'Away with this idle, this scrupulous fear;For a kiss in the dark,Cry'd the amorous spark,'There is nothing, no, nothing too dear!'
'Away with this idle, this scrupulous fear;For a kiss in the dark,Cry'd the amorous spark,'There is nothing, no, nothing too dear!'
Having led her into the chamber, and seated her on the bed, which happened to be so disposed that no gleam of light came upon it from the candles in the next room, 'Now, my charmer,' said he, taking hold of her mask, 'you have no excuse for keeping on this invidious cloud.'—'How impossible it is,' answered she, letting it fall into his hands, 'to refuse you any thing!'
What conversation after this passed between them, I shall leave to the reader's imagination; and only say, that the voice of the incognita being more distinguishable by the button of her mask being removed, Mr. Trueworth could not help thinking he had heard before accents very like those with which he was now entertained; though where, or from what mouth they had proceeded, he was not able to recollect.
This conjecture, however, rendering him more impatient than ever for the discovery, he omitted nothing in his power, either by words or actions, to dissuade her from re-assuming her vizard when they should quit that scene of darkness. 'How gladly would I comply,' cried she, 'but that I fear—' 'Fear what!' cried Mr. Trueworth, eagerly interrupting her. 'I fear to lose you,' replied she, fondly embracing him: 'My face is already but too well known to you; you have often seen it, but seen it without those emotions I endeavoured to inspire. How, then, can I now hope it will have the effect I wish!'—'Unkindly judged,' said he: 'with what indifference soever I may have regarded you, the endearing softness, the enchanting transports, you have now blessed me with, would give new charms to every feature, and make me find perfections I never saw before. Come then, my goddess,' continued he, raising her, 'shine with full lustre on me, and fix me your adorer.'—'Well,' cried she, 'you are not to be resisted, and I will venture.'
These words brought them to the chamber-door, and shewed the incognita to her amazed gallant to be no other than Miss Flora. 'Miss Flora Mellasin! Good Heavens!' cried he. 'You seem surprized and shocked,' said she: 'alas! my apprehensions were too just.'—'Pardon me, Madam,' answered he, 'I am indeed surprized, but it is throughan excess of joy! Could I have ever thought the favours I have received were bestowed by the amiable Miss Flora Mellasin!'
It is certain, that his astonishment at first was very great; but recovering himself from it in a short time, a thousand passages in Miss Flora's former behaviour towards him occurred to his remembrance, and made him wonder at himself for not having sooner found her out in the person of his incognita. They passed their time, till the night was pretty far advanced, in a manner very agreeable to each other; nor parted without reciprocal assurance of renewing this tender intercourse the next day, at the same place.
Though it is impossible for a man of sense to have any real love for a woman whom he cannot esteem, yet Mr. Trueworth found enough in the agreeable person and sprightly humour of Miss Flora, to dissipate those uneasy reflections which, in spite of him, had lurked in his mind on Miss Betsy's account: the amour with this fond girl afforded him a pleasing amusement for a time; and, without filling his heart with a new passion, cleared it of those remains of his former one, which he had taken so much pains to extirpate.
Whenever he thought of Miss Betsy, as it was impossible a young lady he once loved with so much tenderness should not sometimes come into his thoughts, it was only with a friendly concern for her imagined fall. 'It is no wonder,' would he often say to himself, 'that so young and lovely a creature, under the tuition of a woman of Lady Mellasin's character, and the constant companion of one of Miss Flora's disposition, endued with charms to excite the warmest wishes, and unprovided with sufficient arms for her defence, should have yielded to the temptations of an unwarrantable flame.' In fine, he pitied her, but no more.
Thus entirely freed from all prepossession, and his heart almost in the same situation as before he ever knew what it was to love, he was easily persuaded by his friends to give over all thoughts of going into the country, and stay to partake, in a moderate way, those pleasures of the town, which the many uneasy moments he had sustained, during his courtship with Miss Betsy, had kept him hitherto from having any relish for.
But this state of indifference lasted not long; an object presented itself to him, inspiring him with a passion, which had so much of reason for its guide, as made him think it rather his glory, than his misfortune, to be a second time enslaved.
Among all the friends and acquaintance he had in town, there was none he more valued and esteemed than Sir Bazil Loveit: they had been for some time inseparable companions; but accidents, either on the one side or the other, having hindered their meeting for several days, Mr. Trueworth went one morning to visit him at his house. He found him at home, but the hall so incumbered with trunks and boxes, that there was scarce a passage to the parlour-door. 'Welcome, my dear friend!' said Sir Bazil, who, having seen him from a window, ran down stairs to receive him: 'you find me in a strange disorder here; but I have got a couple of women out of the country; and that sex, I think, like a general officer, can never move without a waggon-load of trumpery at their tail.'—'What, married!' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'No, 'faith,' said the other; 'but the arrival of two sisters last night from Staffordshire, gives me a sort of specimen of the hurry I am to expect when I become a husband.'
'The hurry,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'you seem to complain of, must needs be a very agreeable one; and I heartily congratulate you upon it. A single man, like you, makes but a very solitary figure in a great wild house: these ladies will fill the vacuum, and give a double life to your family.'—'Nay,' resumed Sir Bazil, 'I shall not have them long with me; they hate London, and never come but once in two years, to buy cloaths and see fashions: besides, one of them is married, and the other fond of her sister, that I believe she would not quit her to be a duchess. Indeed, it is not much to be wondered at; our mother dying when she was very young, Harriot, for so she is called, was brought up under her sister, who is eight years older than herself, and they never have been asunder two days in their lives.'
Mr. Trueworth then expiated on the amiableness of such an harmony between persons of the same blood: to which Sir Bazil replied, that it was more than ordinarily fortunate for his sisters; 'For,' said he, 'the elder of them being married just before my mother's death, my father committed to her the care of the younger, as she was reckoned a woman of greater prudence than might be expected from her years. My brother Wellair, (for that is the name of the gentleman she married) though a very good husband in the main,is a great sportsman, takes rather too much delight in his hawks and hounds, and gives his wife but little of his company in the day; so that, if it were not for Harriot, she would pass her time uncomfortably enough. In short, the younger is improved by the lessons of the elder, and the elder diverted by the sprightliness and good-humour of the younger.'
Sir Bazil, who had an extreme regard for his sisters, could not forbear entertaining Mr. Trueworth on this subject all the time he was there; and, at parting, told him he would not ask him to stay dinner that day, because he supposed they would be very busy in unpacking their things, and setting themselves in order; but engaged him to come on the following.
Mr. Trueworth thought no farther on what had passed, than to remember his promise, which he accordingly fulfilled. Sir Bazil received him with open arms, and conducted him into the dining-room, where the two ladies were sitting. They were both very handsome: the elder was extremely graceful; and, at first glance, appeared to be the most striking beauty of the two; but, on a second, the younger had the advantage; she was not altogether so tall as her sister, nor had a skin of that dazzling whiteness; but her shape was exquisite—her complexion clear—her eyes sparkling—all her features perfectly regular, and accompanied with a sweetness which had in it somewhat irresistibly attractive.
After the first compliments were over, neither of them lost, by their manner of conversation, any part of that admiration which their eyes had gained. Mrs. Wellair talked pretty much; yet so agreeably, that nobody could be tired of hearing her. Miss Harriot spoke much less; but all she said discovered a delicacy of sentiment, and a judgment far above her years. Sir Bazil had a large estate; he lived up to the height of it; had a very elegant taste; and, in complaisance to his sisters, as well as to his friend, who had never dined with him before since he set up housekeeping, had taken care that day to omit nothing in his bill of fare that could excite, or gratify, the most luxurious appetite; yet it was the wit, spirit, and good-humour, of the company, especially of Miss Harriot, which, to Mr. Trueworth, made the most agreeable part of the entertainment.
