ANNA ST. IVES THOMAS HOLCROFT 1792 CONTENTS Volume IVolume IIVolume IIIVolume IVVolume VVolume VIVOLUME VII Explanatory Notes ANNA ST. IVES _A NOVEL_ VOLUME I LETTER I _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ Here are we, my dear girl, in the very height of preparation. We beginour journey southward at five tomorrow morning. We shall make a shortstay in London, and then proceed to Paris. Expectation is on tiptoe: mybusy fancy has pictured to itself Calais, Montreuil, Abbeville, inshort every place which the book of post roads enumerates, and some ofwhich the divine Sterne has rendered so famous. I expect to findnothing but mirth, vivacity, fancy, and multitudes of people. I haveread so much of the populousness of France, the gaiety of itsinhabitants, the magnificence of its buildings, its fine climate, fertility, numerous cities, superb roads, rich plains, and teemingvineyards, that I already imagine myself journeying through anenchanted land. I have another pleasure in prospect. Pray have you heard that yourbrother is soon to be at Paris, on his return from Italy?--My fathersurprised me by informing me we should probably meet him in thatcapital. I suspect Sir Arthur of an implication which his words perhapswill not authorize; but he asked me, rather significantly, if I hadever heard you talk of your brother; and in less than five minuteswished to know whether I had any objections to marriage. My father is exceedingly busy with his head man, his plotter, hisplanner; giving directions concerning still further improvements thatare to be made, in his grounds and park, during our absence. You knowhis mania. Improvement is his disease. I have before hinted to you thatI do not like this factotum of his, this Abimelech Henley. The amiablequalities of his son more than compensate for the meanness of thefather; whom I have long suspected to be and am indeed convinced thathe is artful, selfish, and honest enough to seek his own profit, wereit at the expence of his employer's ruin. He is continually insinuatingnew plans to my father, whom he Sir Arthurs, and Honours, and Nobles, at every word, and then persuades him the hints and thoughts are allhis own. The illiterate fellow has a language peculiar to himself;energetic but half unintelligible; compounded of a few fine phrases, and an inundation of proverbial wisdom and uncouth cant terms. Of thescanty number of polite words, which he has endeavoured to catch, he isvery bountiful to Sir Arthur. 'That's noble! That's great your noblehonour! Well, by my truly, that's an _elegunt ideer_! But I always saidyour honour had more _nobler_ and _elegunter ideers_ than any othernoble gentleman, knight, lord, or dooke, in every thing of what yourhonour calls the grand gusto. ' Pshaw! It is ridiculous in me to imitatehis language; the cunning nonsense of which evaporates upon paper, butis highly characteristic when delivered with all its attendant bows andcringes; which, like the accompaniments to a concerto, enforce thecharacter of the composition, and give it full effect. I am in the very midst of bandboxes, portmanteaus, packing-cases, andtravelling trunks. I scarcely ever knew a mind so sluggish as not tofeel a certain degree of rapture, at the thoughts of travelling. Itshould seem as if the imagination frequently journeyed so fast as toenjoy a species of ecstasy, when there are any hopes of dragging thecumbrous body after its flights. I cannot banish the hints of Sir Arthur from my busy fancy. --I must notI ought not to practise disguise with any one, much less with myLouisa; and I cannot but own that his questions suggested a plan offuture happiness to my mind, which if realized would be delightful. Thebrother of my dear Louisa, the chosen friend of my heart, is to be atParis. I shall meet him there. He cannot but resemble his sister. Hecannot but be all generosity, love, expansion, mind, soul! I amdetermined to have a very sincere friendship for him; nay I am indanger of falling in love with him at first sight! Louisa knows what Imean by falling in love. Ah, my dear friend, if he be but half equal toyou, he is indeed a matchless youth! Our souls are too intimatelyrelated to need any nearer kindred; and yet, since marry I must, as youemphatically tell me it will some time be my duty to do, I could almostwish Sir Arthur's questions to have the meaning I suspect, and that itmight be to the brother of my friend. Do not call me romantic: if romance it be, it originates in the supremesatisfaction I have taken in contemplating the powers and beauties ofmy Louisa's mind. Our acquaintance has been but short, yet ourfriendship appears as if it had been eternal. Our hearts understandeach other, and speak a language which, alas, we both have found to beunintelligible to the generality of the world. Once more adieu. You shall hear from me again at London. Direct to meas usual in Grosvenor Street. Ever and ever your A. W. ST. IVES P. S. I am sorry to see poor Frank Henley look so dejected. He has manygood, nay I am well persuaded many great, qualities. Perhaps he isdisappointed at not being allowed to go with us; for which I know hepetitioned his father, but was refused; otherwise I could easily haveprevailed on Sir Arthur to have consented. I am determined to take King Pepin[1] with me. It is surely the mostintelligent of all animals; the unfeathered bipeds, as the French witscall us two-legged mortals, excepted. But no wonder it was my Louisa'sgift; and, kissing her lips, imbibed a part of her spirit. Were I toleave it behind me, cats, and other good for nothing creatures, wouldteach it again to be shy, and suspicious; and the present charmingexertion of its little faculties would decay. The development of mind, even in a bird, has something in it highly delightful. [Footnote 1: A goldfinch which the young lady had so named. ] Why, my Louisa, my friend, my sister, ah, why are not you with me? Whydo you not participate my pleasures, catch with me the rising ideas, and enjoy the raptures of novelty? But I will forbear. I have before invain exhausted all my rhetoric. You must not, will not quit alanguishing parent; and I am obliged to approve your determination, though I cannot but regret the consequence. LETTER II _Louisa Clifton to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_ _Rose Bank_ Health, joy, and novelty attend the steps of my ever dear and charmingAnna! May the whirling of your chariot wheels bring a succession ofthoughts as exhilarating as they are rapid! May gladness hail youthrough the day, and peace hush you to sleep at night! May the hillsand valleys smile upon you, as you roll over and beside them; and mayyou meet festivity and fulness of content at every step! I too have my regrets. My heart is one-half with you; nay my beloved, my generous mamma has endeavoured to persuade me to quit her, arguingthat the inconvenience to her would be more than compensated by thebenefit accruing to myself. The dear lady, I sincerely believe, lovesyou if possible better than she does me, and pleaded strenuously. Butdid she not know it was impossible she should prevail? She did. If mycares can prolong a life so precious but half an hour, is it not anage? Do not her virtues and her wisdom communicate themselves to allaround her? Are not her resignation, her fortitude, and hercheerfulness in pain, lessons which I might traverse kingdoms and notfind an opportunity like this of learning? And, affection out of thequestion, having such high duties to perform, must I fly from such anoccasion, afflicting though it be? No! Anna St. Ives herself must nottempt me to that. She is indeed too noble seriously to form such awish. Answer, is she not? Oh that I may be deceived, but I fear you expect too much from mybrother. Oh that he might be worthy of my Anna! Not for my own sake;for, as she truly says, we [That is our souls, for I know of no otherwe]. We cannot be more akin; but for his own. He is the son of mybeloved mother, and most devoutly do I wish he might be found deservingof her and you. He would then be more deserving than any man, at leastany young man, I have ever known. Though brother and sister, he and Imay be said to have but little acquaintance. He has always been eitherat school, or at college, or in town, or on his travels, or in someplace where I did not happen to be, except for short intervals. I havetold you that his person is not displeasing, that his temper appears tobe prompt and daring, but gay, and that his manners I doubt are of thatfree kind which our young gentlemen affect. To say the truth however, I have heard much in favour of Coke Clifton;but then it has generally been either from persons whose good word wasin my opinion no praise, or from others who evidently meant to be civilto me, or to the family, by speaking well of my brother. I believe himto have much pride, some ambition, a high sense of fashionable honour;that he spurns at threats, disdains reproof, and that he does not wantgenerosity, or those accomplishments which would make him pass with theworld for a man whose alliance would be desirable. But the husband ofmy Anna [you perceive I have caught your tone, and use the word husbandas familiarly as if there were any serious intention of such an event, and as if it were any thing more than the sportive effusion of fancy, or rather the momentary expansion of friendship] the husband of my Annaought to be more, infinitely more, than what the world understands bysuch phrases; if it can be said to understand anything. Forgive thejingle, but, to pair with her, he ought to be her peer. And yet if shewait till time shall send her such a one, and that one every way properfor her alliance, in her father's opinion as well as in her own, I amafraid her chance of marriage will be infinitely small. Were I but assured that Coke Clifton would be as kind and as worthy ahusband, to Anna St. Ives, as any other whom it were probable accidentshould ever throw in her way, I should then indeed seriously wish sucha thought might be something more than the transient flight of fancy. But enough. You are on the wing to the city where you and he willprobably meet. Examine him well; forget his sister; be true to yourselfand your own judgment, and I have no fear that you should be deceived. If he prove better even than a sister's hopes, he will find in me morethan a sister's love. I like Sir Arthur's favourite, Abimelech Henley, still less than youdo. My fears indeed are rather strong. When once a taste forimprovement [I mean building and gardening improvement] becomes apassion, gaming itself is scarcely more ruinous. I have no doubt thatSir Arthur's fortune has suffered, and is suffering severely; and thatwhile that miserly wretch, Abimelech, is destroying the fabric, he ispurloining and carrying off the best of the materials. I doubt whetherthere be an acre of land in the occupation of Sir Arthur, which has notcost ten times its intrinsic value to make it better. It is astonishinghow Sir Arthur can be [pardon the expression, my dear] such a dupe! Ihave before blamed, and must again blame you, for not exerting yourselfsufficiently to shew him his folly. It concerns the family, it concernsyourself, nearly. Who can tell how far off the moment is when it may betoo late? My mamma has just heard of a new mortgage, in procuring ofwhich the worthy Abimelech acted, or pretended to act, as agent: for Iassure you I suspect he was really the principal. During my last visit, if I do not mistake, I several times saw the pride of wealth betrayingitself; and only subdued by the superior thirst of gain. Poor Frank Henley! Is it not miraculous that such a father should havesuch a son? I am tempted to give utterance to a strange thought! Whyshould I not? What is the opinion of the world; what are itsprejudices, in the presence of truth? Yet not to respect them is toentail upon ourselves I know not what load of acrimony, contempt, andmisery! I must speak--I never yet met a youth whom I thought sodeserving of Anna St. Ives as Frank Henley! The obstacles you will sayare insurmountable. Alas! I fear they are. And therefore 'tis fortunatethat the same thought has not more strongly occurred to you. Perhaps mycaution would have been greater, but that I know your affections arefree; and yet I confess I wonder that they are so. If it be the effectof your reason, the praise you merit is infinite: and I hope andbelieve it is; for, notwithstanding all the tales I have heard andread, my mind is convinced of nothing more firmly than that the passionof love is as capable of being repressed, and conquered, as any otherpassion whatever: and you know we have both agreed that the passionsare all of them subject to reason, when reason is sufficientlydetermined to exert its power. I have written a long letter; but, writing to you, I never know when toend. Heaven bless my Anna St. Ives! LOUISA CLIFTON LETTER III _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ Oliver, I am wretched! The feeble Frank Henley is a poor miserablebeing! The sun shines, the birds warble, the flowers spring, the budsare bursting into bloom, all nature rejoices; yet to me this mirth, this universal joy, seems mockery--Why is this? Why do I suffer my mindthus to be pervaded by melancholy? Why am I thus steeped in gloom? She is going--Thursday morning is the time fixed--And what is that tome?--Madman that I am!--Who am I? Does she, can she, ought she to thinkof me?--And why not? Am I not a man; and is she more than mortal?--Sheis! She is!--Shew me the mortal who presumes to be her equal! But what do I wish? What would I have? Is it my intention or my desireto make her wretched? What! Sink her whom I adore in the estimation ofthe world; and render her the scoff of the foolish, the vain, and themalignant?--I!--I make her wretched!--I!-- Oliver, she treats me with indifference--cold, calm, killingindifference! Yet kind, heavenly kind even in her coldness! Hercheerful eye never turns from me, nor ever seeks me. To her I am astatue--Would I were! Why does she not hate me? Openly and absolutelyhate me!--And could I wish her to love? Do I love? Do I? Dare I? Have Ithe temerity so much as to suspect I love?--Who am I? The insignificantson of--! And who is she? The daughter of a Baronet--Pshaw! What is aBaronet?--Away with such insolent, such ridiculous distinctions. She isherself! Let Folly and Inferiority keep their distance! But I?--Low bred and vulgar let Pride and Error call me, but notvillain! I the seducer of men's daughters! Noble men and still noblerdaughters! I! Why, would I be so very vile a thing? Would I, if Icould? Yet who shall benumb the understanding, chain up the fancy, and freezesensation? Can I command myself deaf when she sings, dead when shespeaks, or rush into idiotism to avoid her enchantments? Despise me, Oliver, if thou wilt, but the deep sense I have of my ownfolly does but increase the distemper of my brain. She herself pitiesme, yet does not suspect my disease. 'Tis evident she does not; for hersoul is above artifice. She kindly asked--was I not well? I owned I wasnot quite so cheerful as I could wish to be; and [wouldst thou thinkit?] was presumptuous enough to hint that I thought the enlivening airof France might do me good. Thou seest how frantic I am! She answeredwith the utmost ease, and without the most distant suspicion of myselfish, my audacious motive, that she would speak to Sir Arthur. But Iwas obliged to request her to forbear, till I had first tried to gainmy father's consent, of which indeed I had but feeble hopes. Every way miserable, why am I obliged to think and speak of my fatherwith so little respect? Indeed he is--Well, well!--He is my father--Iam convinced he is become wealthy; nay indeed he gives me to understandas much, when he wishes to gain any purpose, by endeavouring to exciteavarice in me, which he hopes is, and perhaps supposes must be, mineand every man's ruling passion. Yet, no; he cannot: his complaints ofme for the want of it are too heartfelt, too bitter. He has kept me in ignorance, as much as was in his power. Reading, writing, and arithmetic is his grand system of education; after whichman has nothing more to learn, except to get and to hoard money. Had itnot been for the few books I bought and the many I borrowed, togetherwith the essential instruction which thy excellent father's learningand philanthropy enabled and induced him to give me, I should probablyhave been as illiterate as he could have wished. A son after his ownheart! One of his most frequent and most passionate reproaches is 'thetime I _waste_ in reading. ' I scarcely need tell thee he was almost in a rage, at my request toaccompany Sir Arthur to France; stating, as I did, that it ought to beand must be at his expence. Otherwise he cares but little where I go, being rather regarded by him as a spy on his actions than as his son. Thou canst not conceive the contempt with which he treats me, for mywant of cunning. He despises my sense of philanthropy, honour, and thatsevere probity to which no laws extend. He spurns at the possibilityof preferring the good of society to the good of self--But, once again, he is my father. Prithee lend me thy Petrarch, and send it in return by Thomas. I hadnothing to say, though I have written so much, except to ask for thisbook, and to burden thee with my complaints. Remember me kindly to thymost worthy father, and all the family. Thine, F. HENLEY LETTER IV _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Oh, Louisa! I have such a narrative! Such accidents! Such--! But youshall hear. We are arrived; and, thank God and good fortune, are all alive; which, every thing considered, is no small consolation. The chaise was at thedoor punctually at five on Thursday morning. Abimelech Henley had beenvery busy with Sir Arthur over night; and was in close conference withhim again previous to our departure. Frank too was there, as disconsolate and as attentive as ever; activeand watchful that every thing was as it should be. How the differencebetween soul and soul discovers itself in such scenes! I very much fearhis father treats him unkindly, and that he grieves more than he ought;nay more than a person of his youth, strong form, and still strongermind, could be supposed to grieve. I understand he very much lamentsthe loss of a college education, which the miser his father could verywell have bestowed upon him, had not his heart been as contracted asthe mouth of his purse. Mr. Trenchard, luckily for Frank, early discovered his genius, andgratuitously aided him in his studies. Frank reveres him as a more thanfather, and loves his son Oliver like a brother. He is but too sensiblethat a true father feeds the mind, and that he who only provides forthe body is no better than a step-father. I have some fear that thereis another cause for his dissatisfaction, and that he has cherishedsome silly thoughts of an impossible nature. If so, an effort must bemade which I hope will restore him to reason. And yet what right have Ito conclude that he reasons erroneously? Have I sufficiently examined?This is a question which has several times lately forced itself upon mymind. I am not insensible of his high worth: it opens upon me daily. What I am going to relate will picture that worth better than anypraise of mine. I will therefore continue my narrative. Every thing being adjusted, off we went; I, Laura, and Sir Arthur, inthe chaise, and one footman only with us, who was to ride before as ourcourier, and prepare horses. I told you of my intention to take King Pepin with me; but the morningof our departure was all hurry, and it seldom happens that something isnot forgotten, amid the tumult into which the passions seem to plungeas it were with delight, gratified with the confusion which themselvescreate. I must own I was vexed and offended with myself, when I foundthat the something overlooked on this occasion was the gift of myLouisa. Ingratitude with all its reproaches rose up to sting me; and Iimmediately resolved to punish myself, by informing my Louisa howunworthy I am of the gifts of such a friend. It was at the first stagewhere we changed horses that I made this discovery. One moment I wasinclined to petition Sir Arthur to stay, while a messenger should besent; but the next I determined that my fault should incur its duepains and penalties. Every thing was ready; but just as we had seated ourselves in thechaise, and were again proceeding on our journey, one of the servantsof the inn called to Sir Arthur to stop, for young Mr. Henley wascoming up full speed on the bay mare. Frank and the bay mare are bothfamous through the whole country. My father immediately prognosticatedsome bad accident, and I began to be alarmed. Our fears however weresoon dissipated, his only errand being to bring my charming favourite. I confess I was not a little moved by this mark of attention, whichindeed is but one among many, as well as by the peculiarity of theyouth's manner in delivering the bird. He was fearful, visibly fearful, that his desire to oblige should be thought officious. He attempted toapologize, but knew not what to say. I thanked him very sincerely, andin the kindest manner I could; and, seeing him booted, the thoughtinstantly struck me to request Sir Arthur's permission for him toaccompany us to London, which I imagined might give him pleasure. The request happened to coincide with some new project of alterationwhich Sir Arthur had conceived, and which, he said, after havingfurther digested, he could better communicate to Frank than describe onpaper. The mare is said to be one of the best travellers in thekingdom; and, as she was very capable of performing the journey, andthe carriage being rather heavily loaded, he accordingly kept pace withus. During the day we passed many delightful scenes, and enjoyed thecharming prospects which the rich cultivation of England, and the roadwe travelled, afford. Frank Henley was scarcely ever out of sight, though he was rather watchfully assiduous than communicative. Sir Arthur, for his part, did not forget to point out to us what acharming park such and such grounds might be turned into; howpicturesque a temple, or a church steeple, would look in this place;what a fine effect a sheet of water would have in that bottom; and hownobly a clump of trees would embellish the hill by which it wasoverlooked. I believe I am a sad wicked girl, Louisa! I was once strangely temptedto tell him I was much afraid his father had mistaken the trade towhich his genius was best adapted, when he made him a baronet insteadof a gardener. However I had the grace to bite my tongue and be silent. He might have had the retort courteous upon me, and have replied thatgardening was much the most honourable trade of the two. But he wouldnever have thought of that answer. Thus the day, as I tell you, passed pleasantly and whimsically enough. But the night! Oh!--The night!--You shall hear. It was the dusk of evening when we were at Maidenhead. We had thenthree stages to go, and Sir Arthur began to be alarmed by the rumoursof depredations which had lately been committed on the road. I reallydo not know what to say to it; but there appears to be something deeperin the doctrine of sympathies than such silly girls as I can eitheraccount for or comprehend. I endeavoured with all my might to opposethe sensation, and yet I found my father's fears were catching. FrankHenley indeed begged of me, with great energy, not to be alarmed; forthat he would die sooner than I should be insulted. Upon my honour, Louisa, he is a gallant youth!--You shall hear--But he is a brave, agallant youth. I cannot say but I wished I were a man; though I am convinced it wasa foolish wish, and that it is a great mistake to suppose courage hasany connexion with sex; if we except, as we ought, the influence ofeducation and habit. My dear mother had not the bodily strength of SirArthur; but, with respect to cool courage and active presence of mind, I must say, Louisa, there was no comparison. We set off, however, Frank having first provided himself with a hangerand a pair of pistols; and he now kept close to the chaise-door, without once quitting his station. I believe Sir Arthur was heartilyglad at being thus provided with a guard, as it were unexpectedly, andwithout any foresight of his own. For, not to mention gold watches andtrinkets, he had more money with him than he would have chosen to havelost, fright out of the question. We proceeded thus without molestation as far as Brentford; but notwithout receiving fresh hints that it was very possible we might bevisited; and then, though it began to be drawing toward midnight, SirArthur thought the danger chiefly over. As it happened he was mistaken. He was indeed, my dear! I assure you I could tremble now with thethoughts of it, but that my woman-hood forbids. I remember how valiantI have been in laughing at the pretty fears of pretty ladies, withtheir salts, hartshorn, fits, and burnt feathers. Beside, I would nothave my Louisa think too meanly of me. Yet I assure you it was aterrible night. We had just passed the broad part of Turnham Green, as Frank has sincetold me, and were near the end of a lane which strikes into theUxbridge road, when the postillion was stopped by one highwayman, whilealmost at the same instant another dashed his pistol through theside-glass into the chaise, full in Sir Arthur's face. Frank was on my side--Notwithstanding the length of the journey, heseemed to infuse his own ardour into the spirited animal on which herode, and was round instantaneously--It was really dreadful!--Thehighwayman saw, or rather heard him coming, for it was prodigiouslydark, and fired. Poor Frank was shot!--In the shoulder--But he says hedid not feel it at first--He returned the fire; and the highwaymanexclaimed, with a shocking oath, 'I am a dead man!' He rode awayhowever full speed; and his associate, who stood to guard the post-boy, rode after him. Frank imagines that, owing to the darkness of thenight, and his being so close under the chaise, they had not perceivedhim when they came to the attack. But here let me tell you, for I am sure I ought, our protector, ourhero is not dangerously wounded. He indeed makes very light of it; butI am persuaded he would do that if he had lost an arm. The moment thehighwaymen were gone, he rode round to me to intreat me not to bealarmed, for that all was safe. Imagine whether I did not thank him, and bless him; at least inejaculation. Imagine what I felt, after what I _had_ heard, at hearinghim talk to me, and at being convinced that he was actually alive. Ihad not the least suspicion of his being wounded, he spoke socheerfully; yet I naturally enquired if he were hurt. His answerwas--'No no--Not _hurt_'--But he spoke with an emphasis thatimmediately raised my apprehensions. I repeated my question--'Are yousure you are not hurt; not wounded?' He could not say no to that, andtherefore answered 'He believed he felt a slight contusion in theshoulder; but that he was convinced it was trifling. ' I was now seized with a fit of terror much greater, in effect, than myformer panic. I fervently intreated Sir Arthur to let the servant takethe bay mare, and ride for help! I begged, urgently, violently, forGod's sake, that he would take my place in the chaise! I would mountthe mare myself! I would do any thing! All the replies I could get werestill more vehement intercessions from Frank Henley, that I would notbe alarmed, assurances that there was not the least danger, the mostobstinate determination not to quit his post, and, notwithstanding thepain which he could not but feel, a persisting to reload the dischargedpistol, and then to proceed. I know not myself how my fears were so far pacified as to yield tothis, except that his energy seemed to overpower mine. Indeed Isuffered dreadfully the rest of the way. I knew the youth's generousspirit, and my imagination was haunted with the idea, that the bloodwas flowing every foot of the road, and that he would rather drop fromthe horse than be subdued. It is impossible, indeed it is, to tell youwhat I felt. At last we arrived in Grosvenor Street; and sure enough the poor fellowwas faint with the loss of blood. 'My God!'--said I to Sir Arthur, whenthe light was brought, and I saw him--'Send for a surgeon! GoodHeavens! Run! Somebody run for help!'--He still insisted he was butslightly hurt, and began to resume all his earnestness to quiet me. SirArthur did it more effectually by sending as I desired, and by tellingme that, if I continued to agitate by contending with him so much, Imight very possibly throw him into a fever, and make a wound, whichmost probably was not in itself dangerous, mortal. I said not another word, except seriously and solemnly requesting himto calm his mind, for his own sake, if not for mine; for that, afterbeing wounded in defence of me and my father, to die by my fault weredreadful indeed. He retired with more apparent satisfaction in hiscountenance than I think I ever saw before. I was resolved however not to go to bed, till I had received someaccount from the surgeon. He came, the wound was examined, and word wasimmediately sent me, by the express command of Frank, who had been toldI was sitting up for that purpose, that there was, as he had assuredme, no danger. The surgeon indeed thought proper to qualify it with no_great_ danger. It is an old remark that surgeons are not prone tospeak too lightly of the miracles they perform. This short syllable, great, did not fail however to disturb me very considerably. I waitedtill the ball was extracted, and [Would you believe it?] brought us;for I insisted upon seeing it. Sir Arthur called me a mad girl, addingthere was no ruling me. I persisted in questioning and cross-examiningthe surgeon, till I was convinced that, as he said, there was no_great_ danger; and I then retired to rest: that is, I retired to thesame swimming motion which the chaise had communicated to my nerves, ormy brain, or I know not what, and to dreaming of swords, pistols, murdered men, and all the horrid ramblings of the fancy under suchimpressions. To convince me how trifling the hurt was, the gallant Frank insistedthe next day on coming down to dinner; though he was allowed to eatnothing but chicken broth, and a light pudding. I never saw him solively. His only present danger of death, he said, was by famine; andcomplained jocularly of the hardship of fasting after a long journey. Icould almost have persuaded him to eat, for indeed he is a brave, anoble youth. I know I never need apologize to my Louisa for the length of myletters. How can we enjoy equal pleasure to that of thus conversing indespite of distance, and though separated by seas and mountains? Indeedit is a kind of privation to end; but end I must--therefore--Adieu. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER V _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ You did not expect, dear Oliver, to receive a letter from me dated atthis distance. By the luckiest accident in the world, I have beenallowed to accompany her thus far, have ridden all day with my eyefixed upon her, and at night have had the ecstatic pleasure to defend, to fight for her! Perhaps have saved her life! Have been wounded forher!--Would I had been killed! Was there ever so foolish, so wrong, soromantic a wish? And yet it has rushed involuntarily upon me fiftytimes. To die for her seems to be a bliss which mortal man cannotmerit! Truth, severe truth, perhaps, will not justify these effusions. I will, I do, endeavour to resist them. --Indeed I am ashamed ofmyself, for I find I am very feeble. Yet let not thy fears be tooviolent for thy friend: he will not lightly desert his duty. Let me tell thee, before I proceed, that my wound is slight. --We werestopped by a couple of highwaymen. Thou never wert a witness of suchangelic sensibility as the divine creature discovered, when she found Ihad received some hurt. She alarmed me beyond description, by theexcess of her feelings. Oh! She has a soul alive to all the throbs ofhumanity! It shoots and shivers in every vein!--Then too when wearrived, when candles were brought [I had bled somewhat freely, and Isuppose looked rather pale] thou hast no conception of, it isimpossible to conceive the energy with which she insisted on sendingfor the best and most immediate help. We had another battle of sensibility; for I assure thee I was almost asmuch [Did I not know her I should say more. ] alarmed for her as shecould be for me. Yet do not imagine I am fool enough to flatter myself with any falsehopes. No: it was humanity; it was too deep a sense of a slight benefitreceived; it was totally distinct from love. --Oh no! Love, added tosuch strong, such acute sensations, surely, Oliver, it would haveshrieked, would have fainted, would have died!--Her fears and feelingswere powerful I grant, but they were all social, and would have beenequally awakened for any creature whom she had known, and had equalcause to esteem. And she esteems all who have but the smallest claimsto such respect; even me!--Did I tell thee it was she who petitionedSir Arthur to lay his commands on me to attend them to London, knowingI wished it; and that this was in return for the trifling favour I haddone her, in galloping after her with her favourite bird? Oh! She isall benignity! All grace! All angel! Never did I feel such raptures as since I have received this fortunate, this happy wound!--Yet why?--Is not her heart exactly what it was? Itis. I should be an idiot not to perceive it is. Strange contradiction!Hopeless yet happy!--But it is a felicity of short duration. Would it were possible for me to accompany her to France! My restlessforeboding imagination has persuaded me she will be in danger themoment she is from under my protection. Vain fool! Who, what amI?--Because a couple of dastardly highwaymen have galloped away at thefirst report of a pistol, my inflated fancy has been busy in persuadingme that I am her hero! Yet I wish I might go with her! Tell me, Oliver, wouldst not thou wishso too? Would not all the world wish the same? Didst thou ever in thylife behold her without feelings unusual, throbs, doubts, desires, andfears; wild, incoherent, yet deriving ecstasy from that divinity whichirradiates her form and beams on every object around her?--Do!--Thinkme a poor, raving, lovesick blockhead! And yet it is true! All I havesaid of her, and infinitely more, is true! Thou nor the world cannotdisprove it! Would I might go with her! I have seen the fellow with whom I had the rencounter. His wound ismuch more severe than mine. Sir Arthur sent information to the officein Bow Street. Wouldst thou think a highwayman could be so foolish acoxcomb as to rob in a bright scarlet coat, and to ride a light greyhorse? The bloodhunters [I am sorry that our absurd, our iniquitouslaws oblige me to call them so] the bloodhunters soon discovered thewounded man. Forty pounds afforded a sufficient impulse. They werealmost ready to quarrel with me, because I did not choose to swear asheartily as they thought proper to prompt. Thou knowest how I abhor thetaking away the life of man, instead of seeking his reformation. After persisting that it was impossible for me to identify the personof the highwayman, as indeed it really was, and luckily prevailing onSir Arthur to do the same [though he, like most folks who have anything to lose, was convinced it would be an excellent thing if allrogues could be instantly hanged, like dogs, out of the way] I paid thepoor wretch a visit, privately, and gave him such a lecture as, Ishould hope, he would not easily forget. It was not all censure:soothing, reasoning, and menace were mingled. My greatest effort was toconvince him of the folly of such crimes; he had received some proof ofthe danger. He was in great pain, and did not think his life quitesecure. He promised reformation with all the apparent fervour ofsincerity, prayed for me, blessed me very heartily, and praised me formy bravery. He says the Bow Street runners will leave nothingunattempted to secure the reward, and take away his life. I havetherefore engaged to hire a lodging, and bring a hackney coach for himmyself, at seven in the morning, the hour least likely for him to bewatched or traced. I believe I was more earnest to prevent harmhappening to him than he himself was; for, having met a man upon thestairs, whose physiognomy, dress and appearance led me to suspect him, I questioned my penitent, who owned it was his accomplice; a determinedfellow, according to his account; an Irish gambler, whose daringcharacter led him, after a run of ill luck, to this desperate resource. It was with some difficulty I could persuade him the fellow mightbetray him, and join the Bow Street people. The gambler, as he says, expects a supply, and has promised him money. But he has consented toleave his lodging; and I think I have convinced him of the folly, danger, and guilt of such connections. I found he was poor, and, except a few shillings, left him the trifleof money which I had; endeavouring by every means to restore a lostwretch to virtue and society. The fellow was not flint. The tearsgushed into his eyes, and I own I came away with hopes that my effortshad not been wholly ineffectual. I have written by the first post, that you mayst know what is become ofme. Farewell. F. HENLEY LETTER VI _Louisa Clifton to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_ _Rose Bank_ I have only time for a single line, but I cannot forbear to tell youhow great the emotions have been which I felt, my dear Anna, at readingyour last. Ten thousand thanks for your history; for so it may well becalled. You have quite filled my mind with the pictures, incidents, andadventures of your journey. --Then your deliverer!--Such courage!--Suchfortitude!--Such--! I must not finish my sentence. I must not tell you all I thinkconcerning him. There were two or three passages in your letter whichraised doubts in my mind; but of these I was soon cured by recollectinga sentence at the beginning--'An effort must be made which will restorehim to reason. Yet the question must be examined. '--Certainly--Youcould not be Anna St. Ives, and act or feel otherwise. But I absolutely adore this youth, this Frank Henley! The boy is waiting; he will be too late for the post. Be that my excusefor the briefness of this; but do not fail, my dear dear Anna, to writefully every thing that passes. Your last has both warmed my feelings, nay in some measure my fears, and excited my curiosity. Yours eternally, L. CLIFTON P. S. I will write more at length tomorrow. LETTER VII _Abimelech Henley to Sir Arthur St. Ives, Baronet_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ Most onnurable Sir, my ever onnurd Master, The instructions[1] you wus pleased to give me have bin kept in mind. Your onnur's commands is my duties; your precepts is my laws. For why?Your noble onnur knows how to command, and I knows how to obey. [Footnote 1: The editor has sometimes found it very difficult totranslate the letters of this correspondent, out of bad spelling intoEnglish. Had they been left as they were written, they would have beenhalf unintelligible. The editor however has used his own judgment, insuffering various words to retain their primitive dress; the better topreserve what would otherwise have been too much unlike its author, hadthe orthography been rendered perfect. It would have been assassinationto have omitted any of the dialectic or cant terms, in which thishonest Abimelech takes so much delight: for which reason they have beencarefully retained. ] The willow dell is fillin up; all hands is at work. I keeps 'em to it. The sloap of the grande kinal will be finisht and turft over in 3wekes; and I have chosen the younk plants for the vardunt hall: nicewons they be too, your onnur! But I have a bin ponderaitin on all these thinks, and sooth an troothto say, your onnur, I doubt as how the bitt [I mean the kole, youronnur] witch your noble onnur has a bin pleesd to stipilate and lay byfor these here improvements [And glorious improvements they will be, let me tell your onnur. I think I knows a sumthink of the matter; thosto be sure I must a say as how I am no more nur a chit, a kintlin, toyour onnur, in matters of taste and the grande goosto, and all a thatthere; but I'll give your onnur my two ears if there be any think atall komparissuble or parallel to it in all England. ] But as I wus asayin to your noble onnur--I am afeard we shall want cash; and I am asure that would be a ten m of pitties. Especially if your onnur thinksany think more of the vister, with another church steepil inprospekshun. And to be sure it was a noble thoft; I must say it wouldbe a sin and a shame to let sitch an elegunt ideer a slip through yourfingurs. And then, pardn me your onnur, but for what, and for why, andfor wherefore? Besides all witch, your onnur wus a menshinnin a willdurness, and ahermmutidge, and a grotto; all witch as your onnur said would concealthe dead flat anenst the 3 old okes. And would your onnur think ofstoppin short, after havin a done all that your onnur has a done, tobring Wenbourne Hill into vogue an reppitaishun, and make it the talkof the hole kuntree? Nay, for the matter of that, it is a that already;that I must say. But then, as your onnur says, in answer, nothink isdone till every think is done. And so I have paradventerd umbelly to speak my foolish thofts, on thishere business. For why? I knows a what your onnur will say. Your onnurwill tell me, when your onnur comes back. Ay, honest Aby, I wish theshiners' that I a spent and a bamboozild in that there France had a binstrewed over these here grounds. For, over and above of what I a bin amenshinnin to your onnur, there is the tempel beside a the newplantation, of a witch your onnur has so long a bin talkin of a buildinof. And then there is the extenshun and ogmenshun of the new ruins. Sothat all together, I must say that if simple honest Aby mightparadventer to put in my oar to so generous and so noble a gentleman, and moreover won of his majesty's baronets, why I would keep the moneynow I had a got it; since, as your onnur finds, money is not so easy tobe a come at. Pray your onnur, I beesiege your onnur don't forget that;money is not so easy to be a come at. And so I most umbelly rimmane, with the blessin of almighty mercifoolpraise, your onnur's most umbel and most obedient, very faithfool andvery thankfool, kind sarvent to command, ABIMELECH HENLEY P. S. I pray your onnur to think of the vister, and the willdurness, andthe hermmutidge; I pray your onnur doo ee; not forrgettin the tempel. Think of the money your most dear gracious noble onnur; and think towhat vantidge I could a lay it out for your onnur; that is, take meritely your most exceptionable onnur, a savin and a sayin under yourwise onnur's purtection, and currection, and every think of that thereumbel and very submissive obedient kind. Bring me the man that a betterknows how to lay-out his pound or his penni than myself; that is, always a savin and exceptin your noble onnur, as in rite and dutyboundin. And then as to forin parts! Why, lawjus mighty! Your nobleonnur has 'em at your fingur's ends. The temple will stand; blow orsnow, a there it will be; I'll a answer for that; a shillin's worth forevery shillin: but ast for the money a squitterd a here and a there inforin parts, what will your most noble onnur ever see for that? I mostumbelly condysend to beg and beesiege your good and kind onnur's noblepardn for all this audacious interpolation, of and by witch any butyour most disrespectfool onnur would say wus no better but so much mag:but I hopes and trusts your onnur, as you always have bin henceforth intimes passt, is in the mind a well to take what a well is meant. And so I wonce and again most perrumptallee beg leave, in all lowlinessby the grace and blessin of God in his infinit goodness and mercy tosuperscribe meself. ABIMELECH HENLEY LETTER VIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Frank Henley's accident has necessarily delayed our journey for afortnight; nay, it was within an ace of being delayed for ever, and[Would you think it possible?] by the artful remonstrances of thisAbimelech Henley. I have been obliged to exert all my influence, andall my rhetoric, upon Sir Arthur, or it would have been entirely givenup. Rapacious and narrow in his own plans, this wretch, this honestAby, as my father calls him, would not willingly suffer a guinea to bespent, except in improvements: that is, not a guinea which should notpass through his hands. A letter from him to Sir Arthur has been thecause of this contest. I hope however, my dear, that Sir Arthur's affairs are not in so bad atrain as your fears [expressed in your letter of the third] cause youto imagine. Should they be so, what will become of my brother? A mereman of fashion! Active in the whole etiquette of visiting, dressing, driving, riding, fencing, dancing, gaming, writing cards of compliment, and all the frivolous follies of what, by this class of people, iscalled _the world_; but indolent in, or more properly incapable of alluseful duties. I stand rather high in his opinion, and he has done me the honour toconsult me lately on a family affair. The Edgemoor estate, of eighthundred per annum, is entailed on him, as the heir of St. Ives, by mygrandfather's will; with right of possession at the age of twenty-four. Sir Arthur I suppose does not find it convenient to abridge his incomeso materially, and has been endeavouring to persuade him that it is hisduty and interest not to insist upon possession; at least for thepresent. My brother is not pleased with the proposal, and hascomplaisantly written to ask my opinion, with an evident determinationto follow his own, he having now almost completed his twenty-fourthyear. My answer was an attempt [I fear a vain one] to call to his mindthe true use of money; and, unless he should have found the art ofemploying it worthily, I advised him to shew his filial affection andoblige Sir Arthur. I can prophesy however that he will have no forbearance. Not to mentiondebts, he has too many imaginary and impatient wants to submit todelay. Neither have I any great desire that he should; being convincedthat the want of money is the only impediment that can put a stop toSir Arthur's improvements. But this honest Aby!--The same post that brought me your letter of theeleventh, [1] brought one for Sir Arthur; and while I was meditating onthe contents of yours, and not a little chagrined at the confirmationof your intelligence concerning the mortgage--[Chagrined that my fathershould be the instrument, the tool of such a fellow: chagrined that hisfamily should be in danger, and himself made a jest]--while I wasconsidering what were the best means, if there were any, of inducingSir Arthur to abandon projects so foolish, and so fatal, Laura camerunning with the news that our journey to France was all over, thatorders to that effect had been given, and that a chaise was to be atthe door in an hour, to take Sir Arthur back to Wenbourne-Hill. [Footnote 1: This and other letters are occasionally omitted, as notcontaining any new information. ] This incident, in my then temper of mind, produced its full effect. Iknew Sir Arthur's way: I knew he would not willingly see me himself;and, immediately suspecting that his letter was from honest Aby, Idetermined if possible he should not escape me. He was in his own room;and how to draw him out? An hour would soon be gone! I thereforeemployed an artifice, which, on after recollection, I am convinced waswrong; very wrong! I went into the drawing-room, and bade the footmango to him and announce Miss Wenbourne. I have a maiden aunt of thatname, whom I was christened after, who lives in London, and whom Ibelieve you never saw. The trick succeeded, and Sir Arthur came intothe drawing-room. He looked disconcerted at seeing me, and thefollowing dialogue began. Heydey, Anna! Where is your aunt? Sir, I am afraid I have done an unjustifiable thing. [My consciencethen first smote me, with a conviction that what I had persuaded myselfwas a defensible artifice was neither more nor less than a directfalsehood; which of all crimes, you know, I think one of the most mean, hateful, and pernicious. The just confusion I felt had nearly ruined mycause. ] Why!--What!--What do you mean?--Where is your aunt? She is not here, sir. It was I who wished to speak to you. You! And send in your aunt's name? My name is Wenbourne, sir. Your name is St. Ives, miss. I feel, sir, how exceedingly culpable I am; and perhaps do not deservethat you should pardon me. [My father began to suspect the reason of mywishing to speak with him, and did not know whether good nature or illwould serve his cause the best. I perceived him cast an eye toward thedoor. ] This is extraordinary!--Very extraordinary, upon my soul! [I saw it was time to recover my spirits. ] I have heard something whichI scarcely can believe to be true, sir. What have you heard? What have you heard? That you are going back to Wenbourne-Hill. Well, what then? And that you do not intend we should visit France. Who told you so? The servants have orders to that effect. The servants are a parcel of busy blockheads! What can have occasioned you, sir, to change your opinion so suddenly? My affairs. [He looked again toward the door, but he felt it was toolate; and that he must now either defend or abandon his cause. ] Thejourney will be too expensive. If, sir, the journey would in the least embarrass your affairs, and ifI did not daily see you entering into expences so infinitely greaterthan this, I would not answer a word to such an argument. I think it myduty to be as careful of your property as you yourself could be; andfor that reason have often wished I could prevail on you, in somemeasure, to alter your plans. I have no doubt, miss, of your prodigious wisdom; you remind me of itdaily. Your plans to be sure would, as you say, be infinitely betterthan mine. When you are married, or I am dead, you may do as youplease; but, in the mean time, suffer me to act for myself. I do notchoose to be under tutelage. I am sorry, my dear papa, to see that I offend you; but indeed I meanthe very reverse. Indeed I do! It is my zeal for your interest, my loveof you, [I ventured to take his hand] that oblige me to speak-- And plainly to tell me you do not approve of my proceedings! Plainly to tell you the truth, because I believe it to be my duty. Upon my word! A very dutiful daughter! I thought the duty of childrenwas to obey the wills of their parents. Obedience--[Pardon my sincerity, sir. ]--Obedience must have limits. Children should love and honour their parents for their virtues, andshould cheerfully and zealously do whatever they require of them, whichis not in itself wrong. Of which _children_ are to judge? Yes, sir: of which children are to judge. A fine system of obedience truly! They cannot act without judging, more or less, be they obedient ordisobedient: and the better they judge the better will they performtheir duty. There may be and there have been mistaken parents, who havecommanded their children to be guilty even of crimes. And what is that to me? Upon my word, you are a very polite young lady!A very extraordinarily polite miss! God forbid, my dear papa, that you should imagine I think you one ofthose parents. I really don't know nor don't care, madam, what you think me. --Myplans, indeed!--Disapproved by you! If I saw any person under a dangerous mistake, misled, wronged, preyedupon by the self-interested, should I not be indolent or cowardly, nayshould I not be criminal, if I did not endeavour to convince such aperson of his error? And what should I be if this person were myfather? Upon my honour, miss, you take intolerable liberties! The license ofyour tongue is terrible! It were better, sir, that I should subject myself to your displeasure, and make you think unkindly of me, than that others, who pretend to beyour servants and your humble but friendly advisers, shouldinjure--should--I know not what! We have often heard of stewards, whohave acted the mortgagee to their own masters. [This hint was a thunderstroke. Sir Arthur was wholly disconcerted. His mind apparently madeseveral attempts to recover itself; but they were all ineffectual. ] Well, well--I, I--I know what the meaning of all this is. You--You arevexed at being disappointed of your journey--But make yourself easy, child; you shall go: you shan't be disappointed. 'Tis true, sir, I wish to visit Paris; but not if it will be in theleast inconvenient to you, in money affairs. Though I own I shouldindeed be vexed to see the small sum you had appropriated for thisjourney wrested from you, to throw up a hill, or build a fantastictemple in some place where its very situation would render itridiculous. Upon my word!--Was ever the like of this heard?--Don't I tell you, youshall go? Indeed, sir, going is but a small part of the subject: there is anotherpoint, which, if I could but gain, would give me infinitely morepleasure. Pshaw! Girl! I can't stay to argue points with you now! I tell you, youshall go. I give you my word you shall go; and so let's have no more ofit. --Do you hear, Anna? I am too old to be schooled. I don't like it!Mind me! I don't like it! I am very sorry, sir, that I cannot find words to speak the truth whichwould be less offensive. I tell you again there is no truth to be spoken! Have not I promisedyou shall go? There's an end of the business. You shall go. And away went Sir Arthur; apparently happy to get rid both of me andhimself: that is, of the disagreeable ideas which, as he thought, I hadso impertinently raised. You blamed me in your last for not exertingmyself sufficiently, to shew him his folly. You see the sufficiently isstill wanting. Perhaps I have not discovered the true mode ofaddressing myself to Sir Arthur's passions. For, though myremonstrances have often made him uneasy, I cannot perceive that theyhave ever produced conviction. And yet I should suppose that a certaindegree of momentary conviction must be the result of suchconversations. But the fortitude to cast off old habits, and assumenew, is beyond the strength of common mortals. Frank Henley is a favourite with you, and very deservedly. But, inanswer to the surprise in your former, my dear, that he has neverengaged my affections, as well as to the cautionary kind hints in yourtwo last, for so I understand them, let me say that, had I imaginedlove to be that unconquerable fatality of which I have been speaking, Ido not know what might have happened: but, having been early convincedthat a union between him and me must be attended with I know not whatscenes of wretchedness, in short, knowing the thing in a certain senseto be impossible, it has always been so considered by me, and thereforeI have no reason to think myself in any danger. Doubts occasionallyrise in my mind, but in general soon disappear. Should they return Iwill not conceal them. I remember it was a remark of yours that 'Admiration is the mother oflove. ' So it is, of love such as I bear to my Louisa; and of suchperhaps as angels might be supposed to bear to angels. I admire FrankHenley, greatly, ardently admire him; yet I certainly do not love: thatis, I certainly do not permit myself to feel any of those anxieties, alarms, hopes, fears, perturbations, and endearments, which we are toldare inseparable from that passion. I extinguish, I suffocate them intheir birth. I am called for: Adieu, my ever dear Louisa. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER IX _Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ I have received your letter, good Abimelech, and own your reasoning hasits force. Much is yet to be done to Wenbourne-Hill. Year after year Ihave said--'This shall be the last: we will now bring affairs to afinish. ' But improvement is my delight; walking, talking, sitting, standing, or lying, waking or sleeping, I can think of nothing else. Welive you know, honest Aby, only to amend: so that, instead ofconcluding, I find more things to do at present than ever. I have the wilderness very much at heart: but the soil is excellent, and I scarcely know, Aby, how we shall make the land sufficientlybarren. Yet it would have a fine effect! Yes, that it certainly would, and we will try our utmost. The hermitage too at the far end! Themoss-grown cell, Aby! With a few scattered eglantines and wild roots!We will plant ivy round the three old oaks, and bring a colony of owlsto breed! Then at the bottom of all a grotto: Oh! it will be delicious! Shells will be expensive, for we are not within forty miles of the sea. But no matter: it must and it shall be done, for I have set my heart onit. Nay, from what you said to me, honest Aby, knowing you to be acareful thrifty fellow, full of foresight, I was so warm in the causethat I had determined to take your advice, and renounce or defer thejourney to France; but the blabbing servants got a hint of the matter, and it came to my daughter's ears. So, for peace and quietness sake, Ithink I must e'en indulge her, and take her a short trip to thecontinent. But we will go no further than the neighbourhood of Paris. Beside I wish, for my own part, to see how the country is laid out. Iam desirous to know whether all France has any thing to equalWenbourne-Hill. And yet, Aby, I find it is impossible to please every body. You knowwhat continual improvements I have been making, for these last twentyyears; for you have superintended them all. I have planted one year, and grubbed up the next; built, and pulled down; dug, and filled upagain; removed hills, and sent them back to their old stations; and allfrom a determination to do whatever could be done. And now, I believe, there are no grounds in all England so wooded and shut in as those ofWenbourne-Hill; notwithstanding its situation on a very commandingeminence. We are surrounded by coppices, groves, espaliers, andplantations. We have excluded every vulgar view of distant hills, intervening meadows, and extensive fields; with their insignificantgreen herbage, yellow lands, and the wearisome eternal waving ofstanding corn. And yet, Aby, after having done all this, comes me Sir AlexanderEvergreen, and very freely tells me that we have spoiledWenbourne-Hill, buried ourselves in gloom and darkness, and shut outthe finest prospects in all England! Formerly the hall could be seen bytravellers from the road, and we ourselves had the village church inview, all of which we have now planted out of sight! Very true: but, instead of the parish steeple, have we not steeples of our own in everydirection? And, instead of the road, with the Gloucestershire hills andlessening clouds in perspective, have we not the cedar quincunx? Yetsee the curse of obstinacy and want of taste! Would you think it, Aby?Of this Sir Alexander complains! It is in vain to tell him that we are now all within ourselves; thatevery body is surprised to see how snug we are; and that nobody cansuspect so many temples, and groves, and terraces, and ascents, anddescents, and clumps, and shrubberies, and vistas, and glades, anddells, and canals, and statues, and rocks, and ruins are in existence, till they are in the very midst of them. And then! Oh how have Ienjoyed their admiration! Nothing is so great a pleasure to me as tobring a gentleman of taste, who knows how to be struck with what hesees, and set him down in the middle of one of my great gravel walks!For all the world allows, Abimelech, that our gravel walks atWenbourne-Hill are some of the broadest, the straightest, and thefinest in the kingdom. Yet observe how men differ, Abimelech. Sir Alexander wants me to turfthem over! He says that, where you may have the smooth verdure, gravelwalks are ridiculous; and are only tolerable in common pathways, wherecontinual treading would wear away the greensward. But I know what hasgiven him such a love for the soft grass. Sir Alexander is gouty, andloves to tread on velvet. Beside he is a cynic. He blames all we have done, and says he wouldrender one of the deserts of Arabia the garden of Eden, with the moneywe have wasted in improving Wenbourne-Hill; which he affirms, before wetouched it, was one of the most beautiful spots in the three kingdoms. I confess, Aby, that, if as I said I did not know him to be a cynic, Ishould be heartily vexed. But it either is, or at any rate it shall be, one of the most beautiful spots in the three kingdoms, ay or in thewhole world! Of that I am resolved; so go on with your work, Abimelech. Do not be idle. The love of fame is a noble passion; and the name ofArthur St. Ives shall be remembered at Wenbourne-Hill, long after hisremains are laid in their kindred clay, as the poet says. I desired your son Frank to accompany us to London. He is a spiritedyoung fellow, and behaved well on the road, where he had an affair witha highwayman, and got a slight wound; but he is in no danger. He is afine fellow, a brave fellow, and an honour to you, honest Aby. Some grounds which I saw on my journey, with water purling, meandering, and occasionally dashing down a steep declivity, or winding along amore gentle descent, as it happened to be, suggested an idea to me. Itcame into my mind that, as we lie high, if we had but a lakesufficiently large on the top of the hill, we could send the water downin rivulets on every side. But then the difficulty struck me how to getit up again. Perhaps it may be overcome. It would have a charmingeffect, and we will think of it hereafter. When you have received my address at Paris, do not fail to let me know, once a week, how every thing proceeds. Be particular in your accounts, and do not be afraid of wearying me. My heart is in my grounds and myimprovements; and the more places and things you name the more pleasureyou will give me. Write to me too concerning my herd of deer, mySpanish sheep, my buffaloes, my Chinese pheasants, and all my foreignlive stock. I will make my journey as short as possible; it shall not be longbefore I will re-visit my Wenbourne-Hill. To own the truth, honest Aby, after reading your letter, I had ordered the chaise to the door to comedown again; but Anna St. Ives would not hear of it, so I was obliged toyield. But, as I tell you, my heart is with you; Wenbourne-Hill isnever out of my mind. I could wish you to be cautious in your communications, Abimelech, concerning our money matters. My daughter gave me a hint about the lastmortgage, which I did not half like. Children think they have a rightto pry into a father's expences; and to curb and brow-beat him, if themoney be not all spent in gratifying their whims. Be more close, Abimelech, if you would oblige me. ARTHUR ST. IVES LETTER X _Louisa Clifton to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_ _Rose-Bank_ I am excessively angry with myself, my dear Anna. I have not treatedyou with the open confidence which you deserve, because I have hadimproper fears of you. I have doubted lest an excess of friendship andgenerosity should lead you into mistake, and induce you to think wellof my brother rather for my sake than for his own. But the more Ireflect the more I am convinced that duplicity never can be virtue. Your last letter has brought me to a sense of this. The noble sinceritywith which you immediately accused yourself, for having practised anartifice [which I, like you, do not think was innocent, becauseartifice cannot be innocent] has taught me how I ought to act; and SirArthur's caprice is an additional incitement. I have for some time known that it has been very much desired by mymamma to see you and Coke Clifton united. She mentioned her wish to SirArthur, and he seemed pleased with the idea. She did me the honour toconsult me; and I opposed precipitate proceedings, and strenuouslyargued that all such events ought to take their natural course. This was the origin of your present journey to Paris; and Iconsequently was enjoined secrecy, of the propriety of which I doubtedat the moment. I am now convinced that secrets are always eitherfoolish or pernicious things, and that there ought to be none. The fickleness of Sir Arthur however, relative to this journey, bothsurprises and pains me. It shews his weakness as well as the power ofhis favourite, Abimelech, to be greater than even I imagined; and myformer thoughts were not very favourable. After having concerted thisplan with my mamma, and after preparing and proceeding a part of theway, I can scarcely imagine what excuse he would have made to her. His mentioning my brother to you likewise surprised me. In conversingwith my mamma, I had told her that, if such an event were to takeplace, it were desirable that you and my brother should becomeacquainted, before any hint or proposal ought to be made to you. I atpresent believe this to have been wrong and weak advice; but itprevailed, and the arrangement was that my mamma should write to CokeClifton, to direct his route through Paris; that he should be there ata fixed time, to transact some pretended business for her; that SirArthur and you should make a journey thither on a party of pleasure, which we all knew would be agreeable to you; and that you and mybrother should meet as if by accident. But it appears that Sir Arthur, when he has any favourite project in view, can scarcely forbear beingcommunicative, not from principle but from incontinence. With respect to my brother, having told you all that has passed, I haveonly to add, it is my earnest advice that you should be careful to putno deception on yourself, but to see him as he is. His being thebrother of your friend cannot give him dignity of mind, if he have itnot already. Were I a thousand times his sister, I could not wish himanother wife so deserving as my Anna. But sister shall be no motivewith me to make me desirous of seeing persons united whose sentimentsand souls may be dissimilar. Had I not so much confidence in yourdiscernment, and truth to yourself, I should not be without uneasiness. My opinion is that the parties should themselves reciprocally discoverthose qualities which ought mutually to fit them for the friendship ofmarriage. Is not that the very phrase, Anna; the _friendship ofmarriage_? Surely, if it be not friendship, according to the best andhighest sense in which that word is used, marriage cannot but besomething faulty and vicious. I know how readily you will forgive the wrong I have done you by thisconcealment; because you will perceive I acted from well meant butmistaken sentiments. I have told my mamma my present thoughts, and haveshewed her all the former part of this letter, which she approves. Heraffection for me makes her delight in every effort of my mind to risesuperior to the prejudices that bring misery into the world; and Ioften fear lest this affection should deprive her of that force, andacumen, which in other instances would be ready to detect error, whenever it should make its appearance. I need not tell my Anna how tenderly she joins with me, in wishing hera safe and pleasant journey. All other matters she entirely commits tomy Anna's penetration, and discretion. Adieu. L. CLIFTON P. S. My brother is not rich, but has great expectations. This as Iimagine occasioned Sir Arthur to receive the proposal with pleasure;and my mamma tells me they had some talk of settlements. He wasexceedingly warm and active, in contriving this journey, for a fewdays; after which I thought I observed his ardour abate. And theprobability is that Abimelech, from the first, had opposed theexcursion; but that further conversations with my mamma, and thepleasure which the projected journey had given you, kept Sir Arthur tohis purpose. I own I began to suspect that, should such a match takeplace, the recollection of parting with money, which he would willinglyhave expended on improvements, had influenced his conduct; and it issome relief to hope that he was rather acted upon than acting, if hereally did feel any wish to retract. How far he may be, or may havebeen, acted upon in other instances, as well as this, is still afurther question. I cannot shake off a doubt which hangs on my mind; though I have beendebating all morning whether I ought to mention it or be silent. Isuspect that you yourself have not solved it entirely to your ownsatisfaction. Frank Henley!--It is I think indubitable that he lovesyou. --He would make you happier than perhaps any other man could uponearth. Be not swayed by your affection for me: beware of any suchweakness. That you could love him if you would permit yourself, naythat you are obliged to exert your whole force not to love him, I amconvinced. You are conscious of it yourself. --Is your decisionjust?--Indeed it is a serious question. What is the magnitude of theevil which would result from such a union; and what the good?Enquire--I give no opinion. There is a mist before my eyes, and I darenot give any, till I can see more distinctly. Think, be just, andresolve. Your own judgment ought to determine you. LETTER XI _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ Oliver, what are we? What is man? What is virtue? What is honour?--Mypride has received a wound much more acute than that which the ball ofthe highwayman inflicted on my body--I have had money palmed uponme--Money!--A man cannot behave as he ought, and as it would becontemptible not to behave, but he must be paid! His vices are paid!His virtues are paid!--All is mercenary! I to be sure must be one ofthe number!--A twenty pound bank note, I tell thee, forced upon me bySir Arthur!--No, no--Not by him--He never could have made me acceptwhat I supposed [falsely, however; as fact and reflection have sinceled me to suspect] it was mean and degrading to accept. She only couldprevail. She whose commands are irresistible, and who condescended toentreat!--Her eye glistening with a tear, which she with difficultydetained in its beauteous orbit, she entreated!--There was no opposingsuch intercession! Her eloquence was heavenly! God be praised that itwas so! For, as it has happened, I am persuaded it has preserved a poordistressed creature from phrensy--Have patience, and I will tell thee. I had removed my penitent, and had been taking a short airing in thepark; and, as I was returning, I saw a crowd collected in a court. Ledby curiosity to enquire what was the matter, I was told that two menhad just been pursuing a third over the roofs of the neighbouringhouses; and that, having been obliged to descend through a trap-door, they had followed him, where it was supposed he had at last been taken. I asked what his crime was, but nobody knew. Some believed him to be athief, some thought it was a press-gang, and others conjectured theywere bailiffs. It was not long, however, before a decent, well-looking, and indeedhandsome young woman, with a fine child in her arms, came running upthe court, made her way through the crowd with terror in hercountenance, and with the most piercing cries demanded--'Where ishe?--Where is my dear Harry?--Who has seen him? Where is he?' Some of the people pointed out the house. She knocked violently, continued her cries and lamentations, and at last gained admittance. Her grief was so moving, so sympathetic, that it excited my compassion, and made me determine to follow her. Accordingly I elbowed my way, though I felt that I rather disturbed the surgeon's dressing; but thatwas a trifle. I followed her up stairs without ceremony. With respectto her, affection, 'masterless passion, had swayed her to itsmood'--she was not to be repulsed. The prisoner and his pursuers had descended to the second floor, inwhich the poor fugitive had endeavoured to seek refuge, but not soonenough to find protection from the bailiffs, as they proved and as heknew them to be. Never didst thou see terror so strong, nor affectionso pathetic, as this excellent young woman, his wife, discovered. Excellent I am certain she is. She wrung her hands, she fell on herknees, she held up her babe; and, finding these were ineffectual, shescreamed agonizing prayers to save her Harry. The idea she hadconceived of the loss of liberty, and the miseries of a prison, musthave been dreadful. But tears and prayers and cries were vain; she waspleading to the deaf, or at least to the obdurate. As soon as the violence of her grief gave a momentary respite, Ienquired what the sum was for which he was in thraldom, and found it tobe sixteen pounds, beside costs. It was not a debt originallycontracted by himself; it was for a note, in which he had joined toserve his wife's brother. It seemed they are a young couple, who bytheir industry have collected a trifling sum, with which they havetaken a small shop. I did not ask of what kind. She serves hercustomers, and he follows his trade, as a journeyman carpenter. It didnot a little please me to hear the young creature accuse her brother ofbeing false to his friend; while the husband defended him, and affirmedit could be nothing but necessity. I could perceive however that shegrieved to think her brother was not so good as she could have wishedhim to be. The horrors of a jail were so impressed, so rooted in her fancy, thatshe was willing to sell any thing, every thing; she would give them allshe had, so that her Harry might not be dragged to a damp, fouldungeon; to darkness, bread and water, and starving. Thou canst notimagine the volubility with which her passions flowed, and her terrorsfound utterance, from the hope that it was not possible for Christianhearts to know all this, and not be moved to pity. I am well persuaded however that, had I not been there, those goodChristians the bailiffs would have paid no other attention to her panicthan to see how it might be turned to profit. The miscreants talked offive guineas, for the pretended risk they should run, in giving him afortnight to sell his effects to the best advantage. They too couldrecommend a broker, a very honest fellow--By what strange gradations, Oliver, can the heart of man become thus corrupt? The harpies lookedhatefully. Luckily I happened to have the twenty pound note, which pride hadbidden me reject with so much scorn, in my pocket. Thou, I am certain, wilt not ask what I did with it. I immediately tendered those sameChristians I told thee of their money. The rascals were disappointed, and would have been surly; but a single look silenced their insolence. One of them was dispatched, according to form, to see that there wereno detainers; and, being paid, they then set their prisoner free. Now, if thou thinkest, Oliver, thou canst truly figure to thyself theoverflowing gratitude of the kind young creature, the wife, thou artegregiously mistaken. She fell on her knees to me, she blessed me, prayed for me, and said I was an angel from heaven, sent to save herdear Harry from destruction; she kissed him, hugged, God blessed, andhalf smothered her heavenly infant, as she truly called it, withkisses; nay she kissed me--in spirit, Oliver--I could see she did: ayand in spirit I returned her chaste caresses. She entreated me with so much humble love and gratitude to come and seeher poor house, which I had saved, and to tell her my name, that shemight pray for me the longest day she had to live, that I could notforbear gratifying her so far as to go with her. As for my name, I toldher it was man. The quick hussey understood me, for she replied--No, itwas angel. I found her house, like her person, neat, and in order. What is stillbetter, her Harry seems a kind good young man, and alive to as well asdeserving of her affection. Wouldst thou think it, Oliver?--The pleasure I had communicated hadreverberated back upon myself; yet the sight of a couple thus happygave birth to a thought of such exquisite pain that--! Something shotacross my brain--I know not what--But it seemed to indicate I shouldnever be so mated! Still, this money, Oliver--Prithee be at the trouble to examine thequestion, and send me thy thoughts; for I have not been able to satisfymyself. What is the thing called property? What are _meum_ and _tuum_?Under what circumstances may a man take money from another? I would notbe proud; neither would I render myself despicable. Thou seest how I delight to impart my joys and griefs to thee. Thoutellest me thou partakest them; and, judging by myself, I cannot butbelieve thee. Tell me when thou art weary of me; I have long and oftenbeen weary of myself. Yet she is very kind to me, and so kind that I have lately beenbetrayed into hopes too flattering, too ecstatic to be true. Oh! Shouldshe ever think of me! Were it only possible she ever should bemine!--The pleasure is too exquisite! It is insupportable!--Let me gazeand wonder at humble distance, in silence and in awe!--Do not call meabject--Yet, if I am so, do; tell me all that ought to be told. It isnot before her rank that I bend and sink. Being for being I am herequal: but who is her equal in virtue?--Heavens! What a smile did shebestow on me, when I took the money I mentioned to thee! It has sunkendeep, deep in my heart! Never can it be forgotten! Never! Never! Peace be with thee. F. HENLEY LETTER XII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ Must I be silent? Must I not tell my Louisa how infinitely her candorand justice delight me? With the voice of a warning angel she bids meenquire, examine my heart, and resolve. I think I have resolved; andfrom reasons which I believe are not to be overcome. Yet I will confessmy opinion, strong as it is, receives violent attacks; as, Louisa, youwill be convinced, when you have read the whole of this letter. My friend cautions me against being partial, even in favour of herbrother. Such a friend is indeed worthy to advise, and I will rememberher precepts. This brother may be a degenerate scion from a noblestock: yet I can hardly think the thing possible. That he may havefallen into many of the mistakes, common to the world in which he haslived, is indeed most likely. But the very qualities which you describein him speak an active and perhaps a dignified nature. We have duties to fulfil. Few opportunities present themselves to awoman, educated and restrained as women unfortunately are, ofperforming any thing eminently good. One of our most frequent andobvious tasks seems to be that of restoring a great mind, misled byerror, to its proper rank. If the mind of Clifton should be such, shallI cowardly decline what I believe it to be incumbent on me to perform?Let him be only such as I expect, and let me be fortunate enough togain his affections, and you shall see, Louisa, whether trifles shallmake me desist. What high proofs of courage, perseverance, and of suffering, do mencontinually give! And shall we wholly renounce the dignity ofemulation, and willingly sign the unjust decree of prejudice, that mindlikewise has its sex, and that women are destitute of energy andfortitude? But Frank Henley!--Let me not hide a thought from my Louisa. He isindeed worthy of being loved, every day more worthy. I have a new storyto tell, which will be more effectual praise than any words of mine. Like you I am persuaded he has some affection for me. I am notinsensible to his worth and virtues: I ought not to be. Were I toindulge the reveries into which I could easily fall, I might be as muchmisled by passion as others, who are so ready to complain and pitythemselves for being in love. But a wakeful sense of the consequencesis my safeguard. It cannot be. I should render my father, my relations, and friends, miserable. I should set a bad example to my sex. I, who amat shewing them mind is superior to sex. Such are the thoughts that protect me from the danger. His mentalexcellence perhaps I love as truly as heart could wish. But, as thelover who is to be the husband, no! I will not suffer my thoughts toglance in that direction. I might, but I will not. Nothing but aconviction that my principles are wrong shall ever make me; and thatconviction I hold to be impossible. Do not imagine I am guilty of the mistake of supposing myself hissuperior. Far the reverse. The tale which I am now about to relate willinform you better of the true state of my feelings. You must know, my dear, that on our arrival in town, Sir Arthur, withmy help, prevailed on Frank Henley to accept a twenty pound bill, thathe might have the means of gratifying his inclinations, and enjoyingthe pleasures which at his age it is natural he should wish to enjoy. These means I had but too good reason to be convinced had been deniedhim by his father, which I suspected to be, and am now satisfied was, the true reason that Frank refused to attend us on our journey. The youth has quite pride enough, my dear: he is desirous to confer, but not to accept obligations; is ready enough to give, but not toreceive. As if he had not only a right to monopolize virtue, but to beexempt from the wants which are common to all, and to supply which menform themselves into societies. He seems to shrink with exquisite painfrom the acceptance of money. However I was determined to conquer, andconquer I did. Nor can I say, considering them as I do, that I wassorry to offend the false feelings even of Frank Henley, for whom Ihave an infinite esteem. After receiving this present, he accompanied me two or three times tothose public places to which crowns and half guineas gain admittance;and, as you may imagine, was far from appearing insensible of thepowers of poetry and music. Suddenly however he refused to be any moreof such parties, for which I own I could divine no reason. I knew hehad been educated in habits of oeconomy, and therefore could notsuppose, generous though I knew him to be, that he had squandered awayhis pocket-money in so short a time. I endeavoured both to rally and toreason, but in vain; he was positive even to obstinacy; and I rightlyconjectured there must be some cause for it which I had not discovered. You have heard me speak, I believe, my dear, of Mrs. Clarke, as of acareful good woman, and a great favourite with my dear mamma, whenliving. She was then our housekeeper in the country, but has latelybeen left in the town house; because the furniture is too valuable tobe entrusted to a less attentive person. This Mrs. Clarke had a sisterwhose name was Webb, and who left a son and a daughter, who are bothmarried. The son, as you will soon hear, has been a wild and gracelessfellow; but the daughter is one of the most agreeable and engagingyoung creatures I think I ever saw. Yesterday my good Mrs. Clarke and her niece were shut up together inclose conversation for a considerable time; and I perceived that theircheeks were swelled, their eyes red, and that they had been cryingviolently. I almost revere Mrs. Clarke as my mother, because of theexcellence of her heart and the soundness of her understanding. Itherefore could not forbear earnestly enquiring whether it werepossible for me to remove her cause of grief; for grieved, I told her, I could plainly perceive she was. She burst into tears again on myquestioning her, and endeavoured to express feelings that were too bigfor utterance. Turning to her niece she said--'I must inform my dearyoung lady. ' 'For God's sake don't! For the Lord's sake don't!' criedthe terrified creature. 'I must, ' replied the aunt. 'It is proper. ' 'Hewill have no mercy shewn him! He will be hanged!' exclaimed the other, in an agony. 'You do not know this lady, ' said the aunt. 'Indeed shedoes not, ' added I, 'if she supposes I would have any creature uponearth hanged. ' 'Retire, Peggy, ' said the aunt, 'while I relate thevile, the dreadful tale. ' 'No, no! For mercy's sake no!' replied theniece. 'I must stay, and beg, and pray, and down on my knees for mybrother! He is a wild and a wicked young man, but he is my brother. ''Pray let her stay, ' said I to the aunt. 'And fear nothing, mykind-hearted Peggy. Be assured I will not hurt a hair of your brother'shead. I will do him good if I can, but no injury. ' 'The God of Heavenbless and reward your angelic ladyship!' cried the half franticgrateful Peggy. Mrs. Clarke attempted to begin her story. She was almost suffocated. Inever heard so heart-rending a groan as she gave, when she came to thefatal sentence! Would you believe it, Louisa? This nephew of the worthyMrs. Clarke, this brother of the good Peggy, is the very highwayman whoshot Frank Henley! His benevolent aunt has been with him, for he is still under thesurgeon's hands; and he has confessed to her [I am angry with myself, Louisa, to find I wonder at it] he has confessed that the brave, thehumane, the noble-minded Frank has visited him several times, and hasset the folly of his wicked pursuits in so true and so strong a light, that the man protests, with the utmost vehemence, if he can but escapepunishment for the faults he has committed, he will sooner perish thanagain be guilty of his former crimes. The first time Frank visited him he gave the poor wretch a guinea; andwent himself in search of another lodging for him, as well to removehim from the knowledge of his wicked companions as to protect him fromthe forty pound hunters. The man wants to escape over to the continent;and appears to be so sincere, in his resolves of reformation, thatFrank has undertaken to furnish him with the means. You cannot imagine, Louisa, the heart-felt praises which the worthyMrs. Clarke bestowed on the youth. And Peggy said that she hoped sheshould some time or another live to see him, that she might fall downand kiss his footsteps! But, added she, with great ardor, I find indeedthere are very good men in the world! Still there appeared something enigmatical to me, between Frank and themoney account. I could not conceive how he should want the meansimmediately to furnish such a sum as would have been sufficient for thepoor fugitive. And this again reminded me how assiduously Frank hadlately avoided every occasion of expence. While we were in the midst of our discourse, who should enter the roombut Frank! Never was I present at such a scene!--'Good God Almighty!'exclaimed Peggy, the moment she saw him. 'This is he! This is the veryblessed, dear gentleman, that saved my poor Harry from those terriblejailors. ' 'Is it possible?' cried Mrs. Clarke. 'It is, it is he! He himself!' said the full-hearted Peggy, fallingdown on her knees, and catching the flap of his coat, which she kissedwith inconceivable enthusiasm. Poor Frank did not know which way to look. Good deeds are so uncommon, and so much the cause of surprise, that virtue blushes at beingdetected almost as deeply as vice. I knew Frank had a noble heart; andI own, Louisa, I was not much amazed when Peggy, with abundance of kindexpressions and a flow of simple eloquence, related the manner in whichFrank had saved her husband from the bailiffs, by paying a debt whichwith costs amounted to upward of eighteen pounds. I did not however forbear severely to reprove myself, for having daredso much as to imagine that a youth with such high virtues could not, ina city like London, find opportunities of expending so small a sum astwenty pounds in acts of benevolence. I ought at least to have supposedthe thing probable; yet it never once entered my mind. The thanks, blessings, and prayers of Peggy were endless. Finding himnot only to be what she knew, the man who relieved her from the mostpoignant distress, but likewise the vanquisher and the saviour of herbrother, she said and protested she was sure there was not such anotherangel upon earth! She was sure there was not! Frank was ashamed of andalmost offended at her incessant praise. It was so natural and soproper for him to act as he did, that he is surprised to find it can bematter of wonder. I must insist however upon seeing him reimbursed; and I persuade myselfthere is one thought which will make him submit to it quietly. I havebut to remind him that the good of others requires that men, who sowell know the use of it, should never be without money. Adieu. I have not time to write more at present. --Yet I must, for Iought to add, that, though I thought myself so fully convinced when Ibegan this letter, concerning Frank and the only right mode of acting, doubts have several times intruded themselves upon me, while I havebeen writing. I will think when the fancy is not so busy as at present;and when I have thought do not fear my resolution. Ever most affectionately yours, A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XIII _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ It is an intolerably strange thing, Oliver, that a man cannot performthe mere necessary duties of humanity, without being supposed almost aprodigy. Where is the common sense, I will not say delicacy, whichshould teach people that such suppositions are an insult, not only tothe person but to all mankind? I am young, I grant, and know but littleof the barbarity which it is pretended is universal. I cannot think theaccusation true. Or, if it be, I am convinced it must be the result ofsome strange perversion of what may be called the natural propensitiesof man. I own I have seen children wrangle for and endeavour topurloin, or seize by force, each others apples and cherries; and thismay be a beginning to future rapacity. But I know the obvious course ofnature would be to correct, instead of to confirm, such mistakes. Iknow too that there are individual instances of cruelty, andinsensibility. But these surely are the exceptions, and not the rule. I visited a man whose vices, that is whose errors and passions were soviolent as to be dangerous to society, and still more dangerous tohimself. Was it not my duty? I thought myself certain of convincing himof his folly, and of bringing back a lost individual to the paths ofutility and good sense. What should I have been, had I neglected suchan opportunity? I have really no patience to think that a thing, whichit would have been a crime to have left undone, should possibly besupposed a work of supererogation! I saw an industrious rising family on the brink of ruin, and in theagonies of despair, which were the consequences of an act of virtue;and I was not selfish enough to prefer my own whims, which I mightchoose to call pleasures, to the preservation of this worthy, thisreally excellent little family. And for this I am to be adored! For noword is strong enough to express the fooleries that have been acted tome. They were well meant? True. They were the ebullitions of virtue? Ido not deny it. But either they are an unjust satire upon the world ingeneral, or it is a vile world. I half suspect, indeed, it is not quitewhat it ought to be. In addition to all this, I have been obliged to receive a sum equal tothat which I thought it my duty to bestow. This is the second time; andperhaps thou wilt tell me I am not difficult to persuade. Read thefollowing dialogue, which passed between me and the most angelic ofHeaven's creatures, and judge for thyself. She is really a prodigy! Inever knew another mind of such uncommon powers! So clear, socollected, so certain of choosing the side of truth, and so secure ofvictory! I am an ass! I am talking Arabic to thee. I ought to have begun withinforming thee of a circumstance which is in itself odd enough. Thehighwayman and Peggy. [Pshaw! The woman whose husband was arrested. ]They are not only brother and sister, but the nephew and niece of Mrs. Clarke. Think of that, Oliver! The nephew of so worthy a woman soaudaciously wicked! Well might the distressed Peggy express anger whichI could perceive was heartfelt, though she herself at that time knewnot of this act. But to my dialogue. Listen to the voice of my charmer, and say whether she charm not wisely! You have made a generous and a noble use, Frank, of the small sum whichyou were so very unwilling to accept. [She treats me with the mostwinning familiarity! What does she mean? Is it purposely to shew me howmuch she is at her ease with me; and how impossible it is that anything but civility should exist between us? Or is it truly as kind asit seems? Can it be? Who can say? Is it out of nature? Wholly? Surely, surely not. These bursting gleams of hope beget suspense moreintolerable than all the blackness of despair itself. ] I acted naturally, madam; and I confess it gives me some pain to findit the subject of so much wonder. It is no subject of wonder to me. Your inferiors in understanding Iknow would not act like you; but the weak do not give law to thestrong. I own that I have been dull enough, unjust enough, not tosuspect your true motive for refusing, as you have done lately, toaccompany us to public places. But this is a heavy penalty on you whichan act of virtue ought not to incur. If it be a penalty, madam, I am sure it is one which you have too muchgenerosity to wish to deprive me of the pleasure of paying. I understand your hint: but I am not so generous as you think me; for Iam determined, and you know what a positive girl I am, to share boththe penalty and the enjoyment with you. I beg your pardon, madam, but that cannot be. Oh! But, in spite of your serious and very emphatical air, it must be. Excuse me, madam. I am certain you have too high a sense of justice toimpose laws to which you yourself would not submit. Very true. Prove me that and I am answered. Nay, so confident am I ofthe goodness of my cause, that I will not require you to take up this[Laying down another bank note, of equal value with the former. ] unlessI can on the contrary prove it to be nothing but false pride, ormistake, which can induce you to refuse. You perceive, Frank, I am notafraid of offending you by speaking the plain truth. Pray tell me, whenyou saw the worthy couple whom you relieved in distress, had youpersisted in your refusal of the paltry bit of paper which I beforeprevailed on you to receive, what would you have said to yourself, whatwould have been your remorse, when you found yourself unable to succourthe unfortunate, merely because you had been too proud to receive thatwhich you wanted, and which therefore you had no right to refuse. [Yousee, Oliver, she snatched my own sword from my side, with which todispatch me. If thou art too dull to understand me, consult my lastletter. ] You were ready to protect, though at the risk of your life, those very persons at whose favours, as they are falsely called, yourspirit is so equally ready to revolt. Perhaps in defending us you didno more than you ought; but we cannot be ignorant how few are capableof doing so much. And, since you are thus prompt to perform all whichthe most austere morality can require, so long as it shall be apparentto the world that your motives are not selfish, proceed a step further;disregard the world, and every being in it; that is, disregard theirmistakes; and, satisfied that your motives are pure, defy the falseinterpretations to which any right action may subject you. Neither, while you are actually discharging the highest offices of humanity, deny to others the right to fulfil some of the most trivial. I could not act otherwise than I did, on both the occasions to whichyou allude, madam. I believe it is our duty always to be guided bycircumstances; but not to be guilty of an impropriety, because it ispossible such circumstances may again occur. You are right. We only differ concerning the meaning of the word. Impropriety, or propriety, we shall come to presently. You havepromised your wounded penitent money, to facilitate his escape, and youhave none. I have some trifling useless property, madam. But you have a journey to make back to Wenbourne-Hill, according toyour present intentions. Do you imagine, madam, I cannot fast for a day? Oh yes! I doubt it not; for a week, Frank, to effect any great, anylaudable purpose. But I must be plain with you. It is ungenerous of youto wish to engross all virtue and sensibility. Beside, you have dutiesto perform to yourself, which are as pressing as any you owe tosociety, because they are to fit you for the social duties. [Hearken tothe angel, Oliver!] It is as much my duty, at present, to afford youthe means which you want, as it was yours to visit the woundedhighwayman, or aid the distressed Peggy. You ought to suffer me toperform my duties, both for my sake and your own. You ought not toneglect, while you are in London, to seize on every opportunity whichcan tend to enlarge your faculties. You have no common part to act;and, that you may act it well, you should study the beings with whomyou are to associate. You must not suffer any false feelings to unfityou for the high offices for the execution of which men like you areformed. [Didst thou ever hear such honeyed flattery, Oliver?] Somethingmore--You must accompany us to France. Madam!--Impossible. Hear me, Frank. The journey will be of infinite service to you. A mindlike yours cannot visit a kingdom where the manners of the people areso distinct as those of the French must be from the English, withoutreceiving great benefit. Your father is rich. That he denies, madam. To you; and you and I know why. If your delicacy should object to agift, I am sure it cannot with propriety to a loan. Going with us, yourexpences will in fact be only casual. I can supply you with such moneyas you want, which you may hereafter repay me, when I may perhaps beglad that I have such a debtor. My father's property, madam, is of his own acquiring; I have no legalclaim upon it; and it would be dishonest in me to spend that, uponspeculation, which perhaps never may be mine. Yes; to spend it in unworthy purposes would be dishonest. But I againrecur to your duties. However, since you are so tenacious on thesubject, I will become a usurer to pacify your feelings, and you shallpay for risk. Fifty pounds, unless you meet with more Peggies, I daresay will bear you free. [It is twenty pounds more, thou knowest, than Iasked of my father. ] You shall give me eighty whenever you have athousand pounds of your own. Madam!-- Well, well! You shall give me a hundred--[Very seriously] It almostvexes me, Frank, to be refused so very slight a favour; for I can readrefusal and opposition in your eye. But, if you persist, you will giveme great pain; for you will convince me that, where your own passionsare concerned, you are not superior to the paltry prejudices by whichthe rest of the world are governed. I own, madam, my mind has had many struggles on the subject; and I amafraid, as you say, it has been too willing to indulge its prejudices, and its pride. But if you seriously think, from your heart, it is myduty to act in this case as you direct-- I do, seriously, solemnly, and from my heart, think it is your duty. Then, madam, I submit. Why that's my kind Frank! As noble in this instance as in everyother--I could love you for it if you would let me--[In a moment myheart was alarmed! I could feel myself change colour! I am certain shesaw my agitation; her manner told me so, for she instantly added, witha kind of affectionate significance which I know not how tointerpret--] I would say as much to the whole world, but that it is afoolish world, and wants the wit to conceive things truly as they aremeant. She was gone in an instant, smiling, sailing, and her countenancebrightening with heavenly radiance, as she departed. What can this be? Her words are continually resounding in myears!--_She could love me, if I would let her_!--Heavens!--Loveme?--Let her?--Let her!--Oh!--_It is a foolish world_--She fears itscensures--Love me!--Is it possible?--Tell me, Oliver, is itpossible?--_It wants the wit to conceive things truly as they aremeant_--Was this forbidding me to hope; or was it blaming the world'sprejudices?--I now not--Ah! To what purpose warn the moth, unless shecould put out the light?--Oh, blasphemy!--Love me if I would lether?--I cannot forget it, Oliver!--I cannot!--Oh! I could weep like achild, at my own conscious debility. Why should I despair?--With a modern miss, a fine lady, I might; butnot with her. She has a mind superior to the world, and its mistakes. And am I not convinced there ought to be no impediment to our union?Why should I doubt of convincing her? She dare do all that truth andjustice can demand--And she could love me if I would let her--Is not mydespondency absurd?--Even did I know her present thoughts, and knowthem to be inimical to my passion, what ought I to do? Not to desert myown cause, if it be a just one: and, if it be the contrary, there is noquestion: I will make none. Let me but be convinced of my error, and itshall be renounced. Yes, Oliver, I dare boldly aver--it shall! Butshall I forego a right so precious, if it be mine?--No! Kingdoms shallnot tempt me!--Why is this timidity? Why does my heart palpitate? Whywith inward whispers do I murmur thoughts which I dare not speak aloud?Why do they rise quivering to my lips, and there panting expire, painfully struggling for birth, but in vain? Oh! How poorly do I paintwhat so oppressively I feel! I would have thee read my whole heart. I shudder to suppose it possibleI should be a seducer. Falsely to be thought so would trouble me butlittle. But tamely to yield up felicity so inestimable, in compliancewith the errors of mankind to renounce a union which might and ought tobe productive of so much good, is not this a crime?--Speak withoutfear. Shew me what is right. Convince me, then blame me if I quail. And now, Oliver, it is probable thou wilt not see me for these threemonths. Delicate as these money favours are become in the transactionsof men, contemptible as they often are in themselves, and unwilling asI have been to subject myself to them, I am glad that she hasconquered. I would not have hesitated a moment; for obligation, ifobligation it were, to her would be heaven: but she has her own wants, her own mode of doing good. These I was very desirous not to abridge. But, since I must either comply or remain behind, I am glad to havebeen so honourably vanquished. My father, I know, is willing enough I should go to France, or where Iplease, so that I do not ask him for money. Indeed he told me as much. He thinks it matters not what becomes of a fellow so useless, and soidle, as he supposes me to be. However I have written to inform him ofmy intention, and once more to remind him, though certainly in vain, ofthe manner in which he ought to act. Ever thine, F. HENLEY P. S. Thou art an unwilling, sluggish correspondent. I have justreceived thine of the 21st. I find I am in no danger of reproof, fromthee, for the acceptance of these pecuniary obligations: but I halfsuspect, from the tenor of thy letter, that thou wouldst bid me takeall that any body is willing to give. Be just to thyself and thyfriend, Oliver; shrink not from wholesome severity. Let not thy suavityof temper, or thy partial kindness to me, sway thee to the right or theleft; lest hereafter I should make the fearful demand of my lostprinciples, or at least relaxed and enfeebled, from thee. Beware of thekindness of thy heart. Do not omit my most respectful and kind acknowledgments to thy fatherand family. LETTER XIV _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ I have had a strong contest, my dear, with our favourite youth, toovercome what I believe I have convinced him is prejudice; and I hopehe is cured of false delicacy, for the future. He is to go with us toFrance, and is no longer under the necessity of abstaining frominnocent and instructive amusements, because he is possessed ofsensibility and a high respect for virtue. But he had no sooneraccepted this supply than away he was gone to his convert. This Isuspected. For which reason I had previously dispatched Mrs. Clarke tovisit her nephew. The good woman could not be prevailed on to receiveany money for his relief; urging that she was very capable of supplyinghim herself. That being so, I did not choose violently to contest thematter with her; as I do not wish to encourage the most distantapproaches to a spirit of avarice. I only told her it would be unjustshould she ever want money, for useful and virtuous purposes, if shedid not apply to me: and she with much good sense answered she thoughtas I did, and would certainly act accordingly. She is a very worthywoman. She was with her nephew when Frank came in; and the scene, as describedby her, was affecting. The poor culprit had been repeating all hisobligations to the generous Frank, praising his bravery, and dwelling, with a degree of conviction which gave Mrs. Clarke great pleasure, onthe effects of goodness; since it could render a man so undaunted, soforgiving, so humane, and so much as he said like a saint. You know, mydear, that saint, in the language of such people, does not mean animpostor, who pretends to carry burning coals in his hands, drive rustynails into his legs, adore a morsel of rotten wood, or decayed bone, and pretend to work miracles, or preach exclusive doctrines of faithand salvation. A saint with them is a person more perfect, in thedischarge of the highest moral duties, than they believe any otherearthly being to be. Let us accept their definition, and enroll thename of Frank Henley in our calendar. Frank was disappointed, and in some measure displeased, that any personshould offer his reformed friend, as from the best of motives he calledhim, money but himself; and the reason he gave was not without itsforce. This is a memorable epocha in the life of a mistaken man, saidhe; and no means, which can move his mind to a better performance ofhis duties than he has hitherto attempted, should be left untried. Itis but natural that he should think more of me than of most otherpersons: ['I can think of no one else!' Exclaimed the poor fellow, withenthusiasm. ] and, the more cause he shall have to remember me withaffection, the more weight will the reasons have with him which I haveurged. The culprit acknowledged that, from ill advice, vicious example, andviolent passions, he had become very wicked. But, said he, I must bewicked indeed if I could ever forget what this gentleman has said, anddone, to save my family from shame and ruin, and me from destructionand death. There is the greater reason to hope, because Mrs. Clarke says that hehas been what is called well educated, his station in life considered:and indeed of this I imagine she herself had taken care. Peggy came in, and by her excess of gratitude, and which is better ofadmiration for her hero, she drove the over delicate Frank away. Thisis one of his defects, for which we must endeavour to find a remedy. Men are not exposed to the fulsome praise which we unmarried femalesare calmly obliged to hear, or be continually at war; or Frank would bemore patient. Indeed he ought to be; because, in this instance, thepraises he receives are the effusions of persons who had never beforeseen virtue exert herself with so much ardour. Though the nephew be not an old or hardened offender, he has committedsome depredations of the consequences of which, were they proved uponhim, he himself is ignorant. His accomplice has discovered his retreat;another more private lodging has therefore been taken for him, to whichhe is to remove with all possible caution. And when he is sufficientlyrecovered, which Mrs. Clarke tells me will be soon, he is then todepart for the continent and work at his trade, which is that of acabinet-maker. English workmen are in high esteem abroad, and he willeasily find employment. He is more than reconciled to labour, he iseager to begin; and, as it appears, does not want activity of mind; ofwhich the dangerous expedients to which he resorted are some proof. So much for the history of a highwayman; which I think is at least asdeserving of remembrance as that of many other depredators. I have been making some efforts to decide the question, not of love, but, of duty. Love must not be permitted, till duty shall be known. Ihave not satisfied myself so well as I could wish, yet my formerreasons seem invincible. Ought my father and my family to be offended?Ought I to set an example that might be pernicious? Is it most probablethat by opposing I should correct or increase the world's mistakes? Thepath before me is direct and plain; ought I to deviate? In vain I fear should I plead his extraordinary merit. Would the plearemove the load of affliction with which I should overwhelm those wholove me best? At present they think well, nay highly of me. I sometimeshave the power to influence them to good. What power shall I have whenthey imagine I have disgraced both myself and them? Who ever saw those treated with esteem who are themselves supposed tobe the slaves of passion? And could the world possibly be persuadedthat a marriage between me and the son of my father's steward couldever originate, on my part, in honourable motives? Ought I to forget the influence of example? Where is the young lady, being desirous to marry an adventurer, or one whose mind might be asmean as his origin, who would not suppose her favourite more than theequal of Frank? For is not the power of discrimination lost, when thepassions are indulged? And ought my name to be cited? Ought they to beencouraged by any act of mine? Yet the opposing arguments are far from feeble. His feelings are toostrong to be concealed. Perhaps the only weakness I can think himcapable of is that of loving me. For if love be contradictory toreason, it is a weakness; but should he answer that love and reason arein this instance united, we must come to proofs. That he loves is toovisible to admit of doubt. I have seen the word trembling as it were onhis tongue. I am almost certain that a silly thing which I said, with avery different intention, would have produced an avowal of his passion, had I not added something to prevent it, and hurried away. Well then! Am I certain I am guilty of no injustice to him? And whyought I not to be as just to him as to any other being on earth? Whowould be more just to me? Who would be more tender, more faithful, moreaffectionate? I know not whether I ought to shrink from the vanity which seemsannexed to the idea, for I know not whether it be vanity, but I cannotsometimes help asking myself whether the good that might result fromthe union of two strong minds, mutually determined to exert theirpowers for the welfare of society, be not a reason superior even to allthose I have enumerated. If this be so, and if our minds really possess the strength which I amso ready to suppose, I then know not what answer to give. I reject theaffectation of under estimating myself, purposely that I may be calleda modest humble young lady. Humility I am persuaded, though not socommon, is as much a vice as pride. But, while avoiding one extreme, Imust take care not to be guilty of another. The question isembarrassing; but I must not by delay suffer embarrassment to increase. With respect to your brother, I can at present conclude nothing, andcan conjecture but little. The idea which has oftenest occurred, andwhich I have before mentioned, is the infinite pleasure of seeing anactive mind in the full possession of its powers; and of beinginstrumental in restoring that which mistake may have injured, or inpart destroyed. It seems a duty pointed out to me; attended perhapswith difficulty, and it may be with danger; but these increase itsforce. And if so, here is another argument to add to the heaviestscale. Yes. It must be thus. The more I examine, and while I am writingperhaps I examine the best, the more I am confirmed in my formerdecision. Pity for Frank ought not to be listened to. It is always a falsemotive, unless supported by justice. Frank will never condescend toendeavour to incite compassion; it is not in his character. He willrather assert his claims, for so he ought. I do not mean that acomplaint will never escape him. The best of us are not always soperfectly master of our thoughts as never to be inconsistent. But hissystem will not be to win that by intercession which he could notobtain by fair and honourable barter. The moment I have entirelysatisfied and convinced myself, I have no doubt of inducing him tobehave as nobly on this as he has done on every other trying occasion. And now, my dear Louisa, for the present farewel. I do not suppose Ishall write again, except a line to inform you of our safe arrivalafter having crossed the channel, till we come to Paris. I expect to beamused by the journey. Though I cannot but own I think that, as far asamusement was concerned, the good ladies under the reign of the Tudors, who travelled twenty miles a day, on a strong horse and a pillion, thatis when summer made the roads passable, had much better opportunitiesfor observation than we, who, shut up in our carriages, with blinds tokeep out the dust, gallop further in two days and two nights than theycould do in a month. This hasty travelling, when haste is necessary, isa great convenience. But nothing, except the inordinate ardour of themind to enjoy, could induce people on a journey of pleasure to hurry, as they do, through villages, towns, and counties, pass unnoticed themost magnificent buildings, and the most delightful prospects thatforests, rivers, and mountains can afford, and wilfully excludethemselves from all the riches of nature. To look about us, while thussurrounded, seems to be a very natural wish. And if so, a portablecloset, or rather a flying watch-box, is but a blundering contrivance. You know your Anna: her busy brain will be meddling. And perhaps shetrusts too much to the pardoning affection of friendship. Once again, adieu. Yours ever and ever, A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XV _Frank Henley to Abimelech Henley_ Sir, _London, Grosvenor-Street_ That I may not appear to neglect any filial duty, all of which it hasbeen my most earnest wish to fulfil, I write to inform you that, at therequest of the family, I am preparing to accompany Sir Arthur toFrance. From our last conversation I understood you had no objection tothe journey, except that of furnishing me with money; for it was yourpleasure to remind me that a man so idle, as you suppose I am, may beor go any where, without the world suffering the least loss. I own, didI imagine the same of myself, it would make me wretched indeed. You thought proper, sir, to refuse me the small sum which I requestedof you for this purpose. I do not wish to wrest what you are unwillingto give. You understand your own reasonings best; but to me they appearto be either erroneous or incomprehensible. I wished to explain to youwhat my plan of life was, but you refused to hear me. I had no soonersaid that I thought it my duty to study how I could best serve society, than you angrily told me I ought first to think how I could best servemyself. From a recollection of the past, I am convinced this is a pointon which we shall never have the same opinion. For this I am sincerelysorry, but as I hope not to blame. Suffer me however once more to repeat, sir, that though my young ladyhas kindly offered to furnish me with money, I still think it wrongthat you should permit me to accept her offer; having as I am wellconvinced the means to supply me liberally yourself. I assure you, sir, I would forbear to go, or to lay myself under the necessity of askingyou for money, were I not fully persuaded of its propriety. In order toperform my duty in the world, I ought to understand its inhabitants, its manners, and principally its laws, with the effects which thedifferent legislation of different countries has produced. I believethis to be the highest and most useful kind of knowledge. Could I fortunately induce you to think as I do, you certainly wouldnot refuse my request. Thirty pounds to you would be but a trifle. Butfrom my late failure I have so little hope, that I rather write toexecute a duty, than with any expectation of success. I submit this to your consideration, and have the greatest desire toprove myself your dutiful and affectionate son, F. HENLEY LETTER XVI _Abimelech Henley to Frank Henley_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ Here's a hippistle! Here's tantarums! Here's palaver! Want to pick mypocket? Rob me? And so an please ee he's my dutyfool and fekshinaitson! Duty fool, indeed? I say fool--Fool enough! And yet empty enoughGod he knoweth! You peery? You a lurcher? You know how to make your 3farthins shine, and turn your groats into guineas?--Why you're a noodl!A green horn! A queezee quaumee pick thank pump kin! A fine younk ladyis willin to come down with the kole, and the hulver headed hulk wantsto raise the wind on his own father! You face the philistins! Why theywill bite the nose off a your face! Thirty pounds too! The mercy be good unto me! Me thirty pounds! Wheremust I get thirty pounds! Does the joult head think I coin? Would hehave me go on the highway? Who ever giv'd me thirty pounds? Marry comeup! Thirty pounds? Why I came to Wenbourne-Hill with thrums immeepouch. Not a brass farthin more. And now show me the he or thehurr--Shiner for shiner--Hool a cry hold first?--Thos as to the matterof that, younker, why that's a nether here nor there; that's a nothinkto you dolt. I never axt you for nothink. Who begottee and sentee intothe world but I? Who found ee in bub and grub but I? Didn'tee run aboutas ragged as any colt o' the common, and a didn't I find duddz for ee?And what diddee ever do for me? Diddee ever addle half an ounce in yourlife without being well ribb rostit? Tongue pad me indeed! Ferrit andflickur at me! Rite your hippistles and gospels! I a butturd myparsnips finely! Am I a to be hufft and snufft o' this here manner, bya sir jimmee jingle brains of my own feedin and breedin? Am I to beramshaklt out of the super nakullums in spite o' my teeth? Yea and gosoftly! I crack the nut and you eat the kernel! I tellee once again you've an addle pate o' your own! Go to France tolearn to dance, to be sure! Better stay at home and learn totransmogrify a few kink's picters into your pocket. No marry comefairly! Squire Nincompoop! He would not a sifflicate Sir Arthur, andadvise him to stay at home, and so keep the rhino for the roast meat!He would not a take his cue, a dunder pate! A doesn't a know so much ashis a, b, c! A hasn't so much as a single glimm of the omnum gathrum inhis noddl! And pretends to hektur and doktur me! Shave a cow's tail anda goat's chin, an you want hair. And then again what did I say to ee about missee? What did I say?Didn't I as good as tellee witch way she cast a sheepz i? That indeedwould a be summut! An you will jig your heels amunk the jerry cumpoopz, you might a then dance to some tune. I a warruntee I a got all amy i teeth imme head. What doesn't I know witch way the wind sets whenI sees the chimblee smoke? To be sure I duz; as well with a wench as aweather-cock! Didn't I tellee y'ad a more then one foot i'the stirrup?She didn't a like to leave her jack in a bandbox behind her; and somissee forsooth forgot her tom-tit, and master my jerry whissle anplease you galloped after with it. And then with a whoop he must ambleto Lunnun; and then with a halloo he must caper to France! She'lldeposit the rhino; yet Nicodemus has a no notion of a what she'd be at!If you've a no wit o' your own, learn a little of folks that have someto spare. You'll never a be worth a bawbee o' your own savin. I telleethat. And ast for what's mine why it's my own. So take me ritely, nowis your time to look about ee. Then indeed! If so, why so be it; yea ayand amen, a God's name, say I. The fool a held his mouth open, and adown a droppt the plumb. Not after all that it would a be any sitch a mighty mirakkillus catchnether, as I shall manage matters mayhap. But that's a nether here northere. And so you know my mind. Take it or leave it or let it alone. It's all a won to I. Thos and I gives all this here good advice fornothink at all, what do I get by it? Give me but the wide world and oneand 20, with 5 farthins ten fingurs and a tongue, and a turn me adriftto morrow; I'de a work my way: I'de a fear nether wind nor weather. Forwhy? I'de a give any man a peck of sweet words for a pint of honey. What! Shall I let the lock rustee for a want of a little oilin? Haven'tI a told ee often and often, that a glib tongue, smooth and softly, always with the grain, is worth a kink's kinkddum? So mind a what ee be at. Play your cards out kuninlee; and then, why ifso be as thinks should turn up trumps, why we shall see. That is, takeme ritely; and I has a no notion that ee should take it into your nobbnoddl that I means to suppose that I shall come down with the dust. Noforsooth! For what and for why and for wherefore? We shall see--Why ayto be sure!