From the Mitre at ——.
Past twelve at night!—An hour I used to think the most silent of any:—buthereso much the reverse, one reasonably may suppose the inhabitants, or guests, have mistaken midnight for mid-day.
I will ring and enquire, why all this noise?
A strange bustle!—Something like fighting!—Very near, I protest.—Hark! bless me, I shall be frightened to death!—The chambermaid not come! Would I could find my way to Mr. Jenkings's room!—Womens voices, as I live!—Begging!—praying!—Ah! ah! now they cry, Take the swords away!—Take the swords away!—Heaven defend us! to be sure we shall be all killed.
One o'clock.
Not kill'd, but terrified out of my senses.—Well, if ever I stop at this inn again—
You remember, Madam, I was thrown into a sad fright by the hurry and confusion without.—I dropped my pen, and pulled the bell with greater violence.—No one came;—the noise increas'd.—Several people ran up and down by the door of my apartment.—I flew and double lock'd it.—But, good God! what were my terrors, when a voice cried out, She cannot be brought to life!—Is there no assistance at hand?—no surgeon near?—I rushed from my chamber, in the first emotions of surprize and compassion, to mix in a confused croud,unknowingandunknown.—I ventur'd no further than the passage. Judge my astonishment, to perceive there, and in a large room which open'd into it, fifty or sixty well dressed people of both sexes:—Women, some crying, some laughing:—Menswearing, stamping, and calling upon others to come down and end the dispute below.—I thought of nothingnow, but how to retreat unobserv'd:—when a gentleman, in regimentals, ran so furiously up the stairs full against me, that I should have been instantly at the bottom, had not his extended arm prevented my flight.
I did not stay to receive his apologies, but hastened to my chamber, and have not yet recovered my trembling.—Why did I leave it?—Why was I so inconsiderate?
Another alarm!—Some one knocks at the door!—Will there be no end to my frights?
If one's spirits are on the flutter, how every little circumstance increases our consternation!—When I heard the tapping at my door, instead of enquiring who was there, I got up and stood against it.
Don't be afraid,Mame, said a voice without; it is only the chambermaid come with some drops and water.—With drops and water! replied I, letting her in—who sent you hither?
Captain Risby,Mame, one of the officers:—he told me you was frighten'd.
I am oblig'd to the gentleman;—but set down the drops, I do not want any.—Pray tell me what has occasioned this uproar in your house?
To be sure,Mame, here has been a terrifying noise this night.—It don't use to be so;—but ourTown'sGentlemen have such a dislike toOfficers, I suppose there will be no peace while they are in town.—I never saw the Ladies dress'd so fine in my life; and had the Colonel happen'd to ask one of theAlderman'sdaughters to dance, all would have gone on well.
You have an assembly then in the house?
O yes,Mame, the assembly is always kept here.—And, as I was saying, the Colonel should have danced with one of our Alderman's daughters:—instead of that, he engag'd a daughter of Esquire Light, and introduced the Major and ahandsome Captainto her two sisters.—Now, to be sure, this was enough to enrage the best Trade's-People in the place, who can give theiryoung Ladiesthree times as much as Mr. Light can his daughters.
I saw she was determin'd to finish her harangue, so did not attempt to interrupt her.
One of us chambermaids,Mame, continued she, always assist the waiters;—it was my turn this evening; so, as I was stirring the fire in the card-room, I could hear the Ladies whisper their partners, if they let strangers stand above them, they might dance with whom they could get for the future.—They were busy about the matter when the Colonel enter'd with Miss Light, who though she isveryhandsome,verysensible, and all that, it did not become her to wear a silver silk;—for what, asour Ladiessaid, is family without fortune?—But I am running on with a story of an hour long.—SoMame, as soon as the Colonel and his partner went into the dancing-room,—onecry'd, Defend me from French'd hair, if people's heads are to look like towers;—another, her gown sleeves were too large;—athird, the robeings too high;—afourth, her ruff too deep:—in short,Mame, her very shoe-buckles shared the same fate.
This recital put me out of all patience:—I could not endure to see held up a picture, which, though out of the hands of a dauber, presented a true likeness of human nature in her most deprav'd state.—Enough, Mrs. Betty, said I, now pray warm my bed; it is late, and I am fatigued.
O! to be sure,Mame; but will you not first hear what was the occasion of the noise?—The country-dances, continued she, not waiting my reply, began; andour Town's Gentlemenran to the top of the room, leaving theOfficersto dance at the bottom.—This put them insoviolent a passion, that the Colonel swore, ifourGentlemen persisted in their ill manners, not a soul should dance.—So,Mame, upon thisourGentlemen let some of the Officers stand above them;—and there was no dispute till after ten.—What they quarrelled about then I don't know;—but, when I came into the room, they were all going to fight;—and fight they certainly would, if they could have gotourGentlemen down stairs.—Not one of them would stir, which made the others so mad, that they would have pulled them down, had not the Ladies interfered.—Then it was,Mame, I suppose, you heard the cries and shrieks; for every one that hadhusbands, brothers, oradmirersthere, took hold of them; begging and praying they would not fight.—Poor Miss Peggy Turner will have a fine rub; for she always deny'd to herMamma, that there was any thing in the affair between her and Mr. Grant the Attorney. Now she has discovered all, by fainting away when he broke from her to go to the other end of the room.
I hope there has been no blood shed?
None, I'll assure you,Mame, in this house; what happens out of it is no business of mine. Now,Mame, would you please to go to bed? By all means, Mrs. Betty.—So away went my communicative companion. Being much tired, I shall lay down an hour or two, then reassume my pen.
