Title: Munster Village
Author: Hamilton, Mary Agnes
Language: English
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                            MUNSTER VILLAGE

                             MARY HAMILTON



                                CONTENTS


                      Volume I                   1

                      Volume II                 65



                                VOLUME I


Lord Munster devoted himself entirely to ambition: what has been said
of Cinna might be applied to him, _he had a head to contrive, a tongue
to persuade, and a hand to execute any mischief_. Weak people are only
wicked by halves; and whenever we hear of high and enormous crimes, we
may conclude that they proceeded from a power of soul, and a reach of
thought, that are altogether unusual.

He stuck at nothing to accomplish his political plans; and his success
rendered him still more enterprising: But being at last refused a
favor from his Sovereign, he retired disgusted with the court, and
in vain sought that happiness in a retreat, which his crimes made it
impossible he should ever find. He was so chagrined that everything
became intolerable to him; and he continually vented his spleen on
those of his friends, whose circumstances rendered them subservient to
his caprices. He possessed good health, a large estate, and had fine
children, that equalled his most sanguine expectations. In the opinion
of the world, therefore, he was a _very happy man_, but in his own,
_quite the contrary_. No man can judge of the happiness or infelicity of
his neighbour. We only know the external causes of good and evil, which
causes are not always proportionable to their effects: those which seem
to us small, often occasion a strong sensation; and those which appear
to us great, often produce only a faint sensation. The great advantages
Lord Munster possessed, as they excited in him only indifference,
in reality were inconsiderable in themselves. But the small evil,
his having been refused a ribbon by his Sovereign, exciting in him
insupportable uneasiness, was in reality a great evil. Lady Munster
had been dead many years: Lord Finlay and Lady Frances were the only
surviving children. Engrossed as the earl had been in public affairs, he
still paid particular attention to their education. Though a man of the
world, he was at the utmost pains in selecting those of distinguished
worth, to whom only he committed the care of his children. Lord Finlay
had promising parts; but force of mind makes a man capable of great
vices or great virtues, but determines him to neither.

Education, discipline, and accidents of life, constitute him
either a profound philosopher, or a great knave. The probity and
disinterestedness of Mr Burt's principles recommended him to Lord
Munster, for a tutor to his son.--He had been brought up to the
ministry, with an inclination to it, and entered into it with a fervent
desire of being as useful as he could. His education being all his
fortune, he subscribed, and took every step the church required, before
he was sufficiently acquainted with the doctrines subscribed to;--their
foundation in scripture, and the controversies which he afterwards found
had been raised, and carried on about them in the christian world:
and, after a diligent inquiry, was dissatisfied with some doctrines
established in our articles, liturgy, &c. and declined accepting a
considerable living in Lord Munster's gift, on which _alone_ he depended
for his future subsistence, and that of an amiable woman, whom he had
espoused upon these expectations.

I heartily wish that all who are disposed for the ministry of the
church, were as careful to satisfy themselves about the lawfulness of
_conformity_, and that the church of England laid fewer obstructions
in the way of those who are both disposed and qualified for advancing
the interests of religion and virtue; but dare not engage publicly
in her service, for fear of violating the peace of their minds, and
wounding their consciences. In such a situation what must a clergyman
do? must he preach and maintain doctrines he disapproves of? this would
be acting both against his persuasion, and his solemn promise at his
ordination. Shall he preach or write against them? this he must not do
neither, lest he should be judged guilty of impugning his subscription,
and consequently incur the censures of the church. Shall he then be
quite silent, and neither preach nor write about them at all? but how
will this be consistent, with his other solemn promise, made likewise
at his ordination, _to be ready with all faithful diligence, to banish
and drive away all erroneous and strange doctrines_--all doctrines
which he _is persuaded_, are contrary to God's word? He must therefore
necessarily offend, either against the church, or against truth, and
his own conscience. A sad alternative! when a man can neither speak,
what he thinks to be truth, with _safety_, nor be silent without
_offence_. These considerations induced Mr Burt to refuse a proffered
establishment--by which conduct, he proved his belief in a _future
state_, more firmly than a great many of them appear to do, by their
immoderate desires of the good things _in this_: but his faith was
founded, not on the fallacious arguments of too many of his brethren;
but on that adorable conjunction of unbounded power and goodness, which
must certainly someway recompense so many thousand innocent wretches,
created to be so miserable here. He possessed that virtue in an eminent
degree, which the christians call humility, and which the ancients were
ignorant of.--But he had real merit, and could easily be modest, which
is almost impossible to those, who have only the affectation of it.
With this respectable man was Lord Finlay placed, at five years old,
when a considerable settlement was made on him, in compensation for
relinquishing other pursuits, with a promise of its beings continued for
life. Lord Munster from time to time examined his son, and was highly
satisfied with the progress he made; and not a little surprised, to find
him no way deficient in those accomplishments, which, though of less
consequence in themselves, a late noble author has illustrated as being
absolutely necessary, in compleating the character of a fine gentleman.
For these Lord Finlay was indebted to Captain Lewis, father-in-law to Mr
Burt. This old gentleman was of an antient family, and had retired from
the army, disgusted at his situation, having been many years in a very
subaltern station.

The condition of many brave and experienced officers is to be lamented,
who, after having passed through many various dangers in the service
of their country, are subject to the command of boys and striplings.
Whilst stations, which should be the reward of martial virtues, can be
purchased, it is in vain to hope, that our officers can be animated like
those of a neighbouring nation.

Honour alone can support the soldier in a day of battle; without this
invigorating principle, humanity will tremble at the sight of slaughter,
and every danger will be avoided, which necessity does not impose.

Captain Lewis retained that dignity of sentiment, which no misfortunes
could surmount. Our hearts and understandings, are not subject to
the vicissitudes of fortune. We may have a noble soul though our
circumstances be circumscribed, and a superiority of mind without being
of the highest rank. He had been much among the _great world_, in the
early part of his life, having been _aide-de-camp_ to Lord S----. Upon
his daughter's marriage with Mr Burt, he resided entirely with him; and
though she died of her first child, he continued with him, and became
as fond of lord Finlay as his grand-daughter, who, after her mother's
decease, became the object of his tenderest affection.

Thus were Lord Finlay and Miss Burt brought up together; and from the
time of her birth never separated until she was nine years old. At that
period she was sent to a convent at Paris, and returned, after six years
absence, highly accomplished; uniting in herself everything that could
charm a heart that was disengaged.

The consequences to Lord Finlay were inevitable, though never suspected.
A student of about eighteen, full of the amours of Ovid, and the soft
odes in Horace, has a heart very susceptible of love. These sensations
were too agreeable to be repulsed; he delivered himself entirely over
to his passion, which absorbed every other faculty of his soul. The
most perfect affection soon subsisted between these young people: but
the dignity of Miss Burt's manners inspired her lover with such respect
as rendered him silent on the subject of his passion, as he could not
enforce it without his father's sanction.

But there is an intelligence between tender souls, and the most animated
expression may be conveyed without the aid of words; and this dumb
language is so eloquent, that it is generally understood where the
heart is in unison. Friendship, indeed, was only spoke of; but their
every look, their every action, bespoke the most ardent love. 'What
transports,' (said he, one day to her) 'can friendship bestow! what
refined feelings, what delightful sensations, actuate the human soul in
such happy moments as these!'

We contemplate each other in silence; but the soul is never more
eloquent than under the influence of such a silence. She expresses, in a
moment, a train of ideas and sensations, which would be but confounded
by utterance.

Miss Burt had a merit the more engaging, from its avoiding notice and
parade: a refined genius, enriched with great knowledge and happy
expression, united with the most candid sincerity and goodness of heart;
these qualities entitled her to the esteem and friendship of every noble
mind: and the thick veil, under which her too great modesty concealed
her pre-eminence, exalted her in the penetrating eyes of her lover. She
scarce ever laid _this veil_ aside, except to him, whose approbation
rendered her indifferent with respect to the commendations of every one
else. He became every day more attached to her: and was so ignorant of
the world as to expect his father's approbation of his passion, and that
he would be propitious to it.

Thus situated were the lovers, when Lord Munster disgusted with the
court retired to the country. He immediately sent for Mr Burt and Lord
Finlay: although the distance was only a few miles, it was very grievous
for the latter to leave a place where he had access every minute of the
day to behold the object of his wishes.

Upon this occasion he was determined to disclose to her the situation of
his heart. He threw himself at her feet, in that pathetic disorder of
spirits which constitutes the true eloquence of love, and endeavoured to
speak, but hesitated at every word. In the mean time she saw and pitied
his confusion.

'I can read,' said she, 'my lord,' with an air of frankness, 'the
sentiments of your heart: I am not insensible of your passion; but why
hath fortune placed us at so great a distance from each other? how
delightful it would have been to me, if--But,' said she, (stopping short
in her discourse) 'let us not flatter ourselves with chimeras.--Let us
suppress the emotions of our hearts; it may be dangerous to indulge
them.'

'How? dangerous!' replied Lord Finlay, 'why suppress them? do not those
emotions constitute our happiness? It is the duty of love to repair
the injustice of fortune. How enraptured should I be to make happy the
object I love. Prejudice might object to it perhaps: but that shall
never enslave my understanding, especially as it must be founded only in
pride.'

With these sentiments they parted. It may be easily conceived how
impatient Lord Finlay was to see the idol of his heart, but he could
not with propriety propose quitting his father, for the first days
after his arrival in the country. He at last fell upon the expedient of
suggesting, whether, as he was under such obligations to Captain Lewis,
it would not be proper to call, and invite him to Munster house. This
Lord Munster agreeing to, he and his son called one morning; when Miss
Burt entertaining them with a little music, the light-winged god took
one of the sharpest arrows from the fair-one's quiver, applied it to
his bow, and swift as the forked lightning of Jove, fixed it in the old
man's heart. Lord Munster became desperately in love, and determined to
make her his wife. It is not at all surprising that a young woman makes
an impression on an old man. While we have life we have our passions;
age _represses_, but does not _extinguish_ them. As in maturer years,
the fire lurks under the ashes of prudence; so, if that be wanting, love
burns up and blazes fiercely; and is generally inextinguishable, if it
takes hold of the dry and worm-eaten wood of old-age. Persons of languid
passions (it has been observed) have few partialities; they neither
love, nor hate, nor look, nor move, with the energy of a man of sense.
People of real genius, and strong passions, have great partialities. The
blamelessness of the former should be weighed with their insignificancy;
and the faults of the latter balanced with their superiority.

Lord Munster made proposals to Mr Burt that very day, never doubting but
that Hymen would soon rekindle his _torch_.--But the same principles
determined him respecting his daughter, which had influenced him in
his own affairs. He thanked Lord Munster for the honor he intended
him, which he should acquaint her of--but that in an affair in which
her happiness for life was so immediately concerned, he must forgive
his interfering further. When he acquainted her with it; instead of
enforcing the acceptance of the honor proposed to her, he was at great
pains to precaution her, against many disagreeable consequences of such
an unequal alliance, both in age and condition, lest she should be
dazzled by wealth or titles, to sacrifice her inclinations!

Miss Burt, with unfeigned concern, was greatly chagrined to hear of Lord
Munster's proposals: she, therefore, with great warmth, declared herself
totally unfit, for such an exalted station. 'I can neither,' said she,
'adopt the virtues, or the vices of the great: the former are too
conspicuous, the other too obscure. A round of peaceable employments,
proper to satisfy the mind, and to soothe the heart, is the kind of
happiness for which I find myself inclined.'

'With such principles and inclinations, I could not be happy in the
great world, where the general way of life is solely calculated, to
flatter the senses, and where a superior genius is contemned, or at
least only permitted to exhibit itself in lively sallies, or smart
repartees.'

Mr Burt informed the earl of his daughter's sentiments. But his
lordship's self-love prevailed so far as to render it impossible to
conceive that _he could be refused_. He, therefore, made preparations
for his nuptials, and sent for his daughter home to be present on that
occasion. Lord Munster had taken the same pains on Lady Frances's
education, as her brother's. Mrs Norden, a distant relation, had the
entire charge of her. She resided in London until Lady Frances was
fourteen years old: at that time she accompanied her to Rome, where she
had the best masters, and where Santerello improved her taste in music.
After remaining three years at Rome, they went to Paris, from which
they were just returned at the period above mentioned. Lord Munster was
greatly charmed, both with the personal, and acquired perfections of his
daughter: and professed himself much indebted to Mrs Norden, for the
very great attention she had paid to her.

The day after Lady Frances's arrival, she went to Mr Burt's to pay her
respects to her intended mother-in-law.

