THE TUTOR OF TRUTH. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE PUPIL OF PLEASURE, &c. &c. IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
However Hypocrisy may flourish for a time, even its happiest moments are clouded, and TRUTH shall at last prevail.
LONDON, Printed for RICHARDSON and URQUHART, under the
Royal Exchange.
M DCC LXXIX.
TO LADY MILLER, OF BATH-EASTON VILLA, THESE VOLUMES ARE INSCRIBED By her most obedient, and Obliged humble Servant,
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
A Work which is in the world, under the title of the PUPIL OF PLEASURE, exemplified that part of a
late celebrated system,
which led immediately to voluptuousness, hypocrisy, and seduction. It was, therefore, a faint mark for literary ridicule. The peculiar success of my undertaking, and the general esteem it still maintains, (notwithstanding the wilful, or the ignorant, perversions of a few individuals, who affected to have their scruples concerning the character of
Sedley)
convince me, that I did not write in vain.
But, methinks, something very essential yet remains to be done. There is a much
better,
as well as a much more
brilliant, system
still to be illustrated; the system of integrity and TRUTH.
This is attempted in the
present
performance, where the reader will see, in contrast to the
Pupil of Pleasure,
a character of a very different colouring figure before him. One, who, though even more accomplished than SEDLEY, with all his fire, spirit and opportunity, as well as every personal advantage, employs each in the cause, not of ruin, but
sincerity.
It has been endeavoured also, that the scenes, in which this new personage is engaged, should be so disposed, as to give full scope for all that is just, affecting and ennobled, without departing from human nature. The Hero of
this
production, like that of the
other,
hath many struggles, and many anxieties; for virtue (with respect to
ordinary
successes and rewards) is not always fortunate: but between the two heroes there is, throughout their adventures, this distinguishing difference; the one hath the pangs of
remorse
superadded to those of shame and despair; and the sufferings of the other, like the agonies of a Messiah, are always for the truth, and for the happiness of others. All that the best men in the world can say to themselves is comprized in this couplet of the poet.
'Tis not in mortals to
command
success,
But we'll do
more,
Sempronius, we'll
deserve
it.
There have been those (whether in the spirit of criticism, or from principle, I cannot tell) who have warned the young and sober against the
warmth of character
in the
Pupil of Pleasure:
surely, a little thinking might reconcile to
them,
(as to the rest of the world) the propriety of painting vice in strong colours, in order to bring it into contempt. That very SEDLEY, who sets out, with all the graces of
Chesterfield
in his train, soon loses his credit with the reader; he fades, towards the conclusion, more and more in every page; and at last, he becomes a desperate, detested man, on whose grave even Pity herself can scarce be prevailed on to shed a tear.
If, however, this objection, in the breast of any one, still subsists against me, it would be a piece of justice not unworthy the
true
critic, if he would take upon him to recommend the character of
Captain Carlisle
in this work, as officiously as he has discommended that of Mr. SEDLEY, in the other. In real fact, SEDLEY is the
shade
which will set CARLISLE in the proper
light;
and, although the
stories
through which I have conveyed the moral, are utterly different, yet those, who are candid enough to conceive a book of this kind may be made
systematic,
and who may read the two performances
together,
will, I flatter myself, perceive a connexion (with regard to system) not wholly inapposite.
In fine,
Sedley
is a monster, and
Carlisle
is a man. Let them be accurately compared, and read only with this view, whenever they are in the hands of the young. As SEDLEY is the object of escape and abhorrence; CARLISLE is that of intimacy and imitation. He is much embarrassed, but he has honour to bear him up: he is purposely plunged in difficulty, that his
truth
might be the more tried; and that,
being
tried, it might, like fine gold from the fire, come forth the purer. He is
Sedley
's opposite in every particular, except the attractions of form (which were given to SEDLEY also only to render
Chesterfieldism
more exact). CARLISLE protects the innocence that he might have destroyed; he spares the chastity that he might have violated; he endeavours to preserve the wife, whom he might have ruined: he has all the policy of prudence, without deviating from
truth:
he is graced with every polishing ornament of character: instead of
corrupting,
he
enriches
society.
That the hero of the present work might have every
ultimate
advantage, so as to bring the
moral
which his adventures convey, more forcibly home to the business and bosom of the reader, he appears, at different times, in all the amiable
lights
of which his picture is susceptible. Amongst these, the honour of his friendships, the tendernesses of his love, the delicacy of his sufferings, his discretion under embarrassments, and his courage in exigencies, will not escape the attentive reader. It should be noted, also, that the contrast of the present, with the former performance, receives still greater force, by the introduction of other sketches which will be found here; particularly the short scenes that belong to Mr.
Henry Hewson,
and his brother. These characters are interwoven, not so much to enliven, and relieve the deepness of the pathetic in the other parts, as to give greater elucidation to the
system.
With the like view, the characters of the fighting
Medway,
and the fearful, frolicksome Sir
Andrew Flight,
have been admitted, as have those of Mr.
Lascelles,
the
Marchioness of N
***, and
Lucia De Grey.
It is hoped, these all promote the moral as much as they contribute to the interests of the fable: for example,
Sedley,
the Pupil of Pleasure, was uniformly vicious, deceitful, and reprobate, and therefore
died.
Captain
Carlisle,
the Tutor of Truth, is invariably just, ingenuous, and good, and therefore
lives. Sedley
often felt the stroke of ill success, but consoled himself in the worst of times with the hope of accomplishing his wicked wishes at last.
Carlisle
is sensible of disappointment too, but is kept from paroxisms of despair by a silent appeal to his conscience.
Lascelles
is at once rakish, false, dissolute, and therefore meets with punishment. The
Marchioness of N
***, though pitiable, is also an object of terror to be held up to the female world, since the same imprudence will naturally lead to the same mi-fortunes. The Earl and Countess of
Blessingbourne
are brought into this work, to shew, that,
true politeness
and
the Graces,
are charms independent of mere rank, titles, or estate: the family of the
Hewsons
are here, to prove, that,
true politeness
and the
Graces
are not to be bought, as mere marketable commodities, whenever a man happens to have money to spare; and to prove likewise, that neither rustic manners on the one hand, nor bookish pedantry on the other, will enable men to leave the farm-house and the cloyster to figure, more respectably, in a state of refinement. In full opposition to
ll
these, therefore, the Hero of this work is produced. He is as truly polite as he is truly generous, and, agreeable to the title given to him at setting out—He is A TUTOR OF TRUTH.
THE TUTOR OF TRUTH.
LETTER I. Helter Skelter Hall. Mr. HENRY HEWSON to Mr. GABRIEL HEWSON.
Brother Gab,
ACCORDING to custom, I am to send you joy upon the
cassion
of grandfather's
stealing
off. As you and I were
in at the death,
and got such a swinging
edition
to our fortune, it would be the
most ungratefullest
thing in the world not to pray for the peace of the old fellow's soul, seeing too, that his body is now out of the way. Our Parson says, it behoves us to
direct
a bit of a monument to his memory: for my part, I see no matter in these same monuments: none of the folk of our county need to be told what concerns old
Heidedger Hewson;
and so, what's the use of making a long
preachment,
and flourishing away upon a marble slab, about a dead man? Parson prates so much about
gratitude,
that I begin to think he
magines
we ought to tell it on tombstone about our fortune. As 'tis a strange affair altogether, I have a good mine to do this—nay, I have already drawn up a piece of writing, which I send you: let me know in your answer by Nicholas the carrier, whether 'twill do, and whether you will be half the money towards the
direction
of the monument, seeing as how, gold letters, and church masonry, and indeed all business about dead
corpsesses,
comes heavy. But yet, I think, we ought to
touch off
the old fellow with a few flourishes, seeing that somebody may do the same for us one day or another. Let me know how you
feel yourself,
since you became a man of fortune. Do you eat, sleep, talk, walk as you did?—For
my
part— but I won't tell you a sillabel, 'till you answer me. I shall only say, at present, that I find I am no more the man I was since my fortune, than a hare is like a hand-saw. Nevertheless,
I am, as much as ever, Your loving brother to command, HARRY HEWSON.
P.S.
I
ha'n't
the gift of writing; so,
maybe
you
won't
easily
hit of
my letter: besides, my head aches with thinking
about my fortune,
and then, I am as stupid as a hound. Wife is turn'd a madcap, so I don't mention her, only just to tell you she an't the woman she was.
The inclosed Epitaph, Intended by Mr. H. HEWSON for his grandfather HEIDEDGER'S Monument.
Here (or Hereabouts)
Lies Mr. Heidedger
Hewson,
Who having
No Son,
Nor
Daughter,
To come
ater,
Did, when he was but bone and skin,
Leave all to us, his next of kin;
Wherefore this marble slab
(Out of respect,
To shew we don't neglect,)
Was built by I, and Gab.
HENRY HEWSON.
LETTER II. Mr. GABRIEL to Mr. HENRY HEWSON.
Sombre Hedges.
Brother HENRY,
IF any thing which relateth to that aweful period, to which all human beings are precipitating, and to which all that hath
vivification
must soon arrive—that period, whereto every thing that is now sporting in the
jollities of sanity
must sooner or later come—I say, brother, were it possible for any thing so aweful, so moral, so moving, so — all that—to suffer the face to be upon the smile, I could
border upon the simper
at certain turns in your epistle. There are some few words in your favour misspelled: for instance; the words
cassion, preachment, magines, corpsesses,
&c. have not yet come under those eyes which have, from first to last, dipt into twenty thousand compositions. Neither is your epitaph devoid of inaccuracies: there being neither pathos in your poetry, nor chastity in your rhyme, all which is absolutely necessary to the present times.
No son
does not echo very melodiously to
Hewson: daughter
and
ater
might be improved:
kin
and
skin
are so very near, my dear HENRY, that they absolutely seem one flesh; their
sounds
are too similar:
respect
and
neglect
may do: but
slab
and
Gab
are the most preposterous words that ever terminated in the way of verse, since rhyming began: nor is a tombstone, with any propriety, called a marble slab.—No, HARRY, no—your meaning is, as it ought to be; but, for your poetry, the less you have to do with the Muses the better: at least wait a little till my dictionary comes out, and then if you have but a ray of Apollo, it will have it out of you; for I will take on me to say no work extant, that
is,
or that
shall
be, will give a man such a knack, or kindle in him such a
furor Phoebi,
as I may call it, as my dictionary.
As to the monument, I cherish your Parson's idea, and will readily pay my
quota.
Pray submit to your clerical friend, who, doubtless, is a judge of these matters, the following inscription. 'Tis written
calamo currente,
and therefore its
purities are questionable,
but the idea is perhaps as competent as it should be.
INSCRIPTION.
The Tenderness of Consanguinity,
Warmed by Benefaction,
In the Bosom of two Brothers,
HENRY and GABRIEL,
Hath caused
To be indented upon the unconscious
Marble,
These Letters of Gratitude
To the Memory
Of
HEIDEDGER HEWSON,
Esq
Who, tho' basking in the
Benignance
of Fortune,
Was venerated by the Poor:
And whose
Longevity,
tho' it brought on
Imbecillity,
Was not burthensome
To his Family.
I will reply, brother HENRY, by post, to the other parts of your letter. NICHOLAS waits for this, so that I cannot be explicit, and besides which, I am as little as you the man I was, tho' I am, always,
Your affectionate brother, GABRIEL HEWSON.
LETTER III. Mr. HENRY to Mr. GABRIEL.
In answer.
IT'S a lye, GAB; it's all a confounded lye; you are just the man you ever was to a T: or, if there is any alteration, 'tis ninety times nine out of a hundred for the worse. You was always a
feller
who run rambling round about a story, and never come to the end
on't;
you know you was. You always talked forty times more than needs must, and the devil a word did you say to the pint,
ater
all. Thof you are a fine scholar, I'l make five words go better to a bargain than you can ten, at any time:
cuss
me, if I believe you understand half you say,
yourself.
Don't you remember, once at Skelter wake, when a lady, your partner, fainted away with dancing, and lost her handkerchief, you said—I shall never forget it—
"the sudorifical drops stood on azure forehead,"
when the poor wench might have SWEATED (for that, it seems, was your meaning) her heart out for you; for the devil an inch will you stir when that flea bites, till all that is in your
cuss'd
crinkum-crankum cranium comes out. And pray, wise Sir, who is obliged to understand your grecum, latinum lingo, do you think?
I
was not cramb'd with such conundrums when I was young, and I
ant
sorry for it, now I'm turn'd of thirty.
With regard to the answer you have made me, 'tis no answer at all: instead of talking of your old grandfather's monument, you have been plaguing yourself with my
noson,
and
Hewson, daughter
and
ater, kin
and
skin, Gab
and
slab;
though, if the truth were known, they are as good as your
cillity
and
gevity, nignance
and
guinity,
and the like. And as to your
dictionary,
it may go, for HARRY. To cut the matter short, brother, I wrote you a very civil, reasonable letter, and in return, you have sent me a
cussed
thing of which I can make neither head nor tail, only I can see plain enough that you think yourself a very clever fellow, and I no wiser than I should be: for that matter, GAB, none of your family were conjurors, and I don't believe you are the
senfiblest
o'um neither. But to come to the point: do you choose to answer my letter? Saying I write like a fool, is saying nothing. I want to know whether, setting aside your Greek and Latin, you are the man you was. I have reasons good for
axing
this, and if you don't like to make answer, why you have only to say so, and you never shall be troubled again by
HENRY HEWSON.
LETTER IV. ROBERT DE GREY,
Esq
to Mr. GABRIEL HEWSON.
Prudence Green.
Dear WARD,
YOU did ill, to reply so severely as you seem to have done, to your brother HENRY: literature, you know, is not his province, and besides, if it were, you should not touch him on a part where every man upon earth is susceptible of smart. A person may ever receive a wound, if you aim at his understanding. My dear and amiable Ward, Mr.
Carlisle,
is so aware of this, that, tho' he is never guilty of a
falshood,
I do not think he ever hurt a man in
his own esteem,
in his life. I expect you will pay so much honour to an old friend's advice as to make all
up
with HENRY directly. He is a very honest, odd man: you have read and lived to little effect, if you do not believe there are some things to pardon in yourself.
Adieu!
ROBERT DE GREY.
LETTER V. Mr. GABRIEL to HENRY HEWSON.
I MEANT no ill-nature to my dear HENRY by my last—fraternal tranquillity is the first wish of my heart; and I write this hasty note, to crave pardon for having unintentionally offended
him,
whom the feelings of a brother, as well as the sovereign laws of Nature,
our imperial mistress,
conjoin to render dear as "the ruddy drops," that
animate the pulse
of
GABRIEL HEWSON.
P. S.
I will reply to your first letter, sully, to-morrow; and deposit with you all the secrets that are in the recesses of my soul.
LETTER VI. Mr. HENRY to Mr. GABRIEL HEWSON.
Dear GABBY,
ENOUGH said. I wish I had hold of your hand, that I might shake it: if it was not for those cursed fellows,
Ocrates, Ophacles, Trully,
and
Omare,
who, sometimes, put you almost
beside yourself,
I know we should never exchange a warm word. I lov'd you when you was not worth a coat off and a coat on: I like you neither more nor less, now you are worth ten thousand pound. So write me all about what I desire, and I will then tell you
why.
I am, in good will, Your loving brother, HENRY HEWSON.
LETTER VII. Mrs. HENRIETTA HEWSON to Miss DE GREY.