Four o'clock in the morning.
Not able to close my eyes, I am got up to have the pleasure of introducing to your Ladyship the Gentleman who I mention'd was to dine with us at the other inn. Judge my surprize, when I found him to be the worthy Dean of H—— going into Oxfordshire to visit his former flock;—I knew him before Mr. Jenkings pronounced his name, by the strong likeness of his picture.
I even fancied the beautiful pair stood before me, whose hands he is represented joining. It is much to be regretted so fine a piece should be hid from the world.—Why should notthisbe proportion? Theotherportraits which your Ladyship has drawn, are even allowed by Reynolds to be masterly.—Let me therefore entreat, next time he comes to the Lodge, my favourite mayat leasthave a chance of being called from banishment.
The Dean was almost discouraged from proceeding on his journey, by hearing of your Ladyship's absence, and the death of Mrs. Whitmore.—He was no stranger to what concern'd me, tho' I could be scarce an inhabitant of Hillford-Down at the timeheleft it.—I suppose his information was from Mr. Jenkings; I could see them from the window deep in discourse, walking in the Bowling-Green, from the moment the Dean got out of his chaise till dinner.
The latter expressed infinite satisfaction when I joined them; looking with such stedfast tenderness, as if he would trace on my countenance the features of some dear friend.—His sincere regard for Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore, and the gratitude he owes your Ladyship, must make him behold me with a favourable eye, knowing how greatly I have been distinguish'd by the two latter.
He had a stool put into his chaise; assuring us we could fit three conveniently—We came from the last inn together, and are to travel so the remainder of the journey.
After your Ladyship's strict commands, that I look on Brandon-Lodge as my home, I shall make it such the few days I stay in Oxfordshire;—and have presumed on your indulgence, to request Mr. Jenkings will do the same.—The Dean's visit is to Mr. Gardener, which will be happy for me, as that Gentleman's house is so near the Lodge.—I hope to see the tops of the chimneys this evening.—
My heart would jump at the sight, if I expected your Ladyship to meet me with open arms.—Extatic thought!—unfit to precede those disappointments which must follow thick on one another. Can there be greater!—to pass the very house, once inhabited by—O my Lady!—Heaven! how will your and her image bring before me past happy scenes!
If this is the Dean's voice, he is got up, early. The horses putting to, and scarce five o'clock! Here comes a messenger, to say they are ready. So rest my pen, till; I again take it up at Brandon-Lodge.
Brandon-Lodge.
I never saw such general joy as appeared through the village at sight of the Dean.—The first person who espy'd him ran with such speed into every house, that by the time we reached Mr. Gardener's gate, the chaise was surrounded by a hundred people.—Mr. and Mrs. Gardener stepping out, were saluted by the Dean. What, our old friend! cried they.—What, our old friend!—Good God!—and Miss Warley too!—This is a joyful surprize, indeed! and would have taken me out by force, if I had not persisted in going to the Lodge.—Your Ladyship is enough acquainted with these good people, to know they would part with any thing rather than their friends.—I have not yet seen Miss Gardener: she was gone on a walk with Miss West and Miss Conway.
The Dean showered a thousand marks of regard on all around him;—the meanest not escaping his notice.—In this tumult of pleasure I did not pass unregarded.—Your Ladyship and Mrs. Whitmore still live in their hearts; the pure air of Hillford-Down will not mix with the cold blast of ingratitude.
May the soft pillow I am going to repose on, shut not out from my mind the load of obligations which rest on it!—The remembrance is balm to my soul, either in my sleeping or waking hours.
Nine o'clock.
Scarce out of my bed half an hour!—How have I over-slept myself! Mrs. Bennet has prevailed on Mr. Jenkings to have some breakfast.—Good, considerate woman!—indeed, all your Ladyship's domestics are good and considerate.—No wonder, when you treat them so very different fromsome peopleof high rank. Let those who complain of fraud, guilt, negligence, or want of respect from their dependants, look in here;—where they will see honesty, virtue, and reverence attend the execution of every command.—Flowers must be planted before they can take root.—Few, very few endeavour to improve an uncultivated soil, notwithstanding how great the advantage is to the improver.
I last night receiv'd pleasure inexpressible, by sending for the servants to acquaint them of your Ladyship's returning health; and feasted on the satisfaction they expressed.—In a moment all the live creatures were brought.—I am satisfied, my Lady, if any of them die in your absence, it must be of fat.—My old acquaintances Bell and Flora could hardly waddle in to pay their compliments; the parrot, which used to squall the moment she saw me, is now quite dumb; shewing no mark of her favour, but holding down her head to be scratched;—the turtle-doves are in the same case.—I have taken the liberty to desire the whole crew might be put to short allowance.
John said, he believed it was natural for every thing to grow fat here; and was much afraid, when I saw the coach-horses, I should pronounce the same hard sentence against them, desiring orders to attend me with the carriage this morning.—I told him my stay would be so short, I should have no time for an airing.
The gardener has just sent me a blooming nosegay; I suppose, to put me in mind of visiting his care, which I intend, after I have acquainted your Ladyship with an incident that till this moment had escaped my memory.—The Dean, Mr. Jenkings, and myself, were drinking a cup of chocolate before we sat out from the inn where I had been so much hurried, when captain Risby sent in his name, desiring we would admit him for a moment. His request being assented to, he entered very respectfully, said he came to apologize for the rudeness he was guilty of the last night.—The Dean and Mr. Jenkings presently guessed his meaning; I had been just relating the whole affair, which I was pleased to find did not disturb their rest.—I assured Captain Risby, far from deeming his behaviour rude, I was obliged to him for his solicitude in sending a servant to my chamber. He said he had not been in bed, determining to watch our setting out, in hopes his pardon would be sealed:—that to think of the accident he might have occasioned, gave him great pain.
