^
 
 L I E) RARY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 

 
 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2010 witii funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/victimsofsociety01bles ^^^
 
 THE 
 
 VICTIMS OF SOCIETY 
 
 BY 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 " 'Tis you that say it, not I ; you do the deeds. 
 And your ungodly deeds find nie the words." 
 
 LONDON 
 SAUNDERS AND OTLEY CONDUIT STREET. 
 
 M.DCCC.XXXVII.
 
 11^ 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The design of personal satire is some- 
 times justly, more often erroneously, 
 attributed to those who attempt to paint 
 the manners of the day ; and, through 
 the character of a fiction, to delineate 
 the vices or the follies of real life. But 
 as one who refuses the shelter of the 
 anonymous is usually supposed to reject 
 its privileges, so the Author of these 
 volumes ventures to hope that, by pre-
 
 VI PREFACE. 
 
 fixing her name to her Work, she offers, 
 at least, a guarantee of her desire neither 
 to excite the fear, nor to wound the 
 vanity, of individuals. 
 
 They who move in a highly artificial 
 state of society, acquire, however, a kind 
 of family resemblance ; and every general 
 description is susceptible of personal ap- 
 plication : while, on the other hand, 
 it is a common disposition among 
 readers to reverse the destiny of Peter 
 Schlemil, and hunt after a substance to 
 every bodiless and visionary shadow : — 
 For, whether it be from curiosity or af- 
 fection, it is certainly true that we are 
 apt to take up a novel as we go to an 
 exhibition, less to criticise the creations
 
 PREFACE. VU 
 
 of fancy, than to search for the portraits 
 of our friends. 
 
 It is not then a superfluous precau- 
 tion seriously to declare, that the Cha- 
 racters of this Work are invented, not 
 copied, as the representatives of a class, 
 or the agents of a moral ; and the greater 
 the number of persons (whether those 
 who sully, or those who adorn society), 
 that each sketch may be thought to 
 resemble, the more, perhaps, the Author 
 will have obtained the object of her 
 Work, and proved the assertion of her 
 Preface.
 
 THE 
 
 VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 LADY AUGUSTA VERNON TO LADY 
 MARY HOWARD. 
 
 Vernon Hall, June. 
 
 I AM sixteen to-day, dearest Mary, and feel 
 so happy and joyous, that I must make you 
 a partaker of my felicity. Would that you 
 were here! for, hilas! it will be three long 
 days ere this can reach you ; and w ho knows 
 if, at the expiration of that period, brief as 
 it is, I shall be still as contented ? And yet, 
 why not? Have I not all that should insure 
 happiness ? A dear, kind, indulgent father, 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 who spoils, and a mild, sweet mother, who 
 corrects me only with a sigh, or a look of 
 more than usual solicitude. I am, as you have 
 often told me, a strange wayward creature — 
 giddy as a school -boy when he first escapes 
 to his play- ground; and yet, with gleams 
 of melancholy presentiment, as if I felt that 
 there is that within me which may preclude 
 lasting peace. 
 
 The truth is, my father and mother are 
 too partial to my good qualities (if, indeed, 
 1 possess any), and too blind, or too tolerating, 
 to my faults. Should I ever meet with less 
 lenient judges, how miseraj^le I shall be, 
 and how unamiahle may I become ! for, I am 
 too unused to censure to be capable of patiently 
 enduring it. And yet, how can I hope to find 
 the same absorbing affection, the same for- 
 bearing kindness, that I have experienced from 
 mv infancy ? But, no ; 1 will not allow any
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 3 
 
 forebodings of the future to cast a gloom over 
 the delightful present. Am I not uncertain 
 as an April morning? I began, all sunshine, 
 with telling you of my happiness ; and here 
 am 1, clouded over by doubts of its continu- 
 ance. Thus, it is with me ever -— smiles or 
 tears; and both equally beyond my control. 
 
 Are you not dying with curiosity to learn 
 the cause of the happiness announced in the 
 second line of this letter? You, who are 
 two years my senior, and ten years wiser, if 
 wisdom may be rated by years, will smile, 
 when I confess, that much of this elation 
 was caused by my dear mother's presenting 
 me with her beautiful parvre of pearls ; and 
 my kind father's giving me a hundred pounds, 
 in the prettiest new pocket-book that ever 
 was seen. Yet, before you condemn me for 
 being delighted by "barbaric pearls," or 
 " sordid gold, " let me tell you, that the
 
 4 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 words which accompanied the gifts caused the 
 happiness, more than the gifts themselves ; 
 though I am not insensible to their charms. 
 ^' Augusta, my precious child ! " said my mo- 
 ther, in that mild and earnest way, so peculiar 
 to her ; '' here, is your birth-day present : 
 may you ever continue as pure and spotless 
 as the pearls which I now bestow on you." 
 
 I threw myself into her arms, and wept 
 on her bosom, for my heart was too full to 
 speak ; and I felt, at the moment, that I 
 would rather have died there, than have caused 
 her to shed a tear. She led me to my 
 father's study, who, embracing me, put the 
 pretty pocket-book I told you of into my 
 hand, saying, " Take this, my own Gusty, 
 and when its contents are expended, bring it 
 back to me, and they shall be replaced. You 
 are my darling, my only child — my comfort!" 
 Then, as I clasped his neck, and pressed his
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 5 
 
 dear face, I felt his tears moisten my cheek. 
 With such parents, have I not cause to be 
 contented ? Yes, I am ; and will be, dearest 
 Mary, your happy, as well as affectionate 
 friend, Augusta Vernon. 
 
 LADY MARY HOWARD TO LADY 
 AUGUSTA VERNON. 
 
 Howard Castle, June. 
 Dearest Augusta, — Were I inclined to play 
 the Mentor, 1 should lecture you on the 
 proneness to give way to first impulses, which 
 I have always remarked in you ; and which 
 is so evident all through your last letter. 
 You say that ^* you have a melancholy pre- 
 sentiment of having that within you, which 
 may preclude lasting happiness." Does this 
 not look like acknowledging, that you have
 
 6 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 faults which may conquer you, instead of your 
 conquering them ; and who, with such a be- 
 hef, could hope for happiness ? Happiness 
 is a rare plant, that seldom takes root on 
 earth : few ever enjoyed it, except for a 
 brief period ; the search after it is rarely re- 
 warded by the discovery. But, there is an 
 admirable substitute for it, which all may 
 hope to attain, as its attainment depends 
 wholly on self — and that is, a contented spirit. 
 This panacea for the ills of life can never 
 belong to those who are governed hy, instead 
 of governing their feelings. Feelings are 
 delightful acquaintances; and, like acquaint- 
 ances, they are charming during prosperity ; 
 but, principles are our true friends, rescuing 
 us from danger, and consoling us in affliction. 
 Cultivate principles, then, dearest Augusta, 
 and learn to make feelings as subservient to 
 them as good servants should be to their
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 7 
 
 masters, knowing that wisdom and justice 
 guide them. A ship on the trackless main, 
 w^ithout a rudder or compass, is not in a 
 more fearful state than a young and lovely 
 w^oman without fixed principles, abandoned 
 to the sole government of her feelings. 
 
 And now, let me tell you, that this 
 will, probably, be the last lecture you will 
 receive from Mary Howard. But do not, 
 therefore, think you are to escape future 
 admonitions. No, dearest Augusta ; Mary 
 Delaward, in her matron character, will con- 
 tinue to give her giddy, but dearly loved 
 friend, as many lectures (when required) as 
 sober-minded Mary Howard ever has done. 
 
 All is finally fixed for my marriage : the 
 probation, to which Lord Delaward at first 
 submitted with so bad a grace, is expired ; 
 and I now may become a wife, with that 
 indispensable, and only surety for domestic
 
 8 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 peace, — a perfect reliance on the pi'inciples 
 of a husband. That I preferred him to all 
 others, you have known ; and you know, also, 
 that, when after his return from Italy he 
 sought my hand, I had no means of judging 
 of his tastes or pursuits, except by waiting 
 a year, and seeing or hearing how he oc- 
 cupied his time. He has passed triumphantly 
 through the dangerous ordeal of a season 
 in London, and an autumn and winter in 
 the society of his friends, at their residences, 
 and at Delaward Park. He has neither fre- 
 quented Crockford's, nor attended every meet- 
 ing at Newmarket ; nor hunted at Melton ; 
 nor formed intimacies with dissolute men ; 
 nor flirted with any of the women who are 
 more remarkable for attracting admiration 
 than for repelling admirers. In short, he is 
 not a young man of fashion; or, rather, a 
 fashionable man ; and therefore, I am not
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 9 
 
 afraid that he will find clubs more agreeable 
 than home, or any other man's wife more 
 to his taste, than his own. 
 
 My father has written to yours, to request 
 that he, and your good mother, will conduct 
 your giddy self to Howard Castle, to be pre- 
 sent at the nuptial ceremony. This will be 
 a good occasion for you to display your pearls, 
 on the possession of which I congratulate you : 
 and to gratify, by your presence, your fondly 
 attached Mary Howard. 
 
 LADY A. VERNON TO MISS MONTRESSOR. 
 
 Howard Castle. 
 Here we are, my dear Caroline, safely arrived ; 
 and, according to promise, I give you an ac- 
 count of all that is going on in this place. 
 Dear Mary Howard is as amiable, as hand- 
 
 B'2
 
 10 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 some, and as reasonable, as ever ; and seems 
 to me unaccountably tranquil, for one who is 
 on the point of marrying the man of her 
 choice. 1 should be all in a flutter on such 
 an occasion, not knowing whether to laugh 
 or cry, and doing both by turns. Lord De- 
 laward is very good - looking, but has a sort 
 of dignified gravity about him that is rather 
 chilling and imposing ; at least, such is its 
 effect on me. There is a respectful deference 
 in his manner towards Mary, that checks 
 even my habitual familiarity : it is as though 
 he wished to intimate, that she whom he 
 had chosen was not to be lightly approached ; 
 consequently, I find myself involuntarily as- 
 suming a more reverential demeanour towards 
 her — not that I am less attached to her than 
 before. I wonder, Caroline, whether / shall 
 ever excite this respectful feeling in the breast 
 of any man. There is something very flatter-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. ] 1 
 
 ing ill it, too ; yet, I should like to be more 
 wildly, more passionately loved than ]Mary is ; 
 and I should be addicted to shelving my power 
 over my lover, as well as exerting it. How 
 delightful to alarm, to agitate him — to make 
 him feel as if he could never be sure of me ! 
 instead of being, as Lord Delaward appears 
 to be, as certain of Mary's unchangeable af- 
 fection as he is of his own. 
 
 I write all that comes into my giddy head 
 to you, because I know you to be as giddy 
 as myself. I dared not have addressed half 
 this idle trifling to Mary Howard, who views, 
 in her future husband, the companion with 
 whom she is to share those trials of life from 
 which even the most fortunate are not ex- 
 empt ; while I should think only of the lover, 
 with whom I was to enjoy its pleasures. Mary's 
 is the just view, mine the too common one. 
 
 Lord Delaward presented a superb suit o£
 
 12 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 diamonds to Mary this morning ; they were in 
 a case lined with blue velvet, and really shone 
 like stars in the azure sky. They did not at 
 all dazzle her, though, I confess, they did me. 
 She seemed to value them only as being his 
 gift, and in consequence of their having never 
 been worn save by virtuous women ; for his 
 mother and grandmother were remarkable for 
 their decorous lives ; but /, if the truth must 
 be told, should have valued them for their own 
 intrinsic beauty, and not have given a thought 
 to their former owners. I often wish that I 
 could be as good and as rational as Mary 
 Howard ; and she sometimes makes me good, 
 if not wise, by the influence she possesses over 
 me. 31aisy Mlas ! it does not last long ; for a 
 few flattering speeches, a new dress, or a 
 trinket, excite me to fresh levities, and all 
 my praiseworthy resolutions fade away. I 
 must leave off, as I am summoned to the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 13 
 
 drawing-room ; and shall resume my pen to- 
 morrow, after the wedding. 
 
 I never fancied that I should weep at a 
 wedding ; yet, I have done so ; and so, I think, 
 would even you, had you been present, little 
 as you are given to the indulgence of tears. 
 There is something solemn in witnessing the 
 ratification of a union that death alone can 
 dissolve, when the individuals forming it are 
 fully penetrated with the importance, the 
 holiness of the duties they are undertaking. 
 Mary (no longer Mary Howard) preferred 
 being married in the parish church to having 
 the ceremony performed at home : I ventured 
 to ask her the reason yesterday, when we 
 were alone ; and she told me, that, having 
 been baptised, confirmed, and having received
 
 14 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the sacrament in that church, she wished to 
 pledge her faith at the same altar. 
 
 '^ My mother, too, sleeps there," added 
 Mary, with a tear trembling in her eye ; *' and 
 this is a strong inducement to me : it is as 
 though it sanctified still more solemnly my 
 marriage." 
 
 A pensiveness pervaded the whole party 
 last evening. Lord Howard was evidently 
 thinking of his approaching separation from 
 his child, while she was continually stealing 
 looks at him, as if to imprint his features 
 in her memory ; though, at each glance, her 
 eyes became suffused with tekrs. Lord De- 
 laward made Lord Howard promise to join 
 them in a fortnight ; and pressed it so strong- 
 ly, that it was easy to see that he considered 
 this the best mode of consoling Mary. 
 
 My dear good papa and mamma seemed
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 15 
 
 to think that it was / that was going to be 
 married ; for they looked at me as often and 
 as tenderly as if I was to be whisked off 
 from them to-morrow in a travelling-carriage 
 and four ; and I began to fear, that they 
 would make up their minds to take measures 
 for my leading a life of single blessedness, 
 now that all the pain of parting with a child 
 was " brouo:ht home to their business and 
 their bosoms" by witnessing Lord Howard's 
 chagrin. 
 
 The old servants (and nearly all of them 
 are old) seemed to partake the general de- 
 pression of spirits ; and 1 continually caught 
 them regarding their young mistress with 
 reverential affection. I know that you will 
 expect a description of the bride's dress, but 
 I am thinking too much of her, to enter into 
 a detail of her toilette. It was all that was 
 proper for such an occasion ; but, her pale
 
 16 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 cheek, trembling lip, and tearful eyes, pre- 
 vented even my giddy self from attending 
 to aught else. The children of the school 
 that Mary founded here, all attended at the 
 church, headed by their mistress, and in 
 their Sunday clothes, each carrying a bou- 
 quet. The clergyman who performed the 
 ceremony is the same who baptised Mary; 
 and he read the service most impressively. 
 She repeated the words in a clear and firm 
 voice, as if she wished all present to hear 
 her; and when Lord Delaward placed the 
 ring on her finger, she looked at the monu- 
 ment of her mother, as if to beseech the 
 blessing of her whose remains are reposing 
 beneath it. Tears were continually stealing 
 down the cheeks of Lord Howard ; his 
 thoughts appeared to be divided between the 
 wife he had lost, and the child he was then 
 resigning.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 17 
 
 When we left the church, the children 
 presented their bouquets to Lady Delaward, 
 and our carriages were nearly filled with 
 flowers, as, followed by the blessings of the 
 poor, who all assembled to see their bene- 
 factress, we returned to Howard Castle. 
 
 The dejeuner, though a very splendid one, 
 was little honoured by the appetites of the 
 guests. The father and daughter were too 
 much affected to admit of any thing like 
 cheerfulness in those around them. When 
 the repast had terminated, and Lord Dela- 
 ward's carriage was announced, Mary affec- 
 tionately reminded my father and mother of 
 their promise to remain at Howard Castle, 
 until the day her father is to set out to join 
 her at Delaward Park, where we are also 
 invited. 
 
 The parting between Lord Howard and 
 Mary was truly affecting, and the more so
 
 18 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 that it was evident each had endeavoured, 
 for the sake of the other, to suppress all 
 manifestation of emotion. When the carriag-e 
 of the bridegroom drove away, Lord Howard 
 entered his study, followed by my father and 
 mother, who shared his grief, if they could 
 not remove it ; and they are all three, at 
 this moment, talking over the happy pros- 
 pects of the new-married couple. The tenantry 
 and the poor have been plentifully regaled 
 in the park ; so that, while within the castle 
 all has been melancholy, the greatest hilarity 
 prevails without. 
 
 I have now written you an epistle as large 
 as the Times newspaper with a supplementary 
 sheet, for which you ought to be very thank- 
 ful, as I heve not been in an epistolary mood. 
 I must be present at the marriage of some 
 madcap like yourself, to remove the impres- 
 sion produced on me by that which I have
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY- 19 
 
 just witnessed ; and to bring me back to the 
 comfortable belief, which you have tried to 
 inculcate, that it is only a ceremony esta- 
 blished to give ladies the power of obtain- 
 ing homes and wardrobes, diamonds, and 
 new carriages, and various other delightful 
 things, too numerous to name : and all this 
 good only taxed with the appendage of a — 
 husband. Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Augusta Vernon. 
 
 MISS MONTRESSOR TO THE LADY A. VERNON. 
 
 Do you know, ma chtre, that you are grow- 
 ing quite romantic and sentimental. Your 
 whole description of the marriage of your 
 sober-minded friend was worthy of some 
 lachrymose novel, and not at all like your 
 usual Itger style ; which I am candid enough 
 to acknowledge that I prefer. Lord Dela-
 
 20 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ward seems to be a sort of modern copy of 
 Sir Charles Grandison ; and presents himself 
 to my imagination in a court-dress, with a 
 chapeau-hras. I am sure that he and his 
 bride will be models of domestic felicity, 
 doing all the good in their ^^ower, and avoiding 
 all the evil; superintending their household, 
 establishing charity-schools, setting the best ex- 
 amples, and, content to " live in decencies for 
 ever," arrive at a good old age, the slaves to 
 what they call their piinciples; but, which, 
 in dear France, where my happiest days 
 have been past, we designate by another and 
 a better name — prejudices. 
 
 I almost begin to despair of making any 
 thing of you, chere Augusta, while you are 
 so easily influenced by those around you. 
 You resemble the chameleon, which is s^id 
 to take the colours of whatever it is brought 
 in contact with. This must not be. Influence
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 21 
 
 others tant que vous voudrez ; but, if you 
 wish to maintain your independence, permit 
 not others to influence you. 
 
 What could be more absurd than the 
 maudlin sentimentality of Lord Howard at 
 his daughter's marrying well — an object 
 which, I dare say, it has been his constant 
 aim to accomplish ever since she passed her 
 third lustre? Then, Lady Mary finds it a 
 very melancholy thing, f( sooth, to marry 
 the man of her choice, with a high station, 
 large fortune, and all appliances to boot; be- 
 cause, it takes her from her dull old paternal 
 castle, her stupid papa, and her — charity- 
 school! Do not be very much offended with 
 me, ma chere petite^ when I confess that I 
 laughed heartily at your sentimental descrip- 
 tion of all this absurd drivelling. You talk 
 of the solemnity of the ratification of a union 
 which death alone can dissolve, quite for-
 
 22 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 getting how often the House of Lords per- 
 forms this service ; as a reference to " Debrett's 
 Peerage" can certify. Had you reflected on 
 the possibility of this less solemn dissolution 
 of Hymen's chains, a possibility which is al- 
 ways taken into consideration by the lawyers 
 employed by the contracting parties, if not by 
 the contracting parties themselves, you would 
 have felt less melancholy on the occasion. 
 Indeed, your lachrymose sympathies appeared 
 to me quite incomprehensible ; and I expected 
 to have Lady Mary's tears ultimately accounted 
 for by the discovery of some interesting young 
 swain in the neighbourhood, ,the son of the 
 parson or doctor, who had ventured to re- 
 o-ard her beauties, as dogs bay the moon. I 
 could fill up a very pretty little vaudeville 
 from such a subject ; whereas, of the reality, 
 as you viewed it, one could make nothing. 
 We live in an age, ma bonne Augusta, when
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 23 
 
 none but exciting subjects have any interest. 
 Tears are now only shed when great crimes 
 are their source ; domestic feelings are passes 
 de mode; and those who would awaken sym- 
 pathy, must dare guilt. Look at the theatres 
 in France — where horror on horror accu- 
 mulates, and plaudits '* loud and deep" follow 
 every scene of guilt, and every sentiment of 
 reckless daring! Look at the crimes every 
 day committed in that land of passion, where 
 naught sleeps save — reason ; and where events, 
 public and private, succeed each other so 
 quickly, that the mind is kept in a continual 
 and delightful state of excitement. Had your 
 friend, Lady Mary, and her sapient joere, been 
 inhabitants of dear France, they would have 
 found neither time nor scene for their domestic 
 sentimentalities. She would have been tb ink- 
 ing of her trousseau^ and the envy it would 
 excite — or the last novel of Eugene, Sue, or
 
 24 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Balzac, or of all these ; for in France a woman's 
 head can embrace simultaneously many more 
 subjects than ours can contain in succession, 
 during the lapse of a twelvemonth. And hence 
 their general freedom from concentrated or 
 violent affections ; a freedom that renders them 
 toujours gai, et tovjours aimable, — they dis- 
 pensing to the many^ the smiles and petits 
 soins that we reserve for the few. But to 
 return to you, ma chere. Let me beseech 
 you to abandon Vtcole sentimentale, cest man- 
 vais genre a present : let me, also, remind 
 you to be careful of not allowing my letters 
 to be seen by any eye save your own. I write 
 to you a cceur ouvert ; and should detest having 
 my hasty and inartificial compositions subjected 
 to the perusal and criticism of some one who 
 might not be able to understand them, or 
 voire amie, Caroline.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. JO 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF DELAWARD TO THE 
 LADY AUGUSTA VERNON. 
 
 Delaward Park. 
 I AM impatient to hear from you, dearest 
 Augusta, how my beloved father supports this, 
 our first separation. He has written to me 
 in a cheerful tone ; but he is so prone to 
 conceal his own sufferings, in order not to 
 increase those of others, that I fear his cheer- 
 fulness was only assumed to tranquillise me. 
 I have been so accustomed to refer to him on 
 all occasions, to administer to his happiness, 
 and to derive mine from him, that, even sur- 
 rounded with blessings as I am, I want his 
 presence, to be as contented and as grateful 
 as I ouD-ht to be. How thankful should 
 we be to the Almighty, when He gives us 
 parents whom we can love and reverence, as 
 well as obey — when affection and duty go 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 hand in hand ! This has been my blessed lot, 
 and is likewise j^ours, my dear Augusta. There 
 is, however, one difference between our pa- 
 rents, though it proceeds from the same cause, 
 acting diversely, — namely, excessive affection. 
 Mine never permitted me to have a secret 
 from them, or to receive a letter from any 
 of my companions that was not submitted to 
 their inspection. This plan was adopted when 
 I was so young, that I could not understand 
 its motive ; and, when I grew older, the habit 
 was so formed, that I knew not whether it 
 was continued by their desire or my own. 
 They reasoned with me on the fallacies often 
 contained in the letters of my young friends, 
 and on the inferences which my inexperience 
 led me to draw from them. They taught 
 me to reflect, and to distinguish between what 
 was erroneous and what was praiseworthy in 
 sentiment; and to judge of actions by principle
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 27 
 
 alone, and not by prejudices. From how 
 many false impressions did my beloved pa- 
 rents rescue me, by exerting for me their rea- 
 son, ere my own had acquired sufficient force 
 to protect me! Yours, with equal affection, 
 impose no restraint on your intercourse with 
 your female friends. They never see your cor- 
 respondence; consequently, cannot refute the 
 false opinions it may contain, and, for the 
 detection of which, your youth and inexperi- 
 ence unfit you. You are, therefore, exposed 
 to the danger of imbibing the sentiments of 
 those who are less amiable and pure-minded 
 than yourself; ere yet your principles are 
 immutably fixed, or your reasoning powers 
 sufficiently matured to enable you to reject the 
 poison that may be thus proffered. You know, 
 dear Augusta, that I am not malignant or 
 censorious; and, therefore, will not suspect 
 me of being influenced by unworthy feelinos,
 
 28 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 when I tell you I am apprehensive that the 
 purity of your mind may be sullied, and the 
 goodness of your heart impaired, by your cor- 
 respondence with Miss Montressor. When you 
 mentioned, in the presence of Lord Delaward, 
 that you frequently heard from her, did you 
 not observe that he looked unusually grave? 
 Knowing the sincerity of my affection for you, 
 he has thought it his duty to inform me, that, 
 from ail he saw and heard of that young lady, 
 in Italy, and in France, he considers an inti- 
 macy with her fraught with danger for one 
 so young as yourself. 
 
 Miss Montressor prides herself on having 
 conquered what she calls English prejudices, 
 and adopted French opinions in their place. 
 The most sacred objects and established usages, 
 — nay, the domestic affections, — are made the 
 subjects of her persiflage ; and she is too anx- 
 ious to pass for a hel esprit in society, to
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 29 
 
 guard against being more than suspected of 
 levity, irreligion, and heartlessness. 
 
 Break off your correspondence with her 
 by degrees, or, if you have mental courage 
 sufficient to hrusquer it, do so ; and call to 
 mind the opinion of Lord Delaward expressed 
 within a few minutes before I commenced this 
 letter, — an opinion which I have often heard 
 my dear father repeat, — that there is more 
 danger to a young and innocent female in an 
 unrestrained correspondence with one of her 
 own sex who is unprincipled and heartless, 
 than in an acquaintance even with men of light 
 character, who possess not equal opportunities 
 of instilling the poison of their false opinions. 
 
 I tell you nothing of my happiness, my 
 dear Augusta, but I hope you will soon wit- 
 ness it. It is the general custom for brides 
 to write inflated descriptions of their felicity to 
 their friends : look for none of these from me ;
 
 30 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and be assured that happiness, like beauty, 
 can never be faithfully expressed by a pic- 
 ture, and perhaps the less easy it is to describe 
 the more perfect it is. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Mary Delaward. 
 
 THE LADY A. VERNON TO MISS MONTRESSOR. 
 
 I CANNOT believe, dear Caroline, that you are 
 really serious in half that you write to me ; 
 may I add, that I do not wi*h to think that 
 you are? Indeed, you do not understand Lady 
 Delaward's character; if you did, you would 
 not imagine her to be a person affecting sen- 
 timentality herself, or encouraging its display 
 in others. If you value my friendship, do not 
 attempt to ridicule those I love and respect ;
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 31 
 
 for, though I give you full permission to laugh 
 at me, I am peculiarly sensitive with regard 
 to them. 
 
 The unbecoming levity with which you refer 
 to the frequency and facility of divorce, both 
 shocked and pained me. How could you jest 
 on so grave a matter, or remind me of examples 
 of conduct in our sex so humiliating to reflect 
 on ? It is this proneness to treat with ridicule 
 subjects which should be ever exempt from 
 its assaults, that often and seriously offends 
 your good aunt, and alarms those whose good 
 opinion I so much wish you to obtain. Con- 
 quer this unfeminine propensity, dear Caroline ; 
 for, be assured, its indulgence is highly in- 
 jurious to you. 
 
 We dined yesterday at Lord Seymour's, 
 where we met two London beaux ; one. Lord 
 Annandale, and the other, Sir Henry Beaumont. 
 The first is good-looking, and has the appear-
 
 32 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ance of being extremely well satisfied with 
 himself, perhaps too much so : and yet, I like 
 to see men of fashion possess a certain con- 
 fidence of manner ; it renders their attentions 
 more flattering. Besides, he who greatly ad- 
 mires himself, must find many charms in that 
 woman with whom he is disposed to share his 
 hitherto self-engrossed admiration. Sir Henry 
 Beaumont is not so good-looking as Lord An- 
 nandale; he has lank hair, which I detest; while 
 Lord Annandale's floats in hyacinthine curls, 
 and sets ofi" his face to the greatest advantage. 
 
 The Ladies Seymour evidently wished to 
 attract Lord Annandale, and* he as evidently 
 was so unmindful of their fascinations as to 
 bestow a large share of his attention on me ; 
 which, to judge from their looks, was any 
 thing but agreeable to them. They were 
 forced to be content with the assiduities of 
 Sir Henry Beaumont, who seemed almost
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 33 
 
 afraid to look at me, when he observed that 
 I had monopolised the entire attention of 
 Lord Annandale. What a diflference is there 
 in the appearance and manner of Lord Annan- 
 dale, and Lord Delaward ! In the presence 
 of the latter, I experienced a degree of re- 
 straint which almost amounted to gtne ; while 
 in that of the former I feel as perfectly at my 
 ease as if we were old acquaintances. And 
 yet I should like to have a husband whose 
 dignity repelled familiarity from all but me : 
 not such a one as that ceremonious lord of 
 whom we read, who, when his young wife 
 embraced him, told her that his former coun- 
 tess, though a Howard, never took such a 
 liberty. 
 
 Our host has invited Lord Annandale to 
 spend two or three days here ; an invita- 
 tion which he accepted with evident plea- 
 sure, and not without insinuating to me that I 
 c 2
 
 34 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 was the magnet which attracted him to How- 
 ard Castle. I am not sorry to have this place 
 enlivened by the presence of a beau ; for, to 
 confess the truth, the sententious conversation 
 of Lord Howard, and the admiring assents of 
 papa and mamma, are more instructive than 
 amusing. I wish you were here — a selfish 
 wish, you will say — as I have mentioned the 
 tristesse of this sejour ; but, I believe we are 
 always most disposed to desire the presence of 
 our friends, when we most require the exhi- 
 laration it inspires. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 AucTusTA Vernon.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 35 
 
 LORD ANNANDALE TO THE MARQUESS OF 
 NOTTINGHAM. 
 