When the dessert was over, and the healths of absent friends toasted in Tokay and Frontiniac, they all adjourned into the drawing-room; where coffee and tea were soon brought in. Mrs. Wellair having been advised by her physicians to refrain from the use of anyof those liquors, on account of some disorder she had complained of, took this opportunity of desiring leave to retire, in order to acquaint her husband, it being post-night, with her safe arrival in town.
Agreeable as her conversation was, Mr. Trueworth found no miss of her, as the lovely Harriot was left behind: on the contrary, he was rather rejoiced, in the hope she would now give her tongue a greater latitude than she had done in the presence of one whom, he easily perceived, she looked upon as her superior in understanding; as well as years; and, to provoke her to it, artfully introduced some discourse on the pleasures of the town; and said to Sir Bazil, it seemed to him a kind of miracle, that so young and beautiful a lady as Miss Harriot could content herself with the obscurity of a country life. 'Few of her age, indeed,' replied Sir Bazil, 'could chuse to live in the manner she does; but though I should, perhaps, not be of the same way of thinking, if I were a woman, and in her place, yet I cannot but say, my reason approves of her conduct in this point.'
'London,' said she, 'is a very magnificent, opulent city; and those who have their lot cast to live in it, may, doubtless, find sufficient to content them: but as for those amusements, which you gentlemen call the pleasures of the town, and which so many people take every winter such long journies merely to enjoy, I can see nothing in them which a reasonable person may not very well dispense with the want of.'
'What do you think of the Court, Madam?' cried Mr. Trueworth. 'As of a place I would always chuse to avoid,' replied she. 'I heartily pity the fatigue of those who are obliged to attend; and am tempted to laugh at the stupidity of those who undertake it without necessity. I am amazed to think how any one of common-sense can be at so great an expence for rich cloaths, to go to a place where she must suffer as great pain in shewing them. Bless me! to stand, for two or three hours together, mute as a fish—upright as an arrow; and, when the scene is over, walk backward like a crab, curtseying at every step, though their legs are so tired, they are scarce able to go through the ceremony!'
'A masquerade, then?' resumed Mr. Trueworth, willing to try her farther. 'What say you, Madam, to a masquerade? I hope you will allow no freedom of behaviour is wanting there?'—'I should like a masquerade extremely,' answered she, 'if conducted in the same manner I have been told they are in Italy, and some other places, where only persons of condition are admitted, and none presume tosay that under a vizard, which he either would or ought to be ashamed of when it is plucked off. But the venal ones you have here, are my utter detestation; they seem to me to license, under a shew of innocent diversion, not only folly, but all kind of prophaneness and indecency.'
'It must be owned, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'that your sentiments on both these subjects are extremely just: but you can have no such objection against a play or opera?'—'No, Sir,' answered she; 'I look upon a good play as one of the most improving, as well as agreeable, entertainments a thinking mind can take; and as for an opera—' 'Aye, sister!' cried Sir Bazil, interrupting her, 'the opera! Take care what you say of the opera. My friend here is a passionate lover of musick; and, if you utter one syllable against his favourite science, you will certainly pass in his opinion for a stoick.'—'I should deserve it,' said she; 'and be in reality as insensible as that sect of philosophers affect to be, if I were not capable of being touched by the charms of harmony.'
'Then, Madam,' said Mr. Trueworth, 'there are two of the pleasures of London, which are so happy to receive your approbation?'—'Not only my approbation,' replied she, 'but my applause. I am, indeed, a very great admirer of both; yet can find ways to make myself easy without being present at either; and, at the distance of an hundred miles, enjoy in theory all the satisfaction the representation could afford.'
'This is somewhat extraordinary indeed, Madam,' cried Mr. Trueworth: 'be so good as to let us know by what method?'—'It is this, Sir,' answered she: 'as for the plays, I have a very good collection of the old ones by me, and have all the new ones sent down to me as they come out. When I was last in London, I was several times at the theatre; I observed how the actors and actresses varied their voices and gestures, according to the different characters they appeared in on the stage: and thus, whilst I am reading any play, am enabled to judge pretty near how it shews in representation. I have, indeed, somewhat more difficulty in bringing the opera home to me; yet I am so happy as to be able to procure a shadow of it, at least. We have two or three gentlemen in the neighbourhood who play to great perfection on the violin, and several ladies, who have very pretty voices, and some skill in musick. My sister touches the bass-viol finely; and I play a little on the harpsichord. We have all our parts in score before us, which we execute to the best of our power. It serves,however, to divert ourselves, and those friends who think it worth their while to come to hear us.'
Mr. Trueworth cried out, in a kind of rapture, as soon as she had done speaking, 'Who would not think himself happy to be one of the audience at such a performance!' He was going on; but Mrs. Wellair returned, on which he directed the compliments he was about to make Miss Harriot, equally to the other; which she returned with a great deal of politeness. The conversation afterwards turned on different subjects, and was very entertaining. Some other company coming in, Mr. Trueworth would have taken leave; but Sir Bazil would not permit him. He staid the whole evening; and, when he went home, carried such an idea of the lovely Harriot's perfection, that scarce any consideration would have been powerful enough to have made him quit the town while she continued in it.
If Miss Betsy had been made acquainted with the manner in which Mr. Trueworth passed his time, and the inducements he had to stay in London, doubtless her vanity would have been highly piqued: but she had not as yet this subject for mortification; on the contrary, she rather imagined he lingered here on her account; that it repented him of the letter he had sent her, though his spirit was too great to acknowledge it directly, and waited the arrival of her brother Frank, in hopes of engaging him to make his peace.
With these suggestions did she please herself whenever he came into her mind: but, indeed, she had but little room for meditation on his account; not only Mr. Munden plied her close with presents, treats, fine speeches, and all the tokens of impatient love, but she had also another conquest of a more late, and consequently, to a young lady of her humour, a more pleasing æra.
She had been one day at her mantua-maker's, to consult on some matters relating to her dress, and was a little surprized to see the woman come the next morning, before she was out of bed, to her lodgings. 'Hey day, Mrs. Modely!' cried she; 'what brings you here thus early?'—'Indeed, Madam,' answered she, 'I could not well come out; I have eight or nine gowns in the house now, which should all have been finished and sent home today; the ladies will tear me to pieces about them: but I left all my business, and run away to acquaint you with a thing you little dream of. Ah, Miss Betsy! such a fine gentleman! such a vast estate! but it is no wonder,' continued she, 'you are so pretty, that you make all the men die for you.'—'Whatis it you are talking of?' cried Miss Betsy; 'pr'ythee, dear Modely, explain.'—'Lord!' replied the other, 'I am so transported that I know not how to contain myself! But I will tell you: you were yesterday at my house; Sir Frederick Fineer, who lodges in my first floor—the sweetest and most generous gentleman that ever lived, to be sure! (but that is nothing to the purpose) he saw you from his dining-room window when you came out of your chair; and, would you believe it! was so struck, that he immediately fell down in a swoon: you were but just gone when his valet de chambre (for he keeps three servants, two in livery, and one out) came down to me, and fetched me to his master. "Oh, Mrs. Modely!" said he to me, "what angel have you got below?—Tell me who she is? If she is not already married, I will give my whole estate to obtain her. I ask not what her fortune is; if I could once call that divine creature my wife, she should command all I am worth!"