Pardon me, Madam, addressing himself to me; and you, Sir, to Mr. Jenkings; if I ask one plain question: Haveyou, or at least has notthat Lady, relations out of England? I have a friend abroad—I have heard him say his father is still living;—but then he has no sister;—or a certain likeness I discover would convince me.
Undoubtedly he took me for Mr. Jenkings's daughter:—what he meant further I cannot divine.
Mr. Jenkings reply'd, You are mistaken, Sir, if you think me the father of this Lady.—The chaise driving up that moment to the door, he shook him by the hand, and led me towards it; the Captain assisting me in getting in.
I wish I could have satisfied my curiosity.—I wish I had known to whom he likened me.—Perhaps his eyes misinformed him—perhaps he might have taken a cheerful glass after the last night's encounter:—yet he resembled not a votary of Bacchus;—his complexion clear;—hair nicely comb'd;—coat without a spot;—linen extremely fine and clean.—But enough of him.—Here comes the Dean, walking up the avenue escorting a party of my old acquaintances.
Adieu! dearest honour'd Lady, till my return to Hampshire.
F. WARLEY.
The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY.
London.
Was every any thing so forgetful, to bring no other clothes here but mourning?
Really, my Lord, this favours a good deal of the matrimonial stile. Was you, commenced Benedict, I should think you had received lessons from the famous L——, who takes such pains with his pupils, that those whose attendance is frequent, can, in, the space of three months after the knot is tied, bring their wives to hear patiently the words—forgetful,—ridiculous,—absurd,—pish—poh,—and a thousand more of the same significant meaning.—I hear you, my Lord:—it is true, I am in jest; and know you would scorn to say even a peevish thing to a wife.
Why fret yourself to a skeleton about an absence of eight days?—How could you suppose she would let you go into Oxfordshire?—Proper decorums must be observed by that sex.—Are not those despicable who neglect them?—What would you have said, had she taken Edmund with her?—Don't storm:—on reflection you will find you had no greater right to expect that indulgence.
I have this morning had a letter from Dick Risby, that unfortunate, but worthy cousin ofmine, just returned from the West-Indies to take on him the command of a company in Lord ——'s regiment. What a Father his!—to abandonsucha son.—Leave him to the wide world at sixteen,—without a shilling, only to gratify the pride and avarice of his serpent daughter,—who had art sufficient to get this noble youth disinherited for her waddling brat, whose head was form'd large enough to contain his mother's mischief and his own.—In vain we attempted to set aside the will:—my brother would not leave England whilst there remained the least hopes for poor Risby.
I always dreaded Dick's going abroad, well knowing what a designing perfidious slut his sister was, from her very infancy.—Her parents drew down a curse by their blind indulgence:—even her nurse was charg'd not to contradict her; she was to have every thing for which she shewed the least inclination.
Lord Eggom and myself being near of an age with our cousins, were sometimes sent to play with them in their nursery; and, though boys of tolerable spirit, that vixen girl has so worried us by her tyrannic and impatient temper, that we have often petitioned, at our return home, to be put to bed supperless.—If sweet-meats were to be divided, she would cry to have the whole; the same in regard to cards,—shells,—money, or whatever else was sent for our entertainment.—When she has pinched us black and blue,—a complaint to her mother has been made by Dick, who could not bear to see us so used, though he was obliged to take such treatment himself, the only redress we should receive was—Poh! she is but a baby.—I thought you had all known better than to take notice of whatsuchachildas Lucy does—Once, when this was said before her, me flew at me, and cry'd, I will pinch again, if I please;—papa and mamma says I shall,—and so does nurse; and I don't mind what any body else says.—I waited only for my revenge, till the two former withdrew; when sending the latter for a glass of water, I gaveMisssuch a glorious tacking, as I believe she has never tasted the like before or since.—In the midst of the fray, I heard nurse running up, which made me hasten what I owed onmy ownaccount, to remind her of thefavoursshe had conferred on Lord Eggom and her brother.—If such a termagant in her infant state,—judge what she must be at a time of life when her passions are in full vigour, and govern without controul!—I have just shewn the method of rearing this diabolical plant, that you may not wonder at its productions.—I shall see justice overtake her, notwithstanding the long strides she is making to escape.
Dick will be in town with us most part of the winter:—I have wrote him to that purpose, and mention'd your name. He will rejoice to see you:—I have often heard him regret your acquaintance was of so short standing.—Bridgman set out for York the day before I arrived; his servants inform me he is not expected back this three weeks.
I like our lodgings vastly; but more so as the master and mistress of the family are excessively clean and obliging; two things so material to my repose, that I absolutely could not dispense patiently with either.—This it was which made me felicitous about taking a house; I am now so happily situated, I wish not to have one in town whilst I remain a batchelor. Heaven knows how long that will be!—Your nonpareil has given me a dislike to all my former slight prepossessions.
Lady Elizabeth Curtis!—I did once indeed think a little seriously of her:—butsucha meer girl!—Perhaps the time she has spent in France, Germany, and the Lord knows where, may have changed her from a little bewitching, smiling, artless creature—to avain, designing, haughty,—I could call a coquet by a thousand names;—but Lady Elizabethcan-not,mustnot be a coquet.—Cupid, though, shall never tye a bandage over my eyes.—The charms that must fix me are not to be borrow'd;—I shall look for them in her affection to her relations;—in a condescending behaviour to inferiors;—above all, when she offers up her first duties.—If she shines here, I shall not follow her to the card-table, or play-house:—every thing must be right in a heart where duty, affection, and humility, has the precedence.