 My dear Nottingham, — Here, I am in the 
 feudal chateau of the Howards ! the last place 
 where I expected to find myself; and to which 
 I have been attracted by the beautiful daughter 
 of Lord Vernon, who, with her father and 
 mother, are staying here on a visit. I met 
 them at Lord Seymour's, when at dinner, two 
 days ago, and Lord Howard asked me to come 
 and pass a short time with him ; an invitation 1 
 should assuredly not have accepted , had not the 
 bright eyes of the fair Lady Augusta appeared 
 to sparkle with complacency when it was 
 made. You can fancy nothing half so bril- 
 liant, so beautiful, and so joyous, as this same 
 Lady Augusta. She resembles nothing earthly 
 that I have seen, or unearthly that I have 
 imagined, except it be the heau-idtal of a
 
 36 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Hebe. The most luxuriant tresses, of the fair- 
 est and most silken texture, eyes blue and 
 radiant as the heavens, cheeks of rose, and 
 lips of carnation, and a skin white and po- 
 lished as — what shall I say? not marble, for 
 that is hard — not snow, for that is cold — not 
 satin, for that sounds like a man-milliner com- 
 parison — like nothing, that I ever saw before, 
 or, I verily believe, shall see again, except 
 in her. Then, her figure ! by Jove, it is match- 
 less ! All the elasticity and bounding anima- 
 tion of the child, with all the rounded beauty 
 of contour of the woman. Arms that might 
 serve as models to the sculptor ; hands that 
 look as if only formed to play with flowers; 
 and feet that seem almost too small to bear 
 the beautiful figure, in which she excels all 
 other women. No, my dear Nottingham, even 
 after this description, you can no more form 
 an idea of Lady Augusta Vernon, than I could
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 37 
 
 have believed that such transcendent lovelmess 
 existed, until I had seen her. She is a perfect 
 child in manner and in mind, and a little of 
 a spoilt one too, I should imagine, from a 
 certain half pouting, half laughing look, with 
 which I saw her resist some interference of 
 her father, relative to a horse that he thought 
 too spirited for her to ride. You should have 
 seen the air mutin with which she main- 
 tained that she could perfectly master it ; and 
 yet, it was the arch vivacity of a playful child, 
 and not the wilfulness of an obstinate woman, 
 that she displayed in this little contest with 
 papa. If ever again I should put on the 
 chains of the saffron-robed god, this is just the 
 creature to tempt me ; and I should be the 
 envy of all the men in London, could I pre- 
 sent her there as Lady Annandale, before the 
 roses of her cheeks have faded, or the bril- 
 liancy of her eyes been dimmed, by a London
 
 38 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 season, which is so destructive to the freshness 
 of beauty. Envy me for being under the same 
 I'oof with this divinity ; I know you would, if 
 you could see her ! 
 
 Tout a vous, 
 
 Annandale. 
 
 LADY AUGUSTA VERNON TO LADY DELAVVARD. 
 
 Dearest Mary, — Though we shall meet in 
 a few days, I know you wish to be kept au 
 courant of the state of healrti and spirits of 
 your dear father. He is well, and as cheerful 
 as can be expected, during the first week of 
 separation from an only child — and such a 
 child ! Until I saw the effect your absence 
 has produced, I was not aware how much of 
 the happiness of a parent is rent fi*om him,
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 39 
 
 when, by the departure of his child from the 
 paternal home, he is left to look at the vacant 
 chair, the silent harp, and the untouched 
 piano. How gloomy, then, appears the dwell- 
 ing where no daughter's greeting meets him 
 in the morning, and no fond good-night awaits 
 him ere he seeks his pillow ! This is all doubly 
 experienced, when a mother shares not the 
 solitude of a father thus bereaved ; and I have 
 endeavoured all in my power, although, I fear, 
 inefl&caciously, to supply your place to Lord 
 Howard. I feel as if my affection for my own 
 parents had increased, since I have witnessed 
 how dear and essential a daughter is, to the 
 happiness of the authors of her being. 
 
 We have had a visitor here for the last two 
 days — Lord Annandale. He is agreeable and 
 good-looking, and, in every respect, far su- 
 perior to the men I have been accustomed to 
 see. I can hardly believe that he has been a
 
 40 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 husband, and is a father; for, he appears 
 almost as lively and unthinking as myself: 
 and I have ever associated in my mind a pen- 
 siveness, if not a gravity, with my ideas of 
 those who have filled those serious and re- 
 sponsible capacities. Lord Annandale has 
 been giving me such glowing descriptions of 
 London, and its pleasures, that I pine to be 
 there, and to partake them. I wish I was 
 seventeen, for, at that age I am to be pre- 
 sented ; mais, Mlas ! it wants eleven long months 
 to that period. Lord Annandale treats me quite 
 as if I had been out, and has told me a good 
 deal of the London gossip : he'has been a little 
 ill-natured in laughing at the Ladies Seymour, 
 in which I fear that I too readily joined; 
 but there was no resisting the drollery of 
 his mimickry. He says, that they are as 
 ambitious of conquests as ever Napoleon was, 
 though not so successful ; and, that, unlike
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 41 
 
 him, they keep no corps de rtseriw, as they 
 bring all their forces into the field, at once. 
 Lord Annandale is just the sort of person that 
 Caroline Montressor would like. A propos of 
 her : I cannot, dear Mary, give her up, it would 
 look so unkind and ill-natured. Indeed, you 
 do not render her justice ; for, though I must 
 admit she is given to persiflage, she is kind- 
 hearted, and well-meaning, and very much 
 attached to me. You talk so quietly of your 
 happiness, that, though I cannot doubt, I do 
 not feel disposed to envy it. But, you will scold 
 me if I say more, and prove to me, as you 
 always do, that you are right, and / wrong, 
 though always your affectionate 
 
 Augusta Vernon.
 
 42 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 LADY DELAWARD TO LADY AUGUSTA VERNON. 
 
 Delaicard Park. 
 
 Can it be possible, that you, my clear 
 Augusta, can join in the laughter of Lord 
 Annandale against the Ladies Seymour? His 
 ridiculing them to you, betrays that he had 
 discovered in you a propensity to be pleased 
 by his ill-natured raillery — a poor compliment 
 to your heart. I know Lord Annandale, and 
 think him vain, affected, and flippant : but, let 
 me not, while censuring his malevolent pro- 
 pensity, merit a similar imputation, by com- 
 menting too severely on his* faults. I would 
 only impress upon your mind, that a man who 
 indulges in satirical gossip is always a dan- 
 gerous, although he may be an amusing com- 
 panion. Nothing implies a light estimation of 
 our sex more than the habit some men have 
 of seeking to entertain us at the expense of our
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 43 
 
 female acquaintances ; and, when we encourage 
 their malice by our smiles, we justify their bad 
 opinion. You say, that Lord Annandale's glow- 
 ing description of London, and its pleasures, 
 makes you wdsh to be there, and to partake 
 them ; and that you sigh for the completion of 
 your seventeenth year, that you may enter into 
 fashionable life. If I know your heart, I pro- 
 nounce that disappointment must await you in 
 that glittering circle where you anticipate only 
 happiness ; and where pleasure, though at a 
 distance it may look like the unearthly guest, 
 loses all resemblance when nearer approached. 
 If you are determined to persist in your cor- 
 respondence with Miss Montressor, do, at least, 
 make up your mind to reject her counsel, and 
 shun the adoption of her false opinions. I dwell 
 not on the evil consequences which an intimacy 
 with her may produce, by alarming the good 
 and prudent from seeking you. H'er levity and
 
 44 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 indiscretion in avowing her principles — or want 
 of principles, I should rather say — have driven 
 from her many of her own sex, and impressed 
 the other, with notions most prejudicial to a 
 young woman. Serious as this consideration 
 may be, I am more alarmed by the certain 
 risk which your morals incur in an intimacy 
 with her, than by the probable injury which it 
 may entail upon your worldly prospects. Be 
 on your guard, dearest Augusta ; read none of 
 the French novels she recommends; and, if 
 you will not break with her, at least discourage 
 her levity as much as you can. We expect 
 you to dinner on Thursday :' need I say how 
 o;lad I shall be to see vou as^ain? 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Mary Delaward. 
 
 \
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 45 
 
 LADY A. VERNON TO MISS MONTRESSOR. 
 
 Lord Annandale is still here, dearest Caro- 
 line ; and, were we not going to Delaward 
 Park to-morrow, would probably continue here 
 as long as we may do, or at least as long as 
 his convenience permitted. Shall I, or shall I 
 not confess, that he has declared himself my 
 suitor, and that I, though somewhat loath, 
 have listened to his prayer, and referred him 
 to papa; who, however, and mamma, seemed 
 more surprised than pleased at the avowal of 
 his attachment to me. They pleaded, in oppo- 
 sition to the demand, my extreme youth and 
 inexperience — my ignorance of the world — 
 and their desire that I should not marry until 
 I was at least eighteen. All their reason- 
 ing only served to increase the ardour of my 
 suitor ; who implored me with such zeal and
 
 46 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 passion, that I consented to tell my mother 
 that my happiness depended on my union with 
 him. 
 
 She, dear good soul, — having shed a few 
 tears at the declaration, that the happiness of 
 her Augusta depended on any one save her, 
 and papa, and having expressed some wonder 
 that, on so short an acquaintance, a serious 
 attachment could be formed, and some doubts 
 that 1 could be happy away from parents who 
 adored me, — sought papa, to tell him what 
 I desired he should know. No sooner had she 
 left the room, than I wished to recall her. 
 Her last observation had toAched a chord in 
 my heart that vibrated painfully ; and I asked 
 myself, while tears streamed down my cheeks, 
 whether, indeed, I could be happy, away from 
 the dear, the indulgent parents, whom I was 
 willing to abandon for a man unknown to me 
 a i^vi- weeks ago? I felt tempted to follovr her
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 47 
 
 to my father's room, and to adopt their rejection 
 of Lord Annandale, or, at least, to retard my 
 acceptance of him for a year or two : but shame, 
 and a dread of the imputation of giddiness and 
 A-acillation, to which so rapid a change in my 
 feelings might have given rise, checked the 
 impulse ; and I remained weeping in my room, 
 frightened at the dilemma into which my own 
 weakness had reduced me, and awaiting with 
 dread, the result of that intercession on the part 
 of mamma, for which, only a few minutes 
 before, I had warmly pleaded. 
 
 How strange is the human heart ! or, at 
 least, that specimen of it which is now throb- 
 bing in my breast. While listening to Lord 
 Annandale's passionate entreaties to be his, 
 I fancied that he was dear to me — nav, al- 
 most believed my own assertion, that my 
 happiness depended on a union with bim ; 
 yet, now that my parents have yielded to
 
 48 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY, 
 
 his solicitation, supposing that this concession 
 was necessary to the peace of their child, I feel 
 as if he had become indifferent to me, and I 
 wonder how I could ever have imagined that I 
 loved him. 
 
 When subsequently he came to me, all rap- 
 ture at the consent of 'my father, and thanked 
 me for having obtained it, I experienced an 
 instinctive desire to tell him the state of my 
 feelings : but shame again withheld me, joined 
 to a latent doubt of the possibility of another 
 change in my sentiments; consequently, I let 
 him pour out his impassioned vows of eternal 
 affection and gratitude, while* I coldly suffered, 
 instead of participating his happiness. Surely 
 I do not, cannot, love this man, or I could not 
 feel thus coldly on such an occasion : yet, he 
 is handsome and agreeable, and, a few hours 
 agfo, I thouo;ht him much more than this. 
 Counsel me, dearest Caroline ; tell me if there
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 49 
 
 is yet time to avow to my parents the real state 
 of my inclinations, and to be equally candid 
 with Lord Annandale. It seems to me to be 
 cruel to let him continue in the erroneous belief 
 that I love him, when the illusion has vanished 
 from my own mind ; and yet how miserable 
 will such an avowal render him, adoring me 
 as he does ! 
 
 No, I have not courage to inflict unhap- 
 piness on another: let me rather bear it my- 
 elf, since to my own levity, and want of self- 
 knowledge, it is due. I am now sensible that 
 I have been dazzled and flattered by this, the 
 first passion I have inspired ; and that I have 
 mistaken the transient gratitude occasioned by 
 gratified vanity, for a more fervent sentiment. 
 Lord Annandale has told me, that he fears Lady 
 Delaward may prejudice me against him ; and 
 that this apprehension was one of the reasons 
 which urged him to press his suit before I had 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 again seen her. He attempted to pass some 
 ill-natured pleasantries on her prudery, and 
 old-fashioned formality of manners ; said that 
 she disliked every one who was not as straight- 
 laced as herself: but I checked bis raillery, as 
 I cannot bear to hear Lady Delaward spoken 
 ill of by those who judge her only from a cold 
 exterior. To-morrow, we set out to Delaward 
 Park, and Lord Annandale goes to his seat in 
 Gloucestershire. I feel a sense of relief at our 
 separation ; for, he is so overjoyed and happy, 
 that my calmness, if not gravity, forms a con- 
 trast not pleasant to me, and not, I should 
 think, likely to be gratifying to him. If all 
 women leave their accepted lovers with as little 
 regret as I have experienced in separating 
 from mine, why, then, I envy neither the lover, 
 nor the loved. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Augusta Vernon.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 51 
 
 LORD ANNANDALE TO THE MARQUESS OF 
 NOTTINGHAM. 
 
 Congratulate me, my dear Nottingham, for I 
 am the happiest dog alive this day. You will 
 be ready to exclaim, with the Lord C, on a 
 similar occasion, some fifty years ago, " Every 
 dog has his day;" but I will forgive you the 
 assertion, for I am too happy, too proud, to 
 cavil with any thing at present. 
 
 " Well, well," I fancy I hear you ask, 
 " what does all this joy mean? Is there a 
 change of ministry, and is he premier ? or has 
 his horse won at Newmarket ? Has his worst 
 enemy lost half his fortune at Crockford's, 
 and has he gained it? or, has he got the 
 twenty- thousand prize in the lottery?" 
 
 No, mon cher ! none of these auspicious 
 events have occurred ; but I have drawn a 
 prize in the lottery of wedlock, that has ren-
 
 52 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 dered me more happy than if each and all of 
 them had happened. I have proposed for, 
 and been accepted by, the most beautiful and 
 fascinating of her sex, who has just enough of 
 the angel in her composition to elevate her 
 above all other women ; and just enough of 
 the woman to make a lover go mad, if she 
 chose to take it into her head to torment him. 
 Papa and mamma are the most primitively 
 good persons on earth, knowing little of our 
 world, and scarcely dreaming that vice or 
 wickedness exists. They idolise their daughter, 
 as well they may, and were unwilling to con- 
 sent to her marrying for two years to come. 
 But, I won on Lady Augusta's pity, by dis- 
 playing the love I felt, and the despair I did 
 not feel : for, entre nous, I was sure of talking 
 her over to take my side of the question, by 
 giving her a few insinuations that papa and 
 mamma were treating her as a child. This
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 53 
 
 suggestion, aided by my vehement protestations 
 of affection and grief, soon settled the affair; 
 and induced her to tell mamma that her hap- 
 piness depended upon our union. You know 
 that I had determined on never again entering 
 the pale of matrimony ; a resolution that I 
 should have faithfully kept, had I only seen the 
 belles of Almack's gallopading, waltzing, or 
 quadrilling, for — husbands; or cantering in the 
 Park, to catch some Nimrod. No ; your London 
 beauty, with pale cheeks, languid eyes, and 
 uncountable accomplishments, would not have 
 made me captive : but, this creature — as fresh 
 in mind as in person, full of health, of hope, 
 and joy — there was no resisting. I shall be 
 disappointed if she do not produce an amazing 
 sensation in the fashionable world. Her beauty 
 is so brilliant, that it must command universal 
 homage ; and her naivete has nothing rustic in
 
 54 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 it. She has been so much accustomed to be 
 admired, nay, worshipped, by those around 
 her, that she is more likely to receive the 
 general admiration of our circle as her right, 
 than as a subject for gratitude. And yet, there 
 is nothing insolent in her pretensions : a 
 consciousness of beauty and power may well be 
 pardoned in a creature fair enough to warm 
 the frozen heart of a Stoic, and lively enough 
 to keep that heart in perpetual agitation. 
 
 To-morrow, ma helle fianceej and her papa 
 and mamma, leave this place, with Lord How- 
 ard, for Delaward Park. I know I am no 
 favourite with the Delawards, who are very 
 formal, stuck-up people ; and who, were I not 
 an accepted lover, might be very likely to 
 influence Lady Augusta, over whom Lady De- 
 laward has long exercised an empire founded 
 on affection. I feared this empire, and en-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 55 
 
 deavoured, once or twice, to ridicule Lady 
 Delaward, to my future ; but, she resented the 
 attempt most warmly, and, therefore, I have 
 ever since avoided the subject. 
 
 I return to Gloucestershire to-morrow, and 
 shall be in town in a few days, to put all 
 en train with the lawyers, who now-a-days 
 make as many difficulties in letting a man 
 marry, as they formerly did in unmarry- 
 ing him ; consequently, a modern marriage- 
 settlement seems more like an agreement 
 drawn up between two hostile parties, mu- 
 tually apprehensive of fraud, than of two 
 loving persons going to be made one. The 
 Scotch term of married against, instead of to, 
 has always struck me as peculiarly felicitous. 
 But here am I plaisantant respecting that 
 state into which I am so anxious to enter ! 
 perhaps on the principle of anticipating the 
 mauvaises plaisanteries of my friends. Adieu,
 
 56 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 au revoir, as I conclude you will be in town 
 by the time I arrive there. 
 
 Tout a vouSf 
 
 Annandale. 
 
 MISS MONTRESSOR TO LADY A. VERNON. 
 
 And so, ma cJiere Augusta, you have ac- 
 cepted Lord Annandale ! This surprises me 
 not, neither does it displease ; but, I confess, 
 your sentimental scruples as to not liking 
 him made me laugh, though they vexed me 
 a little too. How much have you to learn, ma 
 bonne! You are fortunate in having secured 
 a bon parti without passing through the 
 tiresome ceremony of coming out ; and being 
 exhibited through a whole season, perhaps 
 tico, to those disposed to take unto themselves
 
 THE VICTIMS OP SOCIETY. 57 
 
 a wife. A demoiselle, however charming, is 
 always placed in a fausse position under such 
 circumstances, even in England, where un- 
 married women have so much more liberty than 
 in other countries ; I congratulate you, there- 
 fore, on having escaped that ordeal of patience, 
 being '^ a helle of a season," and entering the 
 fashionable world as a married woman, giving 
 the ton to, not taking it from, others. 
 
 I have never seen a group of our young 
 debutantes, at their first presentation at court, 
 without being reminded of the horses, mules, 
 and asses, in Italy, decked in plumes and tinsel, 
 on the fete of St. Anthony, and led to be 
 blessed by that patron of animals, prepara- 
 tory to their exhibition for sale ; while those 
 who intend to purchase, flock round to ex- 
 amine their points and paces. You have escaped 
 all this humiliation; and, instead of approach- 
 ing royalty as a blushing novice, to obtain a 
 d2
 
 58 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 lascia passare for fashionable life, you enter the 
 court, with a matron's tiara of diamonds en- 
 circling your brow, and the passport of beauty, 
 rank, and fashion, signed by Hymen's coronet. 
 And with all this, and other '^ appliances to 
 boot," you hesitate ; and think, pretty innocent! 
 that, because you do not love him who is to 
 bestow, you ought to decline them ! This is 
 really being romantic en verite! Lady Dela- 
 ward herself, your Minerva, could not betray 
 a more absolute and fantastic delicacy. Lord 
 Annandale is un homrne du monde ; amusing, 
 and willing to be amused; with no inconsi- 
 derable portion of vanity, and with a mind 
 that refers all his own actions and those of 
 others to- the opinion of that society whose 
 suffrages alone he seeks and values. How he 
 would laugh at your romantic scruples, were 
 you, in the simplicity of your heart, to con- 
 fide them to him ! Be assured, ma chere, that
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 59 
 
 it is by no means necessary that love should 
 be the prelude of matrimony. Au contraire, 
 to those who intend, as sensible persons ought, 
 to live in the world and do as others do, 
 this selfish passion would be the greatest hin- 
 derance to comfort in a menage conducted on 
 the principles of those formed in fashionable 
 life. Were you " in love," as this calamity is 
 styled, with Lord Annandale, you would find 
 the frequent absences imposed by business or 
 pleasure on all men, a constant and irritating 
 source of chagrin ; and he would find your 
 murmurs, or grave looks, on such occasions, 
 any thing but agreeable. That he should ad- 
 mire you greatly is very desirable, because it 
 will ensure your empire over him, without sub- 
 jecting you to the ennuyeuses restrictions, and 
 exigeances, which husbands who are in love 
 with their wives impose. The more he admires 
 you, the more will he be gratified by the admi-
 
 60 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ration you excite in others : hence, you may 
 count on more liberty, and consequently on 
 more pleasure, than fall to the lot of those 
 women who conjugate the verb to love with 
 their husbands ; a connubial process which, 
 commencing with, / love, thou lovest, soon 
 becomes enlivened by he loves, and, better 
 still, they love; until all terminates in the 
 past tense, we have loved. Before, however, 
 this fatal stage of the conjugation arrives, how 
 many unhappy hours, and lowering clouds, 
 must the matrimonial horizon have known! 
 Yours will be exempt from all such ; and 
 your happiness will afford pleasure to no one 
 more truly than to your 
 
 Caroline.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 61 
 
 LADY A. VERNON TO MISS MONTRESSOR. 
 
 Delaward Park. 
 
 It is strange, dearest Caroline, but neverthe- 
 less true, that your worldly wisdom is much 
 less congenial to my feelings, than are the pure, 
 and, as you call them, severe principles of 
 Lady Delaward. There is something so heart- 
 less, so calculating, in your system, that I turn 
 from it with dislike ; and your letter, which 
 was forwarded to me here, has vexed and 
 disappointed me. You should have seen the 
 meeting of Lady Delaward and her father, 
 and the affectionate and respectful attention 
 Lord Delaward pays him, and then you 
 would not, could not, depreciate the power 
 of love ; for, every courtesy to the parent in- 
 dicated the warm attachment which the hus- 
 band bore to the daughter. You should 
 have seen, Caroline, the glances of deep,
 
 62 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 but silent tenderness, with which Lady Dela- 
 ward repays her lord for each and all of 
 these acts of attention ; and even you must 
 have become sensible of the inestimable value 
 of that sentiment which produces such effects. 
 It is now that Lord Howard is repaid for 
 all the chagrin he felt at his daughter's de- 
 parture from his roof. In witnessing the 
 happiness of her well-ordered home, he ceases 
 to remember that his has become lonely ; and 
 the deep, the devoted attachment of her hus- 
 band, manifested in a thousand daily proofs, 
 consoles him for having yielded her to him. 
 
 I like Lord Delaward more every hour. 
 There is a kindness and cordiality in his 
 manner towards those he considers his friends, 
 that receives additional value from his stately 
 courtesy to mere acquaintances. It may be 
 only fancy, but I sometimes think that 
 there is something of pity mingled in the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 63 
 
 kindness he evinces towards me ; Lady De- 
 laward, also, often looks at me with a pensive 
 gaze, as if she augured ill of the engagement 
 I have formed. She asked me whether 
 it was irrevocable, and whether I loved 
 Lord Annandale ? I was on the point of 
 throwing myself into her arms, and avowing 
 all my feelings ; when the recollection, that 
 my poor mother had told her that it was 
 / who had vanquished hers and my father's 
 objections, sealed my lips, until I had ac- 
 quired sufficient firmness to answer in the 
 affirmative, while my heart rebelled against 
 the falsehood of the assertion. Since then, 
 she has, evidently, been very guarded in 
 communicating to me her opinion of Lord 
 Annandale ; and from this conversation I date 
 the inexplicable pity which seems to pervade 
 her and Lord Delaward's feeling towards me. 
 And yet, there are moments when I ask
 
 64 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 myself, whether, in thus uniting myself to 
 a man I do not love, I am not rendering 
 myself an object of pity ? 
 
 Yesterday, we drove through the beautiful 
 park here ; and Lady Delaward stopped at a 
 " cottage oi gentility j' which, though not dis- 
 playing a " double coach-house," was, never- 
 theless, by the neatness, nay, elegance, of its 
 structure, well entitled to that appellation. 
 
 *' I must introduce you to a very valued 
 friend of my husband's," said she to my 
 mother, as we were marshalled through a 
 light and cheerful little vestibule, by a rural 
 Hebe, in the shape of a handmaiden, to one 
 of the prettiest and most comfortable small 
 libraries it has ever been my good fortune to 
 enter. 
 
 " I have brought you my dear friends, 
 Mrs. Ord," said Lady Delaward, presenting 
 us to one of the most ladylike women
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 65 
 
 imaginable ; who, though past the meridian 
 of life, still possessed considerable remains of 
 beauty. By her were seated two lovely girls, 
 of seventeen and eighteen, one drawing, and 
 the other embroidering, whose beaming eyes 
 sparkled with pleasure at seeing Lady Dela- 
 ward. The ordinary salutation over, my mo- 
 ther, after gazing attentively at Mrs. Ord, who 
 also looked at her, rose from her seat, and, 
 approaching her, demanded whether she did 
 not recognise the friend of her early youth, 
 Elizabeth De Vere? 
 
 Scarcely had the question been uttered, 
 when the friends, for such they had been, 
 though long years had separated them, and 
 different destinies had led to an ignorance of 
 each other's fate, were, with tears in their 
 eyes, embracing, and mutually presenting their 
 children. You know the warmth of my dear 
 mother's feelings ; and they were now greatly
 
 66 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 excited by this unexpected meeting with one 
 for whom she had formerly entertained a strong 
 attachment. Lady Delaward, who is all kind- 
 ness, was scarcely less delighted than were the 
 friends, who having evidently much to say to 
 each other, she proposed a ramble in the gar- 
 den ; to which the lovely daughters of Mrs. Ord 
 conducted us. 
 
 My mother told me last night, that Mrs. 
 Ord had been the daughter of the Bishop of 
 St. Asaph, one of the nearest neighbours of her 
 father. Soon after the death of the bishop, who 
 held his see during too short a period to have 
 been enabled to make much provision for his 
 daughter, she left the neighbourhood to reside 
 with her aunt. At this time, my mother, 
 having accompanied my grandfather to Italy, 
 for the recovery of his health, in a rambling 
 life, lost sight of her young friend ; who, it 
 appears, subsequently to her father's death, be-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 67 
 
 stowed her hand on the Rector of Delaward, 
 who had been the tutor, and continued, while 
 he lived, the dear friend, of Lord Delaward. 
 The worthy rector closed a life of virtuous 
 usefulness three years ago, leaving his excel- 
 lent wife and two daughters, with a son at 
 college, but scantily provided with the gifts 
 of fortune. The rectory becoming the residence 
 of the present incumbent, Lord Delaward ar- 
 ranged the charming cottage we saw for the 
 widow of his friend ; and has settled a com- 
 fortable annuity on her for life. 
 
 All this Mrs. Ord told my mother, with 
 tears of gratitude ; interspersing the narrative 
 with anecdotes of the rare generosity and 
 untiring goodness of her benefactor, whose 
 strength of mind, as she justly said, is only 
 equalled by his kindness of heart. Mrs. Ord 
 and her daughters have already learned to love 
 Lady Delaward, who feels towards them as if
 
 OO THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 they were the friends of her youth, because they 
 have stood in that relation to her husband. 
 
 No, dear Caroline ! all that I see here 
 proves to me that virtue and goodness are 
 not, as you would fain persuade me, obsolete 
 prejudices, or chimeras of a romantic brain. 
 All around me breathes of content and peace, 
 and I seem to exist in a purer atmosphere. 
 The excellent qualities of my dear father and 
 mother appear to proceed as much from a 
 happy temperament as from a sense of duty. 
 Theirs is the indulgent virtue that " rather 
 loves to praise, than blame ;" nay, I doubt 
 whether they could blame — so gentle, so loving, 
 is their nature. They would pity and weep 
 over the errors they wanted courage to cor- 
 rect ; while others would ward them off by a 
 more steady and severe discipline. The Dela- 
 wards will be the guardian angels of their 
 children, watching each incipient approach of
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 69 
 
 error, and erasing every embryo of vice ; while 
 my dear parents would be the pitying angels, 
 that try, like the recording angel of Sterne, 
 to blot out with tears the spots they could 
 not prevent. 
 
 I wish you were here, Caroline ; this atmos- 
 phere of goodness would heal every worldly 
 wound that makes your feelings rankle, and 
 you would no longer be a sceptic in the salu- 
 tary power of virtue. Never be one in the 
 sincerity of the affection of your 
 
 Augusta. 
 
 LORD ANN AND ALE TO THE MARQUESS OF 
 NOTTINGHAM. 
 
 I FIND myself, my dear Nottingham, in a devil 
 of a dilemma! The Comtesse Hohenlinden, 
 with whom, as you know, I last season formed 
 a liaison, has heard of my approaching mar-
 
 70 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 riage, and chooses to think herself exceedingly 
 ill used. Now this is too preposterous — inais 
 quoi faire ? She has great influence in a cer- 
 tain clique, which is precisely that clique with 
 which I most desire to stand well ; and Sa 
 Seigneurie is apt to be any thing but patient 
 whenever any of her knights turn recreant 
 to her charms, which {entre nous soit dit) are 
 fast falling into the sear and yellow leaf — 
 raison de plus, as you will say, for resenting 
 any slight offered to their manes. We know 
 how mechante she can be; and, I confess, I 
 cannot anticipate with any degree of pla- 
 cidity " the slings and arrows of outrageous " 
 ridicule she will let fly at my devoted head, 
 if I do not find means to appease her. 
 
 I have thought of a mode of accomplishing 
 this desirable point, and yet without sacri- 
 ficing either my love for Lady Augusta or 
 my interest with the comtesse. I shall ^er- 
 
 i>.s.;^. -*
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 71 
 
 suade Sa Seigneurie that my marriage is an 
 affair d'interet, de convenance, de tout ce quelle 
 voudra, enfiri ; and that my affection is hers, 
 and hers alone. The circumstance of Lady 
 Augusta being an heiress will give a colour 
 to this protestation, and the vanity of la com- 
 tesse vrill make her yield a ready credence to 
 it. Do you not think my plan an excellent 
 one? I have not been a diplomatist so long, 
 without having acquired the art of tempo- 
 rising with contending interests ; and I flatter 
 myself I shall manage the affair a merveille. 
 
 I understand that Wilmot is dished^ and his 
 effects about to be served up to his hungry 
 creditors. I want you to tell Joe Anderson 
 to buy his carriage-horses for me ; and if his 
 wife's diamonds are to be sold, as I conclude 
 they will be, send your factotum to bid for 
 them for me. I will go as high as six thou- 
 sand for them.
 
 72 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 I wish you would call at Barker's, to see 
 how the carriages I ordered are going on. 
 
 Yours ever, 
 
 Annandale. 
 