Madam,
THE pleasure I expected in your company this season at Helter Skelter Hall must, of necessity, be postponed till the summer following. Every thing is at sixes and sevens; besides which, the large addition to my fortune makes it very improper I should see my friends in the
hugger-mugger
manner I did, while I was as poor as my neighbours. I have positively found out, my dear DE GREY, that there is not a single room in this up and down old mansion fit to sit in, much less to receive the most delicate of her sex. But since I am deprived of the pleasure I expected in having you with me, as usual, I propose to commence a correspondence with you, that I may tell you from time to time how we go on in those alterations that I am resolved immediately to make. I design to fit up the sweetest retreat in the universe, your father's not excepted —I say
retreat,
because I shall occasionally retreat to it: for, I certainly shall not pass my winters for the future out of Pall-Mall (
that
is, I think I have heard you say, the best quarter of the town) besides its having the double recommendation of being the winter residence of Miss DE GREY.
Just as I writ your name, I happened to look at the chimney-piece, and I absolutely thought it had undergone a perfect change within this week; as, indeed, in my opinion, hath every thing about the house. I cannot look at an object in the hall or the great garden that does not disgust me. Heaven have mercy on me! how they wanted taste in building formerly! Such huge, horrid, outward doors, studded with such monstrous nobs of non; such dreadful arches to every entrance, like the porches of ugly stone-work before a church; such corners, lanes, entries, and alleys, running like laby rinths through every room: the fire-places so large, the windows so little, the glass of them so diminutive, the wainscotings so figured, the beams so bulky, and the passages so dark and dirty, that they seem built rather to be the dens for beasts of prey, than for such harmless little creatures as men and women. Then the gardens are as hideous as the habitations: only to think, LUCIA, of a
con-sumed
great mote, divided only by a nasty drawbridge, running quite round the mansion, most gloriously cropped with duck-weed, and inviting all the fowls of the air to flap their wings and feed about us, to the great annoyance of sleep and every other comfort. Add to this, the gardens
themselves
—I am now lifting up my head from the vulgar old table on which I am writing, and I am taking—I declare to you, almost with tears in my eyes—a view of our precious platform. I behold in prospect about three acres of ground, as completely murdered in the disposition, as a modern gardener could wish: eight-and-twenty yew-trees, interspersed with an equal number of boxes and hollies, rise before me, to whose flourishing shades I am to attribute half the vermin that swarm like a pestilence about us. Let not the abominable walls that surround our dwelling and its environs, be forgotten; high above all height; brown above every thing embrowned.—But I have not patience to proceed. And shall I invite the lovely LUCIA to this Gothic scene? No, LUCIA, no; now that kind Fortune hath put it into my power, I will level with the dust this ruinous pile of building, and raise up in its stead so different a structure, that the very ground shall thank me for
dressing it out
so charmingly. The moment I have compleated my design you shall come and confess I have a relish for improvements. I have, this moment, the exact image of my intentions. Where there are now mountains, will I make vallies; where there are at present crops of nettles, or vulgar flowers that are to me worse than nettles, will I set rows of lillies and beds of roses; roses I mean of
moss,
that scarce burst forth from the bearded bud, elegant, small, odoriferous, and not such flaring, flashing, old-fashioned things, as figure away in our garden, that look as if the seeds were sown and the trees planted immediately after the fall; just when all the beautiful in Nature first felt the curse upon it. As to the yew-trees, I will not leave one of them alive, no not even that which is cut into the form of a sugar-loaf; and, so inveterate is my vengeance in regard to these, that I will, yea even after they are fell'd— make the infected wretches perform quarantine at a mile's distance, in open air, before I will allow them the honour of being
burned
in my presence: as to my old friend the
mote,
with whom I have exchanged watry looks, ever since I saw him, I will cause all his channels to be dried up, and
terra firma,
as brother GAB calls it, to flourish about him. The drawbridge will I also remove; and, to shew my dislike and ridicule of such an antique, I will substitute, by way of mockery and the mode, an ha! ha! in his stead. Neither shall any part of our
house furniture
fare better, for there shall be a general
clearance.
Stags heads shall give place to Hogarth's prints: family pictures, notwithstanding the large ruffs on my grandmother's neck, the whiskers on my great uncle's upper lip, and the profusion of chitterlin on my god-papa's bosom, must all yield to politer decorations.—In short, I will create a paradise about me, and that without delay. In the mean time, I will
commence
the woman of fashion, by giving orders never to be seen by any body but tradesmen, till I am all
torights
—not even by LUCIA DE GREY. How I shall bring Mr. HEWSON over to this genteel way of thinking, I don't know; particularly as he is not, you know, the best bred man in the world. However, done it must be—that's flat; for I cannot breathe any longer in such a place! Oh Heavens, how have I breath'd so long! It is equally an affront to my person, my understanding, and my fortune! If any little ornaments strike
you,
that may assist my scheme of embellishing, pray think of them in your next. I design to call one of my new rooms
Lucia
's
Saloon.
Pray, therefore, let LUCIA's fancy assist me in fitting it up.
Adieu! Adieu!
HENRIETTA HEWSON.
P. S.
Have you had any news yet of Captain CARLISLE?
LETTER VIII. Mr. GABRIEL to Mr. HENRY HEWSON.
Sombre Hedges.
YES, brother, yes: thou beloved branch of the same family; thou dear scyon of the same stock; I again confess, I am not, in any degree, the man I was. This sudden
gale of gay Prosperity,
whose beams are so burnished to the eyes of fragile mortals, hath, I confess, a good deal interrupted the oeconomy of my former affairs; which were too scanty to distract attention, and too abstract
from all circumvolutions
to require much
mathematical diligence.
Two days before the sudden exit of
him,
to whom I am indebted for this weight of wealth, I was as still and studious a man, as bachelorship and neat 64
l.
11
s. per annum
could make me. I had a decent collection of classics; I had Homer, in honest sheepskin binding; Horace, with a little edging of gold; and Cicero, my dear Cicero, with his name upon the back of every volume. I had, besides, just such a houshold, as suited well the
propensities of my sequestered notions.
I had an old creature, who prepared my beverage, and was so used to my humour, that she always went out to cough, when I was at my studies: I had a toothless dog, that slept away his leisure, and was too feeble to disturb me by barking; and my cat was the quietest animal that ever purred at the elbow of a scholar in a cloister: Sombre Hedges were exactly to my passion. The two prodigious trees, whose
overshadowing ramifications
spread, the
sublime of darkness visible
over my cottage, gave such a
set-off
to my study, that I was absolutely the hero of an hermitage. I sat and read, till I fancied myself, in
the fervor of the intellectual feelings,
a philosopher in the shades. In the dim hour of evening I used to be the companion of the sooty-pinioned bat, and walked forth to meditate on the readings I had made in the day. I rejoiced in the name that the people of the village gave me, and I had a secret pride in seeing them in the twilight, stealing a look at the learned gentleman in the dark house i'th' midst of Sombre Hedges. I was just lighting up my lamp, and setting down to a chapter of Cicero, with Grimalkin by my side, when news of my new honours, broke like too mighty a flood of light, upon the serenity of my darkness. I was dazzled, and knew not what to do. For want of habitude, wealth, like a robe first put on, and made
not consonant to our usual fashion,
sat uneasy upon me. As my soul was not fitted to my fortune, neither was my fortune fitted to my soul. I hit upon a passage, where Tully, the prince of Latian eloquence, recommended an equal mind in all revolutions; an hour
before,
I should have given to the very printed page an holy kiss of approbation, but, at present, it was no such matter:—I was now to consider myself as master of ten thousand pounds, and I was taken so unawares that I trimmed my lamp in order to see the
will
clearer; and when I had the misfortune to find the thing was
certain,
I was much agitated, and crept at length into the closet, which contained the wholesome bed of a scholar, upon the surface of which I laid down, with a heart that throbbed, and a head that ach'd till the morning.
I rose early, brother, but not to my accustomed satisfaction, for I found my feelings were altered. Those small, but dear attentions, which the day before belonged to an estate of 60
l. per
year, were over. I could not any longer think I was the proprietor of a snug box, when the load of ten thousand pounds sell abruptly upon my shoulders in the lump. I never looked into a book that whole day, and to say truth, I hardly thought there was a
cover
in my study fit to come into the hand of a man of fortune. Was it not some Demon, think you, that put it into my head to take down, three days after, the only
coxcomb
volume in my whole library? and the scope of this was to recommend taste, elegance, fashion, and commerce with men, on purpose to give a finishing to the man of speculation. With an avidity for which I despise myself, did I peruse this work quite through, and from that moment I became a prophane, excentric, dissipated fellow. I said unto the woodman, Fell me those horrid trees that hide me from
the blooming face of Phoebus;
down instantly with these children of darkness, that there may be light. I am ashamed to tell you, that I directed my windows to be cleaned; yea, even the little lattice that emitted scarce half a sun-beam into my library, and which was almost vegetable with the over-growth of ivy, did I order to be laid bare to all the splendors of day— Why should I conceal the most
egregious
of my follies? I have at this minute two artificers in my house, and perhaps the passion may gain such sway in a few hours, that, by to-morrow, the cornerstone of the building may not be suffered to stand. I am already
not
the dark gentleman of Sombre Hedges, but the poor fellow who hath, like a swallow in the winter, emerged unseasonably from his corner, to blind himself with light. Upon the whole, my heart, like my house, is totally disarranged. I pray Heaven,
yours
may be more composed, and I hope to hear, that your hopes and happiness stand just where they did, before the death of our kinsman HEIDEDGER.
I am, dear brother, Your's, GABRIEL HEWSON.
LETTER IX. Mr. HENRY HEWSON to Mr. GABRIEL.
In answer.
I LIKE you ten times better than ever; for I finds
you
are as much altered as
I
am. There never was a more miserable dog than either of us. I dare not say this
before,
for fear you should laugh at me; but now, that I find you are as strange a fellow as myself, I tell you, without farther
permable,
that I hant shot a partridge
this
three weeks, and my dogs are yelping in the kennel for fresh air and their sport. People now give me so much
joy
when I go about, that I am quite miserable. My wife HETTY, too, has been
at
me about
pliteness,
and bids me look in the glass to see if it is not a sin and a shame, for such a
parsonable
man as I to go such a figure, and shut myself up in an old timber house among hounds and horses, guns and game traps. She says I should be a very
sightly
man, if beard was smoothed oftner, and ruffles put on wrist-bands, after the fashion of young Captain CARLISLE. She says, too, we might now alter our course of life, and live upon our wealth like Mr. and Mrs. Somebody, in a different guess place than Helter Skelter Hall. Upon this I clapt me on a clean shirt, and a pair of silken stockings, after I had doft leathern hunting breeches; and, without
shamming,
I verily thought, what with the powder in my hair, and ribbon behind in beauknot, not forgetting black crevat, which the jade tied so as to make me look—I don't know how—I was one of your
bettermost
persons. As I was walking along the large hall thus
quipp'd,
old Dashgrove, the setting bitch, barked at me, as if she did not known Master HENRY thro' his finery, upon which I lent her a
douze,
to teach her how to behave to man of
pliteness:
after this, Tippler the spaniel came and fawn'd on me, leaving the track of her paws on my silken stockings, upon which I favoured her also with such a
flick
that the poor thing howled for a quarter of an hour. In short, I can't help speaking
hash,
and taking a little upon me, more than usual: and this was partly the
casion
of my writing you such a rough letter; for, I finds I am grown devilish
touchey,
since I
came
to be a great man; and SUSAN, the maid, says, I am not like to be much the
better
for my riches; seeing, that I have got
them,
and lost my good-nature. I am most consumedly troubled to know
what to do;
and, mayhap,
that
makes me growl more than I otherwise should. Sometimes I think of giving up my farm at Skelter, sometimes of buying racing horses; sometimes of making myself
cussed
gay in the
pareil
way; sometimes I have a mind to
crackle
it away in a coach; sometimes to put worsted of different colours on JOE JOBSON's coat, and clap a
cue
to his head—But then again I can't help telling HETTY, this would be damn'd nonsense for a
feller
like I, who have as good a pair of legs as ever worked under a man, and who has gone rough as he run
this
many
day. I wish grandfather had thought fit to let us know what he meant to do for us about four or five years
agone,
that we might have prepared ourselves to be gentlemen against he died. With such warning I don't doubt but I should have been scholar enough to deck myself off, to strut forth with a little black bag at the end o'me, and to have popp'd in and out of a carriage, very decently: for, damn it, I know how the thing should
goe,
tho' I can't so neatly
do
it. As to Captain CARLISLE, neither you nor I can ever expect to cut the
dash, he
cuts; 'case why? he was papp'd in
pliteness,
and suck'd civility in his cradle: besides which, he has travelled for it, far and near; so that all the difference in that there matter lies only in the alteration you know. But for all that, if we could, when he comes from
broad
(which is to be soon) get
into's
company now and then, and take notice how he carries himself, how he talks, opens his lips, and the like, I don't doubt but we could make ourselves no small fools, in the way of
haviour,
when he is not
by.
At present, as I can't think of doing as I did, because HETTY says, that would be very unnatural; I am horridly
out of sorts,
and know not what will be the end
on't.
I think, as you are the best scholard, you ought to write to Mr. DE GREY
bout
it, cause he had once the care of us, and, as the world says, made Captain CARLISLE what he is.
To live thus, is out of the question, so pray think of mending the matter. HETTY is airing me another ruffled shirt, and says, I must shift every day now I am a man of property. The linen is rare and hot, so I must ene put it on; have only time, therefore, to say, that
I am Your afflicted brother, HAL. HEWSON.
LETTER X. Mrs. HEWSON to Miss DE GRAY.
CONGRATULATE me; sing songs of triumph to me, my dear DE GREY; I have brought Mr. HEWSON over to my
politest wishes.
A little flattery, and a looking-glass, have compleated the business. All the fine things I design, may be put in practice; assist me, therefore, I beg of you, that I may be
perfectly elegant.
Every hint of your
taste
will be now welcome to the impatient
HENRIETTA HEWSON.
LETTER XI. Captain CARLISLE to ROBERT DE GREY,
Esq
London.
My dear Guardian,
THE spirit of affection and duty made me hasten to leave the gardens of Italy, that I might be in time to enjoy the pleasures of Prudence Green, at this beautiful period of the year. That which was Rome herself, had no charms to attract me, when the lure of such a society, as that which your letter describes to me, was thrown out for my heart. And, is it possible, that I am so soon to return again to all those bewitching scenes wherein, I first received those admirable precepts which have, hitherto, enabled me to resist temptation in almost every form? I am in London. Nothing can seduce me to continue here beyond the time that is absolutely necessary to my journey; so that I shall be at Prudence Green almost as soon as this short letter, which announces me to you: yet, if there should be a moment's advantage on the side of the letter, pray employ it to tell Miss DE GREY, and the rest of your party, how lingeringly I shall think the time, till I salute them.
I am, Sir, Your ever saithful servant, And indulged friend, CLEMENT CARLISLE.
LETTER XII. From the Same to Mr. LASCELLES in London.
London.
Dear LASCELLES,
I AM in the most distressing state of mind in the world—the Lady of the Marquis of N. with whom I was on friendly terms in Italy, hath very inadvertently, and under colour of an attachment (which I never before discovered) followed me to England. To my utter astonishment she is now before me, too beautiful to be denied protection; and yet, in a situation, on all hands too sacred for me long to bestow it. She set off in a packet that sailed, it seems, at the same time mine did. She is in the habit of a boy: her husband doats upon her. She looks with the brightest eyes into my face, while, with the most persuading voice, she tells me, she is in a strange land, where she knows not a single friend. What is to be done? She came in upon me, just after I had sent Mr. DE GREY's letter to the post, so that it cannot be recalled, and truth requires my promises should be fulfilled —But the Lady must be, some way, accommodated, at least, till she can be persuaded to return to the Marquis.
To
your
care, therefore, I commit her for a little time, and I shall, in the evening, when I have reconciled her to this mode, bring the fair fugitive to your house, where, in the mean time, you will prepare your sister, to receive her. Tell her at once the
truth,
and depend on it,
that
will ever, in the end, turn out for the best.
