years, or indeed a much shorter 
 time, may make this scheme impracticable ; sir 
 John, though yet young, leadsa life too dis ipated 
 for long duration ; and when too late we may re- 
 gret that something was not sooner done ; for it 
 will be next to impossible, after he is gone, to 
 settle or prove any thing with his heirs and ex- 
 ecutors. 
 
 Pardon the earnestness with which T write my 
 sense of this affair; but your charming ward has 
 made me so warmly her friend, that I cannot be 
 indifferent npon a subject of such importance to 
 her future life. 
 
 Adieu, my dear sir ;—send me speedily an an- 
 swer to this remonstrance, and believe me to be, 
 
 &e, 
 
 M. HOWARD. 
 
 Mr. Villars to Lady Howard. 
 Berry Hill, May 2. 
 Your letter, madam, has opened a source of anx- 
 iety, to which I look forward with dread, and 
 which to see closed I scarcely dare expect. I am 
 unwilling to oppose my opinion to that of your 
 ladyship ; nor indeed can [, but by arguments 
 which | believe will rather rank me as an hermit, 
 ignorant of the world, and fit only for my cell, 
 than a proper guardian, in an age such as this, 
 for an accomplished young woman. Yet, thus 
 called upon, it behoves me to explain, and endea- 
 
154 EVELINA. 
 
 vour to vindicate, the reasons by which I have 
 been hitherto guided, 
 
 The mother of this dear chi!d,—who was led 
 to destruction by her own imprudence, the hard- 
 ness of heart of madame Duval, and the villany 
 of sir John Belmont,—was once what her daugh- 
 ter is now, the best beloved of my heart; and her 
 memory, so long, as my own holds, I shail love, 
 mourn, and honour! On the fatal day that her 
 gentle soul left its mansion, and not many hours 
 ere she ceased to breathe, I solemnly plighted my 
 faith, That ifit lived, it should know no father but 
 myself, or her acknowledged husband. 
 
 You cannot, madam, suppose that I found much 
 difficulty in adhering to this promise, and for- 
 bearing to make any claim upon sir John Bel- 
 mont, Could I feel an affection the most paternal 
 for this poor sufferer, and not abominate her des- 
 troyer? Could I wish to deliver to him, who 
 had so basely betrayed the mother, the innocent 
 offspring who, born in so much sorrow, seemed 
 entitled to all the compassionate tenderness of 
 pity ? 
 
 For many years, the name alone of that man, 
 accidentally spoken in my hearing, almost divested 
 me of my Christianity, and searee could I forbear 
 to execrate him. _ Yet I ought not, neither did I 
 desire, to deprive him of his child, had he with 
 apy appearance of contrition, or indeed of any 
 humanity, endeavoured to become less unworthy 
 such a blessing ;—but he is a stranger to all pa- 
 rental feelings, and has, witha savage insensibility, 
 forborne to inquire even into the existence of this 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 sweet orphan, though the situation of his injured 
 wife was but too well known to him. 
 You wish to be acquainted with my intentions. 
 
 —I must acknowledge they were such as I now 
 1 with your lady- 
 
 perceive cou 1 not be honou 
 for though I have sometimes 
 
 ship’s approl 
 thought of presenting Evelina to her father, and 
 demanding the justice which is her due, yet, at 
 ned and feared the 
 should be refus 
 
 other times, I have both dis 
 application ; dis j 
 and feared, lest it should be accepted. 
 
 Lady Belmont, who was firmly persuaded of 
 her approaching dissolution, frequently and earn- 
 
 estly besought me, that if her infant was a female, 
 I would not abandon her to the direction of ar 
 
 s0 wholly unfit to take the charge of her edu 
 
 tion ; but, should she be importunately demanded, 
 that I would retire wi 
 
 conceal her from sir 
 
 h her abroad, and carefully 
 John, till some apparent 
 change in his sentiments and conduct should 
 nounce him less improper for such a trust, And 
 often would she say, Should the poor babe | 
 
 any feelings correspondent with its mother* 
 will have no want while under your protection. 
 Alas! she had no sooner quitted it herself than 
 she was plunged into a gulf of misery, that swal- 
 lowed up her peace, reputation, and life. 
 
 During the childhood of Evelina, I suggested 
 a thousand plans for the security of her birth- 
 right ;—but I as oftentimes rejected them, I was 
 in a perpetual conflict, between the desire that 
 she should have justice done her, and the appre- 
 hension that, while I improved her fortune, I 
 should endanger her mind. However, as her 
 
156 EVELINA, 
 
 character began to be formed, and her disposition 
 to be displayed, my perplexity abated: the road 
 before me seemed less thorny and intricate, and I 
 thought I could perceive the right path from the 
 wrong, for when I observed the artless openness, 
 the ingenuous simplicity of her nature; when I 
 saw that her guileless and innocent soul fancied 
 all the world to be pure and disinterested as her- 
 self, and that her heart was open to every impres- 
 sion with which love, pity, or art might assail it; 
 —then I did flatter myself, that to follow my own 
 inclination, and to secure her welfare, was the 
 same thing; since, to expose her to the snares 
 and dangers inevitably encircling a house of which 
 the master is dissipated and unprincipled, with- 
 out the guidance of a mother, or any prudent and 
 sensible female, seemed to be no less than suffer- 
 ing her to stumble into some dreadful pit, when 
 the sun isin its meridian, My plan, therefore, 
 was not merely to educate and to cherish her as 
 my own, but to adopt her heiress of my small 
 fortune, and to bestow her upon some worthy man, 
 with whom she might spend her days in tranquil- 
 lity, cheerfulness, and good humour, untainted by 
 vice, folly, or ambition, 
 
 So much for the time past. Such have been 
 the motives by which I have been governed; and 
 I hope they will be allowed not merely to account 
 for, but also to justify, the conduct which has re- 
 sulted from them, It now remains to speak of 
 the time to come. 
 
 And here, indeed, I am sensible of difficulties, 
 which [ almost despair of surmounting according 
 to my wishes, I pay the highest deference to your 
 
EVELINA, od 
 ladyship’s opinion, which it is extremely painful to 
 me not to concur with;—yet I am so well ac- 
 quainted with your goodness, that I presume to 
 hope it would not be absolutely impossible for me 
 to offe such arguments as might lead you to think 
 with me, that this young creature’s chance of hap- 
 piness seems less doubtful in retirement, than it 
 would be in the gay and dissipated world, But 
 why should I perplex your ladyship with reason- 
 ing that can turn to so little account ? for, alas! 
 what arguments, what persuasions can I make 
 use of, with any prospect of success, to such a 
 woman aS madame Duval? Her character, and 
 the violence of her disposition, intimidate me from 
 making the attempt: she is too ignorant for in- 
 struction, too obstinate for entreaty, and too weak 
 for reason. 
 
 I will not, therefore, enter into a contest from 
 which I have nothing to expect but altercation 
 and impertinence. As soon would I discuss the 
 effect of sound with the deaf, or the nature of 
 colours with the blind, as aim at illuminating 
 with conviction a mind so warped by prejudice, so 
 much the slave of unruly and illiberal passions. 
 Unused as she is to control, persuasion would but 
 harden, and opposition incense her. I yield, 
 therefore, to the necessity which compels my re- 
 luctant acquiescence ! and shall now turn all my 
 thoughts upon considering of such methods for 
 the conducting of this enterprise, as may be most 
 conducive to the happiness of my child, and least 
 liable to wound her sensibility. 
 
 The lawsuit, therefore, I wholly and absolutely 
 disapprove. 
 
pk kans 
 
 158 EVELINA, 
 
 Will you, my dear, madam, forgive the freedom 
 of an old man, if 1 own myself greatly surprised, 
 that you could, even for a moment, listen to a 
 plan so violent, so public, so totally repugnant to 
 all female acy? J am satisfied your lady ship 
 has not weighed this project. There was a time, 
 indeed, when to assert the innocence of lady Bel- 
 mont, and to blazon to the world the wre gs, not 
 guilt by which she suffered, T proposed, nay at- 
 tempted, a similar plan; but then, all assistance 
 and encouragement was denied. How cruel to 
 the remembrance I bear of her woes in this tardy 
 resentment of madame Duval! She was deaf to 
 the voice of nature, though she has hearkened to 
 that of ambition. : 
 
 Never can I consent to hear this dear and timid 
 girl brought forward to the notice of the world by 
 such a method ; a method which will subject her 
 to all the impertinence of curiosity, the sneers of 
 conjecture, and the stings of ridicule, And for 
 what ?—the attainment of wealth which she does 
 not want, and the gratification of vanity which 
 she does not feel. A child to appear against a 
 father !—no, madam, old and infirm as I am, L 
 would even yet sooner convey her myself to some 
 remote part of thé world, though I were sure of 
 dying in the expedition. : 
 
 Far different had been the motives which would 
 ave stimulated the unhappy mother to such a 
 procecdi all her felicity in this world was 
 become a burthen 
 to her ; and her fair fame, which she had early 
 been taught to prize above al] things, had received 
 a mortal wound; therefore, to clear her own 
 
 irretrievably lost ; her lif 
 
 Ww 
 
¥VELINA, 
 
 honour, and to secure from blemish the birth of 
 child, was all the good which fortune had reserved 
 herself the power of bestowing, But even this 
 last consolation was withheld from her! 
 
 Let milder measures be adopted ; and—since 
 it must be so—let application be made to sir John 
 
 Belmont: but as to a lawsuit, I hope, upon this 
 subject, never more to bear it mentioned. 
 
 With madame Duval, all pleas of delicacy would 
 be ineffectual ; her scheme must be opposed by 
 arguments better s i to her understanding. [I 
 will not, therefor k of its impropriety, but 
 endeavour to prove inutility. Have the good- 
 ness, then, to tell her, that her own intentions 
 would be frustrated by her plan; since should 
 the lawsuit be commenced, and even should the 
 eause be gained, sir John Belmont would still 
 have it in his power, and, if irritated, no doubt in 
 his inclination, to cut off her grand-daughter with 
 a shilling. 
 
 She cannot do better herself than to remain 
 quiet and inactive in the r: the long and 
 mutual animosity between her and sir John will 
 make her interference merely productive of de- 
 bates and ill-will. Neither would I have Evelina 
 appear till summoned, And as to myself. I must 
 wholly decline acting; though I will, with un- 
 wearied zeal, devote all my thoughts to giving 
 counsel: but, in truth, T have neither inclination 
 nor spirits adequate to engaging personally with 
 this man. 
 
 My opinion is, that he would pay more respect 
 to a letter from your ladyship upon this subject 
 than from any other person, I, therefore, advise 
 
 atia 
 
160 EVELINA. 
 
 and hope, that you will yourself take the trouble 
 of writing to him, in order to open the affair, 
 When he shall be inclined to see Evelina, I have 
 for him a posthumous letter, which his much in- 
 jured lady left to be presented to him if ever such 
 a meeting should take place, 
 
 The views of the Branghtons, in suggesting this 
 seheme, are obviously interested. ‘They hope, by 
 securing to Evelina the fortune of her father, to 
 induce madame Duval to settle her own upon 
 themselves. In this however, they would proba- 
 bly be mistaken ; for little minds have ever a pro- 
 pensity to bestow their wealth upon those who 
 are already in afiluence; and therefore, the less 
 her grand child requires her assistance, the more 
 gladly she will give it. 
 
 I have but one thing more to add, from which, 
 however, I can by no means recede; my word so 
 solemnly given to lady Belmont, that her child 
 should never be owned but with herself, must be 
 inviolably adhered to. 
 
 ARTHUR VILLARS, 
 
 . 
 Mr, Villars to Evelina. 
 
 Berry Hill, May 2. 
 
 How sincerely do I sympathise in the uneasiness 
 and concern which my beloved Evelina has so 
 much reason to feel! The cruel scheme inagita- 
 tion is equally repugnant to my judgment and my 
 inclination ;—yet to oppose it seems impracticable. 
 To follow the dictates of my own heart, I should 
 instantly recal you to myself, and never more 
 consent to you being separated from me ; but the 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 162 
 
 manners and opinions of the world demand a dif- 
 ferent conduct. Hope, however, for the best, and 
 
 ied you sha 
 you are not received 
 
 be satis 
 
 | meet with no indignity; if 
 to your own family < 
 
 Ss you 
 ought to be, and with the distinction that is your 
 due, you shall leave it for ever; and once again 
 restored to my protection, secure your own tran- 
 quillity, and make as you haye hitherto done, all 
 the happiness of my life. 
 
 ARTHUR VILLARS, 
 
 Evelina to the Rev. Mr. V 
 
 Howard Grove, May 6, 
 THE die is thrown, and I attend the event in 
 trembling! Lady Howard has written to Paris, 
 and sent her letter to town, to be forwarded in 
 the amba 
 
 ador’s packet ; and in less than a fort- 
 night, therefore, she expects ananswer. 0, sir, 
 with what anxious impatience shall I wait its 
 arrival! upon it seems to depe nd the fate of my 
 future life, My solicitude is so great, and my 
 Suspense so painful, that I cannot rest a moment 
 in peace, or turn my thoughts into any other 
 channel. 
 
 Deeply interested as I now am in the event, 
 most sincerely do I regret that the plan was ever 
 proposed. Methinks it cannot end to my satis- 
 faction, for either I must be torn from the arms 
 of my more tl father,—or I must have the 
 misery of being finally convinced that I am cruelly 
 rejected by him who has the natural claim to 
 this dear title; a title which to write, mention, 
 L 
 
162 EVELINA: 
 
 or think of, fills my whole soul with filial tender- 
 ness, 
 
 The subject is discussed here eternally. Cap- 
 tain Mirvyan and madame Duval, as usual, quarrel 
 when ever it is started: but Tam wholly engros- 
 sed by my own reflections, so that I cannot even 
 listen to them. My imagination changes the 
 scene perpetually: one moment I am embraced 
 by a kind and relenting parent, who takes me to 
 that heart from which [ have hitherto been ‘ban- 
 ished, and supplicates through me peace and for- 
 giveness from the ashes of my mother!—at ano- 
 ther, he regards me with detestation, considers 
 me as the living image of an injured saint, and 
 repulses me with horror!—But { will not afilict 
 you with the melancholy phantasms of my brain ; 
 I will endeavour to compose my mind to a more 
 tranquil state, and forbear to write till I have in 
 some measure succeeded. 
 
 May Heaven bless you, my dearest sir! and 
 long may it continue you on earth, to bless 
 
 Your grateful 
 EVELINA, 
 
 i 
 } 
 I 
 
 Lady Howard to sir John Belmont, Barts 
 
 Sir, Howard Grove, May 5. 
 You will doubtless be surprised at receiving a 
 letter from one who had for so short a period the 
 honour of your acquaintance, and that at so great 
 a distance of time: but the motive which has in- 
 duced me to take this liberty is of so delicate a 
 nature, that were [ to commence making apolo- 
 
EVELINA: 163 
 
 gies for my officiousness, I fear my letter would 
 be too long for yeur patience, 
 
 You have, probably, already conjectured the 
 subject upon which I mean to treat. My regard 
 for Mr. Evelyn and his amiable daughter was well 
 known to you: nor can J ever cease to be inter- 
 ested in whatever belongs to their memory or 
 family. 
 
 1 must own myself somewhat distressed in what 
 manner to introduce the purport of my writing ; 
 yet as I think that, in affairs of this kind, frank- 
 ness is the first requisite to a good understanding 
 between the parties concerned, I will neither tor- 
 ment you nor myself with punctilious ceremonies, 
 but proceed instantly and openly to the business 
 which occasions my giving you this trouble. 
 
 I presume, sir, it would be superfluous to tell 
 you that your child resides still in Dorchester, 
 and is still under the protection of the reverend 
 Mr.. Villars, in whose house she was born: for, 
 though no inquiries concerning her have reached 
 h ears or mine, I can never suppose it possi - 
 ble that you have forborne to make them. It 
 only remains, therefore, to tell you, that your 
 iter is now grown up; that she has been 
 ted with the utmost care, and the utmost 
 ; and that she is now a most deserving, 
 accomplished, and amiahle young woman. 
 
 Whatever may be your view for her future des- 
 tination in life, it seems time to declare it, She 
 is greatly admired, and I doubt’ not will be very 
 much sought after: it is proper, therefore, that 
 her future expectations, and your pleasure con 
 cerning her, should be made known, 
 
164 EVELINA, 
 
 Believe me, sir, she merits your utmost atten- 
 tion and regard. You could not see and know 
 her, and remain unmoved by those sensations of 
 affections which belong to so near and tender 
 relationship. Sheis the lovely resemblance of her 
 lovely mother ;—Pardon sir, the liberty I take in 
 mentioning that unfortunate lady; but [ think it 
 behoves me, upon this occasion, to show the esteem 
 I felt for her; allow me, therefore, to say, and be 
 not offended at my freedom, that the memory of 
 that excellent lady has but too long remained 
 under the aspersions of calumny; surely it is 
 time to vindicate her fame ;—and how can that 
 be done in a manner more eligible, more grateful 
 to ber friends, or more honourable to yourself, 
 than by openly receiving as your child the daugh- 
 ter of the late lady Belmont ? 
 
 The venerable man who has had the care of her 
 education deserves your warmest acknowledge- 
 ments for the unremitting pains he has taken, 
 and the attention he has shewn in the discharge 
 of his trust. Indeed she has been peculiarly for- 
 tunate in meeting with such a friend and guardian; 
 a more worthy man, or one whose character seems 
 nearer to perfection, does not exist. 
 
 Permit me to assure you, sir, she will amply re- 
 pay whatever regard and favour you may hereafter 
 show her, by the comfort and happiness you can- 
 not fail to find in her affection and duty. To be 
 owned properly by you is the first wish of her 
 heart ; and I am sure that to merit your approba- 
 tion will be the first study of her life. 
 
 I fear that you will think this address imperti- 
 
EVELINA, i65 
 
 nent; but I must rest upon the goodness 
 
 of my 
 intention to plead my excuse. 
 
 M. HOWARD, 
 
 na to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 
 Howard Groye, Kent, May 10, 
 
 Our house has been enlivened to day by the arri- 
 val ofa London visitor: id the necessity I have 
 , the uneasiness of my 
 me exert myself so effectually, 
 ully diminished; or at 
 my thoughts are not so totally, so very 
 anxiously ocevpied by one only s 
 lately were, 
 
 I was strolling this morning with Miss Mirvan, 
 down a lane about a mile from the grove, 
 heard the trampling of horses: 
 narrowness of the pa 
 
 been under of conceal 
 mind, has m: 
 
 as they 
 
 when we 
 and fearing the 
 sage, we were turning hastily 
 back, but stopped upon hearing a voice call out, 
 Pray, ladies, don't be frigk tened, for I will walk 
 my horse. We turned again, and then saw sir 
 Clement Willoughby. He dismounted; and ap- 
 proaching us with the reins in his hand, presently 
 recollected us, Good Heaven ! cried he, with his 
 usual quickness, do I see Miss A nville ?—and you 
 too, Miss Mirvan ? 
 
 He immediately ordered his servants to take 
 charge of his horse; and then advancing to us, 
 took a hand of each, which he pressed to his lips, , 
 and said a thousand fine things concerning his 
 good fortune, our improved looks, 
 of the country, when ir 
 beauties, The town, lad 
 
 d the charms 
 habited “by such rural 
 28, has languished since 
 
your absence ;—0r, 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 at least, I have so much lan- 
 
 uished myself, as to be absolutely insensible to 
 all it had to offer. One refreshing breeze, such 
 as I now enjoy, awakens me to new vigour, life, 
 and spirit. But I never before had the good luck 
 to see the country in such perfection. 
 
 Has not almost every body left town, sir? said 
 Miss Mirvan. 
 
 ZT am ashamed to answer you, madam—but in- 
 deed it is as full as ever, and will continue go till 
 after the birth-day. However, you, ladies, were 
 so little seen, that there are but few who know 
 what it has lost. For my own part, I felt it too 
 sensibly to be able to endure the place any longer. 
 
 Ts there any body remaining there that we were 
 acquainted with? cried I. 
 
 O yes, ma’am. And then be named two or 
 three persons we have seen wheu with him; but 
 he did not mention lord Orville, and I would not 
 ask him, lest he should think me curious. Per- 
 haps, if he stays here some time, he may speak of 
 him by accident, 
 
 He was proceeding in this complimentary style 
 when we were met by the captain 5 who no sooner 
 perceived sir Clement, than he hastened up to him 
 gave him a hearty shake of the hand, a cordial 
 slap on the back, and some other equally gentle 
 tokens of satisfaction, assuring him of his great 
 joy at his visit, and declaring he was as glad to see 
 him as if he had been a2 messenger who brought 
 news that a French ship was sunk. Sir Clement, 
 
 on the other side, expressed himself with equal 
 warmth ; and protested he had been 80 eager to 
 pay his respects to captain Mirvan, that he had 
 
EVELINA, 167 | 
 
 left London in its full lustre, and a thousand en- 
 gagements unanswered, merely to give himself f 
 that pleasure. 
 \ We shall have rare sport, said the captain ; for { 
 
 , do you know, the old French-woman is among us ? 
 
 ‘ *Fore George I have s ade any use of her 
 
 with me that 
 
 ; howsomever, it shall go hard 
 
 but we’ll have some diversion now, 
 
 tT 
 
 nohe 
 
 yet, by reason I have 
 
 could enjoy ¢ 
 
 Sir Clement very much approved of the propo- 
 sal; and wé theh went into the house, where he 
 had a yery grave reception fi 
 
 om Mrs, Mirvan, who 
 
 g 
 ¥ is by no means pleased with his visit, and a look 
 00 of much discontent from Madame Duval, who 
 
 said to me in a low voice, I’d as soon have seen 
 old Nick as that man’ for he's the most impertin- 
 entest person in the world, and isn’t never of my 
 t side, 
 f The captain is now actually occupied in con- 
 g some scheme, which, he » is to play 
 ee the old dowager off; and so eager and delighted 
 is he at the idea, that he can scarcely restrain his 
 raptures sufficiently to conceal his design even 
 from herself. I wish, however, since I do not 
 dare put madame Duval upon her guard, that he 
 had the delicacy not to acquaint me with his in- 
 tention. 
 
 ——— 
 
 Tvelina in continuation. 
 
 May 13. i 
 THE captain’s operations are begun,—and, I hope, 
 ended; for, indeed, poor madame Duval has al- 
 
168 EVELINAs 
 
 but too much reason to regret sir Clement’s visit 
 to Howard Grove. 
 
 Yesterday morning, during breakfast, as the 
 captain was reading the newspaper, sir Clement 
 suddenly begged to look at it, saying, he wanted 
 to know if there was any account of a transaction, 
 at which he had been present the evening before 
 his journey hither, concerning a poor Frenchman, 
 who had got into a scrape which might cost him 
 his life. 
 
 The captain demanded partieujars; and then 
 sir Clement told a long story of being with a party 
 of country friends at the Tower, and hearing a 
 man call out for mercy in French : and that, when 
 he inquired into the occasion of his distress, he 
 was informed that he had been taken up upon 
 suspicion of treasonable practices against the 
 government, ‘The poor fellow, continued he, no 
 sooner found that I spoke French, than he be- 
 sought me to hear him, protesting that he had no 
 evil designs ; that he had been but a short time in 
 England, and only waited the return of a lady 
 from the country to quit it for ever. 
 
 Madame Duval changed colour, and listened 
 with the utmost attention. 
 
 Now, though I by no means approve of so many 
 foreigners continually flocking into our country, 
 added he, addressing himself to the captain, yet I 
 could not help pitying the. poor wretch, because 
 he did not know enough of English to make his 
 defence ; however, I found it impossible to assist 
 him ; for the mob would not suffer me to inter- 
 fere. In truth, I am afraid he was but roughly 
 handled, 
 
it 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 Why, did they duck him? said the captain, 
 
 Something of that sort, answered he. 
 
 So much the better! so much the better! cried 
 the captain, an impudent French puppy! Vi 
 bet you what you will he was a rascal, I only 
 wish all his countrymen were served the same. 
 
 I wish you had been in his place, with all my 
 soul! cried madame Duyal, warmly :—but pray 
 sir, didn’t nobody know who this poor gentleman 
 was 7 
 
 Why, I did hear his name, answered sir Cle- 
 ment, but I cannot recollect it. 
 
 t wasn't—it wasn’t—du Bois ? stammered out 
 madame Duval. 
 
 The very name! answered he: yes, du Bois ; 
 I remember it now. 
 
 Madame Duval’s cup fell from her hand as she 
 repeated Du Bois! Monsieur du Bois, did you 
 Say ? 
 
 Du Bois! why, that’s my friend, cried the cap- 
 tain: that’s monseer Slippery, is’n't it >—Why, 
 he’s plaguy fond of sousing work ; howsomeyer, 
 I'll be sworn they zive him his fill of it, 
 
 And I'll be sworn, cried madame Duval, that 
 you're a—but I don’t believe nothing about it, so 
 
 you needn’t be so overjoyed, for I dare say it was 
 no more monsieur du Bois than Iam. 
 
 I thought at the time, said’ sir Clement, very 
 gravely, that I had seen the gentleman before! 
 and now I recollect, I think it was in company 
 with you, madam. 
 
 With me, sir? cried madame Duval. 
 
 Say you so? said the captain; why then it 
 must be he, as sure as you're alive !—— Well, but 
 
EVELINAs 
 
 my good friend, what will they do with poor mon- 
 seer? 
 
 It is difficult to say, answered Sir Clement, very 
 thoughtfully; but I should suppose, that if he 
 has not good friends to appear for him, he will be 
 in a very unpleasant situation ; for these are seri- 
 ous sort of affairs. 
 
 Why, do you think they'll hang him ? demand- 
 ed the captain. 
 
 Sir Clement shook his head, but made no an- 
 swer, 
 
 Madame Duval could no longer contain her agi- 
 tation; she started from her chair, repeating, 
 with a voice half-choked, Hang him !—they can't, 
 —they shan’t—let them at their peril !—How- 
 ever, it’s all false, and I won’t believe a word of 
 it;—but I'll go to town this very moment, and 
 see M. du Bois myself;—I won't wait for nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Mirvan begged her not to bealarmed ; but 
 she flew out of the room, and up stairs into her 
 own apartment. Lady Howard blamed both the 
 gentlemen for having been so abrupt, and follow 
 ed her. I would have accompanied her, but the 
 captain stopped me; and, having first laughed 
 very heartily, said he was going to read his com- 
 mission to the ship’s company. 
 
 Now, do you see, said he, as to lady Howard, 
 I sha‘n’t pretend for to enlist her into my service, 
 and so I shall e‘en leave her to make it out as well 
 asshe can ; but as to all you I expect obedience 
 and submission to orders, I.am now upon a 
 hazardous expedition, having undertaken to con- 
 voy 2 crazy vessel, to the shore of Mortification; 
 80, d’ye see, if any of you haye any thing to propose 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 that will forward the enterprise,—why speak and 
 welcome: butif any of you, thatare of my chosen 
 crew, capitulate or enter into any treaty with the 
 enemy,—I shall look upon you as mutinying, and 
 turn you adrift, 
 
 Having finished his harangue, which was inter- 
 larded with many expressions and sea phrases that 
 I cannot recollect, he gave sir Clement a wink of 
 intelligence, and left us to ourselves, 
 
 Indeed, notwithstanding the attempts I so fre- 
 quently make of writingsome of the captain’s con- 
 versation, I can only give you a faint idea of his 
 language; for almost every other word he utters 
 is accompanied by an oath, which, I am sure, 
 would be as unpleasant for you to read as for me 
 to write ; and besides, he makes use of a thousand 
 sea terms, which are to me quite unintelligible. 
 
 Poor madame Duval sent to inquire at all pro- 
 bable places whether she could be conveyed to 
 town in any stage coach; but the captain's ser- 
 yant brought her for answer, that no London 
 stage would pass near Howard Grove till to day. 
 She then sent to order a chaise; but was soon as- 
 sured, that no horses could be procured. She 
 Was so much inflamed by these disappointments, 
 that she threatened to set out for town on foot; 
 and it was with difficulty that lady Howard dis- 
 suaded her from this mad scheme, 
 
 The whole morning was filled up with these in- 
 quiries. But when we were all assembled to din- 
 ner, she endeavoured to appear perfectly uncon- 
 cerned, and repeatedly protested that she gave 
 not any credit to the report, as far as it regarded 
 
oe 
 
 172 EVELINA, 
 
 M,.du Bois, being very sure that he was not the 
 person in question. 
 
 The captain used the most provoking efforts to 
 eonvince her that she deceived herself ; while sir 
 Clement, with more art, though not less malice, 
 affected to be of her opinion; but, at the same 
 time that he pretended to relieve her uneasiness 
 by saying that he doubted not having mistaken 
 the name, he took care to enlarge upon the dan- 
 ger to which the unknown gentleman was exposed 
 and expressed great concern at his perilous situa- 
 tion. 
 
 Dinner was hardly removed, when a letter was 
 delivered to madame Duval. The moment she 
 had read it, she hastily demanded from whom it 
 eame? A country boy brought it, answered the 
 servant but he would not wait. 
 
 Run after him this instant! cried she, and be 
 sure you bring him back. Jon Dieu! quel aven- 
 ture ! que ferat-je? 
 
 What's the matter ? what’s the matter? said 
 the captain. 
 
 Why nothing—nothing’s the matter. O mon 
 Dieu! 
 
 And she rose, and walked about the room, 
 
 Why, what.—has monscer sent to you? con- | 
 
 tinued the captain: is that there letter from him? ~ 
 No—it is’n’t ;—besides, if it is, it’s nothing to” 
 you. 
 
 don’t be soclose; come, tell us all about it;—what 
 does he say? how did he relish the horse pond? ~ 
 which did he find best, sousing single or double! 
 
 O then, I’m sure it is! Pray now, madame, ~ 
 
 t 
 
*Fore George, 
 
 *twas plaguy unlucky you was not 
 with him ? 
 
 It’sno such a thing, 
 
 ir, cried she, very angrily; 
 and if you’re so ver 'y fond of a Horse pond, T wish 
 you'd put yourself into one + and not be alw: LYS a- 
 thinking about other pe 
 
 ple's being served so. 
 The’ man then came in to acquaint her they 
 could not overtake the b vy. She scolded violent. 
 
 n 
 ly, and was in such perturbation, that lady How- 
 ard interfered, and | egged to know the cause of 
 she could assist her 2 
 Madame Duval cast her eyes upon captain 
 and sir Clement, and said she should be glad to 
 speak to her ladys ip without so many witnesses, 
 Well, ther Anville, said the 
 ing to me , do youand M Ly 
 and stay there till J 
 mind to ns. 
 
 her uneasiness, and whet! 
 
 tin, turn- 
 f room, 
 8. Duval has opened her 
 
 go into anc 
 
 So you may think sir, cried she, but who's l 
 
 3 fool 
 then’? No, no, you needn’t trouble yourself to 
 
 make a ninny of me neither, for I’m not so easily 
 taken in, I'll assure you. 
 
 Lady Howard then invited her intothe dressing- 
 room, and | was desired to attend h er. 
 
 As soon as we had shut the door, O, my lady, 
 
 exclaimed madame Duval, here's the most ¢ ruélest 
 
 thing in the world has h: ap pened ! —but that cap- 
 tain is such 
 
 east, I can’t say nothing before 
 
 him,—but it’s all true! poor M,. du Bois is locked 
 up! 
 Lady Howard begged her to be eomforte d, say- 
 ing that, as M. Due Bois was. certain y innocent, 
 there could be no doubt of his ability to clear him- 
 self, 
 
 EVELINA, 173 
 
74 EVRLINA. 
 
 To be sure, my lady, answered she, I know he 
 is innocent; and to be sure they'll never be so 
 wicked as to hang him for nothing ? 
 
 Gertainly not, replied lady Howard ; you-have 
 no reason to be uneasy, This is not a country 
 where punishment is inflicted without proof. 
 
 Very true, my lady; but the worst thing is this: 
 I cannot bear that that fellow the captain should 
 know about it; for if he does, J sha’n’t never hear 
 the last of it ;—no more won’t poor M. du Bois. 
 
 Well, well, said lady Howard, show me the let- 
 ter, and I will endeavour to advise you. 
 
 The letter was then produced. It was signed 
 by the clerk of a country justice; who acquainted 
 her, that a prisoner then upon trial for suspicion 
 of treasonable practices against the government, 
 was just upon the point of being committed to 
 gaol ; but having declared that he was known to 
 her, this clerk had been prevailed upon to write, 
 in order to inquire if she really could speak to the 
 character and family of a Frenchman, who called — 
 himself Pierre du Bois. : 
 
 When I heard the letter, I was quite amazed at 
 its success. So improbable did it seem that a fo- 
 reigner should be taken before a country justice 
 of peace for a crime of so dangerous a nature, 
 that I cannot imagine how madame Duval could 
 be alarmed even for amoment. But, with all her 
 violence of temper, 1 see that she is easily frigh= 
 tened, and in fact more cowardly than many who 
 have not half her spirit; and so little does she 
 reflect upon circumstances or probability, that she 
 is continually the dupe of her own—I ought not 
 
EVELINA. 175 
 
 he to say ignorance, but: yet I can think of no other 
 
 3 word, 
 I believe that lady Howard, from the beginning 
 aN of the transaction, suspected some contrivance of i 
 
 the captain ; and this letter, Iam sure, must con- 
 firm her suspicion: however, though she is not at 
 all pleased with his frolic, yet she would not 
 hazard the consequence of discovering his designs ; 
 
 her looks, her manners, and her character, made 
 me tw this conclusion from her apparent per- 
 plexity; for not a word did she say that implied 
 any doubt of the authent ity of the letter, In- 
 deed there seems to be a tacit agreement between 
 her and the captain, that she shouldsnot appear 
 to be acquainted with his schemes ; by which 
 Meaus she at once avoids quarrels, and supports 
 her dignity. 
 
 While she was considering what to propose, 
 Madame Dy-al begged to have the use of her la- 
 ship’s chariot, that she might go immediately to 
 al the assistance of her friend. Lady Howard po- 
 litely assured her, that it should be extremely at 
 her service; and then madame Duval besought 
 her not to own tothe captain what had happened, 
 protesting that she could not endure he should 
 know poor M. du Bois had met with so unfortu- 
 nate an accident, Lady Howard could not help 
 Siniling though she readily promised not to dnform 
 the captain of the affair, As to me, she desired 
 my attendance; which I was by means rejoiced 
 at, as T was certain she was going upon a fruitless 
 errand, 
 
 I was then commissioned to order the chariot. 
 At the foot of the stairsI met the captain, who 
 
176 EVELINA. 
 
 was most impatiently waiting the result of the 
 conference. In an instant we were joined by sir 
 Clement, A thousand inquiries were then made 
 concerning madame Duval’s opinion of the letter, 
 and lier intentions upon it: and when I would 
 have left them, sir Clement, pretending equal 
 eagerness with the captain, caught my hand, and 
 repeatedly detained me to ask some frivolous 
 question, to the answer of which he must be to-~ 
 tally indifferent. At length, however, I broke 
 from them ; they retired into the parlour, and I 
 executed my commission. 
 
 The carriage was soon ready ; and madame Du- 
 yal having ‘begged lady Howard to say she was 
 not well, stole softly down stairs, desiring me to 
 follow her. ‘The chariot was ordered at the gar- 
 den door; and, when we we eated, she told the 
 man, according to the clerk’s directions, to drive 
 fo Mr. Justice Tyrell’s, a gat the same time, 
 how many miles off he lived ? 
 
 I expected he would haye answered, that he 
 knew of no such person ; but, tomy great surprise, 
 he said, Why, *squire Tyrell lives about nine miles 
 beyond the park. 
 
 Drive fast; then, cried she, and you shan’t be 
 no worse for it. 
 
 During our ride, which was extremely tedious, 
 she tormented herself with a thousand fears for 
 M. du Bois’s safety: and piqued herself very 
 much upon having escaped unseen by the captain, 
 not only thatshe avoided his triumph, but be- 
 cause she knew him to be so much M. du Bois's 
 enemy, that she was sure he would prejudice the 
 justice against him, and endeavour to take away his 
 
5 
 
 EVELINA, 177 
 
 life. For my part, I was quite ashamed of being 
 engaged in so ridiculous an affair, and could only 
 think of the absurd appearance we should make 
 upon our arrivalat Mr. Tyrell’s. 
 
 When we had been out about two hours, and 
 expected every moment to stop at the place of our 
 destinction, I observed that lady Howard's ser- 
 vant, who attended us on horseback, rode on for- 
 word till he was out of sight: and soon after re- 
 turning, came up to the chariot window, and de- 
 livering a note to madame Duval, said he had met 
 a boy who was just coming with it to Howard 
 Grove, from the clerk of Mr, Tyrell. 
 
 While she was reading it he rode round to the 
 other window, and making a sign for secresy, put 
 into my hand a slip of paper, on which was writ- 
 ten, Whatever happens, be not alarmed— for you 
 are safe—though you endanger all mankind! 
 
 [ readily imagined that sir Clement must be the 
 author of this note, which prepared me to expect 
 some disagreeable adventure: but [ had no time 
 to ponder upon it; for madame Duval had no 
 or, than in an angry tone 
 of yoice she exclaimed, Why, now what a thing is 
 this! here we’re come all this way for nothing! 
 
 She then gave me the note, which informed her, 
 that she need not trouble herself to go to Mr. Ty 
 rell’s, as the prisoner had had the address to es- 
 scape. I cor tulated her upon this fortunate in- 
 cident; but she was so much concerned at hay- 
 ing rode so far in vain, that she seemed less pleas- 
 ed than provoked. However, she ordered the 
 tan to make what haste he could home, as she 
 M 
 
 sooner read her own le 
 
 y 
 t 
 
17g EVELINA. 
 hoped, at least, to return before the captain should 
 suspect what had passed, 
 
 The carriage turned about and we journeyed 
 so quietly for near an hour, that 1 began to flat- 
 ter myself we should be suffered to proceed to 
 Howard Grove without further molestation, when 
 suddenly the footman called. out, John, are we 
 going right ? 
 
 Why, I an’t sure, said the coachman, but I’m 
 afraid we turned wrong. 
 
 What do you mean by that, sirrah ? said ma- 
 dame Duval: why, if you lose your way we shall 
 be all in the dark. 
 
 I think we should turn to the left, said the 
 footman. 
 
 To the left! answered the ot her; no,no, I’m 
 partly sure we should turn to the right. 
 
 You had better make some inquiry, said 1. 
 
 Ma foi, cried madame Duval, we’rein a fine 
 hole here !—they neither of them know no more 
 than the post. However, I'll tell my lady as sure 
 as you’re born, so you'd better find the way, 
 
 Let’s try this lane, said the footman. 
 
 No, said the coachman’ that’s the road to Can- 
 terbury ; we had best go straight on. 
 
 Why, that’s the direct London road, returned 
 the footman, and will lead us twenty miles about. 
 
 Pardi, cried madame Duval; why, they won't 
 go one way nor t’other! and now we’re come all 
 this jaunt for nothing, I suppose we shan’t get 
 home to night! 
 
 Let’s go back to the public house, said the foot- 
 man, and ask for a guide. 
 
 No, no, said the other, if we stay here afew 
 
t- 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 minutes, somebody or other will pass by ; and the 
 re almost knocked up already. 
 
 Well, I protest, cried madame Duval, I'd give 
 a guinea to see them sots both horse-w hipped! 
 As sure as I’m alive they're drunk! Ten to one 
 but theyll overturn us next! 
 
 After much debating, they at length agreed to 
 go on till we came to some inn, or met with a 
 passenger who could direct us. We soon arrived 
 at a farm-house, and the footman alighted, and 
 went into it, 
 
 In a few minutes he returned, and told us we 
 might proceed, for that he had procured a diréc- 
 tion. But, added he, it seems there are some 
 th and so the best way will be 
 for you to leave your watchesand purses with the 
 
 es hereabouts 
 
 farmer, whom | know very well, and 
 honest ‘man, and a te 
 Thieves! cried ma 
 
 nt of my lady’s 
 ame Duval, lk 1 
 the Lord help us! I’ve no doubt but we 
 all murdered ! 
 
 The farmer came up to us, and we gaye him all 
 we were worth, and the servants followed our ex- 
 ample. 
 
 We then 
 anger so 
 manner imi 
 haste, 
 and obliging they 
 stopped them to ask if they apprehended any dan- 
 
 iall be 
 
 3; and madame -Duval’s 
 sided, that in the mildest 
 ble she entreated them to make 
 sed to tell their lady how diligent 
 
 xy had been. She perpetually 
 
 wit 
 
 and pron 
 
 ger; and was 
 
 length so much overpowered by 
 her fears, that she made the footman fasten his 
 horse to the back of the earriage, and then come 
 and seat himself within it. My endeavours to en- 
 
180 EVELINA, 
 
 courage her were fruitless ; she sat in the middle, 
 held the man by the arm, and protested, that if he 
 did but save her life, she would make his fortune, 
 Her uneasiness gave me much concern, and it was 
 with the utmost difficulty I forbore to acquaint 
 her that she was imposed upon; but the mutual 
 fear of the captain’s resentment to me, and of her 
 own to him, neither of which would have any 
 moderation, deterred me. As to the footman, he 
 was evidently in torture from restraining his 
 laughter; and I observed that he was frequently 
 obliged to make most horrid grimaces, from pre- 
 tended fear, in order to conceal his risibility. 
 
 Very soon after, The robbers are coming! cried 
 the coachman., 
 
 The footman opened the door, and jumped out 
 of the chariot. 
 
 Madame Duval gave a loud scream. 
 
 Icould no longer preserve my silence. For 
 Heaven’s sake, my dear madam, said J, don’t be 
 alarmed,—you are in no danger,—you are quite 
 safe, there is nothing but 
 
 Here the chariot was stopped by two men in 
 masks ; who at each side put in their hands as if 
 for our purses, Madame Duval sunk to the bot- 
 tom of the chariot, and implored their mercy: T 
 shricked involuntarily, although prepared for the 
 attack ; one of them heid me fast, while the other 
 tore poor madame Duval out of the carriage, in 
 spite of her cries, threats, and resistance, 
 
 I was really frightened, and trembled exceed- 
 ingly. My angel; cried the man who held me, 
 you cannot surely be alarmed :—do you not know 
 
EVELINA, : 181 
 
 me ?—I shall hold myself in eternal 
 if I have really terrified you. 
 
 Indeed, sir Clement, you have, cried I;—but, 
 for Heaven’s sake, where is madame Duval ?— 
 why is she forced away ? 
 
 She is perfectly safe; the captain has her in 
 charge: but suffer me now, my adored Miss An- 
 ville to take the only opportunity that is allowed 
 me, to speak upon another, a much dearer, much 
 sweeter subject. 
 
 And then he hastily came into the chariot, and 
 seated himself next to me. I would fain have 
 disengaged myself from him, but he would not 
 let me, Deny me not, most charming of women, 
 cried he, deny me not this only moment that is 
 lent to me, to pour forth my soul into your ears, 
 —to tell you how much I suffer from your ab- 
 sence,—how much I dread your displeasure,— 
 and how cruelly I am affected by your coldness! 
 
 O, sir, this is no time for such language $—pray 
 leave me; pray go to the relief of madame Duval: 
 —I cannot bear that she should be treated with 
 such indignity. 
 
 And will you,—can you command my absence? 
 —When may I speak to you, if not now ?-—Does 
 the captain suffer me to breathe a moment out of 
 his sight ? and are not a thousand impertinent 
 people for ever at your elbow ? 
 
 Indeed, sir Clement, you must change your 
 style, or I will not hear you. The impertinent 
 people you mean are among my best friends, and 
 you would not, if you really wished me well, 
 speak of them so disrespectfully. 
 
 Wish you well!—O miss Anville, point but out 
 
 abhorrence 
 
182 EVELINA» 
 
 to me how, in what manner, I may convince you 
 of the fervour of my passion ;—tell me but what 
 services you will accept from me,—and you shall 
 find my life, my fortune, my whole soul at your 
 devotion. 
 
 I want nothing, sir that you can offer ;—I beg 
 you not to talk to me so—s0 strangely. Pray 
 leave me; and pray assure yourself, you cannot 
 take any method sO successless to show any Tre- 
 gard for me as entering into a scheme so fright- 
 ful to madame Duval, and so disagreeable to my- 
 self, 
 
 The scheme was the captain’s ; I even opposed 
 it: though, I own, I could not refuse myself the 
 so long wished-for happiness of speaking to you 
 once more, without so many of—your friends to 
 watch me, And I had flattered myself. that the 
 note I charged the footman to give you would 
 have prevented the alarm you received. 
 
 Well, sir, you have now I hope said enough 3 
 and, if you will not go yourself to see for madame 
 Duval. at least suffer me to inquire what is be- 
 come of her. 
 
 And when may I speak to you again ? 
 
 No matter when,—I don’t know,—perhaps— 
 
 Perhaps what, my angel ? 
 
 Perhaps never, sir, if you torment me thus. 
 
 Never! O, miss Anville, how cruel, how piere- 
 ing to my soul is that icy word!—Indeed I ean- 
 not endure such displeasure. 
 
 Then, sir, you must not proyoke it. Pray leave 
 me directly. 
 
 I will, madam, but let me, at least, make 2 
 merit of my obedience,—allew me to hope that 
 
EVELINA, 183 
 
 you will, in future, be less averse to trusting your~ 
 self for a few moments alone with me. 
 I was surprised at the freedom of this re juest ; 
 but while I hesitated how to answer it, the other 
 mask came up to the chariot door, and, in a voice 1 
 almost stifled with laughter, said, I’ve done for I 
 her !—the old buck is safe:—but we must sheer 
 off directly, or we shall be all aground, 
 Sir Clement instantly left me, mounted his 
 horse, and rode off. The captain, haying given 
 some directions to the servants, followed him. 
 I was both uneasy and impatient to know the i 
 fate of madame Duval, and immediately got out 
 of the chariot to seek ber. 1 desired the footman 
 to show me which way she was gone: he pointed 
 with his finger by way of answer, and I saw that 
 he dared not trust his voice to make any other. 
 I walked ona very quick pace, and soon, to my 
 great consternation perceived the poor lady seated 
 upright in a ditch. I flew to her with unfeigned 
 concern at her situation. She was sobbing, nay, 
 almost roaring, and in the utmost agony of rage 
 and terror. As soon as she saw me, she redoubled 
 her cries ; but her voice was so broken, I could 
 not understand a word she said. I was so much 
 - shocked, that it was with diffienlty I forebore 
 exclaiming against the cruelty of the captain for 
 thus wantonly ill treating her; and I could not 
 forgive myself for having passively suffered the 
 deception. [ used my utmost endeavours to com- 
 fort her, assuring her of our present safety, and 
 begging her to rise and return to the chariot, 
 Almost bursting with passion, she pointed to her 
 
184 EVELINA. 
 
 feet, and with frightful violence she actually tore 
 the ground with her hands. 
 
 I then saw her feet were tied together with a 
 strong rope, which was fastened to the upper 
 branch of a tree, even witha hedge that ran along 
 the ditch where she sat. 1 endeavoured to unite 
 the knot ; but soon found it was infinitely beyond 
 my strength. : 
 
 I was, therefore, obliged to apply to the foot- 
 man; but being very unwilling to add to his 
 mirth by the sight of madame Duval’s situation, 
 T desired him to lend me a knife: I returned with 
 it, and cut the rope. Her feet were soon disen= 
 tangled ; and then, though with great difficulty, I 
 assisted her to rise. But what was my astonishs 
 ment, when, the moment she sat up, she hit mea 
 violent slap on the face! 1 retreated from her 
 with precipitation and dread; and she then loaded 
 me with reproaches, which, though almost unin- 
 telligible, convincea me that she imagined I had 
 voluntarily deserted her; but she seemed not have 
 the slightest suspicion that she had not been at- 
 tacked by real robbers. 
 
 T was so much surprised and confounded at the 
 blow, that for some time I suffered her to rave 
 without making any answer; but her extreme 
 agitation and real suffering soon dispelled my an- 
 ger, which all turned into compassion. I then 
 told her, that I had been forcibly detained from 
 following her, and assured her of my real sorrow 
 at her ill usage. 
 
 She began to be somewhat appeased and [ 
 again entreated her to return to the carriage, or 
 give me leave to order that it should draw up to 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 the place where we stood. She made no answer, 
 till I told her, that the longer we remained still, 
 the greater would be the danger of our ride home, 
 Struck with this hint, she suddenly,and with hasty 
 steps moved forward, 
 
 Her dress was in such disorder, that 1 was quite 
 sorry to have her figure exposed to the servants, 
 who all of them, in imitation of their master, hold 
 her in derision :—however, the disgrace was un- 
 avoidable. 
 
 The ditch, happily, was almost quite dry, or 
 she must have suffered still more seriously ; yet 
 so forlorn, so mi igure, I never before 
 saw. . Her head dress had en off, her linen was 
 torn, her negligee had not a pin left in it, her 
 petticoats she was obliged to hold on, and her 
 shoes were perpetually slippingoff. She was cover- 
 ed with dirt, weeds, and filth, and her face was 
 really horrible; for the pomatum and powder 
 from her head and the dust from the road were 
 quite pasted on her skin by her tears, which, with 
 her rouge, made so frightful a mixture, that she 
 hardly looked human. 
 
 The servants were ready to die with laughter 
 the moment they saw her; but not all my re- 
 monstrances could prevail upon her to get into 
 the carriage tillshe had most vehemently reproach- 
 ed them both for not rescuing her, The footman 
 fixing his eyes on the ground, as if fearful of again 
 trusting himself to lock at her, protested that 
 the robbers had vowed they would shoot him, if 
 he moyed an inch, and that one of them had staid 
 to watch the chariot while the other carried her 
 off, adding, that the reason of their behaving so 
 
 able a 
 
186 EVELINA. 
 
 barbarously was to revenge jour having secured 
 our purses, Notwithstanding her anger, she gave 
 immediate credit to what we said; and really ima- 
 gined that her want of money had irritated the 
 pretended robbors to treat her with such cruelty. 
 I determined, therefore, to be carefully upon my 
 guard not to betray the imposition, which could 
 now answer no other purpose than occasioning an 
 irreparable breach between her and the captain. 
 
 Just as we were seated in the chariot, she dis- 
 covered the loss which her head had sustained, 
 and ealled out, My God! what has become of 
 my hair ?—why, the villain has stole all my curls! 
 
 She then ordered the man to runand seeif he 
 could find any of themin the ditch, He went, and 
 presently returned producing a great quantity of 
 hair in such a nasty condition that I was amazed 
 she would take it: and the man, as he delivered 
 it to her, found it impossible to keep his counten- 
 ance; which she no sooner observed, than all her 
 stormy passions were again raised. She flung the 
 battered curls in his face, saying, Sirrah, what do 
 you grin for? I wish you'd been served so your- 
 self, and you wouldn’t have found it no such joke; 
 you are the impudentest fellow I ever see, and 
 if I find you dare grin at me any more, I shall 
 make no ceremony of boxing your ears. 
 
 Satisfied with the threat, the man hastily retir- 
 ed, and we drove on. 
 
 Her anger now subsiding into grief, she began 
 must sorrowfully to lament her ease. I believe, 
 she cried, never nobody was so unlucky as I am! 
 and so here, because I ha’n’t bad misfortunes 
 enough already, that puppy has made me lose my 
 
= 
 
 EVELINA. 187 
 
 eurls!——Why, I can’t see nobody without them : 
 —only look at me,—I was never so bad off in my 
 life before. Pardi, if I'd known as much, I'd 
 have brought two or three sets with me: but I’d 
 never a thought of such a thing as this. 
 
 }> Finding her now somewhat pacified, I ventured 
 to ask an account of her adventures, which I will 
 endeavour to write in her own words. 
 
 Why, child, all this misfortune comes of that 
 puppy's making us leaye our money behind us; 
 for, as soon as the robber see I did put nothing in 
 his hands, he lugged me out of the chariot by 
 main force, and I verily thought he’d have mur- 
 dered me. He was as strong as alion; I was no 
 more in his hands than achild. But I believe 
 never nobody was so abused before; for he dragg- 
 ed me down the road, pulling and hauling me all 
 the way, as if I'd no more feeling than a horse. 
 I’m sure I wish I could see that man cut up and 
 quartered alive! however, he'll come to the gal- 
 lews, that’s one good thing. So soon as we'd got 
 ont of sight of the chariot, though he need’nt 
 haye been afraid, for if he’d beat me to a mummy, 
 those cowardly fellows would’nt have said nothing 
 to it,—So, when I was got there, what does he 
 do, but all of a sudden he takes me by both 
 shoulders, and he gives me such a shake!—Mon 
 Dieu! I shall never forget it if I live to be an 
 hundred. I’m sure I dare say I’m out of joint 
 all over. And, though I made as much noise as 
 ever I could, he took no more notice of it than 
 nothing at all; but there he stood, shaking me 
 in that manner,as if he was doing it for a wager. 
 i’m determined, if it costs me all my fortune, Dll 
 
188 EVELINAs 
 
 see that villain hang'd. He shall te found out, if 
 there's e’er a justice in England. So when he 
 had shook me till he was tired, and I felt all over 
 like a jelly, without saying never a word, he 
 takes and pops me into the ditch! I'm surel 
 thought he'd have murdered me as much as ever I 
 thought any thing in my life; for he kept bump- 
 ing me about as if he thought nothing too bad for 
 me. However, I’m resolved I’ll never leave my 
 purse behind me again, the longest day I have to 
 live. So when be could'nt stand over me no 
 longer, he holds out his hands again for my mo- 
 ney, but he was as cunning ascould be, for he 
 would'’nt speak a word, because I should’nt swear 
 to his voice: however, that shan’t save him, for 
 T‘ll swear to him any day in the year, if I can but 
 catch him. So when I told him Ihad no money, 
 he fell to jerking me again, just as if he had but 
 that moment begun! And, after that, he got 
 me close by atree, and out of his pocket he pulls 
 a great cord!—It’s a wonder I did not swoon 
 away; for assure as you are alive he was going to 
 hang me to that tree. I screamed like any thing 
 mad, and told him if he would but spare my life, 
 I'd never prosecute him, nor tell nobody what he’d 
 done to me: se he stood some time, quite ina 
 brown study, a thinking what he should do, 
 And so, after that, he forced me to sit down in 
 the ditch, and he tied my feet together, just as 
 you see them; and then, as if he had not done 
 enough, he twitched off my cap, and, without 
 saying nothing, got on his horse and left me in 
 that condition: thinking, I suppose that I might 
 lie there and perish, 
 
RVELINA, 189 ( 
 ' Though this narrative almost compelled me to 
 
 laugh, yet I was really irritated when the captain 
 had carried his love of tormenting,—s 
 
 vort, he 
 
 ealls it,—to such barbarous and unjustifiable ex- i 
 tremes. I consoled and soothed her as well as I 
 
 was able; and told her, that since M. du Bois 
 
 had escaped, I hoped, when she recovered from i 
 her fright, all would end well, 
 
 This sort of conversation lasted till we arrived , 
 at our journey’s end: and then a new distress 
 occurred: madame Duval was eager to speak to 
 Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan, and to relate her in 
 misfortunes; but she could not endure that sir 
 Clement or the captain should sce her in such 
 disorder ; for she said they were so ill-natured, 
 that, instead of pitying her, they would only make 
 jest of her disasters. She therefore sent me first 
 into the house, to wait foran opportunity of their 
 being out of the way, that she might steal up 
 stairs unobserved, In this I succeeded, as the 
 gentlemen thought it most prudent not to seem 
 watching for her ; though they both contrived to 
 divert themselves with peeping at her as she 
 
 he 
 
 passed, 
 
 She went immediately to bed, where she had it 
 her supper. Lady Howardand Mrs, Mirvan both haf 
 of them very kindly sat with her, and listened to Vel 
 
 her tale with compassionate attention; while Miss 
 
 Miryan and I retired to our own room, where I 
 
 Was very glad to end the troubles of the day ina 
 
 comfortable conversation, i 
 The captain’s raptures, during supper, at the 
 
 Success of his plan, were boundless, I spoke 
 
 afterwards to Mrs, Mirvan with the openness 
 
190 EVELINA. 
 
 which her kindness encouraged, and begged her 
 to remonstrate with him upon the cruelty of tor- 
 menting madame Duval so causelessly. She pro- 
 mised to take the first opportunity of starting the 
 subject; but said he was at present so much 
 elated with his success that she feared it would 
 have no effect. 
 
 Madame Duval has kept her bed all day, and 
 declares she is almost bruised to death. 
 
 Adieu, my dear sir. Whata long letter have I 
 written! I could almost fancy I sent it you from 
 London! 
 
 pian th att a 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 Howard Grove, May 15th. 
 
