I think it is generally allowed that there are few emotions of the mind more uneasy than suspense. Not the extreme youth of Miss Betsy, not all her natural cheerfulness, nor her perfect indifference for the son of Alderman Saving, could enable her to throw off the vexation in which his late behaviour had involved her: had the motive been the most mortifying of any that could be imagined to her vanity, pride and resentment would then have come to her assistance; she would have despised the author of the insult, and in time have forgot the insult itself; but the uncertainty in what manner she ought to think of the man, and this last action of his, made both dwell much longer on her mind than otherwise they would have done. As the poet truly says—
'When puzzling doubts the anxious bosom seize,To know the worst, is some degree of ease.'
'When puzzling doubts the anxious bosom seize,To know the worst, is some degree of ease.'
This is a maxim which will hold good, even when the strongest and most violent passions operate; but Miss Betsy was possessed of no more than a bare curiosity, which as she had as yet no other sensation that demanded gratification, was sufficiently painful to her.
It was about ten or twelve days that she continued to labour under this dilemma; but, at the expiration of that time, was partly relieved from it by the following means.
Mr. Goodman, happening to meet Alderman Saving, with whom he had great business, upon Change, desired he would accompanyhim to an adjacent tavern; to which the other complied, but with an air much more grave and reserved than he was accustomed to put on with a person whom he had known for a great number of years, and was concerned with in some affairs of traffick, they went together to the Ship Tavern.
After having ended what they had to say to each other upon business—'Mr. Goodman,' said the alderman, 'we have long been friends; I always thought you an honest, fair-dealing man, and am therefore very much surprized you should go about to put upon me in the manner you have lately done.'—'Put upon you, Sir!' cried the merchant; 'I know not what you mean; and am very certain I never did any thing that might call in question my integrity, either to you or to any one else.'—'It was great integrity, indeed!' resumed the alderman, with a sneer, 'to endeavour to draw my only son into a clandestine marriage with the girl you have at your house.' Mr. Goodman was astonished, as well he might, at this accusation; and perceiving, by some other words that the alderman let fall, that he was well acquainted with the love young Saving had professed for Miss Betsy, frankly related to him all that he knew of the courtship, and the method he had taken to put a stop to it. 'That was not enough, Sir,' cried the alderman, hastily; 'you should have told me of it. Do you think young folks, like them, would have regarded your forbidding? No, no! I'll warrant you they would have found some way or other to come together before now; and the boy might have been ruined, if I had not been informed by other hands how things were carried on, and put it out of the power of any of you to impose upon me. The girl may spread her nets to catch some other woodcock, if she can. Thanks to Heaven, and my own prudence, my son is far enough out of her reach!'
Mr. Goodman, though one of the best-natured men in the world, could not keep himself from being a little ruffled at the alderman's discourse; and told him, that though he had been far from encouraging Mr. Saving's inclinations, and should always think it the duty of a son to consult his father in every thing he did, especially in so material a point as that of marriage, yet he saw no reason for treating Miss Betsy with contempt, as she was of a good family, had a very pretty fortune of her own, and suitable accomplishments.
'You take a great deal of pains to set her off,' said the alderman; 'and since you married a court-lady not worth a groat, have got all the romantick idle notions of the other end of the town as finely as if youhad been bred there. A good family!—Very pleasant, i'faith. Will a good family go to market? Will it buy a joint of mutton at the butcher's, or a pretty gown at the mercer's?—Then, a pretty fortune! you say—Enough, it may be, to squander away at cards or masquerades for a month or two. She has suitable accomplishments too!—Yes, indeed, they are suitable ones, I believe!—I suppose she can sing, dance, and jabber a little French; but I'll be hanged if she knows how to make a pye, or a pudding, or to teach her maid to do it!'
The reflection on Lady Mellasin, in the beginning of this speech, so much incensed Mr. Goodman, that he could scarce attend to the latter part of it: he forbore interrupting him, however; but, as soon as he had done speaking, replied in terms which shewed his resentment. In fine, such hot words passed between them, as, had they been younger men, might have produced worse consequence; but the spirit of both being equally evaporated in mutual reproaches, they grew more calm, and at last talked themselves into as good harmony as ever. Mr. Goodman said he was sorry that he had been prevailed upon, by the young man's intreaties, to keep his courtship to Miss Betsy a secret; and the alderman begged pardon, in his turn, for having said any thing disrespectful of Lady Mellasin.