Farewell. I am, your's, C. CARLISLE.
LETTER XIII. From the Same to the Same.
(After delivering the Lady to the latter.)
I WRITE this to my dear LASCELLES, with a hand that trembles for the situation of your fair charge. She discovered, methought, as I delivered her to you, an impatience of temper that may be fatal. She talks of her husband with an ardour of resentment that I believe it is impossible so accomplished a man should have deserved. I feel a compunction, not very unlike reproach, at being obliged to refuse her my address. Do you not agree with me, that strong marks of disapprobation were painted in her countenance, when I observed, that all her sentiments would reach me by inclosing them, either sealed or unsealed, to you? I did propose to have set out this day for Mr. DE GREY's, but I must apologize for a little delay, because I judge it best to see how she settles with your family, and to write to the Marquis before I venture into the country, where I had flattered my imagination with enjoying the most uninterrupted happiness. As she is a native of England, you know, it is possible you may, by some means, trace out her relations, some of whom are, as I have been informed, in London; and yet, till we have the Marquis's answer, it may perhaps be a more
delicate
piece of integrity to keep the matter out of every body's mouth, but the worthy family to whom it was necessary to entrust it. On second thoughts, therefore, I beg matter may rest where it is, in your faithful bosom, and in that of Miss LASCELLES. In the mean time, if AUGUSTA remains prudent and composed, the whole indiscretion may be done away: every thing may be hushed, and the Marquis be again made happy, without the confusion of being congratulated by people, who turn accidents into table-talk. For my
own
part, I dare say, it will be easy for me to convince the husband that I dealt honourably. At best, the dilemma is very displeasing, and the only way lest, is to act in it, and to struggle through it, as becomes a man of prudence and principle.
I have the great satisfaction to be, Dear LASCELLES, your's, C. C.
LETTER XIV. The Marchioness of N. to Signora D. at Rome.
I FOLLOWED him, my VIOLA. I practised to the very utmost, my more than romantic resolution—I eluded even the vigilance of the Marquis—I never lost sight of the exquisite CARLISLE—I surmounted every fatigue—I passed every where, as a beardless youth of the Italian soil; and I am now returned to those shores from whence I drew my first breath, and from whence I was so early carried to that part of your country where he who is now my husband first saw me.
Yes, VIOLA, I am here—I am in London.—I am within a short mile of the house of CARLISLE.—But, alas! to what purpose? My passion is in despair; my mode of gratifying it has been irregular—I blush at my weakness—but I am still weak enough to love—to love, Viola, with a fervor that is equally my shame and my agony. Yet, I propose only to be within his view—a sight of him—a touch of his hand—his conversation—his smile.— These were my ambition: violent as I am, I tell you the extent of my guilt— But th
ese are already denied me. He has left me in charge of his friends, who are brother and sister—they treat my misfortune with tenderness—the sister speaks warmly of Mr. CARLISLE's virtues. I perceive that the words
honourable
attachment are favourites—Confusion, VIOLA! perhaps she is—yet that's not likely—I will not have it so. I could not bear it. At a village on the borders of Italy, my speed brought me near enough to see him salute a female acquaintance; and though modesty and reason, all concurred to sanctify the civility, yet I wanted dignity enough in my nature, to restrain the execration which I uttered against her beauty. No, no, it is some comfort yet (even were I never more to behold him, which would kill me)—it is some comfort yet, that his heart is without other attachments.
My condition calls for ten thousand comforts, and I foresee, not
one
will be allowed me—I have numberless circumstances to tell you, but I want ease and composure to write. The Marquis has, I suppose, left Rome in a rage. For the first time in my life, although I have long despised him, have I taken advantage of his confidence, but it was only to escape from the object of my aversion to that of my fondness—of my adoration.
Perhaps the Marquis may suspect every thing I was so cautious to conceal. If so, my dear CARLISLE is in danger. I am not ignorant of the Marquis's temper. I have
felt
its violence —He struck me, VIOLA; the villain in his meanness struck me! I never shall either forget or forgive it.
CARLISLE in danger!—In danger!— for what—for his unparallelled
integrity
—for his dignity—for his
truth?
Ah, Signora, were he the most guilty, instead of being the most innocent, of men, my romantic soul would take fire at the prospect of his peril, and set life, fame, hope, and Heaven itself, at a hazard to defend him. I am interrupted—Let
my
secret be
your's.
Adieu for a little time, to The wretched AUGUSTA N***.
LETTER XV. GEORGE LASCELLES,
Esq
to Captain CARLISLE.
ABOUT two hours ago, AUGUSTA very earnestly requested the use of pen and paper, which, you may be sure, was directly brought her. She hath since had wax and a candle, and, I suppose, will presently desire a letter to be put into the Post-office—It may, very possibly, my friend, be addressed to some friend of
her
's, or
your
's: in one case, we might, perhaps, were we in
possession of the facts,
escape danger; and in the other, we might, it is likely, get a clue to those circumstances which would bring this disagreeable affair the sooner to an issue. Either way it may serve our purposes: I shall, therefore, instead of putting this letter into the post, inclose it for you, that no opportunity of assisting us may escape.
Adieu! I am your's, GEORGE LASCELLES.
LETTER XVI. Captain CARLISLE.
In answer.
YOUR zeal to serve a friend, must have thrown you from your guard, my dear LASCELLES; for, I am certain it could not require more than a moment's recollection to convince you of the
impropriety
of breaking a seal for any private purpose whatsoever. Neither you nor I have, certainly, any farther controul over the lady, than just to entertain her as her condition may require, till she is invited home by the Marquis, to whom I was preparing to write just as your favor came to hand. I lay aside this business, however, for a minute, just to intreat you will suffer your servants to obey
her
wishes, as you would, I know, order them to obey the wishes of
Your's, C. CARLISLE.
LETTER XVII. Captain CARLISLE to the Marquis of N***, at Signor —'s, in Rome; or elsewhere.
London.
SIR,
WERE it not that your situation called rather for condolence than mirth, I could acquaint you, in very jocular language, of a circumstance that carries with it the air of an adventure in the days of chivalry.
The heroine, or rather the lady-errant of this enterprize, is your AUGUSTA, who, taking advantage of your journey about the time of my departure, was resolved to be even with you for the anxieties of separation, and so paid you
in kind
by taking a trip to England. I dare say she intended, at first, only to amuse herself with a short excursion to deceive the time till your return: but the spirited creature, with all that ardor which, you know, belongs to her character, laid her plan of operation in such a manner, that, when she was once embarked, it was absolutely impossible to retreat. She contrived the matter so as to pass upon every body for an Italian stripling travelling to England, properly equipped for the opera house: the better to support which, she was provided with suitable habiliments, and above all, a distinguishing kind of head-dress, that masked her from every thing but the most critical inspection. It will demand all your best opinion of my veracity, to credit me when I protest to you, that she escaped
my
notice through the whole journey, nor was I acquainted with any part of the circumstance till, in compleating the project, she discovered herself to me in my own apartments in London. It was not for
me
to upbraid her upon the principle of the pain you was suffering; nor was it proper she should remain with one, who has not the honour to be in the married state. I therefore advised her to be as easy as her reflections would allow, at the house of a particular friend of mine, who has a sister that will preserve her safe, till she is once more in the arms of her Marquis. The step she has taken was certainly carrying the joke too far, and, no doubt, she herself thinks so; but when you consider her youth, her high spirits, her well-known fidelity to you, and above all, the perils she has safely passed, without a single soul to protect her, you have, I think, on the whole, rather more reason to laugh it off as a frolic, than to chide her for it as an impropriety.
Whatever mode of receiving her you propose shall be attended to, and if you cannot come all the way yourself, I will see that she is re-conducted to the borders of Italy, or even to your very house in Rome, or to that in Paris, if you judge it necessary. Your answer will determine me in every thing that relates to the lady, whom I have the honour, in the mean time, to have in protection. Be assured, Sir, the trust is as safe as it is sacred; and that I am, with all a friend's anxiety, Your
Most obedient humble servant, CLEMENT CARLISLE.
P. S.
Your lady, Sir, is at the house of Mr. LASCELLES, in Bond-street, London, whither you will please to direct your reply; and where, should you, on the present, or any future occasion, choose to visit London, I take the liberty of friendship to say, you will be cordially received.
LETTER XVIII. The Marchioness of N*** to Mr. CARLISLE.
(Inclosed by Mr. Lascelles.)
I MUST see you, though it be but for five moments: but since it is so very irksome to you, I give you a whole week to
prepare
yourself for a visit; in the mean time, your repose shall not be invaded by
Your AUGUSTA N***.
LETTER XIX. Mr. GABRIEL HEWSON to ROBERT DE GREY, Esq.
SIR,
MY brother (dear to me by affinity of blood, and by the coadjoining bonds of a settled friendship) my brother and I, Sir, have lately been much inveloped
in the deep abyss of meditation.
The additions to our fortunes, have, as is but too generally the case, brought with them additions of
carking care,
and
perturbed reflection
—we find it impossible to enjoy ourselves as we used to do, before the benevolence of Fate distinguished us by her splendid favours. My brother is unable to take the salutary exercises of the fields and forests,
crown'd with leafy honours;
and I, for my part, can find neither gaiety in Horace, nor argument in Tully. We conceive something should be done to make riches
sit easy
on us. We believe books will not do this for me, nor hounds for him.— In fine, we are sollicitous,
even to a considerable degree of anxiety,
to acquire a relish of those exterior ornamentals which so particularly mark you and Captain CARLISLE, from all men of our acquaintance. We understand the Captain is shortly to be at the Green; and therefore, as your indulging nature has very often pressed upon us an invitation, we could, conjointly, wish it might be
agreeable to your leisure,
and
consonant to your convenience,
to permit us to pass a few days, under the
sanctification of your hospitality
while the Captain is with you, that we may have the advantage of making ourselves very passable copies from the
reiterated imitation of so admirable an original.
My brother HENRY and I, Sir, are very impatient for the honour of your answer to this
our consequential request.
Sir,
I am, Your's reverentially, GABRIEL HEWSON.
LETTER XX. Mr. HENRY HEWSON to ROBERT DE GREY, Esq.
Hon. Guardian that was,
I UNDERSTANDS that GAB has
'form'd
you of our resolution to be
bettermost
persons; whereof the reason's good and natural, seeing that we are not the folks we
was;
seeing we are richer; our
ideerers
are no more the same they
was
than any thing, and I
ha
' put it
into
's head to see what hand may be made on us,
supposin
we had a good sightly
moral
before us. For certain, the
Captain
is as fine a pattern as need to be taken for any man's
sample,
and you are no small fool at making a bow yourself. You and he, therefore, are the men we mean to cut out by, and my HETTY would have no
'jection
to make a sample of your daughter, who, every body must own, has more the jig of a gentlewoman than any body within ten miles
o'her.
I send these few lines by JOE, just to clap brother GAB's letter, as it were, on the back, and do the thing more
plitely;
for, certainly, the more
parsons
write to a man out of one family, the more respectful. We understands also that you are to have visitors
go lore,
over and above the Captain.
That
we have no sort of
rejection
to: 'case why? We are sure for
sartain,
none are harboured at Prudence Green but your
tip-top specie.
So much the better for
we;
'case why? As we go on purpose to make a hand on't, and get as much as we can out of every body, why we can take one bit of haviour from one, another bit from another, and so on, till we are
up
to the whole gig of the thing. HETTY is 'ene almost ready to fly over the moon upon
casion
of this—she's a
duced
cute one, at taking any thing in hand she has a mind to, and I
surspect
she'll pull the feathers out of the fine ones till she's as pretty a bird as the best of them. I'd lay two o' my teeth to a
teester,
that she bridles and briggles to a nicety, in less time than I shall want to make me doff hat with decency; for, to tell you the truth, I have a cussed way of being
cover'd
in company; and, I think, it's a pity you was not guardian of my manners, as well as my money.—But I have said enough to shew you what I would be at, and therefore I have no
casion
to make a long affair
ont,
like Master GAB, who, I don't doubt, has muddled his brains never so long, to write to you a fine long
rigmerol,
and pick and choose words out of
diksonnerry.
Mayhap I may be one of your better sort as soon as he, for all his scholarship: not that I would have you
magine,
'Squire, I don't think GAB knows how to handle a pen: but I think a man may talk a little
plainer
than GAB: aye, and
write
a little plainer too, for I do
sure
you, parson of our parish, who put on his gown at
varsity,
has sometimes enough to do to make him
out,
when he writes his
flourididdles
to me, and HETTY says, he is no more fit for
pliteness
than my dog Dashgrove. But this is
atween
ourselves, 'Squire. I have written my paper
all through,
purpose 'case you should not be
fended,
and if it had been more I would
ha'
gone to the end
on't,
I
'sure
you; for you are just the sort of man I like, and, after all, I don't know when I come to set
this
over against
that,
whether I sha'n't take more of the bettermost person from
you,
than from the Captain himself. I am, with HETTY's love to Miss DE GREY,
Your dutiful friend to command, HENRY HEWSON.
P. S.
I think I would not have you say to any of the folks at the Green, what
lay
GAB and I are upon; for, 'tis natural to think, gentlemen and ladies (who have bought breeding, and
pliteness
dear) may not choose to have, as it were, their pockets pickt on't, by a couple of chaps who come
a purpose
to carry off the
best part of 'em.
I should not like it myself.
LETTER XXI. Miss DE GREY to Mrs. HEWSON.
Dear Madam,
MY father is writing billets of invitation to your husband and brother; and he hath assigned to me the pleasing task of requesting you will not forget to join our society, which is to meet on the 30th instant, when it is expected the Green will be exceedingly gay. Besides Captain CARLISLE, there will be a Lord and Lady BLESSINGBOURNE, and Sir ANDREW FLIGHT, their nephew: they are all persons who are able to form the taste, as far as it depends on fashionable carriage. At the same time, if you will take my advice, it would rather recommend to you the perpetuation of your original content, than any attempts at copied splendor. But this is a sentiment out of the line of my commission; and the letter you favoured me with will better be answered in conversation, than upon paper. Do not forget the 30th; and remember, in the mean time,
Your most obedient servant, LUCIA DE GREY.
P. S.
Mr. MEDWAY is already with us.
LETTER XXII. OLIVER MEDWAY,
Esq
to Mr. TOWNSEND.
I HAD scarce set my foot on Prudence Green, when DE GREY put into my hand a letter which not only mentions the arrival of CARLISLE in England, but his coming post into the country. This news was confirmed by the charming LUCIA, with a smile upon her face. In my opinion, TOWNSEND, a
better intentioned
smile than she ever bestowed upon me. To be sure, an old friend hath a claim upon one's cordiality, and no man deserves so large a share as Captain CARLISLE.—No man better loves him and his virtues than
I
do—and, certainly, a smile upon the subject of
expecting
him, was not wrong. —But why so very
kind
a formation of the features? why must the eyes sparkle so brilliantly on the occasion? why this rapture so directly upon the very front of his arrival?—I have the tenderest regard for CARLISLE in the world, but if —confusion!—I must not be sported with—my passion is too nice, too noble, and too near my heart for that. I must look about me a little.
Adieu! Your's, OLIVER MEDWAY.
LETTER XXIII. From the Same to Captain CARLISLE in London.
