THE TRIUMPH OF PRUDENCE OVER PASSION: VOL. I.
THE TRIUMPH OF PRUDENCE OVER PASSION: OR, THE HISTORY OF MISS MORTIMER AND MISS FITZGERALD.
By the AUTHORESS of EMELINE.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
DUBLIN:
Printed (for the Author) by S. COLBERT, No. 136, Capel-street, opposite Abbey-street.
M, DCC, XXXI.
THE HISTORY OF Miss MORTIMER, AND Miss FITZGERALD.
LETTER I. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Nov. 4. 1779.
ACCORDING to my promise, made this morning at our parting, I shall dedicate all my leisure moments to my dear Eliza, and amuse her with the little occurrences, or observations of the day, just as they present themselves to my pen; I say, just as they present themselves, by way of giving you warning, that you are not to expect much order or method in my Letters: but I fancy our former correspondence may have given you some idea that my style is not renowned for either. However, if you are diverted, that is the chief point with me, for I have my fears that great part of your time will pass but heavily, as I am very apprehensive your mother's health will suffer by going from a very warm house in town, to a very cold one (surrounded by ponds and lakes) in the country, at this dreary season, you know what bad effect it had on her last winter, though the weather was uncommonly mild; and I really think it was very unnecessary for her to run any hazard, as the chief purpose of her going could have been accomplished as well, had she staid in town; it is, I allow, a very laudable custom to be kind to the tenants, to entertain them, and make them happy at the approaching season; but I think, as she is so delicate, Mr. Skeffington might as well have done the honours of Christmas to your tenants as his own, since it must be done in his house, your's being sett. I hope, however, my fears may prove without foundation, both for her sake and yours; for then I know you will be happy any where with her, and another person that shall be nameless. —You contrived mighty ill to leave town to-day, for by so doing you lost a most glorious sight; a large body of our Volunteers assembled, to honour the memory of King William, who made a very fine appearance, and fired several vollies, even better than the Regulars, who performed the same ceremony an hour or two after. Every one looked delighted, except some few, who want to be thought friends to Government, but for me who am an enthusiast in the cause of Liberty and my country, I was wonderfully delighted to see our men of the first rank and property, as well as our most eminent citizens, voluntarily arming in defence of both: I think it warms one's heart, and I really pity your lukewarm souls, who can see such a sight without emotion.—
November 5th. I had wrote thus far yesterday, and should perhaps have expatiated for some time on the love of our country, but that I was agreeably interrupted by the arrival of an unexpected visitor; a thundering rap at the door, threw all the family into consternation, as it was a very unusual hour for company: I, who sat by the window, stood up, and looking through the glass, saw a post-chaise and four horses up to their bellies in mud, the postilions and servants all in black: the door was soon opened, and out stepped the prettiest young widow I ever saw; I believe you will easily recollect this description suits but one of our acquaintance; it was no other than our dear Emily: I flew to welcome her, and in a minute a thousand questions were asked by each, without either waiting for an answer: however, when we were seated, and began to be more coherent, I told her she should be my guest, as I had spare beds for her and her maid, and the men might go with their horses, for I had not room for them; and if I had, she knew, I could not abide to run foul of a servant fellow every step I took about my house: she smiled at the expression, but said, she had as little liking to them as I, when they could be dispensed with, and that she would gladly accept my invitation, that she might have as much of my company as possible while she staid. Gertrude, who, you know, is the mother of this family, no sooner heard this affair regulated, than she quitted the room to give the necessary orders; for that is a trouble she takes entirely on herself, and indeed she makes a much better figure in the office than I should do, so I am mighty willing to indulge her in it. Emily and I being left quite to ourselves till tea-time, you may imagine we had no lack of chat; I found the business that hurried her to town was to administer to her husband's will; it seems her tender care of him, during an illness of six months, touched his conscience, and by way of amends for the very unkind treatment he had given her, all the while she was his wife, he made a will, to which he appointed her Executrix, and left her the interest of a large sum of ready money during her life, in addition to her jointure, and some part of the principal at her disposal: she is also to be guardian to the child, and have the care of the estate; I know no one more capable of managing it for the child's advantage: the man certainly meant well at last, but I think the greatest favour he could confer on her was his dying; for her own fortune is so large, that she only wanted to be allowed to enjoy it in comfort, and what he has left her, will, I am sure, be no great addition to her happiness, for I know few that value riches less than she, nor none that make a better use of them. Lovely as she was when last you saw her, you can scarce have an idea of what she is now! She is of the middle size, elegantly formed, and has a feminine sweetness in her air and manner, that is easier imagined than described; her weeds become her amazingly; and there is a langour in her countenance, contracted during the two unhappy years she was a wife, so peculiarly suited to her habit, that it interests one, you cannot think how much, in her favour. I cannot with any degree of patience reflect on her being sacrificed to a man, with whom it was impossible she could be happy, merely because his estate and her father's were contiguous: it is astonishing to think, that such ridiculous motives can actuate rational creatures, in the most material circumstances of life: I cannot say I should have been quite so obedient as Emily was; for a child has a natural right to a negative voice, when it concerns the happiness of her life. I do not mean by that to justify all the pretty masters and misses who in direct opposition to the will of their parents, as well as to every dictate of reason and discretion, are daily performing the tragedy of, All for Love; and indeed, it usually turns out a very deep tragedy to them; for whatever they may think before marriage, they soon after discover, that a competency, according to their rank in life, is absolutely necessary to matrimonial felicity: but I think in chusing a husband for a girl, her friends should be careful to fix on one, whose qualities of mind and temper, are such as would be capable of inspiring her with that tender esteem, which, according to my notions, is much more likely to be lasting than fierce flaming love; for that being more a passion than a sentiment, is, like all other violent passions, very apt to subside, and leave no traces but what are unpleasing.
I took the opportunity of Emily's being out on business, to finish my letter for the post, as I think you will be uneasy if I defer it longer. I hear her carriage stop, so shall conclude, for as her stay will be but short in town, I would not wish to leave her when she is at home; she is come up and bid me say a thousand kind things for her, to dear Eliza: Gertrude expresses herself much in the same manner. But I hope you have more conscience than to expect I should impart all they say: I shall therefore leave you to suppose them; and subscribe myself,
Your's, in sincerest friendship, LOUISA MORTIMER.
Mr. Fitzgerald and Charles know how much I esteem them; so I need not trouble you to tell them.
LETTER II. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Castle-Skeffington,
Nov. 7. —
YOU cannot imagine, Louisa, how much I was disappointed this morning, when the servant returned from the post-house without a letter from you! I suppose I looked vexed, for Charles, who just then come into the room, asked what occasioned my chagrin, and when he heard, observed, you had promised to write; but those who relied on women's promises, would generally find themselves disappointed; and added some unfavourable reflections on female friendship; this affronted me, and I told him, if men were but half so sincere in their friendships, there would be a good deal less deceit and fraud in the world than there is at present: he saw I was warm, and taking my hand, said, my dear Eliza, you seem angry, sure you cannot suppose I was serious, for you know I have the highest respect for Miss Mortimer, and if I had not, I would not willingly say any thing to offend you; I really did but joke, and thought you would take it as such: I accepted his apology, and we became friends again.
But are not you surprised at my warmth on such a trivial matter, and what might well be taken as a jest? I allow it must seem so to you; but I was displeased with, and had reason to think he was more serious, than, on recollection, he chose to pretend. You must know, I have discovered in him a propensity to jealousy, which has alarmed me most exceedingly, as it may be productive of great unhappiness to us both. But to tell my story with some method, I must inform you, that at the last Inn we lay at, we were joined by a Mr. Hamilton, a young man of large fortune in the county of Derry, who being alone, Charles invited to sup with us, and we esteemed him no small acquisition to our company; for he has had a liberal education, is just returned from his travels, and makes such observations on the laws, customs and manners of different nations, as do credit to his understanding, and promise fair for his being an ornament to his own country. You may think such a companion made us all very chearful, and I, who delight in such subjects, drew him on to give us a little description of the most material places he passed through, which he did in such easy, elegant language, that when he retired to his chamber, he left us full of his praises, that is, my mother and I, for Charles had grown very grave, and very silent for some time before; when my mother observed it she asked the cause, and he attributed it to a head-ach, upon which we separated for the night, in hopes rest would relieve him. In the morning he seemed quite recovered; Mr. Hamilton joined us at breakfast; politely regretted that he was to take a different road, and gave Charles a pressing invitation to his house, where he should be in less than a month, as he was to stay about that time on a visit to a relation in this country: Charles promised to go, on condition he would return with him. This point being settled, and breakfast over, he attended us to our carriage, where taking a very respectful leave of my mother, and a very gallant one of me; we all set out on our different journeys, and reached home in the evening without meeting any other adventure. I took notice that Charles was at times very thoughtful, and though I had a small suspicion of the cause, I still hoped I was mistaken, till I was put out of doubt this morning, by Kitty, who, while she attended me, said, she thought it her duty to inform me Mr. Skeffington had asked her several questions concerning my opinion of Mr. Hamilton, whether I had talked of him, when she was undressing me last night, and in short was so inquisitive, that the girl, who you know, has not much penetration, perceived he was jealous. I was very sorry he had exposed himself, and very much vexed that he had talked in such a manner to my servant, which was in effect making her a spy over me; besides that, if she was ill disposed it was putting it in her power to tell lies, and make mischief, for sake of a bribe he offered her, to tell him the truth; his behaviour hurt me greatly, and was the cause of my anger at what he had said this morning, which otherwise I should not have thought worth notice; however, his being so concerned at displeasing me, and the particular attention he has paid me all day, shew how anxious he is to be agreeable to me, and makes it impossible for me to retain any displeasure against him; I flatter myself my conduct will cure him of that unhappy propensity; but I will be very sure it has before I think of being united to him. I have no doubt but to-morrow's post will bring a letter from you, and will leave this unfinished till then, though it is already of a reasonable length; but, for my own part, I think letters of friendship can never be too long, nor those of business too short.
Nov. 8th. As I expected, this post has brought a letter from you, in which you fully account for the delay, the arrival of such a welcome visitor, is sufficient apology; I am however well pleased she gave you an opportunity of dispatching your epistle next day; for I think my patience would not have held out another post, and I should have joined Charles, in exclaiming against the fickleness of woman. It was very mal-a-propos of Emily, not to come into town 'till the day I left it; for I should have great pleasure in seeing her easy and happy; and though it is a shocking thing to say, yet she certainly never could be either while Mr. Rochfort lived, as an unkind husband must destroy any woman's peace: I am glad for his own sake he had the justice to acknowlege her merit before his death; however, he was of such an unhappy temper, that had he recovered, I doubt not, he would have relapsed into his former caprice and ill-nature, I am no great friend to second marriages; but I think Emily would be very excusable should she make choice of one with whom she's likely to be happy; for she is now at an age very subject to tender impressions, and the time she passed with her husband, can only be reckoned a time of slavery: Whatever state she chuses, I hope she will enjoy all the happiness in it she so well deserves: thank her and Gertrude for their kind remembrance of me; and tell them no one loves them better. I shall not be so unreasonable as to expect you will be a very punctual correspondent while your guest is with you, as she is not to stay long; but I flatter myself, when you can steal half an hour, you won't forget your promise.—O! but I was quite unlucky in leaving town the day I did; for besides missing Emily, I lost seeing the Volunteers, which I am very sorry for, as I think them a most respectable body, and you know I am as public-spirited as any Roman Matron, in the most virtuous ages of the commonwealth, I mean; for I would not chuse to compare myself to a Roman, after they were governed by the Emperors, because that Government was the cause of their being degenerated, and sunk in luxury and corruption; so you see I have no small opinion of myself, at least of my public virtue; and whatever others may think, I am satisfied, if women were taught disinterested love for their country, there would be more patriots amongst the men than there are at present, for several obvious reasons; particularly that, as there are few of them that don't wish to recommend themselves to our favour, they would be very cautious how they acted in their public capacity, if they knew our contempt would be the consequence of their apostacy. No doubt the ancients were of this opinion; for you may find, in the most glorious times of Greece and Rome, the women were just as warm in their country's cause, as the men: and history has applauded them for it; though now people affect to think those things above our capacity, and indeed the present mode of education for our sex is so very trifling, that I fear there is some truth in the supposition.
When I am writing to you, my pen, I think, runs on of itself, and I know not when to stop it; so pleasing are the communications of unreserved friendship! the hour for the post going out reminds me, it is time to conclude. It is probable you will hear from me very soon again, as I don't intend standing on ceremony with you, especially while Mrs. Rochfort is in Dublin.
My mother and Charles are perfectly grateful for your esteem; you know what a favourite you are with them both.
Farewel, dear Louisa,
Ever your's, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER III. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Nov. 10. —
COUSIN James Fitzgerald came here yesterday, to stay with us till he sets off for Dublin, to attend Parliament, which will be to-morrow, and I could not think of letting him go without a line to my dear Louisa, as I know the first visit he makes in town will be to you: for I assure you, you stand very high in his opinion; and let me tell you, all the young ladies in the country set a great value on themselves, if they can obtain his approbation; for, as you have often observed, he has a good head, and a good heart, and is esteemed accordingly. There is few of our gentlemen that would not wish him for a son-in-law: but though he makes himself perfectly pleasing in women's company, and likes being among them, no one seems, as yet, to have made any impression on him. I bid him guard his heart against the fair widow, but he is no way apprehensive, he says; however, I insist on it to him, that Mrs. Rochford will overcome all his sensibility at first sight, though I am far from believing what I say, as I am certain when he attaches himself to any woman, it will be from conviction that she possesses the beauties of the mind, even in preference to those of the person, which are the only motives to those who fall in love at first look; a foundation that promises no great permanency in the passion; for I look on it as a proof either of a very weak mind, or uncommon susceptibility; or perhaps a mixture of both, and in any of the cases, great fickleness is to be expected.
I wrote to you so lately, that I have now nothing material to impart, except that I hope Charles's good sense has conquered his late tendency to jealousy; for I have not seen the least symptom of it since, though there has been several agreeable young men to visit us, within these few days; this hope has given infinite satisfaction: for I confess his affection is necessary to my happiness, yet I never could think of being his wife should he continue in that unfortunate disposition.
We are to have visitors to-morrow; a Mr. Boyle and his daughters; they came to this neighbourhood just before I went last to town, I paid my compliments to them, but leaving the country two days after, I did not see them since, so I cannot say much about them: if they should prove agreeable they will be an acquisition, as they are but a short walk from us. I believe I told you, Bell-Park was left to Mr. Boyle by his uncle, who was a delightful old man: I hope his relations may be as pleasing. In my next, you shall have my opinion of them. My mother is pretty well as yet; I shall be very happy if she does but continue so till we get to town again, for it alarms me much to have her ill here.
My dear Louisa knows how much I love her.
ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER IV. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Nov. 25. —
IT is impossible for me to steal a moment since I wrote last, to tell my Eliza how much I am concerned at the defect you have discovered in Mr. Skeffington's temper; it may cause you a deal of uneasiness, for it is seldom cured. I depend but little on your hopes of his having conquered it, for you are a partial judge, being so prejudiced in his favour; besides people are apt to believe what they wish; but when you all come to town, I shall have a watchful eye over him, and will not let you deceive yourself in a point so material to your happiness. I doubt that you will think yourself much obliged to me, though I am sure you ought, for you must allow, a woman in love stands in need of a friend to see things in a proper light for her, as she is utterly incapable of seeing with her own eyes, when the beloved object is any way concerned. I think if Charles does not mend his manners, you shall marry Mr. Hamilton; that is, if I do not; for I fancy I should like him for myself, by your description of him, but we will consider of these matters hereafter. At present I want to tell you, I received your last epistle by your very agreeable letter-carrier, who delivered it himself the day after he arrived in town. Emily was out when he came, but I asked him for the evening, and then introduced him to her; he admires her as every one does, but as to any thing more, I do not take his heart to be very vulnerable. Do you know that a handsome widow, of eighteen, is too great an attraction for a sober, sedate spinster to have in her home.
I am absolutely fatigued with entertaining all the fine fellows that come here since she has been my guest. They pay me the compliment of their visits, but I am not so vain as to take them to myself, for I know if she was not here, I should not be honoured with their company above once in a month, and indeed I think it often enough in all conscience to be troubled with them, for my spirits are quitewearied with the incessant peal of nonsense they think it necessary to ring in the ears. of every woman of this side forty: after that age, I fancy one would be pretty free from them. To be fure some of them could not talk sense, but I should be glad those that can, would be convinced that women are rational creatures as well as themselves.
I really think the generality of young women have more solid sense than the young men; at least, it is so in the circle of my acquaintance. But this is ENTRENOUS: for should it be known I thought so, the whole Male Sex would be up in arms against me at once, because goodsense is one of the things they would willingly make us believe they have an exclusive patent for. But I, who hate monopolies, cannot help putting in a claim to share of the commodity for self and Co. to speak in the trading style, which is mighty convenient when one is in haste, though so laconic.
You are a good girl in laying aside ceremony in our correspondence; it would be quite barbarous to insist on an answer to every letter, now my time is not my own; it is very well if I can give you a short acknowlegement for two or three at a time.
Emily will, I fancy, stay longer than she at first proposed: some business has occured that cannot be soon concluded. True it is shocking enough to date a woman's happiness from the death of her husband; but if husbands will be brutes, they must expect both their wife and her friends will wish them dead. Emily behaves with the utmost propriety; never speaking a reproachful word of Mr. Rochford, for tho' one must think she is pleased at her release, it would not be decent in her to say so. I like your political sentiments, they exactly coincide with my own: I see no reason why women should not be patriots; for surely, if tyranny and oppression are established in a country, they are more liable to suffer from it, both in their persons and properties than men, because less able to defend themselves: it, therefore, concerns them much, to use all their influence in opposing it; and doubtless that influence is more powerful than people are aware of; they should, therefore, be taught to use it for the good of mankind, both as it relates to individuals, and the community at large. What a pity you and I were not born in ancient Greece! we should have made a noble figure in History, as Spartan wives or mothers.
Yes, I was surprised at your warmth, before I knew the cause, and for that matter, I am surprised still: for you are such a soft, gentle, soul, so formed for the tender passion, that I did not think it was in nature for you to be displeased with your beloved two minutes together; especially when his crime proceeded from his too great affection for you. I am glad, however, to find you are getting a little spirit; I often advised you to it, and you see what effect it had: your anger brought him out of his airs in an instant, whereas I will venture to say, your tenderness would not have done it in a month. Nothing like shewing one's authority now and then; it makes one appear of consequence, and is absolutely necessary to keep down the domineering temper of those lords of the creation.
I am going with Emily and Gertrude, to spend the evening with a friend. Oh! I have a secret to tell you of Gertrude; it is a love affair too, therefore just fit for your ear: how was it she never made you her confidant. I cannot tell it now, as they wait for me.
Adieu, dear girl,
Your's, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER V. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Nov. 14.—
ACCORDING to promise, I go on writing to my dear Louisa, without waiting for an answer: I do not, however, want to pass it on you as a great obligation, for I think I could not exist any time without communicating to you all the little incidents that occur, and constitute part of my happiness; but I will acknowlege, hearing from you, is a material addition to it.
I informed you in my last, Mr. Boyle and family were to be with us next day; they came much earlier than is usual with strangers, to shew us, as he said, they wished to be on a friendly footing, and hoped we would follow the example, which we did the very next day, for we were pleased with each other: we did not part till after supper, nor would they quit us, till we promised to return their visit so immediately. I wished for you often, you would be infinitely charmed with Mr. Boyle, who is a true born Irish-man: generous, hospitable and humane; accompanied with a quality for which our country-men are not much renowned. That is, such a prudent œconomy as prevents him from out-running his fortune, though every thing in his family is in the genteelest style of life, and he is continualy doing good-natured or charitable actions; but he does not throw away his money; nor do his daughters think it beneath them to attend to the management of houshold affairs. He is mighty chearful, and has, I think, all the good disposition of his uncle. His daughters are rather pretty, the youngest most so, and she knows it; she is about eighteen, her sister two years older. Miss Boyle pleases me best, for she is sensible and agreeable, without any airs. Miss Harriet has a good understanding, improved by reading, but she has a degree of affectation that spoils her, when she lays that aside, which she can do, she is very pleasing. I believe it is the effect of a foolish vanity on account of her personal charms; and I am surprised that one whose mind is so amply endowed, should fall into such a weakness; but probably a few years will cure her of that folly, and she will then be an amiable woman. I am very happy in having them for neighbours, as there is not a young person of my own sex in any of the families very near us, except one, and she is as unfit a companion for a rational being as any vegetable in her garden, which is the only thing in life she seems to have any knowlege of. Unfortunately for the poor girl, she will have a very large estate, and her mother thinks it unnecessary she should have any thing else to recommend her. I really pity the poor thing; for, no doubt, she will, some time or other, find her ignorance a great inconvenience to her. What ill-judging people they must be, who can look on money as a good substitute for all the useful and agreeable qualifications of the mind.
