‘I condole with you, my dear Mrs Arnold, on the afflicting loss you sustained in your good mother’s death. You mention not any particular consequences from this accident; but I know, that by Lady Bidulph’s death, you are deprived of a considerable part of your income, and on this account I have taken the liberty of friendship, to send you a supply, which your family-calls may require, till your affairs are settled upon a better footing.‘Let me know how you and your brother stand; if he should not be so kind to you as he ought, I insist upon your looking on me as your banker, who know not how to make so good a use of my income, as sharing it with those I love as I do you.‘I am, &c.’
‘I condole with you, my dear Mrs Arnold, on the afflicting loss you sustained in your good mother’s death. You mention not any particular consequences from this accident; but I know, that by Lady Bidulph’s death, you are deprived of a considerable part of your income, and on this account I have taken the liberty of friendship, to send you a supply, which your family-calls may require, till your affairs are settled upon a better footing.
‘Let me know how you and your brother stand; if he should not be so kind to you as he ought, I insist upon your looking on me as your banker, who know not how to make so good a use of my income, as sharing it with those I love as I do you.
‘I am, &c.’
The supply which Lady V—— mentioned, accompanied this letter, and was a bank bill of three hundred pounds.
I own to you, my Cecilia, that my first emotions were only those of joy, surprize, and gratitude, for so unexpected and important a donation; but when those were a little subsided, I began to reflect on the nature, and manner of this noble act of friendship. I know LadyV—— is one of the best women living; she is generous, and compassionate, and has always honoured me with a particular regard; yet I must confess to you, her present now comes to me suspected. I believe I told you, that Lady V—— had retired into Lancashire, to live with an only sister she has there: this Lady is a widow, and I have since been informed, was left with a very numerous young family, and an income scarce sufficient to support them genteely; they are now most of them grown up, and all the girls, of which there are five, unprovided for. Since Lady V——’sdeparture, I have been told, that it was principally on account of these young girls, of whom she is extremely fond, that she went to reside with her sister, in order to support them more agreeably to their rank; their father having been a general officer, and a man of high birth. Lady V——’s jointure is a thousand pound a year; but as I hear the family make a respectable figure in the country, and I am sure Lady V——’s fondness for her nieces, would induce her to save what she could, in order to leave them something at her death, I cannot reconcile it to her prudence, notwithstanding the liberality of her spirit, and the friendship she has for me, that she should make so considerable a present, at the same time give me as it were an unbounded letter of credit on her. Had she sent me the sixth part of the sum, I should not have doubted its being only the effects of her kindness towards me; and in her present situation, as considerable a proof of it, as she ought in regard to have given to one whom she has already bound under strong obligations. But the largeness of the sum renders it suspicious; and to tell you the secret inspirations of my heart, I fear it comes from a different quarter.
I made Mrs Faulkland acquainted with my mother’s death, about the same time that I informed Lady V—— of it. To neither did I give the most distant hint of my circumstances, yet Mr Faulkland knows they cannot be happy. He too knows better than any body, how far Sir George’s resentment may carry him. Is it not natural then, my dear, to imagine that this man, who is generosity itself, should have taken this method of making Lady V—— the channel through which he conveys his liberality? I am sure it must be so. It is three weeks since Lady V—— had the notice of my mother’s death; Why thought she not sooner of reaching out her supporting hand, if she imagined I stood in need of it? I gave her no cause to believe I did; otherwise I make no question of her ready friendship, as far as her abilities would go: butshecould not know as well as Mr Faulkland how much mybrother was exasperated against me, and therefore could not suppose me to be as destitute as I really am. She desires to know how my brother and I stand. This question is not Her’s; Sir George, for his own credit, perhaps has not told Mr Faulkland what his conduct has been towards me, but he wants to be informed. Contriving man! I will disappoint him; nor shall he heap such obligations on me as must sink me under their weight. I will not receive this suspected gift of Lady V——‘s; but it is a delicate point, and, whilst I refuse, I must take care not to offend. I will send Lady V—— her bill back again, but in such a manner as to shew her, I refuse her gift for no other reason but its being too valuable.
See, my Cecilia, whether I have succeeded in my endeavours to refuse, with a good grace, my Lady V——’s offered kindness.
This is my answer to her.
To Lady V——.‘You oppress me, my dear and ever honoured Lady V——, by a generosity and friendship that knows no bounds. Why will you force me to appear proud, or ungrateful, by refusing the favours of so true a friend? But, my dear Madam, do not believe me either the one or the other. Had you sent me a trifling token of your love, you would have been convinced of my respect for you, by the thankfulness with which I would have accepted it; but do not seek to humble me so far, my good Lady V——, by heaping favours on me, which I can never have a prospect of returning. With equal respect and gratitude, permit me, Madam, to return your too considerable present. I cannot in honour, receive a liberality, which I am so little intitled to; and the less, as Justice now demands, that your bounteous heart, so diffusive in its generosity, should a little restrain itself.‘I cannot say that my circumstances are as happy as they have been; yet have I, I thank Heaven, accommodated my mind to them. My brother has not been in town since my mother’s death; but I am not without hope that he will make my situation easy. On this account, I know my dear Lady V—— will the more readily pardon my refusal of her obliging offer, and believe that her goodness is not bestowed on an unthankful heart.‘I am, &c.’
To Lady V——.