Dear CARLISLE,
AFTER having told you in a few words, that you are as welcome to me as ever was friend to friend, I must ask you a question, which, if you have time (as your last billet to Mr. DE GREY mentioned a short delay) I intreat you will answer by the post, even before you come amongst us. You are not ignorant of my regard for LUCIA: I have sent you, from time to time, fifty sheets of paper on the subject. I have reason to think
you
are as great a favourite as myself. No woman should dare to divide her heart. I insist upon an
entire
passion, or none. You know my humour. I love you above all men; but if you have,
even in thought,
supplanted me, let the needful be done without noise. Seconds are out of the question, when combatants know each other. You are as brave as Heaven. I am not apt to retreat myself. There was a sort of satisfaction in LUCIA's face, I must absolutely have
explained.
I have, in DE GREY's green paddock, the best and fleetest horse in England at this time grazing—He
knows
when I travel upon
life and death
—you understand me.
Farewell till I see you.
Your sincere friend, O. MEDWAY.
P. S.
The rest of DE GREY's party come to night: our laughing philosopher and whimsical wag, Sir ANDREW, is in the groupe.
LETTER XXIV. Captain CARLISLE's Answer.
How can you, my dear MEDWAY, still continue your cruel humour? How few moments thinking would have been necessary to set your fluttering heart to rest on every subject that concerns LUCIA DE GREY! The vehemence with which you first disclosed your passion to me, and the large strides you said you had made towards gaining HER affections, put an entire end to all attempts which, perhaps, might otherwise have been made by
me
upon the subject. Neither by look nor letter have I, ever since that time, addressed any thing to LUCIA that aimed at her heart, and your three latest letters (which came to my hands in Italy) wherein you assure me, your tenderness for that lady is fully
returned,
put such an additional check upon my conduct, that I looked upon the business as too far gone for any third person, except Mr. DE GREY, who, it seems, approves the match, to interfere without infamy. Besides that I shall embrace you shortly, I have just now such a kind of engagement to fulfill, that I must apologize for having replied to your letter so hastily. I am, as for many years I have been,
Dear MEDWAY's affectionate friend, CLEMENT CARLISLE.
LETTER XXV. Captain CARLISLE to GEORGE LASCELLES, Esq.
WHAT is to be done now, my dear LASCELLES?—a circumstance hath fallen out, even worse than the affair of AUGUSTA. Mr. DE GREY forgot to inform me, that the only person whom I should not meet at Prudence Green would make a distinguished member of his summer society! But yet, how should he imagine it was necessary to apprize me of it, knowing, as he does, of our long friendship, and
not
knowing there is any
delicate matter
on which it depends? The nature of my difficulty will appear to you better, when I tell you
Medway
is of the party— MEDWAY, the most generous, positive, good-humoured, quarrelsome man in the universe—MEDWAY, whose sensibility of honour, and jealous misconceptions, expose him every hour to a hazard of his life. If you have forgot my situation with this flaming hero, the inclosures will revive the whole track of the story in your memory. Had I not apprehended that he was to pass the summer in Oxfordshire, I should, by no means, have accepted of an invitation even from Mr. DE GREY; nor indeed should I, by right, have left Italy till the secret cause of my going thither became Mrs. MEDWAY, and had retired with her husband from Prudence Green. As the good of society is no way concerned in the communication of this my private bosom secret, no man but Mr. LASCELLES is trusted with it.
As to AUGUSTA, I am glad to find she is so well reconciled to our last conversation. Your sister will certainly, by her enchanting treatment, make a thorough convert of her; and at least keep her quiet without more interviews till I get the Marquis's answer. Were it not, therefore, for MEDWAY's affair, I should now go down to the Green in high spirits. With regard to LUCIA, I consider her so much the property of another, that I could certainly meet her
unalarmed,
were not that other under the same roof.
The INCLOSURES, (Being letters received
formerly
from MEDWAY.)
LETTER —.
Dear CARLISLE,
YOU know many of my secrets; so now take the greatest I ever had. I love your guardian's friend, LUCIA DE GREY: to this secret add one more,
she loves
ME; I have the
best of reasons
for saying so. My fortune is good. Pray help me in this affair with her father.
Your's, O. MEDWAY.
LETTER —. From Mr. C—.
In answer.
Dear MEDWAY,
As the affection betwixt you and Miss DE GREY is, you say,
mutual,
it shall never be interrupted, but, on the other hand,
promoted,
by
Your's, C. CARLISLE.
LETTER —.
Dear Captain,
I HAVE
more
and
more
cause to interpret LUCIA's conduct in my favour. DE GREY, I know, leaves all these points to his daughter's prudence; so that, although my notion of such a transaction is to keep it
quite private 'till the day of marriage
(even though that marriage should not take place for several years) I desire
you,
as a friend, to consider LUCIA as the
contracted spouse
of
Your's, O. MEDWAY.
The ANSWER.
Dear MEDWAY,
As you have, doubtless, the most solid foundations for speaking with such strength and certainty of the subject in question, I take it for granted, the lady's
heart
is wholly
set upon the match;
I do not therefore see that your happiness depends upon secrecy. However, since you enjoin me to privacy, I will humour your singularity so far as to obey you.
Adieu!
CLEMENT CARLISLE.
LETTER XXVI. Miss DE GREY to Miss LASCELLES.
Prudence Green.
HE comes! he comes!—this night he will be here—yes, my dear LASCELLES—CARLISLE will this
very
night be here; but, perhaps, your brother, his old friend, may have already heard from him. We all wish for him with the fondest impatience. Even the impetuous MEDWAY acknowledges him to be a man of the finest honour in the world. By the bye, CAROLINE, that MEDWAY is a strange being; I know not what to make of him—he is always begging me to smile upon him, and when I
do
smile, he whispers in my ear, "hush! hush! my dear soul, hush! don't
speak
about it—a smile is enough; a smile is enough." He came to me yesterday evening in the garden, and must needs change flowers—I agreed to his humour, and he cried out (in a transport that almost frightened me) "such a little transaction as this, with those who act upon terms of honour, binds the bargain as firmly as the bonds of Hymen." He may be a very gallant man, my dear, but he is the strangest creature I know, for all that, and though our acquaintance is of two years standing, he is as much a riddle to me as ever. The best part of him is, that he is the friend of CARLISLE—
I
am CARLISLE's FRIEND too, but I still enjoin you not to hint this to any creature breathing. A little before I first saw MEDWAY, I really thought CARLISLE had an affection for me; but many things have concurred since, to persuade me, that I am not only indifferent, but disagreeable to him. His excursion to
Italy,
above all other things, confirms this.—Ah, CAROLINE! how can so gentle and susceptible a heart as his be insensible to—But I have done.
Adieu!
LUCIA DE GREY.
LETTER XXVII. Mr. DE GREY to Captain CARLISLE.
Prudence Green.
WELCOME, thrice welcome to your native shore; welcome to those shades which are now blooming at your arrival. I have this minute attended Lord and Lady BLESSINGBOURNE, and their nephew the antic Sir ANDREW, from their carriage. MEDWAY, also, is with us, and your old neighbours Mr. and Mrs. HEWSON, with the studious Mr. GABRIEL. LUCIA says, when
you
are come down, we shall have quite a company of
contrasts:
there may be, for ought I know, some truth in the observation; at least, there is a pretty opposition in
some
of the characters, I am sure. Mr. GABRIEL is no bad contrast to Mr. HENRY: Lord BLESSINGBOURNE and his Lady are not amiss, in the same way: LUCIA and Mrs. HEWSON have a marking difference; and I very well know
how
and
where
the distinction is to be made betwixt Mr. MEDWAY and Captain CARLISLE. I hope, by the time this reaches you, all impediments to your journey will be past, and that I shall have it in my power personally to assure you, with what unalterable truth I am
Your friend and servant, R. DE GREY.
LETTER XXVIII. Sir ANDREW FLIGHT to Mr. HEATHCOATE.
OH! joy, joy, give me joy without end, my dear HEATHCOATE! Such game, such fun, such a summer is before me, that neither you or I can possibly want amusement. Prudence Place is absolutely crammed with
the
entertainment which, of all others, you and I most adore; even with the pleasures of
ridicule.
There are no less than three originals in the house, besides my uncle and aunt, who, even yet, are not entirely out of date. Here is a farmer who would be a
gentleman;
his wife, beautiful as Venus, who would be a
lady.
The farmer's brother, who, tho' neither fish, flesh, nor fowl, designs to be a scholar; and my dear aunt and uncle, who are magnificent, superb, high-bred—
nothings at all.
With such a groupe, (not forgetting that son of the seven Furies, OLLY MEDWAY) if I don't have some precious sport, and send you from time to time some sheets full of
fun,
why then I have lost my knack, and nature tries to entertain me in vain, this summer. That's all I say on the subject.
As to LUCIA DE GREY, and her dad, they are quite upon the grave order you know, and a man may look at their tempers for twelve months together, without finding a tittle that is ludicrous; so that, I fear, we can scarce rank any of these amongst our sources: no matter, ridicule is pregnant in every mother's child of the
others,
and you may expect to have a dish of the dear, dear ridiculous (to
me
more palatable than ortolans) at least every second post-day. But, heighty-teighty, who have we here! What figure comes prancing down yon avenue, majestic as the oaks which shade, and debonnair as the skies which encanopy it! It gains upon me as I survey it from the window. Those little animals called men, when mounted upon the backs of those larger animals called horses, are proper objects for the sportings of such spirits as our's, my HEATHCOATE. But, in this
particular instance,
in this most brilliant exception, there is no hinge whereon to fasten a joke:
this
object looks like a
man
even while he is bestriding a
beast.
His hair is caught by the gale—his proportions charm away the very genius of
burlesque.
I have not a jest in my imagination to throw at him. No fun in
this
visitor neither!—He alights—Zounds, HEATHCOATE, this fellow hath found out the art of displaying the graces in getting from his stirrup: the very horse seems conscious of his burthen: he gives a paw of reluctance at quitting him. The family are all flocking about the stranger—what prince—what deity is it who can thus attract universal attention, and turn
my
descriptions out of their accustomed channel!
I must lay down the pen to enquire.
In Continuation.
HEATHCOATE, could you possibly believe it?—The very image of one of my
oldest
acquaintances, yea even of my schoolfellow (who was a clever fellow when I was a dunce) had quite left me— yes, HEATHCOATE, such improvements are made in every part of
Captain Carlisle's ever
-handsome person, that I knew him not, till another of his ornaments (melting from his captivating voice) brought him again into my memory. One would think there could be no great matter of attraction for such a ludicrous being as I, in seeing a young man pay compliments to a parcel of people, who were
prepared
for such civility; and yet, by my soul, I stood gaping at this salutation, as if I was as young a beginner as the HEWSONS. I question, whether the god of Breeding himself could have pulled off his hat with such an air—then his attention was so properly
distributed
—Zounds, HEATHCOATE, his bows went through the very souls of the women—But what have
I
to do with
such
a subject!—CARLISLE is come to make us all look ugly in the eyes of the wenches, and so there is an end of it.—
However, for this disappointment
one
way, I am resolved to have full measure of revenge
another:
since a brighter sun appears, and
I
can only be in shadow, I am determined not to be disgraced without vengeance. As I cannot
shine,
I will
laugh
most inordinately; and I here swear by the rubied lips of LUCIA DE GREY, that I will enjoy every thing that ridicule can fairly catch at throughout all the flowery regions of Prudence Place. Neither man nor beast shall escape me, if either leaneth, yea but ever so little, to the ludicrous. This vow is sealed by the sanction of Jupiter: I nod, and knit my brows upon it.
Your's, ANDREW FLIGHT.
LETTER XXIX. Captain CARLISLE to GEORGE LASCELLES, Esq.
From Prudence Place.
I AM arrived safe, my dear friend; but fresh embarrassments rise before me. I was more affected at the sight of LUCIA DE GREY than I ought to be. Amidst all the air of general gaiety, the eyes of MEDWAY were intently fixed on me the whole evening. Much of what is commonly called
fun,
passed at the supper table, at the expence of two or three foolish people, who are out of their element.—Neither MEDWAY, nor LUCIA, partook of this. The night, however, closed harmoniously; and my return to
Prudence Place
was honoured by a general bumper of Burgundy. But, about ten minutes after the company separated for the night, MEDWAY's valet tapped at my door, and presented the inclosed billet:
To Captain CARLISLE.
I CAN'T sleep, Dear CARLISLE, without assuring you that I am now fully satisfied of your conduct. I looked at you for more than two hours, and I don't think you addressed to LUCIA (
my
LUCIA) any glances of
concupiscence.
This is the greatest obligation in the whole world to
Your's, O. M.
N. B. Hush—Hush.
If this prospect of being perpetually tormented by the vigilant jealousies of this hot-headed man continues, and if I cannot so far master my own sensibilities on a certain occasion, my stay in this quarter will certainly not be long. It is living under a double imprisonment both of soul and body. Nor, till the Marchioness is gone, can I, with propriety, repair again to your house. The rule of my life hath ever been, not to throw myself unnecessarily into the path of temptation. It is to my
feelings
(which are always poignantly wounded by the least shaft of
self-reproach
) as well as to my sense of
religion,
that I owe escape from many a mischief into which I otherwise might fall. I pique myself a little upon the virtue of making a seasonable
retreat.
My sensibility tells me
now,
that I am
here
in danger: I should be, by no means, in a road absolutely safe, if I were with
you.
It will require some adroitness to disentangle myself. If matters do not mend, I must alter my present address; although, were my
heart
quite easy, I could be well enough amused with this motley groupe at Prudence Place, and enter into every inoffensive levity with the most serious spirit imaginable. You see, by the air of my letter, that at present I can neither write or speak with certainty of
any thing.
I can only say, in general terms, that the joys I anticipated, like most things forestalled, do not sparkle in the cup so briskly as I expected; they are dashed by some bitter disappointments. I have a passion fretting my heart, which hath no lawful right to lie in my bosom. I feel it to be the tyrannizing serpent;—I smart under the sharpness of its tooth, and yet, like the man in the fable, I foster it. Do you not think, my LASCELLES, that LUCIA's passion for the boisterous
Medway,
is a little inconsistent with that uncommon delicacy and
gentleness
which seem to mark her own mind? But there is nothing so idle as an attempt to decypher the hieroglyphics of love. Mr. MEDWAY is the man of her choice; Mr. MEDWAY is, therefore, not to be questioned upon the subject of his
success.
I am your's, C. CARLISLE.
LETTER XXX. GEORGE LASCELLES,
Esq
to Captain CARLISLE.
(Previous to receiving the above.)
IT touches me very nearly to be so soon under a necessity of transmitting to you a letter from our fair lady, which, if I may judge from the air of anger with which it was given, does not contain the sentiments of a quiet disposition. Previous to your coming here the other night, I saw through the little artifice of her
dressing at you
in full taste: it brought to my mind that sweet line of the poet:
Now aweful beauty puts on all her charms.
Notwithstanding this, you had fortitude of
resistance
superior even to her
beauty.
How you are able to do these things is wonderful: for my part, I fairly confess, if I knew any lady, of any country, half so lovely, and half so longing, I certainly should suffer any little
scruples
I might have to be soon over-ruled; and were it in my power to make such a woman happy, happy she should be. As to the Marchioness, she hath fire enough in her eyes even to talk down the continence of an anchorite. Not that I blame your virtue, or accuse your taste. No, my dear CARLISLE, I admire both; I look up to the one with envy, to the other with despair. But this is no time either for comment or compliment: the Marchioness's letters to you ought instantly to be forwarded, since, from the peculiar
violence
of her temper, a moment's delay might produce the most disagreeable consequences. My sister wishes every hour for the Marquis's letter, although it is impossible he should get
your's
for some time. The two ladies parted from each other yesterday in tears. I am not yet master of the meaning. CAROLINE's confidence is impregnable; unless she thinks it
right
to disclose any matter, her dearest friends would not be let into the secret.
Farewell. GEORGE LASCELLES.
LETTER XXXI. The Marchioness to Captain CARLISLE.