 P.S. — Are the reports I have heard true, 
 as to Wilmot having detected madame son 
 epouse in a liaison with his friend Neville? 
 I hope not ; for, as according to the old pro- 
 verh, in love as well as in sin, Ce nest que le 
 premier pas qui coute, I might be brought into 
 a disagreeable scrape ; for Neville knows that 
 I was his predecessor in the good graces of 
 Madame, and, to save his purse, would 
 be quite capable of stating that fact; and 
 though, judging by myself, on ne revient pas 
 toujours a ses premiers amours, husbands are 
 rather prone to this old-fashioned system, and 
 make the past flame pay for the present. 
 They manage these things better in France, 
 7iest-ce pas?
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 73 
 
 MISS MONTRESSOll TO LADY A. VERNON. 
 
 You really grow incorrigible, ma dure Au- 
 gusta. Was there ever any thing half so 
 uncharitable as your wish of seeing me 
 plantee at Delaware! Park, in what you style 
 an atmosphere of goodness, but which / more 
 correctly name an atmosphere of dulness ? 
 I should die under the infliction. 
 
 And so, the modern Grandisons pity you, 
 forsooth! And you, pauvre petite, sometimes 
 think it is a lamentable afiair to marry a 
 man one is not in love with! It certainly is 
 a melancholy fate to be wedded to a well- 
 looking, well-bred, well-situated man of rank, 
 with just talents enough to render him too 
 useful to be left out of a cabinet, and just 
 wisdom enough not to commit himself when 
 in it ; with fortune enough to prevent your 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 74 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ever being gtnte, and fashion enough to set 
 the seal on yours. And this, you sometimes 
 think a position to be pitied ! Fi-donc I tell 
 it not in Ascalon, publish it not in Gath. 
 
 What a charming little romance one might 
 make out of your sentimental episode of "The 
 Tutor's Wife, or Virtue Rewarded !" I have 
 already sketched out the plan ; but, the dtnou- 
 ment would, I think, be different from what 
 you would imagine. 1 would make your puri- 
 tanical Lord Delaward's kindness the result of 
 a tendresse for one of Mrs. Ord's fair daugh- 
 ters, instead of a friendship for his ci-devant 
 tutor, her defunct spouse ; Mademoiselle se- 
 duced ; Lady Delaward au desespoir ; Mrs. 
 Ord, do. do. ; and the wicked lord looking as 
 foolish as Joseph Surface, when Lady Teazle 
 was detected behind the screen. Shall I send 
 this plot to George Sand ? Only fancy what 
 passionate declamations it would originate in
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 75 
 
 the prolific brain of the author of ^'Jacques !" 
 George Sand would probably make Lady De- 
 laward commit suicide, to leave her lord at 
 liberty to atone for his wrongs to mademoiselle; 
 and mademoiselle, not to be outdone in genero- 
 sity, would follow her disinterested example : 
 Monsieur Milord would go mad — in decency 
 he could do no less : and Mrs. Ord and 
 her remaining daughter would erect a white 
 marble cenotaph to the memory of " One too 
 good for life," meaning the betrayed; on the 
 urn of which they would daily place bouquets 
 of pensees and garlands of immortelles. 
 
 Is not this very French, and very senti- 
 mental i and are you not very much obliged to 
 me for enlivening your ^* atmosphere of good- 
 ness" with this little sketch a la Fraufaise? 
 Addioj cara ! love me as 1 am, and do not be 
 so michante as to abandon your old friend 
 
 Caroline.
 
 76 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 THE JMARQUESS OF NOTTINGHAM TO LORD 
 ANNANDALE. 
 
 My dear Annandale, — I have secured the 
 horses for you, and the diamonds likewise. I 
 do not approve your plan of conciliating the 
 comtesse by a falsehood ; for, I know she is 
 capable of telling all her friends that you only 
 marry an heiress because you are ruined, and 
 that you are still more her slave than ever. 
 Even without the sanction of your avowal of 
 continued tench esse, sa seigneur le has so lively 
 an imagination, that this, and much more, she 
 would be capable of propagating, as a salve to 
 her mortiiied vanity. Such a story coming to 
 the knowledge of your bride, (and how many 
 spiteful, envious persons might convey the tale 
 in an anonymous epistle !) would be very inju- 
 rious to your domestic peace. You w^ould not, 
 I presume, present your young and pure wife
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 77 
 
 to la comtesse and her clique ; that is, you 
 would only let them meet at those re-unions of 
 fashion at certain houses, when hundreds are 
 congregated together, much as at the Zoologi- 
 cal Gardens, or Vauxhall, and where a bow or 
 a courtesy, en passant, is all that is required. 
 I am no male prude, Heaven knows ; but I do 
 revolt at seeing men suffer their wives to live 
 on terms of familiarity with women of whose 
 bad conduct they can entertain no doubt. 
 Look, for instance, at Lattimer and Ribbles- 
 worth allowino^ their wives to associate inti- 
 mately with women whose liaisons have been 
 neither few, nor apocryphal : such conduct is 
 indelicate and disgusting. But, to return to 
 your comtesse : she is at this moment enticht 
 with young Dormer, and shews herself up with 
 him, sans menagement. Can you not act the 
 jealous, accuse her of infidelity, and so break 
 with her for ever I This measure will save you
 
 78 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 from the disagreeable dilemma of excluding 
 her from your wife's circles ; to which let me 
 advise you to admit none but women who are, 
 as Caesar said his wife should be, not only pure, 
 but unsuspected. I think I hear you, with a 
 Mephistophiles' smile on your lips, ask where 
 such are to be found? But I aver we have 
 still many, very many, though they are not 
 to be discovered in the circle in which you 
 most live ; a fact which only 7nauvais sujets, 
 like yourself, doubt. Yours ever, 
 
 Nottingham. 
 
 LORD DELAWARD TO LADY DELAWARD. 
 
 Grosvenor Square. 
 
 I HAVE thought of you, my dear Mary, ever 
 since I left our happy home. It requires no 
 slight exertion of volition to tear myself from
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 79 
 
 you ; and this, our first separation, has taught 
 me more than I had previously known — if that 
 be possible — the happiness your presence can 
 bestow. I miss you, I want your society, every 
 moment; and I often ask myself the question, 
 how I have lived before I became acquainted 
 with you ? 
 
 My business here shall be expedited as 
 much as possible. I have ordered your suite 
 of rooms to be newly furnished, and selected 
 the colours I know you like. I have had a 
 private staircase erected, to communicate witli 
 a suite above, which, 1 trust in God, will 
 not be long tenantless ; and a thousand feel- 
 ings, all novel and delightful, have passed 
 through my mind in making these arrange- 
 ments. 
 
 Yesterday, I met Lord Riversford at dinner, 
 at my club ; and he, not knowing our intimacy
 
 80 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 with the Vernons, announced to me, as news, 
 the approaching marriage of Lady Augusta 
 with Lord Annandale. 
 
 " He marries her wholly for her fortune," 
 said Riversford, " which is odd, as we always 
 considered him sufficiently rich not to be com- 
 pelled to marry for money." 
 
 I replied, that the extreme beauty of Lady 
 Augusta must always redeem him from the 
 suspicion of interested motives in selecting her, 
 even though she is an heiress. 
 
 " You surprise me !" said Riversford, '^ for 
 la Comtesse Hohenlinden read to several of us, 
 Annandale's sentimental epistle ; in which he 
 declared his unabated devotion to her, and 
 alluded to his marriage, as an affair of 
 necessity, not choice. Though the letter did 
 not positively say that the jiancte was plain, 
 the whole tenor of it left that impression on
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 81 
 
 our minds ; and sa seignPMrie confirmed it, by 
 asserting, that lajeune personne est laide ufaire 
 peur^ and by pitying ce pauvre Annandale." 
 
 I find that Annandale has been a long time 
 known to be a friend, and something more, 
 to the comtesse ; and if, as his letter to her 
 implies, he intends to continue his intimacy 
 with her, I foresee much unhappiness, nay, 
 more, danger, to your beautiful, but giddy 
 friend. With Lady Augusta's extreme youth 
 and loveliness, her great susceptibility and 
 inexperience, and with a husband whose over- 
 weening vanity, and want of fixed moral 
 principles, render him a most unfit guide for 
 her through the labyrinth of fashionable follies, 
 I tremble for her, in the position which she 
 seems likely to occupy. All that I hear of 
 Annandale renders me more than ever in- 
 disposed to this marriage. Would to Hea- 
 ven there were any means of averting it ! 
 e2
 
 82 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Lady Augusta is, as you, my beloved Mary, 
 told me before I knew her, a being full of 
 generous feelings and fine sympathies with 
 all that is good and noble ; but easily excited, 
 with more imagination than reason, — which 
 at her age is natural, — and somewhat spoiled 
 by the injudicious indulgence of her parents. 
 She is a creature who, under the guidance of 
 an honest and wise man, who loved her, and 
 whom she loved, might be led to attain as 
 much virtue as ever dignifies human intelli- 
 gence ; but, in the hands of a weak or unprin- 
 cipled one, may become a source of misery to 
 herself, and to those who are attached to her. 
 
 It makes me gloomy to think of what her 
 lot may be ; and /, —who know the inestimable 
 happiness of wedded life, when founded on 
 affection, and cemented by similarity of taste, 
 and congeniality of sentiment, — pity, with 
 all my heart, this charming young woman.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 83 
 
 who is about to form ties that, I fear, will 
 never be rendered holy or indissoluble by 
 any of the causes I have mentioned. En- 
 deavour, my dear Mary, to impress on her 
 reason, without alarming her innocence, the 
 urgent necessity of a dignified reserve in her 
 manners ; and a scrupulous avoidance of all 
 persons of her own sex, whatever may be 
 their rank or other advantages, whose re- 
 putations are tarnished. Nothing so much 
 tends to depreciate the respect that virtue 
 ought to inspire, and to lessen the disgust 
 of vice, as seeing those whose own career is 
 irreproachable, live on habits of intimacy with 
 women of whose errors they cannot entertain 
 a doubt. Injurious as are the examples of bad 
 conduct, the impunity which too frequently 
 attends the perpetration is still more fatally 
 pernicious. It is the privilege to do wrong, 
 tacitly yielded to some individuals, in a social
 
 84 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY, 
 
 system so partial and capricious as ours, that 
 breaks down the barriers of decorum and mo- 
 rality ; for, many a young and thoughtless 
 woman has been led to ruin, by daily wit- 
 nessing to what an extent imprudence and 
 impropriety may safely be carried, when the 
 pure and impure are received in the same 
 circles, and on the same terms. 
 
 But, to quit this painful subject for one 
 far more agreeable. I have been thinking, 
 my sweet wife, that, could we induce your 
 good father to take up his abode with us, we 
 should all be the happier. You would not 
 then have the apprehension of his loneliness, 
 nor he the painful consciousness of having lost 
 you. The more I experience the blessing of 
 your presence, the more am I sensible how 
 deeply he must regret separation from you. 
 He would feel, in living with us, and sharing 
 our domestic felicity, that, instead of losing
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 85 
 
 a daughter, he had found a son ; and I should 
 have the delight of knowmg, that, in studying 
 his happiness, I was securing yours. In three 
 days, with the blessing of God, I shall be 
 with you. May good angels guard my love, 
 prays her devoted 
 
 Delaward. 
 
 LADY A. VERNON TO MISS MONTRESSOR. 
 
 Indeed, Caroline, your last letter shocked me ; 
 it seemed like sacrilege to read it beneath this 
 roof, where every thing breathes of purity and 
 peace. How little you know Lord Delaward, 
 when you can, even in imagination, make 
 him the hero of such a tale ! When I have 
 seen the dignified and exemplary Mrs. Ord, 
 and her lovely and virtuous daughters, 1 have 
 felt as if I had sinned against them in reading,
 
 86 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and that from the hand of a friend, a story 
 founded on the supposed guilt of one of those 
 sweet girls. It is this levity, this ridicule of 
 all that is good and respectable, that makes 
 you incur the censure of those who are not, 
 like me, prone to forgive it, in the considera- 
 tion of your better qualities. And yet, Caroline, 
 there are moments when I ask myself whether 
 I ought to continue a correspondence in which 
 sentiments are often expressed, and principles 
 avowed, which are in total variance with all 
 that I have ever been taught to believe praise- 
 worthy. If you cannot think and feel as I 
 do, learn, at least, to respect my feelings, and 
 do not, by revolting them, prevent my conti- 
 nuing your aifectionate friend, 
 
 Augusta.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 87 
 
 MISS MONTRESSOR TO LADY A. VERNON. 
 
 You do with me as you will, ma tres chere; mais, 
 en grace, send me no more scolding letters, and 
 I, en revanche, will try not to deserve them, by 
 believing every one you know to be as good, 
 proper, and wise, as yourself. Are you not 
 satisfied, now ? I shall be much mortified, if, 
 after this act of contrition, you do not invite 
 me to be your bridesmaid. Weddings bring 
 thoughts of matrimony into people's heads, it 
 is said, who had not, before, an idea on the 
 subject ; and who knows, if, among the chosen 
 few selected to witness your nuptials, some lord 
 of the creation may not, from thinking of the 
 agreeable position of the bride, be led to pity 
 the disagreeable one of the bridesmaid ? which 
 I hold to be one of the most lamentable to 
 which poor spinsters are exposed. Fancy un- 
 happy me, decked in virgin white, with down-
 
 88 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 cast lids — ?L Jiffure de circonstance which is, 
 I believe, d' usage on such occasions, — wishing, 
 all the time, that " God had made me such a 
 man;" and that / was the proprietor of a 
 certain baronial chateau in the north, a park 
 in the south, a mansion in the west end of 
 London, and a box at the opera ; as well as 
 a certain other and still more precious box, 
 bound in brass and of large dimensions, similar 
 to one whose sparkling contents had excited 
 my envy the day before. 
 
 All these virgin wishes would naturally 
 produce a pensive expression of countenance, 
 which would as naturally be attributed to an 
 amiable disposition, and a deep conviction of 
 the serious duties which marriage imposes. A 
 woman that so properly feels this conviction 
 must, of course, be likely to make a good wife ; 
 and the man, with a free hand, an empty 
 heart, and a full purse, who sees a poor brides-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 89 
 
 maid wiping her eyes, as the chariot-and-four, 
 with postilions with white favours, whisks off' 
 from her sight the blushing bride and exulting 
 bridegroom, and does not speak comfort to 
 her, must be a brute. Pity is, they say, akin 
 to love ; the pity once excited, (and what so 
 likely to call it forth as such a scene as I have 
 described ?) who knows what may follow ? and 
 your poor friend may, from a weeping brides- 
 maid, be transformed, in due time, into a sim- 
 pering bride. Do not mar the possibility of 
 such a happy event, by not bidding to your 
 nuptials your amie devouee^ Caroline. 
 
 LORD ANNANDALE TO THE MARQUESS OF 
 NOTTINGHAM. 
 
 If your letter of advice had reached me in 
 time, my dear Nottingham, I should have fol- 
 lowed it ; but when did advice ever come in
 
 90 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 time ? Advice is like experience ; it always • 
 comes when it is too late for use. My letter to 
 sa seigneurie was despatched twice twenty-four 
 hours before yours arrived. She has accepted 
 the salve I offered to her wounded vanity ; and 
 has written to me, saying, that, in pity to my 
 malheur, she will take Lady Annandale under 
 her protection, and render her a la mode. I 
 could have well dispensed with this excessive 
 generosity on her part. Mais quoi faire ? 
 Were I to exclude her from Lady Annandale's 
 circle, she would become an active enemy; 
 and I know the extent of her talents for 
 tracasserie too well, to expose myself to their 
 indefatigable activity. 
 
 I hope much from the great beauty of Lady 
 Augusta ; for the comtesse will hardly seek to 
 exhibit her fanes charms near the youthful 
 bloom of Lady Annandale — a bloom near 
 which all other women look fade. For my
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 91 
 
 part, I shall affect to think my wife rien de 
 remarquahle in the way of good looks ; an 
 insensibility which this vain woman will attri- 
 bute to my devotion to her ; and it will console 
 her vanity, which I know to be as excessive as 
 it is sensitive, to believe that there is one man 
 in London who thinks her more irresistible 
 than her beautiful rival ; and that that man is 
 her rival's liege-lord. 
 
 The settlements are drawn, and on the 
 14th all will be in readiness for the nuptial 
 ceremony. Lord and Lady Vernon have in- 
 sisted that it shall be performed, with primitive 
 simplicity, in their village church ; when, pro- 
 bably, the rector who christened la belle Au- 
 gusta — and her papa, for aught I know — will 
 read me a homily on the duties of husbands, 
 similar to one I heard on a like occasion 
 some three years ago. Heigh-ho! how old 
 it makes one feel, to recall to memoiy such
 
 92 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 a remarkable epoch in a man's life as a mar- 
 riage! The late Lady Annandale was a very 
 beautiful and amiable woman ; mais, not con- 
 tent with being good herself, she would fain 
 have rendered every one else equally excel- 
 lent; and, most of all, her unworthy lord. 
 Poor dear soul ! how pale and sorrowful she 
 used to look, when I gave utterance to any of 
 my opinions on religious subjects, or laughed 
 at the peccadilloes of people of fashion ! She 
 tried to reclaim me, as she called it ; but she 
 " did her spiriting gently," and an unkind or 
 harsh word I never heard from her lips, nor 
 one implying a reproach, unless it might be 
 the last, when she said to me, " We have been 
 too nmch separated on earth, my dear husband, 
 by a want of similarity of sentiments : let us 
 not, with my last breath I pray you, be divided 
 in a future state, by a want of religion, and a 
 strict performance of all it enjoins."
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 93 
 
 Poor Mary ! no husband who fell short of 
 the virtues of a Wilberforce would have satis- 
 fied her ; and I, Heaven knows, was the last 
 man on earth to aspire to such perfection. 
 Well, to leave the gloomy past, and return to 
 the cheerful future. On the 14th, I am to be 
 made a happy man ; and I want you, my dear 
 Nottingham, to come and see the ceremony 
 performed. Lord and Lady Vernon will expect 
 you on the 12th, so do not disappoint voire ami , 
 
 Annandale. 
 
 LADY A. VERNON TO MISS MONTRESSOll. 
 
 You are a sad madcap, my dear Caroline ; and, 
 were I to judge you by what you write, I 
 should consider you to be as unfeeling as you 
 are lively. You shall be present at a certain
 
 94 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 solemn ceremony which takes place on the 
 14th ; and the nearer it approaches, the more 
 solemn it appears to me. I am persuaded 
 that, had I paid my long visit to Delaward 
 Park before I had accepted Lord Annandale, I 
 never should have acted thus ; and even now I 
 shrink, with secret repugnance, from the ful- 
 filment of the engagement I have so unthink- 
 ingly contracted. The letters I have received 
 from Lord Annandale have influenced my feel- 
 ings quite as much as the various conversations 
 on the subject of marriage, and morals, which 
 I have had with Lady Delaward. He writes as 
 only a man of pleasure would write to a woman 
 who had as much levity and as little sentiment 
 as himself. Notwithstanding his letters breathe 
 of passion, it is not the sort of passion I wish 
 to inspire ; and, though I am no casuist, there 
 seems to me to be an immeasurable distance 
 between passion and love. The first may be
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 95 
 
 entertained without respect for the object, but 
 the second and nobler sentiment must be based 
 on it. Lady Delaward has inspired love ; and 
 I (but why compare my unworthy self with 
 one so infinitely superior?) have only engen- 
 dered a feeling that the least estimable of my 
 sex have often excited. And yet, may it not 
 be, that Lord Annandale is incapable of en- 
 tertaining love? This belief is, at least, more 
 soothing to my amour propre than my previous 
 supposition, and therefore I will indulge it. 
 
 The romance a la George Sand, that you 
 composed on the subject of the amiable family 
 of Mrs. Ord, falls to the ground ; for, instead 
 of a melancholy tale of error, her eldest and 
 handsomest daughter is soon to be united to 
 Mr. Neville, the worthy rector of Delaward ; 
 consequently, she will return to the home of 
 her infancy, as its happy mistress. My dear 
 father has determined to give young Ord
 
 96 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the next presentation of a living which, he 
 expects, will soon revert to him — the prospect 
 of which has diffused joy through the whole 
 family. 
 
 Lord Delaward has been absent a week 
 on business ; and you should have witnessed 
 the gloom and void, his absence spread over 
 the whole circle here, and the cheerfulness 
 his return caused, to feel how wholly the 
 happiness of a family depends on the master. 
 You should have seen the efforts, not always 
 successful, made by Lady Delaward, to con- 
 ceal her regret at his departure, her pensive- 
 ness during his absence, and her joy-beaming 
 eyes at his return, to be sensible of the power 
 of affection, and the happiness it can confer. 
 But you will, perhaps, mock what appears 
 to me so sacred ; and such mockery I con- 
 sider as little short of profanation. Never 
 had I formed a notion of the comforts of a
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 97 
 
 well-ordered home until my visit here ; for 
 mine, though abounding in all the luxuries 
 of life, wants the animating spirit that only 
 a young master and mistress can diffuse. 
 The regularity at Vernon Hall appeared 
 monotonous to me; and the oft-beo:innins, 
 never-ending, visitations of our country neigh- 
 bours served only to render it more tedious. 
 I had learned to dread the thrice-told tales 
 of the deaf and old Lady Hamlyn, and the 
 pointless hon-mots of her gouty lord. Lord 
 and Lady Dorington's old news half set me 
 to sleep ; from which happy state 1 was only 
 awakened by their mutual contradiction of, 
 ^' Indeed, Lord Dorington, it was not so;" 
 and, " You will permit me to know better, 
 Lady Dorington." Then, the short-sightedness 
 of our old rector, who never could distiPiguish 
 me from my mother, the taciturnity of his 
 curate, the loquacity of our doctor, and the 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 vulgarity of his fat wife, did not serve to 
 enliven the periodical dinners at which these 
 worthies graced the board of my paternal 
 home. 
 
 Here, one day of every month is set apart 
 for a grand dinner, given to all the nobility 
 and gentry in the neighbourhood, who are 
 conciliated by a dignified hospitality ; but, not 
 encouraged to that indiscriminate familiarity 
 which, to the total interruption of all the 
 rational occupations of the luckless owners, 
 converts so many country-houses into inns. 
 The high character Lord Delaward justly bears 
 in his county led all his neighbours to form a 
 • favourable estimate of his wife, before they 
 could judge from experience how far she was 
 entitled to it. This is one of the many benefits 
 arising from a high character: it enables him 
 who possesses it to shed a lustre on all that 
 immediately appertains to him ; and happy,
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 99 
 
 thrice happy is she, who derives honour from 
 him who has chosen her for his companion 
 through life. Heigh-ho ! will such be my 
 lot? Perhaps, I the more desire it, because 
 I feel that my giddiness and inexperience 
 require the mantle of a husband's superiority to 
 cover them, and protect me from their effects. 
 
 We leave this the day after to-morrow ; 
 and with deep regret shall I quit a spot 
 where I have learned to respect what I have 
 hitherto been more disposed to scoff at — the 
 scrupulous discharge of duties ; a spot where 
 I have been taught to think better of others, 
 and more modestly of myself, by having had 
 an opportunity of comparing my own weak, 
 and vacillating character, with that of those 
 around me. I should, under any circum- 
 stances, lament my departure from Delaward 
 Park, which I consider the temple of do- 
 mestic happiness ; but, when I reflect that I
 
 100 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 leave it to fulfil an engagement that my 
 heart renounces, I feel doubly grieved. The 
 foolish, the unpardonable desire, instigated by 
 vanity, of throwing off the shackles of child- 
 hood, first led me to listen to Lord Annandale's 
 flatteries, and to overrule the prudent objec- 
 tions of my family ; and the more reprehen- 
 sible folly of not acknowledging my weakness, 
 lest I should be considered a child, has in- 
 duced me to persevere in it. 
 
 The nearer the time approaches for pro- 
 nouncing the irrevocable vows, the more do 
 I dread this marriage ; and yet I have not 
 courage to avow my feelings to those who 
 possess the power of extricating me. A pre- 
 sentiment of evil continually hangs over my 
 mind. It was not thus that Lady Delaward 
 met her affianced husband at the altar ! Fool 
 ■ — fool that I am, to compare myself in aught 
 with one so good, so wise as she! Come to
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 101 
 
 me as soon as you can, but come without 
 mockery on your tongue, or ridicule in your 
 eye ; for my heart is ill at ease, and my spirits 
 are not in a tone to bear your plaisanteries 
 just now. 
 
 Your affectionate 
 
 Augusta. 
 
 MISS MONTRESSOR TO MADAME 
 LA MARQUISE DE VILLEROI. 
 
 Vernon Hull. 
 
 Pity me, ma chere Delphine! for here I am, 
 doing penance in one of the most tristes cha- 
 teaux in which ever luckless dame was im- 
 mured for her sins, Imaginez vous — mais, non, 
 you cannot imagine any thing half so horrid ; 
 ergo, I must describe it. But, to begin at 
 the beginning, as all tales should.
 
 ]02 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 I told you in my last that I was to be pre- 
 sent at the nuptials of a certain young friend 
 of mine, helle comme un ange, and innocent, 
 too, as an angel, if all we are told of them be 
 true. My little friend has enough of romance 
 in her composition to make half-a-dozen mo- 
 dern heroines — enough giddiness to compro- 
 mise thrice that number — and enough sen- 
 sibility to be rendered wretched at the effects 
 which that giddiness may produce. She is 
 the strangest imaginable melange of all im- 
 aginable qualities. Proud, without being vain, 
 generous to profusion, impatient of restraint, 
 yet docile as an infant under the influence of 
 tenderness : loving her parents excessively, 
 yet jealous of their asserting any control over 
 her actions — a paternal right which, to do 
 them justice, they rarely, if ever, exercise. 
 Her own feelings would lead her to desire to 
 inspire a desperate, or, as you French call it,
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 103 
 
 une grande passion, a la Byron. Unhappily, 
 too, she has been lately present at the marriage 
 of a friend dearer to her than I am (though, 
 strange to say, that friend is a stern Mentor, 
 too), and she has also resided some time at 
 the house of that friend, whose stately hap- 
 piness has awakened the dormant pride of my 
 little beauty. The consequence is, forsooth, 
 that she is no longer satisfied with the pas- 
 sion of Lord Annandale, and ardently desires 
 to inspire a grave, a dignified, a respectful 
 sentiment. Ha, ha ! the very thought of this 
 fantastic foolery makes me laugh. Having ac- 
 cepted the first off'er she received (for she is 
 yet little more than sixteen, and has not been 
 presented in the world), she discovers that 
 she does not love the man she has promised 
 to wed ; yet, is ashamed of revealing this cir- 
 cumstance to her parents, lest they should 
 consider her a weak, vacillating child ; which
 
 104 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 is precisely what she is, and a spoiled one into 
 the bargain, by the unexampled indulgence 
 of her doting father and mother. 
 
 All that I have now told you, Lady Au- 
 gusta has written to me; and a little en- 
 couragement on my part would have led her 
 to be equally confidential with her friends. 
 But, this encouragement I did not, would not 
 give her, for reasons of my own ; nay, I have 
 done all in my power to induce her to fulfil 
 her engagement. Be it known to you, 
 helle et honne Delphine, that, being extremely 
 tired of the society of madame ma tante in 
 the country, and extremely anxious to pass 
 the ensuing season in London, my sole chance 
 for the accomplishment of this desideratum, 
 is to get Lady Augusta converted from a 
 giddy and useless demoiselle just emerging 
 from her governess and nursery, into a dame 
 a la mode; a useful chaperon, in whose bril-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 105 
 
 liant mansion in town I may secure myself 
 a sejour, I am eight years, Men sonnts, the 
 senior of my friend, and have acquired an 
 influence over her, of the extent of which 
 even she is unconscious. Should her lord 
 disapprove of my spending as much time as 
 I choose beneath his roof, I can always, by 
 insinuating to her that he treats her as a 
 child, excite her to rebel against his power. 
 At present, however, I see no probability of 
 being necessitated to practise this stratagem, 
 for, he appears very tractable. 
 
 I had intended taking up my abode for 
 the season with notre amie, la comtesse ; 
 mais, helas ! some reports of her impro- 
 priety of conduct, that {entre nous soit dit) 
 admit not of denial or defence, have reached 
 ma tante, who would not hear of my resting 
 a single night beneath her roof; nay, who 
 will not hear of my keeping up any intimacy
 
 106 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 with her. I had, therefore, no other chance 
 of visiting the metropolis, except that of con- 
 verting Lady Augusta Vernon into Madame 
 la Comtesse d'Annandale; and this desirable 
 metamorphosis I have accomplished. 
 
 On my arrival here, I found ma petite 
 heroine, a second Niobe, all tears : her futur 
 evidently mortified at her lachrymose pro- 
 pensity ; her papa and mamma all wonder at 
 her melancholy ; and a certain Marquess of 
 Nottingham looking as if he too could have 
 wept, merely for the pleasure of keeping her 
 company. This, you will allow, was an un- 
 promising commencement ; yet, I have, by the 
 exercise of tact — that virtue acquired in your 
 country, and which is more useful than all the 
 others combined — managed to restore a good 
 understanding between all the parties. 
 
 I persuaded the sapient papa and mamma, 
 that all their daughter's chagrin arose from
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 107 
 
 regret at leaving them; and won their hearts 
 by this protestation. I insinuated to le futur, 
 that, when his wife had an opportunity of com- 
 paring him with other men, she would be 
 better able to appreciate her good fortune in 
 having secured him. Had you seen the radiant 
 smile with which this compliment was received, 
 you would have acknowledged, that flattery is 
 worth all the cosmetics in the world for beauti- 
 fying those to whom it is administered. From 
 that moment. Lord Annandale was my friend, 
 and a sort of confidential intimacy is established 
 between us, which I mean to turn to good 
 account. There is one person here, however, 
 whom I cannot manage ; and I hate him, for 
 that reason. I allude to the Marquess of Not- 
 tingham, who seemed, from the first moment of 
 our acquaintance, to recede from my advances 
 with a sort of instinctive dread, or dislike. I 
 have carefully concealed my discovery of this
 
 108 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 sentiment, and continued to treat him with 
 cheerful courtesy; but I have, nevertheless, 
 frequently caught his eyes fixed on me with a 
 scrutinising glance, more expressive of distrust 
 than good-will. 
 