--But what shall we see? Why we shall see how generous andhow kappaishus my younker will be, to his poor old father: we shall seethat. Not but if the ready be wantin, plump do you see me, down on the nailhead, and if Sir Arthur should a say as it must be so, why so. Mayhapwe--But I tell ee again and again that's a nether here nor there. Besides leave me to hummdudgin Sir Arthur. Mind you your hitts withmissee, I'll a foistee fubb he. And so now show your affection for all this my lovin kindness andmercy; and crown my latter days with peace and joy, witch nothink canxseed but the joys of heaven in his glory everlastin, witch is apreparin for me and for all kristshun soles, glory and onnur and powerand praise and thanks givin, world without end, for ever and ever, Godbe good unto us, and grant us his salvation; amen, and it be his holywill. ABIMELECH HENLEY LETTER XVII _The Honourable Mrs. Clifton to her son, Coke Clifton_ _Rose-Bank_ I Direct this letter to you, my dear son, at Paris; where it willeither find you, or lie at the banker's till your arrival. A packetaccompanies it, which contains the accounts of your late uncle withMonsieur de Chateauneuf; by which it appears there is a considerablebalance in his favour, which as you know by will devolves to me. I hope, when you have settled this business, you will be disposed toreturn to England; and that I shall once again have the happiness tosee you before I die. Do not imagine I speak of death to attract anyfalse pity. But my state of health obliges me to consider this seriousevent as at no great distance; though I do not think myself inimmediate danger. Sir Arthur St. Ives and his lovely daughter will soon be in Paris. Theyrequested letters from me; and, among others, I thought I could notrecommend them to any one with more propriety than to my son. There isan intimacy between our families at present; which was first occasionedby an affection which your sister Louisa and Anna St. Ives conceivedfor each other, and which has continually increased, very much indeedto my satisfaction. For, before I saw this young lady, I never met withone whom I thought deserving of the friendship of your sister, Louisa;whose strength of mind, if I do not mistake, is very extraordinary forher years. Yet even I, her mother, and liable enough to be partial, have sometimes thought she must cede the palm to her friend, thecharming Anna. My reason for writing thus is that you may be guilty of no mistakes ofcharacter, which indeed I think is very unlikely, and that you willshew Sir Arthur all possible respect, as well as his daughter, injustice to yourself, and as the friends of the family. Your sisterwrites under the same cover; and I cannot doubt, whenever you read herletters, but that you must receive very great satisfaction, to find youhave such a sister. I scarcely need tell you, Clifton, that though you have resided butlittle with me, I feel all the fond affection of a parent; that I amearnestly desirous to hear of your happiness, and to promote it; andthat no pleasure which the world could afford to me, personally, wouldequal that of seeing you become a good and great man. You have studied;you have travelled; you have read both men and books; every advantagewhich the most anxious desire to form your mind could procure has beenyours. I own that a mother's fondness forms great expectations of you;which, when you read this, be your faculties strong or weak, you willvery probably say you are capable of more than fulfilling. The feeble, hearing their worth or talents questioned, are too apt to swell andassume; and I have heard it said that the strong are too intimatelyacquainted with themselves to harbour doubt. I believe it ought to beso. I believe it to be better that we should act boldly, and bring fullconviction upon ourselves when mistaken, than that a timid spiritshould render us too cautious to do either good or harm. I would notpreach; neither indeed at present could I. A thousand ideas seemedcrowding upon my mind; but they have expelled each other as quickly asthey came, and I scarcely know what to add. My head-achs disqualify mefor long or consistent thinking; and nothing I believe but habit keepsme from being half an idiot. One thing however I cannot forget; which is, that I am your mother, Clifton; and that I have the most ardent and unremitting desire to seeyou a virtuous and a happy man. In which hope my blessing and love aremost sincerely yours. M. CLIFTON LETTER XVIII _Louisa Clifton to Her Brother, Coke Clifton_ _Rose-Bank_ It is long, my dear brother, since I received a letter from you; andstill longer since I had the pleasure to see you. How many rivers, seas, valleys, and mountains have you traversed, since that time! Whatvarious nations, what numerous opposite and characteristic countenanceshave you beheld! From all and each of them I hope you have learnedsomething. I hope the succession of objects has not been so quick as toleave vacuity in the mind. My propensity to moralize used formerly [And our formerlies you know, brother, are not of any long duration. ] to tease and half put you outof temper. Indulge me once more in hoping it will not do so at present;for I believe I am more prone to this habit than ever. What can I sayto my brother? Shall I tattle to him the scandal of the village, were Imistress of it? Shall I describe to him the fashion of a new cap; orthe charms of a dress that has lately travelled from Persia to Paris, from Paris to London, and from London to Rose-Bank? Or shall I recountthe hopes and fears of a sister; who has sometimes the temerity tothink; who would be so unfashionable as to love her brother, not forthe cut of his coat, not for the French or Italian phrases with whichhe might interlard his discourse, not for any recital of the delightwhich foreign ladies took in him and which he took in foreign ladies, not for a loud tongue and a prodigious lack of wit, not for any of theantics or impertinences which I have too frequently remarked in youngmen of fashion, but for something directly the reverse of all these:for well-digested principles, an ardent desire of truth, incessantstruggles to shake off prejudices; for emanations of soul, bursts ofthought, and flashes of genius. For such a brother, oh how eager wouldbe my arms, how open my heart! Do not think, my dear Clifton, I am unjust enough to mean any thingpersonal; to satirize what I can scarcely be said to have seen, or tocondemn unheard. No. Your faculties were always lively. You have seenmuch, must have learned much, and why may I not suppose you are becomeall that a sister's heart can desire? Pardon me if I expect too much. Do we not all admire and seek after excellence? When we are told such aperson is a man of genius, do we not wish to enquire into the fact?And, if true, are we not desirous of making him our intimate? And donot the ties of blood doubly enforce such wishes, in a brother'sbehalf? From what you were, I have no doubt but that you are become anaccomplished man. But I hope you are also become something much better. I hope that, by the exertion of your talents, acquirements, and genius, I shall see you the friend of man, and the true citizen of the world. If you are all that I hope, I think you will not be offended with thesesisterly effusions. If you are not, or but in part, you may imagine mevain and impertinent. But still I should suppose you will forgive me, because you are so seldom troubled with such grave epistles; and onenow and then, if not intolerably long, may be endured from an eldersister. Yet why do I say elder? Neither age nor station have any just claim;for there can be none, except the claims of truth and reason; againstwhich there is no appeal. I am eighteen months older than my brother, and up rises the claim of eldership! Such are the habits, theprejudices we have to counteract. My dear mamma has mentioned Sir Arthur St. Ives, in her letter, and hislovely daughter, Anna; more lovely in mind even than in form, and ofthe latter a single glance will enable you to judge. I need not requestyou to be attentive and civil to her, for it is impossible you shouldbe otherwise. Your own gratification will induce you to shew her thepublic places, and render her every service in your power; which willbe more than overpaid by associating with her; for it is indeed adelight to be in her company. For grace and beauty of person, she hasno equal; and still less can she be equalled, by any person of her age, for the endowments of wit and understanding. I am half angry withmyself for pretending to recommend her; when, as you will see, she canso much more effectually recommend herself. I have nothing to add except to say that, when my dear brother has amoment's leisure, I shall be glad to hear from him; and that I remainhis very affectionate sister, L. CLIFTON P. S. On recollection, I am convinced it is a false fear which hasprevented me from mentioning another person, very eminently deservingof esteem and respect; a fear of doing harm where I meant to do good. We ought to do our duty, and risk the consequences. The absurd pride ofancestry occasions many of our young gentlemen to treat those whom theydeem their inferiors by birth with haughtiness, and often withsomething worse; forgetting that by this means they immediately cutthemselves off as it were from society: for, by contemning those whoare a supposed step below them, they encourage and incur contempt fromthe next immediately above them. This is in some measure the practice:and, were it true that birth is any merit, it would be a practice towhich we ought to pay a still more strict attention. The younggentleman however whom I mean to recommend, for his great and peculiarworth, is Mr. Frank Henley, the son of a person who is gardener andsteward to Sir Arthur; or rather what the people among whom you are atpresent would call his _homme d'affaires_. But I must leave my friendsto speak for themselves; which they will do more efficaciously than canbe done by any words of mine. END OF VOLUME I VOLUME II LETTER XIX _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax, at Venice_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université, près le Pont Royal_ I write, Fairfax, according to promise, to inform you that I have beena fortnight in France, and four days in this city. The tract of countryover which I have passed, within these three months, is considerable. From Naples to Rome; from Rome to Florence; from Florence to Venice, where we spent our carnival; from Venice to Modena, Parma, and Genoa;from thence to Turin; from Turin to Geneva; then, turning to the left, to Lyons; and from Lyons to Paris. Objects have passed before me insuch a rapid succession, that the time I have spent abroad, though notmore than a year and a half, appears something like a life. The sightof the proud Alps, which boldly look eternity in the face, imparts asensation of length of time wholly inadequate to the few hours that areemployed in passing them. The labour up is a kind of age; and the swiftdescent is like falling from the clouds, once more to become aninhabitant of earth. Here at Paris I half fancy myself at home. And yet, to timid people whohave never beheld the ocean, and who are informed that seas divideFrance and England, Paris appears to be at an unattainable distance. Every thing is relative in this world; great or small near or distantonly by comparison. The traveller who should have passed the deserts, and suffered all the perils all the emotions of a journey from Bengalby land, would think himself much nearer home, at Naples, than I do, coming from Naples, at Paris: and those who have sailed round the worldseem satisfied that their labour is within a hair's breadth of being atan end, when they arrive, on their return, at the Cape of Good Hope. You, Fairfax, have frequently asked me to give you accounts of this andthat place, of the things I have seen, and of the observations I havemade. But I have more frequently put the same kind of questions tomyself, and never yet could return a satisfactory answer. I have seenpeople whose manners are so different from those of my own country, that I have seemed to act with them from a kind of conviction of theirbeing of another species. Yet a moment's consideration undeceives me: Ifind them to be mere men. Men of different habits, indeed, but actuatedby the same passions, the same desire of self-gratification. Yes, Fairfax, the sun moon and stars make their appearance, in Italy, asregularly as in England; nay much more so, for there is not a tenthpart of the intervening clouds. When molested by their dirt, their vermin, their beggars, theirpriests, and their prejudices, how often have I looked at them withcontempt! The uncleanliness that results from heat and indolence, theobsequious slavishness of the common people, contrasted with theirloquacious impertinence, the sensuality of their hosts of monks, naythe gluttony even of their begging friars, their ignorant adoration ofthe rags and rotten wood which they themselves dress up, the protectionafforded to the most atrocious criminals if they can but escape to amass of stone which they call sacred, the little horror in which theyhold murder, the promptness with which they assassinate for affrontswhich they want the spirit to resent, their gross buffooneriesreligious and theatrical, the ridiculous tales told to the vulgar bytheir preachers, and the improbable farces which are the delight of thegentle and the simple, all these, and many other things of a similarnature, seem to degrade them below rational creatures. Yet reverse the picture, and they appear rather to be demi-gods thanmen! Listen to their music! Behold their paintings! Examine theirpalaces, their basins of porphyry, urns and vases of Numidian marble, catacombs, and subterranean cities; their sculptured heroes, triumphalarches, and amphitheatres in which a nation might assemble; theirCorinthian columns hewn from the rocks of Egypt, and obelisks ofgranite transported by some strange but forgotten means fromAlexandria; the simplicity the grandeur and beauty of their temples andchurches; the vast fruitfulness of their lands, their rich vineyards, teeming fields, and early harvests; the mingled sublime and beautifulover the face of nature in this country, which is sheltered frominvaders by mountains and seas, so as by a small degree of art torender it impregnable; their desolating earthquakes, which yet seem butto renovate fertility; their volcanos, sending forth volumes of flameand rivers of fire, and overwhelming cities which though they haveburied they have not utterly destroyed; these and a thousand otherparticulars, which I can neither enumerate nor remember, apparentlyspeak them a race the most favoured of heaven, and announce Italy to bea country for whose embellishment and renown earth and heaven, men andgods have for ages contended. The recollection of these things appears to be more vivid, and to giveme greater pleasure than I believe the sight of them afforded. Perhapsit is my temper. Impatient of delay, I had scarcely glanced at oneobject before I was eager to hunt for another. The tediousness of theCiceroni was to me intolerable. What cannot instantly be comprehended Ican scarcely persuade myself to think worthy of the trouble of enquiry. I love to enjoy; and, if enjoyment do not come to me, I must fly toseek it, and hasten from object to object till it be overtaken. Intellectual pleasures delight me, when they are quick, certain, andeasily obtained. I leave those which I am told arise from patientstudy, length of time, and severe application, to the fools who thinktime given to be so wasted. Roses grow for me to gather: rivers rollfor me to lave in. Let the slave dig the mine, but for me let thediamond sparkle. Let the lamb, the dove, and the life-loving eel writheand die; it shall not disturb me, while I enjoy the viands. The fivesenses are my deities; to them I pay worship and adoration, and neveryet have I been slack in the performance of my duty. What! Shall we exist but for a few years, and of those shall there bebut a few hours as it were of youth, joy, and pleasure, and shall welet them slip? Shall we cast away a good that never can return; andseek for pain, which is itself in so much haste to seek for us? Awaywith such folly! The opposite system be mine. The voluptuous Italian, as wise in this as in other arts, knows better. He lives for the moment, and takes care not to let the moment slip. Hisvery beggars, basking in the sun, will not remove, so long as hungerwill suffer them to enjoy the happiness of being idle. Who so perfectlyunderstand the luxury of indolence as the Lazaroni of Naples? The Italian, indeed, seems to exert all the craft for which he is sofamous, to accomplish this sole purpose of enjoyment. He marries awife, and the handsomest he can procure; that, when the ardour ofdesire is satiated, she may fleece some gallant, who shall pay for hispleasures elsewhere. And, as variety is the object of all, gallantsucceeds to gallant, while he himself flies from mistress to mistress, and thus an equal barter is maintained. This office of Cicisbeo is however an intolerably expensive one;especially to our countrymen. The Signora is so inventive in herfaculties, there are so many trinkets which she dies to possess, andher wants, real and artificial, are so numerous, that the purse isnever quiet in the pocket. And every Englishman is supposed to befurnished with the purse of Fortunatus. The worst because the most dangerous part of the business is, the uglyand the old think themselves entitled to be as amorous as the young andbeautiful; and a tall fellow, with a little fresh blood in his veins, is sure to have no peace for them. Prithee, Fairfax, tell me how theContessa behaved, when she found I had escaped from her amorouspursuit. She began to make me uneasy; and I almost thought it was asnecessary for me to have a taster as any tyrant in Christendom. Poisonand the stiletto disturbed my dreams; for there were not only she, buttwo or three more, who seemed determined to take no denial. Icongratulated myself, as I was rolling down mount Cenis, to think thatI was at length actually safe, and that the damned black-looking, hook-nosed, scowling fellow from Bergamo, whom I had so often remarkeddogging me, was no longer at my heels. But I have now bidden adieu to the _Cassini_, the _Carnivali_, and the_Donne_; and soon shall see what provision this land of France affords. For the short time that I have been here, I have no occasion tocomplain of my reception. I do not know why, Fairfax, but we Englishmenseem to be in tolerably good repute every where, with the ladies. Well, well, pretty dears, they shall find me very much at their service. Ishould be sorry to bring disgrace upon my nation, Fairfax. Would notyou? I expect to find you a punctual correspondent. Fail not to let me know, when, weary of being a _Cavaliere servente_, you shall leave the proudbanks of the Adriatic, and the wanton Venice, for some other abode;that our letters may never miss their aim. I will relate every thingthat happens to me, when it can either afford you amusement to read, orme satisfaction to write. You have too much honour and honesty not todo the same. Or, if not, I will try what a threat can do: thereforeremember that, unless you fulfil the terms of our agreement, and giveme an account of all your rogueries, adventures, successes, andhair-breadth escapes, I will choose some other more punctual and moreentertaining correspondent. Observe further, and let that be a spur to your industry, I have a talein petto; a whimsical adventure which happened to me yesterday evening;but which I shall forbear to regale you with, for three substantialreasons: first because it is my good pleasure; secondly because I likeit; and lastly such is my sovereign will. Nay, if that be all, I cangive you three more: first because I am almost at the end of my paper;next because I may want a good subject when I write again; and finallybecause the post is a sturdy unceremonious fellow, and does not thinkproper to wait my leisure. So farewell; and believe me to be very sincerely yours, COKE CLIFTON P. S. I have this moment received information that Sir Arthur St. Ivesand his daughter arrived yesterday in the afternoon at Paris. I haveheard that the daughter is the most beautiful woman in England, andthat her wit is even superior to her beauty. I am very glad of theaccident, for I have a great desire to see her. My mother's last waspartly a letter of business, but chiefly of recommendation, particularly of the young lady: and in it was enclosed one from mysister, Louisa, which gives a very high character of her friend, AnnaSt. Ives. They have become acquainted since I have been abroad. Theletter is loaded with advice to me, at which as you may well think Ilaugh. These girls, tied to their mother's apron-strings, pretend toadvise a man who has seen the world! But vanity and conceit are strangepropensities, that totally blind the eyes of their possessors. I havelived but little at home, but I always thought the young lady a forwardimperious miss; yet I never before knew her so much on the stilts. Iexpect she will soon put on boots and buckskin, and horsewhip herfellows herself; for she improves apace. Once more farewell. LETTER XX _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude_, _Fauxbourg St. Germain_ After abundance of jolting in carriages, sea sickness, and such-liketrifling accidents, incidental to us travellers, here we are at last, dear Louisa. My very first demand has been for pen ink and paper, toinform my kind friend of our safe arrival: though I am so giddy, afterthis post haste four day's hurry, that I scarcely can write a straightline. Neither do I know whether I have any thing to say; though Iseemed to myself to have acquired an additional stock of ideas, at thevery moment that I first beheld Calais and the coast of France. What is there, my dear, in the human mind, that induces us to thinkevery thing which is unusual is little less than absurd? Is itprejudice, is it vanity, or is it a short and imperfect view; a want ofdiscrimination? I could have laughed, but that I had some latent senseof my own folly, at the sight of a dozen French men and women, and twoor three loitering monks, whom curiosity had drawn together upon thepier-head, to see us come into port. And what was my incitement tolaughter?--It was the different cut of a coat. It was a silk bag, inwhich the hair was tied, an old sword, and a dangling pair of ruffles;which none of them suited with the poverty of the dress, and meagreappearance, of a person who seemed to strut and value himself upon suchmarks of distinction. Sterne was in my pocket, and his gentle spirit was present to my mind. Perhaps the person who thus excited a transient emotion of risibilitywas a nobleman. For the extremes of riches and of poverty are, as Ihave been informed, very frequent among the nobility of France. Hemight happen to think himself a man highly unfortunate and aggrieved. The supposition occasioned my smile to evaporate in a sigh. But the houses!--They were differently built!--Could that be right?They were not so clean! That was certainly wrong. In what strange landis the standard of propriety erected?--Then the blue and brown jacketsof the women; their undaunted manner of staring; their want of hats, and stays; the slovenly look of slippers not drawn up at the heel; theclumsy wooden shoes of some, and the bare feet of others; nay theirreadiness to laugh at the uncouth appearance of the people who werecondemning them for being ridiculous; what could all this be? But howcame I so unaccountably to forget that children and beggars sometimesgo barefoot in England; and that few people, perhaps, are more addictedto stare and laugh at strangers than ourselves? Oh! But the French areso polite a nation that even the common people are all well bred; andwould enter a drawing-room with more ease and grace than an Englishgentleman!--Have you never heard this nonsense, Louisa? The character of nations, or rather of mind, is apparent in trifles. Granted. Let us turn our eyes back to the shores we have so latelyleft: let us examine the trifles we hang about ourselves. How many ofthem, which characterize and as it were stamp the nation withabsurdity, escape unobserved! We see them every day; we have adoptedand made them our own, and we should be strangely offended, should anyperson take the liberty, having discovered the folly of them, to laughat us. I wrote thus far last night; but learning, on enquiry, that Tuesdaysand Fridays are foreign post days, I left off; being rather indisposedafter my journey. 'Tis only a swimming in the head, which will soonleave me; though I find it has returned upon me occasionally all themorning. But to my pleasing task; again let me prattle to my friend. The innkeepers of Calais come themselves, or send their waiters, towatch for and invite passengers to their houses; and will not bedismissed without difficulty. The most daring endeavour to securecustomers, by seizing on some of their trunks, or baggage. But we haddetermined to go to Dessein's, and the active Frank soon made way forus. I was amused with the handbill, stuck up against the walls of this inn, or hotel, as it is called; announcing it to be the largest, thecompletest, the most magnificent, with a thousand et caeteras, in theuniverse; and recounting not only its numerous accommodations, but themultifarious trades which it contained within its own walls; to allwhich was added a playhouse. A playhouse it is true there was, but noplayers; and as for trades, there were at least as many as we wanted. Sir Arthur took over his own carriage; otherwise this first of inns inthe universe would not have furnished him with one, but on condition ofits being purchased. Sir Arthur observed it was strange that the French innkeepers shouldnot yet have discovered it to be their interest to keep carriages fortravellers, as in England. To which Frank Henley shrewdly answered, that the book of post roads, in his hand, informed him government wasin reality every where the inn-keeper; and reserved to itself theprofits of posting. And the deepest thinkers, added Frank, inform usthat every thing in which governments interfere is spoiled. I remarkedto him that this principle would lead us a great way. Yes, said he, butnot too far: and, playing upon my words, added, it would lead us backto the right way, from which we appear at present to have strayed, intothe very labyrinth of folly and blunders. Frank is earnestly studious of the effects of governments, and laws;and reads the authors who have written best on such subjects with greatattention, and pleasure. He and Sir Arthur by no means agree, inpolitics; and Sir Arthur has two or three times been half affronted, that a man so young and so inferior to himself, as he supposes Frank tobe, should venture to be of a different opinion, and dispute with him;who was once in his life too a member of parliament. I am obliged nowand then slily to remind him of the highwayman and Turnham Green. And now, Louisa, traveller like, could I regale you with a melancholynarrative, relating how the fields in this country have no hedges; howthe cows are as meagre as their keepers; how wretched the huts andtheir owners appear; how French postillions jump in and out ofjack-boots, with their shoes on, because they are too heavy to dragafter them; how they harness their horses with ropes; how dexterouslythey crack the merciless whips with which they belabour the poor hacksthey drive; how we were obliged to pay for five of these hacks, havingonly four in our carriage, and two of them frequently blind, lame, oruseless; with many other items, that might be grievous to hear, could Ibut persuade myself thoroughly to pity or be angry at the whole Frenchnation, for not exactly resembling the English. But do they themselvescomplain? Mercy on us! Complain?--Nothing is so grateful to theirhearts, as the praise of that dear country, which English travellersare so prone to despise! Frank as usual has been all attention, all ardour, all anxiety, torender our journey as pleasant as possible. His efforts have beenchiefly directed to me; my ease, my satisfaction, my enjoyment, havebeen his continual care. Not that he has neglected or overlooked SirArthur. He overlooks no living creature, to whom he can give aid. Heloses no opportunity of gaining the esteem and affection of high andlow, rich and poor. His delicacy never slumbers. His thirst of doinggood is never assuaged. I am young it is true, but I never before met ayouth so deserving. Think of him myself I must not; though I would givekingdoms, if I had them, to see him completely happy. And now, dear Louisa, I am soon to meet your brother. Why do I seem torecollect this with a kind of agitation? Is there rebellion in myheart? Would it swerve from the severe dictates of duty? No. I will settoo strict a watch over its emotions. What! Does not Louisa honour mewith the title of friend, and shall I prove unworthy of her friendship?Forbid it emulation, truth, and virtue! How happy should I be were your brother and Frank Henley to conceive animmediate partiality for each other! How much too would it promote theproject I wish to execute! I have been taxing my invention to form somelittle plot for this purpose, but I find it barren. I can do nothingbut determine to speak of Frank as he deserves; which surely will gainhim the love of the whole world. And for his part, I know how ready hewill be to give merit its due. I have more than once purposely mentioned your brother's name to SirArthur, when Frank was present; in some manner to prepare and guard himagainst surprise. But I could not but remark my hints had an effectupon him that betrayed how much his heart was alarmed. He thinks toofavourably, and I fear too frequently of me. What can be done? Thewisest of us are the slaves of circumstances, and of the prejudices ofothers. How many excellent qualities are met in him! And for these tobe rejected--! Alas!--We must patiently submit to the awful laws ofnecessity. Neither is Sir Arthur without his fears and suspicions. His discoursebetrays his alarms. He cannot conceive that a love of the merits ofFrank can be distinct from all love of his person. The crime ofdisobedience in children, the ruin of families by foolish and unequalmarriages, and the wretchedness which is the result of such guiltyconduct, have been hinted at more than once lately; and though not withmany words, yet with a degree of anxiety that gave me pain, for ittaught me, being suspected, half to suspect myself. But I must conclude: my travelling vertigo I find is not immediately tobe shaken off. I imagine that a few hours calm sleep will be my bestphysician. Adieu. I shall wait, with some impatience, for a letter frommy dear Louisa. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XXI _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude, _ _Fauxbourg St. Germain_ My emotions, Oliver, are too strong to permit me to narrate commonoccurrences. I can only tell thee our journey is ended, that we arrivedyesterday, and that we are now at Paris. My feelings are moretumultuous than they ought to be, and seek relief in the mild andlistening patience of friendship. First however I must relate a singular adventure, which happenedyesterday evening. After I had seen our baggage properly disposed of, curiosity led me, though night was approaching, to walk out and take a view of the famousfaçade of the Louvre. From thence I strayed, through the gardens of theThuilleries, to the Place de Louis XV; being delighted with thebeauties around me, but which I have not now time to describe. A littlefarther are the Champs Elysées, where trees planted in quincunx afforda tolerably agreeable retreat to the Parisians. It was now twilight. The idlers had retired; for I suppose, from whatfollowed, that it is not very safe to walk after dark, in theseenvirons. Ignorant of this, and not apprehensive of any danger, I hadstrayed to a considerable distance among the trees, against one ofwhich I stood leaning, and contemplating the banks of the Seine, thePalais Bourbon, and other surrounding objects. All was silent, exceptthe distant hum of the city, and the rattling of carriages, whichcould but just be heard. Amid this calm, I was suddenly alarmed by voices in anger, andapproaching. They spoke in French, and presently became more distinctand loud. Draw, sir, said one. _Mort de ma vie_, come along, answered the other. Draw, sir, I say; replied the first. I neither know who you are norwhat your intentions may be. I will go no further. Draw! _Sacristi_, answered his antagonist, we shall be interrupted: the guardwill be upon us in a moment. The first however was resolute, and in an imperious voice again badehim draw. Their swords were instantly out, and they began to assaulteach other. Thou mayst imagine, Oliver, I would not cowardly stand andbe a spectator of murder. They were not twenty paces from me. I flew;when, to my great surprise, one of them called, in English, Keep off, sir! Who are you? Keep off! And, his enemy having dropt his guard, hepresented his point to me. It was no time to hesitate. I rushed resolutely between them; holdingup my open hands above my head, to shew the Englishman, who seemedapprehensive of a conspiracy, he had nothing to fear from me. His angeralmost overcame him: he held up his sword, as if to strike with it, andwith great haughtiness and passion again bade me begone. Have patience, sir, answered I. Men shall not assassinate each other, if I can preventit. Let us retire, said the Frenchman: I knew we should be interrupted. You shall not fight. I will follow you, added I, I will call for help. You are a damned impertinent fellow, said the Englishman. Be it so; but you shall not fight, was my answer. The combatants, finding me so determined, put up their swords, andmutually exchanged their address; after which they separated. So thatit is probable, Oliver, my interference has done no good. But that Imust leave to chance. I could not act otherwise. This incident, so immediately after my arrival, in a place so strangeto me, and coming so suddenly, made too great an impression upon me notto tell it thee. Though I have another topic much nearer my heart; thetrue state of which has been shewn me, by an event of which I will nowinform thee. We are lodged here in the first floor, consisting of many chambers, each of which is a thoroughfare to the most distant. It is not tenminutes since I was seated, and preparing to write to thee, when Annacame to pass through the room where I was, and retire to her ownapartment. She was fatigued, I imagine, by the journey; though Ifrequently fear the ardour of her mind will injure her constitution. She walked with some difficulty, was evidently giddy, and staggered. Iwas alarmed, and was rising, when she called to me faintly, --'Help me, Frank!' I sprung and caught her as she was falling. I received her in my arms!And my agitation was so violent, that it was with difficulty I couldpreserve strength enough to support her, and seat her in the chair Ihad quitted. The house to me was a kind of wilderness. I knew not where to run, yetrun I did for water. I called Laura, with a latent wish that nobodymight help her but myself; and, as it happened, nobody heard. Ireturned; she recovered, thanked me, with her usual heavenly kindness, and I conducted her to her apartment, she leaning on my arm. Oh! Oliver, is it wrong to feel what I feel, at the remembrance? If itbe, reprove me sternly; teach me my duty, and I will thank thee. Surelythere is something supernatural hovers over her! At least she resemblesno other mortal! Then her kindness to me, her looks, her smiles, heractions, are all intentional benignancy. She is now but three chambersdistant from me; enjoying as I hope refreshing slumbers. Angels guardher, and inspire her dreams. No matter for the nonsense of my words, Oliver; thou knowest my meaning. She desired me to bid Laura notdisturb her; and here I sit, watchful of my precious charge. Grateful, heart-soothing office! And now, Oliver, what am I to think? My fears would tie my tongue; but, either I am deluded or hope brightens upon me, and I want theself-denying resolution of silence. Yes, Oliver, I must repeat, thereis such sweetness in her countenance, when she speaks to me, such asmile, so inviting, so affirmative, that I am incessantly flatteringmyself it cannot but have a meaning. I have several times lately heardher sigh; and once so emphatically that I think it impossible I shouldbe deceived. I and Sir Arthur were conversing. I was endeavouring toshew the pernicious tendency of the prejudices of mankind, andinadvertently touched upon the absurdity of supposing there could beany superiority, of man over man, except that which genius and virtuegave. Sir Arthur did not approve the doctrine, and was pettish. Iperhaps was warmed, by a latent sense of my own situation, andexclaimed--'Oh! How many noble hearts are groaning, at this instant, under the oppression of these prejudices! Hearts that groan, notbecause they suffer, but because they are denied the power effectuallyto aid their very oppressors, who exert the despotism of numbers, toenforce claims which they themselves feel to be unjust, but which theythink it dishonourable to relinquish!'--It was then the sigh burstforth of which I told thee. I turned and found her eyes fixed upon me. She blushed and looked down, and then again bent them toward me. I washeated and daring. We exchanged looks, and said--! Volumes could notrepeat how much!--But surely neither of us said any thing to theother's disadvantage. Oh! The bliss to perceive myself understood and not reproved! To meetsuch emanations of mind! Ecstasy is a poor word! Once more she seemedto repeat--_She would love me if I would let her. _ Tell me, then--Have I not reason on my side? And, if I have, will shenot listen? May she not be won? Shall I doubt of victory, fightingunder the banners of truth? Alas!--Well well-- My own sensations, Oliver, are so acute, and I am so fearful lest theyshould lead me astray, that I could not forbear this detail--Let uschange the theme. Well, here we are, in France; and, wonderful to tell, France is notEngland! I imagine it is impossible to travel through a foreign country, withoutfalling into certain reveries; and that each man will fashion hisdreams in part from accident, and in part according to the manner inwhich he has been accustomed to ruminate. Thy most excellent father, Oliver, early turned my mind to the consideration of forms ofgovernment, and their effects upon the manners and morals of men. Thesubject, in his estimation, is the most noble that comes under ourcognizance; and the more I think myself capable of examining, and themore I actually do examine, the more I am a convert to his opinion. Howoften has it been said of France, by various English philosophers, andby many of its own sages, What a happy country would this be, were itwell governed! But, with equal truth, the same may be said of everycountry under heaven; England itself, Oliver, in spite of ourpartialities, not excepted. How false, how futile, how absurd is the remark that a despoticgovernment, under a perfect monarch, would be the state of highestfelicity! First an impossible thing is asked; and next impossibleconsequences deduced. One tyrant generates a nation of tyrants. His ownmistakes communicate themselves east, west, north, and south; and whatappeared to be but a spark becomes a conflagration. How inconsistent are the demands and complaints of ignorance! It wishesto tyrannize, yet exclaims against tyranny! It grasps at wealth, andpants after power; yet clamours aloud, against the powerful and thewealthy! It hourly starts out into all the insolence of pride; yethates and endeavours to spurn at the proud! Among the many who have a vague kind of suspicion that things might bebetter, are mingled a few, who seem very desirous they should remain asthey are. These are the rich; who, having by extortion and rapineplundered the defenceless, and heaped up choice of viands and the fatof the land, some sufficient to feed ten, some twenty, some a hundred, some a thousand, and others whole armies, and being themselves eachonly able to eat for one, say to the hungry, who have no food--'Come!Dance for my sport, and I will give you bread. Lick the dust off myshoes, and you shall be indulged with a morsel of meat. Flatter me, andyou shall wear my livery. Labour for me, and I will return you a tenthof your gain. Shed your blood in my behalf, and, while you are youngand robust, I will allow you just as much as will keep life and soultogether; when you are old, and worn out, you may rob, hang, rot, orstarve. ' Would not any one imagine, Oliver, that this were poetry? Alas! It ismere, literal, matter of fact. Yet let us not complain. Men begin to reason, and to think aloud; andthese things cannot always endure. I intended to have made some observations on the people, the aspect ofthe country, and other trifles; I scarcely now know what: but I havewandered into a subject so vast, so interesting, so sublime, that allpetty individual remarks sink before it. Nor will I for the presentblur the majesty of the picture, by ill-placed, mean, and discordantobjects. Therefore, farewell. F. HENLEY P. S. Examine all I have said, and what I am going to add, relative tomyself, with severity. Mine is a state of mind in which the jealousrigour of friendship appears to be essentially necessary. I have beenseized with I know not what apprehensions, by some hints which she hastwo or three times lately repeated, concerning the brother of her dearand worthy friend, Louisa; who, it seems, is to give us the meeting atParis. Is it not ominous? At least the manner in which she introducedthe subject, and spoke of him, as well as the replies of Sir Arthur, were all of evil augury. Yet, why torment myself with imaginaryterrors? Should the brother resemble the friend--! Well! What if heshould? Would it grieve me to find another man of virtue and genius, because it is possible my personal interest might be affected by thediscovery? No. My mind has still strength sufficient to reject, nay tocontemn, so unworthy a thought. But he may be something very different!Love her he must: all who behold her love! The few words she hasoccasionally dropped, have led me to suspect 'more was meant than metthe ear. ' Whenever this chord is touched, my heart instantly becomestremulous; and with sensibility so painful as fully to lay open itsweakness; against which I must carefully and resolutely guard. It isthese incongruous these jarring tokens that engender doubt, andsuspense, almost insupportable. LETTER XXII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Pans, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude_, _Fauxbourg St. Germain_ The oddest and most unlucky accident imaginable, Louisa, has happened. Your brother and Frank have unfortunately half quarrelled, withoutknowing each other. I mentioned a giddiness with which I was seized;the consequence, as I suppose, of travelling. I was obliged to retireto my chamber; nay should have fallen as I went, but for Frank. Idesired he would tell Laura not to disturb me; and he it seems plantedhimself sentinel, with a determination that neither Laura nor any otherperson should approach. I am too often in his thoughts: he is wrong tobestow so much of his time and attention on me. Sir Arthur was gone tolook about him; having first sent a note, unknown to me, to inform yourbrother of our arrival; and requesting to see him, as soon asconvenient. Away hurried your brother, at this mal apropos interval, with SirArthur's note in his pocket, to our hotel. He enquired for my father? He was gone out. For me? Laura answered she would call me. She was running with great haste, for this purpose, but was interceptedby Frank; who, agreeably to my desire, would not suffer her to proceed. She returned; and your brother, referring again to Sir Arthur's note, was much surprised, and rather vexed. He asked by whose order she was sent back. She answered by the order of Mr. Frank. Who was Mr. Frank? A young gentleman; [Laura has repeated all that passed] the son of Mr. Aby Henley. And who was Mr. Aby Henley? The steward and gardener of Sir Arthur; his head man. Steward and gardener? The son of a gardener a gentleman? Yes, sir. To be sure, sir, among thorough bred quality, though perhapshe may be better than the best of them, he is thought no better than akind of a sort of a gentleman; being not so high born. Well, said your brother, shew me to this son of Mr. Aby; thisperemptory gentleman; or, as you call him, kind of a sort of agentleman! Laura obeyed; and she says they were quite surprised at the sight ofeach other; but that I suppose to be one of the flourishes of herfancy. Your brother, however, as I understand, desired, with somehaughtiness, that Frank would suffer the maid to pass, and inform me hewas come, agreeably to Sir Arthur's request, to pay his respects to me. Frank resolutely refused; alleging I was not well. Not well! Said yourbrother. Is not this Sir Arthur's handwriting? Yes, replied Frank; butI assure you she is not well: and I am afraid that even our speakingmay awaken her, if she should chance to be asleep. I must thereforerequest, sir, you would retire. The oddness of the circumstances, and the positiveness of Frank, displeased your brother. Sir Arthur happened to return; and he went tohim, scarcely taking time for first compliments, but asking whether itwere true that I was not well. Sir Arthur was surprised: he knewnothing of it! I had not thought a giddiness in the head worth acomplaint. Laura was again sent to tell me; and was again deniedadmittance. Sir Arthur then, with your brother, came to question Frank;who continued firm in his refusal; and when Sir Arthur and your brotherhad heard that I was so dizzy as to be in danger of falling, had not hesupported me, they were satisfied. But such a meeting, between Frankand your brother, was quite vexatious: when the very reverse too waswished! However he is to visit us this morning; and I will thenendeavour to do justice to the worth of Frank, and remove falseimpressions, which I have some reason to fear have been made. I willpause here; but, if I find an opportunity, will write another shortletter, under the same cover, by this post: that is, should I happen tohave any thing more to say--This accident was exceedingly unlucky, andI seem as if I felt myself to blame; especially as I am quite inspirits this morning, and relieved from my giddy sensations. I amsorry; very sorry: but it cannot be helped. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XXIII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université, près le Pont Royal_ It was well I did not tell my tale in my last, Fairfax; it would havebeen spoiled. I knew it only by halves. It has ended in the mostsingular combination of circumstances one could well imagine. You remember I told you of the arrival of Sir Arthur St. Ives, and hisdaughter; I believe it was in the postscript; and that I wasimmediately going to--Pshaw! I am beginning my story now at the wrongend. It is throughout exceedingly whimsical. Listen, and let amazementprop your open mouth. You must have observed the ease with which Frenchmen, though perfectstrangers to each other, fall into familiar conversation; and become asintimate in a quarter of an hour, as if they had been acquainted theirwhole lives. This is a custom which I very much approve. But, like allother good things, it is liable to abuse. The other day I happened to be taking a walk on the Boulevards, itbeing a church festival, purposely to see the good Parisians in alltheir gaiety and glory; and a more cheerful, at least a more noisypeople, do not, I believe, exist. As I was standing to admire a waxworkexhibition of all the famous highwaymen, and cut-throats, whosehistories are most renowned in France, and listening to the fellow atthe door, bawling--_Aux Voleurs! Aux grands Voleurs!_--Not a littleamused with the murderous looks, darkness, dungeons, chains and pettyhorror which they had mimicked, a man uncommonly well-dressed, with anelegant person and pleasing manners, came up and immediately fell intodiscourse with me. I encouraged him, because he pleased me. We walkedtogether, and had not conversed five minutes before, without seeming toseek an opportunity, he had informed me that he was the Marquis dePassy, and that he had left his carriage and attendants, because helike me took much pleasure in observing the hilarity of the holidaycitizens. He had accosted me, he said, because he had a peculiar esteemfor the English; of which nation he knew me to be, by my step andbehaviour. We talked some time, and though he made no deep remarks, he was verycommunicative of anecdotes, which had come within his own knowledge, that painted the manners of the nation. Among other things, he told meit was not uncommon for valets to dress themselves in their mastersclothes, when they supposed them to be at a distance, or otherwiseengaged, assume their titles, and pass themselves upon the_Bourgeoisie_ and foreigners for counts, dukes, or princes. It was butthis day fortnight, said he, that the Marechal de R--surprised one ofhis servants in a similar disguise, and with some jocularity publiclyordered the fellow to walk at his heels, then went to his carriage, andcommanded him, full dressed as he was, to get up behind. He had scarcely ended this account before another person came up, andwith an air of some authority asked him where his master was, what hedid there, and other questions. To all this my quidam acquaintance, with a degree of surprise thatseemed to be tempered with the most pleasing and unaffected urbanity, replied, without being in the least disconcerted, sir, you mistake me:but I am sure you are too much of a gentleman to mean any wilfulaffront. Affront! Why whom do you pretend yourself to be, sir? Sir, I am the Marquis de Passy. You the Marquis de Passy?-- Yes, sir; I!-- Insolent scoundrel!-- No gentleman, sir, can suffer such language; and I insist uponsatisfaction. --And accordingly my champion drew his sword. Hisantagonist, looking on him with ineffable contempt, answered he wouldtake some proper opportunity to cane him as he deserved. I own I was amazed. I reasoned a short time with myself, and concludedthe person was mistaken; for that it was impossible for any man tocounterfeit so much ease, or behave with so much propriety, who was nota gentleman. I therefore thought proper to interfere, and told theintruder that, having given an insult, he ought not to be afraid ofgiving satisfaction-- And pray, sir, said he, who are you? A gentleman, sir, answered I-- Yes. As good a one as your companion, I suppose-- You know, Fairfax, it is not customary with me to suffer insolence totriumph unchastised, and I ordered him immediately to draw. What, sir, in this place, said he? Follow me, if you have any valour tospare. His spirit pleased me, and I followed. I know not what became of thefellow, whose cause I had espoused; for I saw him no more. My antagonist led me across the rue St. Honoré, to a place which Isuppose you know, called the Elysian Fields. It began to be late, and Iam told there is danger in passing the precincts of the guard. Iapprehended a conspiracy, and at last refused to proceed any farther. Finding me obstinate he drew, but said we should be interrupted. He was no false prophet; for we had not made half a dozen passes beforea youth, whom from his boots and appearance I supposed to be English, came running and vociferating--Forbear! I was not quite certain thathis appearance might not be artifice; I therefore accosted him inEnglish, in which language he very readily replied. He was quite asturdy, dauntless gentleman; for, though our swords were drawn, andboth of us sufficiently angry, he resolutely placed himself between us, declaring we should not fight; and that, if we went farther, he wouldfollow. Nothing was to be done; and I now began to suspect the person, withwhom I had this ridiculous quarrel, to be really a gentleman. I gavehim my address, and he readily returned his; after which we parted, hesinging a French song, and I cursing the insolence of the Englishyouth, who seemed to disregard my anger, and to be happy that he hadprevented the spilling of blood. Remember that all this happened on the preceding evening, after I hadwritten the greatest part of my last long letter. The next morning Ifinished it, and received a note from Sir Arthur St. Ives, as Imentioned. As soon as I could get dressed, I hastened away; and, arriving at thehotel, enquired for the knight? He was gone out. For his daughter? She had retired to her apartment. I sent in my name. The maid went, and returned with an answer that Mr. Frank did not think it proper for her mistress to be disturbed. Now, Fairfax, guess who Mr. Frank was if you can! By heaven, it was the veryindividual youth who, the night before, had been so absolute in puttingan end to our duel! I was planet-struck! Nor was his surprise less, when he saw me, andheard my errand and my name. I found my gentleman as positive in the morning as in the evening. Hewas the dragon; touch the fruit who dared! Jason himself could not haveentrance there! And he was no less cool than determined. I was almosttempted to toss him out of the window. However I am glad I contained myself; for, on the entrance of SirArthur, we came to an explanation; and I find the young lady was reallyindisposed. But, considering his mongrel birth and breeding, for he isthe son of a gardener, I really never saw a fellow give himself suchhigh airs. Sir Arthur received me with great civility. I have not yet seen thedaughter, but I expect to find her a beauty. She is the toast of thecounty where her father resides. I am to be with her in half an hour;and, as I suppose I shall be fully engaged with this and other affairsfor some days, I shall seal up my letter: you must therefore wait foran account of her, till inclination and the full tide of events shallinduce me again to indite of great matters. I shall direct this, agreeably to your last, to your banker's, inParma. Do not fail to tell me when you shall be at Turin. Yours very sincerely, C. CLIFTON P. S. My opponent of the Elysian Fields has just paid me a visit. He isa man of family; seems to be of a slightly pleasant humour; andacknowledged that what he had heard convinced him he had mistaken mycharacter; for which he was very ready either to cut my throat or askmy pardon. His ease and good temper spoke much in his favour; and Ilaughed, and answered, in mercy to my throat, I would accept hisapology. In consideration of which we are to cultivate an acquaintance, and be sworn friends. LETTER XXIV _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude_, _Fauxbourg St. Germain_ I return eagerly to my Louisa. Mr. Clifton, my dear, has this instantleft us. I give you joy! Yes, he is the brother of my friend! I do notsay he is her equal, though I am not quite sure that he is herinferior. He is all animation, all life. His person is graceful, hismanners pleasing, and his mind vigorous. I can say but little from soshort an acquaintance; except that I am convinced his virtues, or hiserrors, if he have any, [And who is without?] are not of the feeblekind. They are not characterised by dull mediocrity; which, of allqualities, is the most hopeless, and incapable. He gave his earnestdesire to see me, when he was refused by Frank, the air of a handsomecompliment; politely accusing himself of improper impatience, when hewas in expectation of what he was pleased to call an uncommon pleasure. Though it was our first interview, he felt no restraint; but said manyvery civil things naturally, and with an exceedingly good grace. I purposely turned the conversation on Frank, related some anecdotes ofhim, and bestowed praise which was confirmed by Sir Arthur. Yourbrother, whose imagination is warm and active, called him a trustyCerberus; and said he had a mouth to answer each of the three; meaningLaura, himself, and Sir Arthur. Various remarks which escaped him shewthat he has a fondness for pleasant satire, and similes of humour. He praised Frank, after hearing our account of him; but his praisewas qualified with the word obstinacy. There was an appearance offeeling that the gentleman ought not to have been so sternly repulsed, by the son of a steward. --And was this his kindred equality to myfriend?--Forgive me, Louisa--It was unjust in me to say I was notquite sure he is your inferior--However I can very seriously assureyou, he is not one of your every day folks. Frank came in, and your brother addressed him with good humour, but ina tone denoting it was the gentleman to the sort of a gentleman. I ownit pleased me to observe the ease with which Frank, by his answers, obliged Mr. Clifton to change his key. But I soon had occasion toobserve that the warmth of your brother's expressions, his eagerness tobe immediately intimate with us, and the advances which he with solittle sense of embarrassment made to me, had an effect upon Frankwhich, I greatly fear, was painful. I must look to this; it is aserious moment, and I must seriously examine, and quickly resolve. Inthe mean time, your brother has kindly insisted upon devoting himselfwholly to our amusements; to attend on us, and shew us the publicbuildings, gardens, paintings, and theatres; as well as to introduce usto all his friends. And what must we do in return for this well-meant kindness? Must we notendeavour to weed out those few errors, for few I hope they are, whichimpoverish a mind in itself apparently fertile and of high rank?--Yes, it instantly suggested itself to me as an indispensable act ofduty--The attempt must be made--With what obstinate warfare do menencounter peril when money, base money is their proposed reward! Andshall we do less for mind, eternal omnipotent mind? He is returned. Adieu. You shall soon hear again from your A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XXV _Coke Clifton to His Sister, Louisa Clifton_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université, près le Pont Royal_ I write agreeably to your desire, sister, to thank you for allobligations, not forgetting your advice. Not but I am excessivelyobliged to you; I am upon my soul, and seriously, for having done methe favour to bring me acquainted with your charming friend. I haveseen many women and in many countries, but I never beheld one so sweet, so beautiful, so captivating! I had heard of her before I left England, her fame had reached Italy, and your letters had raised myexpectations. But what were these? The accomplishments and graces ofher person, the variety, the pleasure inspiring heaven of hercountenance, the cupids that wanton in her dimples, and the delightsthat swim and glisten in her eyes, are each and all exquisite beyondimagination! Whatever you may think of me, Louisa, I do persuade myself I knowsomething of women. I have studied them at home and abroad, and haveoften probed them to the soul. But I never before met with any one inthe least comparable to the divine Anna! She is so unreserved, so open, that her soul seems to dwell upon her lips. Yet her thoughts are sorapid, and her mind so capacious, that I am persuaded it will cost memuch longer time to know her well than any other woman with whom I evermet. Having thanked you very heartily and sincerely for this favour, I shalljust say a word or two in answer to yours. And so you really think youhave some morality on hand, a little stale or so but still sound, whichyou can bestow with advantage upon me? You imagine you can tell mesomething I never heard before? Now have you sincerely so much vanity, Louisa? Be frank. You acknowledged I have crossed rivers, seas, andmountains; but you are afraid I have shut my eyes all the time! _A loudtongue and a prodigious luck of wit! Antics and impertinences of youngmen of fashion!_ Really, my dear, you are choice in your phrases! Youcould not love your brother _for any recital of the delight whichforeign ladies look in him, and which he took in foreign ladies!_ Butyou could be in ecstatics for a brother of your own invention. Do not suppose I am angry! No, no, my dear girl; I am got far above allthat! Though I cannot but laugh at this extraordinary brother, whichyou are fashioning for yourself. If, when I come into your sublimepresence, I should by good luck happen to strike your fancy, why so! Myfortune will then be made! If not, sister, we must do as well as wecan. All in good time, and a God's name. Is not that tolerableWorcestershire morality? I am obliged to lay down my pen with laughing at the idea of MissLouisa's brother, supposing him to be exactly of her modelling. I thinkI see him appear before her; she seated in state, on a chair raised onfour tressels and two old doors, like a strolling actress mimicking aqueen in a barn! He dressed in black; his hair smugly curled; his faceand his shoes shining; his white handkerchief in his right hand; aprayer book, or the morals of Epictetus in his left; _not interlardinghis discourse with French or Italian phrases, _ but ready with a goodrumbling mouthful of old Greek, which he had composed, I mean compiled, for the purpose! Then, having advanced one leg, wiped his mouth, puthis left hand in his breeches pocket, clenched his right, and raisedhis arm, he begins his learned dissertation on _well digestedprinciples, ardent desire of truth, incessant struggles to shake offprejudices_, and forth are chanted, in nasal twang and tragicrecitative, his _emanations of soul, bursts of though_, and _flashes ofgenius_! But _you would not be satirical_. Gentle, modest maiden! And surely itbecomes the tutored brother to imitate this kind forbearance. _Myfaculties were always lively?_ And _I must pardon you if you expect toomuch?_--Upon my soul, this is highly comic! Expect too much! And thereis danger then that I should not equal your expectations?--Prithee, mygood girl, jingle the keys of your harpsichord, and be quiet. Pore overyour fine folio receipt book, and appease your thirst after knowledge. Satisfy your longing desire to do good, by making jellies, conserves, and caraway cakes. Pot pippins, brew rasberry wine, and candy orangechips. Study burns, bruises, and balsams. Distil surfeit, colic, andwormwood water. Concoct hiera picra, rhubarb beer, and oil of charity;and sympathize over sprains, whitloes, and broken shins. Get a charm tocure the argue, and render yourself renowned. Spin, sew and knit. Collect your lamentable rabble around you, dole out your charities, listen to a full chorus of blessings, and take your seat among thesaints. You see, child, I can give advice as well as yourself; aye and I willbestow it most plentifully, if you happen to feel any desire aftermore. I hate to be ungrateful; you shall have no opportunity to utteryour musty maxim upon me--'That the sin of ingratitude is worse thanthe sin of witchcraft. ' You shall have weight for weight, measure formeasure, chicken; aye, my market woman, and a lumping pennyworth. Brotherly for sisterly _effusions_! As for the right of eldership, I recollect that a dozen years ago Ienvied you the prerogative; but now you are welcome to it with all myheart. If, among your miraculous acquirements, you have any secret tomake time stand still, by which you can teach me to remain at sweetfive-and-twenty, and if you will disclose it to me, I will not onlypardon all your _impertinences_, as you so _pertinently_ call them, butdo any other thing in reason to satisfy you; except turn philosopherand feed upon carrots! Nay I will allow you to grow as old as youplease, you shall have full enjoyment of the rights of eldership. In the mean time, sister, I once more thank you for bringing meacquainted with your friend. You seem to have 'put powder in herdrink;' and I freely tell you I wish she loved me half as well as sheprofesses to love her immaculate Louisa. But these I suppose are the_flashes of genius_, which you have taught her. However she is anangel, and in her every thing is graceful. As for your other prodigy, I scarcely know what to make of him; exceptthat he seems to have quite conceit enough of himself. Every othersentence is a contradiction of what the last speaker advanced. This isthe first time he ever ventured to cross his father's threshold, andyet he talks as familiarly of kingdoms, governments, nations, manners, and other high sounding phrases, as if he had been secretary of stateto king Minos, had ridden upon the white elephant, and studied underthe Dalai Lama! He is the Great Mogul of politicians! And as forletters, science, and talents, he holds them all by patent right! He issuch a monopolizer that no man else can get a morsel! If he were not aplebeian, I could most sincerely wish you were married to him; forthen, whenever my soul should hunger and thirst after morality, Ishould know where to come and get a full meal. Though perhaps his notbeing a gentleman would be no objection to you, at least your letterleads me to suspect as much. Do not however mistake me. I mean this jocularly. For I will notdegrade my sister so much, as to suppose she has ever cast a thought onthe son either of the gardener or the steward, of any man. Though, tiedto her mother's apron-string and shut up on the confines ofWorcestershire, she may think proper to lecture and give rules ofconduct to a brother who has seen the world, and studied both men andbooks of every kind, that is but a harmless and pardonable piece ofvanity. It ought to be laughed at, and for that reason I have laughed. For the rest, I will be willing to think as well of my sister, as thissister can be to think of her catechised, and very patient, humble, younger brother, C. CLIFTON P. S. I have written in answer to my mother by the same post. From thegeneral tenor of her letter, I cannot but imagine that, just before shesat down to write, she had been listening to one of your civillectures, against wild brothers, fine gentlemen, and vile rakes. Is notthat the cant? One thing let me whisper to you, sister: I am notobliged to any person who suspects or renders me suspected. I claimthe privilege of being seen before I am condemned, and heard before Iam executed. If I should not prove to be quite the phoenix which mightvie with so miraculous so unique a sister, I must then be contented totake shame to myself. But till then I should suppose the thoughts of asister might as well be inclined to paint me white as black. After all, I cannot conclude without repeating that I believe the whole worldcannot equal the lovely, the divine Anna St. Ives: and, whatever elseyou may say or think of me, do not lead her to imagine I am unjust toher supreme beauty, and charms. An insinuation of that kind I wouldnever forgive--Never! LETTER XXVI _Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_ _Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude_, _Fauxbourg St. Germain_ You cannot imagine, honest Aby, the surprise I am in. Is this theirfamous France? Is this the finest country in the whole world? Why, Aby, from Boulogne to Paris, at least from Montreuil, I am certain I did notsee a single hedge! All one dead flat; with an eternal row of trees, without beginning, middle, or end. I sincerely believe, Aby, I shallnever love a straight row of trees again. And the wearisome right linedroad, that you never lose sight of; not for a moment, Aby! No luckyturning. No intervening hill. Oh that I were but the Grand Monarch! What improvements would I make!What a scope for invention, Aby! A kingdom! A revenue of four hundredmillions of livres, and a standing army of three hundred thousand men!All which, if the king were a wise man, it is very evident, Abimelech, he might employ in improvements; and heaven knows there is a want ofthem. What are their petty corvées, by which these straight roads havebeen patched up, and their everlasting elms planted? I would assembleall my vassals--[Your son Frank, Aby, has given me much informationconcerning the present governments of Europe, and the origin of manors, fiefs, and lordships. I can assure you he is a very deep young man;though I could wish he were not quite so peremptory and positive; andhas informed me of some things which I never heard of before, though Iam twice his age. But he seems to have them so fast at his finger'sends that I suppose they must be true. I had often heard of entails, and mortmain, and lands held in fee or fief, I don't know which, andall that you know, Abimelech. One's deeds and one's lawyers tell onesomething, blindly, of these matters; but I never knew how it had allhappened. He told me that--Egad I forget what he told me. But I know hemade it all out very clear. Still I must say he is cursedpositive. ]--However, Aby, as I was saying, I would assemble all myvassals, all my great lords and fief holders, and they should assembletheir vassals, and all hands should be set to work: some to plan, others to plant; some to grub, some to dig, some to hoe, and some tosow. The whole country should soon be a garden! Tell me, Aby, is notthe project a grand one[1]? What a dispatch of work! What a change ofnature! I am ravished with the thought! [Footnote 1: The plan is in reality much grander than the good knightsuspected; if embraced at the will of a nation, instead of at the willof an individual. ] As for any ideas of improvement to be picked up here, Abimelech, theymust not be expected. I shall never forget the sameness of the scene!So unlike the riches of Wenbourne-Hill! Sir Alexander would have acountry open enough here, at least. He would not complain of being shutin. The wind may blow from what point it pleases, and you have it onall sides. Except the road-side elms I mentioned, and now and then acoppice, which places they tell me are planted for the preservation ofthe game, I should have supposed there had not been a tree in thecountry; had I not been told that there were many large forests, to theright, and the left, out of sight. For my part I don't know where theyhave hidden them, and so must take their word for the fact. 'Tis trueindeed that we travelled a part of the way in the dark. I was mentioning the game, Aby. The game laws here are excellently putin execution. Hares are as plenty as rabbits in a warren, partridges astame as our dove-house pigeons, and pheasants that seem as if theywould come and feed out of your hand. For no scoundrel poacher daremolest them. If he did, I am not certain whether the lord of the manorcould not hang him up instantly without judge or jury. Though Frank tells me they have no juries here; which by the bye is oddenough; and as he says I suppose it is a great shame. For, as he putthe case to me, how should I like, to have my estate seized on, by someinsolent prince or duke? For you know, I being a baronet in my ownright, Aby, no one less in rank would dare infringe upon me. Well! Howshould I like to have this duke, or this prince, seize upon my estate;and, instead of having my right tried by a special jury of my peers, tohave the cause decided by him who can get the prettiest woman to pleadfor him, and who will pay her and his judges the best? For such Frankassures me is the mode here! Now really all this is very bad; very badindeed, and as he says wants reforming. But as for the game laws, as I was saying, Aby, they are excellentlyenforced; and your poor rascals here are kept in very propersubjection. They are held to the grindstone, as I may say. And so theyought to be, Aby. For, I have often heard you say, what is a man butwhat he is worth? Which in certain respects is very true. A gentlemanof family and fortune, why he is a gentleman; and no insolent beggarought to dare to look him in the face, without his permission. But you, Aby, had always a very great sense of propriety, in these respects. Andyou have found your advantage in it; as indeed you ought. It is a pity, considering what a learned young man you have made your son, that youdid not teach him a little of your good sense in this particular. He istoo full of contradiction: too confident by half. Let me have a long and full and whole account of what you are doing, Aby. Tell me precisely how forward your work is, and the exact spotwhere you are when each letter comes away. I know I need not cautionyou to keep those idle fellows, the day labourers, to it. I never knewany man who worked them better. And yet, Aby, it is surprising the sumsthat they have cost me; but you are a very careful honest fellow; andthey have done wonders, under my planning and your inspection. I do not wish that the moment I receive a letter it should be known toevery lacquey; especially here; where it seems to be one entire city ofbabblers. The people appear to have nothing to do but to talk. In thehouse, in the street, in the fields, breakfast, dinner, and supper, walking, sitting, or standing, they are never silent. Nay egad I doubtwhether they do not talk in their sleep! So do you direct to me at theCafé Conti--However I had better write the direction for you at fulllength, for fear of a mistake. And be sure you take care of yourspelling, Aby, or I don't know what may happen. For I am told that manyof these French people are devilish illiterate, and I am sure they aredevilish cunning. Snap! They answer before they hear you! And, what isodd enough, their answers are sometimes as pat as if they knew yourmeaning. Indeed I have often thought it strange that your low poorpeople should be so acute, and have so much common sense. But do youdirect your letters thus-- _A Monsieur Monsieur le Chevalier de St. Ives, Baronet Anglois, an Café Conti, vis-à-vis le Pont Neuf, Quai Conti, à Paris. _ And so, Abimelech, I remain A. ST. IVES LETTER XXVII _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, rue Guenegaude_, _Fauxbourg St. Germain_ The black forebodings of my mind, Oliver, are fulfilled! I have beenstruck! The phantom I dreaded has appeared, has flashed upon me, andall the evils of which I prophesied, and more than all, are collectingto overwhelm me; are rushing to my ruin! This brother of Louisa! Nothing surely was ever so unaccountable! Thevery same whom I prevented from fighting, in the _Champs Elysées!_ Ay, he! This identical Clifton, for Clifton it was, has again appeared; hasbeen here, is here, is never hence. His aspect was petrifying! He cameupon me this second time in the strangest, the most insolent mannerimaginable; just as I had sent away my last letter to thee; when I wassitting the guardian of a treasure, which my fond false reveries wereat that moment flattering me might one day be mine! Starting at thesight of me! Nothing kind, nothing conciliating in his address; it wasall imperious demand. Who was I? By what right did I deny admission tothe young lady's woman, to inform her he was come to pay her hisrespects? He!--Having a letter from Sir Arthur, inviting himthither!--Were such orders to be countermanded by me? Again and again, who was I?--Oliver, he is a haughty youth; violent, headstrong, andarrogant! Believe me he will be found so. What do I mean? Why do I dread him? How! The slave of fear? Why is myheart so inclined to think ill of him? Do I seek to depreciate? She hasmentioned him several times; has expected, with a kind of eagerness, hewould resemble her Louisa; has hoped he and I should be friends. 'Didnot I hope the same?' Oliver, she has tortured me! All benevolence asshe is, she has put me on the rack! I must not yield thus to passion; it is criminal. I have too muchindulged the flattering dreams of desire. Yet what to do?--How toact?--Must I tamely quit the field the moment an adversary appears;turn recreant to myself, and coward-like give up my claims, withoutdaring to say such and such they are? No. Justice is due as much tomyself as to any other. If he be truly deserving of preference, why lethim be preferred. I will rejoice. --Yes, Oliver, mill. --He who is theslave of passion, is unworthy a place in the noble mind of Anna. But this man is not my superior: I feel, Oliver, he is not; and itbecomes me to assert my rights. Nay, his pride acts as aprovocative--Oliver, I perceive how wrong this is; but I will not blotout the line. Let it remain as a memento. He that would correct hisfailings must be willing to detect them. The anxiety of my mind is excessive; and the pain which a conviction ofthe weakness and error that this anxiety occasions renders it stillmore insupportable. I must take myself to task; ay and severely. I mustenquire into the wrong and the right, and reason must be absolute. Tellme thy thoughts, plainly and honestly; be sure thou dost; for Isometimes suspect thee of too much kindness, of partiality to thyfriend. Chastise the derelictions of my heart, whenever thou perceivestthem; or I myself shall hereafter become thy accuser. I amdissatisfied, Oliver: what surer token can there be that I am wrong? Iweary thee--Prithee forgive, but do not forget to aid me. F. HENLEY P. S. He--[I mean Louisa's brother; for I think only of one he and oneshe, at present. ] He has not yet taken any notice of our strange firstmeeting; and thou mayst imagine, Oliver, if he think fit to be silent, I shall not speak. Not that it can be supposed he holds duelling to bedisgraceful. I have enquired if any rencounter had taken place; for Iwas very apprehensive that the champions would have their tilting-matchanother time. However, as I can hear of no such accident, and as Mr. Clifton is here continually, I hope I have been instrumental inpreventing such absurd guilt. The follies of men are scarcelycomprehensible! And what am I? Dare I think myself wise? Oliver, mypassions are in arms; the contest is violent; I call on thee to examineand to aid the cause of truth. LETTER XXVIII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ I have found it, Fairfax! The pearl of pearls! The inestimable jewel!The unique! The world contains but one!--And what?--A woman! The womanof whom I told you!--Anna St. Ives! You have seen the Venus deMedicis?--Pshaw!--Stone! Inanimate marble! But she!--The very sight ofher is the height of luxury! The pure blood is seen to circulate!Transparent is the complexion which it illuminates!--And for symmetry, for motion, for grace, sculptor, painter, nor poet ever yet imaginedsuch! Desire languishes to behold her! The passions all are in arms, and the mere enjoyment of her presence is superior to all that her sexbeside can give! Do not suppose me in my altitudes: all I can say, all you can imagine, are far short of the reality. Then how unlike is her candour to the petty arts, the shallow cunningof her sex! Her heart is as open as her countenance; her thoughts flow, fearless, to her lips. Original ideas, expressed in words so select, phrases so happy, as to astonish and delight; a brilliancy and astrength of fancy that disdain limitation, and wit rapid and fatal aslightning to all opposition; these and a thousand other undescribableexcellencies are hers. I love her Love?--I adore her! Ay--Be not surprised--Even to madnessand marriage!--No matter for what I have beforetime said, or what Ihave thought, my mind is changed. I have discovered perfection which Idid not imagine could exist. I renounce my former opinions; whichapplied to the sex in general were orthodox, but to her were blasphemy. I would not be too sudden; I have not yet made any direct proposal. Butcould I exist and forbear giving intimations? No. And how were theyreceived? Why with all that unaffected frankness which did not pretendto misunderstand but to meet them, to cherish hope, and to give aprospect of bliss which mortal man can never merit. She is all benevolence! Nay she is too much so. There is that youngsterhere; that upstart; he who bolted upon us and mouthed his Pindarics inthe Elysian Fields; the surly groom of the chamber. This fellow hasinsinuated himself into her favour, and the benignity of her soulinduces her to treat him with as much respect as if he were agentleman. The youth has some parts, some ideas: at least he has plenty of words. But his arrogance is insufferable. He does not scruple to interfere inthe discourse, either with me, Sir Arthur, or the angelic Anna! Naysets up for a reformer; and pretends to an insolent superiority ofunderstanding and wisdom. Yet he was never so long from home before inhis life; has seen nothing, but has read a few books, and has beenpermitted to converse with this all intelligent deity. I cannot deny but that the pedagogue sometimes surprises me, with thenovelty of his opinions; but they are extravagant. I have condescended, oftener than became me, to shew how full of hyperbole and paradox theywere. Still he as constantly maintained them, with a kind of congruitythat astonished me, and even rendered many of them plausible. But, exclusive of his obstinacy, the rude, pot companion loquacity ofthe fellow is highly offensive. He has no sense of inferiority. Hestands as erect, and speaks with as little embarrassment and as loudlyas the best of us: nay boldly asserts that neither riches, rank, norbirth have any claim. I have offered to buy him a beard, if he wouldbut turn heathen philosopher. I have several times indeed bestowed nosmall portion of ridicule upon him; but in vain. His retorts are alwaysready; and his intrepidity, in this kind of impertinence, isunexampled. From some anecdotes which are told of him, I find he does not wantpersonal courage; but he has no claim to chastisement from a gentleman. Petty insults he disregards; and has several times put me almost beyondthe power of forbearance, by his cool and cutting replies. His oratoryis always ready; cut, dry, and fit for use; and damned insolent oratoryit frequently is. The absurdity of his tenets can only be equalled by the effrontery withwhich they are maintained. Among the most ridiculous of what he callsfirst principles is that of the equality of mankind. He is one of yourlevellers! Marry! His superior! Who is he? On what proud eminence canhe be found? On some Welsh mountain, or the pike of Teneriffe?Certainly not in any of the nether regions! What! Was not he the assthat brayed to Balaam? And is he not now Mufti to the mules? He will ifhe please! And if he please he will let it alone! Dispute hisprerogative who dare! He derives from Adam; what time the world was allhail fellow well met! The savage, the wild man o' the woods is his trueliberty boy; and the orang outang his first cousin. A Lord is a merryandrew, a Duke a jack pudding, and a King a tom fool: his name is man! Then, as to property, 'tis a tragic farce; 'tis his sovereign pleasureto eat nectarines, grow them who will. Another Alexander, he; the worldis all his own! Ay, and he will govern it as he best knows how! He willlegislate, dictate, dogmatize; for who so infallible? What! CannotGoliah crack a walnut? As for arguments, it is but ask and have: a peck at a bidding, and agood double handful over. I own I thought I knew something; but no, Imust to my horn book. Then, for a simile, it is sacrilege; and must bekicked out of the high court of logic! Sarcasm too is an ignoramus, andcannot solve a problem: Wit a pert puppy, who can only flash andbounce. The heavy walls of wisdom are not to be battered down by suchpopguns and pellets. He will waste you wind enough to set up twentymillers, in proving an apple is not an egg-shell; and that _homo_ isGreek for a goose. Dun Scotus was a school boy to him. I confess, hehas more than once dumbfounded me by his subtleties. --Pshaw!--It is amortal murder of words and time to bestow them on him. My sister is in correspondence with my new divinity. I thought properto bestow a few gentle lashes on her, for a letter which she wrote tome, and which I mentioned in my first from Paris, insinuating her ownsuperiority, and giving me to understand how fortunate it would be forthe world should I but prove as consummate a paragon as herself. Sherichly deserved it, and yet I now wish I had forborne; for, if she haveher sex's love of vengeance in her, she may injure me in the tenderestpart. Never was woman so devoted to woman as Anna St. Ives is toLouisa. I should suspect any other of her sex of extravagantaffectation; but her it is impossible to suspect: her manner is sopeculiarly her own: and it comes with such unsought for energy, thatthere is no resisting conviction. I have two or three times been inclined to write and ask Louisa'spardon. But, no; that pride forbids. She dare not openly professherself my enemy? She may insinuate, and countermine; but I have atolerably strong dependance on my own power over Anna. She is notblind. She is the first to feel and to acknowledge superior merit; andI think I have no reason to fear repulse from any woman, whose hand Ican bring myself to ask. One of Anna's greatest perfections, with me, is the ready esteem whichshe entertained for me, and her not being insensible to those qualitieswhich I flatter myself I possess. Never yet did woman treat me withaffected disdain, who did not at last repent of her coquetry. 'Tis true that Anna has sometimes piqued me, by appearing to value memore for my sister's sake even than for my own. I have been ready tosay dissimulation was inseparable from woman. And yet her manner is asunlike hypocrisy as possible, I never yet could brook scorn, orneglect. I know no sensation more delicious than that of inflictingpunishment for insult or for injury; 'tis in our nature. That youngster of whom I have prated so much, his name is Frank Henley, denies this, and says that what the world calls nature is habit. Headded, with some degree of sarcasm as I thought, that it was asnatural, or in his sense as habitual, for some men to pardon, and toseek the good even of those by whom they were wronged, as it was forothers to resent and endeavour to revenge. But, as I have said, hecontinually makes pretensions to an offensive superiority. You maythink I do not fail to humble the youth, whenever opportunity offers. But no! Humble him, indeed! Shew him boiling ice! Stew a whale in anoyster-shell! Make mount Caucasus into a bag pudding! But do notimagine he may be moved! The legitimate son of Cato's eldest bastard, he! A petrified Possidonius, in high preservation! There is another thing which astonishes me more than all I havementioned. Curse me, Fairfax, if I do not believe that [God confoundthe fellow!] he has the impudence to be in love with Anna St. Ives! Naythat he braves me, defies me, and, in the insufferable frothyfermentation of his vanity, persuades himself that he looks down uponme! I must finish, for I cannot think of his intolerable insolence withcommon patience; and I know not what right I have to tease you, concerning my paltry disputes with a plebeian pedant, and my still morepaltry jealousies. But let him beware! If he really have the arroganceto place himself in my way, I will presently trample him into hisoriginal nonentity. I only forbear because he has had the cunning tomake himself so great a favourite. This must be horribly stupid stuff to you, Fairfax: therefore pay me inmy own coin; be as dull as you sometimes know how, and bid me complainif I dare. C. CLIFTON LETTER XXIX _Louisa Clifton to Coke Clifton_ _Rose-Bank_ I write, dear brother, in answer to your last, that I may not by anyneglect of mine contribute to the mistake in which you are at present. Your letter shews that you suppose your sister to be vain, presumptuous, and rude; and, such being your feelings, I am far fromblaming you for having expressed them. Still, brother, I must be sincere, and I would by no means have itunderstood that I think you have chosen the best manner of expressingthem; for it is not the manner which, if I have such faults, would bemost likely to produce reformation. But your intention has been tohumble me; and, desiring to be sarcastic, you have not failed inproducing your intended effect. I am sincerely glad of it: had youshewn that desire without the power, I should have been as sincerelysorry. But where there is mind there is the material from which everything is to be hoped. I suppose I shall again incur chastisement, for rising thus as you callit to the sublime. But I will write my thoughts without fear, and Ihope will patiently listen should they deserve reproach. If I havesinned, it is in most fervently wishing to find my brother one of thebrightest and the best of men; and I have received more pleasure fromthe powers he has displayed, in reproving me, than I could have done byany dull expression of kindness; in which, though there might have beenwords, there would neither have been feeling, sentiment, nor soul. The concluding sentence of your letter warns me not to defame you withmy friend. I must speak without disguise, brother. You feel that, hadyou received such a letter, revenge would have been the first emotionof your mind. I hope its duration would have been short. I will mostreadily and warmly repeat all the good of my brother that I know: but Iwill neither conceal what ought to be said, nor say what I do not know. I take it for granted that he would not have me guilty of duplicity. Adieu, dear brother; and believe me to be most affectionately your L. CLIFTON LETTER XXX _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _Paris, Hotel d'Espagne, Rue Guenegaude, _ _Fauxbourg St. Germain_ How severe, Oliver, are the lessons of truth! But to learn them fromher lips, and to be excited to the practice of them by her example, areblessings which to enjoy and not to profit by would shew a degenerateheart. I have just risen from a conversation which has made a deep impressionon my mind. It was during breakfast. I know not whether reflecting onit will appease, or increase, the sensations which the behaviour ofthis brother of Louisa hourly exacerbates. But I will calm thatirritability which would dwell on him, and nothing else, that I mayrepeat what has just happened. The interesting part of what passed began by Mr. Clifton's affirming, with Pope, that men had and would have, to the end of time, each aruling passion. This I denied, if by ruling passion were meant theindulgence of any irregular appetite, or the fostering of any erroneoussystem. I was asked, with a sneer, for my recipe to subdue thepassions; if it were not too long to be remembered. I replied it wasequally brief and efficacious. It was the force of reason; or, if theword should please better, of truth. And in what year of the world was the discovery of truth to be made? In that very year when, instead of being persecuted for speaking theirthoughts, the free discussion of every opinion, true or false, shouldnot only be permitted, but receive encouragement and applause. As usual, the appeal was made to Anna: and, as usual, her decision wasin my favour. Nothing, said she, is more fatal, to the progress ofvirtue, than the supposition that error is invincible. Had I persuadedmyself I never could have learned French, Italian, or music, why learnthem I never could. For how can that be finished which is never begun?But, though all the world were to laugh at me, I should laugh at allthe world, were it to tell me it is more difficult to prevent thebeginning, growth, and excess of any passion, than it is to learn toplay excellently on the piano forte. Is that really your opinion, madam? said Clifton. It is. Do you include all the passions? All. What! The passion of love? Yes. Love is as certainly to be conquered as any of them; and there isno mistake which has done more mischief than that of supposing itirresistible. Young people, and we poor girls in particular, havingonce been thoroughly persuaded of the truth of such an axiom, think itin vain to struggle, where there are no hopes of victory. We areconquered not because we are weak, but because we are cowards. We seemto be convinced that we have fallen in love by enchantment, and areunder the absolute dominion of a necromancer. It is truly the dwarfleading the giant captive. Is it not--[Oliver! She fixed her eyes uponme, as she spoke!]--Is it not, Frank? I was confounded. I paused for a moment. A deep and heavy sighinvoluntarily burst from me. I endeavoured to be firm, but I stammeredout--Madam--it is. I am convinced he is jealous of me. Nay he fears me; though he scornsme too much to think so meanly of himself. Yet he fears me. And what isworse, Oliver, I fear him! I blush for my own debility. But let me notendeavour to conceal my weakness. No: it must be encountered, andcured. His quick and audacious eye was searching me, while I struggledto think, and rid myself of confusion; and he discovered more than gavehim pleasure. --She continued. I know of no prejudice more pernicious to the moral conduct of youththan that of this unconquerable passion of love. Any and all of ourpassions are unconquerable, whenever we shall be weak enough to thinkthem so. Does not the gamester plead the unconquerableness of hispassion? The drunkard, the man of anger, the revengeful, the envious, the covetous, the jealous, have they not all the same plea? With theselfish and the feeble passion succeeds to passion as different habitsgive birth to each, and the last passion proves more unconquerable thanits predecessor. How frequently do we see people in the very fever ofthis unconquerable passion of love, which disappears for the rest oftheir lives, after a few weeks possession of the object whom they hadso passionately loved! How often do they as passionately hate; whilethe violence of their hatred and of their love is perhaps equallyguilty! Sir Arthur I observed was happy to join in this new doctrine; whichhowever is true, Oliver. I am not certain that he too had not hisapprehensions, concerning me: at least his approbation of the principlewas ardent. This was not all. After a short silence, she added, and again fixed hereyes on me--Next to the task of subduing our own passions, I know nonemore noble than that of aiding to subdue the passions of others. Torestore a languishing body is held to be a precious art; but to givehealth to the mind, to restore declining genius to its true rank, is anart infinitely more inestimable. She rose, and I withdrew; her words vibrating in my ear, where theyvibrate still. Perceivest thou not their import?--Oliver, she hasformed a project fatal to my hopes! Nay, I could almost fear, fatal toherself! Yet what, who can harm her? Does the savage, the monsterexist, that could look upon her and do her injury? No! She is safe! Sheis immaculate! Beaming in beauty, supreme in virtue, the resplendentaegis of truth shields her from attaint! Yes, Oliver, her answers were to him; but the intent, the soul of themwas directed to me. It was a warning spirit, that cried, beware ofindulging an unjustifiable passion! Awake, at the call of virtue, andobey! Behold here a sickly mind, and aid me in its recovery!--To me herlanguage was pointed, clear, and incapable of other interpretation. But is there not peril in her plan? Recover a mind so perverted?Strong, I own, nay uncommon in its powers; for such the mind of Cliftonis: but its strength is its disease. And is it so certain that for me to love her is error, is weakness, isvice? No. Or, if it be, I have not yet discovered why. Oliver, sheshall hear me! Let her shew me my mistake, if mistaken I be, and I willdesist: but justice demands it, and she shall hear me. We are going to remove, at his repeated instances, to the hotel wherehe resides. He leads Sir Arthur as he pleases; but it grieved me to seeher yield so readily. Now that I have discovered her intentions, I nolonger wonder. Omnipotent as the power of truth and virtue is, I yetcannot approve the design. The enterprises of virtue itself may havetheir romance--I know not--This to me at least is fatal--Could I--? Imust conclude!--Lose her?--For ever!--For ever!--I must conclude-- F. HENLEY LETTER XXXI _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ The assiduity of Clifton, my dear Louisa, is so great that we alreadyseem to be acquaintance of seven years standing. This is evidently hisintention. His temper is eager, impatient of delay, quick in resolving, and, if I do not mistake, sometimes precipitate. But his intellectualpowers are of a very high order. His wit is keen, his invention strong, his language flowing and elegant, and his ideas and figures remarkable, sometimes for their humour, and at others for their splendour. Hisprejudices are many of them deep; nor are they few; but he speaks themfrankly, defends them boldly, and courts rather than shuns discussion. What then may not be hoped from a mind like his? Ought such a mind tobe neglected? No!--No!--Eternally no!--I have already given a stronghint of this to Frank. I am persuaded that, since you saw him, he is greatly improved inperson. The regularity of his features, his florid complexion, tallstature, and the facility and grace of all his motions, are with him nocommon advantages. He has attached himself exceedingly to us, and has induced Sir Arthurto take apartments in the _Hotel de l'Université_, where he resideshimself, and where the accommodations are much better, the situationmore agreeable, and the rooms more spacious. A little incident happened, when we removed, which was characteristicof the manners of the people, and drew forth a pleasing trait of theacuteness of Clifton, and of his turn of thinking. One of the men who helped us with our luggage, after being paidaccording to agreement, asked, as is very customary with these people, for _quelque chose pour boire_; which Sir Arthur, not being very expertin the French idiom, understood literally. He accordingly ordered abottle of the light common wine, and being thirsty poured some into atumbler and drank himself first, then poured out some more, and offeredthe porter. The man took the glass as Sir Arthur held it out to him; and, with somesurprise and evident sense of insult in his countenance, said to SirArthur--_à moi, monsieur_? To which Sir Arthur, perfectly at a loss tocomprehend his meaning, made no answer; and the man; without tastingthe liquor, set the glass down on a bench in the yard. Clifton, well acquainted with the manners of the people, and knowingthe man imagined Sir Arthur meant to insult him, by giving him the sameglass out of which he had drunken, with great alacrity took it up themoment the man had set it down, and said--_Non, mon ami, c'est àmoi_--and drank off the wine. He then called for another tumbler, andfilling it gave it to the man. The French are a people of active and lively feelings; and the poorfellow, after receiving the glass from Clifton, took up the other emptytumbler, poured the wine back into it, said in his own language forgiveme, sir; I see I am in the wrong; and immediately drank out of thetumbler which he had before refused. Each country you perceive, Louisa, has its own ideas of delicacy. TheFrench think it very strange to see two people drink out of the samevessel. Not however that I suppose every porter in Paris would refusewine, if offered, for the same reason. Neither would they all with thesame sensibility be so ready to retract. The good humour as well as the good sense of Clifton's reproof pleasedme highly; and we must all acknowledge him our superior, in the art ofeasily conforming to the customs of foreigners, and in readilypardoning even their absurdities. For foreigners, Louisa, have theirabsurdities, as well as ourselves. But I have not yet done. I have another anecdote to relate of Clifton, from which I augur still more. I had observed our Thomas in conversation with a man, who from hisdress and talking to Thomas I knew must be an Englishman; and the carewhich it becomes me to take, that such well-meaning but simple peopleshould not be deceived, led me to inquire who he was. Thomas began tostammer; not with guilt, but with a desire of telling a story which heknew not how to tell so well as he wished. At last we understood fromhim it was a young English lad, who had neither money, meat, nor work, and who was in danger of starving, because he could find no means ofreturning to his own country. Poor Thomas finding himself among a kindof heathens, as he calls the French, pitied his case very sincerely, and had supplied him with food for some days, promising that he wouldsoon take an opportunity of speaking to me, whom he is pleased to callthe best young lady in the world; and I assure you, Louisa, I am proudof his good word. Your brother heard this account, and immediately said--[For indeed Iwished to know what his feelings were, and therefore did not offer tointerrupt him. ] 'Desire him to come up. Let me question him. If he bereally what he says, he ought to be relieved: but he is very likelysome idle fellow, who being English makes a trade of watching forEnglish families, and living upon this tale. ' So far said I to myself, Clifton, all is right. I therefore let him proceed. The lad came up, for he was not twenty, and your brother began his interrogations. You are an English lad, you say? Yes, sir. Where do you come from? Wolverhampton. What is your trade? A buckle plater. And did you serve out your apprenticeship? No. How so? My master and I quarrelled, he struck me, I beat him, and was obligedto run away. Where did you run to? I went to London. I have an aunt there, a poor woman, who chairs forgentlefolks, and I went to her. How came you here? She got me a place, with a young gentleman who was going on histravels. I had been among horses before I was bound 'prentice, and hehired me as his groom. But how came you to leave him? He is a very passionate gentleman. He has got a French footman, whostands and shrugs, and lets him give him thumps, and kicks; and onemorning, because one boot was brighter than t'other, he was going tohorsewhip me. So I told him to keep his hands off, or I would knock himdown. Why you are quite a fighting fellow. No, sir; I never fought with any body in my life, if they did not firstmeddle with me. So you quarrelled with your master, beat him, ran away from yourapprenticeship, got a place, came into a foreign country, and then, because your master did not happen to please you, threatened to knockhim down! The poor fellow was quite confounded, and I was half out of breath froman apprehension that Clifton had taken the wrong side of the question. But I was soon relieved--This tale is too artless to be false, said he, turning to me. --You cannot conceive, Louisa, the infinite pleasurewhich these few words gave me--I still continued silent, and watching, not the lad, but your brother. So you never meddle with any body who does not meddle with you? No, sir, I would scorn it. But you will not be horsewhipped? No, sir, I won't; starve or not starve. I need not ask you if you are honest, sober, and industrious; for Iknow you will say you are. Why should I not, sir? You have nobody to give you a character, have you? My master is still in Paris; but to be sure he will give me a bad one. Can you tell me his address--where he lives? I can't tell it in French, but here it is. Can you write and read? Yes, sir. And how long have you been out of place? Above seven weeks. Why did not you return to England, when you received your wages? I had no money. I owed a fellow servant a guinea and a half, which Ihad borrowed to buy shirts and stockings. And those you have made away with? Not all. I was obliged to take some of them to Mount Pity. _Mont Piété_, you mean. [1] [Footnote 1: The general receptacle for pledges. Among other monopoliesand trades, government in France used to be the common pawnbroker. ] Belike yes, sir. Well, here's something for you, for the present; and come to meto-morrow morning. The lad went away, with more in his countenance than he knew how to putinto speech; and I asked Clifton what he meant by desiring him to comeagain. I intend, madam, said he, to make some inquiries of his master;and if they please me to hire him; for I want a servant, and if I amnot deceived he will make a good one. Think, Louisa, whether I were not pleased with this proof ofdiscernment. By this accident, I learned more of Clifton's character inten minutes than perhaps I might have done in ten months. He saw, for Iwished him to see, that he had acted exactly as I could have desired. He appears indeed to be a favourite with servants, which certainly isno bad omen. He is Laura's delight. He is a free gentleman, a generousgentleman, [I suppose he gives her money] a merry gentleman, and hasthe handsomest person, the finest eye, and the best manner of dressinghis hair she ever beheld!--She quite overflows in his praise. In a few days we are to go to the country seat of the Marquis ofVillebrun, where we intend to stay about a fortnight. Your brother hasintroduced us to all his friends, among whom is the marquis; and, as weare intimate with our ambassador, we have more invitations than we canaccept, and acquaintance than we can cultivate. Frank is to go with us. And now, Louisa, with anxiety I own, my mind is far from satisfied. Ihave not thought sufficiently to convince myself, yet act as though Ihad. It is little less than open war between your brother and Frank. The supposition of a duty, too serious to be trifled with, has inducedme to favour rather than repulse the too eager advances of Clifton;though this supposed duty has been but half examined. The desire to retrieve mind cannot but be right; yet the mode may bewrong. At this moment my heart bitterly reproaches me, for not proceeding onmore certain principles. The merit of Frank is great, almost beyond thepower of expression. I need not tell my Louisa which way affection, were it encouraged, would incline: but I will not be its slave. Nor canI reproach myself for erring on that side; but for acting, inresistance to inclination, with too little reserve. No arguments Ibelieve can shew me that I have a right to sport with the feelings ofmy father, and my friends; though those feelings are founded inprejudice. But my inquiries shall be more minute; and my resolves willthen be more permanent and self-complacent. Adieu, my best and dearest friend. Write often: reprove me for all thatI do amiss--Would my mind were more accordant with itself! But I willtake it roundly to task. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XXXII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ This brief memorandum of my actual existence, dear Fairfax, will bedelivered to you by the Chevalier de Villeroi; a worthy gentleman, towhom I have given letters to my friends, and who will meet you atTurin. I have not a moment to waste; therefore can only say that I am layingclose siege; that my lines of circumvallation do not proceed quite sorapidly as my desires; but that I have just blown up the main bastion;or, in other words, have prevailed on Sir Arthur to send this hornet, this Frank Henley, back to England. The fellow's aspiring insolence isnot to be endured. His merit is said to be uncommon. 'Tis certain hestrains after the sublime; and in fact is too deep a thinker, nay Isuspect too deep a plotter, not to be dangerous. Adieu. C. CLIFTON I am in a rage! Curse the fellow! He has countermined me; blown up myworks! I might easily have foreseen it, had I not been a stupid booby. I could beat my thick scull against the wall! I have neither time norpatience to tell you what I mean; except that here he is, and here hewill remain, in my despite. LETTER XXXIII _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ It is as I told thee, Oliver. He fears me. He treats me, as he thinks, with the neglect and contempt due to an unqualified intruder: but hemistakes his own motives, and acts with insidious jealousy; naydescends to artifice. His alarmed spirit never rests; he is ever on thewatch, lest at entering a room, descending a staircase, stepping intoher carriage, or on any other occasion, I should touch her hand. He hasendeavoured to exclude me from all their parties; and, though oftensuccessfully, has several times been foiled. But his greatest disappointment was this very morning. Sir Arthur sentfor me, last night, to inform me I must return to Wenbourne-Hill, withsome necessary orders, which he did not choose to trust to the usualmode of conveyance. I immediately suspected, and I think I did not dohim injustice, that my rival was the contriver of this sudden necessityof my return. I received Sir Arthur's orders, but was determined immediately toacquaint Anna. Clifton was present. She was surprised; and, I doubt not, had the samesuspicions as myself; for, after telling me I must not think of going, she obliged Clifton himself to be the intercessor, with Sir Arthur, that I should stay. His reluctance, feigned assent, and chagrin werevisible. Her words and manner to me were kind; nay I could almost think theywere somewhat more. She seemed to feel the injustice aimed at me; andto feel it with as much resentment as a spirit so benignant could know. What!--Can he not be satisfied with half excluding me from her society;with endeavouring to sink me as low in her estimation as in his own;and with exercising all that arrogance which he supposes becoming thecharacter of a gentleman? Oliver, I am determined in my plan: my appeal shall be to her justice. If it prove to be ill-founded, why then I must acquiesce. I am angry atmy own delay, at my own want of courage; but I shall find a time, andthat quickly. At least, if condemned I must be, I will be heard; butequity I think is on my side--Yes--I will be heard. F. HENLEY LETTER XXXIV _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ Aid me if thou canst, Oliver, to think, or rather to unravel my ownentangled thoughts. Do not suffer me to continue in a state ofdelusion, if thou perceivest it to be such. Be explicit; tell me ifthou dost but so much as forebode: for at moments I myself despond;though at others I am wasted to the heaven of heavens, to certainty, and bliss unutterable. If I deceive myself?--Well!--And if I do, whatis to follow?--Rashness?--Cowardice?--What! Basely abandon duty, virtue, and energy?--No! Looks, words, appearances, daily events are all so contradictory, thatthe warfare of hope and fear increases, and becomes violent, almost todistraction! Clifton is openly countenanced by Sir Arthur, treatedkindly by her, and is incessant in every kind of assiduity. Hisqualities are neither mean, insignificant, nor common. No: they arebrilliant, and rare. With a person as near perfection as his mind willpermit it to be, a knowledge of languages, a taste for the fine arts, much bravery, high notions of honour, a more than common share of wit, keen and ungovernable feelings, an impatience of contradiction, and anobstinacy in error, he is a compound of jarring elements, that augurtempests and peril. Vain, haughty, and self-willed, his family, hisfortune, his accomplishments and himself are the pictures thatfascinate his eye. It is attracted, for a moment, by the superiorpowers of another; but all his passions and propensities forebode thathe is not to be held, even by that link of adamant. And is she to be dazzled then by this glare? Can her attention becaught by person, attracted by wit? And does she not shrink from thathaughty pride which so continually turns to contemplate itself; fromthose passions which are so eager to be gratified; and from thosemistakes which it will be so almost impossible to eradicate? Even wereI to lose her, must I see her thus devoted?--The thought is--I cannottell what! Too painful for any word short of extravagance. Impressed by feelings like these, the other day I sat down and threw afew ideas into verse. The mind, surcharged with passion, is eager byevery means to disburthen itself. It is always prompt to hope that theexpression of it's feelings, if any way adequate, cannot but producethe effect it wishes; and I wrote the following song, or love-elegy, orwhat thou wilt. Rash hope avaunt! Be still my flutt'ring heart; Nor breathe a sorrow, nor a sigh impart; Appease each bursting throb, each pang reprove; To suffer dare--But do not dare to love! Down, down, these swelling thoughts! Nor dream that worth Can pass the haughty bounds of wealth and birth. Yes, kindred feelings, truth, and virtue prove: Yes, dare deserve--But do not dare to love! To noble tasks and dang'rous heights aspire; Bid all the great and good thy wishes fire, The mighty dead thy rival efforts move, And dare to die--But do not dare to love! Thou knowest her supreme excellence in music; the taste, feeling, andexpression with which she plays; and the enchanting sweetness andenergy with which she sings. Having written my verses, I took them, when she was busied elsewhere, to the piano-forte; and made someunsuccessful attempts to please myself with an air to them. Sir Arthurcame in, and I left my stanzas on the desk of the instrument; veryinadvertently I assure thee, though I was afterward far from sorry thatthey had been forgotten. I have frequently indulged myself in sitting in an antichamber, tolisten to her playing and singing. I have thought that she is mostimpassioned when alone, and perhaps all musicians are so. The next day, happening to listen in the manner I have mentioned, I heard her singingan air which was new to me, and remarked that she once or twicestopped, to consider and make alterations. I listened again and found she had been setting my verses! By my soul, Oliver, I have no conception of rapture superior to what Iexperienced at that moment! She had collected all her feelings, all herinvention, had composed a most beautiful air, and sung it with aneffect that must have been heard to be supposed possible. The forcewith which she uttered every thought to the climax of daring, and thecompassion which she infused into the conclusion 'But do not dare tolove'--produced the most affecting contrast I ever heard. This indeed was heaven, Oliver! But a heaven that ominously vanished, at the entrance of Clifton. I followed him, and saw her shut the book, and wipe the tear from her eye. Her flow of spirits is unfailing, butthe tone of her mind was raised too high suddenly to sink intotrifling. She looked at me two or three times. I know not for my partwhat aspect I wore; but I could observe that the haughty Clifton feltthe gaiety of his heart in some sort disturbed, and was not pleased tocatch me listening, with such mute attention, to the ravishing musicshe had made. Once again prithee tell me, Oliver, what am I to think? It wasimpossible she should have sung as she did, had not the ideas affectedher more than I could have hoped, nay as much as they did myself. Sheknew the writing. Why did she sigh? Why feel indignant? Why expressevery sentiment that had passed through my mind with increasingforce?--What could she think?--Did she not approve?--She sung as if sheadmired!--The world shall not persuade me that her looks were not thetrue expressions of her heart; and she looked--! Recollect her, and thetemper of mind she was in, and imagine how!--Remember--_She could loveme if I would let her!_ I was displeased with the verses when I had written them: they werevery inadequate to what I wished. I discovered in some of the lines abarren repetition of the preceding thought, and meant to have correctedthem. But I would not now alter a word for worlds! She has deigned toset and sing them; and what was before but of little worth is nowinestimable. Yet am I far from satisfied with myself. My present state of mind isdisgraceful; for it cannot but be disgraceful to be kept in doubt by myown cowardice. And if I am deceiving myself--Can it be possible, Oliver?--But if I am, my present error is indeed alarming. Thedifficulty of retreating momentarily increases, and every step inadvance will be miles in return. Clifton will suffer no impediment from the cowardice of which Icomplain; for I much mistake if he has been accustomed to refusal; orif he can scarcely think, when he deigns to sue, denial possible. I find myself every day determining to put an end to this suspense, andevery day delaying. The impulse however is too great to be longresisted; and my excuse to myself continually is that I have not yetfound the proper moment. If, Oliver, this history of my heart be troublesome to thee, it is thyduty to tell me so. But indeed thou tellest me the contrary; and Iknow not why at this instant I should do thee the injustice to doubtthy sincerity. Forgive me. It is a friendly fear, and not intended todo thee wrong. But I wish thee to judge of me and my actions; and evento let thy father judge, if thou shouldest at any time hesitate, andfear I am committing error. Do this, and continue thy usual kindness incommunicating thy thoughts. F. HENLEY P. S. The day after tomorrow, we are to set off for the Chateau deVillebrun; on a party of pleasure, as it is called. Thus men run fromplace to place, without knowing of what they are in search. They feelvacuity; a want of something to make them happy; but what thatsomething is they have not yet discovered. LETTER XXXV _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ I fear, my dear Louisa, I am at present hurried forward a little toofast to act with all the caution which I could wish. My mind is notcoherent, not at peace with itself. Ideas rush in multitudes, and morethan half obscure my understanding. I find that, since we left Wenbourne-Hill, Frank has grown upon mythoughts very strangely. Indeed till then I was but partiallyacquainted with his true character, the energy of which is veryuncommon. But, though his virtues are become more conspicuous, theimpediments that forbid any thought of union are not lessened. My chief difficulty is, I do not yet know how to give full effect to myarguments, so as to produce such conviction as he shall be unable toresist. Let me do but this, and I have no doubt of his perfectacquiescence, and resignation. But, should I fail, the warfare of thepassions will be prolonged; and, for a time, a youth whose worth isabove my praise rendered unhappy. A sense of injustice, committed bythe person of whom, perhaps, he thought too highly to suppose itpossible that either error or passion should render her so culpable, may prey upon his peace, and destroy the felicity of one to whom reasonand recollection tell me I cannot wish too much good. I am convinced I have been guilty of another mistake. I have on variousoccasions been desirous of expressing approbation, mingled with esteemand friendship. He has extorted it from me. He has obliged me to feelthus. And why, have I constantly asked myself, should I repress orconceal sensations that are the dues of merit? No: they ought not tohave been repressed, or concealed, but they ought to have been renderedintelligible, incapable of misconstruction, and not liable to a meaningwhich they were never intended to convey. For, if ever they were morethan I suppose, I have indeed been guilty. Yes, my Louisa, let me discharge my conscience. Let no accusation ofdeceit rest with me. I can endure any thing but self-reproach. I avow, therefore, Frank Henley is, in my estimation, the most deserving man Ihave ever known. A man that I could love infinitely. A man whosevirtues I do and must ever love. A man in whose company my heartassures me I could have enjoyed years of happiness. If the casuists insuch cases should tell me this is what they mean by love, why then I amin love. But if the being able, without a murmur, nay cheerfully, to marryanother, or see him properly married, if the possession of the powerand the resolution to do what is right, and if an unshaken will toexert this power prove the contrary, why then I am not in love. When I may, without trespassing on any duty, and with the fullapprobation of my own heart, yield up its entire affections, the man towhom they shall be devoted shall then find how much I can love. My passions must be, ought to be, and therefore shall be, under mycontrol; and, being conscious of the purity of my own intentions, Ihave never thought that the emanations of mind ought to be shackled bythe dread of their being misinterpreted. It is not only cowardly, butin my opinion pernicious. Yet, with respect to Frank, I fear this principle has led me into anerror. Among other escapes of this kind, there is one which has latelybefallen me, and for which I doubt I am reprehensible. Frank has written a song, in which his feelings and situation are verystrongly expressed. He left it on my music desk, by accident; for hischaracter is too open, too determined, to submit to artifice. The wordspleased me, I may say affected me, so very much that I was tempted toendeavour to adapt an air to them; which, when it was written, Iseveral times repeated, and accompanied myself on the piano-forte. Yourbrother came in just as I had ended; and, from a hint which hepurposely gave, I suspect that Frank had been listening in theantichamber. The behaviour of Frank afterward confirmed the supposition. He followedyour brother, and sat down while we conversed. His whole soul seemedabsorbed; but not, as I have sometimes seen it, in melancholy. Satisfaction, pleasure, I know not whether rapture would be too stronga word for the expressions which were discoverable in his countenance. My own mind had the moment before been impassioned; and the samesensations thrilling as it were through my veins might mislead me, andinduce me to suppose things that had no existence. Still I do not thinkI was mistaken. And if not, what have I done? Have I not thoughtlesslybetrayed him into a belief that I mean to favour a passion which Ishould think it criminal to encourage? I know not why I delay so long to explain my sentiments. It is the weakfear of not doing justice to my cause; of not convincing, and of makinghim unhappy, for whom I would sacrifice my life, every thing butprinciple, to make him the very reverse. However this must and shall soon be ended. I do not pretend to fix aday, but it shall not be a very distant one. I will arrange mythoughts, collect my whole force, and make an essay which I amconvinced cannot fail, unless by my fault. The task is perhaps the mostsevere I have ever yet undertaken. I will remember this, and I hope myexertions will be adequate. Adieu, my dear Louisa: and, when you come to this place, imagine me fora moment in your arms. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XXXVI _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _Chateau de Villebrun_ Never was fellow so pestered with malverse accidents as I am; and allof my own contriving! I am the prince of Numskulls! The journey to theChateau was a project of my own; and whom should I meet here but theCount de Beaunoir! The very same with whom I was prevented fromfighting, by this insolent son of a steward! They knew each otherinstantly; and the whole story was told in the presence of Anna. Myfoolish pride would never before let me mention to her that a fellow, like him, could oblige me to put up the sword I had drawn in anger. Norcan I now tell why I did not run him through, the instant he dared tointerfere! I cut a cursed ridiculous figure! But the youth is running up a longscore, which I foresee he will shortly be obliged to discharge. Damnhim! I cannot think of him with common patience! I know not why I evermention his name! I have raised another nest of wasps about my ears. The French fops, here, all buzz and swarm around her; each making love to her, with allthe shrugs, grimaces, and ready made raptures of which he is master;and to which I am obliged patiently to listen, or shew myself an ass. These fellows submit to every kind of monopoly, except of woman; and topretend an exclusive right to her is, in their opinion, only worthy ofa barbarian. But the most forward and tormenting of them all is myquondam friend, the Count; who is half a lunatic, but of so diverting akind that, ere a man has time to be angry, he either cuts a caper, utters an absurdity, or acts some mad antic or other, that sets gravityat defiance. Not that any man, who had the smallest pretensions to common sense, could be jealous, either of him or any one of these apes. And yetjealous I am! My dotage, Fairfax, is come very suddenly upon me; andneither you, nor any one of the spirited fellows, whose company I usedto delight in, can despise me half so much as I despise myself--Aplebeian!--A--! I could drink gall, eat my elbows, renounce all mygods, and turn Turk!--Ay, laugh if you will; what care I?--I havetaken a turn into the park, in search of a little cool air and commonsense. All the world is met here, on purpose to be merry; and merry they aredetermined to be. The occasion is a marriage, in the true French style, between my very good friend, the Marquis de Villebrun, an old fellowupwards of sixty, and a young creature of fifteen; a child, a chit, just taken out of a convent; in which, but for this or some suchpreposterous match, she might have remained, till time should havebestowed wrinkles and ugliness as bountifully upon her as it has doneupon her Narcissus, the bridegroom. The women flock busily round her, in their very good-natured way, purposely to form her. The men too arevery willing to lend their aid; and, under such tuition, she cannot butimprove apace. Why are not you here, Fairfax? I have had twentytemptations to take her under my pupillage; but that I dare not riskthe loss of this divinity. The purpose of our meeting however is, as I said, to be joyous. It isteeming time therefore with every brain, that has either wit, folly, orfancy enough to contribute to the general festivity. And various aretheir inventions, and stratagems, to excite surprise, attract visitors, and keep up the holiday farce of the scene. Musicians, painters, artists, jugglers, sages, all whose fame, no matter of what motleykind, has reached the public ear, and whom praise or pay can bringtogether, are assembled. Poets are invited to read their productions;and as reading well is no mean art, and writing well still much moredifficult, you may think what kind of an exhibition your every daypoetasters make. Yet, like a modern play, they are certain ofunbounded applause. Last night we had a _Fête Champêtre_, which, it must be granted, was amost accurate picture of nature, and the manners of rustics! Thesimplicity of the shepherd life could not but be excellentlyrepresented, by the ribbands, jewels, gauze, tiffany, and fringe, withwhich we were bedaubed; and the ragouts, fricassees, spices, sauces, wines, and _liqueurs_, with which we were regaled! Not to mention beingserved upon plate, by an army of footmen! But then, it was in the openair; and that was prodigiously pastoral! When we were sufficiently tired of eating and drinking, we all got upto dance; and the mild splendour of the moon was utterly eclipsed, bythe glittering dazzle of some hundreds of lamps; red, green, yellow, and blue; the rainbow burlesqued; all mingled, in fantastic wreaths andforms, and suspended among the foliage; that the trees might be as fineas ourselves! The invention, disposition, and effect, however, werehighly applauded. And, since the evil was small and the mirth great, what could a man do, but shake his ears, kick his heels, cut capers, laugh, sing, shout, squall, and be as mad as the best? To-morrow night we are to have fireworks; which will be no less rural. I was in a splenetic humour, and indulged myself in an exclamationagainst such an abominable waste of gunpowder; for which I got reprovedby my angelic monitress, who told me that, of all its uses and abuses, this was the most innocent. I suppose our stay here will not be less than a fortnight. But I haveleft orders for all letters to be sent after me; so that your heroicepistles will come safe and soon to hand. _Which is all at this present writing from your very humble servant tocommand_, C. CLIFTON LETTER XXXVII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Chateau de Villebrun_ In compliance with the very warm entreaties of our kind French friends, we have been hurried away from the metropolis sooner than was intended. We are at present in the country, at the Chateau de Villebrun; where, if we are not merry, it is not for the want of laughing. Our feet andour tongues are never still. We dance, talk, sing, ride, sail, orrather paddle about in a small but romantic lake; in short we are neverout of exercise. Clifton is as active as the best, and is very expert in all feats ofagility. With the French he seems to dance for the honour of hisnation; and, with me, from a desire to prove that the man who makespretensions to me, which he now does openly enough, is capable of everyexcellence. You know, Louisa, how much I despise the affectation of reserve; but heis so enterprising a youth that I am sometimes obliged, though veryunwillingly, to exert a little mild authority. The French, old or young, ugly or handsome, all are lovers; and are asliberal of their amorous sighs, and addresses, as if each were anAdonis. Clifton is well acquainted with foreign manners, or I canperceive their gallantry to me would make him half mad. As it is, hehas been little less than rude, to one or two of the most forward of mypretended admirers. I speak in the plural, as if we were rather in town than at a countryseat; and so we appear to be. The French nobility do not seem to haveany taste for solitude. Their love of variety induces them to changethe scene; but the same tumult of guests and visitors, coming andgoing, is every where their delight. Whatever can attract company theyseek with avidity. I am dear to them, because I am an English beauty, as they tell me, and all the world is desirous of paying its court tome. Clifton has equal or perhaps greater merits of the same kind. And Iassure you, Louisa, the women here can pay their court more artfullyand almost as openly as the men. Frank is idolized by them, because he reads Shakespeare. You wouldwonder to hear the praises they bestow upon him, and which indeed herichly deserves, though not one in ten of them understands a word hesays. _C'est beau! C'est magnifique! C'est superbe! C'est sublime!_Such is their continual round of good-natured superlatives, which theyapply on all occasions, with a sincere desire To make others as happyas they endeavour to persuade themselves to be. Frank treats theirgallantry with a kind of silent contempt, otherwise he would be a muchgreater favourite. Perhaps you will be surprised to find me still guilty ofprocrastination, and to hear me describing French manners, instead ofthe mode in which I addressed a youth whom I have accused myself ofhaving, in a certain sense, misled, and kept in suspense. I can onlyanswer that my intentions have been frustrated; chiefly indeed by thiscountry excursion, though in part by other accidents. My mind has notindulged itself in indolence; it could not; it is too deeplyinterested. But, the more I have thought, the more have I beenconfirmed in my former opinion. This is the hour of trial: this is thetime to prove I have some real claims to that superiority which I havebeen so ready to flatter myself I possess. Were there nothing toregret, nay were there not something to suffer, where would be themerit of victory?--But, on the other hand, how much is there togain!--A mind of the first order to be retrieved!--A Clifton!