'Indeed, Madam,' continued she, 'I was so much amazed, that I had not the power of speaking; and he, I suppose, interpreting my silence as a refusal of answering his demands, fell into such distractions, such ravings, as frighted me almost out of my wits; and, at last, to quiet him, I told him (I hope you will forgive me) your name, and where you lived, and that you were not married: on this he seemed pretty easy, and I left him; but, about two hours after, he sent for me again—desired I would go directly to you—make you a declaration of love in his name, and beg you would give him leave to visit you in person.'
'Bless me!' cried Miss Betsy; 'can the man neither speak nor write for himself?'—'I told him, Madam,' resumed Mrs. Modely, 'that it would not be well taken from me; but he was quite mad, would listen to no reason, till I bethought myself of a strategem, which I fancy you will not disapprove: I made him believe that there was no need of my going to you; that you were to call upon me about a gown this afternoon; that I would persuade you to stay and drink tea, and he might come into the room, as if by chance, and entertain you with what discourse he thought proper. Now, I would fain have you come,' pursued she, 'for if you do but like his person, such an offer is not to be rejected.'
'I do not regard this offer,' said Miss Betsy; 'but I do not know but I may come just to divert myself a little.'—'That is a dear good lady!' cried the other. 'About five, I believe, will be a proper time.'—'Aye, thereabout,' replied Miss Betsy: 'but, dear Modely, don't let himknow you have spoke a word to me concerning him.'—'No, no,' said she; 'I shall not tell him I have seen you.'
During the whole time this woman staid, (which was, indeed, much longer than might have been expected from a person of that extraordinary business she pretended) nothing was talked of but Sir Frederick Fineer: she told Miss Betsy, that to her certain knowledge, he was of one of the best families in Cornwall; that he had a great estate in possession, and another in reversion; and, besides, was the next of kin to a coronet; that he kept company with nothing but lords and dukes, and that they were always courting his company.
Though Miss Betsy affected to treat all she said with indifference, yet she had given an attentive ear to it; and, after she was gone, began to rummage over all her ornaments; tried one, and then another, to see which would become her best, in order to secure a victory, which she imagined would afford so much triumph. 'Whether I marry him or not,' said she to herself, 'the addresses of a man of his rank will make me of some consideration in the world; and if ever I do become a wife, I should like to be a woman of quality: they may say what they will, but a title has prodigious charms in it; the name Fineer also becomes it. "Lady Fineer's servants there! Lady Fineer's coach to the door!" would sound vastly agreeable at the play or opera.'
She also pleased herself with the thought, that being courted by a person of Sir Frederick's quality and estate would immediately put to silence all the reproaches and remonstrances she might otherwise have expected to be persecuted with by her brother Frank, on Mr. Trueworth's account; and this imagination was of itself sufficient to give her an infinite satisfaction: in fine, she found so much in this new effect of her charms, to elevate and delight both her vanity and convenience, that she longed with as much impatience for a sight of her admirer as Mrs. Modely had told her he was under for a second interview with her.
Some part of the tedious moments were, however, taken up in a manner she was far from expecting; she was scarce risen from her toilette, when word was brought her that a young lady, who called herself Miss Flora Mellasin, was come to wait upon her. As she had never seen her since her being driven from Mr. Goodman's, the visit a little surprized her, and she would have been glad if common civility had dispensed with her receiving it; for though the pity she then had felt for her misfortunes had greatly effaced the memory of the injurious treatment she had met with from her, yet she neverdesired to continue any correspondence with her after they were once parted: besides, as she had no reason to look upon her coming as any proof of her friendship or good-will, but rather with a design of doing her some private prejudice, she resolved to behave entirely reserved towards her.
Her conjectures were not groundless: that complication of every worst passion that can fill the human heart, could not be perfectly satisfied, even amidst the most unbounded gratification of her amorous desires with the man that had excited them; the dread of losing him embittered all the transports of possession; she very well knew he had broke off with Miss Betsy, and doubted not but that event had happened through the artifice she had put in practice: yet, as there was a possibility that the adventure of Denham should be unravelled, and the innocency of Miss Betsy cleared up, she trembled lest such an eclaircissement should renew all his former tenderness for that once so much-loved rival, and herself be reduced to all the horrors of despair and shame. It was therefore to sound the inclinations of Miss Betsy, that alone brought her thither, in the wicked hope, that if there was the least probability of a reconciliation between them, she might find some opportunity of traversing all the steps that might be taken by either party for that purpose.
But Miss Betsy was too much upon her guard to give her any room to discover what her sentiments were in that point: she received her very coolly; and, even on her first entrance, told her that she was obliged to go out that evening; but the other taking no notice of the little pleasure Miss Betsy expressed on seeing her, told her she came out of friendship to visit her; that she had been told Mr. Trueworth and she were entirely parted; that if she had so great an affection for him as the world had been pleased to say, she must certainly stand in need of all the consolation that could be given her. 'But, I hope, my dear,' said she, 'you have too much good sense not to despise him now. Nothing is more common than that men should be false. Remember what the poet says—
"Ingratitude's the sin, which, first or last,Taints the whole sex, the catching court disease."'
"Ingratitude's the sin, which, first or last,Taints the whole sex, the catching court disease."'
Miss Betsy was so provoked at being talked to in this manner, that she replied, that there was neither falsehood nor ingratitude in the case: if Mr. Trueworth had desisted his visits, it was only because hewas convinced she desired not the continuance of them.
It is possible these words were more galling to the jealous heart of Miss Flora than any thing she could have said, though she spoke them with no other intent than to clear herself of the imputation of having been forsaken; a thing she looked upon as the worst blemish that could be cast upon her reputation. Miss Flora, finding no more was to be got out of her, took her leave for this time; resolving, however, in her own mind, to keep up an acquaintance with her, that seeming to her the most likely way both to satisfy her curiosity, and prevent any effort of what the extravagance of her passion made her apprehend.
Miss Betsy did not give herself much trouble in reflecting on what Miss Flora had said; but as soon as her watch reminded her of the appointed hour, she bid her footman fly and get a chair; on her coming to the house, Mrs. Modely herself opened the door at the first rap, and desired her to walk in. 'No, no,' said Miss Betsy, still sitting in the chair, 'I cannot stay; I only called to tell you that I will have the silver robings put upon the green night-gown, and will buy a new trimming for the pink.'—'I shall be sure to obey your orders, Madam,' replied the other: 'but I must intreat you will do me the honour to come in and drink a dish of tea; the kettle boils, and I have just now had a present of a cannister of some of the finest Hyson in the world.'—'I must leave you then as soon as I have tasted it,' said Miss Betsy, coming out of the chair; 'for I have twenty visits to make this evening.'
She had not been three minutes in the parlour, when the person for whom all this ceremony was affected, entered the room in somewhat of an abrupt manner. 'I come, Mrs. Modely, to complain,' said he—'my servants tell me—' With these words he stopt short, and fixed his eyes full on Miss Betsy, with a kind of astonishment.—Mrs. Modely, pretending to be in a great fright, cried, 'For Heaven's sake, Sir Frederick! what is the matter? I hope nothing in my house has given your honour any cause of complaint?'—'No, no! it is over now,' cried he; 'your house is become a temple, and this is the divinity that honours it with her presence—this Græcian Venus.' Miss Betsy was too much accustomed to company to be easily abashed; and answered briskly, 'If you mean the compliment to me, Sir, the Græcian Venuses are all painted fat, and I have no resemblance of that perfection.'—'Only in your face, Madam,' returned he. 'Such sparkling eyes—such a complexion—such a mouth! In your shapeyou are Helen of Troy!'—'That Helen of Troy,' said Miss Betsy, with an ironical smile, 'I think, was a Græcian princess, and must also be fat, or she would not have been reputed a beauty there.'