 His glances have not, however, all been 
 confined to me; for, I have detected them 
 fixed on Lady Augusta, with a mingled ex- 
 pression of admiration and pity, that was not 
 to be mistaken. Her beauty, which I must 
 admit to be of the first order, seemed to pro- 
 duce an overpowering efiect on him when he 
 was first presented to her. Her melancholy 
 and naivete have, apparently, increased liis 
 admiration ; and I predict that, before a year, 
 Jie will be Vami de maison, instead of simply 
 ra)ni de milord, as at present. 
 
 Nothing could be more sentimental and 
 larmoyant than the eight - and - forty hours 
 passed here previous to la noce. Talk of the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 109 
 
 ennui of the half-hour before dinner, passed in 
 the library or drawing-room, while waiting for 
 some unpolite guest, or dilatory chef de cuisine I 
 It is nothing to the ennui of the hours preceding 
 a wedding, as I can now testify. Fifty times 
 I expected that Lady Augusta, in a fit of sen- 
 sibility, would have declared her aversion from 
 the fulfilment of the contract ; and I am sure 
 that, had she done so. Lord Nottingham would 
 have rejoiced. I prevented this step, however, 
 by drawing the most brilliant prospects of the 
 future to her ; but still more, by my old 
 stratagem, dwelling on the animadversions to 
 which such a proceeding would expose her, 
 and the certainty of being, for years to come, 
 treated as a child by her father and mother. 
 This last argument was, as heretofore, irre- 
 sistible, and led her to the altar of Hymen, 
 a reluctant, because an unloving bride. 
 
 Yet, even I — though little used to the
 
 110 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 melting mood, Heaven knows — felt some uneasy 
 twitching in the muscle cru called heart, when 
 I saw the dreadful paleness her face assumed, 
 and the large drops that chased each other 
 down her young fair cheeks, as she approached 
 to pronounce the irrevocable vows. Lord Not- 
 tingham, who attended as bridesman, was al- 
 most as triste as the bride; and Lord and 
 Lady Vernon wept nearly as much as if death, 
 and not a husband, was about to take off their 
 darling. Previously to my arrival, I had me- 
 ditated a little romance, of winning the heart 
 of the bridesman by enacting the sentimental ; 
 but an hour in Lord Nottingham's company 
 convinced me of the utter hopelessness of 
 such an attempt, and so I at once relin- 
 quished it. I think I could much more 
 easily have captivated the bridegroom ; for he 
 is a vain, a very vain man, and so prone 
 to admire himself, that any woman, not quite
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. Ill 
 
 a fright, who vied with him in doing homage 
 to his attractions, would stand a fair chance 
 of being rewarded by his gratitude. 
 
 But, to return to the wedding. There we 
 stood, more like some solemn procession than 
 a hymeneal one : the bride clinging to her 
 father's arm to the last, and looking like a 
 maiden -blush rose, twined to a venerable 
 oak, which bent down to shelter it from the 
 storm ; Lady Vernon, pale and weeping, lean- 
 ing on Lord Nottingham, who seemed nearly 
 as disconsolate as herself; and I, escorted by 
 Lord Annandale, who was replying to my ju- 
 diciously administered compliments, by warmly 
 repeated invitations to spend some months with 
 them. 
 
 Suppose, now, the due number of tears 
 shed (and I protest there were enough to fill, 
 at least, some fifty lachrymatories) ; the neces- 
 sary responses pronounced, most inaudibly by
 
 112 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the bride, and sonorously by the bridegroom ; 
 the nuptial benediction given ; and the sobbing 
 Lady Annandale torn with gentle violence 
 from the arms of her mother, and placed in the 
 travelling-carriage of her lord ; which I saw 
 driven oflP, with much the same feelings as 
 those with which a shipwrecked sailor, on a 
 desert island, beholds a vessel pass at a dis- 
 tance, which might have rescued him from 
 his solitary fate. Lord Nottingham, in pity, 
 agreed to remain two or three days here, and 
 I have promised to stay a week ; at the ex- 
 piration of which time I return to my aunt's, 
 whose house, disagreeable as 1 have hitherto 
 considered it, is less triste than this gloomy 
 mansion, now that it is bereft of its sole attrac- 
 tion — the fair Augusta. In a fortnight, I am 
 to join the Annandales in London ; where I 
 anticipate much enjoyment, en revanche for 
 this dull visit.
 
 THE VICTIMS OP SOCIETY. 113 
 
 You would have smiled, as I did, en cachette, 
 bad you witnessed the dinner given in honour 
 of the nuptials ; and the host and hostess, be- 
 tween smiles and tears — the latter, however, 
 greatly preponderating — doing the honours to 
 guests who, with the exception of Lord Not- 
 tingham and myself, might have served as 
 specimens for a zoological garden, if one was 
 formed, to exhibit the lusus naturce of the 
 human race, instead of animals. In France, 
 where there are no old people, either in dress 
 or mind, you have nothing like the antedilu- 
 vian figures that every country neighbourhood 
 in England produces. In your gay land, you 
 have old children, who have only exchanged, 
 but not thrown by, their rattles ; while here, 
 most, if not all the aged people, give one 
 the idea that they never could have been 
 young children. 
 
 In the innocence of my heart, 1 attempted
 
 114 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 a few plaisanteries, at the expense of some of 
 the lame, blind, and deaf, who formed a part of 
 the Hopital des Incurables assembled round 
 the dinner-table : but the pragmatical Lord Not- 
 tingham maintained a look of immovable gra- 
 vity ; nay, rebuked me with a remark, that he 
 never saw any thing risible in the infirmities 
 of age. I have now described the delectable 
 pleasures of an English wedding to you ; and 
 bestowed my tediousness half in pity to your 
 expressed curiosity, and my own want of a 
 more agreeable occupation. Write to me how 
 you amuse yourself: that's the best way of tell- 
 ing how you are; for one is never ill when 
 amused. Adieu, chtre Delphine ! 
 
 Voire amie affectionnee, 
 
 Caroline.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 115 
 
 THE MARQUESS OF NOTTINGHAM TO 
 EDWARD MORDAUNT, ESQ. 
 
 Vernon Hall. 
 
 I PROMISED, my dear Mordaunt, to write to you 
 a description of our friend Ann an dale's bride ; 
 but, were I to tell you even half what I think 
 of her, you would accuse me of exaggerating 
 her charms as much as we believed Annandale 
 to have done when he described her to us. 
 Annandale confined his panegyrics to her beauty 
 only; and even to that, I think, he did not 
 render justice ; but, he said nothing of the inno- 
 cence, the candour, and, above all, the modesty 
 of her manner, which, in my eyes, constitute 
 her greatest charm. She possesses a thousand 
 attractions ; each and all irresistible for one 
 who requires more than mere beauty, however 
 brilliant, to satisfy a fastidious taste ; or rather, 
 let me say, that craving for the ideal, which
 
 116 THE VICTIMS OP SOCIETY. 
 
 haunts every heart not quite seared or suUied 
 by contact with the world. 
 
 Lady Annandale is precisely the realisation 
 of an enthusiast's dream ; and a poet would 
 be ready to prostrate himself before her whom 
 the common herd would dare to profane with 
 their love. Well may Annandale triumph at 
 obtaining such a prize — a prize for the posses- 
 sion of which thousands will envy him ; yet 
 /, who am penetrated with a sense of her all- 
 subduing charms, would not accept her hand 
 to-morrow, were it offered to me with the 
 same symptoms of evident distaste which 
 marked all her conduct to him, from the 
 moment he arrived, until that which saw her 
 torn from the arms of her mother. This in- 
 estimable boon was not 
 
 " Yielded with coy submission, modest pride, 
 And sweet reluctant amorous delay ;" 
 
 but with tears and undisguised indifference.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 117 
 
 He felt not this ; but I would have pre- 
 ferred death, to fulfilling an engagement 
 which seemed so painful to her. Can she 
 have formed another attachment ? Yet, no ; 
 for, knowing as she must do, the unbounded 
 affection of her parents, she could not doubt 
 their readiness to extricate her from this en- 
 gagement, or consent to her contracting an- 
 other, if her happiness, which is their sole 
 and whole object in life, depended on such a 
 measure. 
 
 Having witnessed the repelling coldness with 
 which she shrank from Annandale whenever 
 he approached her, a thousand vague notions 
 have entered into my mind, as to the pro- 
 bable motives of her extraordinary conduct. 
 More than once I have fancied that she 
 repented her intended alliance, and wished to 
 annul it ; but, that a friend of hers, consider- 
 ably her senior, has by her influence induced 
 her to complete it. This friend is a Miss Mon-
 
 118 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 tressor — handsome, clev^er, and accomplished ; 
 but with a freedom of manner, and peculiar 
 expression of countenance, that prepossessed 
 me most unfavourably against her, before I 
 had been an hour in her society. Instead of 
 betraying any sympathy in the feelings of her 
 youthful friend, she brusqued her to a certain 
 degree; nay, more, I frequently caught her 
 eyes fixed on her, with an expression of con- 
 temptuous pity for the weakness, as her looks 
 seemed to imply, of which Lady Augusta was 
 guilty. She was very assiduous in her atten- 
 tions to Annandale, and seemed, at a glance, to 
 discover what we have long known ; namely, 
 that he is a vain man, and likes flattery. He 
 was loud in her praises, and has invited her to 
 spend the season in town with them. What an 
 ill-chosen associate for so young and inexperi- 
 enced a woman as Lady Annandale ! I hope 
 he may not have cause to repent his invitation ; 
 and that her levity and freedom of manner
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 119 
 
 may not entail on his wife any of the ill- 
 natured animadversions in which the cliques 
 of London are so prone to indulge, and for 
 which Miss Montressor seems so well disposed 
 to furnish cause. 
 
 A bold woman is, to me, one of the most 
 offensive objects on earth. I have always felt 
 disgust for such ; though it has often been 
 mitigated by recollecting in how many in- 
 stances their husbands have been conducive to 
 this fault, by their want of delicacy, or by the 
 improper associations they have allowed them 
 to form. But, when an unmarried woman 
 emancipates herself from all the constraint that 
 modesty and propriety prescribe, my disgust is 
 unmitigated by pity. I am one of the few who 
 maintain that modesty may survive the virtue 
 it was meant to guard ; but that virtue rarely, 
 and only then, by chance, oi- calculation, out- 
 lives modesty.
 
 120 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 I go hence in a day or two, on a visit 
 to the Delawards, who reside in this county. 
 I have staid here to console Lord and Lady 
 Vernon, who were intrusted to the tender mer- 
 cies of Miss Montressor for consolation ; and 
 they are to come to Delaward Park, as soon as 
 they have left Miss Montressor with her aunt. 
 They are the most primitive people you ever 
 saw ; full of goodness and warmth of heart, and 
 knowing almost as little of the world as does 
 their daughter, whom they love with all the 
 blind idolatry peculiar to parents who, having 
 married late in life, have only one object on 
 which to lavish all their affection. To be 
 able to appreciate the natural superiority of 
 a creature, who could be so idolised, and 
 by such excellent people, without being wholly 
 spoiled, one ought to have seen her as I did, 
 during the last three days ; when, though 
 oppressed by the deepest melancholy, her con-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 121 
 
 sideration for the happiness of others was 
 always apparent. I could discover strong 
 feeling, and no little portion of self-command, 
 in the yet unformed character of this lovely 
 woman ; who, though little more than sixteen, 
 displays the embryo of qualities which, if 
 rightly directed, might render her as great 
 an ornament to her sex, by her conduct, as 
 she is at present, by her matchless beauty. 
 I cannot think of her in the hands of our 
 good-natured, but worldlyminded friend, An- 
 nandale, and the not good-natured, and more 
 worldly-minded Miss Montressor (two beings 
 totally incapable of comprehending her), with- 
 out trembling for her fate. 
 
 The day of the nuptials the disconsolate old 
 couple returned to their now gloomy mansion, 
 the sunbeam that illumed it having fled. 
 My feelings were in unison with theirs, and 
 they were evidently sensible of my sympathy, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 which seemed to comfort them : while even 
 the assiduities of Miss Montressor partook so 
 much of the hardness and bantering tone that 
 pervades her character ; that they shrank from 
 the commonplace consolations she offered. 
 
 At any other period I might have smiled 
 at the guests assembled to do honour to the 
 bridal feast ; for a more strange assortment 
 y)f indigenous specimens of the gentry of a 
 remote province, I never saw. Cruikshank 
 would have made a fortune by representing 
 them as illustrations of all the maladies to 
 which senility is heir. But, when one heard 
 the praises, " loud and deep," of the bride, 
 that fell from their lips, even while regaling 
 on the dainties before them, it was impos- 
 sible, for me at least, to smile. No feeling 
 of this nature checked the malicious smiles 
 of Miss Montressor : she is, I am quite con- 
 vinced, a very heartless woman.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 123 
 
 The seat that Lady Annandale used to oc- 
 cupy was filled by a certain old Lady Hamlyn : 
 who, extremely deaf, was, like most deaf per- 
 sons, very anxious to hear all that was said 
 at table. Her querulous demands of, '' I beg 
 your pardon — pi'ay, what did Lady so and so, 
 or Lord so and so, say ? " called forth a 
 repetition of the lamentations for the de- 
 parture of Lady Annandale, or praises of the 
 turtle and venison. Truth to say, the lauda- 
 tions bestowed on the bride, and the luxurious 
 dinner, were nearly equal in quantity and 
 quality. 
 
 " Poor dear Lady Augusta ! — what a loss to 
 us all ! Well, well, it is what all must come to !" 
 
 " What did Lady Dorington say ?" screamed 
 out Lady Hamlyn. 
 
 " What delicious venison !" exclaimed an- 
 other.
 
 124 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " What did she say ?" again asks Lady- 
 Hani lyn. 
 
 *^ Only that the venison was very deli- 
 cious," answers Lord Dorington, spitefully 
 repeating what one speaker had said in place 
 of another. 
 
 " I asked what Lady Dorington said," 
 reiterated Lady Hamlyn, angrily. 
 
 " Oh ! she was only remarking that mar- 
 riage is what we must all come to," replied 
 Lord Dorington, with a grave face. 
 
 '* All come to, indeed ! I don't see any 
 one here, except the young laughing lady 
 there," looking at Miss Montressor, "who is 
 likely to comedo that.'' 
 
 During this bald, disjointed chat. Lord and 
 Lady Vernon continued to gaze upon the place 
 where their lovely daughter used to sit; and 
 manv a tear did I mark stealing down the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 125 
 
 pale cheek of the fond mother, as she turned 
 from it, to seek sympathy in the glance of her 
 hushand. I could have shamed my manhood, 
 and wept too, when, on entering the drawing- 
 room, I saw the now silent harp, that an- 
 swered so melodiously to the taper fingers 
 of the beautiful Augusta ; the flowers she 
 loved, drooping on their stands ; and the 
 different objects of feminine utility she was 
 wont to use, all of which retain their places, 
 though she they were destined for is far away. 
 How I could have worshipped this creature ! 
 But it is madness to indulge in such a thought. 
 Believe me, my dear Mordaunt, yours ever, 
 
 Nottingham.
 
 126 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 THE I.ADY AUGUSTA VERNON TO 
 LADY DELAWARD. 
 
 Ere I seek my pillow, dearest Mary, I must 
 open my oppressed heart to you. Ah! why 
 had I not courage to do so, before it was 
 too late ? But, I am a very child ; and, alas ! 
 with more of the wilfulness of childhood 
 than generally falls to the lot of even the 
 weakest of my sex. To-morrow, Mary, I be- 
 stow my hand on one, whom, every moment 
 proves to me, I do not, cannot love. 
 
 I made this discovery even in the hour 
 that my entreaties won the reluctant consent 
 of my dear and too indulgent father, and 
 mother ; but false pride, and the shame of 
 being considered childish, and vacillating, have 
 induced me to conceal the real state of my 
 feelings from them. Often, while at Dela-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 127 
 
 ward Park, have I been tempted to make to 
 you this unhappy avowal. Why, why did I 
 not ? for then, all would have been well. It 
 was not, my dear friend, until, beneath your 
 roof, I was a witness to the happiness to be 
 derived from a marriage of affection, that my 
 eyes were quite opened to the loveless, cheer- 
 less destiny I had, by my own folly, prepared 
 for myself. But, even then, I struggled against 
 the conviction. I tried to think, that when 
 I saw Lord Annandale again, my reluctance 
 might decrease ; but the result has been other- 
 wise — far, far otherwise ; and I am the vic- 
 tim of my own wilfulness ! 
 
 Why do I tell you all this now ; when, 
 before the avowal reaches you, my fate will be 
 irrevocably sealed ? Alas ! I divulge it to you, 
 because my very soul is steeped in sadness ; 
 and I have no one here, to whom it can be 
 revealed, that would pity me, except tliose from
 
 128 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 whose affectionate hearts I would conceal it for 
 ever. To leave the home of my infancy, even 
 with one beloved, would always have been 
 attended with pain ; but to leave it with one 
 for whom I entertain only indifference, is 
 dreadful. A fearful presentiment of evil op- 
 presses me. I feel as if I were about to 
 abandon this place for ever ; and now, for 
 the first time, I am penetrated with a sense 
 of all the tender, the too indulgent, affection 
 of my dear father and mother, and all the gra- 
 titude it has excited in my breast. 
 
 During the last few days, I have often 
 thought, that to dwell here, as I have hitherto 
 dwelt, surrounded by loving faces and affec- 
 tionate protectors, would be happiness enough, 
 Why did I ever wish for any other ? How 
 empty, how puerile, appear now the brilliant 
 dreams in which my prurient fancy has in- 
 dulged, of the gaieties, the splendours, of a
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 129 
 
 fashionable life in London ! when I should 
 shine, for my brief minute, among the eva- 
 nescent meteors of the season, that flash and 
 disappear. I turn from these my frivolous an- 
 ticipations, at this moment, with feelings such 
 as I might experience on the bed of death ; and 
 wonder, and grieve, that they could ever have 
 dazzled me. He, who appeared as the necro- 
 mancer who was to conduct me throu^rh the 
 magnificent scenes he so glowingly described, 
 now looks like the baffled mountebank that 
 manoeuvres his puppets before children, who, 
 having examined their mechanism, and de- 
 tected the springs that move them, despise 
 alike the exhibition and the exhibitor. Had 
 I never witnessed the happiness — the rational 
 and soul-satisfying happiness — which you en- 
 joy, I might never have felt the reluctance 
 I now experience to enter a career of dissipa- 
 G 2
 
 130 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 tion, piloted by one who seems to think plea- 
 sure the end and aim of life. 
 
 I am sensible that 1 stand perilously in need 
 of a high-minded and discerning monitor, to 
 guide me throuo-h the mazes which I must 
 enter ; one who could not only give me a 
 clue to the labyrinth, but still linger by my 
 side, to support and cheer me. I require 
 some fond heart in which I can confide — 
 some firm mind, on which 1 can depend ; 
 and now, with a fearful consciousness of 
 the almost vital necessity of these safe- 
 guards, I have forged fetters that bind 
 me to one nearly as blind as — nay, more 
 blind than myself : for, my inexperience 
 awakens a salutary alarm, while he is steeled 
 and dulled, by custom, to the dangers I can 
 discern, but know not how to escape. I feel 
 as if, in having precluded myself from ever 
 forming a marriage of affection, I had closed
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 131 
 
 the only door to happiness that ever was open 
 to me. Tell me, in pity tell me, my dear 
 Mary, that, though I have missed that portal 
 of felicity, there is still another, less seduc- 
 tive, yet not to be slighted — that of content; 
 and I will endeavour to reach it. 
 
 Lord Annandale has never demanded why 
 I wept, why I was plunged in sadness, ever 
 since he came to claim my hand. Had he 
 questioned me, I might have been saved ; for 
 such a demand would have led to an avowal 
 of my feelings. Now it is too late ; and I 
 count the hours of freedom that still remain 
 to me, as one on the bed of death does those 
 of his fast-fleeting existence. Never have I 
 thought of the dread hereafter so frequently, 
 nor with so little alarm, as during the last few 
 days. It no longer seems terrific to quit 
 this fair earth, and the blue skies that canopy 
 it^ when one's fate is linked with that of a
 
 132 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 being from whom separation would occasion 
 
 no sorrow. No ! it appears to me as if the 
 
 rending of such chains would console me for 
 
 bursting the chain of life. Think of — pity — 
 
 and, above all, love, your 
 
 Augusta. 
 
 THE MARQUESS OF NOTTINGHAM TO 
 EDWARD MORDAUNT, ESQ. 
 
 Delaward Park. 
 My friend Delaward is indeed a lucky man, 
 my dear Mordaunt ; for, he has chosen a wo- 
 man whom it is impossible to see without 
 admiring, or to know without esteeming. 
 I never saw a mtnage that presents so tempting 
 an example to a Benedic to forswear his soli- 
 tary state, as Delaward's. One soul, one mind,
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 133 
 
 seems to animate him and his lovely wife. 
 Here is no disgusting display of the uxorious- 
 ness so often and indelicately protruded before 
 friends, during the first months of wedded life, 
 and as often followed by the indifference that 
 succeeds unwisely indulged passions, leading 
 to their inevitable result — satiety. No! per- 
 fect confidence, warm admiration, profound 
 respect, and boundless content, reign between 
 this happy couple, and bid fair to continue 
 while they live. Lady Delaward is at once 
 the most dignified and simple - mannered of 
 her sex ; one, before whom no man could 
 utter a light word, or breathe an unholy 
 thought. An atmosphere of pure and ele- 
 vated sentiment seems to environ her ; and 
 all who approach are influenced by it. There 
 is nothing chilling or repelling in her de- 
 meanour ; for, though she has all the dignity 
 of a matron, she has all the gentleness of a
 
 131- THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 child : but, there is an indescribable charm 
 around her, that precludes the entrance of the 
 vulgar and commonplace topics with which 
 we entertain the generality of her sex ; or 
 rather, to speak more accurately, the fashion- 
 able portion of it. 
 
 To tell Lady Delaward any one of the 
 piquant anecdotes, or histoires a double en- 
 tente, that are daily related to the women 
 of our coterie in London, would require an 
 
 impudence that not even A possesses ; 
 
 though he, Heaven knows, is no pauper in 
 that social bronze which, like the famed Co- 
 rinthian brass, contains all the elements of 
 durity, additionally hardened and consolidated 
 by the fierce fires to which it has been sub- 
 jected. I worship that native purity which 
 innocence alone can give, and which shines 
 forth in every look, word, and action, of Lady 
 Delaward ; while I turn with disgust from
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 135 
 
 that affected prudery, arising, if not from a 
 participation, at least from a knowledge of 
 evil, which induces certain of our ladies to 
 cast down their eyes, look grave, and shew 
 the extent of their knowledge, or the pru- 
 riency of their imaginations, hy discovering 
 even in a harmless jest something to alarm 
 their experienced feelings. I respect that 
 woman, whose innate purity prevents those 
 around her from uttering aught that could 
 wound it, much more than her whose sen- 
 sitive prudery continually reminds one that 
 she is au fait of every possible interpretation 
 of which a word of doubtful meaning admits. 
 
 And Lady Delaward, this " chaste and 
 fair," but not inexpressive she — for she talks 
 as angels might be imagined to talk — is the 
 friend of Lady Annandale, and loves her as a 
 younger sister. Nothing is more captivating 
 to me than a cordial affection between two
 
 136 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 young and beautiful women. Perhaps it is 
 its rarity that constitutes its charm ; for no- 
 thing is more rare, notwithstanding the well- 
 acted roles of friendship we continually see 
 got up in society between women who en- 
 tertain a mutual detestation. 
 
 The unstable basis of such ephemeral 
 fancies is selfishness ; hence, it is not to be 
 wondered at that the fragile superstructures 
 soon totter and fall to the ground. A share 
 in an opera -box, similarity of pursuits, a 
 knowledge of each other's liaisons, — w^hich 
 precludes embarrassment in those quartettos 
 that invariably occur wherever these female 
 Pylades and Orestes appear, are the motives 
 of half the friendships existing among ladies 
 of fashion. They herd continually together, 
 address each other by the most loving epithets — 
 pour into the ears of their admirers a thousand 
 secrets of the concealed personal and moral
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 137 
 
 defects, and the numberless artifices of their 
 dear friends, to which they have recourse, in 
 order to supply the want of beauty. It is 
 thus we learn that poor Lady so and so, or 
 Mrs. so and so, would be the most de- 
 lightful person in the world, only that she 
 happens to have every physical and almost 
 every moral fault that ever fell to the lot of 
 woman ; but, the greater part of which, owing 
 to the blindness or stupidity of the world, 
 are left to be discovered by the discriminating 
 eyes of her dear friend, who relates them 
 with such professions of regret at their ex- 
 istence. 
 
 Of how many women, w^iose complexions 
 I have praised, have I not been told by their 
 supposed devoted friends, and not without a 
 smile at my ignorance, that they wore rouge ; 
 until I almost began to doubt whether such a 
 thing as a real rosy cheek, proceeding from
 
 138 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 pure bright blood circulating within the epi- 
 dermis, were a desideratum possible to be found. 
 Every very fair woman I saw, was, as the sin- 
 cere friends of each informed me, indebted, 
 not to nature, but art, for that delicate tint. 
 In short, their frank and explicit confessions 
 brought me to consider every handsome woman 
 as a sort of modern Thisbe, peeping behind 
 a wall of white and red. But this was 
 not all. The jetty locks I admired were, I 
 was informed, the properties of the ladies 
 they adorned, only because they had bought 
 them ; the pearly teeth I praised, were chefs 
 d'oeuvre from some fashionable dentist; the 
 dark eye-brows that struck my fancy, owed, 
 I was told, their rich black to the newly 
 invented die ; and even the red lips, emu- 
 lating the hue of coral, had been tinged, as 
 my informant stated, by a chemical prepa- 
 ration. Such being the disclosures made by
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 139 
 
 friends in fashionable life, it is not much to 
 be wondered at that I am incredulous as to 
 the sincerity of the sentiment of friendship 
 between fine ladies. 
 
 I have hitherto only believed it to exist 
 in the mind of an acknowledged beauty to- 
 wards some remarkably plain but well-bred 
 woman, who served as a foil to her, and did 
 not hate her for her own inferiority. I am, 
 however, no longer a sceptic as to female friend- 
 ship. Lady Delaward, young and beautiful, 
 feels it, in the utmost signification of the term, 
 for Lady Annandale. Hers are not the praises 
 that artful women, themselves handsome, 
 think it prudent to bestow on any other 
 beauty named in their presence ; cunningly 
 selecting her defects for their exaggerated eu- 
 logiums, and leaving unnoticed, in their pane- 
 gyrics, the charms that would have justified 
 them.
 
 140 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 No; Lady Delaware! , when I extolled the 
 personal fascinations of Lady Annandale, simply 
 answered, " Yes, she is the most lovely person I 
 ever saw." Bat, when I said that she appeared 
 very amiable, her countenance sparkled with 
 animation, and her cheeks became tinged with 
 a brighter hue ; her whole face, while under 
 the glowing effects of her warm affection for 
 her friend, reminding me of one of those fine 
 alabaster vases, with a light in it, that dis- 
 plays even more its own spotless purity, than 
 it illumines the objects around it. 
 
 " You should have known Augusta," she 
 said, " as I have done, since her infancy, to 
 be able to appreciate all the admirable quali- 
 ties she possesses ; qualities which not even the 
 undue indulgence of her doting father and 
 mother has been able to obscure." 
 
 " I do not like her friend, Miss Montres- 
 sor," observed L
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 141 
 
 Lady Delaward was silent ; but a grave 
 expression stole over her face. 
 
 " Neither do we," replied Delaward ; " and 
 I heartily wish Lady Annandale may see as 
 little of her as possible, for I think her" 
 
 '^ Hush ! my dear Delaward," said his 
 wife, gently ; "we must not prejudice others 
 as^ainst her." 
 
 At this moment a letter was brought to 
 Lord Delaward, who, having broke the seal, 
 handed its enclosure to Lady Delaward, who 
 exclaimed, " A letter from dear Augusta!" 
 
 She eagerly opened it ; and I remarked 
 that, as she perused it, her brow indicated 
 that its contents gave her pain. This sen- 
 timent evidently increased as she continued 
 to read ; and, at length, she rose and cpiitted 
 the room, as if overpowered by her feelings. 
 
 Delaward hastily followed her, and left me,
 
 142 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 I candidly confess, experiencing for the first 
 time in my life, an insatiable curiosity. Lady 
 Annandale has, probably, in this letter, ex- 
 plained the source of the sadness in which 
 I saw her plunged the three days previous 
 to her marriage. How I should like to read 
 it ! It is strange, it is unaccountable, the 
 deep interest I take in her. Had I beheld 
 her all gaiety and smiles, I should, if I know 
 myself, have merely thought of her as a 
 beautiful girl, like one of those lovely crea- 
 tures we see, admire, and forget. But her 
 melancholy and apparent indifference towards 
 Annandale, have invested her with a much 
 deeper interest for me than her beauty, faultless 
 as it is, could ever have excited. What 
 can that letter have contained, to awaken such 
 regret as was displayed in Lady Delaward's 
 looks and manner?
 
 THE VICTIM OF SOCIETY. 143 
 
 I must leave you ; a necessity, at which the 
 length and dulness of this epistle will make you 
 rejoice. Yours ever, 
 
 Nottingham. 
 
 MISS MONTRESSOR TO LA MARQUISE 
 DE VILLEROI. 
 
 Here, I am, chere et belle amie, once more 
 chez ma iante, who is even more enmiyeuse 
 than ever, which is saying a great deal ; 
 and who preaches morality to me from morn- 
 ing until night. You should have seen your 
 poor friend demurely seated, vis-a-vis to the 
 patriarchal Lord and Lady Vernon, in their 
 family' coach, returning to the temple of 
 ennui, as I style the mansion of madame ma
 
 144 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 tante ; listening to the oft-beginning, never- 
 ending praises of their daughter, who, if they 
 are to be credited, is a perfect paragon of 
 perfection ; while I know her to be nothing 
 more nor less than a very pretty, capricious, 
 spoiled child, wilful and f reward in no or- 
 dinary degree. Perhaps it is this very know- 
 ledge that makes me feel attached to Augusta ; 
 for, paradoxical as it may appear, it is easier 
 to pardon the faults, than the virtues of our 
 friends ; because the first excite a self-com- 
 placency always agreeable ; and the second, a 
 sense of humiliation, which indisposes us 
 towards the inflictor. 
 