--Abrother of Louisa! This appears to be a serious crisis. Again I must repeat how much I amafraid of being hurried forward too fast. An error at this moment mightbe fatal. Clifton is so much alarmed by the particular respect whichthe Count de Beaunoir [A pleasant kind of madman, who is a visitanthere. ] pays me, that he has this instant been with me, confessed apassion for me, in all the strong and perhaps extravagant languagewhich custom has seemed to authorise, and has entreated, with a degreeof warmth and earnestness that could scarcely be resisted, mypermission to mention the matter immediately to Sir Arthur. It became me to speak without disguise. I told him I was far frominsensible of his merits; that a union with the brother of my Louisa, if propriety, duty, and affection should happen to combine, would bethe first wish of my heart; that I should consider any affectation andcoyness as criminal; but that I was not entirely free from doubt; and, before I could agree to the proposal being made to Sir Arthur, Ithought it necessary we should mutually compare our thoughts, andscrutinize as it were each other to the very soul; that we might notact rashly, in the most serious of all the private events of life. --Youknow my heart, Louisa; at least as well as I myself know it; and I amfearful of being precipitate. He seemed rather disappointed, and was impatient to begin theconversation I wished for immediately. I told him I was unprepared; my thoughts were not sufficientlycollected; and that the hurry in which we at present exist wouldscarcely allow me time to perform so necessary a duty. But, that Imight avoid the least suspicion of coquetry, if it were his desire, Iwould shut myself up for a day from company, and examine whether therewere any real impediments; that I would ask myself what my hopes andexpectations were; and that I requested, or indeed expected that heshould do the same. I added however that, if he pleased, it would bemuch more agreeable to me to defer this serious task, at least till weshould return to Paris. He repeated my words, if it would be much more agreeable to me, impatient and uneasy though he owned he was, he must submit. I answered I required no submission, except to reason; to which I hopedboth he and I should always be subject. Love, he replied, was so disdainful of restraint that it would notacknowledge the control of reason itself. However, by representing tohim how particular our mutual absence from the company would seem, unless we could condescend to tell some falsehood, which I would not Isaid suppose possible to either of us, I prevailed on him to subscribeto this short delay. His passions and feelings are strong. One minute he seemed affected bythe approbation which, as far as I could with truth, I did not scrupleto bestow on his many superior gifts; and the next to conceive somechagrin that I should for a moment hesitate. The noblest natures, Louisa, are the most subject to pride, can the least endure neglect, and are aptest to construe whatever is not directly affirmative intheir favour into injustice. With respect to the Count de Beaunoir, he has been more passionate, inexpressing how much he admires me, than my reserve to him can haveauthorised; except so far as he follows the manners of his country, andthe impulse of his peculiar character. I suppose he means little;though he has said much. Not that I am certain. He may be more inearnest than I desire; but I hope he is not; because, if I am to beyour sister as well as your friend, I should be sorry that any thingshould excite a shadow of doubt in the mind of Clifton. The Count is one of the Provencal nobility; a whimsical creature, withan imagination amazingly rapid, but extravagant. Your brother calls himCount Shatter-brain; and I tell him that he forgets he has some claimto the title himself. The Count has read the old Provençal poets, andromance writers, till he has made himself a kind of Don Quixote; exceptthat he has none of the Don's delightful systematic gravity. The Counton the contrary amuses by his want of system, and his quick, changeableincongruity. He is in raptures one moment with what he laughs at thenext. Were it not for the mad follies of jealousy, against which wecannot be too guarded, the manner in which he addresses, or in his ownlanguage adores me, would be pleasant. If I wished to pass my life inlaughing, I would certainly marry the Count. I am called to dinner. Adieu. Ever and ever yours, A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XXXVIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Chateau de Villebrun_ My alarms, Louisa, increase; and with them my anxious wishes for aneclaircissement with Frank. Clifton has too strongly imbibed high butfalse notions of honour and revenge. His quick, apt, and versatiletalents are indubitable. He wants nothing but the power to curb andregulate his passions, to render him all that his generous andexcellent sister could desire. But at present his sensibility is toogreat. He scarcely can brook the slightest tokens of disapprobation. Heis rather too firmly persuaded that he deserves applause, andadmiration; and that reproof he scarcely can deserve: or, if he did, tosubmit to it he imagines would be dishonourable. Frank and he behave more than usually cool to each other: I know notwhy, unless it has been occasioned by an incident which happenedyesterday. Clifton has bought an English hunter, from one of hiscountrymen at Paris, which he was exhibiting to his French friends, whose horsemanship is very different from ours, and who were surprisedto see him ride so fearlessly over gates and other impediments. Theycontinued their airing in the park of Villebrun, and turned round to akind of haha, which was both deep and wide, and about half full ofwater, by the side of which they saw a party of ladies standing, and meamong the rest. Frank was with us. One of the gentlemen asked whether the horse could leap over the haha:to which Clifton made no answer, but immediately clapped spurs to hishunter, and over he flew. The whole company, gentlemen and ladies, broke out into exclamations of surprise; and Clifton turned his horse'shead round, and regained his former place. While they were wondering, Frank Henley happened to make if a matter ofdoubt whether a man or a horse could leap the farthest; and Clifton, continually in the habit of contending with Frank, said it wasridiculous to start such an argument, unless he would first shew thathe himself could make the same leap. Frank, piqued in his turn, retireda few yards; and, without pulling off his coat or deigning to leap, hemade a short run and a hop and sprung over. You may imagine that the kind and good folks, who love to beastonished, and still more to tell the greatness of their astonishment, were manifold in their interjections. Frank, in order to rejoin thecompany, was obliged a second time to cross the haha; which he did withthe same safety and truly amazing agility as he had done before. Clifton, indulging his wrong habits, though I have no doubt admiringFrank as much as the rest, told him in a kind of sarcastic banter that, though he could not prove the equality of mankind, he had at leastproved himself equal to a horse. To which Frank replied he wasmistaken; for that he had shewn himself equal to the horse and hisrider. This answer I fear dwells upon the mind of Clifton; and I scarcelymyself can tell whether it were or were not worthy of Frank. How canClifton be wilfully blind to such courage, rectitude of heart, understanding and genius? The stern unrelenting fortitude of Frank, in the cause of justice, andsome symptoms of violence in the impetuous Clifton, have inspired mewith apprehensions; and have induced me to behave with more reserve andcoldness to Frank than I ever before assumed. Yet, Louisa, my heart is wrung to see the effect it produces. He has amind of such discriminating power, such magnanimity, that an injury toit is a deep, a double sin; and every look, every action testify thathe thinks himself injured, by the distance with which I behave. Ohthat he himself might be impelled to begin the subject with which mymind is labouring! This is wrong; I am ashamed of my own cowardice. Yet would there not besomething terrifying in a formal appointment, to tell him what it seemsmust be told?--Yes, Louisa, must--And is there not danger he shouldthink me severe; nay unjust?--Would it were over!--I hope he will notthink so of me!--It must be done!--Must!--Must!-- Indeed, Louisa, I could be a very woman--But I will not!--No, no!--Itis passed--I have put my handkerchief to my eyes and it is gone--I haverepressed an obstinate heaving of the heart-- Let her blame me, if I deserve it, but my Louisa must see me as Iam--Yet I will conquer--Be sure I will--But I must not sing his songany more! A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XXXIX _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_. _Chateau de Villebrun_ Oh, my friend, my heart is torn! I am on the rack! My thoughts are alltumult! My passions rebel! I seem to have yielded up the bestprerogative of man, reason; and to have admitted revolt, anarchy, anddesolation! Her manner is changed! Wholly! She is become cold, reserved; has markedme out for neglect; smiles on me no more; not a sigh escapes her. Andwhy? What have I done? I am unconscious. Have I been too presuming?Perhaps so. But why did her looks never till now speak her meaning asintelligibly as they do at present? I could not then have mistakenthem. Why, till now, has she seemed to regard me with that sweetamenity which was so flattering to hope? Perhaps, in the distraction of my thoughts, I am unjust to her. Andshall I, pretending as I do to love so pure, shall I become heraccuser? What if she meant no more than that commerce of gratefulkindness, which knits together human society, and renders itdelightful? Yet this sudden change! So evidently intentional! The smiles too whichshe bestows on the brother of Louisa, and the haughty airs of triumphwhich he assumes, what can these be? Confident in himself, ardent inhis desires, unchecked by those fears which are the offspring of truedelicacy, his passions violent, and his pride almost insufferable, hethinks he loves. But he is ignorant of the alarms, the tremors, the'fitful fevers' of love. I cannot endure my present torture. I must seek a desperate end to it, by explanation. Why do I delay? Coward that I am! What worse can happenthan despair? And is not despair itself preferable to that worst offiends, suspense? What do I mean by despair? Would I, being rejected, desert my duty, sink into self, and poorly linger in wretchedness; orbasely put an end to existence? Violently end that which ought to bedevoted to the good of others?--How did so infernal a thought enter mymind?--Can I be so very lost a thing?--No!--Despair is somethingconfused, something horrid: I know not what. It may intrude upon me, atblack and dismal intervals; but it shall not overwhelm me. I will shakeit off. I will meet my destiny. The clouds are gathering; the storm approaches; I hear the distantthunder rolling; this way it drives; it points at me; it must suddenlyburst! Be it so. Grant me but the spirit of a man, and I yet shallbrave its fury. If I am a poor braggart, a half believer in virtue, orvirtuous only in words, the feeble victim then must justly perish. I cannot endure my torments! Cannot, because there is a way to endthem. It shall be done. I blush to read, blush to recollect the rhapsodies of my own perturbedmind! Madman! 'Tis continually thus. Day after day I proceed, reasoning, reproving, doubting, wishing, believing and despairing, alternately. Once again, where is this strange impossibility?--In what does itconsist?--Are we not both human beings?--What law of Nature has placedher beyond my hopes?--What is rank? Does it imply superiority of mind?Or is there any other superiority?--Am I not a man?--And who is more?Have the titled earned their dignities by any proofs of exalted virtue?Were not these dignities things of accident, in which the owners had noshare, and of which they are generally unworthy? And shall hope be thuscowed and killed, without my daring to exert the first and mostunalienable of the rights of man, freedom of thought? Shall I notexamine what these high distinctions truly are, of which the bearersare so vain? This Clifton--! Thou knowest not how he treats me. And can she approve, can she second his injustice?--Surely not!--Yet does she not dedicateher smiles to him, her conversation, her time? Does she not shun me, discountenance me, and reprove me, by her silence and her averted eyes? Once again it must and shall have an end!--I have repeated this toooften; but my next shall shew thee I am at length determined. F. HENLEY LETTER XL _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Chateau de Villebrun_ An affair has just happened in this country which is the universaltopic of conversation. The daughter of a noble and wealthy family hasfallen in love with a man of uncommon learning, science, and genius, but a musician. In consequence of his great skill and reputation, hewas employed to teach her music; and she it appears was too sensible, at least for the decorum of our present manners, of his worth. The ability to discover his merit implies merit in herself, and themusician and lady were equally enamoured of each other. A plan forelopement consequently was laid, and put in execution; but noteffectually, for, before the lovers had passed the confines of thekingdom, they were pursued and overtaken. The musician knew his own personal danger, and by a stratagemfortunately escaped from his bonds, and attained a place of safety. Thelady was brought back; and, from the severity of the French laws andthe supposed atrocity of the crime, it is generally affirmed that themusician, notwithstanding his talents and fame, had he been secured, would have been executed. I have mentioned this adventure, my dear Louisa, not so much for itsown sake as for what relates to myself. It was natural that I shouldfeel compassion for mistakes, if mistakes they be, which have so greatan affinity to virtue; and that I should plead for the lovers, andagainst the barbarity of laws so unjust and inhuman. For it is certainthat, had not the musician been put to death, his least punishmentwould have been perpetual imprisonment. In a former letter I mentioned the increasing alarms of Sir Arthur; andthis was a fit opportunity for him to shew how very serious and greatthose alarms are. He opposed me, while I argued in behalf of thelovers, with what might in him be called violence; affirmed it was acrime for which no merit or genius could compensate; highly applaudedthose wholesome laws that prevented such crimes, and preserved thehonour of noble families from attaint; lamented the want of similarlaws in England; and spoke of the conduct of the young lady with adegree of bitterness which from him was unusual. In fine, the spirit ofhis whole discourse was evidently to warn me, and explicitly to declarewhat his opinions on this subject are. Had I before wanted conviction, he fully convinced me, on thisoccasion, of the impossibility of any union between me and FrankHenley; at least without sacrificing the felicity of my father and myfamily, and from being generally and sincerely beloved by them, rendering myself the object of eternal reproach, and almost of hatred. Previous to this conversation, I was uneasy at the state of my ownmind, and particularly at what I suppose to be the state of Mr. Henley's; and this uneasiness is at present very much increased. Once again, Louisa, it must immediately have an end. I can support itno longer. I must be firm. My half-staggering resolution is nowfixed. I cannot, must not doubt. My father and family must not besacrificed to speculative probabilities. Frank is the most deservingof mankind; and that it should be a duty to reject the most deservingof mankind, as the friend of my life, my better self, my husband, isstrange; but I am nevertheless convinced that a duty it is. Yes; theconflicts of doubt are over. I must and will persevere. Poor Frank! To be guilty of injustice to a nature so noble, to wring aheart so generous, and to neglect desert so unequalled, is indeed akilling thought! But the stern the unrelenting dictates of necessitymust be obeyed. The neglect the injustice and the cruelty are theworld's, not mine: my heart disavows them, revolts at them, deteststhem! Heaven bless my Louisa, and give her superior prudence to guard andpreserve her from these too strong susceptibilities! May the angel offortitude never forsake her, as she seems half inclined to do her poor. A. W. ST. IVES END OF VOLUME II VOLUME III LETTER XLI _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Chateau de Villebrun_ At last, my dear Louisa, the charm is broken: the spell of silence isdissolved. Incapable any longer of restraint, passion has burst itsbounds, and strong though the contest was, victory has declared forreason. My change of behaviour has produced this effect. Not that I applaudmyself: on the contrary, I am far from pleased with my own want offortitude. I have even assumed an austerity which I did not feel. I do not mean to say that all appearances, relative to myself, werefalse. No. I was uneasy; desirous to speak, desirous that he shouldspeak, and could accomplish neither. I accused myself of having givenhopes that were seductive, and wished to retract. In short, I have notbeen altogether so consistent as I ought to be; as my letters to you, my friend, will witness. Various little incidents preceded and indeed helped to produce thisswell and overflow of the heart, and the eclaircissement that followed. In the morning at breakfast, Frank took the cakes I usually eat to handto me; and Clifton, whose watchful spirit is ever alert, caught up aplate of bread and butter, to offer me at the same instant. His looksshewed he expected the preference. I was sorry for it, and paused for amoment. At last the principle of not encouraging Frank prevailed, and Itook some bread and butter from Clifton. It was a repetition ofslights, which Frank had lately met with, and he felt it; yet he bowedwith a tolerable grace, and put down his plate. He soon after quitted the room, but returned unperceived by me. Theyoung marchioness had breakfasted, and retired to her toilet; wheresome of the gentlemen were attending her. She had left a snuff-box ofconsiderable value with me, which I had forgotten to return; and, withthat kind of sportive cheerfulness which I rather encourage thanrepress, I called--'Here! Where are all my esquires? I want amessenger. ' Clifton heard me, and Frank was unexpectedly at my elbow. Had I knownit, I should not have spoken so thoughtlessly. Frank came forward andbowed. Clifton called--'Here am I, ready, fair lady, to execute yourbehests. ' I was a second time embarrassed. After a short hesitation, Isaid--'No--I have changed my mind. ' Frank retired; but Clifton advanced, with his usual gaiety, answering, --'Nay, nay! I have not earned half a crown yet this morning, and I must not be cheated of my fare. ' I would still have refused, butI perceived Clifton began to look serious, and I said to him--'Well, well, good man, here then, take this snuff-box to the marchioness, shemay want it: but do not blunder, and break it; for if you do I shalldismiss you my service. Recollect the picture in the lid, set withdiamonds!' It was fated to be a day of mortification to Frank. His complaisancehad induced him to comply with the request of the marchioness, that hewould read one of the mad scenes in Lear, though he knew she had notthe least acquaintance with the English language. But she wantedamusement, and was pleased to mark the progress of the passions; whichI never saw so distinctly and highly expressed as in his countenance, when he reads Shakespeare. I happened to come into her apartment, for the French are delightfullyeasy of access, and the reading was instantly interrupted. I was thevery person she wanted to see. How should we spend the evening? Thecountry was horribly dull! There had been no new visitors these twodays! Should we have a dance? I gave my assent, and away she ran totell every body. I followed; Frank came after me, and with some reluctance, foreboding arepulse, asked whether he should have the pleasure to dance with me. His manner and the foregone circumstances made me guess his questionbefore he spoke. My answer was--'I have just made a promise to myselfthat I will dance with Mr. Clifton. ' It was true: the thought hadpassed through my mind. Mr. Clifton, madam! Yes-- You--you-- I have not seen Mr. Clifton? Right--But I said I had made the promiseto _myself_. Poor Frank could contain no longer! I see, madam, said he, I amdespised; and I deserve contempt; I crouch to it, I invite it, and haveobtained a full portion of it--Yet why?--What have I done?--Why is thissudden change?--The false glitter that deceives mankind then isirresistible!--But surely, madam, justice is as much my due as if myname were Clifton. Spurn me, trample on me, when I sully myself by viceand infamy! But till then I should once have hoped to have escapedbeing humbled in the dust, by one whom I regarded as the mostbenignant, as well as the most deserving and equitable of earthlycreatures! This is indeed a heavy charge: and I am afraid much of it is too true. Here is company coming. I am sorry I cannot answer it immediately. I can suffer any thing rather than exist under my present tortures. Will you favour me so far, madam, as to grant me half an hour'shearing? Willingly. It is what I wish. Come to my apartment after dinner. Clifton came up, and I have no doubt read in our countenances thatsomething more than common had passed. Indeed I perceived it, orthought so; but his imagination took another turn, in consequence of myinforming him, that I had been just telling Frank I had promised myselfto be his (Clifton's) partner. He thanked me, his countenance shewed itas well as his words, for my kindness. He was coming, he said, topetition, the instant he had heard of the dance. But still he looked atFrank, as if he thought it strange that I should condescend to accountto him for my thoughts and promises. Dinner time came, and we sat down to table. But the mind is sometimestoo busy to attend to the appetites. I and Frank ate but little. Herose first from table, that he might not seem to follow me. Hisdelicacy never slumbers. I took the first opportunity to retire. Frankwas presently with me, and our dialogue began. The struggle of thefeelings ordained that I should be the first speaker. I have been thinking very seriously, Frank, of what you said to me thismorning. Would to heaven you could forget it, madam! Why so? I was unjust! A madman! A vain fool! An idiot!--Pardon this rudevehemence, but I cannot forgive myself for having been so ready toaccuse one whom--! I cannot speak my feelings!--I have desertedmyself!--I am no longer the creature of reason, but the child ofpassion!--My mind is all tumult, all incongruity! You wrong yourself. The error has been mutual, or rather I have beenmuch the most to blame. I am very sensible of, and indeed very sorryfor my mistake--Indeed I am--I perceived you indulging hopes thatcannot be realized, and-- Cannot, madam? Never!--I can see you think yourself despised; but you do yourselfgreat wrong. My mind is so disturbed, by the abrupt and absurd folly with which Iaccused you, unheard, this morning, that it is less now in a state todo my cause justice than at any other time--Still I will be a man--Yourword, madam, was--Cannot!-- It was. Permit me to ask, is it person--? No--certainly not. Person would with me be always a distantconsideration. [You, Louisa, know how very far from exceptionable theperson of Frank is, if that were any part of the question. ] You are no flatterer, madam, and you have thought proper occasionallyto express your approbation of my morals and mind. Yet my expressions have never equalled my feelings!--Never! Then, madam, where is the impossibility? In what does it consist? Theworld may think meanly of me, for the want of what I myself hold incontempt: but surely you cannot join in the world's injustice? I cannot think meanly of you. I have no titles. I am what pride calls nobody: the son of a man whocame pennyless into the service of your family; in which to my infinitegrief he has grown rich. I would rather starve than acquire opulence bythe efforts of cunning, flattery, and avarice; and if I blush for anything, relative to family, it is for that. I am either above or belowthe wish of being what is insolently called well born. You confound, or rather you do not separate, two things which are verydistinct; that which I think of you, and that which the world wouldthink of me, were I to encourage hopes which you would have me indulge. Your actions, madam, shew how much and how properly you disregard theworld's opinion. But I do not disregard the effects which that opinion may have, uponthe happiness of my father, my family, myself, and my husband, if everI should marry. If truth and justice require it, madam, even all these ought to bedisregarded. Indubitably. Did I know a man, upon the face of the earth, who had a still deepersense of your high qualities and virtues than I have, who understoodthem more intimately, would study them, emulate them more, and profitbetter by them, I have confidence enough in myself to say I wouldresign you without repining. But, when I think on the union betweenmind and mind--the aggregate--! I want language, madam--! I understand you. When I reflect on the wondrous happiness we might enjoy, while mutuallyexerting ourselves in the general cause of virtue, I confess thethought of renouncing so much bliss, or rather such a duty to myselfand the world, is excruciating torture. Your idea of living for the cause of virtue delights me; it is in fullconcord with my own. But whether that great cause would best bepromoted by our union, or not, is a question which we are incapable ofdetermining: though I think probabilities are for the negative. Factsand observation have given me reason to believe that the too easygratification of our desires is pernicious to mind; and that itacquires vigour and elasticity from opposition. And would you then upon principle, madam, marry a man whom you mustdespise? No, not despise. If indeed I were all I could wish to be, I ampersuaded I should despise no one. I should endeavour to instruct theignorant, and reform the erroneous. However, I will tell you what sortof a man I should wish to marry. First he must be a person of whom noprejudice, no mistake of any kind, should induce the world, that is, the persons nearest and most connected with me in the world, to thinkmeanly--Shall I be cited by the thoughtless, the simple, and theperverse, in justification of their own improper conduct?--You cannotwish it, Frank!--Nor is this the most alarming fear--My friends!--Myrelations!--My father!--To incur a father's reproach for havingdishonoured his family were fearful: but to meet, to merit, to liveunder his curse!--God of heaven forbid! Must we then never dare to counteract mistake? Must mind, thoughenlightened by truth, submit to be the eternal slave of error?--What isthere that is thus dreadful, madam, in the curse of prejudice? Have notthe greatest and the wisest of mankind been cursed by ignorance? It is not the curse itself that is terrible, but the torture of theperson's mind by whom it is uttered!--Nor is it the torture of aminute, or a day, but of years!--His child, his beloved child, on whomhis hopes and heart were fixed, to whom he looked for all the bliss offilial obedience, all the energies of virtue, and all the effusions ofaffection, to see himself deserted by her, unfeelingly deserted, plunged in sorrows unutterable, eternally dishonoured, the index andthe bye-word of scandal, scoffed at for the fault of her whom his fondand fatherly reveries had painted faultless, whispered out of societybecause of the shame of her in whom he gloried, and I this child! Were the conflict what your imagination has figured it, madam, yourterrors would be just--But I have thought deeply on it, and know thatyour very virtues misguide you. It would not be torture, nor would itbe eternal--On the contrary, madam, I, poor as I am in the esteem of anarrogant world, I proudly affirm it would be the less and not thegreater evil. You mistake!--Indeed, Frank, you mistake!--The fear of poverty, thesneers of the world, ignominy itself, were the pain inflicted butconfined to me, I would despise. But to stretch my father upon therack, and with him every creature that loves me, even you yourself!--Itmust not be!--It must not be! I too fatally perceive, madam, your mind is subjected by these phantomsof fear. No, no--not phantoms; real existences; the palpable beings ofreason!--Beside what influence have I in the world, except over myfriends and family? And shall I renounce this little influence, thisonly power of doing good, in order to gratify my own passions, bymaking myself the outcast of that family and of that world to whom itis my ambition to live an example?--My family and the world areprejudiced and unjust: I know it. But where is the remedy? Can we workmiracles? Will their prejudices vanish at our bidding?--I have alreadymortally offended the most powerful of my relations, Lord Fitz-Allen, by refusing a foolish peer of his recommendation. He is my maternaluncle; proud, prejudiced, and unforgiving. Previous to this refusal Iwas the only person in our family whom he condescended to notice. Heprophesied, in the spleen of passion, I should soon bring shame on myfamily; and I as boldly retorted I would never dishonour the name ofSt. Ives--I spoke in their own idiom, and meant to be sounderstood--Recollect all this!--Be firm, be just to yourself andme!--Indeed indeed, Frank, it is not my heart that refuses you; it ismy understanding; it is principle; it is a determination not to do thatwhich my reason cannot justify--Join with me, Frank--Resolve--Give meyour hand--Let us disdain to set mankind an example which would indeedbe a virtuous and a good one, were all the conditions understood; butwhich, under the appearances it would assume, would be criminal in theextreme. My hand and heart, madam, are everlastingly yours: and it is becausethis heart yearns to set the world an example, higher infinitely thanthat which you propose, that thus I plead!--This opportunity is myfirst and last--I read my doom--Bear with me therefore while I declaremy sensations and my thoughts. --The passion I feel is as unlike what isusually meant by love as day to night, grace to deformity, or truth tofalsehood. It is not your fine form, madam, supremely beautiful thoughyou are, which I love. At least I love it only as an excellent part ofa divine whole. It is your other, your better, your more heavenly self, to which I have dared to aspire. I claim relationship to your mind; andagain declare I think my claims have a right, which none of the falsedistinctions of men can supersede. Think then, madam, again I conjureyou, think ere you decide. --If the union of two people whose pure love, founded on an unerring conviction of mutual worth, might promise thereality of that heaven of which the world delights to dream; whosesouls, both burning with the same ardour to attain and to diffuseexcellence, would mingle and act with incessant energy, who, havingrisen superior to the mistakes of mankind, would disseminate the samespirit of truth, the same internal peace, the same happiness, the samevirtues which they themselves possess among thousands; who wouldadmire, animate, emulate each other; whose wishes, efforts, andprinciples would all combine to one great end, the general good; who, being desirous only to dispense blessings, could not fail to enjoy; ifa union like this be not strictly conformable to the laws of eternaltruth, or if there be any arguments, any perils, any terrors whichought to annul such a union, I confess that the arguments, the perils, the terrors, and eternal truth itself are equally unknown to me. We paused for a moment. The beauty, force, and grandeur of the picturehe had drawn staggered me. Yet it was but a repetition of what hadfrequently presented itself to my mind, in colours almost as vivid asthose with which he painted. I had but one answer, and replied-- The world!--My family!--My father!--I cannot encounter the maledictionof a father!--What! Behold him in an agony of cursing hischild?--Imagination shudders and shrinks from the guilty picture withhorror!--I cannot!--I cannot!--It must not be!--To foresee this miseryso clearly as I do, and yet to seek it, would surely be detestableguilt! Again we paused--He perceived my terrors were too violent to cede toany efforts of supposed reason. His countenance changed; the energy ofargument disappeared, and was succeeded by all the tenderness ofpassion. The decisive moment, the moment of trial was come. Hisfeatures softened into that form which never yet failed to melt theheart, and he thus continued. To the scorn of vice, the scoffs of ignorance, the usurpations of thepresuming, and the contumelies of the proud, I have patientlysubmitted: but to find my great and as I thought infallible supportwrested from me; to perceive that divine essence which I imagined toomuch a part of myself to do me wrong, overlooking me; rejecting me;dead to those sensations which I thought mutually pervaded and filledour hearts; to hear her, whom of all beings on earth I thought myselfmost akin to, disclaim me; positively, persisting, un-- Unjustly?--Was that the word, Frank?--Surely not unjustly!--Oh, surelynot! And could those heavenly those heart-winning condescensions on which Ifounded my hopes be all illusory?--Could they?--Did I dream that yoursoul held willing intercourse with mine, beaming divine intelligenceupon me? Was it all a vision when I thought I heard you pronounce theecstatic sentence--_You could love me if I would let you?_ No; it was real. I revoke nothing that I have said or done. Do not, Frank, for the love of truth and justice do not think me insensible ofyour excellence, dead to your virtues, or blind to mind and merit whichI never yet saw equalled!--Think not it is pride, or base insensibilityof your worth! Where is the day in which that worth has not increasedupon me?--Unjust to you?--Oh!--No, no, no!--My heart bleeds at thethought!--No!--It is my love of you, my love of your virtues, yourprinciples, and these alone are lovely, which has rendered me thusinflexible. If any thing could make you dearer to me than you are, itmust be weakness; it must be something which neither you nor I ought toapprove. All the good, or rather all the opportunities of doing goodwhich mortal or immortal being can enjoy do I wish you! Oh that I hadprayers potent enough to draw down blessings on you!--Loveyou?--Yes!--The very idea bursts into passion. [The tears, Louisa, werestreaming down my cheeks. ] Why should you doubt of all the affectionwhich virtue can bestow? Do you not deserve it?--Oh yes!--Love you inthe manner you could wish I must not, dare not, ought not: but, as Iought, I love you infinitely! Ay, dear, dear Frank, as I ought, infinitely! Louisa!--Blame me if thou wilt--But I kissed him!--The chastity of mythoughts defied misconstruction, and the purity of the will sanctifiedthe extravagance of the act. A daring enthusiasm seized me. I beheldhis passions struggling to attain the very pinnacle of excellence. Iwished to confirm the noble emulation, to convince him how differentthe pure love of mind might be from the meaner love of passion, and Ikissed him! I find my affections, my sensibilities, peculiarly liableto these strong sallies. Perhaps all minds of a certain texture aresubject to such rapid and almost resistless emotions; and whether theyought to be encouraged or counteracted I have not yet discovered. Butthe circumstance, unexpected and strange as it was, suffered no wronginterpretation in the dignified soul of Frank. With all the ardour ofaffection, but chastened by every token of delicacy, he clasped me inhis arms, returned my kiss, then sunk down on one knee, andexclaimed--Now let me die!-- After a moment's pause, I answered--No, Frank! Live! Live to be ablessing to the world, and an honour to the human race! I took a turn to the window, and after having calmed the too much offeeling which I had suffered to grow upon me, I continued theconversation. I hope, Frank, we now understand each other; and that, as this is thefirst, so it will be the last contention of the passions in which weshall indulge ourselves. Madam, though _I still think, nay feel a certainty of conviction, thatyou act from mistaken principles_, yet you support what you arepersuaded is truth with such high such self-denying virtue, that not toapplaud, not to imitate you would be contemptible. You have and oughtto have a will of your own. You practise what you believe to be theseverest precepts of duty, with more than human fortitude. You resolve, in this particular, not to offend the prejudices of your family, andthe world. I submit. To indulge sensibility but a little were to beheart-broken! But no personal grief can authorise me in deserting thepost I am placed in; nor palliate the crime of neglecting its duties. _To the end of time I shall persist in thinking you mine by right_; butI will never trouble you more with an assertion of thatright--Never!--Unless some new and unexpected claim should spring up, of which I see no probability. He bowed and was retiring. Stay, Frank, I have something more to say to you--I have a requisitionto make which after what has passed would to common minds appearunfeeling and almost capricious cruelty; but I have no fear that yoursshould be liable to this mistake. Recollect but who and what you are, remember what are the best purposes of existence, and the noblestefforts of mind, and then refuse me if you can--I have formed aproject, and call upon you for aid--Cannot you guess? Mr. Clifton, madam--? Yes. I fear it is a dangerous one; and, whether my fears originate inselfishness or in penetration, they must be spoken. Yes, madam, I mustwarn you that the passions of Mr. Clifton are, in my opinion, much morealarming than the resentment of your father. But they are alarming only to myself. And ought danger to deter me? Not if the good you design be practicable. And what is impracticable, where the will is resolved? Perhaps nothing--But the effort must be great, must be uncommon. Has he not a mind worthy of such an effort? Would not his powers highlyhonour truth and virtue? They would. Will not you give me your assistance? I would, madam, most willingly, would he but permit me. But I am hisantipathy; a something noxious; an evil augury. You have been particular in your attentions to me. And must those attentions cease, madam? They must be moderated; they must be cool, dispassionate, and then theywill not alarm. --I cannot possibly be deceived in supposing it a duty, an indispensable duty to restore the mind of Clifton to its truestation. If I fail, the fault must be my own. I am but young, yet manymen have addressed me with the commonplace language of admiration, love, and I know not what; or rather they knew not what; and, exceptyourself, Frank, I have not met with one from whom half so much mightbe hoped as from Clifton. He is the brother of my bosom friend. Surely, Frank, it is a worthy task--Join with me!--There is but one thing Ifear. Clifton is haughty and intemperate. Are you a duellist, Frank? No, madam. Then you would not fight a duel? Never, madam, no provocation, not the brand of cowardice itself, shallever induce roe to be guilty of such a crime. Frank!--Oh excellent, noble youth! Here, Louisa, our conversation abruptly ended. The company had risenfrom table, and we heard them in the corridor. I requested him toretire, and he instantly obeyed. Oh! Louisa, with what sensations did he leave my mind glowing!--Hisconviction equals certainty, _that I act from mistaken principles!--_Tothe end of time he shall persist in thinking me his by right!_--Can thepower of language afford words more strong, more positive, morepointed?--How unjust have I been to my cause!--For surely I cannot bein an error!--'Tis afflicting, 'tis painful, nay it is almostterrifying to remember!--_Persist to the end of time?_--Why did I notthink more deeply?--I had a dark kind of dread that I should fail!--Itcannot be the fault of my cause!--Wrong him!--Guilty of injustice tohim!--Surely, surely, I hope not!--What! Become an example to thefeeble and the foolish, for having indulged my passions and neglectedmy duties?--I?--His mind had formed a favourite plan, and could Iexpect it should be instantly relinquished?--I cannot conceive tormentequal to the idea of doing him wrong! Him?--Again and again I hope not!I hope not! I hope not! Then the kiss, Louisa? Did I or did I not do right, in shewing him howtruly I admire and love his virtues? Was I or was I not guilty of anycrime, when, in the very acme of the passions, I so totally disregardedthe customs of the world? Or rather, for that is the true question, could it produce any other effect than that which I intended? I ampersuaded it could not. Nor, blame me who will, do I repent. And yet, my friend, if you should think it wrong, I confess I should then feel apang which I should be glad not to deserve. But be sincere. Though Ineed not warn you. No false pity can or ought to induce you to desertthe cause of truth. Adieu--My mind is not so much at its ease as I hoped, from thisconversation; but at all times, and in all tempers, believe me to be, ever and ever, Your own dear A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XLII _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _Chateau de Villebrun_ All is over!--My hopes are at an end!--I am awakened from a dream, inwhich pain and pleasure were mingled to such excess as to render itscontinuance impossible. Nor is this all. This trial, severe as it was, did not suffice. To thedestruction of hope has been added the assault of insolence, accompanied with a portion of obloquy which heart scarcely cansustain--Oh, this Clifton!--But--Patience! Yet let me do her justice. Mistaken though I am sure she is, themotives of her conduct are so pure that even mistake itself is lovelyin her; and assumes all the energy, all the dignity of virtue. Oh whata soul is hers! Her own passions, the passions of others, when she actsand speaks, are all in subjection to principle. Yes, Oliver, of onething at least she has convinced me: she has taught me, or rather mademe feel, how poor a thing it is to be the slave of desire. Not that I do not still adore her!--Ay, more than ever adore! But fromhenceforth my adoration shall be worthy of herself, and not degradingto me. From her I have learned what true love is; and the lesson isengraven on my heart. She can consider personal gratification withapathy, yet burn with a martyr's zeal for the promotion of universalgood. And shall I not rise equal to the bright example which she has set me?Shall I admire yet not imitate? Did she despise me? Did she reject me for my own sake?--No!--All theaffection which mind can feel for mind she has avowed for me! And shallI grieve because another may be more happy?--And why more?--Inwhat?--Is not the union of souls the first the most permanent of allalliances? That union is mine! No power can shake it. She openlyacknowledges it; and has done, daily, hourly, in every word, in everyaction. Whither then would my wishes wander? Oliver, I am a man, and subject to the shakes and agues of his fragilenature!--Yet it is a poor, a wretched plea; a foolish, and a falseplea. Man is weak because he is willing to be weak. He crouches to thewhip, and like a coward pities while he lashes himself. His wilful phrensy he calls irresistible, and weeps for the tormentswhich he himself inflicts. But once again this Clifton!--Read and tell me how I ought to act--Ihave received a blow from him, Oliver!--Yes, have tamely submitted toreceive a blow!-- What intolerable prejudices are these! Why does my heart rebel sosternly, at what virtue so positively approves? I had just left her; had that instant been rejected by her for hissake; had been summoned to aid her, in weeding out error from his mind. She shewed me it was a noble task, and communicated to me her owndivine ardour. Yes, Oliver; I came from her, with a warmed and animatedheart; participating all her zeal. The most rigid, the most painful ofall abstinence was demanded from me; but should I shrink from a dutybecause I pity or because I love myself? No. Such pusillanimity weredeath to virtue. I left her, while my thoughts glowed with the ardourof emulating her heroism; and burned to do him all the good which shehad projected. He was at the end of the corridor, and saw me quit her apartment. Hishot spirit caught the alarm instantaneously, and blazed in hiscountenance. He accosted me-- So, sir! You are very familiar with that lady! What right have you tointrude into her apartments? When she herself desires me, sir, I have a right. She desire you! 'Tis false! Sir? 'Tis false, sir! False? Yes, sir. And falsehood deserves to be chastised! Chastised? [It is in vain, Oliver, to endeavour to conceal the truthfrom myself; my folly incurred its own punishment--I repeat] Chastised?[I was lunatic enough to walk up to him, with a ridiculous anddespicable air of defiance. He re-echoed my words, and instantly incontempt struck me on the cheek with the back of his hand. ] Yes, sir; chastised! His rashness restored me to some sense of the farcical heroism which Ihad been aping. I hurried from him, without another word. Oliver, I can conceive nothing more painful than this wresting, thistearing of passion from its purpose. I walked a few minutes to calm my thoughts, and wrote him the followingnote. Sir, 'I feel at present the humility of my situation: but not from yourblow; for that has brought me to myself, not humbled me. No man can bedegraded by another; it must be his own act: and you have degradedyourself, not me. My error is in having, for a moment, yielded to theimpulse of passion. If you think I fear you, continue to think so; tillI can shew my forbearance is from a better motive. Cowardice might makeme kill you; but true courage will teach me calmly to hear the worldcall me coward, rather than commit an act so wicked, so abhorred, asthat of taking or throwing away life. I wished to seek your friendship;and even now I will not shun you. Make the world imagine me a coward;imagine me one yourself, if you can. I will live under the supposedobloquy; and leave the tenor of my life to shew whether living be theact of fear, or of reason. I pardon you, sir, and leave you to pardonyourself. F. HENLEY My forbearance and this letter mitigated my sense of pain. Yet I amvery ill satisfied with myself. Am I so easily to be moved? 'Tis truethe scene I had just quitted was fermenting, as it were, in my veins, and shaking my whole system. What is worse, I am child enough to be tormented, in my own despite, bythe recollection of having received a blow! And why? In many countries, and even in my own, among the class in which I was born, the stigma isnone, or trifling--Stigma? Absurd!--Cowardice!--Murder!--If vanity wereever becoming, I have perhaps more reason to be vain, considering thedanger to which I had exposed myself, of this than of any act of mylife. Well, well, Oliver--I hope these agitations are over; and that fromthis time thou wilt begin to think better of me. I communicate my whole thoughts to thee. If the experiments made uponmy mind can be of any use to thine, my letters will then answer thebest of the purposes for which they are written. F. HENLEY LETTER XLIII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _Chateau de Villebrun_ Your last, Fairfax, pleased me. You say truly, and I like your remark, 'Such fellows ought not to claim a moment's attention from me. I shouldbrush them away, like flies from my forehead, when they presume totease or settle themselves upon me. ' I have taken your advice, andfly-slapped the wasp that was more willing than able to sting. I have lately grown dissatisfied with myself; I know not how, or why. Isuspect this youth, in part, has made me so, with his visionarymorality. I hate such sermonizing. Who has a right to control me? Whoseslave am I? I was born to rule, not to be ruled. My appetites are keen, my desires vast, and I would enjoy. Why else am I here? Delay to me isinsufferable; suspense distracts me; and the possibility that anothershould be preferred to myself drives me mad! I too heartily despise thetame creatures, that crawl upon the earth, to suffer opposition fromthem. Who would be braved by bats and beetles, buzzing in his ears? I never before saw a woman whom any temptation could have induced me tomarry; and now I have found one I am troubled with doubts, infestedwith fears, and subjected to the intolerable penance ofprocrastination. Impeded in my course; and by what? Why, I am told toscrutinize myself, and to discover whether I am quite as perfect as itis necessary I should be! 'Tis unjust! 'Tis unkind! I did not doubt ofher perfections; and both love and pride, equally jealous of theirhonour, demand that mine should have been taken for granted. The time has been when this would have been revenged. But I seem to behalf subdued. My fierce spirit, before so untameable, declinescontending with her. Not but I frequently feel it struggling withsuffocation, kindling, and again ready to burst into a more furiousblaze. Yet let me do her justice. Mild, gentle, and affectionate, she conquersmy impetuosity with prayers, and soothing, and with kindnessirresistible. Still she conquers. Then she suffers these animals to torment me. I am angry to think that, in so short a space, I should have so entirely lost all power overmyself! But where is the mortal that can look and not love? Were I myself notan actor in the play, how should I enjoy the perplexity of these French_amoureux_! There are I know not how many of them; each more busy thanthe other. 'Tis laughable to see with what industry they labour to makelove according to her liking; for they find that their own triflingmanner is inefficient, and can never succeed with her. One of them, that said crazy Provençal Count, is very earnest indeed, in hisendeavours; but she keeps him in due awe. And it is well perhaps forhim that she does, or I would. Still however he is damned troublesomeand impertinent; and I could wish she were more peremptory. Yet it isunjust to blame her, for the animal is so full of antics, that it isimpossible to be angry. After all, I am far from satisfied respecting myself and this youth, whom I condescended to chastise. It was beneath me. It gave him a sortof right to demand satisfaction: but he affects forbearance, because, as he pretends, he despises duelling. And I hear he has actually givenproofs of the most undaunted courage. He wrote a short note of onlythree or four sentences on the subject, after I had struck him, whichproduced a very uncommon effect upon me, and made me half repent, andaccuse myself of haughtiness, rashness, and insult. But these things torture me. I am out of patience with them. What righthas any pedant, because he thinks proper to vex and entangle his ownbrain with doubts, to force his gloomy dogmas upon me? Let those wholove sack-cloth wear it. Must I be made miserable, because anover-curious booby bewilders himself in inquiry, and galls hisconscience, till, like the wrung withers of a battered post-horse, itshrinks and shivers at the touch of a fly's foot? What, shall I notenjoy the free air, the glorious sun, the flowers, the fruits, theviands, the whole stores of nature? Who shall impede, who shall daredisturb the banquet? Were it even a dream, the meddling fool that wakedme should dearly repent his rashness. Let speculative blockheads brewmetaphysical nectar, make a hash of axioms, problems, corollaries anddemonstrations, and feed on ideas and fatten. Be theirs the feast ofreason and the flow of soul. But let me banquet with old Homer's jollygods and heroes, revel with the Mahometan houris, or gain admissioninto the savoury sanctorum of the gormandizing priesthood, snuff thefumes from their altars, and gorge on the fat of lambs. Let cynic Catostruss up each his slovenly toga, rail at Heliogabalus, and fast; butlet me receive his card, with--'Sir, your company is requested to dineand sup. ' I cannot forget this gardener's son. I am sometimes angry that I shouldfor a single instant trouble myself with a fellow so much beneath me;and at others equally angry, for not shewing him the respect which heclaims. There are moments in which I have even feared him as a rival;for when she speaks to him, which she is very ready to do, the usualmildness and benevolence of her voice and features are evidentlyincreased. She must, she shall be more circumspect. Indeed I have madeher so within these few days. Prithee forgive all this. My mind is not at ease; but I know not why Ishould infect you with its malady. Write, relate something pleasant;tell me what has happened to you last, and relieve the dissatisfactionI feel by your unaffected flow of gaiety. Adieu. C. CLIFTON LETTER XLIV _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Chateau de Villebrun_ I cannot sufficiently applaud the resolute propriety of Frank, sinceour last conversation. Indeed, Louisa, his fortitude is admirable! Hedoes not indulge self-compassion, by brooding over his own loss. Nordoes he, like other mistaken people whose affections have metdisappointment, suppose himself into sufferings, which swell intoexistence in proportion as they are imagined to be real. His evidentdetermination is not to permit any selfish motive to detach him fromthe great purposes of life; but cheerfully to submit to what isinevitable, without thinking it an evil. In the mean time, I have been indulging a hope, which at moments hasappeared almost a certainty, that Clifton, by our mutual efforts, shallacquire all this true ardour, which is so lovely in Frank. How sorry amI to observe that the haughtiness of Clifton and the coldness of Frankseem to be increasing! To what can this be attributed? Their behaviouris so peculiar that I almost dread something has happened, with which Iam unacquainted. But perhaps it is the present temper of my mind: the effect ofsensations too irritable, doubts too tremulous, and fears too easilyexcited. I cannot forget the conversation: it haunts me; and, did notFrank set me the example of fortitude, I have sometimes doubted of myown perseverance. Oh, how mean is this in me! Is not the task I have proposed to myself aworthy and a high one? Am I not convinced it is an inevitable duty? Andshall he, even under a contrary conviction, outstrip me in thecareer?--Generous and excellent youth, I will imitate thy most eminentvirtues! The Count de Beaunoir still continues to be particular, in what hecalls his adoration of me; but his tone and style are too romantic toauthorize me in any serious remonstrance. Clifton is not pleased, andthe Count and he have fallen into a habit of rallying each other, andvaunting of what lovers dare do, to prove their affection. Their ironytook so serious a turn, yesterday, that Clifton proposed they shouldload their pistols, and both holding by the corner of a handkerchief, fire at each other. Considering the temper in which they were, and theconstitutional extravagance of the Count, the proposal was terrifying:but I had the presence of mind to give it an air of ridicule, bysaying--You do not understand the true point of gallantry, gentlemen. You should go to Japan, where one noble-blooded person draws his sabre, and dispatches himself, to prove he is acquainted with the highpunctilio and very essence of honour; while another, enraged that heshould be in waiting and have a dish to carry up to the emperor'stable, requests he would condescend to live till he can come downagain, that he may shew he knows what honour is as well as hisdisingenuous enemy, who had taken such an unfair advantage. The Count laughed, and Clifton I should hope was not displeased that itwas impossible the conversation should again assume the same desperateand absurd tone. I took an opportunity to ask him privately how he could indulge suchintemperate passions; but I was obliged to soften my admonition by allpossible mildness. I know not whether I did right, but I even took hishand, pressed it between mine, and requested of him, with an ardourwhich I think must sink deeply in his mind, to do justice to himself, to exert those powers of thought which he certainly possessed, and torestrain passions which, if not restrained, must deter me, or any womanworthy of him, from a union that would be so dangerous. The impression would have been stronger, but that unfortunately hisquick sensations took a different turn. Feeling me clasp his hand, hedropped on his knee, and with an ecstasy which he seemed unable toresist kissed both mine, talked something of bliss unutterable, and, recollecting the conclusion of my sentence, added that the very thoughtof losing me was madness. We were interrupted, and I began to fear lestmy true motive should have been misunderstood. Oh! Louisa, what a world is this! Into what false habits has it fallen!Can hypocrisy be virtue? Can a desire to call forth all the bestaffections of the heart be misconstrued into something too degradingfor expression? I know not, but I begin to fear that no permanent good can be effectedat present, without peril. If so, shall I listen only to my fears;shrink into self; and shun that which duty bids me encounter? No. Though the prejudices of mankind were to overwhelm me with sorrows, forseeking to do good, I will still go on: I will persevere, willaccomplish or die. Yet I know not why I am in this mood! But so I am, and Louisa willforgive me. I talk of sufferings? What have I suffered? What can thosewho, mature in reason, are superior to prejudice suffer? But who arethey? My prejudices hourly rise up in arms against me. Every day am Iobliged to combat what the day before I thought I had destroyed. Couldwe, at the same moment that we correct our own mistakes, correct thoseof the whole world, the work were done at once. But we have to struggleand to struggle; and, having to-day shaken off the burs that hung aboutus, tomorrow we give a glance and perceive them sticking as closely andas thick as ever! I wish to question Frank, concerning these alarms; but he seemspurposely to avoid giving me an opportunity. Perhaps however I ammistaken; and I hope I am. The restless fancy is frequently too full ofdoubts and fears. Oh, how beautiful is open, artless, undisguisedtruth! Yet how continually are dissimulation and concealmentrecommended as virtues! Whatever mistakes, public or private, they maythink they have discovered, and however beneficial it might be tocorrect them, men must not publish their thoughts; for that would be tolibel, to defame, to speak or to write scandal! When will the world learn that the unlimited utterance of all thoughtswould be virtuous? How many half-discovered half-acknowledged truthswould then be promulgated; and how immediately would mistake, of everykind, meet its proper antidote! How affectionately and unitedly wouldmen soon be brought to join, not in punishing, nor even in reproving, but in reforming falsehood! Aided and encouraged by your dear andworthy mother, we have often discoursed on these things, Louisa: andthe common accidents of life, as well as those peculiar to myself, render such conversations sweet to recollection. I must conclude: for though we write best when thoughts flow the mostfreely, yet at present I find myself more inclined to think than towrite. Affectionately and ever A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XLV _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Chateau de Villebrun_ I know not, Louisa, how to begin! I have an accident to relate whichhas alarmed me so much that I am half afraid it should equally alarm myfriend. Yet the danger is over, and her sensations cannot equal ours. She can but imagine what they were. But it is so incredible, so mad, sodreadful! Clifton is strangely rash! He had been for some days dissatisfied, restless, and disturbed. I knewnot why, except that I had desired time for mutual consideration, before I would permit him to speak to Sir Arthur. He has half terrifiedme from ever permitting him to speak--But then he has more thanrepaired all the wrong he had done. There is something trulymagnanimous in his temper, but it has taken a very erroneous bent. Thechief subject of my last was the distance which I observed between himand Frank Henley. Little did I know the reason. But I will notanticipate: only, remember, be not too much alarmed. Frank was but one of the actors, though the true and indeed sole heroof the scene I am going to relate. Indeed he is a wonderful, I hadalmost said a divine youth! It took birth from the Count de Beaunoir. In my last, I mentioned the strange defiance of the pistols and thehandkerchief: and would you think, Louisa, a conversation so franticcould be renewed? It is true it shewed itself under a new thoughscarcely a less horrible aspect. We were yesterday walking in the park, in which there is a remarkablelake, small but romantic. I before spoke I believe of our rowing on itin boats. We were walking beside it on a steep rock, which continuesfor a considerable length of way to form one of its banks. The Countand Clifton were before: I, Frank Henley, and a party of ladies andgentlemen were following at a little distance, but not near enough tohear the conversation that was passing between your brother and theCount. It seems the latter had first begun once again to talk of times ofknight errantry, and of the feats which the _preux chevaliers_ hadperformed for their ladies. The headlong Clifton, utterly despising thepretended admiration of what he was persuaded the Count durst in nomanner imitate, after some sarcastic expressions of his contempt, madlybut seriously asked the Count if he durst jump off the rock into thelake, to prove his own courage. Shew your soul, said he, if you haveany! Jump you first, said the Count--! Imagine, Louisa, if you can, the shock I received when, not knowingwhat had passed, but in an apparent fit of frenzy, I saw himdesperately rush to the side of the rock, and dash himself headlongdown into the water! It was at an angle, and we had a full view of himfalling! Every soul I believe shrieked, except myself and perhaps Frank Henley. Never had I so much need of the fortitude to which I have endeavouredto habituate my mind. The gentlemen all ran to the side of the rock. --They saw Clifton, afterrising to the surface, sink! He had jumped from a place where theshelving of the rock, under water, by projecting had stunned him as hefell. Frank perceived the danger: he threw off his hat and coat, and ran toanother part, where the height was still more dreadful! Indeed, Louisa, it excites horror to look at the place! But he seems to be superior tofear. He plunged down what might well be called an abyss; and, afterrising for a few seconds to breathe, dived again in search of poorClifton. He was twice obliged to rise and take breath. The third time he foundhim, rose with him, turned him upon his own back, and swam with him avery considerable distance before he could find a place shallow enoughto land. To all appearance Clifton was lifeless! But the excellent, mostexcellent when you shall hear all, the heroic Frank immediately appliedhimself to the remainder of his office. He stayed not a moment to rest, but lifted him a seeming corpse from the earth, threw him once more onhis back, and ran faster than any of us to the chateau, carried him upstairs, undressed him himself, put him between the blankets, and gaveevery necessary order with as much presence of mind as if there hadbeen neither accident nor danger. Wet as he was he lost not a thoughtupon himself. Never shall I forget the indefatigable assiduity with which he labouredto restore your brother to life; the anxiety which he struggled toconceal; the variety of means he employed; the ingenuity of hisconjectures and the humanity of every motion! Two hours were I and he and all of us held in this dreadful suspense. At last he was successful; and the relief I felt, the load that seemedremoved from my heart, it is impossible to describe! When your brother was perfectly come to himself, Frank suffered him tobe bled. For it had been proposed before; but Frank, with adetermination that could not be withstood, refused to admit of it;though he had been intreated, and at last openly and loudly blamed, bythe surgeon and those who believed in him, for his pertinacity. ButFrank was not to be shaken, even by the very serious fear of futureaccusation. He followed, as he tells me, the opinion of John Hunter;and well might he think it of more worth than that of the person whopretended to advise. But it requires no common degree of resolution topersist, in this manner, in the right; and wholly to despise calumnyand its consequences. If you think, Louisa, that after this I can add nothing in praise ofFrank you are greatly mistaken; for what is to come raises hischaracter almost to an enviable dignity. Could you imagine that this very Frank Henley, this undaunted, determined, high-souled Frank, who had flung himself down the horridprecipice after your brother, who had swum with him, run with him, risked being supposed in some sort his murderer, and at last restoredhim to life, had the very day before received from the hand of thissame brother--a blow!--If, Louisa, there be one being upon earthcapable of attaining virtues more than human, it is surely FrankHenley! Much praise however, as well as blame, is justly due to Clifton. Inever saw a heart more painfully wrung, by the sense of an injurycommitted and of a good so unexampled received, as his has been. It washe who told of his own behaviour. His total want of power to makeretribution is the theme by which he is pained and oppressed. Frank, uniform in generosity, disclaims any superiority, and affirmsClifton would have done the same, had he been in the same danger. Ithink I would, answered Clifton, in a tone that shewed he felt what hespoke: but I know myself too well to suppose I should have sounremittingly persevered, like you, in the performance of an office ofhumanity which seemed hopeless. The distinction was just, disinterested, and worthy the discernment ofa mind like that of your brother. Clifton says that, though he cannot think like Frank [We hope to makehim, Louisa. ] yet he cannot but admire the magnanimity with which heacts up to his principles, and proves his sincerity. Oh, my friend! You can conceive all the terrors of the scene! So fine ayouth, so accomplished, so brave, the brother of my Louisa, brought toParis to meet an untimely death! I the cause of his coming thither! Ithe innocent instigator of this last rash act! The eyes of all upon me!The horror of suspense!--It was indeed a trial! Yet who knows what accidents may occur in life? Who can sufficientlycherish fortitude; and by anticipating defy misfortune? Violently as myfeelings were assaulted, there yet may be, there are, shocks moreviolent, scenes more dreadful in the world. Nor is it impossible butthat such may be my lot. And if they were, I hope I still should bearup against them all. It is true I may not always have a Frank Henley to cherish and inspirehope. His constant theme was--'He is not dead!' And I once heard himmurmuring to himself, with a kind of prophetic energy--'He shall notdie!'--It was this _shall not_ by which he was saved: for, with anyother creature upon earth, I am persuaded he had been gone for ever. Ohthis noble perseverance! It is indeed a godlike virtue! The Count is less in spirits, less extravagant, since this accident. Itseems to hang upon his mind, as if he had been out-braved. His anxiety, as might well be expected from such a temper, was excessive, whileClifton was in danger: but he seems to repent now, that he did notfollow the mad example. _Parbleu! Madame, je suis Provençal; on dit quej'ai la tête un peu chaude; mais Messieurs les Anglois vont diablementvite aux épreuves! Mes compatriotes même ne sont pas si fous!--Je nesuis pas content de moi--J'aurais du faire le saut--J'aurais sauvé lavie à man rival! Voilà une belle occasion manquée, et beaucoup degloire à jamais perdue pour moi!_[1] [Footnote 1: 'Sdeath! Madam, I am a native of Provence, and they tellme I am a little crazy: but these Englishmen are in a confounded hurryto come to the proof! My own countrymen are less lunatic!--I am notsatisfied with myself. I ought to have leaped after him: I should havesaved the life of my rival! It was losing a glorious opportunity; and Ihave robbed myself of thus much fame for ever!] My mind at present is not entirely tranquil. The recollection of atemper so rash as Clifton's preys upon me. Yet, where there arequalities so high, and powers so uncommon, shall I despair? Shall Ishrink from an act of duty? It is a task I have prescribed to myself. Shall I witness the fortitude of Frank, and be myself so easilydiscomfited? No, Louisa. Clifton shall be ours--_Shall be!_--Shall bethe brother of Louisa, the friend of Frank, and the better part ofAnna. Yes, I too will be determined! I like Frank will say 'He is notdead! He shall not die!' A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XLVI _The Honourable Mrs. Clifton to Frank Henley_ _Rose-Bank_ Sir, If the praises, prayers, and thanks, of a woman whom disease has robbedof more than half her faculties, could be of any value, if theoverflowing heart of a mother could but speak its throbs, if admirationof gifts so astonishing and virtues so divine could be worthy youracceptance, or could reward you for all the good you have done us, Iwould endeavour to discharge the unexampled and unmerited obligation. But no, sir; you are superior to these. I write not for your sake, butfor my own; that I may endeavour to relieve myself of sensations thatoppress me. I feel it incumbent on me to write; yet what can I say? Ihave no words. I despair of any opportunity of retribution: I am aged, infirm, and feeble. I am going down to the grave; but still I have lifeenough to revive and feel a new existence, at the recital of yourvirtues! Forgive this short effusion, from the exuberant heart of a mother, whowishes but is wholly unable to say how much she admires you. M. CLIFTON LETTER XLVII _Louisa Clifton to Frank Henley_ _Rose-Bank_ Sir, I, like my dear mamma, am impelled to endeavour to return thanks forbenefits, at the recollection of which the heart sinks, and all thanksbecome inadequate and vain. Yet suffer a sister's thanks for a brotherspared, pardoned, and restored to life! Restored at the hazard of yourown, and after a mortal affront received! Restored by the energies offortitude, sagacity, and affection! Indeed, sir, I cannot tell you what I feel. It is utterly impossible. Imagine me your friend, your sister. Command my life, it is yours. Yours not so much because the youth you have saved happened to be mybrother, as for the true esteem I have for qualities so exalted. Thisis not the first time you have excited my admiration, and permit me toadd my love. Your heart is too noble to misunderstand me. I lovevirtue, in man or woman; and if that be sin may I be ever sinful! I would wish you the joys of heaven, but my wishes are vain; you havethem already: nor can a mind like yours be robbed of them, by all thepowers of man or accident. L. Clifton LETTER XLVIII _Louisa Clifton to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_ _Rose-Bank_ Your three last letters, my dear Anna, have affected me in a veryuncommon manner. The pure passion, the noble resignation, and thefortitude of Frank Henley are unparalleled. Not to admire, not toesteem, not to love such virtues is impossible. His unshaken patience, his generosity, his forgiveness, his courage, his perseverance, areinimitable proofs of his superiority. Who can forbear wishing himsuccess? Ought he not to command it; to say it is mine; truth andjustice dare not deny it to me? Indeed, Anna, my mind is strangely in doubt. To be guilty of injusticeto such worth is surely no common guilt. And yet my brother--Headlonglunatic! Whose intemperance is every moment hurrying him intoextremes. --I grant, my friend, his mind is worthy of being retrieved;and it is a generous, a noble enterprize. Nay I own I sometimespersuade myself it cannot fail, when Anna St. Ives and Frank Henley, from motives so pure and with so much determination, engage in thecause. But at others, I see peril at every step! I find my heartreproaching me for not adjuring my mend to desist; for not exciting herto bestow her hand on the man who of all others can most justly claimit, as his right. That I desire to see my brother all that emulation and wisdom couldmake him, the friend and husband of my Anna, the rival of her virtues, and the bosom intimate of him whom she is willing to forego for thisbrother's sake; that I desire this, ardently, vehemently, is most true. If the end be attainable, it is a noble enterprize. But thedifficulties! What are they? Have they been well examined?--I, with myAnna, say mind can do all things with mind: truth is irresistible, andmust finally conquer. But it has many modes of conquering, and some ofthem are tragical, and dreadful. To see my Anna married to strife, wasting her fine powers to reformhabits which, though they may be checked, may perhaps be too deep everto be eradicated, to see all her exquisite sensibilities hourly preyedupon by inefficient attempts to do good, for which instead of praiseand love she might meet neglect, reproach, or perhaps stern insult--Oh!It is a painful thought! She would not pine; she would not weakly sinkinto dejection, and desert her duties, in pity to her ownmisfortunes. --No--But still it is an unhappy, nay, it is an abhorredstate. I am bewildered. One train of reasoning overturns another, and I knownot what to advise. There are times in which these consequences appearmost probable; and there are others in which I say no, it isimpossible! Brutality itself could not be so senseless, so destructiveof its own felicity! Anna St. Ives would win a savage heart! And mybrother evidently has quick and delicate sensations; capable of greatgood. But then are they not capable of great harm? Yes: but are they, would they be capable of harm with her? Would not she command them, regulate them, harmonize them? Again, and again, I know not. One thing however let me add. Let me conjure the friend of my bosom notto suffer herself to be swayed, by the remembrance of that friendship. Nay, if she do not feel a certainty of success, let me intreat, let meadmonish her to desist, before it be too late; and before furtherencouragement shall seem to authorize the presuming Clifton, forpresuming I am convinced he will be, to found claims upon her kindness. Oh that he were indeed worthy of her! Would that he could but rise tosomething like that enviable dignity! And can he not?--Indeed I wouldnot plead against him; but neither would I be instrumental in renderingmy friend, who is surely born a blessing to the earth, miserable. I am angry with myself for my own indecision: but in vain; I have noremedy. I sometimes conclude this indecision ought to act as a warning, and for that reason I have painted my feelings as they are. If yoursshould resemble them, I firmly and loudly say--Anna, desist! If not, Ithen have no advice to give. For this I blame myself, butineffectually. Be assured however that, under all circumstances of future life, bethey adverse or prosperous, my best wishes will be with you, and myheart and soul ever yours. L. CLIFTON P. S. My mamma and I have mutually written to Frank Henley: you mayeasily imagine in what tone and style. But I could wish my brother tosee our letters. We have both thought it best to forbear writing tohim; his temper being wayward, and tetchy. We would much rather heshould be obliged to feel, indirectly, what our opinions and sensationsare, than learn them from any formal address, which he is so liable tomisconstrue. It is most probable that Frank will not mention theseletters. But, if you shew him this, and being of my opinion will joinin the request, I have no doubt he will then comply. There is onesentence in my letter which makes me likewise wish that Clifton shouldknow I have requested Frank would permit him to see what I havewritten; otherwise that sentence might very probably by him bemisinterpreted. When you read the letter, you will instantly know whichI mean; the word love makes it conspicuous; and you will then perceivemy reason. To raise the mind, which is habituated to the suspiciouspractices of the world, above those practices, and to make it feel thatthe pure heart defies the pusillanimous imputation of want of delicacy, is a difficult task. But let us, my Anna, continue to act and speak allthat our thoughts approve, void of the fear of accusation. LETTER XLIX _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ We are returned to Paris. The Marquis and his bride have taken leave oftheir country pleasures, and are gone to Fontainebleau, to be presentedat court. The strange incident of Clifton excited much conversation, in which myname and his were frequently joined. The Count de Beaunoir became lessparticular in his behaviour to me, in consequence of the reserve whichI thought it right to assume. I find however that he told Sir Arthur, after running over a great number of enthusiastic epithets, in his wildway, all in my praise, that he perceived at present I preferredanother; and that he had too high a sense of honour to put anyrestraint on a lady's inclinations. But if my mind should change, andhis person, fortune, sword, and life could give me pleasure, theyshould eternally be at my command. He likewise means in a few days tofollow the court to Fontainebleau, as he said; and he again repeated hehad lost a fine opportunity of convincing me how he adored me; and thathe was diablement fâché. Clifton has entirely altered his behaviour to Frank; he now treats himwith unaffected freedom and respect. But his impatience relative to mehas not abated. Tomorrow we are to have some conversation, after whichI imagine he wishes to make proposals to Sir Arthur. Would you think, Louisa, that I sometimes suffer myself to be surprisedinto fears; and that I then find myself ready to retract, or at leastquestioning whether I ought to proceed. There is something fatally erroneous in the impatient propensities ofthe human mind. How seldom does it stay so fully to examine a questionas to leave no remaining doubt, and to act on a preconcerted andconsistent plan! Yet it never acts with safety, or with satisfaction, except when it has or imagines it has made this examination. If ourmotives be few, slow, and feeble, we then are heavy, dull, and stupid:if they be quick, numerous, and strong, we are too apt implicitly toobey first impulses, and to hurry headlong into folly and extravagance. Yet these last only can give energy; and, having them, wisdom willconsist in being able to curb them, so as to give full time forconsideration. The conscious want of this in myself is what I blame. How often am Isurprised by unexpected circumstances, which I ought to have foreseen, and against which I ought to have provided! If I have any doubts ofmyself, if I am not certain of producing those effects on the mind ofClifton which I know I ought to be able to produce, it becomes me torecede. Or rather it becomes me to apply myself, with the resolution ofwhich I am so ready to vaunt, to attain that which is attainable, todiscover the true means, the clue to his mind, and to persevere. I have sometimes suspected myself of being influenced by his fine form, and the charms of his wit and gaiety. At others I have even doubtedwhether I were not more actuated by an affection for my Louisa, than bya sense of incumbent duty. But, consider the subject how I will, thatthere is a duty, and that I am called upon to fulfil it, is an unerringdecision. There must be no concealment. I must explain my whole chain ofreasonings to him: for nothing appears more indubitable to me than thatduplicity never can conduce to good. The only fear is that I should bedeficient in my detail, and present my plan so as to give it a falseappearance. Truth partially told becomes falsehood: and it was a kindof blind consciousness of this which first induced men to countenancedissimulation. They felt their inability to do justice to truth, andtherefore concluded hypocrisy was a virtue, and, strange to tell, truthitself sometimes a vice. It was a lamentable mistake. It is partialtruth, or in other words falsehood, which is the vice. Clifton has from the beginning been a great favourite with Sir Arthur. He contradicts none of my father's prejudices; he admires grounds andparks beautifully laid out; has a taste for architecture; points outthe defects and excellencies of the buildings of France with muchdiscrimination; has a great respect, like Sir Arthur, for family, andprides himself in being the son of an honourable mother; recounts, in apleasant and lively manner, the anecdotes he has heard; and relates hisown adventures, so as to render them amusing. There is therefore nofear of opposition from Sir Arthur. He has another advantage with the family. My uncle, Lord Fitz-Allen, isat present in Paris, on his return from Switzerland, and Clifton hasbeen introduced to him by his kinsman, Lord Evelyn, who is making ashort excursion to the south of France. The near relationship of yourbrother to this noble lord has given him great consequence with myuncle, who has once more condescended to restore me to favour. Could Ior did it become me entirely to conceal those feelings which hisarrogance inspires, I should stand much higher in his esteem. As it is, he acts more from the love of his rank and family, that is of himself, than of me; and has accordingly signified his mandatory approbation toSir Arthur. As nothing however in the way of family advantage is to beexpected from him, he having several children and a prodigious quantityof dignity to maintain, his behest is not altogether so omnipotent asit might otherwise be. My brother, agreeably to his grandfather's will, has taken possessionof the Edgemoor estate, which is eight hundred a year. This I imaginewill oblige Sir Arthur, in despite of his predilection, to retrenchsome of his improving expences. He mentioned the circumstance to me, and I thought that a good opportunity once more to attack his rulingpassion. Our conversation soon became animated. I boldly descanted onthe use and abuse of riches, on the claims of honest distress, and onthe turpitude of seeking self-gratifications, and neglecting to promotethe great ends for which men ought to live, the spreading of truth, therewarding of genius, and the propagation of mind. But it was to little purpose. Sir Arthur did not understand me; and Iwas more angry at myself than at him, as well I might be, for wantingthe power to render myself intelligible. He as usual was amazed to hearhe had not a right to do what he pleased with his own, and to be toldit was not his own. Nor was he sparing in pettish reproof to theself-sufficient young lady, who thought proper to dispute the proprietyand wisdom of his projects. The question that continually occurs to me is, when shall those beingswho justly claim superiority of understanding, and thence a right todirect the world, find some simple and easy mode of convincing themistaken, and by conviction of eradicating error? Adieu. Blessings be with you. I shall most probably write by the nextpost, for I wish you to be as perfectly acquainted as possible withevery thing that passes, that I may profit by the advice of a friend sodear, so true, and so discerning. A. W. ST. IVES P. S. Your last letter is this moment come to hand, and has stronglyrevived trains of ideas that of late have repeatedly passed through myown mind. It confirms me in the resolution of being very sincere withyour brother. But, unless my sincerity should so far offend him, as toinduce him voluntarily to recede, it likewise shews me it is my duty topersist. At least such is the result of all the arguments I hold withmyself, whenever the subject presents itself to me, either through themedium of my own imagination, or pictured by others. I will write soon. I approve the reasoning in your postscript, will shew it to Frank, andwill ask him to let me and Clifton see the letters, who shall likewiseknow it is by your desire. LETTER L _Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ I have received yours of the 30th ult. [1] honest Aby, and it gave megreat pleasure to hear you had so much dispatch. Wenbourne-Hill is thegarden of Eden. The more I see the more I am convinced. What is therehere to be compared to my temples, and my groves, and my glades? Here amount and a shrubbery! There a dell concealed by brambles! On yourright a statue! On your left an obelisk, and a sun-dial! The obelisk isfixed, yet the dial shews that time is ever flying. Did you ever thinkof that before, Aby? [Footnote 1: Omitted. ] Apropos of this dial: Sir Alexander I remember said it was useless halfthe day; because it was shaded from the sun to the west and the north, by the old grove. His advice was that the grove should be grubbed up;but it certainly would be much easier to remove the sun dial, obelisk, and all. I am so delighted with the recollection of these things, Abimelech, that I had half forgotten the reason of my writing to you. The subjectis disagreeable enough; and I should not be sorry if I were never toremember it more. I very much fear we must stop our improvements. My son has claimed andentered upon the Edgemoor estate. I thought myself sure that he wouldremain satisfied as he was till my death. What could be morereasonable? I argued with him to the very utmost, but to no purpose. Heis in great haste to set up for himself; and I don't know whether hewould not eject me out of Wenbourne-Hill, if he had the power. In vaindid I tell him that his pay in the guards, added to the three hundreda-year which I had before allowed him, was more than any young man knewhow properly to spend. He has only himself to think of; and he verypositively declares he never means to have a family, for he will nevermarry. I believe he is quite serious in his declaration: and if so, what does he want with an estate of eight hundred a-year? He ought toconsider that; and to remember that a provision must be made for hissister. But no; he considers only himself. Indeed I hear but an indifferent account of him: he is a fashionablegentleman, and would rather squander his money at the gaming-table, than suffer it to remain in the family. He has been a wild youth. Ihave sometimes wondered where he got all the money which I am told hehas spent. Not from me I am sure. And though I have often heard of hisdeep play, I do not remember to have ever heard of his winning. But hefollows his own course. My arguments that I had the family dignity tosupport, his sister to marry, and mortgages to pay off, were all invain. He was equally deaf when I pleaded the improvements that I was making;all for his sake. For you know, Aby, he is to have them when I am gone:and go I must, some time or another. He had even the confidence to tell me that, if Wenbourne-Hill were his, he would quickly undo every thing that I have been doing. Is not this a sad thing, Aby? For what have I been labouring? Have notwe both spent our lives in contriving? How many charming thoughts havewe had! What pleasure have we taken in planting and pulling up, diggingand scattering, watering and draining, turfing and gravelling! Talking of water, Aby, I cannot forbear mentioning a most delightfullyromantic lake, which I have met with in the park of the Marquis deVillebrun. It is the only thing, in the laying out of grounds, that Ihave seen to please me in all France. One part of it a fine level: sucha sweep! At the other extremity nothing but rocks and precipices. Yourson Frank threw himself headlong down one of them, into the water, tosave a gentleman's life. Were you but to see it, you would beastonished. They have called it the Englishman's leap. I would not dosuch a thing for a million of money. I should be dead enough if I did. But Frank is a bold young man, and I assure you, Aby, highly esteemedby my daughter; ay and by myself too, and by every body: very highlyindeed. He was the whole talk for I know not how many days. But about this money, Aby. I shall soon want a good round sum, if I amnot mistaken. I may venture, Aby, to give you a hint that I expect verysoon, indeed I don't know how soon, a proposal should be made to me formy daughter: and if it be, I am so pleased with the party, who let metell you is a fine spirited young fellow, that I assure you I shall notthink of refusing my consent; especially as he is so much in the goodgraces of my daughter. In this case, I cannot do less than pay twentythousand pounds down. I am afraid, honest Aby, we must renounce the wilderness! But when youknow the party, I think you will allow I could not act otherwise. Indeed, I find, however we may please ourselves, we can never satisfyour children. Here too has Anna been lecturing me, about money thrownaway, as she is pleased to conceive; and has said a great deal indeed, against what I thought could not have been found fault with. But so itis! Friends, relations, children, all are wiser than ourselves! All areready enough to discover or to suppose blemishes! Would you think itpossible for any body to be acquainted with Wenbourne-Hill and do anything but admire? My hope, nay my determination was to have made it theparadise of England, and to have drawn strangers far and near to comeand be delighted with its beauties. But these rubs and crosses put oneout of heart with the most excellent thoughts and contrivances. Let me know what you think can be done in these money matters, ifthings should be as I expect. You are perfectly acquainted with thestate of my affairs. I see no way but that of mortgaging more deeply. It is exceedingly vexatious to think of stopping our proceedings, Aby. But what can be done? However, as I do not intend to stay much longerhere, we can talk more to the purpose on these matters when we meet inEngland. Perhaps it would be better to begin by discharging the workmengradually; which you will find proper opportunities to do, Aby. And ifyou were, by way of talk in the neighbourhood, to say that you thoughtnothing more could be done to Wenbourne-Hill, and that you had reasonto believe that was my opinion likewise, such a report might tie thetongues of cavillers: for I would not have it thought we stop for wantof money. You may write to me here, in answer to this; for we shall not leaveParis before your letter will come to hand. And so, good Abimelech, farewell. A. ST. IVES P. S. I will not tell you the name of the party from whom I expect theproposal, honest Aby; because if he should be shy of speaking, asyoungsters sometimes are, it might come to nothing; but I may hint toyou, that you are well acquainted with his family; and I dare say youwill not be sorry for the match, it being so agreeable to my daughter'sinclination; though I grant it may not be so good a one as my sisterWenbourne, and others of the family, have been expecting; because ofAnna's beauty and accomplishments, which I own might well merit a manof higher birth and fortune. But the little hussy has been so nice, andsqueamish, that I began to fear she would take up her sillyspend-thrift brother's whim, and determine to live single: therefore Ishall not balk her, now she seems in the humour. LETTER LI _Abimelech Henley to Frank Henley_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ Why, ay! To be sure! This will do! I shall be fain to think a summut ofee, now you can flamgudgin 'em a thisn. I did'nt a think it was innee. Why you will become a son of my own begettin. I write to tellee thegood news, and that ee mightn't a kick down the milk. You have asifflicated Sir Arthur. I could a told ee afore that you had asifflicated Missee. But I was afeard as that you wur a too adasht. ButI tellee it will do! Father's own lad! An ear-tickler! Ay, ay! That'sthe trade! Sugar the sauce, and it goes down glibly. Listen to me. I a learnt the secret on't. What was I, I pray you?Pennyless Aby! Wet and weary! And what am I now? A tell me that. WhyI'm a worth--But that's a nether here nor there, I tellee. And what mayyou be an you please? What should I a bin, an I ad had your settinsout? Why Ide a bin what Ide a pleased. A dooke, mayhap; or a lord mayorof Lunnun?--No--A sekittary prime minister?--No--A member ofparliament?--No--Ide a bin treasurer!--Treasurer of the three kinkdums. Ide a handled the kole!--I've a feathered my nest as it is; and whatwould I a done then thinkee? Stick close to Sir Arthur. Mind your hits, and you have him a safeenough. Didn't I always tellee you must catch 'n by the ear? A cunnincurr always catches a pig by the ear. He expects a proposal for Missee;he does not a know how soon. And who does he expect to propose? Guess, Nicodemus, if you can. Do you mind me? He shan't refuse his consent. Mark you me that! They are his own words. Twenty thousand pounds down!His own words again. What do you say to me now? It's all your own! Imean it's all _our_ own--Do you mind me? For who have you to thank forit? I tellee it is but ask and have--And how do I know that?--What'sthat to you, Dolt?--No, no--You are a no dolt now--You are a good lad. I tellee I'm in the secret! So do you flamdazzle Missee. I a heard ofyour jumpins and swimmins: and so that you do but swim to the mainchance, why ay! That's a summut! I a bin to Clifton-Hall. For why? Ibegind to smell a rat! And there I talked with t'other Missee. I apalavered her over. I a ferretted and a feagued and a worked and awormed it all out of she. Your name is up! You may go to bed! Do youmind me? You may go to bed to twenty thousand pounds! It is as good asall your own. I am a to find the kole: that is, I first havin and holdin thewherewithalls, and the whys, and the wherefores. And so do you see me, I expect to have the handlin ont--But that's a nether here nor there. Sir Arthur as good as said it to me--So don't a stand like a GabrielGallymaufry all a mort, shilly shally, I would if I durst--A dip in theskimmin dish and a lick of the fingur--That's a not the way with amaiden--What! A don't I know?--Make up to Missee, and say to her, Missee! Here am I! My name is Frank Henley! My father's name isAbimelech Henley! A's a cunnin warm old codger--A tell her that--Andsays you, here Missee says you am I, at your onnurable Ladyship'sreverend sarvice. My father has a got the rhino--A don't forget to tellher that--Smug and snug and all go snacks--Do you mind me? And so, saysyou, I have a paradventerd umbelly to speak my foolish thofts, saysyou. That is take me ritely, your Ladyship, says you; under yourLadyship's purtection and currection, and every think of that thereumbel and very submissive obedient kind, says you. And so says you, doee see me Missee, I onnurs and glorifies your Ladyship; and am ready tohave and to hold, says you; go fairly go fouly, be happy be lucky, anyday o'the week, says you; I and my father, honest Aby, says you. He canraise the wind, says you! He can find the wherewithalls to pay forlawyer's parchment, says you--But mind, that's a nether here northere--So a here Missee stands I, says you; I and my honest oldfather--A's got the marygolds, says you! The gilly flowers, the yellowboys, says you! Golore!--But that's a nether here nor there. So do you tell her all a that I bid ee, and a mind your pees and cues. Who knows but Wenbourne-Hill itself may be one day all our own? I saywho knows? There be old fools and young fools--I tellee that--Oldplanners, and improvers, and bite bubbles; and young squittersquanders, gamblers, and chouse chits--Mark you me that--And there bewax and parchment too--Ay and post obits[1]; and besides all doosoorsand perkissits. A what is money good for but to make money? A tell methat. [Footnote 1: The original reads postt-off bites. The context suggestedpost obits, which reading is confirmed by succeeding letters. Thesyllable _bits_ might very naturally, in the mind of honest Aby, bechanged into _bites_. Dates have for certain reasons been omitted; but, from this and other passages, we may perceive that the date of thiscorrespondence is antecedent to the bill for protecting minors againstusury. ] And so in the name and the lovin kindness of the mercifool sufferins ofalmighty goodness, and peace and glory and heavenly joys, no more atpresent. ABIMELECH HENLEY LETTER LII _Abimelech Henley to Sir Arthur St. Ives_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ Most onnurable Sir, my ever onnurd Master, For certainly your noble onnur knows best. And thof I haveparadventerd, now and tan, umbelly to speak my foolish thofts, andhaply may again a paradventer, when your most exceptionable onnur shallglorify me with a hearing, in sitch and sitch like cramp cases andqueerums as this here; yet take me ritely, your noble onnur, it isalways and evermore with every think of that there umbel and verysubmissive obedient kind. My younk Lady Missee is as elegunt a my Lady younk Missee as any in thethree kink's kinkdums. A who can gain say it? She is the flour of theflock, I must a say that. The whole country says it. For why, asaforesaid, a who can gain say it? A tell me that! Always a savin andexceptin your noble onnur, as in rite and duty boundin. What, your mostgracious onnur, a hannot I had the glory and the magnifisunce to dangleher in my arms, before she was a three months old? A hannot I a knownher from the hour of her birth? Nay, as a I may say, afore her blessedpeepers a twinkled the glory of everlastin of infinit mercifoolcommiseration and sunshine? A didn't I bob her here, and bob her there;a up and a down, aback and afore and about, with a sweet gracious akrow and a kiss for honest poor Aby, as your onnur and your onnurableMadam, my Lady, ever gracious to me a poor sinner used then to call me? Not but those times are a passt. But, a savin and exceptin your nobleonnur, that's a nether here nor there. I may hold up my head as well asanother. A why not? When so be as a man has no money, why then, a savinand exceptin your onnur's reverence, a's but a poor dog. But when so beas a man as a got the rhino, why then a may begin to hold up his head. A why not? Always a savin and exceptin your noble onnur, as aforesaid. Your noble onnur knows that I'm a be apt to let my tongue mag a little, when my wits be a set a gaddin; and whereupon the case is as witch yournoble onnur was pleased to sifflicate me upon, in your last riteonnurable and mercifool letter. For why? A man's son as I may say ishimself; and twenty thousand pounds, thof it be not a penny too much, is somethink. For witch the blessin and glory of goodness and praise bewith the donors. Nevertheless that there will likewise be thewherewithalls, mayhap, notwithstandin, when my head comes to be laidlow. Thof if so be I cannot but say that a man would rather a not thinkof that there, if a could help it. A savin and exceptin that theblessin and glory and power and praise of the saints, and the martyrs, and the profits, and the cherubims and serafims, and the amenallelujahs, might a be summut to a dyin soul; when a has had, god bemercifool unto us, time for repentance, and the washin away of the sinsof this wickedness world, by good deeds, and charity, and mercy, andlovin kindness unto all men; when the poor miserable sinner, withgroans, and tears, and eternal terrifyins of the flamin prince LuciferBelzebub of darkness everlastin is at last obliged to take leave of thesoul from the body. Ah, a well a day! Man is a reprobation race! A's agiven over to sin, and to shame, and to backslidins, and to the sloughof despond, and to the valley of the shaddow of death, and if a hasnot, miserable sinner, a time to repent, of a witch be evermore grantedunto us all, world without end. Amen! Amen! Ah, dear a me, what have I a bin talkin to your most gracious onnur? Iwas a meant to tell your noble onnur that the twenty thousand poundsmayhap might a be forth cummin; on proper occasions, and certificates, and securities, and doosoors, and perkissits; all of the witch, as myever onnurd master aforetime knows, there is no a doin a businesswithout. For why?--Money is money, and land is land; and there betroubles, and takins, and seekins, and enquirins, and profit and loss, and ifs and mayhaps, and all a that there; of the witch there is no adoing without. But nevertheless I dares to say, likewise andnotwithstandin as aforesaid, that the money may be a forth cummin. Nay and if so be the witch that I might a paradventer to advise, butthat to be sure I should not a like to have it a thoft that I shouldperk and put in my oar, all agog to my betters, and moreover one of hismajesty's baronets, otherwise I should say nevertheless as aforesaidthat the younk lady is the flour of the flock; and if so be as I hadthe onnurable grace and blessin to be her father, I would a give herand a make over to her, now and evermore hereafter, all a that the lawwould a let me. And a let 'em tell me, your noble onnur, who desarvesit better. What! Isn't she, as I may say, the very firmament of thepower and glory of praise? What is ivory and alablaster a parallel toher? Let 'em a tell me that! If I wus the onnurable father of sitchever mercifool affability, would a not I be fain to give her gems andrubies, and carbuncles, if I had 'em? Who should gain say me? A savinand exceptin your ever exceptionable and noble onnur. I wouldn't a bemeant to be thoft to put in a word for meself, by no manner of account;no, no; far be it from me; but in other partikillers, if so be that itwus me meself, I shouldn't a grutch her kinkdums. And ast to thwartinand knatterin and crossin the kindly sweet virginal soul, ever blessedas she is, in love, for what truly? Your noble onnur has too muchbowels of fatherly miseration. No, no! Your noble onnur has a clenchtit; take her now she is in the humour. Whereby maidens be wayward andfain and froward and full of skittish tricks, when they be happen to becrossed in love. Take her in the humour your wise and alwise nobleonnur. Whereof your onnur was a menshinnin a stagnation to be put in the spokeof the wheel of improvements. Whereof if I might a paradventer to putin my oar, I should say why that should be as it might a be happen. When if as I should ever live to see the glorious day of this marriagematch rejoice the heart of Wenbourne-Hill, why then I should know howto speak my poor thofts. For why? All would then be clear and aboveboard; and we should all a know who and who was together. That would besummut! We might then a be happen to raise the wind; and thewherewithalls might a be forth cummin. And so, as matters and thinks is likely to turn out, to be sure I mustsay that your onnur has a hit the nail on the head. Whereof as youronnur has a ushered your commands, I shall begin to take care of thekole, and send them there rapscallions a packin. And as to the flickers and fleers of the neighbours, your onnurableonnur, a leave me to humdudgin they. I'll a send their wits awool-gatherin. For why? Your onnurable onnur has always a had my lovinkindness of blessins of praise, as in duty boundin. For certainly Ishould be fain to praise the bridge that a carries me safe over. Andnow that your onnur is a thinkin of a more of lovin kindness andmercies, to me and mine, why a what should I say now? Why I should sayand should glorify, to all the world, that your onnur is my everonnured and rite most mercifool bountifool faithfool and disrespectfoolkind master; and that I be your ever rite and most trusty true honestAby; and every think of that there umbel and very submissive obedientkind, as in duty boundin. But I a bin a thinkin, your ever gracious onnur, that a behap thekintlin may stand alooft, and a hang--, and a be adasht. And a what isto be done then? Why then, whereupon if that your ever gracious onnurwould but be so all mercifool in goodness as to say the word, why weshould be upon sure ground, and all our quips and quandaries andafterclaps would a be chouse clickt. I most umbelly pray and besiegeyour onnur to be so mercifool as to think o' that there! Do ee, yourever gracious onnur! I pray your onnur, doo ee! Then we should a be allsound and safe over, and it would all a be holiday at Wenbourne-Hill! Athat would be a glorified day! The lawjus mighty, ay! It would! Witch is all in praise and onnur of the glory and peace to come, thanksgivin and gladness; umbelly beggin leave to super scribe me self, ABIMELECH HENLEY I needn't a say nothink of a concernin of a dockin of the entail, toyour onnur. For why? As your onnur knows, nothink can be done, in theway of the kole and the wherewithalls, without a that there. But astfor that, a that argufies nothink. For why? His younk onnur, I knows, will be a willin enough; that is, settin the case of a proviso of adoosoor consideration in ready rhino for himself. A told me himself, his younk onnur, that a will have that. A says a will sell his chance, and a doesn't a care how soon; but a wonnot give it away. Witch if sobe as it be not to be helpt, why a what be to be done, your onnur? LETTER LIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ Your brother has this moment left me. Our conversation has beenanimated; and, as usual, I sit down to commit what has passed to paper, while it is fresh on my memory. He began with the warmest expressions of the force of his passion. Ihave no reason to doubt of their sincerity; and, if affection can beproductive of the end which I hope, its strength ought to give mepleasure. He would scarcely suffer me to suppose it possible therecould be any cause of difference between us: let me but name myconditions and they should be fulfilled. He would undertake all that Idid, all that I could require; and it was with difficulty that I couldpersuade him of the possibility of promising too fast. This introducedwhat was most material in our dialogue. My heart assures me, madam, said he, that I never gave you the leastcause to suspect the sincerity and ardour of my passion: and I shouldhope that the fears, which I have sometimes thought you too readilyentertained, are now dissipated. My fears are chiefly for, or rather of, myself. I doubt whether anyperson has so high an opinion of the powers and energy of your mind asI have: but I think those powers ill directed, and in danger of beinglost. I own, madam, I have been sometimes grieved, nay piqued, to perceivethat you do not always think quite so well of me as I could wish. You wrong me. You yourself do not think so highly of yourself as I do. Yet you suppose me to be in danger? Of being misled. Some of my opinions and principles, or some of yours, are erroneous, for they differ; I cannot at this moment but perceivehow liable I am to be misunderstood. I cannot be insensible of theawkwardness of the situation in which I now place myself. My age, mysex, the customs of the world, a thousand circumstances contribute tocast an air of ridicule upon what ought to be very serious. But I mustpersist. Do you endeavour to forget these circumstances; and consideronly the words, not the girl by whom they are spoken. It is not you, madam, but I who ought to dread appearing ridiculous. But for your sake--Let me but obtain your favour, and make me asridiculous as you please. I told you so!--Should the lordly lettered man submit to have hisprinciples questioned, by an untutored woman? Be sincere: your mindrevolts at it? I feel the justness of your satire. Men are tyrants. Prejudice is a tyrant: there is no other tyranny. Madam! That is one of my strange opinions. It may be true; I am willing tothink it is. Such things are indifferent to me. Let me but have yourconsent, to speak to Sir Arthur, and I have accomplished all I wish. Ido not desire to trouble myself with examining opinions, true or false. I am determined to be of your opinion, be it what it will. That is, you avow that the gratification of your desires is the chiefpursuit of your life. We have now found the essential point on which wediffer. Is not happiness, madam, the universal pursuit? Must it not, ought itnot to be? Yes. But the grand distinction is between general and individualhappiness. The happiness that centres in the good of the whole may forthe present find momentary interruption, but never can be longsubverted: while that individual happiness, of which almost the wholeworld is in pursuit, is continually blundering, mistaking its object, losing its road, and ending in disappointment. Then, madam, we must all turn monks, preach self-denial, fast, pray, scourge away our sins, live groaning, and die grieving. [I smiled. It is his usual way, when he thinks I am got a little in theclouds, to draw some humorous or satirical picture, to bring me down towhat he esteems common-sense. But, as I am convinced that truth onlyneed to be repeated, and insisted on, whenever there is an opportunity, in order finally to be received, the best way is always to join in thelaugh, which is inoffensive, unless pettishness give it a sting. ] You find yourself obliged at present to consider me as a whimsicalgirl, with a certain flow of spirits, and much vanity, desiring todistinguish herself by singularity? No, madam, whatever you may think of me, my heart will not endure athought to your disadvantage. Nay, nay, forbear your kind reproaches. Every time you differ with mein sentiment, you cannot but think something to my disadvantage. It isso with all of us. The very end of this present explanation issincerity. We each think well of the other: but do we thinksufficiently well? Is there a certainty that our thoughts are in nodanger of changing? Of all the actions of private life, there is notone so solemn as that of vowing perpetual love: yet the heedless levitywith which it is daily performed, proves that there is scarcely one onwhich less serious reflection is bestowed. Can we be too careful not todeceive ourselves? Ought we not minutely to examine our hopes andexpectations? Ought not you and I, in particular, to be circumspect?Our imaginations are vivid, our feelings strong, our views and desiresnot bounded by common rules. In such minds, passions, if not subdued, become ungovernable, and fatal. I am very conscious, madam-- Nay, do not fancy I seek to accuse: my purpose is very different. Mymind is no less ardent than yours, though education and habit may havegiven it a different turn. It glows with equal zeal to attain its end. Where there is much warmth, much enthusiasm, I suspect there is muchdanger. We had better never meet more, than meet to be miserable. For heaven's sake, madam, do not torture me with so impossible asupposition! You expect one kind of happiness, I another. Can they coalesce? Youimagine you have a right to attend to your appetites, and pursue yourpleasures. I hope to see my husband forgetting himself, or ratherplacing self-gratification in the pursuit of universal good, deaf tothe calls of passion, willing to encounter adversity, reproof, naydeath, the champion of truth, and the determined the unrelenting enemyof error. I think, madam, I dare do all that can be required of me. I know your courage is high. I know too that courage is one of thefirst and most essential qualities of mind. Yet perhaps I might andought to doubt, nay to ask, whether you dare do many things. What is it, madam, that I dare not do? Dare you receive a blow, or suffer yourself falsely to be called liar, or coward, without seeking revenge, or what honour calls satisfaction?Dare you think the servant that cleans your shoes is your equal, unlessnot so wise or good a man; and your superior, if wiser and better? Dareyou suppose mind has no sex, and that woman is not by nature theinferior of man?-- Madam-- Nay, nay, no compliments; I will not be interrupted--Dare I you thinkthat riches, rank, and power, are usurpations; and that wisdom andvirtue only can claim distinction? Dare you make it the business ofyour whole life to overturn these prejudices, and to promote amongmankind that spirit of universal benevolence which shall render themall equals, all brothers, all stripped of their artificial and falsewants, all participating the labour requisite to produce thenecessaries of life, and all combining in one universal effort of mind, for the progress of knowledge, the destruction of error, and thespreading of eternal truth? There is such energy, madam, in all you say, that, while I listen toyou, I dare do any thing, dare promise any thing. Nay, but the daring of which I speak, must be the energy of your ownmind, not of mine. Do not distress yourself and me with doubts, madam. I have heard youyourself say that truth ultimately must prevail. I may differ with youin some points; but I am willing to hear, willing to discuss; and, iftruth be on your side, there can be no danger. The only danger is in the feeble or false colouring which the defendersof truth may give it, and not in truth itself. I am too well convinced of your power to feel your doubts. You obligeme to see with your eyes, hear with your ears, believe what youbelieve, and reject what you think incredible. I am and must bewhatever you please to make me. You have but to prescribe your ownconditions. Prescribe I must not. If I can persuade, if I can win upon your mind-- If--! You won my whole soul the very first moment I saw you! Not a wordor action of mine but what has proclaimed the burning impatience of mypassion! True: the burning impatience--Your eagerness to assent will not sufferyou to examine. Your opinions and principles are those which the worldmost highly approves, and applauds: mine are what it daily callsextravagant, impracticable, and absurd. It would be weak in me toexpect you should implicitly receive remote truths, so contradictory tothis general practice, till you have first deeply considered them. Iask no such miracle. But if I can but turn your mind to suchconsiderations, if I can but convince you how inestimable they are, even to yourself as well as to the world at large, I shall then haveeffected my purpose. Of that, madam, be sure--You shall see!--Upon my honour, you shall!--Iwill order a fur-cap, a long gown, a white wand, and a pair of sandalsthis very day! No Grecian ever looked more grave than I will! Nay, ifyou desire it, razor shall never touch my chin more. Well, well; equip yourself speedily, and I will provide you with awooden dish, a lanthorn, and a tub. But then, having made your conditions, you now grant me your consent? That is obliging me once more to put on my serious face--The danger inwhich I so lately saw you hangs heavily on my mind; that and the warmpassions by which it was occasioned. And my excess of ardour, to demonstrate my love, you regard as a proofof my having none. How passion overshoots itself! Your conclusion is as precipitate as wasyour proof. I cannot be cool, madam, on this subject. I wonder to see you so! Didaffection throb and burn in your bosom, as it does in mine, I ampersuaded it would be otherwise. We are neither of us so entirely satisfied with each other as we oughtto be, to induce either me to consent or you to apply to Sir Arthur. For heaven's sake, madam-- Hear me patiently, for a moment. Previous to this conversation, I wasconvinced of the folly and danger of excessive haste. Should youimagine I have any self-complacency or caprice to gratify, by delay, you will do me great injustice: I solemnly protest I have none. My owninterest, had I no better motive, would make me avoid such conduct. Theinconsistencies and vain antics of the girl, which are justly enoughstigmatized by the epithets flirting and coquetry, are repaid tenfoldupon the wife. I would deal openly, honestly, and generously; but notrashly. I have every predilection in your favour which you could wish;such doubts excepted as I have declared. But I must not give either youor the world cause to accuse me of levity. My consent to speak to SirArthur would be generally understood as a pledge to proceed; not it istrue by me, if I saw just cause to retract: but, though I earnestlydesire to reform, I almost as earnestly wish not unnecessarily tooffend the prejudices of mankind. Nay let me beg, let me conjure you--[He took both my hands with greatardour. ] And let me beg too, let me conjure you, not to think meanly or unkindlyof me, when I tell you that I must insist on a short delay. I will kneel! I will do any thing--! Do nothing which your heart does not approve; it never can be the wayto forward any worthy suit. For my part, I must tell you, which you mayreckon among my faults, that when I have once considered a subject, Iam a very positive and determined girl. This may be thought obstinacy;but such I am, and such therefore you ought to see me. And when, madam, may I now presume to hope? Do not speak as if you were displeased. Indeed it is far from myintention to offend. You are too well acquainted, madam, with your own power of pleasing, tofear giving offence. Far the contrary, for I fear it at this moment. You are kind and killing both in a breath. --Be doubly kind, and sufferme immediately to speak to Sir Arthur. I told you I am fixed, and I assure you it is true. When then may I hope? I could have wished to have seen my friend, your sister, first: butperhaps Sir Arthur may make some stay in London, and I should be sorryto delay a moment longer than seems absolutely necessary. Let us bothconsider what has passed this morning, and provided no new accidentshould intervene-- Another leap from a rock? Provided our approbation and esteem for each other should continue, andincrease, I will ask for no further delay, after we come to London. Well, well. It is the poor lover's duty to thank his mistress for thegreatness of her condescension, even when he thinks she uses himunkindly. I was going to reply, but my enterprising gentleman--[Indeed, Louisa, your brother is a bold youth]--snatched an unexpected embrace, withmore eagerness than fear, and then fell on one knee, making such apiteous face for forgiveness, so whimsical, and indeed I may say witty, that it was impossible to be serious. However, I hurried away, and thusthe conference ended. And now, after reviewing what has passed, tell me, Louisa, ought I torecede? Are not my hopes well founded? Must not the reiteration oftruth make its due impression, upon a mind like Clifton's? Can it fail?Is he not the man who, for all the reasons formerly given, truly meritspreference? I must not forget to tell you that Frank readily complied with yourrequest, and Clifton has seen the letters. He seems oppressed, as itwere, with a sense of obligation to Frank; which the latter endeavoursto convince him is wrong. Reciprocal duties, he says, always must existamong mankind; but as for obligations, further than those, there arenone. A grateful man is either a weak or a proud man, and ingratitudecannot exist; unless by ingratitude injustice be meant. Frank'sopinions appear to Clifton to be equally novel with mine; and must bewell understood, to escape being treated with mockery. It is infinitely pleasing to me to perceive the fortitude with whichFrank resists inclination. He is almost as cheerful, and quite ascommunicative, and desirous of making all around him happy, as ever. His constancy, however, is not to be shaken, in one particular. I couldwish it were! It pains me to recollect that he will _persist, to theend of time, in thinking me his, by right!_ I cannot proceed! A. W. ST. IVES LETTER LIV _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Université_ Laugh at me if you will, Fairfax. Hoot! Hiss me off the stage! I am nolonger worthy of the confraternity of honest, bold, free and successfulfellows. I am dwindling into a whining, submissive, crouching, veryhumble, yes if you please, no thank you Madam, dangler! I have been toschool! Have had my task set me! Must learn my lesson by rote, or thereis a rod in pickle for me! Yes! I! That identical Clifton; that bold, gay, spirited fellow, who has so often vaunted of and been admired forhis daring! You may meet me with my satchel at my back; not with ashining, but a whindling, lackadaisy, green-sickness face; blubbering amonth's sorrow, after having been flogged by my master, beaten by mychum, and dropped my plum cake in the kennel. 'Tis very true, and I cut a damned ridiculous figure! But I'll rememberit. The time will come, or say my name is not Clifton. Yet what am I to do? I am in for it, flounder how I will. Yes, yes! Shehas hooked me! She dangles me at the end of her line, up the stream anddown the stream, fair water and foul, at her good pleasure! So be it. But I will not forget. Then she has such a way of affronting, that curse me if she does notlook as if she were doing me a favour: nay and, while she is present, Imyself actually think she is; and, if vexation did not come to myrelief, I believe I should so continue to think. She is the mostextraordinary of all heaven's creatures: and, in despite of my railing, I cannot help declaring a most heavenly creature she is! Every bodydeclares the same. I wish you could but see her; for a single moment, Fairfax; and, having gazed, could you but listen!--Her very soul ismusic. Form, features, voice, all are harmony. Then were you to hearher sing, and play-- But why the devil does she treat me thus? It is something to which I amunaccustomed, and it does not sit easily upon me. If I tamely submit toit may I--! I lie, in my teeth! Submit I must, bounce how I will. Ihave no remedy-- She gives me the preference, 'tis true. But what sort of a preference?Why a cold, scrutinizing, very considerative, all wisdom and nopassion preference. I do not think there is, upon the face of the wholeearth, so nauseous a thing as an over dose of wisdom; mixed up, according to the modern practice, with a quantum sufficit of virture, and a large double handful of the good of the whole. Yet this is thevery dose she prescribes for me! Ay, and I must be obliged to swallowit too, let me make what wry faces I please, or my very prudent lady isnot so deeply in love but she can recede! And shall I not note downthis in my tablets?-- I was sufficiently piqued at the first delay. Why delay, when I offer?Would you have thought, Fairfax, I should have been so very ready witha tender of this my pleasant person, and my dear freedom? And couldyou moreover have thought it would have been so haughtilyrejected?--No--Curse it! Let me do her justice, too. It is nothaughtily. She puts as many smiles, and as much sweetness, andplausibility, into her refusal as heart could desire. But refusal itis, nevertheless. I must be further just to her: I must own that I have acted like alunatic--I am mad at the recollection!-- I told you of the young fellow--Frank Henley--Whom I talked ofchastising. Curse on my petulance! He has doubly chastised me since! Hehas had his full revenge! And in such a generous, noble manner--I amashamed of myself--He has saved my life, and damn me if I do not feelas if I could never forgive him. There was an end of me and mypassions. What business had he to interfere?--He did it too in such anextraordinary style! He appears to have risked more, laboured more, performed more for me than man almost ever did for his dearest andsworn friend. Mine was an act of such ridiculous phrensy that I am half ashamedto tell what it was. I jumped headlong down a declivity, because Iknew I was a good swimmer, into a lake; but, like a blockhead, neverperceived that I should get stunned by the shelving of the rock, andconsequently drowned. And for what, truly? Why to prove to a vapouring, crack-brained French Count, that he was a coward; because perhaps hehad not learned to swim! When I look back I have absolutely no patiencewith myself!-- And then this generous Frank Henley!