No servant happening to be in the way to announce her, she walked
forwards into a room, the door of which she saw open, with an intention
to ring the bell, when she found Miss Burt in her father's library,
weeping bitterly: never before had she seen such an air of languid
softness, mixed with so much beauty. What an affecting sight! She was
going to retire, to save her from that confusion which a sensible heart
is apt to feel at having its afflictions perceived by a stranger; but
the lovely mourner, observing her, endeavoured to suppress her emotions:
but her grief was too violent to be checked; and her tears burst forth
the more, for having been an instant subdued. She could only say, 'That
she could be no stranger to _who_ did her the honour of waiting on
her, from the likeness Lady Frances had to her brother.' The thoughts
of Lord Finlay then renewed her affliction; and asking pardon for her
rudeness, she again shed a torrent of tears. Lady Frances answered,
'That apologies were only due on her part, for breaking in upon her
retirement, and witnessing emotions she might have wished to conceal.'
After a few general things, she told her the pleasure it gave her of
having so near a prospect of being entitled to take an interest in all
her concerns; when she would be happy in her friendship. In this Lady
Frances was perfectly sincere; for though she had been alarmed at the
intended marriage taking place, and although she was of a very shy
disposition, yet, at first sight, feeling the greatest partiality for
Miss Burt, she echoed her sighs, and her eyes bore testimony of the
feelings of her heart. With all the confidence of an ancient friendship,
she conjured her to acquaint her with the cause of her sorrows; and
took upon her to console, soothe, and comfort her. Miss Burt had only
time to express the sense she entertained of her goodness, and to add,
her miseries were _too great_ to be _alleviated_; when her grand-father
entering the room, the conversation turned upon general topics.

Upon Lady Frances's return home, her father gayly enquired, What she
thought of his intended bride? She answered, Every thing that was
charming; and that she had prepared for her an eternal habitation in the
warmest part of her heart: 'There is every thing in her,' added she,
'that can engage the affections, or command the respect, of people of
taste and judgment.'

Lord Finlay mean while was under the greatest oppression of spirits.
A thousand conflicting passions tortured his (until then) undisturbed
bosom. Love and filial piety alternatively took possession of his
soul. Each in their turn was rejected.--When sentiments are nearly of
equal force, the soul, as if unsettled, and wavering between contrary
emotions, knows not which to resolve on; its decrees destroy each other;
scarce is it freed from its troubles when it is involved in them anew;
this undetermined state does not always terminate to the advantage of
the most powerful sentiment.

After a long conflict, the soul wearied out with the efforts it has
made, gradually loses its sensibility and force together; and finally
yields to the last impression, which thus remains master of the field.
After many struggles, Lord Finlay was determined to sacrifice his
_inclinations_, or in other words, (what he thought, his life, to his
father.)

This pious resolution, no doubt, was strengthened by his supposing Miss
Burt had acquiesced to the proposed marriage. His resentment supported
his prudence. Such was the situation of Lord Finlay's mind, when Lady
Frances received the following letter from Miss Burt.

  'Madam,

  You found me in tears, and kindly insinuated your desire to mitigate
  my distress; receive from me all the acknowledgments which can proceed
  from a full heart, raised from the lowest distress, to a glimmering
  prospect of avoiding misery, while that superior Power which witnesses
  your generosity, will _reward it_. Thus, when unhappy, we grasp at
  the least shadow of relief! we seize upon it with eagerness, and
  in a moment raise ourselves above our afflictions. When an unhappy
  drowning wretch is carried away by the current, while intimidated by
  the steepness of the banks, and the rapidity of the torrent, he looks
  upon death as inevitable; his sinews relax, his heart fails him, he
  looks forward to an awful dreaded futurity: but if the least twig
  presents its friendly assistance, his courage at last revives, he
  raises his head, he seizes upon it with a hasty avidity, and makes a
  sudden and violent effort to save himself from destruction. Such is my
  application to your ladyship. Heaven grant you may avert from me those
  evils I so much dread! even the horror of involving my respectable
  parents _in want and misery_. My father's probity has entailed on
  him poverty; and my grandfather's half-pay is our sole dependance,
  exclusive of the salary Lord Munster settled on my respectable parent
  when he undertook to superintend the education of his son; and which
  he promised to continue for life, in compensation for his giving up
  _all other pursuits_. I flatter myself, the frowardness of his unhappy
  daughter will not frustrate his lordship's beneficence, and which he
  judged his labours entitled him to. May I intreat your ladyship will
  soften, through the medium of your influence, the refusal of the honor
  intended me!

  _An attempt to deceive would wring my soul to torture_: Can I then
  take upon me vows at the altar, incompatible with the feelings of
  my heart, and the possibility of conforming myself to? forbid it,
  gratitude, truth, and justice! let me sooner become a martyr to these,
  as my unfortunate father. In every event of my life, integrity and
  honor shall influence me. If my refusal is not founded upon the most
  _advantageous_, yet it is upon the most _worthy_ terms: if that of
  embracing _tranquility_ before _profit_, and preferring probity of
  mind, even attended with the greatest inconveniences, before its
  opposite, although surrounded with every outward accommodation, be
  deserving of that epithet. I ask pardon for this intrusion, and have
  the honor to be

      Your Ladyship's
        Obliged humble servant,
          MARY ANN BURT.'

The little tenderness Lord Munster had ever shewn Lady Frances, the
impressions she entertained of the sourness of his disposition, and the
severity of his temper; all conspired to fill her with the greatest awe
and dread of his displeasure. It may then be easily judged how badly
qualified she was for the office enjoined her in the letter. To add to
her distress, her valuable friend Mrs Norden was absent, and she dared
not conceal the receipt of it until her return, as it was a subject that
admitted of no delay.

She accordingly summoned up sufficient courage to take the letter in her
hand, and to present herself before her father; when her timidity and
confusion were sufficient vouchers of her unwillingness to be an agent
in such a disagreeable business. Her apprehensions were considerably
increased, when the earl asked her, in a harsh tone, _her business with
him_? Being unable to reply, and trembling from head to foot, she gave
him the letter--which he eagerly pursued, while he was alternately
agitated with indignation, pride, and confusion! He at length broke
into a great rage, loading Lady Frances with invectives, for having
innocently produced these emotions, adding, that he then discovered the
cause of her partiality for Miss Burt: but that if she, or Lord Finlay,
ever presumed, from that time forward, to hold any communication with
_the Burt family_, he should consider them as aliens _to his_! Where
friendship is reversed, and turned to enmity, the _latter_ is generally
as _extreme_, as the _former_ was _fervent_. If we were more regular
in _our affections_, we should be more moderate in _our aversions_,
and, without consulting our interest, should hate nothing but what is
really odious: but we are so unjust, that we judge only of things by
their relation to us; we approve of them when agreeable to us, and, by
a strange infatuation, do not esteem them as good or bad, but by the
satisfaction of disgust they give us: we would have them alter their
quality according to our caprices, and cameleon like, assume our
colours, and accommodate themselves to our desires. We fain would be the
center of the world, and have all creatures join with us in inclination.
Lord Munster was not only disappointed in his affections, but piqued in
pride, that, after he had by his intrigues led some of the first princes
in Europe, and made them subservient to his views, a little obscure
girl should render him the laughing-stock of the country. Lady Frances
retired, not daring to return him any answer.

Lord Finlay met her, and, alarmed at her appearance, followed her into
her apartment, intreating to know the subject of the letters she had
received from Miss Burt! She informed him of it, and the disagreeable
task she had just executed; when his looks very soon (to one of her
penetration) betrayed the situation of his heart. He owned to Lady
Frances that his life depended on Miss Burt, their mutual affection,
and the violence he had done his inclinations, by the obligations he
had imposed on himself to subdue his passion whilst it interfered with
his father: but remarked with joy, that he was now relieved from such
a painful effort. 'The Almighty,' said he, 'my dear sister,' (for he
was in a state of mind which both inclined him to be wise and kind)
'implanted both reason and the passions in human nature, mutually to
conduce to men's happiness. But, in order to become a happy creature,
man is not blindly to follow the impulses of his passion to the
exclusion of reason: nor is he to contradict his natural desires but
when they invert the order of nature, and oppose the common good of
society, the dictates of right reason, and the manifest design of
Providence.--I have done what man could do,' added he; 'I did not
interfere when my father was concerned; but I will not relinquish the
object of my affections to any other man breathing.' This was Lord
Finlay's philosophy, which he strictly adhered to--Tremblingly alive
to his interest, Lady Frances told him the risque he would run of his
father's displeasure; but the impetuosity of his passion rendered
him deaf to her remonstrances; and, regardless of everything but its
gratification, he sat down and wrote the following letter to Miss Burt.

  'Madam,

  The strict injunctions of my father, that all communication should
  cease between our families, renders it necessary for me to _write_,
  instead of _waiting_ on you in person. Alas, how poor a substitute is
  the former for the latter! To express my sorrow, or paint my grief,
  is impossible! Were you to know my distress, you would be sensible of
  my sufferings, and compassionate my wretchedness! To be debarred from
  the presence of your respectable parents, to whom I have a thousand
  obligations, and for whom I feel the greatest respect and tenderest
  regard, is a very great hardship: but to be prevented from beholding
  you, is downright tyranny, and forces me to rebel! Could I see Mr
  Burt, I would intreat him to pardon, what I am mortified to call the
  injustice of my father, and assure him that nothing shall be wanting,
  on my part, to soften, and bring him to reason. But I know too well
  the inflexibility of his virtue, he will not see me contrary to the
  inhibitions I have received.

  Permit me on my knees to intreat from you that favor I dare not
  request from him! We may meet at--any day before seven in the morning.
  My life depends on your answer! Let us at least enjoy the soothing
  pleasure, the melancholy consolation of mingling griefs, and bearing a
  part in each other's sorrows; satisfaction that even renders despair
  itself more tolerable! Be persuaded there is nothing, not even my
  father, that can divert my eye, my heart, or hand, from an opportunity
  of expressing how much I am, with the greatest respect,

      Your devoted
        Humble servant,
          FINLAY'

After dispatching the above letter, Lord Finlay spent his time,
fluctuating every moment between hope and despair, agitated with all
the pains of a solicitous suspence; but Miss Burt was too much attached
to him not to agree to his proposal, nor did her condescension at all
infringe on her delicacy.--She could not suppose that the good qualities
so distinguishable in her lover, and which had been so studiously
cultivated by _her father_, could be _only_ violated to the dishonor
of _his daughter_. Lord Finlay's passion was too ardent to submit to
prudence, and could not be long concealed: they met often, and remained
long together; time is easily forgot in the society of those we love--In
Cupid's dial, _hours_ are but _minutes_.--Their interviews were
discovered.

Captain Lewis being informed of it, jealous of his honor, insisted
on Lord Finlay's instantly espousing his grand-daughter; who, loaded
with his reproaches, led away by his passion, and the fears of being
interdicted from steering her more--forgot every thing but the
justification of his honorable intentions.

The indignation with which Lord Munster was seized when informed of this
marriage, is easier to be conceived than delineated. He swore he would
never see his son more, or contribute to his support!

The passions are more easily excited in the young than in the old; in
women, as being of a frame more delicate than in men; in the poor and
distressed, than in the rich and fortunate, for prosperity hardens
the heart; in the illiterate than in the learned, because more prone
to admire; and for the same reason in those who have lived privately,
than in men of large experience; but when once fixed, are not so easily
eradicated as in the others.

The indiscreet solicitations of a gentleman in the neighbourhood, served
only to exasperate him _the more_. A weak friend, if he will be kind,
ought to go no further than wishes: if he either says or does more, it
is _dangerous_. Good intentions are indispensable to constitute a good
man; but other adjuncts are necessary to form the man who interferes in
our behalf. An excellent cause has often suffered through an indifferent
advocate; and I once heard of a lawyer retained by his client, to _hold
his peace for him_.

In consequence of Lord Munster's implacability, Lord and Lady Finlay
were involved in a variety of wretchedness, and most affecting distress;
under all which they bore up with becoming fortitude, and never departed
from that dignity of behaviour, which innate virtue, and conscious
innocence inspire; strengthened by true principles of religion, and
a rational trust in providence, tempered with genuine humility, and
unfeigned resignation to whatever fate should be alloted them. In every
action of their lives they had a view to each other: if they were
serious, or cheerful, amused or grieved, still by their sympathy and
love, every trifle made a pleasure, and every pleasure was heightened
into rapture, by their mutual participation of it. Their hearts exulted
with that joy which is built on the strong foundation of undissembled
tenderness. Happy it is for mortals, that grief is only an exotic in
the human breast--the soil does not naturally afford nutriment for its
constant growth. A perfect similarity of sentiment soon produced that
mutual happiness which arises from loving another better than one's
self: they were no longer anxious for events they could not direct, nor
tasted pain from the disappointment of their hopes.