 After all, it is a very agreeable thing to 
 have a doting old papa and mamma — doting 
 in the double sense of the word — who look 
 at all one's thoughts, words, and actions, 
 through the bright medium of affection, and 
 not through the dull one of reason, as my
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 145 
 
 sapient aunt views mine. I really believe 
 she considers me as nothing short of a very 
 wicked person ; for, the homilies with which 
 she indulges me on every possible occasion, 
 prove how greatly she imagines me to stand 
 in need of them. 
 
 The Vernons, mari et femme, are gone to 
 the modern Grandisons, as I call Lord and 
 Lady Delaward ; where they are to remain 
 some time, to be consoled for the loss of 
 their daughter. They had made up their 
 minds, I fancy, to accompany Lady Annan- 
 dale, to town ; but, I advised Lord Annandale 
 not to encourage this intention, unless he 
 wished to be the subject of ridicule to all 
 London, by importing this antediluvian couple 
 (in their old-fashioned coach, which resembles 
 the ark of Noah) into the fashionable world, 
 to shock universally, and be universally 
 shocked. I tried to enlighten my friend 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Augusta on tliia point ; but she, who knows 
 nothing of the manners of society, was in- 
 dignant at even the supposition that her dear 
 father and mother could ever be de trap any 
 where; so I left her to indulge in her pa- 
 rental illusion, and directed my counsel to 
 her lord, who is more tractable. 
 
 Lord Nottingham preceded the Vernons to 
 Delaward Park. I like not that man; and, 
 I fancy, there is an instinctive dislike between 
 us. He is the heau ideal of an Englishman : 
 proud, reserved, and dignified, with a degree 
 of self-respect that precludes him from ever 
 compromising himself; and with that scru- 
 pulous good- breeding, which deprives those 
 who dislike him of the pleasure of attacking 
 him. He is a man whom it is impossible to 
 ridicule ; nay more, he imposes a certain re- 
 spectful restraint, even on his opponents, by 
 his high bearing and polished manners.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 147 
 
 His mind seems to be very cultivated, and 
 his person and face are remarkably distingues ; 
 the highest praise, in my opinion, that can 
 be accorded to male good looks. He is the 
 sort of person a faire fureur a Paris, and to 
 remain wholly unmoved by his success ; and 
 yet, "■ this most potent, grave, and reverend 
 signior," is evidently captivated by the naive 
 loveliness of a spoiled child of sixteen, having 
 hardly deigned to bestow a glance on the 
 matured charms of your friend. I tried him 
 with all my witcheries, — let fly a shower of 
 bon-mots, reparties, and brilliant anecdotes, 
 that would have covered me with laurels in 
 your recherche circle in the Rue St. Honore ; 
 but, they fell as unheeded as a display of 
 fireworks before an astronomer examining; 
 the dthut of the last new comet. I then 
 assailed him with piquant criticisms on all 
 the modern French authors : talked of the
 
 148 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 vigorous power of Victor Hugo ; the mysti- 
 cism and sentimentality of Balzac ; the passion 
 and eloquence of George Sand ; the maritime 
 descriptions of Eugene Sue ; the comique of 
 Paul de Kock ; and the hardiesse of Jules 
 Janin. The man, instead of being charmed, 
 looked perfectly petrified ; and, without reply- 
 ing to me, turned to Augusta, and asked 
 her, with a look of undissembled alarm, 
 whether she had read those authors ? A 
 weight seemed taken off his mind when she 
 answered in the negative, and stated, that 
 the only modem French books she was in 
 the habit of perusing, were those of Chateau- 
 briand, De Lamartine, and Casimir de la 
 Vigne. 
 
 *' They are the writers that I also read," 
 said Lord Nottingham, " and the ones that 
 I should place in the hands of a wife, or 
 sister."
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 149 
 
 '^ You surely cannot be so very English — 
 which, with me, is a synonyme for prudish — as 
 to object to a young lady's perusal of the 
 authors I have named?" asked I ; " authors, 
 whose works contain the truest pictures of 
 actual life?" 
 
 *' There is much, very much in actual life, 
 Miss Montressor, of which I should wish a wife 
 or sister of mine, to remain in total ignorance. 
 On this point I am ready to exclaim with the 
 poet, 
 
 ' Give me a friend, within whose well-poised mind 
 Experience holds her seat. But let my bride 
 Be innocent, as flowers, that fragrance shed. 
 Yet know not they are sweet.' " 
 
 '* Oh! you," I resumed, '^ are one of those 
 who would treat women as pretty puppets, 
 formed for your playthings, and not admit us 
 to a free communion of that knowledge of 
 which you are so proud ? "
 
 150 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 '' I would debar your sex from no part of 
 the knowledge of which ours ought to be 
 proud ; but, I do not think, in proscribing the 
 modern authors you have enumerated, such 
 a motive could be fairly attributed to me. I 
 would have the reading of women confined to 
 works of which the morality and purity might 
 serve to strengthen their own; and I can 
 no more approve of placing in their hands 
 books that tend to make them acquainted with 
 all the vices that sully human nature, however 
 well portrayed, than I should approve their 
 witnessing the scenes where such vices are 
 committed, as a useful philosophical lesson. 
 Women, Miss Montressor, according to my 
 opinion, should know no more of the crimes 
 of human nature, than they do of the fearful 
 maladies to which it is subject. You would 
 not have our matrons study anatomy, or visit 
 the hospitals, in order to see to what infir-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 151 
 
 mities flesh is heir; it is enough for them 
 to be aware that mortal beings are sometimes 
 sorely smitten by loathsome diseases, without 
 investigating, or studying them : so, is it suffi- 
 cient for them to know, that vice and error exist, 
 without analytically examining the symptoms, 
 causes, and effects, so artistically displayed in 
 the authors to whom you have referred." 
 
 '* You, probably, think we are only good, 
 because we are what you would call innocent, 
 and what I term ignorant, Lord Nottingham?" 
 
 " Happy and charming, I am sure you 
 are, only while you are innocent," he replied ; 
 " for, a knowledge of evil, even though it guard 
 from a participation in it, leaves a stain on the 
 purity of the female mind, and a cloud on 
 its brightness : for a high-souled woman, while 
 abhorring the crimes she discovers, where she 
 thought all was fair, must pity while abhor- 
 ring ; and deep pity dims happiness."
 
 152 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Augusta listened to him with an attention 
 I never before saw her pay to any one; her 
 eyes were fixed on his expressive face, which, 
 always handsome, was now lighted up with 
 increased animation; and I marked her turn 
 from him, to look at the man who was, the 
 next day, to become her husband, with a 
 glance in which neither aflfection nor appro- 
 bation was visible — to my eyes, at least. She 
 was probably at that moment drawing a com- 
 parison between the two, not advantageous to 
 the latter. 
 
 In this little discussion, and during the 
 pauses of Lord Nottingham, Lord Annandale 
 defended my favourite authors with more zeal 
 than ability ; consequently, his flimsy argu- 
 ments rather injured than served my cause. 
 
 '* Surely, my dear Nottingham, you are 
 unjustly severe? — Bah! mon ami, you are too 
 prudish. What can be more droll, or more
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 153 
 
 amusing, than some of the scenes in the works 
 you have censured ? I quite agree with Miss 
 Montressor in admiring them. — Well, you may 
 say what you please ; but be assured that you 
 will find few people so cynical as not to be 
 vastly amused by those writers." 
 
 I tried to get up an argument on the ro- 
 mantic and classic schools of writing, and insti- 
 tuted comparisons between the passionate and 
 reflective works of our day, giving the prefer- 
 ence to the former. But all my erudition was 
 thrown away, at least on Lord Nottingham, 
 for he replied not to my tirade a la De Stael ; 
 but Lord Annandale seemed duly impressed 
 with the extent and variety of my savoir, and 
 has, I can perceive, formed a high notion of 
 my powers. What if this preux chevalier, 
 Lord Nottingham, were to become enamoured 
 of Lady Annandale, and if she were to bestow 
 on him her vacant heart — for vacant I know it 
 H 2
 
 154 THE VICTIMS OP SOCIETY. 
 
 is — and if 1 were to blow the incipient flame 
 into a blaze! I see a whole romance, nay, 
 two romances, comprised in these three little 
 — iFS. Should nothing more eligible, as the 
 elderly ladies say, offer, I may effect a denou- 
 ment to this pretty fiction, which may place 
 the coronet of a countess on my brow, and 
 a strawberry one on that of Augusta — no bad 
 exchange for her, I think, and not a very bad 
 arrangement for myself. In a few weeks I 
 shall be in London, whence you shall be kept 
 au courant of all I do, or intend to do. I hope 
 notre comtesse will not, with her usual indis- 
 cretion, shew me up, by relating any of our 
 little peccadilloes at Vienna and Paris ; but she 
 is a sad havarde^ and commits her friends nearly 
 as much as she compromises herself, by her 
 imprudence. Addlo, cara Delphine! Wish 
 success to your 
 
 Caroline.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 155 
 
 LADY DELAWARD TO LADY ANNANDALE. 
 
 I WILL not dwell on the pain your letter has 
 given me, my dearest Augusta, neither will I 
 enter further into the subject of the imprudence 
 you have committed ; retrospection being now 
 useless, except as a warning for the future, 
 dearly paid for by the experience of the little 
 happiness to be derived from a perseverance 
 in wilfulness. Lord Annandale is now your 
 husband ; and I cannot think so ill of him 
 as to believe that he would have become so, 
 had he known your repugnance at the last to 
 form the tie. It is formed, and is indissoluble ; 
 and by this, your first and fatal error of judg- 
 ment, you have placed yourself in a position to 
 demand a never-ceasing prudence, and never- 
 slumbering self-examination, to enable you to 
 fulfil the duties you have imposed on yourself. 
 To a wife who loves her husband those duties
 
 156 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 become pleasures, because she knows that on 
 their fulfilment depends his happiness, as well 
 as her own ; but to one who is so unfortunate 
 as to marry without a sincere and devoted 
 affection, they should be, if possible, more 
 sacred, as their scrupulous discharge is the only 
 atonement she can offer for withholding that love 
 which is to sweeten the draught of life; and 
 which every man has a right to expect from 
 her who voluntarily bestows on him her hand. 
 Many have been the marriages without love 
 that have been peaceful and respectable, if 
 not happy. You, my dear Augusta, having 
 committed a serious fault, must redeem it by 
 your virtue ; and prove, tbat not to be wise, is 
 not to be unworthy. Leave no effort untried to 
 attach yourself to Lord Annandale : gratitude 
 for his attachment to you ought to excite kind 
 feelings; and, when to this is added the know- 
 ledge, that, had you not accepted his offered
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 157 
 
 hand, he might have found many lovely and 
 amiable women who would gladly have become 
 his wife, and given him their affections, yoii 
 surely cannot act otherwise than as a kind, 
 indulgent friend, who will make his home 
 cheerful, and his name respected. You must 
 seriously examine your opinions and sentiments 
 with regard to him; for indifference or dis- 
 like are great magnifiers of the defects of 
 those whom we view through their medium, 
 and we are seldom just when we permit their 
 intervention. If he is not all that you could 
 desire, despair not of rendering him so ; for 
 much depends on the use you make of the 
 influence you will naturally acquire over him. 
 Lord Annandale has lived too much in the 
 great world to have escaped the faults it en- 
 genders; its glare and artificial enjoyments 
 may have, probably, blunted the fine ed^Q of 
 his feelings, and led him to descend to less wise.
 
 158 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and less elevated views and pursuits. Let it be 
 your task to lead him back to a more healthy 
 tone of mind, and to more rational occupations ; 
 and be it yours to reap a rich reward, in the 
 consciousness of duties fulfilled, and of tran- 
 quillity, if not happiness, secured. Remember 
 that he bears a portion of the chain that binds 
 you together — a chain to which he willingly 
 submitted, because he believed that you would 
 make his bondage light, in preferring him to 
 all other men ; a natural conclusion, knowing, 
 as he does, that it was solely owing to your 
 request that your parents yielded him your 
 hand. Virtue, generosity, pity, all call on you, 
 my dearest friend, to respect his happiness, 
 even though you may have sacrificed some 
 portion of your own. You owe this fulfilment 
 of your duty no less to your excellent father 
 and mother than to Lord Annandale. Think 
 what would be their despair, if, having yielded
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 159 
 
 their daughter so much sooner than parents 
 in general are called on to relinquish their 
 children, and to a husband chosen by her, and 
 not by thein, they discovered that she had 
 imposed on their credulous affection, and left 
 them, who so loved her, for one she did not 
 love. Spare them this blow, my dearest 
 Augusta ; and let your next letter bring better 
 tidings to your true friend, 
 
 M. Delaward. 
 
 THE MARQUESS OF NOTTINGHAM TO 
 EDWARD MORDAUNT, ESQ. 
 
 Delaward Park, 
 
 I NEVER thought so seriously, nor with such 
 complacency, of marriage, my dear Mordaunt, 
 as since I have been beneath this peaceful and 
 happy roof, which seems fitted to be the very 
 temple where Hymen ought to be worshipped.
 
 160 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 You know that Delaward was always my 
 model of what a nobleman should be; but, I 
 assure you, I now look on him as the model of 
 husbands— a part, few, even of the best men, 
 perform with that just mixture of firmness, 
 tenderness, dignity, and equanimity, which is 
 essentially requisite, and which he possesses 
 in an eminent degree. I dislike those exhi- 
 bitions of fondness that we so often witness 
 during the first months of wedlock, in what 
 are called love-matches, — designated to me, 
 by a French friend, as Vindtcence legitime, — 
 almost as much as the ill-bred carelessness 
 which too often succeeds them. Tlie first is 
 the most disagreeable of the two, because it 
 indicates a want of modesty and delicacy in 
 the woman who permits such exhibitions, and 
 a want of respect for her in the husband who 
 makes them. 
 
 A man should see in his wife, not an amor-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 161 
 
 ous puppet, with whom he whiles away his idle 
 hours, but the partner, the helpmate, God has 
 given him as the solace of his weary ones ; the 
 woman who is to be the mother of his child- 
 ren, the mistress of his home, and with whom 
 he is to walk, hand in hand, through the 
 painful journey of life, to that eternity where 
 they hope not to be divided. But when I see, 
 every season, the marriages that are formed, 
 and the motives that lead to them, I turn with 
 repugnance from the contemplation. You 
 remember that good-natured but weak man, 
 Lord Allingham, who was induced to propose 
 to a girl he had met at every ball for six 
 seasons before, — without bestowing a thought 
 on her, except to remark that her tournure 
 was gauche y and her feet clumsy, — because 
 some interested people about him assured him 
 she admired him. He marries — discovers that 
 he has made indeed a sad mistake; for he
 
 162 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 finds that her temper is irascible ; that her 
 manner is even more gauche than her tour- 
 nure ; and her mind as blank as her coun- 
 tenance. Poor Allingham! but he is rightly 
 punished for his vanity. One of our acquaint- 
 ances marries a woman because half the men 
 in town admire her; and another is piqued 
 into marrying one who has admired half 
 the men in town, because, with a laudable 
 ambition, he wished to rival them in her 
 good graces. A thought beyond the gratifica- 
 tion of the present fancy seldom enters into 
 their heads ; and, that fancy satisfied, they acre 
 left at leisure to discover the defects, moral 
 and physical, that now are as visible to their 
 scrutiny as they were previously concealed. 
 What follows ? the poor woman, married 
 through caprice, and neglected from the same 
 motive, is mortified, if not wounded; and seeks 
 consolation in a round of dissipation, where
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 163 
 
 she soon finds some idle lounger, who by his 
 attentions soothes her wounded vanity, while 
 inflicting an indelible stain on her reputation, 
 if not on her virtue. How many such women 
 might, in the hands of a sensible and honour- 
 able man, have become happy and estimable ! 
 instead of serving, as is but too frequently the 
 
 case, 
 
 " To point a moral and adorn a tale," 
 
 in the circles in which they move. To trace 
 effects to causes, all because they had been 
 selected by some silly man as an object of sel- 
 fish gratification, and deserted from the same 
 motive. There is a mutual respect visible 
 in all the conduct of Delaward and. his wife, 
 and a sustained tenderness, which never for a 
 moment degenerates into that familiarity so 
 disgusting in the mtnages of newly married 
 people. And this noble, this dignified woman, 
 is the friend of Lady Annandale : what might 
 not that lovely creature have become under
 
 164 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 the tuition of such a Mentor ! Delaward told 
 me yesterday, that Lady Delaward had received 
 a very melancholy letter from her friend. 
 
 *' Poor Lady Annandalel" said he; "she 
 deserves a better fate : for, though a good- 
 natured and well-bred man, Annandale is quite 
 incapable of appreciating such a person as his 
 wife, or of rendering her happy. She staid 
 with us some time, and I saw much to admire 
 in her. All her fine qualities, and she has 
 several, are natural to her ; and all her de- 
 fects, and they are but few, are the effects of 
 the excessive indulgence of Lord and Lady 
 Vernon, acting on a lively imagination and a 
 quick temper. She had not been here three 
 days before I saw a visible improvement in 
 her, for the example of Lady Delaward had 
 the best effect : but she is so young, and so 
 much influenced by Miss Montressor, who, 
 entre nous^ is a very improper and dangerous 
 friend for her, that I fear a season in London,
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 165 
 
 with its contaminating follies, will undo all 
 the good that has heen instilled into her by 
 Lady Delaward. 
 
 I questioned Delaward further about Miss 
 Montressor, and find that her aunt, a worthy 
 and amiable woman, has been from early youth 
 an intimate friend of Lady Vernon. A sister, 
 many years her junior, married imprudently, 
 and accompanied her husband abroad ; where, 
 after twelve or fourteen years of continental 
 dissipation, he was shot in a duel, and Mrs. 
 Montressor and her daughter were left, with a 
 scanty pittance, to subsist as best they could. 
 The beauty and polished manners of the mo- 
 ther rendered her a welcome guest at all the 
 houses of fashionable resort; and being a weak- 
 minded woman, without any mental resources, 
 she abandoned herself wholly to the pleasures 
 of society, leaving her daughter to the care of 
 a French femme de chamhre, whose morals
 
 166 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 were as objectionable as her manners. Made- 
 moiselle Annette was quite as fond of society 
 as her mistress ; and the consequence was, that 
 the poor child, left at home in her care, was 
 initiated into all the mysteries of high life 
 below stairs, and sipped her cafe-au-lait in the 
 coterie of Mademoiselle Annette, consisting of 
 half-a-dozen femmes de chamhre, and as many 
 couriers, or valets, who related the adventures 
 of their respective masters and mistresses, past 
 and present, with so much naivete and graphic 
 skill, as to make a deep impression on the 
 mind of their unlucky little auditor. 
 
 The demoralising effect of such associates 
 may be easily imagined ; and, when some 
 grossierete in the language of her daughter 
 shocked the refined ears of Mrs. Montressor, 
 and led to her ascertaining where it had 
 been acquired, she issued peremptory orders, 
 that henceforth her daughter was not to leave
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 167 
 
 her saloon, nor Mademoiselle Annette to in- 
 troduce any one into it, under pain of her 
 displeasure. 
 
 This mandate was equall}^ painful to the 
 young lady and ihefemme de chambre, neither 
 of whom liked solitude ; but a mode was found 
 of satisfying both, that was forthwith put in 
 practice. Mademoiselle Annette was much ad- 
 dicted to the reading of French novels ; and by 
 no means fastidious as to their morality. She 
 suffered one of the most indelicate of those 
 productions to fall into the hands of Miss 
 Montressor, who devoured it with avidity ; and 
 the artful femme de chamhre, seeing the plea- 
 sure its perusal imparted, proposed supplying 
 the young lady with a volume every evening, 
 provided she might go and spend that portion 
 of her time with her usual companions. The 
 proposal was joyfully accepted ; the demoral- 
 ising studies were continued; and, before Ca- 
 roline Montressor had completed her fifteenth
 
 168 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 year, she had attained a knowledge of the 
 vices and crimes of society, portrayed in all 
 the seductive guises of sophistry and pas 
 sion, that could gloss their immorality, or 
 throw a veil over their indecency. She saw, 
 in every man who entered the salon of her 
 supine mother, a hero for one of the romances 
 in which she was impatient to enact a part ; 
 and was culpable in imagination, long ere 
 she became so in reality. 
 
 Her mother formed a friendship with a 
 Duchesse de Meronville, who had a daughter 
 of the same age as Caroline Montressor, and 
 of similar disposition. The girls, like their 
 mothers, became inseparable. The books 
 that had achieved the corruption of Caro- 
 line's mind were lent to her friend, who, in 
 return, intrusted her with all the secrets of 
 the pension she had lately left : the captivating 
 power of the maitre de danse, who always 
 pressed her feet, when placing them in the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 169 
 
 fourth position, the jolie tournure of the music- 
 master, who retained her fingers always half a 
 minute in his, when placing them scientifically 
 on the keys of her piano ; and les beaux yeux 
 du maitre de dessin, who always retouched her 
 drawings, but not so often as he found means 
 to touch her hand, in spite of the Argus eyes 
 of madame la gouvernante. 
 
 Two young ladies, so impatient for adven- 
 tures, were not long without encountering 
 them. The Marquis de Villeroi, and his friend, 
 le Chevalier de Carency, two fashionable young 
 men, one a Parisian, the other a Swiss, making 
 the tour of Italy, presented themselves at the 
 hotel of the Duchesse de Meronville, whom 
 they knew at Paris, and were, by her, intro- 
 duced to Mrs. Montressor. 
 
 In a morning visit, before that lady had 
 left her dressing-room, the gentlemen sur- 
 prised the young ladies, who acted the parts of 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 heroines, according to the last novel they had 
 perused, so skilfully, that the marquis and 
 chevalier were interested, if not smitten. The 
 demoiselles, observing the impression they pro- 
 duced, intrusted the gentlemen with the secret, 
 that their cruel mothers kept them from all 
 society, allowing them to converse with no 
 one ; and hinted that, if any desire was felt 
 ever again to see the recluses, it must be 
 early in the morning, when they were suf- 
 fered, under the surveillance of a femme de 
 chamhre, to walk in the Cascina. The hint 
 was not lost ; a douceur to the femme de 
 chamhre secured her services ; and the impru- 
 dent girls were permitted to walk in the most 
 retired part of the grounds with their cava- 
 liers ; nay, to receive them at home in secret. 
 
 *' The Marquis de Villeroi, captivated with 
 the pretty face of Mademoiselle de Meronville, 
 was still more enamoured of the large for-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY, 171 
 
 tune he knew she would one day possess, and 
 determined on securing her hand : while his 
 friend, having ascertained that Miss Montres- 
 sor's sole wealth consisted in her beauty, 
 directed to her only the most dishonourable 
 views ; to which, ere long, she fell a victim. 
 
 " The young ladies were equally compro- 
 mised ; and both expected the same atonement 
 would be offered. This hope was only fulfilled 
 on the part of the Marquis de Villeroi; for 
 the day that saw him privately lead Made- 
 moiselle de Meronville to the altar, witnessed 
 the impromptu departure of the Chevalier de 
 Carency from Florence, leaving Caroline Mon- 
 tressor a prey to all feelings save remorse ; for 
 that sentiment, hers, unfortunately, was not a 
 spirit to feel. The Duchesse de Meronville 
 pardoned a step in her daughter that was 
 now irrevocable; and the Marquis and Mar- 
 quise de Villeroi concealed the guilt of Caroline
 
 172 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Montressor, and extended towards her a friend- 
 ship the sole basis of which was pity. A 
 letter, soon after received from the faithless 
 lover, under cover to Villeroi, gave the finish- 
 ing blow to every womanly and proper feeling 
 in this unhappy girl ; and from the hour of 
 its receipt may be dated the commencement of 
 her total demoralisation. He stated, that in 
 loving her, and seeking the gratification of 
 that love, he but obeyed the dictates of nature 
 and philosophy ; and he left her from a con- 
 viction that their meetings would be interrupted 
 by the esclandre which the marriage of her 
 friend w^ould occasion, or their pleasure be 
 destroyed by reproaches, because he could not, 
 or would not, like his friend, finish their 
 charming episode of love, by a comedy larmoy- 
 ante of marriage — a finale, which his poverty 
 forbade, and his principles opposed. 
 
 ." ' You are young and charming, ma belle,'
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 173 
 
 he wrote, ' and may command a rich marriage, 
 which should be the end and aim of every por- 
 tionless beauty. When you have accomplished 
 this desideratum, I shall be one of the most 
 humble of your slaves ; but, until then, let 
 me, as a friend, recommend you to be prudent 
 in your conduct. The interests of women and 
 men are wholly opposed : that of the one 
 is to get married ; and that of the other, to 
 avoid it by ever}^ possible means, unless driven 
 to the altar of Hymen by the goading scourge 
 of grim poverty, that gaunt spectre, who has 
 compelled more victims to the fatal step than 
 love ever enticed to it. Be circumspect, then, 
 ma chere jjetite ; count on my discretion ; and 
 let us hope to meet in Paris at some future 
 day, when you shall have imposed the galling 
 chains of marriage on one of your rich and dull 
 compatriots, and emancipated yourself from 
 the thraldom of demoiselleship. Wealth gives
 
 174 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 every thing except youth, beauty, and health — 
 these you possess; and, if you play your part 
 skilfully, the riches you may attain. Keep 
 this object always in view ; and learn to smile 
 at the fade sentimentality and romance, that 
 never fail to subjugate your sex to ours. 
 Adieu, ma chere Caroline ; aimez toujours voire 
 
 Henri.' 
 
 '' Caroline Montressor neither wept nor 
 pined at this confirmation of the unworthiness 
 of him for whom she had sacrificed her honour. 
 The last French novel she had read, had dis- 
 played a heroine abandoned under similar cir- 
 cumstances, * who rose (as the writer stated) 
 superior to the blow aimed at her peace, and, 
 ascending the pedestal appropriated to talent 
 and wit, hurled around her the weapons of 
 both ; captivating, while wounding and mock- 
 ing, the victims she made/ 
 
 *^ * Such will I be,' said Caroline to herself;
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 175 
 
 and, from this day, she devoted all her time, 
 all her energies, to acquiring a proficiency in 
 those accomplishments most likely to aid her 
 views. She was permitted by her foolish mo- 
 ther to accompany the Villerois, to Vienna, 
 while she established herself as a resident in 
 the Hotel de Meronville at Paris, with her 
 duchesse, who offered her a home during the 
 absence of the young people. At Vienna, the 
 beauty and talents of Miss Montressor attracted 
 general attention ; and more than one of her 
 admirers would have become suitors for her 
 hand, had they not been alarmed from a step 
 so irrevocable by an imprudent intimacy which 
 she formed with the Comtesse Hohenlinden, 
 whose conduct furnished the common topic 
 of scandalous animadversion in every circle. 
 
 " The young Due de R., at that period the 
 cynosure of neighbouring eyes at Vienna, soon 
 became fascinated with the English beauty ;
 
 176 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and the comtesse, whose sympathy for the 
 flames of others was in proportion to the 
 indulgence of her own, lost no opportunity 
 of affording: him interviews with her friend. 
 But Caroline, who, in adoption of de Carency's 
 counsel, never lost sight of the prospect of 
 a rich marriage, conscious that a liaison with 
 the royal Due would lead to no such ter- 
 mination, maintained her prudence ; and 
 established for herself, in his eyes and those 
 of the Comtesse, a reputation for virtue such 
 as they, at least, had rarely encountered. 
 The good Emperor lavished presents on the 
 meritorious young woman who could resist his 
 captivating grandson ; and Caroline Montressor 
 became the fashionable belle of the court 
 circle. Her intimacy with the Comtesse of 
 Hohenlinden opened to her a new page in 
 the history of human life. She saw in her 
 a woman of high rank and great fortune,
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 177 
 
 almost wholly regardless, not only of virtue, 
 but of its appearance, living only for the 
 gratification of her passions; and so volatile 
 and capricious, that the engouement of yester- 
 day gave place to the one of to-day : and this 
 woman, braving public opinion and outraging 
 delicacy, was fttte by all. No one doubted 
 her culpability, and some censured, but all 
 received her. Such an example fixed Caroline 
 Montressor for ever in her false and pernicious 
 principles ; and the hommage she saw offered 
 to her guilty friend, finally overthrew in her 
 mind all the barriers that separate the good 
 from the vicious. 
 
 " The works of Rousseau, Voltaire, and 
 Diderot, were eagerly perused by this young 
 female philosopher ; who found herself, at 
 seventeen, a willing believer in their sophis- 
 tries, and ready to do aught that could 
 facilitate her course in the ambitious path she 
 I 2
 
 178 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 had entered. She became the confidente of 
 the Comtesse, who had now formed an attach- 
 ment to the Marquis de Villeroi ; and was, 
 nearly at the same time, intrusted with a 
 love affair of his young wife. Neither shocked 
 nor disgusted at these disclosures, she en- 
 couraged both in their reprehensible conduct, 
 because it rendered her necessary to them ; 
 and sank herself still lower, by this foul 
 participation in their guilt. 
 
 " Returned to France, she continued to 
 reside with the Villerois, over both of whom 
 she had acquired an ascendency that gave 
 rise to a thousand evil reports. These re- 
 ports were so generally circulated and believed 
 at Paris, that they precluded the chance of 
 her forming a marriage at all suitable to 
 her views ; and when, several years after- 
 wards, on the death of her mother, her aunt, 
 who came to Paris to offer her protection to
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY 
 
 179 
 
 her niece, saw the supremacy she exercised in 
 the establishment of the Villerois, and heard 
 the reports in question, she gave her the 
 alternative of returning at once to England, 
 or of being altogether abandoned by her sole 
 relative. 
 