‘You oppress me, my dear and ever honoured Lady V——, by a generosity and friendship that knows no bounds. Why will you force me to appear proud, or ungrateful, by refusing the favours of so true a friend? But, my dear Madam, do not believe me either the one or the other. Had you sent me a trifling token of your love, you would have been convinced of my respect for you, by the thankfulness with which I would have accepted it; but do not seek to humble me so far, my good Lady V——, by heaping favours on me, which I can never have a prospect of returning. With equal respect and gratitude, permit me, Madam, to return your too considerable present. I cannot in honour, receive a liberality, which I am so little intitled to; and the less, as Justice now demands, that your bounteous heart, so diffusive in its generosity, should a little restrain itself.
‘I cannot say that my circumstances are as happy as they have been; yet have I, I thank Heaven, accommodated my mind to them. My brother has not been in town since my mother’s death; but I am not without hope that he will make my situation easy. On this account, I know my dear Lady V—— will the more readily pardon my refusal of her obliging offer, and believe that her goodness is not bestowed on an unthankful heart.
‘I am, &c.’
In this letter I re-inclosed her bill, and have sent it off. Did I not well, my Cecilia? If, as I strongly suspect, this present came from Mr Faulkland, I should never endure myself, had I retained it. If it should have really come from Lady V—— herself, I must still approve my own conduct. The sum (circumstanced as she now is) was certainly too much forherto bestow, ormeto receive; and in the manner of my refusal, I think I have insinuated this, with as much deference for Lady V——’s judgment as I could shew. She will see my motive, and I think that will be a sort of touch-stone, whereby I shall discover, from herbehaviour, whether my doubts are well grounded or not.— Patty has, by her inquiries, heard of a little pleasant retirement in the country, about fifty miles off, where my children and I can be tolerably lodged and boarded for thirty pounds a year, at the house of an honest farmer, a relation of hers; thither I shall repair as soon as my little girls are in a condition to be removed.
[Continued by Patty.]
The dismal task is fallen upon me again, to keep an account of our melancholy days. My dear suffering lady is seized with a fever, and confined to her bed. She orders me, Madam, to write down every thing as it happens. Lord keep us! there is nothing but sorrows in this world: I am sure, at least, my poor lady has had her full share of them. Her close attendance on the children, and the loss of rest for so many nights, has brought this new affliction on her. Oh, Madam, the loss of health is a grievous thing, even when there are riches: what must it be in my lady’s circumstances? But she has the patience of Job himself. To be sure, Madam, her trials are enough to put another beside themselves; but I think my lady’s courage increases with her troubles. I was obliged, to-day, with an aching heart, to dispose of a fine lace head of my lady’s. I heard her say, it cost sixty pounds; but, though it never was wet but once, I got but fifteen for it, and this, perhaps, may all go to the doctor, if my lady’s illness continues long. What does it signify? We cannot buy health too dear.
My lady is better between whiles; the doctor says, her disorder ischiefly on her spirits; and, though it is not dangerous, he is afraid it will be very tedious. Lord! what will become of us if it is?
My lady has had a letter this day, from Lady V——, which she has ordered me to send you, Madam, a copy of.
To Mrs Arnold.‘You cannot imagine, my dear Mrs Arnold, how uneasy you have made me, by your not accepting of the bill I sent you, because I too well know the occasion you have for it. But, since youhaverefused (and I know the sincerity and strength of your resolutions) I must not take to myself the merit of this friendly and generous offer; too liberal indeed, as you, with great delicacy, hinted, formeto make. To let you into the secret at once, and that your gratitude may be directed to the proper place, it was from our noble friend Mr Faulkland that I received that sum, with instructions to send it to you, as from myself, for he well knows you would not have accepted it from him; but, since I see you are determined to reject it, as coming even from me, I think I ought, in justice to him, to place this act of friendship to the right account.‘I had a letter lately from Mr Faulkland, wherein he tells me, that having heard, from your correspondence with Mrs Faulkland, of Lady Bidulph’s death, he fears you are by her loss, rendered extremely unhappy in your circumstances. He is not a stranger to the losses you formerly sustained in your fortune, and he says besides, he knows your brother’s warm temper so well, that he is apprehensive he will carry an unreasonable resentment he has taken up so far, as to deny you that brotherly kindness and assistance, which you have a right to expect from him. “If this be the case” (he adds) “what must be Mrs Arnold’s situation?” He then conjures me to convey to you that trifle (as he called it) under the sanction of my own name, that being the only one from which he had a hope it would not be refused; and he farther said, that if you should be prevailed upon, on account of the friendship which he knew there was between you and me, to accept of my service, he would contrive, from time to time, to furnish you with such little supplies, as might make you easy, ’tillSir George and you should be on better terms. Now, my dear Mrs Arnold, you have the truth of this whole affair. I own it was with great reluctance I lent my name to impose on you, but, as it was so much for your benefit, I overcame my scruple.‘I could wish your extreme nicety had not forbid you to accept this offer: I have reason to be angry with you on this account; yet my amiable, sagacious friend, perhaps you had your doubts. Be that as it will, remember you said you would not have refused a small token of my love; I wish I could send you one worthy of your acceptance, and the love I bear you; we should then see whose punctilio should get the better. As it is, I send you a very small token, which I insist on your taking, if you have the least occasion; if this should be the case, I know the candour of your heart, and that you will be too ingenuous to grieve me by a refusal.‘I hope Mr Faulkland will not be angry with me for betraying his secret; But what would it now avail to keep it? I would haveyou, as well as myself, know his worth. Oh how I lament—but it is to no purpose—Adieu, my dear good creature! you are tried like fine gold, and your excellence is become the more conspicuous by adversity—.‘I am, &c.’
To Mrs Arnold.
