CHAPTER XXI

'For whatso'er the sages charge on pride,The angels fall, and twenty faults beside;On earth, 'tis sure, 'mong us of mortal calling,Pride saves man oft, and woman too, from falling.'

The reader will easily suppose that, in the present disposition of Miss Betsy's heart, Mr. Munden met with but an indifferent reception from her; she avoided his company as much as possible; and, when obliged to receive a visit from him, could not bring herself to treat him with any thing more than a cold civility. He complained of her cruelty—told her he had expected better things from her after her brothers had approved his flame: he pressed her, in the most pathetick terms he was master of, to let him know when the happy day would arrive, which should put an end to the long series of his hopes and fears.

It is certain, that if this gentleman had loved with that warmth and sincerity which some men have done, he must have been very unhappy during his courtship to Miss Betsy; but he was altogether insensible of the delicacies of the passion he professed—he felt not the pains he affected to languish under—he could support the frowns, or even the slights, of his mistress, without any other anxiety than what his pride inflicted.

It was, therefore, rather owing to this last propensity in his nature, than any emotions of a real tenderness for Miss Betsy, which had made him persevere in his addresses to her. All his acquaintance knew he had courted her a long time; some of them had been witness of her treatment of him: and he was unwilling it should be said of him, that he had made an offer of his heart in vain.

He had, at first, indeed, a liking for her person; he had considered her beauty, wit, and the many accomplishments she was possessed of,were such as would render his choice applauded by the world. The hopes of gaining her in a short time, by the encouragement she had given his addresses, had made him pursue her with vigour; but the delays—the scruples—the capriciousness of her humour—the pretences she of late had made to avoid giving him a definitive answer—had, at length, palled all the inclination he once had for her; and even desire was deadened in him, on so many disappointments.

It is, therefore, a very ill-judged thing in the ladies, to keep too long in play the man they ever design to marry: and, with all due deference to that great wit and poet, Sir John Suckling, there are very few examples which verify his maxim, that—

' 'Tis expectation makes the blessing dear.'

According to my opinion, which is founded on observation, another author, who wrote much about the same time with Sir John, has given us a more true idea of what a tedious courtship may produce, especially on the side of the man. In a matrimonial dialogue, he makes the husband excuse the coldness complained of by his wife, in these terms—

'Unequal lengths, alas! our passions run;My love was quite worn out, ere yours begun.'

This being the case with Mr. Munden, it rendered Miss Betsy little less indifferent to him, in reality, than he had ever been to her: to which another motive, perhaps, might also be added, viz. that of his indulging himself with amusements with other fair-ones, of a more kind complexion; for continency (as will hereafter appear) was not among the number of that gentleman's virtues.

But enough of Mr. Munden for the present. It is now highly proper to give the reader some account what Mr. Trueworth was doing while Miss Betsy was entertaining sentiments for him, which he had long since ceased the ambition of inspiring her with.

Difficult was it for him to get over the mingled astonishment and vexation which the detection of the wickedness of Miss Flora had involved him in. The remembrance of those guilty moments, in which he had indulged a tender intercourse with a woman of her abandoned principles, filled him with the most bitter remorse, and rendered him almost hateful to himself.

To recollect that he had been the instrument of her base designson Miss Betsy, and how cruelly he had wronged that lady by a too rash belief, was, of itself, sufficient to inflame his rage; but when he reflected on this last act of baseness, which, if not providentially discovered, might have made his dear Harriot entertain suspicions of him fatal to her peace, if not totally destructive of their mutual happiness, the shock of such a misfortune, though happily frustrated, was more than he could bear with any tolerable degree of patience.

Rage, disdain, and revenge, for the vile contriver of so black an attempt, were the first emotions that took possession of his mind; but the violence of those passions evaporating by degrees, he began to think more coolly, and to reason with himself, from which that depravity of morals and manners, women are sometimes guilty of, proceeded.

'Chastity,' said he, 'is but one branch of virtue, but a material one, and serves as a guard to all the others; and if that is once overcome, endangers the giving entrance to a thousand vices. A woman entirely free from those inordinate desires, which are, indeed, but the disgrace of love, can scarce be capable of envy, malice, or revenge, to any excess.

'That sex,' cried he again, 'are endued by nature with many perfections which ours cannot boast of; it is their own faults when they sink beneath us in value; but the best things, when once corrupted, become the worst. How dear, therefore, ought a woman to prize her innocence! As Shakespeare says—

'—They are all white—a sheetOf spotless paper, when they first are born;But they are to be scrawl'd upon, and blottedBy every goose-quill.'

He was in the midst of these contemplations, when a letter from Miss Flora was brought to him: she still flattered herself with being able to work on his good nature by submissions, and a seeming contrition for what she had done; and had accordingly wrote in the most moving terms she was mistress of; but he knowing, by the hand-writing on the superscription, from whom it came, would not even open it; and his indignation rekindling afresh, he took a piece of paper, in which he wrote only this line—

'I read no letters from incendiaries.'

This served as a cover to the letter, which he sent directly by themessenger that brought it.

If the mind of Mr. Trueworth had been less taken up than it was at present, this ugly accident would doubtless have dwelt much longer upon it; but affairs of a more important, and more pleasing nature, demanded his whole attention.