--After a still more seeminglydesperate leap than mine, and bringing me out of the water, dead as adoor nail, two hours did he incessantly labour to restore me to life!I, who a few hours before had struck him! And here do I live to relateall this! I think I could have forgiven him any thing sooner than this triumphover me. Yet he claims and forces my admiration. I must own he is adauntless fellow--Yes, he has a heart--! Damn him! I could kiss him oneminute and kill him the next! He has been the hero of the women ever since. But they are safe enough, for him. He has principles! He is a man of virtue, forsooth! He is notthe naughty cat that steals the cream! Let him be virtuous. Let himlave in his own imaginary waters of purity; but do not let him offendothers, every moment, by jumping out and calling--'Here! Look at me!How white and spotless I am!' As I tell you, the women are bewitched to him; are all in love withhim! My sister, Louisa, does not scruple to tell him so, in her letter!But she is one of these high-flyers. Nor can I for the soul of mepersuade myself that, family pride excepted, she--ay, she herself, myshe, would not prefer him to me. But these gentry are all sointolerably prudent that, talk to them of passions, and they answerthey must not have any. Oh, no! They are above such mundane weakness! As for him, he sits in as much stern state as the Old Red Lion ofBrentford. Yes, he is my Lord Chief Justice Nevergrin! He cannotqualify, he! He is prime tinker to Madam Virtue, and carries nosoftening epithets in his budget. Folly is folly, and vice vice in hisGood Friday vocabulary--Titles too are gilt gingerbread, dutch dolls, punch's puppet show. A duke or a scavenger with him are exactly thesame--Saving and excepting the aforesaid exceptions, of wisdom, virtue, and the good of the whole! Did you never observe, Fairfax, how these fellows of obscure birthlabour to pull down rank, and reduce all to their own level? Not but it is cursed provoking to be obliged to own that a title is nosufficient passport for so much as common sense. I sincerely thinkthere is not so foolish a fellow in the three kingdoms, as the nobleblockhead to whom I have the honour to be related, Lord Evelyn: and, while I have tickled my fancy with the recollection of my own highdescent, curse me if I have not blushed to acknowledge him, who is thehead and representative of the race, as my kinsman! I own however hehas been of some service to me in the present affair; for by his mediumI have been introduced to the uncle of my deity, Lord Fitz-Allen, whohas considerable influence in the family, and the very essence of whosecharacter is pride. He is proud of himself, proud of his family, proudof his titles, proud of his gout, proud of his cat, proud of whatevercan be called _his_; by which appellation in his opinion his verycoach-horses are dignified. I happen to please him, not by anyqualities of mind or person, of which he is tolerably insensible, butbecause there is a possibility that I may one day be a peer of therealm, if my booby relations will but be so indulgent as to die fastenough. Once more to these catechumenical inspectors of morality, theseself-appointed overseers of the conscience. I do not deny that there is some nay much truth in the doctrines theypreach to me. But I hate preaching! I have not time to be wisdomcrammed. What concern is it of mine? What have I to do with the world, be it wrong or right, wise or foolish? Let it laugh or cry, kiss orcurse, as it pleases! Like the Irishman in the sinking ship, "Tisnothing to me, I am but a passenger. " But, notwithstanding these airs, I have my lesson set me. Ay and I mustcon it too; must say it off by rote; no parrot better! There is no resisting one's destiny; and to be her slave is preferableto reigning over worlds! You have, for you can have, no conception ofher and her omnipotence! She is so unlike every other woman on earth! Iwonder while I hear her, am attentive, nay am convinced! What is moststrange, though the divinest creature that ever the hand of Heavenfashioned, the moment she begins to speak you forget that she isbeautiful! But she should not hesitate, when I offer. No--She should beware ofthat! At least to any other woman the world contains, it would havebeen dangerous; and I am not sure that even she is safe. However, I must learn to parse my lesson, for the present, and bequiet. Yes, yes; she shall find me very complaisant. I must be so, forlive without her I cannot. She must she shall be mine. It is a prizewhich I am born to bear away from all competitors. This is whatflatters and consoles me. You, Fairfax, think yourself more in luck. You continue to range atlarge. You scorn to wear the chain to-day which you cannot shake offlaughingly to-morrow. Well I envy you not--When you see her, if you donot envy me may I be impaled and left to roast in the sun, a banquetfor the crows. Good night. C. CLIFTON LETTER LV _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _Paris, Hotel de l'Universite_ Some events have happened, since I wrote to thee, on which I meant tohave been silent, till we had met; but I want thy advice on a newincident, and must therefore briefly relate what has passed. I have hadan opportunity of appeasing that hungry vanity, which is continuallycraving after unwholesome food. I have proved to Clifton that it wasnot fear which made me submit to obloquy, which in his opinion couldonly be washed away in blood. I have been instrumental in saving hislife. There is a half lunatic count, who was a visitor at the Chateau, andwho is enamoured of her whom all are obliged to love and admire. I knownot whether it be their climate, their food, their wine, or theseseveral causes combining and strengthened by habit, or whether it behabit and education only which give the natives of the south of Franceso much apparently constitutional ardour; but such the fact appears tobe. This count is one of the most extravagant of all the hot-brainedrace I have mentioned. He indulges and feeds his flighty fancy byreading books of chivalry, and admiring the most romantic of theimaginary feats of knight-errantry. The too haughty Clifton, angry that he should dare to address her towhom he openly paid his court, fell into habitual contests with him, daring him to shew who could be most desperate, and at last gave atolerably strong proof that, though he has an infinitely moreconsistent mind, he can be at moments more mad than the count himself. He leaped down a rock into a lake, where it is probable he must haveperished, but for me. One would have imagined that what followed would have cooled even aMarseillian fever of such phrensy. But no: the count has been broodingover the recollection, till he had persuaded himself he was adishonoured man, and must find some means to do away the disgrace. Ithought him gone to Fontainebleau; but instead of that he has just beenhere. He came and inquired of the servants for the monsieur who hadtaken the famous leap; cursing all English names, as too barbarous tobe understood by a delicate Provencal ear, and wholly incapable ofbeing remembered. The servants, thinking he meant me, for I was obligedto leap too, introduced him to my apartment. Luckily Clifton was out for the day. She and Sir Arthur were withhim. I am hourly put to the trial, Oliver, of seeing himpreferred--But--Pshaw-- After a torrent of crazy compliments from the count, who professes toadmire me, I learned at last it was Clifton and not me he wanted; and Ialso learned in part what was the purport of his errand. His mind wastoo full not to overflow. Knowing how hot, unruly, and on such subjectsirrational, the spirits were that were in danger of encountering, I wasimmediately alarmed. The most effectual expedient I could conceive toprevent mischief was to shew its actual absurdity. I saw no better waythan that of making it appear, as it really was, its tragicalconsequences excepted, ludicrous. But the difficulty was to give it thecolouring which should produce that effect on a mind so distorted. _Mort de ma vie!_ said the count, I shall never pardon myself forhaving lost so fine an opportunity! I am not so heavy as he. I shouldnot have been hurt by the fall. I should have saved the life of myrival, and been admired by the whole world! My triumph would have beencomplete! Every gazette in Europe would have trumpeted the exploit; andthe family of Beaunoir would have been rendered famous, by me, to alleternity! No! I never shall forgive myself! I think, sir, you ought rather to be angry with me than with Mr. Clifton. _Parbleu!_ I have been thinking of that. Why did you prevent me? Thethought could not long have escaped me, if you had not been in suchdevilish haste! True. The only danger was that, while you were waiting for the thought, the gentleman might have been drowned. _Diable m'emporte_! I had forgotten that. Well then, I must havesatisfaction of Monsieur Calif--Morbleu!--What is the gentleman's name? [I wish I could confide enough in my French to write the dialogue inthe language in which it passed; but I must not attempt it. The ideashowever are tolerably strong in my memory, and they must suffice. ] Clifton. _Oui da_--Califton--Monsieur Califton must give me satisfaction for the_sanglante_ affront I have received. But I cannot conceive, sir, how any man's thinking proper to killhimself can be an affront to another. _Comment, Monsieur? Peste!_ But it is, if he kill himself to prove me acoward! Then, sir, I am afraid there is not a madman in Bedlam who does notdaily affront the whole world. How so, sir? By doing something which no man in his senses dare imitate. _Nom d'un Dieu! Monsieur_, I am a man of honour! The family of Beaunoiris renowned for its noble feats, it shall not be disgraced by me. Ihave been defied, and I will have satisfaction. But you were not defied to sword, or pistol. You were defied to leap. Well, sir? And before, as a man of honour, you can have any right to give a secondchallenge, you must answer the first. Is that your opinion, sir? Nay, I appeal to yourself. _Allons_!--If so, I must leap! Will you do me the favour to accompanyme? I will order post-horses instantly. You shall be my witness that Iperform the first condition. Can you swim? _Ventrebleu_! What a question! I am not heavy enough to sink. Besides, sir, I was born at Marseilles. --Yes, we will go together; you shall seeme make the leap; after which I may then return and publish my defianceto the whole universe. No, sir! If you leap you will never publish your defiance! How so? You will be killed! The whole universe could not save you! _Comment, diable_! Look at me! Look at Monsieur Calif! I am as lightas--! _Peste_! Yes; but you are not so strong as he: you cannot leap so far. Hiseffort was prodigious! I have examined the place: and, had he fallenhalf a foot short of where he did, he must have been dashed to pieces. _Fer et feu_!--In that case, I must die!--Yes, I must die! There is noremedy! I must not dishonour my family! No man on earth must brave theCount de Beaunoir! I must die! And be laughed at? Laugh, sir! _Mort de ma vie_! Who will dare to laugh? When you aredead, of what should they be afraid? _Morbleu_! That's true. He would be a rash fool who should dare to laugh at you while you areliving. _Foi d'un honnête homme, monsieur_, you are a man of honour: agentleman. You are brave yourself, and know how to honour brave men, and I esteem you. Sir, if you really esteem me-- _Ventrebleu_! Sir, I esteem you more than any man on earth! Command mypurse, my sword! I would serve you at the hazard of my life! Then let me prevail on you, sir, to consider well what I say. Isolemnly assure you, I would not advise you to any thing which I wouldnot do myself. _Pardieu_! _Monsieur_, I am sure you would not. You have too muchhonour. I have too much regard to truth. _C'est la même chose_[1]. [Footnote 1: That is the same thing. ] Men honour themselves most by opposing, nay by acting in the very teethof the prejudices of mankind; and he is the bravest man who opposesthem the oftenest. The world makes laws, and afterward laughs at ordespises those by whom they are obeyed. He proves the nobleness of hisnature best who acts with most wisdom. Recollect the madness with whichMr. Clifton acted, how much he was blamed by every body, and imagine toyourself the temper of your own countrymen; then ask whether you wouldnot be laughed at, instead of applauded and admired, were you so madlyto throw away a life which you ought to dedicate to your country. TheParisians would write epigrams, and songs, and sing them in everystreet, on the nobleman who, instead of living to fight the battles ofhis country, should toss himself like a lunatic down a rock, and dashout his brains. _Que Dieu me damne, monsieur_, but you are in the right! Yes! I am asoldier! My country claims my sword! I hear we are soon to have a warwith England; and then--! _Gardez-vous bien, Messieurs lesAnglois_[1]!--Where is Monsieur Calif--? [Footnote 1: Englishmen, beware!] Mr. Clifton will not be at home to-day. Well, sir, be so kind as to present my compliments to him, and tell himI would certainly have run him through the body, if you had not done methe honour to say all that you have said to me. I have appointed to setoff for Fontainebleau tomorrow morning; but I intend to visit England:we may have the good fortune hereafter to meet, and then we will cometo an explanation. After a thousand whimsical, half crazy but well meaning, and I believevery sincere compliments, and offers of service, he left me; and I hopethe danger is over. But as I told thee, Oliver, the chief purpose of my writing is to askthy advice. Principle, as thou well knowest, is too severe to admit offalsehood; direct, or indirect. To mention this dialogue to Cliftonmight be dangerous. It ought not to be, I grant, but still it might. One would imagine that, instead of feeling anger, he must laugh, werehe told of what has passed: but there is no certainty. And is notsilence indirect falsehood? The count has been here; his errand was toClifton. Ought he not to be told of it, and suffered to judge forhimself? And is not concealment an indirect falsehood? To me it appearsthe contrary. He is full as likely to take the wrong as the right sideof the question. I see a possibility of harm, but no injury that can bedone by silence. Nor do I myself perceive how it can be classed amonguntruths. Still the doubt has occurred to my mind, and I have nothitherto answered it to my own satisfaction. I forgot to tell thee with what ardour the count declared himself anadmirer of her who is most admirable; and the romantic but very seriouseffervescence with which he called himself her champion; one who haddevoted himself to maintain her superiority over her whole sex, whichhe would die affirming; and to revenge her wrongs, if ever mortalshould be daring or guilty enough to do her injustice. But as I tellthee he is an eccentric and undefinable character. I have lately received a letter from my father, from which I find hehas been led, by I know not what mistake, to conclude that Sir Arthurthinks of me for his son-in-law. His letter, as usual, is a strangeone; and such as I believe no man on earth but himself could write. Direct thy next to me in Grosvenor Street; for we shall be on ourreturn, before I shall receive an answer. Farewell. F. HENLEY LETTER LVI _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ What strange perversity of accidents is it, Louisa, that has made memost deeply indebted to that man, above all others on the face of theearth, who thinks I have treated him unjustly? We are under freshobligations, nay in all probability we again owe our lives to FrankHenley. We left Paris on Sunday last; and, after waiting a day and a night fora fair wind at Calais, we embarked on board the packet-boat; the windstill continuing unfavourable, though it had changed a little for thebetter. The channel was very rough, and the water ran high, when wewent on board. Sir Arthur would willingly have retreated; but Cliftonwas too impatient, and prevailed on him to venture. Before we had reached the middle of the channel, Laura, Sir Arthur, andsoon afterward I, were very sea-sick. It is a most disagreeablesensation when violent, and would certainly be more effectual inrendering a coward fearless of death than the dying sentiments ofSeneca, or Socrates himself. The wind increased, and the captain laboured several hours, but invain, to make the port of Dover. He at last told us we were too latefor the tide, and that the current set against us, and must drive usdown to Deal. We proceeded accordingly, and it was dark before we camewithin sight of the town of Deal; where the captain, in the sea phrase, was obliged to come to an anchor. The Deal boatmen, who are always on the watch, and are the most notedas we are told on the whole coast for their extortion, soon came up tothe ship, inviting us to be put on shore, but refusing to take us forless than ten guineas. Frank and Sir Arthur were desirous that weshould not be imposed upon; but Clifton pleaded my sea sickness, andwould not listen to any proposal of delay. He is very peremptory, whenhis passions are excited; and especially when he conceives, as he thendid, that reason is on his side. There were three boats; but they hadagreed among themselves, and two of them kept aloof. This we are toldis their common practice, that they may not spoil their market bycompetitorship. We were not above a mile from shore: Clifton however agreed to theirextravagant demand, and we went into the boat. We had not been there many minutes before we perceived that the fiveboatmen, who managed it, were all in liquor, especially he who seemedto be their head man; and that we were much more at the mercy of windsand waves, in our present than in our former situation. Clifton andFrank endeavoured to make them attentive, by reproving them; andprobably did some good; though the answers they received, in the ruggedvulgar idiom of the sea, were not very conciliatory. We were muchtossed by the roughness of the water, but made however toward theshore, though evidently in an awkward and dangerous way. Most part of the beach, at Deal, is excessively steep; and, when theweather is stormy, the waves break against it very abruptly, anddangerously to boats which are managed by men that are either ignorantor have drunken away their senses. When the boat approached the beach, the man at the helm, being stupid and it being dark, did not do hisduty, and the side of the boat was dashed against the beach. The shockalmost overset the boat, and it was half filled by the wave which brokeover it. The water is always a fickle and perilous element; but in anagitated sea, when the winds howl and the waves roar, foam, dash, retreat, and return with additional threats and raging, it is thentruly terrific! I shall never forget that night! I think on it even nowwith horror! One of those poor drunken creatures, Louisa, was in aninstant washed overboard and lost; almost without a cry; not heard, notaided, scarcely remarked; no attempt made to save him, for all attemptwas absolutely impossible: we were within a few yards of land, yet wereourselves almost certain of perishing. The remaining men were littlebetter than helpless; for it was the most active of them who was thusmiserably drowned!--Indeed, Louisa, it was dreadful! The reflux of the water was in half a minute likely to be equallyviolent. Frank, whose presence of mind never forsakes him, saw what thenature of our danger was; and, shaking off poor Laura, who clung roundhim, begging of him for God's sake to save her precious life, he flewto the helm, turned the head of the boat in its proper direction, andcalled with that imperious kind of voice which on such occasionsenforces obedience, for somebody to come to the helm. Clifton was therein an instant. Keep it, said Frank, in this position. Every motion was necessarily rapid. Frank was immediately out of theboat, and almost up to the shoulders in the sea. He caught hold of theside of the boat, retreated a step or two, set his feet against thesteep beach, and steadied it, to resist the returning wave. It had nosooner retreated than he called to me, took me in his arms, and in amoment I found myself in safety on shore! He returned and brought my father next! Poor Laura shrieked, with fear and impatience! She was the third whomhe landed. He then ordered the boatmen to take care of themselves; and, drunk andrefractory though they were, they did not neglect to obey the mandate. After which Clifton, leaving the helm, jumped into the water, theservants having gone before, and we all found ourselves safe, aftersome of us had concluded we were lost beyond redemption. Our peril appears to have been wholly owing to the inebriety of theboatmen; for, had they been able to do their duty, there would havebeen none, or certainly very little: and it was averted by the activeand penetrating mind of Frank, which seems as if it were most accurateand determined, in its conclusions and expedients, in proportion to thegreatness of the danger, when common minds would be wholly confused andimpotent. Clifton, though he did not so immediately perceive what was best to bedone, saw the propriety of it when doing, and immediately assented, andaided, by keeping the boat in the position Frank directed, almost asessentially as his co-adjutor. I am more and more convinced it isaccident only that has kept him from possessing one of the mostenlarged of human understandings. But I must likewise allow that thissaid accident has rendered him petulant, impatient of contradiction, too precipitate to be always aware of mistake, and too positive to beeasily governed. But these are habitual errors, which time and carewill cure. I must add too that his affection for me displays itself in a thousandvarious forms. He is apparently never satisfied, except when it isexercised to give or procure me pleasure. I know not whether thepassion, which infuses itself into all his words and actions thatrelate to me, ought to inspire all that sympathetic sensibility whichhe intends; but I own it sometimes alarms me. His ardour isastonishing. He seems to wish, and even to design, to make itirresistible. Yet it is mingled with such excess of tenderness that Ihave half lost the power of repressing it. But I must not, no, I will not, stand in awe of his impetuosity. Ardouris a noble quality, and my study shall be how to turn it to hisadvantage. The more I look round me the more I perceive that fearenfeebles, withers, and consumes the powers of mind. Those who wouldnobly do must nobly dare. Rash people, perhaps, are those who feel thetruth of this principle so strongly that they forget it is necessarynot only to dare, but to discover the best method of daring. Clifton now avoids argument, and appears systematically determined tobe of my opinion; or rather to say as I say. The only opposition heaffords is now and then a witty, sarcastic, or humorous reply. But heis generally successful in his continual attempts to give theconversation a new turn, when his favourite opinions are opposed: for Ido not think it wise to obtrude too many painful contradictions uponhim at a time. Truth must be progressive. Like a flash of lightning, itstuns or kills by excess. Clifton will not long suffer me to rest, now we are returned; andconsequently my dear Louisa may soon expect another letter from hermost affectionate. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER LVII _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ We have now been in London four days, Oliver; and, known placesreviving old ideas, it almost seems as if we had never moved from thespot where we are at present. I fall into the same trains of thinking;except that I am more restless, more inclined to melancholy, toinaction, to a kind of inanity, which no trifling efforts can shakeoff. I have received thy letter, and find thy reasoning in some respectssimilar to my own. I was ashamed of remaining in doubt, on a questionwhich only required a little extraordinary activity of mind to resolve. It appears to me that nothing can be classed among falsehoods, exceptthose things the tendency of which is to generate falsehood, ormistake. Consequently, not to tell what has passed to Clifton is actingaccording to the dictates of truth: for, to tell would be to run animminent danger of false conclusions. Not, it is true, if the wholecould be told: that is, if all possible reasonings, and consequences, could be fairly recollected, and stated. But memory is first to befeared; and still more that prejudice which will not have the patienceto lend mute attention. I therefore think, with thee, that silence inthis case is truth. We have been in some danger, owing to the drunkenness of the Dealboatmen; but saved ourselves by a little exertion. One of the poorinebriated wretches however was lost. We saw him only the instant ofhis being washed overboard; and he was hurried away into the sea by therecoiling waves, in the roaring of which his last cry was overpowered, without our being able so much as to attempt to give him aid! By whichthou mayest judge that we ourselves were in considerable jeopardy. When we reflect how near danger is to us, daily and hourly throughlife, we are apt to wonder that we so continually escape. But, when weagain consider how easily even great dangers, that is such as take usby surprise, may be warded off, the wonder ceases. My mind, Oliver, is not at ease: it is too much haunted by fear. Atleast I hope it is; for my fears are for one whom it is almost tortureto suppose in peril. Thou never knewest so enterprising, so encroachinga youth as this Clifton! Nay I am deceived if encroachment be notreduced to system with him; and, strong as her powers are, impossibleas I know it to be to shake her principles, yet, who can say what mayhappen, in a moment of forgetfulness, or mistake, to a heart so pure, so void of guile? Such terrors are ridiculous, perhaps thou wilt say; and perhaps theyare; at least I most devoutly hope they are. But his temperament issanguine, his wishes restless, ungovernable, and I almost fear ominous, and his passion for her is already far beyond the controul of reason, to which indeed he thinks it ought not to be nor can be subject. As for me, all is ended. Jealous I must not, no, I will not be! Andsurely I am above the meanness of envy. Yet I own, Oliver, I sometimesblame her. I think her too precipitate, too fearless, nay too ready toimagine her power, her wondrous power, greater than it is. She makes nosecret of her thoughts, and she tells me that she and I, she doubtsnot, shall transform him to all that we ourselves could desire. Be notsurprised at her kindness to me; for she has a heart that is allbenevolence, all friendship, all affection. If I can aid her, thouneedest not doubt my will. But Heaven grant she may not bemistaken!--Heaven grant it! And yet, I cannot say. I even sometimes hope and acquiesce; for histalents are indeed extraordinary. But his pride, and the pitilessrevenge which he shews a constant propensity to take, when offended, are dangerous symptoms. For her, she seems to act from motives wholly different from those ofher age and sex. It is not passion, not love, such as it is usuallyfelt and expressed; it is a sense of duty, friendship for Louisa, admiration of great talents, an ardent desire to give those talentstheir full value, and the dignified pride she takes in restoring such amind to its proper rank. By these she is actuated, as all her words andactions demonstrate. Well, well, Oliver! She soars a flight that is more than mortal! Butshe leaves a luminous track, that guides and invites, and I willattempt to follow. Thou shall see me rise above the poor slavish wishesthat would chain me to earth!-- Oliver, my mind, like a bow continually bent, is too much upon thestretch. Such is the effect of my situation, of which my thoughts, mylanguage, and my actions partake. But I will calm this agitation. Fearnot: thou shall find me worthy to be thy friend, and the pupil of thymost excellent father. No! I will not, Oliver, be a child; though the contest be indeedsevere. By day I am with her; for hours I listen, while she sings, orplays, or speaks. I am a witness of her actions! Her form is neverabsent from me! The sound of her voice is unceasing harmony to my ears!At night, retiring to darkness and thought, I pass her chamber door! Inthe morning again I behold the place where all that is heavenly rests!I endeavour after apathy. I labour to be senseless, stupid, an idiot! Istrain to be dead to supreme excellence! But it is the stone ofSisyphus, and I am condemned to eter--! Indeed, Oliver, his weakness is momentary! Indeed it is--Fear not: thoushall find me a man; be assured thou shalt. Though the furies, or, worse than all that invention can feign, the passions throng to assaultme, I will neither fly nor yield. For to do either would be to desertmyself, my principles, my duties. Yet this encroaching spirit that I told thee of!--But then, what is thestrength of him, compared to hers? What is there to fear? What do Ifear? Why create horrible shadows, purposely to encounter them?--No: itcannot be! Farewell. F. HENLEY LETTER LVIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Your brother has gained his point. The deed is done. My consent isgiven. For, in reality, to have withheld it would have had more theappearance of a coquette than of the friend of my Louisa. Aftersufficiently strong hints in the course of the two first days, on thethird after our arrival, Clifton came. His intention was evidently totake no denial. It was with difficulty that I could bring him tolisten, for a few minutes, while I repeated principles before declared, and required an avowal of how far he thought them an impediment tofuture happiness. To every thing I could ask he was ready to accede. 'He had nothing to contend, nothing to contradict; and, if he did notthink exactly like me in every particular, he was determined not tothink at all, till he could. Beside, my own conclusions, in favour oftruth, were my safeguard. I had not any doubt that reason, if attendedto, must finally prevail; and I could not deny that he was at all timesready to pay the strictest attention. ' Indeed he seemed at first resolved, as it were, not to enter into anyconversation, but to claim my promise. But I was still more determinedto exert myself; that the due influence which reason ought always tohave, over passion, might not be lost, and sink into habitual and timidconcession. When he perceived there was no resisting, he then listenedwith a tolerably good grace; but still, as I said, with an apparentlypreconcerted plan not to contend; urging, and indeed truly, that fairarguments could desire nothing more than patient hearing; and this hepledged, in his energetic and half wild manner, honour, body, and soulto give. I could not desire more sincere asseverations than he made;and that they were sincere I cannot doubt. Nor do I regret that theywere strong. Where there is energy there is the material of which mindis fashioned: and the fault must be mine, if the work be incomplete. Our conversation however was long; and when at last obliged to enterinto the subject, the acuteness and depth of his remarks were strongproof of his powers, had any proof been wanting--Yes, Louisa, theattempt must be made. It is a high and indispensable duty; and I mustneither be deterred by the dread of danger, nor swayed by the tooseducing emotions of the heart--They must be silenced!--They must! I have an assistant worthy of the cause. Frank does not shrink from thetask: though it is but too evident that he has not changed his opinion!I know not why, but so it is, those two particular sentencescontinually reverberate in my ear--_I feel a certainty of conviction, that you act from mistaken principles_--_To the end of time I shallpersist in thinking you mine by right_!--Oh, Louisa! Sir Arthur of course made no difficulty in giving his consent; Iimagine Mrs. Clifton will this post receive a letter from her son, andperhaps another from my father, requiring her acquiescence. Sir Arthur has shewn me one of the most strange, eccentric, and perhapscomic letters, from _honest Aby_, that I think I ever read. I am gladit is not quite so intelligible to Sir Arthur as it is to me; for I seeno good that could result, were he to understand its true sense. Theold--! I can find no epithet for him that pleases me--Wellthen--_Honest Aby_ is excessively anxious that I should marry a son ofwhom he is so unworthy. But his motives are so mean, so whimsical, andso oddly compounded and described, peering as it were through the maskof cunning, with which he awkwardly endeavours to conceal them, thatnothing but reading his letter can give you an idea of itscharacteristic humour. This post I suppose will likewise shew him hismistake. How he will receive the news I know not; though I suspect hewill raise obstacles, concerning the money which Sir Arthur wants, inorder to pay my portion. But this will soon be seen. I likewise learn, from his letter, that my brother is to join indocking the entail of the hereditary estate; and that he is willing, provided he may share the spoil. How would my heart bleed, were I notcured of that prejudice which makes happiness consist in the personalpossession of wealth! But the system of tyranny would be more firm anddurable even than it is, did not this mutation of property daily exist;and were not the old and honourable families, as they call themselves, brought to ruin by their foolish and truly dishonourable descendants. Every thing confirms me in the suspicion that honest Aby has beenplaying a deep game; and that both Sir Arthur and my brother have cededto all the extortions of craft and usury, to have their whims andextravagancies supplied. My brother persuades himself that he is determined never to marry; andI suppose has formed this determination purposely that he may spend allhe can obtain, without being teased by any qualms of conscience. Forthe destructive system of individual property involves a thousandabsurdities; and the proud but inane successor of a Sydney or aVerulam, instead of knowing how difficult the subject of identityitself is, instead of perceiving that man is nothing but a continuity, or succession of single thoughts, and is therefore in reality no morethan the thought of the moment, believes there is a stable andindubitable affinity between him and his great ancestor. I must now be more than ever determined to accomplish the task I haveundertaken; and to give to the arms of my best, my dearest Louisa, abrother worthy of a heart so pure, and a sister such as she herselfcould wish to be that brother's other half--Very true, Louisa! It isthe old story: I am Sir Arthur's vapouring hussey! But I comfort myselfwith reflecting that, after the battle is won, the rashness of theattack is never remembered; or, if it be, it is always applauded; andthat all generals, great or small, confide in their own plans, tilldefeat has proved them to be abortive. Something must be ventured, ereany thing can be won. Not knowing what might be the notions of Sir Arthur, or even of Mrs. Clifton, concerning the silence they might think it necessary to keep, I forbore to mention their plan, of which my friend, with herconsistent frankness, informed me, till our last conference: but Ithen thought it an indispensable duty to relate the truth; otherwise itmight have come, at some unlucky moment, in the disguise of falsehood, and have done mischief. Secrets are indeed absolutely contrary to mysystem. 'Tis pride or false shame that puts blinds to the windowseither of the house or of the mind. Let the whole world look in, andsee what is doing; that if any thing be wrong, it may have anopportunity to reprove; and whatever is right there is some hope it mayimitate. Clifton was pleased to find himself treated with undisguisedsincerity. Yes, Louisa, fear not: you will find him your brother, invirtue as well as in blood. Ever and ever most affectionately, A. W. ST. IVES LETTER LIX _Sir Arthur St. Ives to The Honourable Mrs. Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Dear Madam, Our plan has succeeded to our wish: Mr. Clifton is as I may say quitesmitten with my daughter. And indeed I do not wonder at it; for, thoughshe is my child, I must say, she is the sweetest, most charming, lovelygirl I ever beheld! She has always been my darling! I have a truefatherly fondness for her; and, though I own it will not be veryconvenient to me, I mean immediately to raise twenty thousand pounds, to pay down as her portion. If at my death I should have the power todo more, she shall not be forgotten: but I promise nothing. As I remember, dear madam, this was the sum which you said wasnecessary, to redeem certain mortgages, pay off encumbrances, andenable Mr. Clifton to appear in England, in a manner becoming the heirof the Clifton family. And this sum I think it very fit the daughter ofSir Arthur St. Ives should receive. I shall accordingly write to myagent, and put every thing immediately in train; after which, you shallhear from me without delay. If any alteration should have happened in your own views, or affairs, which may impede or forward our plan, you will be kind enough to informme. I am, madam, with the truest respect, your very obedient humbleservant, A. ST. IVES LETTER LX _Coke Clifton to The Honourable Mrs. Clifton_ _London, Dover Street_ I write to you, dear and honoured madam, with a grateful and happyheart, to thank you for a project so maternally and wisely conceived inmy favour, and of which I have just been informed, by the frank-heartedand lovely Anna St. Ives. Of all the blessings for which, madam, I holdmyself indebted to you, this last, of discovering and endeavouring tosecure for your thankful son a gem so precious, a lady so above allpraise, I esteem to be the greatest. You, dear madam, are acquainted with the propriety with which shethinks and acts, on every occasion; and I have no doubt will join withme, in applauding the entire undisguisedness of relating all that hadpassed, which appeared to her delicate mind at this moment to beabsolutely necessary. After obtaining her consent for that purpose, I have spoken to SirArthur; who, at my request, has promised immediately to write to you. And, it being a project, dear madam, a kind one, of your own forming, Ihave no fear that it should be discountenanced by you. My only doubt isof delay. Let me entreat you, my dear mother, to remove all impedimentswith every possible speed; and not to lose a moment in writing to me, as soon as you and Sir Arthur have arranged the business, that I maysolicit her, from whom I am certain to receive all possible bliss, toname a time, when suspense shall joyfully end. Do not, dear madam, let impatience seem a fault in me. Remember thelady; who she is, and all she is; and think, if her perfections couldmake the impression which they seem to have done upon your heart, whatmust they have made upon mine! I, who, with all the fire of youth andconstitutional eagerness, in consequence of your own wise plan, ambecome a wishing and expecting lover! My sister, I am sure, is too generous, the happiness of her friend andbrother being pledged, not to join me in the request I now make: and Icertainly will not forget a kindness which, I acknowledge, I know nothow I shall ever repay. I am, dear madam, your ever affectionate and dutiful son, C. CLIFTON END OF VOLUME III VOLUME IV LETTER LXI _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ I am caught, Fairfax! Spring guns and man traps have been set for me, and I am legged! Meshed! Shot through the heart! I have been theirpuppet! They have led me, with a string through my nose, a fine dance!From the farthest part of all Italy here to London, in order to tie meup! Noose me with a wife! And, what is more strange, I am thanking andpraising and blessing them for it, in spite of my teeth! I swallow thedose as eagerly as if it had been prepared and sweetened by my ownhand; and it appears I have had nothing to do in the matter! I am amere automaton; and as such they have treated me! Is it not cursed odd that I cannot be angry? And yet, when I recollectall this, I really suspect I am not pleased. Damn it! To be made theirconvenient utensil! To be packed up, their very obedient jack in abandbox, and with a proper label on my back, posted with other lumberfrom city to city, over hills and seas, to be taken out and looked at, and if not liked returned as damaged ware! Ought I to sneak and submitto this? Tell me, will not the court of honour hoot me out of itsprecincts? Will not the very footmen point after me, with a 'There goesthe gentleman that miss had upon liking?' Why it is not yet full twomonths, since I was the very prince of high blooded noble sportsmen, inthe romantic manors, domains, coverts and coveys of Venus! By whatstrange necromancy am I thus metamorphosed, thus tamed? I feel myself a husband by anticipation! I am become as pretty amodest, well-behaved, sober, sentimental gentleman, as any you shallsee on a summer's day! I get phrases by rote, and repeat them too! Isay 'God bless you, madam, ' when the cat sneezes: and mumble amen tograce after meat! I told you that I had my catechism to learn; and, what is worse, it isnot the questions and commands of good old mother church, with all thechance-medley promises and vows of godfathers and godmothers made in myname, [For which, by the bye, I think both godfathers and godmothersare fools, and knaves. ] but I have the Lord knows how much more tolearn than ever I supposed the most outrageous morality could haveexacted. And I am obliged to answer yes, and no, and I thank youkindly, while my finger's ends are smoking, tingling, and aching underthe stroke of the ferula! Yes! I, Coke Clifton, with my sweetmeats inone hand and my horn-book in the other, am whipped till I pule, coaxedtill I am quiet, and sent supperless to bed, if I presume to murmur! Why what the devil is the English of all this, say you, Clifton? Whatdoes it mean? My head is so full of it, and I have it so all by rotemyself, that it had totally escaped me that every word I have utteredmust be heathen Greek to you. Nay I had forgotten to tell you we havechanged the scene, which now is London. And as for accidents, by sea and land, why we have had some of themtoo. Frank Henley has again shewn his dexterity. I could eat myfingers, to think that he should hit upon a certain and safe mode ofacting, in a moment of danger, sooner than I! But so it is. He seemsborn to cross me! We should all have been tossed into the sea, and someof us certainly drowned at the very water's edge, if we had not beenalert. He took the command upon himself, as imperiously as if it werehis by right indisputable; and I saw no expedient but to obey, orperhaps behold her perish. For curse upon me if I know whether anyother motive, on earth, could have induced me to act as hissubordinate. But, as it was, I did as he bid me; and sat grinding myteeth at the helm, while I saw him reap all the honour of taking her inhis arms; and after her the rest, and landing them in safety! If, Fairfax, you can conceive any anguish on earth more excruciating thanthis, why tell it; and you shall be appointed head-tormentor to theinfernal regions, for your ingenuity! What was I going to say?--My brain is as murky as the clouds underwhich I am writing--Oh!--I recollect--She had no hand in spreading thetrammel, into which, buzzard like, I have been lured. It was the schemeof my very good and careful mother; for which I have been verysincerely writing her a letter with more thanks than words; and of thewise Sir Arthur; who, wise though he be, is not one of the magi. Sheknew nothing of it for some time, nor would have known but for mycommunicative sister; and, as she scorns deception, for by my soul shescorns every thing that is base, or derogatory, it was she who informedme of the trap in which I have been taken; of which otherwise perhaps Imight have remained in eternal ignorance. But still and once again, say you, what trap? What do you mean?-- Three words will explain the whole. I have been brought from Naples to Paris, not as I supposed to settle afew paltry debts of a deceased uncle, but to see, fall in love with, and be rib-hooked to this angel. This my good mother as I understandthinks the kindest act of her life. --Nay, I think so too; and yet I amnot satisfied. And merely I suppose because I feel I have been tricked. I will not be the gull of man or woman. What is it to me that they meanme well? I will judge for myself. It is insolent in any one to pretendto know what befits me better than I myself know. In short, I would quarrel, and bounce, and curse a little, if I knewhow--But they offer an apology so ample, so irresistible, that there isno demanding to exchange a shot; they present Anna St. Ives as theirexcuse, and a fico for resentment. And now there is nothing on earth for which I so earnestly wish as tobe yoked! What think you, Fairfax; shall I bear my slavish trappingsproudly? Shall I champ upon the bit, and prance, and curvet, and shewoff to advantage? I doubt I shall stand in need of a little roughriding. And yet I know not; let her but pat me on the neck, and whispertwo or three kind epithets in my ear, and she will guide me as shepleases: at least she does. No! Hopes there are none of my ever againreturning to my native wilds, and delightful haunts! Never was seen sofond a booby as I am, and am likely to remain! Nor do I believe I should grumble, had she not such a super-abundanceof discretion. She smiles upon me it is true; is all gentleness, allbenevolence; but then she does just the same to every body else. For mypart, I see no difference; except that I sometimes think she has akinder smile for Frank Henley than she ever yet had for me! But he isjust as discreet as herself; so that it seems impossible to be jealous. Yet jealous I am! Ay and jealous I should be of my cat, if she were asready to purr and rear her back to be stroked by every coarse unwashedhand as by mine. Is it not a cursed shame that, when you feel a continual propensity toquarrel with a man, he should be such a prince Prim as never to giveyou an opportunity? And why have I this propensity?--I knownot!--Confound the fellow, why does he make himself so great afavourite? Why does he not contrive to be hated a little? And thenperhaps I might be induced to love him. I dislike to have friendship oraffection forced upon me, as a duty. I abhor duties, as I do shacklesand dungeons. Let me do what I like. I leave others to examine whetheror no my conduct be rational: 'tis too much trouble for me. This marriage is never out of my head! I wish for it, sigh for it, prayfor it, and dread it! It may well be said there is no resisting ourdestiny! If I could but find out the key to her master passion--Well!What then?--What do I want? What do I hope? To hope any thing short ofthe noose is mere madness. Beside, could I think of living withouther?--No!--I would be eternally in her company, for she is eternalnovelty: she is all the world in one. She is herself a million ofindividuals; and not the stale, dull repetition of the same; which isso horrible to imagination. One thought has struck me. --She has the utmost confidence in what shecalls the force of truth. It cannot fail! That is her constantlanguage. I am to be her first convert. I have humoured this whimlately; except when my irritable fancy breaks loose, and runs riot. Ifshe have any folly, it is this said confidence: and whether it be one, or be not, is more than I have yet been able to determine. But she hasfurnished me with an argument, which I might carry to I know not whatextent. 'You, ' I urge to her, 'you need not act with the timid andsuspicious caution of your sex. You are sure of your principle; and toproceed with distrust and fear would prove doubt instead of certainty. 'She boldly replies, --Yes, she is sure; and therefore she speaks andbehaves with all that undisguise and sincerity which are so uncommon inthe world, and which some would deem so blameable. She says true: she rises totally superior to the petty arts and tricksof her sex. I seem to participate the trust which she reposes inherself; and the confidence which she appears to place in me, when sheso openly declares all she thinks and all she means, is highlypleasing. But, if my views were different from what they are, I doubtwhether madam Confidence might not be brought to lull madam Caution sofast asleep, at some lucky moment or another, as to suffer me topurloin her key, and afterward to rob her of all her treasure. Norshould I fail, under certain circumstances, to try the experiment. Neither is that intriguing spirit which has so long been in restlesshabits of continual pursuit entirely idle. My first care as usual wasto secure the prime-minister of my charmer, whose name is Laura. Thehussey is handsome, cunning, and not without ambition. An occasionalguinea and a few warm kisses, when it was certain that all was safe, for caution is necessary, have bound her to me. The poor fool is fondof me, and often finds some ingenious chambermaid's excuse to pay me avisit. It does not appear that I shall need her agency; otherwise hereshe is, properly prepared to be wholly at my devotion. Anna St. Ivesaffords the fancy full employment; with any other woman an amourwithout plot and stratagem, attack and defence, would be too insipid tobe endured. Not but I sometimes find my conscience reproach me, for suffering suchactive talents as mine to lie concealed and unknown; being as they arecapable of acquiring renown so high. When in Italy, having even there, in that land of artifice, rendered myself the superior of allcompetitors, I used to glory in the havoc I should make on my return toEngland. But this the will of fate opposes, at least for the present:and of what duration my honeymoon is to be is more than any prescienceof mine can discover. Write, Fairfax, and tell me freely your opinion of all this; onlyremember that, if you make your calculations and conclusions from anycomparison with woman whom you have ever yet seen, they will be allerror. Tell me however what you think, and all you think. I forgot to say that twenty thousand pounds is the sum to be paid medown, for condescending to accept this jewel. I am informed it iswanted, to pay off I know not what encumbrances and arrears--Pshaw!--Icare not--I have never yet troubled myself about wants, nor do I wishto begin. My father lived fast, and died soon. Well! And is not thatbetter than croaking and crawling over this dirty globe, haunted byrazors, halters, and barebones, sobbing in your sleep, groaning whenawake, vegetating in sorrow, and dying in the sulks? Let me kick myheels in mirth and sunshine. Or, if clouds intervene, let pleasure andfancy create suns of their own. Those who like them, may find gloom andNovember enough any day in the year. Tell me, Fairfax, may they not?Write, and tell me. C. CLIFTON LETTER LXII _Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_ Honest Aby, _London, Grosvenor Street_ We are once more arrived in England; for which I am not sorry. Though Icannot say that I repent my journey into France. My former suspicionsare confirmed: I had visited the country before, but at that time mytaste was not formed; I did not then understand laying out, andimproving, as I do at present. I had heard that the French had begun toimitate our best gardens tolerably well; but I have seen some of thosethat are in most fame, and what are they to Wenbourne-Hill?--No, no, Aby. --I am now convinced that, as they say of their Paris, there is butone Wenbourne-Hill. I do not know when the family will return to the country. The youngpeople wish to enjoy the diversions and pleasures of the town; and Irather suppose we shall stay here all the winter. Perhaps we may take ajaunt or two, between this and the meeting of parliament. Not that anysuch plan is yet settled. And as for me, I shall be down with youoccasionally, as affairs shall require. I shall take great delight, inonce again treading over all my grounds, and walks, and dells; and invisiting places that are never out of my mind. I cannot forget the hermitage, and the grotto, and the wilderness, ofwhich, the moment you mentioned them, I had formed so charming and soexcellent a plan. The picture clings to me, as it were; and it grievesme to give it up. But so it must be. However, as I say, I shall come down more than once: and, for my part, I wonder how these young unthinking people can prefer the dirty streetsof London, to all the delights and riches of nature, and of art; whichmay be said to be waiting for and inviting them, at Wenbourne-Hill. I am very glad to find, honest Abimelech, that money is so certainly tobe had. But you were always intimate with the warm old fellows, thatprovide themselves plentifully with what you so aptly call thewherewithalls. You have followed their example, and learned to increaseyour own store. I am glad of it, and am pleased to find you do notforget your first and best friends. I must own, Abimelech, that youhave always appeared to me to understand your situation very properly, and to pay respect where it was due. I have seen your proud, upstartstewards carry their heads as high as their masters! Ay, and instead ofstudying their tempers and humouring them, as it was their duty, havebeen surly, and always ready with their ifs, and ands, and objections, and advice! As if it were any concern of theirs, what a gentleman shallplease to do with his money! But you, Aby, have known how to comportyourself better; of which I believe you have no cause to repent. As to the entail, as you say, it must be docked. I know no remedy. Andsince my son is so positive, and determined to stickle for a goodbargain, why we must do the best we can. I was once sorry at his resolving never to marry; but I think that ispartly over now; I care little about the matter. My daughter's son willbe as much my grandchild as his son would have been; and, as for names, they may easily be changed. I am certain, were any body to ask me whichis the wisest, my son or my daughter, I should not stop a moment toconsider about that. Ay, ay! She is my own child! Every body used to tell me, when she was ababy, how like me she was! She has some of her mother's features too; who, as you well know, Aby, was a very good sort of an excellent kind of a lady, and very muchrespected: ay, very much. Indeed the greatest fault of Lady St. Iveswas that she would not always be of my opinion. But we are none of usperfect. If it were not for that one thing, I really should think mydaughter a young lady of more good sense, and good taste, and indeedevery thing of that kind, than any young person I was ever acquaintedwith: but she too is a declared enemy to planning, and improving. It isvery strange; and I can only say there is no accounting for thesethings! My son however knows as little of the matter as she does; nay I believeless. And, as to other kinds of knowledge, he is a child to her! Itdelights me to hear her talk, and debate points, and chop logic, withyour Frank, who is one of her own sort; and with Mr. Clifton, the younggentleman whom I intend for my son in law. I gave you an account in mylast, Aby, that the thing was in expectation; and it is now as good asconcluded. I have written to Mrs. Clifton; the lawyer is ordered tomake a rough sketch of marriage articles, and every thing will be gotready, while my attorney is preparing the necessary deeds down in thecountry, according to your instructions, and you are raising the money. Be sure however, honest Aby, to make as good a bargain for me as youcan. I know money is not to be had without paying for it; and I trustto you not to suffer me to pay too dearly. Better security you know, Aby, cannot be offered; and I begin to feel, my improvements excepted, which indeed I hold to be inestimable, that I am not so rich as I wasfifteen years ago. But, as my son means never to marry, and as thefamilies of Clifton and St. Ives are to be united in one, I have nodoubt, some time or another before I die, of seeing every thingretrieved; though I grant there are heavy mortgages, and otherimpediments to overcome. Pray has my son told you what sum he expects? If not, endeavour tolearn, and let me know. Though on second thoughts you need not, for Ihear he is to be in town next week. He must recollect the estate ofeight hundred a-year, of which he has lately taken such violentpossession. But he is a dissipated young man, and recollects nothingbut his pleasures. I always said, Aby, you were a man of sense; and you are very right inthinking I cannot do too much for my daughter. I hope to contrive toleave Wenbourne Hill her own. It is a rich spot! And, though she be aneconomist, and no friend to what she thinks a waste of money inimprovements, yet I am sure, at my request, she will not be guilty ofwhat I may well call sacrilege, and pull down my temples, and dedicatedgroves, and relics of art, and ruins; nor, as my son would, destroywith a Gothic hand, as the poet says, and tear away beauties, which itwould rend my heart-strings not to suppose durable, as I may say, forages! I would have my name, and my taste, and my improvements be longremembered at Wenbourne Hill! I delight in thinking it will hereafterbe said--'Ay! Good old Sir Arthur did this! Yonder terrace was of hisforming! These alcoves were built by him! He raised the centralobelisk! He planted the grand quincunx!' And ah, Aby! if we could butadd, 'He was the contriver of yonder charming wilderness!' I thenshould die in peace. Let me beg, good Abimelech, that you would write your thoughts in asplain and straight forward a manner as you can; for, I assure you, Ihave been very much puzzled with some parts of your last letter; whichI cannot yet say that I understand. In some places it is very plainthat you hint at Mr. Clifton, and wish me not to dally with him; and, as I know you have my interest at heart, and speak in a style at whichno gentleman can be offended, why I rather thank than blame you, foryour desire to give good advice. Though I must say, Aby, that I do notthink I have any need of it. I am mistaken if I could not adviseothers. I wish all the world would be governed by my plans, andprinciples. That's a favourite word with my daughter, Aby, and a veryapt one. I once took some delight in such things; I mean in what is calledpolite learning, Aby. Indeed I was remarkably fond of Ovid'sMetamorphoses. But then, as I did not like to puzzle myself with theLatin, I read Garth's, or Rowe's, or Pope's, or I don't know whosetranslation. And I do believe it was that, and a visit to LordCobham's, which first made me study taste and improvement. Nothing iswanting but riches, Aby, to proceed to much greater lengths than any wehave yet thought of. What richness of imagination is there in Ovid!What statues might we form, from the wonderful tales which he relates!Niobe at the head of the canal, changing into stone! To be sure weshould want a rock there. Then on one side Narcissus, gazing at himselfin the clear pool, with poor Echo withering away in the grove behind!King Cygnus, in the very act of being metamorphosed into a swan, on theother! It would be so apropos, you know; a swan, and a canal, and kingCygnus! And then at the further end Daphne, with her arms and legssprouting into branches, and her hair all laurel leaves! You cannot imagine, Aby, all the fancies which came into my head theother day, when I happened to lay my hand on Tooke's Pantheon, whichbrought all these old stories fresh to memory. But, as I was saying, good Aby, write your thoughts as plainly as youcan; for I sometimes did not know whom you were talking of, and therewere one or two places which made me think you wish something should bedone for your son, Frank. And indeed he is a very deserving, and a veryfine young fellow; and I have been thinking it would not be amiss, since he has really made himself a gentleman, if we were to purchasehim an ensign's commission. What say you to it, honest Aby? He wouldmake a fine officer! A brave bold figure of a man! And who knows but, in time, he might come to be a general; ay and command armies! For hefears nothing! He has lately saved us a dipping, nay and for aught Iknow a drowning too, and we really should do something for him; for heis a great favourite, and a very good young man. However, I thought itbest to mention the matter first to you, and will expect your answer. A. ST. IVES LETTER LXIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ I must write, dear Louisa. My heart feels as if it were estranged bysilence, and thinks it has a thousand things to repeat; though, when itcomes to enquire what, they seem as if they had all vanished. Not but Ihave a little incident to relate, which interests us both; the DramatisPersonae being, as usual, Clifton, Frank Henley, and the friend of myLouisa. We yesterday paid a visit to my aunt Wenbourne, at her summer villa ofRichmond. But I ought to premise, that I am sorry to see Clifton againlooking on Frank Henley with uneasiness, and a kind of suspicion thatmight almost be called jealousy. Having consulted Sir Arthur, I mentioned it, as a pleasant excursion, to Clifton; and added, as soon as Frank Henley should come, I woulddesire him to hold himself in readiness. Sir Arthur was present; andClifton, in a pouting kind of manner, whispered me--'Can we never goany where, without that young fellow dogging us at the heels?' I smiled it off, rapped him on the knuckles with my thimble, told himhe was naughty, and said we must not suffer merit to think itselfneglected. Clifton began to sing Britons strike home; which he soonchanged to Rule Britannia: sure tokens that he was not pleased; forthese are the tunes with which he always sings away his volatilecholer. But one of the columns, on which I raise my system is adetermination to persist in the right. Frank Henley was thereforeinvited, and accompanied us. Clifton endeavoured to pout; but, as I did not in the least change mygood humour, knowing how necessary it was rather to increase thandiminish it, he could not long hold out, and soon became as cheerfuland as good company as usual; and his flow of spirits, and whimsicalcombinations, are very exhilarating. After dinner, my good old aunt presently got to wordy wars with Frank;in which, as you may suppose, she had little chance of victory. But shecalled in Clifton, to be her auxiliary; and he fell into the samepettish, half-haughty, half-contemning kind of manner, in which he hadso improperly indulged, previous to the accident of the lake, inFrance. I looked at him; he understood me, and endeavoured, but ratherawkwardly, to change his tone. The conversation continued, and he was again becoming warm; and, whileFrank was laying down the law to my aunt, at which I could perceive histongue tingled, I took an opportunity to warn him to beware, for that Ihad more than one crow to pluck with him already. However, as the best and securest mode was, from the temper of theparties, to put an end to the conversation, I rose, and proposed awalk, and my proposal was accepted. I was particularly cautious to say as little to Frank as I could, purposely that Clifton might have no retort upon me; though a part ofmy plan is to accustom him to see me just to the merits of Frank, without indulging any unworthy suspicions. But this I did not think afit occasion for such experiments. We returned to town, and I purposed, when Clifton should come to pay mehis morning visit next day, to read him a gentle lecture. Of this hewas aware; and, feeling, as I suppose, that he should make a badserious defence, knew a comic one would better serve his turn: for hisfancy and humour appear to be inexhaustible. The first thing he did, when he entered the room, was to fall down on his knees, like a childto his school-mistress, holding his hands pressed flatly together, witha piteous face and a 'Pray, pray!' I laughed, and told him he was avery bad child. His 'Pray, pray!' was repeated, with another strangelypleasant contortion of countenance. But I still answered--'No, indeed--I should not forgive him, till I had made him truly sensible ofhis fault. ' On which he rose from his knees, pulled out a paper fool'scap, which he had been carving and fashioning for himself, fixed it onhis head, and placed himself, with a new kind of penitentialcountenance, in a corner; continuing such quaint mimickry, of a childin sorrow, that there was no resisting fair and downright laughter. I still made two or three attempts to begin to argue; but they wereineffectual; they were all answered with some new antics; and I wasobliged at last to say--'Well, well! I find you are sensible how muchyou deserve punishment; and therefore I dare say you will take care notto offend in future. ' After this, he gave the whole discourse a comic and a witty cast, embellishing it with all the flights of his rich and strongimagination, on purpose to avoid the possibility of remonstrance. Thisis a certain sign that it must be very painful to him; unless indeed weallow for the pleasure which he cannot but take, in exhibiting theactivity of his mind. Yet painful I am sure it is. Contradiction isthing to which he has not been accustomed. He has no doubt led theopinions of his companions; partly by conforming to and strengtheningtheir favourite prejudices, though chiefly by his superior talents: andto be too often encountered, by any one whose intellects are more clearand consistent than his own, is a kind of degradation to which hescarcely knows how to submit. With respect to Frank Henley, whenever he is pleading the cause oftruth, he is inflexible. I have sometimes indeed known him silent, whenhe was hopeless of doing good: but at others I have heard him blamehimself for this, and assert that we never ought to despair; for thattruth, no matter how violently opposed at the moment, would revive inthe mind, and do her office, when the argument and the anger should bewholly forgotten. I believe the observation to be just. But he is no common thinker! No!I am almost persuaded he is the first of human beings! Equal, nay Ihave sometimes even thought superior, to Louisa herself! As you perceive, dear friend of my heart, that I know you too well tofear offending you, I am sure you will do me the justice at the sametime to confess that I do not seek to flatter. Thus, dear Louisa, you perceive, we do not perhaps make quite so swifta progress as we could wish: but we must be satisfied. The march ofknowledge is slow, impeded as it is by the almost impenetrable forestsand morasses of error. Ages have passed away, in labours to bring someof the most simple of moral truths to light, which still remainoverclouded and obscure. How far is the world, at present, from beingconvinced that it is not only possible, but perfectly practicable, andhighly natural, for men to associate with most fraternal union, happiness, peace, and virtue, were but all distinction of rank andriches wholly abolished; were all the false wants of luxury, which arethe necessary offspring of individual property, cut off; were allequally obliged to labour for the wants of nature, and for nothingmore; and were they all afterward to unite, and to employ the remainderof their time, which would then be ample, in the promotion of art andscience, and in the search of wisdom and truth! The few arts that would then remain would be grand; not frivolous, notthe efforts of cunning, not the prostitution of genius in distress, toflatter the vanity of insolent wealth and power, or the depraved tasteof an ill-judging multitude; but energies of mind, uniting all thecharms of fancy with all the severe beauties of consistent truth. Is it not lamentable to be obliged to doubt whether there be a hundredpeople in all England, who, were they to read such a letter as this, would not immediately laugh, at the absurd reveries of the writer?--Butlet them look round, and deny, if they can, that the present wretchedsystem, of each providing for himself instead of the whole for thewhole, does not inspire suspicion, fear, disputes, quarrels, mutualcontempt, and hatred. Instead of nations, or rather of the whole world, uniting to produce one great effect, the perfection and good of all, each family is itself a state; bound to the rest by interest andcunning, but separated by the very same passions, and a thousandothers; living together under a kind of truce, but continually ready tobreak out into open war; continually jealous of each other; continuallyon the defensive, because continually dreading an attack; ever ready tousurp on the rights of others, and perpetually entangled in the mostwretched contentions, concerning what all would neglect, if notdespise, did not the errors of this selfish system give value to whatis in itself worthless. Well, well!--Another century, and then--! In the meantime, let us live in hope; and, like our worthy hero, Frank, not be silent when truth requires us to speak. We have but to armourselves with patience, fortitude, and universal benevolence. Pardon this prattle!--The heart will sometimes expand; and it is thenweak enough to plead that the effusions of friendship claim attention, and respect. This is among the prejudices of our education, and I knownot who has hitherto overcome them all. I can only say, dear Louisa, itis not her who is most affectionately your, A. W. ST. IVES P. S. Clifton is quite successful with my relations: he has won theheart of my aunt. Every moment that he was absent was lavished in hispraise. 'He was a handsome man, prodigiously handsome, exceedingly wellbred, a man of great understanding, and what was more a man of family. His pretensions were well founded; it was a very proper connection, andwas very much approved by her. ' Nor did the good old lady omit varioussarcastic hints glancing at Frank, and which were not softened by theopposition he made to her opinions. But he is too great a lover oftruth to betray it for the sake of self; and she too much an admirer ofher own prejudices not to be offended at contradiction. Once more, Louisa, we are the creatures that education has made us; andconsequently I hope we shall hereafter be wiser and better. LETTER LXIV _Louisa Clifton to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_ _Rose-Bank_ An odd circumstance, my dear Anna, has happened here, of which I thinkit necessary to inform you immediately. Honest Aby has again been with us. He came and enquired for my mamma. Disappointment, chagrin, and ill-humour were broadly legible on hiscountenance. He talked in his odd dialect; which I cannot rememberaccurately enough to repeat; said he had just received a letter fromSir Arthur, from which he understood something that to him appeared tobe matter of great surprise; which was that Sir Arthur intended tobestow your hand on my brother; and, in a half submissive halfauthoritative way, wanted to know whether it were true; and whether mymamma knew any thing of the business. She acknowledged that such were the intentions of the two families: andhe answered that, for his part, he thought they might as well think nomore of the matter; muttering the words _wherewithal_, and _coal_. Mrs. Clifton desired him to be explicit; but he continued in halfsentences, repeating that the ready was not so easy to be had, andrhino was a scarce commodity. Neither could he tell what might happen. There were foreclosures, and docking of entails, and many things to besettled; and cash must come from where it could be got; but not fromhim, he believed. My mamma, mild as she is, was obliged to check his growling inclinationto be insolent; and then he had his whole bead-roll of fine words, withwhich he has so often tickled the ear of Sir Arthur, at his tongue'send; and ran them off with his usual gracious, and very humble obedientvolubility. Had I not received your last, [1] his discourse would have been moreenigmatical to me: but, as it was, I understood him tolerably well. Thebitterness of gall is at his heart. The greatness of his visibledisappointment shows how high his hopes had been raised; and I suspecthe is determined they shall not be very easily pulled down. For, afterhaving acted all his abject humility, he could not forbear again tomurmur over his threats, as he was leaving the room; and there was anair of self-sufficient confidence so apparent in his face that, I ampersuaded, the obstacles he has the power to raise are much greaterthan you, my dear friend, have ever supposed. [Footnote 1: Letter LVIII: whence we may conclude that the letterimmediately preceding this was not come to hand. ] I cannot describe to you, my best Anna, how deeply my mind is agitated, at times, concerning this marriage. I censure myself very severely, forseeming to indulge improper fears, one minute; and perhaps, the next, am more angry with myself for not disinterestedly pleading the cause ofFrank Henley. If there could be a miracle in nature, I should think hisbeing the son of _honest Aby_ one. What can I say? My doubts are toomighty for me! I know not how, or what, to advise. The reasons you haveurged are indeed weighty: yet they have never made an impression sodeep upon my mind, as not to take flight, and leave their opponentarguments in some sort the victors. Nor can I be more angry with myself, on any occasion, than I am at thismoment. I distress and trouble you with my fears, when I ought to keepthem to myself; unless I could determine whether they were or were notwell founded. They are even increased by the recollection that, in allprobability, Clifton could now much less bear disappointment than thestrong-minded and generous Frank. Then, my Anna! Should ill happen to her, from an undertaking the motiveof which is so worthy, so dignified, what should I say? Shouldmisfortune come, how could I excuse myself, for having neglected todissuade, and to urge such reasons as have appeared to me thestrongest? What could I say, but repeat the diffidence of my mind, thewant of full and satisfactory conviction, and the fear of mistake? The only buckler, with which I oppose these insurrections of reason, isthe omnipotence of truth, and Anna St. Ives! And, when I recollectthis, my terrors are hushed, and I think her sure of conquest. The very affirmative tokens which Aby displayed of his own consequence, convince me however that there will be delay. How Clifton will submitto it is to be seen. His letter to my mamma is all impatience, andexpectation. But I have talked with her, and she appears to bedetermined that nothing can be done, till Sir Arthur is ready to paythe sum he proposed. My Anna will not be very ready to attribute this to avarice; for no onecan think more highly of her than Mrs. Clifton does. But my father, athis death, left the family in absolute distress, from which she hasretrieved it, by her economy and good sense: retrieved it, that is, inpart; for there are still many heavy debts to pay, and mortgages to becleared. Her plans have been severe; and of long continuance; deeplythought on, and perseveringly executed. To convince her that any partof them ought to be relinquished scarcely appears possible. Nor am Isure that, obliged as we are to conform to the present system ofthings, they are not all just. Beside which she is not in a state ofhealth to support the fatigue of argument, or the pain ofcontradiction. She likewise considers Sir Arthur as a weak old gentleman; who, if thisopportunity were abandoned, would perhaps never have the spirit or thepower, hereafter, to do his daughter justice: and she thinks that, foryour sake, she ought not in the least to relax. Should you, my dearAnna, reason differently, I am still certain that you will reasoncharitably. With respect to my brother, it may perhaps be fortunate, should thesuspense afford you time for further trials; and we may have cause torejoice at the accident, which had checked the precipitate impatienceof passion. Though I expect a letter from you by tomorrow's post, I think this oftoo much consequence to suffer any delay: I shall therefore seal it, and send it off immediately. Heaven bless and eternally preserve my dear Anna! L. CLIFTON LETTER LXV _Abimelech Henley to Sir Arthur St. Ives_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ Most onnurable Sir, my ever onnurd Master, Your onnur has a thrown me quite into a quandry! I couldn't have thoftit! For why? My thofts were all in the mercifool praise andglorification of your onnur; and I had a done nothink but say how goodand gracious your onnur had a bin, to me and mine. But I do find, asavin and exceptin your ever onnurable onnur, 'tis all a gull queerum!Whereof the face of affairs is quite transmogrified! And so, ast forraisin the wind of twenty thousand pounds, I find the think is neitherkomparissuble nur a parallel to common sense. For why? It is not to behad. A man's money is his own, your onnur; and when a has got it, there's as good law for he as for a dooke. Always a savin and exceptinyour most exceptionable onnur, as in duty boundin. For as I wus asayin, your onnur, when a man has a got the super nakullums, who shalltake it from him? Because why, it is his own. If so be as the whats and the whys and the wherefores had a bin a forthcummin, why then the shiners might a seen the light of day, mayhap. Buta man's son, why a's his son; a's his own; a's his goods and chattels, and law and rite; bein of the race of his own begettin, feedin, andbreedin. Whereby I cannot but say, love me love my dog. Always a savinand exceptin your onnurable onnur, as aforesaid. And ast for the rhino, why some do save, and some do spend, and some dohold, and some do let go, and some do have, and some do want. Whereuponif so be as he as a has the most a may be as good as another. Why not?Always a savin and exceptin your ever onnurable onnur, as aforesaid. But when so be as a man has the wherewithalls, why a let him begin tohold up his head, I say. Why not? For why? It is the omnum gathurumthat makes the man. And if I do a doff my hat to my betters, there a beand a bin the whats and the whys and the wherefores for it. But I can adoff my hat, or I can a keep it on my head; and mayhap a can begin tolook my betters in the face, as well as another. Why not? Always asavin and exceptin your ever exceptionable onnur, as in duty boundin. And ast for famalies and names, I axes nothink about they. A tell mewho has the most kole! I axes that! Mayhap Henley may be as good a nameas Clifton. And ast for famalies, why it is notorious that Adam and Evewus the begettin of us all; always a savin and exceptin your onnurableonnur. Whereof a there's an end of that. Whereby your onnurable onnur wus a menshinnin the mortgages; and of aseem of every think a treeved and settled, afore your onnur do die. Butas thinks do be likely to turn out, why every man for himself, and Godfor us all. There be foreclosures mayhap, that a be to be thoft of. Forwhy? There a be wheels within wheels. If so be indeed as if thinks had a turned up trumps, why then ay, itwould a bin summut; all smooth and go softly, and there might abehappened to be sunshine and fair weather at Wenbourne-Hill. For why?Every think would then a bin clear and above board. Thinks would a thena bin safe and sure to all sides; and your onnurable onnur would mayhapa seen that your onnur would a lost nothink by the bargain. For why?Missee my younk lady might a paradventered to have had all, in theupshot; and an ever gracious and glorious and mercifool my younk ladymissee she would a then a bin. Whereby as matters be likely to turnout, why thinks must a take their course. Thof a mayhap folks may gofurther and fare worse. Whereof if so be as lives have a bin saved, byland and by water, and a man's son is thoft to be somebody, why mayhapa may not a take it so kindly to be chouse flickurd. For my part, I thoft as thof all thinks had a bin as good as settled;and that in all partikillers missee my younk lady, of ever mercifoolaffability, would a bin left to please herself. Why not? When preciouslives have a bin saved, and when there a bin shootins, and leapins, andswimmins, and sousins, I say as aforesaid, why that's a summut; and aman's own son mayhap won't a like to be flamdudgind. And so as to mortgages to be paid off, your onnurable onnur, why mayhapthat's a sooner said nur done. For I say as aforesaid, that it seems asif whereby, if it had not a bin for some folks, some folks would a nowa bin in their salt water graves: always a savin and exceptin your everexceptionable onnur, as in duty boundin. Whereby take me ritely, youronnurable onnur, I means nothink amiss. If thinks be a skew whift, whyit be no fault of mine. It is always a savin and exceptin of youronnurable onnur: being as I be ready to glorify to the whole world ofall your futur lovin kindness of blessins of praise, a done and atestified to me and mine. Whereof as to frippery jerry my gingle red coats and cockades, why theybe nothink of my seekin. For why? They be the betokens of the warninsof the signs of the bloody cross of antichrist, and the whore ofBabilon, and of the dispensation of the kole, and the squittersquanderin of the wherewithalls, and the supernakullums. Whereby anhonest man's son may become to be bamboozild, and addle brained, andfoistee fubbd, belike, as finely as his neighbours. So that if so be asI have a bin a ponderaitin that there a be nothink to be got by it. Always a savin and exceptin of the blessins of praise, and mercifoolglory, of your ever exceptionable onnurable onnur's lovin kindness, andgoodness; and every think of that there umbel and very submissiveobedient kind, as in duty boundin. Witch is all at present, beginnin and endin to the everlastin power ofalmighty joys eternal; umbelly beggin leave to superscribe meself. ABIMELECH HENLEY LETTER LXVI _Abimelech Henley to Frank Henley_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ Why what be all a this here? What is it that a be about, dolt? Here's arumpus! Here's a fine to do! You be a pretty squire NicodemusNincompoop! You a son of my own begettin, feedin, and breedin! Youseeze the fulhams! Why they would a draw your i teeth for ee! Marrycome fairly! You the jennyalogy of my own body and loins? No, by lady!And so squire my lord Timothy Doodle has a bin flib gibberd, andqueerumd, after all? Thof if so be as notwithstandin a that Missee, myyounk lady, had as good as a bin playin at catch me come kiss me, andall in the dark with'n; and thof I had a sifflicated the Sir DandleDunderpate, a here a do stand, a suckin his thumbs! Thof so be as how Itold him to make up to Missee, and the twenty thousand pounds! What, adidn't I put words into your mouth, as good as a ready butterd, as Imay say? What, a didn't I give ee all your pees and cues? Because aswhy, I did a know a wus a quaumee kintlin. And so a has played with themouse and has a lost it at last! A fine kettle of fish a's made on't!Whereof forsooth, so as that now as that all o'the fat's in the fire, why I must a be set to catch the colt if I can. Why ay, to be sure!Whereby if so be as the Gaby goose may now go barefoot! And a whosefault is that? No! A wouldn't a be akin to a good estate; not he! But harkee me chit! Mind what I be about to say to ee, Simon thesimple, and mayhap thinks may become to be komparissuble and parallelto the yellow hammers and the chink, for all of all this here rigroyster. For why? I can put a spoke in the wheel of the marriage actand deed. Madam Clifton wonnot a budge a finger, to the signin andsealin of her gratification of applause, whereby as if so be as thatthe kole a be not a forth cummin, down on the nail head. And where nowmight Timothy Tipkin sifflicate that it may behappen to be for to comefrom? Pummel thy pumkin, and a tell me that, Peter Grievous. Where, butout of my pouche, Gaby? That is, I first havin and holdin thewherewithalls, and the whys, and the wherefores. Do you take me now? Sothat forsooth, some folks may behappen to cry peccavi. Whereby mind what I do tell ee. For why? I've as good as a told SirArthur the wind is a not to be raised for any of a sitch of a flammbiteof a tale of a tub. Whereby I a told'n a bit of my mind. And if so beas if a will wince, a mayhap it may come to pass that I can kick. Ashall find I was not a bred and a born and a begotten yesterday. An achamp upon it, let'n. An a will run rusty, mayhap a may belike to gethis head in a hedge. So mind what I do say to ee; and tell 'em thatthey may a behappen to find that your father is somebody, and that youare his son. A tell 'em that. So do you strike up to Missee boldly. Mind what ee be at; and let 'emlike it or leave it. For if so be as when a man has a got theMarygolds, why then let'n begin to speak for himself. Why not? Whereby I have now once again given the costard monger his pees and hiscues. So that if so be as if a do find that sweet sauce be good forgoose, why let'n a give his tongue an oilin. But if so be as a do finda be Sir Arthur Crabvarjus o'the high ropes, why then says you, look eeme says you, honest Aby is my father; and when a man has a got thewherewithalls, why a begins to be somebody, and mayhap a's as good asanother. A tell 'em that. And so no more at present; a savin and exceptin of the all bountifoolglory of the everlastin praise of joys eternal, livin and hopin fortime to repent us of all our manifold sins, and of a dyin in peace andcharity with all men. Whereby we shall be sure to partake of theresurrection of the just sheep, and of the virgin oil in our lamps, andof the martyrs and of the profits and of the saints everlastin rest. ABIMELECH HENLEY LETTER LXVII _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Oliver, it is not half an hour since I ended writing one of the mostundutiful and bitter Philippics, that ever was addressed by a son tohis father. I say undutiful, because this wise world has decreed thatto abhor, reprove, and avoid vice in a father, instead of being theperformance of a duty, is offensive to all moral feeling. I have just received a letter from him, chiding and blaming me, withhis usual acrimony, for a supposed want of cunning; and for not aidinghim in what I perceive now to be the design he has most at heart; whichis my marriage with the divine Anna. He has almost disgusted me withmyself, for having, though ineffectually, endeavoured to aid him sowell. Nay I have been tempted to shew his letter to Sir Arthur. But, onrecollection, I have thrown the Philippic I mentioned into the fire;and have determined on silence: for I perceive harm that may resultfrom a contrary conduct, but no good. To swerve, to the right or theleft, from the direct path of principle and truth, because of theselfish, narrow, and unwise views of others, is to be weak andculpable. What, indeed, has relationship to do with truth? No human ties can bindus to error: and, while we rigorously act according to the rules oftruth, as far as we know them, the comments, mistakes, disapprobation, and even resentment, of relation, friend, or father, ought to bedisregarded. I must own, however, I have still the folly to feel additional griefthat errors of so mean, so selfish, so dishonest a nature should havetaken such firm possession of the mind of my father: and I am afraid Icould support them better in the person of another. Having determined not to write to him, I have written to thee, to givevent and relief to these feelings. Of course thou wilt tell me if thouseest any reason, which I have not discovered, why I ought tocommunicate the contents of his letter to Sir Arthur; whom he vaunts ofhaving in his power, and whom he is determined not to supply withmoney, for the projected marriage with Clifton. My conviction is thatto shew this letter would but increase their mutual anger, and rendercompliance on my father's part, whose temper I know, still lessprobable than it is; if less it can be. Adieu. F. HENLEY LETTER LXVIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ I write, at present, to my dear Louisa, that by writing I may divertthe perturbation of my mind. But I must begin calmly; for I have somuch to say, that I scarcely know what to say first. Our mutualconjectures, concerning honest Aby, are in part verified. I concludethus, not from having seen any more of his letters, but from knowingmore have been received; which, instead of having been shewn me, have, if I do not mistake, thrown Sir Arthur into some of the most seriousreflections he ever experienced. I never knew him so grave, thoughtful, and pensive, as he has been for some days-- My brother too!--But more of him by and by. Observing the efforts of reflection, and desirous of aiding, alleviating, or increasing them, as should be most prudent, I took anopportunity, after breakfast, when Sir Arthur and I were alone, ofspeaking to him; and we had the following dialogue. I think, sir, you seem more thoughtful lately than usual. I am afraidthere is something disturbs you. Can I--? No, no--Nothing--Not much. Worldly matters, which you do notunderstand. I am far from wishing, sir, to intrude into your private concerns;except they were such as might relate to me, and-- Mere money matters, child; of which you have no knowledge--[We paused;Sir Arthur seeming as if his mind laboured with a subject which he knewnot how to begin]--Where is Mr. Henley? Retired to his apartment, sir. This is his time of day for study. He is a very learned young man. Not so learned I believe, sir, as wise. Are not they the same thing? I think not, sir. Well then, a very wise young man--You think him so; do you not, Anna? I do, sir. You have a very high opinion of him? I have, sir. Perhaps a higher than of any other young gentleman, with whom you areacquainted. I am indeed afraid, sir, I have never seen his equal. Humph!--You--You are not sparing of your praise. You asked me a question, sir, and would not have me guilty ofequivocation, or falsehood. No, child: I am pleased with your sincerity; and I hope and expect youwill be equally sincere in every thing you say. Of that, sir, you may be assured. What are your reasons for thinking so exceedingly well of Mr. Henley? My reasons, sir! Yes; your reasons. I own I am a little surprised at this question from you, sir; who havebeen a witness to so many of his virtues, and their effects. [I then briefly recapitulated the progress of Frank from a child invirtue, insisting on the numerous proofs of which we so lately had beenwitnesses. I recounted the histories of the highwayman, and of Peggyand her husband; the adventure of the lake; and the protection we foundfrom his skill, strength, and courage at Deal; not forgetting theattendant incidents of each, nor neglecting to give such brief butstrong touches as feeling dictated. ] I must own, he is a very extraordinary young man! Yet we can know but a part of the good effected by a mind so active, and so virtuous. Though I perhaps know more than you, sir. Ay!--What? Let me hear. You think me partial already, sir. No, no. Let me hear. The very night we arrived at Paris, he prevented Mr. Clifton and theCount de Beaunoir from fighting a duel. Indeed! Yet never mentioned it; nor perhaps ever would, had not we afterwardmet with the Count at the Chateau de Villebrun. That was very odd! Nay more, sir, but a day or two before that he saved the life of Mr. Clifton, he had submitted to the insult of a blow from him, rather thanfight a duel. A blow--? He does not want courage, sir, you are convinced. No, no--It is what he calls one of his principles not to fightduels--He is a very extraordinary young man!--And not I think much likehis father. As opposite, sir, as day and night, grace and deformity, virtue andvice. You think but indifferently of Abimelech. I think very ill of him, sir. I think him selfish, cunning, covetous, and dishonest. Dishonest? In the eye of equity, though not perhaps of the law. Why did not you tell me your opinion sooner? I did, sir. I do not remember it. No, sir: it made no impression, because you did not think it true. Maybe so--And you do not find any of these bad qualities in the son? Bad!--If all the highest gifts of intellect; if memory, perspicuity, perception, and genius; added to all the virtues, wisdom, benevolence, philanthropy, and self-denial; if to be the active friend of man andthe declared enemy of error, and of that alone; if these can entitlehim to esteem, admiration, reverence and praise, why then esteem, admiration, reverence and praise are justly his due. You are warm in your encomiums. Indeed, sir, I think I am cold. How so? Because my encomiums are so very much beneath his deserts. Anna--[Sir Arthur assumed a very serious tone, and look. ] Proceed, sir--Do not be afraid of questioning me. You shall find, mydear father, a child that will answer truly, affectionately, and I hopedutifully. [I kissed his hand, pressed it, and wet it with an unwilling tear. Theimpassioned heart, Louisa, will sometimes rebel against the cold apathyof reason; but such revolt is but of short duration. ] Are you aware, Anna, of the state of your own affections? I think so, sir. You think? Well then, I am certain. You say Mr. Henley has no equal? In my opinion, none, sir. Look you there! But do you think, sir, I will not emulate the virtues I admire: orthat, because I have a just sense of his worth, I will trespass againstmy duties to the world, my sex, my family and my father? Anna!--Child!--[The tears stood in Sir Arthur's eyes. He stretched outboth hands, and I flew to his arms. --After a short interval of silence, Sir Arthur proceeded. ] Tell me, Anna: What are your thoughts of Mr. Clifton? I think him, sir, a very extraordinarily gifted gentleman. But not a Mr. Henley? Not at present, sir. Time I hope will make him one. No, child, never. Why so, sir? I cannot tell why, but I am sure it never will. They are two verydifferent men. Mr. Clifton, sir, has uncommon powers of mind. May be so; I suppose so; I only say they are very different men. Theirtempers are different, their opinions, their manners, every thing. I do not imagine, sir, they will ever exactly resemble each other; butI think myself sure they will continually approach. Indeed! Yes, sir. May be so; but I own I doubt it. Mr. Clifton is a gentleman, both bybirth and education. That I own, sir, may be a great disadvantage; but-- Disadvantage, child! Our conversation was here interrupted, Louisa, by a letter brought mefrom my brother. Read it, and judge of what I felt. Dear Sister, I am a ruined man, unless I could command a sum of money which it isimpossible for me to raise. I last night lost three thousand pounds, upon honour, which I am totally unable to pay. And, what is worse, Idid not lose it to a gentleman, but to a sharper; who, the very lastthrow he made, let a third die fall upon the table. But this is of noavail; he is an unprincipled, daring fellow; denies any foul play withimprecations and threats, and insists on being paid. I know you cannothelp me to such a sum; and I suppose my father will not. For my part, Ican neither pay it nor think of living, under the disgrace and infamywhich must follow. EDWARD ST. IVES Sir Arthur saw my agitation; and, had I been desirous, it would havebeen difficult to have concealed the letter, or its contents. I shewedit him, and his perplexity and pain I believe exceeded mine. It wasimpossible, he said, for him immediately to pay the money: it wouldgreatly distress him at any time. It likewise shewed the deplorablestate of my brother's affairs. The Edgemoor estate, every thing gone! Sir Arthur knew not how to act. I was in a tremor, and could notpersuade myself there was any way so safe as that of consulting FrankHenley. This I proposed; Sir Arthur instantly acquiesced, and he wassent for down. After reading the letter, the only expedient, he said, which he could think of, was to visit my brother; either accompanied byor under the sanction of Sir Arthur. My father absolutely refused to gohimself; but he gave Frank full powers to act for him, and as he shouldthink most prudent. Before he went, he endeavoured to calm our fears;saying he thought it impossible, if such a rascal as this gambler wereproperly dealt with, but that he must be glad to renounce his claim. Frank is now absent on this desperate business; sent, by myofficiousness, to encounter a practised ruffian! What could I do? A brother threatening his own life! Yet what is thelife of such a brother, to that of Frank Henley? I hope he is not in danger! I think I was obliged to do as I have done;though indeed I am very ill satisfied with myself. The chief purpose of my writing this long dialogue, which I had withSir Arthur, was to ward off fears: for surely it is but a folly toanticipate misfortune. I should else not have written till tomorrow. And must I alarm my friend, by sending this before I know the result ofso dangerous an affair? I think I ought not. Clifton has just been with me. It could not long escape his quickpenetration that my thoughts were deeply occupied. He was earnest withme to accompany him, in the evening, to see Garrick in Richard III, butcould not prevail. He taxed me with absence of mind, and was kindlyearnest to know why I was so serious. I told him at last it was afamily concern; and this did but increase his eagerness to know of whatnature. I was obliged to own he was too impetuous to be trusted at sucha critical minute. Frank Henley I hoped would effect every thing thatcould be done. He repeated, with great chagrin, 'Frank Henley!--He was sorry not to bethought as worthy of a trust of danger, and as zealous for the honourof the family, as even the favourite Frank Henley. ' I replied my mind was not enough at ease, to give a proper answer tosuch a remark; which however was far from a just one. He felt the rebuke, and apologized; with praises of Frank Henley'sprudence, and accusations of his own intemperate haste. 'But wisepeople knew how to be cool. Prudence and wisdom were cold bloodedqualities. Good or harm, of any moment, if done by him, must be done ina kind of passion. It was his temper, his nature, which he tried invain to correct. Neither was he quite certain that such a temper wasnot the best: at least it was the most open and honest. -- I told him he was mistaken in most of these fancies: but he seemed notto hear me, and went on-- 'He could not but own, he was piqued, and almost grieved, to find hemust despair of meriting the preference; and that he was destined tofind a rival, where rivalship ought perhaps least to be expected. ' My temper of mind did not permit me to argue with him; I could muchrather have indulged the woman, and burst into tears; but I subdued myfeelings, and could think of no better mode of reproving him than toretire. I accordingly withdrew, without answering, and left him makingineffectual struggles with his pride, his consciousness of error, andhis desire of being heard, and reconciled to himself, and me. He told me, yesterday, he was surprised at not receiving an answer fromMrs. Clifton, and at the silence of Sir Arthur. I made no reply, because I had not considered how I could address myself to him with thebest effect. But I mean, when he mentions it again, to inform him ofthe probability of delay. I, like you, my friend, think delay rather afortunate incident than otherwise. But why, Louisa, should you suppose it necessary to justify the conductof Mrs. Clifton to me? I am well acquainted with her virtues, and thepurity of her intentions. Whether I should act with exactly the samecaution, under the same circumstances, is more than I can say: butneither can I say that my prudence, and foresight, would equal hers. --Ithink I hear Frank Henley. I am all impatience and alarm. Adieu. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER LXIX _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ Frank has this moment left me. He is still in pursuit of this business, which is by no means brought to a conclusion. He has been with mybrother, and has met the gambler; with whom two very characteristicdialogues have passed, which Frank has repeated with considerablehumour. My brother was only present at and bore his part in the second. The man is a perfect master of his vile trade; a practised duellist; asexpert, Frank says, in killing of men as in cogging of dice. AHibernian bravo; determined to pursue the most desperate means toeffect his purpose. Energy in vice or virtue, Frank remarks, is the characteristic of theIrish. It is a noble quality, of which no nation perhaps has more, ifany so much; but it is frequently abused by them, and made productiveof the most hateful effects. Frank was with my brother in his dressing-room, when the man came andwas shewn into an anti-chamber by the servant. Edward was sufficientlyunwilling to see him, and readily agreed to the proposal Frank made, offirst conversing with him, as my brother's friend. Frank accordingly went to him, and says he was struck at the sight ofthe man, being much deceived if he be not an old acquaintance. I wasand still am surprised at what Frank told me; but he begged I wouldsuspend my curiosity, till he himself should be better satisfied; andproceeded with his dialogue. Your name I believe, sir, is Mr. Mac Fane. At your sarvice, sir. I am the friend of Captain St. Ives. Then to be sure, sir, you are a gintleman, and a man of honour. I am agintleman and a man of honour mysilf. Do you say that from your conscience, sir? From my conscience? Ay, sir! Why not? When all my debts due are dulyand truly paid, why I shall have ten thousand pounds in my pocket. There are people, sir, heretical enough to suppose that even tenthousand pounds are no absolute proof of honour. No, indeed!--Why then, for those very scrupulous people, I have anexcellent pair of proof pistols, which I believe are absolute enough. Because I would take the odds that they would hit a bird's eye flying. Those arguments I own are difficult to withstand. Stand!--Faith, and if any man shall think proper to stand, I will fetchhim down. --[Remember, Louisa, I am imitating this man's language, asdelivered by Frank; though I believe my memory is tolerably correct. ]But I should be proud to speak a word with your friend; becase thatwill be more to the point. He requested me to inform you, sir, he should be glad if you woulddelay your visit an hour or two; and I think it will be the safest; foryou I perceive, sir, are rather warm; and his temper, as you mayimagine, cannot be so cool, just at present, as usual. His temper!--Faith, sir, and the devil a care care I about his temper!And as for warm and cool, I can be either, or neither, or both. I havewon the money, and the Captain must pay it; or else d'ye see, sir--! You'll hit the bird's eye flying? Ay; flying, or lying, or any way!--However, I will take a turn and comeback by and by. I have two or three calls to make on some peers of myacquaintance. I am a man of nice honour, sir. And you imagine, nice though it is, that your honour is suspected. By my soul, sir, I imagine no such thing. Because as why, I think itwould not be very safe. I tell you very seriously, sir, that I have asure sacrit to cure any impartinent suspicions of my honour; as I begyou would inform your friend, Captain St. Ives; who, being a man ofhonour himsilf, knows what belongs to the business. These, sir, aretender points, with every gintleman. And so, sir, I wish you a goodmorning for the present. Frank says he was desirous of conversing with the man, that he mightdiscover his character, previous to his concerting any plan of action. After he was gone, he endeavoured to lead my brother into a discussionon the state of his affairs. But Edward avoided all detail; satisfyinghimself with affirming he was a ruined man, and unable to pay the sum. He had no objection to meet the fellow in the field; though certainlythe chances were a hundred to one in his disfavour. He might as welldie that way as any other. With respect to victory, of that there werebut little hopes, with so expert a ruffian, who had practised pistolshooting till he was sure of his mark, which my brother had whollyneglected. Frank then enquired at what house the money had been lost; and found ithad been at one of the common receptacles for gamblers of the secondorder. No person was present but the groom porter, whom Frankimmediately determined to see, and went thither for that purpose. But, on enquiry at the house, he found the man had absconded. He returned, and had some difficulty to convince my brother that hishonour would not suffer by delay; for it was plain that Mr. Mac Fanewas resolved on immediately pushing the matter to an extreme. However, on communicating his own conjectures concerning this man of nicehonour, Edward consented to permit Frank to act in his behalf. Frankobserves that our men of fashion seem agreed to overlook a portion ofinsolence from these gamblers, under the affectation of despising them, which the tamest of the fine gentlemen among them would scarcely brookfrom each other. In about two hours, Mr. Mac Fane returned; and, being introduced to mybrother and Frank, another conversation very similar to the formerensued. The man began. Your servant, gintlemen. I told you last night, Captain, that I wouldgive you a call this morning: and as it is an affair in which yourhonour is concerned, why I was determined to be very punctual. Becasewhy, you know, I am extremely nice and punctual mysilf, upon points ofhonour. I am sorry to be obliged to tell you, sir, that Captain St. Ivesneither knows nor owns any such thing; and that I have good reason tobelieve the very reverse. Sir!--You--! [Frank says the man put on the true look of a desperado, resolved on mischief if opposed: but that, after pausing a moment, hebegan, with a kind of humorous anger, to rub the side of his face, asif it were benumbed] Faith, on recollection, I believe I got a bit of acold last night, which makes me rather dull of hearing. Sir, I repeat-- Repate!--Boo!--There is no occasion to repate, at all at all. Iremember very well that my friend, Captain St. Ives, owes me threethousand guineas; and, it being a dibt of honour, why, to be sure hewill pay it, without any repating about the matter. Sir, said my brother, give me leave to tell you-- That you will pay me. You need not tell me that. Sir--! There never yet was man that refused to pay me, but oh! The almightythunder! I gave him a resale in full for the dibt. I made him repintafter his death the day that ever he was born. There's the door, sir, said Frank. Faith and I know there's the door, sir; but where's the money, Captain?--That is, I don't mane the ready cash: that is not to beexpected, from a gentleman--A bond in these cases you know, Captain, iscustomary. Sir, there's the door. I find that your friend, here, is disposed to be a little upon theCaptain Copperthorne this morning; and so I shall leave you for thepresent to consider the matter. I have no doubt but I shall hear fromyou, Captain, in the course of the four and twenty hours. It is nowfull three weeks since I heard the whiz of a bullet; and I would adviseyou, as a friend, not to waste any of your powder and ball upon theprisent occasion. It would only be a buz and blow by business, Captain:for, by the holy limb of Luke, I never yet saw lead that durst look mein the face. We should be glad to be alone, sir. Faith, sir, you may be as bluff as you please; but, when the Captain isa little cool, I shall expict to receive a bit of a message from him;or may I never look on the bald pate of the blessed Peter but he shallreceive a bit of a message from me. And so once more, gintlemen, goodmorning. Frank did not lose a moment after he was gone, but hastened home; firstto inform us of his proceedings, thus far; and next to make theresearches on which he is now absent. Here, therefore, my dear Louisa, I must pause; and once again subscribe myself, most affectionately, A. W. ST. IVES P. S. I have reason to believe that Clifton is more seriously offendedthan I ever knew him before. When I refused going to the play with him, he persisted in saying I might change my mind before night, and that hewould come again in that hope. His manner of parting with me, afterbeing told Frank was entrusted with a business which we had not daredconfide to him, was, as I have described, unusual, and accompanied withmore coldness and reserve than either of us had ever before assumed. Itis now eight o'clock, and I have not seen him since. If he haveresolution enough to keep away the whole evening, which I suspect hewill have, the proof of the truth of my conjectures will beindubitable. I know not, when he comes to hear the business, whether he will beconvinced that he was less proper to transact it than Frank; otherwiseI should not be sorry, could he but certainly feel himself wrong: forit is by a repetition of such lessons that the good we intend must beeffected. Be it as it will, let us neither recede nor slacken our endeavours. Isuspect that every worthy task must be a task of difficulty, and oftenof danger. LETTER LXX _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Frank is returned; and, as usual, crowned with success. I had been puzzling myself to no purpose, concerning Mr. Mac Fane beingone of our old acquaintance. It appears he was the accomplice of thehighwayman, Webb, the brother of Peggy, who was shot by Frank atTurnham Green. He forebore to tell me, in part because he had not timeto connect and relate the grounds of his suspicion; though his chiefreason was lest a whisper, heard by Laura or any other, should havebetrayed and overturned his whole scheme. He went immediately to question Mrs. Clarke, concerning her nephew. Sheknew not what was become of him; for, after having determined to goabroad, he changed his mind; and, being reproved and discountenanced byher, he had forborne his visits. She had even refused to hear his namementioned. But she believed her niece, Peggy, had some knowledge ofhim; though she was not certain. Frank thought proper to confide in Mrs. Clarke, and they immediatelywent in quest of the niece. From her they learned that he had beenpromoted to the office of groom-porter at a gambling house: and in facthe proved to be the very man who had been present at the transactionbetween Edward and Mr. Mac Fane. Peggy was next questioned concerning his present hiding-place. She wasconfused; she stammered, and trembled. Was not her brother in danger?Could she be sure no harm would come to him?--At last however the mildand humane reasoning of Frank, and the authority of Mrs. Clarkesubdued, her terrors--He was in the house. It seems the moment he knew it was Captain St. Ives, my brother, whomMr. Mac Fane had been plundering, he refused to appear, or have anyfurther concern in the affair: and being violently threatened by thegambler, who wanted to force him to come forward as his witness, heconcealed himself for fear; not knowing to what excess so desperate aman might be carried by his passions. He and Peggy had just beendebating on the propriety of appearing to bear testimony in mybrother's behalf; but were too much alarmed to decide. Frank lost no time. He took the man with him in the carriage, andhastened to my brother's apartments; where he left him, and immediatelydrove away to Bow-street, to procure the assistance of the police. Previous to this, Mr. Mac Fane, having received some intimation thatthere was danger, had written to my brother. The following is a copy ofhis letter; and no bad specimen of the man. Sir, I find you think that there is a bit of a blunder in this business, and that you doubt the doctors. I understand too that Webb, thegroom porter, is under obligations to your honourable family; forwhich raison the lying spalpeen pretends that he smoaked a bale ofFulhams--To be sure it is all a mistake--I am a man of honour; andyou, Captain, are a man of honour also; for which I give up the coalto your ginerosity; in raison whereof hush is the word. And so inthat case, I remain your most obedient humble sarvant. But if not, why the bull dogs must bark. PHELIM MAC FANE Is it not a pity, Louisa, that so much courage and ability should beperverted to such vile ends? The man, by means of the wealth he had sorapidly collected in this manner, had secured more than one spy amongthe Bow-street runners. This we learned from Peggy's brother; and it isconfirmed by the event; for he has forsaken all his former haunts, andit is conjectured is either gone off for the continent, or, which ismore probable, is lying concealed till he can discover how far he isin danger. He was constantly provided with disguises, has been to sea, and is intimately acquainted with the manners of the vulgar; so that, were any strict search made, he would not easily be caught. But he neednot fear; his supposed enemy takes no delight in blood; and this hewill probably soon learn, and soon again be upon the town. You wonder, no doubt, how Frank should recognise a man who, attemptingto rob us on a dark night, had stationed himself at the head of thecarriage. Had he seen no more of him, he would have been in littledanger of detection. But, on one of the visits which Frank made toWebb, the brother of Peggy, he had met him on the stairs. Mr. Mac Faneas he descended was opposite the window on the landing place, and hisface was full in the light; while Frank could scarcely be seen by him, being then several steps below him. His countenance is a remarkableone; it has a deep scar above the left eye; and Frank, suspecting himto be the accomplice of the man he was going to visit, had fixed it inhis memory. Frank has since been talking very seriously with this brother of Peggy;and appears to have convinced him that his present profession is asmuch that of a thief as his former. However, in this short space oftime, without understanding the vile arts of a gambler, he hascollected between two and three hundred pounds. Such is the folly withwhich money is squandered at these places. While Mr. Mac Fane isabsent, he thinks himself in no danger; and should he return, he hasbeen promised the protection of our family, which he thinks asufficient guarantee; being rather afraid of him as a desperado than asan accuser. Webb has therefore agreed to take a shop, and exercise histrade as a master. He is a man of quick intellects; and, notwithstanding all that he has done, has many good propensities. As aproof of these, his poor sister, the kind Peggy, has infinite affectionfor him; and is sure now that he will do well. Sir Arthur and Edward have both been very sincere and hearty in theirthanks to Frank: to which he answers, and answers truly, it was astroke rather of good fortune than of foresight. But he has gainedhimself a character; and they are partly of opinion, that every thingmust prosper which he undertakes. Aunt Wenbourne too overflows in hispraise. Edward is her favourite; and Frank stands now almost as high onher list as he was but a little while ago the reverse; for Edward iscontinually talking of him to her, and every word he says is orthodox. But opinions like these are too light, too full of prejudice, toomutable to be of much value. Clifton kept away all the evening; however, after hearing the wholestory, he was obliged to acknowledge that, let his other qualities bewhat they would, he could not have been so successful as Frank in thisaffair; because he could have known nothing of Mr. Mac Fane. But he didnot forget that this was an accident, unforeseen at the time when Frankwas trusted. My constant rule, of equanimity of temper, has restored him to hiswonted good-humour. But I perceive he regrets the possibility of anyman equalling him in the esteem of those whose friendship hecultivates. Alas! Why does he not rather seek to surpass them, than toenvy their virtues? He says he will propose an eulogium on Frank, and give a prize himselfto the French Academy; for he finds he will never get sufficientlypraised in England. He never knew so eternal a theme for panegyric. Infine, it is evident, in despite of his efforts to conceal it, that hisjealousy increases: and I suspect he feels this last decision againsthim more sensibly than any preceding circumstance. Adieu. Most truly and dearly, your own A. W. ST. IVES LETTER LXXI _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ War! Fairfax, war!--It is declared!--Open war!--My wrathful spirits arein a blaze, and I am determined. Hear and blame me if you can. But do Inot know you? Does not the temper of your letters tell me you willapplaud my just anger, and fixed revenge? Yes, Fairfax, longer to palliate, or wilfully be blind to the partialedicts and haughty ordonnances of this proud beauty, were idiotism!She has presumed too far; I am not quite so tame a creature as shesupposes. She shall find I am not the clay, but the potter. I willmould, not be moulded. Poltron as I was, to think of sinking into thedocile, domesticated, timid animal called husband! But the lion's pawsare not yet pared; beware then, my princess! The lady would carry it with a high hand, Fairfax. But let her!If I not note her freaks, if I forget her imperious caprice, ifmy embittered mind slumber in its intents, say not I am theproud-spirited Clifton you once knew; that prompt, bold, andinflexible fellow, whom arrogance could rouse, and injury inflame, but a suffering, patient ass; a meek pitiful thing, such as theywould make me! Wonder not that I now am angry, but that I have so long been torpid. Alittle phrensy has restored the palsied soul to life, and again has putits powers in motion. I'll play no more at questions and commands--Or, if I do, it shall only be to make sure of my game. I have beenreproved, silenced, tongue-tied, brow-beaten; have made myself an ape, been placed behind the door, and have shewed tricks for her diversion. But I am not muzzled yet: they shall find me one of the _feraenaturae. _ A most excellent project, forsooth! When I am sufficiently familiarizedto contradiction, rebuke, fillips on the forehead, and raps on theknuckles, she will then hear me my prayers, pack me off peaceably tobed for tonight, and graciously bestow a pat and a promise upon me fortomorrow! There is danger in the whim, lady; beauteous though you are, and invincible as you may think yourself. Model me!--No!--I am of ametal which not even your files can touch. You cannot knead, dough-bake, and temper me to your leaven. Fairfax, she had fascinated me! I own it! There is such incantation, inthe small circle of her eye, as mortal man scarcely can resist! Iadored her; nay still adore! But she knows me not. I have a soul offire. She has driven me beyond the limits of patience. Her wisdom degenerates into rhodomontade. She will prescribe the hourand minute when she shall begin to love. She does not pretend to loveme yet; and, if she did, her looks, her manner would betray thefalsehood of her heart. Yet let me not wrong her, vexed though I am. Double dealing is not hererror: she is sufficiently sincere. Why would I hide it from myself? Her partialities all lead another way:ay and her passions too, if passions she have. But this mostincomprehensible, this tormenting, incoherent romance of determiningnot to have any, I believe from my soul, in part produces the effectshe intends, and almost enables her to keep her determination! Still and eternally, this fellow! This Frank! Oh that I were anItalian, and that my conscience would permit me to deal him thestilletto!--Let him beware!--He is employed, preferred, praised! It iseulogium everlasting! Had Fame as many trumpets as she has tongues andlies, they would all be insufficient. And not only she but the wholefamily, father, brother, aunts, the devil knows who, each grateful soulis oozing out the froth of its obligations! Had they less cause, perhaps I should be less irritated: but he hasrescued the poor being of a brother, Edward St. Ives, who had neithercourage nor capacity to rescue himself, from the gripe of a gambler. This Edward, who is one of the king's captains, God bless him, and whohas spent his fortune in learning the trade, not of a man of war, butof a man of fashion, having lost what ready money he had, staked hishonour against a cogger of dice, and was presently tricked out of threethousand guineas; which he was too poor in pocket to pay, and, if Iguess right, too poor in spirit afterward to face the ruffian whom hehad made his companion. So Mr. Henley, and it please, you, was chosen, by father and daughter. Though she owns she proposed it first; for she does not scruple to ownall which she does not scruple to act. The holy mission was his, todole out salutary documents of reproof, and apothegms of Epictetus; andto try whether he could not release the bird-limed owl. I wasoverlooked! I am unfit for the office! I am but little wiser than thebooby brother! Whereas Solomon himself, and the seven sages to boot, are but so many men of Gotham, when he is present. The quintessence ofall the knowledge, wit, wisdom, and genius that ever saw the sun, fromthe infantine days of A B C and king Cadmus, to these miraculous timesof intuition and metaphysical legerdemain, is bottled up in, his brain;from which it foams and whizzes in our ears, every time discretion canbe induced to draw the cork of silence. --Once again, let him beware! I then am selected for no other purpose but for her morality to makeexperiments upon. --She is called wife, and wife she may be; nay wifeshe is, or at least all other women, she being present, are intolerablyfoolish. But, by heaven, this is no proof of her wisdom! I am thescape-goat!--I!--Be it so!--Should she be caught in her own springe, who can say I am to blame? She has seen my anger, for I could not hide it; but she has seen itonly in part. A hypocrite she wants, and a hypocrite she shall I have. I will act the farce which she is composing; let her look to thecatastrophe. I begin to think that marriage and I shall never meet; for, if Iwithstand her, woman cannot tempt me. And her I shall withstand. Atleast I never will have her till I have humbled her; and then perhaps Ishall not be in the humour. And yet my heart tells me that I shall. Forin spite of all its anger, in spite of her injustice and glaringindifference, the remembrance of which puts me in a fever, it would bemisery to know her, recollect her, and live without her. But, patience! Her pride shall first be lowered. I must command, not becommanded: and, when my clemency is implored, I will then take time toconsider. My brain is in a ferment, and its various engines are already incommotion. She herself, her hated favourite, her father, her brother, her aunt, her uncle, her maid, every creature that surrounds her musteach and all contribute to my purposes and plots. Parts fit for theactors must be assigned. The how and what I know not yet precisely, forI have scarcely sketched the canvas; but I have conceived some bold andmasterly strokes, and I foresee the execution must be daring andimpassioned. I am in haste to begin, and my hot oscillatory spirits canwith difficulty be tamed to the still pause of prudence andpremeditation: they are eager for the fight, and think caution a tardygeneral, if not a coward. I know not how it is, but when I am angry, very angry, I feel as if Iwere in my element. My blood delights to boil, and my passions tobubble. I hate still water. An agitated sea! An evening when the fierysun forebodes a stormy morning, and the black-based clouds rise, likemountains with hoary tops, to tell me tempests are brewing! These giveemotion and delight supreme! Oh for a mistress such as I could imagine, and such as Anna St. Ives moulded by me could make! One that could varyher person, her pleasures, and her passions, purposely to give minevariety! Whose daily and nightly study all should centre in me, and mygratifications! Whose eyes should flash lightning to rouse the chilledsensations, and shed appeasing dews to quench the fire of rage. Theseare the objects in which I could delight; these the devotions Irequire. Change for me. A true English day; in which winter and summer, hail, rain, and sunshine meet and mingle. I had almost forgotten one chief cause of my resentment; though themost fortunate one I could have wished for to promote my purpose. ThisSir Arthur dallies with me. I find, from various items which thecandour of her mind has suffered to escape, that the motive is poverty. I am glad of it. I will urge and hurry her into a promise to be mine. The generosity of her temper will aid me. I will plead the injury doneme by hesitation. I feel it, and therefore my pleadings will benatural. It is her pride to repair the wrongs which others commit. Thispride and this heroism of soul, which I must acknowledge in her areunaffected, shall be the main engines with which I will work. Withoutthese perhaps I might despair; but with them hold myself secure ofvictory. Yes, lady of the high sciences, you must descend, and let my star mountthe horizon! The gathering clouds must eclipse your effulgence, while Ishine chief of the constellation! As for the rest of the family, more or less, they are all fools;therefore are neither to be feared nor pitied. On her perhaps I mayhave compassion, when I have taught her contrition, and when she knowsme for her superior. I have written a volume, yet have not half disburthened my labouringmind. Oh that I could present the picture to you complete! That I couldpaint her as she is; all beauty, all excellence, all kindness, allfrost! That I could shew the sweet enthusiast in the heyday insolenceof her power; pretending to guide, reform, humble, and subjugate me;while love and vengeance swell my heart, hypocrisy smooths my face, andplots innumerable busy my brain! It is a fruitful, rich, resplendentscene; of which, Fairfax, you have no conception. Me you have known, intimately, and are honest enough to own you have admired: but of herall ideal tracings are contemptible! Nor should this knight of the magic lanthorn be forgotten; this Nestorjunior; this tormenting rival--Oh how I could curse! He who stands, asready as if Satan had sent him, to feed the spreading flames with oil!He fills his place on the canvas. And who knows but I may teach him, yet, to do his office as he ought? How would it delight me! There is anintemperance of superiority which no human patience can support, norany acts of kindness compensate. A triumph over her will indeed be atriumph over him, and therefore doubly delicious! I grant he forbears to prate of the life he gave me. But am I notreminded of the oppressive gift every time he dares to contradict me?Would I endure his interference as I do; would I be shouldered andbutted at, by him; would I permit his opinion to be asked, or hisdogmas to silence me, were I not burthened with this unasked benefit? Infatuated lunatic, as I was! But I am in the school of prudence, atpresent; and suppose I shall learn a little some time; though I do notknow when; since, I am told, it is not easy to learn a trade one hates. Mean while I pay my court assiduously to the two peers, Evelyn and FitzAllen, who at present are both in town. Nothing must be neglected, nothing left unprepared. Vigilance, foresight, and cunning must dotheir office, and will soon be in full employment: of what kind Icannot yet determine; or whether it must be open war or covert, orboth; but my augury predicts the scene will soon be all life, allagitation, all enjoyment. Commotion is my element, battle my delight, and conquest my heaven! This is my hour of appointment: she is expecting me, yet my crowdingthoughts will with difficulty allow me to lay down the pen: they risein armies, and I could write world without end, and never come to anamen. But I must begone. Adieu. I imagine that by this time you are at Paris; or will be before thearrival of this letter; which, according to your directions, I shallsuperscribe _Poste restante. _ C. CLIFTON LETTER LXXII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Need I tell my affectionate friend how great the pleasure is which Ireceive from her letters, and from that free communication of thoughtwhich so effectually tends to awaken the best emotions of mind, andmake us emulate each other's virtues? Like her I sit down, now whilememory is awake, to relate such material incidents as have happenedsince last I wrote. The anger of Clifton is softened into approbation. The most generousminds are liable, from the acuteness of their sensibility, to beunjust. We are once again very good friends. Not but we have just been engaged in a very impassioned scene. Thesubject of family consent was revived by him; and, as I intended, Iinformed him that delay seemed inevitable. The struggle of his feelings, when he heard it, appeared to be violent. His exclamations were characteristic of his habitual impetuosity; thestrength of them excited sensations, and alarms, which prove the powerhe has over the passions. Oh how I desire to see that power welldirected! How precious, how potent will it then become! One thing, and only one, he vehemently affirmed, could appease theperturbation of his mind, and preserve him from wretchedness which nonebut those who felt like him could conceive-- And what, I asked, was that?