The misfortune of our sex is this: when taken with a fine face, we enquire no further than, Is shepolite?—Is shewitty?Does shedancewell?—sing well?—in short,isshe fit to appear in theBeau Monde; whilst good sense and virtues which constitute real happiness, are left out of the question.
How does beauty,—politeness—wit,—a fine voice,—a graceful movement, charm!—But how often are we deceiv'd by them.—An instance of which I have lately seen in our old friend Sir Harry. No man on earth can pity that poor soul more than I do; yet I have laughed hours to think of his mistake.So mild—so gentle—said he, George, a week before his marriage, I should have saidexecution,—it is impossible to put her out of humour.—If I am not the happiest man breathing, it must be my own fault.
What was my astonishment when I call'd on him in my way to town, and found this mildgentle mateof his, aided by a houseful of her relations, had not only deprived him of all right and authority in theCastle, but almost of his very speech!
I dropt in about one, told the Baronet I came five miles out of my way for the pleasure of saluting his bride, and to drink a bottle of claret with him.—He was extremely glad to see me; and ventured to say so,beforeI was introduced to theLadies:—but I saw by his sneaking look, no such liberty must be taken intheirpresence.—My reception was gracious enough, considering all communication is cut off between him and his former acquaintance.
Scarce was I seated, before the old Dowager asked me, if her daughter had not madegreatalterations in the little time she had been at the Castle.
Alterations, Madam! I reply'd;—upon my honour, they aresovisible, no person can avoid being struck with them.—How could your father and mother, Sir Harry, bear to live in such an wood? looking and speaking disdainfully.—He smiled obsequious—hemm'd—trembled, and was silent.—I hope, continued she, not to see a tree remaining near this house before the next summer.—We want much, Mr. Molesworth, turning to me with quite a different look and voice, to have the pleasure-ground laid out:—but really her Ladyship has had so much to set in orderwithin doors, that it has taken off her attention a good deal from what is necessary to be donewithout.—However, Sir, you shall see our design; so, my dear, speaking to her daughter, let Sir Harry fetch the plan.
It is in my closet, returned her Ladyship, and I don't chuse to sendhimthere;—but I'll ring for Sally.
I had like that moment to have vow'd a life of celibacy—I saw him redden;—how could he avoid it, if one spark of manhood remain'd?
The indignation I felt threw such a mist before my eyes, that when the plan was laid on the table, I could scarce distinguish temples from clumps of shrubs, or Chinese seats from green slopes.—Yet thisreptileof a husband could look over my shoulder, hear the opinion of every one present, withoutdaringto give his own.
I was more out of patience at dinner.—Bless me, says her Ladyship, howaukwardyou are when Ibidyou cut up any thing!—the mother and daughter echoing,Neverwas theresucha carver asSir Harry!—Well, I vow, cry'd the latter, it is a strange thing you will not remember, so often as I havetold you, to lay the meat handsome in the dish.
Good God! thought I, can this man live out half his days?—And, faith, if I had not drank five bumpers of Madeira, I could not have stood the sight of his fearful countenance.
He perceived I was distress'd, and whisper'd me as I mounted my horse,—You see how it is, Molesworth; breeding womenmustnot be contradicted.—
I do, I dosee how it is, return'd I; and could not for my soul forbear saying, I shall rejoice to hear of adelivery.
This is the day when the important affairs of the m——y are to be settled; the papers will inform you; but can a man in love have any relish for politics?—Pray, divest yourself of that plague, when you attend the house.—I should drop to hear you say you espousethisorthatcause, for the love ofMiss Warley, instead of yourcountry.
Next Friday!—Well, I long to see you after a dreadful, dreadful absence ofeight days.—There is something confounded ridiculous in all this stuff; nor can I scarce credit that man should pine, fret, and make himself unhappy, because he is loosed from the apron-strings of his Phillida for a few days.—I see you shrug;—but my fate is not dependent on your prognostications.—Was it so, I know where I should be,—down amongst thedeadmen;—down amongst thedeadmen.—
However, I would consent to be rank'd in the number of Cupid's slain, could I be hit by just such a dart as pierc'd you.
Vulcan certainly has none ready made that will do, unless he sharpens the points of those which have already recoiled.
But hold; I must descend from the clouds, to regale myself on a fine turtle at the Duke of R——d's. What anepicure!Talk of feasting my palate, when my eyes are to meet delicacies of a far more inviting nature!—Therewasa time I should have been envy'dsucha repast:—thattime is fled;—youare no longer a monopolizer of beauty;—can sing but ofone,—talk but ofone—dream but ofone,—and, what is still more extraordinary, love butone.—
Givemea heart at large;—such confin'd notions are not for
MOLESWORTH.
Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.
Barford Abbey.
I envy not the greatest monarch on earth!—She is return'd with my peace;—my joy;—my very soul.—Had you seen her restorative smiles! they spoke more than my pen can describe!—She bestow'd them on me, even before she ran to the arms of Sir James and Lady Powis.—Sweet condescension!—Her hand held out to meet mine, which, trembling, stopt half way.—What checks,—what restraint, did I inflict on myself!—Yes, that would have been the decisive moment, had I not perceiv'd the eyes of Argus plantedbefore, behind, onevery sideof Sir James.—God! how he star'd.—I suppose my looks made some discovery.—Once more I must take thee up, uneasy dress of hypocrisy;—though it will be as hard to girt on, as the tight waistcoat on a lunatic.