HAVE I not sufficient cause to curse my fate, that hath left me without one solid reason to sanctify my affection? Have I not reason too, to curse that barbarous father, who sacrificed me to the most hateful man upon earth—who sold me for a title which I despise, and to embraces which are bitter to me as the bonds of death? The great, the counterbalancing arguments, Mr. CARLISLE, are all on your side, and therefore my pleadings are all against the tide. But I see all that is to happen— you will never see me more—you refuse me your direction—you will have your London apartments—your friends will grow weary of me, and I shall be in utter despair. Ah! what a foundation have I for such suspicions! How cuttingly cold was the air with which you last addressed me! How cautiously cruel your civility!—You took my hand, but it trembled as if at the touch of infection, while mine, on the contrary, throbbed with a violence that denoted the agitations of my heart. Your whole discourse was
general;
or, if it ever became
particular,
it turned upon my husband—the most detested of all subjects. But this was not enough; you dare not trust yourself with me alone: I am reduced to such infamy that it was necessary to converse with me in the presence of a third person; that third person, too, must needs be a
woman.
But you were deceived: I did not in that complotted interview shew myself so abandoned as you expected: I was conscious of the deepness of the triumph, and I fell before it. My situation is not even yet, perhaps, quite erased from your memory. You recollect some part of my confusion. I conjure you, however, Mr. CARLISLE, by love, and I charge you by what is due to distress, not to insult her whom you cannot redress. Pity is at least my due, and when you are not disposed to bestow that, for honour's sake, do not substiture contempt. Pray what is to become of the unfortunate
AUGUSTA N***?
LETTER XXXII. Miss DE GREY to Miss LASCELLES.
OH, my beloved CAROLINE! Mr. CARLISLE is at our house, and yet I am more wretched than I was before his arrival. He certainly detests me. He speaks in form, and though he can never lose his politeness, which is a part of his very nature, yet he has wholly lost his friendship. How can I possibly have forfeited this? We were bred up together, you know, CAROLINE; always in the same house, for some time in the same cradle: it is to CARLISLE I owe my early relish for reading, and every better ornament. Nothing could possibly be more cordial, or more familiar, than we were formerly. Wherefore hath he robbed me of his attention—of his
brotherly
attention?—But, I suppose he hath been fortunate in his
Italian attachments
—the friendships of a warmer clime are, doubtless, more attracting and more animated. I know not what to think. Certainly, Mr. CARLISLE never gave me reason to imagine I was more in his esteem
than—than—than—.
But why do I talk, CAROLINE? he absolutely does every thing but flatly shun me.
To increase my vexation, that tiresome wretch MEDWAY becomes more strange than ever. Half an hour ago he put into my hand the nonsense I inclose:
To the fairest and faithfullest.
If it was necessary for people of honour to make speeches, I could make many about your good sense, &c.—But enough upon that subject—Let not the tell-tale gossips of the air talk of my whereabout: silence has the most meaning: I hate noise. I write this to tell you that I had no objection to your laughing last night at the HEWSONS— though, had any
man
breathing laughed half so much at me, I would have sent him upon a message to the moon—but, no matter—hush—it is to my content that you should be as pleasant as you please—Burn this—walls have ears— worms have eyes—You understand me.
O. M.
Surely the man is a fool; but I am in no humour to comment on his absurdity—For Heaven's sake write, CAROLINE, to
Your very unhappy LUCIA DE GREY.
LETTER XXXIII. Sir ANDREW FLIGHT to Mr. HEATHCOATE.
HA! Ha! Ha! Ha!—Oh laugh, thou divine cure for every care; thou celestial convulsion, let me enjoy thee; and let me at the same time shew my generosity, by sharing thee with my friend!
I have laid a plot, my friend,
such
a plot as will ensure thy felicity for a month: you are to have two new correspondents, such as before never honoured thee, and I beg thou will pay proper respect, and make thy responses in due and decent form. Not a word more till thou hearest farther of this matter from another quarter. In the mean time let me end as I began, with one of those ever-delicious
bursts of the soul,
which mark the constitution of.
Your ANDREW FLIGHT.
LETTER XXXIV. Mr. GABRIEL HEWSON to Mr. HEATHCOATE.
SIR,
I HAVE just been informed that you take a liberal delight, and a generous joy, in being a witness to the progress of any gentleman's instruction; and the worthy Sir ANDREW, with
affability ineffable,
and
complaisance corresponding,
has assured me, that you are of opinion the talents will receive a
quicker
polish from
letter-writing,
or the
art epistolary,
than even by reading or conversing: he adds, that although my improvements have been considerable, they would make double impression, by being communicated in writing to an ingenious
absent
person. Now, Sir, it happens that I am thought to be the most enlightened man of my acquaintance, which I should account unlucky, was I not comforted by the idea given me by Sir ANDREW, of finding in you, Sir, a person who will kindly receive my sentiments upon breeding, as I am enabled to pick them up from time to time. I shall enjoy by these means a double honour and advantage; and I wait only for your kind permission to commence.
I am, Sir, most profoundly, Your obedient GABRIEL HEWSON.
P. S.
My brother is setting pen to paper, or at least
designs
so to do soon, for a similar honour.
LETTER XXXV. Mr. HENRY HEWSON to Lord BLESSINGBOURNE.
My very good Lord,
I HAVE a mind to try my hand at a '
pistle
nearer
home,
before I venture abroad; just as your Lordship may have seen a parcel of young birds fly a few yards back wards and forwards upon the neighbouring hedges, before they are so bold as to lose sight of their nest. This I find by your nephew is a
simularius,
so that you see I have got something already. But the meaning of my writing to your Lordship is, as I
ha
' got a corr
s
en
, that I may
get one for my HETTY, who is so much improved since she came to
Prudunce Pleace,
that she'd be hang'd as soon as write to any thing under a gentlewoman of the
bettermost specie.
Now I think your Lady is of this genii: so I write, unknown to HETT, that I may get your leave for
she
to write to
she;
whereof the honour would be clear as the noon-tide. Pray put your reply to this privately into my hand, when we next walk, for sake of the genteel thing, up and down the garden. Mean time know me to be what I
am,
Your's, H. HEWSON.
LETTER XXXVI. Sir ANDREW FLIGHT to Mr. HEATHCOATE.
BETTER and better still! the gudgeons bite this warm weather at Prudence Place most gloriously. Every minute teems with ridicule. I have played off that
heaviest of the Hewson lump,
Mr.
Henry,
upon my
uncle,
yea even upon the pompous muscles of Lord BLESSINGBOURNE, to whom the farmer hath written in form, just to
get into's fist,
as he elegantly phrases it. I spirited him up to this, and so contrived it, that the letter should be given to his Lordship exactly at the proper crisis— even while he was at a magnificent têteà-tête with my Lady upon that constant subject of theirs, the dignity of rank and family. I took care also to enter his room, by the way of morning
devoir,
just as the epistle was delivered—No coronet at the top of the seal—and yet— the scrawling and
genteel up-and-down of the superscription
is politely illegible enough, to come from
somebody
of
rank,
says the Earl — Dost thou know the hand, my Lady—No indeed, my Lord —It is not in my list of hands—If it approaches towards
any
of my correspondents — continues my lady — it is the Countess of Cannotspell. In my opinion, my Lady, said I, it bears strong marks of the Duchess of Letterblot; that copious command of capitals in the L.O.R.D. looks astonishingly like the finger and thumb of her Grace.—Whew, says my uncle, there's no post-marks: I can't possibly account for this, my Lady. Ten to one, uncle, replied I, the contents will unravel the mystery in a moment; that is to say, if the writing is not
too fashionable.
His Lordship broke the seal which Mr. HENRY told me he once valued much, it being the exact effigy of the finest greyhound bitch that ever
nabbled the scut of a bare
—None of
my
friends fasten letters, nephew, with the engraving of a
dog
—
Heaven and family-honours, exclaims my never-to-be-forgotten uncle, what have we here, with
my very good Lord
at the top, and
your H. Hewson
at the bottom? H. HEWSON! Pray, who is this familiar Mr. H. HEWSON? I suffer no freedoms from such pens as these.
No, indeed, don't you, said my Lady.
Suffer
me
to read it to you, my Lord, said I; I can't possibly conceive the meaning of it.
I read it, HEATHCOATE, and gave it all its graces. It was not without great difficulty the angry Earl
sat it out.
His comments were exquisite. I inclose the original, on purpose that you may compare a few of them—a
simularius!
cried his Lordship, what does the fellow mean by that?
Prudunce Pleace:
and pray, how could Mr. DE GREY, at his grave time of life, admit such a creature as this to
Prudunce Pleace? Prudunce Pleace,
rejoined my Lady; oh! the illiterate—ha! ha! ha!
I went on, but was soon stopped again. A woman of
the bettermost specie,
a
lady of this genii,
and
for she to write to she
—did you ever hear such impudence, said I, my Lord?
Impudence, replied my Lady! Pray, nephew, order my coach this very day. Does
Mr.
DE GREY (who, though a very worthy man, is only a
Mr.
) imagine we are to be insulted by
rifraff,
whom he thinks fit to make our
equals?
They may, perhaps, be equals for a
Mr.
but they are no proper company for persons whose names move upon a
different construction.
That's very true, aunt, said I, and it's perfectly unpardonable in that little, low-minded monosyllable
Mr.
to behave thus rudely to names of a nobler sound, and a different construction.
Mr.
indeed! I should not have thought of it!
Don't be witty, ANDREW, neither, says my aunt.
Madam, your Ladyship does me wrong, said I, I despise
Mr.
as cordially as your Ladyship, and I even bought
Sir Andrew,
that I might never have any thing more to do with him.
Mr.
quotha!
Be that as it may, nephew, rejoined my Lord (rising upon his toes, and swelling out his breast, as is usual with him when he feels the
might
of any sentiment) be that, I say, as it may— You very well know the
stock
from whence our family sprung. You very very well know, that we have not a plebeian particle about us; and though it is very true you bought
Sir Andrew
with my money, on account of my abhorrence of
Mr.
yet you have the best of blood in your veins.—Yes, nephew, I will take upon me to say, with very little exaltation of voice, you have the best blood. Heaven, and family-honours, here's usage indeed!
Thank Heaven and my noble-blooded ancestors, my Lord, nobody better, said I.
The veins of your aunt are not less dignified—
Sensible of that, my Lord, said I, her Ladyship's fine blood shines beside her fair complexion, like the violet that groweth among the lillies of the valley.
Not amiss, said my uncle, simpering!
'
Pshaw,
you madcap, cried my aunt, patting my shoulder, and looking at the back of her hand, after gently rubbing it.
Hang it, rejoined my uncle, forgetting for a moment his dignity, this poor H. HEWSON means no harm after all; he is a poor simple thing.
An unfortunate fish out of water, you may see by all his actions, said I, and I dare say thinks he has lived upon shore long enough, since he has had the honour to write a letter to Lord and Lady BLESSINGBOURNE.
Do you think so, nephew? cried my uncle and aunt (tickled by the flattery); well, then, let us not be offended: let the affair drop.
I do really think, my Lord, rejoined I, if you were to write him an
answer,
you would make the poor fellow feel, as if he were in Heaven.
Answer him, said my Lord; what can I say to such a being?
Say something, however, said my Lady, to the poor devil.
My uncle ordered the writing apparatus; and after as much writing as might have been necessary to lay the plot of a comedy, he wrote upon a large gilt card, in a hand very little better than HEWSON's, the following sentiments:
To H. HEWSON.
THE Earl and Countess of BLESSINGBOURNE received H. HEWSON's letter, containing a simularius, and several other curiosities, worthy the pen of such a genii as H. HEWSON. As H. HEWSON'S HETT. is, it seems, a person of the
bettermost specie,
the Earl and Countess have no objection to
she writing to she,
as often as
she
chooses. As Sir ANDREW FLIGHT, who is, it appears, H. HEWSON'S friend, conveys this card, there is no occasion to watch any
slyer
opportunity to get it to H. HEWSON's hand. The Earl and Countess have only to desire H. HEWSON will not boast of this honour received from them, and to address them in
public
as little as possible, at least till he and his HETT. are
bettermost perso
s.
This card, HEATHCOATE, penn'd so exactly to my wish, after being sealed with a flourish of the best wax, and stamped with the broad BLESSINGBOURNE arms, capped with a coronet, and decorated with supporters, was delivered to my care.
I carried it to the farmer-gentleman, whom I found disputing the point of politeness with that beautiful piece of ignorance his wife.—She was pleased to be hugely offended by the contents of his Lordship's card, and declared, that Mr. HEWSON writ without her knowledge.—As to acquaintances, she had plenty—that she wrote every night to Miss DE GREY, and chose to owe her improvements to her own ingenuity.
Then it's not my fault, cried the husband; you will bear me witness, Sir ANDREW, I have done
my
duty; 'tis none of my seeking that she won't
horrespond
with a Ladyship, and a Countess: as for
my
part, I am not above getting all I can out of high and low; so I shall write just as I see
cassion,
either to my Lord or Maister HEATHCOATE. And now you talk
o'that,
I must go
scheme
out a letter for the last-named
borrespondent
directly.
Away he went, and I enjoyed the society of his HETT. all alone. She is absolutely a more charming woman, in my eyes, HEATHCOATE, even than LUCIA DE GREY; nor does she want sense, if she was not so consumedly addicted to admire every thing which you and I despise. But her beauty—her lips—eyes—neck—chest—waist—arm —cheek—bosom—ancle—
I am, your's, ANDREW FLIGHT.
LETTER XXXVII. Captain CARLISLE to GEORGE LASCELLES, Esq.
I HAVE had a very foolish accident happen to aggravate the uneasiness of the Marchioness's last letter. It is in itself a trifle, yet the consequence to my
peace
will make it important to you. Sir ANDREW FLIGHT was playing off his witticisms and waggeries upon the ignorance of some country simpletons that are now at the
Place,
when I became so weary of his vociferous amusement; for where is the pleasure of sporting with inexperience —that I withdrew to Mr. DE GREY'S garden, unobserved, or at least uninterrupted, by the company. MEDWAY was watching his fishing-rod: Lord BLESSINGBOURNE was withdrawn to his chamber for his afternoon's nap. Mr. DE GREY'S garden is exceedingly large, and part of it is disposed into a wilderness, whose zig-zag is so intricate that you may sometimes have your whole prospect terminated by a yard's distance. The surrounding foliage, too, is of the thickest growth, being suffered to expand for several years, receiving from the gardener, from time to time, only such cares and loppings as to render the beautiful confusion more agreeable. Seats and bowers, apparently artificial, with here and there a dripping grotto, are distributed irregularly, and the shades are every where so abundant, that the sun-beams rather cheer you by
stealth,
than by permission. I have, for my own part, an attachment—a sort of sentimental friendship, and good-will, for every bench, and for every tree: they were all favourites of my infancy: I sat upon the benches, and I caught instruction from the lips of Mr. DE GREY, under the trees. This, therefore, was the first time of my hailing them since my return. Believe me, I felt sensations that thrilled me, as I re-visited the places of my accustomed contemplation; I bade them welcome with as much ardour as if they were animate. I walked along the green meander, recognizing my old acquaintances; I listened to birds whose notes I affected to be
intimate
with my ear, as if they issued from the same warblers I had heard formerly. I complimented the cascades upon an
improved
melody in their cadence: every breeze that played upon every leaf, revived the balmy pleasures of infancy. Even intercourse with other countries (not odorous Italy herself) had not been able to supplant the
tenderness
I bore to the vernal beauties of Prudence Place.