‘You cannot imagine, my dear Mrs Arnold, how uneasy you have made me, by your not accepting of the bill I sent you, because I too well know the occasion you have for it. But, since youhaverefused (and I know the sincerity and strength of your resolutions) I must not take to myself the merit of this friendly and generous offer; too liberal indeed, as you, with great delicacy, hinted, formeto make. To let you into the secret at once, and that your gratitude may be directed to the proper place, it was from our noble friend Mr Faulkland that I received that sum, with instructions to send it to you, as from myself, for he well knows you would not have accepted it from him; but, since I see you are determined to reject it, as coming even from me, I think I ought, in justice to him, to place this act of friendship to the right account.
‘I had a letter lately from Mr Faulkland, wherein he tells me, that having heard, from your correspondence with Mrs Faulkland, of Lady Bidulph’s death, he fears you are by her loss, rendered extremely unhappy in your circumstances. He is not a stranger to the losses you formerly sustained in your fortune, and he says besides, he knows your brother’s warm temper so well, that he is apprehensive he will carry an unreasonable resentment he has taken up so far, as to deny you that brotherly kindness and assistance, which you have a right to expect from him. “If this be the case” (he adds) “what must be Mrs Arnold’s situation?” He then conjures me to convey to you that trifle (as he called it) under the sanction of my own name, that being the only one from which he had a hope it would not be refused; and he farther said, that if you should be prevailed upon, on account of the friendship which he knew there was between you and me, to accept of my service, he would contrive, from time to time, to furnish you with such little supplies, as might make you easy, ’tillSir George and you should be on better terms. Now, my dear Mrs Arnold, you have the truth of this whole affair. I own it was with great reluctance I lent my name to impose on you, but, as it was so much for your benefit, I overcame my scruple.
‘I could wish your extreme nicety had not forbid you to accept this offer: I have reason to be angry with you on this account; yet my amiable, sagacious friend, perhaps you had your doubts. Be that as it will, remember you said you would not have refused a small token of my love; I wish I could send you one worthy of your acceptance, and the love I bear you; we should then see whose punctilio should get the better. As it is, I send you a very small token, which I insist on your taking, if you have the least occasion; if this should be the case, I know the candour of your heart, and that you will be too ingenuous to grieve me by a refusal.
‘I hope Mr Faulkland will not be angry with me for betraying his secret; But what would it now avail to keep it? I would haveyou, as well as myself, know his worth. Oh how I lament—but it is to no purpose—Adieu, my dear good creature! you are tried like fine gold, and your excellence is become the more conspicuous by adversity—.
‘I am, &c.’
My Lady’s spirits were greatly affected by reading this letter; she wept bitterly, and was so cast down all day, I was afraid it would make her disorder much worse. The good Lady V—— inclosed a bill of fifty pounds in it. My Lady said she must not refuse it, but would thank her ladyship whenever she was able to take a pen in her hand. God knows when that will be; for though she struggles with her illness, it still gets the mastery. The two young misses mend but slowly; they do not gather the least strength, and one of them has such a weakness in her eyes that she cannot bear the least light. Indeed, Madam, this is a most melancholy family. I pray to God night and day to keep me in health, more for their sakes than my own; for I think it would quite break my heart if they should want my attendance, and I should not be able to give it to them.—December 6I write on. Madam, as I am ordered, though I have but little to say, in the confinement of a dismal sick room, where I never see any bodybut a doctor and an apothecary: but my lady is unwilling to let this packet go, till she is able herself to tell you (with her own hand) that she is better, for fear my dull account should make you uneasy.
There is such changes and turns in my lady’s disorder, that we do not know what to make of it. One while we think she is a little better, and then again the next hour she seems much worse than before. The doctor would have a consultation, though my lady is quite against it; but these doctors love to bring in one another. My Lady V——’s present came in good time, but if they go on at this rate it will not last long. My lady said to me to-day, Patty one would think that I was of great consequence, and mighty happy, by this bustle to preserve my life; but there is the tie (pointing to the two children); for their sakes I must try to get well. [After an interview of six weeks written by Mrs Arnold in a hand scarce legible.]January 20Restored at length by the mercy of God from the jaws of death! restored to my children, to my dear Cecilia, and just able to tell her with a feeble hand that her Sidney lives—.
I am now able, my dear, to reassume that task, once the most pleasing of my life, when health, joy, and prosperity gilded all my days. The scene is now changed; and I think I have nothing the same about me, but the feelings and affections of my mind. You cannot imagine, my Cecilia, how I am altered; you would not now say, that you envied my white and red; you would hardly know me, and it is not to be wondered at, preyed on as I have been for near two months by a slow but tormenting fever. It is with difficulty that I hold my pen, but my willing hand obeys my heart when it would pour itself out to thee. I have made a shift to scrawl a few lines to my good Lady V——, to thank her for her kindness. I could not refuse it! it would indeed have been disingenuous, considering the footing on which she put my acceptance of it. I should have been driven to extreme streights, if it had not been for her present, confined as long as I have been to the languishing bed of sickness.
Patty heard to-day that my brother has been in town some time, but he takes no notice of me. I have not a relation in the world but himself. He could not sure be so cruel, if he knew all. But Lady Sarah keeps it from him; she thinks perhaps I am slunk into some obscure corner, where she leaves me to distress. Sir George is not of a savage nature, yet his humanity is not strong enough to seek out the afflicted. His pride too I know is gratified by having me out of the way of observation, and so long as I do not call upon him, I find he will not enquire after me.
The winter is now so far advanced, and I am in a condition so extremely weak, that I cannot, till the spring advances a little, think of taking my flight to my peaceful retreat in the country. I look eagerly forward to the time of my enlargement; such I may call it, for indeed, my dear, my spirits are quite exhausted with my long confinement in a little close lodging in this irksome town.