Never has a day appear'd to me so long asthis.—Fullof expectation,fullof impatience!—All stuff again.—No matter; it is not the groans of a sick man, that can convey his pain to another:—to feel greatly, you must have been afflicted with the same malady.
I suppose you would laugh to hear how often I have opened and shut the door;—how often look'd out at the window,—or the multiplicity of times examined my watch since ten this morning!—Needless would it likewise be to recount the impatient steps I have taken by the road-side, attentive to the false winds, which would frequently cheat me into a belief, that my heart's treasure was approaching.—Hark! I should say, that must be wheels;—stop and pause;—walk forwards;—stop again, till every sound have died upon my ear.
Harrass'd by expectation, I saunter'd a back way to Jenkings's;—enquired of Mrs. Jenkings, what time she thought her husband might be home; and taking Edmund with me to my former walk, determined to soundhisinclinations.—I waved mentioning Miss Warley's name till we had gone near a quarter of a mile from the house; still expecting he would begin the subject, which at this juncture I suppose particularly engaged his attention; but perceiving he led to things quite opposite, I drew him out in the following manner.
So you really think, Edmund, your father will not be out after it is dark?
I have not known, my Lord, that he has for many years; rather than venture, I believe, he would stop the night at Oxford. Very composedly he said this, for I watched his looks narrowly.—
Edmund, confess, confessfrankly, said I; has notthisday been the longest you ever knew?
The longest I ever knew! Faith your Lordship was never more out: far from thinking so, I am startled to find how fast the hours have flown; and want the addition of at least three, to answer letters which my father's business requires.
Business,Edmund!and doesbusinessreally engross so much of your attention, when you knowwhois expected in the evening? Ah!Edmund, you are a sly fellow: never tell me, you want to lengthen out the tedious hours ofabsence.
Tedious hours of absence!Ho! ho! my Lord, I seenowwhat you are at; your Lordship can never suppose mesucha fool as to—
Fool!—My supposition,Edmund, pronounces you a man of sense; but you mistake my meaning.
I do not mistake, my Lord; surely it must be the height of folly to lift my thoughts to Miss Warley. Suppose my father can give me a few thousands,—are these sufficient to purchase beauty, good sense, with every accomplishment?—No, no, my Lord, I am not such a vain fellow;—Miss Warley was never born forEdmund Jenkings—She told meso, the first moment I beheld her.
Told you so?what then, you have made pretensions to her, and she told youso?
Yes, my Lord, she told, meso.—That is, hereyes, her whole gracefulform, spoke it.—Was I a man of family,—a man of title, with a proper knowledge of the world,—I would not deliberate a moment.
How comes it then, Edmund, that you are so assiduous to oblige her?—You would not run and fly for every young lady.—
True, my Lord, it is not every one would repay me with smiles of condescension. Suffer me to assure your Lordship, when I can oblige Miss Warley, my ambition is gratified.—Never,nevershall a more presumptuous wish intrude to make me less worthy of the honour I receive from your Lordship's notice.—
This he spoke with energy;—such energy,—as if he had come at the book of my heart, and was reading its contents. I knew his regard for my dear amiable girl, and the danger of betraying my secret, or should have treated him with unbounded confidence:—I therefore only applauded his sentiments;—told him a man who could think thus nobly,—honour'd me in his friendship;—that mine to him should be unalterable; call'd him brother; and by the joyful perturbations of my soul, I fear I gave him some idea of what I strove to hide.
The curtain of night was dropping by slow degrees, when a distant sound of wheels interrupted our conversation.—We stood listening a moment, as it approach'd nearer. Edmund cry'd out,—They are come; I hear, Caesar's voice; and, taking a hearty leave, ran home to receive them.—I directed my course towards the Abbey, in hopes the chaise had proceeded thither, and found I had steer'd right, seeing it stand at the entrance.
Mr. Jenkings did not get out; Lady Powis refused to part with Miss Warley this night. Whilst I write, I hope she is enjoying a sweet refreshing sleep. O! Molesworth! could I flatter myself she dreams of me!—
To-morrow Lord and Lady Allen, Mr. and Mrs. Winter, dine here; consequently Miss Winter, and herfondadmirer, Lord Baily.—How often have I laugh'd to see that cooing, billing, pair? It is come home, you'll say, with a vengeance.—Not so neither.—I never intend making such a very fool of myself as Lord Baily.—Pray, Madam, don't sit against that door;—and pray, Madam, don't sit against this window.—I hear you have encreased your cold;—you speak hoarse:—indeed, Madam, you speak hoarse, though you won't confess it.—In this strain has the monkey ran on for two hours.—No body must help him at table but Miss Winter.—He is always sure to eat whatever is next her.—She, equally complaisant, sends her plate to him;—desires he will have a bit of the same.—Excessively high, my Lord;—you never eat any thing so well done.—The appearance of fruit is generally the occasion of great altercation:—What! venture on peaches again, Miss Winter?—Indeed, my Lord, I shall only eat this small one;—that was not half ripe which made me sick yesterday.—No more nuts; I absolutely lay an embargo on nuts,—No more, nonsense: I absolutely lay an embargo on nonsense, says Molesworth to
DARCEY.
Miss WARLEY to Lady MARY SUTTON.
Barford Abbey.
Once more, my dear Lady, I dispatch a packet from this place,—after bidding adieu to the agreeable Dean,—Brandon Lodge,—and my friends in that neighbourhood.