Ah, LASCELLES! what could be the reason of this? Presently I came to an alcove, which was originally the architecture of two children, who grew up together. It was a whole week's labour, divided betwixt Miss DE GREY and your CARLISLE: our little hands twisted the twigs, formed the archings, and subdued the obstinate shrubs with inconceivable industry. Many a time we rested from the toil, and, as often being delighted with our progress, we renewed it. When it was compleated, we gave —oh, I shall never forget it—a kiss of tenderest congratulation, as at having finished a work of
infinite importance.
Big with this innocent flattery, we ran, hand in hand, to our guardian, and with elated hearts bade him survey well our workmanship. The gravity with which he commended, and his affected astonishment at our
ingenuity,
gave the last and fullest stroke of our pride and vanity. Over the entrance, our guardian caused to be imprinted upon a label, in golden letters, this soothing intelligence to the stranger:
This Bower was raised by Clement and Lucia.
The robin-redbreast built in it the next, the
very
next year, and we had then, you know, the best reason in the world to think that Heaven itself was pleased with our amusement. The nest, you may be sure, was preserved, for both piety and pity were concerned in its protection. We trod with caution while the
sacred
bird was hatching: the whole feathered family presently took wing; and I do verily believe I hear one of them now whistling near my window.
Oh, LASCELLES! how soon is the heart that wishes to be inoffensive, lulled by little circumstances! Smile not, then, if I tell you, that I saw with transport the names of LUCIA and CLEMENT still legible on their bower—the branches of sweetbriar, on either side, were eagerly extending as if to embrace—and I beheld the initials of my name very
recently
cut in the rind of a hawthorn, that formed one of the supports of our alcove.
What sweet circumstances — how they melt the heart! cried I.
At that moment the softest-tuned voice in the world repeated distinctly the following verses, from her favourite poet:
In these deep solitudes, and aweful cells,
Where heav'nly pensive Contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing Melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a Vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyon! this last retreat?
Why feels my heart it's long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I
love,
from ABELARD it came,
And ELOISA yet must kiss the name.
You are not to be told it was LUCIA DE GREY. In the next instant she passed within sight of me, the book still in her hand. Unprepared on both sides for the surprize, we were inexpressibly confused. Beautiful lines, Miss DE GREY, said I. Yes, indeed, replied she. I think, Miss DE GREY, in a former part of our life we used frequently to read the charming Mr. POPE
together
—In this very garden, Mr. CARLISLE; do you recollect your old bower, said she? If I mistake not, Madam, said I—Madam, CLEMENT? Madam, Mr. CARLISLE? replied she, as if a little offended. I say, continued I, Miss DE GREY, if I remember right,
this
is that bower. You had almost forgot it, then, Mr. CARLISLE, had you? I suppose
Italy
(the garden of the universe) hath put all our
English
roses quite out of countenance: Prudence Place is, to be sure, a mere nettle-bed.—Ah, no, Madam! (said I, upon the edge of an explanation, but happily checking myself in time) though certainly Italy hath its charms. Oh, no doubt of it, replied LUCIA; but I believe, Sir, the company will have lost their chief felicity by your absence. I hear Mr.
Medway
coming; I know his rapid, random step; and I dare say his errand is from the deserted society to the runaway Captain CARLISLE. If you please, Miss DE GREY, we will retire, then. I will just finish my poem and follow you, Sir. We parted. 'Tis evident she loves MEDWAY to distraction, LASCELLES — She
knows his step.
—He was then in search of her,
doubtless, by her appointment.
—I wish them happy—very, very happy. But my head aches; my heart is not quite well; and I must wish you a good night.
C. CARLISLE.
LETTER XXXVIII. Mr. MEDWAY to Mr. TOWNSEND.
CONFUSION, TOWNSEND! I have discovered the plot—I have got a clue to the whole matter. I am, I perceive, a very catspaw. I am made the convenient cloak to conceal the passion of
another.
Yes, TOWNSEND, I saw CARLISLE at the very farthest end of DE GREY's garden in earnest conversation with LUCIA: at my approach he turned into a different walk, and went into the house. I overtook the guilty fair one, and caught her in the very act of reading ELOISA to ABELARD; which is as much as to say, if I can't talk with him, I can at least
write a letter
to him; and I dare say they do correspond: every body in this family scribbles, and I don't at all doubt but there is fine flourishing penwork going forward between LUCIA and CARLISLE. As to the first, I only walked quickly
by
her, without deigning to
speak,
and I pulled off my hat with unusual respect, as much as to say—Oh, oh, my young lady, have I caught you! I shall repeat the same behaviour when I meet her again, and then it is impossible she should mistake my meaning. With respect to the Captain, whom I honour as a friend and gentleman, in every
other
matter, his life is not worth sixpence, for he must as surely die this night, as that he insulted me this day; or else he must injure me still more, by taking me off. I only write this to you, TOWNSEND, just to account for any delay in my correspondence, should it be
my
fate instead of
his.
In that case I desire you will be at the breaking open my will, because you are mentioned therein, by
Your old friend, OLIVER MEDWAY.
LETTER XXXIX. From the Same to Captain CARLISLE.
NOT a word more than is necessary shall be used. I suppose you know the little green lane at the south side of DE GREY's paddock—the
farthest
end of it is out of the report of a pistol's getting to the ear of the family— six yards the distance—twelve the hour —LUCIA the word—you understand me —mum—good evening. Hush.
O. MEDWAY.
LETTER XL. Captain CARLISLE, in Answer.
I SHALL certainly give you the meeting, MEDWAY, in the hope of convincing you, that the chance of duelling might be poor satisfaction to a man who has, as you have, all the reason in the world to think himself most tenderly beloved by such a woman as Miss DE GREY. However, if you choose to hazard the continuance of this blessing, which at present you so fully enjoy, why, take your own way, and do not blame
Your obedient servant, C. CARLISLE.
LETTER XLI. Mr. MEDWAY to Captain CARLISLE.
MY dear Captain, I would not now die for the world: nor would I have
you
die: it is plain, then, to
you,
that I am
tenderly beloved;
and since you are, as well as I, convinced, I fully enjoy this blessing, what in the devil's name should I run my neck into danger for? So, she
told
you as much. How shy all the sex to the men they love, when they have a mind to it! But 'tis nature: pray, my dear boy, go to bed—sleep heartily—don't come near me—I won't be met—I shall go to bed myself—I am a jealous fool—whew, whew.—There, there; the fit's over. Good night.
O. MEDWAY.
LETTER XLII. Miss LASCELLES to Miss DE GREY.
I SYMPATHIZE most tenderly with my dearest Miss DE GREY: yet, surely, she makes to herself more misery than is necessary: it is impossible for Captain CARLISLE to be so intimately acquainted with LUCIA's charms and virtues without admiring them; and, as to any
Italian
attachments, I think I can take upon
me
to say, he is bound by none of those. Perhaps some
uneasiness
may look like
disrespect
in him at present. Depend upon it, all will in a little time be happy; in which assurance it is that I venture to say you are much happier than some women. It is with pleasure I subscribe the name of
Your affectionate CAROLINE LASCELLES.
LETTER XLIII. Sir ANDREW FLIGHT to Mr. HEATHCOATE.
TRIUMPH, more triumph, HEATHCOATE! I have got a treasure! In a close lane, as I pursued my walk, I found the paper which I inclose: it is evidently the property of the pretty would-be bred Mrs. HEWSON, and is so much in the true taste of that burlesque we love (although so seriously
intended)
that I esteem it the most invaluable essay upon the
elements of high life
in the world. Read and re-inclose it, for it will serve a purpose now forming in the bosom of
Your ever happy ANDREW FLIGHT.
The inclosed.
My Note-Book of Manners, To be read by me every evening going to bed.
HENRIETTA HEWSON.
Memorandums and Notes, &c.
Mem.
—Miss DE GREY always sips her wine softly.
Note.
—It is unlike a lady to drink
heartily,
as if one were adry.
Mem.
—Miss D. G. inclines the head a little
tiny bit
on one side, when she returns thanks. 'Tis charming.
Mem.
—Lady BLESSINGBOURNE half closes her eye-lids, and does not choose to
see too plainly.
Strong eyes vulgar.
Note.
—Very like a gentlewoman to be short-sighted.
Mem.
—Miss D. G. never lets her hands
drop down.
Note.
—It makes them red so to do. Hands should not sink below the bottom of the waist.
Mem.
—Miss D. G. speaks low and sweet.
Note.
—Very rude for any thing
under a Countess
to talk at the top of the voice. A Dutchess may use a great bad word.
Mem.
—Lady B. takes snuff—Miss D. G. does not. Countesses may snuff.
Note.
—Horrid for any body
under a title,
or under forty years of age, to indulge in snuff; but they may hold it up to the nose, in order to shew a pretty hand, and
affect
to take it.
Mem.
—Miss D. G. steps modestly, and with an easy motion: Lady B. wriggles and totters.—Lovely weaknesses!
Note.
—Inconceivably polite to totter and wriggle. I can hardly hold my pen! Lord, how I will totter! how I will wriggle!
Mem.
—Knife and fork sweetly held by Miss D. G.
Note.
—
I
attend too much to the victuals, and not enough to the manner of cutting and putting it into my mouth.
Mem.
—Lady B. passed yesterday by a tradesman of her's, and did not see him.
Note.
—Highly polite to
overlook an inferior.
Mem.
—A young person saluted her Ladyship this morning with a curtesy down to the ground. The
person
had, formerly, been waiting-woman to her Ladyship: her Ladyship had not the
faintest recollection of ever having seen her before.
The words
bless me, who should that thing be,
very proper on such occasions.
Note.
—Exceedingly genteel not to
recollect obscure creatures.
Mem.
—I actually heard the Countess hawk, spit into her handkerchief, and then
look at it.
—Mis D. G. never gives more than a gentle
hem,
and then half turns away her head, so that when you again see her face, you see it tinged with a blush.
Note.
—Very fashionable for persons of quality to do that which would ill become Misses. I believe I must never venture to spit; but I do more than
hem
now.
Mem.
—Lady B.'s countenance always encourages certain innuendoes — wellbred indecencies.
Note.
—Charmingly polite to be above
shyness
—a great defect in Miss D. G. who is always serious, holds down her head, and
won't hear
on these occasions.
Mem.
—The Countess frequently cants one leg over the other, and sits in that posture. Miss D. G. scarce shews her ancle, although it is finely turned. She has not yet got the better of prejudices.
Note.
—Fashion gives a freedom to the limbs.
Mem.
—Miss D. G. sits upright, and attends too much to her shape. The Countess lolls carelesly, and leans upon her arm.
Note.
—Nothing shews breeding more than a loll, &c.
LETTER XLIV. Mr. HENRY HEWSON to Mr. HEATHCOATE,
Esq
Esquire HEATHCOATE,
GIVE every man his title and dignification, as Lord BLESSINGBOURNE says, therefore I begin my
horrespondunce
with you, at the instigation of Sir ANDREW, with calling you Esquire, which is certainly your due, seeing you are out of trade, and do
nothing at all for your livelyhood.
I am to write what I get in the way of breedin, it seems, to you, which is a thing pleasing, seeing that you must, without doubt, be a master of the business.
But I believe I shall have a wearisome spell o'work on't, before I am as I should be: case why? there goes more to the making an honest man a gentleman than I had at first any
ideerer
of. I ha' been
i'th'way on't
only three or four days, and I can see, already,
t'an't
to be run up, as a man would run up a rick of hay. Ods woundlikins, Esquire HEATHCOATE, there is no end on't. But howsomever, to shew you that I am not quite a
numscull,
I'll just mention a few matters that I ha' got in memory, which is as thof one were to call it a storehouse to lay by things for future use. In the first place you must understand, that I see plain enough that the first rule of your
bettermost
person is to make a bit of a pleasant grin come into's
phisihog
whenever he first meets any one, as much as to signify, that he knows how to carry his head. In the next place, I find 'tis proper to make up this bit of a grin at first sight, whether you like the man or not. Case why? a gentleman should not shew that he is cuss'd angry,
cept
upon
cassion
of interest, seeing that
pliteness
knows how to smile i'th' face, while it puts finger in pocket. 3dly, I ha' noticed, that the less a man puts
bat
on's head, the better: Case why? it's the sooner doff'd without pinching out the corners; besides which, its
plite
to carry powder and
pummadum
enough to keep the cranium comfortable without it. I find a strange
difculty,
Esquire, in getting my foot into the right slide of
pliteness;
for, I perceives head and foot dive together—
out
goes foot,
down
goes head: this is a cuss'd crankum piece of business. Saving your presence, I can't see the fun of bowing and scraping
too:
nay, ifack, what do I talk of that? some here, at
Prudunce Pleace
must needs kiss their hands, and then swing 'em out at the same time. The young
Captain
does this; aye, Esquire, young CARLISLE's hands, head, and heels, all work at once, as smooth and cutely as a bird i'th' air. I'd give almost more than I'm worth, if I could but wriggle out the hinder part o'me, just like Lord BLESSINGBOURNE: when
he
first comes into room, I warrant me, he does nothing but
treat
and
vance,
shuffle and cut, and go backwards and forwards, sticking out his rump, and
craning
his fine, thin, long, meagre, nine-haired head, which I find is the
plitest
head a man can have. Yet he knows who's to have a wriggle of the bum, and who not, too: I warrant you he is a cute one: he don't gig and drop his fine
plite
head to every body alike: no, believe me; he has the measure of what's every man's due, from the Duke to the stable-boy. Down goes his genteel head quite on's breast, to Captain CARLISLE; but when I puts in for a bit of civility, I can't get his neck to move downward half so civilly—Case why? I am but a poor fellow just come among
plite specie.
But I don't allow myself any 'vantages; for though I ha' put on the best suit to my back,
t'an't
at all the thing. Sir ANDREW says my wig is enough to ruin me for ever, if there were nothing else in the way. 'Tis as good a bob as ever was bought, and sits as snugly to
feace;
but, alas! what's a bob where you shan't see any thing under a bag, and that
flourididdled
with ribbons and
tossicums?
Young CARLISLE, indeed, lets
his
hair fly to and fro, just as he and the wind can settle it: Case why? he has so much on't, and 'tis so well coloured, and twirls itself off into such ringlets, that
he
is
plite
any way. I ha' bespoke a bag, though I know
aforehand
'twill make a devil o'me, and so I told GAB, who is to ha' the fellow on't. Comfort, tho', that I can't look worse than GAB when I'm bag'd, bag me when they will. For at any rate, I ha' gotten flesh on my feace, and a little jot of colour i'my cheeks to set it off, as well as a stout pair of shoulders; whereas GAB has werretted all the flesh off's bones by larning. Without a word of a joke, Esquire, I don't believe GAB has a pound of substance on's whole
carkiss;
and as
to's jaws,
has no more meat upon them than upon the bill of chicken: his back is quite a
skelitum;
and though his hair is no bad raven-colour, yet it grows so cuss'd
odd on's head,
and is so
lankum rat-eaten'um,
as a body might say, if they were mind to talk larned, that I would not gee frap of a finger
for's whole growth.
But now I'm upon good breeding, Esquire, I desire to know whether a trick I saw Lord BLESSINGBOURNE (who is ever
acold) do
today 'fore men, women, and children, is the
common practise
of your bettermost specie: that is, standing with bumfiddle to fire with coat up, and now and then popping hand
below
waistband. Mayhap, my Lord mayn't be quite so
well
as he would be thereabouts, just at present; and it may be a comfort
to'un
to feel now and then how matters go; for which reason I won't venture upon this action till I know whether 'tis a general thing or not. Not that I dislike it, but that just yet it seems aukward to such an ignorant
feller
as I.
Nothing i'th'way of breeding more, at present—But I ha' filled my paper, which I take to be always the
plite
thing. So I rest, at the bottom of the sheet,
Your HENRY HEWSON.
LETTER XLV. Mr. DE GREY to Mr. CARLISLE.
