W. Flint, Printer, Old Bailey.
W. Flint, Printer, Old Bailey.
LADY MACLAIRN,THEVICTIM OF VILLANY.CHAP. I.Againmust the reader be contented with my pen, in order to supply the interrupted course of Miss Cowley’s letters.From the period already described the lovers were left to their own discretion, and the direction of Counsellor Steadman; who, availing himself of Mr. Sinclair’s information, decidedly supported them in their attachment; and, in the words of the fond father, “became a teacher of doctrines, which had silenced his authority, if they had not convinced his conscience.” As this was said with an acquiescent smile, it was understood. Besides this no other consequence resulted from Mr. Sinclair’s letter, as Miss Cowley gave her lover to understand, that she meant not to marry till Mr. Flamall’s power had ceased. She urged this point with her usual disinterested spirit. “I will be mistress of myself and my fortune,” said she, “and manifest to the world my own judgment, in selecting a man worthy of both. I can be as proud as Mr. Hardcastle, and I can have my scruples: my husband shall not lose an ample inheritance, because a girl is impatient to bear his name. We shall be happy; in the mean time, you my Horace are engaged in the sacred duties of friendship: persevere, and rest assured of Rachel Cowley’s faith and love.”It is to be regretted, that, from motives of delicacy, Mr. Hardcastle’s letters are not permitted to appear; and I cannot but lament that so fair an opportunity escapes me of confuting an opinion, so boldly and erroneously asserted, that “a man in love must write like a fool.” Had no impediment been opposed to my wishes, I could have produced incontestible proofs, that love and nonsense have no natural affinity. Horace Hardcastle’s understanding was neither enslaved by beauty, nor the dupe of a youthful inclination; nor was Miss Cowley the child of vanity. Rhapsody and flattery were equally useless to their rational views and virtuous attachment. The hopes of meriting each other’s esteem imparted to their language the simplicity of truth and the unstudied graces of nature. The tribute of Horace’s admiration was directed to the cultivating the taste and forming the judgment of the woman he loved; and Miss Cowley, with a well-grounded confidence in hisprinciples, as well as in his superior advantages in learning, assiduously profited from the lessons of a guide too honest to betray, and too quick-sighted to be betrayed.Rational love-letters, in a novel, might, perhaps, with some sort of readers, have been deemed an equivalent for the absence of the marvellous; and sensible as I am and must be of the deficiency of my work in this respect, I have urged my request with persevering importunity, although without success. To my plea, that Mr. Hardcastle’s letters would, at least, givenoveltyto mynovel, I am told, that a lover with his eyes open would be the disgrace of a circulating library, and the utter ruin of the writer’s fame as a novelist; and in reply to the obvious defect of a work stripped of its essential support, I am advised humbly to request my young female readers, to supply this deficiency by reading their own billet-doux, which, I am assured, will give all the interest to the work so anxiously desired. “Be contented with the title of a faithful historian, though perhaps to some, a dull story teller,” added Mr. Hardcastle. “You have, in my opinion, said enough of your heroine to convince your readers that she could not love a fool or a coxcomb. Leave me to the enjoyment of this conviction. I am as little qualified for the hero of a popular novel, as you are for writing a fashionable one. With the materials before you, you may produce an offering to common sense; but my letters would neither lull to sleep a craving imagination, nor excite the sensibility of any ‘Miss Lydia Languish.’ They were dictated by truth and sincerity, and addressed to a reasonable being. My glory is confined to one conclusion; and the conqueror of worlds is unenvied! Horace Hardcastle was beloved by a virtuous woman; and that woman was Rachel Cowley! Surely this will satisfy your readers! If it does not, I pity them; nor can your honest heart reform them.” I gave up the contest; for his manly face glowed with conscious worth, and contented ambition. Having again found the thread of my narrative, I once more re-assume my pleasing task.LETTERXXXII.From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.Lettersare arrived, my dear Lucy, from our island. Fortunately, I was at the Abbey when they were read at the hall. I rejoice that it so