The day prefixed for the celebration of his marriage with Miss Harriot, and also of that of Sir Bazil and Miss Mabel, had been delayed on account of Mrs. Blanchfield's death. None of these generous persons could think of indulging the joys they so much languished for till all due rites were paid to the memory of that amiable lady.

Mr. Trueworth and Miss Harriot went into deep mourning; Sir Bazil and Mrs. Wellair also put on black; Miss Mabel did the same, in compliment to them, for she had not the least acquaintance with the deceased.

Nor was this all; Mr. Trueworth, to testify his gratitude and respect, ordered a very curious monument of white marble to be erected over her remains, the model of which he drew himself, after one he had seen in Italy, and was much admired by all judges of architecture and sculpture.

If, by a secret and unfathomable intuition, the souls of the departed are permitted any knowledge of what is done below, that of Mrs. Blanchfield's must feel an extreme satisfaction, in such proofs of the esteem of him she had so tenderly and so fatally loved, as well as those of her fair friend and rival.

That generous young lady would fain have prolonged their mourning for a whole month, and consequently have put off her marriage till that time; but this, if Mr. Trueworth would have been prevailed upon to have submitted to, Sir Bazil and Mrs. Wellair would not agree to: he thought he had already sacrificed enough of the time of his promised happiness, and Mrs. Wellair was impatient to get home, though equally loath to leave her sister till she had disposed of herself.

They were arguing on this topick one evening—Mr. Trueworth opposed Miss Harriot as much as he durst do without danger of offending her; but Sir Bazil plainly told her, that if she continued obstinate, Miss Mabel and he would finish their affairs without her. Mrs. Wellair urged the necessity there was for her return; and Mr. Trueworth, encouraged by what these two had said, added, that he was certain Mrs. Blanchfield did not mean, by what she had done, toobstruct his happiness a moment: to which Miss Harriot, with a most obliging smile, replied, 'Well, obedience will very shortly be my duty, and I will give you a sample of it beforehand. Here is my hand,' continued she, giving it to him; 'make it your own as soon as you please.'

It is not to be doubted but Mr. Trueworth kissed the hand she gave him with the utmost warmth and tenderness; but before he could make any reply to so kind a declaration, Sir Bazil cried out, 'Well said, Harriot! love has already wrought wonders in your heart; you will grant to a lover what you refuse to us.'—'Not to a lover, Sir,' answered she, 'but to a person who is about to be my husband. I think it is as ill-judged a reserve in a woman to disown her affection for the man she has consented to marry, as it would be imprudence to confess it before she has consented.'

After some farther conversation on this head, (in the course of which Mr. Trueworth had the opportunity of being more confirmed than ever, that the disposition of his mistress was, in every respect, such as he wished to find it) all that was yet wanting for the completions of the nuptials was settled.

The second day after this was fixed for the celebration of the ceremony; after which it was determined that the two bridegrooms, with their brides, the father of Miss Mabel, Mrs. Wellair, and two other friends, should all set out together for Sir Bazil's seat in Staffordshire; and that Mrs. Wellair should write to her husband to meet them there, that the whole family might be together on so joyful an occasion.

Though it is not to be imagined that the preparations for marriages, such as those of Sir Bazil Loveit and Mr. Trueworth, could be an entire secret to the town, especially as neither of the parties had any motive to induce them to desire it should be so, yet Miss Betsy never heard the least syllable of any such thing being in agitation. Those of her acquaintance, whom she at presently chiefly conversed with, were either ignorant of it themselves, or had never happened to mention it in her presence; so that, knowing nothing of Mr. Trueworth's affairs of late, more than what the lawyer had casually related at her brother's, it is not to be wondered at, that she imagined him wholly disengaged since the death of that lady who had so kindly remembered him in her will.

Neither ought it (her vanity considered) to appear strange, that she was apt to flatter herself with a return of his affection to herself, when the memory of the late object of it should be utterly erased.

When there is the least possibility that what we ardently wish may come to pass, the minutest circumstance, in favour of our hopes, serves to assure us that it certainly will do so.

Miss Betsy was going to make a visit at Whitehall; but, in crossing the Park, happened to meet the two Miss Airishes, who asked her to take a turn with them: to which she replied, that she would gladly accompany them, but had sent word to a lady that she was coming to pass the whole evening with her. 'Nay,' said the elder Miss Airish, 'we have an engagement too at our own apartment, and can stay only to walk once up the Mall, and down again.' Miss Betsy replied, thatwould be no great loss of time; and so went with them. They had not proceeded many yards in their promenade, before Miss Betsy saw Mr. Trueworth, with Sir Bazil, coming directly towards them. The gentlemen bowed to her as they approached more near. A sudden thought that moment darting into Miss Betsy's head, she dropped her fan, as if by accident, as they were passing each other, just at Mr. Trueworth's feet: he stopped hastily to take it up, and presented it hastily to her. 'I am sorry, Sir,' said she, 'to give you this trouble.'—'Whatever services, Madam, are in my power,' replied he, 'will be always a pleasure to myself.'—No more was said—the gentlemen and the ladies pursued their different routs. This little adventure, however, had a prodigious effect on Miss Betsy: she thought she saw something so gay and sparkling in the eyes of Mr. Trueworth, as denoted his mourning-habit belied his heart, and that he was not much affected with the death of her for whom decency and gratitude had obliged him to put it on. After the gentlemen were out of hearing, the two Miss Airishes began to give their judgments upon them—the one cried, they both were very pretty fellows; but the other accused them of want of politeness.—'As they saw we had no man with us,' said she, 'they might, methinks, have offered their service to gallant us, especially as one of them seems to be acquainted with Miss Betsy.' But that young lady little regarded what was said on the occasion, being too much taken up with her own cogitations: she repeated internally the words of Mr. Trueworth; and as she was persuaded he was now at liberty to offer her all manner of services, she interpreted, that by whatever services were in his power, he meant to renew his services to her as a lover. This imagination elated her to a very high degree, but hindered her from holding any conversation with the two ladies she was with, as it was improper for her to say any thing on the subject which so much engrossed her thoughts. They all walked together up to Buckingham House, then turned back, and the two Miss Airishes took leave of her at St. James's—they went into the Palace, and she was proceeding towards Spring Garden, when she at a distance perceived Sir Bazil Loveit, Mr. Trueworth, Miss Mabel, and two ladies, whose faces she was entirely unacquainted with.