-- He durst not speak it--Yet speak he must, plead he must. Should hefail, phrensy, despair, he knew not what, be something fearful wouldindubitably follow-- Again, what was it?-- Might he hope? It depended on me; and denial and distraction were thesame-- He made me shudder! And, serious when I heard it though I found hisdemand to be, his manner inspired a confused dread of somethingrepugnant; something eminently wrong. He ventured at last to speak. I believe he watched his moment. Thepassions, Louisa, however disturbed, are always cunning. He demanded apromise, solemn and irrevocable, to be his. Such a promise, I answered, was unnecessary; and, if at all, could onlybe given conditionally-- There were no conditions to which he was not ready to subscribe-- I replied, too much readiness denoted too little reflection; and notfortitude sufficient to fulfil such conditions. Fortitude could never fail him, having me not only for an example but areward. Again he repeated, without my promise, my sacred promise, hereally and seriously feared distraction! That this was weakness he wasready to allow: but if it were true, and true it was, should I wantlove, I yet had too much benevolence not to desire to avertconsequences which, beyond all others, are horrible to imagination. He has surely very considerable knowledge of the human heart; for histone and manner produced all the effect he intended. I had foreseen theprobability of such a request, though not all the urgency with which itwas made, and had argued the question of right and wrong. My conclusionhad been that such a promise, with certain provisos, was a duty; andaccordingly I gave it; stipulating power to retract, should experienceteach us that our minds and principles could not assimilate. At first he was not satisfied. Intreaties the most importunate thatlanguage could supply were repeated, that I should make no suchexceptions. They were impossibilities; needless, but tormenting. Finding however that I was resolved, he softened into acquiescence, thanked me with all the transports which might be expected from him, and kissed my hand. He would not have been so satisfied, had I not veryseriously repulsed the encroaching freedoms which I had lately foundhim assuming; since which he is become more guarded. What latent inconsistency is there, Louisa, in my conduct, which canincite the alarms to which I feel myself subject? The moment I had madethe promise I shuddered; and, while acting from the strongest sense ofduty, and the most ardent desire of doing good, I felt as if the actwere reprehensible and unjust. --It is the words of Frank that are thecause: on them my mind dwells, and painfully repeats them, as if in adelirium: like a singing in the ear, the tolling of death-bells, or theburthen of some tragic ditty, which memory, in its own despite, harpsupon, and mutters to itself!--'_He is certain that I act from mistakenprinciples!--To the end of time he shall persist in thinking me his byright!_' There must be something amiss, something feeble in my mind, since thedecision of reason cannot defend me from the awe which this surely toohasty, too positive assertion inspires! It haunts my very dreams! Clifton left me; and, being gone, I went into the parlour. Frank wasthere. He had a book in his hand, and tears in his eyes. I never behelda look more melancholy. Capable as he is of resisting the cowardice ofself-complaint and gloom, still there are moments, I perceive, in whichhe can yield; and, sighing over others woes, can cast a retrospectiveglance on self. He had been reading the Julia of Rousseau. The picturegiven by St. Preux of his feelings had awakened sympathy too strong tobe resisted. We fell into conversation. I wished to turn his thoughts into a morecheerful channel; but my own partook too much of the same medium, notto assimilate themselves in part to his languor. You seem pensive, Frank. What is the subject of your meditations? The sorrows of St. Preux, madam. Then you are among the rocks of Meillerie? Or standing a partaker ofthe danger of Julia on the dreadful precipice? No, madam. The divine Julia is dead!--[Had you heard the sigh he gave, Louisa--!] I am at a passage which I suspect to be still more sublime. I am sure it is equally heart-rending. Ay!--Which is that? It is Clara, at the table of Wolmar; where the child, with suchsimplicity, conjures up the infantine but almost perfect semblance ofthe dead. If ever laughter inspired the horrors of distraction, it wasthe laugh of Clara! It is a wonderful passage. But I find you were rather contemplating thesorrows of the friend than of the lover. Pardon me, madam. I was considering, since the friend was thus on thevery brink of despair, what must be the force of mind which couldpreserve the lover. Friendship and love, in such minds, are the same. Perhaps so, madam. Can there be any doubt? When the lover and the friend are united, the heart is reluctant to ownits feelings can be equalled. Ought you not to avoid such a book, Frank; at least for the present? If it led me into error; otherwise not. I think I know what were theauthor's mistakes; and he not only teaches but impresses, rivets, volumes of truth in my mind. The recollection of what had just passed with Clifton forced itselfupon me, Louisa; it made me desirous of putting a question to Frank onthe subject, and I asked-- What is your opinion of promises? I think them superfluous, nugatory, and therefore absurd. Without exception? Yes--We cannot promise to do wrong: or, if we do, cannotperform--Neither can we, without guilt, refrain from doing right;whether we have or have not promised. Some glimpse of this truth, for I perceive it to be one, had shotacross my mind; but not with the perspicuity of your proposition--I aminclined to be a rude interrogator: I have another question to ask [Hebowed]--I own you are seldom wrong, and yet I hope--[I remember, Louisa, that I gave a deep sigh here; and it must not be concealed]--Ihope that you have been wrong, once in your life. Madam! But perhaps you have changed your opinion--Do you still think as youdid?--Are you still _certain that I act from mistaken principles?_ [Heinstantly understood me--Had you seen his look, Louisa--!] I am, madam. And _shall persist to the end of time?_ To the end of time. I could not bear it, Louisa. I burst away. What rash impulse was it that hurried me forward to tempt thistrial?--Alas! It was the vain hope, for vain it appears to be, he mighthave retracted. My heart is too full to proceed--Heaven bless you!--Heaven bless you, my dear friend!--You see how weak I am. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER LXXIII _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Oliver, I must fly!--There is neither peace nor safety for me if Iremain--Resolution begins to faint under these repeated and oppressivestruggles--Life is useless, virtue inefficient, time murdered, and Imust fly!--Here I can do nothing but doubt, hope, despair, and lingerin uncertainty: my body listless, my mind incoherent, my days wasted invain reveries on absurd possibilities, and my nights haunted by theconfused phantoms of a disturbed and sickly brain!--I must fly! But whither?--I know not!--If I mean to be truly master of myaffections, seas must separate us! Impossibility must be made moreimpossible!--'Tis that, Oliver, which kills me, that ignis fatuus offalse hope--Were she even married, if her husband were not immortal, Ifeel as if my heart would still dwell and feed on the meagre May-be! Itrefuses to renounce her, and makes a thousand and a thousand efforts tooblige me again to urge its just claims. I am in the labyrinth of contradictions, and know not how to get out. My own feelings, my remarks on hers, the looks, actions and discourseof this dangerous lover are all embroiled, all incongruous, allillusory. I seem to tempt her to evil by my stay, him I offend, andmyself I torment--I must therefore begone! Oliver, our hearts are united!--Truth and principle have made them one, and prejudice and pride have not the power to dissever them!--Sheherself feels this intimately, yet persists in her mistake. I think, Oliver, it is not what the world or what she understands by love whichoccasions this anarchy of mind. I think I could command and reprove mypassions into silence. Either I mistake myself, or even now, situatedas I am, I could rejoice were there a certainty, nay were there butstrong probabilities, that her favourite purpose on Clifton should beeffected. But the more I meditate, and my hours, days, and weeks passaway and are lost in meditation on this subject, the more does my mindpersist in its doubts, and my heart in its claims. Surely, Oliver, she is under a double mistake! Surely her reasoningsboth on him and me are erroneous. I must be honest, Oliver, and tell thee all my feelings, fears, andsuspicions. They may be false. I hope they are, but they exist. Iimagine I perceive in him repeated and violent struggles to appear whathe is not, nay what I doubt he would despise himself for being! Is not this an unjustifiable, a cruel accusation? Why have I this keenthis jealous sensibility? Is it not dishonourable to my understanding? Yet should there be real danger, and I blind to it! Should I neglect towarn her, or rather to guard and preserve her from harm, where shall Ifind consolation? Oliver! There are times when these fears haunt me so powerfully that myheart recoils, my blood freezes, and my whole frame is shaken with theterrific dream!--A dream?--Yes, it must be a dream! If not, theperversion of his mind and the obduracy of his heart are to me whollyincomprehensible! I must be more guarded--Wrongfully to doubt were irreparably to injure!My first care must be to be just. Mark, Oliver, how these wanderings of the mind mislead and torment me!One minute I must fly, to recover myself, and not to disturb andway-lay others; the next I must stay, to protect her who perhaps isbest able to protect herself! I have no plan: I labour to form one in vain. That single channel intowhich my thoughts are incessantly impelled is destructive of all orderand connexion. The efforts of the understanding are assassinated by theemotions of the heart; till the reproaches of principle becomeintolerable, and the delusions of hope distracting!--A state of suchpainful inutility is both criminal and absurd. The kindness of the father, brother, and aunt, the sympathisingtenderness which bursts from and overcomes the benign Anna, the delayof the marriage--Oliver!--I was recapitulating the seeming inspirationsof my good angel, and have conjured up my chief tormentor!--Thisdelay!--Where does it originate?--With whom?--With--! I must fly!--Thisof all motives is the most irrefragable! I must fly!--But when, or how, or where, what I must undertake, whither go, or what become, is yet allvague and incoherent conjucture. F. HENLEY LETTER LXXIV _Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Mr. Henley, It is now some time since I received your letter. It astonished and Imust say offended me so much, that I do not yet know what answer toreturn. You say I have thrown you into a quandary, Mr. Henley; and Ican very sincerely return your compliment, Mr. Henley; for nothing canbe more unintelligible than your whole letter is to me, Mr. Henley. AndI must say, I think it not very grateful in you, Mr. Henley, nor in myopinion very proper, to write me such a letter, Mr. Henley; that is asfar as I understand its meaning, Mr. Henley. I have no desire, Mr. Henley, to quarrel with you, if I can help it; but I must say I thinkyou have forgotten yourself, Mr. Henley. It is very unlike the mannerin which you have been used to comport yourself to me, Mr. Henley; for, if I understand you rightly, which I own it is very difficult to do, you threaten me with foreclosures, Mr. Henley; which I must say, Mr. Henley, is very improper demeanour from you to me, Mr. Henley. Not thatI seek a rupture with you, Mr. Henley; though I must say that all thislies very heavy upon my mind, Mr. Henley. You insinuate that you are grown rich, I think, Mr. Henley. So much thebetter for you. And you seem to know, Mr. Henley, that I am grown poor:or I think, Mr. Henley, you would not have written to me in a stylewhich I could almost be tempted to call impertinent, but that I wish toavoid a quarrel with you, Mr. Henley, unless you force me to it. Thereis law as you say, Mr. Henley, for every man; but law is a very fretfuland indeed fearful thing, to which you know I am averse, Mr. Henley. Not but there are proceedings, Mr. Henley, which may lead me toconsider how far it is necessary. I must say, Mr. Henley, that my astonishment is very great, afterwriting me word, as you did, that I might have the money, which I tookvery kindly of you, that you should now contradict yourself soflagrantly [I am obliged to repeat it, Mr. Henley] and tell me it isnot to be had. What you mean by the whats, and the whys, and thewherefores being forthcoming, is really above my capacity, Mr. Henley;and I request you would speak plainly, that I may give a plain answer. You say you can keep your hat on your head, and look your betters inthe face, Mr. Henley. May be so. But I leave it to your better judgmentto consider, Mr. Henley, whether you ought to forget that they are yourbetters. There are indeed, as you tell me, wheels within wheels, Mr. Henley; forI find that you, and not my son, are in possession of the Edgemoorestate. God bless us all, and give us clean hands and hearts, Mr. Henley! I say no more! Though I must say that, when I heard it, my hairalmost stood an end! You talk a great deal about somebody's son, Mr. Henley. You havepuzzled me much; but I think you must mean your own son. Though whatyou mean beside is more than I can divine. I am very unwilling, Mr. Henley, to think any thing to your disadvantage; and I must say that Icould wish you would not speak by ifs, and ands, and innuendos; but letme know at once what you mean, and all you mean, and then I shall knowhow to act. Your son, I own, is a very excellent young gentleman; a veryextraordinary young gentleman; and no person can be more ready toacknowledge his merits than I, and my whole family. You seem offendedwith my offer of a commission for him; which I own astonishes me; for Imust say, Mr. Henley, that I thought I was doing you an act ofkindness. Not that I blame your prudence, sir; or your aversion to theprodigal spendthrifts, who too frequently are fond of red coats andcockades, which are so offensive to your notions of prosperity. I am not unwilling to own that I, and all my family, are even underobligations to your son. For which reason I am the more inclined tooverlook what I must say does not please me, in your last veryunexpected letter. Let me tell you, Mr. Henley, that I cannot but hopeyou will think better of it; and that you will use your kind endeavoursto get me the money, according to your promise, which I shall take veryfriendly of you, sir; and shall be willing to do any thing for yourson, in that case, for your sake as well as for his own, which reasoncan require. I beg, Mr. Henley, you will consider very seriously of this; and Ishould hope you would not forget former times, and the very manyfavours which, in my life, I have done you. I do assure you, sir, Ihave the utmost desire to continue on a good understanding with you;but I think I have some right to expect your compliance from motives ofreason, not to say of gratitude. So, committing this to yourconsideration, and expecting an agreeable answer, I remain, sir, asusual, A. ST. IVES LETTER LXXV _Abimelech Henley to Sir Arthur St. Ives_ Most Onnurable Sir, _Wenbourne-Hill_ It doth appear as how your onnur be amisst. Whereby I did a partly aqueery as much; thof so be as it be no fault of mine. For why? There bereasons and causes. For when as a man has a nothink to fear of nobody, I am of a mind that a may pen his thofts to any man. Why not? Always asavin and exceptin your onnurable onnur. And ast for a man's a portin himself, there be times and seasons forall thinks. Whereof as Friar Bacon said to Friar Bungy and of theBrazen-head, A time was--A time is--And a time is past. And ast for athreatening about foreclosures, why what have I to say to a gentleman, if a will not redeem his mortgages when the time be? The law must lookto it, to be sure. Always a savin and exceptin your onnurable onnur, still say I. So that it be altogether compus mentus that quarrels andrupturs are none of my seekin. Whereby your onnurable onnur will lookto that. No man can deny that every man has a rite to his own. For why?A pays scot and lot, and has a nothink for it but law. And ast for a man's a growin of rich, why as I do take it a's a not theworse for that. And ast for a man's a growin of poor, why a what had Ito do, thof so be that some be wise and some be otherwise? Whereof solong as the rhino do ring, the man is the man, and the master's themaster. A's a buzzard in grain that do flicker, and fleer, and tell agentleman a be no better nur a bob gudgeon, a cause a do send theyellow hammers a flying; for thof it might a be happen to be trueenough, a would get small thanks for his pains. Every man eat his meat, and he that do like cut his fingers. The foolish hen cackles, and thecunning quean chuckles. For why? A has her chalk and her nest eggready. Whereof I tout and trump about at no man, an a do not tout andtrump about at me. Always a savin and exceptin your onnurable onnur;and not a seekin of quarrels and rupturs, an they do not seek me. Otherwise, why so. Plain and positive; that's best, when a man do findthe shoe to pinch. And ast for law, why he that has a got the longest head will have amost on't for money: and he that has a got the longest purse willbehappen not to be the first to cry peccavi. Whereof if a man do donhis hat on his head, an a see good cause, why not? For I do a warrant awill see good cause, an a do doff it under his arm. Whereby every why has a wherefore. Any fool can a put down his fivenothings; but a's a clever kinchin an a can place a so much as a Iafore 'em. Whereof the first frost that brings a white crow may, insitch a case, behappen to shew him his betters. For why? A's a gotwherewithall to get more: and a knows the trick on't too, or a would anever a got so much. Whereby an it comes to a huff an a gruff, a maynot chuse to be arm a kimbo'd, any more nur another; for a may behappen to have a Rowland for an Oliver. A may behappen to be noJack-a-farthin weazle-faced whipster. A may have stock and block to goto work upon; and may give a rum for a glum: always a savin andexceptin your onnurable onnur. Showin whereby as I want no quarrels nurrupturs, but peace and good will towards men, if so be as the whys andthe wherefores do a bear me out. Whereof thof a man be but a Mister, a may behappen to buy and sell aknight of the shire: that is under favour, and a savin and exceptin ofyour onnurable onnur. For why? I be as ready to a quit my hands ofquarrels and rupturs as another. Whereby if the Edgemoor estate be mine, why it is my own. For why? Beinit was my cash that a covered it. Whereof his younk onnur was all amort, and a down in the mouth, when a did come to me. The world waswide, and a might a gone further and a fared worse. A's a dolt indeedthat will part with money, and not have money's worth. Whereby I had abin starvin, and pinchin, and scrapin, and coilin, and moilin; in heatand in cold; up a early and down a late; a called here and a sentthere; a bidden and a chidden, and a forbidden to boot; every body'sslave forsooth; whereby I am now my own master. Why not? Who can gainsay it? Mayhap a savin and exceptin of your onnurable onnur; witch isas it may be. For why? I wants a nothink to do with quarrels andrupturs, no more nur another; but that's as thinks shall turn out. Whereby one man's hair mayhap may stand an end as well as another's, exceptin that I wears a wig. An I give the kole, I'll have the dole. And ast for somebody's son, if so be as a man be to be twitted a thisn, after all the gunpowder pistols and bullets, and scowerins, and firms, and bleedins, and swimmins, and sinkins, and risks, and rubs, and seascapes, and shore scapes, at home and abroad, by land and by water, andsavins of precious lives and precious cash, why if so be as all this beto stand for nothink, it is a time for a man to look about'n. To be sure your onnur is so good as to say my son is a younk gentleman, and so forth. Whereby this gracious and ever mercy fool lovin kindnesswould go to the cockles of my heart; ay and my chitterlins would crow, and I should sing O be joyfool, if so be as I did find as words wus anythink but wind. Whereof when your onnurable onnur is compulsionated, willy nilly, to be so all bountifool as to profess to the ownin ofobligations, why that is summut. But fair speeches wonnot heal brokenpates; and a mouthfool of moonshine will send a man hungry to bed. Promise may be a fair dog, but Performance will catch the hare. Whereby had thinks a bin as they might a bin, why then indeed it woulda bin summut. But as to the wherewithalls of the twenty thousandpounds, being as it be, why the think is unpossable to be done. Forwhy? The case is altered. Whereof it is best to be downright. Will isfree, and money for me. Whereby this marriage match with the Clifton family, had my oar binasked, would never a bin of my advizin. For why? I shall not give mylard to butter my neighbour's bacon. And ast for favours received, why may be so. But what then? Since if sobe thof it wus sometimes fair, why it wus sometimes foul. And a goodman may behappen to be all as much as a good master. And if a man havea spent his whole lifetime in a pickin, and a cullin, and a coinin, anda furbishin up fine words, to tickle the ears of fine folks, why aought in all conscience to get the wherewithalls for his pains. For ifan a gentleman will eat pine apples a must not expect to pay forpippins. Always as aforesaid a savin and exceptin your onnurable onnur. So that if quarrels and rupturs will come, they may not a be said to beof my seekin. Bein as I am, ever and amen, with all pious jakillations and jubileesof blessins and praise, never failin to pray for due time to repent usof all our manifold sins and wickedness, God of his mercy be good untous, and save us and deliver us, on our death bed, from the everlastinflamin sulphur of the burnin lake. Amen, an it be his holy will!Umbelly beggin leave to superscribe meself, ABIMELECH HENLEY LETTER LXXVI _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ I have had a scene with Frank, which affected me much, and which hasoccasioned another quarrel, or kind of a quarrel, with Clifton. SirArthur had just left the room. He had been asking Frank whether therewere any possible way by which he could serve him. We all were hisdebtors; very deeply; and he should be happy to find any mode ofdischarging the obligation. Sir Arthur spoke with an earnestness which, in him, is by no means customary. But Frank had nothing to ask, nothingto propose. I was sitting at my harpsichord, amusing myself; and, Sir Arthur beinggone, stopped to tell Frank how sincerely I joined in Sir Arthur'sfeelings. I have nothing, madam, said he, to hope from Sir Arthur: but to you Ihave a request to make, which you would greatly oblige me should yougrant-- I trembled, Louisa. I was afraid of some new contest of the passions; arevival of ideas which I myself had so lately, and so inadvertently, called to mind. I am persuaded the blood forsook my cheeks, when Iasked him what it was: for Frank, with a tenderness in his voice thatwas indeed honourable to his heart, prayed, conjured me not to bealarmed--It was a trifle--He would be silent--He would not give me amoment's pain to gratify a million of such silly wishes. He both moved and revived me. It could not be any thing very dreadful, and I entreated him to speak. There was nothing he could ask I wouldrefuse. He hesitated, and I then became urgent. At last he named--Hissong!--Again, Louisa, he almost struck me to the heart!--He feared heoffended me; but there was something so enchanting in the air that hecould not forget it, could not resist the wish to possess a copy. It was impossible to refuse. I went to my papers, and brought it. Theevil spirit of thoughtlessness possessed me, and when I delivered it Iasked--Is there any thing else?-- Your kindness, madam, said he, is unalterable. Could I?--Durst I--? What?-- He paused-- Speak!-- He laid the song upon the music-desk, and looked----No no--I will notattempt to tell you how! Words were needless; they could not petition with such eloquence--Abarbarian could not have refused. I rambled over the keys, hemmed, andendeavoured to collect myself. At last a sense of propriety, of reason, of principle, came to my aid, and bade me be master of my mind. I beganto sing, but no effort could enable me to give that expression of whichI had before found the words so susceptible. Could you think it, Louisa? Do you now foresee, do you forebode whathappened?--Your brother came in!-- To have stopped, to have used evasion, to have had recourse tofalsehood would have turned an act of virtue into contemptible vice. Icontinued. Clifton came and looked over my shoulder. The music was onone sheet of paper, the words were on another, in the writing of Frank. Your brother knew the hand. When I had ended, Frank took both the papers, thanked me, and retired. I could perceive the eyes of Clifton sparkle with emotion; I mightalmost say rage. He would have spoken, but could not; and I knew nothow safely to begin. At length, a consciousness of not having done or at least intended todo wrong gave me courage. I determined not to wait to be questioned: Iasked him how he liked the song. Oh! Exceedingly!--It was very fine!--Very fine! The words are Mr. Henley's. I imagined as much, madam. I thought them expressive, and amused myself with putting a tune tothem. I am as good as a witch! How did you like the subject? What subject, madam? Of the words. I really don't know--I have forgotten-- Nay, you said you thought them very fine! Oh! Yes!--True!--Veryfine!--All about love--I recollect. Well, and having so much faith in love, you do not think them the worsefor that. Oh, by no means!--But I thought you had. Love in a song may be pardonable. Especially, madam, if the song be written by Mr. Henley. Clifton!--You almost teach me to despair!--You do not know me!--Perhapshowever I am more to blame than you, at present. Timidity has given mesome appearance of conscious guilt, which my heart disavows. But, asthere is scarcely any error more dangerous to felicity than suspicion, I own I am sorry to see you so frequently its slave. Never think ofthat woman for a wife, in whom you cannot confide. And ask yourselfwhether I ought to marry a man who cannot discover that I merit hisconfidence? I find, indeed, implicit faith to be as necessary in love as inreligion--But you know your power, madam. An indifferent spectator would rather say you know yours. You will not go, madam, and leave me thus? I must. In this misery? I have letters to write, and visits to pay. You cannot be so cruel?--By heaven, madam, this torment is more thannature can support! Less impetuosity, Clifton; less raptures, and more reason. You would have me rock, madam! Unfeeling marble! I would have you a man; a rational, and, if possible, a wise one. Stayat least for a moment!--Hear me!--Do not leave me in these doubts! What doubts?--Do I not tell you the words are Mr. Henley's? The air ismine. If setting them were any guilt, it is a guilt of which I am notconscious. Shew me that it is criminal and I will instantly retract. Wemust either overcome these narrow, these selfish propensities, or weshall hope in vain to be happy. I--I--I make no accusation-- Do but examine before you accuse, and I will patiently hear andcheerfully answer to accusation. If you think it wrong in me not totreat virtue and genius with neglect, bring me your proofs, and if Icannot demonstrate their fallacy I will own my error. Let me add, theaccusation of reason is a duty; from which, though painful, we oughtnot to shrink. It is the mistaken accusation of the passions only atwhich justice bids the heart revolt. Here, Louisa, once again I left him, with struggles apparently moreacute than the former. And my own mind is so affected, so oppressed asit were by crowds of ideas, that I do not yet know whether this were anaccident to be wished, or even whether I have entirely acted as Iought. My mind will grow calmer, and I will then begin the scrutiny. I am minute in relating these particulars, because I am very desirousof doing right. And who is so capable of being my judge, or who soanxious I should not err, as my dear Louisa, my friend, my sister? All good be with you! A. W. ST. IVES LETTER LXXVII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover-Street_ Oh, Fairfax, if my choler rose when last I wrote, where shall I nowfind words hot enough to paint the phrensy of my soul?--How could Irage and rave!--Is it come to this?--So barefaced!--So fearless!--Sounblushingly braved!-- Fairfax, I came upon them!--By surprise!--My alert and watchful spirit, an adept in such arts, accustomed to them, and rendered suspicious bypractice and experience, foreboded some such possibility--My knock atthe door was counterfeit. I strode up stairs to the drawing-room, three steps at a time--Swiftly and suddenly--I opened the door--Therethey sat!--Alone!--She singing a miserable ditty, a bead-roll oflamentable rhymes, strung together by this Quidam!--ThisHenley!--Nay!--Oh!--Damnation!--Read and tremble!--Read and aid me tocurse!--Set by her!--Ay!--A ballad--A love complaint--A most dolefulwoe-begone elegy; of sorrows, sufferings, fate, despair, and death;scribbled by him, and set and sung by her!--By her!--For his comfort, his solace, his pleasure, his diversion!--I caught them at it!--Naythey defied me, despised the wrath that drank up the moisture of myeyes, blazed in my blood, and scorched my very soul!-- And after this will I blench? Will I recant the denunciations whichlegitimate vengeance had pronounced?-- Fairfax--I am not certain that I do not hate her!--No!--Angelicsorceress!--It is not hatred, neither--But it is a tumult, a congregateanarchy of feelings which I cannot unravel; except that the firstfeature of them is revenge!--Roused and insulted as I am, not all herblandishments can dazzle, divert, or melt me! Were mountains to bemoved, dragons to be slain, or lakes of liquid fire to be traversed, Iwould encounter all to attain my end!--Yes--My romance shall equalhers. No epic hero, not Orpheus, Aeneas, or Milton's Lucifer himself, was ever more determined. I could plunge into Erebus, and givebattle to the legion phantoms of hell, to accomplish my fixedpurpose!--Fixed!--Fixed!--Hoot me, hiss at me, despise me if I turnrecreant! No--Then may all who ever heard the name of Coke Clifton makeit their byword and their scoff; and every idiot curl the nose andsnuff me to scorn! Recollect but the various affronts I have received, Fairfax, from herand [Oh patience!] Her inamorato! For is he not so?--Wrongs, some ofwhich irritate most because they could not be resented; insults, somepetty some gigantic, which ages could not obliterate; call these tomind, and then think whether my resolves be not rock-built! Insolentintrusion has been his part from the first moment to the last. Theprince of upstarts, man could not abash him, nor naked steel affright!On my first visit, entrance was denied by him! Permission was asked ofa gardener's son, and the gardener's son sturdily refused! I argued! Ithreatened!--I!--And arguments and threats were so much hot breath, butharmless! Attempts to silence or to send him back to his native barnalike were baffled; and I, who planned his removal, was constrained topetition for his stay. Yes, constrained!--It was do it, or!--Oh!--Befaithful to me, memory!--He was elected president of opinions anddisputes, past, present and to come. Appeals must all be made to him, and his sentence was definitive. Law or gospel, physics or metaphysics;himself alone superior to college, court, or convocation. Before himsunk scholiast and schools. In his presence the doctors all must standuncapped: the seraphic, the subtle, and the singular; the illuminated, the angelic, and the irrefragable to him, were tyros all. Our censorin private, and in public our familiar: like a malignant demon, norespect, no place, no human barriers could exclude him. On no sidecould the offended eye turn, and not find him there. Disgraced by hiscompany, counteracted by his arrogance, insulted by his sarcasms;obliged to accept the first of favours, life, at his hands; hisapparent inferior in the moment of danger; my ministry rejected forhis, nay contemned, in a case where the gentleman, the man of theworld, and the man of honour merited undoubted preference; and, as theclimax of injury, wronged in my love!--Rivalled!--Furies!-- And she!--Has she been less contumelious, less annoyant, lesstormenting?--His advocate, his abettor, his adulator, with me onlyshe was scrupulous and severe. I generously and almost instantlyforgot all former resolves, and would have thrown myself into herarms--Unconditionally--I, who had been accustomed to give the law, not to receive. I assumed not the dictator. I, whose family, courage, person, and parts have made me a favourite with the brave and fair, though flushed with success, far from claiming superiority, I came tocast myself, my freedom, and my trophies at her feet--Came, and wasrejected! Bargained with at least; put off with ifs and possibilities! I must stop--Must think no more--Or the hurrying blood will burst myveins, or suffocate my swelling heart, and impede just retribution forthese and all my other thousand wrongs, which only can be avenged bycalm and subtle foresight--Yet think not that the smallest of them isforgotten--Oh no!-- Well then, calm will I be; for I can be, will be any thing rather thannot attain this supreme of pleasures, divine vengeance! Yes, anger mustbe bridled: it has now a second time made me tread backward more thanall the steps I had taken in advance. My brain is labouring for somecertain and uniform plan, but is at present so disturbed that thoughtcan preserve no settled train. Previous to this second childish overflow of passion [for if I wouldsucceed childish it is] I had played a master stroke, in which indeed Imust own passion was for once my best ally. With most ardentimportunity, I with great difficulty wrested a promise from her to bemine. These romancers, Fairfax, hold love promises to be binding andsacred. And this obtained I thought a fair foundation for my fabric. The current of my thoughts is now wholly turned to this subject. Athousand manoeuvres crowding present themselves; nor can I say how manymust be employed. I have generally found my brain rich in expedients, and I think it will not fail me now. I recollect having mentioned themaid, Laura: she is secured, and has been for some time past. Thefondness of the fool with one less expert would be dangerous; but Ihave taught her to rail at me occasionally to her mistress, and topraise the favorite, who has never lately been any great favorite withher, having as I guess overlooked her when she had kinder inclinations. She was tickled with the contrivance, which promised to secure her sowell from the suspicion of her mistress, and she acts her parttolerably. In fact her mistress seems a being without suspicion, superior to it, and holding it in contempt--So much the better! This fellow, this king of the cucumber-beds must be removed. I knownot yet the means, but they must be found. Present he is dangerous;absent he may perhaps be taught to act his part with safety and effect. My ideas are not yet methodised, but I have a confused foresight ofvarious modes by which this and much more may and must be accomplished. But no common efforts can be successful--Deep--Deep must be the plot bywhich she is to be over-reached, the pit into which she must fall: anddeep it therefore shall be. There is no art I will not practise, norestraint to which I will not submit, no desperate expedient to which Iwill not have recourse to gratify my soul's longing--I will berevenged!--The irrevocable decree is gone forth--I will berevenged!--Fairfax, you soon shall hear of me and my proceedings. Farewell. C. CLIFTON LETTER LXXVIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ This letter, dear friend of my heart, is begun in a very melancholymood. How easy it is to undertake; how difficult to overcome! Withwhat facility did I say to myself--Thus will I do, and thus--How firmlydid I promise! Truth appeared so beautiful, so captivating, soomnipotent, that armed by her an infant could not but conquer. Perseverance alone was requisite, and I could persevere. The solidbasis of the earth should almost shake ere I would waver!--Poor, vaincreature!--Surely, Louisa, we are not all so--Heaven forbid!-- Why am I thus? Why does my heart faint within me? Indeed, Louisa, Ibegin to fear I have vaunted of powers I do not possess; and prescribedto myself duties too dignified, too mighty for me--And must I abandonan enterprise I deemed so noble?--I have meditated on it, Louisa, tillI could weep-- I will not yet despair. At least one effort more, and a strong one, Iwill make--Alas! I am weary of this promising. My braggart strength isimpotency, or little better. But I will do my best; and truth, sincerity, and good intent must be my trust. My present determination is to relate to your brother all that haspassed between me and Frank. I will once more state my feelings, myprinciples, and my plan. The purity of my heart must be my shield. Tocontend thus is painful; yet most willingly would I contend, were itproductive of the good at which I aim. But instead of gaining ground Iseem to lose. Oh that I were more wise, that I better knew the humanheart, and that I well could wield the too gigantic weapons of truth!But I fear they are above my force, and pity my own imbecility. The hour of appointment is come. Clifton will soon be here. I have beenpreparing my mind, taxing my memory, and arranging my thoughts. Oh thatthis effort may be more successful than the past! Did he but know allthe good I wish him, his heart would surely not feel anger--He shallnot die, said Frank!--Can I forget it?--How did my soul glow within me, when, hopeless but the moment before, I beheld nature again strugglingfor existence, and returning life once more stir in the convulsive lip!How did my ears tingle with--'He shall not die!'--I saw a noble qualityexerted, and thought it was but to wish and to have, to imitate and tosucceed--The brother of my Louisa!--A mind too that might out-soar theeagle, and gaze on the sun of truth! There must be some cause for my failure, if I fail--With truesimplicity of heart I can say, most earnestly do I wish to do right:most ardently would I endeavour to prove myself a friend worthy ofLouisa Clifton, and of Frank Henley!--Perhaps the latter is thecause?--If I have done him wrong, Heaven forgive me! For I think, wereI convicted of it, I could not forgive myself! The servant has told me Clifton is below. I must take a few minutes tobreathe--I must collect myself. Oh for the tongues of mediating angels! A. W. ST. IVES LETTER LXXIX _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ When last my Louisa heard from me, my mind was depressed. I almostdespaired of the great task I had undertaken. I had likewise animmediate duty, a disburthening of my soul, a kind of confession offacts to make, from which education has falsely accustomed us to shrinkwith pain, and my spirits were overclouded. This rigorous duty isperformed; hope again begins to brighten, and my eased heart now feelsmore light and cheerful. Not but it still is tremulous with the sensations by which it has justbeen thrilled. I seem to have risen from one of the most interestingand I believe I may add awful scenes, in which I have ever beenengaged. The recesses of the soul have been searched; that noretrospective accusation of want of absolute and perfect candour might, as of late it too often has done, rise to assault me. I found Clifton in the parlour. His look was more composed, morecomplacent, and remarkably more thoughtful than it had lately been. Ibegan with stating that the feelings of my heart required every act, every thought of mine, that had any relation whatever to him, should befully and explicitly known. I conjured him to have the goodness todetermine not to interrupt me; that I might perform this office, clearmy conscience, and shew my heart unveiled, undisguised, exactly as itwas; and that he might at once reject it, if it were either unworthyhis acceptance or incompatible with his principles. He promised compliance and kept his word. I never knew him a listenerso long, or with such mute patience. I had as I may say studied thediscourse which I made to him, and which I thus began. It will not be my intention, Mr. Clifton, in what I am going to say, toappear better or worse than I am. Should I be partial to myself, I wishyou to detect me. There is nothing I so much desire as a knowledge ofmy own failings. This knowledge, were it truly attained, would make theworst of us angels. Our prejudices, our passions, and our ignorancealone deceive us, and persuade us that wrong is right. I have before acquainted you of the project of Mrs. Clifton and SirArthur, for our union. I have told you of the unfeigned friendship, thehigh admiration, and the unbounded love I have for your sister: or inother words for her virtues. A short acquaintance shewed me that yourmind had all the capacity to which the most ardent of my hopes aspired. It had indeed propensities, passions, and habits, which I thoughterrors; but not incurable. The meanest of us have our duties to fulfil, which are in proportion to our opportunities, and our power. I imaginedthat a duty of a high but possible nature presented itself, and calledupon me for performance. You no doubt will smile at my vanity, but I must be sincere. Byinstruction, by conversation, and by other accidents, it appeared to methat I had been taught some high and beneficial truths and principles;which you, by contrary instruction, conversation, and accidents, hadnot attained. Convinced that truth is irresistible, I trusted in thepower of these truths rather than of myself, and said here is a mind towhich I am under every moral obligation to impart them, because Iperceive it equal to their reception. The project therefore of ourfriends was combined with these circumstances, which induced mewillingly to join their plan; and to call my friend sister was anadditional and delightful motive. It appeared like strengthening thosebonds between us which I believe no human force can break. An obstacle or rather the appearance of an obstacle somewhatunexpectedly arose. From my childhood I had been in part a witness ofthe rising virtues of young Mr. Henley. Difference of sex, ofsituation, and of pursuits, prevented us till lately from beingintimate. I had been accustomed to hear him praised, but knew not allthe eminence with which it was deserved. He was my supposed inferior, and it is not very long since I myself entertained some part of thatprejudice. I know myself now not to be his equal. A recollection of combining circumstances convinced me that he had forsome time, and before I suspected it, thought on me with partiality. Hebelieves there is great affinity in our minds; he avows it, and with amanly courage becoming his character, which abhors dissimulation, hassince confessed an affection for me; nay has affirmed that unless Ihave conceived some repugnance to him, which I have not nor ever canconceive, I ought as a strict act of justice to myself and him toprefer him before any other. I should acknowledge the cogency of the reasons he assigns, andcertainly entertain such a preference, did it not appear to me thatthere are opposing and irreconcileable claims and duties. It is myprinciple, and perhaps still more strongly his, that neither of us mustlive for ourselves, but for society. In the abstract our principle isthe same; but in the application we appear to differ. He thinks thatthe marriage of two such people can benefit society at large. I ampersuaded that the little influence which it would have in the worldwould be injurious, and in some sort fatal to the small circle forwhich I seem to exist, and over which my feeble influence can extend. For these reasons only, and in compliance with what I believe to be therigorous but inflexible injunctions of justice, have I rejected a manwhom I certainly do not merit: a man whose benevolent heart, capaciousmind, and extraordinary virtues are above my praise, and I almost fearbeyond my attainment. My memory will not furnish me with every word and incident that havepassed between us; and if it would such repetition would be tedious. But I wish you clearly to understand that Mr. Henley has made thesedeclarations to me: that my mode of acting and my reasons have beensuch as I have mentioned; that I am not myself so perfectly satisfiedwith these reasons but that I sometimes am subject to recurring doubts;and that I do at present and while I have thought or sense shallcontinue to admire his genius and his virtue. If what he has said or what I have done be offensive to you, if youcannot think highly of him and innocently of me, if my thoughtsconcerning him can possibly be stained with a criminal tinge in youreyes, it becomes you, and I now most solemnly call upon you, as a mandisdaining deceit, at once to say so, and here to break off all furtherintercourse. Esteem, nay revere him I do and ever must; and instead ofbeing guilty for this, my principles tell me the crime would be toesteem and revere him less. I trust in the frankness of my heart for the proof of its sincerity. Mydetermination is to have a clear and unspotted conscience. Purity ofmind is a blessing beyond all price; and it is that purity only whichis genuine or of any value. The circumstance I am going to relate mayto you appear strange, and highly reprehensible--Be it so. --It must betold. We never had but one conversation in which the subject of marriage, asit related to him and me, was directly and fairly debated. He thenbehaved as he has done always with that sincerity, consistency, andfortitude, by which he is so peculiarly characterised. A conversationso interesting, in which a man of such uncommon merit was to berejected by a woman who cannot deny him to be her superior, could notbut awaken all the affections of the heart. I own that mine ached inthe discharge of its duties, and nothing but the most rooteddetermination to abide by those duties could have steeled it torefusal--It was a cruel fortitude! But while it ached it overflowed; and to you more especially than toany other person upon earth, I think it necessary to say that, at amoment when the feeling of compassion and the dread of being unjustwere excited most powerfully in my bosom, paradoxical as it may seem, my zeal to demonstrate the integrity and innocence of my mind inducedme to--kiss him! I scarcely can proceed----There are sensations almost too strong to besubdued--The mind with difficulty can endure that mistake, thatcontortion, which can wrest guilt out of the most sublime of itsemanations--However, if it were a crime, of that crime I am guilty--Ipretend not to appear other than I am; and what I am it is necessary atthis moment that you should know. This conversation and this incident happened on the day on which youmet him in the corridor, coming from my chamber. A day, Mr. Clifton, worthy of your remembrance and of your emulation; for it afforded someof the strongest proofs of inflexible courage of which man is atpresent capable. He had been robbed of the hope dearest to his heart, had been rejected by the woman he had chosen to be the friend andcompanion of his life, had been enjoined the task of doing all possiblegood to his rival, which he had unconditionally promised, and he lefther to--receive a blow from this rival's hand! Far be it from me, Mr. Clifton, to wish to give you pain, or insultyour feelings!--Oh no!--I retrace the picture only because I think itone of the most instructive lessons, for private life, the stores ofmemory can supply. I must further inform you that but a few days ago I questioned him, whether he had not changed his opinion concerning me; hoping that aftermature reflection he might have thought, as I do, that to refuse himwas a duty. But he persists in believing it to be an error. He does nothowever obtrude his thoughts upon me: on the subject of love ananchorite could not be more silent, or a brother more delicate. Thatone conversation excepted, he has made no further attempts. A few wordswere indirectly said, when, as I have just told you, I questioned him;but they were excited by me. With respect to the song, at which you have last taken offence, itsbrief history is that it was written, or at least first seen by me, soon after our arrival in France. I found it on my music-desk; and Idare affirm it had been left there by mistake, not design. I supposedit to be his from the hand-writing; and I set it because it affectedme. The day on which you found me singing it to him was the first on whichit was ever mentioned by him to me; and then, after he had been pressedby Sir Arthur to know how he could serve him, a copy of it was beggedfrom me as the only favour the family could bestow!--He has done usmany favours! Favours which we shall never have an opportunity torepay! Though my hands are impotent, ere my thoughts can be restrainedfrom being just to his worth I must be convinced there is guilt inthose thoughts. How to address myself now personally to you, Mr. Clifton, I scarcelyknow. The world perhaps would call my views extravagant, my pretensionsimpertinent, and my plan absurd. --The world must do its will--In theprogress toward truth, I have presumed to think you several stepsbehind me. I have proposed to myself in some sort to be yourinstructress. I have repeated my plan to the person whom you perhapsmay consider as your rival; I have required his aid, and have avowedthat I think him very considerably your superior. Each and all of thesemay be and I suppose are offensive; but the proceedings of rectitudenever can be dark, hidden, and insidious. When I have said all that Ithink of you I should hope you will be more inclined to believe meequitable. There are many leading principles in which we differ; and concerningwhich till we agree to proceed to marriage would be culpable. These youwere at first eager to examine; but finding the side you took not soclear and well-established as you had imagined, displeased bycontradiction, and, in the spirit of that gallantry which you professto admire, being willing to appear complaisant to the female to whomyou pay your addresses, you have lately declined discussion. You thinkno doubt that the lover ought to yield, and the husband to command;both of which I deny. Husband, wife, or lover, should all be under thecommand of reason; other commands are tyranny. Reason and notrelationship alone can give authority. You think that the claims of birth to superiority are legitimate: Ihold them to be usurpations. I deem society, and you self, to be thefirst of claimants. Duels with you are duties, with me crimes. Suicideyou allow to be generally an act of insanity, but sometimes of virtue. I affirm that no one, who is not utterly useless in society, or whocannot by dying be of greater use than by living, can have a right overhis own life: and of the existence of such a being I doubt. Youmaintain that what you possess is your own: I affirm it is the propertyof him who wants it most. These are essential differences. Nor are these all, but perhaps theyare more than sufficient to end the alliance we were seeking. Not that I desire to end it--Far, far the reverse!--You, Mr. Clifton, are so highly gifted, so distinguished in the rank of intellect, andhave a mind of such potency, that to behold its powers employed in thecause of truth, to be myself instrumental in a work so worthy, andafterward to become the fast and dearest friend of such a mind is aprogression so delightful, so seducing, that for a time I laboured topersuade myself of its possibility. These hopes begin to fade; and, did you know how much this circumstanceafflicts me, you would at least absolve me from all charge ofindifference. Habits and prejudices which are sanctioned by the general practice, andeven by numbers who are in many respects eminently wise and virtuous, are too stubborn to be overcome by the impotent arguments of a youngfemale; with whom men are much more prone to trifle, toy, and divertthemselves, than to enquire into practical and abstract truth. In thestorm of the passions, a voice so weak would not be heard. That all these impediments should be removed I begin to believe butlittle probable; and, till they are removed, as we are we must remain. The obstacles to marriage are indeed so numerous that I perceivecalculation to be very much in favour of celibacy: I mean respectingmyself. I ask not riches; but of wealth of mind my expectations by somewould be called extravagant. Yet lower these expectations I cannot; forthat would be to relax in principle. I ended; and your brother still sat patient and willing to listen, hadI desired to continue. After a short pause, he replied--The profoundattention I have paid, madam, will I hope convince you I have not beenan idle listener. Your words, or at least the substance of them, havesunk deep in my heart. Your desire that I should remember them scarcelycan equal mine. To me, madam, they are so important that the moment Ireturn home, confident as I usually am of my memory, I will not trustit now, but commit them to writing. What your motives are for this unusual care, or whether you do or donot feel yourself offended, Mr. Clifton, it is not possible for me todivine: but, as I think it alike unjust to conceal what I have done orwhat I have said, however mistaken my words or actions may have been, Iwill spare you the trouble of writing, if you think proper, and sendyou a tolerably correct transcript of my thoughts tomorrow morning. Ican easily repeat them, assisted by some memorandums that I havealready made, and by the strength of my recollection and my feelings, which I think are in no danger of a sudden decay. You will infinitely oblige me, madam, and I will endeavour to profit bythe favour. My mind is at present as much awake to the subject asyours--I hope you are not unwilling to converse with me on the topicson which we may happen to differ? Unwilling?--Oh no!--It was your unwillingness that led me almost todespair--But are you in earnest?--Truly and sincerely in earnest? In earnest, madam: truly and sincerely in earnest. And will you really reflect, seriously, deeply, on the subject inquestion? As deeply, madam, as you yourself could wish. Mr. Clifton, your present tone and manner rejoice me!--You half revivemy hopes!--But let me conjure you to be sincere with your own heart. Examine every thing I have said; every thing; especially what relatesto Frank Henley. All that I have observed of your temper, from first tolast, obliges me thus seriously to warn you. Fear not, madam; I will obey your injunctions. I will examine with allthe severity you could wish--The cup may have its bitters, but itscontents must be swallowed--You will not judge ill of me, madam, for myfrankness? Oh no! Be frank, be true, be worthy of yourself! Such as you would have me, madam, I must become--All I request is thatyou would aid me in the task. And are you indeed as determined as you seem to be? I am, madam. [I never before, Louisa, saw your brother look or speakwith such firmness. ] You have been kindly pleased to say you onceprescribed it as a duty to yourself to teach, or attempt to teach meyour principles. Not mine, but the principles of truth. Cool and fair enquiry is all Iwish. Should any of your principles be better founded than mine, Ishall be most happy to become your scholar. I am aware how impossibleit is that any two people should think exactly alike on any onesubject, much less on all; but on certain great leading points, wereyou and I to continue as opposite as we are, and were we to marry, felicity could not be the consequence. Let us hope, madam, it is possible we should make a marriage ofopinions, which you think as necessary as of persons. Quite!--Quite!--Let me conjure you however not to deceive yourself!Pretend to no conviction you do not feel; nor degrade the honestsincerity of your heart by any unworthy indulgence of desire! Here, Louisa, our conversation ended. Company came in, and thecustomary occupations of the day took place. But it is with heartfeltpleasure I add that your brother behaved as if he had forgotten hisformer character, and was at last firmly resolved to assume a new one. I have often endeavoured to encourage hope, but never before felt it inany thing like the same degree. He cannot but be in earnest; hisdetermination for the first time to commit all I had said to writing isan indubitable proof!--May the same propensities continue andincrease!--'He shall not die' will again be the burthen of mysong!--What a noble mind might his become!--Might?--Let us once more bebold and say will!--Oh that to do were as easy as to say! A. W. ST. IVES END OF VOLUME IV VOLUME V LETTER LXXX _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover-Street_ Before you proceed with my letter, Fairfax, read the inclosedpaper![1]--Read!--The hand-writing is hers!--It is addressed to me! Wasrepeated to me! Is transcribed for me!--Transcribed by herself!--Read!And if it be possible believe in your own existence! Believe if you canthat all you see, all you hear, the images that swim before your eyesand the world itself are real, and no delusion!--For my part I begin todoubt!--Read!--Oh that I were invisible and standing by your side! [Footnote 1: A copy given by Anna to Clifton, as she had promised him, of all that she had said in her last conversation. ] Well!--Have you ended?--And do you still continue to breathe?--Are younot a statue?--Would not the whole universe denounce me liar if, knowing me, I were to tell it that words like these were not onlyspoken to me but are written, lest I should forget the maddeninginjuries they contain?--What! Make me her confessor?--Me?--No secretsin, of thought, word, or deed, concealed!--All remembered, allrecited, all avowed!--Sins committed with the hated Henley!--Sinsagainst love, against Clifton!--Does she imagine I can look on a paperlike this and, while my eye shoots along the daring the insulting line, not feel all the fires that now devour me?--Surely she is frantic! These things, Fairfax, are above my comprehension! My I amazement mustbe eternal, for I never shall be able to understand them. --What! Tellme, Clifton, of her amorous debates with such a fellow? Appoint him herhead-usher over me? Announce him my rival? Meet my eye unabashed andaffirm him to be my superior? Inform me of the deep hold he has takenof her heart? Own she kissed him? Once again it is incredible! Nay most and still more incredible; for, strange to say and yet more strange for her to do, even this receivedsuch a varnish from her lips, her eyes, her beauties, her irradiatingzeal, that reason everlastingly renounce me if I scarcely knew, whileshe spoke, whether it were not the history of some sylph, some heavenlyspirit she was reciting? Yes, Fairfax! There was a moment, a short but dangerous moment, atwhich so charmed was I by her eloquence, so amazed by her daringsincerity, so moved by the white candour of a soul so seeming pure, that, possessed by I know not what booby devil of generosity, I was onthe point of throwing myself at her feet, confessing the whole guilt ofmy intents, and proclaiming myself her true and irrevocable convert! And this before the breath that uttered these injuries was cold! The siren!--All the beauteous witcheries that ever yet were said orsung do not equal her!--Circe, Calypso, Morgana, fairy or goddess, mortal or immortal, knew not to mix the magic cup with so much art! Not that it was her arguments. What are they? It was her bright herbeaming eyes, her pouting beauteous lips, her palpitating ecstaticbosom, her--I know not what, except that even this was notall!--No!--There was something still more heavenly!--An emanatingdeity!--The celestial effulgence of a divine soul, that flowed withfervour almost convulsive! Had you witnessed her elevated aspirations!--Such swelling passions somastered, so controlled, till then I never beheld! Like the slow pauseof the solemn death-bell, the big tear at stated periods dropped; butdropped unheeded. Though she could not exclude them, her stoic souldisdained to notice such intrusive guests!--Her whole frame shook withthe warfare between the feelings and the will--And well might it shake! I went prepared, and lucky it was that I did. My fixed determinationwas to be silent, that I might profit by what I should hear. That onedangerous moment excepted, I was firm!--Firm!--Not to be moved; thoughrocks would, had they listened! Yes, Fairfax, I did my part. Not that I am certain that to fall at herfeet like a canting methodist, own myself the most reprobate ofwretches, whine out repentance, and implore forgiveness at the allsufficient fountain of her mercy would not be the very way to imposeupon her best. I begin indeed to be angry at myself for not having yet resolved on oneconsistent plan. Schemes so numerous present themselves, and nonewithout its difficulties and objections, that to determine is no easytask. Circumstances in part must guide me. I must have patience. Atpresent I can only prepare and keep in readiness such cumbrous enginesas this phlegmatic foggy land of beef and pudding can afford. I mustsupply the fire, if I find it necessary to put the machines in motion. But, having decreed her fall, my spirits are now alert, and there isnot a being that surrounds me to whom imagination does not assign apossible part: and that the part should be well-suited to the personmust be my care. My first exercise must be on myself. Apathy or the affectation ofapathy must be acquired--Inevitably must be--My passions must bemasked: I must pretend to have conquered them. In their naked andgenuine form they are indecent, immoral, impure, I know not what! Butcatch a metaphysical quirk, and let vanity and dogmatic assertion standsponsors and baptize it _a truth_, and then raptures, extravagance, andbigotry itself are deities! Be then as loud, as violent, as intolerantas the most rancorous of zealots, and it is all the sublime ardour ofvirtue. Yes! I must learn to ape their contempt of all and every terreneobject, motive, and respect! Inclose the strange paper I sent you and return it in your next. I sentit in her own hand-writing, that your eyes might have full conviction. I took a copy of it, but I have since recollected I may want theoriginal. The time may come when she may assail me with accusation andcomplaint: I will then present that paper, and flash guilt upon her! I am much deceived if I do not observe in this gardening and improvingknight a want of former cordiality, a decrease of ardour, and perhaps awish to retract--Why let him!--To the daughter's deadly sins let himadd new: it will but make invention more active, and revenge more keen!I will have an eye upon him: I half hope my suspicions are true! The aunt Wenbourne too still continues to give laud unto Mr. Henley!--Damn Mr. Henley!--But she may be necessary; and, as she isentirely governed by the gull Edward, I must submit to bring myselfinto his favour. The thing may easily be done. The lordly uncle Fitz-Allen is secure. I frequently dine with him onwhat he calls his open day; he being overwhelmed with business, asblockheads usually are; and I do not fail to insinuate the relationshipin which, if care be not taken, he may hereafter chance to stand to agardener's son. His face flames at the supposition, and his red noseburns more bright! What will it do, should I make him my tool, when hefinds to what good purpose he has been an abettor? Be that his concern;it neither is nor ever shall be mine. But none of these are the exact agent I want; nor have I found him yet. They at best can only act as auxiliaries. Laura indeed may be eminentlyuseful; but the plotting, daring, mischievous, malignant yet subalternimp incarnate, that should run, fly, dive, be visible and invisible, and plunge through frost or fire to execute my behests, is yet to bediscovered. Were I in Italy, disburse but a few sequins and battling legions wouldmove at my bidding: but here we have neither cicisbeos, carnivals, confessors, bravoes nor sanctuaries. No--We have too few priests andtoo much morality for our noble corps to flourish in full perfection. I know not that all this may be necessary, but I suspect it will, and Imust prepare for the worst; for I will accomplish my purpose in despiteof hell or honesty!--Ay, Fairfax, will!--Gentle means, insinuation, andhypocrisy shall be my first resource; and if these fail me, then I willorder my engines to play! I have been once more reading my copy of this unaccountable paper, andthough every word is engraven in my memory, it dropped from my handwith new astonishment! Her history of her Mr. Henley, the yearnings ofher heart toward him, and her unabashed justification of all she hassaid, all she has thought and all she has done are not to be paralleledin the records of female extravagance. She comes however to the point at last--Calculation is in favour ofcelibacy--For once, lady, you are in the right!--We may appear to agreeon cases more dubious, but on that it will be miraculous if we everhereafter differ. I cannot but again applaud myself, for keeping my preconcertedresolution of silence and reserve so firmly. I rejoice in my fortitudeand my foresight; for her efforts were so strenuous, and her emotionsso catching, that had I been less prepared all had been lost. C. CLIFTON LETTER LXXXI _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ Yes, yes, Fairfax! She takes the sure and resolute road to ruin, andtravels it with unwearied ardour!--What think you she has done now?--Anearthquake would have been more within my calculation!--She labourshard after the marvellous!--She has been angling again in the muddypool of paradox, and has hooked up a new dogma!--And what is it?--Whynothing less than an asseveration that the promise she made me is notbinding!--Promises are non-entities: they mean nothing, stand fornothing, and nothing can claim. So be it--It is a maxim, divine apostate, that will at least serve myturn as effectually as yours. To own the truth, I never thoughtpromises made to capricious ladies stood for much; nor were my scruplesat present likely to have been increased. If she, a woman, be simpleenough to have faith in the word of man, 'tis her fault. Let her lookto it! This is not all: the doctrine is not of her own invention! Mr. Henley, the eternal Mr. Henley again appears upon the scene, from which he isscarcely ever a moment absent!--Were it possible I could relent, she isdetermined I shall not. But they are both down in my tablets, in largeand indelible characters; on the black list; and there for a time atleast they shall remain. My plan, Fairfax, is formed; and I believe completely. When I was firstacquainted with her, as you know, my meaning was honest and my heartsincere. I was a fool at least for a fortnight; for that was theshortest period before I began at all to waver. I was indeed deeplysmitten! Nor is desire cooled: delay, opposition, and neglect have onlychanged its purpose. She soon indeed taught me to treat her in somemanner like the rest of her sex, and to begin to plot. 'Tis well for methat I have a fertile brain: and it had been well for her could shehave been contented with the conquest she had made, and have treated mewith generosity equal to my deserts. But a hypocrite she has made me, and a hypocrite she shall find me; ay and a deep one. She has herself given me my clue: she has laid open her whole heart. She has the fatuity to mimic the perfect heroine! Tell her but it is aduty, and with the Bramin wives she would lie down, calmly andresolutely, on the burning pile! Well then! I will tell her of a duty of which she little dreams! Yes, she shall grant every thing I wish as an act of duty! I will convinceher it is one! I! The pretty immaculate lamb must submit in this pointto become my pupil; and it shall go hard or I will prove as subtle alogician as herself. What say you, Fairfax? Is not the project an excellent one? Is it notworthy of the sapient Doctor Clifton? Shall I lose reputation, thinkyou, by carrying it into effect? I am already become a new man. My whole system is changed. She beginsto praise me most unmercifully; and, while my very heart is tickledwith my success, the lengthened visage of inspired quaker when thespirit moved was never more demure! I am too pleased, too proud of myown talents, not to persist. Already I am a convert to one of _her truths_. Do laugh, Fairfax! Ihave acknowledged that you and your footman are equal! Is it notridiculous? However I am convinced! Ay and convinced I will remain, till time shall be. She shall teach me a truth a day!--Yet, no--I mustnot learn too fast; it may be suspicious: though I would be as speedyas I conveniently can in my progress. The zeal of disputation burns within her; and, as I tell you, I amalready one of her very good boys, because the pursuit of my ownproject makes me now as willing to listen and hunt after deductions, such as I want, as she is to teach and to supply me with thosedeductions. She starts at no proposition, however extravagant, if it dobut appear to result from any one of her favourite systems, of whichshe has a good round number. Rather than relinquish the least of them, she would suppose the glorious sun a coal-pit; and his dazzling rays nobetter than volumes of black smoke, polished and grown bright on theirtravels by attrition. She professes it to be the purpose of her life tofree herself from all prejudices. But here she has the modesty to addthe saving clause--'If it be practicable. ' Could she, Fairfax, have a more convenient hypothesis? Do you notperceive its fecundity? And, the task being so very difficult, will itnot be benevolent in me to lend her my assistance? What think you? Isit not possible to prove that marriage is a mere prejudice? She shall find me willing to learn many or perhaps all of herdoctrines; and in return I desire to teach her no more than one ofmine. Can any thing be more reasonable, more generous? Nay, I will gofurther! I will not teach it her; she shall have all the honour ofteaching it to me! Can man do more? The most knotty and perplexed part of my plan was to find a contrivanceto make the gardener's son an actor in the plot. The thing isdifficult, but not impossible. I have various stratagems and schemes, in the choice of which I must be guided by circumstances. That whichpleases me most is to invite him to sit in state, the umpire of ourdisquisitions. I think I can depend upon myself, otherwise there would be danger inthe project. But if I act my part perfectly, if I have but theresolution to listen coolly to their quiddities, sometimes to oppose, sometimes to recede, and always to own myself conquered on the pointswhich suit me best, I believe both the gentleman and the lady will besufficiently simple to suppose that in all this there will be nothingapocryphal. They will imagine the gilt statue to be pure gold. I shallbe numbered among their elect! I shall rise from the alembic a saint oftheir own subliming! Shall be assayed and stamped current at theirmint! Yet I must be cautious. I would put my hand in the fire ere undertakeso apparently mad a scheme, with any other couple in Christendom. Considering how very warm--Curses bite and tingle on my tongue at therecollection!--Considering I say how very warm I know theirinclinations toward each other to be, nothing but the proofs I have hadcould prompt me to commence an enterprize so improbable. But theuncommonness of it is a main part of its merit; and I think I know theground I have to travel so well that I do not much fear I should losemy road. I am aware that the enemy I have most to guard against is myself. Topretend a belief in opinions I despise, to sit with saturnine gravityand nod approbation when my sides are convulsed with laughter, to apeadmiration at what reason contemns and spurns, and to smooth myfeatures into suavity while my heart is bursting with gall at theintercourse they continually hold, of becks and smiles and approvingkind epithets, to do all this is almost too much for mortal man! But Ihave already made several essays on myself, and I find that theobstinate resolution which an insatiable thirst of ample retributioninspires is not to be shaken, and renders me equal even to this task. I am well aware however what dangerous quicksands the passions are; andthat a good pilot is never sparing of soundings. I will therefore notonly keep a rigorous watch upon myself, but take such measures as shallenable me to exclude or retain the grub-monger, as I shall think fit, during our conversations. Thus you are likely soon to hear more of our metaphysics; nay, if yoube but industrious, enough to enable you to set up for yourself, andbecome the apostle of Paris. I know no place where, if you have but amorsel of the marvellous to detail, you will find hearers betterdisposed to gape and swallow. C. CLIFTON LETTER LXXXII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ A fortnight has almost elapsed since I last wrote to my Louisa, till myheart begins to cry shame at the delay. Could I plead no other excusethan the trifling occupations of a trifling world I must sign my owncondemnation; but your brother has afforded me better employment. Ourfrequent conversations on many of the best and most dignified of moralenquiries, his acute remarks and objections, and the difficult problemshe has occasionally given me to solve, have left me in no danger ofbeing idle. Oh, Louisa, how exquisite is the pleasure I feel, to see him thusdetermined, thus incessant in his pursuit! A change so fortunate and sosudden astonishes while it delights!--May it continue!--May itincrease!--May?--Vain unworthy wish!--It must--The mind having onceseized on the clue of truth can neither quit its hold nor becomestationary; it is obliged to advance. And when its powers are equal tothose of Coke Clifton, ought we to wonder at its bold and rapidflights? Still the conquests he daily makes over his own feelings cannot butsurprise. His struggles are evident, but they are effectual. He evenresolutely casts off the strong prejudices he had conceived againstFrank Henley, invites him to aid us in our researches, and appeals tohim to explain and decide. 'Let us if we wish to weed out error be sincere in our efforts, andhave no remorse for our prejudices. ' This is his own language, Louisa! Oh that I could fully communicate thepleasure this change of character gives me to my friend. Yes, therestraint which too frequent contradiction lays him under will soonwear off, and how great will then be the enthusiasm with which he willdefend and promulgate truth! Nor is it less delightful to observe the satisfaction which this reformsometimes gives to Frank Henley. At others indeed he owns he isdisturbed by doubt: but he owns it with feelings of regret, and iseager to prove himself unjust. Yet respecting me his thoughts never vary--Alas! Louisa, I still 'amhis by right. ' His tongue is silent, but his looks and manner aresufficiently audible. I surely have been guilty of the error I so muchdreaded; my cause was strong, but my arguments were feeble; I haveprolonged the warfare of the passions which I attempted to eradicate;or rather have left on his mind a deep sense of injustice committed byme--! The thought is intolerable!--Excruciating! But oh with what equanimity, with what fortitude does he endure hisimagined wrongs! Pure most pure must that passion be which at oncepossesses the strength of his and his forbearance! There are indeed butfew Frank Henleys! Surely, Louisa, I may do him justice?--Surely to esteem the virtuouscannot merit the imputation of guilt?--Who can praise him as hedeserves? And can that which is right in others be wrong in me?--Yetsuch are the mistakes to which we are subject, I scarcely can speak oreven think of him without suspecting myself of committing some culpableimpropriety! Pardon, Louisa, these wanderings of the mind! They are marauders whichuniform vigilance alone can repel. They are ever in arms, and I obligedto be ever alert. But it is petty warfare, and cannot shake thedominion of truth. My feelings have led me from the topic I intended for the chief subjectof this letter. The course of our enquiries has several times forced us upon that greatquestion, 'the progress of mind toward perfection, and the differentorder of things which must inevitably be the result. ' Yesterday thistheme again occurred. Frank was present; and his imagination, warm withthe sublimity of his subject, drew a bold and splendid picture of thefelicity of that state of society when personal property no longershall exist, when the whole torrent of mind shall unite in enquiryafter the beautiful and the true, when it shall no longer be divertedby those insignificant pursuits to which the absurd follies thatoriginate in our false wants give birth, when individual selfishnessshall be unknown, and when all shall labour for the good of all. A state so distant from present manners and opinions, and apparently soimpossible, naturally gave rise to objections; and your brother putmany shrewd and pertinent questions, which would have silenced a mindless informed and less comprehensive than that of our instructor. At last a difficulty arose which to me wore a very serious form; and aswhat was said left a strong impression on my memory, I will relate thatpart of the conversation. Observe, Louisa, that Clifton and Frank werethe chief speakers. Your brother began. I confess, sir, you have removed many apparently unconquerabledifficulties: but I have a further objection which I thinkunanswerable. What is it? Neither man nor woman in such a state can have any thing peculiar: thewhole must be for the use and benefit of the whole? As generally as practice will admit: and how very general that may be, imperfect as its constitution was, Sparta remained during five hundredyears a proof. Then how will it be possible, when society shall be the generalpossessor, for any man to say--_This is my servant?_ He cannot: there will be no servants. Well but--_This is my child?_ Neither can he do that: they will be the children of the state. Indeed!--And what say you to--_This is my wife?_--Can appropriationmore than for the minute the hour or the day exist? Or, among sodisinterested a people, can a man say even of the woman he loves--_Sheis mine?_ [We paused--I own, Louisa, I found myself at a loss; but Frank soongave a very satisfactory reply. ] You have started a question of infinite importance, which perhaps I amnot fully prepared to answer. I doubt whether in that better state ofhuman society, to which I look forward with such ardent aspiration, theintercourse of the sexes will be altogether promiscuous andunrestrained; or whether they will admit of something that may bedenominated marriage. The former may perhaps be the truth: but it is atleast certain that in the sense in which we understand marriage and theaffirmation--_This is my wife_--neither the institution nor the claimcan in such a state, or indeed in justice exist. Of all the regulationswhich were ever suggested to the mistaken tyranny of selfishness, noneperhaps to this day have surpassed the despotism of those whichundertake to bind not only body to body but soul to soul, to allfuturity, in despite of every possible change which our vices and ourvirtues might effect, or however numerous the secret corporal or mentalimperfections might prove which a more intimate acquaintance shouldbring to light! Then you think that some stipulation or bargain between the sexes musttake place, in the most virtuous ages? In the most virtuous ages the word bargain, like the word promise, willbe unintelligible--We cannot bargain to do what is wrong, nor can we, though there should be no bargain, forbear to do what is right, withoutbeing unjust. Whence it results that marriage, as a civil institution, must ever bean evil? Yes. It ought not to be a civil institution. It is the concern of theindividuals who consent to this mutual association, and they ought notto be prevented from beginning, suspending, or terminating it as theyplease. Clifton addressed himself to me--What say you to this doctrine, madam?Does it not shock, does it not terrify you? As far as I have considered it, no. It appears to be founded onincontrovertible principles; and I ought not to be shocked that some ofmy prejudices are opposed, or at being reminded that men have not yetattained the true means of correcting their own vices. Surely the consequences are alarming! The man who only studied thegratification of his desires would have a new wife each new day; andthe unprotected fair would be abandoned to all the licentiousness oflibertinism! Frank again replied--Then you think the security of women wouldincrease with their imagined increase of danger; and that anunprincipled man, who even at present if he be known is avoided anddespised, would then find a more ready welcome, because as you supposehe would have more opportunities to injure? I must own that the men fit to be trusted with so much power are in myopinion very few indeed. You are imagining a society as perverse and vitiated as the present: Iam supposing one wholly the contrary. I know too well that there aremen who, because unjust laws and customs worthy of barbarians havecondemned helpless women to infamy, for the loss of that which underbetter regulations and in ages of more wisdom has been and will againbe guilt to keep, I know, sir, I say that the present world is infestedby men, who make it the business and the glory of their lives to bringthis infamy upon the very beings for whom they feign the deepestaffection!--If ever patience can forsake me it will be at therecollection of these demons in the human form, who come tricked out inall the smiles of love, the protestations of loyalty, and the arts ofhell, unrelentingly and causelessly to prey upon confiding innocence!Nothing but the malverse selfishness of man could give being orcountenance to such a monster! Whatever is good, exquisite, orprecious, we are individually taught to grasp at, and if possible tosecure; but we have each a latent sense that this principle hasrendered us a society of detestable misers, and therefore to rob eachother seems almost like the sports of justice. For which reason, sir, were I a father, I think I should shudder tohear you instructing my daughters in your doctrines. I perceive you wholly misconceive me; and I very seriously request, pray observe, sir, I very seriously request you to remember that Iwould not teach any man's daughters so mad a doctrine as to indulge insensual appetites, or foster a licentious imagination. I am not theapostle of depravity. While men shall be mad, foolish, and dishonestenough to be vain of bad principles, women may be allowed to seek suchprotection as bad laws can afford--It is an eternal truth that thewisdom of man is superior to the strength of lions; but I would nottherfore turn an infant into a lion's den. I am glad to be undeceived. I thought it was scarcely possible youshould mean what your words seemed to imply--At present I understandyou; and I again confess my surprise to find so much consistency, andso many powerful arguments on a question in favour of which I thoughtnothing rational could be advanced. You have afforded me food forreflection, and I thank you. I shall not easily forget what has beensaid. Tell me, my dear Louisa, are you not delighted with this dialogue; andwith the candour, the force of thinking, and what is still better thevirtuous fears of your brother? His mind revolted at the mischief whichit seemed to forbode he was happy at being undeceived. And, withrespect to argument, I doubt whether he forgot any one of the mostapparently formidable objections to what is called the levellingsystem. But he was pleased to learn that this is only giving a goodcause a bad name. Such a system is infinitely more opposite tolevelling than the present; since the very essence of it is that meritshall be the only claimant, and shall be certain of pre-eminence. The satisfaction I feel, my friend, is beyond expression. To have myhopes revived and daily strengthened, after fearing they must all berelinquished, increases the pleasure. It is great and would be unmixedbut for--Well, well!--Let Clifton but proceed and Frank will no longersay--'To the end of time'--! You know the rest, Louisa--All good bewith you! A. W. ST. IVES P. S. I thought I had forgotten something. When Frank had retired, yourbrother with delightful candour praised the great perspicuity as wellas strength with which he argued. He added there was one circumstancein particular in his principles concerning marriage, although they hadat first appeared very alarming, which was highly satisfactory: andthis was the confidence they inspired. 'Nothing, he said, gave hisnature so much offence as the suspicions with which, at present, oursex view the men. About two years ago he had a partiality for aNeapolitan lady, and thought himself in love with her: but in this hewas mistaken; it was rather inclination than passion. He knew not atthat time what it was to love. Neither this Neapolitan lady, thoughbeautiful and highly accomplished, nor any other woman his feelingstold him could inspire pure affection, who was incapable of confidingin herself; and, wanting this self-confidence, of confiding in herlover. Suspicion originates in a consciousness of self defect. Thosewho cannot trust themselves cannot be induced to trust others. ' Thus justly, Louisa, did he continue to reason. Nor could I forbear toapply the doctrine to myself: I have been too distrustful of him; myconscience accused me, and I am resolved to remedy the fault. I havealways held suspicion to be the vice of mean and feeble minds: but itis less difficult to find rules by theory than to demonstrate them bypractice. I am sorry, my dear Louisa, to hear that the infirmities of Mrs. Clifton increase. But these are evils for which we can at present findno remedy; and to which we must therefore submit with patience andresignation. LETTER LXXXIII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ I will not suppose, Fairfax, you seek to compliment me, when you sayyou enjoy the exuberant heat of soul, the fire that pervades myepistles. I am glad you do. I shall not think the worse of yourtalents. Many a line have I written in all the burst of feeling, andnot a few in all the blaze of wit, and have said to myself, --Should henot understand me now?--Why if he should not, dulness everlasting behis portion!--But you take the sure way to keep up my ardour. While Iperceive you continue to enjoy I shall continue to be communicative. Asympathetic yawner I may be, but I do not believe I am often the firstto begin. I knew not half my own merits. I act my part to admiration. 'Tis truethe combining circumstances are all favourable. I must be a dunceindeed if in such a school I should want chicanery. Our disputationshave been continual; nor have I ever failed to turn them on the mostconvenient topics. But none of them have equalled the last; managed asit was with dexterity by me, and in the very spirit I wished by myopponents. I speak in the plural; for I took care to have them bothpresent. Several remarks which I had heard from him assured me hewould second my plan; which was no less than to prove marriage afarce!--Would you have believed, Fairfax, I should have had thetemerity to step upon a rock so slippery; and to have requestedthis Archimago of Adam's journeymen [Adam you know being the world'shead-gardener] to stay and lend me his support?--Yet thus audaciouswas I; and courage as it ought has been crowned with success! The thought was suggested by themselves; and, had you or I or any of usvile marriage haters been declaiming against the saffron god, and hiseternal shackles, I doubt whether the best of us could have said anything half so much to the purpose!--Is it not excellent?-- Then had you heard me preach, ay, me myself, against libertines andlibertinism! By the by, Don Cabbage-plant had the insolence to say two or threedevilish severe things, dishonourable to the noble fraternity of usknights of the bed-chamber, which if I forget may woman never more havecause to remember me! However I brought him to own, --I--[Do laugh!] by my very greatapprehensions of the effects of such a doctrine, that though marriagebe a bad thing it is quite necessary, at present, for the defence ofthe weaker vessels and modest maidenhood. Ay and I applauded him forhis honest candour! I was glad I had misunderstood him! Thanked him forall his profound information! In short made him exactly what I wished, my tool! And a high-tempered tool he is, by the aid of which I willshew myself a most notable workman!-- Not but the fellow's eye was upon me. I could observe him prying, endeavouring to search and probe me. But I came too well prepared. Instead of shrinking from the encounter, my brow contracted increasingindignation; and my voice grew louder, as I stood forth the champion ofchaste virginity and sanctimonious wedlock!--The scene, in the verycritical sense of the phrase, was high comedy!-- It was well, Fairfax, they went no farther than Paris: had either ofthem only reached Turin I had been half undone! And had they touched atNaples, Rome, Venice, or half a dozen other fair and flourishingcities, my character for a pretty behaved, demure, and virtuousgentleman had been irremediably ruined! Upon my soul I cannot put it out of my head!--Had you heard meremonstrate what a horrid thing it would be to have marriage destroyed, and us honest fellows turned loose among the virgins, from whom weshould catch and ravish each a new damsel every new day, and had youseen what a fine serious undertaker's face I put upon the business, your heart would have chuckled! To the day of your death it would neverhave been forgotten! Perhaps you will wonder how I could draw such a doctrine from thesespinners of hypothesis. I will tell you. I had heard them severallymaintain--Try to guess what!--Not in seven years, though you were to donothing else. --You I suppose like me have heard that liberty, security, and property are the three main pillars of political happiness?--Wellthen, these professors maintain that individual property is a generalevil!--What is more, they maintain it by such arguments as would puzzlecollege, council, or senate to refute. But that I am determined neverto torment my brain about such quips and quillets, may I turn Turk ifthey would not have made a convert of me, and have persuaded me that anestate of ten thousand a year was a very intolerable thing! My intention was to keep my countenance, but to laugh at them in myheart most incontinently. However, I soon found my side of the questionwas not so perfectly beyond all doubt, nor theirs quite so ridiculousas I had imagined. 'Tis true, I went predetermined to be convinced, and to take all theyshould tell me for gospel. I had a conclusion of my own to draw, and ifI could but lead to that, I cared not how much I granted. I know not whether this predisposition in me was of any advantage totheir argument, though I think it was not; for, so ready was thesolution to every difficulty, I boldly ventured to state objectionswhich I meant to have kept out of sight, lest I should myself overturna system that suited my purpose. I perceived their eagerness, saw therewas no danger that they should stop at trifles even if I should happento throw them a bone to pick, and the readiness of each reply raised mycuriosity. I fearlessly drew out my heavy artillery, which they withease and safety as fearlessly dismounted. With a breath my strong holdswere all puffed down, like so many houses of cards. By this however my main business was done more effectually. We came toit by fair deduction. It was not abruptly introduced; it was major, minor, and consequent--All individual property is an evil--Marriagemakes woman individual property--Therefore marriage is an evil--Couldthere be better logic? As for his saving clause, that marriage in these times of prejudice andvice [I have the whole cant by rote, Fairfax. ] is a necessary evil, leave me to do that away. What! Is she not a heroine? And can I notconvince her that to act according to a bad system, when there is abetter, were to descend to the ways of the vulgar? Can I not teach herhow superior she is to the pretty misses who conform to such mistakenlaws? Shall she want the courage and the generosity to set the firstgood example? How often have I seen her eyes sparkle, her bosom heave, and her zeal break forth in virtuous resolutions to encounter any perilto obtain a worthy purpose! And can there be a more worthy? Curse upon these qualms of conscience! Never before did I feel anything so teazing, so tormenting! And, knowing what I know, rememberingwhat I never can forget, the slights, injuries, and insults I havereceived, how I came to feel them now is to me wholly inconceivable. She is acting it is true with what she calls the best and purest ofintentions toward me; she believes them to be such; she sometimesalmost obliges me to believe them such myself. She tortures me, by halfconstraining me to revere the virtues in favour of which she haranguesso divinely. But shall I like a poor uxorious lackadaisy driveller sitdown satisfied with a divided heart?--I! she not with her own lips, under her own hand, avowed and signed her contumelious guilt, heraudacious preference of a rival?--A mean, a base, a vulgar rival!--Andafter this shall my projects suffer impediment from cheesecurdcompassion?--Shall the querulous voice of conscience arrest my avengingarm?--No, Fairfax!--It cannot be! Though my heart in its anger couldnot accuse her of a single crime beside, that alone, that damningpreference would be all-sufficient!--The furies have no stings thatequal this recollection! I have been throwing up my sashes, striding across my room, andconstruing ten lines of Seneca, and my pulse again begins to beat moretemperately. Let us argue the point with this pert, unruly, marplot conscience ofmine. It was not at first without considerable reluctance and even pain thatI began to plot. I almost abhorred reducing her to the level of thesex, not one of whom was ever yet her equal. But she used me ill, Fairfax. Yes, she used me ill; and you well know that want ofresentment is want of courage. None but pitiful, contemptible, no-souled fellows forget insults, till ample vengeance have been taken. And shall conscience insolently pretend to contradict the decree? Beside I could not but remember our old maxims, the Cyprian battles ourjovial corps had fought, and the myrtle wreaths each wight had won. Should I, the leader the captain of the band, be the first to fly mycolours? Was it not our favourite axiom that he who could declare, uponhis honour, he had found a generous woman, who never had attempted onceto deceive, trifle with, or play him trick, should still beacknowledged a companion of our order, even though he were to marry:but that all coquetry, all tergiversation, all wrongs, however slight, were unpardonable, and only one way to be redressed? What answer canconscience give to that? Your letters too are another stimulative. You detail the full, true andparticular account of your amorous malefactions, and vaunt of pettyobstacles, petty arts, and petty triumphs over Signoras and Madames whoadvance, challenge you to the field, and give battle purposely to beovercome. Their whole resistance is but to make you feel how great anAlexander you are, and that having vanquished them you are invincible!As you will certainly never meet with an Anna St. Ives, 'tis possibleyou may die in that opinion. But, I tell you, Fairfax, if you comparethese practised Amazons to my heroine, you are in a most heterodox anddamnable error, of which if you do not timely repent your soul willnever find admission into the lover's Elysium. Bear witness, however, to my honesty; of women I allow her to be themost excellent, but still a woman, and not as I foolishly for a whilesupposed an absolute goddess. No, no. Madam can curvet and play herpranks, though of totally a different kind; and, being almost mortal atpresent, mere mortal must become in despite of conscience and its greensickness physiognomy. At first I knew her not; and, unwilling to encounter logic in a gauzecap, I ceased to oppose her arguments, and thought to conciliate her byresolving to be of her creed. What could be more generous? But no, forsooth! The veil was too thin! To pretend conviction when it was notfelt, and to be satisfied with arguments before I had heard them, wereall insufficient for her! The prize could be gained only by him whocould answer the enigmas of the Sphinx! I must enter the lists ofcavil, and run a tilt at wrangling, ere the lady would bestow the meedof conquest! Can conscience pretend to palliate conduct like this? I then turned my thoughts to a new project, and endeavoured tooverpower her by passion, by excess of ardour, by tenderness andimportunity. They had a temporary effect, but I found them equallyinefficacious. Nor was the art by which I had oftenest been successfulforgotten; though I confess that with her, from the beginning, itafforded me but little hope. I tried to familiarize her to freedoms. Ibegan with her hands; but she soon taught me that even her hands weresacred; they were not to be treated with familiarity, nor to be kissedand pressed like other hands! Let conscience if it can tell me why. In fine, while to this insolent pedagogue she has been all honeysuckle, sweet marjoram and heart's ease, to me she has been rue, wormwood andhellebore: him praising, me reproving: confiding in him, suspecting me:and, as the very summit and crown of injury, proclaiming him thepossessor the master of her admiration, or in plain English of herheart. And now, if after this impartial, this cool, this stoic examination Mr. Conscience should ever again be impertinent enough to open his lips, Iam determined without the least ceremony to kick him out of doors. When this famous conference of which I told you some half an hour agowas ended, and our president, our monarch of morals and mulberries hadquitted his chair and withdrawn, I played an aftergame of no smallmoment. After pronouncing a panegyric on the gentleman, as a legislatorfit for truth and me, I read the lady a modest lecture on confidence, informed her of almost the exact quantity which I expected she wouldrepose in me, and declaimed with eloquence and effect against thosesuspicious beauties who always regard us honest fellows as so manynaughty goblins; who, like the Ethiopian monster, voraciously devourevery Virgin-Andromeda they meet. But as I tell you, I did itmodestly. I kept on my guard, watched the moment to press forward or toretreat; and wielded my weapons with dexterity and success. Poor girl! Is it not a pity that the very shield in which she confides, her perfect honesty and sincerity, should be destined to fall upon andoverwhelm her?--Thus says counsellor Sentiment: and counsellerSentiment is a great orator!--But what say I? Why I say so have theFates decreed, and therefore let the Fates look to it; 'tis no concernof mine; I am but their willing instrument. These however are but the preliminaries, the preparations for thecombat. Ere long I shall be armed at all points, and what is better byher own fair hands. Nor do I know how soon I may begin the attack. Ihave been casting about to send this superintendant of the cardinalvirtues, this captain of casuists and caterpillars out of the way; andI think I have hit upon a tolerably bold and ingenious stratagem. I saybold because I perceive it is not without danger; but I doubt I cannotdevise a better. Without naming or appearing to mean myself, I havesuggested to him, by inventing a tale of two friends of mine, what anoble and disinterested thing it would be for him to go down into thecountry and prevail on his father to remove all obstacles to ourmarriage-- How! Say you. Is marriage your plan? And if not is not that the way toruin all? There is the danger I talked of; but I do not think it great. Thescoundrel gardener, I mean the father; who is heartily despised byevery body, is desirous that his son should marry Anna. I know notwhether I ever before mentioned this sublime effort of impudence. Thecunning rascal has so long been the keeper of Sir Arthur's purse, thatit is supposed two thirds of the contents have glided into his ownpocket. This is the reason of the delay on Sir Arthur's part, which atpresent I do not wish to shorten. That this son of a grub catcher, aDemosthenes though he be, should prevail on such a father, if he wereto go down as I hope he will, is but little probable. However, shouldthe least prognostic of such a miracle appear, I have my remedyprepared. I will generously have a letter written to the senioroverseer of the gravel walks, which if the character I have heard ofhim be not wholly false, shall revive all his hopes, and put an end tocompliance. In Italy, where amorous plotting is the national profession, I was noteasily circumvented; and here, where another gunpowder treason would assoon be suspected as such gins and snares, at least by these veryhonest and sublime simpletons, I laugh at the supposition of beingunearthed. One word more. I think I observe in this knight of Gotham, this SirArthur, a more cordial kind of yearning toward our young prince ofBabel land than formerly; a sort of desire to be more intimate withhim, of which by the by the youth is not very prompt to admit, and aneffort to treat him with more respect himself, by way as it were ofsetting a good example to others. If my conjectures are right, thethreats of the old muckworm father have shaken the crazy nerves of thebaronet; and I half suspect there is something more of meaning at thebottom of this. Were it so, were he to attempt to discard me, it wouldindeed add another spur to the fury of revenge! An affront so deepgiven by this poor being, this essence of insignificance, would makerevenge itself, hot unsatiable revenge grow more hot, madden more, andthirst even after blood!--Patience foams at the supposition! Thank heaven I hear the noisy postman with his warning bell, whichobliges me in good time to conclude and cool these fermenting juices ofmine! C. CLIFTON LETTER LXXXIV _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ My mind, Oliver, is harassed by a variety of doubts. I believe I shallsoon be down at Wenbourne Hill, and of course shall then not fail tomeet thee and visit thy most worthy father. The reason of my journey originates in the doubts I mentioned. I amangry with myself for feeling alarms at one moment which appearimpossibilities the next. If my fears have any foundation, this Cliftonis the deepest, the most hardened fiend-like hypocrite imagination canpaint!--But it cannot be!--Surely it cannot!--I am guilty, heinouslyguilty for enduring such a thought!--So much folly and vice, combinedwith understanding and I may say genius so uncommon, is a suppositiontoo extravagant, too injurious! And yet it is strange, Oliver!--A conduct so suddenly altered, sototally opposite to old and inveterate habits, is scarcelyreconcileable to the human character. But if dissimulation can beproductive of this, is truth less powerful? No!--Truth is omnipotent. Yet who ever saw it hasty in its progress? My only hope in this case isthat the superiority of his mind has rendered him an exception togeneral rules. But what could he propose by his hypocrisy?--I cannot tell--Hispassions are violent and ungovernable; and are or very lately have beenin full vigour--Again and again 'tis strange! But what of this?--Why these fears? Can she be spotted, tinged by thestain of unsanctified desire?--Never!--The pure chastity of her soul issuperior to attaint!--Yet--Who can say?--Wilfully her mind can nevererr: but who can affirm that even she may not be deceived, and may notact erroneously from the most holy motives? Perhaps, Oliver, it is my own situation, my own desires, but halfsubdued, in which these doubts take birth. If so they are highlyculpable. Be it as it may, there is a duty visibly chalked out for me bycircumstances. Her present situation is surely a state of danger. Tosee them married would now give me delight. It would indeed be thedelight of despair, of gloom almost approaching horror. But of that Imust not think. My father is the cause of the present delay. I fear Icannot remove this impediment, but it becomes me to try. Though I had before conceived the design, this conduct has even beensuggested to me by Clifton; and in a mode that proves he can be artfulif he please. Yet does it not likewise prove him to be in earnest? We have lately had several conversations, one in particular which, even while it seemed to place him in an amiable, sincere, and generouslight, excited some of the very doubts and terrors of which Ispeak--If he be a hypocrite, he guards himself with a tenfoldmask!--It cannot--No--It cannot be!-- I mean to speak to Sir Arthur concerning my journey, but not to informhim of its purport: it would have the face of insult to tell him I wasgoing to be his advocate with his servant. Not to mention that he haslately treated me with increasing and indeed unusual kindness. If I domake an effort, however, it shall be a strenuous one; though my hopesthat it should be effectual are very few. My decision is not yet final, but in my next thou wilt probably learn the result. Farewell. F. HENLEY P. S. My brain is so busied by its fears that I forgot to caution theeagainst a mistake into which it is probable this letter may lead. Imentioned, in one of my last, the project I had conceived of leavingEngland. Do not imagine I have abandoned a design on which the more Ireflect the more I am intent. The great end of life is to benefitcommunity. My mind in its present situation is too deeply affectedfreely and without incumbrance to exert itself--This is weakness!--Butnot the less true, Oliver. We are at present so imbued in prejudice, have drunken so deeply of the cup of error, that, after having receivedtaints so numerous and ingrained, to wish for perfect consistency invirtue I doubt were vain. Here or at the antipodes alike I shouldremember her: but I should not alike be so often tempted and deluded byfalse hopes: the current of thought would not so often meet withimpediments, to arrest, divide, and turn it aside. I have studied to divine in what land or among what people, whethersavage or such as we call polished, the energies of mind might be mostproductive of good. But this is a discovery which I have yet to make. The reasons are so numerous on each side that I have formed a plan fora kind of double effort. I think of sailing for America, where I mayaid the struggles of liberty, may freely publish all which the effortsof reason can teach me, and at the same time may form a society ofsavages, who seem in consequence of their very ignorance to have aless quantity of error, and therefore to be less liable to repel truththan those whose information is more multifarious. A merchant, withwhom by accident I became acquainted, and who is a man of no meanunderstanding, approves and has engaged to promote my plan. But of thisif I come to Wenbourne Hill we will talk further. Once more, Oliver, adieu. LETTER LXXXV _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover-street_ Come to my aid, Fairfax; encourage me; feed my vanity; let hungryambition banquet and allow me to be a hero, lest I relent: for, were Inot or Lucifer or Coke Clifton, 'tis certain I should not persevere. Bythe host of heaven, Fairfax, but she is a divine creature! She stealsupon the soul! A heart of rock could not resist her! Nor are theywiles, nor woman's lures, nor blandishments of tricksey dimples, norcaptivating smiles, with which she forms her adamantine fetters. No;'tis the open soul of honesty; true, sincere, and unrelentingly just, to me, to herself, to all; 'tis that enchanting kindness, that heavenlysuavity which never forsakes her; that equanimity of smiling yetobstinate fortitude; that hilarity of heart that knows not gloombecause it knows not evil; that inscrutable purity which rests securethat all like itself are natively immaculate; that--Pshaw!--I can findno words, find you imagination therefore, and think not I will labourat impossibility. You have read of ancient vestals, of the virginsof Paradise, and of demi-deities that tune their golden harps onhigh?--Read again--And, having travelled with prophets and apostlesto the heaven of heavens, descend and view her, and invent me languageto describe her, if you can! Curse on this Frank Henley! But for him my vengeance never would havebeen roused! Never would the fatal sentence have passed my lips!--'Tisnow irrevocable--Sure as the lofty walls of Troy were doomed by godsand destiny to smoke in ruins, so surely must the high-souled Annafall--'Ill starred wench!'--I, Fairfax, like other conquerors, cannotshut pity from my bosom. While I cry havoc I could almost weep; couldlook reluctant down on devastation which myself had made, and heave asigh, and curse my proper prowess!--In love and war alike, such, Fairfax, is towering ambition. It must have victims: its recklessaltars ask a full and large supply; and when perchance a snowy lamb, spotless and pure, bedecked for sacrifice, in all the artless pomp ofunsuspecting innocence is brought, bright burns the flame, the whiteclouds curl and mantle up to heaven, and there ambition proudly sits, and snuffs with glut of lusty delight the grateful odour. I know your tricks, Fairfax; you are one of the doubtful doctors; youlove to catch credulity upon your hook. I hear fat laughter gurgling inyour throat, and out bolts your threadbare simile--'Before the battle'swon the Brentford hero sings Te Deum. '--But don't be wasteful of thelittle wit you have. Do I not tell you it is decreed? When was I postedfor a vapouring Hector? What but the recollections of my reiteratedravings, resolves, threats, and imprecations could keep me steady;assailed as I am by gentleness, benevolence, and saint-like charity? By the agency of subtlety, hypocrisy, and fraud, I seek torob her of what the world holds most precious. By candour, philanthropy and a noble expansion of heart, she seeks to renderme all that is superlatively great and good--Why did she not seekall this in a less offensive way? Why did she oblige me to becomea disputant with a plebeian?--Disputant!--What do I say?--Worse, worse!--Rival!--Devil!--Myriads of virtues could not atone thecrime!--Yet in this deep guilt she perseveres and glories!--Can Iforget?--Fear me not, nor rank my defeat among things possible--Bepatient and lend an ear. To one sole object all my efforts point: her mind must be prepared, ayso that when the question shall be put, chaste as that mind is, itscarcely shall receive a shock. Such is the continual tendency of mydiscourse. Her own open and undisguised manners are my guide. Not aprinciple she maintains but which, by my cunning questions and affecteddoubts pushed to an extreme, adds links to the chain in which I mean tolead her captive. Perhaps, Fairfax, you will tell me this is the old artifice; and thatthe minds of all women, who can be said to have any mind, must thus beinveigled to think lightly of the thing they are about to lose. Granted. And yet the difference is infinite. They are brought to thinkthus lightly of chastity: but, should you or any one of the gallantphalanx attempt to make Anna St. Ives so think, she would presently crybuzz to the dull blockhead, and give him his eternal dismission. Virtue with her is a real existence, and as such must be adored. Herpassions are her slaves; and in this and this alone the lovely tyrantis the advocate of despotism. She soon taught me that common arts wouldbe treated by her, not merely with determined and irrevocable repulse, but with direct contempt. Some very feeble essays presently satisfiedme. No encroachments of the touch, no gloting of the eye, no wellfeigned tremblings and lover's palpitations would for an instant besuffered by her. Take the following as a specimen of my mode of attack. Among her variety of hypotheses she has one on mutability. 'Little, shesays, as we know of matter and spirit, we still know enough to perceivethey are both instantaneously, eternally, and infinitely changing. Ofwhat the world has been, through this series of never beginning neverending mutation, she can form nothing more than conjecture: yet shecannot but think that the golden age is a supposition treated atpresent with ridicule it does not deserve. By the laws of necessity, mind, unless counteracted by accidents beyond its control, iscontinually progressive in improvement. With some such accidents we aretolerably well acquainted. Such are those which have been destructiveof its progress, notwithstanding the high attainments it had made inGreece and Rome. The ruins still existing in Egypt are wonderful proofsof what it once was there; though Egypt is at present almost unequalledin ignorance and depravity. Who then shall affirm changes still moreextraordinary have not happened? She has no doubt, some revolution inthe planetary system excepted, that men will attain a much higherdegree of innocence, length of life, happiness, and wisdom than haveever yet been dreamed of, either by historian, fabulist, or poet: forcauses which formerly were equal to the effects then produced are nowrendered impotent by the glorious art of printing; which spreads, preserves, and multiplies knowledge, in despite of ignorance, falsezeal, and despotism. ' Such was her discourse, and thus vast were her views! Nay, urged on bymy questions, by the consequences which resulted from her owndoctrines, and by the ardour of emanating benevolence, she astonishedme by her sublime visions; for she proceeded to prove, from seeminglyfair deduction, 'that men should finally render themselves immortal;should become scarcely liable to moral mistake; should all act fromprinciples previously demonstrated, and therefore never contend; shouldbe one great family without a ruler, because in no need of being ruled;should be incapable of bodily pain or passion; and should expend theirwhole powers in tracing moral and physical cause and effect; which, being infinite in their series, will afford them infinite employment ofthe most rational and delightful kind!' Oh! How did the sweet enthusiast glow, ay and make me glow too, while, with a daring but consistent hand she sketched out this bold picture ofillusion! But, while the lovely zealot thus descanted on splendid and halfincomprehensible themes, what did I? Why, when I found her at theproper pitch, when I saw benevolence and love of human kind beamingwith most ardour in her eye, and pouring raptures from her lip, I thenrecalled her to her beloved golden age, her times of primitivesimplicity; made her inform me what lovers then were, and whatmarriage; and what the bonds were which hearts so affectionate andminds so honest and pure demanded of each other. What think you could her answers to all these questions be? What butsuch as I wished? Could lovers like these suspect each other? Couldthey basely do the wrong to ask for bond or pledge? Or, if they wantedthe virtue to charm, could they still more basely ask rewards they didnot merit? Could they, with the wretched selfish jealousy of a modernmarriage-maker, seek to cadaverate affection and to pervert each otherinto a utensil, a commodity, a thing appropriate to self and liablewith other lumber to be cast aside? No, Fairfax; she played fairly anddeeply into my hand. She created exactly such a pair of lovers as Icould have desired: for with respect to the truth and constancy withwhich she endowed them, if I cannot be the thing, I can wear the garb;ay and it shall become me too, shall sit _dégagé_ upon me, and bethought my native dress. Think not that I am a mere listener: far the reverse. I throw inmasterly touches, which, while they seem only to heighten her picture, produce the full effect by me intended. Thus, when she described thefaith and truth and love of the innocents of her own creation, how didI declaim against the abuse to which such doctrine, though immutablytrue, was liable! 'Alas! madam, ' said I, 'had the unprincipled youths with which thesetimes abound your powers of argument with their own principles, howdreadful would be the effect! How many unsuspecting hearts would theybetray!' I am once more just returned from the palace of Alcina! I broke off atthe end of my last paragraph to attend my charmer; and here again am Idetesting myself for want of resolution; and detesting myself stillmore for having made a resolution, for having undertaken that which Iam so eternally tempted to renounce. Your sneer and your laugh are bothready--I know you, Fairfax--'The gentleman is sounding a retreat! Theenterprise is too difficult!'--No--tell you no, no, no, --But I amalmost afraid it is too damnable! I pretended to be exceedingly anxious concerning the delay, andafflicted at not hearing any thing more from Sir Arthur. If I did notdo this, it might be a clue to lead her to suspect hypocrisy, considering how very ardent I was at the commencement. And, to say thetruth, I am weary enough of waiting; though it is not my wish to berelieved by any expedition of Sir Arthur's, who, as I hinted to youbefore, does not appear to be in the least hurry, and whose unction forthe gardener's son increases. But had you heard her console me! Had you seen her kindness! The tearglistening in her eye while she entreated me to consider delay as afortunate event, which tended to permanent and ineffable happiness; hadyou I say beheld her soul, for it was both visible and audible, Fairfaxthough you are, the marauder of marriage land and the sworn foe ofvirginity, even you would have pardoned my tergiversation. Did you never behold the sun burst forth from behind the riding clouds?The scene that was gloomy, dark and dismal is suddenly illumined; whatwas obscure becomes conspicuous; the bleak hills smile, the blackmeadows assume a bright verdure; quaking shadows dare no longer stay, cold damps are dispelled, and in an instant all is visible, clear, andradiant! So vanish doubts when she begins to speak! Thus in herpresence do the feelings glow; and thus is gloom banished from thesoul, till all is genial warmth and harmony! These being my feelings now, when I am escaped, when I am beyond thecircle of her sorceries, think, Fairfax, be just and think howseductive, how dangerous an enemy I have to encounter--Listen andjudge. 'Oh! Clifton'--She speaks! Listen I say to her spells!--'Oh! Clifton, daily and hourly do I bless this happy accident, this delay! I think, with the heroic archbishop, I could have held my right hand firmly tillthe flames had consumed it, could I but have brought to pass what thisblessed event has already almost accomplished! To behold your mindwhat it is and to recollect what it so lately was is bliss unutterable!I consider myself now as destined to be yours: but whether I am or amnot is perhaps a thing of little moment. Let self be forgotten, and allits petty interests! What am I? What can I be, compared to what you maybecome? The patriot, the legislator, the statesman, the reconciler ofnations, the dispenser of truth, and the instructor of the human race;for to all these you are equal. As for me, however ardent however greatmy good-will, I cannot have the same opportunities. Beside I must bejust to myself and you, and it delights me to declare I believe youhave a mind capable of conceptions more vast than mine, of plans moredaring and systems more deep, and of soaring beyond me. You have thestrong memory, the keen sensibility and the rapid imagination whichform the poet. It is my glory to repeat that your various powers, whencalled forth, have as variously astonished me. To bid you perseverewere now to wrong you, for I think I dare affirm you cannot retreat. You have at present seen too much, thought too much, known too muchever to forget. In private you will be the honour of your family andthe delight of your wife; and in public the boast of your country andthe admiration of the virtuous and the wise. ' I fell on my knee to the speaking deity! She seemed delivering oracles!My passions rose, my heart was full, her eulogium made it loath andabhor its own deceit; the words--'Madam, I am a villain!'--bolted to mylips, there they quivering lingered in excruciating suspense, and atlast slunk back like cowards, half wishing but wholly ashamed to dotheir office. By the immortal powers, Fairfax, it was past resisting! Why should Inot be all she has described? The hero, the legislator, the greatleader of this little world? Ay, why not? She seemed to prophesy. Shehas raised a flame in me which, if encouraged, might fertilize ordesolate kingdoms. Body of Caesar, I know not what to say! 