On this they shook hands; another half-pint of sherry was called for; and, before they parted, the alderman acquainted Mr. Goodman, that to prevent entirely all future correspondence between his son and Miss Betsy, he had sent him to Holland some days ago, without letting him know any thing of his intentions till every thing was ready for his embarkation. 'I sent,' said he, 'the night before he was to go, his portmanteau, and what other luggage I thought he would have occasion for, to the inn where the Harwich stage puts up; and, making him be called up very early in the morning, told him he must go a little way out of town with me upon extraordinary business. He seemed very unwilling; said he had appointed that morning to meet a gentleman, and begged I would delay the journey to the next day, or even till the afternoon. What caused this backwardness I cannot imagine, for I think it was impossible he could know my designs on this score; but, whatever was in his head, I took care to disappoint it. I listened to none of his excuses, nor trusted him out of my sight; but forced him to go with me to the coach, in which I had secured a couple of places. He was horribly shocked when he found where he was going, and would fain have persuaded me to repeal hisbanishment, as he called it. I laughed in my sleeve; but took no notice of the real motive I had for sending him away, and told him there was an absolute necessity for his departure; that I had a business of the greatest importance at Rotterdam, in which I could trust nobody but himself to negociate; and that he would find, in his trunk, letters, and other papers, which would instruct him how to act.
'In fine,' continued the alderman, 'I went with him aboard, staid with him till they were ready to weigh anchor, then returned, and stood on the beach till the ship sailed quite out of sight; so that if my gentleman had a thought of writing to his mistress, he had not the least opportunity for it.' He added, that he did not altogether deceive his son, having, indeed, some affairs to transact at Rotterdam, though they were not of the mighty consequence he had pretended; but which he had, by a private letter to his agent there, ordered should be made appear as intricate and perplexing as possible, that the young gentleman's return might be delayed as long as there was any plausible excuse for detaining him, without his seeing through the reason of it.
Mr. Goodman praised the alderman's discretion in the whole conduct of this business; and, to atone for having been prevailed upon to keep young Saving's secret from him, offered to make interest with a friend he had at the post-office, to stop any letter that should be directed to Miss Betsy Thoughtless, by the way of Holland: 'By which means,' said he, 'all communication between the young people will soon be put an end to; he will grow weary of writing letters when he receives no answers; and she of thinking of him as a lover, when she finds he ceases to tell her he is so.'
The alderman was ready to hug his old friend for this proposal, which, it is certain, he made in the sincerity of his heart; for they no sooner parted, then he went to the office, and fulfilled his promise.
When he came home, in order to hinder Miss Betsy from expecting to hear any thing more of Mr. Saving, he told her he had been treated by the alderman pretty roughly, on account of the encouragement that had been given in his house to the amorous addresses which had been made to her by his son: 'And,' added he, 'the old man is so incensed against him, for having a thought of that kind in your favour, that he has sent him beyond sea—I know not to what part: but, it seems, he is never to come back, till he has given full assurance the liking he has for you is utterly worn off.'
'He might have spared himself the pains,' said Miss Betsy,blushing with disdain, 'his son could have informed him how little I was inclinable to listen to any thing he said, on the score of love; and I myself, if he had asked me the question, would have given him the strongest assurances that words could form, that if ever I changed my condition, (which Heaven knows I am far from thinking on as yet) I should never be prevailed upon to do it by any merits his son was possessed of.'
Mr. Goodman congratulated her on the indifference she expressed; and told her, he hoped she would always continue in the same humour, till an offer which promised more satisfaction in marriage should happen to be made.
Nothing more was said on this head; but Miss Betsy, upon ruminating on what Mr. Goodman had related, easily imagined, that the day in which he had been sent away, was the same on which he had appointed to meet her, and therefore excused his not coming as a thing unavoidable; yet, as she knew not the precaution his father had taken, was not so ready to forgive him for not sending a line to prevent her waiting so long for him at the habit-shop. She could not, however, when she reflected on the whole tenor of his deportment to her, think it possible he should all at once become guilty of wilfully omitting what even common good manners and decency required. She soon grew weary, however, of troubling herself about the matter; and a very few days served to make her lose even the memory of it.
Miss Betsy had now no person that professed a serious passion for her; but, as she had yet never seen the man capable of inspiring her with the least emotions of tenderness, she was quite easy as to that point, and wished nothing beyond what she enjoyed, the pleasure of being told she was very handsome, and gallanted about by a great number of those who go by the name of very pretty fellows. Pleased with the praise, she regarded not the condition or merits of the praised, and suffered herself to be treated, presented, and squired about to all publick places, either by the rake, the man of honour, the wit, or the fool, the married as well as the unmarried, without distinction, and just as either fell in her way.
