CHAPTER CV.Short is the sequel of the history which is now to be related. The strong arm of power soon suppressed this partial rebellion. Buchanan was found stretched in death upon the field of battle, lovely in form even in that hour.The Marquis of Delaval, restored to his family and fortune, soon forgot the lesson adversity had taught. In the same follies and the same vanities his predecessors had passed their days, he likewise endeavoured to enjoy the remainder of his. The Duke of Altamonte lived long enough to learn the mournful truth, which pride had once forborne to teach, the perishableness of all human strength, the littleness of all human greatness, and the vanity of every enjoyment this world can offer. Of Sophia, of Frances, ofLady Dartford, what is there to relate? They passed joyfully with the thousands that sail daily along the stream of folly, uncensured and uncommended. Youth, beauty, and vanity, were theirs: they enjoyed and suffered all the little pleasures, and all the little pains of life, and resisted all its little temptations. Lady Mandeville and Lady Augusta Selwyn fluttered away likewise each pleasureable moment as frivolously, though perhaps less innocently; then turned to weep for the errors into which they had been drawn, more humble in themselves when sorrow had chastened them. Then it was that they called to the flatterers of their prosperous days; but they were silent and cold: then it was that they looked for the friends who had encircled them once; but they were not to be found: and they learned, like the sinner they had despised, all that terror dreams of on its sick bed, and all that misery in its worst moments can conceive. Mrs. Seymour, in actsof piety and benevolence, retired to the Garden Cottage, a small estate the Duke of Altamonte had settled on her; and she found that religion and virtue, even in this world, have their reward. The coldness, the prejudice, which, in the presumption of her heart had once given her an appearance of austerity, softened in the decline of life; and when she considered the frailty of human nature, the misery and uncertainty of existence, she turned not from the penitent wanderer who had left the right road, and spoke with severity alone of hardened and triumphant guilt. Her life was one fair course of virtue; and when she died, thousands of those whom she had reclaimed or befriended followed her to the grave.As to the Princess of Madagascar, she lived to a good old age, though death repeatedly gave her warning of his approach. “Can any humiliation, any sacrifice avail?” she cried, in helpless alarm, seeing his continual advances. “Can I yet be saved?” she said, addressingHoiouskim, who often by a bold attempt had hurried away this grim king of terrors. “If we were to sacrifice the great nabob, and all our party, and our followers—can fasting, praying, avail? shall the reviewers be poisoned in an eminée! shall—” It was hinted to the princess at length, though in the gentlest manner possible, that this time, nor sacrifice, nor spell, would save her. Death stood broad and unveiled before her. “If then I must die,” she cried, weeping bitterly at the necessity, “send with haste for the dignitaries of the church. I would not enter upon the new world without a passport; I, who have so scrupulously courted favour every where in this. As to confession of sins, what have I to confess, Hoiouskim? I appeal to you: is there a scribbler, however contemptible, whose pen I feared might one day be turned against me, that I have not silenced by the grossest flattery? Is there a man or woman of note in any kingdom that I have not crammedwith dinners, and little attentions, and presents, in hopes of gaining them over to my side? And is there, unless the helpless, the fallen, and the idiot, appear against me, any one whom it was my interest to befriend that I have not sought for and won? What minion of fashion, what dandy in distress, what woman of intrigue, who had learned to deceive with ease, have I not assisted? Oh, say, what then are my sins, Hoiouskim? Even if self-denial be a virtue, though I have not practised it myself, have I not made you and others daily and hourly do so?” Hoiouskim bowed assent. Death now approached too near for further colloquy. The princess, pinching her attendants, that they might feel for what she suffered, fainted: yet with her dying breath again invoking the high priest: “Hoiouskim,” she cried, “obey my last command: send all my attendants after me, my eider down quilts, my coffee pots, my carriages, my confectioner: and tell the cook—” As she uttered that shortbut comprehensive monosyllable, she expired. Peace to her memory! I wish not to reproach her: a friend more false, a foe more timid yet insulting, a princess more fond of power, never before or since appeared in Europe. Hoiouskim wept beside her, yet, when he recovered (and your philosophers seldom die of sorrow) it is said he retired to his own country, and shrunk from every woman he afterwards beheld, for fear they should remind him of her he loved so well, and prove another Princess of Madagascar. The dead, or yellow poet was twice carried by mistake to the grave. It is further said, that all the reviewers, who had bartered their independence for the comforts and flattery of Barbary House, died in the same year as the princess, of an epidemic disorder; but of this, who can be secure? Perhaps, alas! one yet remains to punish the flippant tongue, that dared to assert they were no more. But to return from this digression.