Prudence Place.
MY best and dearest CARLISLE must pardon the formality of receiving an old friend's letter, dated, written, and directed from the same house that contains both the writer and reader of it. The reason is, Prudence Place is at this time so crouded with different sorts of people, and one has so little opportunity to steal leisure for conversation of the
higher kind,
that I do not imagine a subject which is at this crisis so very warm at my heart, can be so well or so explicitly handled as upon paper. So much for the apology: I come now to the
matter.
—The days, the months, the years of
tuition
are now past—those seasons, my CLEMENT, in which I had the honour and the happiness (for it was both) to point out to you the paths of propriety and of virtue, are over; for the
Pupil
is even already, at the most early age of twenty-one, become the
Preceptor:
he is the
Tutor of Truth:
he hath already got orphans and widows under his guardianship — the noblest of all guardianship, my CLEMENT—the guardianship of
Sensibility.
I
thank
you, Sir, for doing me so much honour. When you left this country for ITALY, I did not imagine there was room for improvements; you were amiable, polite, and prudent; as free from pedantry, on the one hand, as from dissipation and the distracted joys of an overgrown boy, on the other. Yet, on my first beholding you, the other day, I was struck with an
additional
finishing, an elegant
compleatness,
which, though not before seeming to be wanted, was, as it
now
appears, absolutely necessary. Forgive the garrulous vanity of an old man, Sir; forgive me, if I lodge, with all the narrative tediousness of age, a little longer on this part of the subject. There are circumstances, which
allow
us to swell out the heart, without making it ridiculous. You, Sir, occasion in me a pride of this nature. Some men's ambition, in the last state of life, is gratified by walking, or rather hobbling, into their fields and gardens, to recognize those flourishing shades which are the produce of their own cultivation. I have heard a veteran neighbour of mine, a thousand times exclaim,—See, Mr. DE GREY, how industrious I have been! that long and lusty range of oaks, extending from this pasture even to the farthermost avenue in the next, did I plant with my own hand.—I remember the day when the whole row (containing, perhaps, two hundred sticks of timber) were so many petty acorns not so big as a walnut; and see, only see how they have sped. I could raise a little navy—verily, neighbour, I could fit out a fleet, with a wood of my own raising.
Such ideas, I own, are not displeasing, CLEMENT: but they are far from being expanded enough, for
my
emulation; my emulation chooses a nobler object, and takes a wider course. My object, Sir, is not circumscribed by any thing within the scope of
inanimate nature;
and though I could be able to look out upon whole forests of my own cultivation, it would not satisfy me. No, Mr. CARLISLE, I have a far
finer
pleasure. I have it to say, that the politest gentleman, and the best man of his age, was once the child of my instruction. He was left by that Heaven, which took to itself his natural parents, at an age when gentle treatment makes a parent of any one. I received this dear and delicate trust from the trembling arm of a dying man, and I value it, as a legacy given me in the moment that the soul of a friend was departing. Yes, at such a tender period, was you bequeathed to me, Mr. CARLISLE: my child, LUCIA, was exactly of the same age; and you grew together. The beauty of your forms, like the power of your minds, was similar. I can only say farther, that nature points out to me none of her nice distinctions or partialities. In the hour of your childhood I caressed you both with the same sensibility, and now that you are mature I divide my heart
evenly
between you. But this touch of transport hath seduced me into a digression. Old folks are, I perceive, on their favourite subject, as tiresome in their writing as in their talking; and therefore they have as few correspondents as hearers. It is time, however, to return to my subject.
On looking back at my accountbook, my dear Mr. CARLISLE, I find that your birth-day hath gone by almost a month. You seem to have forgot that it entitles you to the command and sole disposition of an immense fortune. Money was, I am proud to say, never a disputable point with us, except when coercive measures were obliged to be taken in order to force upon you a remittance. This, however, by no means exculpates me for detaining what ought to be in more amiable, as well as more able hands. I reproach myself, when I consider how many cruelties my delay may have been guilty of, Mr. CARLISLE, to those whose fortunes
you
have in trust: methinks, I hear the curse of the widow, the languishing sigh of sickness, and the murmur of merit in the darksome vale: I see, too, the tears stream from the eyes of the fatherless—Oh! for Heaven's sake, my friend, relieve me—rescue me, instantly, from continuing the injury to that part of your family which Providence hath put under your care.
I shall, most readily, be prepared to render up an ample account of my agency, whenever (and the sooner the better) you will honour me with your appointment.
Thus much for
fortune.
I had it in my mind, CLEMENT, to venture a few sentiments upon
happiness,
which are, by no means, things incompatible, although they are not often inseparable. But any thing I could advance on this head is unnecessary to such a
mind
as your's. With respect to your
heart,
I own, I meditated a few words upon
that
subject also: but I am in great doubt, whether this is the proper point of time to speak to it; yet my propensity is so warm, and the prattling, or rather, at present, scribbling, old man, is so strong, or, to speak more truly, so
feeble
in me, that I can scarce resist.
The interest of your heart must naturally, my dear CLEMENT, be of more concern to me than any other that belongs to you. You are exactly at the age when tenderness falls with the fullest force upon our nature; as you have a form to command love, so have you feeling to return it. That sensibility, which makes you a parent to the poor, and those accomplishments which endear you to society, in general, will assist and even lead to connexions of a softer kind. I am afraid, it would border a little upon that impertinence which I would avoid, else I should ask you, in the cordiality of my good wishes, whether it is
possible
for so amiable a man, to have passed through
Italy,
and to have resided in the capital of England, (the very court of female beauty) with an inclination unattached, and passions unalarmed. This is too great a paradox for me to credit, even in imagination; and yet, I am
mightily interested
in the question and its answer. Perhaps you will humour an old friend's
caprices,
and, for once, trust him (who can be no rival) with a lovesecret. Suppose you were to steal an hour from the strange mixture of our present family, and scribble a line or two on this matter. I dispatch this by your trusty grey-headed GEOFFREY, who, you know, may be the confident of every message that can come from such a master.
I am, My dear Mr. CARLISLE, Your most perfect friend, And most obedient servant, ROBERT DE GREY.
P. S.
The HEWSONS are just what you call them, honest, imprudent people, who have had the great misfortune to come in for ten thousand pounds a piece, at a very unlucky crisis. I had the management of their affairs when their whole expectations were bounded by a small annuity; and they still call me Guardian. I wish I had influence enough over
se random wards to persuade each o
them to remain quiet, and be happy, in despite of this unseasonable win
l. They are here upon a
polite
scheme; I heartily wish they would go home upon a
prudent
one. This may be the case, by and by.
LETTER XLVI. The Marchioness of N. to Captain CARLISLE.
Cruel CARLISLE,
YOU confess then that you have written to the detested Marquis: you even avow the sentiments of your letter to him; you own, that they are to
hasten him to England.
But do you think, Sir, I am to be thus treated like a child, and threatened with being chid by that bugbear,
my husband?
or do you imagine, I will ever allow myself to be re-united to him. Preposterous expectation! No, Mr. CARLISLE, tho' I am a slave to my own passions, I will never more be a slave to those of another! You argue in vain about rights and laws and duties—in vain you urge the maxims of the world, and the custom of nations. I have lived so long under the Italian heavens, that I have forgot—utterly forgot—the colder atmophere of cloudy England. I have learned to follow my feelings, and to abhor chains that were forced upon me by paternal authority. You direct me to the sacred circle of gold upon my fingers; you call it the caestus of fidelity. I grew enraged to consider a man, scarce more than twenty, thus coldly argue upon a tender offer of no contemptible passion. My
pride
took the alarm, and I tore your epistle, and threw the ring from my finger at the same time. I stampt upon it with indignation. Miss LASCELLES appeared, and, as if you had pre-instructed her, she acted upon the occasion as the very priestess of piety. "Fie, my dear Marchioness, (said she, folding her palms together in the true conventicle manner) these outrages are ever dreadful, but when they arise from so bad a
cause,
what strength of terms can sufficiently reprobate them! Consider the reserve and decorum of your sex!—consider the consequences!— consider your character!"
Ah frigid insolent! is this the mode of British hospitality? Do you
lesson
those whom you protect? and do you, nevertheless, boast of your island as an asylum for the wretched, and for the stranger? Where are your sanctuaries for an unhappy woman—where is your courtesy for tenderness and the wounded heart in despair? But you northern Islanders grow upon too frozen a soil to feel the power of sentiment, which glows nearer to the sun.
The subject must be hateful to you, and I will quit it: but, still, Mr. CARLISLE, something is due to my
pride,
whatever is denied to my
passion.
I will not stay here to
the triumph of those, who have cha
ty because they have not hearts. Miss LASCELLES hath, of late, assumed a language of lofty advice to which I am not accustomed. She pities me—she is sorry—she wishes me well—she will do every thing warranted
by discretion
—she wishes Captain CARLISLE and I had met sooner. The affair is delicate—she hopes that prudence will prevail.
Ah! CARLISLE, that my extravagance of affection should have reduced me to this! Oh! that I could change— Oh! that I could reverse the passion—I would sacrifice fifty years of my life to hate you.
Ah! what have I said? To what violation of the truth hath my passion led me? No, my CARLISLE, no; I would not wish to hate you—wretched as I am, I would not even wish to love you less. Though the agony is extreme, there are moments of transport, known only to bosoms like mine, that repay me for it. Hate you—O heavens! what a word! what an idea to mix with that, which dresses up the irresistible CARLISLE! Pardon the blottings which are staining this part of my paper. They are made by tears that shew at least some tincture of virtue. In other circumstances you say it would have been your pride to have courted the softness which is now so pressingly offered. How then is it possible
my
eyes should be dry, when I perceive those circumstances so unlikely ever to happen? Yet, I cannot lose the idea—I cannot disengage myself from the delusion, though I know it to be no more. Persist then in your virtue, Sir; but deny me not the little gale of pleasure that blows from fancy. Continue to let me hope—continue to correspond— only condescend to allow me the flattery of thinking I am not hated by the loveliest of men, and I will sustain any thing for his sake. I will remain quiet where I am, and sit composed under the frown of
virtue without temptation.
I will bear the thought of even seeing again the Marquis. I will do any thing you would have me, if you will still continue to say you do not utterly execrate me, for a guilt occasioned by tenderness.
The most unfortunate Marchioness of N.
LETTER XLVII. Captain CARLISLE to Mr. LASCELLES.
MY dilemma is even greater than before. The inclosed, from Mr. DE GREY, is even more perplexing than that which you transmitted from the Marchioness. Both perplex my imagination, in what manner to answer them. Mr. DE GREY'S reason for inquiring into the state of my affections, is, evidently, for fear my return to Prudence Place, (now that his daughter is in the full bloom of her sense and beauty there) should inspire me with a passion that, he knows, would terminate in despair; apprised too as he is of her engagement to Mr. MEDWAY. It is very natural for him to imagine I should fall into this charming temptation; so that this is a little generous stratagem (under the guise of ordinary curiosity) to prevent the mortification, and the misery in time. Mr. MEDWAY is so singular a man, that, if he did not constantly assure me almost every time he sees me, that his passion runs before the wind, I should scarce credit, that a person whom I hardly ever saw speak to Miss DE GREY, should have made such a progress in her affections. It is plain, however, now from her
own
conduct, that she is fervently attached; for her address, air, manner, and whole deportment to me, are utterly changed. I am no longer delighted by that lovely affability, which, though playful, was ever corrected by modesty. She no longer consults my taste, which she was wont to flatter, about her dress, her ornaments, and ten thousand innocent trifles, that, nevertheless, (trifles as they are) make up the chief endearment of domestic society. She speaks in form; her eye is averted; her sentiments sound
studied.
We are no longer like CLEMENT and LUCIA, who employed their infant cares in rearing the
same bower.
Mr. DE GREY'S letter therefore, joined to Mr. MEDWAY'S assurances, and Miss DE GREY'S behaviour point out to me, pretty plainly, what kind of an answer it is proper for me to make to the former. I am somewhat consoled to reflect, that, even in my most familiar moments, I never entered flatly into overtures with LUCIA, so that I cannot create any uneasiness in her bosom upon my account; for, had that been the case, her sensibility is so uncommon, LASCELLES, she would have felt for
my
disappointment, amidst all the gaity of her own successes. Since
her
heart is happily engaged (if she
thinks
it so, it certainly
is
so) it now becomes a duty, more than ever, in me, to
conceal
the feelings of
mine.
Whatever be the violence of my passion, it has no right to be troublesome to any other bosom: and I was never able to account for that cowardly conduct, which induces us to embitter the joy of a rival and a mistress because they were more fortunate or happy than ourselves. Beside, that such complaints never awaken more than compassion which is not desirable, they aggravate disappointment till it rushes upon disgrace. But, methinks I hear you retort upon me: "Why trouble
me
with your misery then, CLEMENT?" Ah LASCELLES, we are not such abstracted beings as to lock up our sentiments, either of joy or sorrow, in absolute solitude. The very thoughts would stagnate, by such means. On some generous breast every man must, by the very gravitation of his nature, lean for support in
misery. Every man culls from
species his congenial counterp
and it is as necessary to have a
our confidence, as a mistress
tenderness. Away with those
minds, which feel an avarice
their noblest feelings. Plurali
of friendships may, perhaps, like plu
a
ity of lovers, be
admissible; but, surely, it is very possiole to be fond of one mistress and faithful to one friend, at the same time. Oh! Mr. LASCELLES, what hourly occasion is there for one or other of these blessings! As joys and sorrows alternately prevail, how soothing is the congratulating hand and chearful voice to the one! and the gentle tear, or sympathizing sigh to the other! Ah enchanting communication! without which, even transport must lie languishing at the heart! and in
misfortune
the wretch who is separated from his species, and sits loose to the kindness of an individual, shall, like a wounded deer, lament his disaster without pity, and die forlorn.
With respect to the Marchioness, I am every way so circumstanced that I am puzzled even to reply to her. It would be too much like affectation, and a kind of male prudery in me to say, that, if matters were in another channel, I should not be flattered by this overbearing tide of tenderness in so beautiful an object. Heaven knows I am not
insensible
to the charms of beauty. Something that at this moment presses hard upon my heart, convinces me I am not. But situated as I am, how is it possible to receive such a letter as her last without distress? Believe me, LASCELLES, I feel no elation at the compliment of so distinguished a preference, although I acknowledge the Marchioness to be as you say, with your favourite Yorick, "amongst the first order of fine forms." I acknowledge too her command over the passions: her fire; her eloquence; the delicacy of her shape; the dignity of her deportment: yet, I feel nothing but anxiety at her present conduct. The reason you will say, is, my secret attachment to
another.
Be it so. Yet, were even that barrier removed, I should, I am positive, still be unhappy, and not flattered, by the attentions of the charming Marchioness. You are an animated man, and no doubt call me a coldblooded creature! By no means. My passions are as lively as they generally are in
any
bosom at my age, but, perhaps, my
taste of voluptuousness
differs a little from the general juvenile idea. I have a great pleasure in pleasing
my own mind:
nay, I have a great
interest
in so doing; whenever I have done wrong, I have always found that the pain resulting from it, is too heavy to be counterbalanced by the pleasure which produced it. I have my wayward propensities as well as another: a whim hath often seized me by the heart, and I have at all events indulged it. For
the time,
it was extasy, and, for ought I can tell, the extasy was heightened by a sense of the
venture
at which the deed was done. Presently (and indeed close upon the heel of it) comes the
per contra
of the action, if you will suffer me to borrow a term from trade. My frolic being over, memory is commanded, by a power we cannot resist, to
retrace
it; and if in going through the mazes of the past I met any thing wrong, or uneven, against the cause of that integrity which I profess to love, the thorns are from that moment in my bosom, and for so much mirth, I am rewarded seven-fold in misery. I am so constructed that I can no more stand against the rebuff of a blush on my own cheek than against the thunder of a cannon: the sigh which my weakness may at any time have extorted from another bosom, agonizes my own; and a tear, which I once, very undesignedly, drew from an innocent creature, haunts me from place to place, and the precious drop, for it was wrung from the eyes of
Lucia,
is still trembling in my imagination.