Such a conduct as this could not fail of laying her open to the censure of malicious tongues: the agreeableness of her person, her wit, and the many accomplishments she was mistress of, made her envied and hated, even by those who professed the greatest friendship for her. Several there were who, though they could scarce support the vexation it gave them to see her so much preferred to themselves, yet chose to be as much with her as possible, in the cruel hope of finding some fresh manner wherewith to blast her reputation.
Certain it is, that though she was as far removed as innocence itself from all intent or wish of committing a real ill, yet she paid too little regard to the appearances of it, and said and did many things which the actually criminal would be more cautious to avoid. Hurried by an excess of vanity, and that love of pleasure so natural to youth, sheindulged herself in liberties, of which she foresaw not the consequences.
Lady Trusty, who sincerely loved her, both for her own sake, and that of her deceased mother, came more often to Mr. Goodman's than otherwise she would have done, on purpose to observe the behaviour of Miss Betsy: she had heard some accounts, which gave her great dissatisfaction; but, as she was a woman of penetration, she easily perceived, that plain reproof was not the way to prevail on her to reclaim the errors of her conduct; that she must be insensibly weaned from what at present she took so much delight in, and brought into a different manner of living, by ways which should rather seem to flatter than check her vanity. She therefore earnestly wished to get her down with her into L——e, where she was soon going herself; but knew not how to ask her without making the same invitation to Miss Flora, whose company she no way desired, and whose example, she was sensible, had very much contributed to give Miss Betsy that air of levity, which rendered her good sense almost useless to her.
This worthy lady happening to find her alone one day, (a thing not very usual) she asked, by way of sounding her inclination, if she would not be glad to see L——e again; to which she replied, that there were many people for whom she had a very great respect; but the journey was too long to be taken merely on the score of making a short visit; for she owned she did not like the country well enough to continue in it for any length of time.
Lady Trusty would fain have persuaded her into a better opinion of the place she was born in, and which most of her family had passed the greatest part of their lives in; but Miss Betsy was not to be argued into any tolerable ideas of it, and plainly told her ladyship, that what she called a happy tranquil manner of spending one's days, seemed to her little better than being buried alive.
From declaring her aversion to a country life, she ran into such extravagant encomiums on those various amusements which London every day presented, that Lady Trusty perceived it would not be without great difficulty she would be brought to a more just way of thinking; she concealed, however, as much as possible, the concern it gave her to hear her express herself in this manner; contenting herself with saying, calmly, that London was indeed a very agreeable place to live in, especially for young people, and the pleasures it afforded were very elegant; 'But then,' said she, 'the too frequentrepetition of them may so much engross the mind as to take it off from other objects, which ought to have their share in it. Besides,' continued she, 'there are but too frequent proofs that an innate principle of virtue is not always a sufficient guard against the many snares laid for it, under the shew of innocent pleasures, by wicked and designing persons of both sexes; nor can it be esteemed prudence to run one's self into dangers merely to shew our strength in overcoming them: nor, perhaps, would even the victory turn always to our glory; the world is censorious, and seldom ready to put the best construction on things; so that reputation may suffer, though virtue triumphs.'
Miss Betsy listened to all this with a good deal of attention; the impudent attempt Gayland had made on her came fresh into her mind, and made this lady's remonstrances sink the deeper into it. The power of reflection being a little awakened in her, some freedoms also, not altogether consistent with strict modesty, which others had offered to her, convinced her of the error of maintaining too little reserve; she thanked her kind adviser, and promised to observe the precepts she had given.
Lady Trusty, finding this good effect of what she had said, ventured to proceed so far as to give some hints that the conduct of Miss Flora had been far from blameless; 'And therefore,' pursued she, 'I should be glad, methinks, to see you separated from that young lady, though it were but for a small time;' and then gave her to understand how great a pleasure it would be to her to get her down with her to L——e, if it could be any way contrived that she should go without Miss Flora.
'As I have been so long from home,' said she, 'I know I shall have all the gentry round the country to welcome me at my return; and if you should find the company less polite than those you leave behind, it will at least diversify the scene, and render the entertainments of London new to you a second time, when you come back.'
Miss Betsy found in herself a strong inclination to comply with this proposal; and told Lady Trusty, she should think herself happy in passing the whole summer with her; and as to Miss Flora, the same offer might be made to her without any danger of her accepting it. 'I am not of your opinion,' said the other: 'the girl has no fortune, but what Mr. Goodman shall be pleased to give her, which cannot be very considerable, as he has a nephew in the East Indies whom he is extremely fond of, and will make his heir. Lady Mellasin would,therefore, catch at the opportunity of sending her daughter to a place where there are so many gentlemen of estates, among whom she might have a better chance for getting a husband than she can have in London, where her character would scarce entitle her to such a hope. I will, however,' pursued she, 'run the risque, and chuse rather to have a guest whose company I do not so well approve of, than be deprived of one I so much value.'