 Tis insatiable captain, if left to himself, would 
 not I believe, rest, til] he had tormented madame 
 Duval into a fever. He seems to have no delight 
 but in terrifying or provoking her; and all his 
 thoughts apparently turn upon inventing such 
 methods as may do it most effectually 
 
 She had her breakfast in bed again yesterday 
 morning ; but during ours, the captain, with a 
 very significant look at sir Clement, gave us to 
 understand, that he thought she had now rested 
 long enough to bear the hardships of a fresh 
 campaign. 
 
 His meaning was obvious ; and, therefore, I 
 resolved to endeavour immediately to put a stop 
 to his intended exploits. When breakfast. was 
 over, I followed Mrs. Mirvan out of the parlour, 
 and begged her to lose no time in pleading the 
 cause of madame Duval with the captain, * My 
 
EVELINA, 191 
 loye,’ answered she, ‘I have already expostulated 
 with him ; but all I can aay is fruitless, while his 
 favourite, sir*Clement, contrives to urge him on. 
 
 Then I will go and speak to sir Clement, said 
 I, for I know he will desist if I request him. 
 
 Have a care, my dear! said she, smiling ; it 
 is sometimes dangerous to make requests to men 
 who are too desirous of receiving them. 
 
 Well then, my dear madame, will you give me 
 leave to speak myself to the captain ? 
 
 Willingly ; nay, I will accompany you to him. 
 
 I thanked her, and we went to seek him. He 
 was walking in the garden with sir Clement. Mrs, 
 
 Mirvan most obligingly made an opening for my 
 purpose, by saying, Mr. Mirvan, I have brought @ 
 petitioner with me. 
 
 I was fearful of making him angry, and stam- 
 mered very much when I told him, I hoped he had 
 no new plan for alarming madame Duval. 
 
 New plan! cried he; why, don’t you suppose 
 the old one would do again do you ? Not but what 
 it was a very good one, only I doubt she wouldn't 
 bite. 
 
 Indeed, sir, said T, she has already suffered 
 toomuch; and I hope you will pardon me, if I 
 take the liberty of telling you, that I think it my 
 duty to do power to prevent her being 
 again so much terrified. 
 
 A sullen gloominess instantly clouded ‘his face, 
 and, turning short from me, he said, I might do as 
 I pleased, but that I should much sooner repent 
 than repair my officiousness 
 
 I was too much disconcerted at this rebuff to at« 
 tempt making any answer; and finding that sir 
 
192 EVELINA. 
 
 Clement warmly espoused my cause, I walked 
 away and left them to discuss the point together. 
 Mrs. Mirvan, who never speaks to the captain, 
 when he is out of humour, was glad to follow me, 
 and with her usual sweetness made a thousand 
 apologies for her husband's ill manners. 
 
 When I left her, I went to madame Duval, 
 who was just risen, and employed in examining 
 the clothes she had on the day of her ill usage. 
 
 Here's a sight, eried she. Come here, ehild,— 
 only look—Pardi, so long as I‘ve lived, I never 
 see so much before! Why, all my things are 
 spoilt: and, what’s worse, my sacque was as good 
 as new. Here’s the second negligee I've had used 
 in this manner !—I‘m sure I was a fool to put it 
 on in such a Jonesome place as this; however, if 
 I stay here these ten years, I'll never put on ano- 
 ther good gown, that I*m resolved. 
 
 Wiil you let the maid try if she can iron it out, 
 or clean it ma‘am ? 
 
 No, she’ll only make bad worse.—But look 
 here, now, here’s a cloak; Mon Diew! why it 
 looks like a dish clout; Of all the unluckinesses 
 that ever I rftet, this is the worst! for do you 
 
 know, I bought it but the day before I left Paris? 
 Besides into the bargain, my cap’s quite gone: 
 where the villain twitched it, I don’t know 3 but 
 ¥ never see no more of it from that time to this. 
 Now you must know this was the becomingest 
 eap I had in the world, for I’ve neither another 
 with a pink ribbon in it; and, to tell you the 
 truth, if I had’t thought to have seen M, du Bois, 
 1’d have flown ; for as to what one wears in such 
 
EVELINA, 193 
 
 astupid place as this 
 thing at all, 
 
 She then told me, that she had been thinking 
 of a cont all ni 
 from findi 
 hav 
 
 signifies no more than no« 
 
 to hinder the Cay 
 yut her loss of curls 
 
 in 
 which was, 
 ief pinned over her 
 y she had the tooth ache, 
 
 To tell you the truth, added he, | believe that 
 the eaptain is one of the worst men in the world ; 
 
 he's alw: making a joke of me; and as to his 
 
 head as a hood, and s 
 
 being a gentleman, he has no more manners than 
 a bear, fi 2s always upon the grin when one’s 
 
 in. distress ; L declare, I'd rather be done 
 
 any thing to than laughed at, 
 
 to my mind, it’s 
 one the disagreeablest thinzsin the world 
 
 Mr. Mirvan I found, had been endea ing to 
 dissuade her of the desien she had for 
 ing recourse to the law, in order to 
 supposed robbers; for she dreads a 
 
 y i 
 the captain, during madam Duval ay at Howard 
 
 Grove, as it could not fail 
 
 be 
 
 r productive of 
 refore, tal 
 great pains to show the inutility of applying to 
 
 infinite commotion. She has, 
 
 1 
 
 more able to deseribe the 
 
 justice, unless she were 
 has assured her, that as she neither heard their 
 voices, nor saw their faces, she cannot po 
 Swear to their persons, or abtain ar 
 
 Madame Du 
 mented her har 
 from revenging her injuries; whi 
 vowed she would not > pocket tame- 
 (7 because, added she, if such villains as these 
 N 
 
 offenders against whom she would appear; and 
 
 ssibly 
 
 bi 
 
 y redress, 
 
 telling me thi 
 
 rt she was thus prevented 
 
 +h, however, she 
 
 suade 
 
94 EVELINA 
 are let to have their own way, and nobody takes 
 no notice of their impudence, they’ll make no 
 more ado than nothing at all of tying people in 
 ditches, and such things as that: however, I shall 
 consult with M. du Bois, as soon as I can ferret 
 out where be’s hid himself. I’m sure I've a right 
 to his advice, for it’s all along of his gaping about 
 at the Tower that I’ve met with these misfortunes. 
 
 M. du Bois, said I, will, I am sure, be very sorry 
 when he hears what has happened. 
 
 And what good will that do now ?—that won't 
 unspoil my clothes; T can tell him, I a n‘t much 
 obliged to him, though it’s no fault of his;—yet is 
 i'n’t the less provokinger for that. I?msure,if he 
 had been there, to have seen me served in that 
 manner, and put neck and heels into a ditch, h’d 
 no more have thought it was me than the Pope of 
 Rome. I'll promise you, whatever you may think 
 of it, I sha’n’t have no rest, night nor day, till 1 
 find out that rogue. 
 
 Thave no doubt, madam, but you will soon find 
 him. 
 
 Purdi, if J do, Vl hang him as sure as fate !— 
 But what's the oddest is, that he should take such 
 a special spite against me more than the rest; it 
 was as much for nothing as could be; for I don‘t 
 know what I had done, so particular bad, as to be 
 used in that manner ; I’msure I hadn’t given him 
 no offence, as I know of, for I never saw his face 
 all the time ; and as to screaming a little, I think 
 it’s very hard if one mustn't do s ich a thing as that, 
 when one’s put in fear of one’s life. 
 
 During this conversation, she endeayoured to 
 adjust her head dress but could not at all please 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 herself. Indeed, had I not been present, I should 
 have thought it impossible for a woman, at her 
 time of life, to be so very difficult in regard to 
 dress. What she rx y have in view, I cannot ima- 
 gine ; but the Jabour of the toilette seems the chief 
 busines: ee 
 
 When I lett her, in my} 
 air Clement ; who, with g 
 
 way down stairs I met 
 t earnestness, said he 
 must not be denied the honour of a moment's con- 
 versation with me; and then, without waiting for 
 an answer, he led me to the garden 3 at the door 
 of which, however, 1 absolute ly insisted upon stop- 
 ping. 
 
 He seemed very serious, and s 
 of voice, At length, Miss Any 
 I have hit on an expe 
 you ; and th re, thougl 
 I will put it in practi 
 
 I begged him to explain himself. 
 
 aid, in a grave tone 
 I flatter myself 
 will obli 
 
 fa) 
 
 I saw your desire of saving madame Duval, and 
 scarce could I refrain giving the brutal captain my 
 real opinion of his savage conduct, but Lam un- 
 willing to quarrel with bim lest I should be denied 
 entrance iato the house which you inhabit ; I have 
 been endeavouring to prevail with him to give up 
 his absurd new s theme, but I find him impene- 
 trable: I have therefore determined to make a 
 pretence for suddenly leaving this place, dear as 
 it is tome, and containing all I most admire and 
 adore ;—and I will stay in town till the violence 
 of this boobyish humour is abated, 
 
 He stopped; but I was silent, for ! knew not 
 what I ought to say. He took my hand, which he 
 pressed to his lips, saying, And must I then, miss 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Anville, must I quit you—sacrifice voluntarily my 
 greatest felicity ; and yet-not be honoured with 
 one word, one look of approbation. 
 
 I withdrew my hand, and said witha halflaugh, 
 You know so well, Clement, the value of the 
 favours you confer, that it would be superfluous 
 for me to point it out. 
 
 Charming, charming girl! how does your wit, 
 your understanding, rise upon me daily ; and must 
 T, can | part with you 2 will no other method— 
 
 O, sir, do you so soon repent the good office you 
 had planned for madame Duval. 
 
 For madame Duval! cruel creature, and will 
 you not even suffer me to place to your account 
 the sacrifice I am about to make ? 
 
 You must place it, sir, to what account you 
 please ; but I am too much in haste now to stay 
 here any longer. 
 
 And then I would have left him; but he held 
 me, and ratherimpatiently said, if, then, I cannot 
 be so happy as to oblige you, miss Anville, you 
 must not be surprised should I seek to oblige my- 
 self. If my scheme is not honoured with your ap- 
 probation, for which alore it was formed, why 
 should I, to my own infinite dissatisfaction, pur- 
 sue it! 
 
 We were then, fora few minutes, both silent 5 
 T was really unwilling he should give up a plan 
 which would so effectually break into the captain’s 
 designs, and, at the same time, save me the pain 
 of disobliging him; andshould instantly and thank- 
 fully haye accepted his offered civility, had not Mrs, 
 Mirvan's caution made me extremely fearful. 
 However, when he pressed me to speak, I said, in 
 
ly 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 197 
 
 an ironical voice, I had thought, sir, that the very 
 Strong sense you have yourself of the favour you 
 propose to me, would sufficiently have repaid you ; 
 but as I was mistaken, I must thank you myself. 
 And now, (making a low courtsey,) I hope, sir, 
 you are satisfied 
 
 Loveliest of thy sex—he began; but I forced 
 myself from him and ran up stairs, 
 
 Soon after Miss Mirvan told me that sir Clement 
 had just received a letter, which obliged him in- 
 stantly to leave the Grove, that he had actually 
 ordered a chaise. I then acquainted her with the 
 real state of the affair, Inde d, I conceal nothing 
 from her ; she is so gentle and sweet tempered 
 that it gives me great pleasure to place an entire 
 confidence in her, 
 
 At dinner, I must own, we all missed him ; for 
 
 though the flightiness. of his behaviour. to me, 
 when we were by ourselves, is very distressing ; 
 yet, in large companies, and general conversation, 
 he is extremly entertaining and agreeable. As to 
 the captain, he has been so much charinged at his 
 departure, thathe has scarecly spoken a word sinc® 
 he went; but madame Duval, who made her first 
 public appearance since her accident, was quite 
 in raptures that she escaped seeing him. 
 
 The money which we left at the farm house has 
 been returned to us. What pains the captain 
 must have taken to arrange and manage the ad - 
 yentures. which he chose we should meet with! 
 Yet he must certainly be discovered ; for madame 
 Duval is already very much perplexed, at having 
 received a letter this morning from M. du Bois, 
 in which he makes no mention of his imprisonment, 
 
Seer 
 
 198 EVELINA. 
 
 However, she has so little suspicion that she im- 
 putes his silence upon the subject, to his fears that 
 the letter might be intercepted. 
 
 Not one opportunity could I meet with, while 
 sir Clement was here, to inquire after his friend 
 lord Orville ; but I think it was strange he should 
 never mention him unasked. Indeed, I rather 
 wonder that Mrs, Mirvan herself did not introduce 
 the subject, for she always seemed particularly at- 
 tentive to him. 
 
 And now, once more, all my thoughts involun- 
 tarily turn upon the letter Iso soon expect from 
 Paris. This visit of sir Clement has, however, 
 somewhat diverted my fears: and, therefore, I am 
 very glad he madcit at this time. Adieu, my dear 
 sir. 
 
 Sir John Belmont to Lady Howard. 
 Madam, Paris, May 11. 
 T Have this moment the honour of your ladyship’s 
 letter, and will not wait another, before I return 
 an answer. 
 
 It seldom happens that a man, though extolled 
 as a saint, is really without blemish ; orthat an- 
 other though revered as a devil, is really without 
 humanity. Perhaps the time is not very distant, 
 when I may have the honour to eonvince your 
 
 ladyship of this truth, in regard to Mr. Villars and 
 myself. 
 
 ‘As to the young lady, whom Mr. Villars so 
 obligingly proposes presenting to me, I wish her 
 all the happiness to which, by your ladyship’s ac- 
 count she seems entitled; and, if she has a third 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 part of the merit of her to whom you compare her 
 I doubt not but Mr. Villars will be more success~ 
 ful in any other application he makes for her ad- 
 vantage, than he can ever be in any with which he 
 may be pleased to favour me, 
 I have the honour to be, madam, 
 Your ladyship's most humble 
 and most obedient servant, 
 JOHN BELMONT, 
 
 Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 
 
 Howard Grove, May 18, 
 WELL, my dear sir, all is now over! the letter 80 
 anxiously expected is at length arrived, and my 
 doom is fixed. The various feelings which oppress 
 me I have not language to describe; norneed I— 
 you know my heart, you have yourself formed it— 
 and its sensation upon this occasion you may but 
 too readily imagine. 
 
 Outcast as I am, and rejected for ever by him to 
 whom I of rigkt belong—how shall I implore your 
 continued protection ?—No, no :—I will not offend 
 your generous heart, which, open to distress, has 
 no wish but to relieve it, with an application that 
 wouldseem toimply a doubt. I am more secure 
 
 than ever of your kindness, since yon now know 
 upon that is my sole dependence. 
 
 I endeavoured to bear this stroke with compo- 
 sure, and in such a manner asif I had already re- 
 ceived your counsel and consolation. Yet, at 
 times, my emotions are almost too much for me, 
 O, sir, what a letter for a parent to write! Must 
 I not myself be deaf to the voice of nature if I 
 
20 RVELI 
 
 eould endure to be thus absolutely abandoned 
 without regret? ‘I dare not even to you, nor 
 would I, could I help it, to myself, acknowledge all 
 that I think; for, ir d, I have sometimes senti- 
 ments upon rej tion, which my strongest 
 sense of duty can scarcely correct. Yet suffer me 
 to ask—might not this answer have been softened ? 
 was it not enough to disclaim me for ever, with- 
 
 out treating me with contempt and wounding me 
 5 f § 
 
 by derision ? 
 
 But while I am thus thinking of myself, I for- 
 get how much more he is the object of sorrow 
 than Iam? Alas, what amends can he make -him- 
 self for the anguish he is hoarding up for the 
 time to come! My heart bleeds for him, whenever 
 this reflection occurs to me, 
 
 What is said of you, my protector, my friend, 
 my benefactor! I dare not trust myself to comment 
 Gracious Heavens! what a return. for 
 
 upon. 
 goodness so unparalleled ! 
 
 I would fain endeavour to divert my thoughts 
 from this subject: but even that is not in my pow- 
 er: for, afflicting as this letter is to me, I find 
 that it will not be allowed to conclude the affair, 
 though it does all my expectations, for madame 
 Duval has determined not to let it rest here. She 
 -d the letter in great wrath, and protested she 
 wonld not be so easily answered; she regretted 
 her facility in having been prevailed upon to yield 
 the direction of this affair to those who knew not 
 and yowed she would herself 
 
 hes 
 
 how to manage it, 
 undertake and conduet it in future. 
 
 It is in vain that I have pleaded against her re- 
 solution, and besought her to forbear an attack 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 where she has nothing to expect but resentment: 
 especially as there seemsto be a hint, that lady 
 Howard will one day be more openly dealt with, 
 She will not hear me: she is furiously bent upon 
 a project which is terrible to think of; for she 
 means to go herself to Paris, take me with her, 
 and there, face to face, demand justice ! 
 
 How to appease or to persuade her, I know 
 not; but for the universe would I not be drag- 
 ged, in such a manner, to an interview so awful, 
 with a parent I have never yet beheld! 
 
 Lady Howard and Mrs, Mirvan are both of 
 them infinitely shocked at the present situation 
 of affairs, and they seem to be even more kind to 
 me than ever; and my dear Maria, who is the 
 friend of my heart, uses her utmost efforts to 
 console me; and when she fails in her design, 
 mpathises in my 
 
 with still greater kindness she 
 sorrow, 
 
 I very much rejoice, however, that sir Clement 
 Willoughby had left us before this letter arrived. 
 —Iam sure the general confusion of the house 
 would otherwise betray to him the whole of a 
 tale which I now, more than ever, wished to have 
 buried in oblivion, 
 
 Lady Howard thinks I ought not to disoblige 
 madame Duval, yet she acknowledges the impro- 
 priety of my accompanying her abigail upon such 
 an enterprise. Indeed, 1 would rather die than 
 force myself into his presence. But so vehement 
 is madame Duval, that she would instantly have 
 compelled me to attend her to town in her way to 
 Paris, had not lady Howard so far exerted herself, 
 as to declare she could by no means consent to my 
 
202 EVELINA. 
 
 quitting her house till she gave me up to you, by 
 whose permission I had entered it, 
 
 She was extremely angry at this denial; and 
 the eaptain, by his sneers and raillery, so much 
 PP agg her rage, that she has positively declar- 
 ed, should your ieee tter dispute her authority 
 a fetid > me by her own pleasure, she will without 
 hesitation, make ajourney to Berry Hill, and teach 
 you to know who she is, 
 
 Should she put this threat in execution, no- 
 thing could give me greater uneasin for her 
 violence and volubility would almost distract me. 
 
 Unable as I am to act for myself, or to judge 
 what conduct I ought to pursue, how grateful do 
 [ feel myself that I have such a guide and direc- 
 tor to counsel and instruct me as yourself, 
 
 Adieu, my dearest sir! Heaven, I trust, will 
 never let me live to be repulsed and derided by 
 you, to whom I may now sign myself wholly your 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 am, Berry Hill, May 27. 
 
 I BELI¥VE your hip will not be surprised at 
 hearing I have bad a visit from madame Duval, as 
 I doubt not her having made known her intention 
 before she left Howard Grove. I would gladly 
 have excused mysclf this meeting, could I have 
 avoided it decentl but after so long a journey, 
 
 it was not possible to refuse her admittance 
 
 She told me that she came to Berry Hill, in 
 consequence of a letter I had sent to her grand 
 daughter, in which I had forbid her going to Pa- 
 
EVELINA, 203 
 
 ris, Very roughly she then called me to account 
 for the authority which I assumed ; and, had I 
 been disposed to have argued with her, she would 
 very angrily have disputed the right by which I 
 used it, But I declined all deb: iting. I there- 
 fore listened very quietly till she had so much fa- 
 tigued herself with talking, that she was glad in 
 her turn, to be silent. And then I begged to know 
 the purport of her visit. 
 
 She answered, that she came to make me relin- 
 quish the power I had usurped over her grand- 
 daughter; and assured me she would not quit the 
 place till she succeeded. 
 
 But I will not trouble your ladyship with the 
 particulars of this d 
 should I, but on account of the result, have cho- 
 sen so unpleasant a subject for your perusal.— 
 However, I will be as concise as I possibly 
 that the better occupations of your 
 time may be less impeded. 
 
 When she found me inexorable in refusing 
 Evelina’s attending her to Paris, she peremptorily 
 insisted that she should at least live with her in 
 London till sir John Belmont’s return. I remon- 
 strated against this scheme with all the energy in 
 my power: but the contest was vain; she lost her 
 patience, and I my time. She declared, that if I 
 was resolute in opposing her, she would instantly 
 make a will, in which she would leaye all her for- 
 tune to strangers, though otherwise, she intended 
 her grand-daughter for her sole heiress, 
 
 To me, I own, this threat seemed of little con- 
 sequence; I have long accustomed myself to 
 think, that, with a competency, of which she is 
 
 agreeable conversation; nor 
 
204 EVELINA, 
 
 sure, my child might be as happy asin the pos- 
 session of millions; but the incertitude of her 
 future fate deters me from following implicitly 
 the dictates of my present judgment. The con- 
 nexions she may hereafter form, the style of life 
 for which she may be destined, are considerations 
 which give but too much weight to the menaces 
 of madame Duval. In short, madam, after a dis- 
 course infinitely tedious, I was obliged, though 
 yery reluctantly, to compromise with this ungo- 
 vernable woman, by consenting that Evelina should 
 pass one month with her. 
 
 I never made a concession with so bad a grace, 
 or so much regret, The violence and vulgarity of 
 this woman, her total ignorance of propriety, the 
 family to which she is related, and the company 
 she is likely to keep, are objections so forcible to 
 her having the charge of this dear child, that no- 
 thing less than my indifference of the right I have 
 of depriving her of so large a fortune, would 
 have induced me to listen to her proposal. In- 
 deed we parted, at last, equally discontented ; 
 she at what I had refused, 1 at what I had 
 granted, 
 
 It now only remains for me to return your la- 
 dyship my humble acknowledgements for the kind- 
 ness which you have so liberally shown to my 
 ward; and to beg you would have the goodness 
 to part with her when madame Duval thinks pro- 
 per to claim the promise which she has extorted 
 from me, I am, dear madam, &e, 
 
 ARTHUR VILLARS 
 
EVELINA. 205 
 
 Mr. Villars to Evelina 
 Berry Hill, May 28, 
 Wiru a reluctance that oceasions me inexpressi- 
 ble uneasiness, I have been almost compelled to 
 y Id quit the protec- 
 ctable lady How- 
 Duval to a city 
 yuld never again have 
 
 consent that my i 
 tion of the hospitable and r 
 ard, and accompany 
 
 which I had hoped sl 
 
 entered. bu my dear child, we are the 
 
 slaves of custom judice,and dare 
 
 - duy es of pr 
 
 not stem the torrent of an opy ng world, even 
 
 nts condemn our compliance! 
 
 However, since the die is cz we must endeavour 
 
 it. 
 
 xasion in the course of the 
 : 
 
 ass with madame Duval, for all 
 
 , and prudence you 
 
 an call to 
 
 t, [know, 5 
 
 ’ 1g herse 
 must learn not only to judge but to act for your- 
 self: if any schemes are started, any engagements 
 made, which your understanding represents to you 
 as improper, exert yourself resolutely in avoiding 
 them ; and do not 
 
 censure of the world 
 
 by a passive facility, risk the 
 
 or your own future regret, 
 
 You cannot too yusly attend to madame 
 
 Duval herself; but I would wish you to mix as 
 
 little as possible v ith her z yciates, who are not 
 likely to beamong thos whose acquaintance would 
 reflect credit upon you. Remember, dear 
 
 Byelina, nothing is so delicate as the reputation of 
 
206 EVELINA, 
 
 @ woman; it is at once the most beautiful and 
 most brittle of all human things. 
 Adieu, my beloved child; I shall be but ill at 
 ease till this month is elasped. 
 A.V. 
 
 London, June 6, 
 Once more, my dearest sir, I write to you from 
 this great city. Yesterday morning, with the 
 
 truest concern, I quitted the dear inhabitants of 
 
 Howard Grove, and most impatiently shall I count 
 the days till I see them n. Lady Howard and 
 Mrs. Mirvan took leave of me with the most flat- 
 tering kindness; but indeed I knew not how to 
 part with Maria, whose own apparent sorrow re- 
 doubled mine. She made me promise to send her 
 a letter every post; and I shall write to her with 
 the same freedom, and almost the same confidence 
 you allow me to make use of to yourself. 
 
 The captain was very civil to me; but he wran- 
 gled with poor madame Duval to the last moment; 
 and taking me aside, just beforo we got into the 
 chaise, he said, Hark’ee, miss Anville, I've a favour 
 for to ask you, which is this; that you will write 
 us word how the gentlewoman finds herself, when 
 she sees it was all a trick ; and what the French 
 
 lubber says to it, and all about it. 
 
 T answered that I would obey him, though I 
 was very little pleased with the commission, which 
 to me, was highly improper; but he will either 
 treat me as an informer, or make me a party in 
 his frolic. 
 
EVELINA, 207 
 
 As soon as we drove away, madame Duval, with 
 much satisfaction, exclaimed, Diew merci, weve 
 got off atlast! I’m sure I never desire to see that 
 place again. It’s a wonder i've got away alive ; 
 for I believe I've had the worst luck ever was 
 known from the time I set my foot upon the thres- 
 hold. Iknow I wish l’dnever gone, Besides, in- 
 to the bargain, it's the most dullest place in all 
 Christendom, there's never any dive 
 thing at all. 
 
 Slons, nor a0- 
 
 Then she bewailed M. du Bois; concerning 
 whose adventures she continued to make various 
 conjectures during the rest of our journey. 
 
 When I asked her what part of London she 
 should reside in, she told me that Mr. Branghton 
 Was to meet us at 
 al 
 
 n inn, and would cenduct us to 
 
 led to a house 
 
 ngly, we 
 
 pt 
 , and were led by a waiter into 
 @ room where we found Mr, Branghton. 
 
 He received us very civilly ; but seemed rather 
 surprised at seeing me, saying, Why, I dida’t think 
 
 of your bringing miss; however, she’s very wel- 
 come. 
 
 Ill tell you how it was, said madame Duval: 
 you must know I've a mind to take the girl to Pa- 
 ris, that she may see something of the world, and 
 improve herself a little; besides I’ve another rea- 
 son, that you and 1 will talk more about, But, 
 do you know, that meddling old parson, as I told 
 you of, would not let her go! However, I'm re- 
 solved L1l be even with him ; for | shail take her 
 on with me, without saying never a word more to 
 nobody. 
 
 I started with this intimation, which very much 
 
 i 
 i 
 
208 EVELINA, 
 
 surprised me, But I am very glad she has dis- 
 covered her intention, as I shall be earefully upon 
 my guard not to venture from town with her, 
 
 Mr. Branghton then hoped we had passed our 
 time agreeable in the country. 
 
 O Lord, cousin, cried she, I’ve been the miser- 
 ablest creature in the world! I’m sure all the 
 in London sha’n’t drag me in the country 
 again of one while:—why, how do you think I’ve 
 been served ? only guess. 
 
 Indeed, cousin, I can't pretend to do that. 
 
 Why, then, I'll tell you. Do you know I’ve been 
 robbed !—that is, the villain would have robbed 
 me if he could, only I'd secured all my money. 
 
 Why, then, cousin, I think your loss can’t have 
 
 horse 
 
 been very great. 
 
 O Lord, you don’t know what you are a-saying 3 
 you're talking in the unthinkingest manner in the 
 world: why, it was all along of not baving no mo- 
 ney that I met with this misfortune. 
 
 How's that, cousin ? I don't see what great mis- 
 fortune you can have met with if yon’d secured all 
 your money. 
 
 That’s because you don't know nothing of the 
 matter: for there the villain came to the chaise; 
 and beeause, we had’nt got nothing to give him, 
 though he’d no more right to our money than the 
 man in the moon, yet, do you know, he fell into 
 the greatest passion ever you see, and abused me 
 in such a manner, and put me in a ditch, and got 
 a rope 0° purpose to hang me ;—and I’m sure, if 
 that wasn’t misfortune enough, why I don’t know 
 what is. 
 
RVELINA, 
 
 209 
 
 This is a hard case, indeed, cousin, But why 
 don*t you go to justice Fielding ? 
 
 O, as to that, I'm going to him directly: but 
 only I want first to > poor M. du Boi for the 
 oddest thing o be has wrote to me, 
 j I > he is, nor what’s he- 
 
 y house at this very 
 
 Well, I declare this 
 However, J assure 
 ymed for me as well 
 , considering what 
 
 rount: for, to tell y 
 
 of him that I met with that accident; so I 
 
 ind of him, I promise you. 
 
 l, but cousin 1 me some of the particulars 
 of this affair, 
 
 As totheparticulars, I’m sure they'd make your 
 hair stand on end to hear them; however the be- 
 ginning of it all was through the fault of M..du 
 Bois: but I'll as you, he may take care of him- 
 self in future, s he don't so much as come to 
 seeif I’m dead or alive.-—But there I went for him 
 to a justice of peace, and rode all out of the Way, 
 and did every thing in the world, and was used 
 worser than a d i 
 
 , and all for the sake of serving of 
 him: and now, you see, he don’t so much—well I 
 Was a fool for my pain 
 
 —However, he may. get 
 somebody else to be treated so another time; for, 
 if he’s taken up every day in the week, I'l never 
 go after him no more. 
 
 This occasioned an explanation; in the course 
 ta) 
 
210 EVELINA. 
 
 of which madame Duval, to her utter amazement, 
 heard that M. du Bois had never left London dur- 
 ing her absence! nor did Mr. Branghton believe 
 that he had ever been to the Tower, or met with 
 any kind of accident. 
 
 Almost instantly the whole truth of the transae- 
 tion seemed fo rush upon her mind, and her wrath 
 was inconceivably violent. She asked me a thou- 
 sand questions in a breath; but, fortunately, was 
 too vehement to attend to my embarrassment, 
 which must otherwise have betrayed my knowledge 
 of the deceit. Revenge was her first wish ; and 
 she vowed she would go the next morning to jus- 
 tice Fielding, and inquire what punishment she 
 might lawfully inflict upon the captain for his as- 
 sault. 
 
 I believe we were an hour at Bishopgate street 
 before poor madame Duval could allow any thing 
 to be mentioned but her own story: at length, 
 however, Mr. Branghton told her, that M. du Bois, 
 and all his own family, were waiting for her at his 
 house. A hackne ach was then called, and we 
 proceeded to Snow-hill. 
 
 Mr. Branghton’s house is small and incon- 
 venient, though his shop, which takes in all the 
 ground floor, is large and commodious. I believe 
 I told you before that he is a silversmith. 
 
 We were conducted up two pair of stairs: for 
 the dining-room, Mr. Branghton told us, was let. 
 
 His two daugiiters, their brother, M. du Bois, 
 and a young man, were at tea, They had waited 
 some time for madame Duval, ‘but I found they had 
 not any exXpectauon taat | was to accompany her, 
 and the young ladies, ] believe, were rather more 
 
EVELINA, 211 
 
 surprised than pleased when I made my appear- 
 ance; for they seemed hurt that I should see 
 their apartment. Indeed, 1 would willingly have 
 saved them that pain had it been in my power. 
 
 The first person who saw me was M. du Bofs, 
 Ah, mon Dieu! exclaimed he, vot/a mademoiselle! 
 
 Soon after tea miss Branghton took an opportu- 
 nity to tell me, in a whisper, that the young man 
 s, that his name was 
 a haberdasher: with 
 many other particulars of his cireumstanees and 
 family: and then she declared her utter aversion 
 to the thoughts of such a match; but added, that 
 her sister had no manner of spirit or ambition, 
 though, for her part, she would ten times rather 
 die an old maid, than marry any person but a 
 gentleman, And for that matter, added she, I 
 believe Polly herself don’t care much for him, 
 only she’s in such a hurry, because, I supjiose 
 she’s a mind to be married before me; however, 
 she’s very welcome ; for 1’m sure, [ don't care a 
 pin’s point whether I ever marry at all :—it’s all 
 one to me. 
 
 I was very glad when the time of our departing 
 arrived. Mr. Branghton 
 in Holborn, that we mi 
 
 I saw was a lover of her SIST 
 Brown, and he that was 
 
 , 
 
 aid our lodgings were 
 
 ight be near his 
 and neighbourly, He accompanied us to them 
 himself. 
 
 Our rooms are large,and not inconvenient: our 
 landlord isa hosier. Iam sure | havea thousand 
 
 house, 
 
 reasons to rejoice that I.am_so little known ; for 
 
 my present Situation Is, in every respect, very un- 
 enviable: and J would not for the world, be seen 
 by any acquaintance of Mrs, Mirvan. 
 
212 EVELINA, 
 
 This morning madame Duval, attended by all 
 the Branghtons, actually went to a justicein the 
 neighbourhood, to report the cay ’3 ill usage 
 of her. I i r myself 
 from being of the ave given me 
 very serious concer 
 anxious thoug! 
 the applicati 
 ness which such an rt would o 
 amiable Mrs. Mirvs Bi it fortunately, madan 
 Duval has received very little encouragement to 
 proceed in her design; for she has been informed, 
 that, as she neither voice, nor saw the 
 face of the y ill find diffi 
 to ez re, and will kaye but 
 little probability of ause, unless she 
 can produce witnes nsaction, Mr. 
 Branghton, therefore, lall the 
 circumstances of the aff the 
 lawsuit will not only be « xpensive, but tediousand 
 hazardous, and has adyised against it. Madame 
 Daval, though very unwillingly, has acquiesced in 
 his decision; but v that if ever he is so af 
 fronted again, s on if she 
 ruins herself, this ridi- 
 culous Saeaitite seems no Lot ii ike ely toe nd without 
 more serious consequences. 
 
 Adien, my dearest sir. My direction is at Mr, 
 Dawkin’s, a hosier, in High Holborn, 
 
 1 great diflic 
 
 considere 
 
 ieee 
 
 Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Vill ars. 
 
 Holborn, June 9. 
 YESTERDAY morning we receiyed an invitation to 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 dine and spend the day at Mr, Branghton’s; and 
 M. du Bois, who was also invited, called to con- 
 duct us to Snow-hill. 
 
 Young Branghton received us at the door; and 
 the first words he spoke were, Do you know, sis- 
 ters arn’t dressed yet ! 
 
 Then hurrying us into the house, he said to me, 
 Come miss, you shall go up stairs and eatch "em 
 —TI dare say they’re at the glass, 
 
 He would have taken my hand; but I declined 
 this civility, and begged to follow madame Duval, 
 
 Mr. Branghton then appeared, and led the way 
 himself. We went, as before, up two pair of 
 stairs ; but the moment the father opened the 
 door, the daughters both gave a loud scream. 
 We all stopped ; and then miss Branghton called 
 out, Lord papa, what do you bring the e mpany 
 up here for? Why, Polly and I a’nt half dressed, 
 
 More shame for you, answered he; here’s your 
 aant, and cousin, and M. du Bois, all waiting, and 
 neer a room to take them to, 
 
 Who'd have thought of their coming so soon ? 
 eried she; I am sure, for my part, I thought miss 
 was used to nothing but quality hours. 
 
 Why, I shan’t be ready this half hour yet, said 
 miss Polly; can’t they stay in the shop, till we 
 are dressed ? 
 
 Mr, Branghton was very angry, and scolded 
 them violently ; how e obliged to 
 descend, and stools were procured for us in the 
 shop, where we found the brother, who was highly 
 delighted, he said, that his sisters had been catch- 
 ed; and he thought proper to entertain me with 
 
 we 
 
 a 
 
214 7ELINA, 
 a long account of their tediousness, and the many 
 quarrels they all had together. 
 
 When, at length, these ladies were equipped to 
 their satisfaction, th made their appearance} 
 but before any conversation was suffered to pass 
 between them and us, they had a most long and 
 disagreeable dialogue with their father, to whose 
 reprimands, though so just ineurred, they replied 
 with the utmost pertness, while their brother all 
 the time laughed aloud. 
 
 The moment they perceived this, they were so 
 much provoked, that, instead of making any apo- 
 logies to madame Duval, they next began a quar- 
 rel with him. Tom, what do you laugh for? I 
 wonder what business you have to be always a 
 laughing when papa scolds us? 
 
 Then what business have you to be such a while 
 getting on your clothes? You're never ready, 
 you know well enough. 
 
 Lord, sir, I wonder what's that to you! I 
 wish you'd mind your own affairs, and not trouble 
 yourself about ours. How should a boy like you 
 know any thing ? 
 
 A boy, indeed! not such a boy, neither: Til 
 warrant you'll be glad to be as young when you 
 come to be old maids. 
 
 This sort of dialogue we were amused with till 
 dinner was ready, when we again mounted up two 
 pair of stairs, 
 
 In our way, miss Polly told me that her sister 
 had asked Mr, Smith for his room to dine in, but 
 he had _ refused to lend it ; because, she said, one 
 day it happened to be a little greased ; however, 
 we shall have it to drink tea in, and then, per 
 
EVRLINA, 215 
 
 haps, you may see him; and I assure you he’s 
 quite like one of the quality, and dresses as fine 
 and goes to balls and dances, and every thing 
 quite in taste ; and besides, miss, he keeps a foot 
 boy of bis own too. 
 
 The dinner was ill-served, ill-cooked, and ill- 
 managed, The maid who waited had so often to 
 go down stairs for something that was forgotten, 
 that the Branghtons were perpetually obliged to 
 rise from the table themselves, to get plates, 
 knives and forks, bread or beer. Had they been 
 without pretensions, all this would have seemed 
 of no consequence; but they aimed at appearing 
 to advantage, and even fancied they succeeded. 
 However, the most disagreeable part of our fare 
 was, that the whole family continually disputed 
 whose turn it was to rise, and whose to be allowed 
 to sit still. 
 
 When the meal was over, madame Duval, ever 
 eager to discourse about her travels, entered into 
 an argument with Mr, Branghton, and, in broken 
 English, with M. du Bois, concerning the French 
 nation: and miss Polly, then addressing herself 
 to me, said, Don’t you think, miss, it’s very dull 
 sitting up stairs here? we'd better go down to 
 shop, and then we shall see the people go by. 
 
 Lord, Poll, said the brother, you are always 
 wanting to be staring and gaping; and I’m sure 
 you needn’t be so fond of showing yourself, for 
 you’re ugly enough to frighten a hors 
 
 Ugly, indeed, I wonder which is best, you or 
 me. But, ! tell you what, Tom, you’ve no need 
 to give yourself such airs ; for, if you do, I'll tell 
 miss of—you know what~—. 
 
216 
 
 Who cares if you do? you may tell what you 
 will; I don’t mind—— 
 
 Indeed, cricd I, I- do not desi 
 secret, 
 
 to hear any 
 
 O, but I’m resolved I'll tell you, becanse Tom’s 
 : You must know, miss, t’other 
 
 >» brother. if you tell of that, r 
 
 shall know all about your meeting young Brown, 
 
 —you know when !—So I'll he quits with you one 
 
 way or other. 
 
 Miss Polly coloured, and again proposed our 
 going down stairs till Mr. Smith’s room was ready 
 for our reception. 
 
 Ay, so we will, said miss Branghton: Tl as- 
 sure you, cousin, we have some very genteel peo- 
 ple pass by our shop sometimes. Polly and I 
 always go and sit there when we've cleaned our- 
 selves, 
 
 Yes, miss, cried the br r, they do nothing 
 else all day long when father don't scold them. 
 But the best fun is, when they’ve got all their 
 dirty things on, and all their hair about their ears, 
 
 L} 
 
 or 
 5 
 
 sometimes I send young Brown up stairs to them 3 
 
 and then there’s such a fuss!—There they hide 
 themselves, and run uy, and squeal and squall 
 like any thing mad ; and so then I puts the two 
 eats into the room, and | gives them a good whip- 
 ping, and so that sects them a squalling too; so 
 there’s such a noise and such an uproar !—Lord, 
 you can’t think, miss, what a fuss it is! 
 
 This oceasioned a fresh quarrel with the sisters, 
 at the end of which, it was at length decided that 
 we should go to the shop, 
 
EVELINA. 217 
 
 In our way down stairs, Miss Branghton said 
 aloud, I wonder when Mr. Smith’s room will be 
 ready. 
 
 So do TI, answered Polly; I'm sure we should 
 not do any harm to it now. 
 
 This hint had not the desired effect; for we 
 were suffered to proceed very quietly. 
 the shop, I observed a young 
 ist the wall, 
 with his arms folded, and his eyes fixed on the 
 ground, apparently in profound and melancholy 
 meditation; but the moment he perceived us, he 
 started, and making a passing bow, very abruptly 
 retired. As I found he was permitted to go quite 
 unnoticed, I could not forbear inquiring who he 
 was, 
 
 Lord! answered 
 but a poor Seotch poet. 
 
 As we enter 
 
 man in deep mourning leaning aga 
 
 iton, he’s nothing 
 
 I 
 or my part, said miss Polly, [ be 
 rved, for I don’t find he has any thing to live 
 
 eve he 
 
 upon. 
 Live upon! cried the brother; why, he’s a 
 poet you know, so he may live upon his learning. 
 Ay, and good enough for him too, said miss 
 Brang! 3 for} as proud as he’s poor. 
 e enough, replied the brother; but, for all 
 that, you won’t find he will live without meat and 
 Scotchman at that if you 
 
 drirk : no, no, ¢ 
 can! why, they only come here for what they can 
 
 get. 
 
 I’m sure, said miss Branghton, I wonder pa- 
 pall be such a fool as to let him stayin his house, 
 for I dare say, he’ll never pay for his lodging. 
 Why, no more he would, if he could getanother 
 
218 EVELINA, 
 
 lodger: you know the bill has been put up this 
 fortnight. Miss, if you should hear of a person 
 that wants a room, I assure you it is a very good 
 one, for all it’s up three pair of stairs, ; 
 
 I answered, that as I had no acquaintance in 
 London, I had not any chance of isting them ; 
 but both my compassion and my curiosity were 
 excited for this poor young man; and I asked 
 them some further particulars concerning him. 
 
 They then acquainted me that they had only 
 known him three months. _When he first lodged 
 with them, he agreed to board also ; but had late- 
 ly told them he would eat by himself, though they 
 all believed he had hardly ever tasted a morsel of 
 meat since he left their table. They said that he 
 had always appeared very low-spirited ; but for 
 the last month he had been duller than ever ; 
 and, all of a sudden, he had put himself into 
 mourning, though they knew not for whom nor 
 for what; but they supposed it was only for con- 
 yenience, as no person had ever been to see or 
 inquire for him since his residence amongst them: 
 and they were sure he was very poor, as he had 
 not paid for his lodgings the last three weeks: 
 and, finally, they concluded he was a poet, or else 
 half-crazy, because they had, at different times, 
 found seraps of poetry in his room. 
 
 They then produced some unfinished verses, 
 written on small pieces of paper, unconnected, 
 and of a most melancholy cast. Among them 
 was the fragment of an ode, which, at my request, 
 they lent me to copy; and as you may perhaps 
 like to see it, I will write it now, 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 O life! thou lingering dream of grief, of pain, 
 And every ill that Nature can sustain, 
 e, mutable, and wild ! 
 Now flatteri ith Hope most fair, 
 Depr ng with fell Despair, 
 The nurse of Guilt, the slave of Pride, 
 That like a wayward child, 
 Who, to himself a foe, 
 Sees joy alone in what's denied, 
 In what is granted woe ; 
 O thou poor, feeble, fleeting pow’r, 
 By Vice seduced, by Folly woo‘d, 
 3y Misery, Shame, Remorse, pursued ; 
 And as thy toilsome steps proceed, 
 Seeming to Youth the fairest flow‘r, 
 & gilded but a bitter pill, 
 Of varied great, and complicated ill! 
 
 These lines are harsh, but they indicate an in- 
 ternal wretchedness, which, I own, affects me, 
 Surely this young man must be involved in mis- 
 fortunes of no ecémmon nature; but I cannot 
 imagine what can induce him to remain with this 
 unfeeling family, where he is, most unworthily, 
 despised for being poor, and most illiberally de- 
 tested for being a Scotchman. He may indeed 
 have motives, which he cannot surmcunt, for sub- 
 mitting to such a situation. Whatever they are, 
 I most heartily pity him, and cannot but wish it 
 were in my power to afford him som: relief. 
 
 During this conversation, Mr. Su: th’s footboy 
 eame to miss Branghton, and informed her, that 
 his master said she might have the room now 
 when she liked it, for he was presently going out. 
 
 This very genteel message, though it perfectly 
 satisfied the miss Branghtons, by no means added 
 to my desire of being introduced to this: gentle- 
 man: and upon their rising, with intention to ac» 
 
220 
 
 cept his offer, I begged they would excuse my at- 
 tending them, and said I will sit with madame 
 Duval till the tea was 
 I therefore once more went up two pair of 
 stairs with young Branghton, who insisted upon 
 necompanyi 1 there we remained till 
 Mr. Smith y summoned us to tea, when I 
 followed madame Duval into the dining-room. 
 The miss Branghton’s were seated at one win- 
 dow, and Mr. Smith was lolling indolently out of 
 the other. They all approached us at our en- 
 trance: and Mr. Smith, probably to show he 
 was master of the apartment, most officiously 
 handed me toa great chair at the upper end of 
 the room, without taking any notice of madame 
 Duval, till I rose and offered her my own seat. 
 Leaving the rest of the company to entertain 
 themselves, he very abruptly began to address 
 himself to me in a style of gallantry equally new 
 and disagreeable tome. It is true no man can 
 possibly pay the ater compliments, or make 
 more fine speeches, than sir Clement Willoughby: 
 yet his language, though too flowery, is always 
 that of a gentleman; and his address and man- 
 ners are so very superior to those of the inhabi- 
 tants of this house, that, to make any comparison 
 between him and Mr. Smith would be extremely 
 unjust. This latter seems very desirous of ap- 
 pearing a man of gaiety and spirit ; but this vi- 
 
 eady, 
 
 me ; 
 
 TOotboy 
 
 vacity is so low-bred, and his whole behaviour so 
 forward and disagreeable, that I should prefer the 
 company of dullness itself, even as that goddess 
 
 is described by Pope, to that of this sprightly 
 young man, 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 He made many apologies that he had not lent 
 his room for our dinner, which, he said, he should 
 certainly have done had he seen me first 3 and he 
 assured me, that when I came 1 
 he very glad to obli 
 
 twain, he shot 
 
 I told him and with sinec rity, that every part 
 +} } 7 
 of the house was equally t 
 
 Why, ma’am,the tri 
 
 1 
 ferent to me, 
 Biddy and Pol 
 take no care of any thing else, lm sure, they 
 should be alwa 
 nev 
 
 s welcomes to my room; for I’m 
 ing the ladies—that’s 
 ut really, the last time 
 was made so nasty and 
 & man who 
 
 upon 
 3s to have things a 
 
 eel, it was quite 
 
 Now as to you, ma‘am, its « 
 for I should not mind if every thing | had was 
 spoilt, for the sake of having the pleasure to 
 
 ther thing, 
 
 oblige you; and I assure you, ma’am, it makes 
 me quite happy that I have room good enough to 
 receive you. 
 
 This elegant speech was followed by many 
 others, so much in the same style, that to write 
 them would be superfluous; and as he did not 
 allow me a moment to speak to any other person, 
 the rest of the evening was consumed in a painful 
 attention to this irksome young man, who seemed 
 to intend appearance before me to the utmost 
 advantage, 
 
 Adieu, my dear sir. fear you will be sick of 
 reading about the family; yet I must write of 
 them, or not of any, since I mix with no other, 
 
 = 
 
222 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 Happy shall I be when I quit them all, and again 
 return to Berry Hill. 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 
 June 10. 
 
 Tuts morning Mr. Smith ealled, on purpose he 
 said, to offer me a ticket for the next Hampstead 
 assembly. I thanked him, but desired to he ex- 
 cused accepting it; he would not, however, be 
 denied, nor answered; and in a manner both ve- 
 hement and free, pressed and urged his offer till 
 I was wearied to death ; but when he found me 
 resolute, he seemed thunderstruck with amaze- 
 ment, and thought proper to desire I would tell 
 him my reasons. 
 
 Obvious as they must have been to any other 
 person, they were such as | knew not how to re- 
 peat to him 3 and, when he found [I hesitated, he 
 said, Indeed, ma'am, you are too modest ; I as- 
 sure you the ticket is quite at your service, and I 
 shall be very happy to dance with yous so pray 
 don’t be so coy. 
 
 Indeed, sir, returned I, you are mistaken ; I 
 never supposed you would offer a ticket without 
 wishing it should be accepted; but it would an- 
 swer no purpose to mention the reasons which 
 make me decline it, since they cannot possibly be 
 removed. 
 
 This speech seemed very much to mortify him ; 
 which I could not be conceried at, as I did not 
 choose to be treated by him with so much free- 
 dom. When he was, at last convinced that his 
 application to me was ineffectual, he addressed 
 
EVELINA, 223 
 
 himself to madame Duval, and begged she would 
 interfere in his favour ; offering at the same time 
 to procure another ticket for himself, 
 
 Ma, foi, sir, answered she, angrily, you might 
 as well have had the complaisanee to ask me be- 
 fore: for, I assure you,I don’t approve of no such 
 rudeness ; however, you mny keep your tickets to 
 yourself, for we don’t want none of ’em. 
 
 This rebuke almost overset him; he madé many 
 apologies, and said that he should certainly have 
 first applied to her, but that he had no notion the 
 youug lady would have refused him, and, on the 
 contrary, had concluded that she would have as- 
 sisted him to persuade madame Duval herself. 
 
 This excuse appeased her; and he pleaded his 
 Cause so successtully, that, to my great chagrin, 
 he gained it, and madame Duval promised that 
 she would go herself, and take me, to the Hamp- 
 Stead assembly, whenever he pleased. 
 
 Mr. Smith then approaching me with an air of 
 triumph, said, Well, ma'am, now I think you can’t 
 possibly keep your denial. 
 
 Imade no answer ,and he soon took leave,though 
 noi till he bad so wonderfuily gained the favour of 
 madame Duval, that she declared, when he was 
 gone, he was the prettiest young man she had seen 
 since she came to England. 
 
 As soon as I could find an opportunity, I ven- 
 tured, in the most humble manner to entreat ma- 
 dame Duval would not insist upon my attending 
 her to this ball ; as well 
 as I was able, the impropriety of my accepting 
 any present from a young man who was so en- 
 tirely unknown to me; but she laughed at my 
 
 nd representing to her, 
 
2241 EVELINA. 
 
 scruples; called me a foolish, ignorant country 
 girl ; and said she should make it her business to 
 teach me something of the world. 
 
 This ball is to be next week. Iam sure it is 
 
 not m¢ im r, than unpl nt to me, 
 and IJ will u deavour to avoid it. 
 Px on for ad- 
 
 2 will be willing st me, 
 ally with myself that I should 
 . Smith. 
 
 vice, as I 
 from dislik 
 dance with } 
 
 June 11, 
 cked to death 3 
 
 O, my dear sir! T have been sh« 
 lexpres- 
 
 and yet at the same time delighted bey 
 sion, in the hope that I have happily been the in- 
 ga human creature from dest 
 
 strument of savi 
 
 tion. 
 This morning madame Duval said she would in- 
 vite the Branghton family to return our visit to- 
 herself—for she 
 
 morrow; and not choosing to1 
 generally spends the morning in bed, —she desired 
 me to wait upon them with her message. M. du 
 Bois, who just then called, insisted upon attend- 
 ing me, 
 Mr, Branghton was in the shop, and told us that 
 his son and daughter were out ; but desired me to 
 step up stairs, as he very soon expected them home. 
 This I did, leaving M. du Bois below. | went into 
 the room where we had dined the day 
 and, by a wonderful chance, | happened so to seat 
 myself, that I had a view of the stairs, and yet 
 could not be seen from them. 
 
 In about ten minutes time, I saw, passing by 
 the door, with a look perturbedandaffrighted, the 
 
 game young man I mentioned in my last letter 
 
 before ; 
 
EVELINA. 225 
 
 Not heeding, as I suppose, how he went, in turn- 
 ing the corner of the stairs, which are narrow and 
 winding, his foot slipped and he fell; but almost 
 instantly rising, I plainly pereeived the end of a 
 pistol, which started from his pocket by hitting it 
 against the stairs. 
 
 I was inexpressibly shocked, All that I had 
 heard of his misery occurred to my memory, made 
 me conclude that he was, at that very moment, 
 meditating suicide! Struck with the dreadful idea, 
 all my strength seemed to fail me. He moved on 
 slowly, yet I soon lost rt of him ; I sat motion= 
 less with terror: all power of action forsook me ; 
 and I grew almost stiff with horror ; till recollect- 
 ing that it was yet possible to prevent the fatal 
 deed, all my faculties seemed to return with the 
 hope of saving him. 
 
 My first thought was to fly to Mr. Branghton ; 
 but I feared, that an instant of time lost might for 
 ever be rued ; andtherefore, guided by the impulse 
 of my apprehensions, as well as I was able I fol- 
 lowed him up stairs, stepping very softly, and 
 obliged to support myself by the bannisters, 
 
 When I came within a few stairs of the landing- 
 place I stopped ; for I could then see into his room, 
 as he had not yet shut the door. 
 
 He had put the pistol upon a table, and had his 
 hand in his pocket, whence, in a few moments, he 
 took out another: he then emptied something on 
 the table from a small leather bag; after which, 
 taking up both the pistols, one in each hand, he 
 dropped hastily upon his knees, and called out, 
 0, God !— forgive me! 
 
 Pp 
 
SE 
 
 In a moment strength and courage seemed lent 
 to meas by inspiration; I started, and rushing 
 precipitately into the room, 
 and then, overcome by my o\ 
 
 just caught his arm, 
 fears, I fell down 
 
 e breathless and senseless, My recovery, 
 however, was, I believe, almost instantaneous: and 
 then the sige of this unhappy man, regarding me 
 
 at his si 
 
 with a look of unutterable astonishment, mixed 
 with concern, presently restored to me my recol- 
 lection. arose, though with difficulty; he did 
 the same: the pistols, as 1 soon saw, were both 
 on the floor. 
 
 Unwilling to leave them, and indeed too weak 
 to move, I leaned one hand on the table, and then 
 stood perfectly still; while he, his eyes cast wild- 
 ly towards me, seemed too infinitely amazed to 
 be ¢apable of either speech or action. 
 
 { believe we were some minutes in this extraor- 
 dinary situation ; but, as my strength returned, I 
 felt myself both ashamed and awkward, and mov- 
 ed towards the door. Pale and motionless, he 
 suffered me to pass without changing his posture, 
 or uttering a syllable ; and indeed, 
 
 Hz look’d a bloodless image of despair.—PorE 
 
 When I reached the door I turned round; I 
 looked fearfully at the pistols, and, impelled by an 
 emotion I could not re i 
 with an intention of carryi 
 their wretched owner, perceiving my desi 
 recovering from his astonishment, da 
 
 stepped back, 
 
 away; but 
 gn, and 
 rting sudden~ 
 
 ly down, he seized them both himself, 
 _ Wild with fright, and gearce knowing what I 
 did, {€ caught almost involuntarily, hold of both 
 
EVELINA, 227 
 
 his arms, and exclaimed, 0, sir, have mercy on 
 yourself, 
 
 The guilty pistols fell from his hands, which, 
 disengaging from me, he fervently clasped, and 
 eried, Sweet heaven! is this thy angel ? 
 
 Encouraged by such gentleness, I again attempt- 
 ed to take the pistols ; but, with a look half fran- 
 tic, he again prevented me, saying, What would 
 you do? 
 
 Awaken you, I cried, witha courage I now 
 wonder at, to worthier thoughts, and rescue you 
 from perdition. 
 
 I then seized the pistols! he said not a word,— 
 he made no effort to stop me ;—I glided quick by 
 him, and tottered down stairs ere he had recoyer- 
 ed from the extremest amazement. 
 
 The moment I reached again the room I had so 
 fearfully left 1 threw away the pistols, and fling- 
 ing myself on the first chair, gave free vent to the 
 feelings I had so painfully stifled, in a violent 
 burst of tears, which, indeed, proved a happy re- 
 lief to me. 
 
 In this situation I remained some time; but 
 when, at length, I lifted up my head, the first ob- 
 ject I saw was the poor man who had occasioned 
 my terror, standing, as if petrified, at the door, 
 vazing at me with eyes of wild wonder. 
 
 I started from the chair; but trembled so ex- 
 cessively, that I almost instantly sunk again into 
 it. He then, though without advancing, and in 
 a faltering voice, said, Whoever or whatever you 
 are, relieve me, I pray you, from the suspence 
 under which my soul labours—and tell me if in« 
 deed I do not dream ? 
 
 and 
 
 — 
 
28 EVELINA, 
 
 To this address, so singular, and so solemn, I 
 had not then the presence of mind to frame any 
 answer; but as I presently perceived that his 
 eyes turned from me to the pistols, and that he 
 seemed to intend regain ig them, I exerted all 
 iny strength, and saying, O, for Heaven’s sake for- 
 bear! I rose and took them myself. 
 
 Do my senses deceiveme? cried he, do I live 
 —and do you ? 
 
 As he spoke he advanced towards me: and i, 
 still guarding the pistols, retreated. saying, No, 
 no—you must not—must not have them ? 
 
