LETTER XXXIX.
Mrs.HolmestoMyra.
Belleview.
I READILY undertake to give you a sketch of the history ofHarriot. Her mother’s name wasMaria Fawcet; her person I yet recollect, and forgive me if I drop a tear of pity at the recital of her misfortunes.
MY mother and Mrs.Holmeswere remarkable friends, and the intimacy, you know, was maintained between the two families. I was on a visit with my mother when the destiny ofMarialed her toBelleview. I was frequentlythere during her illness—and was with her in her last moments.
IT was the custom of Mrs.Holmesto walk in the garden towards the close of the day. She was once indulging her usual walk, when she was alarmed by the complaints of a woman which came from the road. Pity and humanity were ever peculiar characteristicks of my amiable parent—She hastened to the place whence the sound issued, and beheld a young woman, bathed in tears sitting on the ground. She inquired the cause of her distress, with that eager solicitude to relieve, which a sight so uncommon would naturally occasion. It was sometime before the distressed woman could return an intelligible answer, and then she with difficulty proceeded: “Your goodness, Madam, is unmerited—you behold a stranger, without home—without friends—and whose misery bearsher down to an untimely grave—Life is a blessing—but my life is become burthensome, and were the Almighty this moment to command me to the world of spirits, methinks I could gladly obey the summons, and rejoice in the stroke which bade me depart from sorrow and the world.” Moderate your grief, my dear woman, repine not at the will of Providence, nor suffer yourself to despair, however severe your misfortunes.
THE unfortunate woman was at length prevailed on to accompany Mrs.Holmesinto the house, she partook of some refreshment and retired to sleep. In a few days she appeared to be better; but it was a temporary recovery; she then told her story, with frequent interruptions, in substance as follows:—
History of Maria.
“I DATE the rise of my misfortunes,” saidMaria, “at the beginning of my acquaintance with the Honourable Mr.Harrington.—But for his solicitations I might still have lived in peace—a sister would not have had occasion to blush at the sound of my name—nor had a mother’s pillow been steeped in tears, too fondly prone to remember a graceless but repenting child—We lived happily together in the days of my father, but when it pleased Providence to remove him, we no longer asserted our pretensions to that rank of life which our straitened finances were unable to continue.—A young woman in no eligible circumstances, has much to apprehend from the solicitations of a man of affluence. I am now better persuaded ofthis truth, than I ever was before—for this was my unhappy situation—I always entertained a predilection for Mr.Harrington—he urged his passion with protestations of sincerity and affection—he found my heart too slightly guarded—he strove—he triumphed.
“——MUST I proceed!
“A SMILING female was the offspring of our illicit connexion—Ah! my littleHarriot!” continuedMaria, as she wiped away a tear from her eye, “mayest thou enjoy that happiness which is denied to thy mother.”
“OUR amour was not fated to last long—I discovered his gay temper to be materially altered—he was oftentimes thoughtful and melancholy, and his visits became suddenly shorter, and less frequent.
“I AFTERWARDS thought this change of conduct owing to jealousy—for he once asked me if a gentleman had called upon me—I persisted—I persisted in avowing my abhorrence of his ungenerous suspicion—He left me abruptly, and I saw nothing of him after.
“A STROKE so unexpected fell heavy on my heart—it awakened me to the state of misery into which my imprudence had hurried me.—What recompense could I expect from my Seducer?—He had been married two years—From the inflexibility of his temper I had little to hope, and I formed a determination of leaving town, for I had now indubitable testimony of his affection being estranged from me—half frantick, I immediately set out—but whither I knew not—I walked with precipitation until Providence directed me to your hospitable door: Toyour goodness, Madam, I am indebted for prolonging my existence afewdays: For amidst the kindness and civilities of those around me, I feel myself rapidly verging towards the grave. I prepare myself for my approaching fate—and daily wait the stroke of death with trembling expectation.”
SHE wrote to Mr.Harringtonabout a week before her decease—I transcribe the Letter:—
“The Hon. Mr. Harrington.
“The Hon. Mr. Harrington.
“The Hon. Mr. Harrington.
“The Hon. Mr. Harrington.
“To the man for whom my bleeding heart yet retains its wonted affection, though the author of my guilt and misery, do I address my feeble complaint—O!Harrington, I am verging to a long eternity—and it is with difficulty I support myself while my trembling hand traces the dictates of myheart. Indisposed as I am—and unable as I feel to prosecute this talk—I however collect all my powers to bid you a long—a final farewel.
“OH!Harrington, I am about to depart—for why should I tarry here? In bitter tears of sorrow do I weep away the night, and the returning day but augments the anguish of my heart, by recalling to view the sad sight of my misfortunes. And have I not cause for this severe anguish, at once sorrow and disgrace of my family?—Alas! my poor mother!—Death shall expiate the crime of thy daughter, nor longer raise the blush of indignation on thy glowing cheek.—Ought I not, therefore, to welcome the hand of death?