happened, for I am yet but a novice in counterfeiting; and you will judge that the contents of these letters required on my part a complete command of my features. On returning home to supper I found the Baronet alone, and his air more disturbed than I liked. “I am glad you are returned,” said he, with eagerness. “We have been very much surprised to-day; and Miss Flint is seriously indisposed by the intelligence we have had from Jamaica.” The history of the secret marriage followed. “Lady Maclairn,” continued he, “entreats you will excuse her appearing to-night. She is much displeased with her son’s conduct in the course of this business. She thinks he has been deficient on the point of honour with you. He ought to have proclaimed his engagement the moment he heard of Mr. Cowley’s intentions in his favour.”—“He acted from an opinion much more delicate,” replied I, “for he gave me credit for sentiments corresponding with his own, and he judged perfectly right in leaving to Mr. Flamall a business of his own forging, and in which we had nothing to do. But,” continued I, “from your statement of this affair as it relates to Mr. Philip Flint, there appears but little for regret. His brother approves of his choice you say?”—“Yes,” replied the Baronet, “he speaks warmly in praise of the lady; and the romance is likely to finish better than most of those in which Cupid is prime minister. Even his mother would be satisfied with thedenouementwere she left to herself; but Mr. Flamall is offended, and we dare not be placable.” Sir Murdoch coloured. I smiled, and observed that he would be polite, and bend to the rising fortune of his nephew. “You do not yet know him,” answered he with agitation. “Indeed I do,” answered I with gaiety, “and had I known his nephew, we would have effectually cured him of match-making by our joint labours. I am only angry that I have had so little share in his present defeat.” The conversation next turned on Miss Flint’s vexation and grief, of which we both erroneously judged as it will appear hereafter.In the morning, the incomprehensible Lady Maclairn appeared with a face as pale as death, and with solemnity of manner, though with great composure, she thus addressed me. “It is with much satisfaction, my dear Miss Cowley, that I am able to recall to my memory my perfect submission to your request and Sir Murdoch’s wishes. I have not importuned you on the subject of my son’s pretensions. I rejoiced at the prohibition, which pleased me as much as yourself. I was not a stranger to my brother’s ambitious and sanguine prospects for his nephew; but it was not so clear to me that Philip would always remain docile to his projects. The late event has convinced me that I judged rightly. And all I have now to wish is, that my son’s mode of effecting his happiness may turn out better than the schemes of his uncle.” “Never doubt it, madam,” said I eagerly; “at any rate he will be happy for a season, and that is more than his uncle could make him. But what says Miss Flint to this love match?” “She has shown her affection on this occasion,” replied her Ladyship. “My brother, by his violent invectives, has raised an antagonist where he expected an auxiliary. She is more offended by Mr. Flamall’s resentment than by her brother’s imprudence, and only laments his not having confided to her the secret of his heart. She foresees that Oliver Flint’s kindness and generosity will give him claims unfriendly to her wishes; and she deplores the loss of her favourite, as fatal to her hopes. I have, as usual, suppressed my feelings on this subject. I was never judged competent to the concerns of this child’s establishment in the world. I bless God that he has escaped the pernicious consequences of being made of too much importance. If he be happy, I shall be satisfied.” She drew her son’s letter from her pocket: it was like most of those which are written on such occasions. The old man’s pleased me better; it is addressed to Miss Flint, and exhibits a cheerful mind and a benevolent heart. He begs her good offices to reconcile Lady Maclairn’s to the marriage, and adds that Philip, by his timidity and secrecy, had lost one child which might have been saved, and with him, that was his greatest fault; for that he had got a wife who pleased him, and every other friend, except Mr. Flamall; “but I shall take care,” adds he, “to settle that gentleman’s future controul over my children. You would be as fond of the little wife as we are, my dear Lucretia,” continues the good man, “if you knew her; she is a pretty, amiable creature, and has won my heart already. I trust