 Why—for what purpose, tell me !—do you with- 
 hold them? 
 
 To give you time to think :—to save you from 
 eternal misery ;—and, I hope, to reserve you for 
 mercy and forgiveness, 
 
 Wonderful! cried he, with uplifted hands and 
 eyes, most wonderful ! 
 
 For some time he seemed wrapped in deep 
 thought, till a sudden noise of tongues below an- 
 nouncing the approach of the Branghtons, made 
 him start from his reverie: he sprung hastily for- 
 ward,—dropped on one knee, caught hold of 
 my gown, which he pressed to his lips; and then, 
 guick as lightning, he rose, and flew up stairs to 
 his own room, 
 
 There v something in the whole of this ex- 
 
 traordinary and shocking adventure really too af- 
 fecting to be borne ; and so entirely had I spent 
 my spirits, and exhausted my courage, that before 
 the Branghtons had reached me, I had sunk on 
 the ground without sense or motion. 
 
 I believe I must have been a very horrid sight 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 to them on their entrance into the room ; for, to 
 all appearance, I seemed to have suffered a violent 
 death, either by my own rashness, or the cruelty 
 of some murderer, as the pistols had fallen close 
 by my side. 
 
 How soon I recovered I knew not; but proba- 
 bly, I was more indebted to the loudness of their 
 cries than to their assistance ; for they all con- 
 cluded that I was dead, and for some time, did 
 not make an effort to revive me. 
 
 Scareely could I recollect where, or indeed 
 what I was, ere they poured upon me such a tor- 
 rent of questions and inquiries, that I was almost 
 stunned with them ; as I was al le, I endeavoured 
 to satisfy their curiosity, by recounting what had 
 happened as clearly as was in my power. They 
 all looked aghast at the recital : but, not being 
 well enough to enter into any discussions, I beg- 
 ged to have a chair called, and to return instantly 
 home, 
 
 Before I left them, I recommended. with great 
 earnestness, a vigilant observance of their unhappy 
 lodger; and that they would take care to keep 
 from him, if possible, all means of self-destruction, 
 
 M. du Bois, who seemed extremely concerned 
 at my indisposition, walked by the side of the chair, 
 and saw me safe to my own apartment. The 
 rashness and the misery of this ill fated young 
 man engross all my thoughts. If, indeed, he is 
 bent upon destroying himself, all efforts to save 
 him will be fruitless. ~How much do I wish it 
 were in my power to discover the nature of the 
 malady which thus maddens him, and to offer or 
 procure alleviation to his sufferings! I am sure, 
 
 229 
 
ae 
 
 230 EVELINA. 
 
 my dearest sir, you will be much concerned for 
 this poor man ; and, were you here, I doubt not 
 but you would find some method of awakening 
 him from the error which blinds him, and of pour- 
 ing the balm of peace and comfort into his be- 
 lieving soul! 
 
 ling in continuation. 
 
 Holborn, June 13. 
 Yusrerpay all the Branghtons ‘dined here, Our 
 conversation was almost wholly concerning the ad- 
 venture of the day before. Mr, Branghton said, 
 that his first thoughts were instantly to turn his 
 lodger out of doors, lest, continued he, his kill- 
 ing himself in my house should bring me into any 
 trouble ; but then I was afraid I should never get 
 the money that he owes me ; whereas, if he dies 
 in my house, I have a right to all he leaves behind 
 him, if he goes off in my debt. Indeed, I would 
 put him in prison,—but what should I get by that? 
 he could not earn any thing there to pay me: s0 I 
 considered about it some time, and then I deter- 
 mined to ask him point blank for my money out of 
 hand, And so I did; but he told me he'd pay me 
 next week: however, I gave him to understand, 
 that though I was no Scotchman, yet I did not like 
 to be over-reached any more than he ; so then he 
 gave me a ring, which, to my certain knowledge, 
 must be worth ten guineas; and told me he would 
 not part with it for his life, and a good deal more 
 such sort of stuff, but that I might keep it till he 
 could pay me, 
 
EVELINA, 231 
 
 It is ten to one, father, said young Branghton, 
 if he come fairly by it. 
 y likely not, answered he: but that will 
 make no great difference, for I shall be able to 
 ] one, 
 
 I could hardly stay in the 
 
 prove myr 
 
 What princi 
 room. 
 
 I’m determined, said the son, I'll take some 
 opportunity to affront him soon, now I know how 
 poor he is, because of the airs he gave himself to 
 me when he first came. 
 
 And pray how 
 Duval, 
 
 Why, you never knew such a fuss in your life 
 as he made, because one day at dinner I only hap- 
 pened to say, that I supposed he had never got such 
 a good meal in his life before he came to England : 
 there he fell into such a passion as you can’t think ; 
 but, for my part, I took no notice if it; for to be 
 sure, thinks I, he must needs be a gentleman, or 
 he’d never go to be so angry about it. However, 
 he won’t put his tricks upon me again in a hurry. 
 
 Well, said Miss Polly, he’s grown quite an- 
 other creature to what he was, and he doesn't run 
 away from us, nor hide himself, nor any thing ; 
 and he’s as civil as can be, and he’s always in the 
 shop, and he saunters about the stairs,and he looks 
 
 that, child? said madame 
 
 at every body as comes in. 
 Why, your e what he’s after plain enough, 
 said Mr. Branghton, he v 8 to.see Miss again, 
 Ha; ha, ha! Lord, how I should: laugh, said 
 the son, if he should have fell in love with 
 Miss ! 
 I’m sure, said Miss 
 
 Branghton, Miss is well 
 
232 EVELINA, 
 
 come ; but for my part, I should be quite ashamed 
 of such a beggarly conquest. 
 
 Such was the conversation till tea time,when the 
 appearance of Mr. Smith gave a new turn to the 
 discourse. 
 
 Miss Branghton desired me to remark with what 
 a smart air he entered the room, and asked me if 
 he had not very much a quality look. 
 
 Come, cried he, advaneing to us, you ladics 
 must not sit together; wherever I go, I always 
 make it a rule to part the ladies, 
 
 And then, handing Miss Branghton to the next 
 chair, he seated himself between us. 
 
 Well, now, ladies, I think we sit very well. 
 What say you ? for my part I think it was a very 
 good motion, 
 
 If my cousin likes it, said Miss Branghton, I’m 
 sure I’ve uo objection. 
 
 O, cried he, I always study what the ladies 
 like,—that’s my first thought. And, indeed it is 
 but natural you should like best to sit by the gen- 
 tlemen, for what can you have to say to one and- 
 ther ? 
 
 Say ! cried young Branghton, O, never you think 
 of that; they'll find enough to say, I'll be sworn, 
 You know the women are never tired of talking. 
 
 Come, come, Tom, said Mr. Smith, don’t be se- 
 vere upon the ladies ; when I’m by, you know I 
 always take their part. 
 
 Soon after, when Miss Branghton offered me 
 some cake, this man of ‘gallantry said, Well, if 
 was that lady, I’d never take any thing from a 
 woman, 
 
 Why not, sir ? 
 
EVELINA, 233 
 
 Because I should be afraid of being poisoned 
 for being so handsome, 
 
 Who is severe upon the ladies now ? said I. 
 
 Why, really, ma’am, it was a slip of the tongue ; 
 I did not intend to say such a thing ; but one 
 can’t always be on one’s guard. 
 
 Soon after the conversation turning upon pub- 
 lic places, young Branghton asked if I had ever 
 been to George's, at Hampstead? 
 
 Indeed, I never heard the place mentioned, 
 
 Didn’t you, Miss? cried he eagerly ; why, then, 
 rou’ve a deal of fun tocome, I'll promise you; 
 id I tell you what, [ll ‘treat you there some 
 Sunday noon, So now, Bidand Poll, be sure you 
 don t tell Miss about the chairs, and all that, for 
 I’ve a mind to surprise her; and if I pay, I think 
 lve a right to have it my own way. 
 
 George's, at Hampstead, repeated Mr. Smith, 
 contemptuously; how came you to think the 
 young lady would like to go to such a low place 
 as that? But, pray, ma’am, have you ever been 
 to Don Saltero’s, at Chelsea ? 
 
 No, sir. 
 
 No!—Nay, then, I must insist on having the 
 pleasure of conducting you there before long. I 
 assure you, ma’am, many genteel people go, or 
 else, I give you word, I should not recommend it, 
 
 Pray, cousin, said Mr. Branghton, have you 
 been at Sadler's Wells yet ? 
 
 No, sir. 
 
 No |! why then you've seen nothing! 
 
 Pray Miss, said the son, how do you like the 
 Tower of London ? 
 
 I have never deen to it, sir. 
 
234 EVELINA, 
 
 Goodness, exclaimed he, not seen the Tower ! 
 —Why, may be, you ha’nt been 0? top of the Mo- 
 nument, neither ? 
 
 No, indeed, I have not, 
 
 Why, then, you might as well not have come 
 to London, for aught I see, for you’ve been no- 
 where, 
 ray, miss, said Polly, have you been all over 
 Paul’s Chureh yet? 
 
 No, ma’am. 
 
 Well, but, ma’am, said Mr. Smith, how do you 
 like Vauxhall and Marybone ? 
 
 I never saw either, sir, 
 
 No—God bless me !—you really surprise me,— 
 Why, Vauxhall is the first pleasure in life !—T 
 know nothing like it,— Well, ma’am, you must 
 have been with strange people, indeed, not to 
 have taken you to Vauxhall. Why, you have 
 seen nothing of London yet. However, we must 
 try if we can’t make your amends, 
 
 In the course of this catechism many other 
 places were mentioned, of whieh I have forgotten 
 the names; but the looks of surprise and con- 
 tempt that my repeated negatives incurred were 
 very diverting. 
 
 Come, said Mr, Smith after tea, as this lady 
 has been with such a queer set of people, let’s 
 show her the difference ; suppose we ge some- 
 where to-night !—I love to do things with spirit ! 
 —Come, ladies, where shall wego? For my part, 
 I should like Foot, ’s, but the ladies must choose: 
 I never speak myself 
 
 Well, Mr. Smith ig always in such spirits! said 
 Miss Branghton, 
 
ZVELINAs 
 
 Why, yes, ma’am, yes thank God, pretty good 
 spirits :—I have not yet the cares of the world 
 T am not married.—ha, ha, ha!—you'll 
 
 ladies,—but I ca’nt help laughing ! 
 
 No objection being made, to my great relief we 
 all proceeded to the little theatre in the Hay- 
 market, where I was extremely entertained by the 
 rformance of the Minor and the Commissary, 
 They all returned hither to supper, 
 
 upon me 4 
 excuse me, 
 
 lint % ¢ tin LALO. 
 
 June 15, 
 ;adame Duval again sent 
 by M. du Bois, 
 ise she 
 
 Yusterpay morning 
 me to Mr. Branghton's attended 
 for the evening, bec: 
 g day from stay- 
 
 to make some party 
 had had the vapours the pre eedit 
 ing home. 
 
 ‘As I entered the shop, I perceived the unfortu- 
 nate North Briton seated in a corner, with a 
 book in his hand. He cast his melancholy eyes 
 up as we came in! and I believe, immediately re- 
 collected his face-—for he started, and changed 
 colour. I delivered madame Duval’s message to 
 Mr. Branghton who told me I should find Polly 
 up stairs, but that the others were gone out, 
 
 Up stairs, therefore I went! and, seated on a 
 window, with Mr. Brown at her side, sat miss 
 Polly. I felta little awkward at disturbing them, 
 and much more so at their behaviour afterwards; 
 for, as soon as the common inquiries were over, 
 Mr. Brown grew so fond and so foolish, that I 
 was extremely disgusted, Polly, all the time, on- 
 ly rebuked him with, La, now, Mr. Brown, do be 
 
336 EVELINA, 
 
 quiet, can’t you —You should not behave go be- 
 fore company.—Why now, what will miss think 
 of me?—while her looks plainly showed not 
 merely the pleasure, but the pride she took in his 
 caresses, 
 
 I did not by any means think it necessary to 
 punish myself by witnessing their tenderness ; 
 and therefore te ling them I would see if miss 
 Branghton was returned home, I soon left them, 
 and again descended into the shop, 
 
 So, miss, you’ve come again, said Mr, Brangh- 
 ton ! what, I Suppose, you've a mind to sit a little 
 in the shop, and see how the world goes, hey, 
 miss ? 
 
 I made no answer: and M. du Bois instantly 
 brought me a chair. 
 
 The unhappy Stranger, who had risen at my 
 entrance, again seated himself ; and, though his 
 head leaned towards his book, I could not help 
 observing, his eyes were most intently and earn- 
 estly turned towards me, 
 
 M. du Bois, as well as his broken English 
 would allow him, endeavoured to entertain us till 
 the return of Miss Branghton and her brother, 
 
 Lord, how tired I am! cried the former; I 
 have not a foot to stand upon, And then, with- 
 out any ceremony, she flung herself into the chair 
 from which I had risen to receive her, 
 
 You, tired ' said the brother ; why, then, what 
 must I be, that have walked twice as far ? And 
 with equal politeness he paid the same compli- 
 ment to M.du Bois which his sister had done to 
 me. 
 
 Two chairs and threo stools completed the fur- 
 
EVELINA. 237 
 
 hiture of the shop; and Mr, Branghton, who 
 chose to keep his own seat himself, desired M du 
 Bois to take another; and then seeing that I was 
 without any, called out to the stranger, Come, 
 Mr. Macartney, lend us your ba ier 
 
 Shocked at their rudeness, I declined the offer ; 
 and, approaching Miss Branghton, said, If you will 
 be so good as to make room for me on your chair, 
 there will be no occasion to disturb that gentle- 
 man. 
 
 Lord, what signifies that? cried the brother; 
 for he has pa his share of sitting, I’ll be sworn. 
 
 And if he has not, said the sister, he has a chair 
 up stairs ; and the shop is our own, I hope. 
 
 This grossness so much disgusted me, that I 
 took the stool, and carrying it back to Mr. Ma- 
 cartney myself, 1 returned him thanks as civilly 
 as I could for his politeness, but said that I had 
 rather stand, 
 
 He looked at me as if unaccustomed to such 
 attention, bowed very respectfully, but neither 
 spoke nor yet made use of it, 
 
 I soon found that I was an object of derision to 
 all present, except M. du Bois ; and, therefore, I 
 hegged Mr. Branghton would give me an auswer 
 for madame Duval, as I was in haste to return. 
 
 Well, then, Tom,—Biddy, where have you a 
 mind to go to-night ? your aunt and miss want to 
 be abroad and amongst them. 
 
 Why then, papa, said Miss Branghton, we'll 
 go to Don Saltero’s. Mr. Smith likes that place, 
 so may be he'll go along with us. 
 
 No, no, said ‘the son, ’m for White Conduit 
 
 House ; so let’s go there. 
 
VELINA, 
 
 White Conduit House, indeed! cried his sister, 
 no, Tom, that I won’t. 
 
 Why, then, let it alone: nobody wants your 
 company ;—we shall do as well without you, Dll 
 be sworn, and better too, 
 
 [ll tell you what u don’t hold your 
 tongue, I'll make you repent it,—that I assure 
 you. 
 
 Just then Mr. Smith come into the shop, which 
 he seemed to intend passing through ; but when 
 he saw me. he stopped, and began a most courte- 
 ous inquiry after my health, protesting that, had 
 he known I was there, he should have come down 
 sooner. But bless me, ma’am, added he, what 
 is the reason you stand? and then he flew to 
 bring me the seat from which I had just parted, 
 
 Mr. Smith, you are come in very good time, 
 said Mr, Branghton, to end the dispute between 
 my son and daughter, about where they shall all 
 go to-night. 
 
 O fie, Tom,—dispute with a lady! cried Mr, 
 Smith. Now, as for me, I'm for where you will, 
 provided this young lady is of the party ;—one 
 place is the same as another to me, so that it be 
 but agreeable to the ladies. I would go any 
 where with you ma'am, (to me ), unless, indeed, it 
 were to church ; ha, ha, ha!— Youll excuse me, 
 ma’am ; but really, I could never conquer my 
 aversion to a parson :—ha, ha, ha! 
 
 !—Really, ladies 
 
 I beg your pardon for being so rude; but I can’t 
 help laughing for my life, 
 
 I was just saying, Mr. Smith, said Miss Brangh- 
 ton, that [should like to go to Don Saltero’s ” ae 
 now pray where should you like to go? 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Why, really, miss Biddy, you know I always let 
 the ladies decide; I never fix any thing myself; 
 but I should suppose it would be rather hot at the 
 coffee- house :—however, pray, ladies, settle it a- 
 I am agreeable to whatever 
 
 mong yourselves ; 
 you may choose, 
 
 It was easy for me to discover, that this man, 
 With all his parade of conformity, objects toevery 
 thing that is not proposed Ly himself; but he is 
 so much admired hy this family for his gentility, 
 that he thinks hfmselfa complete gentleman ! 
 
 Come, said Mr. Branghton, the best way will 
 be to put it to the vote, and then every body will 
 speak their minds, Biddy, call Poll down stairs, 
 We'll start fair. 
 
 Lord, papa, said Miss Branght 
 you as well send Tonv?—you’re alw 
 me on errands. 
 
 A dispute then ensued, but Miss Branghton 
 was obliged to yield. 
 
 When Mr Brown and Miss Polly made their 
 appearance, the latter uttered many complaints 
 of having been called, saying, she did not want to 
 come, and was very well where she was, 
 
 Now ladies, your votes, cried Mr. Smith: and 
 $0, ma'am (to me), we'll begin with you. What 
 
 why can’t 
 ays sending 
 
 place shall you like best? and then, in a whisper, 
 he added, I assure you, I shall say the same as 
 it or not. 
 
 nt'what choice was in 
 
 you do, whether I li 
 
 Isaid, that asI w 
 my power, I must beg to hear their decisions first, 
 This was reluctantly assented to; and then Miss 
 Branghton voted for Saltero’s Coffee-house; her 
 sister for a party to Mother Red Caps ; the brother 
 
 ignor: 
 
i 
 
 240 EVELINA. 
 
 for White Conduit House; Mr. Brown, for Bag- 
 nigge Wells; Mr. Branghton, for Sadler’s Well; 
 
 4 
 
 and Mr, Smith. for Vauxhall. 
 
 Well now, ma’am, said Mr, Smith, we have 
 all spoken, and so you must give the casting vote, 
 Come, what will you fix upon ? 
 
 Sir, answered I, I was to speak last. 
 
 Well, so you will, said Miss Branghton, for 
 we've all spoke first. 
 
 Pardon me, returned I, the voting has not yet 
 been quite general. 
 
 And I looked towards Mr. Macartney, to whom 
 I wished extremely to know that I was not of the 
 same brutal nature as those by whom he was 
 treated so grossly. 
 
 Why, pray, said Mr. Branghton, who have we 
 left out ? would you have the cats and dogs vote ? 
 
 No, sir, cried J, with some spirit, I would have 
 that gentleman vote,—if, indeed, he is not superior 
 to joining our party. 
 
 They all looked at me, as if they doubted whe- 
 ther or not they had heard me right; but, ina 
 few moments, their surprise gave way to a rude 
 burst of laughter, 
 
 Very much displeased, I told M, du Bois that if 
 he was riot ready to go, I would have a coach 
 ealled for myself. 
 
 O yes, he said, he was always ready to attend 
 me. 
 
 Mr. Smith then advancing, attempted to take 
 my hand, and begged me not to leave them till I 
 had settled the evening’s plan, 
 
 Thave nothing sir, said I, to do with it, as itis 
 my intention to stay at home; and therefore Mr. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Branghton will be so good as to send maiame 
 Duval word what place is fixed upon, when it is 
 convenient to him. 5 
 
 And then, making a slight curtsey, I left them 
 
 How much does my disgust for these people 
 increase my pity for poor Mr, Macartney! [ will 
 not see them when I can avoid so doing; but I 
 am determined to take every opportunity in my 
 power to show civility tothis unhappy man, whose 
 misfortunes, with his family, only render him an 
 object of scorn. Iwas, however, very well pleased 
 with M. du Bois, who, far from joining in their 
 mirth, expressed himself extremely shocked at 
 their ill-breeding. 
 
 We had not walked ten yards before we were 
 followed by Mr. Smith, who came to make ex- 
 euses, and to assure me they were only joking, 
 and hoped I took nothing ill; for if I did, he 
 wou'd make a quarrel of it himself with the 
 Branghton's, rather than I should receive any of- 
 fence. 
 
 I begged him not to make any trouble about 
 so immaterial an affair, and assured him I should 
 not mys¢ He was so officious that he would 
 not be prevailed upon to return home till he had 
 walked with us to Mr. Dawkin’s. 
 
 Madame Duval was very much displeased that 
 I brought her so little satisfaction. While Con- 
 duit House was at last fixed upon; and notwith- 
 standing my great dislike of such parties and such 
 places I was obliged to accompany them. 
 
 Very disagreeable, and much according to my 
 expectations the evening proved, There were 
 
 Q 
 
242 EVELINA, 
 
 many people all smart and gaudy, and 80 pert and 
 low-bred, that I could hardly endure to be 
 amongst them; but the party to which, unfortu- 
 nately, I belonged, seemed all at home, 
 
 Evelina im continuation, 
 Yusterpay Mr, Smith carried his point of mak- 
 ing a party at Vauxhall, consisting of madame 
 Daval, M. Du Bois, all the Branghtons, Mr. Brown, 
 himself,—and me !—for I find all endeavours vain 
 to escape any thing which these people desire I 
 should not. 
 
 There were twenty disputes previous to our 
 setting out; first, as to the time of our going: 
 Mr. Branghton, his son, and young Brown, were 
 for six o’clock: and all the ladies and Mr. Smith 
 were for eight ;—the latter, however, conquered, 
 
 Then as to the way we should go; some were 
 for a boat, others for a coach, and Mr. Branghton 
 himself was for walking; but the boat at length 
 was decided upon. Indeed this was the only part 
 of the expedition that was agreeable to me; for 
 the Thames was delightfully pleasant. 
 
 The garden is very pretty, but too formal; I 
 should have been better pleased had it consisted 
 less of straight walks, where 
 
 Grove nods at grove, each alley has its brother. 
 
 The trees, the numerous lights, and the com- 
 pany in the circle round the orchestra, make a 
 most brilliant and gay appearance ; and had I 
 been with a party less disagreeable to me, I should 
 have thought it a place formed for animation and 
 
rm 
 
 EVELINA, 243 
 
 pleasure. There was a concert: in the course of 
 which, a hautbois concerto was: so charmingly 
 played, that I could have thought myself upon 
 enchanted ground i ad I had spirits more gentle 
 to associate with. he hautbois in the open air 
 is heavenly. 
 
 Mr. Smith endeavoured to attach himself to 
 me with such officious assiduity and impertinent 
 freedom, that he quite sickened me, Indeed M, 
 du Bois was the only man of the party to whom, 
 voluntarily, I ever addressed myself.. He is civil 
 and respectful, and I hay 
 since I left Howard Grove, 
 
 found nobody else so 
 His E nglish is very 
 bad; but ! prefer it to speaking French myse If, 
 which I dare not venture to do. I converse with 
 him frequently, both to disengage myself from 
 others, and to madame Duval, who,is al- 
 leased when he is attended to. 
 we were walking ruund 
 
 he orchestra, I 
 heard a bell: and,in a moment, Mr Smith, fly- 
 ing up to me, canine my hand, and with a motion 
 too quick to be re > Tan away with me many 
 yards before I hac eath to ask his meanirg, 
 , as wellas I could, to get from 
 a I insisted upon stopping 
 ied he, why we must run on, 
 or shall lose the case ade ! 
 
 And then again he hurried me away, mixing 
 with acrowd of people, all running with so much 
 velocity, that I could not imagine whit at had raised 
 analarm. We were soon followed by the rest of 
 the party; and my surprise and ignorance proved 
 a souree of diversion to them all, which was not 
 exhausted the whole evening. Young Brangh- 
 
 him. At] 
 Stopping, m 
 
 ; 
 
244 EVELINA. 
 
 ton, in particular, laughed till he could hardly 
 stand, 
 
 The scene of the cascade I thought extremely 
 pretty, and the general effect striking and lively. 
 
 But this was not the only surprise which was to 
 divert them at my expense; for they led me about 
 the garden purposely to enjoy my first sight of va~ 
 rious other deceptions. 
 
 About ten o’clock, Mr. Smith having chosen a 
 box in a very conspicuous place, we all went to 
 supper. Much fault was found with every thing 
 that was ordered, though not a morsel of any 
 thing was left; and the dearness of the provisions, 
 with conjectures upon what profit was made by 
 them, supplied discourse during the whole meal. 
 
 When wine and cider were brought, Mr. Smith 
 said, Now let’s enjoy ourselves: now is the time, 
 or never. Well, ma’am, and how do you like 
 Vauxhall ? 
 
 Like it! eried young Branghton ; why, how 
 can she help liking it ? she has never seen such 
 @ place before, that Ill answer for. 
 
 For my part, said Miss Branghton, I like it 
 because it is not vulgar, “ 
 
 This must have been a fine treat for you, miss, 
 said Mr. Brangton; why, I suppose you was never 
 so happy in all your life befor 
 
 e? 
 
 I endeavoured to express my satisfaction with 
 some pleasure; yet I believe they were much 
 amazed at my coldness, : 
 
 Miss ought to stay in town till the last night, 
 said young Branghton! and then, its my belief, 
 she’d say something to it! Why, Lord, it’s the 
 best night of any; there's always a riot,—and 
 
BYELINA, 
 
 there the folks run about,—and then there’s such 
 squealing and squalling!—and there all the lamps 
 are broke,—and the woman run skimper skamper. 
 I declare I would not take five guineas to miss the 
 last night. 
 
 I was very glad when they all grew tired of 
 sitting, and called for the waiter to pay the bill. 
 The miss Branghtons said they would walk on 
 while the gentlemen settledthe account, and asked 
 me to accompany them ; which, however I de- 
 clined, 
 
 Your girls may do as you ple ase, said Madame 
 Duyal : but as to me, I promise you, I shan’t go 
 nowhere without them gentlemen. 
 
 No more, I suppose, will my cousin, 5 Said miss 
 Braughton, looked very reproachfully towards Mr. 
 Smith. 
 
 This reflection, which I feared would flatter his 
 vanity, made me most unfortunately request ma- 
 dame Duval's permission to attend them, She 
 granted it ; and away we went, having promised 
 to meet in the room. 
 
 To the room, therefore, I would immediately 
 have gone; but the sisters agreed that they would 
 first have a little pleasure ; and they tittered and 
 talked so loud, that they attracted ‘universal no- 
 tice. 
 
 Lord, Polly, said the eldest, suppose we were 
 to take a turn in the dark walks! 
 
 Ay, do, answered she; and then we'll hide 
 ourselves, and then Mr. Brown will think we are 
 lost. 
 
 I remonstrated very warmly against this plan, 
 
246 EVELINA. 
 
 telling them it would endanger our missing the 
 rest of the party all the evening. 
 
 O dear, cried miss Branghton, I thought how 
 uneasy miss would be without a beau! 
 
 This impertinence I did not think worth an- 
 swering; and, quite by compulsion, I followed 
 them down a long alley, in which there was hardly 
 any light. 
 
 By the time we came near the end, a large 
 party of gentlemen, apparently very riotous, and 
 who were halloing, leaning on One another, and 
 laughing immoderately, seemed to rush suddenly 
 from behind some trees, and, Meeting us face to 
 face, put their arms at their sides, and formed a 
 kind of circle, which first stopped our proceeding, 
 and then our retreating, for we were presently 
 entirely enclosed. The miss Branghtons screamed 
 aloud, and I was frightened exceedingly; our 
 screams were answered with bursts of laughter, 
 and for some minutes we wero kept prisoners, till 
 at last one of them, rudely seizing hold of me, 
 said I was a pretty little creature. 
 
 Terrified to death, I struggled with such vehe- 
 mence to disengage myself from him, that I suc- 
 ceeded, in spite of his efforts to detain me; and 
 immediately, and with a swiftness which fear only 
 could have given me, I flew rather than ran up 
 the walk, hoping to secure my safety by returning 
 to the lights and company we had s0 foolishly 
 left; but before I could possibly accomplish my 
 purpose, Iwas met by another party of men, one 
 of whom placed himself so directly in my way, 
 calling out, Whither so fast, my love ?—that I 
 
 —— 
 
 oO eee. 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 could only haye proceeded by running into his 
 arms. 
 
 In a moment both hands, by different persons, 
 were caught hold of, and one of them, in a most 
 familiar manner, desired when I ran next, to ac- 
 company me inarace ; while the rest of the party 
 stood still and laughed. 
 
 I was almost distracted with terror, and so 
 breathless with running, that I could not speak ! 
 another advancing, said I was as handsome as an 
 angel, and desired to be of the party. I then just 
 articulated, For Heaven’s sake, gentlemen, let me 
 pass, 
 
 Another then rushing suddenly forward, ex- 
 claimed, Heaven and earth ! what voice is that 2— 
 
 The voice of the prettiest little actress I have 
 seen this age, answered one of my persecutors. 
 
 No,—no,—no,—I panted out, I am no actress 
 —pray let me go,— pray let me pass! 
 
 By all that‘s sacred, cried the same voice, which 
 I then knew for sir Clement Willoughby’s, "tis 
 herself ! 
 
 Sir Clement Willoughby! cried I, 0, sir, as- 
 sist—assist me—or I shall die with terror: 
 
 Gentlemen, cried he, disengaging them all from 
 me in an instant, pray leave this lady to me, 
 
 Loud laughs proceeded from every mouth, and 
 two or three said, Willoughby has all the luck! 
 But one of them, in a passionate manner, yowed 
 he would not give me up, for that he had the first 
 right to me, and would support it, 
 
 You are mistaken, said sir Clement; this lady 
 is—I will explain myself to you another time ; 
 but I assure you, you are all mistaken, 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 And then taking my willing hand, he led me 
 off, amidst the loud acclamations, laughter, and 
 gross merriment of his impertinent companions, 
 
 As soon as we had escaped from them, sir Cle- 
 ment, with a voice of surprise, exclaimed, My 
 dearest creature, what wonder, what strange re- 
 volution, has brought you to such a spot as this? 
 
 Ashamed of my situation, and extremely morti- 
 fied to be thus recognised by him, I was for some 
 time silent; and when he repeated his question, 
 only stammered out, I have,—I hardly know how 
 —last myself from my party.— 
 
 He caught my hand, and eagerly pressing it, in 
 a passionate voice said, O that I had sooner met 
 with thee ! 
 
 Surprised at a freedom so unexpected, Tangrily 
 broke from him saying, Is this the protection you 
 give me, sir Clement ? 
 
 And then I saw, what the perturbation of my 
 mind had prevented my sooner noticing, that he 
 had led me, though I know not how, into another 
 of the dark low alleys, instead of the place whither 
 I meant to go, 
 
 Good God! I cried, where am 1?—What way 
 are you going, 
 
 Where, answered he, we shall be least ob- 
 served, 
 
 Astonished at this speech, I stopped short, and 
 declared I would go no further, 
 
 And why not, my angel? again endeavouring to 
 take my hand. 
 
 My heart beat with resentment; I pushed him 
 away from me with all my strength and demanded 
 how he dared treat me with such insolence ? 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Insolence ? repeated he. 
 Yes, sir Clement, Insolence ; from you, who 
 know me, [had aclaim for protection,—not to such 
 { treatment as this. 
 3y heayen, cried he, with warmth, you distract 
 me ;—why, tell me—why do I see you here ?—Is +4 
 this place for miss Anville? these dark walks! 
 ’ —no party! no companion ?—by all that’s good ; 
 I can scarce believe my senses ! { 
 Extremely offended at this speech, I turned an- \\ 
 grilyfrom him ; and not deigning to make any an- | 
 swer, walked on towards that part of the garden 
 whence I perceived the lights and company. 
 He followed me; but we were both some time 
 
 | silent. ; 
 So you will not explain to me your situation ? 
 , | said he, at length. 
 i No sir, answered I disdainfully. 
 
 =a Nor yet—suffer me to make my own interpreta- 
 
 | tion ? 
 I could not bear this strange manner of speak- 
 
 | ing; it made my very soul shudder,—and I burst 
 
 into tears. 
 He flew to me and actually flung himself at my 
 
 feet, as if regardless who might see him, saying, O 
 
 ; i miss Anville,—loveliest of women,—forgive my— An 
 be my—I beseech you forgive me; if I have offended bf 
 3 —if I have hurt you 1 could kill myself at the Vet 
 
 thought !— 
 No matter, sir, no matter! oried 1 ;if I ean but 
 
 find my friends,—I will never speak to—never see 4 
 
 es ett 
 
 you again ! ni 
 it 
 
 Good God !—good Heaven! my dearest life, | 
 what is it I have done !—what is it Ihave said 2— ; 
 
EVEL 
 
 You best know, sir, what and why: but don't 
 hold me here,—let me be gone! and do yout 
 
 Not till you forgive me !—1 cannot part with 
 you in anger. 
 
 For shame, for shame, sir! eried T, indignant- 
 ly; do you suppose I am to be thus compelled ?>— 
 do you take advantage of the absence of my friends 
 to affront me 
 
 No madame, cried he, rising; I would sooner 
 forfeit my life than act so mean a part. But you 
 have flung me into amazement unspeakable, and 
 you will not condescend to listen to my request 
 of giving me some explanation. 
 
 The manner sir, said I, in which you spoke 
 that request, made and will make me scorn to an- 
 swer it, 
 
 Scorn !—I will own to you, I expected not such 
 displeasure from Miss Anville, 
 
 Perhaps, sir, if you had, you would less yolun- 
 tarily have merited it. 
 
 My dearest life, surely it must be known to 
 you, that the man does not breath who adores you 
 So passionately, so fervently, so tenderly, as I do! 
 —Why, then will you delight in perplexing me ? 
 —in keeping me in suspense ?—in torturing me 
 with doubt ? 
 
 I, sir, delight in perplexing you !—you are 
 much inistaken,—your Suspense, your doubts, 
 your perplexities,—are of your own creating; and 
 believe me, sir, they may offend but they can 
 never delight me :—but as you have yourself raised 
 you must yourself satisfy them. 
 
 Good God !—that such haughtiness and such 
 Sweetness can inhabit the same mansion ! 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 I made no answer ; but quickening my pace, I 
 walked on silently and sullenly, till this most im- 
 petuous of men, snatching my hand, which he 
 grasped with violence, besought me to forgive him, 
 with such earnestness of supplication, that merely 
 to escape his importunities, I was forced to speak, 
 and, in some measure, to grant the pardon he re- 
 quested ; though it was accorded with a very ill 
 grace; but, indeed, I knew not how to resist the 
 humility of his entreaties: yet never shall I reeol- 
 lect the occasion he gave me of displeasure without 
 feeling it renewed. 
 
 We now soon arrived in the midst of the general 
 crowd ; and my own safety being then insured, I 
 grew extremely uneasy for the Miss Braughtons, 
 whose dangers, however imprudently incurred’by 
 their own folly, I too well knew how to tremble 
 for. To this consideration all my pride of heart 
 yielded, and I determined to seek my party with 
 the utmost speed ; though not without a sigh did 
 T recollect the fruitless attempt I had made after 
 the operal of concealing from this man my wun- 
 fortunate connexions, which I was now obliged to 
 make known. 
 
 { hastened therafore to the room, with a view 
 of sending young Branghbton to the aid of his 
 sisters. Ina very short time I perceived madame 
 Duval, and the rest looking at one of the paintings. 
 
 I must own to you honestly, my dear sir, that 
 an involuntary repugnance seized me at presenting 
 such a set to sir Clement,—he who had been used 
 to see me in parties so different !—My pace slack- 
 ened as I approached them,—but they presently 
 perceived me. 
 
“08 EVELINA, 
 
 Ah, mademoiselle? cried M, du Bois, Que je 
 suis chare de vous vior / 
 
 Pray, miss, cried Mr, Brown, where’s miss 
 Polly ? 
 
 Why, miss, you've been a long while gone, said 
 Mr. Branghton, we thought you’d been lost. But 
 what have you done with your cousins ? 
 
 I hesitated,—for sir Clement regarded me with 
 a look of wonder, 
 
 Pardi, cried madame Duval, I shan’t let you 
 leave me again in a hurry. Why here we've been 
 in such a fright !—and all the while, I suppose, 
 youy’e been thinking nothing about the matter, 
 
 Well, said young Branghton, as long as miss 
 is eome back, I don’t mind : foras to Bid and Poll, 
 they can take care of themselves. But the best 
 joke is, Mr. Smith has gone allabout looking for 
 you. 
 
 These speeches were made almost all in one 
 breath ; but when at last they waited for an an- 
 swerI told them, that, in walking up one of the 
 long allies, we had been frightened and separated, 
 
 The long allies! repeated Mr. Branghton, and 
 pray, what had you to do in the long alleys? why, 
 to be sure, you must all of you haye had a mind 
 to be affronted ! 
 
 This speech was not more impertinent to me 
 than surprising to sir Clement, who regarded the 
 party with, evident astonishment, However, I 
 told young Branghton no time ought to be lost, 
 for that his sisters might require his immediate 
 protection, 
 
 But how will they get it ? cried this brutal bro- 
 ther ; if they’ve a mind to behaye in such a man- 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 ner at that, they ought to protect themselves ; and 
 s0 they may for me. 
 
 Well, said the simple Mr. Brown, whether you 
 go or no, I think I may as well see after miss 
 Polly. 
 
 The father then interfering, insisted that his 
 son should accompany him! and away they went. 
 
 It was now that madame Duval first perceived 
 sir Clement; to whom, turning with a look of 
 great displeasure, she angrily said, Ma fot, so you 
 are comed here, of all the people of the world !— 
 1 wonder child, you would let such a—such a 
 person as that keep company with you. 
 
 I am very sorry madam, § id sir Clement in a 
 tone of surprise, if T have been so unfortunate as 
 to offend you: but I believe you will not regret 
 the honour I now have of attending miss Anville, 
 when yon hear that I have been so happy as to do 
 
 her some service. 
 
 Just as madame Duval, with her usual Ma fot 
 was beginning to reply, the attention of sir Cle- 
 ment was wholly drawn from her by the appear- 
 ance of Mr. Smith, who, coming suddenly behind 
 me, and freely putting his hands on my shoulders, 
 cried, O ho, my little runaway, have 1 found you 
 at last? I have been scampering all over the 
 gardens for you: for | was determined to find you 
 if you wer bove ground,—But how eould you be 
 80 cruel as to leave us? 
 
 1 turned round to him, and looked with a degree 
 of contempt that 1 hoped would have quieted 
 him ; but he had not the sense to understand me 
 and, attempting to take my hand, he added, Such 
 a demure looking lady as you are, who'd have 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 thought of your leading one such a dance?— 
 Come, now, don’t be so coy: only think what a 
 trouble I have had in running after you ? 
 
 The trouble, sir, said T, was of your own choice, 
 not mine. Aud I walked round to the other 
 side of madame Duval. 
 
 Perhaps I was too proud :—but I could not en- 
 dure that sir Clement, whose eyes followed him 
 with looks of the most surprised curiosity, should 
 witness his unwelcome familiarity, 
 
 Upon my removal he came up to me, and in a 
 low voice said, You are not, then, with the Mir- 
 van’s ? 
 
 No, sir. 
 
 And, pray,—may I ask,—haye you left them 
 long ? 
 
 No, sir. 
 
 How unfortunate I am !—but yesterday 1 sent 
 to acquaint the captain I should reach the Grove 
 by to morrow noon ! However, I shall got away 
 as fast as possible. Shall you be long in town ? 
 
 I believe not, sir, 
 
 And then, when you leave it—which way—will 
 you allow me to sk, which Way you shall travel ? 
 
 Indeed, I don't know, 
 
 Not know !—but do you return to the Mirvan's 
 any more P 
 
 I—I cannot tell sir, 
 
 And then I addressed myself to madame Duyal 
 with such a pretended earnestness, that he was 
 obliged to be silent, 
 
 As he cannot but observe the great change in 
 my situation, which he knows not how to account 
 for, there is something in all these questions, and 
 
 - 
 
EVELINA. 209 
 this unrestrained curiosity, that I did not expect 
 from a man who, when he pleases, can be so wel- 
 4 bred as sir Clement Willoughby. He seems dis- 
 posed to think that that the alteration in my com- 
 panions authorizes an alteration in his manners 
 It is true he has always treated me with uncommon 
 freedom, but never before with so disrespectful 
 an abruptness. This observation, which he has 
 4 giyen me cause to make, of his changing with the 
 tide, hassunk him more in my opinion tham any 
 
 other part of his conduct. 
 Yet I could almost bave laughed when I looked 
 at Mr. Smith, who no sooner saw me addressed 
 by sir Clement, than, retreating aloof from the 
 
 company, he seemed to lose at once all his happy 
 self-sufficiency and conceit: looking now at the 
 baronet, now at himself; surveying with sorrowful 
 eyes his dress; struck with his air, his gestures, 
 his easy gaiety; he gazed at him with envious ad- 
 miration, and seemed himself, with conscious in- 
 feriority, to shrink into nothing. 
 
 Soon after, Mr. Brown running up to us, called 
 out, La, what, isn’t miss Polly come yet? 
 
 Come, said Mr. Branghton; Why, I thought 
 you went to fetch her yourself, did’nt you ? 
 
 Yes, but 1 couldn’t find her :—yet I dare say I 
 have been over half the garden, 
 
 Half? but why not over it all? 
 
 Why, sol will; but only I thought I’d just 
 éGome and see if she was here first. 
 
 But where's Tom ? 
 
 Why, 1 don’ know ; for he would not stay with 
 me all as ever | could say: for we met some 
 young gentlemen of his acquaintance, and so he 
 
ae 
 
 ye SS 
 
 256 EVELINA. 
 
 bid me go and look by myself; for he said, says 
 he, I can divert myself another way. 
 
 This account being given, away again went this 
 ; and Mr, Branghton, extremely 
 
 silly young ma 
 1e would go and see after them 
 
 incensed, said 
 himself, 
 
 So, now, cried madam Duyal, he’s gone too 
 why, at this rate, we shall have to wait for one or 
 other of them all night! 
 
 Observing that sir Clement seemed disposed te 
 renew his inquiries, I turned towards one of the 
 paintings, and, pretending to be very much oecu- 
 pied in looking at it, asked M, du Bois some ques- 
 tions concerning the figures. 
 
 O mon Diew! eried madame Duval, don’t ask 
 him ; your best way is to ask Mr. Smith, for he’s 
 been here the oftenest. Come, Mr, Smith, | dare 
 say you can tell us all about them. 
 
 Why, yes, ma’am, yes, said Mr, Smith; who, 
 brightening up at this application, advanced to- 
 wards us with an air of assumed importance, 
 which, however, sat very uneasily upon him, and 
 begged to know what he should explain first : 
 For I have attended, said he, to all these paint- 
 ings, and know every thing in them perfectly 
 well; for] am rather fond of pictures, ma’am ; 
 and, really, I must say, I think a pretty picture is 
 a—a very—is really a very—is something very 
 pretty— 
 
 So do I too, said madame Duval; but pray now, 
 air, tell us what that is meant for? pointing to a 
 a figure of Neptune, 
 
 That !—why, that, ma‘am, is,—Lord bless’my 
 I can’t think how I come to be so stupid, but 
 
 I 
 
EVELINA 
 
 really I have forgot his name,—and yet I know 
 if as well as my own too: —however, he’s a gen- 
 eral, ma’am ; th ey are all generals. 
 
 I saw sir Clement bite his lips; and, indeed, so 
 did I mine. 
 
 Well, said madame Duval, it’s the oddest dress 
 for a general J ever sce. 
 
 He seems so capital a figure, said sir Clement, 
 to Mr. Smith, that I imagine he must be general. 
 lisstmo of the whole army. 
 
 Yes, sir, yes, answered Mr, Smith, respectfully 
 bowing and highly delighted at being thus refer= 
 red to, you are perfectly right ;—but I cannot for 
 my life think of his name ;—perhaps, sir, you may 
 remember it 
 
 No, really, replied sir Clement, my acquaintance 
 among the generals is not so extensive. 
 
 The ironical tone of yoice in which sir Clement 
 spoke er erted Mr. Smith; who again 
 ring to an humble distanee, seemed sensibly 
 mortified at the failure of his attempt to recover 
 his consequence. 
 
 Soon after Mr. Branghton returned With his 
 youngest daughter, whom he had rescued from a 
 party of insolent young men; but he had not yet 
 been able to find the Gident. Miss Polly was really 
 frightened and declared she would never go into 
 he dark wal n., Her father, leaving her 
 with us, went in quest of her sister. 
 
 While she was relating her adventures, to which 
 nobody listened more attentively than sir Clem- 
 ent, we saw Mr. Brown enter the room. Ola! 
 cried Polly, let me hide myself and don’t tell 
 him I’m come, 
 
 irely discon 
 
 R 
 
a — 
 258 EVELINA. 
 
 ” 
 
 4 
 
 She then placed herself behind madame Duval 
 in such a manner that she could not be seen. 
 
 §6 Miss Polly is not yet come? said the simple 
 swain; well, 1 can’t think where she can be! Ive 
 been a_lookir and looking, and looking all 
 about, and can’t find her all I ean do, 
 
 We Mr. Brown, said Mr. Smith, sha’n’t 
 you go and look for the lady again ? 
 
 Yes, said he, sitting down; but I must rest 
 me a little bit first. You can’t think how tired I 
 am. 
 
 O fie, Mr. Brown, fie, cried Mr. Smith, wink- 
 ing at us, tired of looking for a lady! Go, go, 
 for shame! 
 
 So I will, sir, presently; but you’d be tired too, 
 if you had walked so fc besides, I think she’s 
 gone out of the garden, or else I must have seen 
 something or other of 
 
 A he, he, he! of the 
 trayed her, and so ended this inge 
 tifice. 
 
 At Yast appeared Mr. Branghton and Miss Bid- 
 dy 16, with a face of mixed anger and contu- 
 sion, addres to me, said, So, Miss, so 
 you ran awa} Well, see if I don’t do 
 as much by you some day or other. But I 
 thought how it wou'd be; you'd no mind to leave 
 the gentlemen, though you run away from me. 
 
 I was so much surprised at this attack, that I 
 could not answer her for very amazement; and 
 she proceeded to tell us how ill she had been used, 
 and that two young men had been making her 
 walk up and down the dark warks by absolute 
 force, and as fast as ever they could tear along 
 
 g Polly now be- 
 ious little ar 
 
 rom mie 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 and many other particulars, which I will not tire 
 you with relating, 
 
 Every one now seemed inclined to depart— 
 when, as usual a dispute rose upon the way of our 
 going, whether in a coach or a boat. After much 
 debating, it was determined that we should make 
 two parties, one by water and the other by land; 
 for madame Duval declared she would not, upon 
 any account, go into a boat at night, 
 
 Sir Clement then said, that if she had no ecar- 
 riage in waiting, he would be happy tosceherand 
 me safe home, as his was in readiness. 
 
 Fury started into her eyes, and passion inflamed 
 every feature, as she answered, Pardi, no—you 
 may take care of yourself, if you please! but as 
 to me, I promise you I shan’t trust myself with no 
 such person. 
 
 He pretended not to comprehend he 
 
 ! 
 g 
 ng! 
 
 rime 
 
 yet, to waive a discussion, acquiesced in her refu- 
 sal. ‘The coach party fixed upon, consisted of 
 madame Duval, M. de Bois, miss Brar 
 
 ighton, and 
 myself. 
 I now began to r ite, that at least 
 
 our lodgings would be neither seen nor known by 
 sir Clement. We soon met with ahackney coach, 
 into which he handed me, and then took leave. 
 
 Madame Duval having already given the coach- 
 man her direction, he mounted the box, and we 
 were just driving off, when sir Clement exclaimed, 
 By Heaven, this is the very coach I had in waiting 
 for myself. 
 
 This coach, your honour! said the man: no 
 that it ain’t. 
 
 Sir Clement, however, swore that it was: and 
 
260 EVELINA. 
 
 presently, the man begging his pardon, said he 
 had really forgot that he was engaged. 
 
 I have no doubt but that this scheme occurred 
 to him at the moment, and that he made some sign 
 to the coachman, which induced him éo support 
 it; for there is not the least probability that the 
 accident really happened, as it is most likely his 
 own chariot was in waiting. 
 
 The man then opened the coach-door, and sir 
 Clement, advancing to it, said, I don’t believe 
 there is another carriage to be had, or I would 
 not incommode you ; but as it may be disagreeable 
 to you to wait here any longer, I beg you will not 
 get out, for you shall be set down defore Iam car- | 
 ried home, if you will be so good as to make a lit- 
 tle room. 
 
 And so saying, in he jumped, and seated himself 
 between M. de Bois and me, while our astonish- 
 ment at the whole transaction was too great for 
 speech, He then ordered the coachman to drive 
 on, according to the directions he had already re- 
 ceived. 
 
 For the first ten minutes no one uttered a word 5 
 and then, madame Duval, no longer able to con- 
 tain herself, exclaimed, Ja joi, if this isn’t one of 
 the impudentest things ever I see. 
 
 Sir Clement, regardless of this rebuke, attended 
 only to me: however, I answered nothing he said 
 when I could possibly avoid so doing, Miss Brangh- 
 ton made seyeral attempts to attract his notice, 
 but in vain, for he would not take the trouble of 
 paying her any regard. 
 
 When at last, we stopped at a Hosier’s in High 
 Holborn,—sir Clement said nothing, but his eyes, 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 I saw, were very busily employed in viewing the 
 place and the situation ofthe house, The coach, 
 he said, belonged to him, and therefore he insisted 
 upon paying for it; and then he took leave. M. 
 du Bois walked home with miss Branghton, and 
 madame Duval and [I retired to our apartments. 
 
 How disagreeable an evening’s adventure! Not 
 one of the party seemed satisfied except sir Cle- 
 ment, who was in high spirits: but madame Du- 
 val was enraged at meeting with him: Mr. Branghe 
 ton, angry with his children; the frolic of the 
 Miss Branghtons had exceeded their plan, and 
 ended in their own distress; their brother was 
 provoked that there had been no riot ; Mr. Brown 
 was tired, and Mr, Smith mortified. As to myself 
 I must acknowledge, nothing could be more dis- 
 agreeable to me than being seen by sir Clement 
 Willoughby with a party at once so vulgar in 
 themselves, and so familiar to me. 
 
 And you, too, my dearsir, will, I know, be sorry 
 that I have met him : however, there is no appre- 
 hension of his visiting here: as madame Daval is 
 far too angry to admit him, 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 
 Holborn, June, 
 
 Manaur Dvv4t rose very late this morning, and 
 
 at one o’clock, we had but just breakfasted, when 
 
 Miss Branghton, her brother, and Mr. Smith, and 
 
 Monsieur du Bois, called to enquire after our 
 healths, 
 
 This civility in young Branghton, 1 much sus- 
 
 pect, was merely the result of his father's comy 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 mands} but his sister and Mr. Smith, I soon found 
 had motives of their own. Searce had they spoken 
 to thadame Duval, when, advancing eagerly to me, 
 Pray, ma’am, said Mr. Smith, who was that 
 gentleman ? 
 
 Pray, cousin, cried Miss Branghton, was not 
 he the same gentleman you ran away with that 
 night at the opera ? 
 
 Goodness ! that he was, said young Branghton $ 
 and, I declare, as soon as ever I saw him, 1 
 thought I knew his face. 
 
 I'm sure I'll defy you to forget him, answered 
 his sister, if onee you had seen him; he is the 
 finest gentleman I ever saw in my life ; don’t you 
 think so, Mr. Smith. 
 
 Why, you won't give the lady time to speak, 
 said Mr, Smith.—Pray, ma‘am, whatis the gen- 
 man’s name? 
 
 Willoughby, sir. 
 
 Willoughby! {Lthink IT have heard the name, 
 Pray, ma'am, is he married ? 
 
 Lord, no, that he is not, cried Miss Branghton; 
 he looks too smart by a great deal for a married 
 man. Pray, cousin, how did you get acquainted 
 with him ? 
 
 Pray, Miss, said young Branghton, in the same 
 breath, what's his business ? : 
 
 indeed I don’t know, answeredI. 
 
 Something very genteel, I dare say, added Miss 
 Branghton, because he dresses so fine. 
 
 It ought to be something that brings ina good 
 income, said Mr. Smith ; for I’m sure he did not 
 get that suit of clothes he had on under thirty or 
 forty pounds ; for I know the price of clothes pretty 
 
1 
 j 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 well,—Pray, ma’am; can you tell me what he has 
 a year ? 
 
 Don’t talk no more about him, cried madame 
 Duval, for | don't like to hear his name: I believe 
 he’s one of the worst persons in the world; for 
 thovgh I never did him no manner of harm, nor 
 so much as hurt a hair of his head, I know he was 
 an accomplice with that fellow, captain Mirvan, 
 to take away my life. 
 
 Every body, but myself, now crowding around 
 her for an explanation, a violent rapping at the 
 street door was unheard ; and without any previ 
 ous notice, in the midst of her narration, siv Cle- 
 ment Willoughby entered the room. They. all 
 stared; and with looks guilty confusion, as if 
 they feared his resentment for having listened to 
 madame Duval, they scrambled for chairs, and in 
 
 € 
 
 a moment were all. formally sea ed. 
 
 Sir Clement after a general bow, singling out 
 madame Duval, said, with his usual easiness, I 
 have done myself the honour of waiting on you, 
 madame, to inquire if you have any commands to 
 Howard Grove, whither 1 am going to-morrow 
 morning. 
 
 Then, seeing the storm that gathered in her 
 eyes, before he allowed her time to answer, he 
 addressed himself to me :—<And, if you, madam, 
 have any wish w hich you will honour me, I shall 
 be happy to execute them. 
 
 None at all, sir. 
 
 None !—not to Miss Mirvan!—no message! no 
 
 letter ! 
 T wrote to Miss Mirvan yesterday, by the post. 
 
264 EVELINAs 
 
 My application should have been earlier had I 
 sooner known your address, 
 
 Ma for, cried madame Duyal, recovering from 
 hersurprise, I believe never body saw the like 
 ot this! 
 
 Of what, madam ? cried the undaunted sir Cle- 
 ment, turned quick towards her ; I hope no one 
 has offended you! 
 
 You don’t hope no such a thing! eried she, half 
 choked with passion, and rising from her chair, 
 This motion was followed by the rest; and in a 
 moment every body stood up. 
 
 Still Sir Clement was not abashed ; affecting to 
 make a bow of acknowledgment to the companyin 
 general, he said, Pray,—I beg—ladies,—gentle- 
 men,—pray don’t let me disturb you, pray keep 
 your seats. 
 
 Pray, sir, said Miss Branghton, moving a chair 
 towards him, won't you sit down yourself ? 
 
 You are extremely good, Ma’am:—rather than 
 make any disturbance— 
 
 And so saying, this strange man seated himself, 
 as did in an instant every body else, even madame 
 Duval herself, who, overpowered by his boldness, 
 seemed too full for utterance, 
 
 He then, with as much composure as if he had 
 been an expert guest, began to discourse on the 
 weather,—its uncertainty,—the heat of the public 
 place in summer,—the emptiness of the town,— 
 and other such common tepics. 
 
 Nobody, however, answered him; Mr. Smith 
 seemed afraid, young Branghton ashamed, M. du 
 Bois amazed smadame Duval enraged, and myself 
 determined not to interfere, All that he could 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 A | 
 obtain was the notice of Miss Branghton, whose Fi 
 nods, smiles, and attention, had some appearance 1 
 ’ of entering in conversation with him. | 
 
 At length, growing tired, I suppose, of engag- { 
 ing every body’s eyes, and nobody’s tongue, ad- 1 
 dressing himself to madame Duval and to me, he 
 said, 1 regard myself as peculiarly unfortunate, 
 ladies, in having fixed upon a time for my visit to 
 Howard Grove when you are absent from it. 
 
 So I suppose, sir, so I suppose, cried madame | 
 Duval, hastily rising, and the next moment as 
 hastily seating herself ;—you will be wanting of 
 somebody to make your game of, and so you may 
 think to get me there again ;—but I promise you, 
 sir, you won't find it so easy a matter to make me AR 
 a fool ; and besides that, raising her voice, I’ve 
 found you out, I assure you: so if ever you go to 
 play your tricks upon me again, I'll make no more 
 ado, but go directly to a justice of peace: so, sir, 
 if you can't think of nothing but making people 
 ride about the country at all hours of the night, 
 just for your diversion, why, you'll find I know 
 some justices as well as justice Tyrrel. 
 
 . Sir Clement was evidently embarrassed at this 
 attack ; yet he affected a look of surprise, and 
 protested he did not understand her meaning. 
 
 Well, eried she; if I don’t wonder where peo- 
 ple can get such impudence! if you'll say that 
 you'll say any thing: however, if you'll swear till 
 you're black in the face, I sha’n’t believe you; 
 for nobody sha’n’t persuade me out of my senses, 
 that I’m resolved. 
 