I will lay this by for a while, in hopes of hearing from you; besides the Miss Boyle's are come in to tea, and I dare say, I shall have no more time for writing this evening.
November 18th. I guessed right when I said I should have no time for writing that day. The young ladies were easily prevailed on to stay supper, as their father was not expected home till next day, he was gone some miles off to see a friend. We had also some gentlemen that Charles had brought home with him, and we were a very chearful happy party: my mother was quite delighted, for you know how happy she is to see me pleased: and I had the satisfaction to find that her presence was no restraint on the young folks. Indeed it need not, for though she is elderly and not healthy, she does not forget she was once young herself: and therefore endeavours to promote innocent mirth in youth, which, as she says, is the proper season for it; and she is loved and respected accordingly. I am sure her advice would have much greater weight with them, than that of any of your formal peevish old ladies, who having lost a relish for amusements themselves are continually preaching against them, be they ever so innocent, or moderately pursued.
The gentlemen staid here till this morning, and we had a good deal of company in the forenoon, some of them staid dinner.
Yesterday we all spent an agreeable evening at Bell-Park, by invitation; both the ladies are proficients on the Harpsicord, and have sweet voices; and one of our gentlemen played enchantingly on the flute; so we made up a little concert, and the cards were laid aside, except Mr. Boyle, who challenged my mother at picquet, and was not a little pleased at beating her, because she plays the game infinitely superior to him.
I have just received your epistle; how could you be so teasing as to say you had a secret to tell me? and then leave me to puzzle my brains about it, perhaps for this week to come: you suppose every one to have as little curiosity as yourself; though you know it is a legacy descended to us from our grandmother Eve, of which very few have not a large share.
I have thought of all the young men that visit you, but cannot recollect that Gertrude ever shewed the smallest partiality for one of them; though I know some of them admired her much: who can it be? I may as well bid you adieu, for I can neither think or write of any thing but this secret; so you need not expect to hear from me again till you tell it me.
Your's, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER VI. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Nov. 17. —
I HAVE retired to my chamber rather earlier than usual, that I may acknowlege the receipt of my dear Eliza's last favour; and gratify her curiosity, which, I find, is at the highest pitch.
I really did not think of distracting your mind so much, when I mentioned Gertrude's affair, as it would not have had that effect on me; and when I considered, that I had no right to disclose another person's secrets: I determined to tell you my seruples on that head, and leave you in ignorance till time should discover it. However, your letter made me alter my mind, and Gertrude being present, I shewed it to her, and telling her I had thoughtlessly given you a hint of it, asked her permission to inform you of the affair. She smiled at your eagerness to know the event, and said, it would be a pity to deprive me of such an agreeable correspondent on that account, as she was sure it would be safe with Miss Fitzgerald: and she believed you would make allowances for the weakness of her heart, your own was so susceptible. So you see, my dear, your tenderness is very visible, though you flattered yourself no one perceived it but me.
As to this love tale, you may guess, it was mere accident discovered it to me; for as you observe, I have very little curiosity. But if I had ever so much, it could not have been excited in this case, because I had no suspicion: and thus it happened.
A few days before I wrote to you last, I was to have company in the evening; and when I was dressed, stepped into Gertrude's chamber to ask her some questions; she sat with her back towards me, so lost in thought, that she never heard me, though I was near enough to see. She held in her hand a miniature picture of a beautiful youth, in the uniform of the French military, on which her eyes were intently fixed. You cannot imagine what an aukward situation I found myself in, when I saw she had not heard me. I selt as if I had purposely stolen on her privacy, though I was conscious I had not, but it must appear so to her. I therefore, thought, if I could go out unperceived, it would save us both a deal of confusion; and was turning about to do so, when the rustling of my gown against her chair, roused her from her reverie, and startled her so much, that I thought she would have fainted: I am sure I looked very silly myself, but thinking it best to take no notice of what had passed, I asked the question I came about, and then saying I supposed she would soon be ready to come down, I left her to recover herself from the flutter into which I had unintentionally thrown her.
She did not come into the drawingroom, till some of the company were come, and I could observe, her spirits seemed quite distressed; but she exerted herself to conceal it, and as she is naturally rather serious, it passed unnoticed by every one also. I paid more than usual attention to her, that she might see I was not offended at her reserve: for I am certain, it proceeded more from bashfulness than want of confidence in my friendship. Though she lived so long in France, she still has that amiable modesty, which is there called, MAU VAIS HONTE; but which in my opinion, is quite becoming in a young girl, though it is now reckoned a capital offence against all the rules of good-breeding to be capable of blushing. And it is part of the business of French dancingmasters, to cure their pupils of that vulgar propensity, and substitute an assurance, that will enable a Miss of fourteen to come into a room full of company with a broad stare, as if she meant to defy them to put her out of countenance. An undaunted woman of any age, is, I think, shocking, but in a young creature it is absolutely disgustinge besides, setting a girl above shame, is breaking through one of the strongest barriers of female virtue: and we see daily examples of it in England, where the fashionable mode of education has introduced a levity amongst the women, that even out-does their neighbours on the Continent. I much fear we shall catch the infection; for where the intercourse is so frequent, it will be next to a miracle if the contagion does not spread; and I have long observed, that neither the manners nor morals of my country people are at all improved by a jaunt to England.
You will say I have wandered far from my subject; but I intend giving Gertrude's story a sheet of paper to itself, that your patience may not be put to such a trial, as being obliged to go through so much of my letter to come at it.
I congratulate you on the acquisition of such agreeable neighbours, and hope they will come to town, that I may endeavour to rival your mother in Mr. Boyle's good graces; for I should like of all things, to have a flirt above fifty, and I suppose he is that age at least. And besides that, I would try to cure Miss Harriet of her affectation, which, by your description, is the greatest defect she has. Well, there is none of us perfect; so we must take human nature as we find it, and make allowance for its frailties: it is best to laugh people out of their follies, and be severe on their vices.
I know who your female vegetable is, it was the happiest idea you ever had, for you could not chuse a more suitable appellation. I am by no means surprised that her mother should think a large estate required no other qualification, because she herself had no other; and to be sure her father is of the same opinion, as it was all he thought necessary in a wise. Is it not amazing that any man of sense, can make choice of a woman to pass his life with, that has not a sufficient understanding to make her an agreeable companion, even for an hour? yet one sees such wives every day; and the poor things think they are of great consequence, and have answered all the purposes of their creation, if they can scold their servants, and swarm the house with children, though they are totally incapable of instructing their children in any one thing that is proper for them to know. I have no doubt but the men chuse them, that their own superiority in wisdom and knowledge may appear to greater advantage by the contrast, and some of them, I am sure, dread a competitor in those things.
I should have a bad opinion of your visitors, if they disliked your mother's company. A woman of her disposition, though not very young, cannot be a restraint on any one, unless they wish to behave improperly. Good night, I must begin my story, which will keep me up an hour longer, and I feel I shall be very sleepy before it is finished.
Your's, affectionately, LOUISA MORTIMER.
Count de ROUSSILLON, and Miss S. GEORGE.
GERTRUDE came into my chamber next morning just as I was rising; and telling Sally she would assist me to dress, as she wished to be alone with me; the girl withdrew, and with much hesitation and visible confusion, she began, saying; the discovery I had made the day before, distressed her more than she would express, lest I should imagine her reserve proceeded from want of confidence in my affection for her, which she earnestly assured me, was not the case: she should think herself very ungrateful if it was. But indeed, cousin, said she, blushing to death, the truth is, I could never get resolution enough to tell you.
I had 'entangled myself in such an affair while I was so very young—Here I interrupted her, to clear myself of any design, to pry into her secrets, and requested she would not think herself under any obligation to disclose them, if it gave her the least pain. She knew me too well not to be convinced I spoke truth; but said, she had long wished to break it to me, and now, that accident had done that for her, she would take the opportunity of opening her whole mind to me.
You already know my aunt St. George's ill health obliged her to reside above two years at Montpelier; during that time, Gertrude contracted an intimacy with a young lady of her own age, daughter to the Count de Roussillon, whose chatteau was in the neighbourhood. Her mother also became acquainted with the Count and Countess, who were very polite, and even friendly to any genteel strangers, who frequented the town: our friends received uncommon civilities from them; for they insisted on their passing great part of their time with them, which made their stay very agreeable, especially to Gertrude, who found a most pleasing companion in Mademoiselle Adelaide; she often heard the young Count mentioned in the family, particularly by his sister, who spoke of him with all that fond partiality, which the ties of blood and affection are apt to create; and frequently wished his return, that she might introduce him to her pretty Irish woman, by which appellation Gertrude was known at Montpellier: she had been more than a year there, before the young gentleman, who was at the Military Academy, came home.
He arrived one day, rather unexpected, and a messenger was immediately dispatched to bring my aunt and cousin to the Chatteau, to rejoice with the family on the occasion. Adelaide presented Gertrude to him, with a thousand kind expressions in her favour; and told him, she loved her better than any woman in the world: a French man could not say less than, he would love her as well as she did, which was really the answer he made: and it seems it was prophetic; for he very soon shewed an attachment to her, but it passed unnoticed, as it would there be thought unpolite in a young man, not to behave with some degree of gallantry to a girl, who was so often at the house He was only a year older than his sister, and there was a remarkable similitude both in their persons and dispositions, which was exceedingly amiable: the first created admitation, the latter esteem. No wonder, the unguarded heart of my young cousin, fell a victim to the charms of mind and person, united in this agreeable foreigner, whose constant study it was to render himself pleasing to her; and the perfect amity that subsisted between him and his sister, gave him continual opportunities of recommending himself to her favour, in which, I find, he succeeded so▪ well, that when he declared his passion to her, she was, before they parted, brought to acknowlege, she would have no objection, if the consent of their parents could be obtained.
When she related this circumstance, she seemed ashamed at having so soon confessed her sentiments to him; but told me, it happened one evening that the beautiful serenity of the sky invited Adelaide and her to take their Guitars to a delightful arbour in the garden, by which a gentle rivulet murmured. There they were entertaining themselves with some of David Rizzio's most plaintive Scotch airs, when the young Count joined them: and while the pleasing effects of the soft melody was still powerful in her heart, he made his declaration, and his sister pleaded so earnestly in his favour, that she could not refuse to their joint solicitations, the acknowlegement of sentiments which her prudence told her she should have concealed.
The old gentleman having an employment at court, was then attending the King at Versailles, and the young folks agreed, not to mention it to their mothers, till his return, when his son was to ask his approbation, which he had no idea would be refused, as Gertrude was a great favourite with him, and her fortune and connexions were such, as he could not object to.
Their time rolled on in uninterrupted scenes of happiness and content during three months that the Count remained at court; but his return dashed all their prospects of felicity; and the disappointment was the more sensibly felt, because it was unexpected. It was, however, a chastisement they in some measure deserved, for allowing their affections to be so strongly engaged, before they knew that their parents would approve it.
Louis (that was the youth's name) could not mention it to his father, the day he came home, but determined he would defer it no longer than the morning. That evening the Count sent for him to his study, and after informing him, he was appointed to a company in the Count D'Artois' regiment, said, he had still better news, which was, he had agreed with the Marquis de Bretagne, to conclude a marriage between him and that nobleman's only daughter; who, as he knew, was a most amiable young lady, the King himself had been so kind to propose it, and the Marquis and he had joyfully consented to it, as it would be a still stronger cement to the friendship that had so long subsisted between them.
This discourse was like a thunder clap to the young Count; and for some minutes totally deprived him of utterance; during which time his father went on, enumerating the many advantages that would attend his alliance with a family so powerful at court, not to speak of the fortune she would bring him, which was much larger than his estate, (though a good one,) entitled him to expect; and concluded, by bidding him prepare to set out for Versailles in two days to make his acknowlegements to his Majesty for his goodness to him, as well in that affair, as in promoting him, before he had ever joined his regiment; (for it seems he has had a commission since ever he was born, which the late King, who was his godfather, presented him with on that occasion;) and also, to pay his compliments to the young lady; for they meant to celebrate the marriage as soon as the necessary preparations could be made.
By that time the old gentleman had ceased speaking, his son had recovered the use of his speech, and ventured to say, he was sorry they had gone so far, before they knew that the young lady would be disposed to accept of him; and hinted the difference of religion, as an objection to the match; for his family are Protestants; but his father who could not bear the least contradiction, flew in a violent passion at his raising any difficulty, and told him, the thing was determined, and nothing should make him recede from his word, or affront the Marquis, by mentioning such a frivolous obstacle: and sternly ordering him to take care that he acquitted himself properly in his addresses to the lady, he flung out of the room, and left poor Louis in a state of mind not be described. Unable to fix on any rule of conduct for himself, he went to his sister's apartment, to whom he related the cause of his distress. Adelaide, who tenderly loved her brother, and had a sincere affection for Gertrude, was much affected at the disappointment of their fond hopes, but too well knew her father's determined temper, to hope to move him, by telling him the true state of his son's heart, which she judged would at present only exasperate him; she therefore advised he should carefully conceal it from every one, but the young lady herself, to whom he should reveal it in confidence; and if she deserved half the praises she had heard given her, she would spare him the indelicacy of refusing her, as well as the pain of disobliging his father. She was surprized he made light of the difference of religion, because he was strongly attached to his own, and said, she thought it an unsurmountable obstacle, even if his heart had no pre-engagement: he assured her, he did not mention it merely to raise an objection, but because it was his sentiments; that people of different persuasions could not be happy in marriage, as the education of their children would be a continual source of uneasiness; and as Mademoiselle was reckoned very sensible, he had hopes she would be of the same opinion.
He then requested his sister would break the matter to Gertrude, in the best manner she could, and procure him an interview with her the next day; she promised to do so, and having consoled him greatly by her conversation, he retired from her apartment, much more composed than when he entered it.
Next day Adelaide ordered her carriage, saying, she would call on Gertrude to take an airing with her, which she often did, and the Countess bid her engage Mrs. St. George too, to come and spend the day with them, which she accordingly did: and my aunt having some morning visitors, promised to be at the chatteau by the time they returned from their airing. Adelaide, who was well pleased she did not offer to go with them, as soon as she found herself alone with Gertrude, informed her as cautiously as she could, of what had passed between Louis and his father, and will all the tenderness of friendship, pointed out to her, the reason they had to expect the lady would refuse him; but to prevent her being any way alarmed, assured her, from her brother, that though he held himself bound by duty, not to marry without his father's consent, nothing could ever prevail on him to think of any other woman.
Gertrude says, she received this intelligence with more fortitude than she thought she was possessed of; but the truth is, her pride was hurt, that any man should think it necessary to conceal his attachment to her: she therefore told Adelaide, it would give her much concern to be the cause of any misunderstanding between the Count and his son, to prevent which, she would advise him to marry the lady that was chose for him. As for her, she never would have encouraged his addresses, had she thought it probable there could be any objection; but since there was, her rank in life set her above forcing herself into any family against their consent; (are not you proud of her spirit?)
Adelaide seemed surprised at her manner of receiving news which she thought would greatly affect her; but no doubt, quickly penetrating into the real cause, she took her hand, and said, my dear Gertrude intirely misconstrues my meaning; I can safely affirm, that every one of our family would think themselves honoured by a connexion with you: the misfortune lies in my brother not having declared his attachment to you before my father went to Paris; he left home supposing his son's heart disengaged; and, at the King's desire agreed to marry him to the daughter of his dearest friend; that, surely, cannot be looked on as an affront to you. I acknowledge my father's fault is obstinacy, he never will retract from a resolution once taken, and expects unlimited obedience from his children, in such a case. Your own good sense will shew you the impropriety of mentioning the affair to him now; especially when we have fixed on a scheme very likely to succeed, without provoking my father. Let me then beseech you, not to add to the inquietude my poor brother labours under, by expressing a displeasure he really does not deserve from you.
Gertrude, who could not but assent to the truth of what Adelaide said, promised she would not; but was determined in her own mind, not to be prevailed on to enter into any private engagement with him, which she doubted not he would propose at the interview she had consented to give him. It being near dinner-time, they returned to the Chatteau, where they found my aunt and a widow lady of the neighbourhood. The day passed off not so agreeable as usual; for the Countess and Adelaide were low-spirited at parting with Louis so soon; and he and Gertrude, you may think, could not be very lively: so that my aunt and the other lady were the only unconcerned persons, and kept the rest from being quite silent. After they had taken their coffee, the three old ladies and the Count sat down to quadrille, and the three young folks went into the garden, and entering their favourite arbour, sat down to enjoy the pleasing scene, and listen to the sweet warbling of an infinite variety of birds, that inhabited the trees around them: the soft notes charmed them for a while to silence; but the young Count could not long defer the subject next his heart; and told his tale so pathetically, that Gertrude could with difficulty refuse a promise he endeavoured to draw from her; but she thought it too humiliating to engage herself to wait for a man, whose father would, perhaps, never consent to their union. She, therefore, did refuse it, though he solemnly swore, never to marry any other woman, while she remained single.
She had intended to return his picture, and demand her's which he had, [they were both of his own drawing [but his distraction was so great at parting with her, that she thought it should be barbarous to mention it; and I dare say, was well pleased to have any excuse for keeping the dear resemblance.
The farewel was, no doubt, very tender on his side; and, I believe, a little so on hers', notwithstanding all her discretion. However, upon the whole, she certainly behaved heroically, if we consider her youth, for she was but fifteen; and that she really loved the man, his merit and the pains he took to win her heart, is sufficient apology. She determined not to tell her mother, lest she should be uneasy on her account, and she had come to a resolution, not to let it prey on her spirits, but wait patiently to see how matters would turn out.—
He set off with his father very early the next morning, and the first account she had from him, was in a letter to his sister, wherein he informed her, he had waited on the lady, but had no ocasion to make her his-confidant, for knowing the motive of his visit, she, with a pleasing frankness, told him, he might spare himself the trouble of declaring it, for there was an insuperable objection to their union; which was, his Religion. She had been educated in a Convent, where she had imbibed all the uncharitable doctrines of Popery: and said, she hoped he could not take it amiss if she told him, she could not think of risking her salvation by marrying a Heretic; for in this case, she thought it best to speak plain, that he might know her resolution was fixed.
He said all that was proper on the occasion, and left her with a heart quite at ease; but found it necessary to conceal his satisfaction, when he came into his father's presence, to whom he related her answer. The Count had scarce patience to hear him out; taking it for granted, the fault was intirely his, as he had, at first mention of the affair, made that objection. He was in an absolute rage; and though Louis gave him all the assurances possible, that the lady had pronounced her refusal before he had well spoke, it was to no purpose. He forbid him to appear in his sight; and next day sent him an order from the King to repair to his regiment, and not presume to leave it without his Majesty's particular permission.
He was then preparing to obey this unwelcome command; and as it was very uncertain when he should be able to plead his own cause, he requested his sister to be his advocate with her fair friend, and if possible, to keep up an interest for him in her heart.
He soon after wrote to her under cover to his sister, which he still continues to do, though she never answers his letters, except by messages in those she writes to Adelaide.
I have seen his letters; they are sensible and well-wrote, but full of those passionate exclamations, with which FRENCH love-letters always abound, but which in our language sounds very ill; at least I think, Ah! Oh! and Alas! have a mighty bad effect in an English letter. But to proceed with my story: the war breaking out, my aunt determined to set out for Ireland, and Gertrude did not at all regret quitting France, as the Countess and Adelaide were soon to go to Paris, where the Count's employment obliged him to reside during the war. The parting was very painful to the young friends, who promised a mutual correspondence, as often as opportunity would permit: and it is still continued, though Adelaide was married very soon after she went to Paris, to a man of large fortune, M. de St. Veriolle. Her father's displeasure against his son, is not yet removed, nor can they prevail on him to get leave for him to come home to see them before the regiment embarks, which is now under orders for America.