“But what will become of my poor helpless infant, when its mother lies forgotten in thegrave? Wilt thou direct its feet in the path of virtue and rectitude? Wilt thou shelter it from the rude blasts of penury and want?—Open your heart to the solicitude of a mother—of a mother agonizing for the future welfare of her child. Let me intreat you to perform this request—by the love which you professed for thyMaria—by her life which you have sacrificed.
“AND wilt thou not drop a tear of pity in the grave of thyMaria?—I know thy soul is the soul of sensibility; but my departure shall not grieve thee—no, myHarrington, it shall not wrest a sigh from thy bosom—rather let me live, and defy the malice and misery of the world—But can tenderness—can love atone for the sacrifices I have made?—Will it blot out my errours from the book of memory? Will love be an excuse for my crime, or hide me from the eye of the malignant—No,myHarrington, it will not. The passion is unwarrantable. Be it thine, gentleAmelia—be it thine to check the obtruding sigh, and wipe away the tear from his face—for thou art his wife, and thy soul is the seat of compassion—But—for me—
“Farewel—farewel forever!MARIA.”
“Farewel—farewel forever!MARIA.”
“Farewel—farewel forever!MARIA.”
“Farewel—farewel forever!
MARIA.”
SHE survived but a short time—and frequently expressed a concern for the child—but Mrs.Holmesquieted her fears by promising to protect it. She accordingly made inquiry after it—and it is the sameHarriotwho was educated by her order, and whom she afterwards placed in the family of Mrs.Francis.
The assurances of my mother were likebalm to the broken heartedMaria—“I shall now,” said she, “die in peace.”
THE following is a copy of a letter written by the Rev. Mr.Holmesto the Hon. Mr.Harrington:—
Belleview.
“SIR,
“WE have a scene of distress at our house peculiarly pathetick and affecting, and of which you, perhaps, are the sole author—You have had a criminal connexion with MissFawcet—you have turned her upon the world inhumanly—but chance—rather let me say Providence, hath directed her footsteps to my dwelling, where she is kindly entertained, and will be so, as long as she remains in this wilderness world, which is to be, I fear, but a short time—And shallshe not, though she hath been decoyed from the road that leadeth to peace, long life, and happiness—shall she not, if she return with tears of repentance and contrition, be entitled to our love and charity? Yes—this is my doctrine—If I behold any child of human nature distressed and forlorn, and in real want of the necessities of life, must I restrain or withhold the hand of charity—must I cease to recall the departing spirit of them that are ready to perish, until I make diligent inquiry into their circumstances and character? Surely, my friend, it is a duty incumbent on us by the ties of humanity and fellow-feeling, and by the duty imposed on us by our holy religion, equally to extend the hand of relief toall the necessitous—however they may be circumstanced in the great family of mankind.
“THE crime ofMariais not the blackest in the annals of human turpitude; but howeverguilty she might have been, the tears of penitence do certainly make atonement therefor.
“THUS much have I thought proper to say in vindication of my conduct—in sheltering under my roof a poor wanderer—who hath strayed, but not wantonly, and who hath now happily returned.
“ONE would imagine, there was little necessity of making such a vindication to you; but my sentiments always flow from the abundance of my heart, and I am willing the whole world should judge of those which influence my conduct.—Now, though some men, whose charity is contracted, and who may be denominatedprudes in virtue, might deem wrongfully of my attention to the calamity of this frail woman yet let me appeal to the hearts and understandings of all men,and these in particular, if I have erred, whether it be not an errour on the side of humanity. Would to God such amiable errours were more frequent!—In as much, my friend, as there is joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, I may say with assurance that I have felt an emanation of this heavenly joy animate my heart, in beholding this woman delighting to steer her course heavenward.
“FROM the unhappy condition ofMaria, I have been led to reflect on the mischievous tendency of SEDUCTION. Methinks I view the distressing picture in all its horrid colours:—
“BEHOLD the youthful virgin arrayed in all the delightful charms of vivacity, modesty and sprightliness.—Behold even while she is rising in beauty and dignity, like a lily of thevalley, in the full blossom of her graces, she is cut off suddenly by the rude hand of the Seducer. Unacquainted with his baseness and treachery, and too ready to repose confidence in him—she is deluded by the promises and flattery of the man who professes the greatest love and tenderness for her welfare:—
“BUT did she understand the secret villainy of his intentions—would she appear thus elate and joyous? Would she assent to her ruin? Would she subscribe her name to the catalogue of infamy? Would she kiss the hand of the atrocious dastard, already raised to give the final wound to her reputation and peace?