 Doubtless not, madam, answered he with some 
 
 ! 
 
266 EVELINA, 
 
 hesitation ; and I hope you do not suspect I ever 
 had such an intention ; my respect for you— 
 
 O, sir, you’re vastly polite all of a sudden; but 
 Iknow what it’s all for! its only for what you 
 can get!—You could treat me like nobody at 
 Howard Grove; but now you see I’ve a house of 
 my own, you've a mind to wheedle yourself into 
 it; but I see your design, so you needn’t trouble 
 yourself to take no more trouble about that, for 
 you shall never get nothing at my house,—not so 
 much as a dish of tea:—so now, sir, you see I can 
 play you trick for trick. 
 
 There was something so extremely gross in this 
 speech, that it even disconcerted sir Clement, who 
 was too much confounded to make any answer. 
 
 It was curious to observe the effect which his 
 embarrassment, added to the freedom with which 
 madame Duval addressed him, had upon the rest 
 of the compan Every one, who before seemed 
 at a loss how, or if at all, to occupy a chair, now 
 filled.it with the most easy composure; and Mr. 
 Smith, whose countenance had exhibited the most 
 striking picture of mortified envy, now began to 
 recover his usual expression of satisfied conceit. 
 Young Branghton, too, who had been apparently 
 awed by the presence of so fine a gentleman, was 
 again himself, rude and familiar; while bis mouth 
 was wide distended into a broad grin, at hearing 
 his aunt give the beau such a trimming. 
 
 Madame Duval, encouraged by this success, 
 looked around her with an air of triumph, and 
 continued her harangue, And so, sir, I suppose 
 you thought to have had it all your own way, and 
 to have comed here as often as you pleased, and 
 
RVELINA, 267 
 
 to have got me to Howard Grove again, on pur- aan 
 f pose to have served me as you did before ; but ne 
 ; you shall see I’m as cunning as you; so you may | 
 ‘ go and find somebody else to use in that manner, f 
 
 and to put your mask on, and to make a fool of; { 
 
 for as to me,if you go to tell me your stories 
 about the Tower again, for a month together, I'll ah 
 never believe ’em no more and I'll promise you, | 
 sir, if you think I like such jokes, you'll find I’m 
 
 no such person. 
 , The ha, ha’s! and he, he, he’s! grew more 
 and more uncontrollable, as if the restraint, from | 
 I 1 burst, had added to their violence, 
 
 ent could no long endure being the ) 
 
 7 Sir Cler 
 object who excited them ; and having no answer 
 ready for madame Duval, he hastily stalked to- 
 wards Mr. Smith and young Branghton, and 
 sternly demanded what they laughed at ? 
 
 x Struck by the air of importance which he ‘as 
 angry tone of his voice, 
 
 sumed, and alarmed at the 
 their mer ent ceased as instantaneously as if it } 
 had been directed by clock work ; and thay stared . 
 : foolishly, now at him, now at each other, without 
 makiog any answer but a simple, Nothing, sir. 
 
 O pour le coup, cried madame Duval, this is 
 too much! Pray, sir, what business have you to 
 come here a ordering people that comes to see 
 me? I suppose next nobody must laugh but 
 ! 
 
 yourself 
 ~ With me, madam, said sir Clement, bowing, a 
 lady may do any thing, and consequently there is 
 no liberty in-which I would not be happy to in- 
 dulge you “but it has never been my custom to : 
 
 give the same license to gentlemen. 
 
268 EVELINA, 
 
 Then advancing to me, who had sat very quietly 
 on a window during this scene, he said, Miss An- 
 ville, I may at least acquaint our friends at Ho- 
 ward Grove that I had the honour of leaving you 
 in good health. And then, lowering his voice, 
 he added, For Heaven’s sake, my dearest crea~ 
 ture, who are these people? and how camo you 
 80 strangely situated 2 
 
 I beg my respects to all the family, sir, answer- 
 ed I, aloud ; and T hope you will find them well, 
 
 He looked at me reproachfully, but kissed my 
 hand; and then, bowing to Madame Duval 4nd 
 miss Branghton, passed hastily by the men, and 
 made his exit. 
 
 T fancy he will not be very eager to repeat his 
 visits ; for I should imagine he has rarely, if ever, 
 been more in a situation so awkward and disa- 
 greeable. 
 
 Madame Duval has been all Spirits and exulta- 
 tion ever since he went, and only wishes captain 
 Mirvan would call, that she might do the same by 
 him. Mr. Smith, upon hearing that he was a 
 baronet, and seeing him drive off ina very beauti- 
 ful chariot, declared that he would not have 
 laughed upon any account had he known his 
 rank; and regretted extremely having missed such 
 an opportunity of making so genteel an acquaint- 
 ance. Young Branghton vowed, that if he had 
 known as much, he would have asked for his 
 custom + and his sister has sung his praises ever 
 since, protesting she thought all along he was a 
 man of quality by his look, 
 
EVELINA, 269 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 
 June 21. 
 Tux last three evenings have passed tolerably 
 quiet, for the Vauxhall adventures had given Ma- 
 dame Duval a surfeit of public places; home, how- 
 ever, soon growing tiresome, she determined to- 
 night, she said, to relieve her ennur by some 
 amusement ; and it was therefore settled that we 
 should call upon the Branghtons at their house, 
 and thence proceed to Marybone Gardens, 
 
 But before we reached Snow-hill we were caught 
 in a shower of rain ; we hurried into the shop, 
 where the first object I saw was Mr. Macartney, 
 with a book in his hand, seated in the same cor- 
 ner where I saw him last; but his looks were still 
 more wretched than before, his face yet thinner 
 and his eyes sunk almost hollow into his head, 
 He had lifted them up as we entered, and I even 
 thought that they emitted a gleam of joy; invo- 
 luntarily I made to him my first courtesy ; he rose 
 and bowed with a precipitation that manifested 
 surprise and confusion, 
 
 Ina few minutes we were joined by all the 
 family, except Mr. Smith, who fortunately was 
 engaged, 
 
 Had all the future prosperity of our lives de- 
 pended upon the good or bad weather. of this 
 evening, it covld not have been treated as a sub- 
 ject of greater importance. Sure never any thing 
 was so unlucky!—Lord, how provoking!—It 
 might rain for ever if it would hold up now.— 
 These, and such expressions, with many anxious 
 
= 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 observations upon the kennels, filled up all the 
 conversation till the shower was over. 
 
 And thena very warm debate arose, whether 
 we should pursue our plan, or defer it to some 
 finer evening. The Miss Branghton’s were tor 
 the former; their father was sure it would rain 
 again; madame Duval, though she detested re- 
 turning home, yet dreaded the dampness, of the 
 gardens. 
 
 M. du Bois then proposed going to the top of 
 the house to examine whether the clouds looked 
 threatening or peaceable : miss Branghton starting 
 at the proposal, said they might go to Mr. Maeart- 
 ney s room, if they would, but not to hers. 
 
 This was enough for the brother; who, with a 
 loud laugh, declared he would have some fun; 
 and immediately, led the way, calling to us all to 
 follow, His sisters both ran after, but no one 
 else moved. 
 
 In a few minutes young Branghton coming half 
 way dow: rs, called out, Lord, why don’t you 
 alleome? why, kere’s Poll’s things all about the 
 room ! 
 
 Mr. Brangbton then went; and Madame Duval 
 who cannot bear to be excluded from whatever is 
 going forward, was handed up stairs by M, du Bois. 
 
 1 hesitated a few moments whether or not to 
 jointhem! but, soon perceiving that Mr, Macart- 
 ney had dropped his book, and that 1 engrossed 
 his whole attention, I prepared, from mere embar- 
 rassment, to follow them. 
 
 As I went, I heard him moye frem his. chair, 
 and walk slowly after me. Believing that he 
 wished to speak to me, and earnestly desiring my- 
 
EVELINA, 271 
 
 self to know if, by your means, I could possibly be 
 of any service to him, I first slackened my pace, 
 and then turned back. Butthough I thus met 
 him half-w he seemed to want courage or reso- 
 lution to address me; for, when he saw me re- 
 i look extremely disordered he re- 
 
 turning 
 treated 
 
 Not knowing what I ought to do, I went to the 
 street-door, where I stood some time, hoping he 
 would be able to'recover himself; but-on the eon- 
 trary, his agitation increased every moment; he 
 walked up and down the room with a quick and 
 
 tily from me. 
 
 unstead 
 resolute; and at length, with a deep sigh he flung 
 
 pace, seeming equally distressed and ir- 
 a 
 
 a chair. 
 
 himself ir 
 
 I was so much affected by the aranee of 
 
 sh, that I could remain no 
 
 such extreme ang 
 longerin the room; but, ere I hads 
 i, in a broken 
 
 yne five steps, 
 
 he precipitately { llowed me, ar 
 
 Vadam—for Heayen’s sake— 
 
 voice, called ou 
 
 He stopped; but 1 instantly de eended, re- 
 straining as well as I was able the fulness of my 
 own concern. I waited some time in painful ex- 
 pectation, for his speaking 5 all that 1 had heard 
 of his yoccurring to me, | was upon the 
 poi 
 mistaking or off 
 however, that he cont 
 say, Did you—sir, wis 
 
 I did. eried he, with quickness, but now I can- 
 
 him my purse; but the fear of 
 
 nding him deterred me. Finding 
 lent, IL ventured to 
 
 nued § 
 
 h to speak to me? 
 
 not!— 
 Perhaps, sir, another time;—perhaps if you re- 
 collect yourself— 
 
272 EVELINA, 
 
 Another time! repeated he mournfully; alas! 
 T look not forward but to misery and despair ! 
 
 O, sir, cried I, extremely shocked, you must 
 not talk thus !—if you forsake yourself, how can 
 you expect— 
 
 I stopped. Tell me, tell me, cried he, with ea= 
 gerness, who are you ?—whence you come ?—and 
 by what strange means you seem to be arbitress 
 and ruler of the destiny of such a wretch as I am? 
 
 Would to heaven, eried I, could serve you! 
 
 You can! 
 
 And how ?—Pray tell me how ? 
 
 To tell you—is death tome! yet F wii? tell you, 
 —I havea right to your assistance, —you have de= 
 prived me of the only resource to which I could 
 apply,—and therefore— 
 
 Pray, pray speak, cried T, putting my hand into 
 my pocket; they will be downstairs in a moment! 
 
 1 will, madam. Can you—will you—! think 
 you will!—may I then— He stopped and paused : 
 say, will you— Then, suddenly turning from me, 
 Great Heaven, I cannot speak! and he went back 
 to the shop. 
 
 I pulled out my purse and following him, said, 
 If, indeed, sir, I can assist you, why should you 
 deny me so great a satisfaction? Will you permit 
 me to— 
 
 I dared not go on; but with a countenance very 
 much softened, he approached me, and said, Your 
 voice, madam, is the voice of compassion—such a 
 voice as these ears have long been a stranger to! 
 
 Just then young Branghton called out vehement- 
 ly to me to come up stairs, I seized the opportu- 
 nity of hastening away; and therefore saying, 
 
EVELINA. 273 
 
 Heaver protect and comfort you! I let fall 
 my pur m the ground, not daring to present 
 it to hir 1 yan up stairs with the utmost swift- 
 
 ness, 
 
 Too well do I know you, my ever-honoured sir, 
 to fear your displeasure for this action ; I- must 
 assure you, however, that I shall need no fresh 
 supply during my stay in town, as Iam at little 
 expense, and hope soon to return to Howard 
 Grove, 
 
 Svon, did I say! when not a fortnight is yet 
 expired of the long and tedious month I must 
 linger out here ! 
 
 lL had many witticisms to endure from the 
 Branghton’s; upon account of my st ying so long 
 with the Scotch mope, as the; lL him; but [ 
 attended to them very little, fur my whole heart 
 was filled with pity and concern. I was very glad 
 to find the Marybone scheme v 
 other shower of rain ha 
 
 deferred, an- 
 
 ing putan end to the dis- 
 sention upon this subject. The rest of the evening 
 was employed in most violent quarreling between 
 miss Polly and her brother, on account of the dis- 
 covery made by the latter of the state of her a- 
 partment, 
 
 We came home early: and I have stolen from 
 Madame Duval and M. du Bois, who is here for 
 ever, to write to my best friend, 
 
 Iam most sincerely rejoiced that this opportu- 
 nity has offered for my contributing what little 
 relief was in my power to this unhappy man! and 
 I hope it will be sufficient to enable him to pay 
 his debts to this pitiless family, 
 
 » 
 
274 EVELINA; 
 
 lina to the Rev. Mr, Villars, 
 Holborn, June 27. 
 
 T HAVE just received, my dearest sir, your kind 
 present and still kinder letter. Surely never had 
 orphan so little to regret as your grateful Evelina ? 
 Though motherless, thongh worse than fatherless, 
 bereft from infancy of the two first and greatest 
 blessi of life, never has she had cause to deplore 
 their loss; never has she felt the or ion of a 
 parent’s tenderness, care, or indulgence 5 never 
 but from sorrow for them had reason to grieve at 
 the separation! Most thankfully do I receive the 
 token of your approbation, and mest studiously will 
 I endeavour so to dispose of it as may merit your 
 
 generous confidence in my conduct. 
 
 Your doubts concerning Mr, Macartney give me 
 some uneasin Indeed, sir, he has not the ap- 
 pearance of a man whose sorrows are the effect of 
 guilt. But I hope, be‘ore I leave town, to be better 
 acquainted with his situation, and enabled, with 
 more certainty of his worth, to recommend him to 
 your favour. 
 
 I am very willing to relinquish all acquaintance 
 with sir Clement Willoughby, as far as it may de- 
 pend upon myself so todo; but indeed IT know 
 not how I should be able to absolutely forbid him 
 
 ny sight. 
 
 Miss Mirvan in her last letter, informs me that 
 he.is at Howard Grove, where he continues in high 
 favour with the captain, and is tlie life and spirit 
 ofthe house. My time, since I wrote last, has pas- 
 sed very quietly, madame Duval haying heen kept 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 at home bya bad cold, and the Branghtons by bad 
 weather. The young man, indeed, has called two 
 or three times ; and his behaviour, though equally 
 absurd, is more unaccountable than ever; he 
 speaks very little, takes hardly any notice of ma- 
 dame Duval, and never looks at me without a 
 broad grin. Sometimes he approaches me as if 
 with intention to communicate intelligence of 
 some importance ; and, then, suddenly stopping 
 short, laughs rudely in my face 
 
 O how happy shall I be when the worthy Mrs, 
 Clinton arrives, 
 
 Evelina an co7 ter ¢ U0Ne 
 J HAVE just received a most affecting letter from 
 Mr. Macartney. I will enclose it, my dear sir, 
 for your perusal. More than ever have I cause to 
 rejoice that I was able to assist him. 
 
 Mr. Macartney to Miss Anviille. 
 Madam, 
 
 Tmpressed with the deepest, the most heartfelt 
 gense of the exalted humanity with which you have 
 rescued from destruction an unha auppy stranger, al- 
 low me, \ with the humblest gratitude, to offer you 
 my fervent acknowledgements, and to implore 
 your pardon for the terror re have caused you. 
 
 You bid me, madam, live; I ve now, indeed, 
 a motive for life, since I should not willingly quit 
 the world while I withhold from the needy and dis- 
 tressed any share of that charity which a disposi- 
 tion so noble would otherwise bestow upon them 
 
i | 
 oi 
 
 patra eee 
 
 ame ee 
 rene 
 
 246 EVELINA, 
 
 The benevolence \ 
 ed yourself in my 
 would wish to 
 that desps i 
 the parti 
 sO we 
 planation will 
 
 ith which you have interest- 
 irs, induces me to suppose you 
 1 the cause of 
 n from which you snatehed me. and 
 of that misery of which you have 
 been a witness, Yet, as this ex- 
 quire that I should divulge secrets 
 of a nature the most delic I must entreat you 
 to reg them as sacred, even though I forbear 
 to mention the names of the parties concerned. 
 
 I was brought up in Seotland, though my mo- 
 ther who had the sole care of me, was an English 
 woman, and had not one relation in that country, 
 She devoted to me her whole time. The retire- 
 ment in which we d, and the distance from our 
 natural friends, she often told me, were the effect 
 of an unconquerable melancholy with which she 
 was seized upon the sudden loss of my father, some 
 time before I was born. 
 
 At Aberdeen, where I finished my education, I 
 formed a friendship with a young man of fortune, 
 which 1 considered uppiness of my 
 life: —but when he , Lconsider- 
 ed it as my chief r 1 
 prepared, by direction of his friend, to make the 
 tour of Europe. AsJ was designed for the church, 
 and had no prospect even of maintenance but from 
 my own industry, I searee dared permit even a 
 wish ofaccompanying him. It is true, he would 
 joyfully have borne my expenses; but my affection 
 was as free from meanness as his own: and | made 
 a determination the most solemn, never to lessen 
 its dignity by submitting to pecuniary obligations. 
 
 We corresponded with great regularity and the 
 
 inted w: 
 
 as the chief 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 most. unbounded confiderice for the space of two 
 
 years, when he arrived at Lyons on ‘his way home. 
 
 He wrote me thence the most pressing invitation 
 to meet him at ] 
 
 e he intended to rem iin 
 
 some time, My « ire to co 
 
 ply with his request 
 ee, Ww so earnest that my 
 -ontroul me, lent me 
 power, and, in an ill- 
 
 and shorten 
 
 neeting wit ear friend was the hap- 
 
 ‘ 1 d me to all his 
 ac a c ind ; i iid time seem to 
 pass at that delightful ; ], that tl 
 
 I had allotted to my stay wer or 
 
 sensible I had missed so many days. B 
 
 now own, that the comipany of 1 1y 
 the sole subject of my felicity; I ran 
 ed with a youn 
 
 nE ishman 
 
 of distine 
 
 rr . ttacl 
 ned an attach- 
 
 ment which | have a thousand t 
 
 and times vowed, a 
 
 thousand times sincerely thoug! 
 
 as my life. 
 
 which sl 
 though : 
 her own language. Her person and disposition 
 were equal 
 for the 
 
 cely s] 
 
 jored her 
 
 ns, whic 
 
 for 
 
 pired, | 
 
 ting her; yet not the courage to make our 
 attachment to father, who might 
 reasonably fo er such views as would maké 
 
 him reject with a contempt which I could not bear 
 
eee ee 
 
 278 EVELINAs 
 
 to think of, such an offer as mine, Yet I had 
 free access to the house, where she seemed to be 
 left almost wholly to the guidance of an old ser- 
 vant, who was my fast friend. 
 
 But to be brief, the sudden and unexpected re- 
 turn of her father one fatal afternoon proved the 
 beginning of the misery which has ever since de- 
 youred me. I doubt not but he had listened to 
 our conversation ; for he darted into the room 
 with the rage of a madman, Heavens! what a 
 scene followed !—what abusive language did the 
 shame of a clandestine affair, and the conscious- 
 ness of acting ill, induce meto brook! At length, 
 however, his fury exceeded my patience: he cal- 
 led me a beggarly, cowardly Scotchman. Fired 
 at the words, I drew my sword; he, with equal 
 alertness, drew his; for he was not an old man, 
 but, on the contrary, strong and able as myself. 
 In vain his daughter pleaded ;—in vain did I, re- 
 pentant of my anger, retreat—his reproaches con- 
 tinuing ; myself, my country, were loaded with 
 infamy, till, no longer constraining my rage,—we 
 fought,—and he fell ! i 
 
 At that moment I could almost have destroyed 
 myself! The young lady fainted with terror; the 
 old servant, drawn to us by the noise of the scufile, 
 
 entreated me to escape, and promised to bring in= — 
 
 telligence of what should pass to my apartments. — 
 The disturbance which I had raised in the house 
 obliged me to comply ; and, in a state of mind in- 
 conceivably wretched, I tore myself away.” | 
 
 My friend, whom I found at home, soon .disco~ 
 vered the whole affair. It was nearmidnight be- | 
 
 fore the woman came, She told me that her mas 
 
279 
 
 EVELINAg 
 
 ter was living, and her youmg mistress restored to 
 her senses. The absoluteMecessity for my leaving 
 Paris, while any danger remained, was forcibly ar- 
 gued by my friend: the servant promised to ac- 
 atever passed, and he to transmit 
 
 quaint him of 
 to me fer information. Thus circumstanced, with 
 the assistance « this dear nd, | effeeted my 
 
 iis, and not long after, Ire- 
 
 rture from 
 
 OF dep . 
 turned to Scotland. I would fain have stopped 
 <— rt 
 08 by the way. that { might have been nearer the 
 
 scene of all my concerns; but the low state of my 
 1 me that satisfaction. 
 
 out The miserable situation of my mind was soon 
 
 f finances deni 
 
 would she rest till 
 
 discovered by my moth 
 I communicated the cau 
 story with an a n whi 
 mame of the ¥ 
 her with horrot 
 and he fi il ;—My 
 
 nas 
 
 urties concerned s 
 but when I 9 
 son, cried she, you have then 
 er! and he sunk breathless at 
 
 cene 
 
 murdered your fath 
 my feet, Comments, mad 
 as this, dreadful story, convinced this irritated 
 parent that he had nothing more to apprehend 
 ughter’s unfortunate choice. My mo- 
 to prove the 
 
 upon such & 
 
 from his da 
 ther consented, and gave mea letter 
 sgertions. As 1 could but ill afford 
 s journey, I travelled in the cheapest 
 
 truth of my 
 to make this | 
 gi way that was possible, 
 jam, tell you wher 
 
 L took an obscure lodging, 
 
 ~—and board- 
 
 —i need not, mat 
 
 hott éd with the people of the house 
 
 My senses, in the greatness of my 
 tually forsook me, and, for more than a week, I 
 was wholly delirious My unfortunate mother 
 
 was yet more to be pitied; for she pined with un- 
 
 misery, ac- 
 
280 EVELINA, 
 
 mitigated sorrow, eternally reproaching herself 
 for the danger to which her too strict silence had 
 exposed me, When I recovered my reason, my 
 impatience to hear from Paris almost deprived me 
 of it again; and though the length of time I 
 waited for letters might justly be attributed to 
 contrary winds, I could not bear the delay, and 
 was twenty times upon the point of returning 
 hither at al! hazards. At length, however, several 
 letters arrived at once, and from the most insup- 
 portable of my afflictions I was then relieved ; 
 for they acquainted me that the horrors of parri- 
 cide were notin reserve for me, They informed 
 me also, that as soon as the wound was healed, a 
 journey would be made to England, where my 
 unhappy sister was to be received by an aunt, with 
 whom she was to live. 
 
 This intelligence somewhat quieted the vic- 
 lence of my sorrows. I instantly formed a plan 
 of meeting them in London, and, by revealing 
 the whole dreadful story, convincing this irrita- 
 ted parent that he had nothing more to appre- 
 hend from his daughter’sunfortunate choice, My 
 mother consented, and gave mea letter to prove 
 he truth of my assertions. As I could but ill 
 afford to make this journey, I trayelled in the 
 cheapest way that was possible. I took an ob- 
 scure lodging,—I need not, madam, tell you where, 
 ——and boarded with the people of the house. 
 
 Here I languished, week after week, vainly 
 hoping for the arrival of my family ; but my im- 
 petuosity had blinded me to the imprudence of 
 which I was guilty of quitting Scotland so hastily. 
 My wounded father, after his recoyery, relapsed ; 
 
EVELINA. 281 
 
 and when I had waited in the most comfortless 
 situation for six weeks, my friend wrote me word, 
 that the journey was yet deferred for some time 
 longer. 
 
 My finances were then nearly ex 
 
 austed ; and 
 I was obli; though most unwillingly, to beg 
 further assi m my mother, that I might 
 return to Scotland. O madam!—my answer was 
 not from herself ;—it was written by a lady who 
 had long beer r companion, and acquainted me 
 that she had been taken ly ill of a fever; 
 —and was no more! 
 
 The 
 
 ’ 
 ance 
 
 which you have 
 given such noble proo 's, assures me I need not, if 
 I could, paint to you the an ruish of a mind over- 
 
 »mpassionate natur 
 
 with such accumulated sorrows. 
 
 whelm 
 
 Inclosed was a letter to a near relation, which 
 she had, during her illness, with much difficulty, 
 h the strongest maternal 
 
 written ; and in which wi 
 tenderness, she described my deplorable situation, 
 and entreated his interest to procure me some 
 preferment. Yet so sunk was I by misfortune, 
 that a fortnight elapsed before I had the courage 
 or spirit to attempt delivering this letter. I was 
 then compelled toit by want. To make my ap- 
 pearance w ney, I was necessitated 
 myself to the melancholy task of changing my 
 coloured clothes for a suit of mourning ;—and 
 then I proceeded to seek my relation, 
 T was informed he was now in town. 
 
 some dec 
 
 In this desperate situation, the pride of my 
 heart, which hitherto had not bowed to adversity 
 oa way: and I determined to entreat the assist- 
 
 6 
 
 ance of my friend, whose offered service I had a 
 
282 EVELINA, 
 
 thousand times rejected, Yet, madam, so hard is 
 it to root from my mind its favourite principles or 
 prejudices, call them which you please, that Ilin- 
 gered another week ere I had the olution to 
 send away a letter which I regarded as the death 
 of my independence. 
 
 At length, reduced to my last shilling, dunned 
 insolently by the people of the house, and almost 
 famished, I sealed this fatal letter: and with a 
 heavy heart, determined to take it to the post 
 office, But Mr. Branghton and his son suffered 
 me not to pass through their shop with impunity ; 
 theyinsulted me grossly,and threatened me with 
 imprisonment, if I did not immediately satisfy 
 their demands, Stung to the soul, I bade them 
 have but a day’s patience, and flung from them 
 in a state of mind too terrible for description. 
 
 My letter, which I now found would be received 
 too late to save me from disgrace, I tore into a 
 thousand pieces: and scarce could [ refrain from 
 putting an instantaneous, and unlicensed, period 
 to my existence. 
 
 In this disorder of my senses, I formed the hor- 
 rible plan of turning food pad; for which purpose 
 I returned to my lodging, and collected whatever 
 of my apparel I could part with; which I imme- 
 diately sold, and with the produce purchased a 
 brace of pistols, powder and shot. I hope, how- 
 ever, you will believe me, when I most solemnly 
 assure you, my sole intention was to frighten the 
 Passengers I should assault with these dangerous 
 weapons: which I had not loaded, but from a re~ 
 solution,—a dreadful one, 1 own,—to save myself, 
 from an igaominious death if seized. And, indeed, 
 
EVELINA, 288 
 
 I thought that if I could but procure money suffie 
 cient to pay Mr, Branghton, and make a journey 
 to Scotland. I should soon be able, by the public 
 papers, to discover when I had injured, and to 
 make private retribution. 
 
 + to every species of villainy, 
 it, that I could with 
 
 But madame, n¢ 
 my perturbation 
 difficulty support myself; yet the Branghtons ob- 
 served it not as I passed through the shop. 
 
 Here I stop: hat followed is better known 
 to yourself, But no time can ever efface from my 
 memory that moment, when. in the very action of 
 preparing for my own dest suction, or the lawless 
 seizure of the property of others, you rushed into 
 j arrested my arm!—It was indeed 
 
 the room and 
 an awful moment!—the hand of providence seem~ 
 ed to intervene between me and eternity ; I be- 
 held you as an angel!—I thought you dropped 
 from the clouds!—The earth, indeed, had never 
 presented to my view a form so celestial !—What 
 wonder, then, that aspectaclesoastonishing should, 
 to a man disordered as I was, appear too beautiful 
 to be human ? 
 
 And now, madam, that I have performed this 
 nful task, the more grateful one remains of re- 
 warding, as far as is in my power, your generous 
 goodness, by assuring you it shall not be thrown 
 You have awakened me to a sense of the 
 ry which I have been actuated ;—a 
 stance from a 
 
 pair 
 
 away. 
 false pride t 
 pride which, while it scorned ass 
 friend, serupled not to compel it from a stranger, 
 though at the hazard of reducing that stranger to 
 a situation as destitute as my own. Yet,oh! how 
 violent was the struggle which tore my conflicting 
 
 { 
 
aePaea Pan ieeee 
 
 an Se 
 
 BE 
 
 ae 
 Sart 
 
 284 EVELINA, 
 
 soul, ere I could persuade myself to profit by the 
 beneyolence which you were 80 evidently disposed 
 to exert in my fayour! 
 
 By means of a ring, the gift of my much re- 
 gretted mother, I have for the present. satisfied 
 Mr. Branghton ; and by means of your compas- 
 sion, I hope to Support myself either till I hear 
 from my friend, whom at length I have writ- 
 ten, or till the relation of my mother returns to 
 town, 
 
 To talk to you, madam, of paying my debt, 
 would be vain ; I never can: the service you have 
 done me exceeds all power of return; you have re- 
 stored me to my Senses; you have taught me to 
 curb those passions which bereft me of them; and} 
 since I cannot avoid calan ity, to bearit as a man! 
 An interposition so wonderfully cireumstanced can 
 never be recollected without benefit. Yet allow 
 me to say, the pecuniary part of my obligation 
 must be settled by my first ability. 
 
 I am, madam, with the most 
 and heartfelt gratitude, 
 
 profound respect, 
 
 Your obedient 
 and devoted humble servant, 
 J. MACARTNEY, 
 
 Lvelina in Contin UatLON. 
 
 Holborn, Jury 1,—5 o’e 
 
 O, Sir, what an adventu 
 
 night it has oceupied my thoughts, and I am now 
 risen thus early to write it to you, 
 
 Yesterday it was settled that we should spend 
 
 the evening in Marybone Gardens, where M, 
 
 lock in the morning. 
 re have J to write !—~all 
 
EVELINA, 285 
 Torre, a celebrated foreigner, was to exhibit some 
 fireworks. The party consisted of Madame Duval, 
 all the Branghtons, M. du Bois, Mr. Smith, and 
 Mr. Brown. 
 
 We were almost the first per 
 
 ons who entered 
 the gardens, Mr. Branghton having declared he 
 would have all he could get for his money, which, 
 at best, was only ay at such silly and idle 
 places. 
 
 We walked in parties, and very much detached 
 r. Mr. Brown and miss Polly led 
 
 fooled ay 
 
 from one a 
 
 the way by themselves ; miss Branghton and Mr, 
 Smith followed; and the latter seems determined 
 to be revenged for my behaviour at the ball, by 
 
 transferring all the for 
 
 Branghton, who received it wi n of ex 
 tion ; and very frequer they ¢ of them, 
 
 I 
 elligence, 
 ked with M. du Bois, and Mr, 
 jut his son would willingly 
 wholly to me ; saying fre- 
 t's you and J have a little 
 2 all left us, sonow 
 
 though from rent motives, looke« 
 cover vy 
 Madame Duva 
 Branghton by h 
 have attached 
 quently, Come, miss, ] 
 fun togetl } 
 let’sleave them. But I begged to be exensed, and 
 went to the otl 
 
 This ; 
 
 <, to dis- 
 
 I observed their good in 
 
 ; 
 i 
 
 > of madame Duval. 
 
 rden, as it is ¢ 
 
 g led, is neither striking 
 for magnificence nor for be uty; and we were all 
 so duil gnd languid, that I was extremely glad 
 
 when we were summoned to theorchestra, upon the 
 
 opening of a concert: in the course of which I 
 had the pleasure of hearing a concerto on the vio- 
 lin by Mr, Barthelemon, who to me seemsa player 
 of exquisite fancy, feeling, and variety, 
 
286 EVELINAs 
 
 When notice was given to us that the fire-works 
 were preparing, we hurried along to secure good 
 places for the sight ; but very soon we were so 
 encircled and inc nomtnoded by ‘the crowd, that Mr. 
 Smith proposed the ladies should make interest 
 for a form to stand upon: this wassoon effected ; 
 and the men then left us to accommodate them- 
 selves better ; saying they would return the mo- 
 ment the exhibition was over, 
 
 The fire-work was really beautiful ; and told, 
 
 with wonderful ingenuity, the story of Orpheus 
 and Eurydice; but, at the moment of the fatal 
 look which separated them for ever, there was 
 such an explosion of fire, and so terrible a noise, 
 that we all, as of one accord, jumped hastily from 
 the form, and ran away some paces, fearing that 
 we were in danger of mischief from the innumer- 
 able sparks of fire which glittered in the air. 
 _ For a moment or two I neither knew nor con- 
 sidered whither I had run; but my recollection 
 was soon awakened by a stranger’s s addressing me 
 with, ‘ Come along with me, my dear, and Ill take 
 care of you,’ 
 
 I started: and then, to my great terror, per- 
 ceived that I had out-run all my companions, and 
 saw not one human being I knew! With all the 
 speed in my power, and forgetful of my first fright 
 Thastened back to the place I had left; —but: 
 found the form occupied by a new set of people, 
 
 In vain, from side to side, I looked for some 
 face I knew; I found myself in. the midst of a 
 crowd, yet without party, friend, or acquaintance. 
 I walked in disordered haste from:place to place, 
 
 without knowing which way to turn, or whither — 
 
 ' 
 
RVELINAs 
 
 TI went, Every other moment I was spoken to by 
 some bold and unfeeling man; to whom my dis- 
 tress, which [ think must be very apparent, only 
 furn Tt itti 1 
 or free gallantry. 
 
 At last a young officer, marching fiercely up to 
 me, said, You are a sweet pretty creature, and I 
 enlist you in my service; and then, with great 
 1 my hand. I screamed aloud 
 with fear; and cibly snatching it away, I ran 
 hastily up to two 1 and cried, For Heaven's 
 sake, dear ladies, afford me some protection. 
 
 They heard me with a loud laugh, but very 
 readily said, Ay, let her walk between us; and 
 €ach of them took hold of an arm, 
 
 Then, in a drawling, ironical tone of voice, they 
 asked what had frightened my littl ladyship ? I 
 told them my adventure very simply, and entreat- 
 ed they w ould have the goodness to assist me in 
 finding my friends. 
 
 O yes, to be sure, said they, I should not want 
 for friends whilst I was with them. Mine, J said, 
 would be very grateful for any civilities with which 
 they might favour me. sut imagine, my dear sir, 
 how T must be confounded, when I observed that 
 every other w ord I spoke produced a good laugh! 
 T will not dwell upon a conversation, 
 to my inexpressible horror, convinced 
 
 1 sought protection from insult, of 
 +! 
 
 violence, he 
 
 ror 
 
 me that 
 tliose who were themselves most likely to offer it 
 You, my dearest sir, I well know, will both feel 
 for arid pity my terror, w hich I have no words to 
 
 describe. 
 Tad I been at liberty, I should have instantly 
 
RVELINA. 
 
 run away from them when I made the shocking 
 discovery; but, as they held me fast, that was ut- 
 terly impossible ; and such was my dread of their 
 resentment or abuse, that I did not dare to make 
 any open attempt to escape. 
 
 They asked me a thousand questions, accompa- 
 nied by as many halloos, of who I was, what I was, 
 and whence I came? My answers were very in- 
 coherent :—but what, good heaven, were my emo- 
 tions, when, a few moments afterwards, I perceiv« 
 ed advancing our way, lord Orville! 
 
 Never shall I forget what I felt at that instant: 
 had [, indeed, been sunk to the guilty state which 
 such companions might lead him to suspect, I 
 could searce have had feelings more cruelly de- 
 pressing. However, to my i finite joy, he passed 
 us without distinguishing me: though IT saw that 
 in a cateless manner his eyes surveyed the party. 
 
 As soon as he was gone, one of these unhappy 
 women said, Do you know that young fellow ? 
 
 Not thinking it possible she could mean lord 
 Orville by such a term, I readily answered, No, 
 madam, 
 
 Why then, answered she, you have a monstrous 
 good stare for a little country miss. 
 
 I now found I had mistaken her, but was glad 
 to avoid an explanation. 
 
 A few minutes after, what was my delight to 
 hear the voice of Mr. Brown, who called out, Lord 
 is‘n't’‘that Miss what's her name ? 
 
 Thank God, cried I, suddenly springing from 
 them both, thank God, I have found my party. 
 
 Mr. Brown was, however, alone; and without 
 knowing what I did, took hold of his arm, 
 
EVELINAs 
 
 Lord, miss, cried he, we’ve had such a hunt you 
 can’t think ; some of them thought yon was gone 
 home; but I says, I don’t thi nk, says I, that she’s 
 like to go home all 
 
 So th it gentien 
 
 b lo ngs to you, miss, does 
 én, 
 TI, and I now thank you 
 
 I am safe, I will not give 
 
 and would have walked 
 away; but, most ately, madame Duval 
 and the two Miss Branghtons just then joined us. 
 pusand enquiries 5 
 it Lhad been obli- 
 ing with me, and 
 for, though 
 
 to which I brief 
 
 ged to these two lo udies for w 
 would tell them more ar ather y time 
 T felt great parative courage, 
 much intir d by their presence, to dare to be 
 explicit. 
 
 Nevertheless, I ventured once more 
 them good nigh proposed seeking for Mr. 
 Branghton. These ae py women listened to 
 all that was ward with a kind of callous curiosity, 
 and see i not to takeany hint, But 
 my vexation was terribly augmented, when, after 
 having whispered something to each other, they 
 very cavalierly dé intended join- 
 ing our party ; and then, one of them very boldly 
 took hold of my arm; while the other, going 
 round, seized that of Mr, Brown; and thus, al- 
 most forcib ere moyed on between them, 
 and followed by Madame Duyal and the Miss 
 
 Branghtons. 
 
 sy 
 
290 EVELINA, 
 
 It would be very difficult to say which was 
 greatest, my fright, or Mr. Brown’s consternation 5 
 who ventured not to make the least resistance, 
 though his uneasiness made him tremble almost 
 as much as mys I would instantly have with- 
 drawn my arm ; but it was held so tight I could 
 not move it; and poor Mr, Brown was circum- 
 stanced in the same manner on the other side; 
 for I heard him say, Lord, ma’am, there’s no need 
 to squeeze one’s arm so! 
 
 And this was our situation,—for we had not 
 taken three steps, when,—O sir,—we again met 
 lord Orville!—but not again did he pass quietly 
 by us:—yes, my dear sir, he looked greatly con- 
 cerned; and the remembrance of that, is the only 
 consolation I feel for an evening the most painful 
 of my life. 
 
 What he first said I know not; for, indeed, I 
 seemed to have neither ears nor understanding: 
 but Lrecollect that I only courtesied in silence. 
 He paused for an instant, as if—I believe so—as 
 if unwilling to pass on; and then, finding the 
 whole party detained, he again bowed, and took 
 leaye. 
 
 Indeed, my dear sir, 1 thought I should have 
 fainted; so great was my emotion from shame, 
 Yexation, and a thousand other feelings, for which 
 I have no expression. I absolutely tore myself 
 from the woman's arms: and then, disengaging 
 myself from thatof Mr. Brown, 1 went to madame 
 Duval, and besought that she would not suffer me 
 to be again parted from her. 
 
 J fancy that lord Orville saw what passed; for 
 scarcely was I at liberty ere he returned. Mes 
 
 “ase 
 
AS 
 
 {ook 
 
 EVELINA. 291 
 
 thought, my dear sir, the pleasure, the surprise of 
 the moment, recompensed me for all the chagrin 
 Thad before felt ; for do you not think that his 
 return manifests, from ae 
 served as lord Orville 
 in my concerns? suc 
 
 racter so quiet, so re- 
 
 i, something like solicitude 
 at least was the interpreta- 
 tion L involur de upou again seeing him. 
 
 With a polit I have been some- 
 time very little used, he apologized for returning 3 
 and then inquired after the health of Mrs, Mirvan 
 and the rest of the Howard ve family. The 
 flattering conjectur« i just ackowledg- 
 ed, had so w onderf its, that I 
 believe I never ans and with 
 so little constraint. >, was the 
 duration of this conversatior for we were soon 
 most disagreeably in errupted, 
 
 The Miss Branghtons, thc 
 immediately the c 
 I had so unfortunatel 
 s0 weak and 
 haviour. As to madame Duy: al, she was for some 
 time so strangely as d upon, that she thought 
 they were two real fine ladies, Indeed, itis won- 
 derful to see how ea and how frequently she 
 is deceived. Our xe, however, arose 
 from young Brown, who w now between the 
 two women, by whom his arma were absolutely 
 Pinioned to hi xx afew minutes his com- 
 plaints had been o ily murmured: but he now 
 ealled ont alou » hurt me 
 like any thing! w 
 keep pinching my 
 This speech raised a loud laugh in the women, 
 
 h they saw almost 
 
 ters of the women to whom 
 applied, were, nevertheless 
 
 olish as merely to titter at their be- 
 
 cant wai 
 
 ' 
 ms so; 
 
 < at all, if you. 
 
 < - —= . 
 a a 
 
a 
 
 a Sa 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 and redoubled the tittering of the Miss Brangh- 
 tons. For my own part, I was most cruelly con- 
 fused; while the countenance of lord Orville 
 manifested a sort of indignant astonishment ; and, 
 from that moment, he spoke to me no more till he 
 took leave. 
 
 Madame Duval who now began to suspect her 
 company, proposed our taking the first box we saw 
 empty, bespeaking a supper, and waiting till Mr. 
 Braughton should find us. 
 
 Miss Polly mentioned one she had remarked, to 
 which we all turned. Madame Duval instantly 
 seated herself, and the two bold women, forcing 
 the frightened Mr. Brown to go between them, 
 followed her example. 
 
 Lord Orville, with an air of gravity that wound- 
 ed my very soul, then wished me good night. I 
 said not a word; but my face, if it had any con- 
 nexion with my "heart, must have looked melan- 
 choly indeed; and so I have some reason to believe 
 it did; for he added, with much more softness, 
 though no less dignity, Will Miss Anville allow 
 me to ask her address, and to pay my respects to 
 her before Ileave town ? 
 
 © how I changed colour at this unexpected re- 
 quest !—yet what was the mortification I suffered 
 in answering, My lord, I am—in Holborn? 
 
 He then bowed and left us. 
 
 What, what can he think of this adventure! 
 how strangely, how cruelly have all appearances 
 turned against me! Had I been blessed with 
 any presence of mind, I should instantly have ex- 
 plained to him the accident which occasioned my 
 
 ARE Sim 
 
INA. 
 
 being in such terrible company:-—but I haye 
 none! 
 
 As to the rest of the evening, I cannot relate 
 the particulars of what passed ; for, to you, I only 
 write of what I think: and can think of nothing 
 but this unfortunate, this ungrateful meeting, 
 These two wretched women continued to torment 
 us all, but especially poor Mr. Brown, who seemed 
 to afiord them uncommon diversion, till we were 
 discovered by Mr. Braaghton, who very soon found 
 means to release us from their persecutions by 
 frightening them away. We stayed but a short 
 time after they had left us, which was all employ- 
 ed in explanation, 
 
 Whatever may be the construction which lord 
 Orville may put upon this affair, to me it cannot 
 fail of being unfavourable ; to be seen—gracious 
 Heaven! to be seen in company with two women 
 of such character ?—How vainly, how proudly 
 have I wished to avoid meeting him when only 
 with the Branghtons and madame Duval,—but 
 now how joyful should I be had he seen me to no 
 greater disadvantage !—Holborn, too! what a di- 
 rection! he who had always—but I will not tor- 
 ment you, my dearest sir, with any more of my. 
 Mortifying conjectures and apprehensions: per-~ 
 haps he may call,—and then I shall have an op- 
 portunity of explaining to him all the most shock- 
 ing part of the adventure. And yet, as I did not 
 tell him at whose house I lived he may not be 
 able to discover me; I merely said, in Holborn; 
 and he, who, I suppose saw my embarrassment, 
 forbore to ask any other direction, 
 
 Well, I must take my chance! 
 
294 EVELINA. 
 
 Yet let me in justice to lord Orville, and in 
 justice to the high opinion I have always enter- 
 i acy,—let me ob- 
 aviour, when nearly 
 of sir Clement Wil- 
 ust, equal cause to depre- 
 inion, and to mortify and sink 
 ut far different was his conduct ¢ 
 
 tained of hi 
 serve the 
 in the sz 
 loughby. 1 
 ciate me in his 0 
 me in my own: br 
 ——perplexed, indeed, he looked, and much sur- 
 prised :—bnt it was benevolently, not with inso- 
 lence, [am even inclined to think that he eould 
 not see a young creature whom he had so lately 
 known in a higher ere, appear so suddenly, 80 
 strangely, so disgracefully altered in her situation, 
 without some pity and concern. But whatever 
 and suspicions, far from sof- 
 yur, he spoke, 
 and attention 
 
 nour and del 
 
 might be his doubts 
 fering them to influence his behav 
 he looked with the same politenes 
 
 with which he had always honoured me when | 
 
 an 
 
 countenanced by Mrs. Mir 
 
 Once again let > droy 
 
 In every morti ion, every disturbance, how 
 grateful to my he how sweet to my recollec- 
 tion, is the certainty of your never failing tender- 
 ness, sympathy, and protection! Oh, sir, could I 
 upon this sul ite as I feel,—how 
 animated would be the lan se of your deyoted 
 
 ~ EVELINA, 
 
 subject. | 
 
 § 
 
 Evelina in contin UAtON. 
 f 
 Holborn, July 1. | 
 LisTLEss, uneasy, and without either spirit or” 
 
 courage to employ myself from the time I had fin«” 
 
EVELINA, 295 
 
 ished my last letter, I indolently seated myself at 
 the window, where, while | waited Madame Du- 
 val’s summons to breakfast, I perceived, among 
 the carriages which passed by, a coronet coach, 
 and, in a few minutes, from the windows of it, 
 lord Orville! I instantly retreated, but not, I 
 believe, unseen ; for the coach immediately drove 
 up to our door. 
 
 Indeed, my dear sir, I must own I was greatly 
 agitated; the idea of receiving lord Orville by 
 myself,—the knowledge that his visit was entirely 
 to me,—the wish of explaining the unfortunate 
 adventure of yesterday,—and the mortification of 
 my present circumstances,—all these thoughts, 
 oceurring to me nearly at the same time, oeca- 
 sioned me more anxiety, confusion, and perplexi- 
 ty, than I can possibly express. 
 
 I believe he meant to send up his name; but 
 the maid, unused to such a ceremony, forgot it by 
 the way, and only told me, that a great lord was 
 below, and desired to see me; and, the next mo- 
 ment, he appeared himself. 
 
 If formerly, when in the circle of high life, and 
 accustomed to its manners, I so much admired 
 and distinguished the grace—the elegance of lord 
 Orville, think, sir, how must they strike me now, 
 —now, when far removed from that splendid cir- 
 ele, I live with those to whom even civility is un- 
 
 known, and decorum a stranger! 
 
 Tam gure I received him very awkwardly; de- 
 pressed by a situation so disagreeable—could Ido 
 otherwise 2? When his first enquiries were made, 
 I think myself very fortunate, he said, in meeting 
 
296 EVELINAs 
 
 with miss Anville at home, and still more so in 
 finding her disengs 
 
 T only eourtsicd, He then talked of Mrs. Mir- 
 yan, asked how long I had been in town, and 
 other such general questions; which happily gaye 
 me time to recover from my embarrassment. At- 
 id, If miss Anville will allow me 
 
 ter which he s 
 the h 
 we were both s 
 the motive wl 
 health, has pro 
 early. 
 
 We were then both seated ; and after a short 
 pause, he said, How to apologise for so great a li- 
 berty as Tam upon the point of taking, I know 
 not;—shall I, therefore, rely wholly upon your 
 goodness, and not apologise at ali. 
 
 I only bowed. 
 
 I should be extremely sorry to appear imperti- 
 nent,—yet hardly know how to avoid it. 
 
 Impertinent ! O, my lord, cried I eagerly, that 
 IT am sure, is impossible ? 
 
 You are very good, answered he, and encou- 
 rage me to be ingenuous— 
 
 Again he stopped: but my expectation was too 
 great for speech. AtJast, without looking at me, 
 in a low yoice, and hesitating manner, he said, 
 Were those ladies with whom I saw you last night 
 ever in your ¢o mpany before ? 
 
 No, my lord, cried I, rising and colouring vio- 
 lently, nor will they ever again. 
 
 He rose too: and with an air of the most con- 
 descending concern, said, Pardon, madam, the 
 abruptness of a question which I know not how 
 
 mour of sitting by her a few minutes (for 
 
 ng,) 1 will venture to tell her 
 ch next to inquiring after her 
 ipted me to wait on her so very 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 to introduce as I ought, and for which I have no 
 excuse to offer but my respect for Mrs. Mirvan, 
 joined to the sincerest wishes for your happiness; 
 yet I fear I have gone too far! 
 
 I am very sensible of the honour of your lord- 
 ship’s attention, said 1 ; but—— 
 
 Permit me to assure you, cried he, finding I 
 hesitated, that officiousness is not my character- 
 istic ; and that 1 would by no means have risked 
 your displeasure had I not been fully satisfied 
 you were too generous to be offended without a 
 
 real cause of offence. 
 
 Offended ! cried 1, no my lord, I am only griev- 
 ed—grieved, indeed, to find myself in a situation 
 so unfortunate as to be obliged to make explana- 
 tions which caunot but mortily and shock me, 
 
 It is I alone, cried he, with some eagerness, 
 who am shocked, as it is I who deserve to be mor- 
 tified. I seck no explanation, for I have no 
 doubt; but in mistaking me, miss Anville injures 
 herself; allow me, therefore, frankly, and openly, 
 to tell you the intention of my visit. 
 
 I bowed, and we both returned to our seats. 
 
 I will own myself to have been greatly sur- 
 prised, continued he, when I met you yesterday 
 eyening. in company with two persons who I was 
 sensible merited not the honour of your notice 5 
 nor was it casy for me to conjecture the cause of 
 your being so situated 3 yet, believe me, my incer- 
 titude did not fora moment do you injury. I 
 was satisfied that their characters must be un- 
 known to yoti; and I thought with concern of 
 the shock you would sustain when you discovered 
 
 their unworthiness. I should not, however, upon 
 > 
 
298 EVELINA, 
 
 so short an acquaintance have asurped the privi- 
 lege of intimacy, in giving my unasked sentiments 
 upon so delicate a subject, had I not known that 
 credulity is the sister of innocence, and therefore 
 feared you might be deceived, A something which 
 I could not resist urged me to the freedom I have 
 taken to caution you; but I shall not easily for- 
 give myself if I have been so unfortunate as to 
 give you pain. 
 
 The pride which his first question had excited 
 now subsided into delight and gratitude; and I 
 instantly related to him, as well as I could, the 
 accident which had occasioned my joining the un- 
 happy woman with whom he had met me. He 
 listened with an attention so flattering, seemed so 
 much interested during the recital, and, when I 
 had done, thanked mein terms so polite, for what 
 he was pleased to call my condescension, that I 
 was almost ashamed either to look at or bear him. 
 
 Soon after the maid came to tell me that ma- 
 dame Duval desired to have breakfast made in 
 her own room, 
 
 I fear, cried lord Orville, instantly rising, that 
 T haye intruded upon your time;—yet who so si- 
 tuated could do otherwise? Then taking my 
 hand, will Miss Anville allow me thus to seal my 
 peace, he pressed it to his lips, and took leave. 
 
 Generous, noble lord Orville! how disinterested 
 his conduct! how delicate his whole behaviour! 
 willing to advise, yet afraid to wound me !—Can I 
 ever, in future, regret the adventure I met with 
 at Marybone, since it has been productive of a yi- 
 sit so flattering? Had my mortifications been 
 { still more humiliating, my terrors still more alarm- 
 
 f 
 
pri 
 nents 
 
 EVELINA, 299 
 
 ing, such a mark of esteem—may I not call it 
 so 2>—from lord Orville, would have made me am- 
 ple amends. 
 
 And indeed, my dear sir, T required some con- 
 Solation in my present very disagreeable situation 5 
 for, since he went, two incidents have happened, 
 that, had not my spirits been particularly elated, 
 would greatly have disconcerted me, 
 
 During breakfast madame Duval very abruptly 
 asked, if { should like to be married ? and added, 
 that Mr. Branghton had been proposing a match 
 for mé with his son, Surprised, and, I must own, 
 provoked, I assured her that. in thinking of me, 
 Mr. Branghton would very vainly lose his time. 
 
 Why, cried she, I have had grander views for 
 you myself, if once I could get you to Paris, and 
 make you be owned ; but jf I can't do that, and 
 you cannot do better, why, as you are both my re- 
 lations, 1 think to leave my fortune between you 3 
 and then, if you marry, you never need want for 
 nothing. 
 
 I begged her not to pursue the subject, as, I as- 
 sured her, Mr. Branghton was totally disagreeable 
 to me; but she continued her admonitions and 
 reflections, with her‘usual disregard of whatever 
 TI could answer. She charged me, very peremp- 
 torily neither wholly to discourage, nor yet to ac- 
 cept Mr. Branghton’s offer, till she saw what 
 could be done for me. The young man, she added 
 had often intended to speak to me himself, but, 
 not well knowing how to introduce the subject, 
 he had desired her to pave the way for him. 
 
 I scrupled not, warmly and freely, to declare 
 my aversion to this proposal ; but it was to no of 
 
300 EVELINA, 
 
 fect; she concluded just as she had begun, by 
 saying that I should not have him, af I could do 
 better. 
 
 Nothing, however, shall persuade me to listen 
 
 to any other person concerning this odious affair. 
 
 My second cause of uneasiness arises, very un- 
 expectedly, from M. de Bois ; who, to my infinite 
 surprise, upon madame Duyal’s quitting the room 
 after dinner, put into my hand a note, and imme- 
 diately left the house, 
 
 This note contains an open declaration of an 
 attachment to me ; which, he says, he should ne= 
 ver have presumed to haye acknowledged, had he 
 not been informed that madame Duval destined 
 my hand tg young Branghton—a match which he 
 cannot endure to think of. He beseeches me ear- 
 nestly to pardon his temerity; professes the most 
 inviolable respect, and commits his fate to time, 
 patience, and pity. 
 
 This conduct in M. de Bois gives me real con- 
 cern, as I was disposed to think very well of him, 
 It will not, however, be difficult to discourage him : 
 and, therefore, I shall not acquaint madame Du- 
 val of his letter, as I have reason to believe it 
 would greatly displease her. 
 
 Evel 
 
 na in continuation. 
 July 3, 
 O sir, how much uneasiness must I suffer to 
 counterbalance one_ short morning of happiness ? 
 Yesterday the Branghton’s proposed a party to 
 Kensington Gardens ; and, as usual, madame Du- 
 val insisted upon my attendance, 
 
EVELINA, 301 
 
 We went in a hackney-coach to Piccadilly, and 
 then had a walk through Hyde Qark; which in 
 any other company would have been delightful, 
 I was sed with Kensington Gardens, 
 and thin finitely preferable to those of 
 Vauxhall. 
 
 Young Braughton was extremely troublesome, 
 he insisted upon walking by my side, and talked 
 with me almost by c yulsion ; however, my re- 
 serve and coldne svented his entering upon 
 the hateful subj me Duval had pre- 
 pared me to appreh ce, indeed, when I 
 was accidentally a few 
 suid, I suppose, mis 
 you know wha 
 ed from him without making any answer. 
 Mr. Smith, nor Mr. Brown e of 
 and poor M. du Bois, when he found t 
 ed him, looked so melancholy, that I 
 sorry for him. 
 
 While we were strolling round the garden I 
 perceived, walking with a party of ladies at some 
 distance, lord Orville. I instantly retreated be 
 hind miss Branghton, and kept out of sight til 
 we had passed him; for I dreaded being seen by 
 him ogain in a public walk, with a party of which 
 amed, 
 
 Happily I succeeded in my desig 
 more of him: fora sudden and vic yf 
 Yaia made us all hasten out of the garder We 
 ran till we came to a small green-shop, where we 
 begged shelter. Here we found ourselves in com- 
 pany with two footmen, whom the rain had driven 
 into the shop, Their livery I thought I had before 
 
 } 
 in 
 
 she, muss ? 
 
 jivas really 
 
 I was a 
 
 , and saw no 
 
 lent shower 
 
302 EVELINA, 
 seen; and, upon looking from the window, I per- 
 ceived the same upon a coachman belonging to & 
 carriage, which 1 immediately recollected to be 
 lord Orville’s. 
 
 Fearing to be known, I whispered miss Brangh- 
 ton not to speak my name. Had I considered but 
 amoment I should have been sensible of the inuti- 
 lity of such a caution, since not one of the party 
 eall me by other appellation than that of 
 cousin or of miss ; but L am perpetually involyed 
 me distress or dilemmafrom my own heedless- 
 
 in 
 
 ness. 
 
 This request excited very strongly her curiosity; 
 and she attacked me with such eagerness and 
 bluntness of inquiry, that I could not avoid telling 
 her the reason of my making it, and, consequently 
 that I was known to lord Orville, an acknowledge- 
 ment which proved the most unfortunate in the 
 world ; for she would not rest till she had drawn 
 from me the circumstances attending my first mak- 
 ing the acquaintance, Then, calling to her sister, 
 she said, Lord, Polly only think! Miss has danced 
 with a lord ! 
 