The half-pay of Captain Lewis, was the only ostensible support of his
unfortunate family, increased by the birth of several children: but
their income had been enlarged, by Mr Burt's literary productions. His
greatest enjoyment was in study--pleasures vary with each different age;
for God and nature never made any faculty, either in soul or body, but
he prepared a suitable object in order to its regular gratification.

The follies of men of a certain age, on this account, have the
pre-eminence to all others, a ridiculous dignity, that gives them a
right _to be laughed at in the first place_. The phenomenon of feeling
amorous pursuits under grey hairs, may as much astonish us, as to see
those mountains whose top is covered with snow, and whose bowels abound
with flames. Mr Burt had a happy temper, formed on the principles of
Christian philosophy. Such was his cheerfulness, that none of the
accidents of life could discompose him; such his fortitude, that not
even the severest trials could unman him. He had a collected spirit, and
on no occasion wanted a resource. He could retire within himself, and
hold the world at defiance.

His amiable daughter possessed also these qualities in an eminent
degree. Captain Lewis dying, their circumstances were reduced; but
Lady Finlay, by her ingenuity supplied the loss they sustained in his
half-pay. She had a fine genius for painting, and in that art did
wonders. By the sale only of a _Crucifixion_, and an _Arcadia_, she
maintained her family for two years. She concealed her name, lest she
should irritate Lord Munster more against her; but had too much good
sense to be ashamed of employing those talents, bestowed on her by
nature for _so natural a purpose_. And the hours that the _indolent_
devote _to rest_, and the licentious to _pleasure_, she dedicate to
providing bread for her family. Good blood cannot be kept up, without
the shambles of the market, so it is no scandal to procure _that_ by
ingenuity or industry, when the appendages of gentility are so far
reduced as not to afford it otherwise.

The picture called Arcadia, is in the possession of the Marquis of
P----. In it there is exhibited a view of the most delightful region,
with the grandest rural scenery in the world; and a romantic wildness
runs through the whole, which gives uncommon beauties to the piece. Her
happy fancy, and the prospects in the country (they had retired to Wales
for cheapness) supplied her with vales more charming than those of _Juan
Fernandez_, with lawns like those of _Tinian_, and finer water-falls
than those of _Quibo_. She copied the greatest beauties in nature, and
formed the finest imitations. The invention of the whole is extremely
pleasing; and has been applauded by all who have seen it, as a master
piece in the landscape way.

Lady Finlay's health decreasing she could no longer _exert this
talent_; and the miserable situation to which her Lord was reduced, in
consequence of his attachment to her, afforded her constant uneasiness.
The griping hand of poverty, produced painful fears, and corroding
cares, while the anxiety of mind _each_ suffered for _the other_,
increased their _mutual calamity_.

The death of two fine children at last entirely subdued Lady Finlay's
remaining spirits--She died in child-bed, (the infant surviving her
a few hours) leaving behind her only two children. It was then Lord
Finlay's cup of affliction was filled. He had reason to fear, the
deceased, dearest object of his tenderest affections, had perished for
want of proper assistance. _Assistance!_ their scanty circumstances
denied! If previous to this, when he perceived in her any marks of
sorrow, it was to him as if all nature had been eclipsed; what must have
been his sensations _then_? they were too great for humanity to support!
His reason forsook him; and the third day after her decease, he expired
in the delirium of madness.

Nothing can give a better sense of the consideration man ought to have
of his latter end, than the following lines of Sir Thomas More:

          'You'd weep, if sure you'd but one month to stay;
          Yet laugh, uncertain of a single day!'

Few are the happy marriages contracted contrary to the consent of
parents.--Disobedience to them, like murder, seldom goes unpunished in
this life[1]. Mr Burt wrote Lady Frances Finlay a letter informing her
of the melancholy catastrophe of this unfortunate couple, and beseeching
her interest with Lord Munster, in behalf of their helpless progeny.

'Could tears, Madam,' said he, 'write as legibly as ink, my streaming
eyes would be an inexhaustible fund, to assist me to send you the
woes of a poor old man, and to pour forth the sorrows of my soul! But
_Cicero_ could not have _described_, _Apelles_ could not have _painted_,
nor _Roscius_ have _represented_, the heartrending scenes I have lately
witnessed.'

Lord Munster died the day before his daughter received the above
letter. He had for some time before lost all sensation. The pleasures
or pains of others were to him of so little importance, that he lived
as if he had been the only creature himself in the universe. He could
not bear to hear of the applause some of his opponents in politics
had acquired, and grudged them a reputation he thought only suitable
to his own distinguished abilities. Different from that conqueror,
of whom it is said he silenced the whole earth, he fancied that the
whole world must talk of his disgrace. He could not support it; and
a pistol put an end to his wretched existence. A careful observer of
events will frequently see, that flagrant vices are punished by some
remarkable strokes of wretchedness, and bad dispositions made sensible
of the evils they bring on others. Never did any Greek or Roman commit
suicide, from too quick a sense of private misfortunes.--Vain glory in
the vulgar may be supportable, nay, may be diverting; but in a great man
it is _intolerable_: nothing is greater in a man, than to be above even
greatness _itself_.

Lady Frances was left by her father the entire possession of the family
estate.--She immediately wrote to Mr Burt, desiring he would leave a
place which must necessarily revive in him such melancholy ideas, and
bring her nephew and niece to Munster house; enclosing him a sum of
money to discharge debts, and to defray the expenses of the journey. He
instantly complied with her request, and resided with her, though she
immediately not only settled on him the annuity he had formerly been
promised, but also paid the arrears due on it.

Had Lord and Lady Finlay lived a few weeks longer, Lady Frances would
have cheerfully assigned to them the estate bequeathed to her, and which
their virtues so justly entitled them to.

It is a strong argument for a state of retribution hereafter, that in
this world _virtuous people_ are often _very miserable_, and _vicious
ones happy_, which is wholly repugnant to the nature of a Being, who
appears infinitely wise and good in all his works, unless we may
suppose, that such a promiscuous and undistinguishing distribution
of good and evil, which was necessary for carrying on the designs of
Providence in this life, will be rectified and made amends for in
another.

Lady Frances possessed the most attractive beauty, was surrounded with
every grace, and blessed with every virtue, that could enslave the
affections, and captivate the soul of the most stubborn philosophers.
The sound of her voice had an engaging sweetness; and her expressions
were well chose, without being affected.--In a word, it was her
character and mind that gave charms to her person. Lord Darnley made his
addresses to her, in which he had been countenanced by Lord Munster, and
every preparation was making for their nuptials, before her father's
death.

Lord Darnley was one of the most amiable of men. He gave a grace to
every thing he said--a refined and delicate wit enlivened all his
discourse, and the vivacity of his imagination discovered itself
continually in fresh sallies. But what irresistibly fixed Lord Munster's
partiality; was the art with which he disguised his _own wit_ and
_knowledge_ to make _him shine_. He conformed entirely to that pleasing
criterion of true humour which Mr Addison gave,--'That it looks grave
itself, while it makes all others laugh.' He had a turn for placing
things in a ridiculous point of view, which was highly diverting--but by
this he never offended; he formed his ridicule on a circumstance, which
the party attacked, was not in his heart unwilling to grant him; that he
was guilty of an excess in something which in itself was laudable[2].
He very well understood what he chose to be, what was his predominant
passion, and knew he need not fear his anger, for declaring he was a
little _too much the thing_.

Nice raillery is a decent mixture of praise and reproach; it touches
slightly upon little failings, only to dwell the more upon great
qualities. I believe what renders courtiers pleasing, is the attention
they pay to the self-love of others. I shall only add, that the
politeness of Lord Darnley's manners would not suffer him to omit any
of those engaging attentions which are so capable of pleasing; and as
he was deeply in love with Lady Frances, he inspired her with mutual
sentiments. How then must it surprise the world to find, that upon her
sudden acquisition of wealth, the marriage did not take place! The
philosopher, experienced in the vicissitudes of human events, views such
sudden dissolutions of the most intimate connections without surprise
or amazement. In regard to the moral and political world, it is not
always great and adequate causes that produce strange and surprising
events; on the contrary, they often are the result of things seemingly
small, and utterly disproportionate to their effects. The same constant
fluctuation that attends the seasons, and all the appendages of the
globe we inhabit, affects the heart of man, making it a prey, by turns,
to different passions. The well-regulated mind alone, can boast of any
degree of consistency, and _that_ too often late in life, the product
of long experience, and unnumbered cares. It was in vain Lord Darnley
declared the disinterestedness of his passion, and intreated Lady
Frances to settle the property of the family out of his power, previous
to her marriage.

She remained unmoved; only assured him, that nothing but what she
apprehended was her first duty, could alienate her from him, and that
she never would dispose of herself to any _other_: but advised him to
marry. She applied herself entirely to the care of her family, and to
the improvement of that property invested in her person.

Living entirely in the country, she sought, in the beauty of nature, in
science, and the love of order, that satisfaction, which in the world
(where people are the _slaves of apology, and the dupes of caprice_) is
eagerly pursued, but _never found_. It is principally on this account,
that people in general are so often declaiming against human life.
She considered society is manifestly maintained by a circulation of
kindness: we are all of us, in some way or other, wanting assistance,
and in like manner qualified to give it. None are in a state of
independency on their fellow-creatures. The most slenderly endowed are
not a mere burthen on the community; even they can contribute their
share to the common good. We learn what are justly our mutual claims,
from this mutual dependency; that on its account, as well as for other
reasons, our life is not to pass in a round of pleasure of idleness,
or according to the suggestions of mere fancy, or in sordid or selfish
pursuits. Can there be any thing more evidently our duty than that we
should return the kindness we receive; than that, if many are employed
in promoting our interest, we should be as intent in advancing theirs?
All men are by nature equal: their common passions and affections, their
common infirmities, their common wants, give such constant remembrances
of this equality, even to those who are most disposed to forget it, that
they cannot, with all their endeavours, render themselves unmindful of
it. They cannot become _insensible_, how unwilling soever they may be
to _consider_, that their debt is as much their demands, as they owe to
others as much as they reasonably can expect from them. It is not to be
supposed that Providence would have made such distinctions among men,
such unequal distributions, but that they might endear themselves to one
another by mutual helps and obligations. Gratitude is the surest bond of
love, friendship, and society.

The various conditions of human life seem so admirably adapted to the
several dispositions of individuals, that if our happiness in this life
were intended, the unequal distribution of the gifts of fortune affords
the most plausible means to effect it. Through nature, indeed, love
is centered at home, and not improperly, though the most amiable and
God-like is the most diverged. But as the principle regards of human
love, are, for the much greater part, over selfish and contracted,
the divine goodness has so directed its operations, as to render them
necessary, and very often unintentionally productive of common social
good. I have often observed, that people favoured by fortune seldom feel
for the pain of the mind, even though they themselves are the authors of
it; their pity alone is excited by certain disgraces, certain exterior
evils, such as sickness and poverty. This was by no means the case with
Lady Frances, who interested herself in the distresses of the soul, with
a goodness equally noble and judicious, and offered to the unhappy, all
those labouring under any species of innocent distress, consolation and
relief.

Her education taught her, that _virtue_ and _abilities_ can only procure
us real happiness, and that nothing but _doing good_, in that sphere of
life in which we are placed, can afford the true felicity to a noble
soul. Upon her father's death she found herself possessed of an estate
of twenty thousand pounds a year, and three hundred thousand pounds
in mortgages. The house and pleasure grounds were in great disrepair,
from the late Earl's constant residence in London and the _environs_.
Lady Frances sent for Mr Brown, who found great _capabilities_ in the
situation: under his direction it is now one of the finest places in
England. She acquainted him of her intention of building a number of
houses for the reception of artificers, and the introduction of certain
manufactures. He fixed upon a beautiful situation, at the side of a
navigable river. Mr Adams approved very much of the plan Lady Frances
submitted to his inspection--he perfected and improved it. It consisted
of one hundred houses; and a _tribuna_[3] in the center. Upon the solid
foundation of the Doric, the Ionic, and Corinthian orders rise gradually
with all their beauty, proportion, and ornaments.