Miss Betsy testified the sense she had of her ladyship's goodness in the most grateful and obliging terms; and Lady Mellasin and Miss Flora coming home soon after, Lady Trusty said she was come on purpose to ask permission for Miss Flora and Miss Betsy to pass two or three months with her down in L——e.
Lady Mellasin, as the other had imagined, seemed extremely pleased with the invitation; and told her, she did her daughter a great deal of honour, and she would take care things should be prepared for both the young ladies to attend her on her setting out. Lady Trusty then told her she had fixed the day for it, which was about a fortnight after this conversation; and some other matters relating to the journey being regulated, took her leave, highly pleased with the thoughts of getting Miss Betsy to a place, where she should have an opportunity of using her utmost endeavours to improve the good she found in her disposition, and of weaning her, by degrees, from any ill habits she might have contracted in that Babel of mixed company she was accustomed to at Lady Mellasin's.
Miss Flora had now nothing in her head but the many hearts she expected to captivate when she should arrive in L——e; and Lady Mellasin, who soothed her in all her vanities, resolved to spare nothing which she imagined would contribute to that purpose. Miss Betsy, who had the same ambition, though for different ends, made it also pretty much her study to set off, to the best advantage, the charms she had received from nature. The important article of dress now engrossed the whole conversation of these ladies. The day after that in which Lady Trusty had made the invitation to the two young ones, Lady Mellasin went with them to the mercer's to buy some silks; she pitched on a very genteel new-fashioned pattern for her daughter, but chose one for Miss Betsy which, though rich, seemed to her not well fancied; she testified her disapprobation, but Lady Mellasin said so much in the praise of it, and the mercer, either to please her, or because he was desirous of getting it sold, assured Miss Betsy that it was admired by every body; that it was the newest thing he had in his shop, and had already sold several pieces to ladies of the first quality. All this did not argue Miss Betsy into a liking of it; yet between them she was over-persuaded to have it. When these purchases were made, they went home, only stopping at the mantua-maker's in their way, to order her to come that afternoon: Lady Mellasin did no more than set them down, and then went in the coach to make a visit.
The young ladies fell to reviewing their silks; but Miss Betsy was no way satisfied with hers: the more she looked upon it, the worse itappeared to her. 'I shall never wear it with any pleasure,' said she; 'I wish the man had it in his shop again, for I think it quite ugly.' Miss Flora told her, that she wondered at her; that the thing was perfectly handsome, and that my lady's judgment was never before called in question. 'That may be,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but certainly every one ought to please their own fancy in the choice of their cloaths: for my part, I shall never endure to see myself in it.'—'Not when their fancy happens to differ from that of those who know better than themselves what is fit for them,' cried Miss Flora; 'and, besides, have the power over them.' She spoke this with so much pertness, that Miss Betsy, had had a violent spirit, was highly provoked. 'Power over them!' cried she, 'I do not know what you mean, Miss Flora; Mr. Goodman is one of my guardians, indeed; but I don't know why that should entitle his lady to direct me in what I shall wear.'
Mr. Goodman, who happened to be looking over some papers in a little closet he had within his parlour, hearing part of this dispute, and finding it was like to grow pretty warm, came out, in hopes of moderating it. On hearing Miss Betsy's complaint, he desired to see the silk; which being shewn him, 'I do not pretend,' said he, 'to much understanding in these things; but, methinks, it is very handsome.'—'It would do well enough for winter, Sir,' replied Miss Betsy; 'but it is too hot and heavy for summer; besides, it is so thick and clumsy, it would make me look as big again as I am: I'll not wear it, I am resolved, in the country, whatever I do when I come to town, in the dark weather.'
'Well,' said Mr. Goodman, 'I will speak to my lady to get it changed for something else.'—'Indeed, Sir,' cried Miss Flora, 'I am sure my mamma will do no such thing, and take it very ill to hear it proposed.'—'You need not put yourself in any heat,' replied Miss Betsy; 'I don't desire she should be troubled any farther about it—but, Sir,' continued she, turning to Mr. Goodman, 'I think I am now at an age capable of chusing for myself, in the article of dress; and as it has been settled between you and Sir Ralph Trusty, that, out of the income of my fortune, thirty pounds a year should be allowed for my board, twenty pounds for my pocket expences, and fifty for my cloaths, I think I ought to have the two latter entirely at my own disposal, and to lay it out as I think fit, and not be obliged, like a charity-child, to wear whatever livery my benefactor shall be pleased to order.' She spoke this with so much spleen, that Mr. Goodmanwas a little nettled at it, and told her, that what his wife had done was out of kindness and good-will; which since she did not take as it was meant, she should have her money to do with as she would.