 Well, cried Polly, that’s a thing I should never 
 have thought of! And pray, miss, what did he 
 say to you ? 
 
 This question was much sooner asked than an- 
 swered ; and they both became so very inquisitive 
 and earnest, that they soon drew the attention of 
 madame Duval and the rest ofthe party; to whom 
 in a very short time, they repeated all they had 
 gathered from me. 
 
 Goodness, then, cried young Branghton, if l was 
 
EVELINA. 303 > 
 
 miss, if I would not make free with his lordship’s 
 | eoach to take me town. \ 
 ol Why, ay, said the father, there would be some 
 
 sense to that ; that would be making some use of 
 
 is a lord's acquaintance, for it would save us coach- 
 ‘ hire. 
 
 Lord, miss, cried 
 I should like of all thi 
 coach. 
 
 I promise you, 
 you've thought of 
 } 
 
 Polly, I wish you would; for 
 
 s to ride in a coronet- 
 
 lame Duval, I'm glad 
 or I don’t see no objection 1 
 —no let’s have the chman e¢alled. ; 
 
 Not forthe world, cried I, very much alarmed ; | 
 indeed it is uttterly impossible. 
 
 Why so? demanded. Mr. Branghton: pray 
 where's the good of your knowing a lord, if you’re 
 never the better for him ? 
 
 Ma foi, child, said Madame Duval, you don’t 
 know no more of the world than if you wasa baby. 
 Pray, sir (to one of the footmen,) tell that coach- 
 man to draw up, for | wants to speak to him, 
 
 The man stared, but did not move. _ Pray, pray, 
 madam, said I, pray, Mr. Branghton, have. the 
 goodness to give up this plan; I know but very 
 little of his lordship, and can’t, upon any account 
 takeso great a liberty. 
 
 Don't say nothing about it, said madame Duval, 
 for I shall have it ae own way ; so if you won't 
 eall the ¢ ll promise you I'll call him 
 myself, 
 
 The footman, ve ently, laughed and 
 turned upon his heel. Madame Duval, extremely 
 irritated, ran out in the rain, and beckoned the 
 coachman, who instantly obeyed her summons, 
 
 y imperti 
 
804 EVELINA, 
 
 Shocked beyond all expression, I flew after her, 
 and entreated her, with the utmost earnestness, to 
 let us return ina hackney-coach ;—but, oh! she 
 is impenetrable to persuasion! She told the man 
 she wanted him to carry her directly’to town, and 
 that she would answer for him to lord Orville, 
 The man, with a sneer, thanked her, but said he 
 should answer for himself ; and was driving off; 
 when another footman came up to him, with in- 
 formation that his lord was gone into Kensington 
 Palace, and would not want him for an hour or 
 two. 
 
 Why, then, friend, said Mr. Branghton (for we 
 were followed by all the party,) where will be the 
 great harm of your taking us to town ? ’ 
 
 Besides, said the son, 1’l] promise you a pot of 
 beer for my own share, , 
 
 These speeches had no other answer from the 
 coachman than a loud laugh, which was echoed by 
 the insolent footmen. I rejoiced at their resist- 
 ance; though 1 was certain that, if their lord had 
 witnessed theirimpertinence, they would haye been 
 instantly dismissed his service. 
 
 Pardi, cried madame Duval, if I don’t think all 
 the footmen are the most impndentest fellows in 
 the kingdom! But I'll promise you Ill have 
 your master told of your airs: so you'll get no good 
 by’em, 
 
 Why, pray, said the coachman, rather alarmed, 
 did my lord give you leave to use the coach ? 
 
 V’ts no matter for that, answered she 3; I’msure 
 if he’s a gentleman, he’d let us have it sooner than 
 we should be wet tothe skin; but 1°ll promise you 
 
KVELINA. 
 
 he shall. know how saucy you haye been, for this 
 young lady knows him well, 
 
 Ay, that. st aid miss Polly 
 danced with him too, 
 
 Oh, how I repented 
 The men bit thei s, and looked at one another 
 in some confusion... This was perceived by our 
 party; who, ta t it, protested they 
 would write to] e word of their ill beha- 
 viour without del: startled them ; 
 and one of run to the palace 
 and *s permission for our having: the 
 
 carriage, 
 
 and she’s 
 
 ny foolish mismanagement! 
 
 ly made me tremble, and the 
 
 ] rez 
 hung bac 
 to be dissu 
 
 [his propo 
 
 madame 
 
 Branghtons a 
 Duval is n 
 has once formed Do so,e 
 
 nents to your mé 
 
 k§ upon it; 
 
 d 
 
 1e she 
 
 as) we ha'n*t no coach here, we sh uld be 
 go-just as far as Holborn in his. 
 
 No,no, no, cried | ; dont go,—1 know nothing 
 of.his lordshit ] 
 thing to say to hi 
 
 The men very much perplexed, could with dif- 
 ficulty restrain themselves from resuming their 
 impertinent mirth. Madame Duval scolded me 
 very. angril i 
 
 ssage,—1] haye. no- 
 
 y, and then d hem to go direct- 
 
 n, what name is 
 
 Anville, 
 miss Anville wants 
 daneed with once. 
 Twas really in an 
 
a ay 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 not have been more deaf to me than those to 
 whom I pleaded! and therefore the footman, 
 urged by the repeated threats of madame Duval, 
 and perhaps recollecting the name himself, actually 
 went to the palace with this strange message ! 
 
 He returned in a few minutes; and bowing to 
 me with the greatest respect, said, My lord desires 
 his compliments, and his carriage will be always 
 at miss Anville’s service, 
 
 I was so much affected by his politeness, and 
 chagrined at the whole affair, that I could scarce 
 refrain from tears. Madame Duval and the miss 
 Branghtons eagerly jumped iato the coach, and 
 | -d me to follow. I would rather have snb- 
 mitted to the severest punishment ; but all resist- 
 ance was vain. 
 
 During the whole e I said not a word: how: 
 ever, the rest of the party were so talkative, that 
 my silence wasevery immaterial. We stopped at 
 our lodgings; but, when Madame Duval and I 
 alighted, the Branghto asked if they could not 
 be carried on to Snow Hill? The servants, now 
 all civility, made no objection. Remonstrances 
 from me, I knew, would be fruitless; and there 
 fore, with a heavy heart, I retired to my room, 
 and left them to their own direction. 
 
 Seldom have I passed a night in greater uneasi- 
 ness—So lately to have cleared myself in the good 
 opinion of Lord Orville,—so soon to forfeit it!— 
 to give him reason to suppose I prosumed to boast 
 of his acquaintance!—to publish bis having danc- 
 ed with me!—to take with him a liberty | should 
 have blushed to have taken with the most intimate 
 of my friends!—to treat with such impertinent 
 
EVELINA. 307 
 
 freedom one who has honoured me with such dis- 
 tinguished respect!—Indeed, sir, I could have 
 met with no accident that would have so cruelly 
 tormented me! a 
 
 If such were then, my feelings, imagine,—for 
 I cannot describe,—what I suffered during the 
 scene I am now going to write, H 
 
 This morning, while I was alone in the dining 
 room, young Br ton called. He entered with 
 a most impc ir; and, strutting up to me, 
 said, ‘Miss, lord ville sends his compliments 
 to you.’ 
 
 Lord Orville! repeated I, much amazed. 
 
 Yes, Miss, lord Orville: for I know his lordship 
 now, as well as you.—Anda very civil gentleman 
 he is, for all he’s a lord. . 
 
 For Heaven's sake, cried I, e ain yourself! 
 
 Why, you must know miss, after we left you, 
 we met with a little misfortuae; but I dont mind 
 it now, for it’s all turned out for the best: but 
 just as we were 4 going up Snow Hill, plump he 
 comes against a cart, with such ajog it almost 
 pulled the coach wheel off. However that is'nt 
 the worst; for, as 1 went to open the door in a 
 hurry, a-thinking the coach would be broken 
 down, as ill luck would hare it, I never minded 
 that the glass was up, and so I poked my head 
 
 fairly through it—Only see, miss, how I’ve cut 
 
 7 
 
 my forehead! 
 
 A much worse accident to himself would not, I 
 believe, at that moment have given me any con- 
 cern for him: however, he proceeded with his ac- 
 count for I was too much confuonded to interrupt 
 
 him, 
 
 on 
 
 GOOLE, 
 
 Sette 
 
 cep et attnatk 
 
 EPPS 
 
308 EVELINA. 
 
 Goodness, miss, we were in such a stew, us, 
 and the servants, and all, as you can't think; for, 
 besides the ng broke, the eoachman said 
 how the coacl nt be safe to go back to Ken- 
 sington. So v *nt know what to do; however 
 the footr yd go and tell his lordship 
 what had So then father grew quite 
 uneasy ar of his lordship’s taking 
 offence g usin our business; so he 
 said I uld go this morning and ask his pardon, 
 cause of haying broke the So then I asked 
 the footman the direction, and they told me he 
 lived in Berkeley- so this morning I went, 
 and I soon found out t ; 
 You did! cried I, quite out of breath with ap- 
 prehension. 
 
 Yes, mis 
 you ever see i 
 
 No. 
 
 No! why then, miss, 1 know more of his lord- 
 ship than you do, for all you knew him first. So 
 when 1 came to r, 1 was in a peck of trou- 
 bles, a thinking what I should say to him! how- 
 ad no mind 1 should see him ; 
 ey told me he was busy, b 1 might leave 
 
 was } ig away, when 
 
 ee 
 nou 
 
 and a very fine house it is.—Did 
 
 my 
 T bethought 
 From me! 
 Yes, miss, for } 
 such a long walk 
 to the po 
 
 essage. 
 
 ne trom you. 
 
 ry why should 1 have 
 2 So ls 
 
 for nothing 
 
 he 
 ter, says 1, Tell his lordship, says I, 
 one wants to speak to him as comes from one mi 
 Anville, says I. 
 
EVELINA. 309 
 
 Good God, eried I, and by what anthority did 
 you take this liberty? 
 
 Goodness, miss, don’t be in such a hurry, for 
 you'll be as glad as me when you hear how well it 
 ali turned out. So then they made way for me, 
 and said his lordship would see me directly: and 
 there I. was led through such a heap of servants, 
 and so many rooms, that my heart quite misgave 
 me; for I thought, thinks I, he’ll be so proud 
 he'll hardly let me speak; but he’s no more proud 
 than I am, and he’s as civil as if 1’d been a lord 
 myself. So then I said, [ hoped he wouldn’t 
 take it amiss about the glass, for it was quite an 
 accident; but he bid me not mention it, for it 
 did not signify. And then he said he hoped you 
 got safe home, and was’nt frightened: and so I 
 said yes, and | gave your duty to him. 
 
 My duty to him! exclaimed I,—and who gave 
 you leave ?—who desired you? 
 
 O, L did it out of my own head, just to make 
 him think I came from you. But I should have 
 told you before, how the footman said he was go- 
 ing out of town to-morrow evening, and that his 
 sister was soon to be married, and that he was 
 ordering a heap of things for that: and so itcame 
 into my head, as he was 80 affable, that I’d ask 
 him for his custom. So I says, says [, if your 
 lordship is’nt engaged particularly, my father is a 
 silversmith, and he*ll be very proud to serve you, 
 says I, and miss Afville as danced with you is his 
 cousin, and she’s my Cousin too, and she’d be 
 very much obligated to you, I’m sure. 
 
 You will drive me. wild, cried I, starting from 
 my seat, you have done me an irreparable injury 
 
Sa 
 
 Si ae 
 
 sioki 
 
 816 EVELINA. 
 
 but IT will hear no more! and then I ran into my 
 own room. 
 
 I was half frantic; I really raved: the good opi- 
 nion of lord Orville seemed now irretrievably lost: 
 a faint hope, which in the morning I had vainly 
 encouraged, that I might see him again, and ex- 
 plain the transaction, wholly vanished, now I 
 found he was so soon to leaye the town; and L 
 could not but conclude, that, for the rest of my 
 life, he would regard me as an object of utter con- 
 tempt. 
 
 This very idea was a dagger to my heart !—I 
 could not support it, and—but I blush to proceed 
 —I fear your disapprobation; yet I should not be 
 conscious of having merited it, but that the repug- 
 nance I feel to relate to you what I have done, 
 makes me suspect I must have erred. Will you 
 forgive me if 1 own that I first wrote an account 
 of this transaction to Miss Mirvan!—and that I 
 even thought of concealing it from you ?—Short- 
 lived however, was the ungrateful idea, and sooner 
 will I risk the justice of your displeasure, than un~ 
 worthily betray your generous confidence. 
 
 You are now probably prepared for what fol- 
 lows—which is a letter—a hasty letter, that, in 
 the height of agitation, I wrote to lord Orville, 
 
 "My lord, 
 
 Tam so infinitely ashamed of the application 
 made yesterday for your lordship’s carriage in my 
 name, and so greatly shocked at hearing how 
 much it was injured, that I cannot forbear writ- 
 ing a few lines, to clear myself from the imputa- 
 tion of an impertinence which I blush to be sus- 
 
EVELINA, Bll 
 
 pected of, and to acquaint you, that the request 
 
 | 
 f for your carriage was made against my consent, 
 : and the visit with which you were importuned 
 Ota ih this morning, without my knowledge. 
 
 Iam inexpressibly concerned at having been 
 {- the instrument, however innocently, of so much 
 Wee trouble to your lordship ; but I beg you to be- 
 Wo} ) lieve that the reading these lines is the only part 
 t] ; of it which I have given voluntarily. Iam, my 
 we it lor 
 
 Your lordship’s most humble servant, 
 
 J EVELINA ANVILLE. 
 I applied to the maid of the house to get this 
 
 e note conveyed to Berkeley square; but searce had 
 eit T parted with it, before ] regretted having written 
 | at all: and I was flying down stairs to recover it, 
 ia : when the voice of sir Clement Willoughby stop- 
 a ped me. As madame Duval had ordcred we 
 a should be denied to him, 1 was obliged to return 
 + i up stairs ; and after he was gone, my application 
 et . was too late, as the maid servant had given it to 
 ns i a porter. 
 
 f My time did not pass very serenely while he 
 
 ] was gone; however, he brought me an_ answer, 
 
 : but that lord Orville was not at home. Whether 
 or fot he will take the trouble to send any,—or 
 whether he will eondescend to call, or whether 
 the affair willro . as it is, I know not ;—but, in 
 being ignorant, am most cruelly anxious, 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 July 4th. 
 You may now, my dear sir, send Mrs, Clinton for 
 
=> 
 ¥ 
 
 A) Gal 
 
 fe 
 
 He bis 312 TAS 
 
 Ni 
 
 ‘adn ; 
 
 your Evelina with as much speed as you can Gone I 
 veniently make the journey, for no farther oppo b 
 sition will be made for her leaving this town ; t 
 happy had it perhaps been for her had she never Y 
 entered it. 
 
 This mor ame Duval desired me to go 
 to Snow-hill with an invitation to the Branghtons 
 and nd the evening with her; 
 and esired M. du Bois, who breakfasted with t 
 ¢ yany me. Lf was very unwilling ‘to 1 
 r, as I neither wished to walk with M. du 
 
 Smith to 
 
 ‘ Bois, or to meet young Brangliton. And, in- i 
 deed, another, a yet more powerful reason added 
 
 to my relnetance ;—for I thou it possible that a 
 lord Orville might send some answer, or perhaps 
 might eali during my absence: however I did not 
 dare to dispute her commands, 
 
 The first intelligence I received when I came 
 dy home was, that two gentlemen had called, and 
 left cards. 4 I eagerly inquired for them, and read i 
 the names of lord Orville and sir Clement Wil- t 
 I by no means regretted that I missed a} i 
 ter, but perhaps I may all my life hi x 
 issed the former; for probably he 
 has now left town,—and I may see him no more! 
 
 My goodness! cried young Bra ton, rudely 
 looking over me, only think of that lord’s coming 
 all this way! It’s my belief he’d got some order 
 ready for father, and so he’d a mind to eall and 
 ask you if I’d told him the truth. 
 
 Pray Betty, cried I, how long has he been 
 gone? 
 
 Not two minutes, ma’am. 
 
 Why, then, I'll lay you any wager, said young 
 
 loughby. 
 
 ng the lat 
 
 regret that I wr 
 
 t 
 f 
 
EVELINA, 
 Branghton, he saw you and I a-walking up Hol- 
 born Hill. 
 
 God forbid! cried I, impatiently; and, too 
 much chagtined to bear with any. more of his 
 remarks, I ran up stairs; but I heard him say to 
 M. du Bois, miss is so uppish this morning, that I 
 think I had better not speak to her again. 
 
 I wish M. du Bois had taken the same resolu~ 
 tion; but he choose to follow me into the dining- 
 room, which he found empty. 
 pas ce garcon, mademot- 
 
 Voise ne Vaimez done 
 selle / evied he. 
 
 Me! eried 1, no, 1 detest him! for I was sick 
 at heart. 
 
 Ah tu me vends la vie fF eried he; and flinging 
 himself at my feet, he had just caught my hand 
 as the door was opened by madame Duyal. 
 
 Hastily, and with marks of guilty confusion in 
 his face, he rose; but the rage of that lady quite 
 amazed me! Advanemg to the retreating M. du 
 Bois, she began, in French, an attack, which her 
 extreme wrath and wonderful volubility almost 
 rendered unintelligible:. yet I rstood but 
 too much, since her reproaches conyineed me she 
 had herself proposed being the object off his af- 
 fection. . 
 
 He defended himself in a weak and evasive 
 very readily withdrew: and then, with 
 yet greater violence, she upbraided me with hay- 
 ing seduced his heart, called me an ungrateful, 
 designing girl, and protested she would neither 
 take me to Paris, nor any more interest herself in 
 my affairs, unless I w ould instantly agree to mar- 
 ry young Branghton. 
 
 manner 5 
 
314 BVELINA. 
 . 
 
 Frightened as I had been at her yehemence 
 this proposal restored all my courage; and T 
 frankly told her, that in this point 1 never could 
 obey her. More irritated than ever, she ordered 
 me to quit the room. 
 
 Such is the present situation of affairs, 1 shall 
 excuse myself from seeing the Branghtons this af- 
 ternoon : indeed, I never wish to see them again, 
 J am sorry, however innocently, that I have dis- 
 pleased madame Duyal ; yet 1 shall be very glad 
 to quit this town, for I believe it does not now 
 contain one person I ever wish to meet again. 
 Had I but seen lord Orville, I should regret no- 
 thing ; I could then have more fully explained 
 what I so hastily wrote; yet it will always be a 
 pleasure to me to recollect that he called, since I 
 flatter myself it was in consequence of his being 
 satisfied with my letter. 
 
 Adieu, my dear sir; the time now approaches 
 when I hope once more to receive your blessing, 
 and to owe all my joy, all my happiness, to your 
 kindness, 
 
 Mr. Villars to Evelina. 
 Berry Hill, July 7. 
 WeLcome, thrice weleome, my darling Evelina, to 
 the tarms of the truest, the fondest of your friends! 
 Mrs. Clinton, who shall hasten to you with these 
 lines, will conduct you directly hither ; for I can 
 consent no longer to be parted from the ebild of 
 my bosom !—the comfort of my age !——the sweet 
 solace ofall myinfirmities! Your worthy friends 
 at Howard Grove must pardon me that I rob them 
 
EVELINA, 815 
 
 of the visit you proposed to make them before 
 your return to Berry Hill, for I find my fortitude 
 unequal to a longer separation. 
 ed I have much to say to you, many comments to 
 make upon your late letter,” some parts of which 
 give me no little uneasiness: but I will reserve my { 
 remarks for our fature conversation. Hasten, then N 
 to the spot of thy nativity, the abode of thy youth, 
 where yet never care or sorrow had power to an- 
 noy thee. O that they might ever be banished 
 this peaceful dwelling. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest Evelina! I pray but that { 
 \ thy satisfaction at our approaching meeting may 
 d bear any comparison with me ! 
 ARTHUR VILLARS, 
 
 — 
 
 Evelina to Miss Mirvan. 
 
 3erry Hill, July 14, 
 
 My sweet Maria will be much surprised, when, in- 
 stead of her friend, she receives this letter ;—this 
 cold, this inanimate letter, which will but ill ex- 
 press the feelings of the heart which indites it. 
 When I wrote to you last Friday, I was in 
 hourly expectation of seeing Mrs. Clinton, with 
 » whom I intended to have set out for Howard 
 Grove. Mrs. Clinton came , but my plan was ne- 
 cessarily altered, for she brought me a letter,— 
 the sweetest that ever was penned, from the best 
 and kindest friend that ever orphan was blessed ; 
 with.—requiring my immediate attendance at 
 
 Berry Hill. 
 I obeyed— and pardon me if I own I obeyed 
 
 ur 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 without reluctance, after so long a separation : 
 should I not else have been the most ungrateful 
 of mortals ?—And yet,—oh, Maria? though I 
 wished to leave London, the gratification of my 
 wish aff d me no happiness! and though I felt 
 an impatience inexpressible to return. hither, no 
 words, no language, can explain the heaviness of 
 heart which which I made the journey. 1 believe 
 you would hardly have known me:—indeed, I 
 hardly know myself. Perhaps, had I first seen 
 you, in your kind and sympathizing bosom I might 
 have ventured to have reposed every secret of my 
 soul ;—and then—but let me pursue my journey, 
 
 Mrs, Clinton delivered madame Duval a letter 
 from Mr. Villars, which requested her leave for 
 my return; and, indeed, it was very readily ac- 
 corded ; yet, when she found, by my willingness 
 to quit town, that M. du Bois was really indiffer- 
 ent to me, she somewhat softened in my favour; 
 and declared, that, but for punishing his folly in 
 thinking of such a child, she would not have con- 
 sented to being again buried in the country. 
 
 All the Branghtons called to take leave of me: 
 but I will not write a word more about them: in- 
 deed I cannot with any patience think of that 
 family, to whose forwardness and impertinence 
 is owing all the uneasiness I at this moment 
 suffer ! 
 
 So great was the depression of my spirits upon 
 the: read, that it was with difficulty 1 could per- 
 suade the worthy Mrs. Clinton I was not ill; but 
 alas! the situation of my mind was such as would 
 have rendered any more bodily pain, by comparison, 
 eyen enviable ! 
 
EVELINA, 317 
 
 And yet, when we arrived at Berry Hill,—when 
 the chaise stopped at this place,—how did my 
 heart throb with joy ‘—and when, through the 
 window, | beheld the dearest, the most venerable 
 of men, with uplifted b ands, returning, as 1 doubt 
 rival,—good God! I 
 
 not. thanks for my safe 
 thought it would have burst my bosom !—TI open- 
 ed the chaise door myself: I few,—for my feet 
 did not seem to touch the ground,—into the par- 
 44 me: but the moment 
 i r, uttering with 
 i with delight, 
 
 our; he had risen to me 
 
 My God, I the 
 {sprung forward; and, with a pleasure that 
 bordered upon agony, I embraced his knees, I 
 
 kissed his hands, I wept over them, but could not 
 speak : while he, now raising his eyes in thank- 
 bowing down his 
 
 fulness towards heaven, now 
 and folding me in his arms, could 
 
 reverend head, 
 ssings with which his kind 
 
 searce articulate the ble 
 and benevolent heart overflowed, 
 
 O, miss Mirvan, to be 80 loved by the best of 
 men,—should | not be happy ?—Shoald I have no 
 wish save that of meriting his goodness?—Y et 
 think me not ungrateful: indeed I am not, al- 
 though the internal sadness of my mind unfits 
 me; at present, for enjoying as I ought the boun- 
 ties of Providence. 
 
 T cannot journalize, cannot arrange my ideas 
 into order. 
 
 How little h 
 Jvhad flattered 1 
 Berry Hill, I shou 
 
 as situation to do with: happiness! 
 nyself, that, when restored to 
 id be restored to tranquillity : 
 
318 EVELINA, 
 
 far otherwise have I found it, for never yet had 
 tranquillity and Evelina so little intercourse, 
 
 T blush for what I have written. Can you, Ma- 
 ria, forgive my gravity ? But I restrain it so much 
 and so painfully in the presence of Mr. Villars, 
 that I know not how to deny myself the conso- 
 lation of indulging it to you. 
 
 Adieu my deur miss Mirvan. 
 
 Yet one thing I must add: do not let the 
 seriousness of this letter deceive you ; do not im- 
 pute to a wrong cause the melancholy I confess, 
 by supposing that the heart of your friend mourns 
 a too great susceptibility; no, ‘indeed! believe 
 me it never was, wever can be, more assuredly her 
 own than at this moment. So witness in all 
 truth, 
 
 Your affectionate 
 EVELINA, 
 
 You will make my excuse to the honoured lady 
 
 Howard, and to your dear mother. 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 
 Berry Hill, July 28, 
 You accuse me of mystery, and charge me with 
 reserve: I eannotdoubt but I must have merited 
 the accusation ; yet, to ‘clear myselfi—you know 
 not how painful will be thetask. But I cannot 
 resist your kind entreaties;—Indeed I do not 
 wish to resist them ; for your friendship and affee- 
 tion will soothe my chagrin. Had it arisen from 
 any other cause, not a moment would I have de- 
 ferred the communication you ask ;—but as it is, 
 I would, were it possible, not only conceal it from 
 
EVELINAs 319 
 
 all the world, but endeavour to disbelieve it my- 
 self. Yetsince I must tell you, why trifie with 
 your impatience ? 
 
 I know not how to come to the point ; twenty 
 times have I attempted it in vain—but I will force 
 myself to proceed. 
 
 Oh, Miss Mirvan, could you ever have believed 
 that one who seemed formed as a pattern for his 
 fellow creatures,as a model of perfection,—one 
 whose elegance surpassed all description,—whose 
 sweetness of manners disgraced all comparison ;— 
 ob, Miss Mirvan, could you ever have believed that 
 lord Orville would have treated me with indignity? 
 
 Never, never again will I trust to appearances 5 
 —never confide in my own weak judgement ;— 
 never believe that a person to be good seems to be 
 amiable! What cruel maxims are we taught by 
 a knowledge ofthe world!—But while my own 
 reflections absorb me, I forget you are still in sus- 
 
 | pense. 
 
 I had just finished the last letter which I wrote 
 to you from London, when the maid of the house 
 brought me a note. It was given to her, she said, 
 by a footman, who told her he would call the next 
 day for an answer, 
 
 This note,—bnt let it speak for itself. 
 
 To Miss Anville. 
 With transport, most charming of thy sex, did 
 I read the letter with which you yesterday morn- 
 ing favoured me. I am sorry the affair of the 
 carriage should have given you any concern, but 
 J am highly flattered by the anxiety you express 
 so kindly. Believe me, my lovely girl, Jam truly 
 
| 
 
 i 
 
 320 EVELINA. 
 
 sensible ofthe honour of your good. opinion, and 
 feel myself deeply penetrated with love and grati- 
 tude, The correspondence you haye 80 sweetly 
 commenced, I shall be proud of continuing; and 
 1 hope the strong sense | have of the favour you 
 do me your withdrawing it. Assure 
 yourself, that I desire nothing more ardently than 
 to pour forth at your feet, and to offer those vows 
 which are so justly. the tribute of your charms and 
 accomplishments, In your next, I entreat you to 
 acquaint me how long you shall remain in town. 
 The servant. whom | shall commission to eall for 
 an answer, has orders to e post with it to me. 
 My impatience for his arrival will be very great, 
 though inferior to that with which I burn to tell 
 you, in person, how much I am, my sweet girl, 
 your grateful admirer, 
 
 ORVILLE. 
 
 Whata letter! how was my proud heart swelled 
 every line | have copied! What I wrote to him 
 you know; tell me, then, my dear friend, do you 
 think it merited such answer ?—and that 1 have 
 deservedly incurred the libert he has taken? I 
 meant nothing but a simple apology, which I 
 thought as much due to my own character as to 
 
 46 
 his; yet, by the construction he seems to have put 
 upon it, should you not have imagined it contain- 
 ed the avowal of sentiments which might, indeed, 
 haye provoked his contempt? 
 
 The moment the letter was delivered to me, ] 
 retired to my own room to read its and so eager 
 was my first.perusal, that—I am ashamed to own, 
 it yave me no sensation but of delight. _Unsus- 
 picious of any impropriety from lord Orville, 1 
 
VEBINA. 32% 
 
 pereeived not immediately the impertinence it 
 implied,—I only marked the expressions of his 
 own regard, and I was so much surprised, that I 
 was unable for some time to compose myself, or 
 read it again :—I could only w alk up and down 
 the room, repeating to myself, Good God, is it 
 possible ?—am I then loved by lord Orville ? 
 
 3ut this dream was soon over, and I awoke to 
 far different feelings. Upon a second reading I 
 thought every word changed,—it did not seem the 
 game letter,—I could not find one sentence that 
 I could look at without blushing :—my astonish- 
 ment was extreme, and it was succeeded by the 
 
 utmost indignation. 
 
 If, as I am very ready to acknowledge, I erred 
 in writing to lord Orville, was it for him to punish 
 the error? If he was offended, could he not have 
 heen silent? If he thought my letter ill-judged, 
 should he not have pitied my ignorance—haye con- 
 sidered my youth, and allowed for my inexperi- 
 
 ence, 
 
 Oh, Maria! how have I been deceived in this 
 man! Words have no power to tell the high opi- 
 nion I had of him; to that was owing the unfor- 
 tunate solicitude which prompted my writing 5 2 
 solicitude I must for ever repent! 
 
 Yet perbaps I have rather reason to rejoice 
 than to grieve, since this affair has shewn me his 
 real disposition, and removed that partiality which 
 eovering his every imperfection, left only his vir- 
 tues and good qualities exposed to view. Had 
 the deception continued much longer, had my 
 mind reeeived any additional prejudice in his fa- 
 x 
 
 1 
 
322 EVELINA, 
 
 your, who knows whither my mistaken ideas might 
 have led me? Indeed I fear I was in greater dan- 
 ger than I apprehended, or can now think of 
 without trembling ;—for, oh, if this weak heart 
 of mine had been penetrated with too deep an 
 impression of his merit,—my peace and happiness 
 had been lost for ever. 
 
 T would fain encourage more cheerful thoughts, 
 fain drive from my mind the melancholy that has 
 taken possession of it; but I cannot succeed: for; 
 added to the humiliating feelings which so power- 
 fully oppressme, I have yet another cause of con- 
 cern :—alas, my dear Maria, | have broken the 
 tranquillity of the best of men! 
 
 I have never had the courage to show him this 
 eruel letter; I could not bear so greatly to de- 
 preciate in his opinion one whom 1 had with in- 
 finite anxiety raised in it myself. Indeed, my first 
 determination was to confine my chagrin totally 
 to my own bosom; but your friendly inquiries 
 have drawn it from me; and now I wish I had 
 made no coneealment from the beginning, since I 
 know not how to account fora gravity, which not 
 all my endeavours can hide or repress. 
 
 My greatest apprehen is, lest he should im- 
 agine that my residence in London has given me 
 & distaste to the country, Every body I see takes 
 notice of my being altered, and looking pale and 
 ill. I should be very indifferent to all such ob- 
 servations did I not perceive that they drew upon ; 
 me the eyes of Mr. Villars, which glistened with |) 
 affectionate concern, s 
 
 This morning, in speaking of my London ex-~ 
 pedition, he mentioned lord Orville, J felt so 
 
EVELINA, 3238 
 
 much disturbed, that I should instantly have 
 changed the subject; but he would not allow me, 
 and, very unexpectedly, he began his panegyric, 
 rt extolling in strong terms his manly and honoure- 
 able behaviour in regard to the Marylebone ad- 
 My cheeks glowed with indignation 
 every word he spoke ;—so lately as I had myself 
 fancied him the noblest of his séx, now that I was 
 so well convinced of my mistake, I could not bear 
 to hear his undeserved praises uttered by one so 
 pected, so pure of heart. 
 
 venture. 
 
 ¢! really good, so unsus 
 0 What he thought of my silence and uneasiness 
 the { fear to know; but I hope he will mention the 
 
 subject no more. J will not, however, with un- 
 ive way to a sadness which I 
 
 this grateful indolence, g 
 find infectious co him who merits the most cheer- 
 ful exertion of my spirits. Tam thankful that he 
 has forborne to probe my wound: and I will en- 
 ial déavour to he 1 it by the consciousness that 1 
 have not deserved the indignity I have received. 
 Yet I cannot but ent to find myself in @ 
 world so deceitful, where we must suspect what 
 distrust what we hear, and doubt even 
 
 we see, 
 what I feel! 
 
 ‘ Evelina in continuation. 
 
 “ad Berry Hill, July 26. 
 TI Musr own myself somewhat distressed how to 
 answer your raillery ; yet believe me, my dear 
 Maria, your suggestions are those of fancy, not of 
 “1 am unconscious of the weakness you 
 
 1 your doubts, I will ani- 
 
 troth. If 
 suspect: yet, to dispe 
 
324 EVELINA: 
 
 } 
 mate myself more than ever to conquer my ehas. | yi 
 grin, and to recover my spirits. hin 
 
 You wonder, you say, since my heart takes no. wou 
 part in this affair, why it should make me so un him 
 happy. And can you, acquainted as youare with [4 
 the high opinion I entertained of lord Oryille,—= pre 
 
 can you wonder that so great a disappointment in 
 his character should affect me? Indeed, had so 
 strange a letter been sent to me from any body, 
 it could pot have failed shocking me: how much 
 more sensibly then must I feel such an affront, 
 when received from the only man in the world [ 
 had imagined least capable of giving it! 
 
 You are glad I made no reply: assure yourself, 
 my dear friend, had this letter been the most re« 
 spectful that could be written, the clandestine air 
 given to it, by his proposal of sending his servant 
 for my answer, instead of haying it directed to his 
 house, would have effectually prevented my writ- 
 ing. Indeed, I have an aversion the most sincere i 
 
 to all mysteries, all private actions; however fool- th 
 ishly and blameable; in regard to this letter, I te 
 have deviated from the open path which from my ti 
 earliest infancy, I was taught to tread. bie 
 
 He talks of my having commenced a correspon- aH 
 dence with him: and could lord Orville indeed re 
 believe I had such a design? believe me so for Y 
 ward, so bold, so strangely ridiculous? I know bf 
 notit his man called or not; but | rejoice-that I } 
 quitted London before he came, and without leay- i 
 
 ing any message for him. What, indeed, could I 
 have said? it would have been a condescension 
 
 Yery unmerited to have taken apy the least notice |) 
 of such a letter, 
 
EVESINA, 325 
 
 Never sball I cease to wonder how he could 
 write it. Oh, Maria! what, what could induce 
 him so causelessly to wound and affront one who 
 would sooner have died than wilfully offended 
 him ?— How mortify a freedom of style! how cruel 
 an implication conveyed by his thanks and ex- 
 pressions of gratitude! Is it not astonishing that 
 any man can appear so modest, who is so yain ? 
 
 Every hour I regret the secresy I have observed 
 with my beloved Mr. Villars; I know not what 
 bewitched me, but I felt at first a repugnance to 
 publishing this affair that I could not surmount 5 
 —and now I am ashamed of confessing that I 
 have any thing to confess! Yet I deserve to be 
 punished for the false delicacy which occasioned 
 my silence, since, if lord Orville himself was con- 
 tented to forfeit his character, was it for me, al- 
 most at the expense of my own to support it! 
 
 Yet I believe I should be very easy, now the 
 first shock is over, and now that I see the whole 
 affair with the resentment it merits, did not all my 
 good friends in the neighbourhood, who think me 
 extremely altered, teaze me about my gravity, and 
 torment Mr. Villars with observations upon my 
 ejection and falling away. The subject is no 
 sooner started than a deep gloom overspreads his 
 venerable countenance, and he looks at me with 
 a tenderness so melancholy, that I know not how 
 to endure the consciousness of exciting it. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn, a lady of large fortune, who lives 
 about three miles from Berry Hill, and who has 
 always honoured me with very distinguishing 
 niarks of regard, is going in a short time to Bris- 
 
 \"% and has proposed to Mr, V illars to take with 
 \ 
 
326 EVELINA, 
 
 her for the recovery of my health. He seemed g 
 yery much distressed whether to consent or re- * 
 fuse; but I, without any hesitation, warmly op- 
 
 posed the scheme, protesting my health could no- 
 
 where be better than in this pure air. He had a 
 the goodness to thank me for this readiness to stay ' 
 with him; but he is all goodness! O that it were > 
 in my power to be indeed what, in the kindness F 
 
 of his heart, he has called me, the comfort of his J). 
 age, and solaee of his infirmities ! 
 Never doI wish to be again separated from he 
 him, If here I am graye, elsewhere I should be 
 unhappy. In his presence, with a very little ex- 
 ertion, all the cheerfulness of my disposition seems 
 ready to return; the benevolence of his counten- 
 ance reanimates, the harmony of his temper com- 
 poses, the purity of his character edifies me! I 
 owe to him every thing! and far from finding my 
 debt of gratitude a weight, the first pride, the 
 first pleasure of my life, is the recollection of the 
 obligations conferred upon me by & goodness soy 
 unequalled. : 
 Once, indeed, I thought there existed another,” | 
 —who, when time had wintered o’er his locks, 
 would have shone forth among his fellow-crea- 
 tures with the same brightness of worth which 
 dignifies my honoured Mr, Villars, a brightness, 
 how superior in value to that which results from [/ 
 mere quickness of parts, wit, or imagination! af) 
 brightness, which not contented with merely dif-/ | 
 fusing smiles, and gaining admiration from the | 
 sallies of the spirits, reflects a real and a glorious 
 Tustre upon all mankind! Oh, how great was my 
 
RVELINAs 327 
 
 error! how ill did I judge, how cruelly haye I 
 been deceived ! 
 
 l will not go to Bristol, though Mrs. Selwyn is 
 vily urgent with me; but I desire not to see any 
 more of the word! the few months I have already 
 passed in it have sufficed to give mea disgust even 
 to its name. 
 
 I hope, too, I shall see Lord Orville no more : 
 accustomed, from my knowledge of him to regard 
 him as a being superior to his race, his presence, 
 perhaps, might ban my resentment, and I might 
 forget his ill conduc for oh, Maria !—I should 
 not know bp to see lord Orville—and to think 
 
 of his displ easure ! 
 Asa sister I loved bim ;--I ¢ uld have intrust- 
 rt, had he 
 
 y did I 
 
 and so 
 
 y he 
 
 ed him with every thought of 
 deigned to wish my confidence; so stead 
 think his honour, so feminine his delicacy, 
 amiable his nature! I havea thousand times 1ma- 
 is life, and whole 
 
 gined that the whole study of | 
 purport of his reflections, tended sole ly to the good 
 
 talk—write,— 
 
 and happiness of ‘others ; but Iw 
 
 think of him no more. 
 Adieu, my dear friend !— 
 
 elina in Continuation 
 
 Berry Hill, August lI, 
 You compl: 1in of my silence, my dear Miss Mir- 
 yan :—but what have I to write? Narrative does 
 not offer, nor does a lively im: ngination supply the 
 deficiency. I have, however, at present sufficient 
 matter for a/letter, in relating a conversation I 
 had with Mr. Villars yesterday. 
 
328 EVELINA. 
 
 Our breakfast had been the most cheerful we 
 have had since my return hither : and when it was 
 over, he did not, as usual, retire to his study, but 
 continued to converse with me while I work 
 We might, probably, have passed all the morning 
 thus sociably, but for the entrance ofa farmer, 
 who came to solicit advice concerning some do- 
 mestic affairs, They withdrew together into the 
 study. 
 
 The moment I was alone my spirits failed me : 
 the exertion with which I had supported them 
 had fatigued my mind; I flung away my work, 
 and leaning my arms on the table, gave way to a 
 train of disagreeable reflections, which, bursting 
 from the restraint that had smothered them, filled 
 me with unusual sadness, 
 
 This was my situation, when, looking towards 
 the door, which was open, I perceived Mr. Tillars, 
 who was earnestly regarding me. Is farmer Smith 
 gone, sir ?—cried I, hastily rising, and snatching 
 up my work, 
 
 Don't let me disturb yon, said he gravely; I 
 will go again to my study, 
 
 Will you, sir >I was in hones you were coming 
 to sit here, 
 
 In hopes!—and why, Evelina, should you hope 
 at? 
 
 This question was so unexpected, that I knew 
 not how to answer it; but as I saw he was mov- 
 ing away, I followed, ‘and begged him to return, 
 No, my dear, no, said he, with forced smile, I only 
 interrupt your meditations. 
 
 Again I knew not what to say; and while I he- 
 sitated, he retired, My heart was with him, but 
 
EVELINA: 328 
 
 T had not the courage to follow. The idea of an 
 explanation, brought on in so serious a manner, 
 frightened me. I recollected the inference you 
 had drawn from my uneasiness, and I feared that 
 he might might make a similar interpretation. 
 Solitary and thoughtful, I passed the rest of the 
 morning in my own room. At dinner I again at- 
 tempted to be cheerful ; but Mr, Villars himself 
 was grave, and I had not sufficient spirits to sup- 
 port a conversation merely by my own efforts. As 
 soon as dinner was over, he took a book, and I 
 walked to the window. I believe I remained near 
 an hour in this situation. All my thoughts were 
 directed to considering how I might dispel the 
 doubts which I apprehend Mr. Villars had formed, 
 out acknowledginga circumstance which Thad 
 
 witl 
 suffered so mueh pain merely to ce neeal, But 
 while I was thus planning for the future, I for- 
 got the pre ent; and so intent was I upon the 
 subject which oceupied me, that the strange ap- 
 searance of my unusual inactivity and extreme 
 thoughtfulness never oceurred tome. But when, 
 at Jast, 1 recollected myself and turned round, I 
 saw that Mr. Villars, who had parted with his 
 book, was wholly engrossed in attending to me, I 
 started from my reverie, and, hardly knowing what 
 I said, asked if he had been reading. 
 
 He paused for a moment, and then replied, Yes 
 hild ; a book that both afflicts and perplexes 
 
 my c 
 me. 
 He means me, thought I ; and therefore I made 
 no answer. 
 What if we read it together? continued he; 
 will you assist mo to clear its obseurity, 
 
gs 
 Po 
 
 EVELINA. 
 
 I knew not what to say; but I sighed inyolun- 
 tarily from the bottom of my heart. He rose, and 
 approaching me, said, with emotion, my child, I 
 can no longer be a silent witness of thy sorrow ; 
 —is not thy sorrow my sorrow ?—and ought I to 
 bea stranger to the cause when I so deeply sym- 
 pathise in the effect ? 
 
 Cause, sir! cried I, greatly alarmed, what cause? 
 —I don’t know,—I can’t tell—J— 
 
 Fear not, said he kindly, to unbosom thyself 
 to me, my dearest Evelina ; open tome thy whole 
 heart,—it can have no feelings for which T will 
 not make allowance, Tell me, therefore, what it 
 is that thus afficts us both ; and who knows but 
 I may suggest some means for relief ? 
 
 You are too, too good, cried I, greatly embar- 
 rassed : but indeed I know not what you mean. 
 
 I see, said he, it is painful to you to speak ? 
 suppose then, I endeavour to saye you by gues- 
 sing ? 
 
 Impossible! impossible! cried I eagerly; no 
 one living could ever guess, ever suppose—I stop- 
 ped abruptly; for I then recollected I was ac- 
 knowledging something was to be guessed : how- 
 ever he noticed not my mistake. 
 
 At least let. me try, answered he mildly ; per- 
 haps I may be a better diviner than you imagine : 
 if I guess every thing that is probable, surely I 
 must approach near the real reason. Be honest, 
 then, my love, and speak without reserve ; does 
 
 @7°* the country, after so much gaiety, so mueh 
 
 variety, does it not appear insipid and tiresome ? 
 fae 3 : 
 No, indeed ! I loye it more than ever, and more 
 
RYELINA. 331 
 
 than ever dol wish I had neyer, never quitted 
 it! 
 O my child! that I had never permitted the 
 lgement always opposed it, but 
 my resolution wa not proof against persuasion. 
 { blush, indeed, cried I, to recollect my ear- 
 nestness ; but I have been my own punisher ? 
 Tt is too late now; answ ered he, to reflect upon 
 this subject : let us endeavour to avoid dependance 
 and we shall not have erred 
 structions, Then, seating 
 t by him, he continued, 
 
 journey ! My ju 
 
 for the time to come, 
 without reaping some il 
 himself, and mal yme § 
 TL must now guess # yerhaps you regret the 
 loss of those friends you knew in town ?—perhaps 
 you may see them 
 
 rain: | 
 
 you miss their society, and fear 
 e ?— Perhaps lord Oryille——— 
 
 rising hastily, 
 —for I have 
 
 no mor 
 I could not keep my seat -—but, 
 said, Dear sir, ask me nothing more! 
 nothing to own,—nothing to say;—my gravity 
 has been merely accidental, and | can give no rea 
 gon for it at all. Shall I fetch you another book ? 
 or will you have this again ? 
 For some minutes he was totally silent, and I 
 retended to employ myself in looking for a book. 
 ‘At last, ‘with a deep sigh, I see, said he, I see 
 but too plainly, that though Evelina is returned—I 
 have lost my child! 
 No, sit, 29, eried I, mexpre bly shocked ; she 
 js more yours than ever! Without you, the 
 world would bea desert to her, and life a burthen 5 
 —forgive her, then, and,—if you can,—conde- 
 once more, the confidant of all her 
 
 gcend to be, 
 thoughts. 
 
 How highly I value, how greatly I wish for her 
 
332 EVELINA. 
 
 confidence, returned he, she cannot but know — 
 yet to extort, to tear it from her,—my justice, my 
 affection, both revolt at the idea, 1 am sorry 
 that I was so earnest with you; leave me, my 
 dear, leave me, and compose yourself; we will 
 Meet again at tea. 
 
 Do you then refuse to hear me ? 
 
 No, but I abhor to compel you. Ihave long 
 seen that your mind has been ill at ease, and mine 
 has largely partaken of your concern: IJ forbore to 
 question you: for I hoped that time and absence 
 from whatever cause which excited your uneasi- 
 ness, might best operate in silence: but, alas! 
 your afiliction seems only to augment,—your 
 health declines,—your look alters !_—O Evelina, 
 my aged heart bleeds to see the change ;—bleeds 
 to behold the darling it had cherished, the prop 
 it had reared for its support, when bowed down 
 by years and infirmities, sinking itself under the 
 pressure of internal grief!—struggling to hide 
 what it should seek to participate !—But go, my 
 dear, go to your own room ; we both want compo- 
 sure, and we will talk of this matter some other 
 time. 
 
 O Sir, cried I, penetrated to the soul, bid ma 
 not leave you!—think me not so lost to feeling, 
 to gratitude— 
 
 Not a word of that, interrupted he: it pains. 
 me you should think upon that subject ; pains me 
 you should ever remember that you have not a 
 natural, an hereditary right to every thing within 
 my power. I meant not to affect you thus,—TI 
 hoped to have soothed you; but my anxiety be= 
 trayed me to an urgency that has distressed you, 
 
EVELINAg 333 
 Yomfort yourself, my love: and doubt not but 
 that time will stand your friend, and all will end 
 well, 
 
 I burst into tears: with difficulty had I so long 
 restrained them; for my heart, while it glowed 
 with tenderness and gratitude, was oppressed with 
 a sense of its own unworthiness, You are all, 
 all goodness! cried I, in a voice scarce audible: 
 little as I deserve,—unable as I am to repay such 
 kindness,—yet my whole soul feels,—thanks to 
 you for it! 
 
 My dearest child, cried he, T cannot bear to see 
 thy tears ;—for my sake dry them, for such a sight 
 is too much far me: think of that, Evelina, and 
 take comfort, I charge thee. 
 
 Say, then, cried I, kneeling at his feet, say 
 then, that you forgive me! that you pardon my re= 
 serve,—that you will again suffer me to tell you 
 my most secret thoughts, and rely upon my pro- 
 mise never more to forfeit your confidence !—My 
 father! my protector !—my ever honoured,—ever 
 loved,—my best and only friend | say you forgive 
 your Evelina, and she will study better to deserve 
 your goodness! 
 
 He raised, he embraced me: he called me his 
 sole joy, his only earthly hope, and the child of 
 his bosom! He folded me to his heart; and, 
 while 1 wept from the fu'ness of mine, with words 
 ot sweetest kindness and consolation he soothed 
 and tranquillized me, 
 
 Dear to my remembrance will ever be that mo- 
 ment, when, banishing the reserve I had so fool- 
 ishly planned and so painfully supported, I was 
 restored to the confidence of the best of men! 
 
Se eS 
 
 334 EVELINA, 
 
 When at length we were again quietly and com- 
 posedly seated by each other, and Mr, Villars 
 waited for the explanation I had begged him to 
 hear, I found myself extremely embarrassed how 
 to introduce the subject which must lead to it. 
 He saw my distress; and with a kind of benevo- 
 lent pleasantry, asked me if I would let him guess 
 any more? J assented in silence: 
 
 Shall I then go back to where I left off? 
 
 If—if you please ;—I believe so,—said I stam- 
 mering. 
 
 Well, then, my love, I think I was speaking of 
 the regret it was natural you should feel upon 
 quitting those from whom you have received ci- 
 vility and kindness, with so little certainty of ever 
 seeing them again, or being able to return their 
 good offices? These are circumstances that afford 
 but melancholy reflections to young minds; and 
 the affectionate disposition of my Evelina, open 
 to all social feelings, must be hurt more than 
 usual by such considerations.—You are silent, 
 my dear! Shall 1 name those whom I think most 
 worthy the regret I speak of ? We shall then 
 see if our opinions concide, 
 
 Still I said nothing, and he continued. 
 
 In your London journal, nobody appears in’ a 
 more‘amiable, a more respectable light than lord 
 Orville ; and perhaps— 
 
 I knew what you would say, cried I hastily, 
 and I have long feared where your suspicions 
 would fall; but, indeed, sir, you are mistaken ; I 
 hate lord Orville-—he is the last man in the 
 world in whose favour I should be prejudiced. 
 
 1 stopped: for Mx, Villars looked at me with 
 
 ee 
 
EVELINA, 385 
 
 such infinite surprise, that my own warmth made 
 me blush. 
 
 You hate lord Orville! repeated he. 
 
 I could make no answer, but took from my 
 pocket book the letter, and giving it to him, See, 
 sir, said 1, how differently the same man tan falé 
 and write! 
 
 He read it three times before he spoke; and ; 
 then said, 1 am so much astonished, that 1 knew 
 not what 1 read. When had you this letter? 
 
 1 told him. Again he read it, and, after con- 
 sidering its contents some time, said, 1 ean form 
 but one conjecture concerning this most extraor- 
 dinary performance; he must certainly have been 
 intoxicated when he wrote it. 
 
 Lord @rville intoxicated! repeated 1: once lk 
 thought him a stranger to all intemperance:—but 
 it is very possible, for l- can believe any thing 
 now. 
 
 That a man who had behaved with so strict a 
 yegard to delicacy, continued Mr. Villars; and 
 who, as far as this occasion allowed, manifested 
 sentiments the most honourable, should thus in- 
 solently, thus wantonly, insult a modest young 
 woman, in his perfect senses, | cannot think pos- 
 sible. But my dear, you should have enclosed 
 this letter in an empty cover, and have returned 
 gain; such a resentment would at once 
 character, and have given him 
 
 it to him ¢ 
 have beco 
 an opportunity, in some measure, of clearing his ’ 
 own. He could not well have r ad this letter the 
 
 next morning without being sensible of the im- 
 propriety of having written it. 
 
 Oh, Maria; why had 1 not this thought? J 
 
 e ye 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 might then have received some apology: the mor- 
 tification would then have been his, not mine, It 
 is true, he could not have reinstated himself so 
 highly in my opinion as I had once ignorantly 
 placed him, since the conviction of such intempe- 
 rance would haye leyelled him with the rest of 
 his imperfect race; yet my humble pride might 
 have been consoled by his acknowledgements. 
 
 But why should I allow myself to be humbled 
 by a man who can suffer his reason to be thus ab- 
 jectly debased, when I am exalted by one who 
 knows no vice and scarcely a failing, but by hear- 
 say? To think of his kindness, and reflect upon 
 his praises, might animate and comfort me even 
 in the midst of affliction. Your indignation, said 
 he, is the resuit of virtue; you fancied lord Orville 
 was without faultj—he had the appearance of 
 infinite worthiness, and you supposed his charac- 
 ter accorded with his appearance; guileless your- 
 self, how could you prepare against the duplicity 
 of another? Your disappointment has but been 
 proportioned to your expectations, and you have 
 chiefly owed its severity to the innocence which 
 hid its approach. 
 
 T will bid these words dwell ever in thy memo- 
 ry; and they shall cheer, comfort, and enliven 
 me!—This conversation, though extremely affee- 
 ing to me at the time it passed, has relieved my 
 mind from much anxiety. Concealment, my dear 
 Maria, is the foe of tranquillity: however, 1 may 
 err in future, I will never be disingenuous in ac- 
 knowledging my errors, To you and to Mr, Vill« 
 ars I vow an unremitting confidence. 
 
 And yet though I am more at case, I am far 
 
EVELINA. 33 
 
 from well: I have been some time writing this let- 
 
 ter: but I hope I shall send you soon a more 
 cheerfu ; 
 4 Adicu, my sweet friend. I entreat you not to 
 
 acquaint even your dear mother with this affair; 
 lord Orville is a favourite with her, and why 
 should I publish that he deserves not that honour, 
 
 Bristol Hotwells, August 28. 
 You will be again surprised, my dear Maria, at 
 seeing whence I date my letter: but I have been 
 very ill, and Mr. Villars was so much alarmed, 
 fit that he not only insisted upon my accompanying 
 i Mrs. Selwyn hither, but earnestly desired she 
 would hasten her intended journey. 
 
 We travelled very slowly, and I did not find 
 myself so much fatigued’as I expected. We are 
 situated upon a most delightful spot: the prospect 
 is beautiful, the air pure, and the weather very 
 favourable to invalids. 1am already better, and 
 
 , I doubt not but I shall soon be well: as well, in 
 ch regard to mere health, as I wish to be. 
 
 I cannot express the reluctance with which I 
 parted from my reverend Mr. Villars; it was not 
 ehh like that parting which, last April, preceded my 
 to Howard Grove, when, all expectation 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 : 
 ’ 
 | 
 
 be gone: 
 
 livelier sensation; expectation was vanished, and 
 
 jiope I had none! All that 1 held most dear up- 
 ¥ 
 
338 EVELINA. 
 
 on earth I quitted; and that upon an errand, to 
 the success of which I was totally indifferent, the 
 re-establishment of my health. Had it been to 
 haye seen m Maria, or her dear mother, I 
 should not } i, 
 
 Mrs Selw ry kind and attentive to me. 
 She is extremely clever: her understanding, in- 
 deed, may be called masculine: but, unfortunate- 
 ly, her manners deserve the same epithet; for, in 
 studying to aequire the knowledge of the other 
 sex, she has lostall the softness oi her own, 
 
 in regard to myself, however, as J have neither 
 
 yn is ¥ 
 
 courage nor inclination to argue with her, I have 
 never been personally hurt at her want.of gentle- 
 
 } 
 
 ness;.a virtue which, nevertl Ss, seems SO e€S- 
 sential a part of the female character, that I find 
 myself more awkward, and less, at ease, with a 
 woman who wants it, than I do with a man! She 
 is not a favourite with Mr Villars, who has often 
 been disgusted at her unmerciful propensity to 
 satire; but his anxiety that I should try the effect 
 of the Bristol waters, overcame his dislike of com- 
 
 mitting me to her care. Mrs. Clinton is also here 
 
 so that I shall be as well attended as his utmost 
 partiality could desire. 
 
 I will continue to write to you, my dear miss: 
 
 Mirvan, with as much constancy as if I had no 
 other correspondence; though during my ab- 
 sence from Berry Hill, my letters may, perhaps, 
 be shortened on account of the minuteness of the 
 journal which I must write to my beloved Mr. 
 Villars; but you who know his expectations, and 
 how many ties bind me to fulfil them, will, Lam 
 
EVELINA, 839 it 
 
 to sure, rather excuse any omission to yourself than 
 he any negligence to him, 
 
 Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 
 3ristol Hotwells, Sep, 12 
 
 Tux first fortnight that passed here was so quiet, 
 so serene, that it gave mereason to expecta set- 
 tled calm during my stay; butif I maynow judge | 
 of the time to come, by the present state of my 
 mind, the calm will be succeeded by a storm, of 
 mahiots I dread the violence ! i 
 
 This morning, in my way to the pump room ‘ 
 with Mrz, Selwyn, we were both very much incom- * 
 moded by three gentlemen, who were sauntering 
 by the side of the Avon, laughing and talking very 
 loud, and lounging so disagreeably, that we ‘knew 
 Q not how to pass them. They all three fixed their 
 Heh eyes very boldly upon me, alternately look- 
 ing under my hat, and whispering one another, 
 Mrs. Selwyn assumed an air of uncommon stern 
 ss, and said, You will please, gentlemen, either 
 fe to procee 2d yourselves, or to suffer us, 
 
 Oh! ma *am, cried one of them, we will suffer 
 you with the greatest p pleasure in life, 
 
 You wi rus both, answered she, orl am 
 much mi cen $ you had better, therefore, make 
 way quietly; for I should be sorry to give my 
 servant the trouble of teaching you better man- 
 ners. 
 