The fabric seizes the most incurious eye. No modern building is
comparable to it for the outward decorations; and for the disposition
within, it has been formed from whatever ancient and modern times afford
most adapted and suitable to the purpose of the structure, not excluding
decorations, which are distributed with equal taste and economy. The
sciences and arts are assembled together in this fine building, and
connected (if I may be allowed the expression) by a large and well
chosen library in all faculties: Here is whatever the lower people's
interest, or the man of taste's curiosity can desire. The first object
that presents itself to the eye, on entering into this noble hall,
which is no less spacious than splendid, is the statue of the founder,
inviting the lovers of literature to make use of the helps which she has
provided for them. This statue is of white marble, as large as life,
and entirely worthy of Mr More, the artist; who has improved the exact
likeness with an air of grandeur and benevolence, dignity and
affability.

And what is a very well chosen ornament for such a place, there is a
representation of nine of the most eminent libraries--the Babylonian,
Athenian, Alexandrian, Palatine, etc.--with short inscriptions giving
an account of each. And to set in view, the origin and first advance
of learning in several countries--there are painted on large pilasters
ranged along the middle of the library, those persons who were reputed
to have been the inventor of letters in several languages. Adam,
Abraham, Moses, Mercurius, Ægyptius, Hercules, Cadmus, Cecrops,
Pythagoras, and several others, with the letters which each of these are
said to have invented written under their pictures.

This library is open at stated times, (like that of the Vatican, and
the French king's) with every proper accommodation to all strangers.
This was greatly wanted in this kingdom. London, after so many ages,
remains without any considerable public library. The best is the Royal
Society's: but even that is inconsiderable; neither is it open to the
public; nor are the necessary conveniences afforded strangers for
reading or transcribing. The British Museum is rich in manuscripts, the
Harleian Collection, the Cottonian Library, the collection of Charles
I. and many others, especially on our own history; but it is wretchedly
poor in printed books: and it is not sufficiently accessible to the
public; their revenue not being sufficient to enable them to pay a
proper number of attendants.[4]

An ingenious Persian lately in England, gave an account of many thousand
Arabian manuscripts, totally unknown to the gentlemen of the university
of Oxford. It is to be wished these were procured. The Orientals and
Hebrews were the parents of knowledge, and the Greeks no more than
their scholars: how gross were their notions of prudence and _virtue_,
till Orpheus, and the travelled philosophers taught them better! The
institutions of modern nations are not to be compared to those of
the ancients, as almost all these had the advantage of being founded
by philosophers. Athens and Sparta were the two first formed states
of Greece. Solon and Lycurgus, who had seen the success of the plan
conducted by Minos in Crete, and who partly copied after that wise
prince, erected these two celebrated republics. The sagacious system of
Egypt served as a model to all the east.

The astronomical observatory is furnished with the best instruments;
anatomy has an amphitheatre, and a spacious room filled with a compleat
set of anatomical pieces in wax.

Painting and sculpture, besides a most convenient apartment for the
study and practice of these arts, have two large rooms full of models of
the most valuable remains of antiquity, taken from the originals.

The pupils of architecture have a hall, crowded with designs and models
of the finest pieces, ancient and modern--and there are contiguous
apartments where all the liberal sciences are read and taught, as logic,
physic, ethics, metaphysics, astronomy, geography, geometry, etc.

These assemblage of studies in every branch is further enriched with
curious museums of antiques, and natural history. All these advantages
are heightened by the lectures of able professors in every art and every
science.

This academy receives two hundred scholars, affords them a liberal
support, and leads them through a perfect course of education; from the
first elements of letters, through the whole circle of the sciences;
from the lowest class of grammatical learning, to the highest degrees
in the several faculties. It properly and naturally consists of two
parts, rightly forming two establishments, the one subordinate to the
other. The design of the one was to lay the foundation of science; that
of other, to raise and compleat the superstructure: the former was to
supply the latter with proper subjects; and the latter was to improve
the advantages received in the former.

The young gentlemen in the neighbourhood are permitted to receive
instructions from the several professors--and a day is set apart,
when they examine young people, in order to discover wherein their
genius conflicts, and to what kind of studies or employments they
naturally are suited. Every man finds in himself a particular bent and
disposition to some particular character; and his struggling against
it is the fruitless and endless labour of Sisyphus. Let him follow and
cultivate _that_ vocation, he will succeed in it, and be considerable
in one way at least; whereas, if he departs from it, he will at best
be _inconsiderable_, probably _ridiculous_. Cicero said, that masters
should consider the nature of their scholars, least they should act
like unskilful husbandmen, who would sow wheat in a soil, that was only
proper for oats. Might it not prove an useful institution if public
societies were erected on this plan? By this means most subjects might
become beneficial to the public; and not only the arts be brought to
perfection, but all the posts of government be well supplied: whereas,
we now daily hear complaints of the want of proper persons to direct
affairs, whilst the youth are condemned to studies, and matriculated
into certain arts or employments before they arrive at years of
discretion.

Some parents on the birth of a son determine what profession he is to
be of. The father sometimes designs his son for a judge, because his
grand-father was one[5], which may be as absurd as to design a _weakly
child_ for a _running footman_, or a _purblind boy_ for a _painter_.
Sometimes a young man is to be a colonel because he is tall, or an
alderman because he has a large belly.

When any remarkable genius displayed itself in any of the young men,
their talents have cultivated for that art of science. The master for
oratory was recommended by Mr Sheridan, who says that the art of oratory
may be taught upon as certain principles, and with as good a prospect of
success, as it ever was by the rhetoricians of Greece or Rome, or as the
arts of music, painting, etc. are taught by their several professors. He
formed himself on Quintilian's institutes of eloquence, who particularly
recommends _chironomy_, or gracefulness of action, which took rise in
the age of heroism, was practised by the greatest men in Greece, was
approved of by Socrates, ranked by Plato amongst the civil virtues, and
recommended by Chrysippus in his treatise upon the education of youth.
Quintilian had the acquisition of an hundred years after Cicero's death,
to improve his knowledge--he had greater opportunities than Cicero ever
had to study 'that intellectual relation, that secret charm, in the
liberal professions, which, connecting one to the other, combines them
all.'

One angle of the _tribuna_ is entirely dedicated to the education of
women. Twenty young ladies are admitted, and there are funds for their
perpetual maintenance, as that of the two hundred scholars. In the
selection of these young gentlewomen, she always gives the preference
to those who labour under any imperfection of body--endeavouring, by
increasing their resources _within themselves_, to compensate for their
_outward defects_. When it is found that any of these ladies have a
taste for any manual or mental art, they cultivate it, and assist them
in the pleasantest means, and by various little attentions confirm these
inclinations with all the spirit of pursuit requisite to preserve minds
(in general) from that state of languidness and inactivity, whereby
life is rendered irksome to those who have never found it unfortunate.
In this establishment she entirely runs counter to that of Madame de
Maintenon's at Saint Cyr; where the young women, who should have been
instructed in rural labours, and economy in the duties of a family, in
the employments of _Solomon's virtuous women_, by their education, were
only fit to be addressed by men who were rich enough to require in a
wife nothing _but virtue_. This is also the foible of too many parents,
who all expect their daughters are to fill exalted stations in life, and
by educating them with that view, disqualify them for their after lot.

As divines say that some people take more pains to be damned than
it would cost them to be saved, so many people employ more thought,
memory, and application, to be fools, than would serve to make them
wise and useful members of society. The ancients esteemed it an honor
to understand the making of every thing necessary for life one's self,
without any dependence on others; and it is that which Homer most
commonly calls _wisdom_ and _knowledge_. He describes old Eumæus making
his own shoes, and says, he had built some fine stalls for the cattle
he bred. Ulysses himself built his own house, and set up his bed with
great art, the structure of which served to make him known to Penelope
again. When he left Calypso, it was he alone that built and rigged the
ship.--From all which we see the spirit of these ancient times.

These young ladies are not instructed to declaim with grace, or sing
with taste; but if they are less amusing, they are infinitely more
useful and interesting companions to those they afterwards associate
with, whether in the character of wives or friends. Several of them
have married very well in the neighbourhood. There is no sentiment more
cold, or of shorter continuance, than admiration. We grow weary of a
set of features, though ever so beautiful. Between folly, and a homely
person, there is this difference; the latter is constantly the same, at
least with imperceptible alteration, whilst folly is ever putting on
some new appearance, and giving, by that means, fresh pain and disgust.
However true this may be, I believe it would require some rhetoric to
convince a young man not to prefer the folly that accompanies beauty,
to wisdom and deformity. Though Sir Francis Bacon assures us in his
natural philosophy, that our taste is never better pleased than with
those things which at first created a disgust in us. He gives particular
instances of porter, olives, and other things, which the palate seldom
approves of at first; but when it has once got a relish of them,
generally retains it for life.

The streets, which were built on each side of the _Tribuna_, were
uniform, and the houses ornamented with emblematical figures of the
different trades intended for the possessors. She permitted them to
live rent-free for the two first years, and admitted none but such who
excelled in their art. This was certainly very political--By encouraging
them in this manner, it enabled them at first to work, and sell their
manufactures at a moderate rate; which insured them the business of
the neighbouring counties that would otherwise have sent at a greater
distance, for what could be equally produced at home.[6]

The size of the houses decreases gradually from the centre of every
street. As Lady Frances spared no expense in the execution, Mr Adams
directed it with the greatest taste and propriety. The smallest houses
are, indeed, exteriorly, the handsomest, on account of their twisted
columns; yet, as they convey an idea of weakness, they always displease
when they are made use of as supports to heavy buildings. The different
orders succeed each other, from the Corinthian to the Tuscan, according
to the size of the houses. Mr Hogarth observes on this head, that the
bulks and proportions of objects are governed by fitness and propriety;
that it is this which has established the size and proportion of
chairs, tables, and all sorts of utensils and furniture; has fixed the
dimensions of pillars, arches, etc. for the support of great weights;
and so regulated all the orders in architecture.

In the course of ten years Lady Frances brought all the above plans to
perfection; which she the more easily effected from Mr Burt's having
maintained a correspondence with the _literati_ in most parts of the
world. And as the encouragement given was great, it is not surprising
that her academy became a seat of the muses, and a place to which many
resorted for the solution of literary doubts.

If their ears were enchanted by harmony, their eyes were equally
ravished by the beauties of painting and sculpture. In this charming
mansion is blended the improvement of the arts, with that of
philosophy: an exquisite assemblage of all the sweets of life.
Architecture, statuary, painting, and music, find in her a patroness.
Refinement of taste in a nation, is always accompanied with refinement
of manners. People accustomed to behold order and elegance in public
buildings, and public gardens, acquire urbanity in private. The
Italians, on the revival of the liberal arts and sciences, gave them
the name of _virtù_; from this was derived the term of _virtuoso_,
which has been accepted throughout Europe. Should not this appellation
intimate, to those who assume it to themselves, that the study of what
is beautiful, in nature or art, ought to render them more virtuous than
other men. Exclusive of the above buildings, there are others finely
adapted to their different purposes, at the same time calculated to
ornament the grounds. There are manufactories of different kinds; and
silks wrought by hydraulic machines, which renders the workmanship more
easy and expeditious. Lady Frances procured artificers from Tuscany
for a porcelain manufacture, which has continued with them from the
ancient Etruscans. She has also established a manufacture of earthen
ware, procuring models of Etruscan vases in Terra Cotta, made after
those in the Vatican library. These are used even in the most common
vessels. She also took some pains in regulating the dress of the young
women. A country girl returning from the spring with a pitcher of water
on her head, perfectly resembles those figures which the most exquisite
antiques represent in the same attitude. The great share _variety_ has
in producing beauty, may be seen in the ornamental part of nature;
the shapes and colours of plants, flowers, leaves; the painting in
butterflies wings, shells, etc. which seem of little other intended use,
than that of entertaining the eye with the pleasure of variety: in this
all the senses delight and are equally averse to sameness--The ear is as
much offended with one continued note, as the eye is with being fixed to
a point, or to the view of a dead wall.

Every building is rendered ornamental to the grounds. There is a
botanical garden, which is filled with plants and flowers, which have
been presented to Linnæus, from whom she received them, from every part
of the globe. One of his pupils resided here, in an elegant habitation,
in which there is a rotunda where lectures on botany are given: this
fine room is surrounded with exotic plants. Mr Burt entirely concurred
with Linnæus, in wishing, that gentlemen designed for theological
studies were directed to apply as much time to the study of physics
as they spent in metaphysics and logic, which he judges neither so
indispensably necessary, nor useful as the former.