'That is all I desire,' answered she, 'therefore be pleased to let me have twenty guineas now, or, if there does not remain so much in your hands, I will ask Sir Ralph to advance it, and you may return it to him when you settle accounts.'—'No, no,' cried the merchant hastily, 'I see no reason to trouble my good friend, Sir Ralph, on such a frivolous matter. You shall have the sum you mention, Miss Betsy, whether so much remains out of the hundred pounds a year set apart for your subsistence, or not, as I can but deduct it out of the next payment: but I would have you manage with discretion, for you may depend, that the surplus of what was at first agreed upon, shall not be broke into, but laid up to increase your fortune; which, by the time you come of age, I hope will be pretty handsomely improved.'
Miss Betsy then assured him, that she doubted not of his zeal for her interest, and hoped she had not offended him in any thing she had said. 'No, no,' replied he, 'I always make allowances for the little impatiences of persons of your sex and age, especially where dress is concerned.' In speaking these words, he opened his bureau, and took out twenty guineas, which he immediately gave her, making her first sign a memorandum of it. Miss Flora was all on fire to have offered something in opposition to this, but durst not do it; and the mantua-maker that instant coming in, she went up stairs with her into her chamber, leaving Miss Betsy and Mr. Goodman together; the former of whom, being eager to go about what she intended, ordered a hackney-coach to be called, and taking the silk with her, went directly to the shop where it was bought.
The mercer at first seemed unwilling to take it again; but on her telling him she would always make use of him for every thing she wanted in his way, and would then buy two suits of him, he at last consented. As she was extremely curious in everything relating to her shape, she made choice of a pink-coloured French lustring, to the end, that the plaits lying flat, she would shew the beauty of her waist to more advantage; and to atone for the slightness of the silk, purchased as much of it as would flounce the sleeves and the petticoat from top to bottom; she made the mercer also cut off a sufficient quantity of a rich green Venetian sattin, to make her a riding-habit; and as she came home bought a silver trimming for it of Point D'Espagne: all which, with the silk she disliked in exchange, did notamount to the money she had received from Mr. Goodman.
On her return, she asked the footman, who opened the door, if the mantua-maker was gone; but he not being able to inform her, she ran hastily up stairs, to Miss Flora's chamber, which, indeed, was also her own, for they lay together: she was about to bounce in, but found that the door was locked, and the key taken out on the inside. This very much surprized her, especially as she thought she had heard Miss Flora's voice, as she was at the top of the stair-case; wanting, therefore, to be satisfied who was with her, she went as softly as she could into Lady Mellasin's dressing-room, which was parted from the chamber but by a slight wainscot; she put her ear close to the pannel, in order to discover the voices of them who spoke, and found, by some light that came through a crack or flaw in the boards, her eyes, as well as ears, contributed to a discovery she little expected. In fine, she plainly perceived Miss Flora and a man rise off the bed: she could not at first discern who he was; but, on his returning to go out of the room, knew him to be no other than Gayland. They went out of the chamber together as gently as they could; and though Miss Betsy might, by taking three steps, have met them in the passage, and have had an opportunity of revenging herself on Miss Flora for the late airs she had given herself, by shewing how near she was to the scene of infamy she had been acting, yet the shock she felt herself, on being witness of it, kept her immoveable for some time; and she suffered them to depart without the mortification of thinking any one knew of their being together in the manner they were.
This young lady, who though, as I have already taken notice, was of too volatile and gay a disposition, hated any thing that had the least tincture of indecency, was so much disconcerted at the discovery she had made, that she had not power to stir from the place she was in, much less to resolve how to behave in this affair; that is, whether it would be best, or not, to let Miss Flora know she was in the secret of her shame, or to suffer her to think herself secure.