I shall live to share the happiness to which I have been useful. Philip is a worthy lad, and he is my peculiar care: have no fears for him, for he is able to walk alone, we want notutors. So you may tell Mr. Flamall, if you please: and Philip’s mother may rest satisfied that his conduct is such as reflects no dishonour on his character. I could say more, but it is needless. We are all happy at present, thanks to Providence!”I observed that Mr. Oliver Flint’s letter was a satisfactory one. “Certainly,” replied she, “as far as it goes; but there is yet secrecy in the business, and with me concealment portends danger.” She was summoned to Miss Flint, who is still much indisposed. I am going to ramble with the Baronet.(In continuation.)—Last night after supper Lady Maclairn again brought forward her son’s marriage, “I could have wished,” said she, turning to me, “that Philip had been more explicit in regard to his engagements with his uncle. I cannot but think he was very wrong in permitting my brother, for an instant, to entertain the hopes he did; and however these hopes stood removed from every chance of succeeding, yet I am certain that Mr. Flamall will be painfully affected by a concealment, which he will judge an indelible disgrace on Philip’s honour. He certainly ought to have prevented his uncle’s entertaining the prospects he has done.” “I will have no judgment passed onmy lover,” replied I, with unaffected gaiety; “all stratagems are lawful under unusurped power; and till I can discover a better reason for my censure than his keeping his own secrets, I shall esteem Mr. Philip Flint.” “I have, however, often reflected,” said Sir Murdoch, “that in these secret engagements, there is one danger which is rarely insisted on. We can expatiate on the evils of what are justly called imprudent marriages, and inconsiderate connexions; but we seldom think of the deviations from the road of truth which they necessarily force the unwary to tread. The plots and contrivances, the duplicity and deceit, which ordinarily enter into a youthful intrigue, are in my opinion more serious evils, than the difficulties so commonly annexed to alove match, as such clandestine engagements are called. The native innocence and rectitude of the mind is broken into; deceit is become familiar, and has been found useful to the purpose of the passions; and it ought not to surprise any one, that a young man, or a young woman, who has attained the desired object by the road of contrivance and imposition, should continue to profit by their acquaintance with them, whenever it suits their views or inclinations.”Never shall I forget the countenance of Lady Maclairn! She had her eyes fixed, and her brows elevated; her breath was short, and her colour forsook her, but as it appeared in spots on her bosom. God knows whether I judged right, but I hesitated not a moment. I rose abruptly, and brushing her neck with my hand, I said, “It is not a spider.” She made no reply, but drank some water from the glass before her. Malcolm, praising my courage, and gently reproving his mother’s dread of so harmless an insect, insisted on her drinking some wine. She complied, and in a tone of ill-affected gaiety drank to herdeliverer: and I am persuaded, Lucy, that for the momentI was her deliverer. Mrs. Allen observed her extreme distress as well as myself, and our reasonings are endless. We know not the heart of Lady Maclairn! Receive the affectionate farewell of mine which you do know, in all its weaknesses and wanderings.Rachel Cowley.LETTERXXXIII.From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.So so! Ethusiasm has her votaries, I find, even at Heathcot! Let me see: you say in your last, “my father entirely agrees with you, my dear Rachel, that Miss Howard is nor an object for the libertine’s rude gaze, nor for the assaults of an unfeeling world.” “You have not been more generous than discriminating, &c.” Mr. Sedley, too; well, what does Mr. Sedley think of this girl? Why, that “the casket is worthy of the pure gem it incloses;” and then comes thesoberpraise of Lucy Hardcastle, “Mary Howard is nature’s master-piece.” I am satisfied, and leave you to decide on my talents for hyperbole. Did I not tell you that I was describingsomethingmore worthy of my pen than beauty?