“O! WHY is there not an adequate punishment for this crime, when that of a commontraitor is marked with its deserved iniquity and abhorrence!
“IS it necessary to depicture the state of this deluded young creature after her fall from virtue? Stung with remorse, and frantick with despair, does she not fly from the face of day, and secrete her conscious head in the bosom of eternal forgetfulness? Melancholy and guilt transfix her heart, and she sighs out her miserable existence—the prey of poverty, ignominy and reproach! Lost to the world, to her friends, and to herself, she blesses the approach of death in whatever shape he may appear, and terminates a life, no longer a blessing to its possessor, or a joy to those around her.
“BEHOLD her stretched upon the mournful bier!—Behold her silently descend to the grave! Soon the wild weeds spring afreshround thelittle hillock, as if to shelter the remains of betrayed innocence—and the friends of her youth shun even the spot which conceals her relicks.
“SUCH is the consequence of SEDUCTION, but it is not the only consequence. Peace and happiness fly from the nuptial couch which is unattended by love and fidelity. The mind no longer enjoys its quiet, while it ceases to cherish sentiments of truth and gratitude. The sacredtiesof connubial duty are not to be violated with impunity; for though a violation of thosetiesmay be overlooked by the eye of justice, the heart shall supply amonitor, who will not fail to correct those who are hardy enough to burst them asunder.——I am &c.
“W. Holmes.”
“W. Holmes.”
“W. Holmes.”
“W. Holmes.”
TO this Letter, Mr.Harringtonreturned the following answer.
Hon. Mr.Harringtonto theRev. Mr.Holmes.
Hon. Mr.Harringtonto theRev. Mr.Holmes.
Hon. Mr.Harringtonto theRev. Mr.Holmes.
“PERMIT me, my ever honoured friend, to return you thanks for your late favours—need I add—an acknowledgement for your liberality? No—your heart supplies a source of pleasure which is constantly nourished by your goodness and universal charity.—
“THE picture you have exhibited of a ruined female is undoubtedly just, but that therude spoilerhas his share of remorse is equally so—The conclusion of your letter is a real picture of the situation of my heart.
“PERHAPS you were always ignorant of the real motives that influenced me, and gavea particular bias to my conduct.—At an early period of my life, I adopted a maxim, thatthe most necessary learning was a knowledge of the world, the pursuit of which, quadrating with a volatility of disposition, presented a variety of scenes to my heated imagination. Theéclatof my companions gratifying my vanity and increasing the gale of passion, I became insensibly hurried down the stream of dissipation. Here I saw mankind in every point of view—from the acme of the most consummate refinement, to the most abject stage of degradation. I soon became a ready proficient in the great school of the world—but an alteration of conduct was soon after necessary—I was compelled to it, not so much from the world’s abhorrence of a dissolute course of life, as the dictates of my own heart.—It was, indeed, my policy to flatter the world, and exhibit a fair outside—for I was in love withAmelia—My licentiousamour withMariawas secret—she was affectionate and tender—her manners were pleasing, but still I was unhappy.—
“MY CAREER of dissipation, however alluring it struck my vitiated fancy, left little satisfaction on the mind—Reflection had its turn—and the happiness I had promised myself in connexion with the amiableAmelia, I fully enjoyed in our marriage. A course of uninterrupted tranquillity ensued, but it was of short duration. The volatility of my temper, and the solicitude of my old associates, induced me at subsequent periods to fall into my old vagaries. The taverns frequently found me engaged in meannesses derogatory to the character of a gentleman. These things I perceived affected the soul ofAmelia—she was all meekness, gentleness and compassion, and she never once upbraided me with my illiberal conduct;
But let concealment, like a worm in bud,Feed on her damask cheek.
But let concealment, like a worm in bud,Feed on her damask cheek.
But let concealment, like a worm in bud,Feed on her damask cheek.
But let concealment, like a worm in bud,
Feed on her damask cheek.
“BLESSED be that Power who has implanted within us that consciousness of reproach, which springs from gentleness and love!—Hail sensibility! Ye eloquenttearsofbeauty! that add dignity to human nature by correcting its foibles—it wasthesethat corrected my faults when recrimination would have failed of success—it wasthesethat opened every avenue of contrition in my heart, whenwordswould have damned up every sluice of repentance.
“IT was now I appeared fully sensible that my conduct had hitherto been a course of disorder, and that systems of reformation, however well planned, had been overturned by the breath of adulation, before they had been thoroughly carried into execution—that I had been drifting upon a sea of inconsistency,without exercising my judgement; like a ship without a rudder, buffeted on the bosom of the ocean, the sport of winds and waves.