Though Gertrude would not give him a promise, I believe he is quite as secure of her as if she had, for she is now her own mistress, and seems not the least inclined to encourage any other. She never told her mother a word of it; indeed it was useless to give her any disquiet about it; as the cold she got on her journey occasioned such a rapid decline of her health, (before very precarious) that as you know, she did not survive above two months after her coming home.
Having always lived with my father, since her widowhood, and after his death with me, she requested Gertrude should remain in my house till she was married, if agreeable to us both, which she hoped it would be; for though Gertrude was by her father's will to be of age at sixteen, yet she thought that too young for a girl to be left to her own direction, and as I was a few years older, and had more experience, she wished Gertrude would be always advised by me, whose affection for her, she was sure, she might depend upon. You know it has been my study to make her happy: I thought her rather serious for her age; and wondered she had not got some of the French vivacity, as she went amongst them while a child. I did not then suspect her heart had learned a lesson which is apt to give a thoughtful turn to the most sprightly temper.
She seemed very apprehensive of losing my good opinion, by informing me of this affair, as she was perfectly sensible her conduct in it, would not bear to be scrutinized by any unprejudiced person. I freely blamed her for giving him any encouragement, without first acquainting her, mother, and bid her observe, that all the uneasiness she had suffered since, was in consequence of that one deviation from the path of duty; had they both consulted their parents in proper time, it is most probable there would have been no obstacle to their happiness. I praised her, however, for her discretion in the other circumstances, particularly refusing to contract herself to him; and she was quite happy that I approved any part of her conduct. I hope you will acknowlege yourself under uncommon obligations to me, for sitting up half a night to write a love-tale for you. I now leave you to read it, for my eyes are just closing.
Ever your's, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER VII. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Nov. 20. —
I HAVE just received my dear Louisa's packet of the 17th Inst. and do indeed acknowlege myself much obliged to you, for sacrificing a night's rest to gratify my curiosity. Could I have had a notion the story would run to such a length, I should not have been so unreasonable as to ask you to communicate it, but I thought it was something that had lately occurred, and would be related in a few lines. Instead of that, it is quite a little novel; and has afforded me an hour's pleasing amusement. I sincerely hope it may end happily for Gertrude and her agreeable French-man.
Your observations were very just: she was certainly wrong in concealing it from her mother at first; however, I could make a thousand excuses for her, and to tell truth, I fear had I been in her situation, I should not have been above half so prudent. I think she must have had an uncommon share of resolution to refuse his request at their last meeting: but no doubt, being so nearly related, she has a tincture of your philosophy: nothing less could enable her to resist the solicitations of the man she loved, when consistent with virtue. I own it was perfectly prudent; and I think she deserves great praise for it. But you will grant it requires a degree of fortitude seldom to be met with in so young a person, to act up to our duty in every respect, on an occasion where the heart is so much concerned. For my part, I am thankful I never had any such trials. As I have great doubts of myself, for I know I am but too susceptible of tenderness, though I hoped no one had made the observation but you, who are acquainted with the inmost recesses of my mind; for though I have been so fortunate as to place my affections just where my friends wished, I should be sorry to deviate from the paths of delicacy in my behaviour; which I really think would be the case if my attachment to Mr. Skeffington was visible to strangers: but I flatter myself, Gertrude being an adept herself, has more denetration in these matters than the generality of people. I am satisfied at her discovering my susceptibility, as it procured me her confidence; and she may be sure, I shall make all the allowance for her weakness (if it deserves that name) which I should hope for myself in like case; being in some-what of similar circumstances, usually makes one follow the Christian Doctrine, of doing as we would be done by; though I am sorry to say, we are but too apt to forget that best of all Rules, where we do not think the situation is ever likely to be our own.
Be sure inform me whenever there is news from France; for I shall long to hear if the Count lets his son go to America without seeing him: if he does, I shall hate him, it will betray such a want of paternal affection.
Tell Gertrude, when I go to town I will expect to see the letters, now that we are all En Confidance; I dare say you must both have felt aukward enough, when you made the unexpected discovery; though she that is so well acquainted with your disposition, must at once acquit you of any design to pry into her secrets: but accident sometimes leads one into situations extremely disagreeable, and which makes one seem to themselves as if they had done wrong, though conscious they did not mean it so; which I am sure was altogether your case. The accident will be of use to Gertrude, for now the ice is broke, she will not be ashamed to consult you on the affair, when she has occasion for advice. After the hint you had given me, I should have scarce admitted your qualm of conscience as an excuse for withholding the rest of the story; so you did well to get permission to tell it; yet I must acknowlege, that without that permission, you had no right to divulge it; and there was no fear but you could recollect that, for I never knew you to deviate from the right path: or if you did, it was but momentary, and you recovered your step immediately. Why do not I always think so justly? especially when your example has been continually before me; for you have acted according to the rule of right, as long as I have remembered you; at least as long as I have been capable of judging.—
You did not mention Emily in your last, nor cousin James, but once since he went to town; he writes to Charles often, but their correspondence is chiefly on political affairs; so we have all that sort of news from him. I need not tell you he is a staunch patriot; indeed I hope none of my family will ever be otherwise, for there is something so unnatural in deserting the interest of our country, that I could not have a good opinion of any one that was guilty of it; besides, it is such a meanness of spirit in a man of family, to submit to be made the tool of any Administration, that I could not help despising such a one, if he was my brother; I think the King cannot confer any honour equal to that of being an honest man, and a steady patriot: Court favours are no longer▪ desirable when they cease to be the reward of merit; Charles is of the same opinion; so I do not fear he will be disgraced by any when he is a Senator.
I have often wondered what could be the reason that the very young ladies of this age were so amazingly undaunted when first brought into company, but I did not then know it was a science they were made to study under their dancing-masters; I am obliged to you for the information, for while I thought it was natural to them, I cannot but say, it gave me very great disgust; now I know it is acquired, I am in hopes some of them may have a little modesty in their hearts, though they are ashamed to shew it. But I agree with you, that taking pains to eradicate the natural bashfulness of the sex may be of very bad consequence to their virtue; and certainly a girl that keeps genteel company, will of course learn an easy behaviour, without being taught an impudent stare.
What a pretty picture you have drawn of ignorant women, and a very just one too; it brought fresh to my memory some ladies of our acquaintance, who are, I think, the originals from which your piece is taken: I visit them as seldom as I can, because I am sure to be entertained with nothing else but the carelessness of their waiting-maid, and the wit of their children: now, though I will allow the little creature's prattle may be perfectly entertaining to a parent, or even to a stranger if they were present, it will very seldom bear a repetition: however, I must acknowlege it is generally as sensible as any thing the mother could say; for a woman whose mind is uncultivated, scarce ever says any thing to the purpose. You are rather severe on the men who marry such women, yet there is no other way of accounting for their choice; and I have often observed, that men would rather pass their time with the meerest trifler of our sex than with a girl who is reckoned sensible, and has read a good deal; which is no great credit to their understanding, and a clear proof of their inconsistency; for they are ever accusing us of neglecting to improve our minds; yet where mental accomplishments are to be found, they seem afraid of the possessor. I am come to the end of my paper before I observed it, and have only room to subscribe myself,
Your affectionate, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER VIII. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Nov. 24. —
I SHALL now be more punctual in answering my dear Eliza's letters than I have been hitherto, for as Emily will be with me some time, I shall not think it necessary to confine myself to her so much as while I thought her stay would be very short; and she has requested I would not use any ceremony with her, indeed I never meant it in that light, but gave up my time to her purely to enjoy as much of her company as I could, because she meant to stay but two or three weeks; it is now probable you will find her in Dublin when you come, for her father and mother are coming up.
Mr. O'Neil had lately a sudden attack of the gout in his stomach, it was soon removed, but has alarmed him so much, that he is coming to town for advice, and will stay the winter, for fear of a return of his complaint: there is not a good physician within many miles of his house, and only there was one attending at a neighbour's when he was taken ill, he might have died before he could get help: he never thought of that inconvenience while he was in health, but with the fear of death before his eyes, it appears very terrible to him.
Emily has taken lodgings for them very near us, it was a house he desired, but all the furnished houses were set,—which she is not sorry for, because she could not have excused herself from staying with them if they had room for her, and she would much rather be with me, though no child can be fonder of parents than she is, but her father has some particularities, that makes it not pleasing to live with him; such as going to bed at ten o'clock, and expecting all his family to do the same; at least they must be at home at that hour, and cannot have company after it, as the doors are then locked, and the keys taken to his room. He makes no allowance for the alteration of customs and manners since he was a young man; so if his daughter was with him, she could neither pay nor receive any but morning visits, unless she could prevail on the people to dine and sup at the same hours they did forty years ago.
Mr. O'Neil was an old batchelor when he married, and had got several oddities, (as people who live alone are apt to do) which he still retains, for his wife, though a very young woman, accommodated herself to his ways, by which means he never was broke off them, as it is likely he would have been, had she gone a little more into the gay world; but she was just the gentle temper of Emily, and feared even a grave look; it was all she had to fear, for he was not an ill-tempered man, as I have heard my father say, who blamed her for not bringing him off these peculiarities which makes men disagreeable that would otherwise be very pleasing. If ever I marry an old batchelor, I shall take pains to make him as pleasing as I can.
You observed I did not mention Emily, I hope you are satisfied now I have filled half my paper about her and her family. As to your cousin James, I knew he wrote to Mr. Skeffington, and concluded you must know more of him than I could, though he often favours me with his company, and I am always glad to see him, for I do not put him on a footing with some others that visit me, because one gets both information and entertainment from his conversation. If I am any judge in these matters, his heart is not quite so whole as when he came to town, not that he has given the smallest hint to the contrary; but his behaviour to Mrs. Rochford shews it very plain: the minute attentions, or as the French express it, LE PETIT SOINS, are never thought of but by a lover. Any man of politeness will think of all the civilities which they know we expect from them; but none but a man in love will think of attending to every trifling circumstance that may occur. I never yet found myself mistaken in the observation; however, I would not have you mention it to Charles, lest he should hint it to Mr. Fitzgerald, who would know you had it from me, and there would be an indelicacy in it's coming from her friends: I would not caution you about it, only I know, you think Charles is all discretion, and to be intrusted with any secret; but I know the men all tell each other those fort of secrets.— I have teized Emily a good deal on the subject, but she affects not to perceive his attachment; and when I tell her that is only to make him speak plain, she prims and looks so matronly, and so discreet, that I am obliged to be silent. She certainly, does not dislike him; but I am convinced she would not at present listen to any man on that subject; she has too just notions of propriety: besides her unhappiness in marriage is so recent in her memory, that I think she will consider well, before she enters into the state again; was I in her place, I should have got a compleat surfeit.
I cannot accept of your compliment, because I feel I am by no means the perfect creature which your partial friendship has described me; though I am sure you only say what you have persuaded yourself to think; it does not, however, require such a share of philosophy as you seem to imagine, to enable us to controul our passions when we are accustomed to to give way to them, in opposition to our reason; and I think myself infinitely obliged to my parents, for teaching me to curb them before they grew ungovernable: so that what you call philosophy, is purely the effects of a proper education, enforced, I acknowlege, by religious motives, since I have been capable of comprehending them; for though I am of a very chearful turn of mind, I can think seriously on subjects of importance.
Gertrude is highly flattered by your approbation, and says, she begins to be better reconciled to herself, since you and I think her conduct excusable. She bids me tell you, she will let you see the letters when you come to town, and all that she may yet receive from the Count; she expects to hear soon, as he will certainly write before he goes to America.
Harry Maunsel surprised us just as we sat down to tea last night, I did not expect him, for I had a letter from his sister very lately, which mentioned his intention of going to Corke on business; but it seems some pressing occasion has brought him to Dublin; and he says, will detain him great part of the winter. I find Charles and he correspond, and by some words he let fall, I am sure he has mentioned his uneasiness about Mr. Hamilton to him; if so, it is probable we shall discover his real sentiments, and whether, as you think, his reason has conquered his jealously; but as yet, I have no time to enter into a conversation on the subject.
Harry, who has not seen Mrs. Rochfort since she was with me, a year before her marriage, was so struck with the loveliness of her countenance and figure, that I had some hopes she would rival me, and observed him closely to see if it was so, but have reason to think his admiration was nothing more than the pleasing effect which the first view of something very beautiful always has on the mind, but which, as it grows familiar to the sight, ceases to attract the attention. You will think it an odd expression, to say, I had hopes of being rivalled; however, for his sake, I sincerely wish it had been the case.
Is Charles as great a book-worm as ever? You should endeavour to wean him a little from his studies, as he is not to follow any profession; it is high time he should study the manners of the world, which he is really too ignorant of. I shall talk to Henry about giving him a little advice on that head, now I find there is such an intimacy between them.
Gertrude begs you will not make yourself uneasy at what she said of your susceptibility; for though that is very perceptible, your delicacy remains unimpeached, in which opinion I join, and think you a good, decent behaved girl, notwithstanding you are a perfect turtle in love and constancy. I wonder how it is that Charles and you have continued to like each other so long; it seldom happens that a fancy of that kind, taken in childhood, subsists when the parties grow up: besides, from the manner you were reared together, I am surprised you did not rather mistake each other for brother and sister. Was I in your place, I should be a little afraid the whole stock of tenderness on both sides, would be exhausted before marriage; if it is not, I can only say you have an amazing fund of it.
I wish Christmas was over, that you might come to town; and on consideration I do not see any necessity there was for your going almost two months before, that you might be there at the time; but Mrs. Fitzgerald is so methodical, she does not like to break through old customs, and it is very fit you should comply with her inclinations, her actions are always governed by some laudable motive.
What a long epistle here is, with little or nothing in it; however, as I am in a scribling vein, it is likely it would be still longer, but luckily for you, who will have the fatigue of reading it, I must break off, for your cousin James and Harry Maunsell, are to gallant Gertrude and I to the play; and it is just tea-time, no doubt they will soon be here.. Emily spent the day at her aunt's, you may think she does not as yet go to any public place, which has confined me a great deal. Our beaux are arrived; have only time to say, I am,
Dear Eliza's very sincere friend, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER IX. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Nov. 25. —
DEAR ELIZA,
A Conversation I had with Harry Maunsell this Morning, determined me to write directly, though I had dispatched a letter to you by last night's post; but as I think I have something interesting to say, I would not delay it a moment.
Harry was with me all the forenoon, and Emily and Gertrude being out shoping, I had an opportunity to speak to him about the hint he dropt in regard to Mr. Hamilton. He immediately told me all he knew of the matter; he had it from Mr. Skeffington; and taking a letter out of his pocket, gave it to me to read. When I had finished, I went for your first letter, and read the account you gave me of the affair; then observing to him, how necessary it was to your happiness to be acquainted with Charles's real sentiments upon the occasion; obtained permission to take a copy of it for your perusal. Nothing but that consideration could have tempted him to give it; but I assured him, he might rely on your discretion, that you would destroy it as soon as read: you will easily see the necessity for so doing, and here you shall have the copy.
Castle-Skeffington,
Nov. 10.—
DEAR MAUNSELL,
WE left Dublin on the 4th, as I informed you we should, and arrived in due time; but met with an adventure on the road, which has roused a latent spark of jealousy in my bosom, and given me so much uneasiness, that I could not sufficiently compose my mind to write to you sooner; though I never had more occasion for your counsel.
A Mr. Hamilton of the county of Derry joined us on the last night of our journey; he is, I must acknowledge, a most accomplished young man. Being lately returned from his travels, the conversation turned on the manners and customs of the places he had visited, which he described with so much understanding, and elegance of expression, that my aunt was delighted, and Eliza quite charmed, which gave me pangs I never felt before, and cast such a damp on my spirits, that I was incapable of taking any part in the conversation: every word she addressed to him was a dagger to my heart, and the particular attention he paid her, added to my uneasiness; for his person is really faultless, and his address perfectly pleasing; attractions sufficient to gain any woman, and alarm any man that loves as I do, and is not very partial to his own merit.
When he retired, the ladies were lavish in his praise, and Eliza observed, what an advantage Travel was to young men of sense, as it enlarged their ideas, and gave them a knowledge of the world, which they could never obtain from books alone. As I took this observation to be intirely directed to me, who wanted that advantage, it confirmed my suspicions, and increased my ill temper; so that my gloominess was, I am sure, apparent, for I caught Eliza attentively looking at me several times, and my aunt taking notice of my silence, I was forced to pretend a head-ach, on which she insisted I should go to bed, and ever attentive to my health, ordered whey and hartshorn to be given me; but knowing that was not a cure for my real complaint, you may guess I did not take it. I went to bed in a state of mind little short of distraction, and lay cursing the whole fickle sex and my own misfortune, in being so strongly attached to one of them, that I felt it impossible to tear her from my heart. The agitation I endured, at last fatigued my spirits, and threw me into a sound sleep: when I awoke, I found myself refreshed and composed; and on revolving impartially, every circumstance that had passed the preceding night, I was ashamed to acknowlege to myself, that I had not any any one tolerable reason to assign for the suspicions that gave me so much disquiet. Convinced I had been in an error, I recovered my temper and my spirits, and met the ladies in my usual manner: my aunt congratulated herself on the success of her medicine, and Eliza, with a glow of pleasure on her check, rejoiced I was so much better.
Mr. Hamilton breakfasted with us, and gave me a very genteel invitation to his house, where he will be before Christmas; he regretted much we were so soon to part, and when we were ready, handed Eliza to the carriage, and took leave with such expressions, and such looks, as to me appeared a proof that she had made a strong impression on his heart, which again disconcerted me; but as she remained quite chearful after he had left us, I cursed my rising dissatisfaction, to prevent her suspecting the cause, but determined to take some method of discovering her sentiments towards him: I abhor myself for the meanness this distracting passion made me commit. I questioned her maid, and even offered her money to betray her mistress's secrets: she stedfastly denied ever hearing her mention Mr. Hamilton, except to her mother or me.
I soon saw the impropriety I had been guilty of, in exposing my weakness to this girl, and dismissed her, saying, I only wanted to try her integrity. This happened early in the morning after our arrival, and when Eliza came down to breakfast, I guessed from her serious air, when she spoke to me, that her maid had informed her what passed between us, and I was soon after convinced of it; for being disappointed of a letter she expected to receive from Miss Mortimer, I threw out some sarcastical observations on female friendship and sincerity, at which she immediately took fire, and expressed herself with so much warmth, that I who knew myself in fault, was glad to make an apology; and finding I could not bear her displeasure, spent the whole day in reinstating myself in her favour, which from her natural sweetness of temper, was not difficult to accomplish; and we are now on as good terms as ever, but I can perceive she watches me closely when there is any young men here, as if she wished to penetrate into my heart, and see if jealousy still lurked there; however, none of our visitors raise any emotions of that kind in my bosom, as I think they do not possess any superior degree of merit, and she has, beside been acquainted with them from her infancy, but I cannot be so easy in regard to Mr. Hamilton; for I feel that his presence would quite destroy my peace, yet I wished they would meet again, that I might know my fate, for I cannot bear suspence, though I dread the certainty. When she is present my suspicions vanish, and I am happy; but the instant I am alone, all my doubts return. Do, dear Maunsell, give me your advice and opinion. You that have loved, will, I am sure, pity my anxiety, even though you may blame me.
I have thoughts of pressing our marriage, which is delayed till I am of age, on account of settlements; if she confents, it will calm my fears, for I think I could not suspect her virtue if she was my wife; but I shall do nothing till I hear from you.
Your's, C. SKEFFINGTON.
I believe this letter needs no comment to convince you, you were much deceived when you imagined he had conquered his foible; for it is plain, his good humour depended on Mr. Hamilton's absence.
Perhaps Harry's arguments may by this time have had some effect on him; for he says, he placed the improbability of your giving him any cause of suspicion in the strongest light he could, and as it really appeared to him; but advised him to make his promised visit to Mr. Hamilton, and bring him to the castle, that he might be certain he was cured of all doubts before he urged you to marry him; otherwise he would insure misery both to himself and you.
In his answer to Harry, he seemed ashamed of his folly, and promised to follow his advice; so we must suspend our judgment for a while: and I am more easy on that subject than I was, now I have a method of knowing his real sentiments; for I was very apprehensive you would be too willing to trust to appearances, and deceive yourself into an opinion that he was just what you wished him to be. He is in every other respect, a most estimable character, and wants only a little knowledge of the world to make him an accomplished young man.