The gentlewoman with whom I lodged in St Alban’s-street, told Patty, who went to her house to-day to enquire if there were any letters for me, that there have been, at different times, several people of my former acquaintance to look for me; but I do not find that one enquiry has come from my brother. I had given the gentlewoman instructions not to tell any stranger where I lodged. I believe this caution was needless, there are few who give themselves the trouble to trace out the steps of the unhappy; and I dare say, that those whom common form obliged to pay me a visit of condolence on my mother’s death, were none of them much hurt at the disappointment of not finding me.—January 30I have been laying down a little sort of plan for my future life. I told you the terms I could live upon with the farmer whom Patty found out for me; but as I cannot expect to be boarded at so cheap a rate when my children are grown bigger, I have been devising the means how to enlarge my scanty income against the time that our wants must necessarily increase; for I am firmly resolved my kind Lady V—— shall never augment the debt I already owe her. You know, my dear, I am pretty dexterous at my needle; the woman where I lodge deals inembroidery, which is much in fashion, and I think I have not seen any, though she pays largely to her artificers in this way, equal to some pieces of my own work. Now, my Cecilia, I have resolved to apply myself to this when I get into the country. I shewed the woman a small fire-skreen wrought by me when I was a girl, the same which I remember my poor Mr Arnold accused me of neglecting for my Horace, and which had never been made up; she said the work was so curious, that she would give any price for such a hand. Patty is well skilled in this sort of work too, and as I find she is determined not to quit me, I must, in return, endeavour not to let the poor girl be too great a sufferer for her kindness.
I think we shall between us be able to do a good deal, and my landlady has promised to receive and dispose of our work for a small consideration; as fast as we can send it to her; which we shall have constant opportunities of doing.
You cannot imagine how pleased I am with my scheme. Patty is in raptures at the thoughts of her being permitted to continue with me. I would even now set about my project if my health would allow me; but alas! my Cecilia, I am still so feeble, I am not able to sit up more than an hour or two at a time; and cannot walk a-cross my narrow room without help. Fresh air and a little gentle exercise would I am sure, more than any thing, contribute to restore my strength; but the means to procure these, are not conveniently within my power; so that I must wait that slow, but generally sure remedy, patience.
I have a wonderful incident to relate to you! you, my Cecilia, I know will join with me in admiring and praising God for his gracious providence!
This morning I was but just risen and got down into my little parlour, when Patty came to tell me, a man desired to speak with me. I immediately ordered him to be admitted. Patty accordingly introduced the person, who had stood in the entry whilst she was speaking to me. He seemed to be a man between forty and fifty years old, mean in his apparel, though clean. I nodded to my maid to leave the room, which when she had done, I civilly demanded of the stranger his business.
I was standing when he entered the room, and continued doing so while I spoke to him, not thinking from his appearance that he was intitled to sit down with me. You know I am not proud, but there is asort of usage established, which we naturally fall into. The man who had advanced some steps into the room, looked over his shoulder as if for a chair; so I understood the motion, and accordingly sat down myself, and bad him do so too. He did, and with an air as if he considered the civility to be only what was due to him.
I believe, Madam, said he, though you do not remember me, that you cannot be ignorant of your having had a relation of the name of Warner, who went to the West-Indies about five and twenty years ago. I answered, I do remember to have heard of such a person.
You see that unfortunate man before you, he replied; I am your near relation, Madam, your father was my mother’s only brother: I have been very unhappy; I lost, in my return to England, what almost five and twenty years industry had scraped together: the sum was but a moderate one, yet sufficient to have supported me decently for the remainder of my life. I asked him, how it happened? I began, said he, to grow sickly abroad, and was told that my native air might restore me. This advice so well agreed with my own inclinations, which were, for a long time past, bent upon returning home, that I took the first opportunity of a ship bound for England; but we were unluckily met by a French privateer, who stripped me of every thing but the clothes on my back, and set me on shore on the coast of Spain, whence I begged my passage to England, having nothing to support me but a few shillings, part of a collection, made for me and my fellow-sufferers, amongst some English gentlemen.
Whilst he spoke I thought I could discover a likeness in his face to my father. He was reckoned extremely to resemble his sister, the mother of this unhappy Mr Warner; she was a fine woman, and I had seen her picture. His story was credible; and I had no reason to doubt the truth of what he said.
And here I will give you a brief account of what occasioned this unfortunate relation to be thus long an alien from his family.
His mother, as you have just now heard, was my father’s sister, who threw her person and her fortune away upon a broken officer. This act disobliged my father so much, that from the time of her marriage, to the hour of her death, he never would see her. Her husband died, when this their only child was about nine years old; the poor mother survived him but a short time, and the orphan boy was left to my father’s mercy. I have often heard him say he was very unlucky, and never could be persuaded into a love of his book; he was, however, put to school, and my father bestowed the sameexpence on his education, as if he had been his own son. When he was about sixteen years old, as he wrote a good hand, and had a great capacity for figures, he bound him apprentice to a merchant, in which situation he had been above a year, (and during that time he had made several elopements, and was with difficulty reconciled to his master, through my father’s mediation) when he committed such a misdemeanour in his master’s family as obliged him to abscond. Accordingly he stole, unknown to any body, on board a ship bound to the West-Indies, of which his master was partly owner, where he hid himself, and nobody could tell what was become of him, ’till my father, about nine months after his departure, received a letter from him, dated from Jamaica, wherein he begged pardon of him, and his master, for his elopement, told him, that he had been taken into a merchant’s compting house, and declared, that he meant, by his diligence and good behaviour, to make amends for his past ill conduct. This was the only letter my father or any of his friends ever had from him. He answered it; but had no return; nor could he, from repeated enquiries, made two or three years after, learn any thing of him; so that all his relations concluded him dead.