I have enlarged upon this subject, because my behaviour might want (to your fancy) an apology. That people do not all act on the same principle, is, because they do not all analyze the real cause of that anguish which so often treads upon pleasure. There is, methinks, one simple law, that comprizes all the wisdom of the prophets, and all the sagacity of philosophers: I feel it better than I can describe it; but to give you some idea of it, I shall just lay it down as a note, that, whenever a man is upon the edge of an enjoyment, (let it relate to whatever part of indulgence it may) he has only to consider, whether it will not, sooner or latter, be returned by
more
than an equal misery: if, however, even the prospect of
greater pain
does not deter, let him hazard the joy: then while the
actual agony
is full upon him, let him again compare the
actual pleasure:
after this, his heart must be very perverse, and his head very much intoxicated, if for the future his pleasures are not such as will not
burt
him after they are over. Innocent pleasures are, indeed,
never
over: they spring directly from the soul; and like that, they are immortal. Like mercy too, they are "twice blest:" they delight us while they are acting, and conscience makes them sacred in reflection.
It is upon this principle I am proceeding with regard to AUGUSTA. She is the wife of a man to whom I had the honour to tender what he reckoned an obligation. This makes his property more especially sacred to me. She is, also, the wife of a man whom, notwithstanding the roughness of his manners, I believe to be valuable. She is
in trust
—In short she is every thing that she should
not be
to make a mistress of; and as I told you before, my
taste of voluptuousness
must have the present circumstances wholly inverted — that is to say—she must be unmarried, and
averse
to marriage; unconnected, and unclaimed in the way of connexion, and I, unattached too—before I could congratulate myself upon the conquest of this flower of Italy.
Yet, till the Marquis comes, for Heaven's sake use every method to soothe, and quiet her: do not advise your sister to oppose her in the heat of her sentiments. She is too furious for admonition. Her imagination is too much in its hey dey. Her passions will die of themselves; and she will consolidate perhaps, after all, into a regular character. Her situation with you is so very delicate, that I know your sister is in a dilemma; but still, AUGUSTA has many virtues. I have seen a thousand instances of her benevolence: the Italian peasants bless her door, and kiss the very threshold of it, because imprinted by her footsteps. She is at this time under the influence of
Fancy;
it is a sort of feverish fit that attacks smartly at first, and will away again. The handsome creature is but just touching nineteen. She is a child, my dear LASCELLES, and this truant disposition is a trick of the leading string: without parents and of a vigorous imagination, she is yet, as to human life, in the nursery. No more, my friend— think not of her as of one abandoned: that is not the case. As to her glowing language, let not that displease your sister, though unaccustomed to her ear. The Italian women know nothing of that reserve and pathetic bashfulness, which guards the expressions of the British fair. They speak freely and flowingly—the Marchioness adds to the custom, even the ardours of
constitution.
But, indeed, she is not a base character—Once it is said the Marquis in his violence struck her. Her pride was hurt. She thought it beneath the dignity of the man who had figured at the front of an army—she never forgave it—'twas wrong. But who hath not a fault to be forgiven? Farewell. I have written myself into some composure, and that will plead my excuse for having so long intruded.
I am your's, C. CARLISLE.
LETTER XLVIII. Miss DE GREY to Miss LASCELLES.
SURELY every day is commissioned to present some new mystery, and no hour decreed to unfold or explain it! My father whispered, as I sat at dinner yesterday, that he had a little private conversation for me, and would contrive an opportunity very soon to chat with me. You know his method of treating his children, CAROLINE. Towards the close of the evening (when Lord and Lady BLESSINGBOURNE were airing, Mrs. HEWSON at her looking-glass, where she is practising breeding, Mr. MEDWAY at the river with his fishing-rod, and Mr. CARLISLE at his writing-desk) we found the leisure we wanted, and walked into the garden together. We will settle a little while in this very bower, my dear, says my father: 'tis as pretty and cooling as any in the garden.
Oh, CAROLINE, it was the bower of CLEMENT and LUCIA!
Yes, Sir, replied I; it is very pretty and cooling, indeed.
I suppose, LUCIA, your fellow-labourer who helped to make it has not paid it a visit since his return. Such humble shades must yield to the spices of Italy. He has, to be sure, forgot an arbour of mere English hawthorns and woodbines.
I — I — believe he has, Sir.
A-propos, LUCIA, do you hold in the same mind still? Do you still think him the
incomparable
CARLISLE? Prudence Place can boast just at present,
several
brilliant men. We have the laughter-loving Sir ANDREW, of a very agreeable person. We have the manly Mr. MEDWAY, odd, but amiable. Putting these both against Mr. CARLISLE, is he still the
superlative
degree? There are two to one LUCIA. What say you?
I believe they have all their merit, Sir.
But is their merit perfectly equal in
your
opinion, my dear?
As to that, Sir, I—should suppose— no doubt—that is—in short, Sir, as I have not known them all the same time— as one can judge more of intimates than casual acquaintances—
You prefer CLEMENT, I suppose?
I have known him the longest, Sir.
MEDWAY, my dear, has great connexions.
Sir?
Sir ANDREW has good humour, and will be heir to Lord BLESSINGBOURNE.
Sir —?
But CARLISLE is the more accomplished gentleman.
Most certainly he is, Sir,
beyond comparison.
Do you think
beyond comparison,
LUCIA?
Sir—?
I say, my dear LUCIA, do you really think—that—that?
Bless me, Sir, how faint the air gets when the breeze falls, at this season of the year—
Yonder comes GEOFFRY.
From Mr. CARLISLE; perhaps upon private business—I will, if you please, withdraw, Sir.
If the heat is troublesome, pray do, my dear.
Very troublesome, indeed, Sir—Lord bless me! there is not a breath of wind. As sure as can be, there is a tempest in the skies.
Thus ended our dialogue—What does it mean, CAROLINE? I never was more confused in my life. What could old GEOFFRY be coming for? The old fellow, who only wishes himself young again to dispatch with more haste the commands of his master, quite ran on the occasion.
On my return into the house, I met Mr. MEDWAY with an handkerchief full of fish, and in the highest degree pleased with his success. By way of courtesy
en passant,
I told him, he must certainly carry a
charm
about him to attract so many fish out of the water in so little a time. Upon which he caught hold of my wrist, and, after looking round the room to see if any body was present— hush—hush—for God's sake, child— walls have eyes—and worms have ears, as I always told you.
From this, and some other strange things, I have seen in this man, I am convinced his head is not exactly as it should be.
Not a view of CARLISLE all this morning since breakfast. No sollicitation to sing, to touch the guittar, to walk in the garden, to count the fruit, to read Pope, to—to—to—
It is very barbarous he should all at once take such a dislike to me!
I wish Italy had been far enough before he had seen it. Pray, my dear, are the ladies so
very
beautiful in that country? Towards
Rome
for instance! I have been looking into my father's library for a sort of
history,
and
manners
of that country. Not, indeed, that I am concerned in the matter; but yet, if any thing of this kind happens to fall in your way, you may purchase and send it me by the first conveyance.
LUCIA DE GREY.
P. S.
Lord B. sets out this evening from our
Place
to his seat in Shropshire. Sir ANDREW continues with us, on purpose to teaze the silly HEWSONS. MEDWAY is to be mad with us all the season.
LETTER XLIX. Lord BLESSINGBOURNE to Mr. DE GREY.
Blessingbourne Abbey.
Sir,
WE got, without mischance, to the Abbey. I beg to know whether you have considered the subject we discoursed upon. Sir ANDREW is no mean match, Mr. DE GREY. He will, one day, be Earl of BLESSINGBOURNE, for which change of his name, I have a peremptory command in my Will. If you send me word
you
are satisfied as to the matter, I will transmit directions for him to think more
particularly
of the young Lady, whose good qualities my Lady and I have determined within ourselves to be equivalent to want of title, and that is certainly saying a great deal. Sir ANDREW is worthy, though he is too great a laugher, and he will make a good husband. Your offer of forty thousand pounds with Miss DE GREY is liberal: half that with a coronet would be sufficient. However, if there are honours on one side, it reflects dignity on both. If she marries Sir ANDREW she stands a chance of being a Countess; to which brilliant probability I will add the fellow sum to your's down, two thousand pounds worth of diamonds; a thousand pounds for a wedding dinner, and the handsomest set of cream-colours, with silver trappings, and the BLESSINGBOURNE crest engraven thereon. I have the honour to enclose for you the salutations of the Countess, and to be,
Sir,
Your most obedient Very humble Servant, BLESSINGBOURNE.
LETTER L. Captain CARLISLE to R. DE GREY, Esq.
My fatherly Guardian,
TO shew my esteem for your
mode
of conveying your last sentiments, I
adopt
it. To imitate, is to admire. Many parts of your favour went quite home to the seat of the tenderest sensations; particularly where you discover to me, in a style peculiar to your pen, that regard, which has ever been the most distinguished honour and blessing of my life.
All your questions have a claim upon my answer, and upon my sincerity. You address me on a delicate subject. I see, plainly, how much my happiness, in every state of my life, is at your heart. Of the conjugal connexion, I think with veneration and sensibility; but I am exceedingly
young,
and shall, in all probability, gain a little more domestic knowledge, and of that prudence which belongs
to family,
before I change my condition. Whenever there is the smallest prospect of this happening, it cannot be long a secret out of Mr. DE GREY's bosom.
I am ever his own, CLEMENT CARLISLE.
P. S.
I had almost forgotten to mention the money-affair. It is not possible for the poor to want a friend or an instructor while Mr. DE GREY is at Prudence Place; and if the charge of my fortune is not absolutely troublesome to him, there is no bank wherein it can lie with so much satisfaction to me.
LETTER LI. Mr. LASCELLES to Captain CARLISLE.
HOW pitiable it is, my dear CARLISLE, that you should be so circumstanced as to find it utterly impossible to return the extatic fondness of this bewitching woman! She is absolutely an angel. Some new dresses have lately been put on, and she sets them off with such an elegance, such a taste, such a
naiveté,
it is impossible to look at her without an ejaculation of pleasure and admiration. Allowing all your arguments their full force, I must still confess, there is a something cold and icy about
your
heart, that cannot be melted by such a blaze of beauty—especially as the lady is so perfectly
willing,
and not at all unreasonably
nice.
She loves your person well enough to take it on
your own terms:
she does not pretend to capitulate: the citadel is your own, and you may do what
you will
with it. Oh—said she, the other day (while the tears were streaming from her lovely eyes)—oh, that I could see him but
one
moment in
every
day, I would be content with annihilation for the rest of the twenty-four hours. By Heavens, CARLISLE, if any woman half so beautiful had avowed such a sentiment in
my
favour, I would have shewn my gratitude for it at the price of my existence—but you, on the contrary, though as virtuous as a saint, are as frigid as a Freezelander. I question whether you ever approached the lips of this lovely one since they first declared a passion for you. It requires, I confess, all the elaborate excuses you have made, to wipe off the imputation of an insensible; and even after all your pains, I freely tell you, that I think you are too scrupulous upon this occasion. I speak frankly, out of pity to the Marchioness, and for
your pleasure.
Admitting your passion for Miss DE GREY to be ever so great, what, I wonder, has
that
to do with a snug convenient beauty, by way of,
my friend in a corner,
at another quarter of the world? Your notions are absolutely antediluvian. I do not know another man in the world, who would not
leap
at your situation. In the name of pleasure then, make the best of it! I thought at first as you do, but I speak now upon mature deliberation. There is no doubt but the Marchioness would change her name, live quietly in the place you provide for her, be happy as if in Heaven to get a sight of you once a fortnight, and there would be an end of the thing. Do then, let me advise you, put a period to these complaints; open the cage of the beautiful prisoner, and set the pretty little heart, that is now beating as it were at the wires till it pants again, perfectly at ease. It is with great difficulty I keep her from writing to you every day. The idea of the Marquis sets her already raving; but I cannot by any means draw from her, nor can my sister, any account of her family, supposed to be in town. She says, they would force her again to the arms of the detested Marquis. But I have proposed a proper salvo for all those sores, and, if you have the least lively spark of the young man, or of merry human nature in you, you will not neglect it. Compliments to our friend Sir ANDREW.
Adieu, G. LASCELLES.
LETTER LII. Captain CARLISLE to G. LASCELLES, Esq.
YOUR letter has not been an hour in my hand, and, although my heart was full of
other
matter, I have now neither ear nor pen for any thing but an answer to it. Do you know, in the first place, that I looked at your seal, and at your superscription, and at the very
cut of your letters,
before I would credit the thing to be your's? In this age of
forgery,
I was in good hope, somebody had made free with my friend. But as it appears that the letter did absolutely proceed from
you, I
must proceed to an explicit reply.
Make a prostitute of the poor girl, Mr. LASCELLES? Seek out a convenient apartment, and compel the charming eyes, which you say
now
weep with love, grow wild with the sparklings of rage and despair? What, Sir, would you wish me to seclude her from all valuable society, and to sink her from a Marchioness of the first figure and fashion, to a mere mistress—from a young, elegant woman, to a scorned, abandoned daughter of the brothel! Is this the method in which you would have me return my compliment, for a long, a weary, an hapless, and an unfortunate journey of a thousand miles? However misplaced the affection she is pleased to bestow upon me, and however impossible it is for me to reward it, I am still bound to her even for her very misfortune. It is my
fate,
and not
me,
that declines what, in some cases, might have been my greatest blessing. Surely, Mr. LASCELLES, I owe her gratitude of a very different complexion from that blushless one, you recommend. My heart bleeds for her. From
me
she should claim an attentive anxiety how to
recompense
the throbbings in her bosom; the most industrious care to reconcile her again to her husband, to contrive means of healing up any breach, which my unfortunate acquaintance with that gentleman may have occasioned. These are the services she should expect from me, and to offer these is at once my study, and my effort. But I will not believe you serious; or, if you are, your compassion has hurried you into a precipitancy, that only wants shewing you, to be repented of.
This, my dear LASCELLES, is assuredly the case. Besides which, depend upon it, you have
mistaken
the Marchioness. She could not stoop to the ignominious terms you have proposed to me for her. If she
really
loves, there must be some degree of refinement in the partiality; and believe me, LASCELLES, many a woman has felt a secret predilection in favour of a man, who would start with horror from an act of
predetermined
perfidy. If it were not for the appearance of an implied compliment to
myself,
I should not at all scruple to say, I believe, any partiality, AUGUSTA may have, unluckily, conceived in my favour, proceeds, wholly, from some imaginary
virtues
which she is pleased to think I possess. I dare swear she is taken by certain qualities in your friend, which (as
she
has enriched and magnified them) appear to
her
deserving esteem. Upon
this
principle, you have, indeed, proposed an
effectual plan
for making her
detest
me. To discolour the image she has flatteringly dressed up, by placing in its stead a seducer and ingrate, might perhaps prove a successful remedy: but this, my dear LASCELLES, would be purchasing aversion more fatally than any thing that can reasonably arise out of the partiality itself. No, no, my friend.
Enough however has been urged: you are convinced, and, therefore, you are dear as you ever were, to
CLEMENT CARLISLE.
P. S.
Sir ANDREW returns your devoir. He is as merry as ridicule can make him; his present objects, now his uncle is gone, are two foolish bumpkin brothers, and a handsome simpleton of a wife to one of them.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.