—but I will spare you.I suppose Eliza, sends you the parish news. Has she informed Mary of the direful effects which the death of Mrs. Snughead, and the recent advice of the good health and expected arrival of her son and heir have produced on herinconsolablehusband? In spite of hisstrait lacingsthe gout found its way to his stomach, and he has had a very narrow escape. He has been advised to go to Bath; and we have got a curate, who will correct me in my late idle habit of breaking the Sabbath; for he is, I am told, a very ingenious and worthy young man.Mrs. Warner in a walk with Mrs. Allen has unburdened her mind, and in her own words “she is out of all patience” to see her lady making herself miserablefor nothing. “Her spirits were low enough before, for she had been well humbled, about Miss Mary,” continued Warner, “and now she is quite broken hearted, poor soul! This marriage, Mrs. Allen, will be the first nail in my poor lady’s coffin.” “Why should you think so?” observed Mrs. Allen. “His brother is pleased with the lady he has chosen, and all will be well.” “This is what I tell her, Madam,” replied the honest woman, “and besides that, I have ventured to say, that Mr. Flamall will not dare to tutor the young gentleman, now he is married and master of himself, as one may say, as he did here, and my lady acknowledged that was a comfort to her, although she could not see him. There is the rub, Madam; she doats upon this young man, and between ourselves it is a great pity; for notwithstanding he is a very fine looking young gentleman, and a sweet tempered one to boot, yet there are, as I say, those as good, who want her money more than he does; for she tells me, he will have every shilling of Mr. Oliver’s fortune, and that he has already given him a fine plantation, and I know not how many poor negroes. A good deed for them, poor souls! for Mr. Philip is a tender-hearted man.” “It was, however, wrong to enter into an engagement of this sort, without consulting his friends,” observed Mrs. Allen; “and still worse, not to confess his marriage before he quitted his family.” “To be sure it was,” answered she, “but if you knew the temper of his uncle, it would not surprise you. He contrived to be master here, though every one feared and hated him.” “Not Miss Flint,” said Mrs. Allen, smiling: “I have been told he was a favourite with her.” “So have I an hundred times,” replied Warner; “but her love was worn out, before I came to the hall, and that is nine years ago. No, no: it was always clear to me how he managed to keep his footing here. Whenever any dispute arose, and there was no lack of them, he used to threaten to take away Philip from the hall and carry him to America or France; and my Lady knowing he could do as he pleased with his poor dejected sister, was always afraid that he would take from her this darling and comfort of her life. I am no fool, Madam; and I can assure you that the world has been much mistaken in regard to Miss Flint’s liking Mr. Flamall. She loves nothing, nor any one on earth but her brother Philip. This very morning she cried as though her heart was breaking; and said, all was lost to her. ‘Why, my dear Madam,’ said I, ‘you grieve more than his mother does; she hopes to see him again, and why should you despair?’ She shook her head and said, ‘you know not, Warner, what I suffer.’ Poor soul! I do know; but her fretting will never cure her grievance; and after all; you will acknowledge, Madam, that her complaint does not shorten life. To be sure, the unlucky blow she received when getting to her room, in the confusion which followed Miss Howard’s fainting, has not mended matters; but time and patience may; and if she would be governed by me, and leave off that pernicious rum and water, she might get better; but between ourselves she yields more and more to the habit, and that only inflames the wound, and she suffers what would kill a horse.” “She is happy at least in having so faithful a domestic as yourself near her,” observed Mrs. Allen. “I believe she thinks so,” answered the good creature, “for although she is an odd woman, and commonly thought a very bad tempered one, I have found her generous to me. She has been a disappointed woman too that is certain; but I soon discovered that she knew who did their duty; and as I faithfully performed mine in the hope of being approved by a master, who knows no distinctions with his servants. I have neither feared her nor flattered her; my character will always support me; for I never lived but at the hall and with one other family, where I am sure of favour whenever I ask it. Sixteen years spent with lady Grenville will get me a place any hour of the day, though she is in her grave.” Warner yielded to her gratitude and affection, and the conversation, finished with the character of this lady. Adieu my friend! my sister! judge of my affection by that which thou cherishest for thyRACHEL COWLEY.