How long I shall continue here, God only knows.—If my wishes could avail, the time would be short; very short, indeed.—I am quite out of patience with Mr. and Mrs. Smith; some delay every time I hear from them.—First, we were to embark the middle of this month;—then the latter end;—now it is put off till the beginning of the next:—perhaps, when I hear next, it will be, they do not go at all.—Such weak resolutions are never to be depended on;—a straw, like a magnet, will draw them from side to side.
I think I am as much an inhabitant of this house as of Mr. Jenkings's:—I lay here last night after my journey, and shall dine here this day; but as a great deal of company is expected, must go to myotherhome to dress.—To-morrow your Ladyship shall command me.
From Mr.Jenkings's.
Rejoice with me, my dear Lady.—Youwillrejoice, I know, youwill. to find my eyes are open to my folly.—How could I be so vain; so presumptuous!—Yes, it must be vanity, it must be presumption to the highest,—gloss it over as I will,—to harbour thoughts which before this your Ladyship is acquainted with.—Did you not blush for me?—did you not in contempt throw aside my letter?—Undoubtedly you did.—Go, you said.—I am sure, dear Madam, youmustlet me not again behold the weakness of that poor silly girl.—But this is my hope, you are not apt to judge unfavourably,evenin circumstances that will scarce admit of palliation.—Tell me, my dear Lady, I am pardoned; tell me so, and I shall never be again unhappy.—How charming, to havepeaceandtranquilityrestor'd, when I fear'd they were foreverbanish'd my breast!—I welcomed the friends;—my heart bounded at their return;—I smiled on them;—soothed them;—and promised never more to drive them out.
Thank you, Lord Allen;—again, I thank you:—can I ever be too grateful?—You have been instrumental to my repose.
The company that dined at the Abbey yesterday were Lord and Lady Allen, Lord Baily, Mr. Mrs. and Miss Winter.—This was the first day I changed my mourning;—a white lutestring, with the fine suit of rough garnets your Ladyship gave me, was my dress on the occasion.—But let me proceed to the incident for which I stand indebted for the secret tranquility, the innate repose I now possess in asuperlativedegree.—
When I went to Mr. Jenkings's to dress for dinner, Lord Darcey attended me, as usual:—the coach was to fetch us.—I thought I never saw his Lordship in such high good humour; what I mean is, I never saw him in such spirits.—To speak the truth, his temper always appears unruffled;—sometimes a little gloomy; but I suppose he is not exempted from the common ills of life.—He entertained me on the way with a description of the company expected, interlarding his conversation with observations tending to raise my vanity. Notwithstanding his seeming sincerity, I was proof against such insinuations.—If he had stopp'dthere,—well, if he had stop'dthere;—what then?—Why then, perhaps, I should not have betray'd the weakness of my heart.—But I hope thy confusion pass'd unobserv'd;—I hope it was not seen before I could draw my handkerchief from my pocket: if it should, heavens! the very thought has dyed me scarlet.
I am running on as though your Ladyship had been present in Mr. Jenkings's parlour,—in the coach,—and at table, whither I must conduct you, my dear Lady, if your patience will bear a minuterecital.—First, then, to our conference in the parlour, after I was dress'd.
My coming down interrupted atête-à-têtebetween his Lordship and Edmund. The latter withdrew soon after I entered;—it look'd some-how as if designed;—it vexed me;—mean it how he would,it muchdisconcerted me:—Ihate, Idespisethe least appearance of design.—In vain did I attempt to bring him back; he only answer'd he would be with us instantly.
I was no sooner seated, than his Lordship placed himself by me; and fetching a deep sigh, said, I wish it was in my power to oblige Miss Warley as much as it is in hers to oblige me.—
My Lord, I cannot conceive how I have it in my power to oblige you. He took my hand,—Yes, Madam, to makemehappy,—for ever happy,—to makeSir JamesandLady Powis happy, you have only to determine not to quit your native country.
Stop! my Lord, if you mean my going toMontpellier, I am determin'd.—And are youreallydetermin'd, Miss Warley?—his face overspread with a dreadful paleness.
I am, my Lord,
But what are you determin'd? Are you determined to distress your friends?
I wish not to distress my friends: nothing would give me so much pain; but Imustgo;—indeed Imust.
He rose up;—walk'd about the room,—came back to his seat again, looking quite frantic,—Good God! why should that sex practise so many arts? He pray'd,—intreated,—left no argument untried.
I cannot picture his countenance, when I declared myself resolved.—He caught both my hands, fixed his eyes stedfastly upon me.
Then you are inflexible, Madam?—Nothing can move you to pity the most wretched of his sex.—Know you the person living that could prevail?—If you do,—say so;—I will bring him instantly on his knees.
There is not in the world, my Lord, one who could prevent me from paying myduty, myaffection, myobedience, to Lady Mary Sutton: if due to a parent, how much more from me toLady Mary;—a poor orphan, who have experienced from her the most maternal fondness? The wordorphanstruck him; he reeled from me and flung himself into a chair opposite, leaning his head on a table which stood near.
I declare he distress'd me greatly;—I know not what my thoughts were at that moment;—I rose to quit the room; he started up.
Don't leave me, Miss Warley;—don't leave me. Iwillkeep you no longer in the dark: Imustnot suffer in your opinion,—be the consequence—
Here we were interrupted by Edmund.—I was sorry he just then entered;—I would have given the world to know what his Lordship was about to say.
When we were in the coach, instead of explaining himself, he assumed rather a chearful air; and asked, if my time was fix'd for going to France?
Not absolutely fix'd, my Lord; a month or two hence, perhaps. This I said, that he might not know exactly the time when I shall set out.
A monthortwo!O! that will be just the thing, just as I could wish it.—
What does your Lordship mean?