The baronet, finding by this he had been guilty of an absurdity when he intended a fine speech, thought to salve up the matter by saying, 'Sure, you are a Diana, then!'—'Worse and worse!' cried Miss Betsy. 'I beseech you, Sir, compare me to no such boisterous goddess, that runs up and down, bare-footed and bare-legged, hunting wild boars in the forest!'—'What shall I call you then?' resumed he. 'O, tell me by what name you will be worshipped?'—'The lady's name, Sir Frederick,' cried Mrs. Modely, 'is Miss Betsy Thoughtless.'—'Betsy!' said he; 'then Betsy let it be. Betsy shall henceforth become more famous than Cytherea was of old!'
He was going on with this fulsome stuff, in which he was often exposed by the ready wit of Miss Betsy, when a maid belonging to the house came in, and told her that a gentleman in a hackney-coach was at the door, and desired to speak with her. 'With me!' cried she, not able to guess who should have followed her there. 'Pray, call my footman, and bid him ask the person's name that enquires for me.' The maid did as she was ordered; and Miss Betsy's servant presently after brought her this intelligence—'Mr. Munden, Madam,' said he, 'not finding you at home, has taken the liberty to call on you here, in order to conduct you where you are to pass the evening.'—'He must be a happy man, indeed, that dare take such liberties,' cried Sir Frederick, somewhat fiercely. 'Many take more than they are allowed to do,' said Miss Betsy. 'Go,' continued she to the fellow, 'and tell him my mind is changed; that I cannot leave the company I am with, and will not go.' Mr. Munden having received this message, ordered the coachman to drive away, very much dissatisfied, as the reader may easily suppose.
Miss Betsy, the day before, had agreed to pass this evening with the ladies at St. James's, and some others, to play at commerce; a game then very much in vogue. Mr. Munden was to be one of the company; and calling at Miss Betsy's lodgings, in hopes of having some time with her before this meeting, the maid, who had not lived long enough with her mistress to know her humour, presently told him, she was only gone to her mantua-maker's, and gave him directions to the house; he also thinking it no indecorum to call on her at the house of a woman of that profession, had reason enough to be mortified at the repulse he met with for so doing.
As to Miss Betsy, though she was a little angry at the freedom Mr. Munden had taken, yet she was in reality much more pleased; and this for two reasons: first, because she saw it gave her new lover some jealous apprehensions; and, secondly, because it furnished her with a plausible pretence for complying with his entreaties to stay; which, she protested, she would not on any terms have been prevailed upon to do, but to prevent either him or Mrs. Modely from suspecting she would go where Mr. Munden had desired.
Mrs. Modely went out of the room several times, as if called away by some household affairs, that Sir Frederick might have an opportunity of declaring his passion to Miss Betsy; which he did in much the same rodomontade strain with which he had at first accosted her. A handsome supper was served in; after which, she being about to take her leave, he affected to be in a great fret, that a fine new chariot which, he said, he had bespoke, was not come home, that he might have seen her safe to her lodgings, with an equipage suitable to her merit, and the admiration he had of it: he would needs, however, attend her in another chair; which piece of gallantry, after a few faint refusals, she accepted.
As much taken up as Miss Betsy was with the pleasure of having gained a new admirer, she could not forbear, after she came home, making some reflection on the value of her conquest; she had found nothing agreeable either in his person or conversation: the first seemed to her stiff and awkward, and looked as if not made for his cloaths; and the latter, weak, romantick, and bombast: in fine, he was altogether such as she could not think of living with as a husband, though the rank and figure she was told he held in the world, made her willing to receive him as a lover. In short, though she could not consent to sacrifice herself to his quality, she took a pride to sacrifice his quality to her vanity.
No overtures of marriage having been made to her since Mr. Munden began his courtship, and that gentleman growing, as she fancied at least, a little too presuming, on finding himself the only lover, she was not a little pleased at the opportunity of giving him a rival whose quality might over-awe his hopes. In this idea, she was far from repenting her behaviour towards him the night before: but how little soever she regarded what mortification she gave the men, she always took care to treat her own sex with a great deal of politeness; and reflecting that she had been guilty of an omission, in not sending her servant to excuse herself to the ladies who expected her, went herself in the morning to make her own apology.
In the mean time, Mr. Munden, who it is certain was very much out of humour, and impatient to let her know some part of the sentiments her message had inspired him with, came to make her amorning visit, having some business which he knew would detain him from waiting on her in the afternoon. On finding she was abroad, he desired the maid to favour him with her lady's standish; which she accordingly bringing to him, he sat down, and, without taking much consideration, wrote the following letter, and left for her on the table.
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.Madam,Amidst the enchanting encouragement with which you have been pleased to admit my services, I would not, without calling your honour and generosity in question, be altogether void of hope, that you intended to afford them one day a recompence for ample than a bare acceptance.Judge, then, of my surprize at the repulse I met with at Mrs. Modely's door. I could not think it any breach of the respect I owe you, to call on you at the house of your mantua-maker; I could not imagine it possible for you to have any engagements at such a place capable of preventing you from keeping those that you had made with persons for whom you profess an esteem: on the contrary, I rather expected you would have permitted me to conduct you thence, with the same readiness you have done from most of the other places where you have been, since I first had the honour of being acquainted with you.I know very well, that it is the duty of every lover to submit, in all things to the pleasure of the beautiful object whose chains he wears, yet, Madam, as you have hitherto made mine easy, you must pardon me, when I say, that this sudden transition from gentleness to cruelty, appears to me to contain a mystery, which, though I dread, I am distracted for the explanation of.Some business of great moment prevents my waiting on you this afternoon, but shall attend your commands to-morrow at the usual hour; when, I still flatter myself, you will relieve the anxieties, and put an end to the suspense, of him who is, with the greatest sincerity of heart, Madam, your most humble, and most faithfully devoted servant,G. Munden.'
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Madam,
Amidst the enchanting encouragement with which you have been pleased to admit my services, I would not, without calling your honour and generosity in question, be altogether void of hope, that you intended to afford them one day a recompence for ample than a bare acceptance.
Judge, then, of my surprize at the repulse I met with at Mrs. Modely's door. I could not think it any breach of the respect I owe you, to call on you at the house of your mantua-maker; I could not imagine it possible for you to have any engagements at such a place capable of preventing you from keeping those that you had made with persons for whom you profess an esteem: on the contrary, I rather expected you would have permitted me to conduct you thence, with the same readiness you have done from most of the other places where you have been, since I first had the honour of being acquainted with you.
I know very well, that it is the duty of every lover to submit, in all things to the pleasure of the beautiful object whose chains he wears, yet, Madam, as you have hitherto made mine easy, you must pardon me, when I say, that this sudden transition from gentleness to cruelty, appears to me to contain a mystery, which, though I dread, I am distracted for the explanation of.
Some business of great moment prevents my waiting on you this afternoon, but shall attend your commands to-morrow at the usual hour; when, I still flatter myself, you will relieve the anxieties, and put an end to the suspense, of him who is, with the greatest sincerity of heart, Madam, your most humble, and most faithfully devoted servant,
G. Munden.'
Miss Betsy, at her return home, found also another billet directed for her, which they told her had been brought by a servant belongingto Sir Frederick Fineer: she gave that from Mr. Munden, however, the preference of reading first, not indeed through choice, but chance, that happening to be first put into her hands. As soon as she had looked it over, she laughed, and said to herself, 'The poor man is jealous already, though he knows not of whom, or why: what will become of him when he shall be convinced? I suppose he was sure of having me, and it is high time to mortify his vanity.'
She then proceeded to Sir Frederick's epistle; in which she found herself more deified than ever she had been by all her lovers put together.