LADY MACLAIRN,THE
VICTIM OF VILLANY.
CHAP. I.
Againmust the reader be contented with my pen, in order to supply the interrupted course of Miss Cowley’s letters.
From the period already described the lovers were left to their own discretion, and the direction of Counsellor Steadman; who, availing himself of Mr. Sinclair’s information, decidedly supported them in their attachment; and, in the words of the fond father, “became a teacher of doctrines, which had silenced his authority, if they had not convinced his conscience.” As this was said with an acquiescent smile, it was understood. Besides this no other consequence resulted from Mr. Sinclair’s letter, as Miss Cowley gave her lover to understand, that she meant not to marry till Mr. Flamall’s power had ceased. She urged this point with her usual disinterested spirit. “I will be mistress of myself and my fortune,” said she, “and manifest to the world my own judgment, in selecting a man worthy of both. I can be as proud as Mr. Hardcastle, and I can have my scruples: my husband shall not lose an ample inheritance, because a girl is impatient to bear his name. We shall be happy; in the mean time, you my Horace are engaged in the sacred duties of friendship: persevere, and rest assured of Rachel Cowley’s faith and love.”
It is to be regretted, that, from motives of delicacy, Mr. Hardcastle’s letters are not permitted to appear; and I cannot but lament that so fair an opportunity escapes me of confuting an opinion, so boldly and erroneously asserted, that “a man in love must write like a fool.” Had no impediment been opposed to my wishes, I could have produced incontestible proofs, that love and nonsense have no natural affinity. Horace Hardcastle’s understanding was neither enslaved by beauty, nor the dupe of a youthful inclination; nor was Miss Cowley the child of vanity. Rhapsody and flattery were equally useless to their rational views and virtuous attachment. The hopes of meriting each other’s esteem imparted to their language the simplicity of truth and the unstudied graces of nature. The tribute of Horace’s admiration was directed to the cultivating the taste and forming the judgment of the woman he loved; and Miss Cowley, with a well-grounded confidence in hisprinciples, as well as in his superior advantages in learning, assiduously profited from the lessons of a guide too honest to betray, and too quick-sighted to be betrayed.
Rational love-letters, in a novel, might, perhaps, with some sort of readers, have been deemed an equivalent for the absence of the marvellous; and sensible as I am and must be of the deficiency of my work in this respect, I have urged my request with persevering importunity, although without success. To my plea, that Mr. Hardcastle’s letters would, at least, givenoveltyto mynovel, I am told, that a lover with his eyes open would be the disgrace of a circulating library, and the utter ruin of the writer’s fame as a novelist; and in reply to the obvious defect of a work stripped of its essential support, I am advised humbly to request my young female readers, to supply this deficiency by reading their own billet-doux, which, I am assured, will give all the interest to the work so anxiously desired. “Be contented with the title of a faithful historian, though perhaps to some, a dull story teller,” added Mr. Hardcastle. “You have, in my opinion, said enough of your heroine to convince your readers that she could not love a fool or a coxcomb. Leave me to the enjoyment of this conviction. I am as little qualified for the hero of a popular novel, as you are for writing a fashionable one. With the materials before you, you may produce an offering to common sense; but my letters would neither lull to sleep a craving imagination, nor excite the sensibility of any ‘Miss Lydia Languish.’ They were dictated by truth and sincerity, and addressed to a reasonable being. My glory is confined to one conclusion; and the conqueror of worlds is unenvied! Horace Hardcastle was beloved by a virtuous woman; and that woman was Rachel Cowley! Surely this will satisfy your readers! If it does not, I pity them; nor can your honest heart reform them.” I gave up the contest; for his manly face glowed with conscious worth, and contented ambition. Having again found the thread of my narrative, I once more re-assume my pleasing task.
LETTERXXXII.
From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.