These particulars I had heard before from my father, and his relations perfectly agreeing with them in every circumstance, I could have no doubt but that he was the man. Sir, said I, I very well remember to have heard your story; your likeness to my father, who was the image of your mother, leaves me no room to question your being the Mr Warner, of whom I have so often heard: you are indeed my near relation, and it grieves my heart to see you in such distress; and the more so, as I have not the ability I could wish to assist you; but we will talk over more particulars after breakfast. I rang the bell, and ordered Patty to get some coffee. While we were at breakfast, I asked my new-found kinsman by what means he had discovered me so soon? (for, by the way, I should have told you that he said he had been arrived but two days in London.) He answered, that one of the English gentlemen, who had been so kind to him at Cadiz, had given him a letter to a gentleman in London, for whom he was to leave it at a coffee-house in Pall-mall; that as he was delivering it, he perceived another letter lying on the bar, directed to Sir George Bidulph. The two names struck him, remembering them to be those of his cousin. His uncle, he supposed, was dead; but he determined to enquire who that gentleman was, and if he found it to be my brother, to apply to him for assistance. He had soon an opportunity of being satisfied; mybrother happened to come in his chariot to the door, just as Mr Warner was going out; he knew the arms, and had some recollection even of his features. It was past three o’clock, and I heard Sir George direct his servant home. I concluded he was going to dinner, and that the morning was the properest time to call on him, and having informed myself where he lived, I accordingly went yesterday morning.
He stopped, and sipped his coffee for some time without speaking.
And did you see him, Sir? Yes, Madam, I saw him, and heard him too. He has got a fine house, and seems to have every thing very elegant about him. When I was let into the hall, I desired the footman to acquaint his master that a gentleman, newly arrived from the West-Indies, wanted to speak with him, being commissioned by Mr Warner, a relation of his, to enquire after him. The footman went up stairs, and returning presently, asked me if I brought a letter from the gentleman I mentioned. I said, No, but I had something to say to him.
The servant, after delivering this message, came halfway down the first flight of the stairs, and leaning over the banisters, he bid me walk up. I found your brother, and his lady (I suppose) in her dressing-room, at breakfast. There was tea and chocolate on the table. I bowed very respectfully; the lady scarce moved her head; your brother said, Your servant, Sir, and viewed me from head to foot, but fixed his eyes earnestly on my face. The footman who had introduced me had withdrawn. Sir, said I, have you quite forgot me? I remember you well. He answered hesitatingly, and with a change of countenance that boded me no good, I protest, Sir,—I—I know nothing of you. ‘Have you forgot your cousin Ned Warner?’ He looked at his wife, and she at him; he forced a smile at her, which she returned, without knowing for what. ‘I do remember there was such a one related to the family, whom we all supposed to be dead; as for recollecting his person—’tis really so long ago—that I—can’t say I do.‘ All this while he let me stand, he was lolling in an easy chair, and had a dish of chocolate in his hand, of which he sipped and spoke to me by turns. His wife was feeding a monkey that was perched on her shoulder.
I am indeed more altered than you, Sir George; the hardships which I have undergone, and my long residence in a warmer climate, may readily account for that; but have you no traces of my features? No recollection of my voice? I have carried you many times in my arms. ‘Sir, I do not dispute theidentityof your person, but I shouldbe glad to know your commands with me.‘CommandsI have none, Sir: the poor must entreat, not command.
I then proceeded to tell him my unhappy story in the same words I just now gave it to you. His lady seemed not to mind me, but kept talking to her marmouset. He listened to me, but with so much impatience in his looks, as quite abashed me. I was still standing, but a little to take off the aukwardnes of my posture, I had ventured to rest one arm on the back of a chair.
When I had done speaking, your brother got up in a violent passion, to which he seemed to have been working himself up during the time I took to explain myself. He whisked away the chair on which I was leaning, and walked to the other end of the room; then turning to his lady, Is not this a pretty fellow to force his way in upon us, by a sham story of a message from a relation? and now truly by way of an agreeable surprize he turns out to be that very relation come a begging in his own proper person. Sir, said I, I ask your pardon for the liberty I took to gain admittance to you; but you will be the more inclined to excuse me, if you please to consider that it was out of respect to you that I would not in the mean appearance I now make, acknowledge myself to any of your servants; for the same reason I imagined, that had I not sent a message which I was in hopes would have a little interested you in my favour, I might have been ordered to send up my business by your footman, which would I thought have been quite improper. You might have writ, said he, interrupting me. Ah Sir, (shaking my head) if Ihad—and I stopped short. ‘You might not have been much the better for it: is that what you would say? (with a contemptuous half sneer.) In short, Sir, I can do nothing for you; what is it that you expect Ishoulddo?’ I do not mean to be a burden on you, Sir, I replied, I was bred to business, I write a good hand, and understand accompts. I hope to get into some merchant’s house; but in the mean time I am starving. I am an utter stranger here, though in my own country. I observed he had slipped his hands into his breeches pocket, and seemed to be feeling for a bit of money. Sir George, said the lady, (who had observed him as well as I) ’tis to no purpose to give any thing to these sort of people; assist one, and They will send another to you, and so there is no end to such claims. Your brother withdrew his hand from his pocket, as if checked by his lady’s looks. ‘Sir, it is not in my power to assist you.’ I then asked him if you were living, and where I could find you? for though you were not born when I left England, I heard afterwardsthat Sir Robert Bidulph had a daughter. Your brother replied peevishly he knew nothing of you, as you preferred the friendship of strangers to that of your relations. He then rang the bell, and calling his man to dress him, went out of the room without casting a look at me. I ventured to ask his lady your name (if you had changed it) and where you lived. She told me your name, but said she knew not where you lodged, adding I might spare myself the trouble of enquiring you out, for to her knowlege you could do nothing for me.