'To the most wonderful of her sex, the incomparable Miss Betsy Thoughtless.Divine charmer,Though I designed myself the inexpressible pleasure of kissing your fair hands this evening, I could not exist till then without telling you how much I adore you: you are the empress of my heart, the goddess of my soul! the one loves you with the most loyal and obedient passion, the other regards you as the sole mover and director of all its motions. I cannot live without you; it is you alone can make me blest, or miserable. O then pronounce my doom, and keep me not suspended between heaven and hell. Words cannot describe the ardency of my flame; it is actions only that can do it. I lay myself, and all that I am worth, an humble offering at your feet. Accept it, I beseech you; but accept it soon; for I consume away in the fire of my impatient wishes; and, in a very short time, there will be nothing left for you but the shadow of the man who is, with the most pure devotion, Madam, your beauty's slave, and everlasting adorer,F. Fineer.'
'To the most wonderful of her sex, the incomparable Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Divine charmer,
Though I designed myself the inexpressible pleasure of kissing your fair hands this evening, I could not exist till then without telling you how much I adore you: you are the empress of my heart, the goddess of my soul! the one loves you with the most loyal and obedient passion, the other regards you as the sole mover and director of all its motions. I cannot live without you; it is you alone can make me blest, or miserable. O then pronounce my doom, and keep me not suspended between heaven and hell. Words cannot describe the ardency of my flame; it is actions only that can do it. I lay myself, and all that I am worth, an humble offering at your feet. Accept it, I beseech you; but accept it soon; for I consume away in the fire of my impatient wishes; and, in a very short time, there will be nothing left for you but the shadow of the man who is, with the most pure devotion, Madam, your beauty's slave, and everlasting adorer,
F. Fineer.'
'Good lack!' cried Miss Betsy, 'he is in a great haste, too; but I fancy he must wait a while, as many of better sense have done. What a romantick jargon is here! One would think he had been consulting all the ballads since fair Rosamond, and the Children in the Wood, for fine phrases to melt me into pity!'
She wondered, as indeed she had good reason, that a man of his birth, and who, it must be supposed, had an education suitable to it, should express himself in such odd terms; but then she was tempted to imagine, that it was only his over-care to please her that had made him stretch his wit beyond it's natural extent, and that if he had lovedher less, he would have been able to have told her so in a much better stile. Possessed with this fancy, 'What a ridiculous thing this love is!' said she; 'What extravagancies does it sometimes make men guilty of! yet one never sees this madness in them after they become husbands. If I were to marry Sir Frederick, I do not doubt but he would soon recover his senses.'
How does a mind, unbroke with cares and disappointments, entirely free from passion, and perfectly at peace with itself, improve, and dwell on every thing that affords the least matter for its entertainment? This young lady found as much diversion in anticipating the innocent pranks she intended to play with the authors of these two letters, as an infant does in first playing with a new baby, and afterwards plucking it to pieces; so true is the observation of the poet, that—
'All are but children of a larger growth.'
'All are but children of a larger growth.'
But this sprightliness of humour in Miss Betsy soon received a sad and sudden interruption: having sent, as she constantly did every day, to enquire after the health of Mr. Goodman, her servant returned with an account, that he had expired that morning. Though this was an event, which she, and all who knew him, had expected for some time, yet could she not be told of the death of a gentleman, under whose care and protection she so long had been, and who had behaved in all respects so like a parent towards her, without being very deeply affected with the news; she was then at dinner, but threw down her knife and fork, rose from the table, and retired to her chamber and wept bitterly: the more violent emotions of grief were soon assuaged, but her melancholy and dejection of spirits continued much longer; and, while they did so, she had the power of making the most just reflections on the vain pursuits, the fleeting pleasures, and all the noise and hurry of the giddy world. Love, and all the impertinences which bear that name, now appeared only worthy of her contempt; and, recollecting that Sir Frederick had mentioned visiting her that evening, she sent a servant immediately to Mrs. Modely's, desiring her to acquaint that gentleman, that she had just lost a very dear friend, and was in too much affliction to admit of any company.
This being the day on which Mr. Francis Thoughtless was expected to be in London, this affectionate sister perceiving, by his last letter to her, that his health was not perfectly established, wasunder a very great concern, lest he should be put to some inconvenience by Mr. Goodman's death, for a proper lodging on his first arrival; but she soon found her tender fears, on this occasion, altogether groundless.
Those objections which had hindered Mr. Thomas Thoughtless from taking her into his family, had not the same weight in relation to Mr. Francis, whose sex set him above meddling with those domestick concerns, the command of which he had given to another; and his reputation would suffer nothing by being under the same roof with the mistress of his brother's amorous inclinations.
He went to the inn where he knew the L——e stage puts up, welcomed Mr. Francis with open arms, as soon as he alighted from the coach, and gave him all the demonstrations of brotherly affection that the place they were in would admit of; then conducted him to his house, and insisted that he should not think of any other home, till he was better provided for, and settled in the world.
A servant belonging to the elder Mr. Thoughtless was immediately dispatched to Miss Betsy, with a letter from the younger; and it was from this man that she received the agreeable intelligence, that the two brothers were together. The terms in which Mr. Francis wrote to her were these—
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.My dear sister,Heaven be thanked, I am at last got safe to London; a place, which, I assure you, some months ago I almost despaired of ever seeing more. My brother has just given me an account of the death of honest Mr. Goodman; and, as I doubt not but you are very much concerned, as indeed we all have reason to be, for the loss of so sincere and valuable a friend, I am very impatient to see you, and give you what consolation is in my power; but the fatigue of my journey, after so long an illness, requires my taking some immediate repose; I shall, however, wait on you to-morrow morning; till when, believe me, as ever, with the greatest sincerity, dear sister, your affectionate brother, and humble servant,F. Thoughtless..P.S. My brother purposes to come with me; but if any thing should happen to prevent his visit, you may depend on one from me. Once more, my dear sister, good night.'
'To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
My dear sister,
Heaven be thanked, I am at last got safe to London; a place, which, I assure you, some months ago I almost despaired of ever seeing more. My brother has just given me an account of the death of honest Mr. Goodman; and, as I doubt not but you are very much concerned, as indeed we all have reason to be, for the loss of so sincere and valuable a friend, I am very impatient to see you, and give you what consolation is in my power; but the fatigue of my journey, after so long an illness, requires my taking some immediate repose; I shall, however, wait on you to-morrow morning; till when, believe me, as ever, with the greatest sincerity, dear sister, your affectionate brother, and humble servant,
F. Thoughtless..
P.S. My brother purposes to come with me; but if any thing should happen to prevent his visit, you may depend on one from me. Once more, my dear sister, good night.'
In the present situation of Miss Betsy's mind, she could not have received a more sensible satisfaction, than what she felt on this young gentleman's arrival: but what ensued upon it will in due time and place appear.
Mr. Goodman, who, both living and dying, had sincerely at heart the welfare of all with whom he had any concern, could not content himself to leave the world without giving to those who had been under his care such advice as he thought necessary for their future happiness.
Accordingly, the day preceding that which happened to be his last, he sent for Mr. Thoughtless; and on his being come, and seated by his bedside, he took his hand, and began to remonstrate to him in the most pathetick, though very gentle, terms, how unjustifiable to the eyes of Heaven, how disreputable to those of the world, it was to avow and indulge, in the publick manner he did, an unwarrantable flame.
'I never was severe,' said he, 'in censuring the frailties of youth and nature; but think the claim they have to pardon consists chiefly in an endeavour to conceal them; when gloried in, they lose the name of frailties, and become vices: besides, others by our example might be emboldened to offend; and, if so, what are we but accessary to their faults, and answerable for them, as well as for our own? You are at present,' continued he, 'the head of your family, have a large estate, are young, handsome, accomplished; in fine, have all the requisites to make a shining character in life, and to be a service and an honour to your country. How great a pity would it be, that such a stock of fortune's blessings, such present benefits, and such glorious expectations, should all be squandered in the purchase of one guilty pleasure!'