Short is the sequel of the history which is now to be related. The strong arm of power soon suppressed this partial rebellion. Buchanan was found stretched in death upon the field of battle, lovely in form even in that hour.
The Marquis of Delaval, restored to his family and fortune, soon forgot the lesson adversity had taught. In the same follies and the same vanities his predecessors had passed their days, he likewise endeavoured to enjoy the remainder of his. The Duke of Altamonte lived long enough to learn the mournful truth, which pride had once forborne to teach, the perishableness of all human strength, the littleness of all human greatness, and the vanity of every enjoyment this world can offer. Of Sophia, of Frances, ofLady Dartford, what is there to relate? They passed joyfully with the thousands that sail daily along the stream of folly, uncensured and uncommended. Youth, beauty, and vanity, were theirs: they enjoyed and suffered all the little pleasures, and all the little pains of life, and resisted all its little temptations. Lady Mandeville and Lady Augusta Selwyn fluttered away likewise each pleasureable moment as frivolously, though perhaps less innocently; then turned to weep for the errors into which they had been drawn, more humble in themselves when sorrow had chastened them. Then it was that they called to the flatterers of their prosperous days; but they were silent and cold: then it was that they looked for the friends who had encircled them once; but they were not to be found: and they learned, like the sinner they had despised, all that terror dreams of on its sick bed, and all that misery in its worst moments can conceive. Mrs. Seymour, in actsof piety and benevolence, retired to the Garden Cottage, a small estate the Duke of Altamonte had settled on her; and she found that religion and virtue, even in this world, have their reward. The coldness, the prejudice, which, in the presumption of her heart had once given her an appearance of austerity, softened in the decline of life; and when she considered the frailty of human nature, the misery and uncertainty of existence, she turned not from the penitent wanderer who had left the right road, and spoke with severity alone of hardened and triumphant guilt. Her life was one fair course of virtue; and when she died, thousands of those whom she had reclaimed or befriended followed her to the grave.
As to the Princess of Madagascar, she lived to a good old age, though death repeatedly gave her warning of his approach. “Can any humiliation, any sacrifice avail?” she cried, in helpless alarm, seeing his continual advances. “Can I yet be saved?” she said, addressingHoiouskim, who often by a bold attempt had hurried away this grim king of terrors. “If we were to sacrifice the great nabob, and all our party, and our followers—can fasting, praying, avail? shall the reviewers be poisoned in an eminée! shall—” It was hinted to the princess at length, though in the gentlest manner possible, that this time, nor sacrifice, nor spell, would save her. Death stood broad and unveiled before her. “If then I must die,” she cried, weeping bitterly at the necessity, “send with haste for the dignitaries of the church. I would not enter upon the new world without a passport; I, who have so scrupulously courted favour every where in this. As to confession of sins, what have I to confess, Hoiouskim? I appeal to you: is there a scribbler, however contemptible, whose pen I feared might one day be turned against me, that I have not silenced by the grossest flattery? Is there a man or woman of note in any kingdom that I have not crammedwith dinners, and little attentions, and presents, in hopes of gaining them over to my side? And is there, unless the helpless, the fallen, and the idiot, appear against me, any one whom it was my interest to befriend that I have not sought for and won? What minion of fashion, what dandy in distress, what woman of intrigue, who had learned to deceive with ease, have I not assisted? Oh, say, what then are my sins, Hoiouskim? Even if self-denial be a virtue, though I have not practised it myself, have I not made you and others daily and hourly do so?” Hoiouskim bowed assent. Death now approached too near for further colloquy. The princess, pinching her attendants, that they might feel for what she suffered, fainted: yet with her dying breath again invoking the high priest: “Hoiouskim,” she cried, “obey my last command: send all my attendants after me, my eider down quilts, my coffee pots, my carriages, my confectioner: and tell the cook—” As she uttered that shortbut comprehensive monosyllable, she expired. Peace to her memory! I wish not to reproach her: a friend more false, a foe more timid yet insulting, a princess more fond of power, never before or since appeared in Europe. Hoiouskim wept beside her, yet, when he recovered (and your philosophers seldom die of sorrow) it is said he retired to his own country, and shrunk from every woman he afterwards beheld, for fear they should remind him of her he loved so well, and prove another Princess of Madagascar. The dead, or yellow poet was twice carried by mistake to the grave. It is further said, that all the reviewers, who had bartered their independence for the comforts and flattery of Barbary House, died in the same year as the princess, of an epidemic disorder; but of this, who can be secure? Perhaps, alas! one yet remains to punish the flippant tongue, that dared to assert they were no more. But to return from this digression.