Lady Frances also erected an hospital for the reception of two hundred
incurables; a thing much wanted in this kingdom, without paying any
regard to their country, religion, or disease, requiring no security
in case of death. The practice of most of the public hospitals in this
country is widely different, the restrictions of admission being such
as frequently deprive many from receiving the benefit first intended by
the founder. But she had a fund of charity of another stamp, which gave
her infinitely more pleasure, as it was free from the ostentation of
those acts of public bounty. These were private donations to those whose
circumstances were not yet so bad as to oblige them to beg publicly. If
an industrious tradesman had a numerous family, little business, or a
small stock, she found means to supply his wants, or put him in a way of
carrying on his business to greater advantage, in such a manner, as that
sometimes he himself did not know the source of his relief; at most,
none but the party succoured, and Mr Burt, knew any thing of the matter,
for this worthy man was her secret almoner, and searched out for the
secret necessities of modest and industrious poor. She had the happiness
arising from the consciousness of having maintained numerous families in
decent plenty, who, without her well-timed and secret bounty, must have
been a charge to the parish. But she was a great enemy to poor-rates,
judging with Davenant, that they will be the bane of our manufactures.

Lady Frances was far from being alarmed at the great expenses of her
undertakings. She thought her large fortune, and her nephew's long
minority, as it put it in her power, could not be better employed than
in works of national magnificence. The power and wealth of ancient
Greece were most seen and admired in the splendor of the temples, and
other sublime structures of Pericles. He boasted, that every art would
be exerted, every hand employed, every citizen in the pay of the state,
and the city, not only beautified, but maintained by itself. The sums
Lady Frances expended in bringing these plans to perfection, diffused
riches and plenty among the people, and has already doubled the estate.
She has a fine collection of pictures.--The only way to raise a genius
for painting, is to give encouragement: historical painters get so
little by their profession, that we have very few. This Lady Frances
made her particular object, to afford our youth ready access to good
pictures: till these be multiplied in Great Britain, we shall never
have the reputation of producing a good painter. If we expect to rival
the Italian, the Flemish, or even the French school, our artists must
have before their eyes the finished works of the greatest masters. It
is a pity, that when an ingenious gentleman[7] last winter submitted
to the parliament, as worthy of their attention, some considerations
that might tend to the encouragement of useful knowledge, and the
advancement in this kingdom of the arts and sciences, he did not with
his usual intelligence, represent the bad consequences of the duty laid
on pictures imported into Great Britain: Were the bad effects of this
represented to our legislature, it is impossible but it must be amended.
This gentleman took notice in his speech, that a remarkable opportunity
of improving the national taste in _painting_, which was lately lost,
he hoped would now be recovered. The incomparable Sir Joshua Reynolds,
and some other great painters, who do honor to our country, generously
offered to adorn the cathedral of St Paul's (a glorious monument of the
magnificence of our ancestors) with some of their most valuable works:
but the proposition was rejected by the late Bishop of London[8], though
he flatters himself it will be renewed, and accepted by the gentleman
at present in that fee[9], who is not only a man of _solid piety_, but
of the _soundest learning_, and of _exquisite classical taste_. The
great art of human life is not to eradicate the passions, but to adopt
the proper objects of them: if mankind cannot think so abstractedly as
a pure effort of unmixed reason implies, I presume it follows, that
some degree of passion is warrantable in devotion. While we are in our
present imperfect and embodied state, it will be found necessary to
call in _externals_ to our aid, for the proper discharge of religious
worship. Even among those who in their private devotions are most
sincere, external acts and ceremonies, when properly conducted, become
real assistances; because the connection between the body and soul,
between the senses and the imagination, between the passions and the
reason of mankind, is so strong and mutual, that they uniformly act and
re-act upon one another, and mutually raise the soul to new and higher
degrees of fervor.

This was so much Lady Frances's opinion, that she had some fine pieces
of painting in her chapel, which is also a very fine new building; the
architecture and paintings do honor to the artists--She made it a rule
to be constant in her attendance at church. Public acknowledgments of
the goodness of God, and application for his blessings, contribute to
give a whole community suitable apprehensions of him: and these, if it
was her duty to entertain, it was equally her duty to propagate; both as
the regard she paid the divine excellencies was expressed, and as the
same advantage that she received from such apprehensions, was received
by all whom they affected in the same manner.

She had not the smallest degree of superstition, having too much good
sense to imagine the Deity can be persuaded to recede from the settled
laws of the universe, and the immutability of his nature. But she
knows the perfections of God are a ground and sufficient reason for
prayer, and that it is both an act and a means of virtue.[10] She had
a mind free from prejudice, adorned with knowledge, and filled with
the best principles; a noble firmness in showing these principles,
and in maintaining them; in short, every talent joined to the most
amiable modesty. She was advised to call her elegant village by the
name of _Athens_; but this she declined, naming it _Munster Village_:
but she justly thought it deserved it; with this difference, that the
inhabitants are too well informed to give into such gross superstitions,
and so easily suffer themselves to be imposed upon by astrologers,
divines, soothsayers, and many other sorts of conjurers, as the Grecians
did.

They excelled in arts; their laws were wise; they had brought everything
to perfection that makes life easy and agreeable: but they took little
pains in the speculative sciences, geometry, astronomy, and physics.
The anatomy of plants and animals, the knowledge of minerals and
meteors, the shape of the earth, the course of the stars, and the whole
system of the world, were still mysteries to them.

The Chaldeans and Egyptians, who knew something of them, kept it a great
secret and never spoke of them but in riddles; so that until Alexander's
time, and the reign of the Macedonians, they had made no great progress
in such learning as might cure them of superstition. An immoderate love
of the study of astrology, was a weakness which characterized also the
fifteenth century. In the age of Lewis XIV, the court was infatuated
with the notion of judicial astrology: many of the princes, through a
superstitious pride, supposed that nature, to distinguish them, had
writ their destiny in the stars. Victor Amadeus, Duke of Savoy, father
to the Duchess of Burgundy, had an astrologer always with him, even
after his abdication. The same weakness which gave credit to the absurd
chimera, judicial astrology, also occasioned the belief of sorcery and
witchcraft; courts of justice composed of magistrates, who ought to have
had more sense than the vulgar, were employed in trying persons accused
of witchcraft.--Latest posterity must hear with astonishment that the
Madame d'Ancre was burnt at the _Gréve_ as a sorceress. This unfortunate
woman, when questioned by counsellor Courtin concerning the kind of
sorcery she had used to influence the will of Mary de Medecis, having
answered, _She had used that power only which great souls always have
over weak minds_; this sensible reply served only to precipitate the
decree of her death[11].

It must be confessed there is a strong propensity in man's nature, to
assign every thing uncommon to supernatural means. But though I am very
apt to believe there is greater credulity in most minds, than will be
candidly acknowledged, yet the degree of it must be in proportion to
people's ignorance and want of information. Thus the famous doctors of
the faculty at Paris, when John Faustus brought the first printed books
that had then been seen in the world, or at least seen there, and sold
them for manuscripts, were surprised at the performance, and questioned
Faustus about it; but he affirming they were manuscripts, and that he
kept a great many clerks employed to write them, they were satisfied.
Looking further, however, into the work, and observing such an exact
uniformity throughout the whole, that if there was a blot in one, it was
the same in all, etc. etc. etc. their doubts were revived. The learned
divines not being able to comprehend the thing, (and that was always
sufficient) concluded it must be the _devil_; that it was done by magic
and witchcraft; and that, in short, poor Faustus (who was indeed nothing
but a mere printer) dealt with the _devil_.

They accordingly took him up for a _magician_ and a _conjurer_, and
one that worked by the _Black Art_, that is to say, by the help of the
devil--and threatened to hang him; commencing a process against him in
their criminal courts; when the fear of the gallows induced Faustus
to _discover the secret_--that he had been a compositor to Koster of
Harlem, the first inventor of printing.

Gardening made a much slower progress among the ancients, than
architecture. The palace of Alcinous, in the seventh book of the
Odyssey, is grand and highly ornamented; but his garden is no better
than what we call a kitchen garden. This also Lady Frances excelled
in. She had also a receptacle for all sorts of animals to retire to
in their old age. It was of old the custom to bury the favourite dog
near the master. To use those of the brute creation who toil for our
pleasure, or labour for our profit, with hard and ungenerous treatment,
is a species of inhumanity which all men allow to be derogatory from
virtue. The authors of wanton cruelty towards the dumb creation, are
justly execrated for their brutality. It is a crime which I believe many
commit, without either considering the misery it _produces_, or the
guilt _it incurs_: and many more, who in fits of causeless or capricious
displeasure intend to inflict the misery, have yet no sense that they
incur guilt. Lady Frances makes use of buffaloes to draw her ploughs.
These animals are far stronger than oxen, and eat less. Why have we not
them in this country, and dromedaries and camels?

She cultivates India corn, which grows with vast reeds, which is of
great use; and has attempted the culture of rice, and some other things
upon boggy ground, with tolerable success. As our cork used to come from
France, and now grows in Italy, she has tried it here, where it thrives
amazingly; it resembles the evergreen oak, and bears acorns. When you
strip other trees of their bark, they die; but this grows stronger, and
produces a new coat. She leaves nothing unattempted which has a chance
of becoming useful. She also procured sheep from Norway, which are
peculiar from having four horns, and being spotted like deer, with a
coat of substance betwixt the hair and wool, which is admirable for many
uses.

Edward IV has been greatly censured, as taking a very impolitic and
injurious measure in making a present to the King of Spain of some
Cotswold sheep; the breed of which has been very detrimental to the
English woollen manufacture, which has been a national branch of trade
ever since. The celebrated Buffon affirms, that our sheep are very far
removed from their natural state; from which it has been the usual
course of things to decline.

Lady Frances cultivates silk-worms. The ancient Romans for a long time
never dreamed that silk could be produced in their country; and the
first silk ever seen in Greece, was after the conquest of Persia by
Alexander the Great. From thence it was imported into Italy, but was
sold at the rate of an equal weight of gold.[12]

The Persians being the only people of whom it was to be had, would not
permit a single egg or worm to be carried out of their country. Hence
the ancient Greeks and Romans were so little acquainted with the nature
of silk, that they imagined it grew like a vegetable. Holosericum,
or a stuff made of silk only, was worn by none but ladies of the
first rank.[13] But men of the greatest quality, and even princes,
were contented with subsericum, or a stuff made of half silk; to that
Heliogabulus is remarked for being the first who wore holosericum[14].
In the reign of the emperor Justinian, a trial was made for bringing
silk-worms alive to Constantinople, but without success; however, two
monks who had been employed in the affair, repeated the trial with
silk-worms eggs.[15] The experiment succeeded so well, that to this
Constantinopolitan colony, all the silk-worms, and silk manufactures in
Europe owe their existence and origin. Till the middle of the twelfth
century, all the silken stuffs at Rome and other parts of Europe were
of Grecian manufacture. But Roger I. King of Sicily, about the year
1138, invading Greece with a fleet of vessels with two or three benches
of oars, called Galeæ or Sagittæ (from whence are derived the words
galley and saique) and sacking and plundering Corinth, Thebes, and
Athens, brought away to Palermo, among other prisoners, a great number
of silk weavers to instruct his subjects in that art. From them, as
Otto Trisingensis de gestis Frederici, lib. I. cap. 23. informs us, the
Italians soon learnt the method of manufacturing silk.

Lady Frances did not restrain farmers, or the sons of farmers from
shooting, as none are better entitled to game than those whose property
is the support of it.

          'See that assemblage of the sons of wealth,
          Whose pity and humanity extend
          To dumb creation! with what costly care
          They study to preserve the brutal race
          From _vulgar_ persecution! Truly great
          Were such benevolence, could their design
          Deserve so laudable a name!--Alas! What are they but
          monopolists in blood,
          That to themselves endeavour to preserve
          Inviolate the cruel privilege
          Of slaughter and destruction? What is this
          But petty tyranny, th' ambitious child
          Of luxury and pride? If Heaven indulge
          A right to kill, each free-born Briton sure
          May claim his portion of the carnage. All
          O'er nature's commoners, by nature's law,
          Plead equal privilege: what then supports
          This usurpation in the wealthier tribe;
          The _qualifying_ acres? no, proud man,
          Possessions give not thee superior claim
          To that, which equally pertains to all--
          Whose property you timid hare, which feeds
          In thy inclosure? thine? denied--allow'd,
          Yet if the fearful animal be thine,
          Because the innocently crops _to-day_
          The herbage of thy freehold, whose will be
          The claim _to-morrow_, when thy neighbour's soil
          Affords her pasturage? Assuming man!
          How is the hardy Briton's spirit tam'd
          By thy oppressive pride!-when danger comes
          Who shall defend thy property? thyself?
          No; that poor Briton, whom thou hast undone
          By prosecutions--will he not retort,
          "What's liberty to me? 'tis lost! 'tis gone!
          "If I must be oppress'd, it matters not
          "Who are th' oppressors. Shall I hazard life
          "For those imperious lordlings, who denied
          "That privilege, which Heaven and nature meant
          "For food, or sport, or exercise to all?"'