He then proceeded to a short discussion of the difference between a lawful and an unlawful communication between the sexes; he expatiated on the wife and laudable institution of marriage; the solid comforts arising from that state, in the choice of a worthy partner; the many advantages of an honourable alliance; the serene and lasting pleasures to be found in the society of a faithful, discreet, and endearing companion. 'A wife,' said he, with a sigh, which the memory of his own hard fate drew from him, 'may sometimes be bad, but a mistress we are sure is never good; her very character denies all confidence to be reposed in her; it is the interest of a wife to secure the honour of her husband, because she must suffer in his disgrace; a mistress, having no reputation of her own, regards not that of her keeper. It is the interest of a wife to be frugal of her husband's substance, because she must be a sharer in those misfortunes which the want of economy creates; but is the interest of a mistress to sell her favours as dear as she can, and to make the best provision she can for herself, because her subsistence is precarious, and depends wholly on the will of him who supports her. These, my dear friend,' continued he, 'are truths, which I hope you will not wait for experience to convince you of.'
It is probable Mr. Thoughtless did not relish this admonition; he seemed, however, to take it in good part, and returned for answer, that he should ever retain the most grateful sense of the kind concern he expressed for him; and added, that whatever inconveniences he might have been hurried into, by an inadvertent passion, he should always take care not to become the dupe of any woman.
Mr. Goodman then fell into some discourse concerning the younger Mr. Thoughtless; and the elder telling him, that, by his interest, he procured a comission for him on very easy terms, that worthy old gentleman appeared very much pleased, and said, he hoped they would always live together in that perfect amity which both good policy and nature demands between persons of the same blood.
'And now,' continued he, 'I have but one more thing to recommend to you, and that is in relation to your sister Miss Betsy: I doubt not of her innocence, but I fear her conduct; her youth, her beauty, the gaiety of her temper, and the little vanities of her sex, are every day exposing her to temptations fatal to reputation; I wish, therefore, she were well married; I know not how the courtship of Mr. Trueworth happened to be broke off; perhaps on some triflingoccasion either on the one or the other side: if so, it is likely Mr. Francis, when he comes to town, may bring about a reconciliation. According to my judgment of mankind, she cannot make a more deserving choice. There is another gentleman, who now makes his addresses to her, whose name is Munden; but I know nothing of his character; he never applied to me, nor did she consult me on the affair; it will, however, be a brother's part in you to enquire how far he may be worthy of her.'
Perceiving Mr. Thoughtless listened to him with a good deal of attention, he went on; 'I should also think it right,' said he, 'that while she remains in a single state, she should be boarded in some social, reputable family; I do not like this living by herself, her humour is too volatile to endure solitude; she must have her amusements; and the want of them at home naturally carries her in search of them abroad: I could wish,' he added, 'that you would tell her what I have said to you on this subject; she is convinced I am her friend, I believe has some regard for me, and, it may be, my dying admonitions will have greater effect upon her than all she has heard from me before.'
Mr. Goodman, after this, beginning to grow extremely faint, and altogether unable to hold any farther discourse, the brother of Miss Betsy judged it convenient to retire; assuring the other, as he took his leave, that no part of what he had said should be lost upon him.
Though the promise he had made Mr. Goodman was chiefly dictated by his complaisance, yet it was not wholly forgot after he had left him. As to what that worthy gentleman had said, in relation to his own manner of living, he thought he had talked well, but he had talked like an old man, and that it was time enough for him to part with his pleasures when he had no longer any inclination to pursue them; but what had been alledged to him, concerning his sister's conduct, made a much deeper impression on his mind: he considered, that the honour of a family depended greatly on the female part of it, and therefore resolved to omit nothing in his power to prevent Miss Betsy from being caught by any snares that might be laid to entrap her innocence.
He communicated to Mr. Francis Thoughtless, on his arrival, all that Mr. Goodman had said to him on this score, and his own sentiments upon it: that young gentleman was entirely of his brother's opinion in this point; and they both agreed, that marriage was the only sure refuge for a young woman of Miss Betsy's disposition andhumour. They had a long and pretty serious conversation on this head, the result of which was, that they should go together to her, and each exert all the influence he had over her, in order to draw from her some farther eclaircissement of her intentions than could yet be gathered from her behaviour.
Miss Betsy, who little suspected their designs, received them with all the tenderness that could be expected from a sister, especially her brother Frank; whose return, after so long an absence, gave her in reality an entire satisfaction: but she had scarce time to give him all the welcomes with which her heart overflowed, before the elder Mr. Thoughtless fell on the topick of Mr. Goodman, and the misfortune they sustained in the loss of so good a friend; after which, 'He has left you a legacy, sister,' said he. 'A legacy!' cried she, 'pray, of what kind?'—'Such a one,' replied he, 'as perhaps you will not be very well pleased in receiving; nor would I chuse to deliver it, but for two reasons: first, that the injunctions of a dying friend are not to be dispensed with; and, secondly, that it is of a nature, I fear, you stand in too much need of.'
Miss Betsy, whose ready wit made her presently comprehend the meaning of these words, replied with some smartness, that whatever she stood in need of, she should certainly receive with pleasure, and that he might have spared himself the trouble of a prelude, for any thing that could be delivered by him, or bequeathed to her by Mr. Goodman.
He then told her, how that gentleman, the day before his death, had sent for him; 'For no other purpose,' said he, 'than to talk to me on your account, and to exhort me as your brother, and now your guardian, to have a watchful eye over all your actions; to remind you of some inadvertencies of the past, and to warn you against falling into the like for the future: sorry I am to find myself under a necessity of speaking to you in this manner; but harsh as it may seem at present, I doubt not, but you will hereafter own, is a proof of the greatest affection I could shew you.' He then repeated to her all that Mr. Goodman had said to him in relation to her; to which he also added many things of his own, which he thought might serve to strengthen and to enforce the arguments made use of by the other.
It is impossible to describe the various and disturbed emotions which discovered themselves in the countenance of Miss Betsy during the whole time her brother was speaking; she looked extremely grave at the manner in which he ushered what he had todeliver to her from Mr. Goodman; appeared confounded and perplexed at what she heard that gentleman had said concerning Mr. Trueworth; was quite peevish at the mention of Mr. Munden; but when told of the dangers to which she was exposed by living alone, and trusted with the management of herself, her eyes sparkled with disdain and rage at a remonstrance she looked upon as so unnecessary and so unjust.
If this message had been sent to her by any other than Mr. Goodman, whose memory, on account of the benefits she had received from him, was precious to her; or had it been repeated by any other mouth than that of her brother, she had certainly vented the indignation she was possessed, in the most bitter terms; but gratitude, respect, and love, denying her this remedy, she burst into tears. 'Good God!' cried she, 'what have I done to raise such cruel suggestions in the heart of any friend? Which of my actions can malice construe into a crime? I challenge my worst of enemies to prove me guilty of any thing that might justly cast a blemish on my reputation, much less to call my virtue into question.'
The two brothers seemed very much moved at the agonies that they saw her in, especially the elder; who, repenting he had gone so far, took her in his arms, and, tenderly embracing her, 'My dear sister,' said he, 'you wrong your friends, while you imagine yourself wronged by them; your reputation, I hope, is clear; your virtue not suspected: it is not to accuse you of any guilt, but to prevent your innocence from becoming a prey to the guilt of others, that Mr. Goodman sent you his dying admonition, or that I took upon me to deliver it.'