I would, if I dare, advise his travelling for a couple of years, but I fear to give you pain by mentioning his absence for so long a time; however, if you cannot bring yourself to bear it, I would have you marry, and go abroad with him; I mean when you are quite convinced he is cured of this foolish imagination that has possessed him. Is it not very unaccountable, that he who is, on other occasions, rather too unsuspecting, should so suddenly grow suspicious where he has least cause? it must proceed from too humble an opinion of himself; if you could inspire him with but half so high an idea of his own merit as most young men have, he would never be jealous again, and that I believe is the only advantage that can spring from self-conceit.
Adieu, dear girl;
believe me,
ever your's, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER X. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Nov. 28. —
MY dear Louisa's letters of the 24th and 25th, are now before me; and shall begin with the latter, as it is wholly on a subject in which I am deeply interested.
I was a good deal distressed when I read the copy you sent me, for I could no longer doubt that I had been deceived in my hopes of his having laid aside his causeless jealousy, which affected my spirits not a little; and I should have been quite in the horrors, only I was obliged to exert myself, being engaged to spend the day at Mr. Boyle's, to take leave, as the whole family are going to pass the Christmas with a sister of his near Belfast, and the young ladies will go from that to Dublin with their aunt, to stay the remainder of the winter. They will be a material loss to me while I am here. We passed the day so agreeably, that my melancholy was insensibly dispelled, and things appeared in a better light, for I then recollected that Mr. Maunsell's advice and opinion had probably great weight with Charles, and would convince him of the folly of his suspicions, and I had some reason to think it had; for I have lately been in company at Belle Park with some very accomplished young men that I was not acquainted with from my infancy, which Charles seemed to lay a STRESS on, and he did not appear the least disconcerted, though one of them paid all his attention to me, and I did not dscourage it, purely to try how Charles would bear it; it did not alarm him one bit, which I think a very good symptom: however, I shall soon be a better judge of the matter, for he had this morning a letter from Mr. Hamilton, reminding him of his promise, and appointing to meet him about twenty miles off, where he will be in two days, on his way home, and insists on Charles going with him. He says he will go, and sent an answer to that purpose by the servant; so that he will certainly meet him: but I find, he intends, if possible, to prevail on Mr. Hamilton to come and spend a few days here before he proceeds on his journey. I wish he may come, as that would put us all out of suspence, though I dread the certainty; for if the worst should happen, I fear I should but ill support myself. However, I will not anticipate misfortunes, as I think I have some reason to hope it will turn out well.
It is now time to return Mr Maunsell thanks for permitting you to copy the letter for me: I shall take care no bad consequence shall attend his kindness. I knew Charles and he corresponded, but never thought of mentioning it to you.
As to what you advise about Mr. Skeffington's going abroad, I am sensible it would be a great advantage to him; I know he wants it more than most young men, because he has pursued his studies with such unremitting application, that he really secluded himself from company and amusement a great deal more than was proper for his rank in life: but to you I will acknowlege, I cannot bring myself to think of it with any degree of fortitude; I cannot even reconcile myself to his going to England, though I know he must go in Spring; and if the idea of his being absent two or three months is so painful, what would two or three yeas be? My imagination is so fertile in creating trouble, that I should be miserable from the apprehension of dangers, which perhaps, he should never experience. I am really ashamed of my weakness, but cannot conquer it; if we should be ever united, I would have no objection to going with him; for I do not fear dangers to myself half so much as to those I love.
I shall be very happy to find Emily in Dublin when I return, which I hope will be soon after Christmas; for indeed the country is very dreary this time of year, and the air much too sharp for my mother, who begins to complain of the rheumatism, as well as for her daughter, whose constitution, you know, is but delicate.
I am glad Mr. O'Neil is to be in lodgings, that Emily may remain with you, which must be more agreeable to her, though I have no doubt of her affection to her parents, yet one would not wish to be confined to their particularities, when it would oblige us to give up all the rest of our friends.
It would give me great pleasure if your conjecture respecting cousin James's attachment to her should prove true; they are worthy of each other; and I do not know where either of them could have a better prospect of happiness. I shall not hint it to Charles, though I am certain he would not repeat it, if I desired him not, but I think there is a delicacy in these matters, where our female friends are concerned, that makes it improper to talk of them to men.
You deny that you are possessed of any degree of philosophy, and yet wish yourself to be rivalled; now, in my opinion, that is as great a stretch of philosophy as DIOGENES himself could boast, though so renowned for self-denial. But there is something in the affair between you and Mr. Maunsel, that has ever been a mystery to me; yet as you always seemed desirous to avoid the subject, I was unwilling to ask any questions: that he loves you, cannot be doubted; indeed he does not endeavour to conceal it; and those little attentions which you yourself allow to be a proof, are very observable in him; for I think the smallest minutiae that can be pleasing to you, does not escape his notice. You cannot have had any quarrel, because the most cordial friendship subsists between you; what then can prevent your union? I am at a loss to guess since there is no one to controul either of you.
Your wishing for a Rival, has drawn me in to ask questions that are impertinent; however, I beg you will not think yourself obliged to answer them; if it is in the least disagreeable to you, you have only to pass over this part of my letter in silence, and assure yourself I will never mention it again.
If Charles and I should ever be married, (which probably a few days will determine) I flatter myself our affection will never be exhausted; though I am not romantic enough to expect it will continue just what it is now, but I hope it will subside into a tender and lasting friendship, that will end only with our lives: and I think I have great reason to hope it will be so, as neither of us have the smallest degree of fickleness in our disposition, else it must have appeared by this time, which accounts too for our liking having subsisted so long; a circumstance that seems to surprise you; but I cannot so easily account for our not looking on each other as brother and sister, which might very well have happened from the manner we were brought up together; had that been the case, it would have occasioned no small chagrin to our friends; and if I should find it necessary to break with him, I dread the effect it would have on my mother, who loves him as if he was her child, and has no joy equal to the prospect of seeing me his wife; for which reason, I have never given her a hint of what has passed in regard to Mr. Hamilton, till I see how it ends; I wish you were with me, for my spirits begin to sink at the apprehension of what may happen when he comes, but I will call up all my resolution, as it is necessary to my peace to know for a certainty if Charles be likely to conquer his folly; for indeed I can give it no other name.
Let me hear from you very soon: you shall know how matters go on here, as soon as possible.
I long for Christmas to be over, that I may once more enjoy your company; not forgetting Emily and Gertrude.
Dear Louisa,
ever your's, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER XI. Miss MORTIMIR, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Nov. 30. —
I REJOICE to find my dear Eliza has cause to hope matters will turn out to her satisfaction; and I am of opinion from what you tell me, that Charles is giving his reason fair play. What a deal of uneasiness he would have avoided, had he done so before!
I shall be very impatient to hear the event of Mr. Hamilton's visit; if he should come to the castle, which I really wish he may; because if there is the least spark of jealousy lurking in Charles's bosom, he will not then be able to conceal it so well, but the traces of discontent will be visible on his countenance, and you will know to what it is to be attributed.
I should be well pleased to be with you for the time, as I should be more at leisure to make observations than you will be, and less partial; but I hope you will consider your happiness is at stake, and not be blinded by your tenderness; it will be a folly to conceal the truth from me, as you know. Harry will hear it, and then I shall.
I have a high esteem for Charles, but love you still better, and cannot consent to your being his wife till we are quite sure he has recovered his rationality.
I am sorry you are losing the Boyle's; an agreeable neighbour in the country is a very material loss; but I hope it will determine your mother to come to town as soon as she possibly can, now you have no companion. I always think of the good any evil may produce, which lessens the ill greatly, at least makes it more supportable.
Mr. and Mrs. O'Neil arrived last night, and have brought their little grand-daughter: 'tis a beautiful infant, and as they tell me, the very temper of it's mother; she had left it at home under the care of a relation that lives with her, a genteel, discreet woman; but Mr. O'Neil had it at his house some part of every day, and when he was coming to town could not bear to be so long without seeing it; so brought the nurse and little one off. Emily, who did not expect it, was agreeably surprised; for she had often regretted leaving it, but she meant to return so soon, and besides that, was afraid of offending her father, who adores it. We had it here to-day for a while, Emily had it on her knee when Mr. Fitzgerald came in; after paying his compliments, the child attracted his notice; the resemblance is so striking, he knew it was Emily's, and took it in his arms to kiss it, when the baby, who is but just attempting to speak, called him Papa; it seems she calls all men so, but her mother's confusion is not to be described, and it was no way lessened by his saying, he should be happy indeed, if he had a title to that appellation; at the same time giving Emily a look infinitely more expressive than his words. She was struck intirely dumb; Gertrude had a smile full of meaning, and you cannot imagine any scene more ridiculous than it was, till I, in compassion, set them all laughing, by wishing the child was mine, that I might have such pretty things said to me; this set us talking nonsense, and gave her time to recover from the palpitation which his speech had given her; but I have a strong notion this trifling circumstance has opened the way for a more serious declaration from him, the first convenient opportunity: at present I am sure she will not accept him, for the reasons mentioned already, though I think he need not despair of succeeding in time; and indeed I join with you in opinion, that she could not have a fairer prospect of happiness with any man I know.
Gertrude has a smile in one eye, and a tear in the other; she had a letter from her swain this day, informing her, he had just got his father's permission to take leave of him, and was in consequence, setting off for Paris, where his stay would be very short, as they were in daily expectation of embarking, but says, he will certainly inform his father of the true state of his heart, before he leaves home, and will let her know the result. This is the most material part of his letter; the rest contains only love-like expressions of fear for what may happen during his absence, and soldier-like hopes of a speedy return, crowned with laurels.
You may guess, the account of his father sending for him, is very pleasing to her, but the thoughts of his going to America casts a damp on her spirits: she is the picture of an April day, alternate clouds and sun-shine, as each reflection happens to predominate. She begged I would tell you the news, as you were so kind to express a desire to be informed of any circumstance that occured.
I have not forgot your question about Harry Maunsell, nor do I intend to pass it over in silence; though I confess, it is a jubject I have hitherto avoided: but I hope my dear Eliza does not look on my reserve in that particular, as any breach of the perfect confidence that subsists between us; for it's the only occurrence of my life in which I have not been quite open, and you must consider, the most material circumstance relating to it, passed while you were too young to be my confidant; and since that, I thought the less was said of it the better; for it has the appearance of vanity to talk of having refused a man; and looks too, as if one wished to prevent his marrying another; for certainly, it could not recommend him much to any lady he might address, to know he would not think of her, if he could have had me; and till very lately, I had no notion he would be so foolishly romantic, as to determine on living single, because I cannot marry him. But you must know, in that letter, which I believe I had from his sister, before she knew he was coming to town, she mentioned, she had great reason to think her sister-inlaw, Miss Herbert, liked Harry; and she had some hopes that she was pleasing to him, as he paid more attention to her, than ever she had seen him pay to any woman, except one; and since his passion for that one was hopeless, nothing would be more agreeable to her than a union between him and Miss Herbert, who was both as to person and fortune, a desirable match for him,
I had another letter from Mrs. Herbert, by Harry, requesting I would endeavour to discover his real sentiments for her sister, as a circumstance had happened since her last, that made her fear he thought not of her in that way she had hoped, and at the same time left no doubt of her attachment to him; which was so very visible, she was sure he must have perceived it, though he would not seem to do so; which looked as if he did not mean to make any advantage of it. However, she begged I would use my influence, which, she says, is all-powerful, to prevail on him to think seriously of it: and even desired me to inform him of the lady's partiality towards him, which she thought might induce him to make her a return: at all events she said, I must insist on his being quite explicit; for if he will not comply with our wishes, it will be absolutely necessary to inform Miss Herbert of the state of Harry's heart, that she may recall her own, before it is too late.
I executed my commission with very bad success; for my influence joined to every argument I could employ were insufficient to persuade him to return the lady's passion, (which he said he had with concern discovered, just before he left home) and only drew from him a declaration, that as there was an insuperable bar between him and I, he was determined never to marry. I endeavoured to shew him the folly of such a resolution, but to no purpose; and when I sound him so determined, I told him he should then be cautious how he gave any girl room to think she was agreeable to him; and he assured me, it was Miss Herbert's resemblance to me, both in person and manner, that attracted his notice; but he hoped I would acquit him of any design to gain her affections, when he knew he could make her no return; he should abhor himself if he could be guilty of such a dishonourable action; indeed I do not suspect him for it; vanity is not amongst his faults. I wish, for his own sake, he had less constancy; for I think an old batchelor the most forlorn being in the Universe, though an old maid may be quite the reverse; the domestic life being natural to women, they can manage their house and see company as well without a husband as with one, if not better; and if they dislike living alone, they cannot fail of a semale companion, unless their temper is very bad; and in that case they could not be happy in marriage.
But all this while you will say, you are not a bit the wiser respecting this same said mystery between Harry and me: true, my dear, nor are you likely, till next post, for I am called down to company, and can only add, that I am,
Affectionately your's, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER XII. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Dec. 1st. —
AS I imagine my dear Eliza's curiosity is on full stretch for the delightful history of Henry and Louisa, I take the first leisure hour to give it you, for I suppose I should be quite out of favour if I passed one post, and perhaps▪ I might not have time to-morrow.
I believe you may remember that in old Mr. Maunsell's time the family spent every winter in Dublin, and as they were our next door neighbours, there was a great intimacy between him and my father; their example was followed by their children, and Patty Maunsell and I (who were much of an age) were scarce ever asunder. Harry was but a year older than his sister; and as we were all children when our first acquaintance commenced, he was usually with us till he was sent to a public school, and I recollect when he came to take leave of our family, he could not be forced from me without the greatest difficulty; as for me, after shedding a few tears I was consoled for his loss; since Patty was still with me, I did not see him for three years after our first separation, as the ill health of his mother and mine took both the families to Spa, where, and in France we remained about two years and a half when we returned, and had the misfortune to lose two of the best women in the world in a few months after. My mother died first, and I received all the comfort and attention from poor Mrs. Maunsell, that was in her power to give; for tho' she was declining fast herself, she let Patty stay entirely with me, till the first shock was over, and I began to be reconciled to my loss; she did not long survive, and when she found she could not live many days, she desired to see her son, who was accordingly sent for; when he arrived I was returning the melancholy compliment to Patty, assisting in her attendance on her mother, and endeavouring to comfort her for the loss she was going to sustain: my father being out of town on business, I could dedicate all my time to this friendly office; and indeed I never left her for a day, till his return, which was not for a month after Mrs. Maunsell's death. During that time, the childish affection which Harry expressed for me, before he went to school, seemed to be ripened into a more serious attachment: he did not in plain terms tell me so, but some body has said actions have a language, and his were so eloquent as not to be mistaken; I did not however seem to perceive it, tho' I acknowledge I was far from being indifferent about him: you who know him will not be susprised at that, especially when I tell you, that joined to a mind as faultless as human nature could admit, he then, notwithstanding his youth, possessed all those manly graces of person for which you have so often admired him; add to that, we had parted children, and now met, when both our persons and manners were strikingly improved, and we at an age when the heart is but too open to soft impressions; and being in the same house for a month we made a greater progress in each other's esteem, than if we had met on temporary visits for a twelve-month.
Soon after I went home Harry entered the college, and while he was in it, his attendance on his duties, (in which he was very assiduous) kept the family longer in town every summer than was usual, by which means he had such constant opportunities of seeing me, that his passion never had time to cool, which probably it would have done, had we been separated just when it was beginning; unfortunately for him, that did not happen till he was going to travel in three years after, and by that time his love was proof against absence; yet he had so much prudence as never to make any declaration, or attempt to draw me into any engagement that might have involved us in difficulties; but before he set out, Patty took an opportunity of lamenting to me, that her brother was never likely to be settled to his mind during their father's life; for tho' the allowance he gave him, was ample for a single man, it would not support a wife, as the woman he would wish to marry ought to be supported, not could he think of offering himself to any one, while he was unable to make such a settlement as she had a right to expect; and his father had given him to understand he had done all he could afford to do, without stinting himself, which he would not do, nor would Harry permit him if he was inclined; for you know, Louisa, continued she, my father was always used to profusion, and is not at a time of life to be debarred of what he has been accustomed to; it is much fitter Harry should suffer for a time, tho' I am sure it is no small mortification to him.
I was very sensible this discourse was intended as an apology to me for his silence on a subject, which his behaviour gave me all the reason in the world to expect he would come to an explanation about, before he went abroad. I took no other notice of it however, than to join in opinion with her, that their father ought not to be put to any inconvenience; tho' I dare say my looks betrayed a consciousness of the intention of her speech, or at least, my not asking who the lady was, might convince her I guessed her meaning, and did not chuse to have it farther explained, which was the real truth.
Harry left us soon after, and as we were always on the most friendly footing, I did not hesitate to express a moderate concern at losing him for so long a time; he endeavoured in vain to restrain his passion within the bounds he had hitherto prescribed to it; the idea of parting was too strong for his prudence, and he took such a tender farewel as convinced me of the sentiments he entertained for me, more than a thousand vows and protestations would have done.
He wrote regularly to his sister, who always shewed me his letters while she was in town, and when she left it used to send them to me, by his desire, no doubt, as he knew I would be entertained with his account of of the countries thro' which he passed; and beside that, I was always mentioned in a manner that would have been pleasing, even tho' my heart was quite unconcerned.
He had been about a year away, when I made a considerable conquest one evening at a drum; a gentleman, that shall be nameless; (because I don't think it genteel to speak of those we have refused) stood at the back of my chair while I lost two or three rubbers, and perceiving it did not ruffle my temper, wisely concluded I would make a most desirable wife, and paid a visit to my father with whom he had a slight acquaintance, and without farther doubting my acceptance of an offer so advantageous, added to the powerful inducement of a title, and a very ancient family, (the latter joined to settlements that were far above my expectations) had great wright with my father, who being descendded from the oldest families in England, hold a long pedigree in great veneration; but tho' I too have all due respect for those things, I thought something more was needful, and could not marry any man for the merit of his ancestors; and I could see no one agreeable quality in himself: beside that from what I had heard of his disposition, I though it probable he might put his wife's temper to trials more severe than that of losing at cards, and tho' my patience held out against bad fortune, I could not answer for its being so complaisant to a bad husband; then his applying to my father, without first endeavouring to gain my approbation, disgusted me exceedingly, as it shewed he must either think my good opinion of very little consequence, or else he must have a large share of self-sufficiency, that made him take it for granted I could not refuse him: take it any way, there was so little delicacy in it, and so much the appearance of thinking he conferred a favour, that it was a pleasure to me to mortify his pride by rejecting him, which I did when he came in full confidence of being joyfully accepted, as I could see from the astonishment visible in his countenance, and which indeed was so great that he had not power to speak; so when I finished my speech, which was very laconic, I made my curtsy and withdrew, leaving my father to reconcile him to his disappointment.
What passed between them after I was gone I cannot say, but my father informed me that evening, his lordship had begged his permission to continue his visits, in hopes a little attention on his side might remove my objections, as he feared he had been too hasty, for it was usual for young ladies to expect to be solicited some time before they were required to give an answer. And I hope, sir, said I (with quickness) you did not encourage him: and why not child was his answer; such offers are not to be met with every day, and deserve at least to be considered before they are refused.
If that be all, sir, said I, he has nothing to hope from giving me time to consider, for I dislike the man, and never can bring myself to marry him: rather say, Louisa, said my father, you like another man, and are meanly waiting till he thinks proper to ask you. This unexpected attack confounded me a good deal, but as it really was not the cause of my present refusal, I soon recovered myself, and asked him who he suspected of having such influence over me.
He instantly replied, I believe your own heart will tell you, it is Harry Maunsell I mean; he is a young man I have a high esteem for, and if he has any thoughts of you, and had made a proper declaration of it before he went abroad, I should have no objection; but as it is, if he was a prince, and you can be so abject as to wait his pleasure—you are no daughter of mine.
This unusual severity of speech from a father who had been always so indulgent, threw me into tears, which instantly softened him, and taking my hand, my dear; said he, I did not mean to distress you, but I cannot bear with patience that any man should think he may have you, at any time he finds himself at leisure to ask.