Only that I intend spending part of the winter in Paris; and if I should not be deemed anintruder, perhaps the same yacht may carry us over.
I was never more at a loss for a reply.
Going to France, my Lord! in a hesitating voice.—I never heard,—I never dreamt,—your Lordship had such an intention.
Well, you do not forbid it, Miss Warley? I shall certainty be of your party:
I forbid it, my Lord!I forbid it!What right haveIto controul your Lordship's actions? Besides, we should travel so short a way together, it would be very immaterial.
Give me Leave, Madam, in this respect to be the judge; perhaps every one is not bless'd with thathappyindifference.—What may be veryimmaterialtoone,—may be matter of thehighestimportance toanother.
He pronounced the wordimmaterial, with some marks of displeasure. I was greatly embarrass'd: I thought our conversation would soon become too interesting.
I knew not what to do.—I attempted to give it a different turn; yet it engrossed all my attention.—At length I succeeded by introducing my comical adventure at the inn, in our way to Oxfordshire: but the officer's name had escaped my memory, though I since recollect it to be Risby.
This subject engaged us till we came within sight of the drawing-room windows.—There are the visitors, as I live! said I. Your Lordship not being dress'd, will, I suppose, order the coach to the other door.—To be plain, I was glad of any excuse that would prevent my getting out before them.—NotI, indeed, Miss Warley, reply'd he:—Dress is never of consequence enough to draw me two steps out of my way.—If the spectators yonder will fix their eyes on an old coat rather than a fine young Lady,whythey have it for their pains.
By this time the door was open'd, and Sir James appearing, led me, with his usual politeness, to the company. I was placed by her Ladyship next Miss Winter, whose person I cannot say prejudiced me in her favour, being entirely dispossessed of that winning grace which attracts strangers at a first glance.
After measuring me with her eye from head to toe, she sent my dimensions in a kind of half smile across the room to Lord Baily; then vouchsafed to ask, how long I had been in this part of the world? which question was followed by fifty others, that shewed she laboured under the violent thirst of curiosity; a thirst never to be conquered; for, like dropsical people, the more they drink in, the more it rages.
My answers were such as I always return to the inquisitive.—Yes, Madam;—No, Madam;—very well;—very good;—not certain;—quite undetermin'd.—Finding herself unsuccessful withme, she apply'd toLady Powis; but alas! poor maiden, she could drain nothing from that fountain; the streams would not flow;—they were driven back, by endeavouring to force them into a wrong channel.
These were not certainly her first defeats, by the clever way of hiding her chagrin:—it is gone whilst she adjusts the flower in her bosom,—or opens and shuts her fan twice.—How canshebe mortified by trifles,—when theLordofher heart,—the sweet, simpering, fair-faced, Lord Baily keeps his eyes incessantly fixed on her, like centinels on guard?—They cannot speak,indeed they cannot, or I should expect them to call out every half hour, "All is well."
I admire Lord and Lady Allen. I say, I admire them: their manners are full of easy freedom, pleasing vivacity.—I cannot admire all the world; I wish I could.—Mr. and Mrs. Winter happen not to suit my taste;—they are a kind of people who look down on every one of middle fortune;—seem to despise ancestry,—yet are always fond of mixing with the great.—Their rise was too sudden;—they jump'd into life all at once.—Such quick transitions require great equality of mind;—the blaze of splendor was too much for theirweakeyes;—theflareof surprise is still visible.
It was some time before the conversation became general.—First, and ever to have precedence,—the weather;—next, roads;—then houses,—plantations,—fashions,—dress,—equipage;—and last of all, politics in a thread-bare coat.
About ten minutes before dinner, Lord Darcey joined us, dress'd most magnificently in a suit of olive velvet, embroider'd with gold;—his hair without powder, which became him infinitely.—He certainly appear'd to great advantage:—how could it be otherwise, when in company with that tawdry, gilded piece of clay?—And to sit by him, of all things!—One would really think it had been designed:—someexulted,somelook'd mortified at the contrast.—Poor Miss Winter's seat began to grow very uneasy;—she tried every corner, yet could not vary the light in which she saw thetwo opposites.—Why did she frown onme?—why cast such contemptuous glances every time I turn'd my eye towards her?—DidIrecommend the daubed coxcomb;—or represent that her future joys depended on title?—No! it was vanity, the love of grandeur,—that could make her give up fine sense, fine accomplishments, a princely address, and all the noble requisites:—yes, my Lady, such a one, Lord Darcey tells me, she has refused.—Refused, for what? For folly, a total ignorance in the polite arts, and a meaness of manners not to be express'd: yet, I dare say, she thinks, the sweet sounds ofmy Lady, andyour Ladyshipischeaplypurchased by such a sacrifice.
When we moved to go into the dining-parlour, Miss Winter bow'd for me to follow Lady Allen and her mother; which after I had declined, Lady Powis took me by the hand, and said, smiling, No, Madam, Miss Warley is one of us.—Ifso, my Lady—and she swam out of the room with an air I shall never forget.
Lord Darcey took his place at table, next Lord Allen;—I sat opposite, with Miss Winter on my right, and Lord Baily on my left.—Sorry I was, to step between the Lovers; but ceremony required it; so I hope they do not hate me on that account.—Lord Allen has a good deal of archness in his countenance, though not of the ill-natur'd kind.—I don't know how, but every time he look'd across the table I trembled; it seem'd a foreboding of what was to follow.