She was however, beginning to meditate on this point, when she heard Miss Flora come up stairs, calling at every step, 'Miss Betsy! Miss Betsy! where are you?' Gayland was gone; and his young mistress being told Miss Betsy was come home, guessed it was she who had given an interruption to their pleasures, by coming to the door; she, therefore, as she could not imagine her so perfectly convinced, contrived to disguise the whole, and worst of the truth, by revealing a part of it; and as soon as she had found her, 'Lord, MissBetsy!' cried she, with an unparalleled assurance, 'where have you been? how do you think I have been served by that cursed toad Gayland? He came up into our chamber, where the mantua-maker and I were, and as soon as she was gone, locked the door, and began to kiss and touze me so, that I protest I was frighted almost out of my wits. The devil meant no harm, though, I believe, for I got rid of him easy enough; but I wish you had rapped heartily at the door, and obliged him to open it, that we both might have rated him for his impudence!—'Some people have a great deal of impudence, indeed,' replied Miss Betsy, astonished at her manner of bearing it off. 'Aye, so they have, my dear,' rejoined the other, with a careless air; 'but, pr'ythee, where have you been rambling by yourself?'—'No farther than Bedford Street,' answered Miss Betsy; 'you may see on what errand,' continued she, pointing to the silks which she had laid down on a chair. Miss Flora presently ran to the bundle, examined what it contained, and either being in a better humour, or affecting to be so, than when they talked on this head in the parlour, testified no disapprobation of what she had done; but, on the contrary, talked to her in such soft obliging terms, that Miss Betsy, who had a great deal of good-nature, when not provoked by any thing that seemed an affront to herself, could not find in her heart to say any thing to give her confusion.
When Lady Mellasin came home, and was informed how Miss Betsy had behaved, in relation to the silk, she at first put on an air full of resentment: but finding the other wanted neither wit nor spirit to defend her own cause, and not caring to break with her, especially as her daughter was going with her to L——e, soon grew more moderate; and, at length, affected to think no more of it. Certain it is, however, that this affair, silly as it was, and, as one would think, insignificant in itself, lay broiling in the minds of both mother and daughter; and they waited only for an opportunity of venting their spite, in such a manner as should not make them appear to have the least tincture of so foul and mean a passion; but as neither of them were capable of a sincere friendship, and had no real regard for any one besides themselves, their displeasure was of little consequence.
Preparations for the journey of the young ladies seemed, for the present, to employ all their thoughts, and diligence enough was used to get every thing ready against the time prefixed, which wanted but three days of being expired, when an unforeseen accident put an entire stop to it.
Miss Betsy received a letter from her brother, Mr. Francis Thoughtless, accompanied with another to Mr. Goodman, acquainting them, that he had obtained leave from the head of the college to pass a month in London; that he should set out from Oxford in two days, and hoped to enjoy the satisfaction of being with them in twelve hours after this letter. What could she now do? it would have been a sin, not only against natural affection, but against the rules of common good manners, to have left the town, either on the news of his arrival, or immediately after it: nor could Lady Trusty expect, or desire she should entertain a thought of doing so; she was too wise and too good not to consider the interest of families very much depended on the strict union among the branches of it, and that the natural affection between brothers and sisters could not be too much cultivated. Far, therefore, from insisting on the promise Miss Betsy had made of going with her into the country, she congratulated her on the happy disappointment; and told her, that she should receive her with a double satisfaction, if, after Mr. Francis returned to Oxford, she would come and pass what then remained of the summer-season with her. This Miss Betsy assured her ladyship she would do; so that, according to all appearance, the benefits she might have received, by being under the eye of so excellent an instructress were but delayed, not lost.
Mr. Francis Thoughtless arrived in town the very evening before the day in which Sir Ralph Trusty and his lady were to set out for L——e. They had not seen this young gentleman since the melancholy occasion of his father's funeral, and would have been glad to have spent some time with him, but could no way put off their journey, as word was sent of the day in which they expected to be at home; Sir Ralph knew very well that a great number of his tenants and friends would meet them on the road, and a letter would not reach them soon enough to prevent them from being disappointed: they supped with him, however, at Mr. Goodman's, who would not permit him to have any other home than his house during his stay in town. Lady Trusty, on taking leave of Miss Betsy, said to her, she hoped she would remember her promise when her brother was returned to Oxford; on which, she replied, that she could not be so much an enemy to her own happiness as to fail.
Miss Betsy and this brother had always been extremely fond of each other; and the length of time they had been asunder, and the improvement which that time had made in both, heightened their mutual satisfaction in meeting.
All that troubled Miss Betsy now was, that her brother happened to come to London at a season of the year in which he could not receive the least satisfaction: the king was gone to Hanover, all the foreign ministers, and great part of the nobility attended him; and the rest were retired to their country seats; so that an entire stop was putto all publick diversions worth seeing. There were no plays, no operas, no masquerades, no balls, no publick shews, except at the Little Theatre in the Hay Market, then known by the name of F——g's scandal shop, because he frequently exhibited there certain drolls, or, more properly, invectives against the ministry; in doing which it appears extremely probably that he had two views; the one to get money, which he very much wanted, from such as delighted in low humour, and could not distinguish true satire from scurrility; and the other, in the hope of having some post given him by those whom he had abused, in order to silence his dramatick talent. But it is not my business to point out either the merit of that gentleman's performances, or the motives he had for writing them, as the town is perfectly acquainted both with his abilities and success; and has since seen him, with astonishment, wriggle himself into favour, by pretending to cajole those he had not the power to intimidate.