Convince me Harry is not the cause of your refusing his lordship's offer, and tho I greatly approve it, I will immediately free you from his addresses: I assured him I could with great truth aver, he was not the cause, for my dislike proceeded from circumstances I had heard, and observations I had made of his lordship's disposition, which was really true, as I had often met him at the same house before that unlucky night when he took a fancy to me, but to put the matter out of all doubt, I gave a solemn promise never to marry Harrry Maunsell.
My father seemed much pleased with me, resumed his wonted good humour, and I heard no more of my noble admirer, except that the lady of the house where I saw him, told me, it was with great difficulty he could be persuaded to resign his hopes of gaining me.
What a long winded tale is here!—I am so tired of it that I must defer the remainder to another opportunity. You have brought me into such a way of telling long stories to amuse you, that I shall begin to think myself an old maid, the symptom is so strong; and tho' it is a character I have a great respect for, and mean to shine in one time or other, I would not chuse to be one before my time.
I am now going to revive my spirits by a little party at Cards, so farewell till to-morrow.
LOUISA MORTIMER
LETTER XIII. THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Dec. 2.—
I GREATLY long to hear from my dear Eliza, as I expect your next will contain a full and true account of the effect Mr. Hamilton's visit, (that is supposing he came to the castle) had on Charles; and I dare say, before this reaches you, you will be quite as impatient for the continuation of my romance. I cannot deny but I felt some regret, when first I reflected on the restrictions I had laid myself under, but it proceeded chiefly from the pain I thought it would give Harry, when he should be informed of it; however, the pleasure I enjoyed in being freed from the solicitations of a man I disliked, soon reconciled me to it, but I wished much for an opportunity of telling Patty what had happened, that she might hint it to her brother, yet I could not think of writing it to her, as she had never spoke to me in plain terms on the subject, so I determined to let it lye till she came to town, when I thought it likely I might find means of introducing it; but in that I was disappointed; for before their usual time of leaving the country she was married to Mr. Herbert, which detained them some time, and just when they intended coming up, her father was seized with that illness which occasioned his death, after confining him to his room the whole winter, during which time Patty never quitted his House; and when he was gone her husband took her home, the season being then so far advanced, it was not worth the trouble of coming to town, for the short time they could have staid.
Mr. Maunsell's death hastened Harry's return, who arrived at Cork in May, which was about three months after, but his father having left his affairs in rather an unsettled state, owing to indolence in attending to his agents accounts, that business detained him in the country till winter; by which means I had time enough to be prepared for an interview, which I believe would have affected me a good deal had it happened a few months sooner, but by this time I was perfectly satisfied with what I had done. I was however a little fluttered when I saw his carriage stop at his own house, where he did not remain ten minutes before he paid me a visit, and though my father's presence a little restrained his tongue, his eyes plainly told me what he wished to say; company coming in he staid only till tea was over, as he saw it would be impossible to speak to me that evening, but next morning he came in, at an hour he knew my father would be out, and after many tender professions of joy at seeing me, offered himself and fortune to my acceptance, and begged my permission to make such proposals to my father, as he hoped would meet his approbation.
I hardly knew how to go about telling him a circumstance, that would at once dash all the hopes of happiness with which he had been so long flattering himself; but it must be done, and I accomplished it in the best manner I was able: it is utterly impossible for me to give you an indea of the agitation that appeared in his countenance while I spoke; I felt for his disappointment, and used every argument in my power to soften the severity of it; but he was for a time absolutely incapable of listening to reason. He execrated the man whose offers had been the occasion of my making such a promise, and cursed the family pride that had instigated my father to require it; in short, he said a thousand extravagant things, and railed himself out of breath before I could bring him to any degree of composure; at last I convinced him that as his behaviour to me had been always so particular that every one observed it, my father had great reason to think I I was ill treated when he went abroad without explaining his sentiments, and of course it was natural for him to resent it, as it must hurt him much to have it supposed I was waiting any man's pleasure.
All his anger was then turned on himself, for not declaring both his passion and his situation in pecuniary matters, before he left Ireland; but he determined to clear it up to my father that he might be reinstated in his good opinion, though it could answer no other purpose, as the promise I made was solemn and unconditional, therefore could not be revoked.
I said all I could to persuade him to look out for some other woman, capable of making him happy, which would be the best method of blotting me from his mind, except as a friend, in which light I should ever esteem him; but my arguments had no effect, and though I thought a little time would change his romantic notions, I find he is now as determined as ever. When my father was acquainted with the nature of his silence, he expressed much concern at the obstacle that was between us, and said, if it would satisfy my scruples, he would willingly free me, as far as in him lay, but as I had shewed no reluctance in making the promise, he believed I could not easily be brought to think he could release me from it; but that Harry did not tell me, till I had given a final answer; which was, I did not think any power on earth could dispense with a solemn vow, unless it was taken by compulsion, and that was not the case with me. I therefore intreated Harry never to mention the affair again, and by that means he might bring himself to forget it. As to the first part, he said he should certainly obey me, but the latter he knew was impossible; it was too deeply engraven on his heart. I have often since, at his sister's request, pressed him to think of marrying, but though deprived of all glimmering of hope, his attachment seems stronger every time we meet; and you know we are very much asunder: but he really may sing, "His passion's constant as the sun."—For me, I acknowlege, I have the most perfect friendship for him; and find it very flattering to be the sole object of attention, to a most amiable young man, whose love, I am sure, must be of the purest kind, since he can have no interest to gratify, nor the least expectation of gratifying his passion. I do not, however, at all, regret being debarred from marrying him; had I thought it a state capable of making me happier than I am, I should not have carried the Romance so far as to refuse some other young men, that you know addressed me, and who certainly had merit sufficient both to gain my heart, and keep it; I never had a high idea of matrimonial felicity: and I am sorry to say, the observations I have made amongst my married acquaintance has not altered my opinion. My notions of happiness, may, perhaps, be singular, and I do not wish to make converts to it; if many thought as I do, it would be of the worst consequence; there would be an end of all the tender relationships that bind mankind to each other, and the world would be one continued scene of discord and confusion: the instituion is certainly good and capable of making us happy; but human nature is so perverse that we have ingeniously contrived to frustrate the beneficent intentions of heaven in that, as well as other things, and turned to our misery what was meant to promote our happiness, it is not however necessary that every one should marry, and I really believe Providence designed me for a single life, as it always appeared to me the most elegible, and, I am convinced, is most suited to my disposition; if every one considered their own temper, there would probably be fewer unhappy matches than we now see, but that is what we shall never persuade the generality of people to think necessary; so we must even let them go on, kissing one moment, and quarrelling the next, to the end of the chapter; and I have seen violent advocates for wedlock pass their whole life that way; but I suppose they thought it happiness, or they would not have so strongly recommended the state to others.
That my dear Eliza may enjoy more felicity in it, than has yet been the portion of any one I have met with, is the sincere wish of her
Affectionate, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER XIV. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Dec. 5. —
I DELAYED writing to my Louisa these many days, for two reasons: first, till I had the whole of your interesting narative: second, till Mr. Hamilton was gone, and I should be able to tell you, how we went on here.
Charles met him at the place appointed, and easily prevailed on him to pass a sew days here, before he set out for home; he did not leave us till this morning, when Charles accompanied him according to promise, and is not to return this fortnight. You cannot imagine how solitary I seem without him: but to the material point, which I am sure will give you great pleasure.
He never shewed the least sympton of jealousy or uneasiness, the whole time Mr. Hamilton was here, though I could perceive, he scrutinously observed every look and word that passed between him and me, and I was well pleased he did, as it must tend to cure him of his suspicions, as far as they related to me; and Mr. Hamilton, I saw, avoided addressing himself so particularly to me, when Charles was present, as he would do at other times; no doubt, for fear of giving him pain; for he had heard, since first we met, how matters were circumstanced between us, and I dare say, guessed at Charles's foible from his behaviour at the Inn; else why that caution? for his address to me at all times, was only what might be expected from a man of politeness; though he had told me, he had heard of the intention of our family, with regard to Mr. Skeffington and me, just in time to recall his heart: I believe I looked rather simple; but I chose to take that opportunity of acknowleging my attachment, and answered, it was true, our parents had always intended us for each other, and happily for me, Mr Skeffington's amiable qualities, made my duty and inclination go hand in hand. He paid me some genteel compliments on what he called my ingenuousness, and said, Mr. Skeffington was, indeed, a happy man in meeting with a lady so far above the little punctilios of the Sex, as not to be ashamed to acknowlege the impression his merit had made on her heart. It was a compliment, however, that I did not deserve, for I felt very much ashamed at making the acknowledgment, and certainly would not have done it, but that I had reason to think he had some little liking for me; and if I was silent he might take it for encouragement; for though I never saw any thing like vanity in him; and there is few men ignorant of their own perfections, and I dare say, he is sensible that both as to person and accomplishments, he is such as might gain any woman's favour, who had no pre-engagement.
I told you I dreaded his coming here, though I wished it; but I had a thousand fears, lest Charles should be unable to command his temper, and therefore expose himself, and throw me into a very disagreeable situation; but as it happened, my fears were needless; he behaved very well, and we were all easy and chearful. Part of the time we had some other company, yet I wanted the Boyle's very much; they went to Belfast a day or two before I wrote last, and I cannot repair my loss while I am here; but my mother will go to town as soon as possible after Christmas.
I am now to thank you for giving up so much of your time to my amusement; and indeed your little Story affords both entertainment and instruction, in the manner you tell it; but how few could follow your example! in so intirely subjecting their passion to their reason, as not even to repine at obeying your father, though we may easily guess it must have affected you much at the time: your good sense enabled you to bear a disappointment that most girls, at the age you then were, would have thought insupportable, the object considered: for certainly, Harry Maunsell's merit would be a powerful excuse for refusing to abjure all hopes of being united to him, when one knew it was a generous motive prevented him from explaining his sentiments. I cannot help thinking you have an uncommon share of Philosophy, though you will not allow me to say so; but as it is possible Harry has not so much, I pity him exceedingly: his resolution to remain single, is a convincing proof of the strength of his affection. I must, at the same time, acknowlege, it savours more of the Romantic than I should have suspected him, or any other young man of this age for.
Whenever I hear the Platonic system disputed, I hope you will give me leave to produce you and your Swain, as a proof in favour of the Doctrine.
Your opinion has such weight with me, that I am heartily sorry it is so unfavourable to matrimony; for I know you consider a subject most deliberately before you form a judgment: and I am satisfied you would not determine against the state, if you did not think there was a small chance of happiness in it. I never could form the least idea how Mr. Maunsell and you were circumstanced, nor could I guess why you did not marry him: I plainly saw he was passionately fond of you; and to tell truth, I thought you had no dislike to him; therefore, could by no means guess at the cause of delay, when you had both been so long at your own disposal. Will you give me leave to blame your father? however indulgent in other respects, he was, surely, too severe in exacting such a promise from you, as the only terms on which he would free you from the addresses of a man you assured him you could not like, if you had never seen Harry. I think he might have depended on you for not doing any thing beneath the family you sprung from; for though you are not haughty, you have that proper degree of pride, which would prevent your bearing an indignity; therefore, he might be sure you would not accept of Harry or any other man, whose behaviour, when explained, would not meet the approbation of your friends.
Do not you think Patty was too close, when she told you, her brother could not marry while his father lived? and the reason of it, had she said plainly, you were the person who possessed his heart; it would have prevented the disagreeable consequence that ensued, because you could then have told your father, but in the manner she spoke, it would really have looked very vain to take it to yourself.
I am so sorry for Mr. Maunsell, that I am disposed to find fault with every one who was any way the cause of his disappointment.
I made a thousand reflections as I read, but will not, at present, trouble you with any more of them, except, that I cannot imagine how you kept it such a secret; for though I have heard many express their surprise that you did not marry him, I never yet heard a reason why you did not; and in general, those sort of affairs are very soon whispered about.
I am much pleased with what you mention of cousin James and Emily; he could not bring any one into the family that would be more agreeable to all his relations; I answer for them all, because I have heard it wished for amongst the old folks who knew her.
I sympathise with Gertrude, both in her joy and sorrow; I judge what she must fed at the idea of the Count going abroad, from what I should feel myself; but I hope she has more fortitude than I should have on such an occasion, else she must be very unhappy.
I am quite obliged to her for desiring you to tell me what occurred, and beg you will never forget to inform me when she hears from him, as I am really interested in the event on her account; sure his father cannot have any objection to the choice he has made.
If Charles should write to Mr. Maunsell, no doubt you will see the letter, and I believe I need not request you will let me know the contents, or procure me a sight of it, for I dare say, you would not wish to conceal any thing that is material to know.
Adieu, dear Louisa:
believe me,
Affectionately your's, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER XV. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Dec. 12. —
A CONTINUAL round of company at home, and visiting abroad, this week past, prevented me from acknowledging my dear Eliza's last favour, which I was sorry for, as I suppose you are rather in the dismals on account of Charles being away; but I hope you have too much sense to let such a trifle depress your spirits very much.
I am heartily glad Mr. Hamilton's visit passed off so well, especially as he really does admire you: you see how quicksighted jealousy is, for Charles perceived the impression you had made on him immediately, as he mentions, in his letter to Harry; if he writes on this occasion, I shall certainly inform you; but by what you say of his behaviour, I have great hopes he has recovered his reason; for I think he could hardly have dissembled his uneasiness during so many days.
I am happy in having amused you with my little story; as to the instruction I cannot say much about it; for was it public, probably more would condemn than approve my conduct: at least I am sure I should be held in abhorrence by all those who think LOVE an excuse for every act of imprudence or disobedience, they can be guilty of: but I do not take such merit to myself as you are willing to allow me, for not repining at what is past; I have no claim to your praises on that head, because the single state is really most suitable to my inclinations, yet notwithstanding it is more than probable if I had not made that promise, Mr. Maunsell might have prevailed on me to marry, against the conviction of my reason; but as that is now impossible, no other man is likely to have sufficient influence over my heart, to make me do any thing contrary to my judgment; so that instead of repining, I rather think I have cause to rejoice, that I have a certainty of passing my life in the state most pleasing to me. But you may, perhaps, think, it requires all the philosophy you talk of, to enable me to support the reproachful appellation of an Old Maid; it might be so formerly, but do not you remember, my dear, that Mr. Twiss has kindly rescued us in this kingdom from undeserved contempt, by allowing the old maids of Ireland to be perfectly pleasing and agreeable; and since he acknowledges it, I think I have nothing to dread; for you know he allowed no perfection either in the country or the people, that he could possibly detract from. I doubt the Platonic system would not gain much by producing Harry as proof of it's existence; for I fear his passion is not so perfectly refined as that requires, though I grant you it is more romantic than what we usually meet with, indeed more so than is for his peace, because he certainly did not wish to live single, and has determined to do so, merely in consequence of his disappointment; it is a resolation I by no means approve, as I think he will be apt to repent it, or at least have cause to do so, when youthful passion has subsided, and he finds himself a solitary being in his own house, without any companion, and depending on the care of servants: if ill health should be the attendant on old age, as usually is, my arguments will then have all their weight in his mind, and he will be sorry he would not suffer himself to be convinced by them before it was too late.
You are so absorbed in compassion for him, that you do not take the least notice of poor Miss Herbert, whose hapless love I expected would have a large share of your pity.
I wrote Patty an account of my unsuccessful pleading in behalf of her sister-inlaw; and as I was convinced it would be in vain to hope for any alteration in Harry's sentiments, I advised her to take the first opportunity of letting the lady know the whole of the affair between him and me, and his determination to remain unmarried, that she may withdraw her affections before they are so strongly fixed as to make the effort painful.
I have had an answer, wherein she tells me, she bad let Miss Herbert into the secret of Harry's attachment to me, the day after she received my letter, some discourse happening between them which introduced it very a-pro-pos; she says, she listened very attentively while she spoke; her colour frequently changing, and now and then interrupted her with tender expressions of pity for his disappointment; at the conclusion she sighed heavily, and said, she wondered how any woman could dislike Mr. Maunsell, to whom he endeavoured to render himself agreeable; but when she heard it was quite otherwise, Patty says, her astonishment is not to be described: she could not conceive it possible, that any consideration even of duty, should have force to prevail on a woman that loved Mr. Maunsell, to give him up for ever.
Oh! madam, said she, had Miss Mortimer qualified the promise so as to leave it in her father's power to release her, they might have been happy; but now they must surely be wretched. Patty said, indeed, she knew no body happier; for my passions were so intirely under the government of reason, that I never suffered them to interrupt my peace. The tears stood in the poor girl's eyes, and she only said, such fortitude seldom fell to the share of our sex.
She was very ill the remainder of that day and the next, but when Patty wrote, was much better, and tried to be chearful, though it was plain it did not come from her heart: however, as she has very good sense, no doubt she will see the necessity of overcoming an attachment, that promises her nothing but uneasiness.
I am exceedingly sorry Harry could not, or would not, return this young lady's regard, as from the character I hear of her temper and disposition, I am sure they would have been happy. He himself says, she is deserving any man's affection, who had a heart to give.
If you must praise my heroism, let it be in wishing and endeavouring to persuade him to marry; for that I confess, is a great degree of self-denial, since it would of necessity put an end to that agreeable intercourse, which at present contributes to my happiness: for the friendship I entertain for him, is the softest, most pleasing sentiment, that can possibly be imagined; and the reserve that must take place (if he was married) of the delightful confidence that now subsists between us, would leave a vacuum in my heart, that would ever remain; yet as his welfare is of infinitely more weight with me, than any gratification of my own; I have sincerely wished to see him cured of his unfortunate attachment: but here he is, and I must lay down my pen.—
Writing to Miss Fitzgerald, said he; yes. Then I have something for your perusal, which, perhaps, you would chuse to mention to her; and put into my hand a short letter from Charles, which he permits me to enclose, and which I shall leave you to read. So farewel, dear Eliza, says,
Your affectionate friend, LOUISA MORTIMER
LETTER XVI.
DEAR MAUNSELL,
Hamilton-Hall,
Dec. 11.—
YOU will see by the date of this, what good effect your advice had on me; since I am now in the house of a man, whom I could scarce bear the sight of when I wrote to you last, but the force of your arguments opened my eyes, and restored me in some degree to myself, at least so far as to enable me to consider the matter more dispassionately than I had yet done; and the result was, that I would pursue your plan, and, if possible, get Mr. Hamilton to the castle, and observe both his and Eliza's behaviour when together, by which means I could judge what foundation I had for my doubts, and also know if they were likely to be removed.
He reminded me by a polite letter of my promise to spend some time at his house before Christmas, and appointed me to meet him at a place he mentioned, to accompany him home; I went and easily prevailed on him to pass a few days with me before we set out for Derry; accordingly we came directly to the castle, where he continued till the 6th when I accompanied him to this place, which is perhaps one of the most beautifully improved spots in the universe, and during his absence has been kept by his mother in the same elegant order it was left by her husband.
But to return to my subject; by all the observations I could make while Mr. Hamilton was with me, I am still of opinion he admires Eliza; but as he heard after our first meeting how we were circumstanced, I am sure I have nothing to fear from him, unless he received encouragement from her behaviour, which I could not see the least reason to apprehend, so that I find myself at present very easy.
However, keeping your advice still in mind, I do not not intend to mention hastening our marriage, till after my return from England, where business will call me in five or six weeks at farthest, but I do not know exactly how long I shall stay there; I suppose a few months will do to put matters on a proper footing, which are very indifferently managed by the present agent; and I think if I find Eliza entertains the same sentiments for me when I return, that she has always seemed to do, I shall be cured of those jealousies that have of late interrupted my peace, and will then press her to compleat my happiness, which will be very imperfect till I am certain I possess both her heart and hand.
I could not answer your last sooner, because I was quite undetermined how to act, (though in mine I had promised to do as you advised) till the opportunity of getting Mr. Hamilton to the castle so much sooner than I expected, determined me to follow your opinion, which I inclined to all a long, but I feared it would be a length of time before I could see them together, and I could not bear the suspence I was in long, for it was a state, I am convinced, infinitely worse than Popish purgatory. Jealousy is the worst of fiends: Why is it an attendant on so sweet a passion as love? But you Maunsell are free from it, and yet I know you are a lover! It must then be a weakness in the mind, and if I cannot conquer it I shall be wretched; but I hope your assisting council, joined to my own efforts, will effect a cure.