I took my leave, but enquiring of a footman whom I found in the hall, he directed me to St Alban’s Street, where you formerly lodged. I went there, and it was with difficulty that I could prevail on the woman of the house to tell me where you now lived; but my necessities made me urgent, and I waited on you this morning, Madam, to make my distress known to you; but I am afraid the information I had from your sister-in-law concerning you has but too much truth in it. As he spoke this he cast his eyes round my meanly furnished parlour, looked at the poor equipage of my tea table, and again sipped his unfinished and now cold dish of coffee.
Sir, said I, when my sister informed you that I was poor, it is certain she spoke truth; I am not, however, I thank God,sopoor but that I can spare you a little; if you will take a cheap lodging near me, I will supply you with enough to pay for it; and if you can eat as I and my little family do, you shall be welcome to us every day till something can be done for you. I see but very few people, but I will speak to such as come in my way to try to have you recommended to some one for employment. I then put my hand in my pocket, and taking out five shillings (all the silver I had) I put it into his hand: Sir, you may owe some little trifle where you have slept these two nights, I fear your lodging has been but poor, but if this will not discharge it tell me freely.
He suffered me to drop the shillings into his unclosed hand. He fixed his eyes eagerly on my face, but instead of replying to what I said, he only cried out, Good God! good God! and undoing two or three buttons at his breast, he sobbed as if his bosom was bursting. I was affected with his gratitude, and tried to disperse the tears that mounted to my eyes. I wish I could weep, said he, but I can’t; and may these be the last tears that ever you shall have occasion to shed! my worthy, my generous, my pious relation! God forgive me for trying such a heart, but I will reward it, amply will I reward your goodness.
He then drew a red letter-case out of his bosom, and, opening it, he put a bill into my hand for two thousand pounds on the bank of England. Think, my dear, how I started at such a vision! Sir, you amaze me! was all I could say. I beg your pardon for deceiving you, said he, but it was with a good intent. I suppose it is needless to tell you that I am not that poor forlorn wretch that I represented myself to you. Hear the real truth of my circumstances. You see before you (of a private man) one of the richest subjects in these dominions. You have heard that my setting-out was no other than that of a common writing-clerk in a merchant’s counting-house at Jamaica; from whence I wrote twice to your father, but never had any answer. I interrupted him to tell him, I had heard my father say he had got one letter from him, and had writ to him in return, and afterwards made many enquiries after him without success. Perhaps he might, said he, but I never received it, nor heard of any enquiries made, which piqued me so, that I resolved never to write again. In a little time I made myself so useful to my master that he grew exceedingly fond of me; and having no heir but an only daughter, who it seems had conceived an inclination for me, though without my suspecting it, but which her father had by some means discovered, he frankly made an offer of her to me in marriage; with an assurance of leaving me all that he was worth at his decease, and an immediate proffer of entering into partnership with him. The only return he required on my part, was to change my name, and assume his, which was Collett. I made no scruple of complying; for though my regard to the young lady had never risen to what is commonly called love, I yet thought her in all respects an unexceptionable match. I married her; my patron punctually fulfilled his promise; and at the end of three years I found myself by his death in possession of a considerable estate. The following year I lost my wife in childbed of her first child, who died with its mother. The changing my name was probably the occasion of my not being found out by those employed to enquire after me; and I perhaps ought now to acknowlege myself careless in not acquainting my friends with my good fortune.
I had such uncommon success in trade that my wealth increased amazingly. In about five years after the decease of my first wife, I married the widow of a merchant, with whom I got an immense fortune. This lady I truly loved. She was an amiable creature. I had one son by her, a fine youth, and we lived happily together for twelve years; at the end of which it pleased God to take from me both wifeand child. Poor man! his tears began to flow here. He proceeded. After this loss my own life began to grow tiresome to me; I had more riches than I knew what to do with, and had nobody to leave them to; my health began to decline; I grew weary of the place, and resolved, partly to divert my melancholy, and partly through affection to my native country, to see England once more. I settled my affairs in the best manner, sent considerable sums of money over before me, and brought a large one with me. During my voyage the whim took me, that I would enquire privately after your family, and present myself to you as I have done, in order to make trial of your dispositions, resolving, according as I found you worthy of it, to share my fortune amongst you, as I knew I had no other relations in the world.
I have been in England above a month. The first thing I did was to go down into Wiltshire, where I was soon informed that your father and mother were dead, and that your brother was married and resided for the most part in London; you, I was told, had been married and was a widow, but I could learn no more about you. On my return to town I soon found where your brother lived, and had the pleasure to hear a good character of him; but I had determined to make my own experiment on him, and I did intend, had he received me ever so kindly, to have made the same experiment on you, before I disclosed my plot to either of you.
I dressed myself in these old clothes on purpose, and what the success of my scheme has been you know. Your brother, narrow hearted, inhuman wretch, I blot forever from my thoughts: it will be the better for you, though I have more than enough for you both.