The reader will not be at a loss to guess, that these two were no other than Mrs. Wellair and Miss Harriot—they had been that afternoon to take leave of some friends, and had appointed to meet the gentlemen in the Mall: in their way thither they had called uponMiss Mabel, and brought her with them. This little troop being all in the same sable livery, seemed so much of a family, as threw Miss Betsy into some sort of surprize: she knew not that Miss Mabel had the least acquaintance with Sir Bazil, nor even any more with Mr. Trueworth than having seen him a few times in her company. As they drew nearer, she made a motion to Miss Mabel, as if she was desirous of speaking to her; upon which that lady advanced towards her, with these words: 'I am sorry, Madam,' said she, 'as you are alone, that it is improper for me to ask you to join us.'—'I am very glad, Madam, you do not,' replied Miss Betsy, very much piqued, 'because I should be obliged to refuse you.' She no sooner uttered these words than she passed hastily on, and Miss Mabel returned to her company, who waited for her at some paces distance.

It must be acknowledged, that Miss Betsy had cause to be alarmed at a speech of this nature, from a lady of Miss Mabel's politeness and good humour; she thought there must be some powerful reasons, which had obliged her to make it; and what those reasons could be, seemed at present an impenetrable secret. She was too much disconcerted to be able to pass the whole evening, as she had promised the lady she went to, she would do; she therefore pretended a sudden indispostion, took her leave, and went home, in order to be at full liberty to ruminate on what had passed in the Park.

She had not been many minutes in her own apartment, before she was interrupted in her meditations by the coming of her two brothers. Several bustos, pictures, pieces of old china, and other curiosities, belonging to a nobleman, lately deceased, being to be exposed to sale, the elder Mr. Thoughtless had an inclination to become a purchaser of such of them as he should find agreeable to his fancy, but was willing to have his sister's judgment in the matter; and it was to engage her to go with him the next morning about twelve o'clock, when the goods were to be exhibited to publick view, that had occasioned him and Mr. Francis to make her this visit. It is not to be doubted, but that she was willing to oblige him in that point; she assured him she would be ready against he came to call on her.

When she was alone, she began to run over in her mind, all the particulars of what had passed that evening in the Park, and found something very extraordinary on the whole. It had seemed extremely odd to her, that Mr. Trueworth and Sir Bazil did not join her and the two Miss Airishes; but then she thought she could easily account fortheir not doing so, and that Mr. Trueworth did not chuse to enter into any conversation with her, because Sir Bazil had happened to see her at Miss Forward's, and might possibly have entertained no favourable idea of her on that score; she, therefore, with a great deal of readiness, excused Mr. Trueworth for this omission, especially as she was possessed of the fancy, that the compliment with which he returned her fan, and the look he assumed during that action, seemed to tell her he wished for an opportunity of adding something more tender. But when she came to consider on the second meeting, she was indeed very much at a loss to fathom the meaning of what she had seen; she knew a thousand accidents might have occasioned an acquaintance between Miss Mabel and Sir Bazil; and also, that the little she had with Mr. Trueworth might have been casually improved; but could not find the least shadow of reason why that lady should tell her it was improper for to ask her to join company with them. Though she had of late seen that lady less frequently than usual; yet, whenever they did meet, it was with the greatest civility and appearance of friendship: she had, in reality, a sincere regard for her, and imagined the other looked upon her with the same; and therefore could not but believe the shyness she put on in the Park, when speaking to her, must have some very powerful motive to occasion it. Suspense was, of all things, what Miss Betsy could least bear: she resolved to be convinced, though at the expence of that pride she would not have forfeited on any other account.—'In spite of the ill-manners she has treated me with,' said she, 'I will go once more to her—satisfy my curiosity as to the manner of her behaviour, and then never see her more.'

To be more sure of finding her at home, she thought it best to make the visit she intended in the morning; accordingly, she sent to her brother, that being obliged to go to a lady, who had desired to see her, she could not wait for his coming to call on her, but would not fail to meet him at the place of sale, about the hour he had mentioned. This promise she thought it would be easy for her to perform, as she designed to stay no longer with Miss Mabel than would be sufficient to get some light into a thing which at present gave her so much perplexity.