But though there were none of the diversions I have mentioned, nor Ranelagh at that time thought of, nor Vauxhall, Marybone, nor Cuper's Gardens, in the repute they since have been, the young gentleman found sufficient to entertain him: empty as the town was, Lady Mellasin was not without company, who made frequent parties of pleasure; and when nothing else was to be found for recreation, cards filled up the void.
Nothing, material enough to be inserted in this history, happened to Miss Betsy during the time her brother stayed; till one evening, as the family were sitting together, some discourse concerning Oxford coming on the tapis, Mr. Francis spoke so largely in the praise of the wholesomeness of the air, the many fine walks and gardens with which the place abounded, and the good company which were continually resorting to it, that Miss Betsy cried out, she longed to see it—Miss Flora said the same.
On this the young gentleman gave them an invitation to go down with him when he went; saying, they never could go at a better time, as both the assizes and races were to be in about a month. Miss Betsy said, such a jaunt would vastly delight her. Miss Flora echoed her approbation; and added, she wished my lady would consent. 'I have no objection to make to it,' replied Lady Mellasin, 'as you will have a conductor who, I know, will be very careful of you.' Mr. Goodman's consent was also asked, for the sake of form, though every one knew the opinion of his wife was, of itself, a sufficient sanction.
Though it is highly probable that Miss Betsy was much betterpleased with this journey than she would have been with that to L——e, yet she thought herself obliged, both in gratitude and good manners, to write to Lady Trusty, and make the best excuse she could for her breach of promise; which she did in these terms.
'To Lady Trusty Most dear and honoured madam,My brother Frank being extremely desirous of shewing Miss Flora and myself the curiosities of Oxford, has obtained leave from Mr. Goodman, and Lady Mellasin, for us to accompany him to that place. I am afraid the season will be too far advanced to take a journey to L——e at our return; therefore flatter myself your ladyship will pardon the indispensible necessity I am under of deferring, till next spring, the happiness I proposed in waiting on you. All here present my worthy guardian, and your ladyship, with their best respects. I beg mine may be equally acceptable, and that you will always continue to favour with your good wishes, her, who is, with the most perfect esteem, Madam, your ladyship's most obliged, and most obedient servant,E. Thoughtless.'
'To Lady Trusty Most dear and honoured madam,
My brother Frank being extremely desirous of shewing Miss Flora and myself the curiosities of Oxford, has obtained leave from Mr. Goodman, and Lady Mellasin, for us to accompany him to that place. I am afraid the season will be too far advanced to take a journey to L——e at our return; therefore flatter myself your ladyship will pardon the indispensible necessity I am under of deferring, till next spring, the happiness I proposed in waiting on you. All here present my worthy guardian, and your ladyship, with their best respects. I beg mine may be equally acceptable, and that you will always continue to favour with your good wishes, her, who is, with the most perfect esteem, Madam, your ladyship's most obliged, and most obedient servant,
E. Thoughtless.'
The time for the young gentleman's departure being arrived, they went together in the stage, accompanied by a footman of Mr. Goodman's, whom Lady Mellasin would needs send with them, in order to give the young ladies an air of dignity.
They found, on their arrival at that justly-celebrated seat of learning, that Mr. Francis had given no greater eulogiums on it than it merited: they were charmed with the fine library, the museum, the magnificence of the halls belonging to the various colleges, the physick-garden, and other curious walks; but that which, above all the rest, gave the most satisfaction to Miss Betsy, as well as to her companion, was that respectful gallantry with which they found themselves treated by the gentlemen of the university. Mr. Francis was extremely beloved amongst them, on account of his affability, politeness, and good-humour, and they seemed glad of an opportunity of shewing the regard they had for the brother, by paying all manner of civilities to the sister: he gave the ladies an elegant entertainment at his own rooms, to which also some of those with whom he was the most intimate were invited. All these thought themselves bound to return the same compliment: the company of every one present was desired at their respective apartments; and aseach of these gentlemen had, besides, other particular friends of their own, whom they wished to oblige, the number of guests was still increased at every feast.