Mr. Hamilton calls on me to go with him a few miles on a visit.
Adieu, Dear Maunsell,
Your's, C. SKEFFINGTON.
LETTER XVII. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Dec. 15. —
My dear Louisa,
I HAD the pleasure of your's, with the inclosures, and am much obliged both to you and Mr. Maunsell for giving me the perusal of it: I shall return it with this. I cannot but say I had better hopes of Charles before I saw it than I have now, for you may observe he seems doubtful himself, that he shall be able to conquer his weakness, (as he calls it) from which I infer, he still finds it more powerful than he acknowleges, but as he wishes to be cured, I have hopes he will accomplish it; and if it depends on his finding me in the same sentiments on his return from England, I think I may answer for it.
I now see the folly of parents endeavouring to attach children to each other, before they know what their dispositions will be, for when the affections are strongly engaged it is not easy to withdraw them; though our reason may tell us we were not formed to make each other happy; at least I find it so, and fear I have a great deal of uneasiness before me. You I know would find no difficulty in doing what your reason dictated; but as Miss Herbert observes, such fortitude is not common in women; and I think I have even less of it than others.
That letter has quite depressed my spirits, which were not very good since Charles left us, and to make them worse my mother has been ill these two days; if she continues so, I shall be frighted to death: I wish we were safe in Dublin, there I should have the comfort of your society, which would enable me to bear any affliction better than I can do, when unsupported by your friendly council.
Though my regard for you and Harry took up all my thoughts when I wrote last, yet I assure you Miss Herbert was not without my pity; but as her liking was but of a short standing, I should suppose the disappointment cannot very greatly affect her for any time, though at first she may feel it severely, as she imagined him disengaged, and had no reason from his behaviour to expect any obstacle; however a beginning inclination may soon be conquered.
I do indeed, Louisa, allow you great praise for your whole conduct; particularly your endeavours to persuade him to marry; since that is what your heart is most repugnant to, and I own I cannot help being pleased at his determination, though I assent to your opinion in regard to old batchelors; but I think he must be happier even in that state, than married to one woman while he passionately loves another, and as that is the case, it would be a pity to take from your happiness without adding to his; for certainly in your present situation you enjoy more real satisfaction than any one I ever met with, and I begin to think you have chosen the right road to content; for that must be the surest way that does not depend on the caprice of another.—Why have not I resolution enough to make the same choice? and put an end at once to all the anxieties I have suffered, since I came to the knowlege of Mr. Sskeffington's temper; but your good sense enables you to correct that too great sensibility, which is the thing will ever prevent me from that happy repose, (if I may use the expression) that you continually enjoy. That you, my dear girl, may long continue to enjoy it, is the fervent wish of
Your Affectionate, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
I have just got a letter from Charles, wherein he says he will be home the 20th at farthest: he writes in the most tender manner, and expresses great impatience to see me.
LETTER XVIII. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Dec. 18.—
I AM sorry to find my dear Eliza's spirits are so very low, and request you will not give way to that encroaching disorder, which if not struggled against in time, creeps on imperceptibly, and gains such an ascendant over us that we will not endeavour to conquer it. I often cautioned you against encouraging that sensibility, which you allow interrupts your happiness, because I foresaw it would do so, and I know if you could make the trial, you might correct it as well as me; it is not the want of sense, but resolution prevents you; you had always a propensity to indulge melancholy ideas: for my part, I own I do not wish for such exquisite sensibility as should make me wretched; for as some of our female poets, (I do not remember who) expresses it,
"Nor ease nor peace the heart can know,
That like the needle true,
Turns at the touch of joy, or woe,
But turning, trembles too."
Yet do not imagine I wish to stand unmoved at the joys or griefs of myself or fellow creatures; far from it,—but then I would chuse to feel them as a christian out; I would not be beyond measure elated with one, nor distressed by the other: I would moderate my own afflictions by patient submission, and firm reliance on Providence, and I would endeavour to mitigate those of others, by affording either assistance or consolation as the case required, or my abilities extended; though tenderness of heart is certainly very amiable in a woman, it requires a proper degree of resolution, to prevent its degenerating into weakness, which it is but too apt to do; fortitude is as becoming in a woman as a man, and quite as necessary; for how very unfit must that woman be to offer consolation to her husband, her family, or friends in affliction, that suffers herself to sink under the most trifling disappointment; besides it betrays such a distrust in Providence, to depend on every untoward accident of life, as renders us very unworthy of any assistance from him, whom we are taught to hope will extricate us from our difficulties, provided we put a proper confidence in him, and endeavour to deserve his protection. Excuse me, my dear girl, for preaching to you, but I feel myself so interested in your happiness, that I cannot be silent when I see you likely to lose it, merely for want of a little exertion of that understanding with which heaven has liberally endowed you.
Your mother is not, I dare say, in any alarming way; and for what relates to Charles, I do not think his letter need effect your spirits so much; for though I grant he is not yet perfectly cured, we may well hope he will, since he seems determined to use his own efforts for the purpose; but I have a great notion his absence, more than any thing else, occasions your melancholy; at least I hope so, for then his return will set all matters to rights. Do pray get out of your lachry mals before you write again; for I fear a few such letters as your last would infect me.—True, Harry is certainly better as he is, if he cannot conquer his passion; but what I contend for is, he might conquer it if he would try, for I believe passion of any kind may be subdued if we chuse to do it.
I will tell you why you cannot make the same resolution I have done, which you seem unable to account for; in the first place you are too much in love; and in the second, the single state is not your choice, nor indeed is it fit for you; you are much too timid to go through life alone, and therefore want some one on whom you can depend for protection in all the vicissitudes of human affairs. If any thing happened to separate Charles and you, it would be absolutely necessary for you to make another choice. Now you need not make any protestations against it, because I do not think it likely the thing will come to pass; but if it should, I would have you take a few months to consider, before you make any declaration of that sort.
I was interrupted by Gertrude, who walked in with a packet of letters in her hand, and pleasure sparkling in her eyes; they were from France, she said, and if I had time, would be glad I would read them before I finished my letter, that I might acquaint Miss Fitzgerald with the contents; I accordingly run them over; there is three of them, one from the count, one from his son, and another from his daughter, all on the same subject; the substance is, the count has been informed of his son's inclination, and quite approves it; is only displeased he was so long kept ignorant of it.
He has wrote in very genteel terms to Gertrude, hoping, that as she is still unmarried she will remain so a while longer if Louis has been so happy as to gain her esteem, as nothing would give him greater pleasure than a union between them; he says, his son cannot avoid going out with his regiment, and serving one campaign, for his honor is concerned, which he is sure she will think of sufficient importance to to plead his excuse, for not throwing himself at her feet immediately, but promises to obtain leave for him to return as soon as the campaign is over, when he flatters himself, his behaviour in the field will render him still more worthy her favour.
The young man's letter is truly a love letter, expressing hopes and fears, griess and joys, every other word, to the end of a large sheet of paper; and concludes with a request, that she will now indulge him with an answer; a thing she has never yet done, except in her letters to his sister.
Adelaide's joy I think is greater than her brother's, because less intermixed with fears: she mentions this happy change in her father, was brought about by his being at last convinced by the lady herself, that she really had refused his son; and she assured him she would have done so, had he been a king, and of a different religion from her own: this brought the count to hear reason, and he consented to see Louis, who immediately declared his attachment to Gertrude, and obtained his father's approbation, who said, if he had known it before he proposed the other match for him, it would have saved them all some uneasiness, as there could be no objection either to Miss St. George or her family, who he knew were people of rank.
This has quite satisfied our pride, which I assure you was up in arms, and we were determined to keep up a proper dignity, in case the old gentleman did not consent with a good grace: you may guess I encouraged her in that, as affront of that nature was not to be put up with. So this love affair is likely to come to the same end which most love affairs do, I mean matrimony, that is if a cannon ball does not occasion a more melancholy catastrophe, which I hope will not be the case, for Gertrude is a deserving girl, and I should be be sorry to see her afflicted. I shall have an unspeakable loss when this young Frenchman takes her from me.
I have forborn to mention political transactions this some time, as I know you have the most material occurrences from Mr. Fitzgerald, and the public prinis; by them you are informed our commons have demanded a FREE TRADE; I do not however give them the credit of it, except those few who have uniformly been actuated by love of their country; as for the rest they were impelled to it, by the spirit that at present pervades all degrees of people, and which they dare not set themselves against: the same reason will oblige England to comply, because she is not in a situation to refuse; but I am clear of opinion, that if we do not watch her with unremitting attention, she will, by some artifice, the first convenient opportunity, contrive to render every thing she grants of no effect, for they are selfish, illiberal people, and look with a jealous eye on every advantage enjoyed by their fellow subjects, either envying their prosperity, or looking on it as so much taken from them; like some individuals, who are as anxious to detract from other people's merit, as if they thought it would add any thing to their own. To repine at another's prosperity is a most odious disposition, even in private persons; but it is still worse, when it is the temper of a whole nation, because it then affects millions of people, who are connected with, or dependant on them; and who in consequence, are sure to be oppressed.
The uniform conduct of the English towards this kingdom, as well as to America, justifies my opinion of them; and I dare say, a little time will shew what dependance we can have on their affection, that is, provided we give them an opportunity; for no doubt they will dissemble till they are sure of carrying their point.
How some of the wise heads would laugh at a girl pretending to give an opinion in politics; it is not, I believe, a very usual subject for young ladies to correspond on; but I know you have been taught to think, the welfare of our country is of as much consequence to women as men; and when public affairs are the general topic, to write on them is an agreeable variety, and at least as improving as intrigue or scandal, which the men generously allow us to talk of as much as we please, and indeed make no bad figure in such conversation themselves.
We go on here just as usual: cousin James as attentive as ever to our fair widow; and Harry Maunsell a constant attendant on your humble servant. If Gertrude had her young count here, three such swains would make us the envy of every semale circle we frequented.
I observe when we meet Mr. Fitzgerald at a drum, which often happens, all eyes are cast on him and Emily, for the town has already made a match between them, and his behaviour confirms the idea, as it is really very particular.
These men, Eliza, with all their sense, have mighty little discretion in those sort of matters: we women have it all to nothing: now Emily behaves with the greatest composure and indifference, while your cousin is unable to conceal his chagrin if he cannot play at the same table she does, and yet I am sure she likes him.— What an an unmerciful letter here is! I am half dead with writing.
Adieu, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER XIX. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Dec. 26.—
MY dear Louisa's very agreeable epistle of the 18th had all the effect you could wish in restoring my spirits; for you point out the folly, and I may say, impiety of sinking under every trivial distress in such forcible language, that I grew ashamed of my own weakness while I read, and have ever since manifested such resignation and composure, though my mother is confined with the rheumatism, and Charles did not arrive till the 22nd, that I am sure you would be astonished at my improvement in your Philosophic Doctrines, joking a-part. I wish you were always near, to teach me to support disagreeable accidents with some degree of resolution: I fear I shall very soon stand in need of all your arguments on that head, as the time for Charles going to England advances fast, and there is little probability that my mother will be able to go to town before then, as she intended. But I will not anticipate uneasiness, if I can help it.
Yesterday, according to ancient custom, Charles's tenants were entertained in the Great Hall, with roast beef and plumbpudding; mine were treated in the same manner the day before, the Steward and House-keeper doing the honours of the table. My mother was not able to come amongst them, which was a great mortification to her; but I went, disponsed my usual present of a guinea to each of the young girls who was cloathed in her own housewifery; and that, you may be sure, was every one that was present; but if on enquiry I found any of them so industrious as to help to cloath the younger children of the family, I added a second guinea, by way of encouragement to her, and to inspire the rest with emulation: a cap and ribbon to each of the little ones, makes them attend both to their book and their needle; and my approbation makes them all compleatly happy; for I often call in at each of their houses, when I take an airing, and then the mothers inform me how they go on at school, and I praise or chide them, according to the account I hear.
I pay for the schooling of those whose parents cannot well afford it, because I think reading and writing may be useful to them, if they should happen to be hereafter in any sort of business: besides, they can be better instructed in religion, if they are able to read the Bible.
Charles accompanied me into the Hall, and chatted with the old folks, while I was distributing my favours amongst the young ones. A large bowl of punch was brought in for them to drink my health, and one of the old men made me look very sidy, by adding a wish, that their next meeting might be to rejoice on my ladyship's marriage with his honour: you may think I could not answer such a speech, but Charles relieved me by thanking him for his wish, and hoping he should see them very shortly on that happy occasion. The girls simpered, and their mothers finiled: I recovered from my confusion enough to say something kind to them all, and then left them to enjoy their mirth the rest of the evening; and diverted my mother with what had passed, who was rather inclined to be low-spirited at being unable to go down to them, for she used to take great delight in seeing them all so happy; and has made it a request, that I will never drop the custom, which I could easily promise, as it is quite agreeable to my inclination.
Charles's behaviour, since he returned from Hamilton-Hall, is just what it used to be, before he discovered any symptoms of that unhappy failing, which has this while past interrupted our peace; but I dare not flatter myself his present disposition will hold, as his letter to Mr. Maunsell shews, how doubtful he is about it.
I rejoice to hear Gertrude's little Novel is likely to conclude to her satisfaction; though to be sure, his absence will give her much uneasiness; but something may happen to occasion his return sooner than she expects; there may be a peace, or cessation, not that there is now any appearance of it; but she must hope the best. She will, indeed, be a great loss to you; you should think of some one to supply her place; for it will not be pleasing for you to be alone, nor you need not, as you have several young relations, who, I dare say, would like well to be with you.
Your bit of Poetry was happily chosen to illustrate your own sentiments; I am convinced you are perfectly right, not to let your sensibility run away with your happiness, and sincerely wish, I could follow your example, but fear I have not strength of mind sufficient for the purpose.
I am of your opinion, both as to our own Parliament and the English nation, and I find cousin James thinks as you do; for in one of his letters, he says, "There is no doubt but our demands will be granted, as it would be too dangerous to refuse them; but I am sure England will seize the first opportunity to render her concessions abortive." I hope we may all find ourselves mistaken; yet I am afraid we shall prove too good politicians in that respect.
I know most men disapprove of women pretending to any opinion on these subjects; but the men of your family and mine were above that vulgar prejudice, and took pains to make us capable of judging with some degree of precision; and I think we are obliged to them for it, since it enables us to converse sometimes on matters of importance, and not be always confined to triflles; a little of each is agreeable.
I wonder the men are not more discreet in their behaviour before strangers, for I should think it not pleasing to themselves to have their attachments public, before they know how they will be received: most men look on it as very mortifying to be refused, and would think themselves very ill treated if the lady should publish it; though they scarce ever fail of making it known to every body, they make very little use of their understanding on those occasions. James is a striking proof of it, for by what you say, a giddy lad could not be more foolish; and yet in every other circumstance of life, he is quite a pattern of propriety of manners; and it certainly is far from that to draw people's eyes on Emily, and set them telling of her second marriage, before she is out of her weeds: why do not you speak to him about it? but indeed, as it is a fault, or a folly (call it which you please) most of them are guilty of, I suppose they cannot help it.
Charles has just got a letter from England, which, he says, will hasten his departure; he talks of going in two or three days, and all your lessons are insufficient to make me hear it with any composure; all I could do was, to restrain my tears till he had quitted the room. I can only add, that I am your's,
with much affection, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER XX. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Dec. 27. —
WRITE to me, my dear Louisa, and comfort me if you can; for when you receive this, I shall be a wretched creature, as you will easily believe, when I tell you it will be delivered by Mr. Skeffington, on his way to England.
I wish you could inspire me with a little of your fortitude, to enable me to part him with any degree of composure, for I fear to expose my weakness to my mother, who is very ill, and is, you know, greatly affected by every thing that afflicts me; so kind is this tender parent. However, as he does not set out till tomorrow, I will endeavour to conquer my folly before then, or at least to conceal it.
I once thought of persuading him to go through Scotland, to avoid the danger of the sea between Dublin and the Head, but on recollection I did not mention it, for it occurred to me, he would hazard his life as much in a long journey, this inclement season, in a very severe climate. Yet if the air does but move a blade of grass, my heart dies within me, at the idea of the ship's being dashed against the rocks; or what would be still worse, it's foundering at sea, for then he would have no chance of escaping. In short, I have a thousand fears, and from the terror I feel at parting, am half persuaded, we shall never meet again.
I wish he would not go, but I am ashamed to hint my wishes, as I know he has material business: it is very unfortunate for me, that I have been from my infancy used to his company, as it makes me unable to bear a separation with any degree of fortitude, though I know the necessity of it, and fear that necessity will often recur; but what one has been long accustomed to, grows habitual, and is not easily conquered.
My father's death, which I can but just remember, occasioned my mother' breaking up house, and going to live with her brother, whose wife being dead, they thought it would be more pleasing to both, as each had but one child, and they too young to be their companions; and the society of those to whom we are attached, by any tender ties, whether of blood or affection, is very desirable.
My mother and uncle found it so agreeable, that they continued together till death (as you know) deprived us of him about two years since.
The education of Charles and me took up the greatest part of their attention; and as they were both too fond of us, to bear us for any length of time out of their sight, they determined to employ proper teachers for us in the house, and have us instructed under their own eye; by which means we were continually together, and indeed, never wished to part, which, I believe, was the very thing our parents had in view. However, though I think a home education, where proper instructors can be afforded, is by far the most preferable for a woman; it has great inconveniencies with regard to men, as it sends them into the world totally unacquainted with all its ways, and of course liable to be imposed on, by the first that shall find it worth their while to make a dupe of them, which is another of my fears, on Charles's account; for I know good sense, without a knowlege of mankind, is not sufficient to guard and unsuspecting mind, against the wiles that are practised by both sexes, to seduce the young and inexperienced into their nets.
But why do I teize you with my foolish fears? yet write to me, if it be but to chide my weakness; for I have no one here, either to console or advise me, and you know what a timid creature I am, and how very easily my spirits are depressed.
Adieu, my dear Louisa,
believe me,
Ever your's, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER XXI. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Dec. 31. —
"Oh! what pain it is to part."—
WHAT a tragedy has my dear Eliza wrote on the departure of Mr. Skeffington: no Hereine of Romance ever lamented the absence of her Swain in more pathetic terms. How could the barbarous man think any business of sufficient moment to be preferred to LOVE and you? I hope, however, he has the excuse of not knowing how deeply you were affected at his going, which I am apt to think was the case, as I never saw him more lively than he was the few hours he passed with me, in his way through Dublin.
I beseech you, keep him in ignoranc, if you wish to maintain any degree of consequence in his opinion; for men are as subject to vanity as women, and quite as ready to make a bad use of their power over the heart they are sure of.
Now for my part, such a thought would never have occurred to me, as not seeing him again, any more than the perils and dangers of a voyage from this to Holy-Head, which you have painted in such dismal colours, as would make one's heart ach, in anticipating the distresses of a shipwreck; if we did not luckily recollect, that the thing scarce ever happens. I thank heaven, my nerves are not of such a delicate texture; or my heart is not so tender as your's, else I should be wretched something more than three-fourths of the year; for about so long am I without seeing Harry: yet I bear it with great philosophy, and even think the pleasure of meeting, which we could not know without parting, far out-balances any uneasiness that may give; it is quite an Epicurism in Love, of which you can have no idea, because you have not yet experienced it. Indeed I do not see how it is possible to keep an attachment alive for any length of time, without frequent separations; it would be quite as dull as being married to the man, to have him like a fixture in your house, never to be moved: but when he has been a while away, he has a thousand things to tell you; ten thousand soft professions of constancy to make; and in short, one feels such agreeable sensations, that when you come to enjoy that refined pleasure, you will agree with me, that being perpetually together, is the most insipid thing in the world.
I hope this reflection will make you submit with a better grace to the necessity of sometimes parting from this idol of your heart, as you probably must do it often, since his estate in England will, no doubt, require his presence at least once a year, to see that justice is done, both to his tenants and himself: now he is nearly at age, you must expect he will attend to his own business. I should hope your good sense would prevent your wishing him to act otherwise; as the largest fortune cannot hold out against the neglect of its owner, but will, by degrees, waste away; and most probably fall into the hands of those to whose care it was committed: so that your own interest, which will shortly be connected with his, should keep you from encouraging him to indolence, a fault which men of rank are too apt to fall into, with regard to their own affairs.