'Tis true she has treated me ill; nay vilely. It cannot be denied. Butill treatment itself, from her, is superior to all the maukish kindnesswhich folly and caprice endeavour to lavish. Fairfax, would you did butbehold her! My heart was never so assailed before! My resolution is shaken, I own, but it is not obliterated. No; I willthink again. My very soul is repugnant to the supposition of leavingits envenomed tumours unassuaged, and its angered stabs unavenged. Yet, if healed they could be, she surely possesses that healing art--Oncemore I will think again. What you tell me in the Postscript to your last concerning Count Caduke[Consult your dictionary; or to save yourself trouble read Count Crazy, alias Beaunoir. ] is wholly unintelligible to me. But as you say thename of the gardener's son was several times mentioned by him, I shalltake an immediate opportunity of interrogating the 'squire of shrubs, who I am certain from principle will when asked tell me all he knows. Apropos of poetry. The panegyric of this sylph of the sun-beams gave mean impulse which I could not resist, and the following was theoffspring of my headlong and impetuous muse; for such the hussey iswhenever the fit is upon her. I commit it as it may happen to yourcensure or applause; with this stipulation, if you do not like iteither alter it till you do, or write me another which both you and Ishall like better. If that be not fair and rational barter, I knownothing either of trade, logic, or common sense. ANACREONTIC I When by the gently gliding stream, On banks where purple violets spring, I see my Delia's beauties beam, I hear my lovely Delia sing, When hearts combine, And arms entwine, When fond caresses, am'rous kisses Yield the height of human blisses, Entranc'd I gaze, and sighing say, Thus let me love my life away. II Or when the jocund bowl we pass, And joke and wit and whim abound, When song and catch and friend and lass In sparkling wine we toast around, When Bull and Pun Rude riot run, And finding still the mirth increasing, Pealing laughter roars sans ceasing, I peal and roar and pant and say, Thus let me laugh my life away. III When dreams of fame my fancy fill, Sweet soothing dreams of verse and rhyme, That mark the poet's happy skill, And bid him live to latest time, Each rising thought With music fraught, All full, all flowing, nothing wanting, All harmonious, all enchanting, Oh thus, in rapt delights I say, Thus let me sing my life away! IV Oh lovely woman, gen'rous wine, These potent pleasures let me quaff! Thy raptures, wit, oh make them mine! Oh let me drink and love and laugh! In flowing verse Let me rehearse How well I've used your bounteous treasure; Then at last when full my measure, Tho' pale my lip, I'll smile and say, I've liv'd the best of lives away. C. CLIFTON LETTER LXXXVI _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Within a week, Oliver, we shall once more meet. What years ofseparation may afterward follow is more than I can divine. I surelyneed not tell thee that this thought of separation, were it not opposedby principle, would indeed be painful, and that it is at moments almosttoo mighty for principle itself. But we are the creatures of anomnipotent necessity; and there can be but little need to remind theethat a compliance with the apparently best should ever be an unrepiningand cheerful act of duty. I have had a conversation with Sir Arthur, very singular in its kind, which has again awakened sensations in their full force that hadpreviously cost me many bitter struggles to allay. I began withinforming him of my intention to go down to Wenbourne-Hill; after whichI proceeded to tell him it was my design to embark for America. He seemed surprised, and said he hoped not. I answered I had reflected very fully on the plan, and that I believedit was scarcely probable any reason should occur which could induce meto change my purpose. The thing, he replied, might perhaps not be so entirely improbable as Isupposed. His family had great obligations to me. I had even risked mylife on various occasions for them. They thought my talents veryextraordinary. In fine, Oliver, the good old gentleman endeavoured tosay all the kind and, as he deemed them, grateful things his memorycould supply; and added that, should I leave England without affordingthem some opportunity to repay their obligations, they should be muchgrieved. There were perhaps two or three very great difficulties in theway; but still he was not sure they might not be overcome. Not that hecould say any thing positively, for matters were he must own in a verydoubtful state. He was himself indeed very considerably uneasy, andundetermined: but he certainly wished me exceedingly well, and so withequal certainty at present did all his family. His daughter, his son, himself, were all my debtors. The good old gentleman's heart overflowed, Oliver, and by itsebullitions raised a tumult in mine, which required every energy itpossessed to repel. What could I answer, but that I had done no morefor his family than what it was my duty to do for the greateststranger; and that, if gratitude be understood to mean a remembrance offavours received, I and my family had for years indubitably been thereceivers? He still persisted however in endeavouring to dissuade me from thethought of quitting the kingdom. Not finding me convinced by hisarguments, he hesitated, with an evident desire to say something whichhe knew not very well how to begin. All minds on such occasions areunder strong impulses. My own wish that he should be explicit waseager, and I excited him to proceed. At last he asked if he might put aquestion to me; assuring me it was far from his intention to offend, but that he had some uneasy doubts which he could be very glad to haveremoved. I desired him to interrogate me freely; and to assure himself that Iwould be guilty of no dissimulation. He knew my sincerity, he said; but if when I heard I should think anything in what he asked improper, I past dispute had a right to refuse. I answered that I suspected or rather was convinced I had no suchright, and requested him to begin. He again stammered, and at last said--I think, Mr. Henley, I haveremarked some degree of esteem between you and my daughter-- He stopped--His desire not to wound my feelings was so evident that Idetermined to relieve him, and replied-- I believe, sir, I can now divine the subject of your question. Youwould be glad to know if any thing have passed between us, and what?Perhaps you ought to have been told without asking; but I am certainthat concealment at present would be highly wrong. I then repeated as accurately as my memory would permit, which istolerably tenacious on this subject, all which Anna and I hadreciprocally said and done. It was impossible, Oliver, to make thisrecapitulation with apathy. My feelings were awakened, and I assurethee the emotions of Sir Arthur were as lively as in such a mind thoucouldst well suppose. The human heart seems to be meliorated andsoftened by age. He wept, a thing with him certainly not usual, at therecital of his daughter's heroic resolves in favour of duty, and at herrespect for parental prejudices. Her dread of rendering him unhappymade him even sob, and burst into frequent interjections of--'She is adear girl! She is a heavenly girl! I always loved her! She is thedelight of my life, my soul's treasure! From her infancy to this hour, she was always an angel!' After hearing me fully confirm him in his esteem and affection for sosuperlative a daughter, he added--You tell me, Mr. Henley, that youfreely informed my daughter you thought it was even her duty to preferyou to all mankind, even though her father and friends shoulddisapprove the match. I did, sir. I spoke from conviction, and should have thought myselfculpable had I been silent. Perhaps so. But that is very uncommon doctrine. It was not merely that more felicity would have been secured toourselves, but greater good I supposed would result to society. I have heard you explain things of that kind before. I do not very wellunderstand them, but give me leave to ask--Are you still of the sameopinion? I am, sir. --Not that I am so confident as I was--Mr. Clifton has a veryastonishing strength of mind: and, should it be turned to the worthypurposes of which it is capable, I dare by no means decide positivelyin my own favour: and the decision which I now make against him is theresult of the intimate acquaintance which I must necessarily have withmy own heart, added to certain dubious appearances as to his which Iknow not how to reconcile. Of myself I am secure. And of him you have some doubts? I have: but I ought in duty to add the appearances of their beingunjust are daily strengthened. Sir Arthur paused, ruminated, and again seemed embarrassed. At last heowned he knew not what to say: turn which way he would the obstacleswere very considerable. His mind had really felt more distress, withinthese two months, than it had ever known before. He could resolve onnothing. Yet he could not but wish I had not been quite so determinedon going to America. There was no saying what course things might take. Mrs. Clifton was very ill, and in all probability could not live long. But again he knew not what to say. He certainly wished me verywell--Very well--I was an uncommon young man. I was a gentleman bynature, which for aught he knew might be better than a gentleman bybirth. The world had its opinions; perhaps they were just, perhapsunjust. He had been used to think with the world, but he had heard somuch lately that he was not quite so positive as he had been--[This, Oliver, reminded me of the power of truth; how it saps the strong holdsof error and winds into the heart, and how incessantly its advocatesought to propagate it on every occasion. ] He was not quite so wellpleased as he had been with my father, but that was no fault of mine;he knew I had a very different manner of thinking. Still he must say itwas what he very little expected. He hoped however that things wouldone way or other go more smoothly; and he concluded with taking myhand, pressing it very warmly, and adding with considerableearnestness--'If you can think of changing your American project, praydo!--Pray do!--' After which he left me with something like a heavy heart. And now, Oliver, how ought I to act? The opposing causes of thesedoubts and difficulties in his mind are evident. The circumstanceswhich have occurred in my favour, being aided by the obstinateselfishness of my father, by his acquired wealth, and as I suppose bythe embroiled state of Sir Arthur's affairs, have produced an unhopedfor revolution in the sentiments of Sir Arthur. But is it not too late?Are not even the most tragical consequences to be feared from anopposition to Clifton? Nay, if his mind be what his words and behaviourspeak, would not opposition be unjust? Were it not better with severebut virtuous resolution to repel these flattering and probablydeceitful hopes, than by encouraging them to feed the canker-worm ofpeace, and add new force to the enemy within, who rather stunned thanconquered is every moment ready to revive. Neither is Sir Arthur master of events. Nor is his mind consistentenough to be in no danger of change. My heart is sufficiently prone to indulge opposite sentiments, but itmust be silenced; it must listen to the voice of truth. Did I but better understand this Clifton, I should better know how todecide. That he looks up to her with admiration I am convinced. Sheseems to have discovered the true key to his understanding as well asto his affections. Even within this day or two, I have observedsymptoms very much in his favour. How do I know but thus influenced hemay become the first of mankind? The thought restores me to a sense ofright. Never, Oliver, shall self complacency make me guilty of whatcannot but be a crime most heinous! If such a mind may by these meansbe gained which would otherwise be lost, shall it be extinguished byme? Would not an assassination like this outweigh thousands of commonmurders? Well may I shudder at such an act! Oliver, I am resolved. Ifthere be power in words or in reason my father shall comply. As far as I understand the human mind, there is and even should hepersevere there always must be something to me enigmatical in thisinstance of its efforts in Clifton. Persevere however I most sincerelyhope and even believe he will. --But should he not?--The supposition isdreadful!--Anna St. Ives!--My heart sinks within me!--Can virtue likehers be vulnerable?--Surely not!--The more pure a woman is in principlethe more secure would she be from common seducers. But, if the man canbe found who possesses the necessary though apparently incompatibleexcess of folly and wisdom, there is a mode by which such a woman ismore open to the arts of deceit than any other. And is not that womanAnna St. Ives? Nay more, if he be not a prodigy of even a still moreextraordinary kind, is not that man Coke Clifton? He came in the heyday of youthful pride, self-satisfied, self-convinced, rooted in prejudice but abundant in ideas. Argumentmade no impression; for where he ought to have listened he laughed. The weapons of wit never failed him; and, while he launched them atothers, they recoiled and continually lacerated himself. Of this hewas insensible: he felt them not, or felt them but little. Hishaughtiness never slumbered; and to oppose him was to irritate, notconvince. For four months he continued pertinaciously the same; then, without any cause known to me, suddenly changed. It was indeed toosudden not to be alarming! And yet my firm and cool answer to all this is that hypocrisy sofoolish as well as atrocious is all but impossible-- Indeed, Oliver, I do not seek to wrong him: I do not hunt afterunfavourable conjectures, they force themselves upon me: or if I do itis unconsciously. The passions are strangely perverse: and if I amdeceived, as I hope I am, it is they that misguide me. Clifton has just been with me. Some correspondent from Paris hasmentioned the visit paid to me instead of him by the Count de Beaunoir, but in a dark and unintelligible manner, and he came to enquire. Iconfess, Oliver, while I was answering his interrogatories, I seemed tofeel that both you and I had drawn a false conclusion relative tosecrecy; and that by concealment to render myself the subject ofsuspicion was an unworthy procedure. However as my motives were notindirect, whatever my silence might be, I answered without reserve andtold him all that had passed; frankly owning my fears of hisirritability as the reason why I did not mention the affairimmediately. He laughted at the Count's rhodomontade, acknowledged himself obligedto me, and allowed that at that time my fears were not whollycauseless. He behaved with ease and good humour, and left me withoutappearing to have taken any offence. I shall be with thee on Tuesday. I know it will be a day of feasting to the family, and I will do mybest endeavour not to cast a damp on the hilarity of benevolence andfriendship. F. HENLEY LETTER LXXXVII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Alas! Louisa, what are we?--What are our affections, what our resolves?Taken at unguarded moments, agitated, hurried away by passion, howseldom have we for a day together reason to be satisfied with ourconduct? Not pleased with myself, I doubt I have given cause of displeasureto your brother. My father was in part the occasion: for a moment hemade me forget myself--Louisa!--Frank Henley is going to America!He does not lightly resolve, and his resolution seems fixed!--GoodGod!--I--Louisa!--I am afraid I am a guilty creature!--Weak!--Veryweak!--And is not weakness guilt?--But why should he leave us?--Wherewill he find hearts more alive to his worth? Sir Arthur came to inform me of it: he had been conversing with him, and had endeavoured but without effect to dissuade him from hispurpose. He came and begged me to try. I perhaps might be moresuccessful. There was a marked significance in his manner, and I asked him why? Nay, my dear child, said he, and his heart seemed full, you know why. Mr. Henley has told me why. What, sir, has he told? Nothing, child--[Sir Arthur took myhand]--Nothing, but what is honourable to you--I questioned him, and you know he is never guilty of falsehood. No, sir; he is incapable of it. Well, Anna, try then to persuade him not to leave us. Though he is avery excellent young man, I am afraid he has not the best of fathers. Ibegin to feel I have not been so prudent as I might have been; and, ifMr. Henley were to leave England, the father might attribute it to us, and--[Sir Arthur hesitated]--I have received some extraordinary lettersfrom Abimelech, of which I did not at first see the full drift; but itis now clear; every thing corresponds, and my conversation with youngMr. Henley has confirmed all I had supposed. However he is a very gooda very extraordinary young gentleman, and I could wish he would not go. I don't know what may happen. Your brother came in and Sir Arthur left me, desiring me as he went toremember what he had said. Clifton after an apology asked--Does itrelate to me? At that moment Frank entered. No, said I; it relates toone who I did not think would have been so ready to forsake hisfriends! A thousand thoughts had crowded to my mind; a dread of having used himungenerously, unjustly; a recollection of all he had done and all hehad suffered; his enquiring, penetrating, and unbounded genius; hissuperlative virtues; a horror of his being banished his native countryby me; of his wandering among strangers, exposed to poverty, perils, and death, with the conviction in his heart that I had done himwrong!--My tumultuous feelings rushed upon me, overpowered me, and in amoment of enthusiasm I ran to him, snatched his hand, fell on my kneeand exclaimed--'For the love of God, Mr. Henley, do not think ofleaving us!' Clifton like myself could not conquer the first assault of passion: hepronounced the word madam! in a tone mingled with surprise and severeenergy, which recalled me to myself-- You see, said I, turning to him, what an unworthy weak creature Iam!--But Mr. Henley has taken the strangest resolution--! What, madam, said your brother, recovering himself, and with somepleasantry, is he for a voyage to the moon? Or does he wait the arrivalof the next comet, to make the tour of the universe? Nay, answered I, you must join me, and not treat my poor petition withridicule--You must not go, Mr. Henley; indeed you must not! I, Mr. Clifton, my father, my brother, we will none of us hear of it! We areall your debtors, and it would be unjust in you to deprive us of everyopportunity of testifying our friendship. Your brother, Louisa, made an effort worthy of himself, repressed theerror of his first feelings, assumed the gentle aspect of entreaty, andkindly joined me. We are indeed your debtors, said he to Mr. Henley. But I hope it is nottrue. I hope there is no danger that you should forsake us. Where wouldyou go? Where can you be so happy? I mean first, replied Frank, to goto Wenbourne Hill; and after that my intentions are for America. This, Louisa, brought on a long discussion. I and your brother bothendeavoured to convince him it was his duty to remain in England; thathe could be more serviceable here, and would find better opportunitiesfor effecting that good which he had so warmly at heart than in anyother country. He answered that, though he was not convinced by our arguments, heshould think it his duty seriously to consider them. But we could notmake him promise any thing further. Previous to his return fromWenbourne Hill he would determine. Indeed, Louisa, this affair lies very heavily upon my mind. I amincessantly accusing myself as the cause of his exile. And am I not? Bythe manner of Sir Arthur I am sure he must have said something veryhighly in my praise. I have gone too far with your brother to recede:that is now impossible. It would be more flagrant injustice than eventhe wrong to Frank, if a wrong it be, and indeed, Louisa, I dread itis!--Indeed I do!--I dread it even with a kind of horror! I thought reason would have appeased these doubts ere this; but everyoccasion I find calls them forth with unabated vigour. Surely thismental blindness must be the result of neglect. Had we but the will, the determination, it might be removed. Oh how reprehensible is myinconsistency! The rapid decline of Mrs. Clifton grieves me deeply. Your brother toohas frequently mentioned it with feelings honourable to his heart. Heis now more than ever sensible of her worth. He has been with me sinceI began to write this letter, and there is not the least appearance ofremaining umbrage on his mind. It was indeed but of short duration, though too strong and sudden not to be apparent. All kindness, peace, and felicity be with you. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER LXXXVIII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ I will curse no more, Fairfax. Or, if curse I do, it shall be at my ownfatuity. I will not be the dilatory, languid, ranting, moralizingHamlet of the drama; that has the vengeance of hell upon his lips andthe charity of heaven in his heart. I will use not speak daggers-- Fairfax, I am mad!--Raging!--The smothered and pent-up mania musthave vent--What! Was not the page sufficiently black before?--I amamazed at my own infatuation! My very soul spurns at it!--But 'tispast--Deceitful, damned sex!--Idiot that I was, I began to fancy myselfbeloved!--I!--Blind, deaf, insensate driveler!--Torpid, blockish, brainless mammet!--Most sublime ass!--Oh for a bib and barley sugar, with the label _Meacock_ pinned before and behind!-- Fairfax, I never can forgive my own absurd and despicablestupidity!--Marriage?--What, with a woman in whose eye the perfectimpression and hated form of a mean rival is depicted?--In coloursglowing hot!--Who lives, revels, triumphs in her heart!--I marrysuch a woman?--I?-- 'I had rather be a toad, And live upon the vapour of a dungeon, Than keep a corner in the thing I love For other's use. ' I am too full of phrensy, Fairfax, to tell thee what I mean: but shehas given me another proof, more damning even than all the former, ofthe gluttony with which her soul gorges. Her gloating eye devours him;ay, I being present. Nay, were I this moment in her arms, her armswould be clasping him, not me: with him she would carouse, nor wouldany thing like me exist--Contagion!--Poison and boiling oil!-- Never before was patience so put to the proof--My danger was extreme. With rage flaming in my heart, I was obliged to wear complacency, satisfaction and smiles on my countenance. The fellow has determined to ship himself for America--Would it werefor the bottomless pit!--And had you beheld her panic?--St. Luke'scollected maniacs at the full of the moon could not have equalledher!--'Twas well indeed her frantic outrage was so violent, or I hadbeen detected and all had been lost--As it was I half betrayedmyself--the fellow's eye glanced at me. However it gave me my cue; and, all things considered, I afterward performed to a miracle. Her ownenthusiastic torrent swept all before it, and gave me time. She was inan ecstasy; reasoning, supplicating, conjuring, panting. I, herfriends, the whole world must join her: and join her I did. It was thevery relief of which hypocrisy stood in need. I entreated thisstraight-backed youth, stiff in determination, to condescend to lend apitying ear to our petitions; to suffer us to permeate his bowels ofcompassion, and avert this fatal and impending cloud, fraught withevils, misery, and mischief-- But marry no!--It could not be!--Sentence was passed--He had been atthe trouble to make a pair of scales, and knew the weight to a scrupleof every link in the whole chain of cause and effect--Teach him, truly!--Advise him!--Move him!--When? Who? How?--At last compliance, willing to be royally gracious, said, Well it would consider--Thoughthere was but little hope--Nothing it had heard had any cogency ofperscrutation--But, in fine, it would be clement, and consider. Do you not see this fellow, Fairfax? Is he not now before your eyes? Ishe not the most consummate--? But why do I trouble myself a momentabout him?--It is her!--Her!-- Nor is this all. Did that devil that most delights in mischief directevery concurring circumstance, they could not all and each be moreuniform, more coercive to the one great end. This poor dotterel, SirArthur, is playing fast and loose with me. He has been at hissoundings--He!--Imbecile animal!--Could wish there were not so manydifficulties--Is afraid they cannot be all removed--Has his doubts andhis fears--Twenty thousand pounds is a large sum, and Mrs. Clifton isvery positive--His own affairs much less promising than hesupposed--Then by a declension of hems, hums, and has, he descendedto young Mr. Henley--A very extraordinary young gentleman!--A verysurprising youth!--One made on purpose as it were for plum-cake days, high festivals, and raree show!--A prodigy!--Not begotten, born or bredin the dull blind-man's-buff way of simple procreation; but sent us ona Sunday morning down Jacob's ladder!--Then for obligations to him, count them who could!--He must first study more arithmetic!--And asfor affection it was a very wayward thing--Not always in people'spower--There was no knowing what was best--The hand might be given andthe heart be wanting--And with respect to whether the opinions of theworld ought to be regarded, good truth he knew not. Marry! The worldwas much more ready to blame others than to amend itself: and he hadbeen almost lately persuaded not to care a fico for the world. But forhis part he was a godly Christian, and wished all for the best. He hadfaith, hope, and charity, which were enough for one. Do not imagine, Fairfax, the poor dotard would have dared to betrayhimself thus far, had not I presently perceived his drift and wormedhim of these dismal cogitations of the spirit. He beat about, andhovered, and fluttered, and chirped mournfully, like the poorinfatuated bird that beholds the serpent's mouth open, into which it isimmediately to drop and be devoured. However, having begun, I wasdetermined to make him unburden his whole heart. If hereafter he canpossibly find courage to face me, in order to reproach, I have mylesson ready. 'Out of thy own mouth will I judge thee, sinner. ' Gangrened as my heart is, I still find a satisfaction in this selfconvalescence. The lady of mellifluous speech shall suborn no more; nomore shall lull me into beatific slumbers. I have recovered from mytrance, and what I dreamed was celestial I will demonstrate to be merewoman. From his own lips I learn that this insolent scoundrel received a visitfrom the Count de Beaunoir, which was intended for me: and, out oftender pity to my body, lest, God 'ild us, it should get a drilling, hedid bestow some trifle of that wit and reason of which he has so greata superflux upon the Count, thereby to turn aside his wrathful ire. I heard the gentleman tell his tale, and tickle his imagination withthe remembrance of his own doctiloquy, with infinite composure; and, whenever I put a question, took care first to prepare a smile. Everything was well, better could not be. With respect to _Monsieur le Comte_, I'll take some opportunity towhisper a word in his ear. It is not impossible, Fairfax, but that Imay visit Paris even within this fortnight. Not that I can pretend topredict. They shall not think I fly them, should any soul among themdare to dream of vengeance. I know the Count to be as vain of hisskill in the sword as he is of his pair of watch strings, hisParis-Birmingham snuff-box, or the bauble that glitters on his finger. I think I can give him a lesson: at least I mean to try. My mother's health declines apace. I know not whether it may notshortly be necessary for me to visit her. The loss of her will afflictme, but in all appearance it is inevitable, and I fear not far distant. Once more, Fairfax, should you again fall in company with the Count, and he should give himself the most trifling airs, assure him that Iwill do myself the honour to embrace him within a month at farthestfrom that date, be it when it will. Adieu. C. CLIFTON LETTER LXXXIX _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ He is gone, Louisa; has left us; his purpose unchanged, his heartoppressed, and his mind intent on promoting the happiness of those bywhom he is exiled. And what am I, or who, that I should do him thisviolence? What validity have these arguments of rank, relationship, andthe world's opprobrium? Are they just? He refuted them: so he thought, and so _persists_ to think. And who was ever less partial, or moresevere to himself? Louisa, my mind is greatly disturbed. His high virtues, the exertion ofthem for the peculiar protection of me and my family, and the dread ofcommitting an act of unpardonable injustice, if unjust it be, areimages that haunt and tantalize me incessantly. If my conclusions have been false, and if his asserted claims be true, how shall I answer those which I have brought upon myself? The claimsof your brother, which he urges without remission, are still stronger. They have been countenanced, admitted, and encouraged. I cannot recede. What can I do but hope, ardently hope, Frank Henley is in an error, andthat he himself may make the discovery? Yet how long and fruitless havethese hopes been! My dilemma is extreme; for, if I have been mistaken, act how I will, extreme must be the wrong I commit! Little did I imagine a moment so full of bitter doubt and distrust asthis could come. Were I but satisfied of the rectitude of my decision, there are no sensations which I could not stifle, no affections which Icould not calm, nor any wandering wishes but what I could reprove tosilence. But the dread of a flagrant, an odious injustice distracts me, and I know not where or of whom to seek consolation. Even my Louisa, the warm friend of my heart, cannot determine in my favour. Your brother has been with me. He found me in tears, enquired thecause, and truth demanded a full and unequivocal confidence. I shewedhim what I had been writing. You may well imagine, Louisa, he did notread it with total apathy. But he suppressed his own feelings withendeavours to give relief to mine. He argued to shew me my motives hadbeen highly virtuous. He would not say--[His candour delighted me, Louisa. ]--He would not say there was no ground for my fears: he wasinterested and might be partial. He believed indeed I had acted instrict conformity to the purest principles; but, had I even beenmistaken, the origin of my mistake was so dignified as totally todeprive the act of all possible turpitude. He was soothing and kind, gave high encomiums to Frank, took blame tohimself for the error of his former opinions, and, reminding me of themotives which first induced me to think of him, tenderly asked if I hadany new or recent cause to be weary of my task. What could I answer? What, but that I was delighted with the rapidchange perceptible in his sentiments, and with the ardour with whichhis enquiries were continued? Frank Henley is by this time at Wenbourne Hill. You will see him. Pleadour cause, Louisa: urge him to remain among us. Condescend even toenforce my selfish motive, that he would not leave me under thetorturing supposition of having banished him from a country which hewas born to enlighten, reform, and bless! There is indeed another argument; but I know not whether it ought to bementioned. Sir Arthur owns he is in the power of the avariciousAbimelech, and I believe is in dread of foreclosures that might eveneject him from Wenbourne Hill. This man must have been an early and adeep adventurer in the trade of usury, or he never could have gainedwealth so great as he appears to have amassed. Past incidents, with all of which you are acquainted, have given SirArthur a high opinion of Frank: and this added to his own fears, I ampersuaded, would lead him to consider a union between us at presentwith complacency, were not such an inclination opposed by othercircumstances. The open encouragement that he himself has given toClifton is one, and it is strengthened by all the interest of the otherbranches of our family. Your brother is highly in favour with Lord FitzAllen. My aunt Wenbourne equally approves the match, and Clifton and mybrother Edward are become intimate. As to me, reason, consistency, andmy own forward conduct, oblige me to be the enemy of Frank. Louisa, I scarcely know what I write! Think not I have abandoned myselfto the capricious gusts of passion; or that my love of uncontaminatedand rigorous virtue is lessened. No, it is indecision, it is anabhorrence of injustice which shake and disquiet me. Write to me; let me know your sentiments; and particularly how far yourapplication to Frank, when you have made it, is successful. I amanxious to receive your letter, for I know it will inspire fortitude, of which I am in great, great need. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XC _Louisa Clifton to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_ _Rose-Bank_ Oh my dearest and ever dear Anna, what shall I say, how shall I assuagedoubts that take birth in principles so pure and a heart so void ofguile? I know not. I have before acknowledged the mist is too thick forme to penetrate. The worthy the noble-minded Frank has been with us, and I could deviseno better way than to shew him your letter. He was greatly moved, andcollecting all the firmness of his soul resolutely declared that, sinceyour peace was so deeply concerned, be his own sensations what theymight, he would conquer them and remain in England. The heart-feltapplause he bestowed upon you was almost insupportably affecting. Hehas indeed a deep sense of your uncommon worth; and he alone I fear onearth is capable of doing it justice. But things have taken a different turn; and what can the best of us do, when involved as we continually are in doubt and difficulty, but act asyou do, with impartial self denial, and the most rigid regard to truthand virtue? Alas, dear Anna, I too am in need of support, and in search offortitude!--My mother!--She will not be long among us!--A heart morebenevolent, a mind more exalted--! She calls!--I hear her feeblevoice!--Not even my Anna must rob her of my company, for those fewremaining moments she has yet to come. I am her last consolation. L. CLIFTON I expect you will this post receive a letter from Frank, that willspeak more effectually to your heart than I have either the time to door the power. LETTER XCI _Frank Henley to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_ Madam, _Wenbourne-Hill_ Your generous and zealous friend has thought proper to shew me yourletter. I will not attempt to describe the sensations it excited; but, as your peace of mind is precious to me, and more precious stillperhaps to the interests of society, and since my departure wouldoccasion alarms and doubts so strong, I am determined to stay. Mymotives for going I thought too forcible and well founded to beoverpowered; nor could they perhaps have been vanquished by any lesscause. If one of us must suffer the warfare of contending sentimentsand principles, let it be me. It was to fly from and if possible forgetor subdue them that I projected such a voyage. Our duties to societymust not cede to any effeminate compassion for ourselves. We are bothenough acquainted with those duties to render us more than commonlyculpable, should we be guilty of neglect. To describe my weakness, and the contention to which my passions havebeen lately subject, might tend to awaken emotions in you which oughtto be estranged from your mind. Our lot is cast: let us seek support inthose principles which first taught us reciprocal esteem, nor palliateour desertion of them by that self pity which would become ourreproach. We have dared to make high claims, form high enterprises, andassert high truths; let us shew ourselves worthy of the pretensions wehave made, and not by our proper weakness betray the cause of which weare enamoured. You will not--no, you are too just--I am sure, madam, you will notattribute resolutions like these, which are more (infinitely more)painful to the heart than they ought to be, to any light or unworthychange of sentiment. Superior gifts, superior attainments, and superiorvirtues inevitably beget admiration, in those who discover them, fortheir possessors. Admiration is the parent of esteem, and thecontinuance and increase of this esteem is affection, or, in its purestand best sense, love. To say I would not esteem and would not lovevirtue, and especially high and unusual virtue, would be both folly andguilt. But you have taught me how pure and self-denying this love may be. Ohthat the man of your choice may but become all you hope, and all ofwhich his uncommon powers are capable! Oh that I may but see you ashappy as you deserve to be, and I think I shall then not bestow muchpity upon myself. I have forborne, madam, to intrude the petty disquiets of another kind, from which as you will readily imagine I cannot have been wholly free. Need I say how much I disapprove my father's views, and the mode bywhich he would have them accomplished? There is no effort I will notmake to conquer and remove this obstacle. It wounds me to the heartthat you, the daughter of his benefactor, should for a moment bedependant on his avarice. The injury and iniquity are equallyrevolting, and there are moments when my prejudices falsely accuse meof being a participator in the guilt. I have had two conversations with my father: they both were animated;but, though he was very determined, his resolution begins to fail; and, as I have justice on my side and am still more determined than he, Ihave no doubt that in a few days every thing which Sir Arthur hasrequired of him he will be willing to undertake. However as in a certain sense all is doubtful which is yet to be done, perhaps strict prudence would demand that Sir Arthur should not be ledto hope till success is ascertained; of which I will not delay a momentto send you information. I am, &c. F. HENLEY LETTER XCII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ The moment, Fairfax, the trying, the great, the glorious momentapproaches. Every possible contributing cause calls aloud forexpedition, and reprobates delay. This gardening fellow is gone. Forhis absence I thank him, but not for the resolute spirit with which heintends to attack his father and make him yield. He has a tongue thatwould silence the congregated clamours of the Sorbonne, and dumb-foundBelial himself in the hall of Pandemonium. 'Tis certain he has a toughmorsel to encounter, and yet I fear he will succeed. This would destroy all--Marry her?--No!--By heaven, no! If the hopes ofAbimelech be not stubborn enough to persevere, they must and shall bestrengthened. His refusal is indispensably necessary in every view, unless the view of marriage, which I once more tell you, Fairfax, I nowdetest. I should have no plea with her, were that of delay removed. What is still worse, this delay may be removed by another and morepainful cause. My mother it appears declines rapidly: her death is evenfeared, and should it happen, I cannot pretend to insist on theobstacles which her maternal cares and provisionary fears have raised. I can think of no certain expedient, for this Abimelech, but that of ananonymous letter. Neither the writing nor the style must appear to bemine; nor must the hand that writes it understand its purport. Tyrosand ignorant as my opponents are, in the tricks and intrigues ofamorous stratagem, still they have too much understanding not to beredoubtable. Those old necromancers Subtlety and Falsehood must forge the magicarmour, and the enchanted shield, under which I fight. Like wizards ofyore, they must render me invisible; and the fair form of the foolishClifton they have imagined must only be seen. Honest Aby, or I mistake him, is too worthy a fellow to desert so gooda cause. And this cloud-capt lady, whose proud turrets I have sworn tolevel with the dust, will not descend to plead the approaching death ofmy mother, when I shall urge the injustice of delay--Ay, Fairfax, theinjustice! I mean to command, to dare, to overawe; that is the onlyoratory which can put her to the rout. She loves to be astonished, andastonished she shall be. If I do not shrink from myself her fall isinfallible. My heart exults in the coming joy! Never more will the milky pulp ofcompassion rise to mar the luxurious meal! She has been writing to thefellow, Fairfax; ay and has shewn me her letter! For, let her butimagine that truth, or virtue, or principle, or any other abortivebeing of her own creation, requires her to follow the whims of herdisjointed fancy, and what frantic folly is there of which she isincapable? 'Tis maddening to recollect, but she doats on the fellow; absolutelydoats! I am the tormenting demon that has appeared to interrupt herhappiness; she the devoted victim, sacrificed to shield me from harm!The thought of separation from him is distracting, and every power mustbe conjured up to avert the horrid woe! Never before did my feelings support such various and continualattacks; never did I endure infidelity so open or insult so unblushing. But, patience; the day of vengeance is at hand, or rather is here! Thismoment will I fly and take it! Expect to hear 'of battles, sieges, disastrous chances, and of moving accidents; but not of hair breadth'scapes!'--Escape she cannot! I go! She falls! C. CLIFTON LETTER XCIII _Frank Henley to Anna Wenbourne St. Ives_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ It is now a week since I wrote to you, madam, at which time I took somepleasure in acquainting you with my hopes of success. These hopescontinued to increase, and my father had almost promised to agree tothe just proposals I made, when two days ago he suddenly andpertinaciously changed his opinion. I am sorry to add that he now appears to be much more determined thanever, and that I am wholly astonished at and wholly unable to accountfor this alteration of sentiment. I delayed sending you theintelligence by yesterday's post, hoping it was only a temporary returnof former projects, which I could again reason away. But I find him sopositive, so passionate, and so inaccessible to reason, that I ampersuaded some secret cause has arisen of which I am ignorant. Yet donot be dejected, dear madam, nor imagine I will lightly give it up as alost cause--No--My mind is too much affected and too earnestly bent onits object not to accomplish it, if possible. I received your letter[1], but have no thanks that can equal thefavour. I hope the emotions to which it gave birth were worthy such acorrespondent. I can truly and I believe innocently say my heartsympathises in all your joys, hopes, and apprehensions; and that mypleasure, at the progress of Mr. Clifton in the discovery of truth andthe practice of virtue, is but little less than your own. [Footnote 1: It contained the state of her feelings, with which thereader is already acquainted, but no new incidents; for which reason itis omitted. ] I am glad you thought proper to be cautious of giving Sir Arthur anyunconfirmed expectations; and I promise you to exert every effort toeffect a propitious change in the present temper and resolutions of myfather. I am, dear madam, &c. F. HENLEY LETTER XCIV _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ When last I wrote my resolution was taken, and I determined onimmediate attack. But I went in a seeming unlucky moment; though I muchmistake if it were not the very reverse. The supposed misfortune I had foreseen fell upon me. The 'squire ofpreachers had fairly overcome his father's obstinacy, and induced himto give ground! Instead of having received the news of his determinedpersistency, I found her with a letter in her hand, informing her thathe had begun to relent, and that his full acquiescence was expected. To have commenced the battle at so inauspicious a moment would havebeen little worthy of a great captain. My resolution was instantlyformed. After acting as much ecstasy as I could call up, I hastened home andwrote my projected letter to honest Aby. I threw my hints together inItalian, that they might not be understood by the agent whom I meant toemploy. This was my groom, an English lad whom I met with at Paris, whospells well and writes a good hand. I pretended I had crushed my fingerand could not hold a pen; and, without letting him understand theintent of my writing, or even that it was a letter, I dictated to himas follows; a transcript of which I send to you, Fairfax, first thatyou may sigh and see what the blessing of a ready invention is, andnext as an example which you may copy, or at least from which you maytake a hint, if ever you should have occasion. 'So you have been persuaded at last to give up your point, my oldfriend! And can you swallow this tale of a tub? A fine cock and a bullstory has been dinned in your ears? Don't believe a word on't. I knowthe whole affair; and, though you don't know me, be assured I mean youwell: and I tell you that if you will but hold out stoutly every thingwill soon be settled to your heart's desire. She is dying for love ofhim, and he can't see it! She will never have the man they mean forher; I can assure you of that; and what is more he will never have her. What I tell you I know to be true. No matter who I am. If I knewnothing of the affair how could I write to you? And if the advice Igive be good, what need you care whom it comes from? Only don't letyour son see this; if you do it will spoil all. You perceive how blindhe is to his own good, and how positive too. Keep your counsel, but beresolute. Look around you, persist in your own plans, and the hall, theparks, the gardens, the meadows, the lands you see are all your own! Iam sure you cannot misunderstand me. But mark my words; be close; keepyour thoughts to yourself. You know the world: You have made your ownfortune; don't mar it by your own folly. Tell no tales, I say; nor, ifyou are a wise man, give the least hint that you have a friend in acorner. ' This I dictated to my amanuensis, pretending to translate it out of thepaper I held in my hand, and which I took care to place before him, sothat he should see it was really written in a foreign language. Ilikewise once or twice counterfeited a laugh at what I was reading, andejaculated to myself--'This is a curious scrap!' When he had finished I gave him half a crown, praised his hand-writing, which I told him I wanted to see, for perhaps I might find him betteremployment than currying of horses, and sent him about his business toomuch pleased and elated, and his ideas led into too distant a train toharbour the least suspicion. Nor did my precautions end here. I immediately ordered my horse, androde without any attendant full speed to Hounslow. I there desired thelandlord of an inn at which I am personally known, though not by name, to send one of his own lads, post, to the market town next toWenbourne-Hill, and there to hire a countryman, without explaining whoor what he himself was, to deliver the letter into the hands of honestAby. I requested the landlord to choose an intelligent messenger, andbacked my request with a present bribe and a future promise. My plan was too well laid to miscarry, and accordingly yesterday amournful account arrived, from the young orator, that judgment isreversed, and he in imminent danger of being cast in costs. And now, Fairfax, once more I go!--Expedition, resolution, a torrent ofwords, a storm of passion, and the pealing thunder that dies away indescending rains! The word is Anna St. Ives, revenge, and victory! C. CLIFTON LETTER XCV _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ Once more, Fairfax, here am I. Well! And how--? Not so fast, good sir. All things in their turn. The story shall betold just as it happened, and your galloping curiosity must be pleasedto wait. I knew my time, the hour when she would retire to her own apartment, and the minute when I might find admission; for she is very methodical, as all your very wise people more or less are. I had given Laura herlesson; that is, had told her that I had something very serious to sayto her mistress that morning, and desired her to take care to be out ofthe way, that she might be sure not to interrupt us. The sly jadelooked with that arch significance which her own experience had taughther, and left me with--'Oh! Mr. Clifton!' And here I could make a remark, but that would be anticipating mystory. You may think, Fairfax, that, marshalled as my hopes and fears were inbattle array, something of inward agitation would be apparent. Inreality not only some but much was visible. It caught her attention, and luckily caught. I attempted to speak, and stammered. A false stepas it would have been most fatal so was it more probable at the momentof onset than afterward, when the heated imagination should havecollected, arranged, and begun to pour forth its stores. The philosophy of the passions was the theme I first chose, though atthe very moment when my spirits were all fluttering with wild disorder. But my faultering voice, which had I wished I could not have commanded, aided me; for the tremulous state of my frame threw hers into mostadmirable confusion! 'What was it that disturbed me? What had I to communicate? She neversaw me thus before! It was quite alarming!' Madam--[Observe, Fairfax, I am now the speaker: but I shall remind youof such trifles no more. If you cannot distinguish the interlocutors, you deserve not to be present at such a dialogue. ] Madam, I own my mindis oppressed by thoughts which, however just in their purpose, howeverworthy in their intent, inspire all that hesitation, that timidity, that something like terror, which I scarcely know how to overcome. Yetwhat should I fear? Am I not armed by principle and truth? Why shun adeclaration of thoughts that are founded in right; or tremble like acoward that doubted of his cause? I am your scholar, and have learnedto subdue sensations of which the judgment disapproves. From youlikewise have I learned to avow tenets that are demonstrable; and notto shrink from them because I may be in danger of being misconstrued, or even suspected. Pardon me! I do you wrong. Your mind is superior tosuspicion. It is a mean an odious vice, and never could I esteem theheart in which it found place. I forget myself, and talk to you as Iwould to a being of an infinitely lower order. Mr. Clifton-- Do not let your eye reprove me! I have not said what is not; and whobetter knows than you how much it is beneath us to refrain from sayingwhat is? Do not keep me in this suspense! I am sure there is something veryuncommon in your thoughts! Speak! Thoughts will be sometimes our masters: the best and wisest of uscannot always command them. That I have daily repressed them, havestruggled against rooted prejudices and confirmed propensities, andhave ardently endeavoured to rise to that proud eminence toward whichyou have continually pointed, you are my witness. I am. Protracted desires, imagined pleasures, and racking pains [and oh howoften have they all been felt!] no longer sway me. They have beenrepulsed, disdained, trodden under foot. You have taught me howshameful it is to be the slave of passion. Truth is now my object, justice my impulse, and virtue, high virtue my guide. Oh, Clifton! Speak thus, be thus ever! The moment it appeared, I knew that delay was ominous. Nay, Clifton-- Hear me, madam!--Yes ominous! I see no end to it, have every thing tofear from it, and nothing to hope--There is a thought--Ay, that vergesto madness!--I have a rival--! But I will forget it--at least willtry. Who can deny that it is excruciating?--But I am actuated atpresent by another and a nobler motive. You know, madam, what youfound me; and I hope you are not quite unconscious of what you havemade me. You have taught me principles to which I mean to adhere, andtruths I intend to assert; have opened views to me of immensemagnitude! In your society I am secure. But habits are inveterate, andeasily revived; and were I torn from you, I myself know not the degreeof my own danger. Yes, madam, fain indeed would I forget there is sucha person as Frank Henley! Yet how? By what effort, what artifice? Say!Teach me! What though my heart reproaches me with its own foibles, whocan prevent possibilities, mere possibilities, in a case like this, from being absolute torments? My soul pants and aches after certainty!The moment I ask myself what doubt there can be of Anna St. Ives, Ianswer none, none! Yet the moment after, forgetting this question, alarms, probabilities, past scenes and intolerable suppositions swarmto assault me, without relaxation or mercy. Clifton, you said you had a nobler motive. I merit the reproach, madam. These effusions burst from me, areunworthy of me, and I disclaim them. You have pardoned many of mystrays and mistakes, and I am sure will pardon this. [For the love offame, Fairfax, do not suffer the numerous master-strokes of thisdialogue to escape you. I cannot stay to point them out. ] Yes, madam, Ihave a nobler motive! Yet, enlarged as your mind is, I know not how toprepare you calmly to listen to me, without alarm and withoutprevention. Strange as it may seem, I dread to speak truth even to you! If truth it be, speak, and fear nothing. Propose but any adequate andworthy purpose, and there is no pain, no danger, no disgrace from whichif I know myself I would shrink. No disgrace, madam? Your words and looks both doubt me--Put me to the proof. Propose I sayan adequate and worthy purpose, and let your test be such as natureshudders at; then despise me and my principles if I recoil. The union of marriage demands reciprocal, unequivocal, and unboundedconfidence; for how can we pretend to love those whom we cannot trust?The man who is unworthy this unbounded confidence is most unworthy tobe a husband; and it were even better he should shew his bad qualities, by basely and dishonestly deserting her who had committed herself bodyand soul to his honour, than that such qualities should discoverthemselves after marriage. There is no disgrace can equal the tormentof such an alliance. I grant it. You have attained that noble courage which dares to question the mostreceived doctrines, and bring them to the test of truth. Who betterthan you can appreciate the falsehood and the force of the prejudicesof opinion? Yet are you sure, madam, that even you are superior to themall? Far otherwise. Would I were! I am much too ignorant for such high suchenviable perfection. But is it not possible that some of the most common, and if I dared Ishould say the most narrow, the most self-evident of these prejudicesmay sway and terrify you from the plain path of equity? Dare you lookthe world's unjust contumelies stedfastly in the face? Dare you answerfor yourself that you will not shudder at the performance of what youcannot but acknowledge, nay have acknowledged to be an act of duty? I confess your preparation is alarming, and makes me half suspectmyself, half desirous to retract all I have thought, all I haveasserted! Yet I think I dare do whatever justice can require. You think--? Once more bring me to the proof. I feel a conscious [Again you make mea braggart. ] a virtuous certainty. In opposition to the whole world, its prepossessions, reproofs, revilings, persecutions, and contempt? The picture is terrifying, but ought not to be, and I answer yes; inopposition to and in defiance of them all. Then--You are my wife! How? Be firm! Start not from the truth! You are my wife! Ask yourself themeaning of the word. Can set forms and ceremonies unite mind to mind?And if not they, what else? What but community of sentiments, similarity of principles, reciprocal sympathies, and an equal ardourfor and love of truth? Can it be denied? It cannot. You are my wife, and I have a right to the privileges of a husband! A right? An absolute, an indefeasible right! You go too fast! They are your own principles: they are principles founded on avowed andindisputable truths. I claim justice from you! Clifton! Justice! This is wrong!--Surely it is wrong!--This cannot be! Instead of the chaste husband, such as better times and spirits ofhigher dignity have known, who comes with lips void of guile therightful claimant of an innocent heart, in which suspicion neverharboured, imagine me to be a traitorous wretch, who poorly seeks togratify a momentary, a vile, a brutal passion! Imagine me, I say, sucha creature if you can! Once I should have feared it; but you havetaught my thoughts to soar above such vulgar terrors. My appeal is notto your passions, but your principles. Inspired by that refulgentardour which animates you, with a noble enthusiasm you have yourselfbid me put you to the proof. You cannot, will not, dare not be unjust! And now, Fairfax, behold her in the very state I wished! Cowed, silenced, overawed! Her ideas deranged, her tongue motionless, wantinga reply, her eyes wandering in perplexity, her cheeks growing pale, herlips quivering, her body trembling, her bosom panting! Behold I say thewild disorder of her look! Then turn to me, and read secure triumph, concealed exultation, and bursting transport on my brow! Whileimpetuous, fierce, and fearless desire is blazing in my heart, andmounting to my face! See me in the very act of fastening on her! Andsee--! Curses!--Everlasting curses pursue and catch my perfidious evilgenius!--See that old Incubus' Mrs. Clarke enter, with a letter in herhand that had arrived express, and was to be delivered instantly!--Ourmutual perturbation did not escape the prying witch; my countenancered, hers pale--The word begone! maddened to break loose from myimpatient tongue. My eyes however spoke plainly enough, and the hag wasunwillingly retiring, when a faint--'Stay, Mrs. Clarke'--called herback! As I foreboded, it was all over for this time! She opened the letter. What its contents were I know not; and impossible as it is that theyshould relate to me, I yet wish I did. I am sure by her manner theywere extraordinary. I could not ask while that old beldam was present[Had she been my grandmother, on this occasion I should have abusedher. ] and the eye of the young lady very plainly told me she wished meaway. It was prudent to make the best retreat possible, and with thebest grace: I therefore bowed and took my leave; very gravely tellingher I hoped she would seriously consider what I had said, and againemphatically pronounced the word _justice!_ You have now, Fairfax, been a spectator of the scene; and if its manyniceties have escaped you, if you have not been hurried away, as I was, by the tide of passion, and amazed at the successful sophistries whichflowed from my tongue, sophistries that are indeed so like truth that Imyself at a cooler moment should have hesitated to utter them; if I saythe deep art with which the whole was conducted, and the high actingwith which I personified the only possible Being that could subjugateAnna St. Ives do not excite your astonishment, why then you really area dull fellow! But I know you too well, Fairfax, to do you suchinjustice as this supposes. Victory had declared for me. I read herthoughts. They were labouring for an answer, I own; but she was toomuch confounded. And would I have given her time to rally? No! I shouldthen have merited defeat. The grand difficulty however is vanquished: she will hear me the nexttime with less surprise, and the emotions of passion, genuine honestmundane passion, must take their turn; for not even she, Fairfax, canbe wholly exempt from these emotions. I have not the least fear that myeloquence should fail me, and absolute victory excepted, I could nothave wished for greater success. I cannot forget this letter. It disturbs and pesters my imagination. Isupposed it to be from Edward, who has been at Bath; but my valet hasjust informed me he is returned. Perhaps it is from my sister; and ifso, by its coming express, my mother is dead! I really fear it bodes meharm--I am determined to rid myself of this painful suspense. I willtherefore step to Grosvenor-street. I may as well face the worst atonce. You shall hear more when I return. Oh, Fairfax! I could curse most copiously, in all heathenish andchristian tongues! She has shut herself up, and refuses to see me! Thisinfernal fellow Frank Henley is returned too. He arrived two hoursafter the express. I suspect it came from him; nay I suspect--Flamesand furies!--I must tell you! I have seen Laura, though scarcely for two minutes. She is afraid sheis watched. It is all uproar, confusion, and suspicion at Sir Arthur's. But the great curse is my groom, the lad that I told you copied myletter to Abimelech, has been sent for and privately catechised by herand her paramour! And what confirms this most tormenting of allconjectures is the absence of the fellow: he has not been home since, nor at the stables, though he was always remarkably punctual, but hassent the key; so that he has certainly absconded. Had I not been a stupid booby, had I given Laura directions to keep outof the way of Anna, but in the way of taking messages for her, shemight have received the express, and all might have been well. Such ablockheadly blunder well deserves castigation! I'll deny the letter, Fairfax. They have no proof, and I'll swearthrough thick and thin rather than bring myself into this universal, this damnatory disgrace! I know indeed she will not believe me; and Ilikewise know that now it must be open war between us. For do not thinkthat I will suffer myself to be thus shamefully beaten out of thefield. No, by Lucifer and his Tophet! I will die a foaming maniac, fettered in straw, ere that shall happen! If not by persuasion, sheshall be mine by chicanery, or even by force. I will perish, Fairfax, sooner than desist! Oh for an agent, a coadjutor worthy of the cause! He must and shall befound. The uncle and aunt must be courted: the father I expect will side withher. The brother too must be my partisan; for it will be necessary Ishould maintain an intercourse, and the shew of still wishing forwedlock. I am half frantic, Fairfax! To be baffled by such an impossibleaccident, after having acted my part with such supreme excellence, isinsupportable! But the hag Vengeance shall not slip me! No! I havefangs to equal hers, ay and will fasten her yet! I have been injured, insulted, frustrated, and fiends seize me if I relent! C. CLIFTON LETTER XCVI _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Louisa!--My dear, my kind, my affectionate Louisa!--My friend!--Whatshall I say? How shall I begin? I am going to rend your heart. -- Keep this letter from the sight of Mrs. Clifton: if she have notalready been told, do not let her know such a letter exists--Oh thisbrother!--But he is not your brother--Error so rooted, so malignant, sodestructive exceeds all credibility! He came to me yesterday morning, as was his custom. There was somethingin his look which, could I but have read it, was exceedinglydescriptive of the workings of his heart. It was painful to see him. He endeavoured to smile and for a moment to talk triflingly, but couldnot. He was in a tremor; his mouth parched, his lips white. His next essay was to philosophise; but in this attempt too he wasentirely at fault. The passions are all sympathetic, and none more so than this oftrepidation. I cannot recollect what the ideas were that passed hastilythrough my mind; but I know he excited much alarm, doubt, and I believesuspicion. But, though he had found all this difficulty to begin, having begun herecovered himself very surprisingly. His colour returned, his voicebecame firm, his ideas clear, his reasoning energetic, and his mannercommanding. He seemed to mould my hopes and apprehensions as hepleased, to inspire terror this moment, and the excess of confidencethe next. Louisa, my heart bleeds to say it, but his purposes were vile, hishypocrisy odious, and--I must forbear, and speak of foul deeds in fairterms. I know not how many prejudices rise up to warn me; one that I ama woman, or rather a girl; another that I am writing to the man'ssister; a third that she is my friend, and so on with endless etceteras. No matter that truth is to this friend infinitely moreprecious than a brother. I may be allowed to feel indignation, but notto express my feeling. But the most distressing, the most revolting part of all is, that heharangued like the apostle of truth, the name of which he vilelyprophaned, in favour of the basest, most pitiful, most contemptible ofvices; the mere vain glory of seduction. He has not even so much as thegratification of sensual appetite to plead in his excuse. I am wrong;it was not vain glory. Vanity itself, contemptible as such a stimuluswould have been, was scarcely a secondary motive. It was somethingworse; it was revenge. My mind has been wholly occupied in retracinghis past behaviour; I can think on no other subject, and every traitwhich recollection adds is a confirmation of this painful idea. He doesnot wish to marry me, and I almost doubt whether he ever did, at leastfully and unreservedly. He came to me, Louisa, and began with painting the torments of delayand the pangs of jealousy, which he endeavoured to excuse; andconcluded with a bold appeal to my justice; a daring, over-awing, confounding appeal. He called upon me at my peril, and as I respectedtruth and virtue, to deny his claim. And what was this claim?--I was his wife!--In every pure and virtuoussense his wife; and he demanded the privilege of a husband!--Demanded, Louisa!--Demanded!--And demanded it in such a tone, with such rapid, overbearing, bold expressions, and such an apparent consciousness ofright, that for a moment my mind was utterly confused! Not that it ceded; no, not an instant. I knew there was answer, a justand irrefragable one, but I could not immediately find it. Heperceived my disorder, and you cannot imagine what a shameless andoffensive form his features assumed! I know not what he would notinstantly have attempted, had not, while I was endeavouring to awakefrom my lethargy, Mrs. Clarke come in! She brought me a letter--It wassent express!--The hand writing was Frank's! Agitated as I was, suspicion influenced me, and I retreated a few steps. I opened theletter, and the first words I saw were--'Beware of Mr. Clifton. '-- It contained only half a dozen lines, and I read on. What follows wereits contents-- Beware of Mr. Clifton!--Had I not good cause, madam, I would not be soabrupt an accuser: but I am haunted, tortured by the dread ofpossibilities, and therefore send this away express--Beware of Mr. Clifton!--I will not be long after the letter, and I will then explainwhy I have written what to you may appear so strange. F. HENLEY Think, Louisa, what must be the effect of such a letter, coming at sucha moment!--I believe I was in no danger; though, if there be a man onthe face of the earth more dangerous than any other, it is surelyClifton. But the watchful spirit of Frank seems placed like my guardianangel, to protect me from all possible harm. My mind debated for a moment whether it were not wrong to distrust thepower of truth and virtue, and not to let Mr. Clifton see I coulddemolish the audacious sophistry by which he had endeavoured toconfound and overwhelm me. But my ideas were deranged, and I could notcollect sufficient fortitude. Oh how dangerous is this confusion of thejudgment, and how desirable that heavenly presence of mind which isequal to these great these trying occasions! I therefore thought itmore prudent to suffer him to depart, and suspect vilely of me, than toencounter the rude contest which he would more audaciously recommence, were I to send away Mrs. Clarke, which he might even misconstrue into asignal of approbation. These fears prevailed, and I desired her tostay, and by my manner told him I wished his absence. Louisa, how shall I describe my anguish of heart at seeing all thosehopes of a mind so extraordinary, for extraordinary it is even inguilt, at once overthrown? It was indeed iteration of anguish! What!Can guile so perfectly assume the garb of sincerity? Can hypocrisywear so impenetrable a mask? How shall we distinguish? What guidehave we? How be certain that the next seeming virtuous man we meetis not a--Well, well, Louisa--I will remember--Brother. My Louisaknows it is not from the person, but from the vice that I turn awaywith disgust. Would I willingly give her heart a pang? Let her tellme if she can suspect it. She has fortitude, she has affection; butit is an affection for virtue, truth, and justice. She will endeavourto reform error the most obdurate. So will I, so will all that areworthy the high office. But she will not wish me either to marry withor to countenance this error. Marry?--how does my soul shudder at thethought! His reasoning was just; seduction would have been a pettyinjury, or rather a blessing, compared to this master evil! He wasmost merciful when he meant me, as he thought, most destruction. Ihave been guilty of a great error. The reformation of man or womanby projects of marriage is a mistaken a pernicious attempt. Insteadof being an act of morality, I am persuaded it is an act of vice. Letus never cease our endeavours to reform the licentious and thedepraved, but let us not marry them. The letter had not been delivered more than two hours before Frankarrived. You may think, Louisa, how hard he had ridden; but he refusedto imagine himself fatigued. He brought another letter, which Abimelechhad received, but which for some hours he obstinately refused to giveup, and for this reason Frank sent off the express. A letter, not ofClifton's writing, but of his invention and sending! Finding that Frank was likely to prevail on his father to raise themoney for Sir Arthur, and obviate all further impediments to ourmarriage, Clifton, fearful that it should take place, wrote anonymouslyto Abimelech, to inform him I was in love with Frank, and to encouragehim to persist. But read the letter yourself; the following is a truecopy of it[1]. [Footnote 1: The reader has already perused it in Letter XCIV, to whichhe is referred. ]. If such a letter be his, I am sure, Louisa, you will not say I havethought or spoken too unkindly of him; and that it is his we haveindubitable proof, though it was anonymous and not in his handwriting. You no doubt remember, Louisa, the short story of the English lad, whomyour brother hired at Paris. It was written by him, though innocentlyand without knowing what was intended. This lad has an aunt, who afterhaving laboured to old age is now lame, infirm, and in need of support. The active Frank has been with her, has aided her with money andconsoled her with kindness. The lad himself was desirous of assistingher; and Frank, willing to encourage industry in the young, gave himsome writings to copy at his leisure hours. By this accident he knewthe lad's hand-writing. I forgot to mention, in its proper place, the astonishment of Frank atthe sudden change in his father, and the firm resolution he took todiscover the cause of this change. The obstinacy of Abimelech wasextreme; but Frank was still more pertinacious, more determined, and sounwearied and incessant, in his attacks on his father, that the old manat last could resist no longer, and shewed him this letter. From what has preceded, that is from his manner of acting, you may wellimagine what the alarms and sensations of Frank were. He brought theletter up with him, for he would not trust it out of his own custody, and immediately went himself to Clifton's stables in search of the lad, brought him to me, and then first shewed him the letter, which that nopossible collusion might be alleged he had left in my keeping, and thenasked if it were not his hand-writing. The lad very frankly andunhesitatingly answered it was; except the direction, which thisplotting Clifton had procured to be written by some other person. Without telling the lad more than was necessary, Frank advised him toquit his service, for that there was something relating to that letterwhich would certainly occasion a quarrel, and perhaps worse, betweenhim and his master: and, as it would be prudent for him to keep out ofthe way, he sent him down to Wenbourne-Hill, where the lad is atpresent. And now what shall I say to my Louisa? How shall I sooth the feelingsof my friend? Do they need soothing? Does she consider all mankind asher relations and brothers, or does she indeed imagine that one whoseprinciples are so opposite to her own is the only brother shepossesses? Will she grieve more for him than she would for any other, who should be equally unfortunate in error? Or does she doubt with mewhether grief can in any possible case be a virtue? And if so, is thereany virtue of which she is incapable? What is relation, what isbrother, what is self, if relation, brother, or self be at war withtruth? And does not truth command us to consider beings exactly as theyare, without any respect to this relationship, this self? But I know my Louisa; she will never be impatient under trial, howeversevere; nor foolishly repine for the past, though she will strenuouslylabour for the future. All good, all peace, all happiness, all wisdom be with her! A. W. ST. IVES LETTER XCVII _Louisa Clifton to her Brother Coke Clifton_ _Rose-Bank_ Sir On Friday morning I received the original letter from Anna St. Ives, ofwhich the inclosed is a copy; and on the following day about a quarterof an hour before midnight my mother expired. I mention thesecircumstances together because they were noticed, by those who werenecessarily acquainted with them, as having a relation to each other;whether real or imaginary, much or little I do not pretend todetermine; but I will relate the facts and leave them to your ownreflection; and I will forbear all colouring, that I may not besuspected of injustice. My mother as you know has been daily declining, and was indeed in avery feeble state. She seemed rather more cheerful that morning thanshe had been lately, and at her particular request I went to visit thewife of farmer Beardmore, who is a worthy but poor woman, and who beingat present dejected, in consequence of poverty and ill health, mymother thought she might be more benefited by the kindness of thelittle relief we could afford her if delivered by me, than if sent by aless soothing and sympathetic hand. I should hope, sir, it would besome consolation to you to learn that my mother's active virtue neverforsook her, while memory and mind remained. But of this you are thebest judge. While I was gone the postman brought the letter of my friend; and asher letters were always read to my mother, and as I likewise have madeit a rule and a duty not to have any secrets to conceal from her, orindeed from any body, she had no scruple to have the letter opened, because she expected to find consolation and hope: for, till thearrival of this, the letters of Anna St. Ives have lately been allzealous in your praise. I will leave you, sir, to imagine the effect which a letter beginningas this did must have on a mind and body worn to such a tremulous stateof sensibility. Coming as it did first into my mother's hand, the verycaution which the benevolent heart of Anna dictated produced the effectshe most dreaded. My mother had still however a sufficient portion ofher former energy to hear it to the end. In about an hour after this happened I returned, and found her inextreme agitation of mind. I neglected no arguments, no efforts to calmher sensations; and I succeeded so far that after a time she seemed tobe tolerably resigned. She could not indeed forget it, and the subjectwas revived by her several times during the day. My chief endeavour was to lead her thoughts into that train which, bylooking forward to the progress of virtue, is most consoling to themind of virtue. She seemed at last fatigued, and about eleven o'clock at night fellinto a doze. About a quarter before twelve I perceived her countenancedistorted; I was alarmed; I spoke to her and received no answer; Iendeavoured to excite attention or motion, but in vain. A paralyticstroke had deprived her of sensation. In this state she remainedfour-and-twenty hours, and about midnight departed. I have thought it strictly incumbent on me to relate thesecircumstances. But I should consider myself as very highly culpable didI seek to aggravate, or to state that as certainty which can never beany thing more than conjecture. My mother was so enfeebled that webegan to be in daily apprehension of her death. I must not howeverconceal that the thought of your union with Anna St. Ives had been oneof her principal pleasures, ever since she had supposed it probable;and that she had spoken of it incessantly, and always with that highdegree of maternal affection and cheering hope which you cannot butknow was congenial to her nature. The disappointment itself was great, but the turpitude that attended itmuch greater. This I did not endeavour to palliate. How could I? I havetold you I had no resource for consolation, either for myself or her, but in turning, like Anna St. Ives, from the individual to the whole. I would endeavour to say something that should shew you the folly ofsuch conduct; for the folly of it is even more excessive than the vice;but, not to mention the state of my own mind at this moment, I despairof producing any effect, since Anna St. Ives herself, aided by so manyconcurring motives, has failed in the generous and disinterestedattempt. I imagine you will be down at the funeral. Perhaps it is proper. Icannot say, for indeed I do not very well understand many of what arecalled the proprieties of custom. I own I am weak enough to feel somepain at meeting you, under the present circumstances. But, since it isnecessary I should act and aid you in various family departments, ifyou should come down, I will not yield to these emotions, butconsidering you as an erring brother, will endeavour to perform whatduty requires. L. CLIFTON P. S. Previous to this I wrote three different letters, but they wereall as I fear too expressive of those strong sensations which I havefound it very difficult to calm. I destroyed them, not because theywere wrong, but lest they should produce a wrong effect. LETTER XCVIII _Coke Clifton to his Sister Louisa Clifton_ _London, Dover Street_ Madam, I have received your very lenient, equitable, calumniating, insultingletter; and I would have you put it down in your memorandum-book that Iwill carefully remember the obligation. It perfectly accords with yoursublime ideas of justice to decide before you have heard both parties;and it is equally consistent with your notions of sisterly affectionthat you should pass sentence on a brother. What is a brother, or allhe may have to say, to you; who, more infallible than the holy fatherhimself, have squared a set of rules of your own, by which you judge asyou best know how? Your insinuations concerning the death of my mother are equallycharitable, and I have already learnt them by rote. Yes, madam, assureyourself they will not be forgotten. Any suspense of judgment wouldhave ill become a lady so clear sighted. However possible it may bethat Anna St. Ives may herself have been imposed upon, and I bothignorant and innocent of this forged letter, yet for you to haveentertained any doubts in my favour would have partaken too much of thefogs of earth for so inspired and celestial a lady. But I must tell you, madam, since you can so readily forego equity in abrother's behalf, I can and will be as ready to forget and cast off thesister. I never yet was or will be injured with impunity: I would haveyou note down that. I mean to be at Rose-Bank tomorrow or the day after, to attend thefuneral and take such order as my affairs may require; and though Ihave as little affection for your company as you have for mine, Iimagine it will be quite necessary for you to be there: not only thatyou should be present to execute all orders, but likewise to listen toa few hints which I shall probably think proper to communicate. In the mean time, madam, be industrious to propagate the report, if youthink fit, that I have caused anonymous letters to be written to SirArthur's steward, have endeavoured to betray Anna St. Ives, and havebeen the death of my mother. Spread the agreeable intelligence I say asquickly and as widely as you can, and when you meet me you shallreceive a brother's thanks. C. CLIFTON END OF VOLUME V VOLUME VI LETTER XCIX _Abimelech Henley to Sir Arthur St. Ives, Baronet_ _Wenbourne-Hill_ Most Onnurable Sir, my ever onnurd Master, I do hear of strange queerums and quicksets, that have a bin trap laidfor your ever gracious onnur, and for the mercifool lovin kindness ofsweet missee. Whereof I be all in a quandary, for it do seem I wuswithin an ames ace of a havin bin chouse flickur'd meself. Whereby Iparadventerd before to tell your noble onnur my poor thofts on thishere Mr. Clifton match marriage, which is all against the grain. Andthis I do hope your ever onnurable onnur will pry into, and see withyour own eyes. Whereof I have a bin ruminatin of many thinks lately, and of the upsand downs of life, so that I should sing oh be joyfool if as your onnurwould but turn them in your thofts, as I have done. Whereby my son hasa bin down with me; and I do find that sooth and trooth he be verily ason of my own begettin; and thof I say it a man may be proud of sitch ason; and as your ever gracious onnur wus most mercifooly pleased tosifflicate, a wus born a gentleman, for a has his head fool and fool offine notions. Whereby if your onnurable onnur will but a be pleased to lend amercifool ear to me, why mayhap I should a be willin to come down withthe kole to your onnur's heart's content. Why not? For I have a talkedmatters over with my son, and a has said a many glorious thinks of youronnur and of sweet mercifool missee, all a witch a learned from me. Forwhy? He is my own son, and of the issue of my loins, and I did alwaysgiv'n the best of advice. A had his whole feedin and breedin from me, and as a wus always fain to be a man of learnin why I taught him hisletters meself; whereof I have now reason to be proud of 'n. But that is not whereof of a what I wus a goin to think to say. I wusabout to paradventer to proposal to your onnur that, if thinks mightbehappen to come to pass in the manner of mercifool lovin kindness andgracious condysension, the wherewithalls should a be forth cummin tothe tune of fifty thousand pounds: that is with the betokenin of allproper securities of parchments and deeds and doosoors to be firstsigned and stipilated, as heretofore have bin on like future occasions. Take me ritely, your onnur; I mean for the twenty thousand pounds. Forwhy? I meself will be so all bountifool as to come down on the nailhead with thirty thousand for my son. And then we shall see who will bea better gentleman, as your onnurable onnur wus most graciously pleasedto kappaishus him? Whereby Wenbourne Hill would then be in all its glory; and mayhap yourever gracious onnur might in sitch a case again go on with yourimproofments. And who can say but the wildurness might a begin toflourish? So that if your noble onnur will but think of that, whythinks may behappen to begin to take a new turn, and there may be mirthand merry days again at Wenbourne Hill. For I do know in your heartyour onnur do lamentation the loss of all your fine taste, and eleguntideers, and plans, and alterations; all of a witch have a bin so manyyears a carryin on and a compassin at Wenbourne Hill. Whereof I umbelly condysend to intreat your noble onnur would a givethese thinks a thinkin. For why? The lawyers might a then be stoptt, and a spoke might a behappen to be put in the wheel of theforeclosures; witch if not, as your noble onnur already knows, may nota turn out to be altogether quite so agreeable, unless your evergracious and onnurable onnur should be so all mercifool as to rite tome; whereof I could then give them the whys and the wherefores, and allthinks would be smooth and smilin. I besiege your most noble onnur to ponderate mercifooly of thesethinks, and of a dockin of the entail, and of a settin of the deeds ofthe lawyers to work. Whereby every think may in sitch a case be madesafe and secure, not forgettin Wenbourne Hill; and the willdurness, andmayhap the hermuttidge, and the grotto. For why, your noble onnur?Where one fifty thousand pound be a forth cummin from, another may abehappen to be found. But that's a nether here nor there, a savin andexceptin the death and mortality of man, and the resurrection of thejust and of the repentin sinner in all grace and glory. And so I most umbelly remain, with the thanks givin of goodness, youronnur's most faithfool umbel sarvent everlastin to command, ABIMELECH HENLEY LETTER C _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ No; I will not attempt to console my Louisa, for I will not supposeeven at the present moment that she yields to grief, or is in need ofconsolation. She will not repine at what is not to be remedied, nordebilitate her mind by dwelling on her own causes of discontent, instead of awakening it to the numerous sources of happiness, which byincreasing the happiness of others incite it to activity. These aretruths too deeply engraven on the heart of Louisa to be forgotten, andit is scarcely necessary to revive them even at this serious moment. With respect to myself, my friend shall be my judge; my whole conductshall be submitted to her, with an injunction not to indulge anypartialities in my favour, but to censure, advise, and instruct mewhenever she finds opportunity. Such, Louisa, has been our intercourse;and we have mutual reason to congratulate each other on its effects. I have just had a conversation with Sir Arthur. He has received aletter from Abimelech, which he shewed me. Of all the proofs Frank hasyet given of energy, this relative to his father is perhaps thestrongest. You know the character of Abimelech. Could you think itpossible? He is willing not only to raise twenty thousand pounds forSir Arthur, but to pay down thirty more for his son! He begins to bevain of this son, and has even some slight perception that there may beother good qualities beside that of getting and hoarding money. But his cunning is still predominant. Having conceived the possibilityof this marriage, the accomplishment of it is now become his rulingpassion, and has for a moment subjected avarice itself. He neglects nomotive which he thinks may influence Sir Arthur, not even threatening;though his language is couched in all the art of apparent kindness andadulation. His letter however has produced its effect on my father, asyou will perceive by the following dialogue, which was begun by SirArthur. What think you of this proposal, Anna? I ought rather to ask what are your thoughts on the subject, sir. I can scarcely tell. I own it does not seem to me quite so unreasonableas I should once have supposed it; that is as far as relates to me. Butif you should have conceived any partiality for Mr. Clifton, I shouldthen-- Excuse me, sir, for interrupting you, but Mr. Clifton is at presentwholly out of the question. Were it in my power, which I fear it isnot, to do him any service, I should be as desirous of doing it now asever; but I can never more think of him as a husband. Are you so very determined? I am; and I hope, sir, my determination is not offensive to you? I cannot say at present that it is; for not to mention that I thinkvery well of young Mr. Henley, I own the affair of the anonymous letterwas a very improper and strange proceeding. Your aunt Wenbourne andLord Fitz-Allen indeed seem to doubt it; but, according to the accountwhich you and Mr. Henley give, I think they have no foundation fortheir doubts. The behaviour of Mr. Clifton, without the letter, would have been quitesufficient to have fixed my determination. What behaviour? The proof he gave of deceit and depravity of principle, by the mannerin which he endeavoured to seduce me. When was that? The very day on which Frank arrived. Endeavoured to seduce you? Yes. Are you certain of the truth of what you say? He proceeded too far, and explained himself too openly for me to bemistaken. Seduce you!--Then you have entirely given up all thoughts of him? All thoughts of marrying him I have most certainly. And what is your opinion of Mr. Henley? What can it be, sir? Are there two opinions concerning him? And if Iwere blind to his virtues, for whose safety he has been so often and soardently active, who should do him justice? I own, Anna, I have often thought you had some love for him, and I amtempted to think so still. Love in the sense in which you understand it I have carefullysuppressed, because till now I supposed it incompatible with duty andvirtue; but I acknowledge I begin to doubt; and even to suppose thathis view of the subject has been more rational and true than mine; andhe thinks it is our duty to form a union, for which he owns he has anardent wish. Yes, he has honestly told me all that passed between you; and hissincerity pleased me--But every branch of our family would certainly beagainst such a match. I suppose so. The world too would consider me as having dishonoured myself, were I toconsent. I believe it would. And would exclaim against the bad example--What ought to be done? My opinion has been that the world would have cause to make thiscomplaint; but I now think, or rather imagine myself convinced that Iwas in an error. It appears evident to my mind, at present, that weought to consider whether an action be in itself good or bad, just orunjust, and totally to disregard both our own prejudices, and theprejudices of the world. Were I to pay false homage to wealth and rank, because the world tells me it is right that I should do so, and toneglect genius and virtue, which my judgment tells me would be anodious wrong, I should find but little satisfaction in the applause ofthe world, opposed to self-condemnation. Mr. Henley is a very good young man; a very good young man indeed; andI believe I should even be willing to think of him for a son, if itshould not be opposed by the other branches of the family. But that it surely will. I am afraid so--Lord Fitz-Allen is half reconciled to us again, and Iwould avoid breaking with him if possible. Your aunt has a good opinionof Mr. Henley. But a better of Mr. Clifton. Yes, so I suppose. I must talk to Edward. Mr. Henley has been hisfriend. But Edward does not understand friendship. When he says friend he meansacquaintance; and he finds him the most agreeable acquaintance, whotells him least truth; which certainly is not Mr. Henley. I haveobserved him lately to be rather fond of the company of Mr. Clifton, whom he thinks a better companion. I own Mr. Henley is very obstinate in his opinions. If his opinions be true, would you not have him persist in the truth. But why should he be more certain that what he says is truth than otherpeople? Because he has examined with more industry and caution, has a strongermind, and a greater love of enquiry. He does not endeavour to make hisprinciples accord with his practice, but regulates his practice by hisprinciples. But still I ask what proof he has of being more in the right than otherpeople? I wonder, sir, that you can put such a question! He has surely givenboth you and me sufficient proofs of superiority; and though you shoulddoubt the arguments you cannot doubt the facts. I own he is a very extraordinary young gentleman. Ah, sir! The word gentleman shews the bent of your thoughts. Can younot perceive it is a word without a meaning? Or, if it have a meaning, that he who is the best man is the most a gentleman? I know your notions, child, and mine differ a little on these matters. However I do not think you quite so much in the wrong as I used to do;and perhaps there is something in what you say. Many men of lowfortunes have made their way to the highest honours; and for what Iknow he may do the same. He may and certainly will deserve the highest respect: but if youflatter yourself, sir, that he will seek or accept the titles anddistinctions which men have invented to impose on each other's folly, and obtain their own artful purposes, I ought to warn you that you willbe mistaken. His whole life will be devoted to the discovery andspreading of truth; and, individual acts of benevolence excepted, hiswealth, should he acquire any, will all be dedicated to that soleobject. I am afraid these are strange whims, Anna! I hope yet to shew you, sir, they are noble duties; which it is theexcess of guilt to neglect. It puzzles me to conceive by what means his father could have become sorich! He has all his life been rapacious after money. His faculties arestrong, but perverted. What would have been wisdom is degenerated intocunning. He has made himself acquainted with usurers, and they havemade him acquainted with spendthrifts. He has traded in annuities, andprofited by the eagerness of youth to enjoy: and, since I must besincere, he has encouraged you, sir, to pursue plans of expence with aview solely to his own profit. Well, well; should this marriage take place, it will all return intothe family. That should be no motive, sir, with either you or me. I do not know that. You understand your own reasons, and I mine; and ifthey should but answer the same end there will be no harm. I was going to reply, but Sir Arthur left me; being unwilling to heararguments which he took it for granted he should not understand. Frank came in soon after, and I repeated to him what had been said. Louisa, I must tell you the truth and the whole truth. Since I havebegun to imagine I might indulge my thoughts in dwelling on his exaltedqualities and uncommon virtues, my affection for them has greatlyincreased: and they never appeared to me more lovely than in thestruggles and checks which his joy received, at the hope of our union, by the recollection of the loss of Mr. Clifton. He like me isastonished at the powers of your brother's mind, and at theirperversion; and he fears that this attempt, having failed, will butserve to render that perversion more obdurate, nay perhaps more active. He seems even to dread lest I am not secure; which his desire to guardand caution me against would not suffer him to repress or conceal. Histenderness and ecstasy, and indeed, Louisa, they were both very strong, were mingled with regret equally vivid: and Mr. Clifton! Mr. Clifton!repeatedly burst from him. While I was relating what had passed between me and Sir Arthur toFrank, and now again since I have been writing it to you, I accusedmyself of coldness, and of shrinking from or rather of half deliveringthe truth, lest Sir Arthur should think me a forward girl, or lest Ishould think myself capable of too sudden a change. But of the degreeof that change do you, my friend, judge. I have at all timesendeavoured to shew you my naked heart, and often have violentlystruggled against every disguise. I never concealed from myself that Ithought more highly of Frank Henley than of Mr. Clifton; but I imaginedprinciple taught me to prefer what principle now warns me to shun. I ammore and more convinced of the error of marrying a bad man in order tomake him good. I was not entirely ignorant of this before, andtherefore flattered myself the good might be effected previous tomarriage. I forgot, when passion has a purpose to obtain, how artful itis in concealment. I have another quarrel with myself, for having been so desirous ofproving to my own conviction that the world's prejudices and theprejudices of my family ought to be respected, while that opinionaccorded with my practice; and of being now so equally alert to provethe reverse. Such are the deceptions which the mind puts upon itself!For indeed I have been very desirous of acting with sincerity in bothinstances. I can only say that I feel more certain at present; forbefore I had doubts, and now I have none. If you suspect me to beinfluenced by inclination, tell me so without reserve. All good be with my friend! May she profit by my mistakes! A. W. ST. IVES LETTER CI _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _Rose-Bank_ You will perceive, Fairfax, I have changed the scene, and am now in thecountry. I have a long narrative to detail, and am sitting in an oldhall with gloom and leisure enough to make it as tedious and as dull asyou could wish. My poor mother has taken her last leave of us, and liesnow a corpse in the room under me. I could be melancholy, or mad, or Iknow not what--But 'tis no matter--She brought me here unasked to makethe journey of this world, and now I am obliged to jog on. Not that Ithink I should much care if it were shortened, nor how soon; exceptthat I would live to have my revenge; and that I will have, littletroubling myself though the next minute were certain to be my last. Itrankles at my heart, and lies there corroding, biting, festering, nightand day. I have quarrelled with my sister, and I am sure shall never forgiveher; nor will she forgive me, so that we shall easily balance ouraccounts. This Anna St. Ives is her supreme favourite. But nowonder--No wonder--It would be strange if she were not! Still to beso ready to give up a brother, and write me such a letter as she didon the death of my mother! If I do not make her repent it Heavenrenounce me! But I consider the whole world as my enemies at this moment; youperhaps, Fairfax, excepted. I say perhaps, for I do not know how soonyou may turn upon and yelp at me with the rest. Forgive me, Fairfax. I am all venom, all viper, and cannot forbear tohiss even at my friend. But let my enemies beware! They shall find Ican sting!--These cursed gnawings of heart will not let me begin mystory. I told you I was determined to deny the anonymous letter. I have beenvery industrious with uncle Fitz-Allen and aunt Wenbourne; and havebeen equally careful to titilate the vanity of the coxcomb Edward, whois highly flattered with the attention I have paid him, and will I amcertain become my warm partisan. They had all heard the story, but were all ready enough to gape andswallow my tale; which considering it was wholly invention was not illcomposed. I begin to hate myself, to hate her, to hate the whole world, for being obliged to submit to such a damned expedient. But I will notrecede. I will have my revenge! Were the devil himself waiting todevour me I would on; or were he engaged against me, I would over-reachhim! I concerted my measures, and learning that this lad of mine, who wrotethe letter for me, was down at Wenbourne-Hill, I sent my man toinveigle him to come to me, at an inn where I purposely stopped, in myway to Rose-Bank. How durst they suborn my servant?--But--! I will staband not curse! My valet executed his commission, and prevailed on the lad to come;though with some difficulty, for he is a stubborn dog; and had not thevalet followed my directions, and told him it was to do his old mastera service, he would have been foiled. But I took him up at Paris, destitute and in some danger of starving, which he has not forgotten. This Henley however is a greater favourite with him than I am; as Isoon found by his discourse. I began by sounding him, to try if it were possible to prevail on himto assert he had written the letter at the instigation of Henley, instead of me; but I soon found it was in vain, and durst not proceedto let him see my drift. I then persuaded him that they had totally mistaken my purpose inwriting the letter; that I had done it with a very friendly design;that I had myself a very great esteem for Henley, and that I meantnothing but good to Anna; but that there were some reasons, which Icould not explain to him, that had occasioned me to write the letter. As my next purpose, after that of making him an evidence in my favour, was to send him entirely out of the way, if I failed in the firstattempt, I began to remind him of the condition in which I had foundhim in Paris, which he was ready enough to acknowledge, and seemedindeed afraid of acting ungratefully. I prompted and strengthened hisfears, and at last told him that, since I found he was a good lad andmeant well, though he was mistaken and had done me an injury, I wouldgive him an opportunity of shewing his gratitude. I then pretended that I had a packet of the utmost consequence to bedelivered to my friend in Paris; meaning you, Fairfax; which I durstnot trust to any but a sure hand: and as I knew him to be an honestlad, I expected he would not refuse to set off with it immediately. Itwas an affair almost of life and death! And, that I might impress hismind with ideas which would associate and beget suitable images, Ibegan to talk of the decease of my mother, of my own affliction at themisunderstanding with Anna, of my very great friendship for Henley, andof the fatal consequences that would attend the miscarriage of thepacket. Still I found him reluctant. He seemed half to suspect me; and yet Imade a very clever tale of it. He talked of Henley and his aunt; and hehad likewise a dread of Paris. His aunt I find has been maintained byHenley, she being lame and disabled; and as sending him out of the waywas a preliminary step absolutely necessary, I gave him a thirty poundbank-note, desired him to go to his aunt and give her ten pounds, andto keep the rest to secure him against any accidents, of which heseemed afraid, in a strange country; with a promise that he should haveas much more, if he performed his commission faithfully, on his return. I further enquired the direction of the aunt, telling him I wouldundertake to provide for her: and so I must, for she too must be sentout of the way. At last, by repeating my professions and again reminding him of mytaking him up at Paris, I was successful. Though I had more trouble ingaining the compliance of this lout than would have been sufficient, were I prime minister, and did I bribe with any thing like the samecomparative liberality, to gain ten worthy members of parliament, though five knights of the shire had been of the number. He wanted to return to Wenbourne-Hill for his necessaries and triflingproperty; and this reminded me not only of the danger of doing that butof his passing through London. Accordingly I told him to keep the tenpounds meant for his aunt to buy himself what things he wanted, which Ipromised to replace to her, and informed him I now recollected that hemust take the nearest road to Dover, which I pretended lay throughGuildford, Bletchingly, and Tunbridge, leaving London on the left. The importance, hurry and command I assumed did not give him time toreflect; and the injunctions I gave were such as I do not imagine hewould have disobeyed. But for my own security, pretending a fear thathe might mistake his way, I sent my valet with him; privately orderingthe valet not to part till he saw him safe on board the packet-boat. And now, Fairfax, it is not impossible but the wise uncle, who has anexcellent scent at discovery and no small opinion of his own acuteness, may find out that Henley himself was the forger of this letter; that itwas a collusion between him and the lad, that he has himself removedboth the lad and the aunt, and that his charity is a farce. I say suchan event is possible. You may be sure that the idea shall be wholly hisown, and that I will allow him all the just praise which he willgraciously bestow upon his penetration. My directions to the lad were to bring the packet immediately to you;which packet you will find to be blank paper, for I had no time for anything more, except a short note of which the following is a copy. An event which I have not leisure to relate occasions me to send youthis by a special messenger. You will most probably receive a letterexpress from me before he arrives, but if not detain him carefully. Hint not a word of the matter, but make a pretext of urgent businessconcerning me, for the issue of which he must wait. At all events donot let him escape, till you hear further from, C. CLIFTON I was obliged to pretend extreme hurry to the lad, but I gave my valetprivate instructions to take him round, and use as much delay as heconveniently could. Meanwhile I will send the letter I am now writingaway express, that you may be fully prepared; for this is a point ofinfinite consequence. If you are not in Paris the express is to followyou; and you will be kind enough to take measures that the lad mayfollow the express. He is ordered to wait your commands, which I toldhim might possibly detain him a month, or even more; though it mighthappen that the business would be transacted in a week. Not that I can hope the real business can now possibly be so soonfinished. You will take care to make your account agree with mine; andcircumstances oblige me to require of you, Fairfax, to condescend toget the lad's favour, and not make his stay irksome. You may command meto ten times this amount, as you know. This is a melancholy scene, and a gloomy house, and a dismal country;and I myself am fretful, and moody, and mad, and miserable. I shallsoon get into action, and then it will wear off. I will have her; ay, by the infernals will I! And on my own terms. Iknow she is rejoicing now in her Henley. Eternal curses bite him! But Iwill haunt her! I will appear to her in her dreams, and her wakinghours shall not want a glimpse of me. I know she hates me. So be it! Ifshe did not I could not so readily digest my vengeance. But I know shedoes! And she shall have better cause! I never yet submitted to be thusbaffled. She is preparing an imaginary banquet, and I will be there areal guest. I will meet her at Philippi! I wish I were away from this place! I wish I were in my mother'scoffin! I hate to meet this insolent sister of mine. We have had a battle, andI was in such a frantic rage that I could neither find ideas nor words;while she was cool, cutting, insolent, impudent--! I never in my lifehad so strong an inclination to wring a hussey's neck round. But I will get away as fast as I can. I am resolved however to turn herout of the house first. She shall feel me too, before I have done. Brother with her is no tie, nor shall sister be to me. Her mother hasmade but a small provision for her, and has recommended her to mymercy. She had better have taught her a little humility-- Plagues and pestilence! Why do I worry myself about her? I have quitecauses enough of distraction without that. I must not turn her out ofdoors neither, now I remember. If I did she would fly to her friend, and would make her if possible as great a fury as herself. Why do I say would make? Do I not know that I am her abhorrence? Iloved her, Fairfax, better than ever I loved woman; and would haveloved her more, have loved her entirely, infinitely, heart and soul, ifshe had not wronged me. From the first I was overlooked by her, catechised, reprimanded, treated like a poor ignoramus; while herHenley--! If I write any more I shall go mad!--Dash through the window, or do some desperate act!-- C. CLIFTON LETTER CII _Sir Arthur St. Ives to Abimelech Henley_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Mr. Henley, Sir, I have received your letter, which I must acknowledge is far moresatisfactory and in a more proper style than your last, at which Icannot but own I was exceedingly surprised. With respect to your son, I must say that he is a young gentleman ofvery great merit; and though a marriage into the family of St. Ives isa thing that he certainly has no right to expect, yet I cannot denythat your proposal deserves some consideration; inasmuch as you nowcome forward like a man, and have likewise a recollection of propriety. Neither do I forget, good sir, what you have hinted concerningWenbourne-Hill, which is far from disagreeable to me. And though thereare many impediments, for which I cannot altogether answer just atpresent, yet I think it very probable that this affair should end insomething like the manner you desire. I accordingly expect, Mr. Henley, you will have the kindness to stop proceedings relative to theforeclosures. In return for which I assure you, on my honour, I will do everythingthat becomes a gentleman to bring the affair to a proper conclusion. And as I have a very great respect for your son, and think very highlyof his parts, and learning, and all that, I find when things come to beconsidered that he perhaps may make my daughter more happy, and thematch may have other greater conveniences than perhaps one that mightseem to the other branches of my family more suitable. But I know that for the present it will be opposed by Lord Fitz-Allen;and though I do not think proper to be governed by him or any man, yetI could rather wish not to come to an open rupture with so near arelation. It will perhaps be thought derogatory by some other branches of thefamily. But my daughter has a very high opinion of the good qualitiesof your son; and she reminds me continually that he has done us manysignal services, which I assure you, Mr. Henley, I am very willing toremember. When things shall be in a proper train, I imagine it will be our bestway of proceeding to pay off all mortgages on Wenbourne-Hill, togetherwith the sum for the docking of the entail to my son Edward, and tosettle the estate in reversion on our children and their issue; myrental being made subject to the payment of legal interest to your sonfor the fifty thousand pounds. But we will consider further on thesethings when matters are ripe. In the mean time, be pleased to send me up one thousand pounds forpresent current expences, which you will place to account. And now Ihope, good sir, we shall from this time be upon proper terms: inexpectation of which I remain with all friendly intentions, A. ST. IVES LETTER CIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ Oh that I could write to my Louisa as formerly, with flattering andgenerous hopes in favour of a brother! Would it were possible! I amalready weary of accusation, though I fear this is but its beginning. Icannot help it, but I have strong apprehensions. Not that I will be theslave of fear, or sink before danger should it happen to come. The lad that copied the anonymous letter has left Wenbourne-Hill! Isrun away! No one knows whither! He went the very day on which yourbrother left London, to be present with you at Mrs. Clifton's funeral;and Clifton now denies, with pretended indignation, having had anyknowledge whatever of this letter!--Oh how audacious is he in error!Had the same energy but a worthy object, how excellent would be itseffects! It is a strange circumstance! And what is more strange and indeedalarming, Frank has been to enquire for the lad's aunt, and she isgone! No one can tell what is become of her, except that she went awayin a hackney-coach, after having as the people suppose received apresent; because she discharged all her little debts contracted duringthe absence of Frank, and bought herself some necessaries. What can this sudden and unaccountable removal of these two peoplemean? They had both apparently the strongest motives to the contrary;and Frank has a very good opinion of the lad, and not a bad one of theaunt. This is not all. We were yesterday invited to dine with LordFitz-Allen; that is I and Sir Arthur, not Frank Henley, as you willsuppose. I had a dislike to the visit, though I did not suspect itwould have been half so disagreeable. My brother and my aunt Wenbournewere likewise invited; we found them there. Ever since the scene with Mr. Clifton I have been constantly denied tohim, and positively refused all his applications for an interview;conceiving it to be just not to let him imagine there was any doubt onmy mind, relative to his proceedings and their motives. We had scarcelysat down to table before he came in, as if by accident. This was asubterfuge. To what will not error and the abandonment of the passionssubmit? After apologies for dropping in and disturbing so much good company, and a repetition of--I am very glad to see you, sir; you do my tablehonour, and other like marked compliments from Lord Fitz-Allen, Cliftonseated himself and endeavoured to assume his former gaiety and humour. But it could not be--His heart was too ill at ease. His eye wascontinually glancing toward me, and there as often met that steadyregard which he knew not how to support, and by which he was ascontinually disconcerted. I did not affect to frown, and to smile wouldhave been guilt. I put no reproof into my look, except the open-eyedsobriety of fortitude, springing from a consciousness of right. Butthis was insupportable He talked fast, for he wanted to talk away hissensations, as well as to convince his observers that he was quite athis ease. I know not how far he was successful, for they laughed asmuch when he failed, or more perhaps, than they would have done had hiswit preserved its usual brilliancy. His manner told them he intended tobe jocular, and that was their cue to join chorus. Lord Fitz-Allen was very marked in his attentions to him, which werereturned with no less ardour. Clifton indeed evidently laid himself outto please the whole table; but me least, because with me he had leasthope; and because he found his efforts produced no alteration in thatuniform seriousness on which I had determined. As soon as the dessert was served up the servants withdrew, and not oneof them afterward came in till rung for; which I imagine had beenpreconcerted. Looks then became more grave, and the conversation soondwindled into silence. At last Lord Fitz-Allen, after various hems andefforts, for he has some fear of me, or rather of what he supposes thederogatory sufferance of contradiction, addressed himself to me. I am sorry to hear, niece, there is a misunderstanding between youand Mr. Clifton; and as you happen now to be both together, I thinkit is a proper opportunity for explanation. You know, Miss St. Ives, that an alliance with the family of Clifton has always met myapprobation; and I suppose you will not deny me the favour oflistening with patience--Why don't you speak, niece? You desired me to listen, sir, and I am silent--Let Mr. Cliftonproceed. Clifton after some stammering hesitation began--I know, madam, you havebeen prejudiced against me, and have been told very strange things;very unaccountable things. I cannot tell what answer to make, till Iknow perfectly of what I am accused. All I request is to be suffered toface my accusers, and let Lord Fitz-Allen, or Sir Arthur, or this goodlady [My aunt Wenbourne] or your brother, nay or yourself, though youthink so ill of me, be my judge. I am told something of an anonymousletter; I know not very well what; but if any good evidence can bebrought of my having written, or caused to be written, or had anyconcern whatever in the writing of such a letter, I solemnly pledgemyself to renounce the blessing I so ardently seek without a murmur. Lord Fitz-Allen exclaimed nothing could be more gentleman-like. My auntWenbourne owned it was a very proper proposal. Edward thought therecould be no objection to it. Sir Arthur was silent. His insidious appeal to justice, and being brought face to face withhis accusers, revived the full picture of the flight of the lad, theremoval of the aunt, and the whole chain of craft and falsehoodconnected with these circumstances. It was with difficulty I repressedfeelings that were struggling into indignation--I addressed myself toMr. Clifton. Then, sir, you coolly and deliberately deny all knowledge of the letterin question? I have told you, madam, that I will suffer Lord Fitz-Allen, yourself, any person to pass sentence, after having examined witnesses. Answer mein an open direct manner, Mr. Clifton, without ambiguity. Were you notthe author of that letter? I am sorry, madam, to see you so desirous to find me guilty; and Iwould even criminate myself to give you pleasure, but that I know Imust then neither hope for your favour nor the countenance of this goodcompany. I assure you, Lord Fitz-Allen, I assure you, Sir Arthur, andyou, madam, and all, upon my honour I am incapable of what isattributed to me. Do not appeal to my uncle and aunt, Mr. Clifton, but turn this way. Letyour eyes be fixed here. Listen while I read the letter; and then, without once shrinking from yourself, or me, repeat as you have done, though in an equivocal manner, upon your honour you are not the author. I took the letter from my pocket and began to read. When I came to thefollowing passage I again repeated--Look at me, Mr. Clifton--'She willnever have the man they mean for her, I can assure you of that; andwhat is more, he will never have her. ' I proceeded to the end, and thenadded--Once more, Mr. Clifton, look at me and repeat--Upon my honour Iwas not the inventor and author of those words. Louisa--! He did look--! I hope I never shall see man look soagain!--He stared and forced his eyes to do their office, andrepeated--'Upon my honour I was not the inventor and author ofthose words. '--He stabbed me to the heart, Louisa!--Can he dothis?--Then what can he not do? He even felt a complacency at thevictory he had obtained, and turning round to Lord Fitz-Allen andthe company again repeated--'Upon my honour I am not the inventorand author of those words. ' Lord Fitz-Allen almost crowed with exultation. I am mistaken, niece, said he, if you do not find there are other people who can writeanonymous letters: people of no honour; upstarts, mongrels, mushrooms, low contemptible fellows, that would sully the mouth of a Fitz-Allen tomention. The tone of this lordly uncle was so high, Louisa, and his passions soarrogant, loud, and obstinate, that it was with difficulty I couldrecover the fortitude requisite to assert truth and put falsehood tothe blush. I again turned to my opponent. Mr. Clifton, I feel at present you are a dangerous man. But I do notfear you. Observe, sir, I do not fear you--[I turned to my uncle] Sir, Mr. Clifton caused this letter to be written. But, if there were nosuch letter in existence, I have another proof, stronger, moreundeniable of which I imagine you will not doubt when I inform you thatno third person was concerned. It was addressed to myself. It was astrenuous, bold, unprincipled effort to seduce me. Let the gentlemanagain look me in the face and tell me I am guilty of falsehood. I spoke with firmness, and Lord Fitz-Allen's features relaxed, and hiseye began to enquire with pain and apprehension. His great fear was ofbeing convicted to want of penetration. Clifton perceived the feelingsof the company turn upon him with suspicion; but his art, must I add?his hypocrisy did not fail him. He transformed the confusion he feltinto a look of contrition, and with as much ardour as if it had beenreal replied-- It is that fatal error which has ruined me, madam, in your goodopinion, and has occasioned you to credit every accusation against me, however improbable. I confess my guilt. Not guilt of heart, madam; forhonour be my witness, my views were as pure as the words in which theywere uttered. I was at that time dependant on the will of a mother, whom I loved, and whose memory I revere. My passions were impatient, and I wished to remove impediments to my happiness which now no longerexist. I do not pretend to palliate what is unpardonable, and what Imyself condemn as severely as you do; except that I abjure alldishonourable intentions, and meant as I said to be your husband. Thestrongest proof I can give that this was my meaning I now offer, in thepresence of this noble and good company. I require no conditions, I askfor no fortune except yourself, which is the only blessing I covet inthis life. I will joyfully attend you to the altar whenever you andyour worthy relations shall consent; next week, to-morrow, to-day, thismoment; and should think myself the most favoured, the most happy manon earth! The offer is the offer of a gentleman, Sir Arthur, said LordFitz-Allen. If Mr. Clifton had been guilty of any indecorum, niece, [Turning to me] you could not require more honourable amends. This isacting with that dignity which characterizes a man of family, Mrs. Wenbourne; and as it is impossible for Miss St. Ives to see it in anyother point of view, here the affair will naturally end, and there isno more to be said. I immediately answered--If, sir, by the affair ending here, youunderstand any further intercourse between me and Mr. Clifton, I mustnot suffer you to continue in such an error. We are and ever mustremain separate. Habit and education have made us two such differentbeings, that it would be the excess of folly to suppose marriage couldmake us one. Miss St. Ives--[My uncle collected all his ideas of rank and grandeur]Miss St. Ives, you must do me the honour to consider me as the head ofour family, and suffer me to remind you of the respect and obediencewhich are due to that head. The proposal now made you I approve. It ismade by a man of family, and I must take the liberty to lay myinjunctions upon you to listen to it in a decorous and proper manner. I answered--I am sorry, sir, that our ideas of propriety are so veryopposite. But whether my judgment be right or wrong, as I am the personto be married to Mr. Clifton, and not your Lordship, my judgment aswell as yours must and ought to be consulted. Lord Fitz-Allen could scarcely restrain his anger within the boundsof his own decorum. He burst into exclamations--Exceedingly well, miss!--Very proper behaviour to a person of my rank, and youruncle!--You hear, Sir Arthur!--You hear, Mrs. Wenbourne! You allhear!--But your motives and inclinations are known, miss: I am sorrythat it would dishonour the tongue of Fitz-Allen to repeat them: andI cannot help telling you, Sir Arthur, that you have been exceedinglyto blame to admit such a fellow to any familiarity with a woman of rankand my niece; a fellow better entitled to be her footman than her--Iwill not permit the word to pass my lips. I felt the cowardice of suffering worth and virtue to be insultedwithout a defender, from the fear that I myself should be involved inthe insult, and replied-- The gentleman, sir, to whom you have twice alluded in terms of so muchcontempt, were he present would smile at your mistake. But there aremore people at this table than myself who have been witnesses howlittle he deserves to be spoken of in the language of opprobrium. Mr. Clifton appeared eager to be the first to acknowledge Mr. Henleywas a very worthy person. Edward muttered something to the same tune;and Sir Arthur seemed very willing to have spoken out, but wanted thecourage. He began at Turnham Green, but could get no further. LordFitz-Allen answered-- What tell you me of Turnham-Green, Sir Arthur? I was stopped oncemyself, by a highwayman, and my footman fired at him, and sent himpacking; but I did not for that reason come home and marry my footmanto my daughter. The full image of Frank and his virtues pervaded my mind, my heartswelled, my thoughts burst from my lips, and I exclaimed--Oh, sir, thatyou had a thousand daughters, and that each of them were worthy of sucha footman for a husband! Had you beheld this uncle of mine, Louisa! The daughters of the peerFitz-Allen married to footmen! The insult was almost agony. The onlyantidote to the pain which his countenance excited was the absurdityand ridicule of the prejudice. But I perceived how vain it was toexpect that in this company the voice of justice should be heard, and Irose. My aunt rose at the same time, to retire with me; but, recollecting myself, I turned and thus addressed Lord Fitz-Allen andMr. Clifton, alternately: That I may not be liable to any just blame from your lordship, or you, sir, for want of being explicit, you must permit me to repeat--I neverwill again admit of the addresses of Mr. Clifton. I have an abhorrenceof the errors in which he is now indulging. He himself has told me whata mad and vicious act it would be to marry a husband in whom I couldnot confide, and I never can confide in him. My persuasion at thismoment of his hypocrisy is such that, could I prevail on myself to thedebasement of putting him to the trial, by pretending to accept hishand, I am convinced he would refuse. I read his heart. He seeks anopportunity to revenge imaginary injuries; for I never did, do not, norever can wish him any thing but good. I think I would lay down my life, without hesitation, to render him all of which his uncommon powers arecapable: but I perceive the impossibility of its being effected by me, and I here ultimately and determinedly renounce all thought of him, orof so dangerous an attempt. Mr. Clifton eagerly started up, and with a momentary softening ofcountenance, a pleading voice, and something like the tone of returningvirtue exclaimed--Hear me, madam!--I conjure you, hear me! My appeal isto the benevolence, the dignity of your heart! Remember the virtuousplan you had formed--! The combat in his mind was violent but short. Truth made a struggle togain the mastery, and hope raised up a transient prospect of success, which was as quickly overclouded by anger and despair, and he stoppedabruptly. At least his voice and features were so impassioned that, ifthese were not his sensations, I have no clue to the human heart. Perceiving him pause and doubt, I replied-- It cannot be, Mr. Clifton! You this moment feel it cannot! You havebegun a course of fraud, and which the whole arrangement of to-day isonly meant as so much pitiful machinery to effect. You are conscious, Mr. Clifton, you are conscious, Lord Fitz-Allen, that our meeting wasnot, as you have both pretended, accidental. And I here call uponyou--you, Mr. Clifton, to tell for what purpose or where you have sentthe lad who wrote the letter, and to what place you have removed hisaunt? Such an artifice is vile, sir! And to challenge your accusers tostand forward, and with a look such as you assumed to affirm, 'Uponyour honour you were not the inventor and author of the letter, ' is somuch more vile that I shudder for you! Your own proceedings haveconjured up a train of recollections that speak a concerted plan ofperfidy. You mean mischief! But I once more tell you, sir, I do notfear you! I will not fear you! My fears indeed are strong, but theyare for yourself. Beware! The more guilt you have committed, the moreyou will be driven to commit. Turn back! You are in a dreadful path!It is unworthy of you, Mr. Clifton! It is unworthy of you! I instantly withdrew, and was followed by Mrs. Wenbourne, who began toexpress something like blame of the positive manner in which I hadspoken, and the high language I had used to Lord Fitz-Allen; but it wastoo feeble to incite an answer in my then state of mind. I requestedshe would order her carriage, and set me down. She asked if I would notfirst pay my respects to my uncle. I answered yes, when my uncle shouldbe more deserving of respect. She said I was a strange young lady. Ireplied I sincerely hoped there were many young ladies stranger eventhan I. She took offence at these retorts upon her words, and I perceived that, though the spirit of my answer was right, the manner was wrong; andexplained and apologised as became me. She was appeased, and when thecarriage came again asked if I would not go with her to take leave. Ianswered I imagined my uncle would be glad to wave the ceremony; and, as I thought he had acted very improperly, curtsying and taking leavewould but be practising the customary hypocrisy of our manners, which Ihoped I should on all occasions have the firmness to oppose. Accordingly my aunt went herself; and his lordship, still preservinghis dignity, pretended to forbid me his presence, till I betterunderstood what was due to the relationship and rank in which he stood. This my aunt reported, and I returned no answer, but left her to makeher own reflections. Thus ended this painful interview--Tell me, what ought I to think? Whatcan be the purport of a conduct so very wrong? Such a string offalsehoods! How different would the behaviour of Mr. Clifton have been, had not conscious criminality oppressed and chained up his faculties!Such persistence in duplicity must have some end in view. Could Iconsent to marriage, which is now utterly impossible, he has certainlyno such meaning. If he had he could not have written, he could not haveacted as he has done; and even less in this last instance since hiswriting than before, for he could not but know that, though he couldappear this generous man of honour to Lord Fitz-Allen, he must standdetected by me. It was not possible he should suppose otherwise. Well! Let him mean me all the harm he pleases; only let me find someopportunity of convincing him what a depraved, unmanly, trivial turnhis mind has taken, and let me but give it a different bent, and I willwillingly suffer all he shall have the power to inflict. I do not findmyself, Louisa, disposed to stand in that dread of baseness andviolence which they generally inspire. Virtue is not a passive but anactive quality; and its fortitude is much more potent than the rashvehemence of vice. Adieu, dear Louisa. Peace and felicity guard you! A. W. ST. IVES LETTER CIV _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ Thank you, Fairfax, for your speed and precautions, which I mustrequest you not to slacken. Do not let the lad escape you: hisappearance here would be ruin. Let but my grand scheme be completed, and then I care not though the legions of hell were to rise, and mowand run a tilt at me. I would face their whole fury. The scene woulddelight me. Let them come all! I burn to turn upon and rend them! Themore desperate the more grateful. I told you, Fairfax, she hated me! I have it now from her own mouth!She feels I am become her foe! My hand is already upon her! My deepestdarkest thoughts of vengeance do not exceed her imagination. And yet she fears me not! He; words, her looks, her gestures are allcool, firm defiance! She is a miracle, Fairfax! A miracle! But I willovermatch her. A heroine! She would have unhorsed Orlando himself hadshe lived in the times of the knights Paladin. I am an insufferable booby, an eternal lunatic, for having firstthought of quarrelling with her. But it is too late! I might haveforeseen the advantages I give a woman like her. She openly, magnanimously tells me what my intents are, and then spurns at them. She keeps her anger under indeed, but does not repress its energy; aproof of the subjection in which she holds her passions. She onceendeavoured to teach me this art, would I but have listened. But thatis past! I could not have thought it was in woman! The poor, wailing, watery-eyed beings I had before encountered would not suffer me tosuppose a female could possess the high courage of the daring, noblemind. Never but one short moment did I overtop her: nor are there anymeans but those I then used. Inspire her with the dread of offendingwhat she thinks principle, and she becomes a coward! But I will rouse! I will soar above her, will subdue her, will have herprostrate in humble submission, or perish! In the presence of witnessesI feel I cannot succeed; but singly, face to face, passion to passion, and being to being, distinct and eminent as she stands above allwoman-kind, I will yet prove to her she is not the equal of the manClifton. She herself has even thrown the gauntlet. I have had such a scene withher! A public exhibition! I cannot relate the manner of it. I dare nottrust my brain with the full reminiscence. Why did I quarrel with her? She meant me well--Tortures!