By this means, Miss Betsy and Miss Flora soon acquired a very large acquaintance; and as, through the care of Mr. Francis, they were lodged in one of the best and most reputable houses in town, their families known, and themselves were young ladies who knew how to behave, as well as dress, and receive company in the most elegant and polite manner, every one was proud of a pretence for visiting them.
The respect paid to them would, doubtless, have every day increased during the whole time they should have thought proper to continue in Oxford, and on quitting it, have left behind them the highest idea of their merit, if, by one inconsiderate action, they had not at once forfeited the esteem they had gained, and rendered themselves the subjects of ridicule, even to those who before had regarded them with veneration.
They were walking out one day, about an hour or two before the time in which they usually dined, into the park, where they were met by a gentleman-commoner and a young student, both of whom they had been in company with at most of the entertainments before mentioned. The sparks begged leave to attend them, which was readily granted: they walked all together for some time; but the weather being very warm, the gentleman-commoner took an occasion to remind the ladies how much their beauties would be in danger of suffering from the immoderate rays of Phœbus; and proposed going to some gardens full of the most beautiful alcoves and arbours, so shaded over that the sun, even in his meridian force, could, at the most, but glimmer through the delightful gloom; he painted the pleasures of the place, to which he was desirous of leading them, with so romantick an energy, that they immediately, and without the least scruple or hesitation, consented to be conducted thither.
This was a condescension which he who asked it, scarce expected would be granted; and, on finding it so easily obtained, began to form some conjectures no way to the advantage of those ladies reputations. It is certain, indeed, that as he professed a friendship for the brother, he ought not, in strict honour, to have proposed any thing to the sister which would be unbecoming her to agree to; but he was young, gay to an excess, and in what he said or did took not always consideration for his guide.
They went on laughing, till they came to the place he mentioned, where the gentlemen, having shewed their faire companions into the gardens, in which were, indeed, several recesses, no less dark than had been described: on entering one of them, Miss Betsy cried, 'Bless me! this is fit for nothing but for people to do what they are ashamed of in the light.'—'The fitter then, Madam,' replied the gentleman-commoner, 'to encourage a lover, who, perhaps, has suffered more through his own timidity than the cruelty of the object he adores.' He accompanied these words with a seizure of both her hands, and two or three kisses on her lips. The young student was no less free with Miss Flora: but neither of these ladies gave themselves the trouble to reflect what consequences might possibly attend a prelude of this nature, and repulsed the liberties they took in such a manner as made the offenders imagine they had not sinned beyond a pardon.
They would not, however, be prevailed upon to stay, or even to sit down in that darksome recess, but went into a house, where they were shewn into a very pleasant room which commanded the whole prospect of the garden, and was sufficiently shaded from the sun by jessamine and honeysuckles, which grew against the window: here wine, cakes, jellies, and such like things, being brought, the conversation was extremely lively, and full of gallantry, without the least mixture of indecency.
The gentlemen exerted all their wit and eloquence, to persuade the ladies not to go home in the heat of the day; but take up with such entertainment as the place they were in was able to present them with. Neither of them made any objection, except that, having said they should dine at home, the family would wait in expectation of their coming: but this difficulty was easily got over; the footman, who had attended Miss Betsy and Miss Flora, in their morning's walk, was in the house, and might be sent to acquaint the people that they were not to expect them. As they were neither displeased with the company, nor place they were in, they needed not abundance of persuasions; and the servant was immediately dispatched. The gentlemen went out of the room, to give orders for having something prepared, but staid not two minutes; and on their return, omitted nothing that might keep up the good-humour and sprightliness of their fair companions.
Persons of so gay and volatile a disposition as these four, could not content themselves with sitting still, and barely talking; every limbmust be in motion, every faculty employed. The gentleman-commoner took Miss Betsy's hand, and led her some steps of a minuet, then fell into a rigadoon, then into the louvre, and so ran through all the school-dances, without regularly beginning or ending any one of them, or of the tunes he sung; the young student was not less alert with Miss Flora; so that, between singing, dancing, and laughing, they all grew extremely warm. Miss Betsy ran to a window to take breath, and get a little air; her partner followed, and taking up her fan, which lay on a table, employed it with a great deal of dexterity, to assist the wind that came in at the casement for her refreshment. 'Heavens!' cried he, 'how divinely lovely do you now appear! the goddess of the spring, nor Venus's self, was ever painted half so beautiful! What eyes! what a mouth! and what a shape!' continued he, surveying her, as it were, from head to foot, 'How exquisitely turned! How taper! how slender! I don't believe you measure half a yard round the waist.' In speaking these words, he put his handkerchief about her waist; after which he tied it round his head, repeating these lines of Mr. Waller's—