 *' The wish of forming a good marriage in 
 England, that Eldorado of rich husbands, in- 
 duced her to accept her aunt's protection, 
 much to the dissatisfaction of the Villerois, 
 who found her presence and lively conversation 
 an agreeable relief to the dulness of their occa- 
 sional tete-a-tttesy while she was ever a useful 
 assistant to their plans of mutual deception. 
 She left them, promising to return, if she 
 failed in accomplishing her views. Subse- 
 quently, finding her aunt's residence, where 
 she had been a considerable time fixed, most 
 uncongenial to her tastes, she contrived to 
 render herself so agreeable to Lady Annan-
 
 180 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 dale, that she has been a frequent guest at 
 Lord Vernon's ; and, I doubt not, has influ- 
 enced his daughter in forming this marriage. 
 
 ^' All that I have told you, I had from 
 Lord War renbo rough, who heard it from the 
 Chevalier de Carency himself at Turin, a short 
 time after, when tliat dissolute man told it as 
 an amusing example of his triumphs over 
 female virtue : and I have communicated it 
 to you in the belief that, having met Miss 
 Montressor, the romance in which she has 
 played so discreditable a role may amuse you. 
 Judge, then, how Lady Del award and I tremble 
 for her poor young friend being beneath the 
 same roof, and exposed to the contaminating 
 example of such a person. Already has my 
 wife endeavoured to warn Lady Annandale of 
 the unworthiness of Miss Montressor, although, 
 until yesterday, I never disclosed its extent to 
 her. She considers, and I agree with the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 181 
 
 opinion, that it is her duty to lay the fact 
 before her friend, and will write to her imme- 
 diately on the subject." 
 
 Here ended Delaward's tale to me, and 
 here must end my voluminous epistle to you. 
 Is it not worthy of a French novel? Poor 
 Lady Annandale ! into what hands has she 
 
 fallen ! 
 
 Ever yours, . 
 
 Nottingham. 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF ANNANDALE TO THE 
 COUNTESS OF DELAWARD. 
 
 Grosveno?' Square, April. 
 
 Your letter really alarmed me, my dear 
 Mary; and I have asked myself, more than 
 once, what mine could have contained to have 
 called forth such anxiety, not about my feel-
 
 182 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ings (and they most required it), but my con- 
 duct, which, I trust, will ever be blameless. 
 I do not, and feel I never can, love Lord 
 Annandale ; but does this fact indicate that I 
 shall be an unkind or an unfaithful wife ? 
 I trust not. If you knew him, you would 
 entertain no fears for his happiness, whatever 
 you might for mine. As long as he sees me 
 well looking, well dressed, and well received, 
 he will be satisfied : a clouded brow, a paler 
 cheek, or a stifled sigh, are not things to 
 alarm him, or even to be remarked. He 
 thinks there are only two species of women, — 
 the romantic, who are the young, and who, 
 knowing nothing of real life, indulge in the 
 illusions of imagination, sigh for an ideal hap- 
 piness, and shrink from the positive one 
 within their reach; and the unromantic, who 
 are not the very young, and, having lost all 
 the illusions of life, are content with the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 183 
 
 homely and unimaginative enjoyments it can 
 bestow. 
 
 He concludes that I shall arrive at this 
 last state in due time ; and, en attendant^ 
 thinks that it is not unbecoming to see a 
 very young woman pale and pensive. He does 
 not know that, before youth has learned to 
 discriminate, the heart sometimes becomes 
 suddenly matured, and supplies the fatal 
 knowledge which is usually the growth of 
 experience. It seems to me as if I had 
 jumped from childhood to maturity at one 
 step ; but that step has been over a pre- 
 cipice, in which my happiness has been 
 ingulfed. It is not, it surely cannot be, a 
 spirit of envy that actuates me ; but ever 
 since I have seen your home, and witnessed 
 how you are loved, my very soul has pined 
 and ached with a consciousness of the want of 
 a similar blessing. Were I so loved, and by
 
 184 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 one I could respect, I think I could be happy, 
 even though I felt not that fond, that lively 
 tenderness, which I have seen sparkle in your 
 eyes, and tremble on your lips, when your 
 husband has approached. It is a sad thing to 
 look at happiness only through another's eyes. 
 It seems to me as if the being loved, cherished, 
 and respected, by a good and honourable man, 
 would be sufficient for happiness : one who 
 mingled you with all his thoughts of this world, 
 and all his hopes of the next ; wdio left you 
 with regret, and returned w^ith delight; to 
 whom you could reveal every sentiment, every 
 feeling, as to a second self; one whose ex- 
 perience was to be your guide, and whose 
 firmness, your protection. You and Lord 
 Delaward give me the idea of two rational 
 beings, united to divide the cares and share 
 the blessings of life ; while Lord Annandale 
 and I remind me of two persons forming a
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 185 
 
 party of pleasure, into which as much amuse- 
 ment as possible is to be crowded, and who 
 have no other ties, or aim, or end. 
 
 The evening we came to town, he proposed 
 taking me to the opera : I declined, because 
 I was fatigued, and wished to pass the first 
 evening of my sejour in a house of my own, 
 quietly at home. I explained these feelings ; 
 he assented, and left the room — to see to the 
 comfort of my establishment in my own apart- 
 ment, as I concluded : but no such thing. 
 After an hour's absence he returned, dressed for 
 the evening, wondered that I had not ordered 
 tea, and said he was going for an hour to the 
 opera, and then to the club ; saying which, 
 he kissed my hand, and hurried off, leaving 
 me no less surprised than mortified at being 
 thus deserted. Does not this first triste even- 
 ing in my new abode seem ominous? I will 
 endeavour not to entertain the apprehension.
 
 186 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Over the chimney-piece in the library in 
 which 1 was seated, I observed the portrait of a 
 lady, so beautiful, yet with such a melancholy 
 countenance, that it increased the sadness I 
 already endured. I felt sure it must be that of 
 his wife — of her who was my predecessor here. 
 He had not once looked at it on entering. 
 How heartless ! This portrait reminded me 
 that he was a father ; and its sweet, mournful 
 expression occasioned me to experience a deep 
 interest with regard to her child. 
 
 *' She, too," thought I, " has been here 
 neglected, and, like me, abandoned to soli- 
 tude. She, perhaps, loved him, and wept in 
 agony the neglect that pains me so little : 
 she was, therefore, more wretched." And 
 again I looked at that beautiful face, the eyes 
 of which seemed to return my glance with 
 mild pensiveness. There are some hearts in 
 which the germ of melancholy is implanted
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 187 
 
 even from their earliest youth, and maturity 
 only strengthens it. On such persons, the in- 
 evitable ills of life fall with a weight that, if it 
 crush them not wholly, leaves them eternally 
 bruised in spirit. Such a spirit was hers on 
 whose resemblance I gazed with an interest that 
 no portrait ever before excited in me. Every 
 thing in that pale, lovely face announces it. 
 Yes ; I will be kind to her child ; that sweet, 
 appealing look pleads not in vain. 
 
 I experience a strange feeling in this house, 
 as though I were an intruder ; whichever 
 way I turn, I see around me all the indication 
 that I have taken another's place. The house 
 was fitted up to receive Lady Annandale as a 
 bride; her cipher, intermingled with flowers 
 and gold arabesques, ornaments all the furni- 
 ture in the apartments appropriated to me, 
 the gloss scarcely off them; and she — in her 
 grave, and I — in her place. And yet the
 
 188 THE TICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 separation caused by death appears to me 
 less terrible than the moral divorce of two 
 hearts that ought to love, but cannot sym- 
 pathise. She on whose portrait I gaze is not 
 more separated from him than I am. An in- 
 separable barrier, that of indifference, divides 
 us, but lie heeds it not : the heart is a pos- 
 session he seeks not to acquire. There is a 
 picture of her in every room. He must have 
 loved, or have fancied that he loved her : yet 
 now he seems to think of her no more than if 
 she had never existed, while I can think of 
 nothing else. How can we forget those dear 
 to us, and lost ? Methinks that, 
 
 From out the grave of every friend we loved 
 Springs up a flower (as fabulists relate, 
 Arose from the red stream of Ajax's wound); 
 jMemory 'tis named ; and, watered by our tears, 
 It lives and grows, until its fibres strike 
 Into the heart, nor leave it until death.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 189 
 
 No ; I was mistaken when I said he must 
 have loved her. There is an indelicacy and 
 insensibility in this parade of all the memorials 
 of his first wife, that prove he could never 
 have loved either of us. If / loved him, I 
 could not bear all these mementos of another ; 
 and, even as it is, when he stoops to kiss my 
 brow, I find myself unconsciously looking at 
 her picture, as if I expected it would betray 
 some symptom of dissatisfaction. When he 
 returned home, which was not until four 
 o'clock in the morning, he hardly apologised, 
 either for the length of his absence, or the 
 unseasonableness of his return. 
 
 He was, as he always is, in high spirits ; 
 (how I dislike a person that is always in hio-h 
 spirits!) seemed elated by his encounter with 
 his different friends, and talked of the parties 
 he had arranged for me ; an endless succes- 
 sion, it would appear, of dinners, balls, and
 
 190 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 soirees. I asked, where was his child ? and he 
 said, — 
 
 " Oh, by the by, I quite forgot poor little 
 St. Aubyn. He is at Richmond, for he has been 
 ailing — cutting his teeth, or afflicted by some 
 other of the endless maladies to which children 
 are subject." 
 
 And this man is a father! I will go to 
 B.ichmond to-morrow, and see this poor child, 
 who shall not, while I live, want a mother. I 
 already love, because I pity it ; and shall 
 derive from it more pleasure than from all 
 the gaieties which its parent has promised to 
 obtain for me. 
 
 Ever your affectionate 
 
 Augusta.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 191 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF DELAWARD TO THE 
 COUNTESS OF ANNANDALE. 
 
 Indeed you are to blame, dear Augusta, in 
 thus giving way to depression, and expecting 
 from Lord Annandale a sensibility that few 
 men ever retained after twenty-five ; and none, 
 even to that period, who have made society 
 and its artificial enjoyments the principal ob- 
 ject of life. There has been no deception on 
 his part ; he shewed himself, from the begin- 
 ning, in his true colours ; one of those who like, 
 and are liked by, the world, as they style that 
 small portion of it which is comprised in the 
 fashionable circle of the metropolis. The succes 
 de societt is the utmost extent of his ambition ; 
 he has acquired it himself, at the expense of 
 the more solid and sterling qualities, which a 
 contact with the world is so calculated to injure,
 
 192 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 if not desti'oy ; and he now, doubtless, wishes 
 to secure it for you. He captivated your 
 youthful mind by his descriptions of that 
 society in which you are now called to enact 
 a part ; and you are unreasonable in expecting 
 that he will abandon the habits which he has 
 indulged for years, ignorant, as he probably is, 
 that you disapprove of them. 
 
 A romantic mind, to sympathise with yours, 
 you must not expect to find in Lord Annan- 
 dale ; but a kind, good-tempered, and cheerful 
 companion, you may calculate upon, and must 
 be content with. This is more than falls to 
 the lot of all ; for remember that happiness 
 consists, not in having much, but in being 
 content with little. Greatly as I contemn 
 artifice, there is sometimes a necessity of adopt- 
 ing it in married life. I refer to, perhaps, 
 the only occasion where it is innocent, which 
 is, that of not appearing conscious of a bus-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 193 
 
 band's faults. As long as he believes they are 
 not discovered, his vanity, if no better feeling- 
 influence him, will induce his studious conceal- 
 ment of them, which is the first stej) towards 
 their amendment : but, when once he knows 
 they are exposed, he becomes reckless and 
 callous. 
 
 Heaven forbid, my dear Augusta, that I 
 should have any doubts of your conduct being 
 always what it ought to be ; what I dread in 
 you is a disregard of appearances — a neglect 
 of the shadow of goodness, while you are sa- 
 tisfied with possessing the substance. This is 
 what is most to be dreaded ; for all very young 
 women, too early thrown into the vortex of the 
 artificial stream of fashion in which so many 
 reputations, if not virtues, have been ingulfed. 
 Invaluable as is the honour of a woman, be 
 assured the possession cannot console her for the 
 loss of its reputation, — a loss to which her own 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 heedless inexperience, or levity, continually 
 conduces, and which leaves her, through the 
 remainder of hei' life, a target for the arrows of 
 the censorious. 
 
 I learn, with regret, that Miss Montressor 
 is to take up her ahode with you this season. 
 Beware of followins; her counsel, or lettino; her 
 introduce into your home circle any of the 
 l^ersons with whom she associated while on the 
 Continent ; of many of whom report speaks 
 most injuriously. You know how I dread 
 giving credence to, or repeating scandal, but 
 I cannot reconcile it with my sense of duty 
 towards you, to conceal the real character of this 
 unworthy person, whom I sincerely wish you had 
 never known, as she is the last woman I should 
 wish to see installed beneath your roof.* Let no 
 
 , * Here follows a statement similar to the one made by 
 Lord Delavvard to Lord Nottingham, which, to avoid repe- 
 tition, we have suppressed.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 195 
 
 human being know that your husband is not 
 an object of your strongest attachment; for, 
 that once known, you will become an object of 
 speculation and distrust to those who, judging 
 of all women by a few of the worst specimens 
 of the sex, conclude, that she who loves not her 
 husband, either loves, or is ready to love, some 
 one else. 
 
 Avoid intimacies, either male or female, 
 except with persons whose reputations are cal- 
 culated to add lustre to yours, for much evil is 
 often occasioned by a contrary conduct. All 
 the faults attributed to a woman in society are 
 supposed to be known, and shared, by the fe- 
 males of the clique in w^hich she lives, and, if 
 they have ever been suspected of indiscretion, 
 she shares in the censure. The hahituts of a 
 house give the colour to the reputation of its 
 mistress. The men are invariably supposed,
 
 196 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 by the good-natured world, to be more than 
 mere acquaintances ; and the women, coiifi' 
 denies. It is by such imprudent habits of 
 familiarity that many a woman has lost her 
 reputation, while her virtue has remained un- 
 impaired. 
 
 Your excellent parents are well, and as 
 cheerful as our united attention can make 
 them ; but they pine for you, and intend soon 
 joining you in London. Lord Nottingham 
 leaves us to-morrow ; he is a very agreeable 
 companion, possesses a highly cultivated 
 mind, and great warmth of heart. He is 
 one of the few with whom I would consent to 
 share my husband's friendship. His attention 
 to your father and mother has been unremit- 
 ting ; and they have formed a strong attach- 
 ment to him. 
 
 Write to me often, dearest Augusta; tell
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 197 
 
 all you think and feel, to one who, if she some- 
 times chides you like an elder sister, always 
 
 feels the love of one. 
 
 M. Del A WARD. 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF ANNANDALE TO THE 
 COUNTESS OF DELAWARD. 
 
 Dearest Mary, — I kept my resolution; and, 
 in defiance of Lord Annandale's representations 
 of the unreasonableness of the measure, I pro- 
 ceeded to Richmond, the day after my arrival 
 in London. My perseverance in this scheme 
 at first discomposed him, for he had, as he 
 asserted, made engagements for me ; but at 
 length he yielded, and, to my dismay, said 
 something about his considering my impati- 
 ence to see his child as a flattering proof of my 
 affection for its father. I blushed, from con-
 
 198 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 sciousness of how unmerited was this eulogium, 
 for so he evidently meant it to be ; and, as a 
 rewai'd for my supposed tenderness, he offered 
 to accompany me to Richmond, as if it were 
 a sacrifice on his part, having, as he declared, 
 a thousand things to do. 
 
 On arriving at a little damp-looking cot- 
 tage, overgrown with ivy, situated in a rural 
 lane at Richmond, we found the nurse absent ; 
 and the poor child I came to see, consigned to 
 an untidy slip-shod girl of fifteen, who was en- 
 deavouring to pacify it, by jingling a bunch 
 of keys, and singing, or rather screaming a 
 tune. The nurse, she said, had gone out with 
 a friend, only five minutes before. 
 
 •' No ! she be gone out ever so long ago," 
 exclaimed a dirty child, of about six years 
 old, who was torturing an unfortunate kitten ; 
 " mammy went ever so long ago, with that 
 cross man who eats half our dinner."
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 199 
 
 ^' Hold your tongue, Bessy," ejaculated the 
 elder, " and don't speak till you 're spoken to ;" 
 an advice that appeared by no means to gratify 
 her to whom it was, addressed. 
 
 Never had I beheld any thing offering such 
 a disgusting picture of uncleanliness and dis- 
 comfort as this abode ; and its inhabitants were 
 in perfect keeping with it. 
 
 The poor dear little boy was attired in a 
 low-priced cotton dress, positively dirty ; with 
 a soiled and tattered lace cap, the remnant of 
 former elegance, on his head ; the face, pale 
 and rigid, indicating that incipient disease had 
 already assailed him : and his cries, or rather 
 moans, were most painful to hear. 
 
 Lord Annandale was shocked. 
 
 " This is very dreadful !" said he ; " would 
 you believe it, Augusta, I thought, until we 
 came here, that this poor little fellow was in 
 a most comfortable residence, which this was
 
 200 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 described to me to be ; and for which, my stew- 
 ard told me, a large rent was paid. And see 
 how the poor little wretched boy is clad — 
 positively like a beggar's child ; notwith- 
 standing this abominable nurse sends such 
 bills for his wardrobe ! " 
 
 I ordered some water to be made warm, 
 and inquired for clean clothes, to dress the 
 child. 
 
 " They be mostly all at the wash," replied 
 the elder girl, opening a drawer, from which 
 she drew forth two nearly worn-out frocks and 
 caps. 
 
 '^ No, they be'nt at the wash," said the 
 incorrigible younger girl; " mammy took 'em 
 all with her to Lon'on to sell ; the cross man 
 made her." 
 
 '^ It's no such a thing !" exclaimed the elder, 
 looking much embarrassed; ^' they're all at the 
 wash."
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 201 
 
 I took the poor and much neglected child, 
 and, having performed the necessary and long- 
 disused ablutions, dressed it as well as I could, 
 this being my first attempt at any operation 
 of the kind. Then, having sent one of the 
 footmen for some Naples biscuits and milk, 1 
 succeeded in making a little panada, which the 
 poor little fellow eagerly devoured. Wrapt 
 in my shawl, and sleeping nearly all the time 
 on my bosom, I brought the dear infant to 
 London ; and, when he opened his eyes, I 
 was repaid, amply repaid, by a smile, and 
 the quiescence with which I was permitted to 
 kiss its pale mouth. 
 
 Lord Annandalc; although shocked at the 
 scene we had witnessed, appeared to forget his 
 own share in the culpable neglect of his child, 
 in the anger he betrayed against its wicked 
 nurse. He fancied, that, in allowing an unli- 
 mited sum for the support of his offspring, he 
 k2
 
 202 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 was doing all that was required ; never recol- 
 lecting, that his j^rofuseness encouraged the 
 cupidity of the designing impostor to whom he 
 confided it ; and who, charging for luxuries the 
 child never had, denied it the common com- 
 forts necessary for its preservation. 
 
 " You are very good to that poor little 
 animal," said Lord Annandale, (how the word 
 grated on my ears!) " hut pray don't kiss it 
 until it is purified from the disgusting atmos- 
 phere it has so lately left." 
 
 ^' I feel no disgust towards the dear infant," 
 answered I, coldly. 
 
 " Ay, that may he, but I do ; and I don't 
 wish to fancy your red lips and fair cheeks 
 associated in any ^vay with the impurities from 
 which we snatched him." 
 
 I cannot tell you, Mary, how the gross 
 selfishness of this speech shocked me. 
 
 I have had the nursery rendered as comfort-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 203 
 
 able as possible ; have secured a steady, re- 
 spectable woman as nurse, and bought a ward- 
 robe for my \ht\e protege. Already he begins 
 to look quite a different being ; and the doctor 
 1 have consulted for him says, the delicacy of 
 his health arose only from neglect. How 
 dreadful a subject for reflection! and yet, his 
 father seems unconscious of his most culpable 
 share in what might, and, as the doctor says, 
 would have occasioned his child's death. 
 
 The dear little fellow knows me perfectly, 
 evinces his joy when he sees me, by cooing, 
 and holding out his tiny hands ; and nestles 
 his head in my bosom when they want to re- 
 move him from me. / can now look with less 
 sadness on his dead mother's portrait ; and I 
 could almost fancy it also looked less sad. It 
 is soothing to have something to love, some 
 creature that depends on one for its happiness. 
 This helpless innocent almost reconciles me to
 
 204 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 a destiny that will henceforth serve to render 
 his less forlorn, and even a reflected happiness is 
 not to be undervalued. I have been spoiled at 
 home — home! dear and sacred name; how 
 many fond associations does it recall! Not 
 only did I form the source whence all the 
 felicity of my dear father and mother flowed, 
 but they, every hour, every moment, made me 
 sensible of this gratifying fact. Here I am lost, 
 confounded w4th the crowd, hardly sensible of 
 my own identity, now that it seems so little 
 essential to the enjoyment of those around me. 
 Lord Annandale's habits and pursuits have all 
 been so long formed, and without reference to 
 me, that I seem in no degree necessary to the 
 routine of his pleasures. Political and social 
 avocations fill up so much of his time, as to 
 leave little of it for domestic enjoyments, had 
 he a taste for such, which I know is not the 
 case. The feverish existence, so generally pur-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 205 
 
 sued here, is destructive to happiness. Mar- 
 ried people are rendered so wholly independent 
 of each other for society and companionship, that 
 it is not to be wondered at, if they often forget 
 the ties which bind, without attaching them. A 
 man of fashion, I really believe, marries merely 
 because a well-born and well-bred woman is 
 considered a necessary appendage to his estab- 
 lishment, to do the honours of his house, and 
 assist him in adding to its splendour. But a 
 belief that his happiness depends on her, no more 
 enters into his head, than if she stood in no near 
 and dear relation to him. She is not the con- 
 fident of his secret thoughts, the soother of his 
 troubles, or the sweetener of his hearth. No ! 
 she is an eligible person to share his dignities, 
 and help to sustain them. She wears his family 
 jewels, sits at the head of his table, gives 
 him an heir to his honours, is polite and 
 courteous to him and his friends, — and he is
 
 206 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 satisfied. Whether she is, or is not, he never 
 pauses to inquire. Nay, more, he would treat 
 any indication of discontent as proof of a very 
 unreasonable exigeance. What does she, what 
 can she, require? Has she not a brilliant 
 position ? This is the first essential in the 
 catalogue of necessaries for happiness, in the 
 estimation of the world in general, and of the 
 male part of it in particular. Yet who, with a 
 sensitive heart or elevated mind, ever attained 
 felicity in it, unaided by the domestic affec- 
 tions? As well might it be supposed, that, 
 because a woman is sparkling in diamonds 
 of an inestimable price, she is happy. The 
 brilliant position, like the glitter of the dia- 
 monds, is only seen by others ; the owner 
 beholds not the lustre, though she is conscious 
 of the w'eight. Has she not wealth to furnish 
 every object that taste or fancy can desire, or 
 luxury suggest? True; but did wealth ever
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 207 
 
 yet yield happiness, unless he with whom it is 
 shared gave zest to its enjoyment? As well 
 offer gold instead of bread to a starving wTetch 
 in a wdlderness, as imagine that riches can 
 satisfy a heart pining for affection and sympathy. 
 If I know myself, I think that, had I found 
 my husband's happiness depended at all on me, 
 I should have silenced the murmurs of my own 
 heart to administer peace to his ; but as it is — 
 yet will I not despair, yes, I will cling to this 
 new, this helpless object, that has none else 
 but me to protect or cherish him, and en- 
 deavour to forget, in his welfare, the selfish 
 regrets of a disappointed spirit. How happy 
 are you, dearest Mary, in having found a 
 partner for life w^iose purest source of enjoy- 
 ment you constitute, and to whom your per- 
 petual presence and soothing attentions are too 
 necessary not to render even a temporary de- 
 privation of them felt as a misfortune difficult
 
 208 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 to be borne, and their restoration impatiently 
 desired ! 
 
 Alas ! I fear I must pray not to become 
 your envious, instead of being, as now, your 
 aifectionate friend, 
 
 Augusta Annandale. 
 
 MISS MONTRESSOR TO THE MARQUISE 
 DE VILLEROI. 
 
 Me void, chcre amie, in London, that imagined 
 JEl dorado of spinsters ; where rich bachelors 
 float on the surface of society, as fish do in 
 rivers, to be caught by those who know how to 
 lure them. But, though they frequently rise 
 to the bait, and nibble sometimes, yet are 
 they rarely hooked. Whether their escape 
 proceeds from their wariness, or the unskil-
 
 THE VICTIMS *0F SOCIETY. 209 
 
 fulness of the augler, I have not yet had 
 time to ascertain ; but I mean to make the 
 experiment, and you shall hear the result. I 
 more than once feared, that, after all, I should 
 not come here ; madame ma tante had so many 
 scruples to be vanquished, and was so little dis- 
 posed to yield any of them to my reasoning 
 powers, of which, entre nous, she appears to 
 entertain no very exalted opinion. I console 
 myself for her humiliating depreciation of me, 
 by the recollection, that in proportion to the 
 obtuseness of the mind acted upon, is the want o. 
 perception of the ability, of the agency, brought 
 to bear against it. It is thus that our vanity 
 offers a salve to the wounds inflicted on it. My 
 aunt thought, forsooth, that Lady Annandale 
 was too young to be a prudent chaperon for 
 me. I ventured to suggest that I was old 
 enough to be a prudent chaperon for her. 
 This retort only produced a portentous shake
 
 210 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 of the head, and a, — "I fear, Caroline, you 
 have adopted habits and sentiments on the 
 Continent totally at variance with our English 
 notions of propriety ; notions that render you 
 a very unfit friend for one who ought to 
 be wholly, purely English." 
 
 " But, ma chere tante " 
 
 " Call me aunt, in good plain English, 
 Caroline ; for your French aunts seem to me 
 to be very like comedy aunts, only brought on 
 the stage to be duped or ridiculed, or both." 
 
 " Well, my dear aunt, in sober, sad English, 
 why should you suppose that the feelings and 
 notions on the Continent are at variance with 
 those of Eng^land ? " 
 
 " Because I have seen and heard of conduct 
 in foreigners that I consider most objection- 
 able ; yet which, amongst them, excited no 
 censure." 
 
 " That is to say, aunt, you heard no ill-
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. ' 
 
 natured animadversions on it. The tale was 
 not whispered in every society, with all the 
 exaggerations that malice can lend, until nearly 
 the whole story was changed, as would have 
 been the case in England." 
 
 '^ Caroline, your depreciation of your own 
 country is neither honourable to your judgment 
 nor to your patriotism." 
 
 '* And have you seen or heard of no conduct 
 in English people that you considered most re- 
 prehensible ? " 
 
 '^ Examples of such may exist, I grant ; but 
 they never fail to excite universal censure." 
 
 " Granted, my dear aunt; for the English 
 are a very censorious nation. They love scan- 
 dal as people do snufif : it excites them : but, 
 when they have winked away, and whispered, 
 and read away, in the scandal- vending papers, 
 the reputations of half, if not all their friends, 
 do they break off from them, and leave them
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 212 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 alone, not in their glory, but in their notoriety ? 
 No such thing. They discover that poor Lady 
 
 C had a very foolish husband, who never 
 
 looked sufficiently strictly after her ; and, there- 
 fore, she was more to be pitied than blamed for 
 that disagreeable affair : this same said Lady 
 
 C having a generous, confiding husband, 
 
 who, believing in her protestations of affection 
 for him, never dreamed of her liking another, 
 until her guilt was made universally known. 
 He is generally censured : ' he ought to have 
 suspected,' — ' he must have known,' — ' he 
 was greatly to blame,' say all the world. And 
 for what? that he loved, and trusted his wife. 
 
 Then Lady D , how deplorable her fate ! 
 
 With such a jealous, suspicious husband, was 
 it to be wondered at that the poor, dear soul 
 
 fell into that sad scrape? Lord D was 
 
 wholly in fault. If men will be so jealous, sus- 
 picious, and severe, they must put up with the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 213 
 
 consequences. Lord D is universally cen* 
 
 sured because he did look after his wife, yet 
 could not save her; and this is the justice of 
 society. Lady E , whose bad conduct ad- 
 mits of no doubt, is found to be a most injured 
 woman, because her husband is suspected of 
 
 having liked Lady F ; as if an error in the 
 
 husband's conduct could excuse that of the wife ! 
 The English can no more dispense with the 
 scandalous papers on the Sabbath, than they 
 can with going to church. One is, perhaps, 
 considered a fit preparation for the other ; for, 
 as we are commanded to pray for all sinners, it 
 is as well to know them, and their whereabout, 
 en detail.'' 
 
 ^' Caroline, Caroline, this is a very im- 
 proper mode of talking." 
 
 " A very improper mode of acting, I think 
 you ought to say, my dear aunt. Now, on 
 the Continent, there are no scandalous papers ;
 
 214 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 no trials in the courts of law, to offer a boyius 
 to the malice of discharged domestics, or to 
 enable husbands to put into their purses the 
 valuation affixed to the honour of their wives. 
 Scandal is not there considered a necessary 
 stimulant to the daily food, and ahnost as indis- 
 pensable ; the consequence of which is, that, 
 if there exists as much immorality on the Con- 
 tinent, the proofs of it, with all the disgusting- 
 details, are not obtruded, to shock the old, 
 and corrupt the young. And this, surely, is 
 an advantage gained." 
 
 " I deny it, Caroline. As well might you 
 assert, that, if a contagious disease is making 
 its ravages unseen and unsuspected, it is less 
 dangerous to a community, than when it is 
 made known, and people are warned to avoid 
 it." 
 
 " Then you, aunt, approve the trials to 
 which I refer?"
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 2J5 
 
 '^ I must always, on general principles, 
 approve a salutary severity, while I deplore 
 its necessity. If an incurable gangrene attack 
 a limb, I should advise its amputation : on the 
 same system I should counsel a similar treat- 
 ment of those members of the moral body, 
 that I sanctioned in the physical one." 
 
 " Then you approve the odious exposures 
 of conjugal infidelity?" 
 