She went about eleven o'clock; but was strangely surprized, on her coming to the house, to find all the windows shut up; and after the chairman had knocked several times, the door was opened by Nanny, the little prating wench, who had lived at Mr. Goodman's.—'Nanny,'cried Miss Betsy, 'bless me! do you live here?'—'Yes, Madam,' answered she, 'I have lived here ever since my master Goodman died.'—'I am glad of it,' returned Miss Betsy: 'but, pray, is your lady at home?'—'O, dear Madam,' said the girl, 'my lady!—why, Madam, don't you know what's done to-day?'—'Not I,' replied she—'pr'ythee what dost mean? What done?'—'Lord, Madam,' said Nanny, 'I wonder you should not know it!—my lady is married today.'—'Married!' cried Miss Betsy hastily; 'to whom?'—'To one Sir Bazil Loveit, Madam,' replied the other; 'and Mr. Trueworth is married too, to one Miss Harriot, Sir Bazil's sister: my old master gave both the brides away. I believe the ceremony is over by this time; but as soon as it is, they all bowl away for Sir Bazil's seat in Staffordshire: they say there will be open house kept there, and the Lord knows what doings. All the servants are gone—none but poor me left to look after the house.'—'Mr. Trueworth married!' cried Miss Betsy, in the greatest confusion; 'I thought his mistress had been dead.'—'No, no, Madam,' said Nanny; 'you mean Mrs. Blanchfield—I know all that story—I was told it by one who comes often here: Mr. Trueworth, I assure you, never courted her; she was only in love with him, and on hearing his engagement with Miss Harriot, took it to heart, poor soul, and died in a few days, and has left him half her fortune, and a world of fine things to Miss Harriot.'

She was going on with this tittle-tattle; but Miss Betsy was scarce in a condition to distinguish what she said; she leaned her head back against the chair, and was almost fainting away. The maid perceiving the change in her countenance, cried out, 'Lord, Madam, you are not well!—shall I get you any thing? But, now I think on it, there is a bottle of drops my lady left behind her in the dressing-room; I'll run and fetch them.' She was going to do as she said; but Miss Betsy, recovering of herself, called to her to stay, saying she had no occasion for any thing. 'Lord, Madam,' said she, 'I did not think the marriage of Mr. Trueworth would have been such a trouble to you, or I would not have told you any thing of it. I am sure you might have had him if you would; I remember well enough how he fought for you with Mr. Staple, and how he followed you up and down wherever you went. For that matter, Miss Harriot has but your leavings.'—'I give myself no trouble who has him,' replied Miss Betsy, disdainfully: 'it is not him I am thinking of; I was only a little surprized that Miss Mabel should make such a secret of her affairs to me.'—'You know, Madam,' said Nanny, 'that my lady is a very close woman: but Iwonder, indeed, she should tell you nothing of it; for I have heard her speak the kindest things of you.'—'Well, it is no matter,' replied Miss Betsy. 'Farewel, Nanny.' Then bid the chairmen go on. The confusion she was in hindered her from directing the chairmen where to go; so they were carrying her home again, till she saw herself at the end of the street where she lived; but then, recollecting all at once where she had appointed to meet her brothers, she ordered them to go to Golden Square.

It seemed as if fate interested itself in a peculiar manner for the mortification of this young lady; every thing contributed to give her the most poignant shock her soul could possibly sustain. It was not enough that she had heard the cruel tidings of what she looked upon as the greatest of misfortunes, her eyes must also be witness of the stabbing confirmation. The place of sale was within two houses of Sir Bazil's; but, as she had never heard where that gentleman lived, could have no apprehensions of the spectacle she was to be presented with. On her chair turning into the square, she saw that side of it, to which she had directed the men to carry her, crowded with coaches, horses, and a great concourse of people; some waiting for the bridal bounty, but more as idle spectators. At first, she imagined it was on the account of the sale; but the same instant almost shewed her her mistake.

Several footmen, with wedding-favours in their hats, two of whom she knew by their faces, as well as by their liveries, belonged to Mr. Trueworth, were just mounting their horses. The crowd was so thick about the door, that it was with some difficulty the chair passed on; and she had an opportunity of seeing much more than she desired. There were three coaches and six: in the first went Sir Bazil and the new-made Lady Loveit, the father of Miss Mabel, and a young lady whom Miss Betsy had sometimes seen in her company; in the second were seated Mr. Trueworth, his bride, Mrs. Wellair, and a grave old gentleman; the third was filled by four maid-servants, and the two valet de chambres of the two bridegrooms, with a great deal of luggage before and behind. The ladies and gentlemen were all in extreme rich riding-habits; and the footmen, eleven in number, being all in new liveries, and spruce fellows, the whole cavalcade altogether made a very genteel appearance.

Miss Betsy, in spite of the commotions in her breast, could not forbear standing a little in the hall, after she had got out of her chair; till the whole had passed. 'Well!' said she to herself, with a deep sigh, 'allis over, and I must think no more of Trueworth! But wherefore am I thus alarmed? He has long since been lost to me—nor did I love him!'

She assumed all the courage her pride could supply her with, and had tolerably composed herself before she went up into the sale-room; yet not so much but a paleness, mixed with a certain confusion, appeared in her countenance. Mr. Munden, who happened to be there, as well as her brothers, took notice of it, and asked if she was not well: to which she replied, with an uncommon presence of mind, that she was in perfect health, but had been frightened as she came along by a great black ox, who, by the carelessness of the driver, had like to have run his horns quite into the chair. Mr. Munden, who never wanted politeness, and knew how to put on the most tender air whenever he pleased, expressed an infinity of concern for the accident she mentioned: and this behaviour in him she either relished very well, or seemed to do so.