Your kindness, I tell you again, my valuable relation, I will repay an hundred-fold. Accept of that bill in your hand for your present use. I am sure you want it; and accept of it only as an earnest of my future friendship towards you. That brother, in affluence himself, who could see his sister,sucha sister want, must have lost all regard to ties of blood, and ’tis no wonder that I, so much further removed in kindred, met with such treatment at his hands.
See, my Cecilia, what an amazing turn of fortune! What could I do but lift up my eyes, as I did my heart, in silent adoration of that God, who is a father to the fatherless, and defendeth the cause of the widow!
It was some time before I could frame my mind to discourse on ordinary subjects. I gratefully accepted my cousin’s noble present. He enquired minutely into my situation; there was no need of concealingany thing from him, nor did I attempt it. He was very inquisitive as to my brother’s behaviour towards me. I told him the whole of it; he was even bitter in his invectives against him, and Lady Sarah. But, said he, I will have my revenge on them; I will make you triumph over him, and that proud upstart his wife. What lodgings you are in my poor dear creature! Is this your best room? I told him I had nothing but that and a bed-chamber where the children and I lay, and a closet for my maid. He desired to see the children, andI had them both brought in.He kissed them tenderly; poor babes! you have a cursed uncle, but you have a very good mamma, and I will take care of you all.
I will dine with you to-morrow, said he; let us eat a comfortable morsel together, and for your life not a word of what has past to any body. He then took an affectionate leave of me and departed.—Let me here lay down my pen and wonder at my fate!
I have got into a flow of spirits, my dear. What scenes of happiness might now open upon me, if happiness consisted in riches alone? but no, no, it does not. My heart, broken by vexation, cannot recover its tranquillity so soon. Yet is there room for joy, joy springing from a rational, from a humane, from a commendable motive; and I will a little indulge it. I can now in part return the vast obligation I owe Mr Faulkland, as far as at least relates to pecuniary debts. I can now repay many-fold the kindness of my good lady V——. I can provide for my affectionate worthy Patty. I have the delightful prospect of giving my children an education suitable to their birth; and, if my life is prolonged, of seeing them honourably and happily settled in the world. I shall have the glorious power of diffusing benefits! Oh, my dear, ’tis good for me that I have been in trouble, it has so enlarged my charity, that I feel transports which prosperity is a stranger to, at the bare idea of having it in my power to succour the afflicted. Who would not suffer adversity to have the heart so improved?
My new-found relation dined with me to-day according to promise. Patty had provided two dishes of the best things in season, and dressed them admirably; I need not tell you in what satisfaction Mr Warner and I enjoyed our little chearful meal. He had sent me in the morning a hamper of excellent wine, and seemed to relish his bottle with an extraordinary good goust.
When Patty had carried the children up stairs, and we were leftalone, he told me that he had been that morning looking out a house for me; you must quit these lodgings directly, and submit a little to my management; for Iwillmortify your paltry brother and his wife. You shall have as handsome a house as his, and better furnished too, or I’ll know why. You must know I mean to set you out like a dutchess, and you shall roll by that worthless puppy’s door in a better equipage than his minx is carried in. But I do not intend to live with you as well as I love you; for though I am an old weather-beaten fellow, you are young and handsome, and the world I know is full of scandal. I shall therefore content myself with a lodging some where in your neighbourhood, and come and see you now and then. I thanked him for the prudence of his consideration, but begged he would restrain his generosity, and suffer me to live in that moderate state, which, if I had ever so much riches, would be my choice. Don’t oppose me coz, said he; pray don’t. Imusthave my way in this, I have set my heart upon it. You shallblazefor a while at least; when I have had my revenge, you may live as you please afterwards. I was unwilling to contradict him in his odd humour; yet was very much afraid of the consequences ofblazing, as he called it, all at once. But dear Sir, said I what will the world think of my emerging thus from obscurity into the splendour you talk of? though you do not live with me, as I am still young, may it not give room for censure? busy people will pry into the source from whence I draw my affluence, and envy will not be backward in putting wrong constructions on an appearance by which it will be so much excited.
He listened, looking at me earnestly in the face; then nodding his head, with a very grave countenance said, You are a sensible woman, coz, and I commend your prudence, but I must have my will for all that. I could not forbear smiling at his manner; and going on, if, said I, I were to enter again into public life with a moderately genteel appearance only, nobody’s curiosity would be excited, as it might easily be supposed that my brother had enabled me to support a decent figure in the world.—I soon found that I had made use of a wrong argument, which put my friend into a violent passion. A fiddle-stick for you and your brother too, said he; do you think I will let that whelp have the credit of whatImean to do for you? no, no, set your heart at rest about that; what I do, all the world shall know, and my reasons for it too. I’ll have my own way; there is no hurt I hope in providing for a near kinswoman, that is left to starve by a still nearer relation. I make you my heir, look you, and I will spread it allover the town. Is there any harm in that? God knows I have no more ill in my heart than one of your children; but I am a little resenting may be, so say no more of it. I found Mr Warner was pretty positive, therefore thought it the wisest way to insist no farther upon the argument; but told him I would submit intirely to his discretion. It will be best for you, said he; consider me as your father, and I willbea father to you. He then told me that he had been trying to get a house for me near my brother’s, that I mightnosehim as he called it; but that as there were none empty in the square, he had fixed on a very handsome one in an adjoining street. I did not like the furniture, said he, so I ordered it out, and have bespoke new of an upholder, who promises me, in a week or ten days at farthest, to have every thing completely fitted up. In the mean time I can’t bear to see you in this sorry room; poor soul! how long have you been here? I told him near four months, and that, with his permission, I would continue in these lodgings till the house was ready, as it was not worth while to change them for so short a time. Well, said he, you may do as you will for that; I’ll see that every thing is to your satisfaction. He took his leave with an affectionate shake by the hand.