                                         _British Philippic._

Mr Burt devoted his time much to his grand-children, though he was far
from wishing to obtrude too much knowledge on their tender years, as the
mind may be overstrained by too intense application, in the same way as
the body may be weakened by too much exercise before it arrives at its
full strength.

Quintilian compares the understanding of children to vessels into
which no liquor can be poured but drop by drop. But there is a certain
season, when our minds may be enlarged--when a great stock of useful
truths may be acquired--when our passions will readily submit to the
government of reason--when right principles may be so fixed in us, as to
influence every important action of our future lives. If at that period
it is neglected, error or ignorance are, according to the ordinary
course of things, entailed upon us. Our passions gain a strength that
we afterwards vainly oppose--wrong inclinations become too confirmed in
us, that they defeat all our endeavours to correct them. A superior
capacity, an ardent thirst for knowledge, and the finest dispositions,
soon discovered themselves in Lord Munster; particularly a singular
warmth of affection, and disinterestedness of temper. And although
experience evinces, that memory, understanding, and fancy, are seldom
united in one person, yet he is one of those transcendant geniuses, who
is blessed with all three. Mr Burt treated him always with that distant
condescension, which, though it encourages to freedom, commands at the
same time respect. He appeared in different characters to him, that he
might find something new and agreeable in his conversation.

Montaigne says; 'there is nothing like alluring the passions and
affections; otherwise we only make asses loaded with books.' Exquisite
is the fruit produced by a right temperature of the different qualities,
and mixture of the world and philosophy, business and pleasure, dignity
and politeness. The Romans termed it _Urbanitas_, the Greeks _Atticism_.

At the age of sixteen years the Earl of Munster having received every
advantage education could bestow on him, fully answered the most
sanguine expectations his aunt had formed of him. She then insinuated
to him his dependent situation--her own intentions of marrying, the
great expenses she had been at in the various improvements she had made
on the estate, which rendered it necessary for him to apply himself to
business, as it would disable her from doing so much for him as she
would have inclined: that as she had bestowed on him every advantage of
education, the alternative before him was that of _application_ on his
part, or the utmost severity of _censure_ on that of the world.

Lady Frances adopted this plan with Lord Munster to keep him ignorant of
her intentions in his favor, that she might not obstruct his exerting
all his physical and moral strength in acquiring that knowledge and
virtue he at present so eminently possesses. Though a man of rank born
to a large fortune may have fine natural parts, yet it takes a great
deal to make him a _great man_. His splendid titles and large estate,
are in some degree a bar to those acquirements, as he rests secure in
his rank and independent fortune. How would the number of the nobility
be reduced, were only those allowed to assume that title who could make
good their claim to it by the distinguished endowments which raised
the founder of the family? A man of rank who is a jockey at Newmarket
rises no higher in my estimation than the lowest mechanic. Men of
literature are the only nobility known in China: In other countries
the laws inflict punishment _on criminal actions_: there, they do
more; _they reward virtue_. If the fame of a generous action is spread
in a province, the mandarin is obliged to acquaint the emperor, who
presently sends a badge of honor to the person who has so well deserved
it. Be their birth ever so low, they become mandarins of the highest
rank, in proportion to the extent of their worth or learning. On the
other hand, be their birth ever so exalted, they quickly sink into
poverty and obscurity if they neglect there studies which raised their
fathers.[16][17]

The care, attention, and labour incumbent on men for their support,
invigorate both the soul and the body, and they are the natural causes
of health and sagacity. Virtue itself would be indolent if she had no
passions to conquer and regulate. It is every way our advantage that
we have no such slothful paradise as the poets feigned in the golden
age: and the alledged blemishes in nature, are either the unavoidable
accompanyments or consequences of a structure, and of laws subservient
to advantages, which quite over-balance these inconveniences, or
sometimes the direct and natural means of obtaining those advantages.
The situation of the King of Sardinia, environed on all sides with
powerful monarchs, obliges him to act with the greatest circumspection;
which circumstance seems to have formed the character of that house.--As
Lady Frances was desirous of her nephew's understanding commerce, she
proposed his becoming a merchant:--with great modesty, and deference
for her opinion, he submitted to her, whether the confined maxims of a
trader were not destructive of the social virtues; if they did not tend
to destroy those refined feelings of the soul that distinguish man from
man?[18] She answered, 'What situation is like that of a man, who with
one stroke of a pen makes himself obeyed from one end of the world to
the other? his name, his signature, has no necessity, like the army of
a Sovereign, for the value of metal to come to the assistance of the
impression: himself does all; he has signed, and that is enough.'

Lord Munster replied, 'that there were two ranks in life he should
prefer as more suitable to the title he bore, though unaccompanied
by fortune, the magistrate who supports the laws, or that of the
soldier who defends his country!' Highly charmed with his sentiments,
it required no small resolution for his aunt, who fondly loved him,
to support the character she had assumed; but recollecting herself,
observed, that it was not unusual for men of high birth to enrich their
family _by trade_.

When the Earl of Oxford was at the head of affairs in England, his
brother was a factor at Aleppo; and if Lord Townshend was respected in
parliament as a secretary of state, his brother was no less regarded
in the city as a merchant. Without giving way, added she, to ideas of
birth, you may be happy, and by your temper, application, and personal
accomplishments, make a figure in life without the aid of such an
accidental _appendage_; and by your attainments and engaging qualities
obtain a general esteem, the surest step to advancement and honor.

Lord Munster seemed _convinced_, though not allured by her arguments,
yielding himself to her guidance, with that sweetness of disposition,
which though so amiable in itself is so much to be apprehended. For
those dispositions of the mind, which are generally termed virtuous, are
frequently the occasion of our falling into vices, from which opposite
ones, though generally condemned, would have secured us.

In pursuance of Lady Frances's plan, Lord Munster was sent to Holland,
where he was boarded for two years in a creditable family in Amsterdam,
as the best school for learning, temperance, economy, and every domestic
virtue.

Men of all climates and religions being also natives of Holland, gave
him liberal notions and enlarged ideas; their earth is as free as their
air. Their toleration of religion, indeed, is so extreme, it amounts
to a total unconcern about them. At the same communion, in the same
church, some receive sitting, others standing, or kneeling; and this
freedom appeared to that crafty people, such unquestionable policy, that
it came in from common sense alone, and passed without a law.[19] To
this cause is assigned the number of inhabitants; as the land fit for
tillage in Holland does not exceed four hundred thousand acres[20]. This
country in itself furnishes an illustration of the plan Lady Frances
was following with her nephew. Industry, honesty, and concern for the
public welfare, made the inhabitants considerable. If they depart from
these, and if the sea returns upon them, their having existed will be
known only from tradition and books. The preservation of both Egypt and
Holland depends upon the care they take of their dykes, and canals;
but there is no work in the former so great as the building such a
city as Amsterdam upon piles in the sea[21]. Venice also furnishes a
striking instance of what wonders may be effected by industry: that out
of a morass, a city of such splendor could be raised, and become the
emporium of Europe, as it was before the discovery of the East and West
Indies, is extraordinary. But this trade decayed, as that of Holland
increased: almost all merchandizes which came from the Mediterranean
were formerly landed at Venice, and from thence brought to Augsburg;
from which place, they were dispersed through all Germany. But Holland
has taken away all, and distributes all; and Augsburg suffers, as well
as Venice, Milan, Antwerp, and an infinite number of other cities,
which are at _present_ as _poor_ as _formerly_ they _were rich_. This
furnishes an excellent example of the benefits arising from industry,
and the necessity of exertion. Lord Munster rendered himself entirely
master of the knowledge of our English trade and privileges. He also
attained a competent skill in the history of jurisprudence[22]. As it is
requisite for every man who has leisure and capacity for such researches
to be acquainted with the nature and extent of that judicial authority
which is to decide upon his person and property, and to which as a
citizen he is bound to submit, he studied the English constitution and
government in the ancient books of common law, and more modern writers,
who out of them have given an account of this government. He next
proceeded to the history of England, and with it joined in every king's
reign the laws then made----This gave him insight into the reason of
our statutes, and shewed him the true ground upon which they came to
be made, and what weight they ought to have. By this means he read the
history of his own country with intelligence, and was able to examine
into the _excellence_ or _defects_ of its _government_, and to judge of
the _fitness_ or _unfitness_ of its _orders_ and _laws_: and by this
method he knows enough of the English law for a gentleman, though quite
ignorant of the _chicane_ or wrangling, and captious part of it, or the
arts how to _avoid_ doing _right_, and to _secure himself_ in _doing
wrong_. As Lord Munster was now eighteen years of age, Lady Frances
wrote and acquainted him, that as he had rather testified a dislike
to the mercantile scheme, she desired he would relinquish it; and as
nothing contributes more to enlighten and improve the understanding,
than a personal acquaintance with foreign climates, she desired he would
travel.--The man who by his birth-right is a free member of society,
not a slave to despotic power, and who, in matters of religion, enjoys
the invaluable blessing of private judgment, should not fail to visit
other nations; for this will not only rub off all the selfish asperities
he may have contracted from a narrow survey of things, but will also
accompany him home with a more rational attachment to that constitution
under which he had the happiness to be born. Heaven has placed us in
a most advantageous situation; unless we are divided at home, attacks
from abroad may molest but cannot ruin us. Our laws are the laws of
freedom; our merchandise the traffic of opulence----Our constitution is
framed and joined together by the choicest parts, picked and extracted
from aristocracies, democracies, and sovereignties. We have a natural
force to _defend_ and _maintain_ the empire of the seas. We enjoy
wealth and possessions in both the Indies, if we do not lose them by
our own misconduct----We boast at regular choice, and singular system
of parliamentary government, so nicely calculated, as to be at once the
defence and the support of the kingdom and the people. Our Sovereign has
the power--but the parliament has still the law of that power[23].--What
people on earth can say the same? The studies Lord Munster made of our
constitution, when contrasted with his observations of other countries,
made him return after three years, not a _nominal_, but a _real_
patriot. This is not always the case. Too many of our young gentlemen
bring home only a miserable reverse of every good purpose for which
they were sent out:--as none travel more than the English, they ought,
therefore, to let none surpass them in manly or generous perceptions.
But we have reason to fear that what Mr Pope observes of _one_ of them
may be applicable to _most_.

               '_Europe he saw, and Europe saw him too._'

Is not this owing to their early visiting France, where slavery is so
artfully gilded over as to hide its natural deformity? If our countrymen
were first to make the tour of Denmark, where the people are more
apparently slaves, it would remedy this evil. On the contrary, when the
subject of an arbitrary government has travelled into countries which
enjoy the inestimable advantages of civil and religious liberty, he
returns with a diminished affection for his own, and learns to despise
and dislike that constitution which denies him the enjoyment of those
natural rights, the knowledge and the value of which he has learnt from
his happier neighbours.

Hence it is that despotic princes are cautious how they permit their
subjects to _range abroad_; and for the reasons above intimated,
travelling has ever been encouraged in free states.

With the finest person, Lord Munster possessed all the virtues and the
graces----was all complacency in his manners, all sweetness in his
disposition; humane, susceptible, and compassionate.

While Lady Frances had taken so much care of his education, it may
be readily supposed she was not forgetful of Lady Eliza's, his
sister--whose person is faultless, and of the middle size--her face is
a sweet oval, and her complexion the _brunette_ of the bright kind.
The finest passions are always passing in her face; and in her lovely
eyes there is a fluid fire sufficient to animate a score of inanimate
beauties. She has a clear understanding, and a sound judgment; has read
a great deal, and has a most happy elocution: possesses a great share of
wit, and with equal strength and propriety can express the whole series
of the passions in comic characters. The pliableness of her dispositions
can raise and keep up agreeable sensations, and amuse her company.