What credit her brothers gave to the story of the ox is uncertain: they, as well as all the company in the room, had been drawn to the windows by the noise of the cavalcade which had set out from Sir Bazil's. Every one was talking of it when Miss Betsy entered; and, it is very probable, the two Mr. Thoughtlesses might imagine it had an effect upon her, in spite of the indifference she had always pretended: they were, however, too prudent to take any notice, especially as Mr. Munden was present.

Whatever were the troubles of this young lady, her spirits enabled her to conceal them; and she gave her opinion of the goods to be disposed of with as much exactitude as if her mind had been taken up with no other thing.

Mr. Thoughtless made a purchase of the twelve Caesars in bronze, and two fruit-pieces of Varelst's: and Mr. Munden, on Miss Betsy's expressing her liking of two very large curious jars, bought them, and presented them to her.

Nothing material passed here: but, the sale being over for that day, every one returned to their respective habitations, or whatever business or inclination called them.

The constraint Miss Betsy had put on herself while in the presence of the company she had been with, had been extremely painful to her; but, when she got home, she gave a loose to tears, that common relief of sorrows: yet, amidst all those testimonies of a violent affection for Mr. Trueworth, she would not allow herself to imagine that she was possessed of any for him; nor that the vexation she was in proceeded from any other motive than that of finding a heart, that had once been devoted to her, capable of submitting to the charms of any other woman.

All she could bring herself to acknowledge was only that she had been very much to blame in treating the proposals of Mr. Trueworth in the light manner she had done: she now wondered at herself for having been so blind to the merits of Mr. Trueworth's family, estate, person, and accomplishments; and accused herself, with the utmost severity, for having rejected what, she could not but confess, would have been highly for her interest, honour, and happiness, to have accepted.

Thus deeply was she buried in a too late repentance, when a letter was brought to her, the superscription of which was wrote in a hand altogether unknown to her. On opening it, she found the contents as follows.

'Marshalsea Prison.To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.Madam,After the just though severe resolution your last informed me you had taken of never seeing nor receiving any thing from me more, I tremble to approach you. Fearing you would not vouchsafe to open this, knowing from whence it came, I got a person to direct it for you; and cannot assure myself you will, even now, examine the contents so far as to see the motive which emboldens me to give you this trouble.I have long since rendered myself unworthy your friendship—it is solely your compassion and charity that I now implore. The date of this petition, in part, will shew you the calamity I labour under. I have languished in this wretched prison for upwards of a month, for debts my luxury contracted, and which I vainly expected would be discharged by those who called themselves my admirers: but, alas! all the return they make for favours they so ardently requested, is contempt. I have been obliged to make away with every thing their gallantry bestowed, for my support.All the partners of my guilty pleasures—all those who shared with me in my riots, are deaf to my complaints, and refuse a pitying ear to the distress they have in a great measure contributed to bring upon me. My creditors, more merciful than my friends or lovers, have consented to withdraw their actions; and I shall have my discharge on paying the fees of this loathsome prison. Three guineas will be sufficient to restore my liberty; which, if I am so fortune once more to obtain, I will think no labour, though ever so hard or abject, too much, if it can enable me to drag on my remains of life in true penitence.Dear Madam, if, by favouring me with the sum I mention, you are so good as to open my prison-gate, Heaven will, I doubt not, reward the generous bounty: and, if the Almighty will vouchsafe to hear the prayers of an abandoned creature like me, I shall never cease to invoke his choicest blessings may be showered down on the head of my charming deliverer.I shall send to-morrow morning a poor honest woman, whom I can confide in, for your answer. I beseech you to be assured that, if once freed from this detested place, no temptations, of what kind soever, shall ever prevail upon me to return to my yet more detested former course of life; and am determined to fly to some remote corner of the kingdom, as distant from London as from L——e; and there endeavour to earn a wretched pittance, by means how low soever I care not.Your grant of the request I make you at this time, will save both the soul and body of her who is, with the most unfeigned contrition, Madam, your most humble, and most unfortunate servant,A. Forward.'

'Marshalsea Prison.

To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.Madam,

After the just though severe resolution your last informed me you had taken of never seeing nor receiving any thing from me more, I tremble to approach you. Fearing you would not vouchsafe to open this, knowing from whence it came, I got a person to direct it for you; and cannot assure myself you will, even now, examine the contents so far as to see the motive which emboldens me to give you this trouble.

I have long since rendered myself unworthy your friendship—it is solely your compassion and charity that I now implore. The date of this petition, in part, will shew you the calamity I labour under. I have languished in this wretched prison for upwards of a month, for debts my luxury contracted, and which I vainly expected would be discharged by those who called themselves my admirers: but, alas! all the return they make for favours they so ardently requested, is contempt. I have been obliged to make away with every thing their gallantry bestowed, for my support.

All the partners of my guilty pleasures—all those who shared with me in my riots, are deaf to my complaints, and refuse a pitying ear to the distress they have in a great measure contributed to bring upon me. My creditors, more merciful than my friends or lovers, have consented to withdraw their actions; and I shall have my discharge on paying the fees of this loathsome prison. Three guineas will be sufficient to restore my liberty; which, if I am so fortune once more to obtain, I will think no labour, though ever so hard or abject, too much, if it can enable me to drag on my remains of life in true penitence.