Mr. Francis Thoughtless seconded what the other had said; and both joining their endeavours to pacify the late tempest of her mind, she soon recovered that good-humour and chearfulness which was too natural to her to be long suspended by any accident whatever.
'I flattered myself,' said the younger of these gentlemen, 'that cautions of this kind would have been altogether unnecessary, and that before now you would have been disposed of to a man, under whose protection all that is dear to your sex had been secure; I need not tell you,' continued he, 'that I mean Mr. Trueworth.'
Miss Betsy looking a little confused, and not making any reply, the elder Mr. Thoughtless immediately took up the word, and said he had heard so high a character of that gentleman's merit, that he had wished for few things with more ardency than the honour of beingallied to him; and that he never could find out what objection his sister had to accept of an offer so every way to her advantage.
To this Miss Betsy made answer, though not without some disorder and hesitation in her speech, that she had never made any objection either to his person or qualifications; but that she did not care to marry yet a while, and that he had not love enough to wait the event of her resolution in that point: that, besides, their humours did not suit, and there was little likelihood they would agree better after marriage; that there had been a little pique between them; that he gave himself airs of resenting something she had said, and thereupon had sent her a very impertinent letter; since which she had never seen him: 'So that,' added she, 'our breaking off acquaintance is wholly owing to himself.'
Mr. Francis, not doubting but this letter would explain what he so much desired to know the truth of, cried out to her hastily to let him see it. Miss Betsy already repenting that she had mentioned such a thing, as she was conscious there were some expressions in it which would greatly countenance the disagreeable remonstrances she had just now received; but she wanted artifice to pretend she had either lost or burnt it, and went that instant to her cabinet; where easily finding it, she gave it into her brother's hands, with these words 'He reproaches me,' said she, 'with things I know nothing of, and in terms which, I think, do not very well become the passion he pretended to have for me.'
'That he once loved you,' said Mr. Francis, coolly, 'I am very certain. How his sentiments may be changed, and the reasons of their being so, this may, perhaps, give me room to guess.' He then read the letter aloud; and, while he was doing so, several times cast a look at Miss Betsy, which shewed he was highly dissatisfied with her, for having given any cause for the reflections contained in it.
'I see very well,' said he, returning her the letter, 'that he has done with you, and that it is your own fault. I shall, however, talk to him on the affair; and if there be a possibility of accommodating matters between you, shall endeavour it for your sake.'
Here Miss Betsy's spirit rouzed itself, in spite of the respect she had for her brothers. 'I beseech you, Sir,' said she to Mr. Francis, 'not to go about to force your sister upon any man. If Mr. Trueworth, of his own accord, renews the professions he has made, I shall, on your account, receive them as I did before any misunderstanding happened between us; but as to changing my condition, either infavour of him or any other man, I know not when, or whether ever, I shall be in the humour to do it. You may, however, if you please,' continued she, 'hear what he has to say for himself, and what mighty matters against me, that can excuse the abrupt manner of his quitting me.'
'I know not as yet,' replied Mr. Francis, with some vehemence, 'whether I shall interfere any farther in the thing; and am heartily sorry I have given myself any trouble about it, since you so little consider your own interest, or will follow the advice of those who are at the pains to consider for you.'—'Come, come,' said the elder Mr. Thoughtless, 'you are both too fiery. I am confident my sister has too much good sense to suffer any little caprice to impede her real happiness; therefore, pr'ythee, Frank, let us drop this subject at present, and leave her to her own reflections.'
To which Miss Betsy answered, that there required but little reflection to instruct her what she ought to do; and that, though she could not consent to be kept always in leading-strings, the love and respect she had for her brothers would never permit her to do any thing without their approbation. There passed nothing more of consequence between them at this visit: but what had been said, served to engross pretty much the minds of each of them after they were separated.
Though Miss Betsy was very conscious of the merits of Mr. Trueworth, and equally convinced of the friendship her brother Francis had for him, and had, therefore, doubted not but, when that young gentleman should arrive, he would reason strongly with her on the little regard she had paid to his recommendations, or the advantages of the alliance he had proposed; yet she did not expect the satisfaction of their first meeting would have been embittered by a resentment such as, it seemed to her, he had testified on the occasion.
She easily perceived the two brothers had consulted together, before they come to her, in what manner they should behave towards her; and this she looked upon as a sort of proof, that they intended to assume an authority over her, to which they had no claim. 'The love I have for them,' said she to herself, 'will always make me take a pleasure in obliging them, and doing every thing they desire of me; but they are entirely mistaken, if they imagine it in their power to awe me into compliance with their injunctions.
'And yet,' cried she again, 'what other aim than my happiness and interest can they propose to themselves, in desiring to have me under their direction? Poor Frank has given me proofs that I am very dear to him; and, I believe, my brother Thoughtless is not wanting in natural affection for me: why, then, should I reject the counsel of two friends, whose sincerity there is not a possibility of suspecting? They know their sex, and the dangers to which ours are exposed, by the artifices of base designing men. I have had some escapes, which Iought always to remember enough to keep me from falling into the like ugly accidents again. How near was I to everlasting ruin, by slighting the warning given me by Mr. Trueworth!'
This reflection bringing into her mind many passages of her behaviour towards that gentleman, she could not forbear justifying his conduct, and condemning her own. 'I have certainly used him ill,' pursued she, with a sigh; 'and if he should return, and forgive what is past, I think I ought, in gratitude, to reward his love!'
She was in this contemplating mood when her servant told her that Mrs. Modely had been to wait upon her; but, on hearing her brothers were with her, went away, saying she would come again; which she now was, and begged to speak with her.
Miss Betsy was at this moment just beginning to feel some sort of pleasure in the idea of Mr. Trueworth's renewing his addresses, and was a little peevish at the interruption: she ordered, however, that the woman should come up. 'Well, Mrs. Modely,' said she, as soon as she saw her enter, 'what stuff have you brought me now?'
'Ah, charming Miss Betsy,' replied she, 'you fine ladies and great fortunes think you may do any thing with the men. Poor Sir Frederick will break his heart, or run mad, that's to be sure, if you don't send him a favourable answer to this letter.' In speaking these words, she delivered a letter to Miss Betsy; which that young lady opened with a careless air, and it contained these high-flown lines.
'This humbly to be presented to the most beautiful of all beauties, the super-excellent Miss Betsy Thoughtless.Adorable creature,I am grieved to the very soul to hear you have any subject for affliction; but am very certain that, in being deprived of your divine presence, I endure a more mortal stab than any loss you have sustained can possibly inflict. I am consumed with the fire of my passion; I have taken neither repose nor food since first I saw you. I have lived only on the idea of your charms. Oh, nourish me with the substance! Hide me in your bosom from the foul fiend Despair, that is just ready to lay hold on me!The passion I am possessed of for you is not like that of other men. I cannot wait the tedious forms of courtship: there is no medium between death and the enjoyment of you—the circle of your arms, or a cold leaden shroud—the one or the other must very shortly be my portion. But I depend upon the heaven of your mercy,and hope you will permit me to pour forth the abundance of my soul before you—to bask in the sunshine of your smiles; and to try, at least, if no spark of that amorous flame, which burns me up, has darted upon you, and kindled you into soft desires.O, if any part of my impatient fires, by secret sympathy, should happily have reached your breast, never was there a pair so transcendently blest as we should be! The thought is rapture! Extasy too big for words—too mighty for description! And I must, therefore, for a few hours, defer any farther endeavours to convince you; till when I remain, absorbed in the delightful image, dear quintessence of joy, your most devoted, most obsequious, and most adoring vassal,F. Fineer.'