“THE criminality of my connexion withMariaappeared with the most aggravated circumstances; it stung me with remorse—and I instantly determined, however severe the conflict, to tear her from my bosom—to see her no more.—But how was I to inform her of it?—In what manner was I to bring about such a talk?—Mariamust be sacrificed to the happiness ofAmelia. This was all I had to perform—it was a short lesson, but it was a hard one for me to execute.
“WITH this determination, however, I entered the apartment ofMaria—Duty toAmeliaand gratitude toMariainterchangeably agitated me—the contention was dubious—butduty prevailed, and I adhered to my former resolution—yet how was I to tell herthis would be the last visit?—Conscious she had ever acted in conformity to my wishes—how could I accuse her, without accusing myself?—I threw out a few inconsiderate and ungrateful hints of jealousy, and left the room abruptly. The feelings ofMariamust have been injured—but however her sensibility was affected, mine was doubly so; I felt for her—I felt for our infant, and these feelings were added to the afflictions which had already burst upon my devoted head. A few days consideration, however, convinced me of the impropriety and ingratitude of my behaviour toMaria—I hastened to tell her of it—to place her in a situation that should screen her from penury and malice—and to make provision for the child—but she was not to be found. I was informed that she had suddenly disappeared,and that a countryman had, by her order, called and taken away the child but a few hours before. This information burst upon my head like the voice of sudden thunder—I stood motionless, but my agitation was too violent to be of any long duration.—
“A natural tear I shed but wip’d it soon.”
“A natural tear I shed but wip’d it soon.”
“A natural tear I shed but wip’d it soon.”
“A natural tear I shed but wip’d it soon.”
“IT was your goodness, and the humanity of your family, that sheltered the wretchedMaria, and provided for the helplessHarriot—Your feelings are your reward.
“FROM all the variegated scenes of my past life, I daily learn some new lesson of humanity. Experience hath been my tutor—I now take a retrospect of my past conduct with deliberation, but not without some serious reflection. Like a sailor, escaped from shipwreck, who sits safely on the shore and views the horrours of the tempest; but asthe gale subsides, and the waves hide their heads in the bosom of the deep, he beholds with greater concern the mischief of the storm, and the dangers he hath escaped. From what innate principle does this arise, but fromGod within the mind!—I assert it for the honour of human nature, that no man, however dissolute, but comes back to the hour of reflection and solemn thoughtfulness—when the actions that are passed return upon the mind, and thisinternal monitorsits in judgment upon them, and gives her verdict of approbation or dislike.
“HE who listens to its call, views his character in its proper light.—I have attended to its cry, and I see my deformity—I recall my misspent time, but in vain—I reflect on the misery ofMaria, and I curse my temerity—I reflect on the state into which I have plunged a once happy female, and am eagerto apply a speedy remedy, but this is vain also: Can I restore her that virtue—that innocence—that peace, of which I have unmanfully robbed her?—Let us leave the melancholy subject.—
“I WILL not so far supercede the fruit of your benevolence, as to presume to offer you any other recompense, than my sincere prayers for your happiness.
“I have the honour to be,“With respect,“Yours &c.“J. Harrington.”
“I have the honour to be,“With respect,“Yours &c.“J. Harrington.”
“I have the honour to be,“With respect,“Yours &c.“J. Harrington.”
“I have the honour to be,
“With respect,
“Yours &c.
“J. Harrington.”
THE disorder ofMariawas fatal and rapid—but I hasten to the last scene of her life—it has, though I was young, made an impression on my mind that time can not efface. I went to her, as she was seated onthe bed—virtue and harmony were blended in her aspect—she was serene and composed—and her mein, while it expressed a consciousness of superior worth and dignity, exhibited in our view, a striking picture of the grandeur of the human soul—patient though afflicted—of a spirit broken, and borne down by severe distress, yet striving to surmount all, and aspire to heaven. In what words shall I paint to you, my dearMyra, her heroism and greatness of mind? “Weep not for me,” said she, perceiving my emotion—“Death has nothing shocking to me—I have familiarized myself to his terrours—I feel the gradual decay of mortality; and waiting with confidence in the Father of Mercy, I am prepared to resign this mortal breath—I resign it in firm assurance of the soul’s blessed immortality—Death I view as freeing me from a world which has lost its relish—as opening new scenes of happiness—But a few moments,”continued she, clasping my hand, “and the scene of life is closed forever—Heaven opens on my soul—I go where all tears shall be wiped away—I welcome death as the angel of peace.”—She uttered these words with a placid smile of resignation—her head sunk down on the pillow—and the next minute she was an angel.
“SOUL of the universe!” exclaimed my father-in-law—“there flew the gentlest spirit that ever animated human dust—Great were thy temptations—sincere thy repentance. If some human infirmity fell to thy lot, thy tears, dear shade, have washed out thy guilt forever!”