Dear Madam, if, by favouring me with the sum I mention, you are so good as to open my prison-gate, Heaven will, I doubt not, reward the generous bounty: and, if the Almighty will vouchsafe to hear the prayers of an abandoned creature like me, I shall never cease to invoke his choicest blessings may be showered down on the head of my charming deliverer.

I shall send to-morrow morning a poor honest woman, whom I can confide in, for your answer. I beseech you to be assured that, if once freed from this detested place, no temptations, of what kind soever, shall ever prevail upon me to return to my yet more detested former course of life; and am determined to fly to some remote corner of the kingdom, as distant from London as from L——e; and there endeavour to earn a wretched pittance, by means how low soever I care not.Your grant of the request I make you at this time, will save both the soul and body of her who is, with the most unfeigned contrition, Madam, your most humble, and most unfortunate servant,

A. Forward.'

Utterly impossible was it for this unhappy creature to have sent her petition at a more unlucky time. Miss Betsy, full of the idea of the misfortune she had sustained in the loss of Mr. Trueworth, could not be reminded of Miss Forward, without being also reminded that the first occasion of his disgust was owing to her acquaintance with that woman.

'Infamous creature!' cried Miss Betsy, as soon as she had done reading; 'she deserves no compassion from the world, much less from me. No, no! there are but too many objects of charity to be found; and I shall not lavish the little bounty I am able to bestow, on a wretch like her!'

These were the first reflections of Miss Betsy on receiving so unexpected a petition; but they soon subsided, and gave way to others of a more gentle nature. 'Yet,' said she, 'if the poor wretch is sensible of her faults, and truly resolved to do as she pretends, it would be the utmost cruelty to deny her the means of fulfilling the promise she makes of amendment.

'How unhappy is our sex!' continued she, 'either in a too much or too little sensibility of the tender passion! She was, alas! too easily influenced by the flatteries of the base part of mankind; and I too little grateful to the merits of the best.'

In fine, the natural goodness of her disposition got the ascendant over all considerations that opposed the grant of Miss Forward's request. 'My acquaintance with her has been fatal to me,' said she; 'but that was less owing to her fault than my own folly.'

Accordingly, she sent by the woman who came next morning, as mentioned in the letter, four guineas, inclosed in a piece of paper, and wrote to her in these terms.

'To Miss Forward.Madam,Though I cannot but look upon your misfortunes as justly fallen on you, yet heartily commiserate them. If your penitence is sincere, I doubt not but you will, some way or other, be enabled to pursue a more laudable course of life than that which has brought you into thisdistress. I add one guinea to the sum you requested; and wish it were in my power to do more, being your real well-wisher, and humble servant,E. Thoughtless.'

'To Miss Forward.

Madam,

Though I cannot but look upon your misfortunes as justly fallen on you, yet heartily commiserate them. If your penitence is sincere, I doubt not but you will, some way or other, be enabled to pursue a more laudable course of life than that which has brought you into thisdistress. I add one guinea to the sum you requested; and wish it were in my power to do more, being your real well-wisher, and humble servant,

E. Thoughtless.'

Though no one could have more refined notions of virtue, nor a greater abhorrence for vice, than this young lady, yet never did she hate the persons of the guilty; nor would judge with that severity of their faults which some others, much less innocent, are apt to do.

It pleased her to think that, by this donation, she should gladden the heart of an afflicted person, who had been of her acquaintance, how unworthy soever of late she had rendered herself; and this little interruption of her meditations contributed a good deal to compose her mind, after the sudden shock it had sustained on the score of Mr. Trueworth's marriage.

But she had very shortly another and more agreeable relief. Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty came to town; which she no sooner was informed of, and where a house had been taken for their reception, than she went early the next morning to pay her respects, and testify the real satisfaction she conceived at their arrival.

Nothing of business would probably have been said to her on this first visit, if her two brothers had not come in immediately after. The first compliments on such an occasion being over—'Sir Ralph,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'we have wished for your coming to town on many accounts; but none so much as that of my sister, who is going to be married, and has only waited to intreat you will do her the favour of disposing of her hand.'

The good baronet replied, that there was nothing he should do with greater pleasure, provided it were to a person worthy of her. 'That, Sir,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'we have taken care to be convinced of; and I doubt not but you will think as we do, when you shall be informed of the particulars.' Miss Betsy blushed, but uttered not a word, either to oppose or to agree to what had been said.

Lady Trusty perceiving her in some confusion, led her into another room, in order to talk seriously to her on many things she had in her head.

The two brothers of Miss Betsy having some reason to apprehend she would still find some pretence, if possible, to evade fulfilling the promise she had made them in regard to Mr. Munden; and also that he, finding himself trifled with, might become weary of prosecuting so unavailing a suit, and break off as Mr. Trueworth had done, resolved to omit nothing in their power for bringing to a conclusion an affair which seemed to them so absolutely necessary for securing the honour of their family in that of their sister.

They suspected that their putting off the marriage till the arrival of Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, was only to gain time, and invent some excuse to get that lady on her side: they, therefore, judged it highly proper to acquaint her previously with the motives which made them so impatient to see their sister disposed of, and by that means prevent her ladyship from being prepossessed by any ideas the other might prepare for that purpose.