 *^ The trials that too frequently occui' in 
 England, and on which you, Caroline, have 
 commented wnth a degree of freedom and flip- 
 pancy habitual only to women who have lived 
 long out of this country, have one great moral 
 effect which those who take a superficial viev/ 
 of the subject may overlook. I refer to the 
 publicity and revolting details that accompany 
 them ; which are so appalling, that it is easy to 
 believe, that the terror they inspire may have 
 served to deter many a woman from conduct
 
 216 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 that might lead to such a result. A sense of 
 shame is so inherent in the female heart, in 
 which Providence, for its own wise purposes, 
 has implanted it, that it often operates in en- 
 abling women successfully to combat and over- 
 come a passion that might have triumphed 
 over virtue. You may remember it is recorded 
 that when suicides became so frequent amono^ 
 our sex, that numbers were every day com- 
 mitted, the only effectual mode found for ar- 
 resting them, was by the enactment of a law, 
 decreeing, that the persons of all women guilty 
 of this fearful crime were to be publicly ex- 
 posed. The sense of modesty and shame, 
 stronger than the fear of death in woman's 
 heart, stopped the mania. Are not the trials 
 you alluded to, Caroline, a more shocking ex- 
 posure? and may we not believe them to be 
 an equally salutary preventive of crime ? " 
 
 " But do you not think, aunt, that a bus-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 217 
 
 band ought to shew some lenity to his wife, 
 though she may have erred ? " 
 
 *' Why, surely, you could not expect a 
 man of honour to sit tamely down with a 
 wife who had violated hers? By so doing, 
 he would become the tacit sanctioner of her 
 guilt, and permit her pernicious example to 
 sully the morals of his children." 
 
 " Will the exposure of her crime, with all 
 its loathsome details, serve to preserve their 
 morals, aunt?" 
 
 '^ Guilt punished is always less dangerous, 
 as an example, than guilt tolerated." 
 
 " Casuists might pronounce otherwise, 
 aunt." 
 
 "I am no casuist, and wish you were less 
 of one. But I repeat, that you have imbibed 
 most erroneous opinions — all that you have 
 now been stating is so wholly in contradic- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 tion to English feelings and notions, that 
 I must again assert, that I consider you a 
 very ineligible companion for so young, and 
 inexperienced a person as Lady Annandale." 
 I give you this stupid dialogue between 
 my aunt and me, that you may enter into some 
 of the peculiar characteristics of the English ; 
 one of which is, to believe themselves the 
 most moral people in the world, while society 
 teems with scandalous anecdotes, which, if 
 only a quarter of them are true, would prove 
 some portion of the upper classes to be the 
 least moral in the world. Mr. So-and-So is 
 openly talked of as the lover of Lady So-and- 
 So, and invited wherever she visits. Many 
 mothers would not hesitate to let her cha- 
 peron their daughters, and, if spoken to on 
 the subject, would answer, — " Oh, yes, it is per- 
 fectly true ; people do say very shocking things
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 219 
 
 about poor Lady So-and-So ; but everybody 
 receives her, and she gives such pleasant par- 
 ties, and is such a nice person." 
 
 My dear compatriots are content to display 
 their pretensions to morality, by censuring all 
 who depart from its rules, rather than by an 
 adherence to those rules themselves. And, hav- 
 ing censured, they, like good mothers, receive 
 back to their bosoms the children they have 
 whipped, but not amended. Enough, how- 
 ever, of the English, en masse, for the present. 
 
 Now, for my friend Lady Annandale, who is 
 the strangest person imaginable. Only fancy, 
 she has taken it into her eccentric little head 
 to conceive quite a passion for a pale sickly 
 child of her husband's, eighteen months old ; 
 and as disagreeable as all children are at that 
 age. Le mari, pauvre homme, seems quite flat- 
 tered, though not a little emMtt, by this caprice 
 of his wife's ; which, with the usual vanity
 
 220 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 peculiar to his sex, he attributes to her affec- 
 tion for him. She spends whole hours playing 
 with and caressing this unhealthy little thing, 
 and never seems so happy as when in its 
 company. The evening I arrived, I found a 
 chosen few of the tlite of Annandale's friends 
 were to dine here ; but, judge of my agreeable 
 surprise, when I saw the comtesse, notre com- 
 fesse, of Hohenlinden, enter. I had not written 
 to apprise her of my intention of coming, so 
 that she was as much surprised at the rencontre 
 as I was. It was the first time of her seeing 
 Lady Annandale; and she positively stood 
 immovable for a minute, so much was she 
 struck by her extraordinary loveliness. If I 
 can judge by the human countenance of what 
 is passing within, I should say she was more 
 astonished than delighted at the blaze of 
 beauty that broke upon her ; though she 
 quickly recovered her presence despritf and.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 221 
 
 embracing Lady Annandale a la Francaise, 
 said she hoped that, as an old friend of Lord 
 Annandale, and a still older friend of la 
 cMrie Caroline Mon Tresor, as she always 
 calls me, la belle Lady Annandale would not 
 consider her a stranger. The glance — half 
 menace, half reproach — which sa seigneurie 
 bestowed on Annandale, when she thought 
 herself unobserved, unfolded their whole posi- 
 tion, past and present, to me, as fully as if 
 it had all been written in legible characters : 
 and it was comical to see him, in order to 
 conciliate la comtesse, looking as compunc- 
 tious as possible for having wedded a lovely 
 woman. 
 
 It strikes me that Lady Annandale is more 
 beautiful than ever, and I can already perceive 
 that she creates a wonderful sensation here. 
 I can also perceive that madame la comtesse 
 has been the love of Annandale, who has per-
 
 222 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 saaded her, I'll be sworn, that his marriage 
 was one of convenance ; and she, who has 
 vanity enough to believe all that administers 
 to its gratification, has taken his statement 
 au pied de la lettre. I fancy her saying to 
 her friends, '^ ce pauvre cher Annandale: il 
 madore toujours, mais il est force de se 
 marierj pauvre homme ! Comme cela doit le 
 chagriner ! elle nest pas du tout jolie. II rna 
 avoue, enjin, quelle est bien laide^ mais tres 
 riche." Don't you fancy her repeating this 
 to all her coterie — and then, the brilliant 
 beauty of Lady Annandale breaking on her 
 without any preparation ! I would not be 
 milord at the next interview for something ; 
 as notre frau graf'inn is apt to be energetic 
 in her demonstrations of dissatisfaction, when 
 deceived by any of her adorers. 
 
 She has not grown younger since we saw 
 her last ; au contraire, she looks haggard, and
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 223 
 
 fame; but, all that she loses in natural 
 charms she endeavours to supply by artificial 
 substitutes, and resembles a piece of mosaic 
 well put together. I, rather spitefully, talked 
 of some of her admirers at Vienna ; and in 
 that tone of badinage in which you have 
 sometimes flattered me I excel. She looked 
 abashed ; for she has, I conclude, been per- 
 suading Annandale that he alone has ever 
 stood high in her good graces. I can per- 
 ceive that it is the fashion attached to her 
 position, and not her charms, which has won 
 his homage ; but this is not a rare occur- 
 rence here, Englishmen being more vain of 
 the preference of a dame a la mode, however 
 plain, than of that of the most perfect beauty 
 who is not en vogue. What a contrast is there 
 between the young and blooming Augusta, with 
 her sylph-like figure, graceful movements, and
 
 224 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 sparkling countenance, and this mature Teu- 
 tonic Calypso! 
 
 La comtesse affects a grande tendresse for 
 me; so I conclude that she wishes to make 
 use of me in some way or other : we 
 shall see, by and by. The laissez-aller of her 
 manners seemed to astonish more than please 
 Lady Annandale, who drew up with an air 
 of offended dignity, very like that usually 
 resorted to, on similar occasions, by her prud- 
 ish friend, Lady Delaward. Notre frau 
 grafinn was, however, quite insensible to this 
 assumption of matronly decorum; — she re- 
 gards as little as ever the opinions which 
 others may entertain respecting her. I think, 
 that to this open and contemptuous indiffer- 
 ence as to whether she conciliates their esteem, 
 or respects their prejudices, she owes her popu- 
 larity with my compatriots ; who are, in gene-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 225 
 
 ral, prone to yield their suffrages to those 
 candidates who appear the least eager to obtain 
 them. Of that unreformed borough, " good 
 society," the most effective members are often 
 those who are most independent of the elect- 
 ors. La comtesse is, consequently, at the head 
 of the most fashionable, if not reputable, circle. 
 Pleasure is the order of the day, which they 
 enter into, here, with a business-like sort of 
 perseverance in the pursuit, that proves they 
 have indefatigable energies, if not wisdom. 
 Amusement (as our social efforts to repel the 
 enemy ennui are conventionally denominated), 
 which on the Continent is partaken of gaily 
 and airily, is here a very serious affair ; and 
 laboriously occupies the attention of those who, 
 in place of abandoning themselves to it with 
 the cheerfulness of foreigners, pursue it, much 
 as sportsmen do a fox, with no little risk, and 
 still less enjoyment. 
 
 l2
 
 226 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 But, on all these subjects, I shall soon be 
 able to make you aufait, as I intend to study 
 them, con amore, and give you the benefit of 
 my observation. Adieu, chtre amie ; dites mille 
 choses pour moi au marquis. 
 
 Voire Caroline. 
 
 THE MARQUESS OF NOTTINGHAM TO 
 EDWARD MORDAUNT, ESQ. 
 
 I LEFT the Delawards with regret, and arrived 
 here, three days ago. I found all London, 
 by which I mean the clubs and society, 
 raving of the beauty of Lady Annandale, qui 
 fait fureur. I attended the drawing - room 
 yesterday, and saw her presented. Every 
 eye w^as upon her, and every tongue loud in 
 her praise ; that is, every male tongue ; for 
 the ladies wondered what induced people to 
 make such a fuss about her — they saw nothing
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 227 
 
 SO very wonderful in her. Miss Montressor 
 was also presented; and, had she not been 
 near Lady Annandale, would have been ad- 
 mired, for she looked extremely well. To the 
 generality of persons she must appear a very 
 handsome woman. Her figure is graceful and 
 symmetrical, and her features peculiarly regu- 
 lar and distingue: but the expression of her 
 countenance is to me extremely disagreeable ; 
 for it has that hardness which belongs exclusive- 
 ly to persons whose thoughts have never risen 
 above the passions and feelings of the worldly 
 minded and calculating ; a character quite the 
 reverse of what I like to see in a female face. 
 Miss Montressor seems perfectly aware of the 
 value of all the advantages she possesses in 
 her present position, and determined to avail 
 herself to the utmost of them. She affects 
 to treat Lady Annandale as a spoiled child 
 over whom she has unbounded influence, and
 
 228 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Annandale, as a chosen friend. From the good 
 understanding that seems to subsist between 
 Lady Annandale and her, I conclude that she 
 has contrived to exculpate herself from the 
 charge made against her honour. To effect 
 this was easy, with so unexperienced a person 
 as Lady Annandale, who would be likely to 
 redouble her kindness towards her, if led to 
 believe her unjustly accused. Her intimacy 
 with the Comtesse Hohenlinden offers an ex- 
 cuse for drawing that lady perpetually to Lady 
 Annandale's, whom she votes her amie de 
 c(£ur, a title to which Annandale is much 
 better entitled. 
 
 Last night there was a brilliant reception 
 at Delafield House ; and again, Lady Annan- 
 dale shone the brightest star of the evening. 
 1 had no idea of the beauty of this lovely crea- 
 ture until I saw her on this occasion ; for, in 
 the country, during the three days I passed be-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 229 
 
 neath the same roof with her, she was so triste 
 and abstracted, her eyes so dimmed by tears, 
 and her cheeks so pale, that, though I was 
 conscious that she was beautiful in spite of all 
 these counteracting circumstances, still I was 
 not prepared for the blaze of loveliness which 
 she presented on the evening to which I am 
 now referring. 
 
 She displays a degree of kindness, indeed 
 I might say cordiality, towards me, that is 
 very agreeable, and would be extremely flat- 
 tering if I could attribute even a portion of 
 it to any implied sense of my own merit; 
 but I know I owe it to the favourable opi- 
 nion the Delawards are so kind as to enter- 
 tain of me, and the good-natured commend- 
 ations of Lord and Lady Vernon, who overrate 
 the attention I paid them in the country. An- 
 nandale has solicited me to conduct his wife 
 through the routs and soirees when we meet,
 
 230 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 while he divides his attentions between the 
 Comtesse Hohenlinden, and Miss Montressor. 
 He is elated at the sensation Lady Annandale 
 has created ; and more than ever a slave to 
 that artificial world, to which the possession 
 of a treasure such as that he owns ought to 
 render him utterly indifferent. 
 
 I was interrupted yesterday before I had 
 time to finish this dull epistle ; and now re- 
 sume my pen to add a few lines. I dined 
 yesterday at Annandale's, with only a few per- 
 sons of haut ton; consisting of ladies whose 
 reputation are more fashionable than respect- 
 able, and of men whose morality is of that 
 stamp which renders them the last persons a 
 sensible person would select as his guests at 
 a table where so young and lovely a woman 
 presided. The Comtesse Hohenlinden came in 
 the evening, followed by some of her adorers, 
 whose attentions to her were marked rather
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 231 
 
 by warmth than respect. Her demoralisiug 
 example seems to have withdrawn all reserve 
 from the ladies who form her coterie, for each 
 was occupied exclusively by the favourite beau 
 of the season. In short, " lovers were all 
 they ought to be, and husbands not the least 
 alarmed." Lady Annandale was the only 
 woman in the room ignorant of the exact 
 relative positions of all the parties ; but Miss 
 Montressor penetrated the whole at a glance, 
 as I could perceive by the significant looks she 
 exchanged with the comtesse. 
 
 Already has Lady Annandale become the 
 object of marked attention of more than one 
 of the young routs of fashion who hover round 
 her, mingling compliments on her beauty 
 with piquant anecdotes of most of the ladies 
 present. 
 
 " Observe," said Lord Henry Mercer, " how 
 angry Lady Harlestone looks : she is jealous
 
 232 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 of the Comtesse Hohenlinden, with whom she 
 has discovered Charles Fitzhardinge has been 
 flirting during her absence at Paris." 
 
 " And what right has she to be jealous of 
 that?" asked Lady Annandale, looking as 
 guileless and as innocent as — she is. 
 
 This question produced a smile from Lord 
 Henry, who answered it by saying, " Your 
 ladyship is the only person in London, or, at 
 least, in our circle, that could require to be 
 informed why ; for every one knows that 
 Charles Fitzhardinge has been the adorer of 
 Lady Harlestone ever since she gave George 
 Seymour his conge.'' 
 
 " Oh ! I thought Lady Harlestone was a 
 married woman," replied Lady Annandale, 
 with ndivetL 
 
 This produced more than a smile, for the 
 two coxcombs who heard it laughed down- 
 right.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 233 
 
 '^ And what does your ladyship suppose 
 she now is?" asked Lord Henry. 
 
 ^' A widow, of course," was the answer. 
 
 This gave rise to another laugh, and Lady 
 Annandale appeared embarrassed. I changed 
 the subject, and engaged her in a conversa- 
 tion relative to the Delawards, and her father 
 and mother — two themes that never fail to 
 interest her sufficiently to withdraw her at- 
 tention from all others ; and the two beaux 
 walked away, voting, I dare be sworn, Lady 
 Annandale a fool, or, at least, not far removed 
 from that condition. I saw them go to the 
 Comtesse Hohenlinden ; and, from her laughter, 
 and the looks cast at Lady Annandale, they 
 were, I am sure, relating to her the simplicity, 
 or, as they would most probably term it, the 
 httise, de la beautt. 
 
 The comtesse, with that vanity and spirit 
 of coquetry which characterise her, appears
 
 234 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 now determined to exhibit Annandale as being 
 more than ever the slave of her charms. 
 She thinks that this is the only way of prov- 
 ing their power to the world ; and she goes 
 about hanging on his arm, and positively 
 affecting to display the tejidresse she affiches 
 him to entertain for her. His vanity is quite 
 equal to hers ; and, to have the credit of 
 making her dismiss one or two of the pretend- 
 ers to her favour, he is capable of compromis- 
 ing himself, and behaving ill to Lady Annan- 
 dale. Already he presumes to treat her with 
 a nonchalance which, if it does not amount to 
 ill-breeding, is, at least, far removed from that 
 respectful attention which every man owes to 
 his wife ; and, short as has been their stjour 
 in town, people already begin to comment on 
 his being what they call " so fashionable " a 
 husband. 
 
 An observation of Lady Annandale had
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 235 
 
 SO much innocence in it, that I was glad no 
 one heard it but myself, conscious as I am of 
 the evil interpretations to which it would sub- 
 ject her. 
 
 " I scarcely know the persons around me," 
 said she. " How happy they all seem, and 
 how deeply occupied with each other ! It is 
 pleasant to see married people so much at- 
 tached ; though, I confess, I prefer witnessing 
 that delicate and respectful attention which 
 distinguishes Lord Delaward's manner towards 
 his wife, to the familiarity, affectionate as it 
 appears, of the gentlemen around us, to 
 theirs. And yet it surprises me, too ; for 
 Lord Annandale told me, that in society it 
 was not customary for men to sit by their 
 wives, or to walk about with them, but the 
 persons around us never quit each other." 
 
 If this innocent speech were promulgated. 
 Lady Annandale would be ridiculed by every
 
 236 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 man and woman of fashion, and set down as 
 a perfect imbecile : you would judge differ- 
 ently, as does your friend, 
 
 Nottingham. 
 
 FROM LA MARQUISE DE VILLEROI TO 
 MISS MONTRESSOR. 
 
 You ask me for news, chere Caroline, but you 
 forget that news, like money, is not always 
 forthcoming when demanded. Have you never 
 observed how blank people look when either is 
 required of them ? Such is now my case, as 
 yonder mirror, on which my eyes have just 
 glanced, par hasard, assured me. Voyons ! what 
 shall I tell you 1 Conspiracies are so common, 
 that they cease to interest any but the plotters, 
 the plotted against, and the police ; changes of 
 ministry few care about, except les agents de 
 change ; et quant aux modes, Herbault tells
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 237 
 
 me, they arrive in London three days after 
 they see the light here. 
 
 En vtrite, I know nothing worthy of re- 
 petition, unless it be an occurrence which has 
 recently excited the attention of all the salons 
 in Paris. People talk of nothing else, and 
 half-a-dozen versions, at least, are given of it. 
 It is rather a long affair ; but, as it has its 
 points of interest, I think I will undertake its 
 narration, and endeavour to serve it up to 
 you in the regular " Contes Moraux'' style. 
 
 You did not, I believe, know Monsieur 
 and Madame de St. Armand. Yet you must 
 have seen them, too, as they visited at some 
 of the houses of our acquaintance, and the 
 heroine of the histoire was too handsome not 
 to be remarked. But, to my story. Once upon 
 a time, then, the said Monsieur et Madame de 
 St. Armand were considered a juvenile Baucis 
 and Philemon, and were cited by all who
 
 238 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 knew them as one of the happiest couples in 
 Paris. Their affection, and the good under- 
 standing subsisting between them, were in- 
 variably quoted as examples in every menage ; 
 (what a pity, par parenthese, it is, that people 
 are more prone to quote good examples, than to 
 follow them ! riest-ce pas ?) ! and though Jules 
 de St. Armand's uxoriousness, and deference 
 to his wife's opinions, were sometimes ridiculed 
 by the Benedicts of his circle, or the garfons 
 who boasted their freedom from female in- 
 fluence, still it seemed generally allowed that 
 he was as happy as even the most attached 
 of his friends could desire him to be. 
 
 Jules and Alicia de St. Armand had been 
 married two years at the period to which I am 
 now referring. Their union had arisen solely 
 in affection, and the time which had elapsed 
 since its occurrence had only served to in- 
 crease their mutual attachment. To great
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 239 
 
 personal beauty, both joined considerable 
 talents; consequently, tliey were eminently 
 calculated to shine in the reunions of the 
 circle to which they belonged ; but they found 
 themselves so happy in the home which their 
 love embellished, that they scarcely ever volun- 
 tarily entered into society. 
 
 Every husband who thought his wife too 
 fond of balls and soirees, dwelt, with warm 
 commendations, upon the domestic taste and 
 habits of Madame de St. Armand ; and every 
 wife who felt dissatisfied with the dissipation 
 of her caro sposo, quoted M. de St. Armand 
 as a model for husbands. The natural con- 
 sequences ensued. The wives with propen- 
 sities to gaiety began to look with aversion 
 on Alicia; and those husbands who liked all 
 other places better than home quickly con- 
 ceived an unfriendly sentiment towards Jules. 
 This antipathy, however, might have been as
 
 240 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 transitory as it was sudden, had it not been 
 increased and established by the imprudent 
 and enthusiastic praises of the friends and 
 relatives of the exemplary couple. 
 
 And now, more than one married helle, 
 who was to be seen continually at all public 
 places, and rarely chez elle, was heard to ob- 
 serve, that it was quite ridiculous in Madame 
 de St. Armand to set herself up to be wiser 
 and happier than her neighbours ; and that 
 such an attempt could only be made in the 
 peevish vanity of seeking to oppose and 
 displease all her friends and acquaintance. 
 Several of the men, too, who found more 
 attractions in other women than in their own 
 wives, spoke with affected contempt of St. 
 Armand's hypocritical assumption of the role 
 of a pattern husband, and of his ostentatious 
 abandonment of society to act le hon marl at 
 home. To pretend to be better than one's
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 241 
 
 acquaintance, is always considered as a piece 
 of impertinence that demands correction ; but 
 to pretend to be happier, is an offence never 
 pardoned. Mari et femme were viewed as 
 thus offending, and those who so considered 
 them determined on avenging themselves. 
 
 Little did the St. Armands imagine that, 
 while they w^ere enjoying the pure happiness 
 which congenial minds experience in a do- 
 mestic life, their tranquil felicity and retired 
 habits were exciting the hatred of those whom 
 they had never injured. Had this fact been 
 communicated to them, they would have dis- 
 believed it; for both were unacquainted with 
 the ill-nature of worldly minds, and the wanton 
 and atrocious calumnies which the spirit of 
 rancour engenders. 
 
 The rarity of Madame de St. Armand's 
 appearance in society rendered her beauty 
 still more impressive whenever she was seen ; 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 and even women who were, perhaps, really 
 lovelier, ceased to attract their wonted degree 
 of admiration when she was present ; solely 
 because the beholders were habituated to their 
 charms, while hers were invested with all the 
 additional grace of novelty. This success only 
 increased the acerbity of those who were 
 already but too well inclined to be hostile to 
 her, and they anxiously awaited an opportunity 
 of injuring and humiliating her. 
 
 At this period a ball was given by an aunt 
 of M. de St. Armand, at which she insisted 
 that my conjugal and exem.plary pair should 
 attend. Aware of this circumstance, some of 
 the most mischievous of their acquaintance 
 hoped to profit by it, and to arrange a plot 
 which would occasion them dissension and 
 mortification. 
 
 A M. de Melfort had been an unsuccessful 
 suitor for the hand of Alicia St. Armand, the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 243 
 
 year previously to her union with Jules ; and 
 had felt so much grieved by her rejection of 
 him, that he fled to Italy, whence he only 
 returned a few days prior to the celebration of 
 the memorable ball to which I have been 
 alluding. His return had revived the recol- 
 lection of his former attachment, and people 
 wondered whether he could behold his former 
 flame, now a wedded dame, without emotion ; 
 while others were equally anxious to learn 
 how St. Armand would treat his wife's former 
 admirer. 
 
 A few of the most malicious of the ladies 
 who bore my unlucky heroine so much ill-will, 
 were assembled in the boudoir of one of the 
 clique, two days before the intended fke; 
 when, the subject of M. de Melfort's return 
 having been introduced, Madame de Chatan- 
 nes proposed to mystify ^ as she designated her 
 insidious project, ''the affected prude;" and
 
 244 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 another, equally spiteful, suggested the practice 
 of a similar mystification with regard to M. de 
 St. Arm and. 
 
 Various were the plans furnished by each 
 of the ladies, who displayed a most laudable 
 invention and rivalry on the occasion. At 
 length, it was agreed that Madame Fontan- 
 ges, who was chosen on account of her not 
 being an acquaintance of the St. Armands, 
 should be the person to put the following 
 plot into execution. 
 
 This lady was to narrowly watch my hero 
 and heroine ; and, in case of their being sepa- 
 rated during the ball, she was to approach close 
 to Alicia, and, after asking an accomplice 
 to point out to her Madame de St. Armand, 
 to state that she experienced for her the 
 utmost interest and pity, in consequence of 
 her discovery of the craft and falsity of M. 
 de St. Armand ; who, while basely pretend-
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 245 
 
 ing to only adore his unfortunate wife, was 
 the devoted lover of an artful and most 
 wicked person. This verbal poison w^as to be 
 delivered loud enough for Alicia to hear it ; 
 and, if it should produce the anticipated effect 
 upon her countenance, the skilful calumniator 
 was then to pass near the husband, and 
 observe how very embarrassed and agitated 
 Madame de St. Armand appeared, in conse- 
 quence of the presence of M. de Melfort, 
 for whom she evidently retained all her old 
 tendresse. 
 
 Can you not fancy the delight with which 
 this malicious clique would concoct this amiable 
 plan ? I think I can see them revelling in 
 all the ecstasy which the expectation of its 
 success would occasion them ; and experiencing 
 an almost insupportable impatience to inflict 
 a deadly wound upon the peace of two persons 
 who had never injured them, even in thought.
 
 246 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 Eight and forty hours elapsed, and the 
 evening of the ball arrived. Alicia and Jules 
 sat at their dessert ; and, as the wind whistled, 
 and the sleet beat against the windows, both 
 wished that they were not compelled to aban- 
 don their cheerful and happy fireside to mingle 
 in scenes whicli no longer possessed any at- 
 tractions for them. 
 
 " I never felt so reluctant to leave home, 
 dearest Jules," said Alicia, '^ as I do this 
 evening." 
 
 " And I, also," he replied, " would in- 
 finitely prefer the society of our own household 
 gods, and your comfortable bergtres, to my 
 aunt's splendid salons, and all her gay com- 
 pany. But, helas ! we must go; and you, 
 dearest, must do honour to the ball by wear- 
 ing your diamonds, the ornaments to which 
 I am least partial, because tliey are more cal- 
 culated to excite the admiration of others, than
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 247 
 
 that of a husband. Consequently, I am more 
 than half jealous of them — as I am, indeed, 
 of all jour grandes toilettes ; for, in my opinion, 
 they attract a too general attention. I like 
 you best, Alicia, in your simple home-dress 
 with the pink ribands (which I know are 
 worn to please me), and when no other eye 
 than mine can rest on your loveliness." 
 
 " And I, as you are w^ell aware," Alicia 
 replied, " dress only to please you, and am 
 regardless of all other approbation." 
 
 '^ Yet, I confess," resumed Jules, *' that, 
 when I see you the object of general admira- 
 tion, I have not philosophy enough to resist 
 feeling proud ; though I should be less satisfied 
 if you appeared elated by your triumph, for 
 I should be disposed to jealousy if you were 
 the least coquettishly inclined." 
 
 " No ! nothing could make me believe that 
 you could be jealous, dearest," said Alicia :
 
 248 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 " but I am not so confident of myself; for I 
 am sure that, if I saw you paying the same 
 attention to any woman that some of the 
 married men of our acquaintance do, I should 
 be very miserable." 
 
 x4s she thus spoke, an expression of serious- 
 ness, almost amounting to pain, stole over her 
 beautiful face. 
 
 " You will, then, never be miserable, dearest 
 Alicia," replied Jules, kissing her cheek ; *' for 
 I am as particular in my notions of what a 
 husband's conduct ought to be, as I am scru- 
 pulous about a wife's. But," he added, as he 
 looked at the penduhf *' it is time to begin 
 to dress. Would that the ball had ended, and 
 that we were returned, to find, as we always 
 do, that there is nothing like home." 
 
 You see, my dear Caroline, that I am at- 
 tempting to fulfil the promise which I made 
 in the commencement of my story ; and am
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 249 
 
 serving up to you my facts in a inost fiction- 
 like shape. But I am not sure that I have 7iot 
 some talent for scribbling ; and I am now, 
 therefore, resolved to determine my surmise. 
 
 Never did Madame de St. Armand look 
 more beautiful than on this evening ; and, as 
 I was present, I can give no dubious opinion 
 on the subject. While she passed through the 
 crowded suite of rooms, murmurs of appro- 
 bation followed her. Her husband enjoyed 
 the admiration she excited ; and, as his aunt 
 whispered into his ear that Alicia was the 
 most brilliant ornament of her salons, he 
 smiled a grateful assent. 
 
 The enemies of Madame de St. Armand 
 were, of course, rendered doubly malicious by 
 her pre-eminence ; and even the unaffected 
 modesty with which she seemed rather to shun 
 than to court admiration, added to their hostility. 
 
 Alicia was in conversation with a lady 
 M 2
 
 250 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 whom her aunt had presented to her, when 
 she heard her own name mentioned, and 
 Madame de Fontanges repeat the preconcerted 
 falsehood ; every syllable of which fell on her 
 ears as the death-knell of her happiness. She 
 turned pale as marble, and was seized with a 
 violent fit of trembling ; but the necessity of 
 concealing her emotion from her companion, 
 was still predominant in her mind. The effort, 
 however, to repress it, exceeded her strength ; 
 and she was almost sinking on the floor, when 
 St. Armand approached her, and, placing her 
 on a seat, sternly interrogated her as to the 
 cause of her indisposition. 
 
 Never before had a word or a look verging 
 upon severity been addressed to her by her 
 husband ; and the alteration in his manner 
 struck the silly girl as a sort of confirmation 
 of the statement she had heard. Her suffer- 
 ings and agitation, consequently, increased to
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 251 
 
 such a degree, that he was obliged to lead her 
 from the ball-room, to the delight and triumph 
 of her enemies, who had been gratified specta- 
 tors of the whole scene. 
 
 When Madame de Fontanges had poured 
 her venomed words into the ear of Madame 
 de St. Armand, she had sought her husband ; 
 and, turning her back towards him, repeated, 
 as if ignorant of his vicinity, the concocted 
 story relative to M. de Melfort's presence pro- 
 ducino; such intense ao;itation in Madame de 
 St. Armand. The credulous and suspicious 
 Jules, wounded to the heart by this imputation, 
 though still half discrediting it, hastily sought 
 his wife ; and found a seeming confirmation of 
 the calumny in her pallid face and disturbed 
 demeanour. 
 