 Vr Her commanding air struck them, yet they oll 
 : chose to laugh; and one of them wished the fel } 
 low would begin his lesson, that he might have the 
 pleasure of rolling him into the Ayon 3 while ang= 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 ther advancing to me with a freedom which made 
 me Start, said, By my soul I did not know you !— 
 but I am sure I cannot be mistaken ;—had not I 
 the honour of seeing you once at the Pantheon ? 
 
 I then recollected the nobleman, who, at that 
 place had so much embarrassed me. I courtesied 
 without speaking. They all bowed, and making 
 though in a very easy manner, an apology to Mrs, 
 Selwyn, they suffered us to pass on, but chose to 
 accompany us 
 
 His lordship immediately commenced a number 
 of questions as to my leaving London, and resi- 
 dence in Clifton until we arrived at the pump- 
 room, whet an end was put to our conversation, 
 if it is not an abuse of words to give such a term 
 toa string of rude questions and free compliments. 
 
 He had not an opportunity to say much to me, 
 as Mrs. Selwyn joined a large party, and I walked 
 home between two ladies, He had, however, the 
 curiosity to see us to the door, 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn was very eager to know how I had 
 Made acquaintance with this nobleman, whose 
 manner so evidently announced the character of a 
 confirmed libertine. I could give her very little 
 satisfaction, as I was ignorant even of his name 5 
 but, in the afternoon. Mr. Ridgeway, the apothe- 
 cary, gave us every information. 
 
 As his person was easily described, for he is re- 
 markably tall, Mr. Ridgeway told us he was lord 
 Merton, a nobleman who is but lately come to his 
 title, though he has already dissipated more than 
 half his fortune ; a professed admirer of beauty, 
 but a man of most licentious character: that a- 
 mong men, his companions consisted chicfly of 
 
EVELINA. 341 
 
 gamblers and jockeys ; and among women he was 
 rarely admitted. 
 
 Well, miss Anville, said Mrs, Selwyn, I am glad 
 I was not more civil to him. You may depend 
 upon me for keeping him ata distance. 
 
 O, madam, said Mr. Ridgeway, he may now be 
 admitted any where, for heis going to reform. 
 
 Has he, under that notion, persuaded any. fool 
 to marry him ? 
 
 Not yet, madam, but a marriage is expected to 
 take place shortly: it been some time in agi- 
 tation ; but the friends of the lady have obliged 
 her to wait till she is of age: however her brother, 
 who has chiefly opposed the match, now that she 
 is near being at her own disposal, is tolerably quiet. 
 She is very preity, and jvill havea large fortune, 
 We expect her at the Well very day. 
 
 What is her name? said Mrs, Selwyn. 
 
 Larpent, answered he: Lady Louisa Larpent, 
 
 ister of lord Orville. 
 
 Lord Orville ! repeated I, all amazement. 
 
 Yes, ma'am; his lordship is coming with her, 
 T have had certain information. They are to be at 
 the honourable Mrs. Beaumont’s. She is a rela- 
 tion of my lord’s, and has a very fine house upon 
 Clifton Hill. 
 
 His lordship is coming with her !—Good God, 
 what an emotion did these words give me! How 
 strange, my dear sir, that just at this time, he 
 should visit Bristol! It will be impossible for 
 me to avoid seeing him, as Mrs. Selwyns is very 
 well acquainted with Mrs. Beaumont. Indeed I 
 have had an escape in not being under the same 
 roof with him, for Mrs. Beaumont inyited us to 
 
842 EVELINA. 
 
 her house immediately upon our arrival } but the 
 inconvenience of being so distant from the pump- 
 room made Mrs. Selwyn decline her civility. 
 
 O that the first meeting was over!—or that I 
 could quit Bristol without seeing him !—inexpres- 
 sibly do I dread an interview! Should the same 
 impertinent freedom be expressed by his looks, 
 which dictated his eruel letter, I shall not know 
 how to endure either him or myself. Had I but 
 returned it, I should be easier, because my senti- 
 ments of it would then be known to him; but 
 now, he can only gather them from my behaviour 5 
 and I tremble lest he should misconstrue my re- 
 serve into embarrassment !—for how, my dearest 
 sir, how shall I be able totally to divest myself of 
 the respect with which I have been used to think 
 of him ?—the pleasure with which I have been 
 used to see him ? 
 
 Surely he, as well as I, must recollect the letter 
 at the moment of our meeting; and he will pros 
 bably, mean to gather my thoughts from my 
 looks ;—O that I could but convey to him my 
 real detestation of impertinence and vanity! then 
 would he see how much he had mistakenmy dispo- 
 sition when he imagined them my due, 
 
 There was a time when the very idea of such a 
 man as lord Merton should ever be connected with 
 Tord Orville would have both surprised and shock- 
 ed me; and even yet I am pleased to hear of his 
 repugnance to the marriage. 
 
 But how strange, that a man of so abandoned a 
 character should be the choice of a sister of lord 
 Orville! and how strange, that, almost at the mo- 
 ment of the union, he should be so importunate 
 
 ee ee 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 in gallantry to another woman ! What a world is 
 this we live in! how corrupt! how degenerate! 
 well might I be contented to see no more of it! 
 If I find that the eyes of lord Orville agree with 
 
 T shall then think, that of all mankind 
 individual resides at Berry 
 
 his pen, 
 
 the only 
 
 ed 
 
 still what, 
 
 ©, Sin, lord Or t t ! 
 ld, I believed him to be— 
 
 from the moment I. 
 
 all that in man 5 your happy 
 Evelina, restored at once to spiritsand tr aquillity 
 
 is no longer sunk in her own 0} inion, nor diseon- 
 er, with dejected 
 r future days 
 —with revived 
 to 
 
 tented with the world ;—no Ic 
 
 eyes, sees the prospect of passing 
 ! 
 
 in sadness, doubt, and suspicion ! 
 
 courage she now looks forward, and ¢€ 
 even a 
 
 ng 
 ng 
 
 as ever the folly 
 
 mect with good 
 though still she feels as strong] 
 of hoping, in any second instance, to meet with 
 
 perfecti« n 
 
 Your conjecture was cert: inly right :—lord Ors 
 ville, when he wrote that letter, could not be in 
 that intemperance should have 
 
 n so noble! 
 
 his senses. O 
 power to degrade so low, a n 
 
 This morning I accompanied Mrs. Selwyn to 
 Clifton Hill, where, beautifully situated, is the 
 Beaumont. Most uncomfortable 
 as very 
 
 house of M 
 
 were my feelings during our walk, which 
 slow; for the agitation of my mind made me more 
 than usually sensible how weak I 1 continue, 
 ‘As we entered tho house, I summoned all my re- 
 
344 EVELINA, 
 
 * 
 solution to my aid, determined rather to die than 
 give lord Orville reason to attribute my weakness 
 to a wrong cause. I was happily relieved from 
 my perturbation, when I saw Mrs, Beaumont was 
 alone. We sat with her for, I believe, an hour 
 without interruption: and then we saw a phaeton 
 drive up to the gate, and a lady and gentleman 
 alight from it. 
 
 They entered the parlour with the ease of peo- 
 ple who were at home. The gentleman, I soon 
 saw, was lord Merton: he came shuffling into the 
 room with his boots on, and his whip in his hand; 
 and having made something like a vow to Mrs. 
 Beaumont, he turned towards me, His surprise 
 was yery evident; but he took no manner of no- 
 tice of me. He waited, I believe, to discover, first, 
 what chance had brought me to that house, where 
 he did not look much rejoiced at meeting me. 
 
 . He seated himself very quietly at the window, 
 without speaking to any body, 
 
 Meantime the lady, who seemed very young, 
 hobbling rather than walking into the room, made 
 a passing curtsey to Mrs. Beaumont, saying, How 
 are you, ma’am? and then, without noticing any 
 body else, with an air of langour, she flung herself 
 upon a sofa, protesting, in a most affected voice, 
 and speaking so softly she could hardly be heard, 
 that she was fatigued to death. Really, ma'am, 
 the roads are so monstrous dusty,—you can’t 
 imagine how troublesome the dust is to one’s 
 eyes!—TI dare say I shall be so tanned, Ishan’t be 
 fit to be seen this age. Indeed, my lord, I won’t 
 
 go out with you any more, for you don’t care 
 where you take one. 
 
 ne 
 
 ; 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Upon my honour, said lord Merton, I took you 
 the pleasantest ride in England; the fault was in 
 
 the sun, not me. 
 Your lordship is in the right, said Mrs, Selwyn, | 
 
 to transfer the fault to the sun, because he has so 
 
 llencies to counterbalance partial incon- 1 
 
 s, but a little blame will not injure that i 
 
 many ¢ 
 yenienc 
 in our estimation, 
 
 Lord Merton looked by no means delighted at 
 this attach which, I believe, she would not so 
 readily have made, but to revenge his negleet of 
 us. 
 
 Did you meet your brother, lady Louisa ? said bd 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 No, ma’am. Is he rode out this morning ? 
 
 I then found, what Lhad before suspected, that 
 this lady was lord Orville’s sister: how strange, 
 that such near relations should be so indifferent to 
 each other! There is, indeed, some resemblance 
 
 ’ in their features ; but, in their manners, not the 
 
 least. 
 Yes, answered Mrs. Beaumont, and I believe 
 
 he wished to see you. 
 
 My lord drove so monstrous fast, said lady 
 Louisa, that perhaps we passed him. He fright- 
 ened me out of my senses ; I declare my head is 
 quite giddy. Do you know, ma’am, we have done 
 nothing but quarrel all this morning!—You can’t 
 think how [ve scolded; have not I, my lord? and 
 she smiled expressively at lord Merton. 
 
 You have been, as you always are, said. he, 
 twisting his whip with his fingers, all sweetness. 
 
 @ fie, my lord, eried she, I know you don’t 
 
346 EVELINA, 
 
 think so: I know you think me very ill natured, 
 don’t you my lord 
 
 No, upon my honour ;—how can your ladyship 
 ask sucha question? Pray how goes time? my 
 watch stands. 
 
 It is almost three, answered Mrs, Beaumont. 
 
 Lord, ma’am, you frighten me! cried lady Lou- 
 isa; and then, turning to lord Merton, why, now, 
 you wicked creature you, did you not tell me it 
 was but one? 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn then rose to take leave: but Mrs, 
 Beaumont asked if she would look at the shrubbe= 
 ry. I should like it much, answered she, but that 
 I fear to fatigue Miss Anville. 
 
 Lady Louisa, then raising her head from her 
 hand, on which it had leaned. turned round to 
 look at me; and having satisfied her curiosity; 
 without any regard to the confusion it gave me, 
 turned about, and, again leaning on her hand, 
 took no further notice of me. 
 
 I declared myself very able to walk, and begged 
 that I might accompany them. What say you, 
 lady Louisa, cried Mrs, Beaumont, to stroll in the 
 garden? 
 
 Me, ma’am !—I declare I can’t stir a step ; the 
 heat is so excessive, it would kill’me. I’m half 
 dead with it already: besides, I shall have no time 
 to dress, Will any body be here to day, ma’am 2 
 
 Believe not, unless lord Merton will favour us 
 with his company. 
 
 With great pleasure, madam, 
 
 Well, I declare, you don’t deserve to be asked, 
 cried lady Lonisa, you wicked creature you,—I 
 must tell you one thing, ma’am,—you can’t think 
 
EVELINA, 847 
 
 how abominable he was! do you know we met Mr. 
 Lovel in his new phaeton, and my lord was so cruel 
 as to drive against it?-—Wereallyflew. I declare 
 Tcould not breathe, Upon my word, my lord, Pl 
 never trust myself with you again,—I won’t in« 
 deed. 
 
 We then went into the garden, leaving them 
 to discuss the peint at their leisure, 
 
 Do you remember a pretty but affected young 
 lady 1 mentioned to have seen in lord Orville’s 
 party, at the Pantheon? How little did I then 
 imagine her to be his sister! yet lady Louisa Lar- 
 pent is the very person. I can now account for 
 the piqued manner of her speaking to lord Mer- 
 ton that evening, and can now account for the 
 air of displeasure with which lord Orville marked 
 the undue attention of his future brother-in-law 
 to me. 
 
 We had not walked long, ere, at a distance, I 
 
 erceived lord Orville, who seemed just dismount- 
 ed from his horse, enter the garden. All my per- 
 turbation returned at the sight of him !—yet . 
 endeavoured to repress every feeling but resent- 
 ment. As he approached us, he bowed to the 
 whole party; but I turned away my head to avoid 
 taking any share in his civility. Addressing him- 
 self immediately to Mrs. Beaumont, he was be- 
 ginning to inquire after his sister: but, upon 
 seeing my face, he suddenly exclaimed, miss An- 
 ville !—and then he advanced, and made his com- 
 
 pliments to me,—not with an air of vanity or im- 
 pertinence, nor yet with a look of consciousness 
 of shame ;—but with a countenance open, manly, 
 and charming! with a smile that indicated plea- 
 
 x 
 
348 EVELINA. 
 
 sure, and eyes that sparkled with delight!—on 
 my. side was all that consciousness; for him, I 
 really believe, the letter was, at that moment, en- 
 tirely forgotten. 
 
 With what politeness did he address me! with 
 what sweetness did he look at me; the very tone 
 of his voice seemed flattering ! he congratulated 
 himself upon his good fortune in meeting with 
 me ;—hoped I should spend some time in Bristol; 
 and inquired, even with anxiety inquired, if my 
 health was the cause of my journey; in which 
 case his satisfaction, would be converted into ap- 
 prehension. 
 
 Yet, struck as I was with his manner, and 
 eharmed to find him such as he was wont to be, 
 imagine not, my dear sir, that I forgot the re- 
 sentment I owe him, or the cause he has giyen 
 me of displeasure ; no, my behaviour was suchas, 
 I hope, had you seen, you would not have disap- 
 proyed: I was grave and distant; I scarce looked 
 at him when he spoke, or answered him when he 
 was silent. 
 
 As he must certainly observe this alteration in 
 my conduct, I think it could not fail making him 
 both recollect and repent the proyocation; he 
 was so wholly lost to reason as now to be ignorant 
 he had eyer offended me. 
 
 The moment that, without absolute rudeness, L 
 was able, I turned entirely from him, and asked 
 Mrs, Selwyn if we should not be too late? How 
 lord Orville looked I know not, for I avoided 
 meeting his eyes; but he did not speak another 
 word as we proceeded to the garden gate. In- 
 deed, I believe, my abruptness surprised him, for 
 
BVELINA, 349 ig 
 
 on 
 
 ,1\ he did not seem to expect I had so much spirit. 
 
 le And, to own the truth, convinced as I was of the 
 propriety, nay nece sity, of showing my displea- 
 gure, yet I almost hated myself for receiving his i 
 politeness so ungraciously, } 
 
 When we were taking leave, my eyes acciden- 
 tally meeting his, I could not but observe that his i 
 gravity unequalled my own ; for it had entirely 
 taken place of the smiles and good humour with iy 
 which he had met us. j 
 0 ap Lam afraid this young lady, said Mrs. Beaumont, { 
 
 is too weak for another long walk till she isagain \ 
 
 rested. i 
 If the ladies will trust to my driving, said lord “ 
 
 2 Orville, and are not afraid of a phaton, mine shall 
 vel be ready in a moment. 
 
 You are very good, my lord, said Mrs. Selwyn, 
 but my willis yet unsigned, and I don’t choose to 
 venture in a phaeton with a young man while that 
 
 is the case. 
 O, cried Mrs. Beaumont, you need not to be 
 afraid of my lord Orville, for he is remarkably care~ 
 
 ful. 
 Well, miss Anville, answered she, what say 
 
 nat you? 
 Indeed, cried I, I had much rather walk.—But 
 
 then, looking at lord Orville, 1 perceived in his 
 face a surprise So serious at my abrupt refusal, that 
 Teould not forbear adding, for I should be sorry 
 to occasioh so much trouble. 
 
 Lord Orville, brightening at these words, came 
 forward, and pressed his offer in a manner not to 
 be denied: so the phaeton was ordered! And 
 indeed, my dear sir,—1 know not how it was;— 
 
350 EVELINA 
 
 but, from that moment, my coldness and reserve 
 insensibly wore away! You must not be angry, 
 —it was my intention, nay, my endeavour, to sup- 
 port them with firmness; but when I formed the 
 plan, I thought only of the letter,—not of lord 
 
 Orville !—and how is it possible for resentment to ~ 
 subsist without provocation ? yet, believe me, my 7 
 
 dearest sir, had he sustained the part he began to 
 act when he wrote that ever-to-be-regretted letter, 
 your Evelina would not have forfeited her title to 
 
 your esteem, by contentedly submitting to be treat~ 
 
 ed with indignity. 
 
 We continued in the garden till the phaeton was 
 ready. When we parted from Mrs. Beaumont, 
 she repeated her invitation to Mr, Selwyn to ac- 
 cept an apartment in her house; but the reason 
 I have already mentioned made it be again de- 
 clined. 
 
 Lord Orville drove so very slow, and cautiously, 
 that, notwithstanding the height of the phaeton, 
 fear would have been ridiculous. I supported no 
 part in the conversation; but Mrs, Selwyn ex- 
 tremely well supplied the place of two. Lord 
 Orville himself did not speak much ; but the ex- 
 cellent sense and refined good-breeding which ac- 
 company every word he utters give value and 
 weight to whatever he says. 
 
 I suppose, my lord, said Mrs. Selwyn, when we 
 stopped at our lodgings, you would have been ex- 
 tremely confused had we met any gentlemen who 
 have the honour of knowing you ? 
 
 lf I had, answered, he, gallantly, it would have 
 been from mere compassion at their envy. 
 
 No, my lord, answered she, it would have been 
 
eit 
 
 EVELINA, 
 
 from mere shame, that, in an age so daring, you 
 alone should be such a coward as to forbear to 
 frighten women, 
 
 O, eried he, laughing, when a manis in afright 
 for himself, the ladies cannot but be in security 5 
 for you have not had half the apprehension for 
 the safety of your persons that I have for that of 
 my heart. He then alighted, handed us out, took 
 1in mounting the phaeton, was out 
 
 leave, and, z 
 of sight in a minute. 
 
 Certainly, said Mrs. Selwyn, when he has gone, 
 there must have been some mistake in the birth of 
 that young man ; he was undoubtedly designed 
 for the last age ; forhe is really polite. 
 
 And now, my dear sir, do not you think, accords 
 irs, 1 may give up 
 
 em of aff 
 
 ing to t 
 my resentment, without imprudence or impro- 
 priety > I hope you will not blame me. Indeed, 
 had you, like me, seen his respectful behaviour, 
 vou would have been convinced of the impracti- 
 eability of supporting any further indignation. 
 
 present 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 
 Bristol Hotwells, Sept. 12. 
 
 Ysrerpay morning Mrs. Selwyn received a card 
 from Mrs. Beaumont, to ask her to dine with her 
 to day, and another, to the same purpose, came 
 to me. ‘Lhe invitation was accepted, and we are 
 but, just arrived from Clifton Hill. 
 
 We found M Beaumont alone in the parlour, 
 E will write you the character of that lady, in the 
 word of our satirical friend Mrs. Selwyn. She is 
 an absolute Court Calender bigot; for, chancing 
 
3 
 
 52 EVELINA, 
 herself to be born of a noble and ancient family, 
 she thinks proper to be of opinion, birth and virtue 
 are one and the same thing, She has some good 
 qualities; but they rather originated from pride 
 than principle, as she piques herself upon being 
 too high born to be capable of an unworthy action, 
 and thinks it incumbent upon her to support the | 
 dignity of her ancestry. Fortunately forthe world — 
 in general, she has taken it into her head that 
 condescension is the most distinguished virtue of 
 high life; so that the same pride of family which 
 renders others imperious, is with her the motive , 
 of affability. But her civility is too formal to be 
 comfortable, and too mechanical to be flattering. | 
 That she does me the honour of so much notice i 
 is merely owing to an accident, which, I am sure, ( 
 is very painful to her remembrance ; for itso hap- 
 pened, that I once did her some service, in regard | 
 to an apartment at Southampton; and I have 
 since been informed, that, at the time she accepted 
 my assistance, she thought I was a woman of quali- 
 ty: and I make no doubt but she was miserable 
 when she discovered meto be a mere country gen- 
 tlewoman: however her nice notions of decorum | 
 have made herload me with favours ever since. 
 But I am not much flattered by her civilities, as 
 Lam convinced 1 owe them neither to attachment 
 nor gratitude; but solely to a desire of cancelling 
 an obligation, which she cannot brook being under 
 to one whose name is nowhere to be found in the 
 Court Calendar, 
 You well know, my dear sir, the delight this 
 lady takes in giving to her satirical humour. 
 Mrs, Beaumont received us very graciously, 
 
 yee ee, ey 
 
ako 
 
 EVELINAs 5008 
 
 though she somewhat distressed me by the ques- 
 tions she xed concerning my family ; such as, 
 Whether I was related to the Anvilles in the 
 North ?>—WV er some of my name did not live 
 in Lincolnshire ? and many other inquiries, which 
 
 3€ da me. 
 
 much eml 
 d upon the intend- 
 
 t VeTSE 
 xt conyers: 
 
 e spoke in terms 0 
 
 lie. a ae 
 ‘ ng h in 
 
 Marmontel’s. words 
 Gd pers 
 
 L did not think this conversation very agreeable 
 
 interrupted by the entrance ol Mr. Lov In- 
 
 deed I am heartily s is now at the Hot- 
 
 €? 
 
 ry he 
 
 wells, He made his compliments with the most 
 ct to Mrs, B mont, but took 
 
 obsequious res} 
 
 of any other person. 
 
 no noti 
 Ina few minutes Lady arpent made her 
 . I 
 
 nners prevailed ; for, 
 
 appearance. The same 
 syings with, I hope you are well, ma’am, to 
 I assed straightforward to her 
 e leaning her head on her 
 
 courts 
 Mrs. Beaumont, § 
 seat on the sofa; w 
 hand, she cast her ] ; 
 
 with a vacant stare, asif de termined, though 
 
 incuishing eyes round the 
 
 room, 
 
 she look 
 Mr. Lovel presentl y approached 
 
 d. not to see who was in it. 
 
 3 
 : 
 
 yerence the. mos 
 was nc 
 
 Mr. Lovel! 
 
 cried she, raising her head, I de- 
 clare I did not see you: have you been here long ? 
 By my wateh, madam, said he, only five mi- 
 
 indisp 
 
 Z 
 
Fae ee 
 
 nn Se Sana eres HE 
 
 | 
 
 35 EVELINA, 
 
 nutes,—but by your ladyship’s absence as many 
 hours. 
 
 Oh! now I think of it, cried she, Tam very an- 
 gry with you ;—so go along, do; for I sh’a’n’t 
 speak to you all dz 
 
 Heaven forbid your la’ship's displeasure should 
 last so long! in such cruel circumstances, a day 
 would seem an age. But in what have 1 been so 
 unfortunate as to offend ? 
 
 Oh, you half killed me the other morning with 
 terror! I have not yet recovered from my fright. 
 How could you be so cruel as to drive your phae- 
 ton against my lord Merton’s ? 
 
 *Pon honour, ma’am, your la’ship does me 
 wrong ;—it was all owing to the horses,—there 
 was no curbing them. I protest I suffered more 
 than your ladyship, from the terror of alarming 
 you. 
 
 Just then entered Lord Merton: stalking up to 
 Mrs. Beaumont, to whom alone he bowed, he 
 hoped he had not made her wait; and then ad- 
 vanecing to Lady Louisa, said, in a careless man- 
 ner, How is your ladyship this morning ? 
 
 Not well at all, answered she ; J have been dy- 
 ing with the head ache ever since I got up. 
 
 Indeed, eried he, with a countenance wholly 
 unmoved, I am very unhappy to hear it. But 
 should not your ladyship have some advice ? 
 
 Lam quite sick of advice, answered she: Mr. 
 Ridgeway has but just left me,—but he has done 
 me no good. Nobody here knows what is the 
 matter with me, yet they all see how very indif- 
 ferent I am, 
 
 ann 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 Your ladyship’s constitution, said Mr. Lovel, 
 is infinitely delicate, 
 
 Indeed it is, cried she, in a low yoice, I am 
 nerve all over! 
 i, however, said lord Merton, that you 
 did not take the air this morning, for Coverley 
 has been driving against me as if he was mad ; he 
 has got two of the finest spirited horses that I 
 
 ever saw. 
 
 Pray, my 
 bring Mr C 5 
 1 <e him monstrousl 
 
 W hy he p romised to be here as soon as me, I 
 suppose he’ll come before dinner is over. 
 
 In the midst of this trifling convers sation lord 
 Orville made his appearance. O how different 
 was his address! how much superior did he look 
 and move to all about him! Having paid his re- 
 spects to Mrs. Beaumont, and then to Mrs. Sel- 
 wyn, he came up to me and said, I hope Miss 
 Anville has not suffered from the fatigue of Mon- 
 day morning ? yp SER: turning to Lady Louisa, 
 who seemed rather surprised at his speaking to 
 me, he added, Give me leave, sister, to introduce 
 
 she, , Why. did you not 
 1 you ? he’s a droll crea- 
 
 ville to you. 
 Louisa, half raising, said, very coldly, that 
 ld t i of the honour of knowing 
 
 miss / 
 Lad 
 she should 
 
 e:and then abruptly turning to lord Merton 
 mej; } 
 er, her 
 
 and Mr. L »vel, continued, in ¢ 
 
 conversa 
 
 For my par 1 risen and nourtsied, and 
 now fee l lf again 5 
 first I blushed at the unexpec ed golitenc ss of 
 lord Qayille, and ceonaaiarsiy | afterwards at the 
 
 half 
 
 $e 
 
356 EVELINAe 
 
 contemptuous failure of it in his sister. How can 
 that young lady see her brother so universally ad- 
 mired for his manners and deportment, and yet 
 be so unamiably opposite to him in hers! but 
 while his mind, enlarged and noble, rises superior 
 to the little prejudices of rank; hers, feeble and 
 unsteady, sinks beneath their influence. 
 
 Lord Orville, I am sure, was hurt and displeas- 
 ed, he bit his lips, and, turning from her, address- 
 ed himself wholly to me, till we were summoned 
 to dinner. Do you think I was not grateful for 
 his attention ? yes, indeed, and every angry idea 
 I had entertained was totally obliterated. 
 
 As we were seating ourselves at the table, Mr, 
 Soverley came into the room; he made a thou- 
 sand apologies ina breath for being so late, but 
 said he had been retarded by a little accident, for 
 that he had overturned his phaeton, and broke it 
 all to pieces. Lady Louisa screamed at this in- 
 telligence, and, looking at Lord Merton, declared 
 she would never gointo a phaeton again. 
 
 Oh, cried he, never mind Jack Coverley ; for he 
 does not. know how to drive. 
 
 My lord, cries Mr. Coverley, ['ll drive against 
 you for a thousand pounds. 
 
 Done! returned the other: name your day, and 
 we'll each choose a judge. 
 
 The sooncr the better, cried Mr, Coverley, to- 
 morrow, if the carriage can be repaired. 
 
 These enterprises, said Mrs, Selwyn, are very 
 proper for men ofrank, since ’tis a million to one 
 but both parties will be incapacitated for any 
 better employment. 
 
 For Heaven's sake, cried Lady Louisa, changing 
 
 CEE,  —— 
 
BVELINA. 857 
 
 eolour, don’t talk so shockingly! Pray, my lorq 
 
 sa pray, Mr. Coverley, don’t alarm me in this man} 
 ner. 
 
 Compose yourself, lady Louisa, said Mrs. Beau 
 
 mont, the gentlemen will think better of the \ 
 
 scheme ; they are neither of them in earnest. 
 
 The very mention of such a scheme, said lady 
 Lonisa, taking out her salts, makes me tremble 
 all over! Indeed, my lord, you have fr ghtened 
 me to death! I sha’n’t eat a morsel of dinner. 
 
 Permit me, said lord Orville, to propose some 
 other subject for the present, and we will discuss 
 this matter another time. 
 
 Pray, brother, excuse me; my lord. must give 
 Me me his word to drop the project,—for I declare it 
 
 has made me sick as death. 
 
 To compromise the matter, said lord Orville, 
 suppose if both parties are willing to give up the 
 bet, that to make the ladies easy, we change its 
 object to something less dangerous? 
 
 This proposal was so strongly seconded by all 
 the party, that both lord Merton and Mr. Cover- 
 ley were obliged to comply with it; and it was 
 then agreed that the affair should be finally set- 
 tled the next morning. 
 
 When dinner was over, Mrs, Beaumont recom- 
 mended the gentlemen to the care of lord Orville, 
 and then attended the ladies to the drawing-room, 
 
 The conversation, till tea-time, was extremely 
 insipid: Mrs. Selwyn reserved herself for the gen= 
 tlemen, Mrs. Beaumont was grave, and lady 
 Louisa languid. 
 
 But at tea, every body revived 5 we were joined 
 
 } 
 
358 EVELINA. 
 
 sy the gentlemen; and gaiety took the place of 
 dulness. 
 
 Since I, as Mr. Lovel says, am nobody, I seated 
 myself quietly at a window, and not very near to 
 any body: lord Merton, Mr. Coverley, and Mr, 
 
 Lovel, severally passe@ me without notice, and 
 surrounded ihe chair of lady Louisa Larpent. TI 
 must own I was rather piqued at the behaviour of 
 Mr. Lovel, as he had formerly known me. It is 
 true I most sincerely despise Ins foppery ; yet T 
 should be grieved to meet with contempt from 
 any body. But I was by no means sorry to find 
 that lord Merton was determined not to know me 
 before lady Louisa, as his neglect relieved me 
 from much embarrassment. As to Mr. Coverley, 
 his attention or disregard was equally indifferent 
 tome. Yet, altogether, I feel extremely uncom- 
 fortable in finding myself considered in a light 
 very inferior to the rest of the company. 
 
 But when lord Orville appeared, the scene 
 changed; he came up stairs last; and, seeing me 
 sit alone, not only spoke to me directly, but drew 
 a chair next mine, and honoured me with his 
 entire attention. 
 
 He inquired very particularly after my health, 
 and hoped I had already fonnd benefit from the 
 Bristol air, How little did I imagine, added he, 
 when I had last the pleasure of seeing you in 
 town, tbat ill health would in so short a time haye 
 brought you hither! Iam ashamed of myself at 
 the satisfaction I feel at seeing you,—yet, how can 
 I help it ? 
 
 He then inquired after the Mirvan family, and 
 spoke of Mrs, Mirvan in terms of most just praises 
 
EVELINA. 359 
 
 She is gentle and amiable, said he, a true femining 
 character. 
 
 Yes, indeed, answered I: arf her sweet daugh- 
 ter, to say every thing of her at once, is just the 
 daughter such a mother deserves. 
 
 I am glad of it, said he, for both their sakes as 
 such near relations must always reflect credit or 
 disgrace on each other. 
 
 After this he began to speak of the beauties of 
 Clifton ; but in afew moments he was interrupted 
 by one of the company wishing to speak to him. 
 
 The conversation now became general! but tT 
 did not give it sufficient attention to write any 
 account of it. Not long after, lord Orville re- 
 sumed his seat near mine, and entered into a con- 
 yersation which he supported with me till Mrs. 
 Selwyn’s carriage was announced ; and we re- 
 turned home. 
 
 During our ride, Mrs. Selwyn very much sur- 
 prised me, by asking, if I thought my health would 
 now permit me to give up my morning walks to 
 the pump-room, for the purpose of spending a 
 week at Clifton ? for this poor Mrs Beaumont, 
 added she, is so eager to have a discharge in full 
 of her debt to me, that, out of mere compassion, 
 I am induced to listen to her. Besides; she has 
 always a house full of people ; and, though they 
 are chiefly fools and coxcombs, yet there is some 
 pleasure in cutting them up. 
 
 1 begged I might not, by any means prevent her 
 following her inclination, as my health was now 
 very well established. And so, my dear sir to- 
 morrow we are to be actually the guests of Mrs, 
 
 Beaumont, 
 
360 EVELINA, 
 
 IT am not much delighted at this scheme; for 
 greatly as I am flattered by the attention of lord 
 Orville, it is not very comfortable to be negleeted 
 
 E as Iam sure I owe 
 y to a generous feel- 
 ect him to sup- 
 
 by every body el 
 
 o! ce Tam absent from 
 etion of Mrs, Mir- 
 
 e y very obliging, and, 
 in every r tr me as an equal; but she 
 
 ten do I 
 
 is ¢ ving well herself, and does 
 not, shing politeness, raise and 
 
 support me with others, Yet I mean not to 
 blame her, for I know she is sit acerely my friend ; 
 but the fact is, she is herself so much oc cupied i in 
 conversation, when in company, that she has nei- 
 ther leisure nor thought to attend to the silent. 
 
 Well, I must take my chance! But I knew 
 not, till now, how, requisite are birth and fortune 
 to the attainment of respect and civility. 
 
 Lvelina in continuation 
 Clifton, Sept, 20. 
 Herz I am, my dear sir, under the same roof, and 
 inmate of the same house, as lord Orville! In- 
 deed, if this were not the case, my situation would 
 be very disagreeable, as you will easily believe, 
 
 when f tell you the light in which I am generally 
 considered, 
 
 We were received by Mrs. Beaumont with great 
 givility, and by lord Orville with something mores 
 
EVELINA, 861 
 
 As to lady Louisa, she searcely perceived that we 
 were in the room. 
 
 There has been company here all day, part of 
 which I have epenk mo st happily: for after tea, 
 when the ladies pls ¢ cards, lord Orville, who 
 does not, and I, aS c 10t play, were conse- 
 quently at our own di ul; and then his lord- 
 ship entered into a conversation with me, which 
 lasted till supper . 
 
 Almost i sibly I find the constraint, the re- 
 serve, 1 have been wont to feel in his presence, 
 the politeness, the sweetness, with 
 eaks to me, restores all my natural 
 asif I may judge by 
 his looks, I am rather raised than sunk of late in 
 
 spo 
 
 his opinion. 
 
 L asked him how the bet was, at ate to be de- 
 ne that to his great satisfaction, 
 the par ties had t led upon to lower the 
 sum from one thou d to one hundred pounds: 
 and that they hs ad agreed it should be determined 
 by a race between two old women, one of which 
 was to be chosen by each side, and both were to 
 
 an eighty years of age, though 
 
 trong and healthy as possible. 
 ed my surprise at this extraordi- 
 ‘ uch money, I am 
 novelty of meeting with 
 ,eyed in the world, as not be yet 
 tom to forget the use of reason: 
 for certain is, that the prevalence of fashion 
 makes the greatest absurdities pass uncensured, 
 and the mind naturally accommodates itself even 
 
 cided? He tol 
 
 be pr 
 in oth 
 
 When I ex; 
 y method « 
 
 I 
 charmed, sai 
 one so unhs 
 influence 
 
362 EVELINA, 
 
 to thé most ridiculous improprieties, if they oceur || tite 
 frequently. the} 
 I should have hoped, said T, that the humane § ny 
 proposal made yesterday by your lordship would § 4 
 have had more effect. obi 
 Oh, cried he, laughing, I was so far from ex=f thil 
 pecting any success, that I shall think myself very let 
 fortunate if I escape the wit of Mr. Coverley i in a} felt 
 lampoon! yet I spoke openly, because I do not | tho 
 wish to conceal that I am no friend to gaming? bror 
 After this, he took up the New Bath Guide and | ‘a1 
 read it with me till supper time, In our way down J ly, 
 stairs, Lady Louisa said, I thought, brother, you |) tis 
 were engaged this evening ? rp 
 Yes, sister, answered he, and I have been en-/ ‘td 
 gaged. And he bowed to me with an air of gal-) itt 
 lantry that rather confused me, 
 
 Sept 23. 
 
 Almost insensibly have three days glided on 
 since I wrote last, and so serenely, that, but for 
 your absence, I could not have formed a wish.’ 
 My residence here is much happier than I had| 
 dared to expect. The attention which lord Or+} 
 ville honours me is as uniform as it is flattering, | 
 and seems to result from a benevolence of heart | 
 that proves him as much a stranger to caprice as” 
 to pride ; for, as his particular civilities arose from 
 a generous resentment at seeing me neglected, so 
 will they, I trust, continue as long as I shall, in 
 any degree, deserve them. I am now not merely | 
 easy, but even gay in his presence: such is the ef-/ 
 fect of true politeness, that it banishes all restraint 
 and embarrassment. When we walk cut, he con- 
 descends to be my companion, and keeps by my 
 
py DY 
 
 EVELINA, 363 
 
 side all the way we go. When we read he marks 
 the passages most worthy to be noticed, draws out 
 my sentiments, and favours me with his own. 
 At table, where he always sits next to me, he 
 obliges me by a thousand r 
 while the distingui ¢ good-breeding with which 
 he treats me, prevents my repining at the visibly- 
 felt superiority of the rest of the company. A 
 thousand occasional meetings could not have 
 brought us to that degree of social freedom, which 
 four days spent under the same roof have, insensi- 
 bly, been productive of; and, as my only friend in 
 this house, Mrs. Selwyn, is too much engrossed in 
 perpetual conversation to attend much to me, 
 lord Orville seems to regard me as a helpless 
 stranger, and, as such, to think me entitled to his 
 good offices and protection, Indeed, my dearsir, 
 T have reason to hope that the depre ciating opinion 
 he formerly entertained of me is succeeded by one 
 infinitely more partial.—It may be that I flatter 
 myself; but yet his looks, his attentions, his desire 
 of drawing me into conversation, and his solici- 
 
 neless attentions * 
 
 htude to oblige me, all conspire to make me hope 
 
 Ido not. I short, my dearest sir, these last four 
 happy days would repay me for months of sorrow 
 and pain ! 
 
 welina in Continuation. 
 Clifton, Sept. 24: 
 Tuts morning I came down stairs very early 3 
 and supposing that the family would not assemble 
 Yor some time, I strolled out, purposing to take a 
 long walk, in the manner L was wont to do at 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 Berry Hill, before breakfast; but I had scarce 
 shut the garden gate, before I was met by a gentle- | 
 man, who, immediately bowing to me, I recollect- 
 ed to be the unhappy Mr. Macartney. Very much 
 surprised, I courtesied, and stopped till he came 
 up tome. He was still in mourning, but looked 
 better than when I saw him last, though he had} ; 
 the same air of melancholy which so much struck) isis 
 me at first sight of him, ea 
 
 A ddressing me with the utmost respect, I am} 4,1 
 happy, madam, said he, to have met with you 4 que 
 soon. I came to Bristol but yesterday, and have}. 
 had no small difficulty in tracing you to Clifton, ety 
 
 Did you know, then, of my being here ? : 
 
 I did, Madam; the sole motive of my journey 
 was to see you. Ihave been to Berry Hill, and) 
 there I had my intelligence, and at the same time’ 
 the unwelcome information of your ill health. 
 
 Good God! Sir,—and can you possibly have 
 taken so much trouble ? ; 
 
 Trouble! O madam, could there be any, to re« 
 turn you, the moment I had the power, my per 
 sonal acknowledgments for your goodness ? 
 
 I then inquired after madam Duval and the 
 Snow-hill-family. He told me they were all well 
 and that madame Duval proposed soon returning: 
 to Paris. When I congratulated him on looking 
 better, It is yourself, madam, said he, you should 
 congratulate; for to your humanity alone it may 
 now be owing that I exist at all, He then told/, 
 me, that his affairs were now in a less desperato 
 situation ; and that he hoped, by the assistance 
 of time and reason, to accommodate his mind toa 
 more cheerful submission tohisfate. The interest 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 Je) | you so generously tookin my afflictions, added he, 
 assures me you will not be ‘displeased to hear of 
 my better fortune ; 1 was therefore eager to a 
 mf} quaint you with it. He then told me that his 
 wif friend, the moment he had received his letter, 
 if quitted Paris, and flew to give him his personal 
 n. With a heavy heart 
 : pted it ; but yet, he add- 
 pted it; and therefore, as bound 
 1 honour, my first step was to 
 “tress of 1 istress, and to 
 » something in a paper) the 
 only part of my obl hat can be returned 5 
 for the rest, I have noth but my gratitude to 
 offer, and must always be content d to consider 
 myself her debtor. 
 
 I congratulated him most sincerely upon his 
 a@ | dawning p rosperity, but begged he would not de- 
 prive me of the pleasure of being his friend ; and 
 we pdeclined recei the money till his affairs were 
 . pmore settled. 
 
 While this point was in agi 
 Orville’ 
 geen me. li 
 and his lordship, advz 
 said, Good God, miss Any 
 alone? Breakfast has been ready 
 «— L have been r yund the garden in search of you. 
 
 Your lord s been very good, said I; but 
 LE hope you have not waited. 
 
 Not waited! repeated he smiling: Do you 
 think we could sit down quietly to breakfast, with 
 the idea you had run away from us? But come 
 (offering to hand me), if we do not return, they 
 
 c- 
 
 assistance and consolati 
 
 he acknowl 
 
 min) hast ten t to the ben 
 4, | Teturn (presenting 
 
 tion, I heard long 
 ng of the gardener if he had 
 ately opened the garden-gate 5 
 neing to me with quickness, 
 e, have you been out 
 yme time, and 
 
 voice ing 
 
 mmed 
 
 } 
 ? 
 i 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 will suppose Iam run away too; and they very 
 naturally may, as they know the attraction of the 
 magnet that draws me. 
 
 I will come, my lord, said I, rather embarrassed, | *\' 
 in two minutes. Then, turning to Mr. Macart- N 
 ney, with yet more embarrasment, I wished him) ™. 
 good morning. N 
 
 He advanced towards the garden with the pa- eal 
 per still in his hand. 4 
 
 No, no, eried 1, some other time. 
 
 May I then, madam, haye the honour of seeing 
 you again ? 
 
 I did. not dare take the liberty of inviting any) 
 body to the house of Mrs, Beaumont, nor yet had) 
 I the presence of mind to make an excuse ; andy) 
 therefore, not knowing how to refuse him, I said, 
 Perhaps you may be this way again to-morrow 
 morning,—and I believe I shall walk out before) 
 breakfast, 
 
 He bowed, and went away; while I, turning) 
 again to lord Orville, saw his countenance so 
 much altered, that I was frightened at what T had 
 so hastily said. He did not again offer me his 
 hand; but walked silent and slow by his side, 
 Good Heaven! thought I, what may he not sup- 
 pose from this adventure! May he not, by my 
 desire of meeting Mr. Macartney to morrow, ima= 
 gine it was by a design | walked out to meet him 
 to day? Tormented by this apprehension, I de- 
 termined to avail myself of the freedom which hig 
 behaviour, since J] came hither, has encouraged} 
 and, sinee he would not ask any questions, begin 
 an explanation myself. I therefore slackened my 
 pace to gain time, and then said, Was not your 
 
EVELINA, 367 
 
 lordship surprised to see me speaking with a 
 
 stranger ? 
 
 A stranger? repeated he; is it possible that 
 gentleman can be a stranger to you ? 
 
 No, my lord, said I, stammering, not to me— 
 but only it might look—he might seem— 
 
 No, believe me, said he, with a forced smile, I 
 could neyer suppose miss Anville would make an 
 appointment with 
 
 An appointmen 
 ing violently. 
 
 Pardon me, madam, answered he, but I thought 
 Thad heard one. 
 
 I was so much confounded that I could not 
 speak, yet, finding he walked quietly on, I could 
 wot endure he should make his own interpreta- 
 tion of my silence; and therefore, as soon as I 
 recovered from my surprise, I said, Indeed my 
 lord, you are much mistaken: Mr. Macartney had 
 jarticular business with me—and I could not—I 
 snew not how to refuse seeing him ;—but indeed, 
 my lord—I had not,—he had not,—I stammered 
 iso terribly that I could not go on. 
 
 # } Tam very sorry, said he, gravely, that I have 
 “'Theen so unfortunate as to distre you; but I 
 ¥\\should not have followed you had I not imagined 
 
 | you were merely walked out for the air, 
 
 ™\) And so I was! cried I, eagerly; indeed, my 
 
 a) lord, I was! My meeting with Mr. Macartney was 
 
 ‘}\quite accidentally; and, i p thinks 
 there is g him to 
 horrow, I am ready to give up that intention. 
 
 If I think! said he in atone ofsurprise: surely 
 miss Anyille cannot leave the arbitration of a 
 
 a stranger, 
 
 my lord! repeated I, colour- 
 
 if your lordshi 
 
 1y impropriety in my see 
 
 {i 
 
368 EVELINA, 14 
 
 ii 
 point so delicate to one who is ignorant of all the iy 0} 
 circumstances which attend it ? th: 
 Tf, said I, it was worth your lordship’s time to leg 
 
 hear them,—you should not be ignorant of all the 
 
 circumstances which attend it. his 
 The etness of Miss Anville’s disposition,> % 
 said he, in a softened voice, I have long admired 3} ¢a 
 and the offer of a communication, which does me} on 
 so much honour, is too grateful to me not to be} to 
 eagerly caught at. Ww 
 to 
 
 Selwyn opened the parlour win 
 stion ended. I was rallied 
 inet h b de 
 Iking: but nd) de 
 
 Just then Mrs, 
 dow, and our conve 
 upon my passion for solitary wa 
 asked me. 
 
 questions were Y 
 When breakfast was over, I hoped to have had} 
 some opportunity of speaking with lord Orville 7 
 but lord Merton and Mr. Coverley came in, and xg 
 insisted upon his opinion of the spot they had fixed 
 upon for the old woman’s race. The ladies de- 
 clared they would be of the party; and according+ 
 ly we all went. 
 
 ThePAce is to be run in Mr. Beaumont’s gar | 
 den ; the two gentlemen are as anxious as if theif 
 joint lives depended upon it. They have at length 
 fixed upon objects ; but have found great difficulty 
 in persuading them to practise running, in order 
 to try their strength. This grand affair is to be 
 decided next Thursday. : 
 
 When we returned to the house, the entrance 
 of more company still prevented my having any 
 more conversation with Lord Orville, I was 
 much chagrined, as I knew he was engaged at the 
 Hot-wells in the afternoon. Seeing, therefore, 0 
 probability of speaking to him before the time > 
 
RVELINA, 
 
 f . my meeting Mr. Macartney arrived. I determined 
 his ill opinion, I would 
 
 stions. 
 
 that, rather than ri 
 leave Mr. Macartney to his own suggt 
 Yet. when I reflected upon his peculiar situation 
 
 | | his poverty, his sadness, and, more than all the 
 ‘ rest, the idea I knew he entertained of what he 
 | ealls obligations to me, I could not resolve up- 
 | | on a breach of pr mise, which might be attributed 
 
 most offensive to one 
 
 to causes of all others the 
 spicious 
 
 ‘tune has made extrem 
 
 whom mis! 
 to slights and contempt. 
 
 After the most uneasy consi lerations, Lat length 
 determined upon writing an excuse, which would 
 from either meeting or affronting 
 ed Mrs. Selwyn’s leave to 
 
 t once, Save me 
 
 him. I therefore | 
 to the Hotwells, which she instantly 
 
 send her man 
 
 then L wrote the following note. 
 
 To Mr. Macartney. 
 
 Sir, 
 
 As it will not be in my power to wa k out to 
 morrow morning, I would by no meangmgive you 
 the trouble of c yming to Clifton. I honapno waver: 
 to have the pleasure of seeing you before you quit 
 Bristol. lam, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 EVELINA ANVILLE, 
 
 I desired the servant to inquire at the pump- 
 
 room where Mr. Macartney lived, and returned to 
 
 the parlo 
 As soon 
 tired to dress, 1 then, u ily, found m 
 
 lord Orville; who, the moment I rose 
 » 
 
 ispersed, the ladies re- 
 
 3 thecomp 
 i 
 
 yselt 
 
 expec 
 
 alone with 
 A 
 
 \ 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 to follow Mrs, Selwyn, advanced to me, and said, 
 Will miss Anville pardon my impatience, if I re- 
 mind her of the promise she was so good as to 
 make me this morning. 
 
 I stopped, and would have returned to my seat ; 
 but before I had time, the servants came to lay 
 the cloth. He retreated, and went towards the 
 window ; and, while I was considering in what 
 manner to begin, I could not help asking myself 
 what right I had to communicate the affairs of 
 Mr. Macartney ; and I doubted whether, to clear 
 myselffrom one act of imprudence, I had not 
 committed another. 
 
 Distressed by this reflection, I thought it best 
 to quit the room, and give myself some time for 
 consideration before I spoke; and therefore only 
 saying I must hasten to dress, I ran up stairs, 
 rather abruptly I own; and so I fear, lord Orville 
 must think. Yet what could Ido? Unused to 
 the situationin which I find myself, and embar- 
 rassed by the slightest difficulties, I seldom, till 
 too late, discover how I ought to act. 
 
 Just as we were all assembled todinner, Mrs. 
 Selwyn’s man, coming into the parlour, presented 
 to me a letter, and said, I can’t find out Mr. 
 Macartney, madam but the post office people will 
 let you know if they hear of him. 
 
 I was extremely ashamed of this public message ; 
 and meeting the eyes of lord Orville, which were 
 earnestly fixed on me, my confusion redoubled, 
 and I knew not which way to look. All dinner 
 time he was as silent as myself; and the moment 
 it was in my power I left the table, and went to 
 my own room, Mrs, Selwyn presently followed 
 
BYELINA, 371 
 
 and her questions obliged me to own all the 
 
 me; 
 particulars of my acquaintance with Mr. Macart- 
 ney, in order to excuse my writing to him. She 
 
 said it was a most romantie affair, and spoke her 
 sentiments with great severity 5 declaring that 
 she had no doubt but he was an adventurer and 
 
 an imposter. 
 
 And now, my dear sir, I am totally at a loss 
 what I ought to do; the me I reflect the more 
 sensible am I ofthe utter impropriety, nay, treach- 
 ery, of revealing the st and publishing the mis- 
 fortunes and poverty piney : who 
 has an undoubted right to my secresy and discre- 
 tion, and whos letter « ces me to regard his 
 communication as sacré d— et, the appear- 
 ', perhaps somet » worse, which 
 
 $s serious- 
 
 rystery 
 
 ance 0 ; 
 fair must | 
 
 this 
 
 ness,—and the pr ymises I have ma 
 ducements scarce to be r ted for trusting him 
 withthe openness he has reason to expect from me. 
 
 I am equally distressed, tov, whether or not I 
 see Mr. Mac ey to morrow morning. 
 
 O, sir, could | now bo enlightened by your 
 counsel" from what anxiety and perplexity should I 
 be relieved. 
 
 Bnt no,—I ought not to betray Mr. Macartney, 
 and I will not forfeit a confidence which would 
 never have been repose iin me but froma reliance 
 upon my honour, which I should blush to find my- 
 self unworthy of. Desirous as I was of the good 
 opinion of lord Orville, I will endeavour to act as 
 if I was guided by your advi e! and, making it my 
 sole aim to deserve if, leave to time and to fate my 
 success or disappointment, 
 
 ive to lord O 
 
 e him, are in- 
 
 ie 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 Since I have formed this resolution, my mind is 
 more easy: but I will not finish my letter till the 
 affair is decided, 
 
 Sept. 25. 
 
 I rose very early this morning; and, after a 
 thousand different plans, not being able to resolve 
 upon giving poor Mr. Macartney leave to suppose 
 I neglected him, I thought it incumbent upon me 
 to keep my word, since he had not received my 
 letter; I therefore determined to make my own 
 apologies not to stay with him two minutes, and 
 to excuse myself from meeting him any more. 
 
 Yet, uncertain whether I was wrong or right, 
 it was with fear and trembling that I opened the 
 garden-gate; judge then of my feelings, when 
 the first object I saw was lord Orville !—he, too, 
 looked extremely diseconcerted, and said in a hesi- 
 tating manner, ‘Pardon me, madam,-—I did not 
 intend,—I did not imagine you would have been 
 here so soon—or—or | would not have come— 
 And then with a hasty bow, he passed me, and 
 proceeded to the garden. 
 
 IT was searce able to stand, so greatly did I feel 
 myself shocked! but upon my saying almost in- 
 voluntarily, O my lord! he turned back, and after 
 a short pause, said, Did you speak to me, madam. 
 
 I could not immediately answer; [ seemed 
 choked, and was even forced to support myself by 
 the garden gate. 
 
 Lord Orville, soon recovering his dignity, said, 
 I know not how to apologize for being, just now, 
 at this place :—and { cannot immediately- -if ever 
 r—clear myself from the imputation of imperti- 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 us nent curiosity, to which I fear you will attribute 
 it: however, at present I will only entreat your 2 
 pardon without detaining you any longer. Again { 
 he bowed, and left me. } 
 For some moments I remained fixed to the hy 
 pot, and in the same position, immoveably \ 
 asif 1 had been transformed into a stone, My i 
 first impulse was to call him back, and instantly } 
 tell him the whole affair; but I checked this de- : | 
 Sire, though I would have given the world to have ; 
 vi indulged it; something like pride added what I 
 ud thought due to Mr. Macartney, and I determined 
 not only to keep his secret, but to delay any sort 
 i of explanation till lord Orville should condescend - 
 to request it. 
 Slowly he walked; and 
 
 same 
 
 before he entered the 
 house, he looked back, but hastily withdrew his 
 eyes upon finding | observed him. 
 Indeed, my dear sir, you cannot easily imagine 
 a situation more uncomforable than mine was at 
 no that time 5 to be suspected by lord Orville of any 
 clandestine actions wounded my soul; I was too 
 much discomposed to wait for Mr. Macartney, 
 nor,in truth, could I endure to have the design 
 of my staying so well known. Yet I was so ex- 
 tremely agitated that I could hardly more; and 
 I have reason to believe lord Orville, from the 
 parlour window, saw me tottering along; for, be- 
 ity fore I had taken five steps, he came out, and, has- 
 tening to meet me, said, I fear you are not well; 
 pray, allow me (offering his arm) to assist you: 
 No, my lord, said I, with all the resolution I 
 could assume ; yet I was affected by an attention, 
 
374 EVELINA 
 
 at that time so little expected, and forced to turn 
 away my head to conceal my emotion. 
 
 You must, said he with earnestness, indeed 
 you must,—I am sure you are not well ;—refuse 
 me not the honour of assisting you 3 and, almost 
 forcibly he took my hand, and, drawing it under 
 his arm, obliged me to lean upon him. That I 
 submitted was partly the effect of surprise at an 
 earnestness so uncommon in lord Orville, and, 
 partly that I did not just then dare trust my voice 
 to make any objection. 
 
 When we came to the house, he led me into 
 the parlour, and to a chair, and begged to know 
 if I would have a glass of water. 
 
 No, my lord, [ thank you, said I, I am perfectly 
 recovered ; and, rising, I walked to the window, 
 where, for some time, I pretended to be occupied 
 in looking at the garden. 
 
 Determined as I was to act honourably by Mr. 
 Macartney, I yet most anxiously wished to be re- 
 stored to the good opinion of lord Orville ; but 
 his silence, and the thoughtfulness of his air, dis- 
 couraged me from speaking. 
 
 My situation soon grew disagreeable and em- 
 barrassing, and I resolved to return to my cham- 
 ber till breakfast was ready. To remain longet 
 TI feared might seem asking for his inquiries; and 
 { wassure it would ill become me to be more 
 eager to speak than he was to hear, P 
 
 Just as I reached the door, turning to me hast- 
 ily, he said, Are you going, miss Anville ? 
 
 1 am, my lord, answered I; yet I stopped. 
 
 Perhaps to return to—but I beg your pardou ! 
 ‘He spoke with a degree of agitation that made me 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 readily comprehend he meant to the garden ; and 
 T instantly said, To my own room, my lord. And 
 again I w ould have gone; but, convinced by my 
 answer that I understood him, I believe he was 
 sorry for the insinuation ; he approached me with 
 a very serious air, though at the same time he 
 forced & smile, and said, I know not what evil 
 geniiis pursues me this morning, but I seem des- 
 tined to do or say something I ought not; I am 
 so much ashamed of myself, that I can scarce 
 
 3S, 
 
 solicit your forgiven 
 Mv forgiveness! my lord? cried I, abashed ra- 
 condescension 3; surely you 
 
 ther than elated by! 
 
 cannot—you are not se ious ? 
 
 Indeed never more so! yet, if I may be my owr 
 
 interpreter, miss Anville’s countenance pronoun- 
 ces my pardon. 
 
 I know not, my lord, how any one can pardon 
 who never has been offended. 
 