I shall conclude like all other preachers, by desiring you to consider what has been said, and I hope your next letter will convince me it has had a proper effect: give your reason fair play, and I am sure it must. Farewel, my sweet friend, says,
Your LOUISA MORTIMER.
It being late, I was in such haste to conclude, that I forgot to take notice of one of your fears, though I think it the least groundless of any you mention; that is, the danger your cousin may fall into from his ignorance of the world. I confess, I think it more than probable his purse will smart for it, if he makes any stay in London, where all kinds of sharping is brought to a degree of perfection, (if I may use the expression) that is yet unparallelled, and where a dangerous gloss is put on every vice. However, as he has good sense, and good principles, I hope he will come off with the loss only of a little money, and he will know more of mankind by the time he goes there again.
I am much concerned for your good mother's indisposition, and wish she was able to come to town, which would be a more eligible place for you both than where you are. It is a lucky thing that women have the privilege of writing long post-scripts, else the most material part of the letter would be often left out.
LETTER XXII. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Jan. 2. —
I HOPE my dear Eliza has, by this time, suffered her reason to get the better of her foolish fears, and that she is enough composed to be ashamed of them. Foolish I must call them, because they were groundless, and conjured up by your own imagination, merely for an excuse to make yourself wretched. I could not help smiling at your giving me such a long account of the manner you were brought up together, as if I had been quite ignorant of it; but as you were making it an excuse for your being so unreasonably affected at parting, I suppose you chose to refresh my memory on every particular circumstance, that it might the better plead your apology, which was natural enough in you; when you must be sensible, you stood in need of every excuse that could be made. However, I take it for granted, you have e'er now, recovered your senses, which were certainly suspended for a while, and are capable of reflecting on the bad consequence of letting any passion get so powerful a dominion over you, as quite to overwhelm your understanding.
A man of sense, though it may flatter his vanity to be so extravagantly beloved, would not be much delighted to have his wife so miserable when he was out of her sight, as it would be a continual drawback on his enjoyments, if he had any regard for her; and a man that had either sense or affection, would have it always in his power to make you unhappy.
Harry could not conceal his astonishment, when I read your letter to him.
Sure, says he,
Mr. Skeffington does not know how tenderly he is beloved, or he could not harbour such jealousies.
But, added he,
perhaps he may fear she is too susceptible, for that is sometimes the case.—
I leave you to consider whether it be prudent to give room to such an idea.
You will, I doubt not, hear from Charles in a few days, for he has as fair a wind as can blow; and to be sure he will write as soon as he lands at the Head. He begged I would advise you to get your mother to town, whenever she was able to bear the journey; for he cannot be easy till he hears you have left the castle, as he knows how lonely you must be, since you lost the Boyle's, and every one else will be coming to Dublin, when the Holy-Days are over.
I promised to mention it to you, but told him, I was sure your own inclination would bring you the instant your mother could venture to move.
Harry and he walked out together, and had, I find, a deal of conversation on the old subject. He seemed convinced that reason did not warrant his suspicions; but said, Love or Jealousy had little to do with reason; and when he considered Mr. Hamilton's accomplishments, and knew that he liked Eliza, he could not help fearing she might think too favourably of him; but said he, if I find no alteration in her sentiments when I return, I think I shall be quite easy; so there it rests; and as it depends on that circumstance, I fancy you have nothing to dread.
Adieu, dear Eliza; let me hear how your mother is, and if there is any hopes of our meeting soon. I expect to find by your next you are again a rational creature.
Your's, sincerely, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER XXIII. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Jan. 3. —
MY dear Louisa's very agreeable letter, shewed me to myself in such a ridiculous light, that I could not forbear laughing as I read it. I question, however, if it would have all the effect you wished, had not the same post brought a letter from Charles, informing me of his safe arrival at the Head, which, as it made my mind easy, rendered me more capable of attending to your arguments; and they are, I confess, unanswerable; but though my reason is convinced, I cannot conquer my folly, and fear I shall have frequent returns of what you call the Horrors, during Mr. Skeffington's absence; all I can promise is, I will endeavour to get the better of it, and may, perhaps, succeed in time, with a little of your assistance; if left to myself, I am sure I never shall.
You tell me, with what philosophy you bear Mr. Maunsell's absence, greatest part of the year; you might too, have reminded me, of the patience with which you resigned him at your father's desire; when your affection for him was at the highest, and I could only have answered, that to follow your example, required more fortitude than I am mistress of: but when I go to town, you shall read lectures to me on the subject, and I will be all attention, till I become what you wish me. I am sure it would be much for my own ease to be so, as it would relieve me from a multitude of disquiets, which I suffer from being incapable of correcting my too great sensibility; yet that it may be done, you are a convincing proof, and it will be a shame for me if I do not improve under the instruction of one whose precepts are enforced by practice.
You describe the pleasure of meeting a beloved object after a long absence, so feelingly, that it is easy to know you speak from experience; I wish I may find it so agreeable, but Mr. Skeffington's present disposition, makes it impossible to guess what our next meeting may produce: perhaps an eternal separation may ensue. If that should ever be the case, you tell me, it will be necessary for me to transfer my affection to another, as I am unfit to go through life alone. I grant I am; but can you, Louisa, expect I should ever love another, after being so cruelly disappointed in him, that has possessed my heart since I was a child? It is not possible; but you forbid me to make declarations; I hope I shall have no occasion.
January 4th.
I was yesterday obliged to quit my letter to entertain a neighbouring lady, who came to pass a day with my mother; and as she lives but six miles from us, she staid till it was too late for the post, so I deferred concluding till to-day.
I have just got your's of the 2nd, and am really ashamed of my own weakness, and of all the trouble I have given you in trying to preach me out of it. But sure you cannot be serious in saying you read my letter to Mr. Maunsell; I blush at the remark you say he made, and am ready to die at the thoughts of having given cause for it; but I will not believe you could be so unfriendly as to expose me, even to him. You who were so delicate in regard to Emily and cousin James, that you would not allow me to mention your observations to Charles, though they related only to James's growing inclination, and can you be less anxious where my delicacy is concerned? I once thought I had the first place in your friendship; and am more hurt than you can conceive, at the bare idea of finding myself mistaken; though as yet I am willing to flatter myself, you only wrote in that manner to alarm me: if so, you cannot be too speedy in telling me so, as I shall suffer much uneasiness till then.
I have the pleasure to inform you, my mother is a good deal better; but as to her going to town, I know not when she can attempt to travel. I shall be impatient for your next.
Your's, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER XXIV. Miss MORTIMER; to Miss FITZGERALD.
Jan. 5.—
NO, indeed, I did not expose my dear Eliza's weakness, my regard for her is too sincere; and if it was not, my partiality to my own Sex, would prevent my letting any of the fellows (not excepting Harry Maunsell) know that an attachment to one of them, could make a good, sensible girl, behave like a fool, on the trifling occasion of parting with him for a month or two. I only took that method to convince you, you were wrong, by the distress I knew you would feel on the supposition of its being known to any one but me. Do not, however, think, that what I said was merely my own words; for I assure you, I have heard Harry, as well as other men, make the observation, that people who are very susceptible, were usually very fickle also; being subject to tender impressions, for every pleasing object they meet with. Though I know you are an exception to this rule, yet if Mr. Skeffington happens to be of those sentiments, his jealousy is easily accounted for; not having an high opinion of himself, it is natural enough for him to fear a more accomplished person may supplant him.
If you think this likely to be the case, no doubt it will be a stronger motive with you to correct the too great tenderness of your heart, than any I could offer, and I hope we shall have no occasion to renew the subject.
Mr. Fitzgerald is become a violent favourite with Mr. O'Neil; they met here, (for the old gentleman frequently visits me) and James, artfully enough, accommodated himself to his opinions, which are rather singular; and so pleased him, that he received an invitation to call in and play Back-gammon whenever he had an hour to spare. I believe he goes there two or three times a week, and loses every game he plays, for he has no skill at it, and pretends a great desire to be instructed by Mr. O'Neil, who prides himself on being an adept in whatever was fashionable in his younger days; and thinks the present age degenerated in every thing, even their amusements; a common notion amongst old people, who mistake their own incapacity to enjoy amusement, for some defect in the entertainment itself.
It was, however, no bad policy in your cousin to ingratiate himself there; for if he can gain her father's approbation, it will go a great way in recommending him to Emily, who is a perfect pattern of obedience; but I fancy it will take time to bring that matter about.
Gertrude answered all the letters from the family of Rousillon, in REALLY a very pretty manner; I am sure I could not have wrote half so well on the subject, but you young ladies, who are so conversant in Love matters, are never at a loss on your favourite theme.
I doubt not if Louis will get her letter, as she had one from him yesterday, dated on board the fleet, which was only waiting for sailing orders; so she has had a most rueful countenance ever since, and we are all employed in diverting, or rather laughing her out of her dismals: to do her justice, though she bears it very well, for she does not torment herself with far-fetched terrors, but as he is going into very imminent dangers, one cannot be surprised that she is affected by it.
I rejoice that Mrs. Fitzgerald is on the recovery, and hope soon to see her and her fair daughter in Dublin.
Emily and Gertrude present their best affections.
Ever your's, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER XXV. THE SAME TO THE SAME.
Jan. 8 —
ONLY think, Eliza, how unexpectedly things come about, and learn to despend on the wise Disposer of events. What Gertrude could not have hoped for in less than a year, is now come to pass in a moment, as one may call it, and that by the very means which she thought such a formidable bar to her wishes; I mean the young Count being ordered abroad. But to be a little methodical, (a thing I am not much addicted to) as I sat reading this morning in my dressing room, where we usually breakfast, waiting for the two ladies who had not yet appeared, Jenny announced the arrival of a strange gentleman, who, she said, seemed to be a foreigner, and enquired for me; she had shewn him into the parlour, and I chose to go to him rather than ask him up, it was such an early hour; his back was to me as I went in, but when he turned his strong resemblance to the picture I saw with Gertrude, at once informed me who he was, before he had time to speak; and I asked him had I not the pleasure of addressing the Count de Rousillon? he answered he was the person, but could not guess by what means I came to know him, which I soon explained; and he proceeded to inform me that the fleet had been but three days from France, when a violent storm arose which separated them, and the vessel he was in having suffered greatly during the gale, was endeavouring to make the port they had so lately quitted, when they were attacked by an English frigate, to which they were obliged to strike, not being in a condition to fight, and were brought into Cork; from whence he had come on parole, to pay his devoirs to my lovely kinswoman, but not wishing to surprise her, had taken the liberty of first introducing himself to me. He concluded with saying, though he was disappointed of the glory he promised himself in the campaign, his love would not suffer him to call the accident a misfortune, since it would be the means of procuring him the happiness he had long sighed for.
As I know the happiness he meant was Gertrude's presence, I was not so unfeeling to deprive him of that pleasure long, and thinking it necessary to prepare her a little, as his delicate caution had hinted, I went up and met her just quitting her chamber; we came to my dressing room together, and by degrees I let her know who was in the house: her agitation was so great I thought she would have fainted, and calling for help, in ran her maid in as bad a state as her mistress, having got a glimpse of the Count, and supposing it was his ghost; the foolish girl ran about the room like one frantic, crying out, O! madam, the Count! the Count! Her exclamations helped to rouse Gertrude, and brought Emily into the room, who stood staring at us all, totally unable to account for such a scene of confusion, till the Count himself hearing the hurry, no longer able to check his impatience, and following the sound of our voices, flew into the room, and clasping Gertrude in his arms, said a thousand tender things which explained the mystery to Emily, and relieved Sally from her terrors, who had on his first appearance covered her face with her apron, to avoid seeing what she firmly believed to be a spirit.
When the first transports of such an unexpected interview had subsided, the Count gracefully apologized for the freedom he he had taken; and Gertrude who was blushing to death at having so quietly permitted it, would, I believe, have remained silent till now, if I had not relieved her by saying I would venture to engage for his pardon, as I saw in her eyes she was not mortally offended; therefore I hoped he would be able to partake of our breakfast, and I seated myself at the table; they all followed my example, and Sally being restored to her senses, paid her tribute of joy on the happy occasion, (for she knew the whole affair) and withdrew, leaving us to enjoy a little rational conversation, and compose ourselves after the hurry of spirits some of us had undergone.
I can easily excuse Gertrude for any little imprudence she committed in attaching herself to this young man, without knowing how either of their friends would relish it, for he is so perfectly amiable in his person, and his sentiments so uncommonly refined, as I could observe from the little conversation I have had with him, that it would require a large share of stoicism to listen to his soft tale with indifference, provided one was free from any other prepossession.
He is of the finest stile of manly beauty, both as to face and person; much superior to his picture, which is very handsome too; but he was quite a stripling when that was drawn; and Gertrude says, he is amazingly improved in his form.
He has all the agreeable vivacity of his country, tempered by an excellent understanding; in short, I am a little in love with him myself, and quite entertained with his chat, for he speaks broken English divinely, and gives it such a softness as makes it wonderfully pleasing; it is what the language much wants; its native accent is so very tart, it always gives me an idea of scolding, so that in my mind a soft Munster brogue is an improvement to it, provided it be not a vulgar one.
As he did not like continuing at a Hotel, I sent Jenny to take a lodging for him near this, and she got a handsome apartment in the next street, with which he is greatly pleased; Harry Maunsell to whose care I have recommended him, attended him home just now, for he was easily prevailed on to stay all day with his adorable.
Harry will introduce him to all the men of genteel rank, and takes him to all the places worth seeing; it was lucky enough that he happened to be in town.
I dare say the Count will not think of leaving this till he takes Gertrude with him; so if you wish to be at the wedding you must not make much delay in the country; for I expect we shall be put all into a hurry when he gets letters from home. As he has wrote from Cork, it is not to be doubted but he has asked permission to conclude an affair so interesting to him while he is here.
Gertrude has been so prettily fluttered all day, that if it was not for a little of my assistance, she would not have been able to stammer out a single sentence of common sense; but when I saw her likely to make a very silly figure, I stopt her short with some very ridiculous observation, that drew the laugh upon me, and gave her some time to recollect herself, by which means I saved her from a good deal of raillery, which I saw Harry and your cousin James was much inclined to; as they presently discovered how matters stood between her and the Count: indeed her own confusion would have betrayed the secret, if his particular attention to her had not done it.
Surely this letter will dispel your melancholy ideas, and teach you to think every thing will turn out for the best, if our own perverseness does not prevent it.
Mr. Skeffington's sudden departure, and your consequent low spirits, having given me a subject for my two last epistles, I forgot to tell you, I was quite pleased with your account of the method by which you encourage your tenants children, to industry as well as to the learning that is necessary for them; and I agree with you, in regard to the advantage of their knowing how to read, though I have heard people argue against it; but I never heard them say any thing convincing on the subject.
I am not surprised that your mother should be mortified at not being able to go amongst them, as was her custom during so many years; and to a mind like hers it must give singular satisfaction to see so many people chearful and happy, whom she knows she contributes to make so; it is well for them, and I am sure, a great pleasure to her, that you are disposed to follow her example.
Good night, dear Eliza, it is now past twelve, and I grow drowsy.
Your's affectionally, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER XXVI. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Jan. 11. —
HOW kind is my dear Louisa to take so much pains to amuse me, as well as to reason me out of my melancholy; it would be ungrateful if I would not let her endeavours succeed, by seconding them with my own efforts, especially when I must assent to the force of your arguments; they had such an effect that I was growing quite chearful, when, (I am almost ashamed to tell you) an unlucky dream, made such an impression on my mind, as rendered me totally unfit to write to you for two days, which was the cause of my not answering your's of the 6th sooner. Do not however be very angry with me, since I acknowledge my own folly, and have got the better of it, at least for the present: besides you know my mother, who is in other respects a sensible woman, has great faith in dreams which is some little apology for me.
I never heard Charles say any thing, that gave me room to think he was of the same opinion which you say Mr. Maunsell, and many other men are; but if we ever meet again I will try to discover his sentiments, and be that as it will, I will certainly try to correct what is amiss in my own disposition.
I did not think James had so much art, and though it is a talent I do not much approve in the present case, I cannot help wishing him success; for since Emily does not dislike him, it is no harm to use a little artifice to obtain her father's good graces.— Your's of the 8th is just brought me, I mean I have just read it, and heartily congratulate Gertrude on the agreeable accident that has put an end to all her fears. It is indeed a proof that we should never despond, let our prospect be ever so dark, since the scene may be changed in a moment when we least expect it; though striking the instance, it is probable I should have passed it over unnoticed, if your judicious observations had not pointed it out to me, with intention, I know, that I should profit by it, which I hope I shall.
I read part of your letter to my mother, who was highly pleased both with your serious reflexions, and your sprightly description of the confusion the Count's arrival occasioned in your family. Sally's terror diverted us much; I cannot but say it was natural enough in the girl, who thought he was on his way to America, to be frightened at his sudden appearance, and concluded it was something supernatural; for I dare say, she is quite convinced that Ghosts are continually stalking about the world.
Your picture of the Count is very captivating, and does great credit to Gertrude's choice; I shall be horridly disappointed if he leaves Dublin before I get there, at present I cannot judge when that will be, my mother's health is so uncertain, sometimes better, sometimes worse; though on the whole, she is not near so bad as she was, because she is not so bad for a constancy; therefore I am in hopes she will recover time enough for me to be at the wedding, as there must be letters from France, and several preliminaries settled before it comes to that.
I am not surprized that Gertrude was so much fluttered; had I been in her place it would have half killed me, but she is not such a weak creature as I am, though her form is very delicate.
I like as well as you to hear foreigners speak English; they give something I cannot describe to the language, which improves it prodigiously. I suppose you are partial to the Munster brogue, because Harry Maunsell is of that Province; not that I think he has more of the accent than just what is agreeable; no doubt you think so too, and therefore give it the preference.
My mother's good wishes with mine, wait on you, and your friends at your house.
Your's, as usual, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER XXVII. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Jan. 14. —
YOU never, I believe, had a more punctual correspondent than I am; and sure I deserve credit for it now, if I never did before, since I withdraw myself from most agreeable conversation, to enjoy the pleasure of writing to my dear Eliza, and, if possible, keep her from dwelling on unpleasing ideas, which I am sorry to find possesses your sleeping as well as your waking imagination. You bid me not be very angry with you, yet how can I be otherwise, when you give way to such a debility of mind, as to let your peace be disturbed by a dream, at a time too when you might naturally suppose it proceeded from that lowness of spirits, which I fear you but too much encourage.
I am aware you will tell me there are examples in scripture, for putting faith in the fleeting forms of the night, and I grant there are several; but you must also grant, that when Heaven thought proper to give mankind notice of its intentions by dreams, it gave them skilful interpreters; at present such notices would be useless, since we have no prophets, and must depend on old nurses, who always explain them according to their own fears or fancies, not having the spirit of divination to direct them. You must give me leave to say, it is being rather unthankful for the blessings you enjoy, to torment yourself with imaginary ills. If you must weep, Eliza, seek out the sons and daughters of affliction, (with which every neighbourhood abounds) and weep over their sorrows; it will make you ashamed to brood over imaginary evils, when you see so many suffering real calamities: it will beside have this good effect, you will relieve them as far as you are able. Let me entreat you to let your understanding operate as it ought, and it is impossible you can fall into such superstitious follies.
I am really ashamed of appearing so conceited, as I am sure I must do, in taking upon me to be your instructor, but you force me to it, by laying aside the use of your own reason, for it is not that I think myself by any means qualified for the office, of which I am the more convinced, since all I have said has so little effect upon you, whose partiality would allow my arguments perhaps more weight than they deserved; yet it seems they do not carry conviction; so all I can do is to wish for Mr. Skeffington's speedy return, who I hope will at least convince you of the truth of my assertion, that the pleasures of meeting those we love, far out-ballances the pain of parting, which I acknowledge I know from experience, and I have no apprehension that your meeting will be productive of any thing but satisfaction to you both, though you are so industrious in seeking occasion to fear the contrary.
I hope both for your mother's sake, and yours, that she will be able to come to town before our affairs here are brought to a conclusion; and you have a good chance, as all the necessaries cannot be done without time.