He admired the venison;—said it was the best he had ever tasted from Sir James's park;—but declared he would challenge him next Monday, if all present would favour him with their company.—Lady Allen seconded the request so warmly, that it was immediately assented to.—
What think you, said his Lordship it is to theyoungfolks that I address myself, of seeing before you a couple who that day has been married twenty years, and never frown'd on one another?
Think! said Lord Darcey, it is very possible.
Possibleit certainly is, reply'd Lady Powis; but very few instances, I believe—
What say you, Miss Warley? ask'd his Lordship: you find Lord Darcey supposes it very possible.—Good God! I thought I should have sunk: it was not so much the question, as the manner he express'd it in. I felt as if my face was stuck full of needles: however, I stifled my confusion, and reply'd, I was quite of Lady Powis's opinion.
Well, what say you, Miss Winter?
How I rejoiced! I declare I could hardly contain my joy, when he address'd himself to her.
What say I, my Lord? return'd she; why,truly, I think it must be your own faults, if you are not treatedcivilly.—The Devil! cry'd he.
O fie! O fie! my Lord, squeaked my left hand neighbour.—And why O fie! retorted his Lordship: Iscivilityall we have to expect?
We canclaimnothing else said the squeaker.—If the dear creatures condescend toesteemus, we ought to consider it a particular indulgence.
And so, Miss Warley, cry'd Lord Allen, we are only to beesteemednow-a-days. I thank God my good woman has imbibed none of those modern notions. Her actions have convinced the world of that long ago.
Poh! my Lord, said Lady Allen, we are old-fashion'd people:—you must not talk thus before Gentlemen and Ladies bred in the present age.
Come, come, let me hear Lord Darcey speak to this point, continued his Lordship. He is soon to beone of us;—we shall shortly, I am told, salute himBenedick.
On this Sir James threw down his knife and fork with emotion, crying, This is news, indeed! This is what I never heard before! Upon my word, your Lordship has been very secret! looking full at Lord Darcey. But you are ofage, my Lord, so I have norightto be consulted; however, I should be glad to know, who it is that runs away with your heart. This was spoke half in jest, half in earnest.
In a moment my neck and face were all over crimson.—I felt the colour rise;—it was not to be suppress'd.—I drew my handkerchief from my pocket;—held it to my face;—hemm'd;—call'd for wine and water;—which, when brought, I could scarcely swallow; spoke in a low voice to Miss Winter;—said she had a poor stomach, or something like it.
Lord Darcey too was confus'd.—Why did I look up to him?—He was pale, instead of red.—I saw his lips move, but could not hear what he said for more than a minute; occasion'd by an uncommon noise which just then rush'd through my head:—at length sounds grew distinct, and I heard this sentence—everyword is inscribed where it canneverbe erazed—
Upon my honour. Lord Allen, I have never made proposals to any woman; andfurther, it is a matter of doubt, whether I ever shall.
By this time I had lost all my colour;—charming cool—and calm,—no perturbation remaining.
Nothing disagreeable now hung on my mind, except a certain thoughtfulness, occasion'd by the recollection of my folly.—
Miss Winter's eyes sparkled, if it is possible for grey ones to sparkle, at the declaration Lord Darcey had just made; and, of a sudden, growing very fond ofme, laid her hand on mine, speaking as it were aside,—Well, I was nevermoresurprized! I asmuchbelieved him engaged to acertainyoung Lady,—squeezing my thumb,—as I think I am living.—Nay, I would not have credited the contrary, had I not heard him declare off with myownears.—I see how it is; Sir James must chuse a wife for him.—
To all which I only answered, Lord Darcey, Madam, is certainly the best judge of his actions:—I make no doubt but Sir James will approve his Lordship's choice.
After what I have related, common subjects ensued:—the cloth being removed, I withdrew to the Library, intending to sit with Mr. Watson half an hour, who was confined by a cold. He holds out his hand to take mine the moment he hears my footstep.—I look on him as an angel: his purity, his mildness, his resignation speak him one.—
Lord Darcey entered as I was about to join the company; however, I staid some minutes, that my quitting the room might not seem onhisaccount.
I am glad you are come, my Lord, said Mr. Watson; sitting with such a poor infirm man has made Miss Warley thoughtful.—Upon my word, Sir, returned I, it was only the fear of increasing your head-ach that me silent.—I never was in higher spirits.—I could sing and dance this very moment. Well then, dear Miss Warley, cried his Lordship, let me fetch yourguitarre.
With all my heart, my Lord; I amquitein tune.—Taking leave of Mr. Watson, I return'd to the company.—His Lordship soon followed. Again repeating his request, in which every person join'd, I sung and play'd several compositions.
Miss Winter was next call'd upon and the guitarre presented to her by Lord Darcey.—A long time she absolutely refused it; declaring she had not learnt any new music this year.—What does that signify, Miss Winter? said her mother; you know you have a sweet voice.
Bless me! Madam! how can you say so?—To be sure, I should sing to great advantagenow.
Well, Nancy, you'll obligePapa?—says the old Gentleman; I know you'll obligePapa,—stalking over to her on the tops of his toes.
Here the contest ended;Misstaking the guitarre, condescended to oblige herPapa.
She really sings and plays well:—if her manner had been less affected, we should have been more entertain'd.—The company staid supper, after which Lord Darcey came with me home.—I madenoobjection:—of all things, I would makenone—after what pass'd at table. Fortunate event! how I rejoice in my recovered tranquillity!
The thoughts, the pleasing thoughts of freedom have kept me from sleep; I could not think of repose amidst my charming reflections. Happy, happy change!
It is past two o'clock!—At all times and all seasons,
I am, my dear Lady,
Yours invariably,
F. WARLEY.