Lettersare arrived, my dear Lucy, from our island. Fortunately, I was at the Abbey when they were read at the hall. I rejoice that it so happened, for I am yet but a novice in counterfeiting; and you will judge that the contents of these letters required on my part a complete command of my features. On returning home to supper I found the Baronet alone, and his air more disturbed than I liked. “I am glad you are returned,” said he, with eagerness. “We have been very much surprised to-day; and Miss Flint is seriously indisposed by the intelligence we have had from Jamaica.” The history of the secret marriage followed. “Lady Maclairn,” continued he, “entreats you will excuse her appearing to-night. She is much displeased with her son’s conduct in the course of this business. She thinks he has been deficient on the point of honour with you. He ought to have proclaimed his engagement the moment he heard of Mr. Cowley’s intentions in his favour.”—“He acted from an opinion much more delicate,” replied I, “for he gave me credit for sentiments corresponding with his own, and he judged perfectly right in leaving to Mr. Flamall a business of his own forging, and in which we had nothing to do. But,” continued I, “from your statement of this affair as it relates to Mr. Philip Flint, there appears but little for regret. His brother approves of his choice you say?”—“Yes,” replied the Baronet, “he speaks warmly in praise of the lady; and the romance is likely to finish better than most of those in which Cupid is prime minister. Even his mother would be satisfied with thedenouementwere she left to herself; but Mr. Flamall is offended, and we dare not be placable.” Sir Murdoch coloured. I smiled, and observed that he would be polite, and bend to the rising fortune of his nephew. “You do not yet know him,” answered he with agitation. “Indeed I do,” answered I with gaiety, “and had I known his nephew, we would have effectually cured him of match-making by our joint labours. I am only angry that I have had so little share in his present defeat.” The conversation next turned on Miss Flint’s vexation and grief, of which we both erroneously judged as it will appear hereafter.
In the morning, the incomprehensible Lady Maclairn appeared with a face as pale as death, and with solemnity of manner, though with great composure, she thus addressed me. “It is with much satisfaction, my dear Miss Cowley, that I am able to recall to my memory my perfect submission to your request and Sir Murdoch’s wishes. I have not importuned you on the subject of my son’s pretensions. I rejoiced at the prohibition, which pleased me as much as yourself. I was not a stranger to my brother’s ambitious and sanguine prospects for his nephew; but it was not so clear to me that Philip would always remain docile to his projects. The late event has convinced me that I judged rightly. And all I have now to wish is, that my son’s mode of effecting his happiness may turn out better than the schemes of his uncle.” “Never doubt it, madam,” said I eagerly; “at any rate he will be happy for a season, and that is more than his uncle could make him. But what says Miss Flint to this love match?” “She has shown her affection on this occasion,” replied her Ladyship. “My brother, by his violent invectives, has raised an antagonist where he expected an auxiliary. She is more offended by Mr. Flamall’s resentment than by her brother’s imprudence, and only laments his not having confided to her the secret of his heart. She foresees that Oliver Flint’s kindness and generosity will give him claims unfriendly to her wishes; and she deplores the loss of her favourite, as fatal to her hopes. I have, as usual, suppressed my feelings on this subject. I was never judged competent to the concerns of this child’s establishment in the world. I bless God that he has escaped the pernicious consequences of being made of too much importance. If he be happy, I shall be satisfied.” She drew her son’s letter from her pocket: it was like most of those which are written on such occasions. The old man’s pleased me better; it is addressed to Miss Flint, and exhibits a cheerful mind and a benevolent heart. He begs her good offices to reconcile Lady Maclairn’s to the marriage, and adds that Philip, by his timidity and secrecy, had lost one child which might have been saved, and with him, that was his greatest fault; for that he had got a wife who pleased him, and every other friend, except Mr. Flamall; “but I shall take care,” adds he, “to settle that gentleman’s future controul over my children. You would be as fond of the little wife as we are, my dear Lucretia,” continues the good man, “if you knew her; she is a pretty, amiable creature, and has won my heart already. I trust I shall live to share the happiness to which I have been useful. Philip is a worthy lad, and he is my peculiar care: have no fears for him, for he is able to walk alone, we want notutors. So you may tell Mr. Flamall, if you please: and Philip’s mother may rest satisfied that his conduct is such as reflects no dishonour on his character. I could say more, but it is needless. We are all happy at present, thanks to Providence!”