Young Rousillon is a pleasing addition to our society: and I assure you Gertrude is much improved in chearfulness since his arrival. He puts our less lively swains quite out of their way, for he gallants us all, and I sometimes make Harry Maunsell look grave, by giving my hand to the Count, and leaving him to attend Gertrude, who I tell him is much fitter for him, because she is so sedate; he takes the first convenient opportunity of expostulating on what he calls my cruelty, in denying him the only pleasure he has to hope for, that of enjoying as much of my company as circumstances will admit.
I do but laugh at his rueful face, and tell him, situated as we are, it is absolutely ridiculous to see him always at my elbow; besides it is not in nature to resist the temptation of flirting with a French man, they do it so agreeably. He sighs, and looks sad, and is so very sorry he has not talents to make himself as pleasing as the Count, that if I did not revive his spirits by a sweet smile, which he interprets to his own liking, I should be a little afraid he would be found hanging in his garters: it is mighty silly however in him, to indulge himself in such a hopeless passion; these sort of early entanglements sometimes prevent the happiness of our future lives, we should be therefore very cautious of a first attachment; but the mischief is, we are ensnared before we think of the consequence.
Perhaps I may be a little partial to the Munster accent; nothing extraordinary that, since it has been made pleasing to my ear, by my first hearing the soft language of love in that tone, to which I think it is exceedingly well adapted; no doubt the northern accent is music to you.
I expect to hear in your next Charles is safe arrived in London, for you may have had a letter from him by this time.—This unmerciful Frenchman thinks we should never be weary of public amusements, and is continually hurrying us from one to another, till I am half dead with fatigue, for you know I am not fond of a life of dissipation, but as it is not to last long, I submit, and he is now calling me to the play. I must therefore subscribe myself
My dear Eliza's, Affectionate, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER XXVIII. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Jan. 17. —
I ACKNOWLEGE my dear Louisa is not only the most punctual, but the most agreeable correspondent I could possibly have, and I might add, the most instructive, without being accused of flattery; for any one who saw your letters must allow, more persuasive arguments cannot be advanced, than what you set forth to engage me to conquer the little weaknesses of my disposition. I am thankful for your kind intentions, and determined to follow your advice and example, and become a rational creature as fast as I can, or I find I am likely to be very unhappy, since one should in this life meet perpetual cause for uneasiness, if, as I have done, they always look at the worst side of every event, and give themselves up to fruitless repinings: I will therefore try to fortify my mind against disagreeable circumstances, as I think it very probable I shall have some such to encounter, from that unfortunate defect in Charle's temper, which he seems himself to have such doubts of conquering.
I have had a letter from him since I wrote to you; he was in London, but meant to leave it next day and set out for Sussex, to settle the business he went on. He took over young McNeil, and will settle him there as his agent, since he is of tried integrity; and the person that hitherto managed his English estate, has certainly not been honest.
When Charles has concluded his business he will return to London, and see every thing that is worth seeing there, before his return: but a month, he says, will be more than sufficient for that; and he hopes to find me in Dublin, as he will not go to the castle till summer, unless my mother's illness should detain me there longer than we expected. He says the English women are handsome, and in general, fairer than the Irish; yet he gives the prefernce to his country-women, for the modest sweetness of their looks.
I cannot but join with Mr. Maunsell, in thinking it rather cruel of you to give another the pleasure of attending you, when you know it would make him happy, especially since (as he observes) it is the only happiness he is likely to enjoy with you; and besides, he seldom has opportunity for that; being the greatest part of his time separated from you; that I think he deserves some little consideration: but I believe, my dear Louisa has now and then a small propensity towards flirting.
But pray how does Gertrude approve of your engaging the Count? I should suppose she would not be much obliged to you for the exchange, as it is likely Mr. Maunsell is not at such times a very chearful companion, though he is usually extremely pleasing. I allow his constancy to you, who have crused all his hopes, is no great proof of his wisdom, but I would be glad to know, who that loved was ever wise except yourself, and we cannot expect to meet with prodigies often. You advise me to what most people would think a bad remedy for low spirits; to visit the afflicted: I always thought so myself, and therefore avoided it, though my purse was always open to those who applied to me: however I have such an opinion of your judgement, that I am resolved to try what effect it will have. On consideration, I believe you are quite right, for they must have very little humanity that would not forget their own afflictions, when they saw others suffering much greater; and very little religion, that would not be thankful to Heaven for exempting them from such calamities.
The obvious consequence is, one will be ashamed to complain of trifling ills.— Why could not I think of that before? but you see by it how much I need your instructions, and that they do carry conviction, though they did not take effect all at once: so I hope you will not give up an office, you are so capable of; for without your advice, I feel that I shoul often act very foolishly.
Your arguments against believing in dreams, is so conclusive, I could not help reading it to my mother, who used to be a great advocate for them; she seemed struck with what you said, and, after a short silence, indeed Eliza, says she, I never considered the matter in that light, and do not know that it can be confuted: but this I know, I never met with any young lady who has so just a way of thinking on every subject as Miss Mortimer; I am sure, my dear, you will not be jealous that I do not except you, which with all my partiality I cannot; but your friend is four years, at least, older than you, and has made so good use of her time, that many women old enough to be her mother, might be improved by her conversatio.
I will not tell you all she said of you, because I know it distresses you to hear your own praises; but you may believe, it gratified me very much.
My mother intends going into the drawing-room to-day, for the first time; I wish she may not take cold: She joins me in sincere affection to you.
Your's, in tenderest friendship, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER XXIX. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Jan. 25. —
ARE not you surprised at my long silence? to be sure you are, as it is very unsual with me to neglect writing to my dear Eliza for so many days; but your wonder will cease when I tell you, I am absolutely out of breath with the hurry this wicked Count has put us all into. You have not the least chance of being at the wedding, for the preparations are going on with unreasonable speed, and the settlements are actually very near finished, he has so effectually quickened the clerks.
He got letters from France soon after I wrote to you last, I believe the day or two after; he says himself, it was as soon as an answer could possibly arrive; and immediately he communicated them to Gertrude and me, requesting if we disapproved of any part, I might say so, and it should be altered. There was, however, no objection to be made, every thing was done so genteely by his father. When I signified my approbation, (for you must know I am her guardian on this occasion) he told me, he should immediately give proper orders to an Attorney, and hoped I would use my influence with Miss St. George, to prevail on her not to make unnecessary delays, but fix an early day for his happiness.
I undertook the embassy, and gave it as my opinion, that she should not take an unreasonable time, as he is appointed to a place at Court, and will return home as soon as he conveniently can; for I believe he will be permitted to go on parole. She mentioned four or five weeks, and then said six or seven, upon which I left her, left she should increase it to so many months; and telling him what she had said, he began to exclaim most vehemently in French, against her determination; and begged me to remember what a tedious time that would be to him, who had already suffered such a long probation, by losing her just at the time he had hoped to be united to her for ever.
I then told him, if he would leave it to me, I would endeavour to get her consent for the 10th of next month, which will be her birth-day, and sooner than that, he could not expect. He said he would abide by my decision, and after much persuasion, she agreed to it, but insisted it looked like being in too great a hurry.
This weighty point being settled, there is a thousand little matters to be done, as we do not know how soon after the marriage they will set out for France. The sight of those preparations recalls to poor Harry's memory the time when he returned to Ireland, in full hope of being in that situation, and the idea, that all his prospects of happiness in that way, are now shut in, makes him sigh; and at times raises a momentary sadness in my heart; not that I cannot marry him, believe me, I have no regrets on that account, but because I see the disappointment continues to sit too heavily on him. The Count, whom I find, he has let into the secret, said to me to-day,
Ah! Miss Mortimer, my happiness reminds poor Mr. Maunsell of his disappointment; can you give him no hope?
I laid my hand upon his mouth;
that is a prohibited subject, Count; the thing is impossible; Mr. Maunsell knows it is.
He shook his head, and with the softest expression of compassion in his eyes, (you know how expressive French eyes are) said, "'tis "pity, 'tis great pity!" I am sure he makes Harry much worse than he would be, by pitying him, and indulging him in talking over the affair; for he was chearful and easy before.
You say it is cruel in me to let any one else attend me; you do not, however, consider, that though there may be no impropriety in his making a public shew of his attachment to me, it would not be quite so proper for me to do so; which I should in effect, if I refused the little offices of politeness from any other man: and notwithstanding you say, I have a propensity to flirting, you know me too well to think I could find any pleasure in giving pain to a heart that doats on me: but you must confess, we are in a very peculiar situation, and it requires some degree of circumspection to avoid the tongue of slander.
Gertrude was not a bit displeased with me for leaving Harry to be her Gentleman-Usher; for besides that, he is a great favourite with her, she was well pleased not to be the object of the Count's attention in public. So you see the exchange served two good purposes, it kept people from making particular observations, either on her or me.
I rejoice to hear your mother can leave her room, and am not a little proud of her good opinion.
Adieu, dear girl;
Your's ever, LOUISA MORTIMER.
LETTER XXX. Miss FITZGERALD, to Miss MORTIMER.
Jan. 28. —
I THINK this last jaunt of mine to the country has produced nothing but disagreeable events. In the first place, it separated me from my Louisa; then it deprived me of meeting Emily; of seeing the Volunteers; gave occasion for Charles's jealousy to break out; and to sum up all, the coldness of the place brought on my mother's illness, which will now detain me from Gertrude's wedding; and that, I acknowledge, is a very great mortification to me; and what is still worse, I have no one pleasing reflection to make me amends for all my disappointments, appointments, except that my mother continues tolerably, and I have hopes we shall get to town in less than a month.
I never liked the Country in winter, and from this time, I believe I shall hate the sight of it.
My acquaintance with the Miss Boyle's is the only agreeable circumstance that has occurred since I left Dublin: I fancy they will be in town before me, as the servants they left in the house, tell our's, they expect their master soon; and I know he was to come home when his daughters set out for town. When I come, I will introduce them to you.
I have been trying the experiment you recommended to me, Louisa, and it has succeeded to the utmost of your wishes. I am ashamed of having ever been so unthankful for the many blessings I enjoy; as to overlook them all, and make myself unhappy with the apprehension of evils, that, perhaps, may never come to pass; and if they did, would not be equal to half the miseries which I have seen one family patiently suffering; but people bred up in ease and affluence, have no idea of what real misfortune is; and therefore lament as such, trifles that ought not to give a reasonable creature a moment's pain.
The day after I wrote to you last, I took Kitty with me in the chaise, and went about three miles off, where she told me there were several poor Cottagers on the estate of a young gentleman now on his travels; for thank Heaven, the lower class of tenants on Charles's estate, or mine, are none of them in want. We had turned into a bye-road that led to a few scattered cabbins, and were driving towards the nearest, when I say a pretty girl, about nine years old, run out, and clapping her hands together, in an agony of grief, cried out, "Oh! my mammy! my mammy!" and without seeming to hear the carriage, in a manner flew across the road to a cottage at the other side, into which she went. The child's exclamation raised both my pity and curiosity, as I guessed it must be occasioned by some distress she had left her mother in; and calling John to stop, I stepped out, followed by Kitty, and went directly into the house: but what a scene of woe presented itself! at one side of the room lay the corpse of a man, on a bed; at the other, near the dying embers of a turf fire, lay the woman on a bed of straw, in a fainting fit; an infant about three days old, sleeping at her side. With Kitty's assistance I raised her, and applied my Eau de Luce to her nose, which soon revived her, and she looked wildly round; when casting her eyes on her dead husband, she clapped her hands over them, as if unable to bear the sight, and cried out, who was so cruel as to bring me back to a life of misery! I bid her be comforted, as I hoped she and her children would yet be happy. The strange voice struck her ear, (for I believe she never observed my appearance) and she took down her hand to view me, just as the little girl came in, followed by an old woman.
They all looked astonished, and seemed at a loss to account for what they saw; when I, who was supporting the poor woman, and apprehensive she would faint again, asked if they had any thing fit to give her? The old woman with tears in her eyes, answered, she feared there was nothing but a little butter-milk, and a few potatoes, which the poor neighbours brought in. I then called for some water, and gave her a little, with Eau de Luce in it, which recovered her from the faintishness; and tears flowing plentifully, she was much relieved, and we laid her down again.
I sent John to an Inn about half a mile off, for a bottle of Wine, and some other refreshments; and while he was away, enquired of the old woman, how the people came into such distress. She told me the man had been a Linen-Weaver, near Armagh; and lived very comfortably, till he fell into a lingering illness; which disabled him from working, and having nothing to support him but what his wife earned by spinning, they were forced to sell most of their furniture, to pay their rent, and brought the small remainder to the place they were now in, where they had been but a few months; they made a shift to maintain themselves by the woman's industry, and what little the child could do, till the man grew so bad, his wife could do nothing but attend him, and they were reduced to the greatest distress, when to add to it, she was brought to bed a few days ago; that she staid with them as much as she could, and had not left them half an hour, when the child ran to tell her, her father was dead, and her mother dying; she concluded with saying, she hope Heaven had sent me that way for their relief.
John returned sooner than I could have expected, and I gave the woman some warm Wine and Water, and gave directions for a Chicken he had brought to be made into broth for her, and the old woman undertook to stay and do every thing that was proper, to whom I gave some money to provide siring, and whatever was necessary for that night: promising to send a supply from our house next day.
You may be sure I rewarded her for her trouble, in a manner that will secure her attendance while it is wanted; and as soon as the woman is well enough, I intend to bring her to a neat little house that is now unoccupied on my lands, where she shall be rent-free, till she can, by her industry (for I do not wish to encourage idleness) get a few guineas to lay by, and then I will let her have it at a very easy rent: the garden is now well cropped, so that she will have nothing to do but attend her spinning for some time.
I am now convinced that the wise man's saying,
It is better to go to the house of mourning,
provided one makes a proper use of the lesson it teaches; for those poor people's distress has engrossed all my thoughts; and relieving them, given me more pleasing reflections than ever I enjoyed before on doing a charitable action: because till now, I never saw the wretchedness from which I relieved the objects of my compassion.
While I stay in the country, I shall often step into the little huts, and see what way the poor inhabitants are in, and in Dublin the news-papers frequently furnish us with notice where to find the distressed: for the future I shall always visit them myself; it will teach me to set a proper value on the blessings that are extended to me, and to bear light evils without repining.
I will not again pretend to blame you in regard to Mr. Maunsell, for I acknowlege you are uncommonly circumstanced; nor do I know a woman, except yourself, that would act with such propriety in the same situation: but I cannot help pitying him. No doubt, the Count, who has so much sensibility, is quite affected with his melancholy tale.
I hope soon to hear from Charles in London, for then his stay in England will not be very much longer; perhaps we may reach Dublin nearly at the same time. Do you think James has made any declaration to Emily yet? I find all our family look on it as a match very likely to take place: I hope it may.
Tell Gertrude how mortified I am that I cannot fill the office of Bride-Maid at her nuptials, which I had promised myself I should. Who is she to have beside you. Believe me, dear Louisa,
Your affectionate, ELIZA FITZGERALD.
LETTER XXXI. Miss MORTIMER, to Miss FITZGERALD.
Feb. 1. —
I HAVE got such a habit of answering my dear Eliza's letters immediately, that it is a distress to me to miss a post; but in the present posture of affairs here, I am obliged to do it; and until the hurry is a little over, I think you will not hear from me again.
What a bustle a wedding makes in a family; even the servants are anxious to have their finery ready on the occasion; and I assure you, our maidens will make no small figure, as Gertrude insisted on bedizening them all at her own expence, not excepting Emily's damsel, who by the way, is quite a Belle amongst her own class, and I believe is much delighted at being permitted to throw off her mourning for that night, when I dare say, she will appear in all her airs, for I see she lays herself out for admiration.
There are to be three Bride-Maids, besides your humble servant, all Gertrude's near relations; and she could not ask one without offending the rest; so she might as well let them all have the name of it. There is Miss Ponsonby; and the two Miss Fortescue's; you know they are very young ladies, and I find they had set their hearts on the matter, for they all came together, to pay her a visit, and when she asked them to be her Bride-Maids, their eyes sparkled with joy, and it was impossible not to smile at the eagerness with which they accepted the invitation, and the hurry they were in to be gone, that they might buy new gowns, and a million of other things, which they repeated with amazing volubility, all talking at once; and I dare say, have talked and thought of little else since: though we do not mean to make any great parade of it, there must be a good many people, as it is a compliment she cannot avoid paying some uncles, aunts, and cousins, that are now in town; I think it best so, for I always observe, the more company there is, the less notice is taken of the Bride, their attention being engaged by each other.
I wish the affair was over for Gertrude's sake, who begins to look serious as the day draws near; I am not surprised she should, as it will make such a material in every circumstance of her life; it is not only the change from a single state, in which she is intirely mistress of her own actions, to one wherein she must accommodate herself to the temper and disposition of another, but it will also remove her from her country, and all her connexions, and place her amongst people who can have no other attachment to her, than what her own merit may entitle her to. No wonder her reflections should be rather melancholy; I must confess, I think she stands in need of all her affection for the Count, and a large share of philosophy besides, to enable her to support her spirits. One thing is much in her favour, that is, she is so little alone, that she has scarce any time for thinking. Was I in her place, it is my opinion I should have declared off, when I came to consider the consequence.
Harry expects to hear from Charles when he has seen a little of London; I am not sure that I did not tell you that before.
I was a good deal affected for your poor family, and should have been quite distressed but that I knew, now you had met with them, they would be effectually relieved: I must beg of you to give them five guineas, to make some little addition to their furniture and cloaths, and set it down to my account, it would be too much for you to take it all upon yourself, when you will meet with so many others that want your assistance.
I knew your visiting the afflicted would have the desired effect, because you are alive to the distresses of your fellow-creatures. You are not one of those who fancy they are possessed of superfine feelings, yet never feel for any one but themselves, and are so apprehensive of hurting their spirits, that their dearest friends, if in sickness or affliction, must find some one of less feeling, and more humanity, to perform the tender offices of friendship; for in this age of delicate nerves, the terms are by no means synonimous. I am sure we know one or two ladies who are always talking of their fine feelings, and were never yet known to do a good-natured or charitable action.
I am obliged to you for your approbation, though at the expence of the rest of the Sex; it is no reflection on them, however, for I believe a peculiarity of sentiment is necessary to enable one to conduct themselves in such a particular situation as mine; and that cannot be expected from many, nor do such circumstances often occur. Indeed there is very few to whom my example should be recommended; for it would be a most dangerous state to those who have great sensibility, and very little command of their passions, to keep up an intimate friendship with a young man they like, and are effectually restrained from marrying: the tryal would be too great for female fortitude to support, if not assisted by such a singularity of disposition as I happen to possess. If Harry's was similar, there would be no more debating on Platonic Love, as we should be proof positive of its existence. As it is, I think the point must remain undecided.
Yes, the Count deplores Harry's misfortune in the most pathetic terms, and Harry, in consequence, is mighty sad, and mighty silly: I should be obliged to alter my conduct towards him, if I did not conclude that his friends departure, which is is not far off, will restore him to his understanding.
What a detail you have given of the disagreeable events produced by your going to the country; they were not very pleasing to be sure, however, I look upon the accident which occasioned Charles's jealously to break out, as rather fortunate than otherwise: had it been smothered till after you were married, the consequence would have been much worse, since you would have no remedy but parting, which will be much better done before marriage, if you should find him incurable, but I hope you will not.
No, I do not believe Mr. Fitzgerald and Emily have come to any explanation; but his behaviour cannot be mistaken, she is forced to acknowlege it cannot, and is grown more reserved to him upon it, probably that deters him from speaking; he fears to give her offence by entering on such a subject so early in her widowhood, as he must see she studiously avoids giving him any opportunity. I am, however, of opinion, it will come to something in due time, for she does not dislike him, and can have no other objection to him, unless her father forbid the banns, on account of his fortune not being equal to her's; but I am in hopes he will allow his birth to make up for the deficiency, as I know he sets some value on ancient gentility; a new title would not have half the weight with him.
I should not have thought of the objection, only Mr. O'Neil is so fond of money; otherwise I would suppose he might think his fortune and her's together, quite sufficient for happiness, as his is not inconsiderable, and her's very large, exclusive of what is settled on the child. James is exceeding fond of the little thing, and I can tell you, that is no bad way of paying his court to its grandfather, who is mighty foolish about the baby: it is a pretty creature too, and one cannot help taking notice of it.
My next will give you an account of the wedding; Gertrude wishes you could be with her. Tea waits, while I tell you, I am, most affectionately,
Your's, LOUISA MORTIMER.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.