Accordingly, Mr. Francis Thoughtless having been informed by letter of the day in which they intended to be in town, he went on horseback, and met them at the inn where they dined, about twenty miles from London.

That good lady was so much troubled at the recital he made her of Miss Betsy's late adventures, that she could not forbear letting fall some tears; and, though she laid the blame of her ill-conduct chiefly on her having lived so long under the tuition and example of a woman such as Lady Mellasin, yet she could not but allow there was a certain vanity in her composition, as dangerous to virtue as toreputation, and that marriage was the only defence for both.

Sir Ralph, who was an extreme facetious, good-natured man, was a little pleasant on what his lady had said on this occasion. 'You forget, my dear,' cried he, 'how many ladies of late have broke the conjugal hoop, and think themselves justified in doing so, by having been prevailed upon to enter into it without inclination. Remember the words of the humorous poet Hudibras—

"Wedlock without love, some say,Is but a lock without a key;And 'tis a kind of rape to marryOne, who neglects, cares not for ye;For what does make it ravishment,But being 'gainst the mind's consent?"

'Does Miss Betsy,' continued he, to Mr. Francis, 'love the gentleman you would have her marry?' To which the other replied, that the temper of his sister was too capricious for any one to be able to judge of the real situation of her heart, or even for herself to be fully assured of it.

He then proceeded to inform him how long Mr. Munden had courted her, and of the great encouragement she had always given to his addresses; her submitting the decision of the affair to the elder Mr. Thoughtless's inspection into the circumstances of his estate, which being found agreeable to the report made of it, she now only waited, or pretended to wait, for the approbation of Sir Ralph, as being, by her father's will, constituted her guardian.

'Well, then,' said Sir Ralph, 'since it is so, and you are all desirous it should be a match, I shall not fail to give my verdict accordingly.'

As impatient as the two brothers were to see her married, and out of the way of those temptations she at present lay under, they could not be more so than Lady Trusty now was: she doubted not that the virtue and good-sense of that young lady would render her a very good wife, when once she was made one; and therefore heartily wished to see her settled in the world, even though it were to less advantage than her beauty, and the many good qualities she was possessed of, might entitle her to expect.

It was in order to do every thing in her power to bring about what she thought so good a work, that she had drawn Miss Betsy from the company, and retired with her into the closet, in the manner already related.

Miss Betsy, who knew nothing of all this, or even that her brother had gone to meet them on the road, was extremely surprized to find, by the discourse with which Lady Trusty entertained her, that no part of what had happened to her, ever since the death of Mr. Goodman, was a secret to her ladyship.

She presently saw, however, it must be by her brother Frank that this intelligence had been given; and was not at all at a loss to guess the motive of his having done it. 'I find, Madam,' said she, 'that all the errors and inadvertencies I have been guilty of are betrayed to you; and am far from being sorry they are so, since the gentle reproofs you take the trouble to give me, are so many fresh marks of the friendship with which you vouchsafe to honour me, and which I shall always esteem as my greatest happiness. I flatter myself, however,' continued she, 'that the remembrance of what has lately befallen me, and the imminent dangers I have escaped, will enable me to regulate my conduct in such a manner as to give your ladyship no farther pain on my account.'

Lady Trusty, on this, embraced her with the utmost tenderness; and told her, that there were few things she either wished or hoped for with greater ardency than to see her happily settled, and freed from all temptations of what kind soever.

This worthy lady then fell on the subject of Mr. Munden; and recapitulated all the arguments which had been already urged, to persuade her to come to a determination. In fine, she left nothing unsaid that was suitable to the occasion.

Miss Betsy listened to her with the most submissive attention; and, after a short pause, replied in these terms—'Madam,' said she, 'I am convinced, by my own reason as well as by what your ladyship has been pleased to say, that I have, indeed, gone too far with Mr. Munden to be able to go back with honour; and, since I find he has the approbation of all my friends, shall no longer attempt to trifle with his pretensions.'

'You will marry him, then?' cried Lady Trusty. 'Yes, Madam,' answered Miss Betsy; and added, though not without some hesitation, 'Since my marriage is a thing so much desired by those to whose will I shall always be ready to submit, Mr. Munden has certainly a right to expect I should decide in his favour.'

She said no more, but hung down her head, and Lady Trusty was going to make some reply—perhaps to ask how far her heart acquiesced in the consent her tongue had given—but was preventedby Sir Ralph, who, pushing open the door of the room where they were, told her she engrossed his fair charge too long—that it was now time for himself and her brothers to have some share in their conversation.

'Some polite wives, Sir Ralph,' said Lady Trusty, laughing, 'would not have excused so abrupt a breaking in upon their privacy; and I assure you, if you had interrupted us a moment sooner, you might have spoiled all, for Miss Betsy has but just given me her promise to marry Mr. Munden.'

'I should have been heartily sorry indeed,' said he, 'if my over zeal had rendered me a Marplot on this occasion: but come,' continued he, 'since the young lady has at last resolved, let us carry the joyful news to her brothers.'

In speaking these words he gave one of his hands to Lady Trusty, and the other to Miss Betsy, and led them into the dining-room, where the Mr. Thoughtlesses were: 'Well, gentlemen,' said he, 'your sister has at last consented to give you a brother; pray, thank her for the addition she is going to make to your family.'