 You are very good ; yet I could expect no less 
 from a sweetness of disposition which baffles all 
 comparison 5 you will not think I am an encroach- 
 er, and that I take advantage of your goodness, 
 should I once more remind you of che promise 
 
 vou vouchsafed me yesterday ? 
 
 E No, indeed: on the contrary, T shall be very 
 
 happy to acquit my elf in your lordship’s opinion, 
 Acquittal you n d not, said he, leading me 
 
 again to the window; yet 1 own my curiosity is 
 
 strongly excited. 
 
 When I was seated, I found myself much at a 
 loss what to say 3 yet, after a short silence assum- 
 ing all the courage in my power, Vill you not, 
 my lord, said J, think me trifling and capricious 
 
“ampropriety of what I 
 
 376 EVELINA. 
 
 should I own I have repented the promise I made, 
 and should I entreat your lordship not to insist 
 upon my strict performance of it P—I spoke so 
 hastily, that I did not, at the time, consider the 
 N 
 
 As he was entirely silent, and profoundly atten- 
 tive, I continued to speak without interruption. 
 
 If your lordship, by any other means, knew 
 the circumstances attending my acquaintance with 
 Mr. Macartney, [ am most sure you would your- 
 self disapprove my relating them. He is a gen- 
 tleman, and has been very unfortunate ;—but I 
 am not—I think—at liberty to say more ; yet £ 
 amsure, if he knew your lordship wished to hear 
 any particulars of his affairs, he would readily 
 consent to my acknowledging them, Shall I my 
 lord, ask his permission ? 
 
 His affairs! repeated lord Orville; by no 
 means; I have not the least curiosity avout them. 
 
 I beg your lordship’s pardon,—but indeed I 
 had understood the contrary. 
 
 Is it possible, madam, you could suppose the 
 affairs of an utter strauger can excite my curiosi- 
 ty? The gravity and coolness with which he 
 asked this question very much abashed me. But 
 lord Orville is the most delicate of men; and, 
 presently recollecting himself, he added, I mean 
 not to speak with indifference of any friend of 
 yours,— far fromit; any such will always com- 
 mand my good wishes ; yet | own Tam rather dis- 
 appointed ; aud though I doubt not the justice of 
 your reason, to which I implicitly submit, you 
 must not wonder that, when upon the point of 
 
EVELINA, 377 
 
 being honoured with your confidence, I should 
 feel the greatest regret of finding it withdrawn. 
 Do you think, my dear sir, 1 did not, at that 
 uire all my resolution to guard me 
 from y telling him whatever he wished to 
 hear 2 yet I soice that I did not; for, added to 
 the ual wrong I should have doue, lord Orville 
 himself when he had heard, would, I am sure, 
 have blamed me. Fortunately, this thought oc- 
 curred to me; and I said, Your lordship shall 
 yourself be my judge 5 the promise I made, thongh 
 voluntary, was rash and inconsiderate; yet, had 
 it concerned myself, I would not have hesitated 
 in fulfilling it ; but the gentleman, whos affairs 
 J should be obliged to relate— 
 cried he, for interrupting you, yet 
 
 moment, t 
 
 Pardon me, 
 allow me to assure you, I have not the slightest 
 desire to be acquainted with his iirs further 
 belongs to the motives which induced 
 y morning—He stopped ; but there 
 
 than what 
 you yester 
 
 was no occasion to say more. 
 
 iat, my lor ried I, I will tell you honestly, 
 . Macartney had some particular business with 
 and I could not take the liberty to ask him 
 
 hither. 
 
 And why not 2 Mr, Beaumont, I am sure— 
 
 IL could not, my lord, think of intruding upon 
 Mrs. Beaumont’s complaisance : and so, with the 
 same. hasty folly I promised your lordship I 
 much more rashly promised to meet hith. 
 
 And did you? 
 
 No, my lord, said I colouring ; I returned be- 
 
 fore he came. 
 Again, for some time, we were both silent; yet, 
 
378 EVELINA. 
 
 } 
 unwilling to leave him to reflection which could \ 
 not but be to my disadvantage, [ summoned snffi- | 
 cient courage to say, There is no young creature 
 my lord, who so greatly wants, or so earnestly 
 wishes for, the advice and assistance of her friends 
 as I do: I am new to the world, and unused to 
 acting for myself;—my intentions aye neyer will- 
 fully blameable, yet I err perpetually! have 
 hitherto been blessed with the most affectionate 
 of friends and indeed, the ablest of men, to guide 
 and instruct me upon every occasion ;—but he is 
 too distant now to be applied to at the moment I 
 want his aid;—and here—there is not a human 
 being whose counsel I can ask. 
 
 Would to heaven, cried he, with a countenance 
 from which all coldness and gravity were banished 
 and sueceeded by the mildest benevolence, that 
 were worthy—and capable—of supplying the place 
 of such a friend,to miss Anville! 
 
 You do me but too much honour, said I; yet 
 1 hope your lordship’s candour,—perhaps I ought 
 to say indulgence,—will make some allowance, 
 on account of my inexperience, for behaviour so 
 inconsiderate:—may I, my lord, hope that you 
 will? 
 
 May J; cried he, hope that you will pardon 
 the ill grace with which I have submitted to my 
 disappointment? and that you will permit me 
 (kissing my hand) thus to seal my peace? 
 
 Our peace, my lord! said I, with revived spi- 
 rits. 
 
 This then, said he, again pressing it to his lips, 
 for owr peace: and now,—are we not friends? 
 
 Just then the door opened, and I had only 
 
 ‘ | 
 
 tim 
 int 
 
 I 
 ing 
 yet 
 wis 
 anc 
 
 a ee gm 
 
EVELINA. 379 
 
 e the ladies came 
 
 “| time to withdraw my hand befor 
 in to breakfast. 
 
 I have been all day 
 thus recon 
 to my resolution, 
 he too has been very cheerful, 
 and more obliging to me 
 
 the happiest of human be- 
 eiled to lord Orville, and 
 
 ings!—to be 
 —what could f 
 
 yet to adhere 
 wish for more? 
 and more attentive, 
 
 than ever. Yet Heaven forbid J should again be ri, 
 in a similar situation! for J eannot express how ; 
 much uneasiness I have suffered from the fear of tit 
 i 
 
 ib 
 
 incurring his ill opinion. 
 But what will poor 
 
 me? Happy 48 Iam, 
 
 ty I have been under of 
 
 Mr. Marcartney think of 
 I much regret the necessi- i 
 disappointing him. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest sir. 
 ————— & 
 Evelina in continuation 
 
 Sept. 30. 
 O Sir, what a strange incident have I to recite! 
 what a field of conjecture to open! 
 4 Yesterday evening we all went to an assembly, 
 oy Lord Orville presented tickets to the whole family; 
 did me the honour, to the no small surprise 
 believe, to dance with me. But 
 3 in fresh instances of his conde- 
 scending politeness; avd he now takes every , 
 opportunity of calling me his friend and his sister. 
 
 Lord Merton offered a ticket to lady Louisa, 
 but she was 80 much incensed against him, that 
 she refused it with the utmost disdain: neither 
 could he prevail upon her to dance with him 5 she 
 sat still the whole evening, and designed not to 
 
 wy look at or speak to him. To me her behaviour is 
 
 and 
 of all here, i 
 every day abound 
 
380 EVEA\NA, 
 
 almost the same: for she is cold, distant, and | 
 haughty, and her eyes express the greatest con- 
 tempt. But for lord Orville, how miserable 
 would my residence heré make me! 
 
 We were joined in the ball-room by Mr. Cover- 
 ley, Mr. Lovel, and lord Merton, who looked as if 
 he was doing penance, and sat all the tvening 
 next to lady Louisa, vainly endeavouring to appease 
 her anger, 
 
 Lord Orville began the minuet: he danced with 
 & young lady who seemed to engage the general 
 attention, as we had not seen her here before, She 
 is pretty, and looks mild and good humoured, 
 
 Pray, Mr, Lovel, said lady Louisa, who is that 2 
 
 Miss Belmont, answered he, the 
 she came to the Wells yesterday, 
 
 Struck with the name, 
 it : hut nobody heard me. 
 
 What is her family ? said Mrs, Beaumont. 
 
 Have you not heard of her, ma’am ? cried he ; 
 she is only daughter and heiress of sir John Bel- 
 mont. 
 
 Good Heaven, how did I start! the name strnek 
 my ear like a thunderbolt, Mrs, Selwyn, who 
 immediately looked at me, said, Be calm, my dear, 
 and we will learn the truth of this, 
 
 Till then, I had never 
 
 young heiress: 
 
 I involuntarily repeated 
 
 — 
 
 imagined her to be ac- 
 quainted with my story; but she has since told 
 
 me, that she knew my unhappy mother, and was 
 well informed of the whole affair, 
 
 She asked Mr. Lovel a multitnde of questions 5 
 and I gathered from his answers, tliat this young 
 lady was just come from abroad with sir John 
 Belmont, who was now in London 5 that she was 
 
381 
 
 under the care of his sister, Mrs. Paterson; and | 
 that she would inherit a considerable estate. | 
 
 I cannot express the strange feelings with which 
 1 was agitated during this recital, What, my \ 
 dearest sir, can it possibly mean } ? Did you ever f 
 hear of any after marriage ?—or must I suppose, 
 
 si | that, while the lawful c hild is rejected, another is 4 
 adopted 2—I know not what to think; I am 
 bewildered with a contrariety of ideas ! 
 When we came home, Mrs. Selwyn passed more : 
 
 than an hourin my room conversing upon this 
 
 Se | Subject. She says that | ought instantly to go to i 
 town, find out my father, and have the affair 
 ¢leared up. She assures me I have too strong a 
 , though unknown mother, 
 
 tesemblance to my de 
 
 to allow of the least hesitation in my being owned 
 when once I am seen. For my part, I have no 
 wish but to act by your direction. 
 
 I cannot give apy account of the evening: so 
 sturbed, so occupied am I by this subject, that 
 I can think of no other. I have entered Mrs, 
 Nelwyn to observe the strictest secrecy, and she 
 has Pp ised that she will. Indeed, she has too 
 much sense to be idly communicative. 
 
 Lord Orville took notice of my being absent and 
 silent; but I ventured not to intrust him with the ; 
 
 kause, Fortunately, he was not of the party at 
 the time Mr. Love! fags the discovery. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn 
 
 hat if you approve my going. 
 | herself a accompany me, I hada 
 
 io tov 
 Hthousand times rather ask the protection of Miss 
 )Mirvan, but, after this offer, that will not be pos- 
 
 sible. 
 
 Adieu, my dearest sir, I am sure you will 
 
382 EVELINA. | 
 
 2 
 } 
 
 write immediately, and I shall be all impatience } hin 
 
 till your letter arrives. wis 
 
 E in continuation. the 
 
 Oct. 1. 
 Goop God, my dear sir, what a wonderful tale 
 have I again to relate! even yet I am not,recover- 
 ed from my extreme surprise. 
 
 Yesterday morning, as soon as T had finished 
 my hasty letter, I was summoned to attend a 
 walking party to the Hot wells, It consisted only 
 of Mrs. Selwyn and lord Orville, The latter 
 walked by my side all the way; and his conver- 
 sation dissipated my uneasiness, and insensibly re-) 
 stored my serenity. ; 
 At the pump-room T saw Mr. Macartney; I) 
 
 courtesied to him twice ere he could speak to me. 
 When he did, I began to apologize for having dis- 
 appointed him; but I did not find it very easy to 
 excuse myself, as lord Orville’s eyes, with an ex- 
 pression of anxiety that distressed me, turned 
 from him to me, and me to him, every word that ef 
 I spoke. Convinced, however, that IL had really 
 trifled with Mr. Macartney, I scrupled not to bed (,, 
 his pardon. He was not then merely appeased; | ; 
 but even grateful. 
 
 He requested me to see him to-morrow: but I 
 had not the folly to be again guilty of an indisere4 
 tion whieb. had already caused me so much unew 
 siness ; and therefore I told him freely that it was . 
 not in my power at present to see him but by acy _ 
 cident; and, to prevent his being offended, 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 hinted to him the reason I could receive him as I 
 wished to do. 
 
 When I had satisfied both him and myselfupon 
 bject, I turned to lord Orville, and saw with 
 the gravity of his countenance ; I would 
 but knew not how: I believe, 
 thoughts ; for in a little 
 sort of serious smile, he said, Does not 
 1is disappointment ? 
 
 n to him, 
 
 time, w 
 Mr. Mac 
 Not much 
 And how ] ~ 
 hesitated what to a 
 ther? continued he, and must I not inquire into 
 
 rtney complair 
 j 
 
 my lord, 
 
 ased him ?-—Finding I 
 Am I not your bro- 
 
 your ail 
 * Gert I, laughing, I only 
 wish it ip’s while. e 
 Let me, then, ma e of my privi- 
 
 411 you see Mr. Macartney again ? 
 
 uinly, my lord, said 
 etter worth your lo 
 
 ke imm 
 
 no more! Indeed you shoc 
 
 That would I not do for the world, cried he; 
 yet you know not how warmly, how deeply I am 
 interested, not only in all your concerns, but in 
 
 all your actions. 
 
 This speech, the most par icular one lord Or- 
 ville had ever made to me, ended our conversation 
 at that time: for I was too much struck by it to 
 
 ) make any answer. 
 
 Soon after, Mr. Macartney, in a low voice, en- 
 treated me not to deny him the gratification of 
 
 returning the money, While he was speaking, 
 
384 EVELINA, 
 
 the young lady I saw yesterday at the assembly, 
 with the large party, entered the pump-room, 
 Mr. Macartney turned as pale as death, his voice 
 faltered, and he seemed not to know what he said. 
 I was myself almost equally disturbed by the 
 crowd of confused ideas that occurred to me. 
 Good Heaven! thought I, why should he be thus 
 agitated ?—is it possible this can be the young 
 lady he loved ? 
 
 In a few minutes we quitted the pump-room ; 
 and, though I twice wished Mr. Maeartney good 
 morning, he was 80 absent that he did not hear 
 me. 
 
 We did not immediately return to Clifton, as 
 Mrs. Selwyn had business at pamphlet shop. 
 BVhile she was looking at some new poems, lord 
 Orville again askéd me when I should see Mr. 
 Macartney ! 
 
 Indeed, my lord, cried I, I know not. but I would 
 give the universe for a few moments’ conversation 
 with him! 1 spokesthis with a simple sincerity, 
 and was not aware of the foree of my own words. 
 
 The universe! repeated he; Good God, miss 
 Anville, do you say this to me? 
 
 1 would say it, returned 1, to any body, my 
 lord, 
 
 1 beg your pardon, said he, in a voice that 
 showed him ill pleased, 1 am answered! 
 
 My lord, cried 1, you must not judge hardly of 
 mé, 1 spoke inadvertently; but if you knew the 
 painful suspense | suffer at thismoment, you would 
 not be surprised at what | haye said. 
 
 : And would a meeting with Mr, Macartney ree 
 lieve you from that suspense ? 
 
EVELINA. 885 
 
 Yes, my lord 5 two words might be sufficient. 
 
 Would to Heaven, cried he, after a short pause, 
 that I were worthy to know their import ! 
 
 Worthy, my lord!—O, if that were all, your 
 lordship could ask nothing I should not be ready 
 to answer! If I were but at liberty to speak, I 
 should be proud of your lordship’s inquiries : but 
 indeed, } am not—] have not any right to com- 
 municate the affairs of Mr. Macartney ;—your 
 lordship cannot suppose ) have, 
 
 1 will own to you, answered he, 1 know not 
 what to suppose; yet there seems a frankness 
 even in your mystery—and such an air of openness 
 in your countenance that 1 am willing to hope— 
 He stopped a moment, and then added, This meet- 
 ing, you say is essential to your repose ? 
 
 I did not say that, my lord: but yet I have the 
 most important reasons for wishing to speak te 
 him. 
 
 He paused a few minutes ; and then said, with 
 warmth, Yes, you shall speak to him !—I will my- 
 self assist you !—Mixs Anville, I am sure, eannot 
 form a wish against propriety ; I will ask no ques- 
 tions, I will rely upon her own purity, and unin«= 
 formed, blindfold as Iam, 1 will serve her with 
 And then he went into the shop, 
 rangely affected by his generous 
 almost wished to follow him 
 
 all my power ! 
 Jeaving me so str 
 behaviour, that I 
 with my thanks. 
 
 When Mrs. Selwyn had transacted her affairs, 
 we returned home. 
 
 The moment dinner was over, lord Orville went 
 out, and did not come back till just as we were 
 as 
 
 {i 
 
386 EVELINA, 
 
 summoned to supper. This is the longest time he 
 
 X fe 
 has spent from the house since | have been at | }, 
 Clifton: and you cannot imagine, my dear sir, i 
 
 how much i missed him. 1 scarce knew before fj 
 how infinitely 1 am indebted to him alone for the 
 happiness 1 have enjoyed since 1 have been at 
 Mrs Beaumont’s, h 
 
 As I generally go down stairs last, he came to 
 me the moment the ladies had passed by, and said, 
 
 Shall you be at home to morrow morning? - 
 I believe so, my lord. A 
 And will you then receive a visitor for me? ; 
 For you, my lord, d 
 
 Yes :—I have made acquaintance with Mr, Ma- 
 rartney, and he has promised to call upon me to- 
 morrow about three o'clock. 
 
 And then, taking my hand, he led me down ! 
 stairs, : 
 
 O sir!—was there ever such another man as 
 lord Orville ?—Yes, one othernow resides at Berry 
 Hill! 
 
 This morning there has been a great deal of 
 rompany here ; but at the time appointed by Jord 
 Orville, doubtless with that consideration, the) 
 parlour is almost always empty, as every body is 
 dressing. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont, however, was not gone up’ 
 stairs when Mr, Macartney sent in his name. 
 
 Lord Orville immediately said, Beg the favour 
 of him to walk in. You see, madam, that I con- | 
 sider myself as at home. | 
 
 { hope so, answered Mrs. Beaumont, or 1) | 
 should be very uneasy. : 
 
 Mr, Macartney then entered, I believe we both | 
 
EVELINA, 387 Ki 
 
 felt very conscious to whom the visit was paid ; 
 but lord Orville received him as his own guest; 
 and not merely entertained him as such while Mrs, 
 
 { 
 Beaumont remained in the room, but for some ¥ 
 || time after she had leftit; a delicacy that saved it 
 aul eo. . 
 11) | me from the embarrassment I should have felt had 
 
 he immediately quitted us. 
 
 In a few minutes, however, he gave Mr. Macart- 
 ney a book,— for 1, too, by way of pretence for i! 
 continuing in the room, prete nding to be reading 
 
 —and begged he would be so good as to look it 
 ne! over while he answered a note, which he would 
 des] yatch in a few moments, and return to him, 
 
 W hen he was gone, we both parte 1d with our s 
 books; and Mr. Macartney, again producing the 
 paper with the money, besought me to accept it. 
 
 Pray, said I, still dec lining it, did you know 
 the young lady who came into the pump-room 
 yeste rday morning § bas 
 
 Know her! repeated he, char 
 but too well! 
 
 indeed ! 
 
 Why, madam, do you ask, 
 f must beseech you to satis fy me further upon 
 
 ging colour; O, 
 
 this subject; pray tell me who she is? » 
 
 inviolably as 1 meant to keep my secret, I can x 
 refuse you, “mada m, nothing ;—that lady—is the if 
 daughte rof Sir John Belmont !—of my father 
 
 Gracious Heaven ! cried I, involuntarily laying 
 her, I 
 
 nd on his arm, are you then—my brot/ 
 
 my h 
 would have said, but my voice failed me, and I 
 
 burst into tears. i 
 O, madam, cried he, what does this mean ?— 
 
 what can thus distress you? 
 
888 EVELINA, 
 
 I could not answer, but held out my hand to 
 him. He seemed greatly surprised, and talked in 
 high terms of condescension, 
 
 Spare yourself, cried I, wiping my eyes, spare 
 yourself this mistake,—you have a right to all L 
 ean do for you; the similarity of our circumstan= 
 ces— 
 
 We were then interrupted by the entrance of 
 Mrs. Selwyn ; and Mr, Macartney, finding no pro- 
 bability of our being left alone, was obliged to 
 take leave, though, I believe, very reluctantly! 
 while in such suspense. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn,,then, by dint of interrogatories, 
 drew from me the state of this affair. She is so 
 penetrating, that there is no possibility of evading 
 to give her satisfaction. 
 
 Is not this astrange event Good Heaven! 
 how little did I think that the visits I so unwil+ 
 lingly paid at Mr. Branghton’s would have intro- 
 duced meto so neara relation! I will never 
 again regret the time I spent in town this sum- 
 mer; a circumstance so fortunate will always 
 make me think of it with pleasure, 
 
 I have just received your letter,—and it has al- 
 most broken my heart !—O sir ! the illusion is 
 over, indeed! how vainly have I flattered, how 
 miserably deceived myself! Long since, doubt- 
 ful of the situation of my heart, I dreaded a seru- 
 tiny; but now, that I have so long escaped, I 
 begin, indeed, to think my safety ensured, to hope 
 that my fears were causeless, and to believe that 
 my good opinion and esteem of lord Orville might 
 
 be owned without suspicion, and. felt with=) 
 
 out danger:—miserably deceived indeed! His 
 
EVELINAs 
 
 sight ts baneful to my repose l—his society ws 
 death to my future tranquillity; O, lord Orvilte, 
 could I have believed that a friendship so grateful 
 to my heart, so soothing to my distresses,—a 
 friendship, which in every respect, did me so 
 much honour, would only serve to embitter all 
 my future moments!—What a strange, what an 
 unhappy circumstance, that my gratitude, though 
 g0 justly excited, should be so fatal to my peace! 
 
 Yes, sir, 1 will quit him!—would to Heaven I 
 could at this moment! without seeing him again, 
 without trusting to my own conscious emotion ! 
 —O, lord Orville, how little do you know the 
 evils I owe to you !.how little suppose that, when 
 most dignified by your attention, I was most to 
 be pitied,—and when most exalted by your notice, 
 you were most my enemy. 
 
 You, sir, relied upon my ignorance ;—I, alas, 
 upon your experience ; and, whenever I doubted 
 the weakness of my heart, the idea that you did 
 not suspect it, reassured me, restored my courage, 
 and confirmed my error!—Yet am I most sensi- 
 ble of the kindness of your silence. 
 
 O sir! why have I ever quitted you ? why been 
 exposed to dangers to which I am so unequal ? 
 
 But I will leave this place, leave lord Orville,— 
 leave him, perhaps, for ever !—No matter; your 
 counsel, your goodness, may teach me how to re- 
 cover the peace and the serenity of which my un- 
 guarded folly has beguiled me. ‘To you alone do 
 IT trust,—in you alone confide, for every future 
 hope I may form. 
 
 The more I consider the parting with lord Or- 
 ville, the less fortitude do I feel to bear the sepa- 
 
ORE 
 
 Sern 
 
 390 EVELINA, 
 
 ration; the friendship he has shown me,—his po- | 
 liteness,—his sweetness of manners,—his concern 
 in my affairs,—his solicitude to oblige me,—all, 
 all to be given up! 
 
 No, I cannot tell him I am going,—I dare not 
 trust myself to take leave of him,—I will run a= 
 way without seeing him: implicitly will I follow 
 your advice, avoid his sight, and shun his society ! 
 
 Tomorrow morning | will set of for Berry Hill. 
 Mrs, Selwyn and Mrs. Beaumont shall alone know 
 my intention. And to-day—I will spend in my 
 own room. The readiness of my obedience is the 
 only atonement I can offer for the weakness which 
 calls for its exertion. 
 
 Can you, will you, most honoured, most dear 
 sir! sole prop by which the poor Evelina is sup- 
 ported,—can you, withont reproach, without dis- 
 pleasure, receive the child you have so earefully | 
 reared,—from whose education better fruit might 
 have been expected, and who, blushing for her 
 unworthiness, fears to meet the eye by which she 
 has been cherished ?—O yes, I am sure you will! 
 Your Evelina’s errors are those of the judgment; 
 and you, I well know, pardon all but those of the | 
 heart! 
 
 Evelina in continuation 
 Clifton, October 1.’ 
 I nave only time, my dearest sir, for three words , 
 to overtake my last letter, and prevent your ex- 
 pecting me immediately: for, when I communi- 
 cated my intention to Mrs. Selwyn she would not | 
 hear of it, and declared it would: be highly ridi- 
 
EVELINA, 391 
 
 culous for me to go before I had received an an- 
 swer to my intelligence concerning the journey 
 ih 18 Paris. She has, therefore, insisted upon my 
 
 gMting till your next letter arrives. I hope you 
 
 will not be displeased at my compliance, though 
 | jit is rather against my own judgment: but Mrs. 
 lr | (Selwyn quite overpowered me with the force of 
 her arguments. I will, however, see very little of 
 lord Orville; I will never come down stairs before 
 breakfast: give up all my walks in the garden; 
 
 seat myself next to Mrs. Selwyn: and not merely 
 . | lavoid his conversation, but shun his presence. I 
 i | pwill exert all the prudence and all the resolution 
 in my power to prevent this short delay from giv- 
 ing you any further uneasiness. 
 
 ‘Adieu, my dearest sir, I shall not now leaye 
 Clifton till I have your directions. 
 
 Yesterday, we went first to the pump-room, 
 Tt was full of company 5 and the moment we en- 
 tered, I heard a murmuring of That’s she / and 
 to my great confusion, I saw every eye turned to- 
 wards me. I pulled my hat over my face, and 
 by the assistance of Mrs. Selwyn, endeavoured to 
 screen myself from observation ; nevertheless, I 
 found I was so much the object of general obser- 
 vation, that I entreated her to hasten away. But 
 unfortunately she had entered into conversation 
 very earnestly with a gentleman of her acquaint- 
 ance, and would not listen tome; but said, that 
 if IT was tired of waiting, I might walk on to the 
 milliner’s with the Miss Watkins, two young la- 
 dies I have seen at Mrs. Beaumont’s, who were 
 
 going thither. 
 I accepted the offer very readily, and away we 
 
392 EVELINAs 
 
 went. But we had not gone three yards before | 
 we were followed by a party of young men, who 
 
 took every possible opportunity of looking aty € 
 y I PF ) 
 
 and, as they walked behind, talked aloud, i 
 manner at once unintelligible and absurd. Yes, 
 cried one, *tis certainly she !—mark but her blush- 
 ing cheek ! 
 
 ‘And then her eye—her downcast eye! cried 
 another. 
 
 True, O most true, said a third ; every beauty 
 is her own. 
 
 But then, said the first, her mind,—now the 
 difficulty is to find out the truth of that, for she 
 will not say a word. 
 
 She is timid, answered another : mark but her | 
 
 timid air. 
 
 During this conversation we walked on silent 
 and quick: as we knew not to whom it was par- 
 ticularly addressed, we were all equally ashamed, 
 and equally desirous to, avoid such unaccountable 
 observations. 
 
 Soon after, we were caught in a shower of rain. 
 We burried on: and these gentlemen following 
 us, offered their services in the most pressing man- 
 ner, begging usto make use of their arms; and 
 
 while I almost ran, in order to avoid their imper- j 
 
 tinence, I was suddenly met by Sir Clement Wil- 
 loughby. 
 
 We both started: Good God! he exclaimed, 
 Miss Anville! and then regarding my tormentors 
 with an air of displeasure, he earnestly inquired 
 if any thing had alarmed me? 
 
 No, no, cried 1; for I found no difficulty now 
 to disengage myself from these youths, who, pro- 
 
 th 
 co 
 B 
 a 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 bably, concluding from the commanding air of sir 
 | Clement, that he had aright to protcet me, quietly 
 1} ave way to him, and entirely quitted us. 
 With his usual impetuosity he then began a | 
 thousand inquiries, accompanied with as many W 
 compliments 5 and he told me that he arrived at 1} 
 Bristol but this morning, which he had entirely in 
 devoted to eudeavours to discover where! lodged. \ 
 Did you know, then, said I, that I was at 
 Bristol ? f 
 Would to Heaven, eried he, that I could re- ; 
 main in ignorance of your proeeedings with the 
 same contentment you do of mine ! then should I hi 
 not for ever journey upon the wings of Hope to 
 hes meet my. own despair : You cannot even judge of 
 ’ the cruelty of my fate; for the ease and serenity of 
 your mimd incapacitate you from feeling the agi- 
 
 tation of mine. 
 The ease and serenity of my mind! alas, how 
 
 little do I merit these word ! 
 
 But, added he, had accident brought me hi- 
 ther, and I got known of your journey, the voice 
 of fame would have proclaimed it to me instantly 
 
 upon my arrival. 
 The voice of fame! repeated J, 
 Yes, for yours was the first name I heard at 
 the pump room. But had I not heard your name, a 
 such a description could have pained no one else. ] 
 Indeed, said I, I do not understand you. But 
 just then arriving at the milliner’s our conversa- 
 tion ended; for Miss Watkins called me to look 
 at caps and ribbonSs 
 Sir Clement, however, has the art of being al- 
 home: he was yery soon engaged, as bu- 
 
 ways at 
 
394 EVELINA. 
 
 sily as ourselves, in looking at lace ruffles; yet he 
 took an opportunity of saying to me, in alow 
 voice, How charmed [ am to see you look so well 
 I was told you were ill ;—but I never saw yo 
 better in health,— never more infinitely lovely! 
 
 I tnrned away to examine the ribbons, and soon 
 after Mrs. Selwyn made her appearance. I found 
 that she was acquainted with sir Clement, and her 
 manner of speaking to him eonvinced me that he 
 was a favourite with her, 
 
 Soon after this we walked home: sir Clement 
 accompanied us; and the conversation that passed 
 between Mrs, Selwyn and him was supported in 
 so lively a manner, that I would have been much 
 entertained had my mind been more at ease; but, 
 alas! I could think of nothing but the capricious, 
 the unmeaning appearance which the alteration in 
 my conduct must make in the eyes of lord Orville, 
 And much as I wish to avoid him, greatly as I de- 
 sire to save myself from having my weakness 
 known to him,—yet I cannot endure to incur his 
 ill opinion ;~and unacquainted as he is with the 
 reasons by which I am actuated, how can he fail 
 contemning a change to him so unaccountable ? 
 
 As we entered the garden, he was the first ob- 
 ject we saw. He advanced to meet us; and I 
 could not help observing; that at sight of each 
 other both he and sir Clement changed colour. 
 
 We went into the parlour, where we found the 
 same party we had left. Mrs, Selwyn presented 
 sir Clement to Mrs. Beaumont; lady Louisa, and 
 lord Merton he seemed well acquainted with al- 
 ready. 
 
 The conversation was upon the general sub= 
 
la 
 
 EVELINA. 395 
 
 jects of the weather, the company at the Wells, 
 and the news of the day. But sir Clement, draw- 
 ing his chair next to mine, took every opportunity 
 é addressing himself to me in particular. 
 
 I could not but remark the striking difference 
 of his attention and that of lord Orville; the lat- 
 ter has such gentleness of manners, such delicacy 
 of conduct, and am air so respectful, that, when 
 he flatters most, he never distresses 5 avd when 
 he most confers honour, appears to receive it! 
 The former obtrudes bis attention, and forces 
 mine; itis so pointed, that it always confuses me; 
 and so public, that it attracts general notice. In- 
 deed, I have sometimes thought that he would 
 rather wish, than dislike to have his partiality for 
 me known, as he takes great care to prevent my 
 being spoken to by any but himself. 
 
 When at length he went away, lord Orville 
 took his seat, and said with a half smile, shall I 
 eall sir Clement,—or will you eall me an usurper 
 for taking this place 2?—You make me no answer? 
 Must 1 then suppose that sir Clement-= 
 
 It is little worth your lordship’s while, said I, 
 to suppose any thing upon so insignificant an oc- 
 casion. 
 
 Pardon me, cried he ;—to me nothing is insig- 
 nificant in which you are coneerned. 
 
 To this I made no answer; neither did he say 
 any thing more till the ladies retired to dress 3 
 and then, when I would have followed them, he 
 stopped me saying, One moment, I entreat you ! 
 
 I turned back, and he went on,—I greatly fear 
 that I have been so unfortunate as to offend you 5 
 yet so repugnant to my very soul is the idea, that 
 
396 EVELINAs 
 
 I know not how to suppose it possible I can un- 
 wittingly have done the only thing in the world 
 that, designedly, I would wish to avoid. 
 
 No, indeed, my lord, you have not, said I, ° 
 
 You sigh! cried he, taking my hand; would 
 to Heaven I were the sharer of your uneasiness, 
 whencesvever it springs! with what earnestness 
 would I not struggle to alleviate it;—Tell me, my 
 dear Miss Anville;—my new-adopted sister, my 
 sweet and most amiable friend !—tell me, I be- 
 seech you, if I can afford you any assistance? 
 
 None, none, my lord, cried I, withdrawing my 
 hand, and moving towards the door. 
 
 Is it then impossible I can serve you ?—Perhaps 
 you wish to see Mr. Macartney again ? 
 
 No, my lord. And I held the door open. 
 
 Iam not, I own, sorry for that. Yet, oh! Miss 
 Anyille, there is a question,—there is a conjec- 
 ture,—I know not how to mention, because I 
 dread the result!—But I see you are in haste;— 
 perhaps in the evening I may have the honour of 
 a longer conversation.— Yet one thing will you 
 haye the goodness to allow me to ask? Did you, 
 this morning, when you went to the Wells,—did 
 you know whom~you should meet there ? 
 
 Who, my lord ? 
 
 I beg your pardon a thousand times for a euri- 
 osity. so unlicensed ;—but I will say no more at 
 present, 
 
 He bowed, expecting me to go;—and then, 
 
 with quick steps, but a heavy heart, I came to my 
 own room 
 
EVELINA, 397 
 
 Mr, Villars to Hvelina, 
 
 Berry Hill, Oct. 3. 
 ‘four last communication, my dearest child, is in- 
 deed astonishing; that an acknowledged daugh- 
 ter and heiress of sir John Belmont should be at 
 Bristol, and still my Evelma bear the name of 
 Anville, is to me inexplicable: yet the mystery of 
 the letter to lady Howard prepared me to expect 
 something extraordinary upon sir John Belmont’s 
 return to England. 
 
 Whoever this young lady may be, it is certain 
 she now takes a place to which you have a right 
 indisputable. An after marriage I never heard 
 of; yet supposing such a one to have happened, 
 Miss Evelyn was certainly the first wife, and 
 therefore her daughter must, at least, be entitled 
 to the name of Belmont. 
 
 Fither there are circumstances in this affair at 
 
 resent incomprehensible, or else some strange 
 and most atrocious fraud has been practised ; 
 which of these two is the case it now behoves us 
 to enquire. 
 
 My reluctance to this step gives way to my con- 
 yiction of its propriety, since the reputation of 
 your dear and much injured mother must now be 
 either fully cleared from blemish, or receive its 
 final and indelible wound. 
 
 The public appearance of a daughter “of sir 
 John Belmont will revive the remembrance of 
 Miss Evelyn’s story in all who have heard it,— 
 who the mother was will be universally demand- 
 ed,—and if any other lady Belmont should be 
 
398 RVELINA. 
 
 named, the birth of my Evelina will receive a 
 stigma, against which honour, truth, and imno- 
 cence, may appeal in vain !—a stigma, which wil] 
 eternally blast the fair fame of her virtuous mo- 
 ther, and cast upon her blameless self the’ odium 
 of a title, which not all her purity can rescue 
 from established shame and dishonour. 
 
 No, my dear child, no; I will not quietly suffer 
 the ashes of your mother to be treated with igno- 
 miny! her spotless character shall be justified to 
 the world—her marriage shall be acknowledged, 
 and her child shall bear the name to which she is 
 lawfully entitled. 
 
 It is true that Mrs. Mirvan would conduct this 
 affair with more delicacy than Mrs. Selwyn, yet 
 perhaps, to save time is of all considerations the 
 most important, since the longer this mystery is 
 suffered to continue, the more difficulty may be 
 rendered its explanation, The sooner therefore 
 you ean set out for town, the less formidable will 
 be your task, 
 
 Let not your timidity, my dear love, depress 
 your spirits ; I shall, indeed, tremble for you ata 
 meeting at once so singular and so affecting, yet 
 there can be no doubt of the suecess of the ap- 
 plication. I enclose a letter from your unhappy 
 
 mother, written and reserved purposely for this | 
 
 oceasion +: Mrs. Clinton too, who attended her in 
 her last moments must accompany you to town. 
 But,avithout any other certificate of your birth 
 than which you carry in your ‘countenance, as it 
 eould not be affected by artifice, so it cannot ad- 
 mit of a doubt. 
 
 And now, my Evelina, committed at length to 
 
 aie oe 
 
 — 2 cule fb © a 
 
 “~~ pm wm ey 
 
 ae ela tet 
 
EVELINA, 899 
 
 the care of your real parent, receive the fervent 
 prayers, wishes, and blessings of him who so fond- 
 ly adopted you. 
 
 May’st thou, O child of my bosom! may’st 
 thou, in this change of situation, experience no 
 change of disposition, but receive. with humility, 
 and support with meekness, the elevation to which 
 thou art rising, May thy manners, language and 
 deportment, all evince that modest equanimity, 
 and cheerful gratitude, which not merely deserve, 
 but dignify prosperity, .May’st thou, to the last 
 moments ofan umblemished life, retain thygenuine 
 simplicity, thy singleness of heart, thy guileless 
 sincerity... And may’st thou, stranger to ostent- 
 ation, and superior to insolence, with true great- 
 ness of soul, shine forth conspicuous. only in be- 
 neyolence. 
 
 (Enclosed in the preceding Letter.) 
 Lady Belmont to Sir John Belmont. 
 
 In the firm hope that the moment of anguish 
 which approaches will prove the period of my suf- 
 ferings, once more I address myself to sir John 
 Belmont, in behalf of the child, who, if it survives 
 its mother, will hereafter be the bearer of this 
 letter. 
 
 Yet in what terms,—O most cruel of men !— 
 ean the lost Caroline address you, and not address 
 you in vain ?—O, deaf to the voice of compassion 
 ~ deaf to the sting of truth—deaf to every tie of 
 honour—say, in what terms may the lost Caroline 
 address you, and not address you in yain ? 
 
 Shall 1 call you by the loved, the respected 
 
460 EVELINA. 
 
 title of hushand?—No, you disclaim it!—the 
 father of my infant ?—No, you doom it to infamy! 
 —the lover who rescued me from a forced marri- 
 age ?—No, you have yourself betrayed me |—the 
 friend from whom I hoped succour and protection ? 
 —No, you have consigned me to misery and des- 
 truction ! 
 
 O, hardened against every plea of justice, re- 
 morse, or pity! how, and in what manner, may I 
 hope to move thee? Is there one method I have 
 left untried 2? remains there one resource unessay- 
 ed? No! Ihave exhausted the bitterness of re- 
 proach, and drained every sluice of compassion ! 
 
 Hopeless, and almost desperate, twenty times 
 have I flung away my pen ;—but the feelings of a 
 mother, a mother agonizing for the fate of her 
 child, again animating my courage, as often as I 
 have resumed it. 
 
 Perhaps when | am no more, when the measure 
 of my woes is completed, and the still silent, un- 
 reproaching dust has received my sad remains,— 
 then, perhaps, when accusation is no longer to be 
 feared, nor detection to be dreaded, the voice of 
 equality, and the ery of nature may be heard. 
 
 Listen, O Belmont, to their dictates ! reprobate 
 not your child, though you have reprobated its 
 mother. The evils that are past, perhaps, when 
 too late, you may regret that you have destroyed 3 
 —you may think with horror of the deceptions you 
 have practised, and the pangs of remorse may fol- 
 low me to the tomb :—O Belmont, all my resent- 
 ment softens into pity at the thought! what will 
 become of thee, good Heaven, when, with the eye 
 of penitence, thou reviewest my past conduct ! 
 
EVELINA, 401 
 
 Hear then, the solemn, the last address, with 
 which the unhappy Caroline will importune thee, 
 
 lf when the time of thy contrition arrives,— 
 for arrive it must! when the sense of thy treacheay 
 shall rob thee of almost every other,—if then thy 
 tortured heart shall sigh to expiate thy guilt,— 
 mark the conditions upon which 1 leave thee my 
 forgiveness. 
 
 Thou knowset 1 am thy wife !—clear then to 
 the world the reputation thou hast sullied, and re- 
 ceive, as thy lawful success, the child who will 
 present thee this, my dying request ! 
 
 The worthiest, the most benevolent, the best of 
 men, to whose consoling kindness 1 own the lit- 
 tle tranquillity | have been able to preserve, has 
 plighted me his faith, that upon no other condi- 
 tions he will part with his helpless charge. 
 
 Should’st thou, in the features of this deserted 
 innocent, trace the resemblance of the wretched 
 Caroline,—should its face bear the marks of its 
 birth, and revive in thy memory the image of its 
 mother, wilt thou not, Belmont, wilt thou not 
 therefore renounce it ?—O babe of my fondest af- 
 fection! for whom already 1 experience all the 
 tenderness of maternal pity! look not like thy 
 unfortunate mother,—lest the parent, whom the 
 hand of death may spare, shall be snatched from 
 thee by the more eruel means of unnatural anti- 
 pathy! 
 
 1 can writenomore, The small share of seren« 
 ity 1 have painfully acquired will not bear the 
 shock of the dreadful ideas that crowd upon me. 
 
 Adieu, —for ever ! 
 
 2e¢ 
 
40 EVELINAs 
 
 Yet, O!—shall 1 not, in this farewell, which 
 thou wilt not read till every stormy passion is €X+ 
 tinct, and the kind grave has embosomed all my 
 sorrows,—shall 1 not offer to the man, once 80 
 dear to me, a ra ation to those affections 
 he has in reserve ? Suffer me, then, to tell thee, 
 that my pity far exceeds my indignation,—that L 
 will pray for thee in my last moments, and that 
 the recollection of the love 1 once bore thee shall 
 swallow up every other! 
 
 Once more adieu! 
 
 CAROLINE BELMONT. 
 
 of consol: 
 
 Evelina to Rev. Mr. Villars. 
 Oct. 6th, 
 Now, my dearest sir, if the perturbation of my 
 spirit will allow me, I will finish my last letter 
 from Clifton-Hill. 
 
 This-morning, though I did not go down stairs 
 early, lord Orville was the only person in the par 
 lour when I entered it, 1 felt no small confusion 
 at seeing him alone, after having so long and suc- 
 cessfully avoided such a meeting. As soon as the 
 usual compliments were over, I would have leit 
 the room, but be stopped me by saying, If dis- 
 turb you, miss Anville, lam gone. 
 
 My lord, said I, rather embarrassed, I did not 
 mean to siay. 
 
 I flattered myself, cried he, I should have had 
 a@ moment’s conversation with you. 
 
 I then turned back ; and he seemed himself im 
 some perplexity; but, after a short pause, You 
 are yery good, said he, tg indulge my request; £ 
 
a 
 
 EVELINA, 403 
 
 have indeed, for some time past, most ardently do- 
 sired an opportunity of speaking to you. 
 
 Again he paused; but I said nothing, so he went 
 on. 
 
 You allowed me, madam, a few days since, you 
 allowed me to lay claim to your friendship,—to 
 interest myself in your affairs,—to call you by the 
 affectionate title of sister ;—and the honour you 
 did me no man could have been more sensible of 5 
 I am ignorant, therefore, how I have been so un- 
 fortunate as to forfeit it ;—but, at present, all is 
 changed! you fly me, your averted eye shuns to 
 meet mine, and you sedulously avoid my conyersa- 
 tion. 
 
 I was extremely disconcerted at this grave, and 
 but too just accusation, and Iam sure 1 must look 
 very simple !—but I made my answer. 
 
 You will not, I hope, continued he, condemn 
 me unheard: if there is any thing I have neglect- 
 ed,—tell me, I beseech you w hat, and it shall be 
 the whole study of my thoughts how to deserve 
 your pardon. 
 
 O my lord, cried I, penetrated at once with 
 shame and gratitude, your too, too great polite- 
 ness opp me! you have done “nothing a8 
 have never dreamt of offence ;—if there is any 
 pardon to be asked, it is rather for me, than for 
 you to ask it. 
 
 You are all sweetness and condescension ! cried 
 he, and I flatter myself you will again allow me to 
 
 slaim those titles which I find myself so unable to 
 forego. Yet occupied as lam with an idea that 
 gives me the greatest uneasiness, I hope you will 
 not think impertinent, if I still solicit, still entreat 
 nay implore you to tell me, to what cause your 
 
404 EVELINA. 
 
 late sudden, and to me most painful, reserve was 
 owing? 
 
 Indeed, my lord, said IT, stammering, I dont— 
 I can’t,—indeed, my lord,— 
 
 Lam sorry to distress you, said he, and ashamed 
 to be so urgent,—yet 1 know not how to besatis- 
 fied while in ignorance,—and the time when the 
 change happened makes me apprebend,—may 1 
 miss Anville, tell you what it makes me appre= 
 hend ? 
 
 Certainly, my lord, 
 
 Tell me, then, and pardon a question most 
 essentially important to me!—Had, or had not, 
 sir Clement Willoughby any share in causing 
 your inquietude ? 
 
 No, my lord, answered I with firmness, none in 
 the world. 
 
 A thousand, thousand thanks, cried he: you 
 have relieved me from a weight of conjecture 
 which I supported very painfully. But one thing 
 more ; is it, in any measure, to sir Clement that I 
 may attribute the alteration in your behaviour to 
 myself, which I could not but observe began the 
 very day after his arrival at the Hot-wells? 
 
 To sir Clement, my lord, said I, attribute no- 
 thing. He is the last man in the world who 
 would have any influence over my conduct. 
 
 And will you then, restore me to that share of : 
 
 confidence and fayour with which you honoured 
 me before he came, 
 
 Just then, to my great relief,—for I knew not 
 what to say,—Mrs, Beaumont opened the door, 
 and in a few minutes we went to breakfast. 
 
 Lord Orville was all gaiety: never did I see 
 
oe 
 
 EVELINA. 405 
 
 him more lively or more agreeable, Very soon 
 after sir Clement Willoughby called to pay his 
 respects, he said, to Mrs. Beaumont. I then 
 came to my own room, where, indulging my re- 
 flections, which now soothed and now alarmed 
 me, I remained very quietly, till I received your 
 most kind letter. 
 
 O sir, how sweet are the prayers you offer for 
 your Evelina! how grateful to her are the bless- 
 ings you pour upon her head !—You commit me 
 to my real parent,- —Oh, guardian, friend, protec- 
 tor of my youth,—by whom my helpless infancy 
 was cherished, my mind formed, my very life pre- 
 gerved,—you are the parent my heart acknow- 
 ledges, and to you, do I vow eternal duty, grati- 
 tude, and affection ! 
 
 I look forward to the approaching interview 
 with more fear than hope; but important as is 
 this subject, I am just now wholly engrossed with 
 another which | must hasten to communicate. 
 
 I immediately acquainted Mrs, Selwyn with the 
 purport of your letter. She was charmed to find 
 your opinion agreed with her own, and settled 
 that we should go down to-morrow morning: and 
 a chaise is actually ordered to be here at one 
 o’elock. 
 
 She then desired me to pack up my clothes? 
 and said she must go herself to make speeches and 
 tell lies to Mrs. Beaumont. 
 
 When I went down stairs to dinner, lord Or- 
 ville, who was still in excellent spirits, reproached 
 me for secluding myself so much from the com- 
 pany. He sat next me,—he would sit next me— 
 at table; and he might, I am sure, repeat what 
 
406 EVELINA, 
 he once said of me before, that he almost ex- 
 hausted himself in fruitless endeavours to enter- 
 tain me ;—for, indeed, I was not to be entertain- 
 ed: I was totally spiritless and dejected; the idea 
 of the approaching meeting,—and O sir, the idea 
 of the approaching parting, gave a heaviness to 
 my heart that I could neither conquer nor re- 
 press. I even regretted the half explanation that 
 had passed, and wished lord Orville had supported 
 his own reserve, and suffered me to support mine. 
 
 However, when, during dinner, Mrs. Beaumont 
 spoke of our journey, my gravity was no longer 
 singular; clouds instantly overspread the counte- 
 nance of lord Orville, and he became nearly as 
 thoughtful and as silent as myself. 
 
 We all went together to the drawing-room, 
 After a short and uninteresting conversation, Mrs, 
 Selwyn said she must prepare forher journey, and 
 begged me to see for some books she had left in 
 the parlour. 
 
 And here, while I was looking for them, I was ~ 
 
 followed by lord Orville. He shut the door after 
 he came in, and, approaching me with a leok of 
 anxiety, said, is it true, miss Anville? are you 
 going ? 
 
 I believe so, my lord, said I, still looking for 
 the books, 
 
 So suddenly, so unexpectedly must I lose you ? 
 
 No great loss, my lord, cried I, endeavouring to 
 speak cheerfully. 
 
 It is impossible, said he gravely, miss Anville 
 ¢an doubt my sincerity ? 
 
 I can’t imagine, cried I, what Mrs, Selwyn has 
 done with these books, 
 
EVELINA, 407 
 
 Would to Heaven, continued he, I might flatter 
 myself you would allow me to prove it! 
 
 T must run up stairs, eried J, greatly confused, 
 and ask what she has done with them. 
 
 You are going, then, eried he, taking my hand, 
 and you give me not the smallest hope of your 
 return !—will you not, then, my too lovely friend! 
 —will you not, at least, teach me, with fortitude 
 like your own, to support your absence ? 
 
 My lord, cried J, endeavouring to disengage my 
 hand, pray let me go! 
 
 I will, cried he, to my inexpressible confusion, 
 dropping on one knee, if you wish to leave me! 
 
 O, my lord, exclaimed I, rise, I beseech you, 
 rise !—such a posture to me!—surely your lord- 
 ship is not so cruel as to mock me! 
 
 Mock you! repeated he earnestly, no! I revere 
 you! I esteem and I admire you above all human 
 beings, you are the friend to whom my soul is 
 attached as to its better half! you are the most 
 amiable, the most perfect of women; and you are 
 dearer to me than language has the power of 
 telling. 
 
 I attempt not to describe my sensations at that 
 moment; I scarce breathed ; I doubted if I exist- 
 ed,—the blood forsook my cheeks, and my feet 
 refused to sustain me; lord Orville, hastily rising, 
 supported me to a chair, upon which I sank al- 
 most lifele 
 
 For a minutes neither of us spoke; and 
 then, seeing recover, lord Orville, though in 
 terms hardly articulate, entreated my pardon for 
 his abruptness. The moment my strength re- 
 
aa 
 
 i 
 
 408 EVELINA. 
 
 turned, I attempted to rise, but he would not 
 permit me. 
 
 I cannot write the scene that followed, though 
 every word is engraven on my heart; but his 
 protestations, his expressions, were too flattering 
 for repetition: nor would he, in spite of my re- 
 peated efforts to leave him, suffer me to escape; 
 -——in short, my dear sir, I was not proof against 
 his solicitations—and he drew from me the most 
 sacred secret of my heart. 
 
 I know not how long we were together: but 
 lord Orville was upon his knees, when the door 
 was opened by Mrs. Selwyn !—To tell you, sir, 
 the shame with which I was overwhelmed would 
 be impossible;—I snatched my hand from lord 
 Orville,—he, too, started and rose, and Mrs, Sel- 
 wyn, for some moments, stood facing us both in 
 silence, 
 
 At last * My lord,’ said she, sarcastically, ‘ have 
 you been so good as to help miss Anville to look 
 for my books? 
 
 Yes, madam, answered he, attempting to rally, 
 and I hope we shall soon be able to find them. 
 
 Your lordship is extremely kind, said she drily, 
 but I can by no means consent t) take up any 
 more of your time, Then looking on the window 
 seat, she presently found the bocks, and added, 
 Come, here are just three, and so, like the ser- 
 yants in the Drummer, this important affair may 
 give employment to us all. She then presented 
 one of them to lord Orville, another to me, and 
 taking a third herself, with a most provoking 
 look, she left the room. 
 
 I would instantly have followed her; but lord 
 
 oo 
 
 ae 
 
mis 
 
 BVELINAs 409 
 
 Orville, who could not help laughing, begged me 
 to stay 2 minute, as he had many important 
 
 matters to discuss. 
 
 No indeed, my lord, I cannot,—Perhaps I have 
 already staid too long. 
 
 Does miss Anville so soon repent her good- 
 
 ness ¢ 
 I scarce know what I do, my lord,—I am quite 
 
 bewildered! 
 
 One hour’s conversation, eried he, will, I hope, 
 compose your spirits, and confirm my happiness. 
 When, then, may I hope to see you alone >— 
 shall you walk in the garden to-morrow before 
 break fast ? 
 
 No, no, my lord; you must not, a second time, 
 reproach me with making an appointment. 
 
 Do you then, said he, laughing, reserve that 
 honour only for Mr. Macartney ? 
 
 Mr. Macartney, said I, is poor, and thinks 
 himself obliged to me ; otherwise— 
 
 Poverty, cried he, I will not plead; but if be+ 
 ing obliged to you has any weight, who shall dis- 
 pute my title to an appointment ? 
 
 My lord, I can stay no longer,—Mrs. Selwyn 
 will lose all patience. 
 
 Deprive her not of the pleasure of her conjec« 
 tuves,—but tell me, are you under Mrs, Selwyn’s 
 care ? 
 
 Only for the present, my lord. 
 
 Not a few are the questions I have to ask miss 
 Anville ; among them the most important is, whe- 
 ther she depends wholly upon herself, or whether 
 there is any other person for whose interest I 
 must solicit ? 
 
410 EVELINA, 
 
 I hardly know, my lord, I hardly know myself 
 to whom I most belong. 
 
 Suffer, suffer me, then, cried he, with warmth, 
 tovhasten the time when that shall no longer ad- 
 mit a doubt!—when your grateful Orville may 
 eall you all his own! 
 
 At length, but with difficulty, I broke from him, 
 I went, however, to my own room, for I was too 
 much agitated to follow Mrs, Selwyn. Good God, 
 my dear, sir, what a scene! surely the meeting 
 for which I shall prepare to-morrow cannot so 
 greatly affect me! To be loved by lord Orville, 
 ——to be the honoured choice of his noble heart, 
 my happiness seemed too infinite to be borne, and 
 I wept, even bitterly I wept, from the excess of 
 joy which overpowered me. 
 
 In this state of almost painful felicity I con- 
 tinued till I was‘summoned to tea, When I re= 
 entered the drawing room, I rejoiced to find it 
 fall of company, as the confusion with which I 
 met lord Orville was rendered the less observable. 
 
 Adieu, most dear sir, I will write again when 
 T arrive at London, 
 
 Evelina in Continuation. 
 Clifton, Oct, 7th, 
 You will see, my dear sir, that I was mistaken in 
 
 supposing I should write no more from this place, 
 
 where my residence now seems more uncertain 
 than ever. 
 
 This morning, during breakfast, lord Orville 
 took an'opportunity to beg me, in a low voice, to 
 allow him ® moment's conversation before L left 
 
 : 
 ; 
 
————— 
 
 EVELINAs 41 
 
 Clifton ; May Thope, added he, that you will stroll 
 into the garden after breakfast ! 
 
 J made no answer, but I believe my looks gave 
 no denial: for, indeed, I much wished to b i 
 fied concerning the letter. The moment, there- 
 fore, that I could quit the parlour, T ran up stairs 
 before 1 reached my room, 
 
 for my calash; but 
 Mrs. Selwyn called after me, If you are going to 
 walk, Miss Anville, be so good as to bid Jenny 
 bring down my hat, and I'll accompany you. 
 
 Very much disconcerted, I turned into the draw- 
 ing room, without making any answer, and there 
 I hoped to wait unseen, till she had otherwise dis- 
 po-ed of herself, But ina few minutes the door 
 opened, and sir Clement Willoughby entered. 
 
 Starting at the sight of him in rising hastily, I 
 let drop the letter which I had brought for lord 
 Orville’s inspection, and, before I could recover it, 
 sir Clement, springing forward, had it in his hand. 
 He was just presenting it to me, and, at the same 
 time, inquiring after my health, when the signa- 
 ture caught his eye, and he read aloud ‘ Orville.’ 
 
 I endeavoured eagerly to snatch it from him, 
 but he would not permit me; and, holding it fast, 
 in a passionate manner exclaimed, Good God, miss 
 ‘Anville, is it possible you can value such a letter 
 
 as this ? 
 
 The question surprised and confounded me, and 
 I was too much ashamed to answer him ; but find- 
 ing he made an attempt to secure it, I prevented 
 him, and vehemently demanded him to return if. 
 
 Tell me first, said he, holding it above my reach, 
 tell me if you have since received any more letters 
 from the same person ? 
 
412 EVELINA, 
 
 No, indeed, cried dF 
 And will y 
 that you n 
 
 t of women, promise 
 ny more? Say that, 
 t of men. 
 
 ve 
 
 'y my doubts ?—will 
 from the torture of the most 
 pense ?—tell me but that the de- 
 I en to you no more, 
 
 d I, angrily 
 
 to make any< 
 directly. 
 