Lord L---- declares he never saw anything equal to her, even on the
French stage, in the article of transition from passion to passion
in comic life. She is perfect mistress of music, and plays admirably
well on the harpsicord; having great neatness, and more expression and
meaning in her playing, than is often found among lady-players.--In
this, as in every other branch of her education, she has had every
advantage--Lady Frances herself being highly accomplished--and her
long residence in Italy and France having perfected and improved her
taste, in every accomplishment that can embellish or add graces to
the youth and beauty of her niece--All her musical band have been the
pupils of the first masters, and recommended to her by Santirelli,
Jomelli, Galuppi, Piccini, and Sacchini. It is not then surprising that
the works of these different masters are performed admirably well at
Munster-house; and as there is great variety in their manner, there
is that in every one of them to charm and please the most insensible.
Lady Frances is highly charmed with Jomelli; while the fancy, fire,
and feeling of Galuppi, and Piccini's comic style, are infinitely
more attracting to Lady Eliza, than the taste, learning, great and
noble ideas of Jomelli, or the serious style of Sacchini.--One of
the Bezzodzi's, from Turin who excels on the hautboy, is also at
Munster-house.

There is also a set of very excellent actors, who perform at the
Tribuna, judging the representation of dramatic works of genius
contribute as much to soften manners, as the exhibition of the
Gladiators formerly did to harden them. When we complain of the
_licentiousness_ of the stage, I fear we have more reason to complain of
_bad measures_ in our policy, and a general decay of _virtue_ and _good
morals_ among us.

Moliere's comedies are said to have done more service to the courtiers,
than the sermons of Bourdalone and Massillon. The great Saint
Chrysostom, a name consecrated to immortality by his virtue, is thought
to owe a great part of his eloquence and vehemence in correcting vice,
to his constantly reading Aristophanes; nor was he even censured on that
account, in those times of pure zeal, and primitive religion.

Lord Shaftesbury says, 'Bigotry hurries us away into the most furious
excesses, upon trifles of no manner of consequence.' What is more
useful to a nation than the picture of strong passions, and their fatal
effects; of great crimes, and their chastisement; of great virtues,
and their reward? Scarce had Peter the Great polished Russia, before
theatres were established there. The more Germany has improved, the more
of our dramatic representations has it adopted. Those few places, where
they were not received in the last age, are never ranked among civilized
countries: and theatrical entertainments have their use everywhere, and
often keep the common people from a worse employment of their time--and
so far were the institution of theatres from being the fore-runners of
slavery, or the badges of despotism, that they were most encouraged, and
flourished best in free states.

It is easy to conceive that the acquaintance of Lady Frances was much
courted, as no private person had it so much in their power to entertain
their company so well; there being every requisite at Munster-house to
delight the heart, please the eyes, and satisfy the understanding.--No
person of any taste but would blush to acknowledge they have not been in
Shropshire to admire her buildings, manufactures, schools, etc.--And it
fares with her merit like the pictures of Raphael, which are seen with
admiration by all, or at least no one dare own that he has no taste for
a composition which has received so universal an applause.

Upon Lord Munster's being of age, she was thirty-seven; yet the
regularity of her life contributed to make her lose no more in her
person than what might be considered as the slight touches in a picture,
which when faded diminish nothing of the master-strokes of the piece.
Lord Darnley, since the time he had expected to become Lady Frances's
husband, still continued to attach himself to her. 'Whatever her
determinations may be,' said he, 'I am sensible of the value of her
soul; her friendship is more tender than the endearment of love in other
women.' Such forbearances were not uncommon in ages of chivalry; and
however justly ridiculed by the inimitable _Cervantes_, when carried to
extremes, and terminating in Quixotism, yet it appears to constitute
a capital part of the character of _a true_ knight. Lord Darnley's
attachment to Lady Frances was not founded on the weakness of his
intellects; it never made him forgetful of his duties to society. He is
at the same time a philosopher and a politician; and adds practice to
speculation, experience to knowledge, in both these departments. Though
the brilliant actions of some heroes are only handed down to us, and
we view their characters through the magnifying end of the tube, yet
Hercules himself could lay aside his club, and amuse himself with the
distaff, to enjoy the company of the woman he loved. All great souls
have descended occasionally, and divesting themselves of their heroism,
have become susceptible of the _tender passion_.

Lady Frances respected Lord Darnley's character, as much as she loved
his person; and the time was now arrived when she proposed ingenuously
to confess to him the reasons of her past conduct, and to offer to
dedicate the remainder of her life in rewarding his tender, fond,
faithful attentions. But she suspected that--years had made such an
alteration in her person, that she ceased to be an object _of love_,
(to his lordship) although perfectly convinced she possessed _his
esteem_--Under this apprehension it became impossible for her to act
the part she intended--She became disquieted, and was determined, had
that really been the case, never to have allied herself to any other.
After revolving a thousand things, she at last determined to confirm or
confute her hopes, by employing a particular friend, and a relation of
Lord Darnley's, to discover his sentiments. Lady Frances's intimacy with
this lady had commenced at Paris, when they were in the convent of the
----. As her character is peculiar, the indulgent reader will perhaps
pardon the introduction of her story in this place.

At the time Lady Frances returned to England, Mrs Lee was taken out of
the convent to be married. Her parents, dazzled with Mr Lee's wealth,
forgot to attend to other requisites to render that state happy. Without
his being a man of very shining parts, he had such talents as made
him acceptable to women, in particular to a girl so young as she was
when this alliance took place. He sung and danced well, was lively to
extravagance, full of agreeable trifling, and always in good humour:
add to this, he was handsome in his person, liberal to excess, and
calculated for the seduction of the fair. Mrs Lee's great beauty, her
parents partially flattered themselves would fix his affections.--All
the graces of which the figure and emotions of a female were capable,
were united in her; but his love for her was nothing but an impulse
of passion which soon subsided. Addicted by his natural disposition
to pleasure, he despised those which a tender sensibility renders
so exquisitely delightful; such would have trespassed too much on
his vanity. Unexperienced and artless, his innocent wife could not
long retain his affections, and in the few years she lived with him,
encountered many mortifications; first from the alienation of his
affections, afterwards from the distressed situation of his affairs,
which entirely changed his temper, rendering him impatient and
passionate. His very footmen were taught to insult her, and every one
in the family knew the most effectual way to ingratiate themselves with
him, was to disregard his wife. Yet she bore it all with patience,
and acted her part with prudence, endeavouring to disarm his anger
with gentleness. She sometimes, indeed, lamented and complained, but
the dove and the lamb do so too--'The poison of grief exhales only in
complaints.'--She was neither sullen nor gay when he was out of humour;
nor impertinent or melancholy when he was pleased--She obliged her
affections to wait and submit to the various turns of his temper--trying
to bribe his passions to her interest. She endeavoured also, by economy
and proper attention, to retard as long as possible, the ruin that
threatened him; and considerably diminished the household expenses.

This pleased her husband; he wanted to retrench, without appearing
less magnificent; for his prudence (or rather his desire of saving at
home to squander abroad) was still subordinate to his ostentation. But
all these innocent stratagems were ineffectual; spending his whole
time between women, racing, and gaming, one excess succeeded another,
until his affairs were intirely involved. Previous to this, Mrs Lee had
resigned her jewels to pay one of his game debts, which she afterwards
saw adorning a girl he kept. The world saw he devoted himself only to
objects of contempt, and pitied his neglect of a woman of her merit,
and who was still handsome, having that style of beauty which is the
image of a sensible heart, though sorrow and tears had deprived it of
its freshness. This laid her open to the assiduity of men of gallantry,
who are generally obliging enough, upon such occasions, to offer their
assistance to dry up a _pretty woman's tears_. It is to be confessed a
woman under these circumstances is in a very _dangerous situation_.

None of Mr Lee's conduct was founded on propriety--he was witty, kind,
cold, angry, easy, stiff, jealous, careless, cautious, confident,
close, open, but all _in the wrong place_. She often retired into her
closet, and wept the silent hours away for his hard-heartedness--yet
without one unkind word or reproach. Her parents were dead, Lady
Frances at a distance, her sorrows of a complicated kind, which
required great delicacy to discover; she had no person to open her
heart to, none to whom she could pour forth the sorrows of the soul!
she had a susceptible heart, and no object she took any interest in,
or who participated in her trials.--This situated, (the candid must
acknowledge) she was perhaps more to be _pitied_ than _blamed_, in
permitting another object to glide insensibly into her affections--more
especially as he was introduced by Mr Lee, as one to whom she was
indebted for his life and fortune.

_The first_ he had defended, when two gamblers, his adversaries, were
on the point of killing him; _the last_ he had preserved by discovering
a scheme that had been practised on him by them when inebriated by
liquor, to which he was much addicted. Her husband left her young and
unexperienced heart to all the tortures and pangs of jealousy, and
that _ennui_ attending an unoccupied heart; after flattering herself,
as she had done nothing to deserve the estrangement of his affections,
that they would be as permanent as her own. Why did he forsake her; why
did he lay her open to temptations? her heart might have been his own,
had he not cruelly abandoned her--at any rate it was too good to form
another tye, had he not at last added _contempt_ to _neglect_ and his
cruel usage at last would have animated a statue, at least I may safely
declare nothing warmed with flesh and blood could bear it. A man of this
humour is to be beloved only in the way of christianity--that is the
utmost obedience which can be allowed to the commandments of God, and
the authority of religion.

Were I obliged to draw a picture that should represent the happy union
between an elevated soul, a penetrating mind, and a heart in which sweet
humanity resides, I would form it entirely of the person and features of
Mr Villars; and I fancy that all who had any just idea of those three
qualities might perceive them plainly expressed in his form, look,
and demeanor. Mr Lee pressed him to be much at his house; and as his
_innocent_, though _oppressed_, wife had been kept in constant alarms
concerning the consequences of his gaming----she could not but look on
Mr Villars as the favour of her fortune, and on one to whom she might
be indebted for her husband's reformation. I shall not expatiate on the
sweetness and charms of his voice, of his noble appearance, and of the
tincture of melancholy which softens the vivacity of his fine eyes; but
what distinguishes him from most other men is the sentimental look of
modest virtue, which never gives offence. He is not in the least a slave
to interest; but as he is no stranger to the necessities of life, his
conduct is always regular, and he never abandons himself to any excess.
Such is and was Mr Villars. Mrs Lee very soon perceived his partiality
for her--circumstanced as she was, his attentions were dangerous--but
she could not with any propriety forbid him _a house_ to which her
husband so constantly _invited him_, without letting him see she
mistrusted herself--more especially as he never failed in his respect
for her.

He became her only comforter and friend; and if from her youth and
inexperience she was likely to fall into even the appearance of any
error, it was this kind, this friendly monitor that guarded her from it.

His attentions became as necessary to her soul, as aliments of food
are to the support of the body, while the respectful distance of his
behaviour proved to her his passion was controlled by his respect.

Some surmises were at length insinuated to Mr Lee, to his wife's
dishonour. He paid little attention to them--but coming home one night
flushed with wine, and finding Mr Villars alone at supper with her, (no
unusual matter, and by his own request) he drew his sword, and wounded
him before he had time to defend himself! Mrs Lee fainted away----on her
recovery she removed herself from a house to which no entreaties on his
part could prevail on her to return--declaring she would live no longer
with a man who could at once suspect her virtue, endanger his friend's
life, and ruin her reputation.

The world talked differently about this affair. Should not the example
of the law be followed, which is so tender in criminal cases, that
delinquents are often found _not guilty_, for want of legal evidence,
at the same time that the court, the jury, and every one present at the
trial feel the strongest _moral_ conviction of their _guilt_? Scandal
on the contrary always gives its most important and fatal decisions
from _appearances_ and _suppositions_, though reputation is dearer to
a woman of honor than life itself. Mrs Lee experienced the malevolence
of her own sex particularly. What, said they, could engage Mr Villars
to devote all his time to her? is not friendship between a man and a
woman a chimera, the mark of a passion which honor or self-interest bids
them conceal? But whilst the world represented this affair in the worst
colours, Lady Frances wrote her an affectionate letter, offering her
assistance, and begging she would communicate her real situation, that
she might the more effectually be enabled to serve her; to which Mrs
Lee returned the following answer.

      'Dear Madam.