I observed that Mr. Oliver Flint’s letter was a satisfactory one. “Certainly,” replied she, “as far as it goes; but there is yet secrecy in the business, and with me concealment portends danger.” She was summoned to Miss Flint, who is still much indisposed. I am going to ramble with the Baronet.
(In continuation.)
—Last night after supper Lady Maclairn again brought forward her son’s marriage, “I could have wished,” said she, turning to me, “that Philip had been more explicit in regard to his engagements with his uncle. I cannot but think he was very wrong in permitting my brother, for an instant, to entertain the hopes he did; and however these hopes stood removed from every chance of succeeding, yet I am certain that Mr. Flamall will be painfully affected by a concealment, which he will judge an indelible disgrace on Philip’s honour. He certainly ought to have prevented his uncle’s entertaining the prospects he has done.” “I will have no judgment passed onmy lover,” replied I, with unaffected gaiety; “all stratagems are lawful under unusurped power; and till I can discover a better reason for my censure than his keeping his own secrets, I shall esteem Mr. Philip Flint.” “I have, however, often reflected,” said Sir Murdoch, “that in these secret engagements, there is one danger which is rarely insisted on. We can expatiate on the evils of what are justly called imprudent marriages, and inconsiderate connexions; but we seldom think of the deviations from the road of truth which they necessarily force the unwary to tread. The plots and contrivances, the duplicity and deceit, which ordinarily enter into a youthful intrigue, are in my opinion more serious evils, than the difficulties so commonly annexed to alove match, as such clandestine engagements are called. The native innocence and rectitude of the mind is broken into; deceit is become familiar, and has been found useful to the purpose of the passions; and it ought not to surprise any one, that a young man, or a young woman, who has attained the desired object by the road of contrivance and imposition, should continue to profit by their acquaintance with them, whenever it suits their views or inclinations.”
Never shall I forget the countenance of Lady Maclairn! She had her eyes fixed, and her brows elevated; her breath was short, and her colour forsook her, but as it appeared in spots on her bosom. God knows whether I judged right, but I hesitated not a moment. I rose abruptly, and brushing her neck with my hand, I said, “It is not a spider.” She made no reply, but drank some water from the glass before her. Malcolm, praising my courage, and gently reproving his mother’s dread of so harmless an insect, insisted on her drinking some wine. She complied, and in a tone of ill-affected gaiety drank to herdeliverer: and I am persuaded, Lucy, that for the momentI was her deliverer. Mrs. Allen observed her extreme distress as well as myself, and our reasonings are endless. We know not the heart of Lady Maclairn! Receive the affectionate farewell of mine which you do know, in all its weaknesses and wanderings.
Rachel Cowley.
LETTERXXXIII.
From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.
So so! Ethusiasm has her votaries, I find, even at Heathcot! Let me see: you say in your last, “my father entirely agrees with you, my dear Rachel, that Miss Howard is nor an object for the libertine’s rude gaze, nor for the assaults of an unfeeling world.” “You have not been more generous than discriminating, &c.” Mr. Sedley, too; well, what does Mr. Sedley think of this girl? Why, that “the casket is worthy of the pure gem it incloses;” and then comes thesoberpraise of Lucy Hardcastle, “Mary Howard is nature’s master-piece.” I am satisfied, and leave you to decide on my talents for hyperbole. Did I not tell you that I was describingsomethingmore worthy of my pen than beauty?—but I will spare you.