 W hy suck i 
 can it possibly des serve your eagerr 
 with truth, with since @ 
 merit the least ee 
 
 No matter, sir, cried I, in great perplexity, the 
 letter is mine, and therefore— 
 nelude, then, said he, that the letter 
 st contempt,—but that the 
 sufficient to make you prize it. 
 * I, colouring, you are quite— 
 uite much—the letter is not— 
 
 Anville, cried he, you blush! —you stam- 
 mer ;—Great Heaven! it is then all as I feared: 
 
 I know not, cried I half-frightened, what you 
 mean; but I beseech you to give me the letter, 
 and to compose yous f, 
 
 The letter, cried he gnashing his teeth, you shall 
 never seemore! Yon ought to have burntit the 
 moment you had read it? And in an instant he 
 tore it into a thousand piec 
 
 Alarmed at a fury so indecently outrageous, I 
 
 ul letter? 
 g ? tell me, 
 rity tell me, does it really 
 
 your ut 
 name of Orville is 
 slement, er 
 
EVELINA. 413 
 
 would have run out of the room; but he caught 
 hold of my gown, and cried, Not yet, not yet must 
 you go! Tam but half mad yet, and you must 
 stay to finish your work. Tell me, therefore, does 
 Orville know your fatal partiality ?—Say yes, added 
 he, trembling with passion, and I will fly you for 
 ever. 
 
 For Heaven’s sake, sir clement, eried I, release 
 me !—if you do not, you will force me to call for 
 help. 
 
 Call then, cried he, inexorable and most un- 
 feeling girl; call, if you please, and bid all the 
 world witness your triumph ; but could ten worlds 
 obey your call, I would not part from you till you 
 had answered me. Tell me, then, does Orville 
 
 know you love him ? 
 
 At any other time, any inquiry so gross would 
 have given me inexpressible confu ion; but now, 
 the wildness of his manner terrified me, and I 
 only said, Whatever you wish to know, sir Cle- 
 ment, I entreat you to let me go! 
 
 Enough, cried he; 1 understand you !—the art 
 of Orville has prevailed ;—cold, inanimate, phleg- 
 matic as he is, you have rendered him the most 
 envied of men !—One thing more, and I have 
 done:—Will he marry you ? 
 
 What a question! my cheeks glowed with in- 
 and I felt too proud to make any 
 
 dignation, 
 
 answer. 
 I see, I see how it is, cried he, after a short 
 
 pause, and I find . am undone for ever! Then 
 letting loose my gown, he put his hand to his fore- 
 head, and walked up and down the room in @ 
 hasty and agitated manner, 
 
414 EVELINA. 
 
 Though now at liberty to go, I had not the 
 courage to leave him: for his evident distress ex- 
 cited all my compassion. And this was our situ- 
 ation, when lady Louisa, Mr, Coverley, and Mrs, 
 Beaumont entered the room, 
 
 Sir Clement Willoughby, said the latter, I beg 
 pardon for making you wait so long, but,— 
 
 She had not time for another word ; sir Clement 
 teo much disordered to know or care what he did, 
 snatched up bis hat, and brushing hastily past her, 
 flew down stairs and out of the house. 
 
 And with him went my sincerest pity, though I 
 earnestly hope! shall see him no more. But what, 
 my dearest sir, am 1 to conclude from his strange 
 speeches concerning the letter ? Does it not seem 
 as if he was himself the author of it? How else 
 should he be so well acquainted with the contempt 
 it merits? Neither do 1 know another human 
 being who could serve any interest by such a de- 
 ception, 
 
 I remember, too, that just as I had given my 
 own letter to the maid, sir Clement came into the 
 shop: probably he prevailed upon her, by some 
 bribery, to give it to him ; and afterwards, by the 
 same means, to deliver to me an answer of his 
 own writing. Indeed 1 can in no other manner 
 account for this affair. O, sir Clement, were you 
 not yourselfunhappy, I know not how I could 
 pardon an artifice that has caused me so much 
 uneasiness ! 
 
 His abrupt departure occasioned a kind of 
 general consternation, 
 
 Very extraordinary behaviour this !. cried Mrsy 
 Beaumont, 
 
 SS eee 
 
EVELINA: 415 
 
 Egad, said Mr, Coverley, the baronet hasa mind 
 to tip us a toueh of the heroics this morning ! 
 
 I declare, cried Lady Louisa, I never saw any 
 thing so monstrous in my life! it’s quite abomina- 
 ble ;—I faney the man’s mad ;—I’m sure he has 
 given me a shocking fright. 
 
 Just then a servant brought Lady Louisa a note 
 upon az 7, Which is a ceremony always used to 
 her ladyship; and Itook the opportunity of this 
 interruption to the conversation to steal out of the 
 
 room. 
 
 I went immediately to the parlour, which I 
 found quite empty; for I did not dare walk in the 
 garden after what Mrs. Selwyn had said, 
 
 In a few minutes a servant announced Mr. 
 Macartney; saying, as he entered the room, that 
 he would acquaint lord Orville he was there. 
 
 Mr. Macartney rejoiced much that he was alone 
 He told me he had taken the liberty to inquire for 
 lord Orville, by way of pretext for coming to the 
 house. 
 
 I then very eagerly inquired if he had seen his 
 father. 
 
 I have, madam, said he, and the generous com= 
 passion you have shown made me hasten to ac< 
 quaint you, that, uponfre ding my unhappy mo- 
 ther’s letter, he did not hesitate to acknowledge 
 
 me. 
 Good God, cried I, with no little emotion, how 
 sre our circumstances! And did he receive 
 
 similar 
 
 you kindly ? 
 ~ J eould not, madam, expect that he would; the 
 cruel transaction which obliged me to fly Paris 
 ‘was recent in his memory, 
 
416 EVELINA. 
 
 And,—have you seen the young lady ? : 
 No, madam, said he mournfully » I was forbid {ha 
 her sight. 
 
 Forbid her sight !—and why ? é = 
 
 Partly, perhaps, from prudence,—and partly jf Wi 
 from the remains of a resentment which will not Cag 
 easily subside. I only requested leave to acquaint { 
 her with my relationship, and be allowed to call |} pro 
 her sister; but it was denied me! you have no } to 
 sister, said sir John ; you must forget her existence, | To 
 Hard and vain command ! tell 
 
 You have—you have a sister! cried I, from an 
 impulse of pity which I could not repress; a sis-)) ‘e8 
 ter who is most warmly interested in your welfare, ] 
 and who only wants opportunity to manifest her 
 friendship and regard. 
 
 Gracious Heaven! cried he, what does miss 
 Anville mean ? 
 
 Anyille, said T, is not my real name; sir John 
 Belmont is my father, he is yours,—and J am your eli 
 sister! —You see, therefore, the claim we mutually | 1% 
 have to each other's regard; we are not merely in 
 bound by the ties of friendship, but by those of {= tak 
 blood. I feel for you, already, all the affections ) L 
 of a sister ; 1 felt it indeed before I knew I was) tp 
 one.—Why, my dear brother, do you not speak? — 4 
 
 —do you hesitate to acknowledge me ? yy 
 I am s0 lost in astonishment, cried he, that f) 
 know not if I hear right! hy 
 
 I bave, then, found a brother, cried I holding ) \ 
 out my hand, and he will not own me! a1 
 
 Own you !—O, madam, cried he, accepting my | ‘k 
 offered hand, isit indeed possible you can own) “tt 
 ae {—a poor, wretched adventurer! whoso lately 3 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 had no support but from your generosity ?—whom 
 your benevolence snatched from utter destruction. 
 —Can you,—QO, madam, can you, indeed, and 
 without a blush, condescend to own such an out- 
 
 cast for a brother! 
 
 QO, forbear, forbear, cried I; is this language 
 proper for a sister ? are we not reciprocally bound 
 to each othe —Will you not suffer me to expect 
 from you all the good offices in your power —But 
 father at present ? 
 madam; he arrived there 
 
 tell me where is your 
 
 At the Hot-we« 
 yesterday morning. 
 
 I would have proce eded with further questions, 
 but the entrance of lord Orv prevented me. 
 The moment he saw us, he started, and would have 
 retreated; but, drawing my hand from Mr. Ma- 
 rartney's, | begged him to come in. 
 
 For a few moments we were all silent, and, I 
 believe, all in equal confusion, Mr. Macartney 
 however, recollecting hit F I hope your 
 lordship will forgive the libe ty I have taken in 
 maki 
 
 Lord Orville, rather coldly, bowed, but said no- 
 
 *. fhing. 
 
 et Again we were all silent, and then Mr, Macart- 
 
 hey took leave. z 
 1) I fancy, said lord Orville, when he was gone, ; 
 Ihave shortened Mr. Macartney’s visi 
 
 No, my lord, not at all. 
 
 I had presumed, said he, with some hesitation 
 Tshould have seen miss Anville in the garden ;— 
 but I knew not she was so much better engaged. 
 
 Before I could answer, a servant came to tell 
 2D 
 
 fuse of your hame, 
 
 } 
 k 
 
 0" 
 
418 EVELINA. 
 
 me the chaise was ready, and that Mrs. Selwyn 
 was inquiring for me, 
 
 T will wait on her immediately, cried 1, and 
 away.1 was running: but lord Orville, stopping 
 me, said, with great emotion, is it thus, miss An- 
 ville, you leave me? 
 
 My lord, cried I, how can 1 help it ?—perhaps 
 soon some better opportunity may offer. 
 
 Good Heaven ! cried he, do youindeed take me } 
 for a stoic! What better opportunity may lL hope | 
 for 2—is not the chaise come ? are you not going ? 
 haye you even deigned to tell me whither ? 
 
 My journey, my lord, will now be deferred, 
 Mr. Macartney, said he gravely, seems to have 
 great influence ;—yet he is a very young counsel- 
 lor. 
 
 Is it possible, my lord, Mr. Macartney can give 
 you the least uneasiness ? : 
 
 My dearest Miss Anville, said he, taking my 
 hand, 1 see, and 1 adore the purity of your mind, 
 superior as it is to all little arts, and all appre- 
 hensions of suspicion ; and | should do myself, as 
 well as you, injustice, if 1 were capable of har- 
 bouring the smallest doubts of that goodness . 
 which makes you mine for ever; nevertheless, 
 pardon me, if I own myself surprised,—nay, 
 alarmed, at these frequent meetings with so young 
 a man as Mr. Macartney. 
 
 My lord, cried 1, eager to clear myself, Mr. 
 Macartney is my brother. 
 
 Your brother ! you amaze me ;— What strange 
 mystery, then, makes his relationship a secret? 
 
 Just then Mrs. Selwyn opened the door. QO, 
 you are here! cried she:—Pray,/is my lord so 
 
 kin 
 
 oo 
 I 
 
 pur 
 Apo 
 i 
 Wor 
 f 
 her 
 Ne 
 to 
 tat 
 Van 
 ‘ 
 
 bly 
 
EVELINA. 419 
 
 kind as to assist you in preparing for your jour- 
 ney, or in retarding it ? 
 
 I should be most happy, said Lord Orville, 
 smiling, if it were in my power to do the latter. 
 
 l then acquainted her with Mr, Macartney’s 
 communication. 
 
 She immediately ordered the chaise away: and 
 then took me into her own room to consider what 
 should be done. 
 
 A few minutes sufficed to determine her; and 
 she wrote the following note: 
 
 To Sir John Belmont, bart. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn presents her compliments to sir 
 John Belmont; and, if he is at leisure, will be 
 glad to wait on him this morning, upon business 
 of importance. 
 
 She then ordered her man to inquire at the 
 pump-room for a direction ; and went herself to 
 apologise for deferring her journey. 
 
 An answer was presently returned, that he 
 would be glad to see her. 
 
 She would have me immediately accompany her 
 her to » Hot-wells ; but I entreated her to spare 
 me the distress of so abrupt an introduction, and 
 to pave the way for my reception. She consented 
 rather reluctantly, and, attended only by her ser- 
 vant, walked to the Wells. 
 
 She was not absent two hours: yet so misera- 
 bly did time seem to linger, that I thought a thou- 
 sand accidents had happened, and feared she 
 
 } wouldnever return, I passed the whole night in 
 my own room, for I was too much agitated even 
 ! to converse with lord Orville, 
 
4 
 
 420 EVELINA. 
 
 The instant that, from my window, I saw her / 
 
 returning, I flew down stairs, and met her in the 
 garden. 
 
 We both walked to the harbour, 
 
 Her looks, in which disappointment and anger 
 were expressed, presently announced to me the 
 failure of her embassy. Finding that she did not 
 speak, I asked her, in a faltering voice, whether 
 or not I hada father ? 
 
 You have not, my dear, said she, abruptly, 
 
 Very well, madam, said I with tolerable calm- 
 ness; let the chaise then be ordered again ;—I 
 will go to Berry Hill ;—and there, I trust I shall 
 still find one! 
 
 It was some time ere she could give, or I could 
 hear, the account of her visit; and then she re- 
 lated it in a hasty manner; yet I believe I ean 
 recollect every word. 
 
 I found sir John alone. He received me with 
 the utmost politeness, I did not keep him a mo- 
 ment in suspense as to the purport of my visit. 
 But I had no sooner made it known, than, witha 
 supercilious smile, he said, And have you, madam, 
 been prevailed upon to revive that ridiculous 
 old story? Ridiculous, I then told him, was 
 a term which he would find no one else do him 
 the favour to make use of in speaking of the hor- 
 rible actions belonging to the old story he made 
 80 light of ; actions, continued I, which would 
 dye still deeper the black annals of Nero or Cali- 
 gula. Heattempted in vain to rally: for I pursu- 
 ed him with all the severity in my power, and 
 ceased not painting the enortity of his crime till 
 Istung him to the quick, and, in ayoice of pas~ 
 
 +; 
 
EVELINAs 421 
 
 sion and impatience, he said, No more, madam, 
 —this is not a subject upon which I need a moni+ 
 tor, Make then, cried I, the only reparation in 
 your power.—Your daughter is now at Clifton; 
 send for her hither; and, in the face of the world, 
 proclaim the legitimacy of her birth, and clear 
 the reputation of yourinjured wife. Madam, said 
 the, you are much mistaken if you suppose I wait- 
 ed for the honour of this visit kefore I did what 
 little justice now depends upou me, to the memo- 
 ry of that unfortunate woman: her daughter has 
 been my care from her infaney; I have taken her 
 into my house; she bears my name; and she will 
 be my sole heiress.—For some time this assertion 
 appeared so absurd, that I only laughed at it: but 
 at last he assured me I had myself been imposed 
 upon ; for that the very woman who attended lady 
 Belmont in her last illness, conveyed the child to 
 him while he was in London, before she was a 
 year old. Unwilling, he added, at that time to 
 confirm the rumour of my being married, I sent 
 the woman with the child to France: as soon as 
 she was old enough, I put her into a convent, 
 where she has been properly educated, and now 
 I have taken her home, I have acknowledged her 
 for my lawful child, and paid, at length, to the 
 memory of her unhappy mother a tribute of fame 
 which has made me wish to hide myself hereafter 
 from all the world. He then rung his bell; and, 
 inquiring if his hair dresser was come said he was 
 sorry to leave me; but that, if I would favour 
 him with my company to-morrow, he would do 
 himself the honour of introducing Miss Belmont 
 to me, instead oftroubling me to introduce her to 
 
 ay et 
 
 ; 
 | 
 : 
 : 
 ; 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 P : Pee fi * ‘ ; 
 him, I rose in great indignation; and assuring 
 
 him I would make his conduct as public as it was 
 infamous—lI left the house. 
 
 Good Heaven, how strange the recital, how in- 
 comprehensive an affair! The Miss Belmont, then, 
 who is actually at Bristol, passes for the daughter 
 of my unhappy mother !— passes, in short, for 
 
 your Evelina! Who she can be, or what this tale 
 
 can mean, I have not any idea. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn soon after left me to my own re- 
 
 fiections. Indeed they were not very pleasant. 
 Quietly as I had borne her relation, the moment 
 I was alone | felt most bitterly both the disgrace 
 and sorrow of a rejection so cruelly inexplicable. 
 
 Soon after Lord Orville was announced and 
 seeing my distress, he endeavoured by all the 
 means in his power to soothe it. 
 
 Oh, my lord, cried 1, your generosity over- 
 powers me! And 1 wept like an infant, For 
 now, that all my hopes of being acknowledged 
 seemed finally crushed, | felt the nobleness of 
 his disinterested regard so forcibly, that 1 could 
 searce breathe under the weight of gratitude 
 which oppressed me. 
 
 He seemed greatly shocked; and, in terms the 
 most flattering, the most respectfully tender, he 
 at once soothed my distress, and urged me to tell 
 him its cause. 
 
 My lord, said 1, when 1 was able to speak, you 
 little know what an outcast you have honoured 
 with your choice !—a child of bounty,—an orphan 
 from infancy;—dependent, even for subsistence 
 upon the kindness of compassion !—Rejected by 
 my natural friends,—disowned for ever by my 
 
EVELINA, 42% 
 
 pearest relation, —O, my lord, so circumstanced, 
 can I deserve the distinction with which you ho- 
 nour me? No, no; I feel the inequality too 
 painfully ;—you must leave me, my lord; you 
 must suffer me toreturn to obscurity ; and there, 
 in the bosom of my first, best, my only friend,—I 
 will pour forth all the grief of my heart !—while 
 you, my lord, must seek elsewhere— 
 
 I could not proceed; my whole soul recoiled 
 against the charge I would have given, and my 
 voice refused to utter it. 
 
 Never! cried he, warmly; my heart is yours, 
 and I swear to you an attachment eternal !—You 
 prepare me, indeed, for a tale of horror, and I am 
 almost breathless with expectation ;—but so firm 
 is my conviction, that whatever are your misfor- 
 tunes, to have merited them is not of the number, 
 that I feel myself more strongly, more invincibly 
 devoted to you than ever !—Tell me but where I 
 may find this noble friend, whose virtues you have 
 already taught me to reverence,—and 1 will fly 
 to obtain his consent and intercession, that hence- 
 forward our fates may be indissolubly united ! 
 and then shall it be the sole study of my life to 
 endeavour to soften your past, and guard you 
 from future misfortunes. 
 
 I had just raised my eyes to answer this most 
 generous of men, when the first object they met 
 was Mrs. Selwyn. 
 
 So, my dear, eried she, what still courting the 
 rural shades !—J thought ere now you would 
 have been satiated with this retired seat, and I 
 have been seeking you all over the house. But 
 I find the only way to meet with you,—is to in« 
 
424 EVELINA. 
 
 quire for lord Orville. However, don’t let me 
 disturb your meditations; you are possibly plan- 
 ning some pastoral dialogue. 
 
 And, with thi ing speech she walked on. 
 
 In the greatest confusion I was quitting the ar- 
 bour, when lord Orville said, Permit me to follow 
 Mrs. Selwyn ;—it is time to put an end to all im- 
 pertinent conjectures; will you allow me to speak 
 to her openly ? 
 
 T assented in silence, and he left me. 
 
 I then went to my own room, where T continu- 
 ed till I was summoned to dinner ; er which, 
 Mrs, Selwyn invited me to hers. 
 
 Eveli 
 
 nt im continuation, 
 
 det. 9, 
 I covu.p not write yesterday, so violent was the 
 agitation of my mind;—but | will not now lose a 
 moment till I have hastened to give my best friend 
 an account of the transactions ofa day I can never 
 recollect without emotion, 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn determined upon sending no mes- 
 sage, Lest, said she, sir John, fatigued with the 
 very idea of my reproaches, should endeavour to 
 avoida meeting. He cannot but see who you are, 
 whether he will do you justice or not. 
 
 We went early, and in Mrs. Beaumont's chariot; 
 into which lord Orville, uttering words of the 
 kindest encouragement, handed us both, 
 
 My uneasiness during the ride was excessive 5 
 but when we stopped at the door I was almost 
 senseless with terror! the meeting at last was not 
 ao dreadful as at that moment! I believe I was 
 
EVELINA. 425 
 
 carried into the house; but 1 searce recollect 
 what was done with me: however, | know we 
 remained some time in the parlour before Mrs, 
 Selwyn could send any message up stairs. 
 
 When | was somewhat recovered, I entreated 
 her to let me return home, assuring her I felt 
 myself quite unequal to supporting the interview. 
 No, said she; you must stay now; your fears 
 will but gain strength by ay: and we must not 
 have such a shock as thisrepeated. Then, turning 
 to the servant, shesent up her name. 
 
 An answer was brought that he was going out 
 in great haste, but would attend her immediately 
 T turned so sick, that Mrs. Selwyn was apprehen- 
 sive I should have fainted; and opening a door 
 which led to an inner apartment, she begged me 
 to wait there till I was somewhat composed, and 
 till she had prepared for my reception. 
 
 Glad of every moment’s reprieve, I willingly 
 agreed to the proposal; and Mrs. Selwyn had but 
 just time to shut me in before her presence was 
 
 necessary. 
 
 The voice of afather—O, dear and reverend 
 name!—which then, for the first time, struck my 
 ears, affected mie in a manner I cannot describe, 
 though it was only employed in giving orders to a 
 servant as he came down stairs. 
 
 Then entering the parlour, I heard him say, I 
 am sorry, madam, I made you wait; but I have 
 an engagement which now calls me away: how- 
 eyer, if you have any commands for me, I shall 
 be glad of the honour of your commands some 
 
 other time, 
 
426 EVELINA, 
 
 Tam come, sir, said Mrs, Selwyn, to introduce 
 your daughter to you. 
 
 I am infinitely obliged to you, answered he; 
 but I have just had the satisfaction of breakfasting 
 with her. Ma’am, your most obedient. 
 
 You refuse, then, to see her? : 
 
 I am much indebted to you, madam, for this 
 desire of increasing my family ; but you must ex- 
 cuse me if I decline taking advantage ofit. I 
 have already a daughter, to whom I owe every 
 thing, and it is not three days since that I had 
 the pleasure of discovering a son, how many more 
 sons and daughters may be brought to me Iam 
 yet to learn: but 1 am already perfectly satisfied 
 with the size of my family. 
 
 Had you a thousand children, sir John, said 
 Mrs, Selwyn, warmly, this only one, of which 
 lady Belmont was the mother, ought to be most 
 distinguished; and, far from avoiding her sight, 
 you should thank your stars, in humble gratitude, 
 that there yet remains in your power the smallest 
 opportunity of doing the injured wife you have 
 destroyed, the poor justice of acknowledging her 
 child! 
 
 I am very unwilling, madam, answered he, to 
 
 enter into any discussion of this point; but you 
 are determined to compel me to speak. There 
 lives not at this time the human being who should 
 talk to me of the regret due to the memory of 
 that ill-fated woman : no one can feel it so severely 
 as myself; but let me, nevertheless, assure you, 
 I have done all that remained in my power to 
 prove the respect she merited from me; her child 
 Thaye educated, and owned for my lawful heiress 5 
 
 a eel 
 
EVELINA. 427 
 
 if, madam, you can suggest to me any other means 
 by which I may more fully do her justice, and 
 more clearly manifest her innocence, name them 
 to me; and though they should wound my cliar- 
 acter still deeper, I will perform them readily. 
 
 AIL this sounds vastly well, returned Mrs, Sel- 
 wyn ; but f must own it is rather too énigmatical 
 for my faculties of comprehension. You can how- 
 er, have no objection to seeing this young lady? 
 
 None in the world. 
 
 Come forth, then, my dear, cried she, opening 
 the door; come forth and see your father! Then 
 taking my trembling han she led me forward. I 
 would have withdrawn i and retreated; but, as 
 he advanced instantly towards me, I found myself 
 already before him. 
 
 What a moment for your Evelina!—an involun- 
 tary scream escaped me, and, covering my face 
 with my hands, I sunk on the floor. 
 
 He had, however, seen me first: for in a voice 
 he exclaimed, My God: does 
 
 ev 
 
 scarce articulate, 
 Caroline Evelyn still live! 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn said something, but IT could not 
 listen to her; and ina few minutes he added, Lift 
 up thy head—if my sight has not blasted thee!— 
 lift up thy head, thou image of my long lost Car- 
 oline ! 
 
 Affected beyond measure, I had arose, and em- 
 knees while yet on my Own. 
 2g, cried he, looking earnestly in my face, 
 
 braced his 
 
 Yes, 
 T I see thou art her child! she lives—she 
 breathes,—she is present to my view!—O God, 
 that she indeed lived'—Go, child, go, added he, 
 
 wildly starting, and pushing me from him: take 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 her away, madam,—I cannot bear to look at her} 
 and then, breaking hastily from me, he rushed 
 out of the room, 
 
 Speechless, motionless myself, 1 attempted not 
 to stop him: but Mrs, Selwyn, hastening after 
 him, caught hold of his arm: Leave me, madam, 
 cried he, with quickness, and take care of the 
 poor child:—bid her not think me unkind: tell 
 her, I would at this moment plunge a dagger in 
 my heart to serve her: but she has set my brain 
 on fire; and I can see her no more! then with a 
 violence almost frantic, he ran up stairs, 
 
 O sir, had I not indeed cause to dread this in- 
 terview?—an interview so unspeakably painful 
 and afflicting to us both! Mrs, Selwyn would 
 have immediately return to Clifton; but I entreat- 
 ed her to wait some time, in the hope that my un- 
 happy father, when his first emotion was over, 
 would again bear me in bis sight. However, he 
 soon after sent his servant to inquire how I did 
 and to tell Mrs. Selwyn he was much indisposed, 
 but would hope for the honour of seeing her to- 
 morrow at any time she would please to appoint. 
 
 She fixed upon ten o’elock in the morning ; and 
 then, with a heavy heart, I got into the chariots 
 Those afflicting words, I can see her no more! 
 were never a moment absent from my mind. 
 
 Yet the sight of lord Orville, who handed us 
 
 from the carriage, gave some relief to the sadness 
 of my thoughts. I could not, however, enter upon 
 the’painful subject ; but begging Mrs. Selwyn to 
 satisfy him, I went to my own room. 
 
 As soon as I communicated to the good Mrs, 
 ation of my affairs, an idea 
 
 Clinton the present sity 
 
EVELINA. 429 
 
 oceurred to her which seemed to.clear up all the 
 mystery of my having been so long disowned, 
 
 The woman, she says, who attended my ever to- 
 be regretted mother in her last illness, nd who 
 nursed me the first four months of my life, soon 
 after being discharged from your house left Berry- 
 hill er I 
 
 , who was but six weeks 
 older 
 
 her quit 
 extraordinary t 
 
 { 
 never heard of afterwards, she was by degr 
 
 irely with her baby 
 
 s, that 
 
 Mrs. Clinton remembe 
 place appeared at the time very 
 
 »the neighbours; but, as she 
 
 an mys 
 
 quite forgolten. 
 
 Che moment this was mentioned, it struck Mrs. 
 Selwyn, as well as Mrs. Clinton herself, that my 
 father had been imposed upon ; andthat the nurse 
 
 who said she had brought his child to him, had,in 
 fact carried her own. 
 The name by which I was k 
 
 observed in regard to my fami 
 
 nown, the secrecy 
 and the retire- 
 
 ull conspired to render this 
 
 mentin which I lived, 
 scheme, however daring and fraudulent, by no 
 
 means impracticable; and in short, the idea was no 
 
 started, than conviction seemed to follow it. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn determined immediately to di 
 eover the truth or mistake of this conjecture H 
 therefore, the moment she had dined, she walked 
 to the hot-wells, attended by Mrs Clinton. 
 
 I waited in my room till her return ; and then 
 heard the following account of her visit, 
 
 She found my poor father in great agitation. 
 She immediately informed him of the occasion of 
 her so speedy return, and of her suspicions of the 
 woman who had pretended to convey to him his 
 child, Interrupting her with quickness, he said he 
 
430 EVELINA, 
 
 had just sent her from his presence 5 that the cer- 
 tainty I carried in my countenance of my real 
 birth, made him, the moment he ‘had recovered 
 from a surprise which had almost deprived him of 
 reason, suspect, himself, the imposition she men- 
 tioned. He had therefore sent for the woman, 
 and qaestioned her with the utmost austerity : 
 she turned pale, and was extremely embarrassed ; 
 but still she persisted in affirming, that she had 
 really brought him the daughter of lady Belmont. 
 His perplexity, he said, almost distracted him: 
 he had always observed, that his daughter bore 
 no resemblance to either of her parents: but as 
 had never doubted the veracity of the nurse, the 
 circumstance did not give birth to any suspicion, 
 At Mrs. Selwyn’s desire the woman was again 
 called and interrogated with equal art and severi- 
 ty: her confusion was evident, and her answers 
 often contradictory; yet she still declared she was 
 no impostor, We will see that in a minute, said 
 Mrs. Selwyn ; and then desired Mrs, Clinton 
 might be called up stairs. The poor wretch, 
 changing colour, would have escaped out of the 
 room ; but being prevented, dropped on her knees, 
 and implored forgiveness. A confession of the 
 whole affair was then extorted from her. 
 Doubtless, my dear sir, you must remember dame 
 Green, who was my first nurse. The deceit she 
 has practised was suggested, she says, by a conyer- 
 sation she overheard ; in which my unhappy mo- 
 ther besought you, that if her child survived her, 
 you would take the sole care of her education ; and, 
 in particular, if it should be a female, you would 
 by no means part with her in early life. You not 
 
RBVELINA. 431 
 
 only consented, she says, but assured her you 
 would even retire abroad with me yourself, if my 
 father should importunely demand me. Her own 
 child, she said, was then inher arms, and she could 
 not forbear wishing it were possible to give her the 
 fortune which seemed so little valued for me. 
 This wish once raised was not easily suppressed ; 
 on the contrary, what at first appeared a mere 
 jdle desire, in a short time appeared ‘a feasible 
 scheme. Her husband was dead, and she had 
 little regard for any body but her child: and, in 
 short, having saved money for the journey, she 
 father ; and 
 
 contrived to inquire a direction to m} 
 telling her neighbours she was going to settle in 
 Devonshire, she set out on her expedition. 
 
 When Mrs. Selwyn asked her how she dared per- 
 petrate such a fraud, she protested she had no ill 
 design ; but that, as miss would never be the worse 
 for it, she thought it a pity nobody should be the 
 better. 
 
 Her success we are already acquainted with. 
 Indeed, every thing seemed to contribute towards 
 it ; my father had no correspondentat Berry Hill 5 
 the child was instantly sent to France ; where be- 
 ing brought up in as much retirement as myself, 
 nothing but accident could discover the fraud. 
 
 And here let me indulge myself in observing, 
 and rejoicing to observe, that the total neglect I 
 thought I met with was not the effect of of insen- 
 sibility, or unkindness, but of imposition and er- 
 ime we coneluded I 
 
 ror; and that, at the very 
 was was naturally rejected, my deluded father 
 meant to show me most favour and protection. 
 
 He acknowledges that lady Howard’s letter 
 
a3 
 + 
 > 
 
 tals 
 
 bine 
 
 miei 432 EVELINA. 
 
 Wy i : 
 
 ait flung him into some perplexity; he immediately ~ he I 
 
 LB | communicated it to dame Green, who confessed it 7 be 
 was the greatest shock she had ever received in © pus : 
 her life; yet she had the art and boldness to as- sot d 
 | sert that lady Howard must herself have been de-  * 
 
 , ceived ; and as she had, from the beginning of her 
 enterprise, declared she had stolen away the child 
 without your knowledge, he concluded that some Ty 
 deceit was then intended him: and this thought ow 
 occasioned his abrupt answer, our 
 
 Dame Green owned, that, from the moment the mie 
 journey to England was settled, she gave herself Mr 
 
 Paes up for lost. All her hope was to have had her seal 
 
 5 daughter married before it took place ; for which J, $a 
 
 44 reason she had so much promoted Mr. Macartney’s For 
 
 Ried fi addresses ; for though such a match was inadequate An 
 
 } p to the pretensions of Miss Belmont, she well all 
 uy : knew it was far superior to those her daughter ude 
 could form after the discovery of her birth, stor 
 My first inquiry was, if this innocent daughter olor 
 
 was yet acquainted with this affair? No, Mrs. Do 
 
 Selwyn said ; nor was any plan settled how fo di- 
 : vulge it to her. Poor unfortunate girl! how 
 ie hard is her fate! She is entitled to my kindest 
 { offices, and I shall always consider her as my sis- 
 iy F ter. E 
 i I then asked whether my father would again 
 Bint: t allow me to see him? 
 4 BY Why, no, my dear, not yet, answered she; he 
 ss aaa declares the sight of you 1s too much for him; 
 4 ia’ however, we are to settle every thing concerning 
 Hi you to-morrow ; for this woman took up all our wos 
 : time to-day. adi 
 } This morning, therefore, she is again gone to 
 
EVELINA. 433 
 
 ‘the Hotewells. I am waiting in all impatience 
 for her return ; but, as I know you will be anx- 
 jous for the account this letter contains, I will 
 not delay sending it. 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 October 9. 
 How agitated, my dear sir, is the present life of 
 your Evelina! every day seems important, and 
 one event only a prelude to another. 
 
 Mrs. Selwyn, upon her return this morning 
 from the Hot-well, entering my room very abrupt- 
 ly, aid, O, my dear, I have terrible news for you! 
 
 For me, ma’am ;—Good God! what now? 
 
 Arm yourself, cried she, with all your Berry 
 Hill philosophy ; con over every lesson of forti- 
 you ever learnt in your life ; 
 
 tude or resignation 
 —for know,—you are next wet k to be married 
 to lord Orville! 
 
 Doubt, astonishment, and a kind of perturba- 
 tion I cannot describe, made this abrupt commu- 
 hication alarm me extremely ; and almost breath- 
 less, I could only exclaim, Good God, madam, 
 
 what do you tell me 
 i? You may well be frightened, my dear, said she, 
 jronically; for really there is something mighty 
 Merrific in becoming, at once the wife of the man 
 
 you adore, and a countess ! 
 § In entreated her to spare her raillery, and tell 
 }me her real meaning. She could not preyail with 
 therself to grant the first request, though she 
 Teadily complied with the second, 
 
 2z 
 
: 
 
 434 EVELINA, 
 
 My poor father, she said, was stillin the utmost 
 uneasiness ; he entered upon his affairs with great 
 openness, and told her, he was equally disturbed 
 how to dispose either of the daughter he had dis- 
 covered, or the daughter he was now to give up; 
 the former he dreaded to trust himself with again 
 beholding, and the latter he knew not how to 
 shock with the intelligence of her disgrace. Mrs. 
 Selwyn then acqnainted him with my situation in 
 regard to lord Orville; this delighted him ex 
 tremely ; and, when he heard of his lordship’s 
 eagerness, he said, he was himself of opinion, thé 
 sooner the union took place the better; and, i 
 return, he informed her of the affair of Mr. Ma- 
 eartney. And, after a very long conversation, 
 continued Mrs, Selwyn, we agreed, that the most 
 eligible scheme for all parties would be, to have 
 both the real and fictitious daughter married 
 without delay. Therefore, if cither of you have 
 an inclination to pull caps for the title of miss 
 Belmont, you must do so with all speed, as next 
 week will take from both of you all pretensions 
 to it. 
 
 This evening, as soon as the company was en= 
 gaged with cards, lord Orville exerted his utmost 
 eloquence to reconcile me to this hasty plan but 
 how was I startled when he told me that next 
 Tuesday was the day appointed by my father to 
 be the most important of my life ! 
 
 Next Tuesday: repeated I, quite out of breath, 
 O,mylord!—_- : 
 
 My sweet Evelina, said he, the day which will 
 make me the happiest of mortals, would probably 
 appear awful to you, were it to be deferred a 
 
 wely 
 juain 
 rende 
 saffer 
 op. 
 ritho 
 In 
 ectio 
 the h 
 some! 
 reaso 
 time 
 my | 
 in an 
 tion 
 Hi 
 him 
 poser 
 Ing | 
 
 mon! 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 {welvemonth. Mrs. Selwyn has, doubtless, ac- 
 quainted you with the many motives which, inde- 
 yendent of my eagerness, require it to be speedy 3 
 suffer, therefore, its acceleration, and generously 
 complete my felicity, by endeavouring to suffer it 
 without repugnance. 
 
 Indeed, my lord, I would not wilfully raise ob- 
 jections, nor do I desire to appear insensible of 
 the honour of your good opinion :—but there is 
 something in this plan—so very hasty—so un- 
 reasonably precipitate ;— besides, I all have no 
 time to hear from Berry Hill ;—and_ believe me, 
 I should be for ever miserable, where I, 
 t, to act without the sanc- 
 
 my lord, 
 in an affair so importan 
 tion of Mr, Villar’s advice. 
 
 He offered to wait on you himself: but I told 
 her write to you. And then he pro- 
 sad.of my immediately acco 
 hould first pass a 
 
 him I had rat 
 posed that, i 
 ing him to J sInshire, we 
 month at my native Berry Hill. 
 
 This was, indeed, a grateful proposal to me, and 
 J listened to it with undisguised pleasure. And, 
 in sbort, I was ot liced to consent to a compromise, 
 ug the day till Thursday! He 
 
 in merely defert 
 readily undertook to engage my father’s concur- 
 rence in this little delay ; and I besought him, at 
 the same time, to make use of his influence to ob- 
 tain me a second interview ; and to represent the 
 deep concern I felt in being thus banished his 
 sight. 
 
 He would then have spoken of settlements ; but 
 I assured him I was almost ignorant even of the 
 
 word. 
 
 And now, my dearest sir, what is your opinion 
 
436 EVELINA, 
 
 of these hasty proceedings? Believe me, I half 
 regret the simple facility with which I have suf 
 fered myself to be hurried into compliance ; and, 
 should you start but the smallest objection, I will 
 yet insist upon being allowed more time. 
 
 Adieu, dearest and most honoured sir! every 
 thing at present depends upon your single de- 
 cis 
 yield implicitly. 
 
 Evelina in VUALLON. 
 
 Oct. 18. 
 
 YESTERDAY morning, as soon as breakfast was 
 
 Lord Orville was not long absent: he joined 
 us in the garden, with a look of g yand good 
 humour that revived us all, 
 
 We were soon joined by more company, and 
 lord Oryille then, in a low voice, took an oppor- 
 tunity to tell me the success of his visit, In the 
 first place, Thurs was agreed to; and in the 
 second, my father, he said, was much concerned 
 to hear of my uneasiness, sent me his blessing § 
 and complied with my request of seeing him, with 
 the same readiness he shou agree to any otherT 
 could make. Lord Orville, the ‘ore, settled that 
 I should wait upon him in the evening, and, at 
 his particular request, wnacc ompanied by Mrs, 
 Selwyn. 
 
 Mrs. Beaumont lent me her chariot, and lord 
 Orville absolutely insisted upon attending me. If 
 you go alone, said he, Mrs, Selwyn will certainly 
 
 on: to which, though I yield in trembling, I. 
 
 8 off 
 hong 
 ery, 
 ad n 
 ler sg 
 Ing 
 ret 
 uppo 
 ‘ide g 
 ‘athe 
 jards 
 He 
 lucte 
 Nas 
 
EVELINA. 437 
 
 be offended ; but if you allow me to conduct you, 
 though she may give the freer scope of her rail- 
 lery, she cannot possibly be affronted ; and we 
 had much better suffer her laughter than provoke 
 her satire. 
 
 Indeed, you must own, I had no reason to re- 
 gret being so accompanied ; for his conversation 
 supported my spirits from drooping, and made the 
 ride seem so short, that we actually stopped at my 
 father’s door, before I knew we had proceeded ten 
 yards, 
 
 He handed me from the carriage, and con- 
 ducted me to the parlour, at the door of which I 
 ivas met by Mr. Macartney, Ah, my dear brother, 
 cried I, how happy am I to see you here! 
 
 He bowed, and thanked me. Lord Orville, 
 then, holding out his hand, said, Mr. Macartney, 
 I hope we shall be better acquainted ; I promise 
 inyself much pleasure from cultivating your friend- 
 ship. 
 
 Your lordship does me but too much honour, 
 answered Mr. Macartney. 
 
 But where, eried I, is my sister ? for so 1 must 
 dy call, and always consider her:—I am afraid 
 the avoids me:—you must endeavour, my dear 
 brother, to prepossess her in my favour, and re- 
 toncile her to owning me. 
 
 O madam, cried he, you are all goodness and 
 benevolence! but at present I hope you will ex- 
 rdly fortitude suffi- 
 
 nlre 
 
 cuse her, for I fear she has h 
 
 tient to see you: in a short tim 
 
 In a very short time, then, said lord Orville, I 
 hope you will yourself introduce her, and that we 
 shall have the pleasure of wishing you both joy: 
 
 perhaps— 
 
 VERRAN 
 
vo BVELINAs 
 
 allow me, my Evelina, to say we, and permit me 
 in your name as well as my own, to entreat that 
 the first guests we shall have the happiness of re- 
 eciving may be Mr. and Mrs, Macartney, 
 
 stairs, 
 
 I besought lord Orville to accompany me 5 but 
 he feared the displeasure of sir John, who had 
 desired to see me alone. He led me, however, t0 
 the foot of the stairs, and made the kindest efforts 
 to give me courage: but indeed he did not suc- 
 
 ceed ; for the interview appeared to me in all its , 
 
 terrors, and left me no feeling but apprehension. 
 
 The moment I reached the landing place the 
 drawing-room door was opened: and my father, 
 with a voice of kindness, called out, My child, is 
 it you? 
 
 Y es, sir, cried I, springing forward, and kneel 
 ing at his feet, it is your child, if you will own 
 her. 
 
 He knelt by my side, and folding me in his 
 arms, Own thee? repeated he: Yes, my poor girl, 
 and Heaven knows with what bitter contrition! 
 Then, raising both himself and me, he brought me 
 into the drawing-room, shut the door, and took 
 me to the window ; where, looking at me with 
 great earnestness, Poor unhappy Garolina! cried 
 he; and, to my inexpressible concern, he burst 
 into tears, Need I tell you, my dear sir, how 
 mine flowed at the sight ? ; 
 
 I would again have embraced his knees; but, 
 hurrying from me, he flung himself upon a 2 sof, 
 and leaning his face on his arms, seemed for some, 
 time absorbed in bitterness of grief, 
 
 A servant then came to beg I would walk up ,, 
 
 mea 
 
 fath 
 ougt 
 Toh 
 
 0 
 my ] 
 the ; 
 grea 
 
 T 
 ify 
 €Xp 
 tion 
 his 
 ee 
 
EVELINA, 439 
 
 T could not speak ; I kissed his hands on my 
 knees! and then, with yet more emotion, he again 
 blessed me, and hurried out of the room,—leaving 
 me almost drowned in tears. 
 
 O sir, all goodness as you are, how much will 
 you feel for your Evelina during a scene of such 
 agitation! 1 pray Heaven to accept the tribute 
 of his remorse, and restore him to tranquillity ! 
 
 When I was sufficiently composed to return to 
 the parlour, I found lord Orville waiting for me 
 with the utmost anxiety :—and then a new scene 
 of emotion, though of a far different nature, 
 awaited me; for I learned by Mr. Macartney, 
 that this noblest of men had insisted the so long 
 supposed miss Belmont should be considered, in- 
 deed, as my sister, and as the co-heiress of my 
 law, in justice, he s 
 »das the dau 
 
 I 
 
 she 
 
 father; though not ir 
 ought ever to be treat 
 John Belmont, 
 
 O1 Jord Orville ! 
 my happy life, to expré 
 the sense I have of your ex 
 
 —it shall be the sole study of 
 s, better than by words, 
 alted benevolence and 
 
 sreatness of mind! 
 The preparations for our marriage go on just as 
 it is in vain that L 
 
 if your consent were arrived ; 
 should any objec- 
 
 te: lord Orville sa 
 
 aised, all shall be given up; but that, as 
 his hopes forbid him to expect any, he must pro- 
 ceed as if already assured of your occurrence. 
 
 e We have had this afternoon a most interesting 
 
 ave traced our senti- 
 
 expostula 
 tions be r 
 
 conversation, in which we I 
 s of each other from our first acquaintance. 
 ll he thought cf 
 
 ) 
 
 ss, at Mrs, Stanley’s 
 
 ment 
 J have made him confess how i 
 
 me upon my foolish giddine 
 
 oY 
 s 
 mi 
 
 as Sa wee 
 
440 EVELINA. 
 
 ball; but he flatters me with assurances, that 
 every succeeding time he saw me I appeared to 
 something less and less disadvantage, 
 
 When I expressed my amazement that he could 
 honour with his choice, a girl who seemed so infi- 
 nitely, in every respect, beneath his alliance, he 
 frankly owned, that he had fully intended making 
 more minute inquiries into my family and connexe 
 ions; and particularly concerning those people he 
 saw with me at Marybone, before he acknow- 
 ledged his prepossession in my favour; but the 
 suddenness of my intended journey, and the un- 
 certainty of seeing me again, put him quite off 
 his guard; and, divesting him of prudence left 
 him nothing but love. These were his woads; and 
 yet he has repeatedly assured me, that this par- 
 tiality has known no bounds from the time of my 
 
 residing at Clifton, 
 * * * * x * * * 
 
 Mr. Macartney has just been with me, on an em= 
 bassy from my father. He has sent me his kindest 
 love and assurances of favour ; and desired to know 
 if [am happy in the prospect of changing my situ- 
 ation, and if there is any thing I can name which 
 he can do forme. And, at the samo time, Mr. 
 Macartney delivered to me a draft on my father’s 
 banker for a thousand pounds, which he insisted 
 that I should receive entirely for my own use, and 
 expend in equipping myself properly for the new 
 rank of life to which I seem destined, 
 
 Tam sure I need not say how much I was pene- 
 trated by this goodness; I wrote my thanks, and 
 acknowledged frankly that if I could see him re 
 
 me AI 
 
EVELINA. 441 
 
 stored to tranquillity, my heart would be without 
 a wish, 
 
 Evelina in continuation. 
 Clifton, Oct. 13. 
 Tue time now approaches when I hope we shall 
 meef!—yet I cannot sleep ;-—great joy is as rest- 
 less as sorrow,—and therefore I will continue my 
 journal. 
 
 As I had never had an opportunity of seeing 
 Bath, a party was formed last night for showing 
 me that celebrated city: and this morning after 
 breakfast, we set out in three phaetons. Lady 
 Louisa and Mrs, Beaumont, with lord Merton 3 
 Mr. Coverley, Mr. Lovel, and Mrs. Selwyn ; and 
 myself with lord Orville 
 
 We had hardly proceeded half a mile, when a 
 gentleman from the post-chaise, which came gal- 
 loping after us, called out to the servants, Holla, 
 my lad !—pray, is one miss Anvillein any of them 
 thing-em-bobs ? 
 
 L immediately recollected the voice of captain 
 Mirvan: and lord Orville stopped the phaeton. 
 He was out of the chaise and with us in a moment. 
 So, miss Anville, cried he, how do you do? so 
 I hear you're Miss Belmont now ;—pray, how does 
 old madame French do ? 
 
 Madame Duval, said I, is, I believe, very well, 
 
 1 hope she is in good case, said he, winking 
 significantly, and won’t flinch at seeing service : 
 she has laid by long enough to refit and be made 
 tight. And pray how does poor monseer Doleful 
 
 do ? is he as lank jawed as ever? 
 
442 EVELINAs 
 
 There are neither of them, said I, in Bristol. 
 
 O,1 promise you, cried he, our Moll would 
 never have wheedled me into this jaunt, if I'd 
 known she was nothere ; for, tolet you into the 
 secret, I fully intended to have treated the old 
 buck with another frolic, 
 
 Did miss Mirvan, then, persuade you to this 
 journey ? sd 
 
 Yes, and we've been travelling all night. 
 
 We? cried I: is miss Mirvan with you ? 
 
 What, Molly ?—yes, she’s in that there chaise. 
 F Good God, sir, why did you not tell me sooner? 
 cried L: and immediately, with lord Orville’s as- 
 sistance, I jumped out of the phaeton, and ran to 
 the dear girl. Lord Orville opened the chaise 
 door ; and Iam sure I need not tell you what un- 
 feigned joy accompanied our meeting. 
 
 We both begged we might not be parted during 
 the ride: and lord Orville was.so good as to invite 
 captain Mirvan into his phaeton, 
 
 I think I was hardly ever more rejoiced than 
 at this unseasonable visit from my dear Maria; 
 who had no sooner heard the situation of my af- 
 fairs than with the assistance of lady Howard and 
 her kind mother, she besought her father with 
 much earnestness to consent to the journey, that 
 he had not been able to withstand their united 
 entreaties ; though she owned that, had he not ex- 
 pected to haye with madame Duval, she believes 
 he would not so readily have yielded. They ar- 
 rived at Mrs. Beaumont’s but a few minutes after 
 we were out of sight and overtook us without 
 much difficulty, 
 
 J say nothing of our conversation, because you 
 
 a a a... 
 
EVELINA. 
 
 may 80 well suppose both the subjects we chose, 
 and our manner of discussing them. 
 
 We all stopped at a grand hotel, where we 
 were obliged tojinquire for a room, as lady Louisa, 
 fatigued to death, desired to take something be- 
 fore we began our rambles. 
 
 Lady Louisa being now refreshed, we proceeded 
 upon our expedition. 
 
 The charming city of Bath answered all my 
 expectations. The Crescent, the prospect from 
 it, and the excellent symmetry of the Circus, de- 
 lighted me. The Parades, I own, rather disap- 
 pointed me; one of them is scarce preferable to 
 some of the best paved streets in London: and 
 the other, though it affords a beautiful prospect, 
 a charming view of Prior Park and of the Avon, 
 yet wanted something in itself of more striking 
 elegance than a mere broad pavement, to satisfy 
 the ideas I had formed of it. 
 
 At the pump-room I was amazed at the public 
 exhibition of the ladies in the bath: it is true, 
 their heads are covered with bonnets; but the 
 very idea of being seen in such a sitnation, by 
 whoever pleases to look, is indelicate. 
 
 We returned in the same way we came. Mrs. 
 Beaumont invited all the party to dinner. and has 
 been so obliging as to beg miss Mirvan may con- 
 tinue at her house during her stay. The captain 
 will lodge at the Wells, 
 
 I had then two letters delivered to me; one 
 from lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan, which con- 
 tained the kindest congratulations 5 and the other 
 from madame Duval!—but not a word from you, 
 
 —to my nosmall surprise and concern. 
 
 LOLS LEI NLL LIES OE SILI LE 
 
444 EVELINA. 
 
 Madame Duval seemed greatly rejoiced at my 
 last intelligence; a violent cold, she says, prevents 
 her coming to Bristol. The Branghtons, she tells 
 me, are all well: Miss Polly is soon to be married 
 to Mr, Brown; but Mr. Smith has changed his 
 lodgings, which she adds has made the house ex- 
 tremely dull. However, that’s not the worst 
 news ; pardi I wish it was! but I’ve been used 
 like nobody,—for monsieur du Bois bas had the 
 baseness to go back to France without me. In 
 conclusion, she assures me, as you prognosticated 
 she would, that I shall be sole heiress of all she 
 is worth, when lady Orville. 
 
 At tea time we were joined by all the gentlemen 
 but captain Mirvan, who went to the hotel where 
 he was to sleep, and made his daughter accompany 
 him, to separate her trumpery, as he called it, from 
 his clothes, 
 
 After tea, all the company, Lord Orville, miss 
 Mirvan, and myself excepted, played at cards and 
 we—O, how much better did we pass our time! 
 
 While we were engaged in a most delightful 
 conversation, a servant brought me aletter, which 
 he told me had by some accident been mislaid, 
 
 Judge of my feelings when I saw, my dearest sir, 
 
 your revered hand writing! My emotions soon 
 betrayed tolord Orville whom the letter was from; 
 the importance of the contents he well knew 3 and, 
 assuring me I should not be seen by the card 
 players, he besought me to open it without delay, 
 
 Open it, indeed, I did—but read it I could nots 
 
 —the willing, yet awful consent you have granted 
 
 —the tenderness of your expre 
 
 ssion—the certainty 
 that no obstacle remained tom 
 
 iy cternal union with 
 
EVELINA, 445 
 
 the loved owner of my heart, gave me sensations 
 too various, and, though joyful, too little placid for 
 observation. Finding myself 
 and blinded by the tears of gratitude and delight, 
 which started into my eyes, I gave over the at- 
 tempt of reading till lL retired to my own room ; 
 and, having no voice to answer the enquiries of 
 Lord Orville, I put the letter into his hands, and 
 left it to speak both for me and itself. 
 
 Lord Orville himself was affected by your kind- 
 ness: he kissed the letter as he returned it, and 
 pressing my hand affectionately to his heart, You 
 are now, said he, in a low voice, all my own: O, 
 my Evelina, how will my soul find room for its hap- 
 piness ?—it seemsalready bursting! I could make 
 no reply, indeed I hardly spoke another word the 
 rest of the evening; so little talkative is the ful- 
 ness of contentment, 
 
 O, my dearest sir, the thankfulness of my heart 
 I must pourforth at our meeting, when at your 
 feet, my happiness receives its confirmation from 
 your blessing ; and when my noble-minded, my 
 beloved lord Orville presents to you the highly 
 honoured and thrice happy Evelina. 
 
 A few lines I will endeavour to write on Thurs- 
 day, which shall be sent off express, to give you, 
 should nothing intervene, yet more certain assur- 
 ance of our meeting. 
 
 Now then, therefore, for the first, and probably 
 the last time I shall ever own the name, permit 
 
 able to proceed, 
 
 me to sign myself, 
 Most dear sir, 
 Your grateful affectionate 
 
 EVELINA BELMONT, 
 
 DP ginfisatotcts dl 
 
 LID TS 
 
 pat PR: 
 
 SLILL LS ILE. 
 
 hetilt 1d hot al 
 
446 EVELINAs 
 
 Lady Louisa, at her own particular desire, will 
 be present at the ceremony, as well as miss Mir- 
 yan and Mrs. Selwyn: Mr. Macartney will, the 
 same morning, be united to my foster sister! and 
 my father will give us both away, 
 
 Mr, Villars to Hvelina. 
 
 Every wish of my soul is now fulfilled—for the 
 felicity of my Evelina is equal to her worthiness 4 
 
 Yes, my child, thy happiness is engraven in gol- 
 den characters upon the tables of my heart; and 
 their impression is indelible ; for, should the rude 
 and deep-searching hand of misfortune attempt to 
 pluck them from their repository, the fleeting fa- 
 bric of life would give way ; and in tearing from 
 my Vitals the nourishment by which they are sup- 
 ported, she would grasp at a shadow insensible to 
 her touch, 
 
 Give thee my consent ?—O thou joy, comfort, 
 and pride of my life, how cold is that word to ex- 
 press the fervency of my approbation! yes I do 
 indeed give thee my consent ; and do thankfully, 
 and with the humblest gratitude to Providence, L 
 would seal it with the remnant of my days. 
 
 Hasten then, my love, to bless me with thy pre- 
 sence, and to receive the blessings with which my 
 fond heart overflows !—And O, my Evelina, heat 
 and assist in one only humble but ardent prayer 
 which yet animates my devotion: That the 
 
 height of bliss to which thou art rising may not 
 
EVELINA, 
 
 render the giddy, but that the purity of thy mind 
 y form the brig 
 nd that the weak and 
 
 parent, nearl 
 and infirmities, m: 
 
 test splendour of thy prosper- 
 
 1 
 
 past afilic y yet be 
 
 hold 
 
 the wounds which the 
 
 ain a meeting which all its better par 
 dear; and th 
 former severity of fortune inflicted, may be healed 
 and pur by the ultimate consolation of pour- 
 ing forth my ] child! 
 —closing these nee, 
 and breathing r loved 
 arms! 
 
 Grieve not, G child of my care! grieve not at 
 the inevitable moment! but may thy own end be 
 equally pr pitious! O mayest thou, when full of 
 days, and full of honour, sink down as gently to 
 rest !—be loved as kindly, watched as tenderly, as 
 the happy father? And mayst thou, when thy 
 glass is run, be sweetly but not bitterly, mourned 
 
 some remaining darling of thy affections—some 
 iving Evelina, 
 
 essings ont 
 
 I 
 yets 
 
 ARTHUR VILLARS, 
 
 Evelina to the Rev. Mr. Villars. 
 
 ALL is over, my dearest sir; and the fate of your 
 Evelina is decided! This morning, with fearful 
 joy and trem=_g gratitude,she united herself for 
 ever with th eaaject of her dearest, her eternal af- 
 
 fection. 
 
 SATO Se 
 
 SLL LEO LI FN ELA OAT Ta 
 
 ‘shales AH st Mt A eae 
 
1 
 ; 
 
 nT a 
 
 448 EVELINA. j 
 
 a 
 
 I have time for no more ; the chaise now waits 
 
 which’ is to conduct me to dear Berry Hill, and 
 to the arms of the best of men, 
 
 4 
 
 EVELINA, 
 THE END 
 F 
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