--I am alunatic to tease myself with such recollections. This is a damned, wrong headed, ignorant, blundering, vile world; and I cannot see my wayin it. I should have had no suspicion that it is all this but for her. That Henley shall never have her! I'll murder him first! Though thebottomless pit were to gape and swallow me, he shall not have her! Thecontemptible buzzard, Sir Arthur, is now completely veered about. Butin vain! It shall not be! By hell it shall not! This fellow, this Henley must some how or other be disposed of. Thecontempt of the arrogant peer, her uncle, will harm him but little; forthe lord, with all his dignity, is no match for the plebeian! Neither will his lordship hastily seek another combat with his niece. The only advantage I have, in so insignificant an ally, is that ofhereafter making suspicion alight on Henley, and not on me; for I meanto carry them both off, Henley and Anna. I know not where or how Ishall yet dispose of them, but there is no other mode of accomplishingvengeance. They must be confined too. I care not how desperate themeans! I will not retract! They shall be taught the danger of raisingup an enemy like me! I will have them at my feet! Will separate them!Will glut my revenge, and do the deed that shall prevent their evermeeting more, except perhaps to reproach each other with the madness ofhaving injured, aggravated, and defied a Clifton! My whole days are dedicated to this single object. I have been ridinground the skirts of this shapeless monster of a city, on all sides, insearch of lonely tenantless houses; some two of which I mean to providewith inhabitants. I have met with more than one that are not illsituated. But I want agents! Desperados! Hungry and old traders in violence! Icare not where I go for them; have them I will, though I seek them inthe purlieus of infamy and detestation. To succeed by any other meansis impossible. She will not admit me in the same apartment withherself, nor I believe in the same world, had she the power to excludeme. I met her indeed at Lord Fitz-Allen's, where the scene abovementionedpassed; but it was a plan concerted with his lordship, which she easilydetected, and publicly reproached him with his duplicity. I gloried tohear her; for she had not injured him. A poor compound of pride andselfishness! Incapable of understanding the worth of such a niece! Butshe made him feel his own insignificance. Henley and she are now never asunder. I have mentioned the maid Laurato you. She tells me they have long conversations in the morning, longwalks in the afternoon, and at night they have neither of them thepower to rise and separate. But I will come upon them! My spirit atpresent is haunting them, never leaves them, girds at and terrifiesthem at every instant, during their amorous dalliance! I know it does!They cannot get quit of me! I am with them, weighing them down, convulsing them! They feel they are in my gripe!--Hah! The thought isheart's ease. When there is no company, and when Sir Arthur is not sitting with them, this maid, Laura, has that honour. Whence it appears that even theseimmaculate souls have some dread of scandal. And who is it inspires that dread? It is I! They seem to havediscovered that all circumstances, all incidents wear a double face andthat I am the malignant genius who can make which he pleases the trueone--Yes! I am with them! I send the Incubus that hag-rides them intheir dreams! They gasp and would awake, but cannot! Why could she not have bestowed all this affection upon me? Why couldshe not? I once thought a woman might have loved me!--But it seems Iwas mistaken--The things that go by the general name of woman might;but when I came to woman herself, she could not, though she tried. Would I were any where but in this infernal gloom! It is a detestablecountry! This town is one everlasting fog, and its inhabitants are ascloudy as its skies! Every man broods over some solitary scheme of hisown, avoids human intercourse, and hates to communicate the murk of hismind. I am in a wilderness. I fly the herd, and the herd flies me. Wepass and scowl enmity at each other, for I begin to look withabhorrence on the face of man. There is not a single gleam ofcheerfulness around me. The sun has not once shone since the day of mydisappointment, which was itself thick darkness. Would I could get rid of myself!--I am going to take a ride, and make asecond examination of a large lonely house beyond Knightsbridge. Itlies to the left, and is at a sufficient distance from the road. Ithink it will suit my purpose. I must not have far to convey them; andLaura informs me their walks are most frequently directed throughHyde-Park, and among the fields at the back of Brompton. I must be as quiet and appear as little myself as possible; for whichreason I ride without a servant. And though I have been industrious inreading advertisements, and getting intelligence of empty houses, Ihave not ventured to enquire personally. Laura attends them in theirwalks; but she is secure. They must both be seized at the same time, and in a manner that shallfrustrate all research. It will then be concluded they have gone offtogether. He is a powerful fellow, a dangerous fellow, and I must bewell provided. He shall never have her, Fairfax! I would die upon thewheel, hang like a negro, and parch alive in the sun ere he should haveher! C. CLIFTON P. S. All society is become odious to me, but chiefly that society whichI am obliged to frequent. This uncle Fitz-Allen, aunt Wenbourne, andbrother Edward are three such poor beings, and the censures they passon a woman who is of an order so much above them are so vapid, soselfish, or so absurd, that it is nauseating to sit and listen to them. Yet these are the animals I am obliged to court! Hypocrisy is a damnedtrade, Fairfax; and I will have full vengeance for having been forcedupon such a practice. The only present relief I have is to make thearrogant peer foam with the idea of his relationship to a gardener'sson. This would be an exquisite pleasure, but that it is millions oftimes more maddening to me than to him! LETTER CV _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ Abimelech is come up to town. I am obliged very respectfully to callhim Mr. Henley when Sir Arthur hears me, in compliance to his feelings:and he has hinted that hereafter, when his name is written, it must betagged with an esquire. The old miser [Well, Louisa, let it be the old gentleman] is so eagerin pursuit of his project that he can take no rest, and is unwillingSir Arthur should take any. He has a prodigious quantity of cunning!Whatever he may know of the theory of the passions as a generalsubject, no person certainly knows better how to work upon the passionsof Sir Arthur: at least no person who will condescend to take such anadvantage. His discourse is such a continued mixture of Wenbourne-Hill, his money, mortgages, grottos, groves, the wherewithals, and the younggentleman his son, that laughter scarcely can hold to hear him. Werethe thing practicable, he would render Frank Henley himself ridiculous. It is pleasant to remark what a check the presence of this favouriteson is upon his loquacity. He never suspects the possibility of therebeing a mortal superior to himself at other times; whereas he has thena latent consciousness of his own ridicule. The effect which theabsence of Frank has produced, with the favour he is in with me, andthe resolute manner in which he conquered his father when he last wentdown to Wenbourne-Hill, have made a total change in the old man'sbehaviour to this formerly neglected but now half adored son. Werehabits so inveterate capable of being eradicated, Frank would yet teachhim virtue; but the task is too difficult. He is certainly in a most delicious trance. His son to be married tothe daughter of his master! That master a baronet! And the estates ofthat baronet to be his own, as he supposes, to all eternity. For theavaricious dreams of selfishness are satisfied with nothing less. Theseare joys that swell and enlarge even his narrow heart, into somethingthat endeavours to mimic urbanity. Whenever Sir Arthur mentions Lord Fitz-Allen, or the family consent, honest Aby in a moment conjures up Wenbourne-Hill, a hermitage, and awilderness; and for the first day, if he found that dose not strongenough to produce its effect, foreclosures were added to the mixture. Your own heart, Louisa, will tell you what Frank's feelings were atsuch a mean menace; and, though to stop his garrulity entirely was notin the power of man, he determined to silence him on that subject. Butthe cunning Abimelech turned even this incident to advantage, by takingcare to inform Sir Arthur of Frank's generosity. Thus, Louisa, things are at present in a train which some months ago Ishould indeed very little have expected. But such are the energies ofvirtue! How changed at present do all surrounding objects seem! To methey were never dark; but they were not always pleasant. They are nowall cheerfulness and perspicacity. We have the most charming walks andthe most delightful conversations, Louisa; and on subjects soexpansive, so sublime--! Often do I say--'Why is my friend not with us?Why does she not come and bear her part in discussion? She whose mindis so penetrating and whose thoughts are so grand?' But we shall meet!Days and years of happiness are before us! The prospect is rapture!Yes, Louisa, we shall meet, and I hope quickly! A. W. ST. IVES LETTER CVI _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ Join chorus and rejoice with me, Fairfax, for I feel something like atransient hilarity of heart. I think I am half in a temper to tell mytale as it ought to be told. Time was when it would have been pregnantwith humour. The very master-devil that I wanted has appeared to me, and we havesigned and consigned ourselves over to the great work of mutualvengeance! Be patient and you shall hear the manner of it. Two nightsago I was at the theatre. The king was there; Garrick played; the crowdwas great, and no places were to be procured. During the first act Iand two more stood elbowing each other at the door of one of the frontboxes, the seats of which were all full. The person who was next me washard-favoured, had a look of audacious impudence, with that mixture ofdress which forms the vulgar genteel, and spoke the brogue. The act being over the audience rose, and my gentleman, with thenonchalance assurance of his character, a total disregard of thefeelings and convenience of others, and an entire complaisance for hisown, stepped forward into the second seat from the door, on which therewere previously four people, its full compliment. But he had noticedthey were not all so athletic as himself, and was determined to makethem sit close. The persons next him, observing his redoubtable look, hesitated for amoment, but at length began to remonstrate. They addressed him two orthree times without his deigning to appear to hear them; till, eitherencouraged by his silence or warmed by vexation, they spoke loud enoughto call the attention of the people around them. The Hibernian then sat himself down, threw his arm over the railingof the box, and his body in a careless posture, and very coollyanswered--'Pray now be asy, and don't disturb the good company. ' A squabble ensued, and the Irishman continued to answer them with theutmost contempt. In a short time two of them gained courage enough tothreaten to turn him out; to which he replied--'Oh! By the sweet Jasusbut I should be glad to see the pretty boy that would dare to lay alittle finger upon me!' After another wrangle, and treating their reasonings and half menaceswith the most contemptuous disregard, a gentleman from the next boxinterfered, and observed it certainly was very improper behaviour. TheIrishman turned round, surveyed him from head to foot, and answered--'Ifind you have all got your quarrelling tackle on board to night; and soas I must fight somebody, and as you, mister, appear to be the most ofa gintleman, why I will talk to you when the play is over. For whichraison sit down, and make all yourselves asy. ' The beginning of the second act and the impatience of the house to heartheir favourite soon imposed silence, and the Irishman kept his seat. I was so much diverted by the complete impudence of the fellow, thatthough one of the box-keepers had found me a place, I determined toreturn, and see how this petty brawl was to end. Accordingly I tookcare to be round in time, before the curtain dropped; till which thehero of it had kept quiet possession of his usurped seat. The moment the audience rose he turned about, and with a look which Iimagine no man but himself could assume, first on this side of him andnext on that, addressed his opponents with--'Now if any of you arestill disordered in the body, and want to lose a little blood, whyfollow me. ' The two persons that sat next to him were both Jews, and one of themwho appeared to have the most spirit had a knotted crab-stick in hishand, and insisted that the Irishman should not leave the company, tillhe had first given satisfaction for the insult he had committed on themall. The Hibernian replied--'All? Is it all together you mane, or oneafter another? Perhaps you don't understand the tools of a gintleman, and want to box me! Faith and I should have no great objection to thateither, with any half dozen of you, one down and t'other come on. Butyou must use no unlawful weapons, my sweet fillow. ' So saying, he wrested the Jew's crab-stick from him, laid hold of it ateach end, and snapped it in two across the railing of the box; addingwith infinite composure of countenance--'This is an improper playthingfor you, master Jackey, and you might do yourself a damage with it. Here is half a crown for you. Take it, man, and buy yoursilf a genteelbit of rattan, to beat the little pug dogs away, when they bark afteryou in the street. ' Insolent as the fellow was, there was no resisting his humour, and thelaugh was general. The vexed Israelite endeavoured to persist, and theIrishman drew a dirty letter out of his pocket, from the back of whichhe tore the direction, and giving it to the angry Jew, said--'If youhave any stomach for a good breakfast tomorrow morning, I shall be athome; and the hot rolls and butter will be ready at ten. ' He then strode over the seats and went into the lobby, where he wasfollowed by the crowd. My curiosity was highly excited, and I requested the Jew to let me readhis address. Imagine, Fairfax, my surprise at seeing the name of Mac Fane! That is, of the gambler and bully who some time ago had been attempting toplunder brother Edward; and who had been so successfully opposed by thefamily knight-errant, Henley! Among the busy conjectures of myfermenting brain concerning the instruments I might happen to want, should things as they have done come to an extremity, the supposedqualifications of this hero had more than once passed in review. Thebehaviour to which I had this evening been a witness perfectlyconfirmed all my former conjectures, which I instantly recollected; Itherefore determined not to lose sight of him. Before I knew who he was I had been glad to see the squabble continued, because it drew out the strong traits of this very eccentric genius;but I grew impatient to put an end to it the moment I had made thediscovery. The thing was not difficult. His character was too desperate anddetermined not to inspire fear; and the humour of his phraseology andbrogue made the laugh always on his side. The passions of his opponentscounteracting each other died away. The farce was going to begin, andhe advised them to 'go, and not lose full eighteen pennyworth out oftheir five shillings. ' Finding the morsel was too hard for their digestion, they took hisadvice and returned quietly to their seats: while he several timestraversed the lobby, and looked first into one box and then intoanother, to let them see that there he was. My resolution was formed, and I soon found an opportunity of fallinginto conversation with him; and as I took care that my tone shouldanswer the intended purpose, he presently invited me to adjourn, andtake what he called a bottle and a bird at the Shakespeare. The proposal exactly suited me, and away we went. He called for a private room, which I should have done if he had not, though with a very different view. My appearance made him hope he hadcaught a gudgeon. He presently began to turn the discourse upon variouskinds of gaming. Billiards, tennis, hazard, and pass-dice, were each ofthem mentioned; and, to encourage him, I gave him to understand I knewthem all. He then talked of cards, and asked if I had any objection totake a hand at picquet; 'just to pass away an hour before supper. ' Ianswered none. Accordingly the waiter was rung for, and the cards were presently uponthe table. He proposed playing for a trifle; from one guinea to five; not more;'becase as why, he was tied up from deep play. He had lost fivethousand pounds within six weeks, and they had had a pretty pigeon ofhim!--[Had you but seen the form and features of this pigeon, Fairfax!]For which raison he must take care and not be plucked any more. It wasthe misfortune of his timper not to know when to stop; and there wasnot so unlucky a fillow in the three kingdoms. He was always thebubble, play at what he would, and every snap-jack knew him to be hismark. ' Such was the lesson which this fellow had got by rote, and had beenretailing to all comers for years. But I have observed of gamblers thatthey cannot forbear rehearsing their own cant even in the company ofeach other, and when they are convinced every soul that hears themknows they are lying. I however had my purpose to serve, and we sat down to our game. Thestakes were five guineas a side. According to custom, I won the threeor four first games; and he pretended to curse, and fret, and again ranover his bead-roll of being pigeoned, plucked bare, bubbled, done up, and the whole catalogue of like genteel phrases. The first game he won he proposed, as luck was perhaps taking a turn inhis favour, to double the stakes, and I indulged him. He suffered me towin the following game. I say suffered, cheating being taken into theaccount; for I am certain that at the fair game I am his master. Butthat is no matter. The three following games were all his own, and he then began to repeatthe remainder of his part. 'By the blissed Jasus he would not believehis own eyes! Three games together!' The fellow swore, with one of thedeepest oaths his memory could furnish, such a thing had never happenedto him before in his whole life! 'But now that he was in luck, he wouldas soon play for a hundred guineas as for a thirteener. ' He endeavoured to provoke me to increase the stake; and, by the suppernot coming up, I am convinced the waiter and he understood each other, and that the signal had been given. I refused to play for a greatersum, and we continued till he had won fifty guineas, he incessantlyswearing--'By the blissed crook! By the hind leg of the holy lamb! BySaint Peter's pretty beard!' and by all manner of oaths, some of themof the most whimsical and others of the most horrible kind, that he hadnever been a winner so much before in all his life. From the first tenguineas that he won to the last it was still the same tune. I then rang the bell and ordered supper, thinking the sum sacrificedquite sufficient; though not more than enough to serve my purpose. While we were eating, he endeavoured by all the arts he knew to excitethe passion of gaming in me; and he is a tolerable adept. But my mindwas too intent upon another subject. I watched the moment when he wasat the height of his hopes, which I had purposely encouraged to producemy intended effect, and then asked him if he did not know Captain St. Ives? Impudent as the fellow is, his countenance for a moment was fixed, hismouth open, and his eye struggling to get rid of alarm, that it mightbegin its enquiries. I followed up my blow by adding-- You won three thousand guineas of him I think, Mr. Mac Fane, which I amtold were never paid-- The fellow put his hand into a side-pocket, which he had in the body ofhis coat. I instantly suspected he had a small pair of pistols there, and my suspicions were afterward confirmed. He drew it back, havingsatisfied himself that they were actually forth-coming, and thenrecovered himself so far as to ask-- Pray, sir, are you acquainted with Captain St. Ives?-- I am, sir, answered I--I likewise know Mr. Henley. You do, sir? said the astonished Mac Fane. I do, sir. I am intimate with Sir Arthur St. Ives, and he is the son ofhis gardener: a low fellow that acts as the baronet's man of all work;his steward, his overseer, and his cash-keeper. This contempt thrown on the character of Henley gave the Irishman somerelief. By the holy poker, said Mac Fane, but I always thought he was aspalpeen, and no gintleman! I think you have no great cause to like him much, sir, continued I, from the account that I have heard. His choler began to rise, and his eyes assumed an uncommon ferocity. Like him! Sweet Jasus snatch me out of the world if I don't pay off anold score with him yet, before I die. I thought as much, sir, answered I. Sir! Replied he, again staring with reviving alarm and suspicion-- I continued. --To tell you the truth, Mr. Mac Fane, that is the verysubject which brought you and I into company this evening. I suspectedyour hate of Henley, and to be sincere I hate him too. Had you seen the fellow's face brighten, Fairfax, and after brighteningbegin to flame, you would not have readily forgotten the picture. But I am rather surprised to meet you in public, sir, added I. What do you mane by that, sir? I thought you deemed it prudent to keep out of the way, on account ofthat affair? I felt some gratification in playing thus upon his fears--He now oncemore put his hand into his side-pocket, and pulling out his pistolslaid them before him. By Jasus, sir, I don't very well know what youwould be at! But when I understand the full tote of your questions, Ishall know how to give an answer. I could not very well digest this oblique menace; but to havequarrelled with such a rascal would in every sense have been madness. You have a well-mounted pair of pistols there, said I, Mr. Mac Fane. I'll bet you the fifty guineas, double or quit, I break this chinaplate at the first shot, ten paces distant. By the great grumbler, answered he, but I'll bet you don't! immediatelydelivering me one pistol, and taking up and unlocking the otherhimself. Accordingly I placed the plate against the wall, fired, andwas not far from the centre. Upon my honour and soul, sir, said MacFane, but I find you are a good shot, and I shall be glad to be betteracquainted with you. Having convinced him that I could hit a mark as well as himself, Ireturned to the subject of Henley; and though I could not bring him tobe explicit, I learned from him that he was acquainted with Henley'saversion to prosecute, but does not know on what that aversion isfounded. Beside which he confides in a want of witnesses, as I couldperceive: except that he has some fear of his accomplice, Webb; a manin whose company this very Mac Fane once attempted to rob Sir Arthur, and whom I suspect he would impeach, but that it would ruin all hisgambling views. For he has found means of associating with that wholeclass of young fools of fortune, whose perverted education leads themto take pleasure in the impudence and humour of such a fellow, as wellas in seeing each other stripped and ruined by turns; but who wouldnever admit him as a companion, did they know he had been guilty of anact so desperate as that of going on the highway. Scarcely any thingshort of this can expel such a fellow from such society. But though he thinks himself secure in consequence of the lenity ofHenley, he hates him as sincerely as if he were pursuing him to thegallows. The loss of the three thousand guineas is one great motive;and another is that he felt he was out-braved by Henley, whom he couldnot terrify, but who on the contrary terrified him. I found he had even formed a scheme of petty vengeance, which was towaylay Henley with some bruising fellows of his acquaintance, for he isacquainted with daring villains of all descriptions, one of whom was toinsult, provoke him to fight, and beat him, while Mac Fane himselfshould keep at some distance, disguised. It was with some difficulty I could persuade him to desist from thisplan, and join in projects of my own. But at last however he wasconvinced that to rob him of his mistress, and awaken him from all hisdreams of imaginary bliss to the torture I am preparing, would bemore effectual revenge than a paltry beating. Not to mention that Ifirmly believe, instead of being beaten, he would conquer the bestprize-fighter they could bring; for he is really a powerful andextraordinary fellow. But you will perceive, Fairfax, I was obliged to inform him of a partof my own views; and that I might fix him I determined to bid high. Itold him I had Henley and another person to secure; and that if hewould aid me himself and provide other assistants to act under hisdirections, without seeing or being informed of me, I would give him athousand guineas as soon as all this should be perfectly accomplished. And, as an earnest of my generosity, I put down the fifty guineas;saying that the wager I had made with him was not a fair one, for thatit was fifty guineas to a straw in my favour: he had no chance ofwinning. He was quite satisfied with my offer, strengthened as it was by thegratification of his own passions. I told him what a puissant heroHenley is, and of the necessity of coming upon him by surprise. I toldhim I had seen a house, as before described, beyond Knightsbridge, which pleased me; but that I could not find another near enough, inwhich to secure Henley. The geography of the place I mentioned seemed to start an idea in hismind, and he told me, if I would meet him in two days at the sametavern, he would in the mean time not only make preparations andprocure assistants, but perhaps bring me further intelligence. Asthe fellow's brain seemed busy, I did not wish to rob him of theself-satisfaction of invention, and we accordingly parted, makingthe appointment he proposed. Of all existing beings, he perhaps was the only one who could in acountry like this become the proper instrument of my revenge. And yet, Fairfax, he is a hateful fellow! His language, his looks, his manners, his passions, are all hateful! Courage excepted, there is not a singletrait in him but what is abominable! He delights in talking of hockingmen, chalking them, and cutting them down! Every time his anger risesagainst any one, these are its attendant ideas. Such a fellow must cometo some tragical end. He can never die of old age, and scarcely ofdisease. Nothing but the lead and steel in which he delights can endhim. So it is, and I have no remedy. But he shall be to me no more than animplement, with which I will carve the coming banquet. How minute are the chances and events on which we depend! A few slightalterations of incident, and how different would have been the train ofmy thoughts! She might have been happy with me, for I loved her, Fairfax. I loved her. I feel it more and more; and were butcircumstances a little more favourable, I believe I should turn aboutand take a contrary path. But it cannot be! The barrier is insurmountable! An adamantine wall, reaching to the skies! I remember what she said, at her proud uncle'stable--'I have an abhorrence, Mr. Clifton, of the errors in which youare now indulging. '--Abhorrence was the word, Fairfax!--It has been atmy tongue's end ever since--And when she talked of my errors she meantme. --'I ultimately and determinedly renounce all thought of him!'--Thiswas her language! I knew before which way her heart went; and can Isuppose, now she has got a fair excuse, that she will not profit by it?Oh no! I am not so ill read as that in the passions. But I have saidthe word--They shall never come together!--They never never shall! C. CLIFTON LETTER CVII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ I have received your dissuasive epistle, Fairfax. It found me moody anddid not contribute to make me merry. To own the truth, no ghost needrise to tell me the methods I use are inclined to the violent. Can youfind me better? Nay can you find any other? I care not forconsequences; I brave them all. Time was that I could have been happy with her! Ay and should, but forthis fiend Henley. He sleeps securely! Let him sleep on! I will soonawaken him! I thought I should have been tortured but by one chief passion, andthat the love of vengeance would have enveloped me wholly: but they areall devouring me by turns. I certainly hate her, and him I abhor. Yetpictures of imaginary happiness, that might have been, are continuallyrising, and vanishing in gloomy regret. He too, at the very moment thatI could murder him, I am obliged to admire! Still he shall not have her! Though death overtake him, her and me, heshall not have her! But what is death? A thing to covet, not to dread. 'Tis existence only that is hateful!--Would that my bones were nowmouldering!--Why have I brains and nerves and sensibilities?--Oh that Iwere in the poisonous desert, where I might gulp mephitic winds anddrop dead; or in a moment be buried in tornados of burning sand! Wouldthat my scull were grinning there, and blanching; rather than as it isconsciously parching, scorched by fires itself has kindled! I spent all yesterday with that Irish scoundrel. Malignity is hiselement, and mischief his delight! I suspect by his assiduity that heis poor just at present; for a more industrious demon black Cocytusdoes not yield. He is already provided with associates, and has foundanother principal agent for the great work. It is a strange expedient!But these are strange fellows! And yet it is a lucky one; superior toany that I had projected. When I mentioned the Knightsbridge road at our first interview, MacFane recollected that an intimate of his had just set up what was tohim a new trade, in the neighbourhood; that of being the keeper of amadhouse. He determined to go and propose the business to him; and asthe fellow was preparing to advertise for lunatics, but had not yet gota single patient, there was a complete opening for such a plan. He proposed taking me to see this intended guardian of maniacs, and hishouse; and I ordered a post-chaise for that purpose, that I might hidemyself in one corner of it, and not let a living soul detect me withsuch a companion. As we were going, I enquired if this keeper were an Irishman? He tookoffence, and retorted--'What did I mane by an Irishman? Becase he is arogue you think he is an Irishman! By the holy carpenter you need notcome to Ireland for that kind of ware! You have a viry pritty breed ofrogues of your own! But he is not Irish. He is one of your own sulkyEnglish bugs. ' The description was not inapplicable, for I think I never beheld a morelowering, black-browed, evil-eyed fellow, since the hour I first sawlight. He had all the gloom of the most irrascible bulldog, but withouthis generous courage. He seemed more proper to make men mad than curethem of madness. But he had two excellent qualities for my purpose;poverty and a disposition to all ill. I am got into excellent company! But I care not! I will on! All thisseems as if it were but the prologue to the tragedy. But be it that, orbe it what it will--I care nothing for myself; and I have little causeto care more for them. She never had any mercy on me; and least thislast interview, when I was pleading before her pompous uncle. I have been obliged to hold consultations with these Satanic rascals, to concert ways and means. The most secure we have been able to devise, relative to Henley, is to have a straight waistcoat, to come upon himsuddenly, and to encrust him in it before he shall know what we areabout. This with a gag will make him safe. But there must not be lessthan four fellows, and those stout ones. Nothing must be left tochance. Three more must be provided for the lady, of whom Mac Fane himselfproposes to be one. But he means to keep out of sight of Henley, tillhe is in custody. I have various preparations yet to make. Mac Fane is to go and hire methe empty house tomorrow. It is furnished; but it must be aired, for Iwould not have her die a paltry catch-cold death. I would treat herlike a gentlewoman in every respect but one; and in that I will have aslittle compassion on her as she has had on me. It might have been otherwise! I came to her a generous lover! I saw herand was amazed at her beauties, captivated by her enchanting manners, soothed by her unvaried sweetness! But this sweetness she has turned togall! I adored her, and was prepared eternally to adore! But injuryfollowed injury in such quick succession that apathy itself calledaloud for vengeance! I own it is true what she said at her uncle's, that I had made aresolution not to marry her. But what were my resolutions? She herselfcould not but feel she had the power to break them all. But she had notthe will, Fairfax! It rankles there! She hates me, and what is moredamnable she loves another! I must turn my thoughts again to this detested mad-house man, andthe scenery around it. All the avenues must be examined, and all thebye-paths and open roads that lead toward both houses inspected, thatMac Fane and his emissaries may make no blunder. I will if possiblekeep out of the action, but I will be near at hand. I have a secret wish, the moment all is over, to fly the odious scene;for horribly odious it will be: but it would have the appearance ofcowardice. It must end tragically! Not even the poor creatures whostand in the place of her natural guardians, tame as they are, cansuffer such an insult. Yet which of them dare look me in the face, andcall himself my enemy? And, after injuring her, shall I hesitate attrampling upon them? I must steel my heart, Fairfax, when I go to the encounter; mustrecapitulate all my wrongs. I have them noted down severally as theyoccurred! I need but read to rage! What do I talk?--Read?--Can I forgetthem? No; night nor day! They are my familiars. They wake with me, sleep with me, walk with me, ride with me, glower with me, curse withme--but never smile with me. They are become my dearest intimates. Icherish and hug them to my heart! Their biting is my only pleasure! I cannot forget this keeper. He is a foul-faced fellow! Has a wry look;a dogged, dungeon hue; of the deepest dusk and progeny of Beelzebub! Iwonder by whom, where, and why such fellows are begotten! There are horrid villains in the world! Villains by trade; that neverfelt the strong impulse of high-minded passion; that could breakfast inan hospital, dine in a slaughter-house, and sup in the sanguinary fieldof battle, listening to the groans of the mangled; or toss them on thepoint of forks, to smelt in a heap! I have heard her talk something ofthese depraved natures, and of the times when they are all to behumanised. Can you conjecture when, Fairfax? Yet she said they shouldbe, and I was half inclined to believe her. C. CLIFTON P. S. I meant to notice that passage in your letter in which you mentionBeaunoir; but I forgot it till this moment. So you are at last inclinedto think Anna St. Ives must be something more than you every day meet, from the rapturous description of that rodomontade Count? After all Ihave written, your faith wanted the seal of such a lunatic? Had youforgotten that the time was when I would have married her? And did thatsay nothing? The Count is preparing for England? Let him come! I remember one of hiscrazy phrases and claims was that he would be her champion, should everbase knight attempt to do her harm. Nor have I forgotten his intendedvisit, received by Henley. May the winds set fair and blow him quicklyover! Should he have any such frolics in his brain, we shall not belong in coming to terms. This Mac Fane is incessantly importuning me to play, and what isstrange has several times excited the desire in me. I took up the dicebox, after we had been to the mad-house, and threw half a dozen castsat hazard; but I soon found it was in vain, and checked myself. I knowI have the command of my own temper in that respect. I have been reading over this tedious homily, and find it mostineffably dull. But what is to be done? My gaiety is gone. My highspirits are converted into black bile. My thoughts are hellebore anddeadly night-shade, and hilarity is for ever poisoned. LETTER CVIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ Have I been unjust to the brother of my friend? Or had my words thepower over him to turn him from a guilty purpose?--Well; rather, ayinfinitely rather let me be a false accuser than he culpable! He seeksme no more, offers not to molest me, and I hope has forgotten me; atleast has seen the error of endeavouring to accomplish a purpose socriminal by means so base. I expected storms, but a sweet calm hassucceeded that seems to portend tranquillity and happiness. With respect to me and Frank, our union appears to be hastening to aconclusion. Sir Arthur, impelled forward by his hopes and fears, proceeds though reluctantly to act contrary to the wishes of myarrogant uncle. Mrs. Wenbourne is dissatisfied; but her opposition isfeeble, for Edward is reconciled to the match; having no other motivebut the acquisition of a sum of money for his consent to dock theentail; and of the manner in which this sum will be squandered we havealready had sufficient proof. I understand Lord Fitz-Allen affects to credit a report of a veryridiculous, though as some would think it of a very injurious nature;which is that there was a collusion between Frank Henley and Mac Fanerespecting my brother's gambling affair. The circumstances necessary torender this probable are so violent as immediately to expose itsabsurdity, and to make it matter of amazement how such an assertioncould be invented, or circulated. What could be Frank's motive?--My wise uncle has his answerready--'That of imposing upon the family in order to marry me. ' And what Mac Fane's? 'A bribe' is a short phrase, and soon said. I imagine it to be some dream of my uncle's, who has an aptitude forthis kind of invention; and who having once put a few incidentstogether that seem to agree, persuades himself with great facility thatthe fable he has created is fact. Petty calumny like this is whollyincapable of moving Frank Henley. The restless crafty Abimelech has prevailed on Sir Arthur to go downwith him to Wenbourne-Hill. He well knows how much his own power willbe increased by the old habits of Sir Arthur, and the ease with whichthey can be revived by this his interested abettor. Not but I am wellconvinced, when once every thing shall be settled, and he have nolonger any thing to fear from the opposition of Sir Arthur, he will beas little a friend to improving as any of us. Various hints which havedropped from him would have proved this to Sir Arthur, had he not beenblind enough to suppose that, he being a baronet, honest Aby is boundever to remain his most obedient slave and steward; forgetting theproofs he has received that Abimelech at present is more inclined tocommand than to obey; and that when he parts with money he must havewhat he calls the whys and the wherefores. His confidence in Frank however is now so entire that he has entrustedthe transaction of certain money business to him, necessary on thepresent occasion, which he came up purposely to negotiate himself, butwhich he is now convinced can be done full as prudently and safely byhis son. But a few months ago, Frank tells me, he petitioned thisfather in vain for thirty pounds, who now commits thousands to hiskeeping. Not but it is from a conviction that there is no propensity in Frank towaste one of those guineas of which he is so enamoured. Without theleast love of money, Frank is a rigid economist. The father indulges nofalse wants because it would be expensive; the son has none to indulge. Habits which in the one are the fruits of avarice, in the other are theoffspring of wisdom. Abimelech has some confused suspicion that Frank acts from highermotives than himself, and such as he does not understand; but still hehopes they are all founded on his own favourite basis, the love ofhoarding. Nor can he very well persuade himself that this love is notthe grand mover with all men of sense, among whom he now ranks his sonhigh. But ah, Louisa, how different are the views of this worthy, thisheavenly-gifted son! He is anxiously studious to discover how he mayapply the wealth that may revert to him most to benefit that societyfrom which it first sprang. The best application of riches is one ofour frequent themes; because it will be one of our first duties. Thediffusion of knowledge, or more properly of truth, is the one greatgood to which wealth, genius, and existence ought all to be applied. This noble purpose gives birth to felicity which is in itself grand, inexhaustible, and eternal. How ineffable is the bliss of having discovered a friend like FrankHenley, who will not only pursue this best of purposes himself, butwill through life conduct me in the same path, will aid my efforts topromote the great work, and, by a combination of those powers we happento possess, will add energy to effort, and perhaps render it fifty foldmore pervading and effective! Husband and wife, parent and child are ties which at present claim, orrather extort a part of our attention. But oh how poor howinsignificant are they, when compared to the claims of eternal justice;which bind man to man in equal and impartial benevolence over the faceof the whole earth, and render the wandering Arab, who is in need ofaid or instruction from me, as truly my brother as the one my mothergave me. I seem now but beginning the journey of life; and to have found acompanion, guide, and consoler like Frank Henley is surely no commonfelicity! May the fates grant my Louisa just such another! A. W. ST. IVES P. S. You do not think, Louisa, no I am sure you cannot think that allthe ardour I felt for the recovery of a mind like Mr. Clifton's islost. Far, far otherwise! I still hope to see him even more than myfondest reveries have imagined! But I am not the agent; or at leastthis is not the moment; or which is still more probable no agent now iswanted. His mind has been obliged to enquire, and though passion mayfor a time suppress truth, its struggles will be incessant; must be soin a mind of such activity, and must at last be victorious. The grandenemy of truth is the torpid state of error; for the beginning of doubtis always the beginning of discovery. Let us then continue to love thisman of wonderful genius; not for what he is, but what he shall be. LETTER CIX _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor-Street_ Oh, Oliver, how fair is the prospect before me! How fruitful offelicity, how abundant in bliss! Yes, my friend, jointly will welabour, your most worthy father, you, I, Anna, her friend, and all theconverts we can make to truth, to promote the great end we seek! Wewill form a little band which will daily increase, will swell to amultitude, ay till it embrace the whole human species! Surely, Oliver, to be furnished with so many of the means ofpromulgating universal happiness is no small blessing. My feelings areall rapture! And yet if I know my heart, it is not because I havegained a selfish solitary good; but because I live in an age when lightbegins to appear even in regions that have hitherto been thickdarkness; and that I myself am so highly fortunate as to be able tocontribute to the great the universal cause; the progress of truth, theextirpation of error, and the general perfection of mind! I and thosedear friends I have named; who are indeed dear because of their ardentand uniform love of virtue! Neither, Oliver, are all our hopes of Clifton lost. Anna thinks, and sodo I, that he has heard too much ever to forget it all: or rather thathe has a mind so penetrating, and so eternally busy, that, having beenonce led to enquire, it is scarcely in the power of accident wholly toimpede the progress of enquiry. And should accident be favourable, thatprogress would indeed be rapid! By his intercourse with Anna his mindis become impregnated with the seeds of truth; and surely the soil istoo rich for these seeds not to spring, bud, and bear a plenteousharvest. Ay, Oliver, fear not. It is not the beauty of the picture thatseduces, but the laws of necessity, which declare the result for whichwe hope to be inevitable. My present state of happiness meets some slight check from incidentalcircumstances, not in my power to guide. My father and Sir Arthur aredoing what I believe to be a right thing, but from wrong motives. Theprodigal Edward, from a very different avarice of enjoyment, is eagerto dock the entail. The sum he is to receive will soon be squandered, and he will then be as eager to imagine himself treated with injustice;and will conceive himself left half to perish with want, if hisaccustomed dissipation be not supplied. But that it must not be. If wecan teach him better we will; if not he must be left to repine andaccuse, and we must patiently suffer the error which we cannot cure. Lord Fitz-Allen indulges himself in thinking as much ill of me as hecan, and in speaking all he thinks. But this is indeed a trifle. I knowthat the mistakes of his mind, situated as he is, are incurable; and togrieve or feel pain for what cannot be avoided is neither the act ofwisdom nor of virtue. F. HENLEY LETTER CX _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ I did not intend to have written again so soon, but an incident hasoccurred which perplexes all reasoning upon it, and again engendersdoubt. It relates to Clifton. I last night attended Anna to Covent-Garden playhouse, where abouteight o'clock I was obliged to leave her, having an appointment withsome gentlemen in the city relative to my father's money affairs atthat hour; which having settled it was agreed I should return in thecarriage for Anna, before the play was ended, to conduct her home. Accordingly having met my men of business, whom on Friday next I am tomeet again to receive eight thousand pounds, I drove back to CoventGarden. It was then about ten o'clock. The coachman stopped at the Piazza. Ialighted; but, as I was stepping out of the carriage, whom should I seebut the gambler and highwayman, Mac Fane, linked arm in arm with Mr. Clifton! I was struck with amazement, as well I might be. A thousandconfused doubts succeeded to each other, which I had neither time norindeed power to unravel. However it seemed to me almost impossible that Mr. Clifton should knowthe man, and suffer himself to be seen in public with such a character. For certainly a want of self-respect is not one of the habitualmistakes of Mr. Clifton. I stopped some little time in this state ofperplexity, but at last concluded it would be highly culpable in me toleave Mr. Clifton ignorant of the character of his acquaintance. Theyhad gone toward King-Street, and I hastened after them. I soon came up with them, and addressing myself to Mr. Clifton, said--'Sir, it is incumbent on me to inform you of a particular ofwhich I imagine you are ignorant. The name of the man you are incompany with is Mac Fane. You have heard his history. He is thegambler who endeavoured to defraud Captain St. Ives of three thousandpounds. ' I have before acquainted thee, Oliver, of the ferocious character ofthis Mac Fane; of which I have now had further proofs. I had scarcelyfinished my phrase before he replied, with one of his accustomaryoaths--'You're a scoundrel and a liar'--and immediately made a blow atme. Being previously on my guard and watchful of his motions, I steppedquickly back, and he missed me and reeled. This was in King-Street, where I overtook them. I turned back, intending not to notice his insult; but he was too muchenraged to suffer me to escape, unless I had thought proper to run. Heis a very muscular fellow, and confident of his own strength. No mancould be more determined than I was to avoid so absurd a contest, hadit been possible; but it was not. He made several blows at me, two orthree of which took effect, before I returned one of them. But findingthat I must be obliged to beat him in order to get rid of him, and thatthere was absolutely no other mode, I began my task with all necessarydetermination. The mob collected apace, and we were presently surrounded bypassengers, waiters, chairmen, footmen, hackney-coachmen and link-boys. It was a strange disgusting situation; but it did not admit of aremedy. This fellow, Mac Fane, has studied the whole school of assault, and is a practised pugilist. When I was a boy thou knowest, Oliver, andbefore thy worthy father had taught me better, I was myself vain of myskill and prowess. I was not therefore the novice which he expected tohave found. Not to mention, Oliver, that energy of mind, if it be realand true energy, is itself, without any such contemptible knowledge, sufficient to overcome the strongest efforts of tyranny. Of this I presently made Mr. Mac Fane sensible. After the very firstonset, he felt himself cowed; which increased his rage so much that heendeavoured to have recourse to the most malignant and cruelexpedients, to obtain victory. This obliged me to give him several hardand very dangerous blows, which I should otherwise have been cautiousof doing, and the effects of which he will for some time continue tofeel. He fought however with great obstinacy, and in a manner which provedhow much his ambition was wounded by being conquered. The mob, as inall such cases, chose different sides; but much the greatest part wasfor me. They several times saw the malicious and evil intentions of MacFane; and he once received a blow for them, from one of the assistants, which made him more guarded. It is delightful to the philosopher to perceive how, even in error, justice struggles to shew itself. Those rules which are the laws ofhonour to the mob originate in this noble principle: and never is theinfraction of justice more dangerous than at such moments, when themind is awakened to full exertion. Still it was a painful and degrading situation! Wert thou ever at themercy of a mob? Didst thou ever feel the littleness of thy ownfaculties, when exerted to make a confused multitude act rationally, atthe very time that thou thyself wert apparently acting like a fool, ora madman? If so, Oliver, thou canst conceive something of the contemptwhich I felt for myself, during this scene. Can a general, thinkestthou, if he be really a fit person to be a general, feel otherwise inthe heat of battle? For I am mistaken if armies of the best disciplinedmen, brought into action, do not more or less become a mob. And addedto this sense of imbecility, what must the general's feelings be thenext morning, when he goes to view the wretched scene of his ownmaking? Does he go to view it, thinkest thou, or does he shun thefight? If he go he is a fiend; and if he stay away he is worse! The battle being ended and the rage of Mr. Mac Fane, though perhapsincreased, obliged to restrain itself, there stood I, surrounded by myapplauding admirers, suffering a thousand ridiculous interrogatories, and confined to the spot for the want of clothes! My hat and coat I hadcommitted to one person, and my watch and purse to another; taking itfor granted the latter would have been stolen from me if I had not, aswas actually the fact, for my breeches pockets were turned inside out. I had rightly concluded that the chances were more favourable intrusting to a person I should select, than to the honesty of a mob inthe confines of Covent-Garden. I was fortunate: the whole of my moveables again made their appearance;and it gave me great pleasure, because I had trusted my purse and watchto a poor fellow. The consciousness of his own honesty was a greaterpleasure to him than the recompense he received from me; though Ithought it my duty to reward him liberally. Beside he had seen me illtreated, and had conceived an affection for me, or more properly forthe justice of my cause, and he rejoiced exultingly in my victory. I escaped from the shouts and congratulations of my greasy well-meaningcompanions as fast as I could; and after a further delay of steppinginto a coffee-house, to wash and adjust my appearance as well ascircumstances would permit, I joined Anna, who began to be alarmed, theplay being over and the house almost empty. I saw no more of Clifton. But that affords me no clue. If he werebefore unacquainted with Mac Fane, he would hasten from such acompanion with vexation and contempt: and if the contrary, his chagrinat being seen by me would equally induce him to shun us. Mind, as Ihave always remarked, Oliver, and as I have before reasoned with theerelative to him, is slow in ridding itself of the habits of prejudice, even when prejudice itself seems to have ceased. 'Tis true that conjectures disadvantageous to Clifton have, when Annaand I were considering this incident, intruded themselves forcibly uponus: but they were only conjectures, and I hope ill founded. Indeed theyare improbable; for Clifton could not knowingly league himself with aman like Mac Fane, except for purposes too black or too desperate foreven passions so violent as his to entertain. I know mind to be capable of astonishing mistakes; nor can I pretend, when I recollect the proofs on record, to say what are the boundariesof error; nor indeed what are the boundaries of probability. But Ithink Clifton could not make himself the associate of Mac Fane! I should pronounce more boldly still, but that I cannot conceive how itwas possible for a character so legible and gross, as that of thisgambler, to impose for a moment on Coke Clifton; acquainted as he iswith the world, and accustomed to detect and satirize what heunderstands to be absurdity! I can only say, if he be proceeding finerror so flagrant and deep as this, he is a man much to be feared, butmore to be pitied. F. HENLEY LETTER CXI _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ Again and again, Fairfax, this is an infernal world! A vile, disgusting, despicable, besotted ass of a world! Existence in it is notworth accepting; and the sooner we spurn it from us the better we shallassert our claim to the dignity and wisdom of which it is destitute. How do I despise the blundering insolent scoundrel with whom I amlinked! How despicable am I to myself! I last night met the fellow again at the Shakespeare. Of all his dirtyqualities, not one of them is so tormenting as his familiar impudence!There is no repressing it except by cutting his throat; a businessat which he is always alert. Nothing delights him so much as to talkof extinguishing men, treading out their souls, feeding upon theirlife-time, and other strange revolting phrases, all of the samesanguinary sort. Having consulted with him concerning the seizure of Anna and Frank, andconcluded that the affair should be ended as speedily as possible, Iwished to have shaken him off and retired: but the thing wasimpracticable. I do not choose that my own carriage should attend me onthese expeditions; and as it was a rainy night, I knew the difficultyof getting a coach. I therefore staid an hour till the entertainmentshould be begun, and the Piazza probably more clear. As there is no sitting in his company without some species of gaming, for his whole conversation, that subject excepted, consists of oaths, duels, and the impudent scoundrels he has put out of the world, I tooka few throws at hazard with him; and, as I was very careful to call forfresh dice and to watch his motions, I was a winner; hazard perhapsbeing the fairest of all games, if the dice be not foul. He ran overhis usual litany of being pigeoned, and about ten o'clock I left play, and determined to sally forth; being apprehensive of engaging toodeeply at the game, if I staid longer. The moment we had descended the stairs he impudently laid hold of myarm. My blood boiled, Fairfax! Yet I was obliged to submit. This was not all! The precautions I had taken were but a kind ofpresentiment of the vexation that was preparing for me. Just as wequitted the door of the tavern, who should bolt upon us but the hatedHenley! I shook with the broad shame! My teeth gnashed curses! Howwillingly could I have pistoled him, Mac Fane, every being that eyedme, and still more willingly myself! But there was nothing for it but to walk on, and seem not to see him. He however would not suffer me to depart without a double dose ofdamnation! The same infernal officiousness, with which from the firstmoment he saw me to the last he has been seized, came upon him; andthough I hurried through the Piazza to escape, like a perjurer from thepillory, he pursued us purposely to inform me I was in company with arascal, and to warn me of my danger. I never can recollect my own situation, without an impulse to snatch upthe first implement that would deprive me of a consciousness sodetestable! The irascible fury of the bully rid me of my tormentor; he immediatelyassaulted Henley, and I hastened away from two beings so almost equallyabhorrent, but from causes so opposite. On the following evening, having another appointment with the gamblingrascal, I took care to have a coach waiting, and to go muffled up anddisguised as much as possible. But for once my caution was superfluous. No Mac Fane appeared. Not knowing what had happened, and it being night, and I thus properlyequipped, I resolved to drive to his lodgings. Being there I sent up myname, and was admitted to the bed-chamber of this doughty exterminatorof men. If the temper of my mind were not obnoxious to allcheerfulness, I could almost have laughed, the bully was so excellentlybeaten, mortified, and enraged! His head was bound up, his eyes wereplaistered, his thumb sprained, his body of all colours, and his mindas hotly fevered as Alexander's itself could have been, had Alexanderbeen vanquished at the battle of Issus! His impatience to have Henley in his power is now almost phrensy; andit will be phrensy itself when he comes to find, as find he will, thatthough he can tie the hands of Henley his conquest must end there, andthat the prisoner will still defy and contemn his jailor. So would Ihave him. Henley, though I hate, I cannot but respect and admire. Theother is a creature I detest myself for ever having known! Yet who but he could have gratified the unabating burning passion of myheart? I feel, Fairfax, as if I had taken my leave of hope, joy, andhuman intercourse! I have a quarrel with the whole race for having beenforced into existence and into misery! I have suffered an accumulationof disgrace, for which I can never pardon myself! And shall I permitthe authors of it to live undisturbed in their insult and triumph overme? No, by hell, come of me what will! Lower I cannot be in my ownesteem than I already am: tremble those who made me so! Beating has but rendered this rascal more impatient and active. Everything is prepared. The house is hired, aired, and provided with aproper guardian. The madman keeper has all his implements ready. Wehave now only to watch and catch them at a proper distance from allsuccour, to which in their amorous walks they have frequently strayed. Though even you, Fairfax, seem to disapprove my conduct, I care not. Not to give yourself further trouble with what you call such positiveprudes might be a very good maxim for you, who love your ease too muchever to be sensible of the boiling emotions of a soul like mine! Youare Guy Fairfax; I am Coke Clifton. Not but I should have imagined theswelling volumes of injuries I have communicated would have lighted upa sympathetic flame of retributive vengeance even in you, which not allyour phlegm could have quenched. But no matter--Though heaven, earth, and hell were to face me frowning, I would on! My purpose is fixed: letit but be accomplished, and consequences to myself will be the least ofall my cares. C. CLIFTON LETTER CXII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ Since the world began, never yet had scoundrel wight so many damningaccessary incidents to contend with, as I have had during the wholeprogress of this affair! All hell seems busy to blacken me!--I havedone the deed--They are secure--But the hour of exultation itself isembittered, and the legitimate triumph of vengeance made to wear theface of baseness--I have them; but as I tell you there is an event, that happened the very moment preceding the seizure, which seems tohave been contrived by the most malignant of the fiends of darkness, purposely to steep me in guilt indelible! After our myrmidons had been three days in vain upon the watch, onFriday last Anna and Henley sallied forth, about two in the afternoon, to take one of their amorous rambles. As usual they were followed byLaura, who had sent me word of their intention, which she had learnt atbreakfast time. Henley it seems had previously been into the city. A scout was on the watch, and when they appeared soon brought theintelligence. All was in readiness. The keeper with three stout fellowsin one party, and MacFane with four more in another. The earliness oftheir setting out denoted they intended to lengthen their walk. Thegreat danger was that it should have been directed to KensingtonGardens, as it has been several times lately; but in this instancefortune was on our side. They went into the park, passed the gardens, walked beside the wall, crossed the Kensington road, and strayed exactly as we could havewished into the fields inclining toward Brompton. I was on horseback, and by the help of a pocket telescope kept them inview, without the danger of being seen, while they were in the park;but as soon as they had left it I thought it necessary to spur on, andbe ready to prevent any blunders. I crossed the road down the lane atthe turnpike, passed them, and saw them arm in arm. The sight wasinsupportable! From what afterward happened they must have seen me too, though Iimagined myself under cover of the hedge. You know my determination not to be robbed; and indeed robbery at sucha time, and in such a place, was a thing I had little reason to expect. But a fellow, who was lying in ambush at the turn of the lane, calculated differently. He imagined nobody to be near, and suddenlypresented himself and his pistol, with a demand of my money. I made a blow at him with the butt end of my whip, which missed hishead, but fell on his shoulder. My horse started, he fired and missed, but sprung suddenly forward, and seized hold of the bridle. He hadanother pistol which he was preparing, imagining I should be moreintimidated when I found him so desperate. All this happenedimmediately after I had passed Anna and Henley; and the latter perhapshaving seen the fellow, and certainly having heard the pistol, flew inan instant, leaped the hedge, and just as the robber was againpresenting his pistol made a blow, and knocked it out of his hand. The pistol went off, and the fellow took to his heels. Henley, insteadof pursuing him, stayed to enquire with much earnestness whether I hadreceived any hurt. At this very damning speck of time, Fairfax, the keeper and hisscoundrels who had been dogging them came up. There were four of them:two before and two behind. The undaunted Henley severally knocked downthe two fellows in front, and in an instant would undoubtedly have beenfar enough out of all reach; but, in the very act of striking thesecond rascal, he received a blow from a bludgeon, dealt by theblood-hound keeper, which levelled him with the earth. Never did my heart feel a twinge like that moment! I thought he wasdead! He lay motionless; notwithstanding which the infernal keepercontinued his occupation with unconcern, turned the unresisting bodyover, slipped on the straight waistcoat, and bound down his arms. At length he gave a groan! The instant I heard it I galloped off, fullspeed. It was too much for heart to endure! I soon afterward heard him shout for aid more than once, but to thisthey presently put a stop, by forcing a gag into his mouth. They werenot very far distant from the house where he was to be confined, and towhich he was immediately hurried away. There he at present remains. His morning dialogues, his noon-day walks, and his nightly raptures are ended. They are things past, never more toreturn! Of that torment at least I have rid myself; and others comparedto that are bliss ineffable! I had sworn it should not be! They mighthave read the oath largely written on my brow, and ought instinctivelyto have known it be the decree of fate! No, Fairfax! I never asked a favour from him; never by my own consentreceived one! Not all the tortures of all the tyrants the earth everbeheld should have extorted a consent so degrading! His repeatedinterference was but a repetition of insult, and as such deserves onlyto be remembered. I asked not life at his hands; and giving life, instead of a blessing, he did but give torture! The gift was detestableand the giver! Had I perished, he might have been safe and I at rest. Iasked not charity of him. No! On any Terms I abhor existence; bur onthose, darkness and hell are not so hateful! It has ulcerated my heart, which not even vengeance itself I find has now the power to heal. Forlife I am made miserable; but it shall not be a single misery! While the keeper was acting his part of this gloomy drama, Mac Fane, asyou may well imagine, was not idle. He and his unhallowed scoundrelspresently made seizure of the lovely Anna. She stood confused and halfterrified at the sudden flight of her enamorato! She was more confused, more terrified at the sudden appearance of her ravishers! I charged thescoundrels on their lives to use her tenderly! But what know suchhell-hounds of tenderness? She made I find a brave and by them unexpected resistance: but therewere too many of them, and it was in vain! Mac Fane himself is amazedat her beauty; and harangues in his coarse and uncouth jargon on theenergy and dignity of her deportment, in a manner which shews that evenhe was awed. They were obliged however forcibly to stop her cries. This I imaginedwould be the case, and I had provided them with a white cambrichandkerchief. But what will not the touch of such unconsecrated rascalsdefile? Yes, Fairfax, they laid their prophane hands on her, clasped her intheir loathsome arms, polluted her with their foul fingers! The embraceof a Clifton she might perhaps pardon; but this violation she nevercan! Well then, let her add this injury to the rest! I know her to be myenemy; sworn, rooted, and irrevocable! And why should I tag regret tomy sum of wretchedness? No! I will at least enjoy a moment of triumph, however transitory! Let her despise me, but she shall remember me too! Give me but this brief bliss, and there I would wish existence to end!That excepted, pleasure there is none for me; and of pain I am weary. Yes! I will glut my soul with this solitary, short rapture; and contemnthe storms that may succeed! I fear them not, shall glory in them, andbe glad to find foes, if such should arise, with whom contention willnot be disgrace! I wish and seek them. Their appearance would give meemployment, and employment would give me ease, and ease would beheaven! C. CLIFTON LETTER CXIII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover-Street_ Alarm has sounded her horn. The family is all confusion, all doubt, hurry, fruitless enquiry, and indecision. The absence of Anna andHenley at dinner threw Mrs. Clarke into consternation; for Sir Arthuris down at Wenbourne-Hill, with old Henley and his son Edward. Each isindulging his dreams of improvement, marriage, docking of entails, andother projects, to which I have put an eternal stop. Finding the evening advance, and that the two prisoners did not appear, the housekeeper sent to the aunt, Wenbourne. She heard the story andwas amazed. She knew nothing of them. Ten o'clock came, and terror increased. A messenger was dispatched toLord Fitz-Allen; and he could not at first tell whether to be sorry orglad, for he did not an instant forget to hope that it was somerascally act on the part of Henley. He sent for the housekeeper. She came, and he interrogated her. Theanswers she gave did not please him, for the tendency of all hisquestions was to the disadvantage and crimination of Henley, whom shepertinaciously defended. She affirmed so positively, and so violently, that it could not be any plan or evil intention of his, that the proudlord was half angry but half obliged to doubt. I took care to be in the way, expecting as it happened that a messagewould be sent to me. I immediately attended his lordship, and learnedall that I have been relating. I condoled with him, and pretended topity the family; not neglecting to lead his thoughts into the channelthat would best serve my purpose, and to recapitulate everycircumstance I could remember, or invent, that should induce him tobelieve Henley and Anna had eloped; but affecting candour, andpretending to argue against the possibility of such a supposition. The effect I intended was produced. He was fully convinced of Henley'sbeing a low, selfish, contemptible scoundrel; and Anna a forward, disobedient, insolent miss. I offered my services to pursue them, and pressed his acceptance ofthem violently; but was careful to counteract the offer, by shewing theimpossibility of their being overtaken, and by exciting him rather towish for their escape, that Anna might be flagrantly disgraced, and hispenetration and authority vindicated to the whole world. I did not neglect, before the departure of Mrs. Clarke, to display allmy eagerness, by sending round to numerous inns and stable-keepers, toenquire whether any post-chaise had been hired, that should any wayaccord with the circumstances. Other messengers were dispatched, by myadvice, to the different turnpikes; and a third set sent off to variouswatch-houses, to enquire whether any intelligence could be obtained ofaccidental deaths, or other mischances. In short, I was very diligent to hurry the legs of the servants and thebrains of their governors into every direction, but the right; and thusfor a little while in some sort diverted myself, with the vagaries ofthe fools upon whom I was playing. One chop-fallen runner trod upon theheels of another, each with a repetition of his diversified nothings;till his lordship thought proper to recollect it was time for hisdignity to retire, and not further disturb itself on personages andcircumstances so derogatory. In the morning I was careful to be with him again. I breakfasted withhim, and reiterated the same string of doubts, conjectures, alarms, andinsinuations. Mrs. Clarke returned. She had been up all night, and her lookstestified the distress of her mind. She proposed sending an expressafter Sir Arthur; of the propriety of which I endeavoured to make theuncle doubt; but she was too zealous, and her oratory had too muchpassion, to be counteracted without danger. I therefore, when I sawresistance vain, became the most eager adviser of the measure. There is no merit in imposing upon stupidity so gross as that of thissupercilious blockhead. Mrs. Clarke would be much more to be feared, but that what she may say will be much less regarded. Her affection forAnna is extreme, and a high proof of the excellent qualities of hermistress. Nor was she one whit less enthusiastic in her praise of Henley. Notwithstanding the forbidding frowns and reproofs of his lordship, sheran over his whole history; and dwelt particularly on an act ofbenevolence done by him to her niece; that being a circumstance thathad come immediately within her knowledge. She spoke with such afervour and overflow of heart that she once or twice moved me. She perceived something of the ridiculous compunction I felt, and fellon her knees, wrung my hand, and adjured me, in a tone of veryextraordinary emphasis, to save her dear her precious young lady. Iscarcely could recover myself sufficiently to ask her which way it wasin my power to save her; and to turn the conversation, by exclaiming tothe peer--'Ah! Had she but allowed me the happiness and honour of beingher protector, I think no man would have dared to do her harm. ' The old housekeeper however continued, and began to denounce impendingand inevitable evil on the persecutors of Henley and Anna. I have nodoubt she glanced at me, and that her mistress had informed her of thetriumph gained over me. Why ay! I should indeed have been the scoff ofthe very rabble, had I not taken vengeance for my wrongs! Yet her denunciations seemed prophetic: or rather were feebledescriptions of the excruciating pangs by which I am hourly gnawn! I grew weary of the dull farce, and put an end to it as speedily as Iconveniently could; leaving his sage lordship with the full convictionthat the sudden disappearance of Henley, and his niece, could nootherwise be accounted for but by wilful elopement. I am now preparing for a very different visit. A visit of vengeance! Iexpect no pleasure, no gratification but that alone! To prove thedanger of injury done to me, to punish the perpetrators, to exult attheir lamentations, and to look down with contempt at all menace, orretribution, is now my last remaining hope! Let me but enjoy this andall other expectation I willingly relinquish!--I am going--I have themin my grasp!--They shall feel me now! C. CLIFTON LETTER CXIV _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ Where I am, what is to become of me, or whether I am ever to see myLouisa more, are things of which I am utterly ignorant. I write notwith an expectation that my friend should read, but to memorandumevents of which perhaps the world will never hear; and which, shouldthis paper by any accident be preserved, it will scarcely believe. This vile Clifton--[Surely I ought never again to call him my Louisa'sbrother]--This perverse man has grown desperate in error! The worst ofmy forebodings have not equalled his intents! His plan has long beenmischief! Hypocrisy, violence, rape, no means are too foul!--Suchthings are incomprehensible! I am confined in a lone house, somewhere behind Knightsbridge. I wasseized I know not how by a band of ruffians, and conveyed hither. Everykind of despicable deceit appears to have been practised. Frank wasdecoyed from me. He flew once again to save the life, as he thought, ofthis base minded man. I know not what is become of him, but have nodoubt that he like me is somewhere suffering imprisonment, if he bepermitted yet to live. No thoughts are so tragical, no suspicions so horrid as not to bejustified, by deductions and appearances which are but too probable. Yet I will not sink under difficulties, nor be appalled at the sight ofdanger; be it death, or what else it may. That I am in a state ofjeopardy my seizure and imprisonment prove. That Frank is still ingreater peril, if still in existence, I have just cause to conclude. There were pistols fired, and one after he leaped the hedge; I know notat whom directed, nor what its fate!--I would if possible ward offapprehension. I know it to be folly, and I will endeavour to steel myheart against this as well as other mistakes. If he be dead, or if hebe to die, grief will not revive or make him invulnerable. His ownvirtue must preserve him, or nothing can; and in that I will confide. That evil is meant to me it would be absurd to doubt; but of whatnature, where it is to begin, or where end, that time must disclose. For I will not permit myself to imagine the trifling indignities, orviolence I have hitherto encountered, an evil worthy of complaint. 'Tis true my arms are bruised, and I was rudely dealt with by the vilemen who seized me: and that there should be such men is an evil. But tome it is none; or not worth a thought. If I would firmly meet what isto come, I must not weakly bewail what is past. I am not immortal, neither is my strength infinite; but the powers Ihave I will use. We are oftener vanquished because we are fearful thanbecause we are feeble. Our debility takes birth in our cowardice, andtrue fortitude is not to be abashed by trifling dangers. I meant to write a narrative, but these reflections are forced upon meby my situation. I will proceed. I was brought here, on Friday--, by several men of vulgar but ferociouscountenances; and my maid Laura with me. I made all the resistance inmy power; and the men, without any regard to what I suffered in body ormind, twisted my arms behind me, so that I imagined one of them hadbeen dislocated, and forced a handkerchief into my mouth; handling, tossing, and gripping me, without any respect whatever to decency orpain, till they had conveyed me from the fields, in which I was walkingwith Frank Henley, to the place where I am. I scarcely can guess at the distance; but they hurried me away withgreat violence, crossing several gates, and forcing apertures throughhedges, for the space I believe of not more than half an hour: it mightbe much less. They brought me to a house walled round; into which having beenadmitted by an old woman, they hurried me forward up stairs, and shutme into a room decently furnished, with a fire in it and a bed-chamberadjoining; but with the windows barred up, and in which everyprecaution had evidently been taken to render escape impracticable. Laura was shut up with me; and there was a slip of paper on the table, on which was written--'Laura is allowed to fetch whatever you may want. Let her ring the bell, and the door will be opened. '--The hand-writingwas Mr. Clifton's. Among other necessaries, there was a book-case, furnished with theworks of some of the best authors; and a writing-desk, with pens, ink, and paper. The same old woman that opened the gate for the men, who brought me, constantly comes to open the door for Laura, when I ring. But thisshe does with great caution. A chain, similar to what is common forstreet-doors, is hung on the outside; which she puts up, and looks tosee that I am not near, every time she opens the door. The first timeshe came I stood just behind Laura, and in a morose tone she bade mego back, or she would lock the door again. After Laura had been several times down stairs, I enquired whatdiscoveries she had made; and, as she informs me, the house appears tohave no inhabitants but this old woman and ourselves. The old womanresides in the kitchen. The doors and windows are all secured; and thesame care is taken to prevent escape below stairs as above. The food that has been brought us was good, and well dressed, butalmost cold. Laura says she is sure it cannot be dressed in the house, which is most probable. I communicate but few of my thoughts to Laura, because I fear I havegood reason to be suspicious of her. I have long remarked herpartiality in favour of Mr. Clifton, intermixed with some contradictoryappearances, which I could not solve at the time, but which I nowbelieve to have been aukward attempts to conceal that partiality, andto mislead me; which she in part effected. The base designs of Mr. Clifton, from the nature of them, cannot havebeen very recent; and nothing perhaps was more necessary, to carry theminto execution, than the seducing of the woman who by her situationcould give him the best intelligence. Since I have begun to doubt her, I have purposely cross-questioned heroccasionally, and she has answered with hesitation and incoherency. Ifhowever I can perceive the least hope that this letter should beconveyed to the post-office, by any person who may visit the house, andwhom she may see but I cannot, I will trust it to her. The trust indeedis nothing, for it cannot increase my peril. The persecution of Mr. Clifton must prove most pernicious to himself. Unless he can deprive meof conscious innocence, it can injure me but little. Among other ambiguous circumstances respecting Laura, she scarcelyseems to repine at her confinement: though she has several timesaffected uneasiness, which while she acted it she evidently did notfeel. Beside she is permitted to stay below, and run about the house;which, whatever caution of bars and bolts may have been used, she wouldnot be suffered to do, as I should suppose, were she really in myinterest. About an hour ago we heard the yard bell ring and the gate open, andshe was eager to go down. I encouraged her, and she rung for ourturnkey. She had seen me writing, and, without being spoken to, tookupon her to suppose it was a letter to my Louisa, and told me she _didbelieve_ she could get it conveyed to the post. I am persuaded this ispreconcerted officiousness. But as I said, I have nothing to lose, andthere is a bare possibility of hope. When she came up stairs again, she told me that the person who had rungat the bell was some man of the neighbourhood, who had brought the oldwoman various trifling articles, and whom she had ordered to return atfive o'clock, with tea and sugar. If contrary to all expectation this should come to hand, Louisa, writeto my father; inform him of all you know: and especially write to Mr. Clifton. It will be ineffectual, but write. If there be truth in woman, I would rejoice to suffer much more mischief than he has the power toinflict, could I but by that means restore him to a sense of his ownworth; or rather of the worth of virtue! Why do I talk of mischief, and his power to inflict? I hope to shewhim he has no power over me; and that the strength of men, and theforce of walls, locks, and bars are feeble, when but resolutelyopposed by the force of truth, actuating the will of weak and despisedwoman!--Injury?--Poor depraved, mistaken man! It is himself he injures!Every effort he makes is but a new assault upon his own peace! It isheaping coals of fire upon his own head; which it has long been thewish of my heart to extinguish! Had I but any reason to believe Frank Henley in safety, I would notsuffer a single sigh to escape me. But I know too well Mr. Clifton darenot permit him to be at liberty, while he keeps me confined. Surelynothing can be attempted against his life? And yet I sometimes shakewith horror! There is a reason which I know not whether I dare mention;yet if Mr. Clifton should think proper to lay snares to intercept andread my letters, he ought to be informed of this dangerouscircumstance. I know not, Louisa, whether I am addressing myself to youor him; but Frank Henley at the time that I was seized, and he likewiseas I suppose, had bank-bills in his possession to the amount of eightthousand pounds! He had been that very morning into the city, to receive the money onhis father's account; and intended as we returned to leave them withSir Arthur's banker. If men such as those who seized on me were employed for the sameviolent purpose against him, and if they should discover a sum whichwould to them be so tempting, who can say that his life would be safe?Frank Henley, the preserver of Clifton, the preceptor of truth, and thefriend of man; the benevolent, magnanimous, noble-minded Frank, whoseactions were uniform in goodness, whose heart was all affection, andwhose soul all light--and murdered! Why do I indulge a thought so unhuman, so impossible? It could notbe!--No, no; it could not be! A supposition so extravagant isguilt--Yet though I who cannot aid him ought not to encourage suchdoubts, let those who can be warned, and be active! I am addressing myself to vacancy! No one hears me! No one will readwhat I write! I will be calm. It is my situation, it is confinement, the bars I seeand the bolts I hear that inspire these gloomy thoughts. They areunfounded, and certainly unavailing--He may have escaped! He may atthis instant be in search of me! Hurrying, enquiring, despairing, anddistracted; in much deeper distress than I am: for were I but sure ofhis safety, I could almost defy misfortune! Let not the world lose him!Oh! If any human creature should in time read this, let him hear, lethim shudder, let him beware! Pardon, Louisa! I do not address myself to you! Too well I know myfriend to doubt her! No cold delay, no unfeeling negligence, no rashphrensy is to be feared from her!--Alas! What I am writing she willnever read! It cannot be! The man I have to encounter is too practisedin deceit, or I should not have been where I am! Well then, may he himself read! And while he reads, thus let hisconscience speak--'There is a man whose worth and virtues are such, that the loss of him would be a loss to the whole human race. From thisman I received a thousand acts of kindness: for which I returned tenthousand insults. I repulsed him, scorned him, struck him; and he, disregarding the innumerable injuries I had done him, but a few hoursafter plunged headlong down the dreadful abyss, to snatch me from thegrave. I was dead and he gave me life. In return I have robbed him ofwhat men prize even more than life, of liberty. But if I have put himin jeopardy, if I suffer him to remain in the power of hardened andwicked men, and if he perish, mercy cannot pardon me, justice cannotpunish, and charity itself must hold me in abhorrence. ' A. W. ST. IVES LETTER CXV _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover-Street_ My actions are now become one continued chain of artifice. But werethat all, and were not the objects of this artifice of a nature so newand so painful, it would afford me amusement, and not be any cause ofvexation. As it is I feel apprehensions which are wholly different from any Iever felt before. To deceive in countries where deception is a pastime, authorised, practised, and applauded, is I find something very oppositeto what would seem the same thing, in this gloomy land of apathy andphlegm. There it is a sport and a pleasure. Here it is a business ofserious danger and general detestation. But no matter! I am obliged to watch times and seasons, for I have little doubt that Imyself am watched. That old housekeeper I am sure suspects me; and heraffection for her mistress is so full, so restless, that it cannot butsharpen her intellects, and make her employ every engine she canimagine for discovery. I walked up to Fozard's as I often do for myhorse, and I saw one of Sir Arthur's servants pass the yard, soon afterI entered it. I have little doubt but he was dogging me. I got on horseback and rode slowly down toward Pimlico, and overWestminster bridge, but I saw no more of him. As soon as I was out of town I mended my pace, and gradually increasedit to a full gallop. Passing through Vauxhall, I crossed the Thamesagain at Battersea-bridge, rode through Chelsea, and presently gainedthe Brompton road. My first visit was to the keeper. The fellow has a strange look! Avillainous physiognomy! I enquired after his prisoner and found he wassafe. The house is well secured; not modern, but in the style of thelast century; strong and heavy, and before this affair was thought ofhad been fitted up for the purposes of confinement, but is now stillbetter fortified. It has a garden, which is surrounded by a high wall, in which the prisoner is suffered to exercise himself; but not withoutthe very necessary precaution of confining his arms in the straitwaistcoat, securing the doors, and attentively watching his motions. I ordered the fellow to see that Henley wanted for nothing, to let aboy he has wait upon him, and to keep out of his way himself, for tworeasons of my own. I do not wish Henley to suffer the insults of such avulgar and narrow-souled rascal: my revenge is of a nobler kind. Neither am I quite certain that this keeper, hardened, obdurate, andpitiless as he is, could withstand Henley's oratory. At least I wouldnot willingly have him subjected to the temptation: though the fellowis so averse to any sense of human pity that I think the danger is verysmall. He was offended however at my thinking proper to direct him, andsurlily told me he understood his trade. Here I met Mac Fane, by appointment. He cannot forget the disgrace ofCovent-garden, and spoke of Henley with a degree of malignity thatwould want but little encouraging to become dangerous. I am to pay himthe thousand pounds in a few days, and our place of rendezvous is thento be once more at the Shakespeare. I was glad to escape from the company of these new inmates' of mine, these first-born of Beelzebub, and to fly to my other prisoner. I sayfly, for I set out with eagerness enough; but every step I took I feltmy ardour abate. The houses are more than half a mile apart, and Ithought proper to go thither on foot, and not to take any common path, but to cross the fields, as the securest mode. Laura knew I was to be there, and had her tale ready. She presentlycame down. I enquired after her mistress, and if her account be true, this heroic woman has not shed a tear, but has behaved with all herapparent customary calm. She is a divine creature! As I rode along, I made a thousand determinations that all should bethat day ended. I cursed myself, pledged my honour, used every methodwhich might have shewn me how much I doubted my own resolution, toprove to myself how irrevocably determined I was! The little remainingfirmness I had left wholly died away at the relation of Laura. I must stay till the calm dignity of her mind shall begin to decline. The nature of her confinement, the fears she cannot but have for herHenley, the recollection of her friends and father, and herapprehensions of me must all quickly contribute to produce this effect. I do not pretend to deny that I feel a reluctance to a first interview:but I am determined the first shall be the only one. I know myself, andknow when once I am heated it will not then be Anna St. Ives, a miraclethough she be, that can over-awe or conquer me. I have the stubbornnessof woman, and the strength of man. I am reckless of what is to follow, but the thing shall be! There is not a particle in my frame that doesnot stand pledged to the deed, by honour and oath! It is the only eventfor which I care, or for which I live. Nor shall I live long when once it is over. I foresee I shall not. Butthat is not a painful, no, it is a satisfactory thought! I would evenpresent her the pistol, would she but dispatch me the moment my revengeis gratified. I would then sleep, and forget all that is, and all thatmight have been. She has been writing. I knew it would be one source of amusement toher, and I provided her with implements. Laura asked and she owned itwas a letter to my sister, which she could wish were sent. But thatmust not be. She means to give it to Laura; I of course shall be thenext receiver. This girl, Laura, acts her part ill. She is not half sorrowful enough. I wonder Anna does not remark it; and Laura says she does not, thoughthat is no very good proof. The complexion of her letter I think willtell me how far she does or does not confide in her maid. I know sheholds suspicion in contempt; and yet I think my high opinion of herdiscrimination would find some abatement, were I certain that she didnot suspect this shallow girl. My soul burns to have it over! And yet like a coward I refrain. But Iwill not long submit to such contemptible qualms. I will not continueto be diffident of myself; for it is that only by which I am withheld. Not a single wrong is forgotten! I repeat them in my sleep! Ay, Fairfax, such sleep as I have is nothing but a repetition of them; anda rehearsal of the revenge by which they are to be appeased! I willreturn tomorrow, or perhaps next day; and then--! You shall then hearmore from, C. CLIFTON END OF VOLUME VI VOLUME VII LETTER CXVI _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ Sir Arthur arrived in town this morning. He brought the usurer Henleyup with him in the same carriage. Young St. Ives set out before them, and was in London last night. Hedrove directly to my lodgings, and I was fortunately at home. This didnot look as if I were in the secret; and if he had any suspicions hehad not the courage to intimate them. I condoled with him, said it was a strange affair, a riddle I could notread, a mystery which time must elucidate, for it baffled allconjecture. He did little more than echo me, and I pretended I wouldhave ridden half over the world to recover his sister, had there beenbut the least clue; but there was not, and I found myself obliged tosit still in despair and astonishment. He said it was all very true, and he was very tired. He shouldtherefore drive home, get some refreshment, and go to bed. This fellow, Fairfax, walks on two legs, looks the world in the face, and counts forone on the muster-roll. 'But nature, crescent in him, grew only inthews and bulk. ' Yet on the parade, fools and gapers will mistake himfor a man. Contention with Anna St. Ives is honourable, but to seem to shrink frombeings like these, or to practise concealment with such mere images ofentity, is repugnant to the generous scorn they merit and inspire. Imperious necessity however prescribes law, and I took care to preventSir Arthur's visit to me, by having notice sent me of his arrival, andimmediately going to the encounter. To anticipate is to overturn the card-castles of this puny race. Comeupon them unexpectedly, stare at them undauntedly, and interrogate themabruptly, and they are put to the rout. Their looks even intreat pardonfor the ill they thought, but durst not utter. Sir Arthur I own beheld me with a suspicious eye; and though heendeavoured to seem to credit me, he did it with an aukward air. Mrs. Clarke hearing I was there came in, and exceeding even all herformer fervour, importuned me, in the most direct and vehement manner, to tell what I had done with Mr. Henley and her dear young lady. Shemore than ever disconcerted me. Her exuberant passion addressed itselfalternately to me and her master. Her tears as well as her words wereabundant, her urgency and ardour extreme, and she ended her apostrophewith again conjuring me to tell what was become of her dear, dear younglady! 'Ay, pray, pray do'--whimpered the baronet in a maudlin tone, moved bythe unfeigned passion of his housekeeper. I gave him a look, and thedriveller added--'if you know. ' I was glad of a pretence to get away, and after telling him thedistress of his mind was the only apology for his conduct, I instantlyquitted him, without any effort on his part to detain me. Among other things, Mrs. Clarke repeatedly reproached herself for nothaving written or sent to my sister; and the knight acknowledged--'Ay, it was very neglectful! But his mind had been so disturbed that he hadforgotten it too!' Why do I misapply my time on beings so imbecile? Maugre all my resolvesI have not seen her yet, Fairfax! Nor have I opened her letter! I darenot. Her Henley I am sure is in it, and additional rage would beindubitable madness! Neither is this the thing most to be feared. Shehas an expanded heart, a capacious a benevolent heart, and she may havesaid something which were I to see, and yet do the deed which shall bedone, it might shew me more fiend-like than even the foul reflection ofmy present thoughts. Perturbation has done its work; it needs noincrease. This quality of benevolence, in which they both glory, istorture to recollect. I say, Fairfax, I never asked their charity. DidI not spurn it from me, the moment I was insulted by the offer? Be pitybestowed on beggars: the partiality that springs from affection, or thepunishment due to neglect for me! I will be with her speedily, Fairfax! Though I linger, I do not relent. Such mercy as the being out of doubt can bestow she shall receive; thepleading world should not wring a greater from me! C. CLIFTON P. S. I must be speedy: my sister will hear of the affair by tomorrow'spost, and I shall have her whole artillery playing upon me; and in theform of letters I suppose; for I do not think she will hope any thingfrom personal interview; I made her too sensibly feel her owninsignificance when last we met. I expected indeed an attack from hermuch sooner, for the young lady does not want confidence in her ownskill and courage: she is of the Henley school. However I do not intendto peruse any of her epistles. I would send them back unopened, butthat it would be an avowal of a knowledge of their contents; and I haveno need to increase suspicion, whose broad eyes are already glaring atme. But I will immediately put an end to the witch, and engender blackcertainty in her stead! The imp shall appear, and shake horrors fromher snaky hair! LETTER CXVII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ _The Lone House_ Once more, though but in imagination, let me converse with my friend. Iknow it is delusion, but it was the sweet custom of our souls, and wellmay be indulged. Ignorant perhaps of the cause, my Louisa is at thismoment accusing me of a neglect which my heart disavows. Let me asusual give her the history of that heart: it is a theme from which shehas taught me to derive profit. This is the fifth day of my confinement. I have the same walls, thesame windows and bars to contemplate; and the same bolting, andlocking, and clanking to hear. It is with difficulty that I can at somefew intervals divert my thoughts from the gloom which my own situation, the distress of my family, and the danger of a youth so dear to virtuecontribute to inspire. Nor do I know what at this moment may be the affliction of my friend. Should she have heard, she cannot but discover the principal agent ofthis dark plot; and exquisite indeed would be the anguish of her mind, could she forget that fortitude and resignation are duties. May theynever be forgotten by me, during this my hour of trial! My shoulder I fear has received some strain or hurt: the pain of itcontinues to be great, and the inflammation is not abated. The bruiseson my arms have increased in blackness, and their tension is not in theleast diminished. The hands of those bad men must have been as roughand callous as their hearts: they had no mercy in their gripe. There is a lonesome stillness in this house, that favours the dismalreveries which my situation suggests. If my handkerchief do but drop Istart; and the stirring of a mouse places Clifton full before me. Yet Irepel this weakness with all my force. I despise it. Nor shall thesecrude visions, the hideous phantoms of the imagination, subdue thatfortitude in which I must wholly confide. For these last two days, Laura has pretended to grieve at confinement:but it is mimic sorrow; words of which the heart has no knowledge. Sheperceives I suspect her, and her acting is but the more easilydetected. I know not whether it be not my duty to determine to exclude her;though that seems like cowardice. I think it is not in her power toharm me; and for telling, if she have been false, she has done herworst. I never made a practice of concealment, neither will I now haverecourse to such a fallacious expedient. Yet she sleeps in the samechamber with me; and ought I not to beware of inspiring perfidy withprojects? 'Tis true my slumbers are broken, my nights restless, and thecracking of the wainscot is as effectual in waking me as a thunder-clapcould be. I am resolved, however, to take the key out of the door, andeither hide it or hold it all night in my hand. Mischief is meant me, or why am I here? I am continually looking into the closets, behind the doors, and underthe beds and drawers. I am haunted by the supposition that I shallevery moment see this bad man start up before me! What know I of thebase engines he may employ, or the wicked arts to which he may haverecourse? But he shall not subdue me! He may disturb me by day, and terrify me bynight; but he shall not subdue me! Shall the pure mind shake in thepresence of evil? Shall the fortitude which safety feels vanish at theapproach of danger? Louisa, I will steel my soul to meet him! I know not how or when hewill come! I cannot tell what are the vile black instruments with whichhe may work! Sleep I scarcely have any. I eat with hesitation, anddrink with trembling. I have heard of potions and base practices, thatmake the heart shudder! Yet I sometimes think I could resist eventhese. He shall not subdue me! Or if he do, it shall be by treacherysuch as fiends would demur to perpetrate. Why do I think thus of him? Surely, surely, he cannot be so lost asthis! Yet here I am! I own I tremble and recoil; but it is with thedread that he should plunge himself so deep in guilt as never more torise! Poor Frank! Where art thou? How are thy wretched thoughts employed? Orart thou still allowed to think? Art thou among the living? If thouart, what is thy state! Thine is now the misery of impotence, thou whohast proved thyself so mighty in act! Thou wouldst not strike, thouwouldst not injure; and yet thy foe would sink before thee, had he notallied himself to perfidy, and had he but left thee free. His mostsecret machinations could not have withstood thy searching spirit. Thouwouldst have been here! These bolts would have flown, these doors wouldhave opened, and I should have seen my saviour! He hears me not! Nor thou, Louisa! I am destitute of human aid! Farewell, farewell! Ah! Farewell indeed; for I am talking to emptinessand air! Do I seem to speak with bitterness of heart? Is there enmity in mywords?--Surely I do not feel it! The spirit of benevolence and truthallows, nay commands me to hate the vice; but not its poor misgovernedagents. They are wandering in the maze of mistake. Ignorance andpassion are their guides, and doubt and desperation their tormentors. Alas! Rancour and revenge are their inmates; be kindness and charitymine. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER CXVIII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _Brompton-House_ I am here--At the scene of action--she is in the room above me, and Iam ridding myself of reluctance; stringing my nerves for assault. Iknow not why this should be necessary, but I feel that it is! I am waiting to question Laura; but I ordered her to be in no haste tocome down, when she heard me ring. I would not have my victim suspectme to be here. I would come upon her by surprise, and not when she wasarmed and prepared for repulse. I will order the old woman to gopresently and open and shut the gate; as if she were letting the personout, who came in when I rung. I expect, nay am certain, her resistance will be obstinate--Butunavailing!--I say unavailing!--Neither house nor road are near, andyet I could wish the scene were removed to the dark gloom of a forest;embosomed where none but tigers or hyenas should listen to hershrieks--I know they will be piercing;--Heart-rending!--But--! I tell you, Fairfax, I have banished all sense of human pity from mybosom: it is an enemy to my purpose, and that must be!--Though theheavens should shake and the earth open, it must! Yet do not think, Fairfax, bent as I am on the full fruition of loveand vengeance, I would use cruelty--Understand me: I mean wanton orunnecessary brutality. I will be as forbearing as she will permit. Ifear she will not suffer me to caress her tenderly--But she shall neversleep in the arms of Henley!--She never shall!--I will make sure ofthat! My mind is reconciled to all chances, that excepted. As I passed, I called at the mad-house; where I found Mac Fane and thescowling keeper in high divan. They have been horribly alarmed. Henleyhas attempted an escape, which he was in danger of effecting; but he isbrought back, after having led them a short chase. The apprehensions of these scoundrels concerning future consequencesare very great, and swell almost to terror. They talked strangely, asked which way we were to get rid of him at last, and conceive him tobe a dangerous enemy. Their thoughts seem tinged with dark lurkings, which they dare not own; and certainly dare not act, without my leave. These fellows are all villainy! A league with demons would be lessabominable!--I must close the account, and shake off such pestilentialscoundrels!-- Laura comes! I will question her a little, and then--! _Dover-Street_ I am returned, and am still tormented by delay!--I cannot help it--Isaid I would not use wilful cruelty: that were to heap unnecessarydamnation! Laura began by softening my heart with her narrative. Her angelmistress is all resignation, all kindness, all benevolence! She almostforgets herself, and laments only for me! This I could have withstood;but she has been brutally treated, by that intolerable ban dog, MacFane, and his blood hounds. Fairfax, how often have I gazed in raptureat the beauteous carnation of her complexion, the whiteness of herhands and arms, and the extreme delicacy of their texture! And nowthose tempting arms, Laura tells me, nay, her legs too, are in twentyplaces disfigured and black, with the gripes and bruises she received. Gibbets and racks overtake the wolf-hearted villains! Her shoulder isconsiderably hurt! It is inflamed, and, as she acknowledges, verypainful; yet she does not utter a complaint! Why did this heroic woman ever injure me? By what fatal influence am Ibecome her foe? Her gentle kindness, her calm, unruffled, yet dignifiedpatience I have experienced--Madman!--Idiot!--Have I not experiencedher hatred too, her abhorrence? Did not her own lips pronounce thesentence? And do I not know her? Will she recede? And shallI?--Never!--Never!--No no--It must be. But I did rightly. This was not the moment. There would have beensomething barbarously mean, in making her exert the little strength shehas with such pain and peril. I rode to Kensington and procured her a lenitive, with which Ireturned. The purpose of vengeance excepted, I would feel as generouslyas herself; and even vengeance, did I know how, I would dignify--But donot surmise that I would retract!--No, by heaven! A thought so weak hasnever once entered my heart! I am restless, and must return--Till it be over, earth has no pleasurefor me; and after I am sure it will have none. No--No--I have but thissingle gleam of satisfaction! The light is going out; give me but onefull blaze, and I shall then welcome total darkness! C. CLIFTON LETTER CXIX _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover-Street_ For a few days after having secured my tormentors, I enjoyed somethinglike comparative ease: but the ugly imps that haunted me, in fiercercrowds again are swarming round me. I am too miserable to exist in thisstate; it must be ended. It is a turmoil that surpasses mortalsufferance! If she will wrestle against fate, it is not my fault. Ihave no wish to practise more upon her than is necessary. But the thingmust be. Sleep I have none, rest I have none, peace I have none. I get up andsit down, walk out and come back, mutter imprecations unconsciously tomyself, and turn the eyes of insolent curiosity and ridiculousapprehension upon me in the street. A fellow has just now watched mehome; deeming me a lunatic I suppose; for he had seen my agitation, andheard the curses which I knew not were uttered aloud, till hisimpertinent observation of me brought it to my recollection. But this shall not be! It shall end! Though I rend her heart-stringsfor it, I will have ease! The evening approaches; my horse is orderedand I will be gone. I will not, cannot endure this longer! _Brompton-House_ I am here, and have talked with Laura. She owns she is suspected, andthat her mistress takes the key out of the bed-chamber door, when theygo to rest, and hides it: Laura by accident has discovered where. Sheputs it on the ledge behind the head of her bed, but within the reachof her arm. This has suggested a thought: I will wait here till midnight and sleephave lulled her apprehensions. It will be better than facing her in theglare of day. Her eye, Fairfax, is terrible in her anger. It is toosteady, too strong in conscious innocence to encounter. Darkness willgive me courage, and her terror and despair. For it must come to that!It cannot otherwise be; and be it must! In the blaze of noon, whenfortitude is awake and the heart beating high perhaps with resentment, nothing but the goadings of despair could make me face her. The wordsshe would use would be terrible, but her looks would petrify!--By thisstratagem I shall avoid them. Nor do I blush to own my cowardice, in the presence of Anna St. Ives:she being armed with innocence and self-approbation; and I abashed byconscious guilt, violence, and intentional destruction. Why aye!--Let the thick swarth of night cover us! I feel, with a kindof horrid satisfaction, the deep damnation of the deed! It is the verycolour and kind of sin that becomes me; sinning as I do against AnnaSt. Ives! With any other it would be boy's sport; a thing to make ajest of after dinner; but with her it is rape, in all its wildestcontortions, shrieks, and expiring groans! I lie stretched on burning embers, and I have hours yet to wait. Ohthat I were an idiot!--The night is one dead, dun gloom! It looks as ifmurrain, mildew, and contagion were abroad, hovering over earth andbrooding plagues. I will walk out awhile, among them--Will try to meetthem--Would that my disturbed imagination could but conjure up goblins, sheeted ghosts, heads wanting bodies, and hands dropping blood, andrealize the legends of ignorance and infancy, so that I could freezememory and forget the horrors by which I am haunted! It draws near midnight--I am now in her apartment, the room next to herbed-chamber. My orders have been obeyed: the old woman, pretending to lock up herprisoner, shot back the bolts, put down the chain, and left the doorready for me to enter unheard. Laura has her instructions. She is to pretend only, but not really, toundress herself; and I bade her not lie down, lest she should dropasleep. When she thinks it time, she is to glide round, steal the key, and open the door. I am fully prepared; am undressed, and ready for the combat. I havemade a mighty sacrifice! Youth, fortune, fame, all blasted; liferenounced, and infamy ascertained! It is but just then that I shouldhave full enjoyment of the fleeting bliss. Surely this hussy sleeps? No!--I hear her stir!--She is at the door!And now--! Heaven and hell are leagued against me, to frustrate my success! Yetsucceed I will in their despite--'Tis now broad day, and here I am, inthe same chamber, encountered, reproved, scorned, frantic, anddefeated! As soon as I heard Laura with the key in the door, I put out thecandles. She turned the lock, the door opened, and I sprang forward. Blundering idiot as I was! I had forgotten to remove a chair, andtumbled over it. The terrified Anna was up and out of bed in aninstant. The door opens inward to the bed-chamber. Her fear gave herstrength; she threw Laura away, and clapped to the door. By this time I had risen, and was at it. I set my shoulder to it with asudden effort, and again it half opened. I pushed forward, but wasrepelled with more than equal opposition. My left arm in the strugglegot wedged in the door: the pain was excessive, and the strength withwhich she resisted me incredible. By a sudden shock I released my hand, but not without bruising it very much, and tearing away the skin. My last effort was returned by one more than equal on her part. But Iimagine she had set her foot against something which gave way, for shesuddenly came down, with a blow and a sound that made my heart shrink! Still I endeavoured to profit by it, though not soon enough; for thefirst moment I was too much alarmed. She could not feel pain or blows, and rose instantaneously. I forced the door some little way, and shethen gave a single shriek!--It was a dreadful one--and was followedby a repulse which I could not overcome. The door was closed, andlike lightning locked. I then heard her begin to pant and heave forbreath--After a few seconds she exclaimed--Clifton! You are a badman!... A treacherous, wicked man, and are seeking your owndestruction!... I am your prisoner, but I fear you not!... Mark me, Clifton: I fear you not! I hesitated some time: at last I ventured to ask... Are you hurt, madam? I do not know! I do not care! I value no hurt you can do me! I am aboveharm from you!--Though you have recourse to perfidy and violence, yet Idefy you! In darkness or in light, I defy you! Let me intreat you, madam, to retire to rest. No! I will stand here all night! I will not move! Upon my honour, madam, upon my soul, I will molest you no more tonight! I tell you, man, I fear you not! Night or day, I fear you not! I request, I humbly intreat you would not expose yourself to theinjuries of the night air, and the want of sleep! I will sleep no more! I want no sleep; I fear no injuries; not eventhose you intend me! Indeed, madam, you do not know the danger-- Mimic benevolence and virtue no more, Clifton! It is base in you! It isbeneath a mind like yours!--You are a mistaken man! Dreadfullymistaken! You think me devoted, but I am safe. Unless you kill, younever can conquer me! Beware! Turn back! Destruction is gaping for you, if you proceed! Need she have told me this, Fairfax? Could she think I knew itnot?--But she too is mistaken. Her courage is high, I grant, isadmirable; and, were any other but I her opponent, as she says, notto be conquered! I adore the noble qualities of her mind; but greatthough they are, when she defies me she over-rates them. I own her warning was awful! My heart shrunk from it, and I retired;taking care that she should hear me as I went, that she might beencouraged to go to rest. My well-meant kindness was vain. She neverdid confide in me, and never can. I heard her call Laura, and order herto strike a light, set an arm chair, and bring her clothes: after whichI understood, from what I heard, that she dressed herself and sat downin it, with her back to the door, there waiting patiently till themorning. How she will behave, or what she will say to Laura I cannot divine. Most probably she will insist on banishing her the apartment; for shenever gave servants much employment, and always doubted whether thekeeping of them were not an immoral act, therefore is little in want oftheir assistance. But let her discard this treacherous and now ineffective tool. I wanther no more. I will not quit the house, Fairfax; I will neither eat norsleep, till I have put her to the trial which she so rashly defies! Ather uncle's table she defied me, and imagined she had gazed me intocowardice. She knew me not: it was but making vengeance doubly sure. This experience ere now should have taught her. Has she escaped me? Isshe not here? Does she not feel herself in the ravisher's arms? If not, a few hours only and she shall! Let her not be vain of this second repulse she has given me; it oughtto increase her terror, for it does but add to my despair. Mydistempered soul will take no medicine but one, and that must beadministered; though more venomous than the sting of scorpion or toothof serpent, and more speedy in dissolution. I left her room that she might breakfast undisturbed. There issomething admirably, astonishingly firm, in the texture of her mind. Laura has been down, babbling to me all she knew. At eight o'clock, when it had been light a full hour, Anna, after once or twice crossingher chamber to consider, turned the key and resolutely opened the door;expecting by her manner, Laura says, to see me rush in; for she threwit suddenly open, as if fearful it should knock her down. She walked out, looked steadfastly around, examined every part of thechamber, and after having convinced herself I was not there, sat downto write at the table where not an hour before I had been seated. When the breakfast was brought, she bade Laura take it away again;saying she had no appetite: but immediately recollecting herself, ejaculated--'Fie!--It is weak! It is wrong!'--and added--'Stay Laura!Put it down again!' She then, with a calm and determined sedateness, began to serve herselfand Laura; treating this perfidious woman [For no matter that I madeher so, such she is. ] with the same equanimity of temper and amenity asformerly. The mistress ate, for she was innocent and resolved; but themaid could not, for she was guilty and in a continual tremor. 'Bepacified'--said Anna to her--Compose your thoughts, and take yourbreakfast. I am much more sorry for than angry at the part you haveacted. You have done yourself great injury, but me none: at least, so Itrust!--Be appeased and eat your breakfast. Or, if you cannot eat withme, go down and eat it in peace below. ' The benevolent suavity of this angel has made the light-minded husseyhalf break her heart. Her penitential tears now flow in abundance; andshe has been officiously endeavouring to petition me not to harm sogood, so forgiving, so heavenly a young lady! I begin to fear she wouldwillingly be a traitor next to me, and endeavour to open the doors forher mistress. But that I will prevent. I will not quit the house tillall is over! I have said it, Fairfax! I will then immediately set Henley free, tell him where she is, where Iam to be found, and leave him to seek his own mode of vengeance! Shouldhe resort to the paltry refuge of law, I own that then I would eludepursuit. But should the spirit of man stir within him, and should hedare me to contention, I would fly to meet him in the mortal strife! Heis worthy of my arm, and I would shew how worthy I am to be hisopposite! It is now noon, and Laura has again been with me, repeating the samestory, with additions and improvements. Anna has been talking to her, and has made a deep impression upon her. She is all penitence andpetition, and is exceedingly troublesome, with her whining, her tears, and her importunity, which I have found it difficult to silence. I learn from her own account she has owned all, and betrayed all sheknew; and Anna has been telling her that she, and I, and all suchsinners however deep and deadly, ought to be pitied, counselled, andreformed; and that our errors only ought to be treated with contempt, disdain, and hatred. She has talked to her in the most gentle, soothing, and sympathetic manner; till the fool's heart is ready toburst. Anna has drawn a picture of my state of mind which has terrifiedher--And so it ought!--She has been sobbing, kneeling, and praying, for my sake, for Anna's sake, for God's sake to be merciful, and dono more mischief! 'Her mistress is an angel and not a woman!'--Whytrue!--'Never had a young lady so forgiving, so kind, and so courageousa heart!'--True again!--'But it is impossible, if I should be so wickedas to lay violent hands upon her, for her not to sink, and lie formercy at my feet. '--Once more true, true!-- Mercy!--I have it not, know it not, nor can know! She herself hasbanished it, from my breast and from her own: at least the mercy Iwould ask--For could it be--? Were there not a Henley--? No, no!--Thereis one wide destruction for us all! I am on the brink, and they mustdown with me!--Have they not placed me there? Are they not now pullingme, weighing me, sinking me? This is the moment in which I would conjure up all the wrongs, insults, contempts, and defiances she has heaped upon me--What need I?--Theycome unbidden!--And now for the last act of the tragedy! I have kept my word, Fairfax: I have been, have faced her, have--! Youshall hear! I will faithfully paint all that passed. I will do herjustice, and in this shew some sparks of magnanimity of which perhapsshe does not think me capable--No matter-- It was necessary the temper of my mind should be wound up to itshighest pitch, before I could approach her. I rushed up stairs, madethe bolts fly, and the lock start back. Yet the moment the door opened, I hesitated-- However, I shook myself with indignation, entered, and saw her standingfirmly in the middle of the apartment, ready to assert the bolddefiance she had given me. The fixed resolution of her form, theevident fortitude of her soul, and the steadfast encounter of her eye, were discomfiting. Like a coward I stood I cannot tell how long, notknowing what to say, she looking full upon me, examining my heart, andputting thought to the rack. Benignant as she is, at such onsets of thesoul she feels no mercy. Self-resentment at the tame crestfallen countenance I wore at lastproduced an effort, and I stammered out--Madam-- Her only answer was a look--I endeavoured to meet her eye, but in vain. I continued. --From my present manner you will perceive, madam, I amconscious of the advantage you have over me; and that my own heart doesnot entirely approve all I have done. I see something of your confusion--I wish I saw more. But neither can it forget its injuries! What are they? The time was when I met you with joy, addressed you with delight, andgazed on you with rapture!--Nay I gaze so still! Poor, weak man! Yes, madam, I know how much you despise me! A thousand repeated wrongsinform me of it: they have risen, one over another, in mountainousoppression to my heart, till it could endure no more. Feeble, mistaken man! In those happy days when I approached you first, my thoughts wereloyal, my means were honest, and my intentions pure. Pure? Yes, madam, pure. You never yet knew what purity meant! I came void of guile, with an open and honourable offer of my heart. Imade no difficulties, felt no scruples, harboured no suspicions. Inreturn for which I was doubted, catechised, chidden, trifled with, andinsulted. When I hoped for sympathy I met rebuke; and while myaffections glowed admiration yours retorted contempt. Your heart wasprepossessed: it had no room for me: it excluded me, scorned me, and atthe first opportunity avowed its hatred. Go on!--Neither your mistakes, your accusations, nor your anger shallmove me--I pity your errors. Continue to ascribe that to my injustice, or to a worse motive, if a worse you can find, which was the properfruit of your irascible and vindictive temper. Reconcile your ownactions to your own heart, if you can; and prove to yourself I meritthe perfidy, assault, and imprisonment you have practised upon me: aswell as the mischief which I have every reason to suppose you intend. Then, madam, avoid it! Spare both yourself and me the violence youforebode? What! Sink before unruly passion? Stand in awe of vice? Willinglyadminister to shameless appetites, and a malignant spirit ofrevenge?--Never, while I have life! Stop!--Beware!--I am not master of my own affections! I am in a statelittle short of phrensy! Be the means fair or foul, mine you shallbe--The decrees of Fate are not more fixed--I have sworn it, and thoughfire from Heaven waited to devour me, I will keep my oath!--Could youeven yet but think of me as perhaps I deserve--! I say, could you, madam-- I cannot will not marry you! Nothing you can say, nothing you canthreaten, nothing you can act shall make me! Be less hasty in your contempt!--Fear me not!--Scorn for scorn, injuryfor injury, and hate for hate! I hate only your errors! I scorn nothing but vice--On the virtues ofwhich a mind like yours is capable my soul would dilate with ecstasy, and my heart would doat! But you have sold yourself to crookedness!Base threats, unmanly terrors, and brute violence are your despicableengines!--Wretched man! They are impotent!--They turn upon yourself; methey cannot harm!--I am above you! I care not for myself--I have already secured infamy--I have paidthe price and will enjoy the forfeiture--Had you treated me with thegenerous ardent love I so early felt for you, all had been well--I thehappiest of men, and you the first of women! But your own injusticehas dug the pit into which we must all down--It is wide and welcomeruin!--Even now, contemned as I have been, scorned as I am, I wouldfain use lenity and feel kindness. I will take retribution--no powershall prevent me--but I would take it tenderly. Oh shame upon you, man!--Tenderly?