How miraculous is all this, my dear! this messenger of good tidings, is he not sent to me by providence? as I found he intended not to make a secret of his designs in my favour, I was in haste to divulge the joyful news to my friends. I have accordingly writ to my Lady V——, giving her an account of the wonderful revolution in my affairs; and I intend, as soon as I can fix upon some curious present worth her acceptance, to make her a large return for her favours. I have also acquainted Mrs Faulkland of the happy turn in my fortune, and I design a magnificent present for her as soon as I have time to prepare it. To neither of these ladies have I hinted at my brother’s behaviour, either to myself, or Mr Warner. I have made the good woman, with whom I lodge, stare wonderfully at the relation. I could get nothing from her but exclamations of astonishment, her hands and eyes lifted up, ‘Good God! Lord bless us! what strange things come about! what lucksomepeople are born to! and this was yourown, owncousin that you never set eyes on before? My goodness, what a swarthy gentleman he is! but tumbling in gold, I warrant him. It would be long before such good fortune would happen to me, though I have a cousin beyond seas too.’ I could plainly see that this poor woman envied my prosperity, though she tried to congratulate me; but it is the less to be wondered at, as she knew not that I wasborn to any better prospect, than that of working for my bread in a two pair of stairs room.
I have not seen my honest kinsman these four days; but he sent me a note to inform me that he was busy in seeing every thing put in order in my new house; and that he abstained from visiting me out ofdiscretion, this word he marked, the more to impress his full meaning. He says I shall not see any thing till all is ready, neither has he yet so much as told me the street where I am to live. I find hewill, as he himself says, have his own way.
Now, my Cecilia, I may reasonably hope that my afflictions are at an end: as far as wealth can promote felicity, that felicity is mine.
I have just settled with my landlady, and having paid her for her lodgings, made her a present, a little to reconcile her to my prosperity, when a new chariot most superbly gilt stopped at my door; a black and a white footman in rich laced liveries behind it. One of these brought me a note from Mr Warner, who informed, me that he had sent myownequipage to carry me home, where I should find him waiting to welcome me to myownhouse.
Patty seemed to have got wings to her feet; she flew up to me with the welcome notice, and begged of me to observe from the window, that the servants were in our own family livery; with this difference, that the lace was silver instead of what we used to give.
On expressing my surprise at this, Patty told me that Mr Warner had, at his second visit, enquired of her, as she let him out, what liveries we used to give, but bid her not mention it to me; which she said she would not do, as she guessed he meant to surprise me. But this was not all, he had been so minutely correct, as to have the Arnold arms in a lozenge elegantly painted on the doors; what these were, he was at the pains of informing himself elsewhere. My Patty almost frantick with joy hurried the two children down stairs, and stuck them up in the chariot, telling them both it was their own as she put them into it; but the poor babes fell a crying, and were not to be pacified by the novelty or finery of the thing till I came to them. She staid behind to send our little baggage after us, and I drove to my new house in Pall-mall; where I found my generous benefactor waiting, as he had promised, to receive me.
Oh my dear he is a princely man! such grandeur, such elegance! he led me thro’ every room, where wealth and magnificence were displayed even to profusion. From top to bottom there is not the smallest article wanting that luxury itself can imagine. The carpets, skreens, cabinets, and an abundance of fine china, are beyond comparison more beautiful than any thing of the kind I have ever seen. ’Tis but eleven days since my kinsman mentioned his design to me, and you must believe he has been indefatigable in his diligence, since he has left nothing for me to do, but at once to take possession of this splendid mansion. All the necessary domesticks are hired, and ready in their respective stations; and I am already as much settled in a few hours, as if I had lived here so many years.
Mr Warner told me that as a trifle would not be sufficient to keep up every thing in proportionable state about me, he intended to allow me three thousand pounds a year. This appointment, said he, you are to consider as your own property, and just call upon me as you would on your steward. I am sure you will employ it well, you gave me a proof of that inyour five shillings. You need not be afraid of being too profuse in your charities; when I die you will find yourself possessed of the means of continuing them.
Dear Sir, said I, long may you live to feel and rejoice in the blessings whichyourbounty will, through me, I hope, draw down on us both. I leave you to enjoy yourself, said he; but I am impatient till your brother knows what he has lost by his hard-heartedness. He cannot long be ignorant of it, Sir, replied I; but indeed I flatter myself that he is not quite so much to blame in regard to me, as we have both imagined. You see he seemed to know nothing of my situation when you enquired after me, and even threw out something like a reproach for my having withdrawn myself without acquainting him where I was; I am very sure lady Sarah never informed him of my having applied to her.—It was his duty to have enquired you out, said he; did he not know you were poor? He knew, said I, that my circumstances were very much streighten’d, but he did not knowhowmuch. Well, well, answered Mr Warner, it is good in you to excuse him, butIknow him to be a narrow-hearted poltroon. He took his leave, and said he would see me soon again, having taken lodgings for himself in my neighbourhood.
I begin to doubt, my Cecilia, whether I am really awake or not! ’Tisall enchantment! I am afraid my old kinsman is a wizard.... I have been talking to, and examining my servants, to see if they are real living people, or only phantoms; I look at, and handle the rich furniture of my apartments to try if it be substantial!—’Tis all so—every thing real—I beg my cousin’s pardon for suspecting him of sorcery; I believe he deals in no charms, but that all-powerful one—money.
Now, my sister, what a spacious field is there opened before me! Three thousand pounds a year! how many hearts will it be in my power to make glad! and I will make many glad.