 Her illness, which, on any other occasion, 
 would have excited in him the liveliest interest 
 and pity, and elicited the most tender demon-
 
 252 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 strations of tenderness, now only produced an 
 ungovernable rage ; every symptom of which 
 only served to corroborate, in the poisoned 
 mind of the foolish little dupe, the truth 
 of the statement she had heard. After a 
 long and violent paroxysm of tears, which 
 he witnessed with indignation, he demanded 
 of her ichom she had seen, and whose presence 
 had had the power to create in her so violent 
 an emotion. She replied that she had seen 
 no one whose presence was capable of pro- 
 ducing: such an effect. This answer made him 
 still more infuriated. 
 
 '^ Do you mean to affirm," he exclaimed, 
 with much violence, "■ that you have not be- 
 held M. de Melfort?'* 
 
 " Certainly not," she rejoined, much as- 
 tonished by the question. 
 
 Unhappily, however, Jules had observed 
 the object of his wrathful interrogation leaving
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 253 
 
 the part of the salon in which he had found 
 his wife ; and so near to her, that it seemed 
 impossible that she could not have seen him. 
 Consequently, believing that she was now 
 deliberately uttering a falsehood, the wrath of 
 the jealous creature became unbounded. Pai-- 
 tially, however, repressing its indulgence, he 
 withdrew from the ball-room : and conducted 
 her back to the home, the late happy home, 
 that, only two hours before, they had left with 
 unruffled minds and loving hearts. 
 
 They scarcely spoke during their drive, for 
 both were a prey to the most painful emo- 
 tions. Alicia wept with bitterness, as the past 
 returned to her memory in mournful contrast 
 with the altered present; and her tears and 
 sobs only served to increase the anger of her 
 excited husband. This violence prevented her 
 from repeating to him the conversation she 
 had overheard ; for his changed manner and
 
 254 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 unprecedented severity seemed to confirm the 
 fearful calumny ; and she shrank from the idea 
 of exposing her wounded feelings to one who 
 appeared only to regard her agony with vin- 
 dictive malice. 
 
 Both retired to sleepless pillows, tortured 
 by the fiend, jealousy, which now awoke in 
 their hearts for the first time, inflicting pangs 
 known only to those who have fondly loved 
 and trusted — and been betrayed. 
 
 But, I really believe, I am attempting the 
 sentimental! And my fingers ache, and my 
 eyes are blinded, and my head is dizzy, and I 
 have already disfigured enough paper to fill 
 the ambassador's bag, even if it were a sack : I 
 must, therefore, reserve for another letter the 
 continuation of my tale. Adieu then, chere 
 Caroline, and believe me, 
 
 Voire amie devouee, 
 Delphine, marquise de Villeroi.
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 255 
 
 FROM THE MARQUISE DE VILLEROI TO 
 MISS xMONTRESSOR. 
 
 Ma chere Caroline, — As I have not much 
 time or space to spare, I will resume my conte 
 moral without any prelude ; venturing to be- 
 lieve that you are under the influence of my 
 literary spell, and are dying to learn the cU- 
 noumeiit of the narrative which, I flatter my- 
 self, I have hitherto conducted and developed 
 with so much ability. 
 
 On the following morning, Alicia left her 
 couch pale and sufiering ; her eyes swollen with 
 tears and want of sleep, and her languid limbs 
 scarcely able to support her exhausted frame. 
 She hoped to find her husband more kindly 
 disposed towards her than the night before ; 
 and determined to communicate to him the 
 cause of the emotion which seemed to have 
 excited his anger.
 
 256 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 She repaired to him in the library ; but his 
 looks revealed even an increase of sullenness, 
 and the words of conciliation with which she 
 had proposed to greet him, instantly died on 
 her lips. 
 
 At this moment, a servant entered with 
 letters for them both ; when, for the first time 
 since their marriage, each was anxious to 
 watch the effect which the perusal would pro- 
 duce upon the other. Alicia, having looked 
 at the superscription of hers, and recognised 
 the hand of one of her female acquaintance, 
 laid it upon the table unopened ; and fixed 
 her scrutinising gaze on the countenance of 
 her husband, who seemed, however, totally 
 regardless of her observation, so intense was 
 the evidently painful interest which his letter 
 had instantly excited in him. He changed 
 colour, his eyes flashed with rage, and his livid 
 lips trembled convulsively, as he refolded the
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 257 
 
 mysterious source of this strange and sudden 
 paroxysm, and carefully deposited it in his 
 pocket. Then, turning to his perplexed and 
 agitated wife, he exclaimed, in a most angry 
 and imperious tone, — 
 
 " Why have you not read your letter? Is 
 it that you wish to reserve its contents for the 
 privacy of your own chamber ? " 
 
 " You, it appears," replied Alicia, mad- 
 dened by jealousy, " could not restrain your 
 impatience until an equally fitting opportu- 
 nity ; and the words of your correspondent, 
 whoever she may be, seem to have affected 
 yon to a degree which I should once have 
 deemed impossible." 
 
 Jules looked at her with indignation flash- 
 ing from every feature ; and, snatching up her 
 letter, sneeringly demanded whether she had 
 any objection to his perusal of it. Alicia
 
 258 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 promptly replied in the negative, somewhat 
 appeased by a request which she thought 
 would justify her in addressing a similar one 
 to him. 
 
 He tore open the seal ; but had not read 
 ten lines, before he franticly threw the trea- 
 cherous paper upon the table, and rushed 
 wildly from her presence ; leaving her both 
 astonished and terrified by his singular con- 
 duct. In the hope of resolving her doubts, 
 tremblingly and anxiously she seized the per- 
 nicious sheet which had produced such fatal 
 effects, and hurriedly read the following 
 " mystification :*' 
 
 " Ma dure amie, 
 
 " We were all au desespoir at your sud- 
 den indisposition last night ; but your old 
 adorer, M. de Melfort, was still more affected
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 259 
 
 than any of us ; another instance of fidelity, 
 which again proves the truth of the old song, 
 
 * Qu'on revient toujours 
 A ses premiers amours.' 
 
 ^' The poor man looked so disconsolate 
 when you withdrew, that we were compelled 
 in charity to do all we could to cheer him. 
 I hope that you are better to-day ; and that 
 you will always believe in the attachment of 
 ^' Your devoted friend, 
 
 *' Maria L'Estrange." 
 
 This note conveyed to Madame de St. Ar- 
 mand the first intimation of M. de Melfort's 
 return to France ; a circumstance, however, 
 which was so perfectly indifferent to her, that 
 she looked upon this announcement of it 
 merely as a mauvaise plaisanterle of Madame 
 de L'Estrange, a species of amusement in
 
 260 THE VICTIiMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 which that lady delighted. It was, however, 
 evident, that this foolish jest, as she sup- 
 posed it to be, had offended Jules ; and, gra- 
 tified at the idea that he still loved her suf- 
 ficiently to be jealous^ she left the room to 
 seek him, and avow all that had shocked and 
 grieved her during the last few hours. 
 
 He was nowhere to be found ; but, on the 
 table in her boudoir, she observed a twisted 
 billet containing a few hurried lines, stating 
 that he should not dine at home, and would 
 not return till very late. Poor Alicia burst 
 into tears while she perused this frigid an- 
 nouncement of an absence which would endure 
 for several hours. And where was he gone? 
 Jealousy answered the question, and darted its 
 fiery fangs to her heart, as the thought struck 
 her, that, even in that very moment, perhaps 
 he was with her rival, and lavishing upon 
 her those endearing affections which had been
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 261 
 
 hitherto all her own, and were the sole base 
 of her happiness. 
 
 She had half resolved to set forth in pur- 
 suit of him, when the recollection of her igno- 
 rance of both the person and abode of her 
 rival arrested her. Her rival ! what bitterness 
 was in the thought of this hateful person ! and 
 the gentle, the hitherto reasonable Alicia, who, 
 a few hours before, had never experienced an 
 angry passion, now felt her very temples burst- 
 ing, and her respiration impeded almost to 
 suffocation, by jealous rage and disappointed 
 affection. 
 
 At this moment, her femme de charge en- 
 tered, as was her usual custom, to present the 
 menu for dinner, and receive her mistress' 
 orders; when the agitated Madame St.Armand 
 was obliged to quell her emotions, and assume 
 an air of unconcern. 
 
 ^' I have prepared the soup, and the j^ou-
 
 262 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 larde au jus, for monsieur, as madame com- 
 manded yesterday," said the housekeeper; 
 " and I think it will please him." 
 
 These few words brought a train of reflec- 
 tions, now fraught with bitterness, to the mind 
 of Alicia. It was only the previous morning, 
 that, anxious to please her husband, she had 
 ordered his favourite pZ«^ for the dinner of the 
 following day. How happy did she feel in 
 expressing this desire ! and now, though but 
 so few hours had elapsed, what a dreadful 
 change had occurred in her position and sen- 
 timents, and what intensity of wretchedness 
 had she not endured in that brief interval! 
 
 She could scarcely assume sufficient com- 
 posure to tell the femme de charge that M. 
 St. Armand would not dine at home ; and that, 
 as she herself was rather unwell, she should 
 only require a little bouillon. The expression 
 of surprise in the woman's face awakened her
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 263 
 
 mistress to a sense of her indiscretion in avow- 
 ing her indisposition at the same moment that 
 she announced her husband's absence ; and 
 she felt embarrassed as she remarked the 
 curiosity which she appeared to have excited. 
 
 Who has not experienced the misery of 
 being compelled to assume an air of uncon- 
 cern in the presence of importunate visitors 
 or servants, when some painful contretems, 
 which we are necessitated to conceal, has oc- 
 curred ? In spite of, to adopt the expression 
 of one of your poets, " our matchless intre- 
 pidity of face," even you and I, ma clitre Caro- 
 line, have, ere now, endured this vexatious 
 species of trial with something very like dis- 
 composure, if not confusion. 
 
 Fancy, then, how such a sentimental crea- 
 ture as my heroine must have suffered under 
 those circumstances ; she who had never 
 hitherto been compelled to conceal her slight-
 
 264 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 est emotion. Yet now, while undergoing the 
 fiercest pangs of jealousy, which shook her 
 frame and agonised her heart, she had the ad- 
 ditional mortification of feeling that she and 
 her husband would become the subject of the 
 impertinent curiosity and remarks of their own 
 menials; a bitter and humiliating thought, 
 before which her pride and delicacy shrank 
 in sensitive alarm. 
 
 Do not accuse me of sentimentality, if I 
 observe that it is almost incredible how pain- 
 fully minor ills can make themselves felt, even 
 in the very moment when we are enduring 
 great and overwhelming afflictions. The power 
 of weeping in entire secrecy, all access de- 
 barred to prying curiosity, or coarse sympathy 
 which but aggravates the sorrow it would 
 sooth, is in itself a source of alleviation ; but 
 the necessity of wearing the semblance of tran- 
 quillity when the heart is breaking, to elude
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 265 
 
 the vigilant eye of plebeian inquisitiveness, is 
 alone a heavy suffering. 
 
 Remember this remark is made in my metier 
 of author ; and you must not consider it as at 
 all a representation of my own sentiments. 
 
 Every thing in the room when Alicia was 
 seated reminded her of Jules. All that it 
 contained were his gifts, and endeared to 
 her by a thousand fond recollections. The 
 book he had been reading to her the day 
 before, while she sat at her embroideiy, was 
 still on the table, with a mark upon it, to 
 indicate the place where he had terminated ; 
 and the bouquet he had brought to her, was 
 still fresh in the vase where he had placed 
 it. As her eye rested on each object indi- 
 cative of his tenderness, she asked herself, 
 whether it was possible that he could always 
 have been deceiving her; and that, while he 
 seemed to be only occupied in lavishing tokens 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 of affection on lier, he was in reality wholly 
 devoted to another? Her heart answered, No ! 
 Her feelings became softened by the recollec- 
 tion of all his delicate and incessant atten- 
 tions ; and she wept with much less bitterness 
 than before, as hope whispered, that he who 
 had hitherto so loved her, could not, in a few 
 brief hours, be permanently and irremediably 
 changed. 
 
 A letter was brought to her; and, for an 
 instant, her bosom throbbed with joy, as she 
 thought it might come from Jules, who, re- 
 penting of his severity, had written to acquaint 
 her with his altered feelings. But, alas! the 
 characters were not his; and, with indiffer- 
 ence, she then unfolded the sheet. 
 
 Soon, however, its contents engrossed her 
 liveliest attention. It was anonymous ; and it 
 stated that pity for her, and a desire of invest- 
 ing her with the power of reclaiming her
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 267 
 
 unfaithful husband, induced the writer to ad- 
 dress her. The attachment of M. St. Armand 
 for another had, the writer asserted, long been 
 notorious to his friends, who were of opinion 
 that his wife's ignorance on the subject stimu- 
 lated him to continue his vicious course. But, 
 were he once detected in his duplicity, repent- 
 ance and shame might induce him to lead an 
 altered life, and return to his domestic duties. 
 
 The anonymous writer added, that Mons. 
 St. Armand was to meet the object of his 
 affection that night, at the hal masque at the 
 Opera; and that the lady was to be dressed 
 in a pink domino, and was to stand close to 
 the orchestra, on the left side. At eleven 
 o'clock, she was to hold up a bouquet, which 
 was to be the signal, concerted between her 
 and her lover, of her emancipation from all 
 espionage, and that he was then immediately to 
 join her.
 
 268 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 The letter then stated, that if Madame 
 St. Armand, disguised in a similar way, sta- 
 tioned herself near the appointed spot, and 
 made the concerted signal, her husband would 
 approach, mistaking her for the object of his 
 passion ; when she might suffer him to con- 
 duct her to a box, and there, disclosing her- 
 self, overwhelm him with shame and con- 
 trition. 
 
 Various and violent were the conflicting 
 feelings that shook the frame of the jealous 
 and credulous Alicia while reading this artfnl 
 concoction of the malicious junta. Could she 
 venture to repair to such a scene of levity, 
 and place her husband in the humiliating- 
 position the writer recommended ? No ! she 
 would herself rather endure any agony, than 
 adopt so daring and unfeminine a course. 
 
 But then came the reflection, that, if she 
 disobeyed the information she had received,
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 269 
 
 her rival — her hateful, hated rival — would 
 meet her husband, would hang on his arm, and 
 tranquilly and happily listen to those expres- 
 sions of fascinating endearment to which she 
 alone was entitled ! This thought was omni- 
 potent ; and, maddened by jealous rage, she 
 resolved to adopt the advice of her unknown 
 correspondent. 
 
 Her determination became confirmed, as 
 she recollected how many times she had heard 
 her husband censure this licentious species of 
 amusement, and speak in terms of indignant 
 condemnation of those females who resorted 
 to it. 
 
 *' Yes," thought Alicia, with bitterness, 
 " he may well reprobate the attendance of 
 wives at such scenes. Their presence might 
 be very embarrassing to husbands such as he, 
 who, breaking through every tie of love and 
 duty, convert the immorality they so basely
 
 270 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 affect to loathe, into the means of sustaining 
 their intercourse with the infamous objects of 
 their guilty caprices. But /, too, will be 
 there ; and, at least, prevent him from meet- 
 ing the vile woman who has corrupted him. 
 Oh, God I that I should live to suffer this 
 indignity ! " 
 
 Her head throbbed, and her brain seemed 
 on fire. She was incapable of reflection ; for the 
 mingled passions of love and jealousy assumed 
 the entire dominion of her troubled mind, and 
 silenced every incipient whisper of reason. 
 
 Do not fancy this description too highly 
 coloured, Caroline ; for " I, too, was an Arca- 
 dian," — T once felt this, or something very 
 like it. But it was two months, not two years, 
 after my marriage. 
 
 She ordered her carriage, and drove to 
 a shop that furnished masks and dominoes ; 
 and, having procured one of the latter which
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 271 
 
 was exactly similar to that described in the 
 anonymous letter, she returned to her resi- 
 dence, trembling with impatience and anx- 
 iety to encounter her husband. 
 
 The letter which had produced so much 
 impression on Jules in the morning, was also 
 anonymous; and, under the plea of pity for 
 his position, as an injured and deceived hus- 
 band, informed him that Madame St. Ar- 
 mand had, the night before, promised her old 
 lover, M. de Melfort, that she would meet 
 him at the hal masque at the Opera, provided 
 she could elude the vigilance of her jealous 
 husband. The writer, therefore, cautioned 
 M. St. Armand, that, if he wished to preserve 
 his honour, he must not leave his wife's pre- 
 sence the whole of that day and night ; but, 
 if he preferred to detect her in her guilt, he 
 had only to plead an engagement abroad, and 
 proceed to the Opera House, where he would
 
 272 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 have ocular demonstration of her perfidy. The 
 dress Madame St. Armand was to wear was 
 accurately described ; but twelve o'clock was 
 the hour named for her meeting with her 
 lover. 
 
 The first impulse of the angry husband was 
 to charge his wife with her intended assigna- 
 tion ; but then came the recollection, that she 
 might as unblushingly deny this imputation, 
 as she had, the night before, denied that of 
 having seen M. de Melfort, though he him- 
 self had beheld him withdrawing from her pre- 
 sence. No ! he could no longer place reliance 
 on her veracity; and therefore it were fruit- 
 less to accuse her, and urge her to endeavour to 
 establish her innocence, when her asseverations 
 could be productive of no diminution of his 
 suspicions. 
 
 He next resolved to watch her narrowly, 
 during the whole day and evening, and thus
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 273 
 
 prevent her from leaving the house. But soon it 
 occurred to him — and jealous wrath instigated 
 the thought — that the better course would be to 
 detect her in the moment of meeting with her 
 lover; and spurn her at once from his home 
 and heart, instead of continuing to endure an 
 endless life of uncertaint}^ suspicion, and 
 misery. 
 
 The last feeling became ultimately pre- 
 dominant ; and, instigated by it, he left the 
 house, and concealed himself in a caft in the 
 vicinity, whence he could watch his own house. 
 No sooner, therefore, did his wife's carriage 
 issue from the gates, than he jumped into a 
 cabriolet, and followed in her path. He hoped 
 that she was going to visit some of her rela- 
 tions ; though her leaving home at all, after 
 the agitation and illness of the previous night, 
 their mutual coldness and petulance of the 
 n2
 
 274 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 morning, and their final separation in anger, 
 seemed a confirmation of his worst fears. 
 
 He was not long in suspense ; for her car- 
 riage shortly stopped at the door of a masque- 
 rade warehouse, where he saw her descend, 
 her face concealed in her veil, and her person 
 enveloped and disguised in a large mantle. 
 So ungovernable was his rage at this appa- 
 rent proof of her guilt, that he could scarcely 
 resist his desire to enter the shop and over- 
 whelm her with his reproaches. But, with a 
 violent eff'ort, he subdued the tempting impulse, 
 and resolved 
 
 But, ma chtre Caroline, I do not know 
 whether I shall ever communicate to you what 
 he did resolve. Here am I toiling like an 
 author in an attic to please you ; and I now 
 recollect that you have never yet told me that 
 you experience the slightest interest in my
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 275 
 
 labours. This assurance, however, I must 
 have, ere you receive another line from 
 
 Your affectionate friend, 
 
 Delphine, Marquise de Villeroi. 
 
 P.S. To bribe you into applauding me, and 
 into professing curiosity, even if you have not 
 yet entertained it, I must warn you, that the 
 best part of my tale is untold. You see I 
 already experience an author's vanity in my 
 vocation. 
 
 THE MARQUISE DE VILLEROI TO 
 MISS MONTRESSOR. 
 
 Ma chere Caroline, — Of course, I shall 
 believe your protestations : I find in myself 
 such an invincible craving for your approba-
 
 276 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 tion, that never was a person more disposed to 
 be duped. Resolving, therefore, to be con- 
 vinced that your profession of the interest 
 which my tale deserves, and has excited, &c., 
 is all pre-eminently sincere, I will now pro- 
 ceed to detail to you the catastrophe. 
 
 My last letter terminated with my an- 
 nouncement of Jules' formation of a resolution, 
 which, with truly literary tact, I piquantly 
 forbore to declare. This resolution, w^as to 
 master his present temptation to an imperfect 
 retribution; but, by postponing it, to render 
 it more thorough and complete. 
 
 In this determination, he entered the ware- 
 house as soon as his wife had left it ; and, 
 having provided himself with a mask and 
 domino, such as were described in the anony- 
 mous letter, he retired to a restaurant in the 
 vicinity of the Opera House ; there, to await, in
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 277 
 
 trembling impatience, the moment which was 
 to convict his wife of indelible guilt, and blight 
 eternally his own happiness. 
 
 Every softer feeling was banished from his 
 breast ; every recollection of past tenderness 
 only added to his rage, by compelling him to 
 contrast his present convictions of her falsity 
 and guilt, with his former notions of her purity 
 and innocence. How fondly, how madly had 
 he idolised her! and how many instances of 
 her devoted attachment, which, only a few 
 hours before, had they recurred to him, would 
 have been meditated on, and cherished with 
 transport and pride, were now only regarded 
 by him as proofs of her skilful artifice and 
 consummate treachery. 
 
 The envious and rancorous women who plan- 
 ned the savage plot which I have been detail- 
 ing, scarcely hoped that it could prove success- 
 ful. They feared that the timidity of Madame
 
 278 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 St. Armand's nature would preclude her, at 
 least, from going to the hal masque^ though 
 they expected that her husband might be 
 tempted to adopt their mischievous advice. 
 In order, therefore, that he, at all events, 
 might be imposed upon, they dressed the 
 femme de chamhre of one of the clique in a 
 pink domino, and instructed her to place her- 
 self near the orchestra at the appointed hour, 
 and give the concerted signal. 
 
 They also wrote an anonymous letter to 
 M. de Melfort, stating that a lady, who had 
 an important communication to make to him, 
 desired to meet him, at eleven o'olock, at the 
 hal masqut; concluding by repeating the in- 
 structions already detailed in the letter to 
 Madame St. Armand. 
 
 The hours that intervened between the 
 purchase of the domino and the moment for 
 assuming their disguise, seemed interminable
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 279 
 
 to the unhappy husband and wife. A hundred 
 times was Alicia about to abandon her intention, 
 as the dread and indecorum of exposing herself, 
 alone, in so vast and profligate an assembly, 
 arose to her imagination. But, then, the idea 
 that her absence would leave her hated rival 
 undisputed possession of her husband, again 
 maddened her, and determined her to execute 
 her plan, in defiance of all the feminine mis- 
 givings which still made her shrink from the 
 anticipation of the scene which she felt must 
 occur. 
 
 Soon her embarrassment was excited by 
 the thought, that her servants must be ac- 
 quainted with her visit to so disrej^utable a 
 place — and alone, too ; she, who never went 
 any where without her husband. 
 
 '^ But what avail now," thought the 
 wretched Alicia, " my fears of the condem- 
 nation of my own menials ? What signifies to
 
 280 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 me what the whole world may think, in com- 
 parison with the necessity of prevejiting Jules 
 from meeting that wicked woman ! " 
 
 The astonishment depicted on the counte- 
 nances of her domestics, when, at half-past 
 ten o'clock, she entered her carriage, disguised 
 in a mask and domino, made the blush of 
 shame mount to her very forehead, and almost 
 induced her to abandon her resolution. But 
 now that the servants had seen her in her 
 disguise, and had formed their surmises and 
 conclusions, any pusillanimous retrogradation 
 would be even worse than fruitless. Away, 
 therefore, with all irresolution ; and she de- 
 termined to proceed in her perilous enterprise. 
 
 On arriving at the Opera House, and 
 discovering the throng around the entrance, 
 she became so much alarmed, that she shrank 
 back in the carriage ; and again, for a moment, 
 meditated a return to her home. But, growing
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 281 
 
 desperate at the thought, that in a few minutes 
 she might be too late to prevent the meeting 
 between her husband and the object of his 
 guilty love, she hurriedly alighted ; and, giv- 
 ing the servant orders to await her return as 
 near the spot as possible, tremblingly entered 
 the theatre. 
 
 The lights, the music, the tumultuous rush 
 of persons, and, above all, the noise, struck 
 upon her terrified senses, and made her feel 
 scarcely capable of preventing herself from 
 sinking on the earth. Various masks accosted 
 her with the usual hacknied addresses ; and, 
 amused by her evident alarm, seemed pecu- 
 liarly bent on persecuting her with their flip- 
 pant attentions. 
 
 The strangeness of her position, alone in a 
 crowd for the first time in her life, the motley 
 throng of hideous masks, and the disguised 
 and squeaking tones of those who wore them,
 
 282 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 appalled her ; and she shrank m painful alarm 
 from each person who addressed her, though, 
 in escaping from one tormentor, she only found 
 herself assailed by another. But, in spite of 
 her fears, one passion, painful and mighty in 
 its influence, still supported and gave her reso- 
 lution to proceed. This passion was jealousy, 
 which steeled her nerves, and deadened all 
 other feelings in her troubled breast. 
 
 She advanced towards the appointed spot ; 
 but, though eleven o'clock had struck, in sounds 
 that vibrated like a death-knell in her ear, no 
 person like the one described in her letter was 
 visible. She repeatedly made the concerted 
 signal with her bouquet, but in vain ; she was 
 only addressed by a crowd of masks, all utterly 
 dissimilar in appearance to the one she sought 
 with so much fearful interest. What if he 
 had already joined her detested rival ? there 
 was agony and madness in the thought !
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 283 
 
 " Why are you alone, heau masque?" 
 " Where is your unpunctual cavalier?" 
 " Take my arm, and do not wait for him." 
 Such were the questions and phrases with 
 which she was persecuted hy the surrounding 
 revellers ; who, marking the impatience of her 
 gestures as she turned from them, concluded 
 that she was in search of one who had dis- 
 appointed her. 
 
 She had passed nearly an hour in this state 
 of agomsing suspense, — afraid to leave the ap- 
 pointed spot, lest she should miss the object of 
 her search; when, to her inexpressible relief, 
 she saw a mask approaching, whose domino 
 exactly resembled the one described in the 
 letter, and whose air strongly reminded her 
 of that of her husband. 
 
 She raised her bouquet, and the mask 
 instantly advanced and offered her his arm. 
 So great was her emotion, that she could
 
 284 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 scarcely move ; when her companion, feeling 
 her arm trembling within his, to a degree that 
 indicated intense agitation, in a disguised 
 tone expressed his sympathy, and proposed 
 to conduct her to a box, where she might 
 repose, until she should have regained her 
 self-possession. 
 
 " How unlike the tenderness of his manner 
 to me in past happy days ! " thought Alicia. 
 " No! he cannot love the person for whom he 
 mistakes me, or he could not be so calmly 
 indifferent." 
 
 A ray of hope shot through her soul at 
 this thought ; and she entered the box, far less 
 wretched than when her companion had first 
 accosted her. 
 
 I must now return to M. St. Arm and, 
 who passed his period of probation in a state 
 of the most violent excitement. At a quarter 
 to twelve he hurried to the hal masqut', and
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 285 
 
 proceeded direct to the spot designated in the 
 letter. There he saw a female in a pink do- 
 mino, whose stature nearly resembled that of 
 his wife, who gave the signal he expected. 
 He joined her instantly; and, offering his arm, 
 addressed to her some of the usual phrases on 
 such occasions ; to which, however, she declined 
 all reply, except by an affirmative movement 
 of the head. He conducted her to a box, and 
 requested her to unmask ; but he could neither 
 induce her to comply with this entreaty, nor to 
 ailswer his questions. At length, maddened 
 by what he deemed her crafty attempt to avoid 
 detection, he tore the mask from her face, and 
 beheld — an utter stranofer. 
 
 He was rushing from her presence, fren- 
 zied by shame and disappointment, when the 
 voice of his wife, in tlie adjoining box, struck 
 on his ear. With one effort and bound, ho 
 burst into it, and discovered M. de Melfort, and 
 Alicia in a paroxysm of tears.
 
 286 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ^' Vile woman !" exclaimed the furious hus- 
 band; " at last, then, I have detected you in 
 3^our infamy! And you, sir," he added, with 
 increasing vehemence, turning to the asto- 
 nished De Melfort^ — ^' you, her paramour, 
 come with me instantly, that this foul dis- 
 grace may be effaced in your blood, or 
 mine ! '' 
 
 Alicia fell, fainting, to the ground; and 
 De Melfort, having attempted to raise her, 
 received a violent blow from the maniacal 
 husband. 
 
 A crowd collected round the box ; and the 
 presence and influence of so many strange 
 faces, momentarily allayed the wrath of the 
 desperate St. Armand. He instructed one of 
 the gens cVarmes to place madame in the car- 
 riage ; and then, giving him the address of her 
 mother, ordered her to be conveyed to her 
 residence. 
 
 St. Armand would listen to no explanation
 
 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 287 
 
 that De Melfort could offer : and, in a few 
 hours, he was a corpse ; having been killed by 
 the first fire of his adversary, in the duel to 
 which he had compelled him. 
 
 Of Alicia nothing remains to be told, except 
 that she is an inmate of a maison de sante, w^ith 
 little probability of ever recovering her reason. 
 
 The plotters of the anonymous letters con- 
 sole themselves by asserting, that " they did 
 not expect that their plaisanterie would termi- 
 nate so tragically : nor would it, had not the 
 St, Armands been romantic imbecilles ; and, 
 therefore, the whole fault rests with them." 
 
 With this ingenious logic I conclude. But, 
 perhaps, you will protest that, as the impartial 
 chronicler of events which have excited so much 
 attention, I ought to arbitrate between the op- 
 posing parties, and adjudicate the degree of 
 censure which they should incur. £n verite, 
 then, I think the St. Armands were very silly,
 
 288 THE VICTIMS OF SOCIETY. 
 
 sensitive people ; but that their antagonists had 
 rather a greater love of tracasserie than, comme 
 ilfaut, people ought to possess. 
 
 The moral — as every tale should have one 
 — is, that people should not pretend to be better 
 or happier than their neighbours, lest they 
 become victims to a mystification de socittt. 
 Addio, car a mia ! 
 
 Ever thine, 
 Delphine, marquise de Villeroi. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TRINTED BT J. MOVES, CASTLE STREET, l.r.ICB-'TFR SIJ'ARB.
 
 UNIVERSITY OP ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 041409522 
 
 ?*^^ 
 
 r-^- 
 
 
 
 
 ^AN 
 
 ^«'W 
 
 \.^-