'This humbly to be presented to the most beautiful of all beauties, the super-excellent Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Adorable creature,
I am grieved to the very soul to hear you have any subject for affliction; but am very certain that, in being deprived of your divine presence, I endure a more mortal stab than any loss you have sustained can possibly inflict. I am consumed with the fire of my passion; I have taken neither repose nor food since first I saw you. I have lived only on the idea of your charms. Oh, nourish me with the substance! Hide me in your bosom from the foul fiend Despair, that is just ready to lay hold on me!
The passion I am possessed of for you is not like that of other men. I cannot wait the tedious forms of courtship: there is no medium between death and the enjoyment of you—the circle of your arms, or a cold leaden shroud—the one or the other must very shortly be my portion. But I depend upon the heaven of your mercy,and hope you will permit me to pour forth the abundance of my soul before you—to bask in the sunshine of your smiles; and to try, at least, if no spark of that amorous flame, which burns me up, has darted upon you, and kindled you into soft desires.
O, if any part of my impatient fires, by secret sympathy, should happily have reached your breast, never was there a pair so transcendently blest as we should be! The thought is rapture! Extasy too big for words—too mighty for description! And I must, therefore, for a few hours, defer any farther endeavours to convince you; till when I remain, absorbed in the delightful image, dear quintessence of joy, your most devoted, most obsequious, and most adoring vassal,
F. Fineer.'
In spite of the serious humour Miss Betsy was in, she could not read this without bursting into a violent fit of laughter; but soon composing herself, 'If I had not seen the author of this epistle,' said she to Mrs. Modely, 'I should have thought it had been sent me by some school-boy, and was the first essay of describing a passion he had heard talked of, and was ambitious of being supposed capable of feeling. But, sure,' continued she, 'the man must be either mad, or most impudently vain, to write to me as if he imagined I was in love with him, and would have him on his first putting the question to me.'
'Ah, my dear Madam!' said Mrs. Modely, 'do you consider that a young gentleman of ten thousand a year in possession, as much more in reversion, and the expectation of a coronet, is not apt to think he may have any body?'—'If he does, he may find himself mistaken,' replied Miss Betsy haughtily; and then in the same breath softening her voice, 'But are you sure,' cried she, 'that he has so much?'—'Sure, Madam!' said Mrs. Modely, 'Aye, as sure that I am alive! I have heard it from twenty people. They say he has a house in the country as big as a town, and above fifty servants in it; though he is but just come to London, and has not had time to settle his equipage as yet: but he has bespoke the finest coach, and the genteelest chariot, you ever saw; all in a new taste, and perfectly French; they are quite finished, all but the painting, and that only waits till he knows whether he may quarter your arms or not.'
'Bless me!' cried Miss Betsy, 'does he think to gain me in the time of painting a coach?'—'Nay, I don't know,' answered Mrs. Modely; 'but I think such an offer is not to be trifled with. He is violently inlove with you, that is certain: he does not desire a penny of your fortune, and will settle upon you, notwithstanding, his whole estate, if you require it.'
Miss Betsy made no answer, but paused for a considerable time, and seemed, as it were, in a profound reverie. At last, coming out of it, 'He is for doing things in such a hurry,' said she; 'I have seen him no more than once, and scarce know what sort of a person he is: how, then, can I tell you whether I ever shall be able to bring myself to like him or not?'
'You may give him leave to wait on you, however,' cried the other. Here Miss Betsy was again silent for some moments; but Mrs. Modely repeating her request, and enforcing it with some arguments, 'Well, then,' replied she, 'I shall not go to church this afternoon, and will see him if he comes. But, dear Modely,' continued she, 'don't let him assume on the permission I give him: tell him you had all the difficulty in the world to prevail on me to do it; for, in my mind, he already hopes too much, and fears too little, for a man so prodigiously in love.' Mrs. Modely on this assured her, she might trust to her management; and took her leave, very well pleased with the success of her negociation.
We often see the love of grandeur prevail over persons of the ripest years and knowledge. What guilty lengths have not some men run to attain it, even among those who have been esteemed the wisest and most honest of their time; when once a title, a bit of ribband cross their shoulder, or any other gew-gaw trophy of the favour of a court, has been hung out, how has their virtue veered and yielded to the temptation? It is not, therefore, to be wondered at, that a young heart, unexperienced in the fallacy of shew, should be dazzled with the tinsel glitter: the good sense of Miss Betsy made her see, that this last triumph of her charms was a vain, silly, and affected coxcomb; but then this coxcomb had a vast estate, and the enchanting ideas of the figure she should make, if in possession of it, in some measure out-balanced the contempt she had of the owner's person and understanding.
The glare of pomp and equipage, the pleasure of having it in her power of taking the upper-hand of those of her own rank, and of vying with those of a more exalted one, it is certain had very potent charms for her, but then there was a delicacy in her nature, that would not suffer the desire of attaining it to be altogether predominant: the thoughts of being sacrificed to a man for whom itwas impossible for her to have either love or esteem; to be obliged to yield that, through duty, which inclinations shuddered at, struck a sudden damp to all the rising fires of pride and ambition in her soul, and convinced her, that greatness would be too dearly purchased at the expence of peace.
In fine, she considered on these things so long, that she grew weary of considering at all; so resolved to let the matter rest, give herself no farther pain, leave to chance the disposal of her fate, and treat all her lovers, as she hitherto had done, only as subjects of mere amusement.
She was now beginning to please herself with thoughts of how Mr. Munden, whom she expected that evening, would behave at the sight of his new rival, and how Sir Frederick Fineer would bear the preference of a man whom she was resolved to shew him had the same pretensions as himself: but though she happened to be disappointed in her expectation in this, she did not want other sufficient matter for her diversion.
Sir Frederick, to shew the impatience of his passion, came very soon after dinner: she received him with as grave an air as she could possibly put on; but it was not in her power, nor indeed would have been in any one else's, to continue it for any long time; his conversation was much of a piece with his letters, and his actions even more extravagant.
Never was such an Orlando Furioso in love: on his first approach, he had indeed the boldness to take one of her hands, and put it to his mouth; but, afterwards, whatever he said to her was on his knees. He threw himself prostrate on the carpet before her, grasped her feet, and tenderly kissed each shoe, with the same vehemence as he could have done her lips, and as much devotion as the pilgrims at Rome do the pantofle of his holiness!—'Darts!—Flames!—Immortal joys!—Death!—Despair!—Heaven!—Hell!—Ever-during woe!'—and all the epithets in the whole vocabulary of Cupid's legend, begun and ended every sentence of his discourse. This way of entertaining her was so extraordinary, and so new to her, that she could not forbear sometimes returning it with a smile; which, in spite of her endeavours to preserve a serious deportment, diffused a gaiety through all her air.
Those who had told Sir Frederick, that the way to please this lady, was to soothe her vanity, either knew not, or had forgot to inform him, she had also an equal share of good sense; so that, mistaking the change he had observed in her looks for an indication of her beingcharmed with his manner of behaviour, he acted and re-acted over all his fopperies, and felt as much secret pride in repeating them, as a celebrated singer on the stage does in obeying the voice of an encore.
It is probable, however, that he would have continued in them long enough to have tired Miss Betsy so much as to have made her give him some demonstrative remark that the pleasantry he had seen her in, proceeded rather from derision than satisfaction, if, divine service being ended, some ladies, as they came from church, had not called to visit her. The sound of company coming up stairs, obliged him to break off in the middle of a rhapsody, which he, doubtless, thought very fine; and he took his leave somewhat hastily, telling her, the passion with which he was inflamed, was too fierce to be restrained within those bounds which she might expect before witnesses, and that he would wait on her the next day, when he hoped she would be at more liberty to receive his vows.