--Can the mischief and the misery inwhich you have involved yourself and so many others, can treachery, brutal force, bruises, imprisonment, and rape be coupled withtenderness? If you have any spark of noble feeling yet remaining inyour heart, cherish it: but if not, speak truth to yourself! Do notattempt to varnish such foul and detestable guilt with fair words. I would advise, not varnish! What I have done I have done--I know mydoom--I am already branded! Opprobrium has set her indelible mark uponme! I am indexed to all eternity! You mistake, Clifton!--Beware!--You mistake! You mistake! [It isimpossible to imagine, Fairfax, the energy with which theseexclamations burst from her--It was a fleeting but false cordial to myheart. ] Of all your errors that is the most fatal! Whatever rootedprejudices or unjust laws may assert to the contrary, we areaccountable only for what we do, not for what we have done. Cliftonbeware! Mark me--I owe you no enmity for the past: I combat only withthe present. Do not delude me with shadows. Bring your doctrine to the test: if youbear me no enmity, if what I have done can be forgotten, and what Iwould do--! Madam--! Anna--!--Once more, and for the last time--takeme! It cannot be!--It cannot be! Then, since you will shew no mercy, expect none. Your menaces are vain, man! I tell you again I do not fear you! I willbeg no pity from you--I dare endure more than you dare inflict! I am not to be braved from my purpose! The basis of nature is not moreunshaken! High as your courage is, you will find a spirit in me thatcan mount still higher! Courage? Oh shame! Name it not! Where was your courage when you decoyedmy defender from me? The man you durst not face?--Where is he?--Whathave you done with him?--Laura has given you my letter--Should yourpractices have reached his life!--But no! It cannot be! An actso very vile as that not even the errors of your mind couldreach!--Courage?--Even me you durst not face in freedom! Your courageemployed a band of ruffians against me, singly; a woman too, over whomyour manly valour would tower! But there is no such mighty differenceas prejudice supposes. Courage has neither sex nor form: it is anenergy of mind, of which your base proceedings shew I have infinitelythe most. This bids me stand firm, and meet your worst daringundauntedly! This be assured will make me the victor! I tell you, man, it places me above you! Urge me no more!--Beware of me! You have driven me mad! Do not tempt adesperate man! Resistance will be destruction to you, no matter that tome it be perdition! My account is closed, and I am reconciled toruin!--You shall be mine!--Though hell gape for me you shall bemine!--Once more beware! I warn you not to contend! Why, man, what would you do? Is murder your intent?--While I have lifeI fear you not!--And think you that brutality can taint the dead? Nay, think you that, were you endowed with the superior force which the vainname of man supposes, and could accomplish the basest purpose of yourheart, I would falsely take guilt to myself; or imagine I had receivedthe smallest blemish, from impurity which never reached my mind? That Iwould lament, or shun the world, or walk in open day oppressed by shameI did not merit? No!--For you perhaps I might weep, but for myself Iwould not shed a tear! Not a tear!--You cannot injure me--I am aboveyou!--If you mean to deal me blows or death, here I stand ready tosuffer: but till I am dead, or senseless, I defy you to do meharm!--Bethink you, Clifton! I see the struggles of your soul: thereis virtue among them. Your eye speaks the reluctance of yourhand. Your heart spurns at the mischief your passions wouldperpetrate!--Remember--Unless you have recourse to some malignant, somecruel, some abominable means, you never shall accomplish so base apurpose!--But you cannot be so guilty, Clifton!--You cannot!--I knownot by what perverse fatality you have been misled, for you have a mindfitted for the sublimest emanations of virtue!--No, you cannot!--Thereis something within you that lays too strong a hand upon you! Maliceso black is beyond you! Your very soul abhors its own guilt, and istherefore driven frantic!--Oh, Clifton! You that were born to be thechampion of truth, the instructor of error, and the glory of theearth!--My heart yearns over you--Awake!--Rise!--Be a man! Divine, angelic creature!--Fool, madman, villain! With these exclamations I instantly burst from the chamber--Conviction, astonishment, remorse, tenderness, all the passions that could subduethe human soul rushed upon me, till I could support no more. Of all the creatures God ever formed she is the most wonderful!--I haverepeated something like her words; but had you seen her gestures, hercountenance, her eye, her glowing indignant fortitude at one moment, and her kindling comprehensive benevolence the next, like me you wouldhave felt an irresistible impulse to catch some spark of a flame soheavenly! And now what is to be done? I am torn by contending passions!--If Irelease her there is an end to all; except to my disgrace, which willbe everlasting--Give her to the arms of Henley?--I cannot bear it, Fairfax!--I cannot bear it!--Death, racks, infamy itself to such athought were infinitude of bliss! What can I do? She says truly: conquest over her, by any but brutalmeans, is impossible--Shall I be brutal?--And more brutal even than myown ruffian agents? She has magnanimity--But what have those cyphers of beings who callthemselves her relations? Shall they mount the dunghill of theirvanity, clap their wings, and exult, as if they too had conquered aClifton? Even the villain Mac Fane would not fail to scout at me! Naythe very go-between, the convenient chamber-maid herself, forgettingthe lightness of her own heels, would bless herself and claim her sharein the miraculous virtue of the sex! What! Become the scoff of thetea-table, the bugbear of the bed-chamber, and the standing jest of thetavern?--I will return this instant, Fairfax, and put her boastedstrength and courage to the proof--Madness!--I forget that nothing lessthan depriving her of sense can be effectual. She knows her stronghold: victory never yet was gained by man, singly, over woman, who wasnot willing to be vanquished. I will not yield her up, Fairfax!--She never shall be Henley's!--Againand again she never shall!--I dared not meet him!--So she toldme!--Ha!--Dare not?--I will still devise a means--I will have myrevenge!--This vaunted Henley then shall know how much I dare!--I willconquer!--Should I be obliged to come like Jove to Semele, in flames, and should we both be reduced to ashes in the conflict, I will enjoyher!--Let one urn hold our dust; and when the fire has purified it ofits angry and opposing particles, perhaps it may mingle in peace. C. CLIFTON LETTER CXX _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ It shall not be!--She shall not escape me thus!--I will not endure thisinsufferable, this contemptible recantation of my wrongs! Fear isbeneath me, and what have I to hope? I have made misery certain! I havepaid the price of destruction, and will hug it to my heart! I know howoften I have prevaricated, and have loitered with revenge; but I havenot lost the flame: it burns still, and never shall expire! The night at Brompton, though a night of storms and evil augury, washeaven to the one I have just passed. Sleep and rest have forsaken me. 'Tis long since I closed my eyes; I know not indeed when; but lastnight I did not attempt it. I traversed my room, opened my windows, shut them again, listened to the discontented monotony of the watchmanwithout hearing him, thought over my never-forgotten injuries, myvengeance, and all the desolation that is to follow, and having endedbegan again! There were shrieks and cries of murder in the street, about midnight;and this was the only music by which I remember to have been roused. But it was momentary. My reveries returned, and scenes of horror rose, more swarming, dun, and ghastly! My waking dreams are eternal--Well, so I would have them!They prolong revenge!--I would have him by the throat forages!--Him!--Henley!--Would--grapple with him; would stab and bestabbed; not in the fictions of a torturing fancy, but arm to arm, steel to steel, poison to poison! Ay, did I not know he would refusemy fair challenge, hero though he be and cased in innocence, I wouldinstantly fly to let him loose upon me, that I might turn and tear him! Why that were delectable!--And can it not be?... Can no sufferingsmove, no wrongs provoke, no taunts stir him to resentment? Is he God, or is he man? To me he is demon, legion, and has possessed me wholly! Liar that I am! How came I to forget the beauteous sorceress with whomI found him leagued? I have heard them called angels of light; but Ihave known them only fiends! They goad me with their virtues, mock atmy phrensy, defy my rage; and though surrounded by rape, destruction, and despair, sleep and smile, while I wake and howl! Injury and insult are busy with me! This sister of mine is in town atSir Arthur's. As she has made the journey I may expect a visit from hersoon: but she shall find no admission here. I want no more tormentors! As I foreboded, she has just been, and has behaved in character. Shewould take no denial from the valet; he was but an infant to theAmazon; she would herself see if I were at home, and in she came. Thefellow does not want cunning, and he ran up stairs before her, andcalled out aloud, purposely for me to hear--'You may see, madam, if youplease; the door is locked, and my master has taken the key with him. ' He knew I was determined not to see her, and while he designedly madeall the clatter he could, and placed himself before the entrance, Itook the means he had devised. She came, turned him aside, examined thedoor, pushed violently against it, and I believe would willingly havebroken it open; but finding her good intentions, I set my shoulder tothe panel, taking care not to impede the light through the keyhole, which my valet tells me was inspected by her. She ruminated a fewseconds and then went away; incredulous and high in indignation. Well!--I sought for warfare, and it has found me. My former encountersit seems were but the skirmishes of a partisan: this is a deadly anddecisive battle! It is now five o'clock, and I have had a stirring morning. So much thebetter; action is relief. A message came to me from Lord Fitz-Allen, desiring to speak with me. I had an inclination not to have gone; butreflecting further I determined to obey his summons. However, when I sent up my name, I desired to know if my sister werethere; and was answered in the negative. I then made my bow to hislordship, taking care to inform him that my sister behaved with greatimpropriety, and that I was resolved not to see her, lest I too shouldforget that respect due to my family and myself which she had violated. The peer began with circumlocutory hints concerning the elopement--'Anunaccountable affair!--No tidings had yet arrived!--Surmisesand rumours of a very strange and dishonourable nature werewhispered!--Mischief, rape, nay even murder were dreaded!' I refused to interpret any of these insinuations as applicable tomyself. At last his lordship, after many efforts, said he had a favourto beg of me, which he hoped I should not think unreasonable. I desiredhim to inform me what this favour was; and put some firmness in mymanner, that his lordship might see I was not in a temper to suffer aninsult. He answered, for his own part, he had no doubts: he knew my family, andhad always affirmed I could not act unworthy of the gentleman. But, forthe peace of mind of Sir Arthur and the other relations of the younglady, he would esteem it an obligation done to him, if I would declare, upon my honour, that I knew nothing of her elopement; of the place shehas been conveyed to, or where she is at present. I then retorted upon his lordship, that the preface to this requestentirely precluded compliance; that those who whispered and spreadsurmises, and rumours, must be answerable for the consequences of theirown officiousness; and that with respect to myself, I should certainly, under such circumstances, refuse to answer to interrogatories. My tone was not very conciliatory, and his lordship knew not whether tobe angry or pleased. But while he was pondering I thought proper tomake my exit; and leave him to settle the contest between his pride andhis puerility as well as he was able. At my return I found a letter from my sister, which I will neitheranswer nor open. I have my fill of fury, and want no more! Damnation on their insolence! They have been making application to theoffice at Bow-Street! A request has just been sent me, a very soft andcivil one it is true, from the sitting magistrate, that I would do himthe honour to come and speak a word with him, on an affair thatconcerned a very great and respectable family. I returned for answerthat I was engaged, and that I should notice no such messages: but thatif any man, great or small, had to complain of me, the law understoodits duty, and that I should be readily found at all times. Whether this be the motion of my superb and zealous sister, or of thearrogant peer, is more than I can divine. But I shall know some day, and shall then perhaps strike a balance. I have no doubt that emissaries and scouts are abroad, and that I amwatched. I was this evening to have met Mac Fane at the Shakespeare;but I will not go. Yet as it is pay night, the hungry scoundrel mustnot be disappointed. I will therefore write a note to him, and invitehim to come and sup with me. He will be an agreeable companion! Buteven his company is better, at this moment, than solitude. I will not let my servant carry the note directly to him; for if theyhave their spies in the field, that might be dangerous. He shall takeit to the Mount coffee-house, and there get a chairman to convey itin safety. I will tell Mac Fane likewise to come through the shopdoor; for I am only in lodgings; and to step immediately out of ahackney-coach. I laugh at their counterplots, and wish I had nothingmore to disturb me than the fear of being detected by any exertion oftheir cunning, even though my kind sister be appointed their commanderin chief. C. CLIFTON P. S. They might have served the cause in which they have engaged moreeffectually, had their proceedings been less violent and offensive. They do but nerve me in resolution. The less public they had made theaffair the more they would have shewn their generalship. If they bethus determined to brand me, can they suppose that my vengeance shallnot outstrip theirs? I own I am perplexed about the means--Inventionfails me! I have debated whether I should call in the aid of Mac Fane;but the idea is too detestable!--No! I would rather take a pair ofpistols, and dispatch her first and myself next, than expose herbeauties to such ruffian despicable rascals!--Beside I would have herwill concerned--And how to conquer that?--I shall be driven, I foreseeI shall, to some unheard-of act of desperation!--Drugs are a mean apitiful expedient: not to mention that she is aware of them, and uses akind of caution which it would be difficult to overcome. She reservesthe meal of one day for the next, after having suffered Laura to eather part; so that inanity, sleep or other effects, if produced, wouldfirst appear in the maid. This perhaps is one of the reasons by whichshe is induced still to keep her: and were she removed, and couldsuspect it were for this purpose, I am convinced she would eat nomore--No!--She must be fairly told the deep despair of my mind! and ifthat will not move her, why then--Death! LETTER CXXI _Louisa Clifton to her brother Coke Clifton_ _Grosvenor-Street_ Where is Anna St. Ives?--Where is my friend? Where is the youth to whomyou owe existence?--Man of revenge, answer me! Oh God! O God!--Is itpossible?--Can it be that you, Coke Clifton, the son of my mother, thehoped for friend of my heart, the expected champion of virtue, can turnaside to such base and pitiful vice; such intolerable, such absurd, such deep hypocrisy? And why? What cause? Is this the reward of theiruncommon virtues? And you, Oh man! Did they not labour hourly, incessantly, with thepurity of saints and the ardour of angels, to do you good? Was it nottheir sole employment; their first duty, and their dearest hope? Didthey ever deviate? Did they not return urbanity for arrogance, kindnessfor contempt, and life for blows?--Can you, Clifton, dare you be thuswicked? And will you persist?-- If you have brought them to harm, if your practices have reached theirlives, earth does not contain so foul, so wicked a monster!-- Surely this cannot be! Surely you have some drop of mother's blood inyou, and cannot be actuated by a spirit so wholly demon! What shall I do? What shall I say? How shall I awaken a soul so steepedin iniquity, so dead to excellence, so obstinate in ill?--Clifton!--Youwere not formed for this! You have a mind that might have been the fitcompanion of divine natures!--It may be still!--Awake! View the light, and turn from crimes, pollution, and abhorrence, to virtue, love, andtruth! Know you not the beaming charity of her whom you persecute, if--OhGod!--Surely this is vain terror! Surely Anna St. Ives is still amongthe living!-- Clifton, once again I say, remember the untainted benevolence of hersoul! Is it, can it be forgotten by you? Which of your good qualitieswas ever forgotten by her? Hear her describe them in her ownlanguage![1] [Footnote 1: Here follow numerous extracts from the letters of Anna St. Ives; all expressive of the high qualities and powers of Mr. Clifton, of the delight they gave her, and the hopes they inspired. They areomitted here, because it is probable they are fresh in the reader'smemory: if not, it will be easy to turn to Anna's letters; particularlyto letters XXIV. XXXI. XXXVIII. XLV. LVI. LXIII. LXVIII. LXXVIII. LXXIX. LXXXII. CVIII. ] These are a few of the commendations with which her descriptionsabound. Commendations of you, oh man of mischief and mistake! They arequotations from her letters. Read them; remember them; think on all shehas done for you, all she has said to you, and all you have made hersuffer! What shall I say? My fears are infinite, my hopes few, my anguishintolerable!--For the love of God, brother, do not rob the world of twopeople who were born to be its light and pride! Do not be this diabolicinstrument of passion and error! If they still have being, restore themto the human race. --You know not the wrong you do!--'Tis heinous, 'tishateful wickedness! Can a mind like yours feel no momentary remorse, noglow of returning virtue, no sudden resolution to perform a great andglorious act of justice on yourself? If you value your soul's peace, hear me! Awake from this guilty dream, and be once more the brother of the agonizing, L. CLIFTON LETTER CXXII _Louisa Clifton to Mrs. Wenbourne_ _Grosvenor-Street_ Dear Madam You have been kindly pleased to request I would give you some accountof the means we are pursuing, in hopes to obtain traces that shouldlead to a discovery of the very strange affair by which we are allperplexed and afflicted. I am sorry to say that I can do little morethan narrate the distress of the various parties, who think themselvesinterested in the loss of the dear friend of my heart, and of the youthso well worthy of her affections. Of the grief of Sir Arthur, madam, you have yourself been a witness:nor does it seem to abate. I should wonder indeed if it could; forthough I wish to cherish hope, I own that the secrecy and silence withwhich this black stratagem has been carried into effect are trulyterrifying. Highly as I esteem and reverence the virtues of young Mr. Henley, Ihave been free enough to own to you, madam, I never was any admirer ofthe qualities and proceedings of his father. Justice however obliges meto say that he at present expresses a regret so deep, for the loss ofhis son, as to prove that he has a considerable sense of his worth. Money has been the sole object of his efforts: yet, though his son hadso great a sum in his possession at the time he disappeared, he seemsto think but little of the money, compared to the loss which is indeedso infinitely more deplorable. While I live I shall love and esteem Mrs. Clarke, and her niece Peggy;whose kind hearts overflow with affection, both for my Anna St. Ivesand young Mr. Henley. Well indeed may Peggy remember poor Frank. He washer saviour in the hour of her distress. She takes no rest herself, norwill she suffer her husband or her brother to take any. They are allcontinually on the watch; and to do the men justice, they do not need aspur. Mr. Webb, her brother, with whose unfortunate history I suppose you areacquainted, gives proofs of zeal which are very affecting. The tearshave frequently gushed from me, at seeing the virtuous anxiety of hismind, and at recollecting what that mind was, how and by whom it waspreserved, and that its whole activity is now exerted, with the strongand cheering hope of returning some portion of the good it hasreceived! I know, madam, how great your sorrow must be, as well as that of allthe once happy relations of a young lady of endowments and virtues sorare. Yet deep as this sorrow is, I think it scarcely can exceed theanguish I feel; convinced as I am that my mistaken, my unhappy brotheris the cause of this much dreaded misery. I told you, madam, I would go to him. I have been, and could gain noadmission. I have written; and have received no answer. Thesecircumstances, added to the perturbation of mind which was sodiscoverable in him when he was last at Rose-Bank, do but confirm myfears of his guilt. But as it becomes us to act, and not to lament, while there is anypossibility that action should give us relief, I joined Mr. AbimelechHenley in his opinion, that we ought to apply to the civil power forredress. We first indeed prevailed on Lord Fitz-Allen to speak to Mr. Clifton; but it was to no purpose: my brother behaved, as I prophesiedhe would, with disdainful silence. I own I had some hopes that myletter would have touched his heart: I am sorry to find they were soill-founded. Mr. Clifton having refused even to deny his knowledge of the affair tohis Lordship, he consented that application should be made to a civilmagistrate. But Lord Fitz-Allen is strangely prejudiced, and ispersuaded, or affects to be, that Mr. Clifton, being a gentleman, isincapable of a dishonourable act; and that young Mr. Henley and AnnaSt. Ives have eloped. The sum of money Mr. Henley had in his possessionconfirms him in this opinion: and he has several times half persuadedSir Arthur, and some others, to be of his sentiments. Hearing this, and finding no positive accusation, and that nothing butsurmise could be preferred against Mr. Clifton, whose character wasunderstood to be highly vindictive, the magistrate refused to do anything more than send a polite request, that he would come and speak inhis presence to the parties concerned. My brother refused in terms of menace and defiance; and we returnedhome hopeless; yet again having recourse to watching the door of mybrother's lodgings, as has been done for these several days. But wehave learnt nothing. And what indeed can we learn? Mr. Webb and hisbrother-in-law have twice followed him on foot, to the livery stables;and have seen him mount his horse, and ride out of town: but the speedwith which he went quickly took him out of sight. The roads he chose were in opposite directions: but that they mighteasily be, and yet lead to the same place. They are out at present; fortheir industry is unwearied. It is in vain to think of pursuing my brother on horseback; for he mustinfallibly see his pursuer. He went one time over Westminster-bridge, and the other through Tyburn-turnpike up to Paddington. Their presentproject is, the first time he goes out, to waylay both these roads, andto get assistants. Mr. Webb is a swift runner: but the chance ofsuccess I am afraid is very small indeed! However it becomes them, andus, and indeed every body, not to desist, till the whole of this darktransaction be brought to light. I am, madam, &c. L. CLIFTON LETTER CXXIII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover-Street_ Why ay! He who opens the flood-gates of mischief is necessarily in mostdanger of being swept away by the torrent!--I have drunken deeply ofruin, and soon shall have my fill! You warned me to beware of this raven: you told me he scentedcarrion!--I laughed at your prophecy!--It is fulfilled!--I am agull!--The fleeced, cheated, despicable gull of the infernal villainMac Fane! It was right that I should be loaded with every species of contempt formyself. I have been the fool, the gudgeon, the ineffable ass to lose asum of money to him, which to pay would be destruction!--I begin tohate myself with most strange inveteracy! Could I meet such anotherfellow, I would spit in his face--Fairfax, it is true--By hell I holdmyself in most rooted and ample antipathy! I find I have strangely mistaken my own character and talents--Ionce thought to have driven the world before me, and to have whippedopposition into immediate compliance: but it seems I am myself one ofthe very sorry wretches at whom I was so all alive and ready to give, and spurn! These are odd and unaccountable things! And it appearsthat I am a very poor creature! A most indubitable driveller! Thetwin-brother of imbecility! Ay, the counterpart and compeer of EdwardSt. Ives, and the tool of the most barefaced of cheats, as well as hisfamiliar!--Well! I have lived long enough to make the discovery; and itis now high time to depart! I wrote to you but yesterday: but events hastily tread on each other'sheels, and if I do not relate them now I never shall. I told you Iexpected the gambler to supper, by my own invitation--Ay, ay!--I am avery Solomon! I dined at home. I knew not indeed to what extremes the St. Iveshunters might proceed: or whether they would make accusation upon oath, sufficient to authorise a magistrate in granting a warrant, to bring mebefore him; but the attempt must have been impotent and abortive, Itherefore determined to brave them: however I heard no more of them ortheir suspicions. As I sat ruminating on past events, on my sister and her epistle, andparticularly on the zeal with which Anna St. Ives appealed to theletter written by her, which I had received from Laura, my curiositywas so far excited that at last I determined to read them both. I own, Fairfax, they both moved me--This sister of mine, enraged as I amagainst her, has somehow found the art of making herself respected. Herzeal has character and efficacy in it: I mean persuasion. I could notresist some of the sensations she intended to inspire. She citedpassages from the letters of her friend that were daggers to me! At thevery time I was seeking to quarrel with Anna, she angel-like wasincessant in my praise!--And such praises, Fairfax--! There was noresisting it!--She thought generously, nobly, ay sublimely of me: whilemy irascible jealousy, false pride, and vindictive spirit were eageronly to find cause of offence! And yet I know not!--I cannot keep my mind to a point! Surely _I hadcause of offence_: real cause?--Surely the retribution I sought hadjustice in it?--She could not be wholly blameless?--No!--That wouldindeed be distraction! I then ventured to read the letter of Anna--On paper or in speech sheis the same: energetic, awful, and affecting! While I was reading this last Mac Fane entered, and soon put an end tomy meditations. Did I tell you I had been fool enough to invite him tosupper?--He had not been with me half an hour before I was mostintolerably weary of his company! After having vapoured of the feats of himself and the scowling rascalhis colleague, to remind me of my high obligations to them, and talkingas usual with most bitter malevolence against Henley, he soon began todescant on the old subject; gaming--To ask a madman why he is mad werevain! I was importuned by his jargon--'He had been pigeoned only lastnight of no less than seven hundred pounds!' Repetitions, imprecations, and lies, all of the same kind, succeeded as fast as he could utterthem! I know all this ought to have put me upon my guard; and I know too thatit did not. I believe I had some lurking vanity in my mind; apersuasion that I could beat him at picquet. I was weary both of myselfand him; was primed for mischief, and cared not of what kind. If youask me for any better reason, why, knowing him as I did, I sufferedmyself to be the tool of this fellow, I can only say I have none togive! I ordered my own servant to fetch half a dozen packs of cards, andimagined this precaution was some security. What will not men imagine, when their passions are afloat and reason is flown? To give you the history of how I was led on, from one act of idiotismto another, or how after having lost one thousand I could be lunaticenough to lose a second, and after a second a third, and so on to atenth, is more than my present temper of mind will permit. It is quitesufficient to tell you that I have ruined myself; and that there isnot, upon the face of the earth, a fellow I so thoroughly despise asCoke Clifton; no not even Mac Fane himself! Below the lowest am Ifallen; for I am his dupe, nay his companion, and what is worse hisdebtor! It is time I were out of the world--So miserable a being doesnot crawl upon its surface. It is the very heyday of mischief, and I must abroad among it. Theexact manner of the catastrophe I cannot foresee, but it must betragical. I have something brooding in my mind, the outlines of aconclusion, which rather pleases me. I have sworn to avenge myself ofAnna, disinherit my sister, and never to pay Mac Fane. These oaths mustbe kept. Anna must fall! If she will but deign to live afterward, sheshall be my heir. And for myself, I know how to find a ready quietus! My mind since this last affair is better reconciled to its destiny, andeven less disturbed than before: for previous to this, there seemed tobe some bare possibility of a generous release, on my part, and a moregenerous forgetfulness of injuries on theirs. But now, all is over! Ihave but to punish my opponents a little, and myself much, and havingpunished expire. C. CLIFTON P. S. I have not paid the scoundrel his thousand pounds. He proposed abond for the whole, on which he said he could raise money. This I wasdetermined not to give, and told him he must wait a few days, till Ihad consulted my lawyer and looked into my affairs, and I would thengive him a determinate answer. He was beginning to assume thecontemptible airs of a bully; but I was in no temper to bear the leastinsult. The real rage of my look silenced the mechanical ferocity ofhis. I bade him remember I could hit a china plate, and that I shouldthink proper to take my own mode of payment. He then changed his tone, and began to commend his soul to Satan, in a thousand different forms, if he had ever won a hundred pounds at a sitting in his whole lifebefore. I sneered in his face, shewed him the door, and bade him goodnight; and he walked quietly away. LETTER CXXIV _Louisa Clifton to Mrs. Wenbourne_ _Grosvenor Street_ Dear Madam, As I have taken upon myself the painful duty of informing you of allthat passes, relative to this unhappy affair, it becomes me to bepunctual. It is afflicting to own that our agitation and distress, instead of abating, are increased. Finding it impossible to gain a sight of my brother, I determined toattempt to question his valet. Mr. Webb received my instructionsaccordingly, watched him to some distance from the house, and delivereda message from me, that if he would come to me I would present him withten guineas. He made no hesitation, but followed Mr. Webb immediately. Either he is very artful or very ignorant of this affair. Onecircumstance excepted, he appears to know nothing. I promised him any reward, any sum he should himself name, if he couldbut give us such information as might lead to the recovery of our lostfriends: but he protested very solemnly he had none to give; exceptthat he owns having been employed, by his master, to inveigle the ladaway, who wrote the anonymous letter, and whom Mr. Clifton, bypractising on the lad's credulity and gratitude, sent to France. The valet indeed acknowledges his master is exceedingly disturbed inmind; that he does not sleep, nor even go to bed, except sometimestossing himself on it with his clothes on, and almost instantly risingagain; and that he has sent for his attorney, to make his will. I will not endeavour to paint my sensations at hearing this account. Iwill only add that another incident has happened, which gives themadditional acuteness. I believe, madam, you have heard both my brother and my Anna speak ofand describe a young French nobleman, who paid his addresses to her, and who was the occasion of the rash leap into the lake, by which Mr. Clifton endangered his life? This gentleman, Count de Beaunoir, isarrived in London; and has this morning paid a visit to Sir Arthur St. Ives. He enquired first and eagerly after my friend; with whom, like all whoknow her, he is in raptures. Sir Arthur, forgetting his character, andthe apparently rodomontade but to him very serious manner in which hehad declared himself her champion, told him the whole story, as far asit is known to us; not omitting to mention Mr. Clifton as the person onwhom all our suspicions fell, and relating to him the full grounds ofthose suspicions. The astonishment of the Count occasioned him to listen with uncommonattention to what he heard; and he closed the narrative of Sir Arthurby affirming it was all true. He was convinced beyond contradiction ofits truth, for he had himself brought over the lad, whom Mr. Cliftonhad sent, with pretended dispatches, to a friend of his in Paris. The lad it appears, suspecting all was not right, and finding noprobability of returning, but on the contrary that he was watched, andeven refused a passport, had applied to the Count through the medium ofhis servants, with whom he had formerly been acquainted, to protect andafford him the means of returning to England. The lad was sent for, his story heard, and he was then questionedconcerning Anna St. Ives; and he had heard enough of the affair fromMr. Abimelech Henley, and from the servants, to know that the proposedmatch, between Mr. Clifton and Anna, was broken off; and that sherefused to admit his visits. When Count de Beaunoir last saw SirArthur, at Paris, he had assured him very seriously that, should everAnna St. Ives find herself disengaged and he knew it, he wouldinstantly make her a tender of his hand and fortune: and he had nosooner heard the lad's story than he determined immediately to make hisintended journey to England. My heart shudders while I relate it, but I dread lest it should be afatal journey, for him or my brother, or both! For he declared to SirArthur, without hesitation, he would wait on Mr. Clifton directly, andoblige him either to produce Anna St. Ives, or meet him in the field. Wretched folly! Destructive error! When will men cease to think thatvice and virtue ought to meet on equal terms; and that injury can beatoned by blood? The Count had left his address with Sir Arthur, and the moment I heardwhat had passed I flew to his lodgings. He was not at home, and Iwaited above an hour. At last he came, and I attempted to shew him boththe folly and wickedness of the conduct he was pursuing. He listened to me with the utmost politeness, paid me a thousandcompliments, acknowledged the truth of every thing I said, but veryevidently determined to act in a manner directly opposite. I veryassiduously laboured to make him promise, upon his honour, he would notseek redress by duelling; but in vain. He answered by evasion; with allpossible desire to have obliged me, but with a foregone conclusion thatit could not be. Pardon me, madam, for writing a narrative so melancholy: but sincerityis necessary; intelligence might have come to you in a distorted form, and might have produced much worse effects. For my own part, I have noother mode of conduct but that of writing and of speaking the simpletruth; being convinced there is no shade of disguise, artifice, orfalsehood, that is not immoral in principle, and pernicious inpractice. I have been very busy. I have sent for the lad whom the count broughtover with him, and have made enquiries. The answers he gave me all tendto confirm our former suspicions. He has related the story, at length, of the manner in which he was inveigled away, and prevailed on to go toFrance. I next questioned him concerning his aunt; and he knows nothing of her, has never heard from her, and is astonished at what can have become ofher. He means, however, to go this evening to a relation's house, wherehe thinks he is certain he shall hear of her; and has then promised tocome and let me know--But to what purpose? We shall find she has beensent out of the way by Mr. Clifton: and what further information willthat afford? None, except to confirm what needs no confirming; exceptto shew the blindness, craft, and turpitude of his mind! I am, dear madam, &c. L. CLIFTON LETTER CXXV _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover-Street_ So, Fairfax, you have suffered the lad to escape you; cautioned andentreated as you were! You know, I suppose, by what means; and withwhom he is at present?--Well, well!--It is no matter--have quarrelsenough on hand, and enemies enough!--I would fain die in peace withsomebody!--I forgive you--I suppose you did your best. It is exceedingly possible that this may be the last letter you willever receive from me. Remember me now and then. Should Henley and AnnaSt. Ives survive me, let them know I was not so entirely blind to theirworth as they might perhaps suppose. Shew them my letters if you will:I care not who sees them now! Let the truth be told! I shall be deafenough to censure. I have just had a visit from the crazy count; a threatening one. Achallenge has passed, and we are to meet to-morrow. So it is agreed; but I doubt whether I shall keep the appointment. Ifthere be one spark of resentment in the soul of Henley, it is possibleI may fail. I mean to give him the first chance. It is his by right;and why should not I do right even to him, once in my life? Thisfarrago of folly, this pride of birth, and riches, and I know not whatelse lumber, is very contemptible! Fairfax, the present state of my thoughts force more than one truthupon me. But what have I to do with truth, in a world from which Ilearned so much error that it was impossible for me to exist in it?These wise people should leave us fools to wrangle, be wretched, andcut each other's throats as we list, without inter-meddling: 'tisdangerous. But Truth is a zealot; Wisdom will be crying in the streets;and Folly meeting her seldom fails to deal her blow. My mind is made up: my affairs are settled, my lawyer has written outmy will, and it is signed. You will find yourself mentioned in it, Fairfax. I have nominated my sister my executor, and Anna St. Ives myheir. I have been reading Louisa's letter again: it is full of pathos. She has more understanding than I have been willing to allow, and Ihave relented. She is not forgotten in my will: I would not have herthink of me with everlasting hatred. I know not how it is, Fairfax, but I feel more compunction, atpresent, than I ever remember to have felt before. I am grown intoself-contempt; and the haughty notions, which were the support of myhigh and sometimes arrogant conduct, are faded. I could think only ofCoke Clifton, and I now know Coke Clifton to be a very wicked dolt! Be not deceived by my present tone: make no false predictions in favoureither of myself or Anna St. Ives. Despair and fate are not more fixedthan is my plan. My horse will presently be at the door. I shall mounthim the moment I have ended this letter, and shall proceed directly toAnna. There, after all is ended, the enchantment too shall end, and themisventurous lady and her imprisoned knight shall both be set free. Should Henley, urged by despair to seek revenge, accept my defiance andmeet me in the field, the conflict must be fierce, and such as mightinspire terror. To say the truth, were it not to prove myself his equal, perhaps hismaster and vanquisher, I would not lift my hand against his life. Itwould be some relief to my soul to fall by his arm. He is a noblefellow, and I have done him wrong. Would he or Anna but charitablystrike, I would die blessing them, eased by the expiatory blow. Perhapsthey are the only two beings for whom I ever could have had the sameadmiration; and, if what they tell me be true, admiration continuedalways ripens into love. They shewed affection toward me, and would, Ibelieve, have loved me. But we did not understand each other, and themistake has been mutually fatal--Would I had never injured them!--Butit is vain!--The die is cast!--We are all fated!--Having accomplishedmy revenge, and accomplish it I will, they cannot live and not bemiserable! They must curse my hated memory, and blaspheme against myhonour!--It cannot be otherwise--Let our grave therefore be glorious!They are brave spirits, and will mock my power even to the last. I lovetheir high courage. Perhaps they shall find I have a kindred soul!--Ohwould they die forgiving me--! I know not well whither my thoughts are wandering--They perhaps mayrefuse to die--They may say it is their duty to live, even thoughdoomed to be wretched--I know them--What they think they willact--Well, well!--Let destiny dispose of events--To me all chancesare welcome, all are alike. As to this count, should Henley refuse vengeance, I owe him no mercy. 'Twas he who prompted me to the frantic act that first made me thedebtor of the man I have most injured. I almost contemn a foe soinsignificant--Not that he is deficient in bravery, or skill--But whatis he?--What are his wrongs?--'Tis lunacy, not anger rankling at hisheart!--Or if it were?--The hungry wolf-dog is no fit combatant for thefamished lion! C. CLIFTON P. S. Fairfax, a new terror has come over me. I told you of the lettersof my sister and Anna, and described something of the effect theyproduced upon me. You may remember I read them previous to my lastdamned interview with the villain Mac Fane. I recollect having laid theletter of Anna upon the table, and that it continued lying there forsome time after his entrance. I had my eye upon it, and meant not toput it in my pocket lest it should be left there, but lock it up assoon as I moved--I forgot it--The letter is lost--I have searched everywhere, have enquired, have cursed; have threatened unheard-ofpunishment to my scoundrel, if he have purloined it; but to no effect. He protests he knows nothing of it; and he looks as if he spoketruth--It contained a secret relative to Henley--! Should Mac Fane havetaken it up furtively, as I suppose such thieves are always on thewatch--? Why, if he should--? Hell hounds!--Blood-thirsty vultures!--Ifso--! I will be gone this instant!--It is the very era of horror! FRAGMENT[1] [Footnote 1: Written by Mr. Henley in his confinement, and taken fromthe wainscot in which it was concealed after the catastrophe. ] Whether what I am about to write may ever be found, or whether I thewriter may ever be heard of more, are both very doubtful events. It maybe of some use to mankind, should this brief narrative hereafter beread; as it may tend to exemplify the progress of the passions, and toshew after having begun in error the excesses of which they arecapable. I speak under the supposition that this paper may fall intothe hands of persons who know more of Mr. Clifton, and of the affair towhich I allude, than even I myself at present know; or, if I did, thanI have time and opportunity to relate. With that hope, and addressing myself to such persons, I willendeavour, as long as I have the means and am able, accurately torecount the particulars of what has befallen me, from the time I wasfirst beset to the latest minute of my remaining where I am; whether myremoval happen by death or release; of which, though apparently beyondhope, it would certainly be wrong to despair. Oh, Anna St. Ives! Should thine eye ever glance over this paper, ignorant as I am of thy destiny, though too well assured it is afearful one, think not, while I seem to narrate those incidents onlywhich have happened to myself, that I am attentive to self alone; thatI have forgotten the nobler duties of which we have so often sweetlydiscoursed; or that the memory of thee and thy sufferings has ever beenabsent from my heart!--But why bid thee be just? To whom didst thouever do a wilful wrong? Oh pardon me!--Live on, shouldst thou still bepermitted to live, and labour with redoubled ardour in the great causeof truth! Despair not! Heave not a sigh, drop not a tear; but sacrificethy private ills to public good! Before I begin, it is necessary to notice that I had the sum of eightthousand pounds about me, in bank-bills: for it is this circumstancewhich seems to have insured my death. Our walk was to have ended byfour o'clock, and the money to have been left at the banker's as wereturned. I cannot however acquit myself of neglect. I ought not tohave forgotten that money, under our present wretched system, is thegrand stimulus to vice; that accidents very little dreamed of dailyhappen; and that procrastination is always an error. As I was walking with the lady whose name I have just mentioned, insome fields between Kensington and Brompton, we saw Mr. Clifton pass onhorseback, and I believe in less than a minute a man assault him, andfire a pistol, with an intent to rob him as I then supposed. I ran to his aid; and, immediately after the flight of this real orimaginary robber, I was myself attacked, and laid senseless, by a blowI received on the side of my head; which, as there was no person infront able to strike at me, must have come from behind. I saw no morefor that time of Mr. Clifton. The blow was very violent, and is stillseverely felt. When I recovered my senses, I found my arms confined by a straightwaistcoat; such as are used to secure maniacs. I endeavoured to callfor assistance, but the man who had charge of me, for there wereseveral, thrust his thumb in the larynx, forced open my mouth, andgagged me. He has twice had occasion, as he supposed, to use me thus;and both times with such violence as seemingly to require the utmosteffort mind could make, to recover respiration; the thrust of his thumbwas so merciless, and the sensation of strangling so severe. They brought me to a house thoroughly prepared for confinement. It isan old but heavy building, walled round, and provided with bars, bolts, chains, massy locks, and every precaution to impede escape. I was led by one pair of stairs, to apartments consisting of twochambers; the one roomy, the other much smaller; in which last is abed. As soon as I was safe in the room, the master man among them, who as Ihave since learned is a professed keeper of the insane, ungagged me, took off the straight waistcoat, and then they all left me. I stood I know not how long in that stupor of amazement which thescene, and the crowding conjuctures of imagination, necessarilyproduced. At length, I roused my mind to more activity. I then set myself toinspect the apartments. In the largest there was a fire place, and afire; but neither shovel, tongs nor poker; except a small stick as asubstitute for a poker, with which I certainly could not knock aman down. The furniture consisted of a chair, a table, a brokenlooking-glass, and an old picture, in panel, of the sacrifice of Isaac, with Abraham's knife at his throat. It stares me now in the face, andis a strong emblem of my own situation; except that my saving angelseems wanting. In the other room, exclusive of the bed and its appurtenances, therewas a second chair, which with an old walnut-tree clothes-press was itswhole inventory. In this room was a closet, with several shelves almost to the ceiling;the topmost of them so high as but just to be reached by me, whenstanding on a chair. I swept my hand along the shelves, and found themas I thought empty. I then examined the windows. There were only two, one to each room; theremainder having been walled up; and these each of them provided withthick iron bars, so near to each other as to admit but of a small partof the face passing between them. There was a casement to the frontroom only; and I found a piece of paper tied to the handle of it, onwhich was written--'You are closely watched: if you attempt to make anysignals, or shout, or take any other means to inform persons you arehere, your lodging will be changed to one much more disagreeable. ' Having nothing with which I could employ myself except my thoughts, andthese flowing in abundance, I sat meditating and undisturbed till itwas almost dark. A little before five o'clock as I suppose, perhapslater, for I forgot to say my watch and purse had been taken from me, with a promise that they should be returned, I heard the sound ofdistant bolts and locks, that belong to the outer gates and doors, andsoon afterward of men in loud conversation. The keeper and two of his assistants came up to me, and once morebrought the straight waistcoat, into which they bade me thrust my arms. I hesitated, and told them I did not choose to have my arms confined. To which the keeper replied--'B--- my b---- eyes! None of your jabber, or I'll fetch you another rum one! I'll knock you off the roost again!' From this speech I conclude it was he who gave me the blow with thebludgeon, when I was first secured. As he said this, he raised his bludgeon; with which kind of weapon theywere all three armed, and had locked the door after them. There was noremedy, and I obeyed. As soon as they had confined my arms they left me, and remembering thebank-notes which I had in my fob, I began to fear they had come to theknowledge of this circumstance; though I could not imagine by whatmeans. Some short time afterward, perhaps a quarter of an hour, thebolts and chains of my door again began to rattle, and one personsingly came in. It was dark, and I could not distinguish his features, but I recollected his form: it was the gambler Mac Fane; the sound ofhis voice presently put it beyond a doubt. Without speaking a word, he came up to me and made a violent blow atme. I perceived it coming, sprang upward, and received it on the tip ofmy shoulder, his hand driving up to my neck. From his manner, I guessit hurt him at least as much as me; for his passion immediately becameoutrageous, and he began cursing, kicking, spitting at me, and treatingme with various other indignities, which are wholly unworthy ofremembrance. His passion was so loud and vehement that the keeper, hearing him, cameup. Just as he entered Mac Fane struck me again, and with more effect, for he knocked me down; and was proceeding to kick me in a manner thatmight perhaps have been fatal, had not the keeper interfered. I said not one word the whole time, nor as I recollect uttered anysound whatever; and it was with difficulty that the keeper, who is evena more powerful man than himself, could get him away. I was once more left in solitude and darkness; and thus sat, with freshsubjects for reflection, ruminating on this worthless Mac Fane, myrencontre with him and Mr. Clifton, the extreme malignancy of histemper, and all the connecting circumstances that are allied to eventswhich I cannot now relate. About eight o'clock my door once more opened, and a little boy offourteen years of age, as he tells me, brought me a light and somefood. The boy imagined me to be mad, and entered the room with greatreluctance, his master the keeper standing at the door, cursing him, threatening him with the horse-whip, and obliging him to do as he wasbidden! which was to release me from the strait-waistcoat, spread athreadbare half-dirty napkin over the table, set the plates, and waittill I had eaten. The trepidation of the poor boy at setting my arms atliberty was extreme. The door was not open but ajar, and secured by three chains, betweenwhich the boy crept; the keeper standing and looking on, with one armleaning on the middle chain, and his head only in the chamber. I observed that the boy had an intelligent countenance, thoughconsiderably under the influence of fear; with strong marks of kindnessin it, but stronger of dejection. The furniture, the napkin, knives and forks, and every circumstancedenoted the poverty of the man who is my jailer: and his proceedingsproved there scarcely could be any guilt from which he would start, toremove this supposed evil. The thought could not escape me, nor thejeopardy in which I should stand, should the money I had in mypossession be discovered. I ate what was brought me, and endeavoured by the mildness andcheerfulness of my look to inspire the boy with confidence. I have nodoubt but he was surprised to see so docile a madman, not having yetever seen any, and being from description exceedingly terrified at theidea of the trade to which he has been forcibly apprenticed. I spoke tohim two or three times, apparently to ask him for the trifles he couldreach me, but in reality with another view. I likewise addressed himtwo or three other times in dumb-show, with as much mildness andmeaning in my look as circumstances so insignificant would permit. The effect my behaviour had upon him was very evident; and afterbeginning in fear and confusion, he left me in something like hope andtranquillity. My prison door was locked, the candle taken away, and Ileft in darkness. I was no more molested during that night. My thoughts were too busy to suffer me to sleep. I sat without moving Iknow not how long. The extreme stillness of all around me added to theunity of the gloom, and produced a state of mind which gives wholesomeexercise to fortitude. Deep as I was in thought, I remember having beentwo or three times roused by the sternness of the keeper's voice, whichI heard very plainly, and which was generally some command, closingwith a curse, and as I supposed directed to the poor boy. My bed-chamber door was open, and after some time I removed into it, and sat down on the feet of the bed, again falling into reveries whichfixed me motionless to the place. I cannot tell what was the hour, norhow long I had been thus seated; but I was roused by the sound of adoor opening, and once more by the voice of the keeper, which I heardso distinctly as to doubt for a moment whether it were not in my ownchamber. At the same time a broad ray of light suddenly struck against the wallof my bed-room. I followed it with my eye: I was still at the foot ofthe bed, and its direction was from the left to the right. I had muchinclination to pull off my shoes, and endeavour to trace by whataperture it entered; but on further reflection, I concluded it would bebest not to excite any alarm, in a mind which cannot but be continuallytormented by suspicion and fear. I paid strict attention however to every circumstance that might aid mymemory, in tracing it on the morrow. The voice of the keeper, for he spoke several times, was now much moredistinct than before: he was going to bed, and the question--'Are yousure all is safe?'--was repeated several times with great anxiety, andwas answered in the affirmative by a man's voice--'Do you hear himstir?' said the keeper. --The reply was--'No--But I am sure I heard hima little before ten. ' The keeper however could not be satisfied, and in less than fiveminutes I heard my door unbolting. The keeper and both his men came inwith their bludgeons. He asked morosely why I did not go to bed. Ianswered because I had no inclination to sleep. He went again to thewindows, and examined the very walls with the utmost circumspection;and afterward turning away said--'Sleep or wake, I'll be d---- if youhave any chance. ' He then left me, and I presently afterward saw the ray of light again, and heard his various motions at going to bed. I passed the night without closing my eyes, and in the morning began toexamine where it was possible the light should obtain admission. Iplaced myself in the same situation, and looking to the left saw thecloset was in that direction, and that the door was open. Looking into it I found that a part of the flooring, in the left handcorner, was decayed; and that the ceiling beneath had a fissure of somewidth. I thought it a fortunate circumstance that sounds were conveyedso distinctly into my apartments: though I speak chiefly of thebed-chamber; for it was the loudness of the keeper's voice, and thestillness of surrounding objects, which most contributed to my hearinghim in the front apartment. Not but the decayed state of the buildingfavoured the conveyance of sound, in all directions. I began to consider how far I could improve the means that offeredthemselves, and, watching my opportunity in the course of the day, withmy fingers and by the aid of the stick left to stir my fire, I removedsome of the decayed mortar to the right and left, and increased theaperture on the inside; but was exceedingly careful not to push anyflakes, or part of the ceiling, down into the floor below. Theattention I paid to this was very exact, for it was of the utmostconsequence. Nor was I less accurate in pressing together the rubbish Iscraped away into vacant corners between the joints, and leaving notraces that should lead to discovery. All these precautions were highly necessary, as the behaviour of thekeeper had proved; for when he came into my chamber in the morning, ashe did early with his customary attendants, he searched and pried aboutwith all the assiduity of suspicion. At breakfast I was again waited on by the boy, and watched by thekeeper. It was necessary I should not excite alarms, in a mind so fullof apprehension: I therefore behaved with reserve to the boy, thoughwith great complacency, said little, and dismissed him soon. In the forenoon the door opened again: the boy was sent in with thestraight waistcoat, and the keeper said to me--'Come, sir; put on yourjacket!--Here, boy, be handy!'--I once more hesitated, and asked if Mr. Mac Fane were coming to pay me another visit? He did not return me adirect answer, but replied--'If you will put on the jacket, you may goand stretch your pins for half an hour in the garden: if not stay whereyou are, and be d----!' After a short deliberation, I concluded that to comply was prudent; andI very peaceably aided the boy in performing his office. As my back wasturned to the keeper, I smiled kindly and significantly to the boy; towhich he replied by a look expressive of surprise and curiosity. It cannot be supposed but that my mind had been most anxiouslyenquiring into the possibility and means of escape, while in my prison;and that the moment this unexpected privilege was granted me, its wholeefforts were directed to the same subject. I walked in the garden overlooked, and in a certain manner followed, bythe keeper and his attendants: I therefore traversed it in variousdirections, without seeming to pay the least attention to the object onwhich my mind was most busy. But the chance of escape, my hands beingthus confined, appeared to be as small in the garden as in the house. It is completely surrounded by a high wall, which joins the house ateach end. It had one small gate, or rather door, which was locked andbolted; and had no other entrance, except from the house. After havingwalked about an hour as I suppose, the keeper asked me, in a tonerather of command than question, if I were not tired. I answered--No. To which he replied, But I am. Accordingly, without saying anotherword, I returned to my prison. I will attempt no description of the sufferings of my mind, and thecontinual fears by which it was distracted: not for myself, for therewas no appearance, at this time, that any greater harm than confinementwas intended me, but for another. The subject is torturing: butresignation and fortitude are duties. My reason for mentioning it isthat it strongly excited me to some prompt effort at escape. I could think of none, except of endeavouring to convince the keeper itwas more his interest to give me my freedom, than to keep me inconfinement. Consequently, when my dinner was brought, and he had takenhis station, I asked him if he would do me the favour to converse withme for half an hour; either privately or in the presence of his ownmen. He did not suffer me to finish my sentence, but exclaimed-- 'None of your gab, I tell you! If you speak another word, I'll have youjacketed: and then b--- me, my kiddy, if you get it off again in ahurry!' I said no more, but ate my dinner; casting an eye occasionally to thedoor, and conjecturing what were the probabilities, by a very suddenspring, of breaking the chain, for he had only put one up, or ofdrawing the staple by which it was held, and which, from the thicknessof the wood-work, I knew could not be clenched. It was not possible, Ibelieve, for mind to be actuated by stronger motives than mine was, inmy wish to escape: the circumstance of the single chain might not occura second time, and I determined on the trial. I prolonged my dinner till I perceived him begin to yawn, and at lastturn his head the other way. I was about twelve feet distant from thedoor. I rose quietly, made two steps, and then gave a sudden spring. Icame with great violence against the door, but it resisted me, and ofcourse, I fell backward. After the first moment of surprise, the keeper instantly locked thedoor, and, in a rage of cursing, called his assistants. They howeversoon pacified him, by turning his attention to the strength of his ownfastenings, and scoffing at my fruitless attempt. But this incident induced him to change his mode: he stood no more withthe door ajar to watch me, but, after sending in the boy, locked andbolted it upon us. I was in full expectation of the straight waistcoat; and hisforbearance, I imagine, was occasioned by the strict orders he musthave received to the contrary. His threat indeed, when I attempted tospeak, is a proof rather against this supposition; and I can solve itno other way than by supposing that his orders were, if I attemptedpersuasion with him, he would then be at liberty to do a thing to whichhe seemed exceedingly prone. His fears for himself, should I escape, must inevitably be strong; and a man, who has waded far enough in errorto commit an act so violent, will willingly plunge deeper, inproportion as such fears increase. The sudden spring I had made at the door, combining with thesupposition of madness, had such an effect upon the poor boy that, hearing the door lock and seeing me as he imagined let loose upon him, his fright returned in full force. His looks were so pale, and hetrembled so violently, that I feared he would fall into a fit. I wentup to him with the utmost gentleness, and said--Don't be afraid, mygood boy! Indeed I will not hurt you. The keeper scarcely stayed a minute before, recollecting I had beenlong enough at dinner, he opened the door again, but with the cautionof the three chains, and bade the boy take away. I then began to accuse myself of precipitancy; but I soon rememberedthat every thing ought to be hazarded, where every thing is at stake. My fears were not for myself; and, while my arms were free, could Ihave come upon them thus suddenly, success was far from improbable. Vice is always cowardly; and, difference of weapons out of thequestion, three to one are not invincible odds. It now first occurred to me how prudent it would be to conceal mybank-bills, and I began to consider which were the best means. I tookthem out, examined their numbers, and endeavoured to fix them in mymemory. This was no difficult task; but prudence required that nothing shouldbe left to chance, and I took the burnt end of my stick, and going intothe back room, wrote the numbers against the wall, in a place which, from its darkness, was least liable to notice. Indeed I consideredthere was little to fear, even should the figures I made be seen, for Iwrote them in one continued line, which rendered them unintelligiblewithout a key. I then once more took my chair, and placed it at the closet door;thinking that to hide them at one corner of the topmost shelf mightperhaps be the securest place. I previously began to feel, and, at thefar end of the shelf, I put my hand upon something; which, when broughtto light, proved to be the remainder of a bundle of quills. I felt again, but found nothing more there. I then removed my chair toward the other end, and after two or threetimes sweeping my hand ineffectually along the shelf, I struck the edgeof it against the wall, and more than half a quire of paper fell flatupon it. This led me to conjecture that the shelf had been a hiding place, perhaps, to some love-sick girl, and that it was possible there shouldbe ink. After another more accurate search, and turning my other hand, with which I could feel better to the opposite side, I found anink-bottle. I took down my treasure, and examined it: there was cotton in thebottle, but the ink was partly mouldy and partly dried away. However, by the aid of a little water, I presently procured more than sufficientto write down my numbers. But I wanted a pen, and for this there was nosuccedaneum. As the safest way of preserving what might become useful, I returned mytreasure to the shelf on which it had been found; and for that reasonbegan to consider of another place for my bank-notes. After lookingcarefully round both chambers, I at last lifted up the old picture, andhere I found a break in the wainscot; in which was inserted, laterally, full as much more writing paper as the quantity I had discovered in thecloset. I took away the paper entirely, lest, if seen, it should leadto further search; and, twisting up the bills, laid them so as to becertain of recovering them, when I pleased. The paper I put upon theshelf. When the boy brought my supper, I asked him his name, how old he was, and other trifling questions, to familiarize and embolden him; andlearned from his answers that he had a poor mother, who was unable toprovide for him, and that he had been bound apprentice to this keeperby the parish. At last I enquired if he could write and read? He answered, yes; he had been called the best scholar of the charityschool in which he was bred. I then asked if he continued to practise his learning? He replied he loved reading very much indeed: but he had no books. Did he write? He had no paper. Was there a pen and ink in the house? Yes; but the pen was seldom used, and good for nothing. Could he get me a pen? If he had but a quill, he could make me one. Had he a pen-knife? No; he had forgotten that: but one of the men had a knife with severalblades, and he could ask him to lend it. And what should he write, supposing he had paper? A letter. To whom? To his mother. I thought it not right to expose my stores to him, and thereforesuffered him to go for that time, without saying any thing more on thesubject. But my discourse with him had pretty well driven allapprehension from his mind. I was cautious to speak in a very low toneof voice; and, without being bidden, he had acuteness enough to followmy example. The next day, at breakfast, I gave him a sheet of paper, and twoquills; and told him to make pens of them if he could; one for himself, and the other for me; and to take the paper for his letter. He lookedwith intelligent surprise--Where did they come from? was the questionin his thoughts; but he said nothing. Madmen were beings whom he didnot comprehend. My kindness to him, however, made him desirous to oblige me. I gave hima part of my breakfast; and he ate what I gave him in a manner thatshewed he was not over-fed. At dinner he brought me both the pens. I asked him why he did not keepone to write to his mother? He said he had written, but had cleaned andcut the pen over again. They were not ill made, considering that, as hetold me, the knife was a bad one. But what will you do for ink, sir? said he. I told him I had a little;but that I should be glad if I had more. Perhaps, he replied, he couldget one of the men to bring him a half-pennyworth. I said I had nomoney, and he answered a gentleman (Mr. Clifton, I suppose) had justgiven him sixpence, for holding his horse; that he intended to save itfor his mother, but that he would spare a halfpenny to buy me ink. I took the boy's hand, and said to him--'If ever I live to get freefrom this place, I will remember you. '--The emotions I feltcommunicated themselves, and he looked sorrowfully up in my face, andasked--'Why, are not you mad, sir?' The very earnest but mild manner with which I answered--'No, my goodfellow'--both convinced him and set his imagination to work. I said little more, but finished my meal, wrote down my numbers, andgave him the bottle: but warned him, if he were questioned, by no meansto tell an untruth. The boy looked at me again, in a manner that spokehighly in his favour, put the bottle in his pocket, and, as soon as hismaster returned to the door, removed the things and departed. He brought the ink with my supper. One of the men had taken hissixpence, but refused to return him any change; and the ink he hademptied out of the keeper's bottle. Such are the habits of vice. Theboy related it with indignation, but said he dared not complain. I hadnothing else to give, I therefore rewarded the generous boy with acouple of quills, and four sheets of paper for his own use; cautioninghim to keep them to write to his mother. While I wanted the means, I imagined it would have been a great reliefto have had the power of writing down my thoughts; but I found theywere much too busy, and disturbed, by the recollection of Anna St. Ivesand her danger, and by the incessant desire of finding some means ofescape, notwithstanding a thousand repeated convictions of itsimpossibility, to suffer me to write either with effect or connection. I did nothing but make memorandums; some of thoughts that occurred, andothers of circumstances that were present. I concealed my papers in thewainscot behind the picture, where I mean to leave this narrative. The indulgence of my morning walk was continued; and on the sixth dayof my confinement an incident happened, by which I almost effected myrelease. Confiding in the strait waistcoat and in the strength of his locks andbars, and become less apprehensive from this persuasion, the keeper hadleft me under the care of only one of his men; himself and the otherwere employed on something which he wanted done in the house. While they were absent, the garden-bell rang. The voice of Mac Fane washeard, demanding entrance, by the man who was set to watch me, andfetching the key he opened the gate without hesitation. My hopes were instantly excited. I made a short turn and crossed him, as if continuing my walk, a few yards distant from the gate. He eyed mehowever, and I went on; but, the moment he was busied in unlocking andunbolting it, I turned round, sprang forward, and as it opened rushedpast. The violence of my motion overset Mac Fane. The master, whosesuspicions had taken the alarm, was entering the garden and saw me. Heand his man and Mac Fane instantly joined in the pursuit. Though I was in the strait waistcoat, yet I happened to be swifter thanany of them. The keeper was soon the first in the chase: it was up anarrow lane, with a high-banked hedge on each side. A man was comingdown it, and the keeper called to him to stop me. The man seeing myarms confined, and hearing the shouts of my pursuers, endeavoured to doas he was desired. He placed himself directly in my way, and I ran fullagainst him. We both fell; but the man by the aid of his hands was up rather thesoonest. He laid hold of me, and a sudden thought struck me. They werebawling behind--'A madman! A madman!'--and I assumed that grinningcontortion of countenance which might easiest terrify, uttered anuncouth noise, and began to bite at the man. Terror seized him, and Iagain got away, the very moment the keeper was coming up. I had not run a hundred yards further before I saw another man at adistance, and the hue and cry behind was as hot as ever. The hedge inthis place was lower, and I jumped over it into the field on my right. There was a ditch on the other side, of which I had no intimation; andmy feet alighting on the edge of it, I once more fell. My pursuers profited by a gate, which I had passed. It was the field ofa gardener, and a man was at work close by. He came and helped me up;but not soon enough: the keeper arrived, and presently after his manand Mac Fane. I addressed myself to the gardener, endeavoured to tell him who I was, and said I would give him a hundred pounds, if he would aid me toescape: but my efforts were soon put an end to by the keeper, who threwme down, a second time violently thrust his thumb into my throat, andby gagging me prevented further speech. Mac Fane however thought proper to give the man half a crown, and theyall assured him I was a madman; which story was confirmed by the manwho supposed himself bitten, and who had joined in the pursuit. The extreme malevolence of Mac Fane again displayed itself: but histreatment is unworthy notice, except as it relates to what is to come. I was hurried back to my prison, left with the strait waistcoat on thatwhole day and night, and was fed by the boy; who shewed many silenttokens of commiseration, though once more watched by the keeper and histwo attendants, with the three chains up at the door. All conversationsbetween me and the boy were for several days ended, by the continuedoverlooking of the keeper and his men. After the keeper and Mac Fane had retired, I went into the back room, and was standing with my face toward the window, which is beside thecloset. The behaviour of Mac Fane had been so extraordinary as alreadyto lead me to suspect he had a wish to take away my life. As I was standing here, I heard the keeper's bed-room door open andshut again, and soon after the voices of him and Mac Fane inconversation. I listened very attentively to a dialogue, the substanceof which was to me much more alarming than unexpected. It was aconsultation, on the part of Mac Fane, on the policy and means ofmurdering me. The keeper opposed him, several times mentioned Mr. Clifton as anunconquerable objection, and urged the danger of being detected; for hedid not seem to revolt at the fact. Mac Fane answered he would silence Clifton; of whom his favouritephrase was that 'He should soon do him!'--which he repeated very often, with a variety of uncommon oaths. He even said that, were I fairly outof the way, he could make Edward St. Ives pay him the three thousandguineas. The curses which Mac Fane continually coupled with my name, and therancour, the thirst of blood which preyed upon him, were incredible. Hea hundred times imprecated eternal damnation to his soul if there werethe least danger. The fellows the keeper had with him were of his ownproviding: they knew he could hang them both: they durst not impeach. [_Squeak_, I recollect, was the word he used. ] To take me off was thesafest way. Clifton would in reality be an accessary before the fact, and therefore obliged to silence. Beside--'He would do him! He would dohim!'--This he confirmed by a new string of oaths. The keeper however continued averse to the project, said the fellowswould hang their own father if he could not bribe them, that there wasnothing to be got by putting me out of the way, and that he would notventure his neck unless he saw good cause. While they were arguing the point, a loud and authoritative rap washeard at the keeper's door, accompanied by the voice of Mr. Clifton, demanding admission. He entered, and the whole story of my escape wasrelated, with that colouring which their own fears inspired. Mac Fane darkly hinted the thoughts he had been communicating to thekeeper; but, meeting repulse from Mr. Clifton whenever ideas of crueltywere started, he thought proper to use more reserve. The keeper concluded his account by affirming it would be necessary tocontinue me in the strait waistcoat, and not to let me walk in thegarden any more. Mr. Clifton assented to the latter, but positivelyordered my arms to be released. There was no need he said to punish mein this manner, and it should not be. At the same time he gave thekeeper a twenty pound note, and repeated his orders to treat meproperly, but to take care not to suffer me to escape. Misguided man! How does your heart pant after virtue! How grieve at theslavery in which it is held! What will its agony be, when the fullmeasure of error is come! Yet this to me was the lucid moment of hope, for it suggested a trainof conclusions which seem like heavenly certainties--Mr. Clifton hadmade his attempts on Anna St. Ives, and they have been repelled! Evenstill, and it is several days since, his efforts continue to beineffectual!--It must be so!--The purposes of vice are frustrated bythe pure energies of virtue: for, had they succeeded, I should bereleased. Heart-cheering thought! Pleasure inexpressible! Yes, Anna St. Ives is safe! Truth is omnipotent; and out of my ashes another, andprobably a more strenuous and determined assertor of it may arise!Clifton at last may see how very foul is folly, and turn to wisdom!Would he might be spared the guilt of purchasing conviction at theprice of blood! Three days passed away, after my escape, without any remarkableoccurrence. The sanguinary malignity of Mac Fane was more thancounterbalanced, by the reasonings of probability and hope in favour ofAnna St. Ives. During my confinement, I had slept but little. Wearied however atlength, by the repetition of ideas that were unavailing, I wasslumbering more soundly than usual on the night after the ninth day;and was dreaming that my doors were unbolted, the chains rattling, andmen entering to murder me; from which I was waked by starting in mydream to run and resist them. It was the real clanking of the bolts andlocks of the house doors that inspired this dream; they opened to givesome one admission. I know not what was the hour, but it must be verylate, and it was completely dark. I soon distinguished Mac Fane'svoice. I jumped up, hastily dressed myself in part, and presently heardthe keeper's door open--The ray of light appeared on the wall--I crepttoward the closet. The first word Mac Fane uttered was--'I told you I should do him!--Itold you I should do him!' He kept repeating this and other exclamations, which I could not atfirst comprehend, closing each of them with oaths expressive ofuncommon exultation. But he descanted almost instantly from Mr. Clifton, to whom his phrase alluded, to me; adding--it was high timenow to do me too. His joy was so great, his oaths so multiplied, and his asseverations socontinual, that he would tread me out, would send my soul to hell thatvery night, and other similar phrases, that it was some time before thekeeper could obtain an answer to his question of--'What does all thismean?' At last Mr. Mac Fane began to relate, as soberly as theintoxication of his mind would permit, that he had done him [Mr. Clifton] out of ten thousand pounds. Had he got the money? No--But God shiver his soul to flames if he did not make him pay! Hewould blow him to powder, drink his blood, eat his bones if he did not! This was not all--He had another prize! Eight thousand pounds! Themoney was now in the house! He stopped short--The cupidity of the keeper was excited, and he grewimpatient. Mac Fane I imagine hesitated to reconsider if it werepossible to get all the money himself, make away with me secretly, andleave the keeper in ignorance. But he could not but conclude this to beimpracticable. I could not sufficiently connect the meaning of all the phrases thatfollowed; they might depend as much on seeing as hearing; but Iunderstood Mac Fane was acquainted with the circumstance of the money Ihave in my possession; though whether his knowledge were gained fromMr. Clifton or Anna St. Ives, for they were both mentioned, I could notdistinguish. He talked much of a letter, of his own cunning, and of thecontempt in which he held Mr. Clifton. The keeper however was convinced of the fact, for he proposedimmediately to murder me, and secure the money. This point was for some time debated, and I every moment expected theywould leave the room, to perpetrate the crime. Mac Fane had his pistolsand cutlass, yet seemed to suppose a possibility even of my conqueringthem. The keeper was much more confident--'He knew how to bring medown; he had no fear of that. '--Mac Fane remembered his defeat, andthe keeper his cheaply bought victory. They agreed it could not be done silently, unless they could catch measleep, and the unbolting of the doors would awaken me. They wished thekeeper's fellows to know nothing of the matter; they would claim theirshare. At last Mac Fane proposed that I should be put in the strait waistcoatthe next morning, on pretence of walking me out in the garden; thatperhaps it would be best to suffer me to walk there, but not to takeoff the strait waistcoat any more; that then the doors might be leftunbolted, and even unlocked, my arms being confined; and the next nightthey might come and dispatch me! The conversation continued long after this, and schemes of flight, either to Ireland or the continent, were concerted, and the riches andhappiness they should enjoy insisted on, with great self-applause andpleasure. Poor, mistaken men! They at last parted, with a determination to execute the scheme of thestrait waistcoat. Mac Fane took possession of the keeper's bed; and heas I imagine went to that of his men. And here I must remark that Mac Fane either forgot or did not imaginethat my immediate murder would be an impediment to the payment of theten thousand pound gaming debt, from Mr. Clifton; which fear afterwardactuated him strongly. It could not do otherwise, the moment it wasconceived. According to agreement, in the morning the keeper came, with as muchpretended kindness as he knew how to assume, to tell me I might have mywalk in the garden again, if I pleased. I answered I did not wish towalk. He endeavoured to persuade me, but he soon found it was to nopurpose. He then ordered the boy away, who had brought the straitwaistcoat, and quitted his station at the door in great dudgeon. I soon afterward heard, as I expected, Mac Fane and him in his ownroom. Mac Fane cursed the keeper bitterly, and supposed that, for wantof cunning, he had in part betrayed himself, and rendered mesuspicious. The keeper resented his behaviour and cursed again, till Iimagined they had fairly quarrelled. Mac Fane however began to cool, and to talk of another expedient ofwhich he had been thinking. This was to poison me. In this the keeperimmediately joined, and began to enquire about the means of procuringthe poison. The boy was first mentioned, but that was thought toodangerous. At last Mac Fane determined himself to go to London and buyarsenic, on pretence of poisoning rats, and to set off immediately. Onthis they concluded, and presently left the room. My whole attention was now employed in watching the opening of thekeeper's door; but there was reason to apprehend they would conversesomewhere else on their projects. I imagine however they thought thisthe safest and most inaccessible place, for a little before dark Iagain heard the voice of Mac Fane, and they presently came back totheir former station. Mac Fane related the difficulty he had found in getting the arsenic;that several shops had refused him; and that at last he had succeededby ordering a quantity of drugs, for which he paid, leaving them to besent to a fictitious address, and returning back pretending he wantedsome poison for the rats, asking them which was the best. Theyrecommended arsenic, which they directed him to make up in balls, andhe ordered a quarter of a pound. They weighed it, he put it in hispocket, and they noticed the circumstance, telling him they would sendit home with the other drugs; but he walked away pretending not to hearwhat they said. Mac Fane, glorying in his own cunning, was impatient to administer hisdrug, and proposed it should be sent up in my tea. The keeper assented, and the boy very soon afterward brought me some tea in a pot readymade, contrary to custom, I having been used to make my own tea. The keeper was at the door. I asked him the reason of this deviation;and he bade me drink my tea and be thankful. I poured some out, firstlooked at it, then tasted it, and afterwards threw it into the ashes, saying it was bad tea. I next examined the tea-pot, smelled into it, and then dashed it to pieces on the hearth. I looked toward the keeperand told him there was something in the tea that ought not to havebeen. Seeing me take up the candle and begin to move, he instantly shut thedoor. His conscience was alarmed, and for a moment he forgot thesecurity of his chains. He even called up his men before he opened itagain; after which the boy was released, but not before I had time totell him never to eat any thing that was brought for me. The poor boynoticed the significance with which I said it, and fixed his eyesmournfully upon me. I shook him by the hand, bade him be a good boy, and not learn wickedness from his master. The remains of the tea-set were soon removed, and a fresh consultationpresently began in the keeper's room. Mac Fane was again enraged, andblamed the keeper; who began to suppose there was somethingsupernatural in my behaviour. He said I looked at him as if I knew itwas poison, and it was very strange! Mac Fane swore he would dose me atsupper, and would go and make me eat it himself, or blow my brains out;but he presently recollected I had not the strait waistcoat on, andaltered his tone. It was however agreed that another attempt should bemade. I now began to consider all circumstances; whether it were probable, ifI ate a little, that the keeper should suppose it only a temporary wantof appetite; what quantity might be eaten without harm, and if it werenot practicable to watch the moment when they should come, by night, toexecute their wicked purpose, and to pass them and escape? A littlereasoning shewed me that I should be in the dark, in a house theavenues to which were all secured, and with which I was unacquainted;that the number I had to contend with now would be four, three of themprovided with bludgeons, and the fourth with a hanger and pistols; thatrelease by the order of Mr. Clifton was not impossible; and that, if Ibegan a fray, I should excite cowardice to action; and, having begun, Mac Fane would scarcely, miss such an opportunity. These reasons made me rather resolve to persevere in fasting; whichremedy, though it could not be of long duration, appeared to be thewisest. Yet caution was necessary, for, should I make them absolutelydespair of poisoning me, they would have recourse to other means. My resolution was taken, and when the supper came I tasted a bit ofbread and drank a small quantity of water, after carefully inspectingit, and without saying any thing more sent the rest away. The keeper's door soon opened, the ray of light appeared on the wall, and a new consultation succeeded. The keeper again was troubled withsuperstitious fears; and Mac Fane was persuaded that, having beenalarmed at tea-time, I had from suspicion refused to eat any supper. After a debate, they concluded it would be in vain to attempt to poisonme in my tea, for I should detect it: they would therefore send me ashort allowance at breakfast, keep me hungry, and prepare my dinner forthe next day. The keeper proposed to give me no breakfast, but Mac Fanesaid that was the way to make me suspect. They were both highly chagrined; but Mac Fane was much the mosttalkative at all times, and the loudest in oaths and menaces: though Iscarcely think even him a more dangerous man than the keeper. In the morning, observing they had sent agreeable to their plan a smallquantity, after a little examination I ate what was brought me, and thekeeper retired apparently satisfied. It was far otherwise at dinner, when I absolutely refused to eat; andtheir vexation was greatly increased by my persisting to refuse thewhole day. Late at night a new council was held, and it was long in debate whetherI should be suffered to live the night out. At last the cupidity of MacFane prevailed, and his fear of not getting Mr. Clifton's bond foreleven thousand pounds, as he said, though I understood he had won butten, seems now to have first struck him; and this induced him todesist. I understood however that Mac Fane had still some hopes fromhis poison, and consequently that to fast would still be necessary. Their final resolve was that, the moment Mr. Clifton should have givenMac Fane the bond, they would then delay no longer: and, from thethreats which he vaunted of having used, he expected the bond to begiven the next day, when Mr. Clifton was to come to the keeper's, if Iunderstood them rightly, after his visit to Anna St. Ives. This idea again conjured up torturing images, and fears which noefforts I have been able to make can entirely appease. I began this narrative the first day on which I found my life was indanger, and have continued it to this time, which is now the twelfthday of my confinement. The desire which the keeper expresses to possesshimself of the money convinces me of my great jeopardy. He was eager tohave committed the murder last night, during the last conversation Iheard. That I should escape with life from the hands of these wickedmen is but little probable; but I will not desert myself; I will notforward an act of blood by timidity. Were I to destroy the bank-bills, and to tell them they were destroyed, I should not be believed. I meanto try another expedient--I hear them in the keeper's room! These are the last words I shall ever write. They are determined onimmediate murder--But I will sell my life dearly. LETTER CXXVI _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Louisa Clifton_ Oh my friend! I am escaped! Have broken my prison and am sitting now--Icannot tell you where, but in a place of safety. I have been thussuccessful by the aid of Laura. It is now four days since I saw your brother. Lulled to security by thepeaceable manner in which I had submitted to confinement, and imaginingLaura to be still in the interest of Mr. Clifton, though this sillygirl is now a very sincere penitent, the old woman began to indulge herin still greater liberties. I warned Laura very seriously against anyprecipitate attempts, for I saw it was probable this incautiousnesswould increase, provided it were encouraged. No good opportunity offered till this morning, when Laura was sufferedto take the key of my prison chamber, and let herself in and out. The moment she told me of it I enquired what other obstacles therewere. Laura said we might get into the yard, but no further, for therewas a high wall which no woman could climb. I asked her if she thoughta man could climb it? She answered, yes, she had seen men do suchthings, but she could not think how. The absence of Mr. Clifton for so long a time, without releasing mefrom my imprisonment, made me in hourly expectation of his return. Itherefore did not stay to hesitate, but desired Laura to steal downstairs before me, and open the door, for that I was determined toattempt the wall. Laura was terrified at the fear of being left behind, for she said shenever could climb it. 'Alas! What was to become of her?'--I told hershe should have thought of consequences long ago; but that she might becertain I would not desert her: on the contrary, I would go to thefirst house I could find and send her relief, if I should happen toclimb a wall which she could not. Though, I likewise added, it wasweakness and folly to suppose that men were better able to climb wallsthan women, or that she could not follow, if I could lead. The assurance of relief in part quieted her fears: she opened the firstdoor, stole down to the second, I followed, she unlocked it, and weboth got into the yard. The wall as she said was high and not easily climbed; but I had littletime for reflection: the old woman saw us through the window, and wascoming. To this wall there was a gate, equally high, but with a handle to shut, ledges running across, and two or three cracked places that affordedhold for the hand. You and I, Louisa, have often discoursed on theexcellence of active courage, and the much greater efforts of whichboth sexes are capable than either of them imagine. I climbed thegate with great speed and little I difficulty. The old woman was already in the yard, and Laura stood wondering to seeme on the top of the wall, fearing I should now break my neck ingetting down again, and still in greater terror at the approach of theold woman. I made some attempt to persuade the latter to give Laura herliberty; but our turnkey is very deaf, and instead of listening to meshe ran for some offensive weapon to beat me off the wall: so, oncemore assuring Laura I would send her immediate aid, and keeping hold ofthe gate post with my hand, I let myself down and with very littlehurt. I proceeded along a narrow lane: I knew not in what direction, buthurried forward in great haste; not only from the possibility of beingpursued, but because it began to blow and rain very heavily. In lessthan ten minutes I came to a house: I rang, a man came to the gate, andI readily gained admission. I was shewn into the room where I am nowwriting, and another person was sent to me, who perhaps is the masterof the house, though from his appearance I should rather suppose thecontrary. I asked first if it were possible to get a coach; and heenquired where I came from? I told him, from a house at a considerabledistance, in the same lane, where I had been forcibly shut up, andwhere my maid still was, whom I wished to have released; adding I wouldwell reward any two men, by whom it might easily be effected, if theywould go and help her over the wall. He listened very attentively, stood some time to consider, and thenreplied there was no coach to be procured within a mile of the place, but that a man should go for one; and that I might make myself easyconcerning the young woman (Laura) for she should soon join me. Thelook and manner of the man did not please me, but the case was urgent, the storm increasing, and I in want of shelter and protection. I then recollected it would perhaps be safest to write immediately toGrosvenor-Street, to prevent surprise as well as to guard againstaccidents, and I asked if he could furnish me with a sheet of paper andpen and ink. He answered he feared not, but called a boy, and said tohim--'Did not I see you with some writing paper the other day?' The boyanswered yes; and he bade him go and fetch it, and bring me the pen andink. He then left me, and the boy presently returned, with a sheet of paper, an old ink-bottle, and a very indifferent pen. The boy looked at meearnestly, and then examined the pen, saying it was a very bad one, buthe would fetch me a better. The man who was just gone had told me that nobody could be spared, togo as far as I required, in less than an hour at the soonest; Itherefore have time to write at length. I think there can be little doubt but that my Louisa is long beforethis in Grosvenor-Street. I would not wish Sir Arthur to be informedtoo suddenly, I will therefore direct to her at a venture; but for fearof accidents will add to the direction--'If Miss Clifton be not there, to be opened and read by Mrs. Clarke. '--In the present alarmed state ofthe family this will ensure its being opened, even if both my goodfriends should be absent. Good heaven! What does this mean?--I have just risen to see if thelittle boy were within call, and find the door is locked upon me! I have been listening!--I hear stern and loud voices!--I fear I havebeen very inconsiderate!--I know not what to think! Where am I?--Oh, Louisa, I am seized with terror! Looking into thetable-drawer at which I am sitting, in search of wafers, I have foundmy own letter; opened, dirtied, and worn! Alas! You know of no suchletter!--Again I am addressing myself to the winds!--The very fatalletter in which I mentioned the eight thousand pounds!--Where am I, where am I?--In what is all this to end? All is lost!--Flight is hopeless!--The very man who headed the ruffiansthat seized me has just walked into the room, placed himself with hisback against the door, surveyed me, satisfied himself who it was, thenwarily left me, locked the door, and called a man to guard it!--Oh myincautious folly! I am in the dwelling of demons!--I never heard such horribleoaths!--Surely there is some peculiar mischief working!--The noiseincreases, with unheard-of blasphemy! Merciful Heaven! I hear the voice of Frank!--What is doing?--Must Iremain here?--Oh misery!----What cries! LETTER CXXVII _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover Street_ All is over, Fairfax!--I am just brought from the scene of blood!--Yousee this is not my hand-writing--My hand must never write more--But Iwould employ the little strength I have, in relating 'the last scene ofthis eventful history'. My sister is my amanuensis. These surgicalmeddlers issued their edict that I should not speak; but they found Icould be as obstinate as themselves: I would not suffer a probe to bedrawn at me till I had written, for when they begin I expect it willsoon be over. I remember I ended my last at the very minute I was about to mount myhorse. It was a wintery day. The rain fell in sheets, and the windroared in my face. My pistols were charged and locked in my pocket. I rode full speed, but I set off too late! When I approached themadhouse, I heard the most piercing shrieks and cries of murder!--Theymingled with the storm, in wild and appalling horror!--I rangviolently at the bell!... A ready and an eager hand soon flew to openthe gate--It was Anna St. Ives!--A boy shewed her the way--It was hercries and his, mingled with the blasphemies of the wretches above, which I had heard! Her first word again was murder!--'Fly! Save him, save him!' I rushed forward--The noise above stairs was dreadful--I blundered andmissed the stairs, but the terrified boy had run after me to shew me. Iheard two pistols fire as I ascended--The horror that struck my heartwas inconceivable!--A fellow armed with a bludgeon was standing toguard the door. My pistols were unlocked and ready: I presented andbade him give way--He instantly obeyed--I made the lock fly andentered!--The first object that struck my sight was Frank, besmearedwith blood, a discharged pistol in his hand, defending himself againsta fellow aiming blows at him with a bludgeon, Mac Fane hewing at himwith a cutlass, and the keeper, who had just been shot, expiring at hisfeet! I fired at Mac Fane--My shot took place, though not so effectually butthat he turned round, made a stab at me, and pierced the abdomen almostto the spine. But he had met his fate; and the return he made was mostwelcome!--He fell, and the remaining antagonists of Frank immediatelyfled. Frank is living, but dreadfully hacked by the villain Mac Fane. Theytell me his life is safe, and that his wounds are deep, but notdangerous. Perhaps they mean to deceive me. If so their folly isextreme, and their pity to me ill placed. I well know I deserve nopity. With respect to myself, my little knowledge of surgery teaches me thata wound so violent, made with a cutlass in such a part, must be mortal. But mortality to me is a blessing. To live would indeed be misery. Torments never yet were imagined equal to those I have for some timeendured: but, though I have lived raving, I do not mean to die canting. Take this last adieu therefore, dear Fairfax, and do not because youonce esteemed me endeavour to palliate my errors. Let my letters to youdo justice to those I have injured. To have saved his life who oncesaved mine, is a ray of consolation to that proud swelling heart, whichhas sometimes delighted to confer, but has always turned averse fromthe receiving of obligations, I would have been more circumstantial inmy narrative, were it not for the teasing kindness of my sister. Once more, and everlastingly, adieu! C. CLIFTON P. S. ADDED BY LOUISA CLIFTON As to a friend of my brother, sir, I have taken the liberty to delaysending the letter, till his wound has been examined. The surgeons aredivided in their judgment. Two of them affirm the wound is mortal; thethird is positive that a cure is possible; especially considering theyouth and high courage of the patient, on which he particularlyinsists. I dare not indulge myself too much in hope: I merely stateopinion. Neither dare I speak of my own sensations. Of the worth of amind like that of Mr. Clifton, you, sir, his friend and correspondent, cannot be ignorant. The past is irrevocable; but hope always smiles onthe future. Should he recover--! Resignation becomes us, and time willquickly relieve us from doubt. L. CLIFTON LETTER CXXVIII _Anna Wenbourne St. Ives to Mrs. Wenbourne_ _Grosvenor-Street_ I return you my sincere thanks, dear madam, for your kindcongratulations; and think myself honoured by the great joy youexpress, at my safety and the deliverance of Mr. Henley. I will notattempt to describe my own feelings; they are inexpressible; but willendeavour to obey your commands, and give you the best account I amable of all that has befallen us. For this purpose, I inclose the narrative written by Mr. Henley duringhis confinement; and three letters addressed to my friend, Louisa, butnever sent; with a copy of a letter dictated by Mr. Clifton to hisfriend, Mr. Fairfax. To these be pleased to add the followingparticulars of what passed after Mr. Henley's narrative breaks off, andthe sudden interruption of my third letter by terror. Mr. Henley heardbut had no time to write their last consultation. It was the eagernessof the keeper which overcame the reluctance of Mac Fane to the murder, till he should have procured the bond of Mr. Clifton. The keeper wasviolent: he had bargained with his two men to assist in the murder, forfifty pounds each; and he told Mac Fane, if he would not consent, theywould proceed without him, and he should have no share of the eightthousand pounds. This argument had its effect: Mac Fane had some doubts relative to themoney won of Mr. Clifton; and four thousand pounds was a temptation notto be resisted. Mr. Henley omitted mentioning a circumstance that occurred of somemoment, because he did not know the meaning of it. Probably they hadplanned it out of his hearing. The day before the attack, the keeperreturned him his watch and purse, with the same sum, but not, as Mr. Henley thinks, the same pieces, it contained when delivered. Thepurpose of this, it appears, was to make him believe the keeper a manof his word. On the morning of the intended murder, previous to the assault, thekeeper came up to Mr. Henley; but not into the room. He talked to himwith the usual security of his chains, and proposed that Mr. Henleyshould deliver up the bank-bills, which the keeper now told him he knewto be in his possession; with a promise that they should be returned, as the watch and purse had been. An artifice so shallow was not likelyto impose on Mr. Henley. He had determined how to act, relative to thebank bills, and answered it was true they were in his possession; butthat he would not deliver them to the keeping of any other. Immediatelyafter this repulse, the keeper, Mac Fane, and the two attendantsascended. The keeper (I speak after Mr. Henley) was much the most confident, andseemed chiefly fearful that Mr. Henley should slip by them. Hetherefore stationed one of his men at the outside of the door, which heordered him to lock and guard. Himself, Mac Fane, and the other enteredthe room; the keeper and the man each with a bludgeon, and Mac Fanewith a pair of pistols and his cutlass hanging by his side. Mr. Henley had purposely kept up a good fire, and had the bank bills inhis hand. He bade them keep off a moment, as if he wished to parley;and they, desirous of having the bills quietly, remained where theywere. Mr. Henley then took the bills one by one, repeating the amountof each to convince them that the whole sum was there, and thensuddenly thrust them into the fire. They all rushed forward to savethem, and this was the lucky moment on which Mr. Henley seized the twoarms of Mac Fane, who, on account of his weapons, was the principalobject, and who, intending to fire at him, in the struggle shot thekeeper. The other pistol Mr. Henley wrested from him, during whichcontest it went off, but without doing mischief. Mac Fane then drew his hanger, and made several cuts at Mr. Henley, whowas attacked on the other side by the keeper's man. In the heat of this conflict Mr. Clifton arrived; and what thenfollowed, his letter will inform you. It is necessary I should now say a word of myself, and of the smallpart which I had in this very dreadful affair. And here I must remindyou of the boy, so often mentioned in Mr. Henley's narrative; for tohim, perhaps, we all owe our safety. At least, had it not been for him, Mr. Clifton could not certainly have gained admission. The poor fellow heard and saw enough to let him understand some strangecrime was in agitation. He has great acuteness and sensibility: helooked at me when I first came, in a very significant manner; and wouldhave spoken had he dared. The door of the room in which I was shut was both locked and bolted;but the man that was set to guard it was wanted, for a moreblood-thirsty purpose. I need not inform you how much my fears were alarmed, the moment Ifound myself in the custody of the man by whom I had at first beenseized. But how infinitely was my terror increased when I heard thevoice of Frank, which I did very distinctly, and presently afterward ofthe horror about to be committed! My shrieks were incessant! The poorboy heard them, and though shrieking with terror almost as violent asmy own, yet had the presence of mind to come and set me free. Mr. Clifton's ringing was heard at the same moment. The top bolt of thegate was high, and I opened it with difficulty; but despair lent meforce. It certainly could not have been opened time enough by the boy. Of this and the following scene, and of the agonizing sensations thataccompanied them, I will attempt no further description. I will nowonly relate by what means, and whose aid, we left this house of horror. You know, madam, with what activity my dear Louisa exerted herself, andemployed every expedient in her power. You are likewise acquainted withthe zeal of Mrs. Clarke, her niece Peggy, and the two men, her husbandand brother. Their ardour increased rather than abated. Mr. Webb, whose watchings and efforts were incessant, saw Mac Fane stepout of a hackney-coach into the shop where Mr. Clifton lodges. This Iunderstand to have happened on the ninth evening of my confinement. Itwas natural that this circumstance should immediately excite suspicionand alarm. The coach was dismissed, Mac Fane remained, and Mr. Webbcontinued hovering about the door, waiting in expectation of seeing himcome out, till two o'clock in the morning, but waiting in vain: afterwhich, concluding that he had missed him, he quitted his post. On the morrow, by very diligent enquiry, he found out Mac Fane'slodgings; but he had not been at home all night. The same ineffectualsearch was continued during that and the next day; but, on the morningof deliverance, Mr. Webb met a person with whom he had formerly beenacquainted, who told him of the house hired by the keeper, andmentioned the names of his two assistants, with rumours and surmisessufficiently dark and unintelligible, but enough to make Mr. Webbsuppose it was possible the persons he was in search of were thereconfined. The intelligence was immediately brought to Louisa and Sir Arthur, andapplication as immediately made to the magistracy. Webb had obtainedvery accurate information of the site of the house; and, what was moreeffectual, had prevailed on his informer to lend his aid. The relief he brought, though too late to prevent mischief, was notwholly useless; Mr. Clifton was the first object of our care; for Mr. Henley, though bruised, cut, and mangled has received no seriousinjury. Laura was likewise sent for and relieved from her prison. Proper conveyances were soon provided, and we all removed as fast aspossible from this scene of horror. You may be sure, madam, we did not forget to bring the boy with us. Mr. Henley has an affection for him, which the poor fellow very sincerelyreturns; and finds himself relieved from the most miserable ofsituations, and placed in the most happy. That I may wholly acquit myself of the task I have undertaken, I mustjust mention the Count de Beaunoir. He is a gentleman of the mostpleasant temper. Urbanity is his distinctive mark, for in this qualitymost of his flights originate. He has thought himself my admirer, butin reality he is the general admirer of whatever he supposes excellent. When he was told of my being affianced to Mr. Henley, instead ofexpressing chagrin, he broke into raptures at our mutual happiness, andhow much it was merited. He does not seem to understand the selfishnessof jealousy. Perhaps, madam, you have not heard the last accounts of the physicalgentlemen, relative to Mr. Clifton. The surgeon who first gave hope isnow positive of a cure; and his opponents begin to own it is notimpossible, but they will not yet allow that Mr. Clifton is out ofdanger. The Count de Beaunoir has paid Mr. Clifton the utmost attention; hevisits him twice a day, and, according to the accounts my friend givesme, infuses a spirit of benevolence and affection into his visits whichare highly honourable to his heart. Indeed I and Mr. Henley haveseveral times met him there: for you may well imagine, madam, we arenot the least attentive of Mr. Clifton's visitors. It is at present thesole study of Mr. Henley, which way best to address himself to a heartand understanding so capable of generous sensations, and nobleenergies. There is an attachment to consistency in the human mind, which will not admit of any sudden and absolute change; it must begradual: but thus much may with certainty be said, Mr. Clifton does notat present, and I hope will never again, treat with complacency thosevindictive but erroneous notions which had so nearly proved destructiveto all. He makes no professions; but so much the better; he thinks themthe more strongly. His mind preserves its usual tone; is sometimesdisturbed even to excess, and bitterly angry, almost to phrensy, at itsown mistakes; but has lost none of those quick and powerful qualities, by which it is so highly distinguished. Sir Arthur, madam, has desired me to communicate a circumstance, whichI shall readily do, without the false delicacy of supposing that I amnot the proper person. It is agreed, between him and Mr. AbimelechHenley, that the marriage between me and Mr. Frank Henley shall takeplace in a month; to which I thought it my duty to assent. I am sorry, madam, that Lord Fitz-Allen should continue to imagine his honour willbe sullied by this marriage: but I am in like manner sorry for athousand follies, which I daily see in the world, without having theimmediate power of correcting one of them. A. W. ST. IVES LETTER CXXIX _Coke Clifton to Guy Fairfax_ _London, Dover-Street_ It is not to be endured! They drive me mad! I will not have life thuspalmed upon me! There is neither kindness nor justice in it. I willhear no more of duty, and philanthropy, and general good! I am allfiend!--Hell-born!--The boon companion of the foulest miscreants thewomb of sin ever vomited on earth!--The arm in arm familiar ofthem!--In the face of the world!--This it is to be honourable!--Iam a man of honour, a despiser of peasants, an assertor of rank!-- Day after day, hour after hour, here I lie, rolling, ruminating onideas which none but demons could suggest; haunted by visions whichdevils only could conjure up! And wish me to live? Where is the charityof that? Angels though they be, they have made me miserable! I know Ihave injured them; I don't deny it. Say what they will, they cannotforgive me--Shall I ask it?--No!--Hell should not make me! I will haveno more favours; I am loaded too much already. For it cannot be true!--Their hearts can feel no kindness forme!--Oh!-- I have lost her!--For ever lost her!--Yet even this deep damnation Icould bear, I think I could, had I not made myself so very foul anddetestable a villain!--It is intolerable!--The rage of cannibals tomine is patience! I could feed on human hearts; my own the first andsweetest morsel! Well, well!--Her I have lost; him I have injured!--Injured?--Arrogance, outrage, contempt, blows, imprisonment, and murder!--These are thedamning injuries I have done him!--took greatness upon me; I mimickedtyranny, and pretended to inflict large vengeance for pettyaffronts!--I trusted in wiles, and imagined mind might be caught in anet! Lo how the adder egg of vanity can brood in its own dunghill, and hatchitself to persecution, rape, and murder!--Lo how Guilt and Follycouple, and engender darkness to hide their own deformity!--The pictureis mine!--Black, midnight rape, and blood red murder! A horrid butindubitable likeness. There are but two ways, either to live and pursue revenge, or to dieand forget it--Of the pursuit I am weary. I have had a full meal ofvillany, and am glutted: its foulness is insufferable, and I turn fromit loathing. Then welcome death! Again it would have sought me, but fortheir eternal officiousness. It is in vain. There are swords, pistols, and poison still. Life has a thousand outlets: and to live, knowingwhat I know and never can forget, would be rank and hateful cowardice!I am determined. I will listen to their glosses no more. Persuasion isvain, and soothing mockery. Yet one act of justice I will perform before I die. Send me myletters, Fairfax. They shall see me in my native colours!--Send themdirectly!--There is consolation in the thought--They have dared to shewletters that exposed them to persecution and malice--I will shew whatshall expose me to contempt and hatred!--Let them equal me if theycan--I am Clifton!--Inimitable in absurdity, in vice damnable!-- Take copies if you will. Proclaim me to the world! Read them incoffee-houses, nail them up at the market cross! Let boys hoot at me, and trulls and drabs pluck me by the beard!--What can they?--It is I, myself, who hold the scorpion whip!--'Tis memory!--What! Envy, rage, revenge, hatred, rape and murder, all possessing one man?--Poorcreature! Poor creature!--Pity him, Fairfax!--Pity?--Ask pity?--Despisehim! Trample on him! Spit in his face! C. CLIFTON LETTER CXXX _Frank Henley to Oliver Trenchard_ _London, Grosvenor Street_ How violent and reiterated are the conflicts, between truth and error, in every mind of ardour!--And, of all errors, the love of self is themost rooted, the least easy to detect, and supremely difficult toeradicate. We can pardon ourselves any thing, except a want ofself-respect; but that is intolerable. I described, in my last, [1] the dissatisfied state of mind of Mr. Clifton. But, while he imagined he should die and soon lose all memoryof a scene become so irksome to him, his dissatisfaction was trifling, compared to what it is at present. Repugnant as the idea was to hishabitual feelings, still I have more than half convinced him thatsuicide is an act as cowardly as it is criminal. Yet to live and facethe world, loaded as he imagines with unpardonable crimes andeverlasting ignominy, is a thing to which he knows not how to consent. To combat this new mistake, into which he has fallen, has for some timepast been my chief employment. No common efforts could assuage theturbulence of his tempestuous soul. Energy superior even to his own wasnecessary, to subject and calm this perturbation. But, in thesimplicity of truth, this energy was easy to be found: it is fromself-distrust, confusion or cowardice, if it ever fail. [Footnote 1: Omitted. ] I have just left him, and our conversation will give you the besthistory of his mind, which is well worthy our study. I found himverging even toward delirium, and a fever coming on, which if notimpeded might soon be fatal. He keeps his bed; but instead of lying athis ease, he remained raised on his elbow, having just finished aletter to his friend. Louisa had described the state of his mind, and Iresolved to catch its tone, that I might the more certainly command hisattention. Without preface, and as if continuing a chain of reasoning, he addressed me; with his eye fixed, in all the ardour of enquiry. What is man?--What are his functions, qualities, and uses?--Does he notsleep trembling, live envying, and die cursing?--And is this worthaught?--Is it to be endured?--Why do I suffer life thus to be imposedupon me? It is not suffering: or, if it be, such sufferings are of our owncreation--To the virtuous and the wise, life is joy and bliss. Perhaps so--Wisdom there may be, and truth and virtue. And, for thevirtuous and the wise, the full stream of pleasure may richly flow: butnot for me! Pretend not that I may walk with the gods! I who have beenthe inmate of fiends! I, who proposed glory to myself from the mostcontemptible of pursuits! I, who could dangle after coquettes andprudes; feed on and inflate myself with the baubles of a beauty'stoilette; and, in the book of vanity, inscribe myself a great hero, amighty conqueror, for having heaped ridicule on the ridiculous; orbrought innocence to shame, misery, and destruction! And this I didwith a light and vain heart! Did it laughing, boasting, exulting!Satanic dog! Pest of hell! What! Stretch souls on the rack, and thengirn and mock at them for lying there! 'Tis the sport of devils, and bydevils invented! Your present indignation is honourable both to your heart andunderstanding. Oh, flatter me not!--Vain, supercilious coxcomb!--I spread my wings, crowed in conceit, threatened, resolved, laughed at opposition, andkicked the world before me!--Oh, it was who but I!--And what was it Iproposed?--Fair conquest?--Honourable opposition?--No!--It wastreachery, covert malice, and cowardly conspiracy!--A league withhell-dogs!--Horrible, blood-thirsty villains!--And baffled too;defeated, after all this infernal enginery! Nay, had I been so whollydevil as to have joined in murder, what would have followed? Why theywould next have murdered me; and for the justice of the second murderwould have hoped pardon, even for the hell-born guilt of the first! Do not, while you detest and shun one crime, plunge into a greater. This agony is for having been unjust to others; you are now still moreunjust to yourself. You will not suppose yourself capable of a singlevirtue: yet, in your most mistaken moments, you never could be soilliberal to your enemies. Would you persuade me I am not a most guilty, foul, and hatefulmonster?--Oh be more worthy of yourself, avoid me, detest me, curse me! I will answer when you are more calm. Calm?--Never, while this degraded being shall continue, shall such amoment come!--I calm? Sleeping or waking, I at peace? I pardonhypocrisy, treachery, blows, bruises, prisons, chains, poison, rape andmurder? Ministers of wrath descend, point here your flaming swords, annihilate all memory of what manhood and honour were, and fit me forthe society of the damned! Forbear!--(Never before did I address him in such a voice--The lastdreadful word of his sentence was drowned, by my stern and awfulviolence; which reason dictated as the only means of recalling hismaddening thoughts, from the despair and horror into which they werehurrying--I continued)--Frantic man, forbear! Recall your wild spiritsand command them to order. How long will you suffer this petty slavery?How long shall the giant rage, and expend his strength, in tearing upstubble and rending straws?--Stretch forth your hand, and grasp theoak--Labours worthy of your Herculean mind await and invite you. Awayto the temple of Error; shake its pillars, and make its foundationstotter!--Be yourself--Shall the soaring eagle swoop at reptiles, theprey of bats and owls? Do not mock me with impossible hopes--What! Have you not held themirror up to me, and shewn me my own hatefulness? Are you a man? Will you never shake off this bondage? Oh it is base!it is beneath you! Of what have you been guilty? Why of ignorance, mistakes of the understanding, false views, which you wanted knowledgeenough, truth enough, to correct. Have not many of the godlike men whomwe admire most been guilty, in their youth, of equal or of greatererrors?--Thus, alas, it happens that minds of the highest hope, andmost divine stamp and coinage, are cut off daily; swept away bythat other grand mistake of man-kind--'Exemplary punishment isnecessary'--So they say--But no--'Tis exemplary reformation! Can theworld be better warned by a body in gibbets, than by the active virtuesof a once misguided but now enlightened understanding? The gibbet willremain an object of terror to the traveller, who dreads being robbedand murdered; but an incitement to despair, in the mind of themurderer!--Banish then these black pictures from your mind, bywhich it continues darkened and misled; and in their stead behold asoul-inspiring prospect, of all that is great and glorious, rising toyour view! Feel yourself a man! Nay you shall feel it, in your owndespite! A man capable of high and noble actions! Here, Oliver, I at this time left him. His eye remained fixed, and hewas silent; but its wildness was diminished: the frown of his browdisappeared, and his countenance became more clear. Such associationsas these tokens denoted ought not to meet interruption. However I tookcare to return in less than an hour; fearful lest he should declineinto his former gloom, which was little short of phrensy. I had beenfortunate enough to reduce his discordant feelings to something likeharmony; and the moment I entered his room the second time heexclaimed-- You are a generous fellow! A magnanimous fellow! You can workmiracles!--I know you of old--Can bring the dead to life!--Can almostpersuade me that even I, by living, may now and then effect sometrifling, pitiful good; may snatch some of the remnants, the offals ofhonour--But aught eminent, aught worthy of-- Be calm. No! It cannot be forgotten, or forgiven!--Cruel, malignant, remorselesswretch! Can you speak thus of the present?--You know you cannot!--And whereforeunjustly insist on the past? Be firm! Conquer this pride of heart! Why, ay--Pride of heart! It is the very damning sin of my soul! Exorcise the foul fiend then, and in its stead give welcome to firm butunassuming self-respect. Arise! Shake torpor from you, and feel yourstrength! It is Atlean; made to bear a world! Cherish life, and becomeworthy of yourself! What! Would you kill a mind so mighty? Do you notfeel it, now; possessing you, emanating, flaming, bursting to spreaditself? Why, that were something!--Could I but once again get into my own goodliking--! You are a strange fellow!--You will not hate me! Nay, willnot suffer me to hate myself!--Damnation! To be cast at such an immensedistance! Oh it is intolerable! It is contemptible!--But I will have myrevenge!--Some how or another I will yet have my revenge! And, sincehate must not be the word, why--! But no matter--I will have no morevaunting--Yet, if I do not--! I have had a glimpse, and begin to knowyou--The soul of benevolence, of tenderness, of attention, of love, ofall the divine faculties that make men deities, infuses itself andpervades you--Had I but been wholly fool, I had been but partlyvillain--But I!--Oh monstrous!--The fiends with whom I was leagued tome were angels! Why, ay; contemplate the picture, but do not forget it is that of a manyou once knew, who is now no more. He has disappeared, and in his steadan angel of light is come! Stop!--Go not too fast!--I promise nothing--Mark that!--I promisenothing--Do not imagine I am now in the feverish repentance of whitewine whey--You would have me stay in a world which I myself haverendered hateful--I will think of it--I know your arts--You wouldrealize the fable of Pygmalion, and would infuse soul into marble! There is no need; you have a soul already; inventive, capacious, munificent, sublime! Ay, ay--I know--You have a choice collection of words. A soul of ten thousand! Nay, an army of souls in one! And must I submit? Are you determined to make a rascal like me admire, and love, and give place to all the fine affections of the heart? Ay, determined! Oh, sister!--(Louisa at this moment entered. ) To you too I have behavedlike a scoundrel! A tyrant! A petulant, ostentatious, imperiousbraggart! You mistake! replied Louisa, eagerly. You mistake! You are talking of avery different man! A being I could not understand. You are mybrother!--My brother!--I have found the way to your heart! Will make itall my own! Will twine myself round it! Shake me off if you can! The energy with which she spoke, and looked, and kissed him, wasirresistible! He was overpowered: the tears gushed to his eyes, but herepressed them; he thought them unmanly; and, seeing his medical friendenter, exclaimed--I have surgeons for the body, and surgeons for themind, who cut with so deep yet so steady a hand that they take away thenoxious, and leave the wound to suppurate and heal! Can we do less? said I. Ours is no common task! We are acting in behalfof society: we have found a treasure, by which it is to be enriched. Few indeed are those puissant and heavenly endowed spirits, that arecapable of guiding, enlightening, and leading the human race onward tofelicity! What is there precious but mind? And when mind, like adiamond of uncommon growth, exceeds a certain magnitude, calculationcannot find its value! I once more left him; and never did I quit the company of human being, no not of Anna St. Ives herself, with a more glowing and hoping heart. But why describe sensations to thee, Oliver, with which thou art sointimately acquainted? To bid thee rejoice, to invite thee toparticipate in felicity, which may and must so widely diffuse itself, were equally to wrong thy understanding and thy heart. F. HENLEY