I suppose Eliza, sends you the parish news. Has she informed Mary of the direful effects which the death of Mrs. Snughead, and the recent advice of the good health and expected arrival of her son and heir have produced on herinconsolablehusband? In spite of hisstrait lacingsthe gout found its way to his stomach, and he has had a very narrow escape. He has been advised to go to Bath; and we have got a curate, who will correct me in my late idle habit of breaking the Sabbath; for he is, I am told, a very ingenious and worthy young man.
Mrs. Warner in a walk with Mrs. Allen has unburdened her mind, and in her own words “she is out of all patience” to see her lady making herself miserablefor nothing. “Her spirits were low enough before, for she had been well humbled, about Miss Mary,” continued Warner, “and now she is quite broken hearted, poor soul! This marriage, Mrs. Allen, will be the first nail in my poor lady’s coffin.” “Why should you think so?” observed Mrs. Allen. “His brother is pleased with the lady he has chosen, and all will be well.” “This is what I tell her, Madam,” replied the honest woman, “and besides that, I have ventured to say, that Mr. Flamall will not dare to tutor the young gentleman, now he is married and master of himself, as one may say, as he did here, and my lady acknowledged that was a comfort to her, although she could not see him. There is the rub, Madam; she doats upon this young man, and between ourselves it is a great pity; for notwithstanding he is a very fine looking young gentleman, and a sweet tempered one to boot, yet there are, as I say, those as good, who want her money more than he does; for she tells me, he will have every shilling of Mr. Oliver’s fortune, and that he has already given him a fine plantation, and I know not how many poor negroes. A good deed for them, poor souls! for Mr. Philip is a tender-hearted man.” “It was, however, wrong to enter into an engagement of this sort, without consulting his friends,” observed Mrs. Allen; “and still worse, not to confess his marriage before he quitted his family.” “To be sure it was,” answered she, “but if you knew the temper of his uncle, it would not surprise you. He contrived to be master here, though every one feared and hated him.” “Not Miss Flint,” said Mrs. Allen, smiling: “I have been told he was a favourite with her.” “So have I an hundred times,” replied Warner; “but her love was worn out, before I came to the hall, and that is nine years ago. No, no: it was always clear to me how he managed to keep his footing here. Whenever any dispute arose, and there was no lack of them, he used to threaten to take away Philip from the hall and carry him to America or France; and my Lady knowing he could do as he pleased with his poor dejected sister, was always afraid that he would take from her this darling and comfort of her life. I am no fool, Madam; and I can assure you that the world has been much mistaken in regard to Miss Flint’s liking Mr. Flamall. She loves nothing, nor any one on earth but her brother Philip. This very morning she cried as though her heart was breaking; and said, all was lost to her. ‘Why, my dear Madam,’ said I, ‘you grieve more than his mother does; she hopes to see him again, and why should you despair?’ She shook her head and said, ‘you know not, Warner, what I suffer.’ Poor soul! I do know; but her fretting will never cure her grievance; and after all; you will acknowledge, Madam, that her complaint does not shorten life. To be sure, the unlucky blow she received when getting to her room, in the confusion which followed Miss Howard’s fainting, has not mended matters; but time and patience may; and if she would be governed by me, and leave off that pernicious rum and water, she might get better; but between ourselves she yields more and more to the habit, and that only inflames the wound, and she suffers what would kill a horse.” “She is happy at least in having so faithful a domestic as yourself near her,” observed Mrs. Allen. “I believe she thinks so,” answered the good creature, “for although she is an odd woman, and commonly thought a very bad tempered one, I have found her generous to me. She has been a disappointed woman too that is certain; but I soon discovered that she knew who did their duty; and as I faithfully performed mine in the hope of being approved by a master, who knows no distinctions with his servants. I have neither feared her nor flattered her; my character will always support me; for I never lived but at the hall and with one other family, where I am sure of favour whenever I ask it. Sixteen years spent with lady Grenville will get me a place any hour of the day, though she is in her grave.” Warner yielded to her gratitude and affection, and the conversation, finished with the character of this lady. Adieu my friend! my sister! judge of my affection by that which thou cherishest for thy
RACHEL COWLEY.