'I hope,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'she will find her own happiness in doing so.' The younger added something to the same purpose. After this the conversation turned chiefly on the solid satisfaction of a married life, in which Miss Betsy took but little part, only saying to her two brothers, 'Well, since both of you have so high an opinion of matrimony, and will needs have me, who am by some years younger than either of you, lead the way, I hope I shall soon see you follow the example.'

'Our elder brother,' said Mr. Francis, 'may, doubtless, marry whenever he pleases; and, as for my part, when it can be proved that I have an offer made me equally advantageous to what you have rejected, and I should refuse it, I could not be angry with the world for condemning my want of judgment.'

'No more of that,' cried Sir Ralph; 'you see she hears reason at last.' Lady Trusty would fain have persuaded the gentlemen to stay dinner there; but they excused themselves, as expecting company at home, and said, if possible they would return toward evening: she would not, however, permit Miss Betsy to take leave; and her continuing there that whole day happened to bring things somewhat sooner a conclusion, than perhaps they otherwise would have been.

Mr. Munden, as soft and complaisant as he carried it to Miss Betsy, was very much disgusted in his mind at her late behaviour; hefound she loved him not, and was far from having any violent inclination for her himself; but the motives which had made him persevere in his courtship, after being convinced of the indifference she had for him, made him also impatient to bring the affair to as speedy a result as possible. Sir Ralph was the last person to whom she had referred the matter; he had heard by accident of that gentleman's arrival, and went to her lodgings, in order to see in what manner she would now receive him; but not finding her at home, called at the house of Mr. Thoughtless, who had always been very propitious to his suit.

On the two brothers returning from Sir Ralph's, they met him just coming out of the house; the elder desired him to walk in—told him, with a great deal of freedom, that Sir Ralph was come to town; that the business having been communicated to him, he approved of the match, and his sister had consented. Mr. Munden received this information with all the seeming transport of a man passionately in love; he made them a thousand retributions for the part they had taken in his interest; and they expressed no less satisfaction in the accomplishment of his desires. After some few compliments on both sides, the elder Mr. Thoughtless informed him, that Miss Betsy was to stay the whole day with Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty; that himself and brother had promised to return thither in the evening, and that he should be glad if he would accompany them, in order that when they were all together, every thing might be settled for the completion of the nuptials.

It is not to be doubted but that the lover readily embraced this proposition; and an hour for his waiting on them being prefixed, he took his leave, the company that was to dine with Mr. Thoughtless that instant coming in.

I believe the reader will easily perceive, that it was owing to the apprehensions of Miss Betsy's fluctuating disposition, that her brothers testified so great an impatience for bringing the affair of her marriage to a conclusion; and also, that it was to confirm her in her resolution, and reconcile her to the promise she had made, that Lady Trusty had kept her with her that whole day.

The arguments urged by that worthy lady, the obliging and chearful manner in which they were delivered, joined to the facetious and entertaining remarks which Sir Ralph had occasionally made, had indeed a great effect, for the present, on the too wavering and uncertain mind they were intended to fix.

Though she was far from expecting Mr. Munden could come that evening with her brothers, or even from imagining he could as yet be informed of what had passed in his favour, yet she was not displeased when she saw him enter; and if she looked a little confounded, it was rather to be attributed to modesty than anger.

That gentleman having made his first compliments to Sir Ralph and Lady Trusty, on his being presented to them, flew directly to Miss Betsy, and expressed his sense of the happiness her brothers had made him hope, in terms the most passionate that words would form. She received what he said to her, on this occasion, with a sweetness which must have infinitely charmed a heart truly sensible of the tender passion, that even Mr. Munden, though less delicate than he pretended, could not but be greatly affected with it.

In fine, the behaviour of both towards each other, gave greatcontentment to all the friends of Miss Betsy; and her elder brother, for form's sake, recapitulating the proposal of Mr. Munden, concerning her settlement and jointure, Sir Ralph gave that approbation in publick which he before had done in private: the intended bridegroom and Mr. Thoughtless agreed to go the next morning to Mr. Markland the lawyer, and give him the necessary instructions for drawing up the marriage articles.

They broke not up company till the night was pretty far advanced; and Mr. Thoughtless not having his own coach there, a hackney set them all down at their respective habitations.

Thus far all went extremely well: the parties chiefly concerned seemed perfectly satisfied with each other, and with themselves, for the agreement they had mutually entered into; and there appeared not the least likelihood of any future difficulty that would arise to interrupt, or delay the consummation of the so much desired nuptials.

Miss Betsy had not as yet had time to meditate on what she had given her promise to perform: the joy she found her compliance had given all her friends—the endearing things they said to her upon the occasion, and the transport Mr. Munden had expressed, on seeing himself so near the end of all his wishes—had kept up her spirits; and she imagined, while in their presence, that her inclination had dictated the consent her lips had uttered.

But when she was alone, shut up in her own apartments—when she no longer received the kind caresses of her smiling friends, nor the flattering raptures of her future husband—all the lively ideas which their conversation and manner of behaviour towards her had inspired, vanished at once, and gave place to fancies, which must justly bear the name of splenetic.

'I must now look upon myself,' said she, 'as already married: I have promised—it is too late to think of retracting. A few days hence, I suppose, will oblige me to the performance of my promise; and I may say, with Monimia in the play—

Back to Index Next