  I received the honor of your letter, and find myself elevated by
  your notice--if there can be pride that ranks with virtues, it is
  that we feel from friendships with the worthy. The liberal sentiments
  you express, are a proof of the goodness of your heart----I have ever
  thought that to believe the worst is a mark of a mean spirit, and a
  wicked soul; at least I am sure, that the contrary quality, when it
  is not due to weakness of understanding, is the fruit of a generous
  temper. In return for your generosity, I will lay open my whole heart
  to you; and if in consequence I lose your esteem, I shall at least
  have the satisfaction resulting from a consciousness of my candour.
  This is a liberty I should have taken before, had it not proceeded
  from the timidity I felt in unbosoming myself to one whose virtues
  I dreaded, and in discovering _my weakness_ to one who I think has
  _none of her own_. Your ladyship knows the trials I suffered for many
  years; my conduct under the severest mortifications human nature could
  sustain. I was wounded in my affections, condemned and insulted in
  my person, impoverished in my circumstances: I still had strength of
  mind to regulate myself so as to meet your approbation: no species
  of calamity was unknown to me, nor were there wanting those of the
  other sex, who judged from my situation they might have a chance of
  succeeding with me, if I was weak enough to listen to them--but they
  soon gave up the pursuit, judging the excess of my misfortunes had
  hardened my heart entirely against certain impressions. But this was
  so far from being the case, that my sorrows, my sufferings, rendered
  my heart (naturally tender) more susceptible of that refined passion,
  which, when dignified by respect, and softened by tenderness, found so
  ready access to it[24].

  In short, circumstanced as I was, if it is a crime to love, I am
  very culpable! but had I unfortunately proceeded to any act contrary
  to my engagements with Mr Lee, I myself would have acquainted him with
  it, though, in the opinion of many, he would not have deserved so much
  candour from me.

  This being the real state of the case, I flatter myself your
  ladyship will think me more _weak_ than _wicked_, more _frail_ than
  _culpable_, more _unfortunate_ than _indiscreet_. And I must now
  acquaint you, that I am determined never to return to my husband--I
  have consulted my reason on this subject, and when we have done
  so, whatever the decision be, whether in favour of our prejudices,
  or against them, we must rest satisfied, since nothing can be more
  certain than this, that he who follows that guide in the search of
  truth, as that was given to direct him, will have a much better plea
  to make for his conduct, than he who has resigned himself implicitly
  to the guidance of others. My maxim is, our understanding, _properly_
  exercised, is the _medium_ by which God makes known his _will_ to us;
  and that in all _cases_, the voice of impartial reason is the _voice
  of_ God. Were my marriage even to be annulled, all the theologians
  in the world could not prove the least impiety in it.--Milton wrote
  _the doctrine and discipline of divorce_; wherein he proves, that a
  contrariety of mind, destructive of felicity, peace, and happiness,
  are greater reasons of divorce than adultery, especially if there be
  no children, and there be a mutual consent for separation.

  He dedicated the second edition to the parliament of England, with
  the assembly of divines----The latter summoned him before the house
  of Lords, who, whether approving his doctrine, or not favouring his
  accusers, dismissed him. Necessary and just causes have necessary and
  just consequences: what error and disaster joined, reason and equity
  should disjoin.

  I see no reason why those who upon the evidence of more than
  fourteen years experience are unsuited to each other, _joined_
  not _matched_, should live disagreeably together, and exist
  miserably--merely for the inadequate satisfaction of exulting upon
  the degree of their patience in having to say they did _not part_.
  A person may mistake in fixing love without knowledge of the party,
  but he cannot err that finds cause to dislike from woeful experience.
  It is, indeed, convenient for the lords of the creation to inculcate
  another doctrine, upon the same principles that the extreme and
  timorous attention to his own security made James I. very anxious
  to infuse into his subjects the belief of divine hereditary right,
  and a scrupulous unreserved obedience _to the power which God had
  set over them_. Mr Villars, who is now reconciled with my husband,
  has written to intercede in his behalf, assuring me of his penitence
  and affection. Boileau has observed, that it is an easy matter in a
  _Christian poem_ for _God_ to bring _the devil to reason_. Could I
  believe that all my husband did, were the effects of love, it would
  not in the least alter my resolution, since I should consider a
  person whose affection had such dreadful effects, as dangerous to
  my repose, as one whose anger was implacable.----What signifies it
  to me whether it be love or hatred by which I suffer, if the danger
  and inconvenience be the same? I am certain were we to live together
  again, whenever we met we should as naturally quarrel as the elephant
  and the rhinoceros. Reconciliations in the marriage state, after
  violent breaches, are seldom lasting, and after what has passed
  between us, like the father of the gods and the queen of heaven, we
  shall be the best company when _asunder_.

  He says his conduct proceeded from an excess of love! I desire to
  be subject no more to such excesses! I am content to be moderately
  beloved; nor shall I ever again give occasion for such extraordinary
  proofs of affection. Were I to act otherwise, it would afford too much
  encouragement for the men to use their wives ill. _Too good subjects
  are apt to make bad kings._ He has my consent to live with any
  woman who can delight in such a _loving husband_, while I will force
  him to esteem my conduct, and irritate his animosity by declining a
  reconciliation. We are tired with perpetual gratitude, and perpetual
  hatred.----He wishes to be reconciled to me, not from any religious
  motive, or return of affection, his animosity being still the
same--but because he is tired of acting the part of a provoked husband.

  I am piqued at Mr Villars's interesting himself in this matter. I
  shall not answer his letter for a week; I mistrust my own vivacity.

  Our imagination is often our greatest enemy: I am striving to weary
  mine before I act. Business like fruit hath its time of maturity,
  and we should not think of dispatching it while it is half ripe. The
  Cardinal de Retz said, 'I have all my life-time held men in greater
  esteem for what they forbore to do on some occasions than for what
  they did.'

  I have here a most delightful dwelling----It is thatched, and
  covered on every side with roses, wood-bines, and honey-suckles,
  surrounded with a garden of the most artful confusion. The streams all
  around murmur, and fall a thousand ways. A great variety of birds are
  here collected, and are in high harmony on the sprays. The ruins of an
  abbey enhance the beauties of this place: they appear at the distance
  of four hundred yards from the house; and as some great trees are now
  grown up among the remains, and a river winds among the broken walls,
  the view is solemn, the picture fine. Here I often meditate on my
  misfortunes.

          'There is a joy in grief when peace dwells
          in the breast of the sad.'
                                  OSSIAN'S Poems.

  Sadness receives so many eulogiums in the scripture, that it is easy
  to judge, that if it be not of the number of the virtues, it may be
  usefully employed in their service----and it may be truly observed,
  that without experiencing sorrow, we should never know life's true
  value.

  About a mile above the house is a range of very high hills, the
  sight of which renders me less incredulous of the accounts of Olympus,
  and mount Athos. Hygeia resides here, and dispenses the chief
  blessings of life, ease and health. I will pass my days in sweet
  tranquillity and study.

          'In either place 'tis folly to complain,
          The mind, and not the place, creates the pain.'
                              HORACE, lib. i. epist. 14.

  Could I flatter myself I should ever be honored by your presence,
  how happy I should be!----Your eye, I am sure, would catch pleasure
  while it measures the surrounding landscape (even at this season
  of the year) of russet lawns and grey fallows, on which stray the
  nibbling flocks: the mountains too, which seem to support the
  labouring clouds, add sublimity to the charming scene. When I take a
  walk after a sedentary occupation, I feel a sensible pleasure; rest
  in its turn becomes agreeable, if it has been preceded by a moderate
  fatigue. Every action of our lives may be converted into a kind of
  pleasure, if it is but well timed: Life owes all its joys to this
  well-adapted succession; and he will never enjoy its true relish,
  who does not know to blend pleasure with dissipation. I ask pardon
  for detaining your ladyship so long--My cousin Lord Darnley has been
  to see, and admires my cottage.--I perceive plainly he flatters
  himself that you will one day make him happy. I do not presume to
  offer my advice; it would be imitating the savage chief, who marks
  out to the sun the course it is to take----but surely his respectful,
  uninterrupted attachment deserves your consideration. Were I not
  perfectly convinced of his worth and sincerity, I should be _the last_
  person to speak in his behalf. The bitterness of conjugal repentance,
  which I have experienced, is beyond all others poignant; and happy it
  is if _disunion_, rather than perpetual _disagreement_, results from
  it.

    I ever am your ladyship's
      Obliged and affectionate friend,
                                                    LUCY LEE.'

Lady Frances returned Mrs Lee immediately the following answer.

  'Dear Madam,                                          Munster-house.

  I return you many thanks for the confidence you honored me with;
  and I sincerely sympathize with you on the many disagreeable events
  that have occurred to you. If my approbation can confer on you any
  satisfaction, you possess it in a very eminent degree: for though I
  cannot approve of your sentiments concerning divorce, etc. yet your
  conduct in your family was exemplary.

  There is no reasoning about the motions of the heart. Reflection and
  sensation are extremely different--our affections are not in our own
  power, though yours seem to have been under proper regulations.

  I am not surprised at the calumny you met with. Many people stoop
  to the baseness of discovering in a person distinguished by eminent
  qualities, the weaknesses of humanity, while there is scarcely to be
  found an honest heart, who knows how to render a noble and sincere
  homage to another's superiority. I acknowledge myself guilty with
  respect to you, of a too common instance of injustice, that of
  desiring that others would always _conduct themselves_ by our maxims!
  I am the more culpable, as I entirely agree with you in thinking that
  all our actions should proceed from the fixed principles we have
  adopted. I never pay a blind deference to the judgment of any man, or
  any body of men whatever. I cannot acquiesce in a decision, however
  formidable made by numbers, where my own reason is not satisfied. When
  the mind has no _data_, no settled principles to which it may recur
  as the rule of action, the agent can feel little or no satisfaction
  within himself, and society can have no moral security whatever
  against him.

  The most permanent, the most pleasing enjoyment the human soul is
  capable of entertaining, is that which arises from a consciousness
  of having acted up to that standard of rectitude which we conceive
  to be the proper measure of our duty: and the best grounds on which
  we can expect others to place confidence in us, is the assurance we
  give them that we act under the influence of such moral obligations.
  This principle has influenced my conduct: and as you say you are
  absolutely determined never to live with your husband again; although
  my sentiments do not correspond with yours on that head, I will add
  nothing further on that subject, but refer you to certain passages
  in scripture, which I think on sober reflection must invalidate your
  present opinion[25].

  The caprice you have often tacitly blamed me for respecting Lord
  Darnley, had you known the motives for, you would have approved--I
  will now in reward for your candour _to me_ be equally sincere _with
  you_--trusting to your honor, that you will not _divulge_ what is it
  so material to me to _conceal_.

  At the time I agreed to give Lord Darnley my hand, I was at liberty
  to indulge my inclinations, and to devote myself entirely to him:
  But on my father's death, when I found the estate in my possession,
  I considered myself as mother to my brother's children. This was my
  motive for rejecting the man I (_did_, and do _now_) fondly love: who
  by his generous and friendly, his respectful and tender behaviour,
  deserves every thing from me. Whoever pretends to be without passions,
  censures the wisdom of that Power which made him; and if men of sense
  (for they alone are capable of refined pleasure) would so far admit
  love, as not to exclude their necessary and more important duties,
  they need not be ashamed to indulge one of the most valuable blessings
  of an innocent life. I honor the married state: and have high ideas of
  the happiness resulting from an union of hearts. Domestic society is
  founded on the union betwixt husband and wife. Among all the civilized
  nations, this union hath been esteemed sacred and honorable; and from
  it are derived those exquisite joys, or sorrows, which can embitter
  all the pleasures, or alleviate all the pains in human life. The
  heart has but a certain degree of sensibility, which we ought to be
  economists of. Lord Darnley engrossed my whole soul; nothing could
  afford me any pleasure which had no reference to him.--He was ever
  uppermost in my thoughts, and I bestowed only a secondary reflection
  on all other subjects.

  I could have cheerfully, for his _conversation_, abandoned all
  society on earth beside, and have been more blessed, than if, for
  them, I had been deprived of _his_. But if we suffer one particular
  duty (even the worship of the Deity) to engross us entirely, or even
  to encroach upon the rest, we make but a very imperfect essay towards
  religion, or virtue; and are still at a considerable distance from
  the business of a moral agent. "The dial that mistells one hour, of
  consequence is false through the whole round of day."

  _Virtue_, in my acceptation, is nothing else than that principle
  by which our actions are _intentionally directed_, to produce good,
  to the several objects of our free agency. I was aware, that it was
  not only necessary that I should mean to act a right part, and take
  the best way which could direct me to effect it, but that I should
  previously take those measures which were in my power to acquire the
  knowledge of my duty, and of the weaknesses I had to guard against.
  I was sensible, that, had I given my hand to Lord Darnley, I would
  have been defective in the duties incumbent on me to my own family:--
  Love would have taken entire possession of my soul, and shut up the
  avenues of my heart against every other sentiment. Upon this occasion
  I felt how justly the sacrifice of our own happiness is placed among
  the highest virtues. How painful must it be to the most generous
  heart! Men lose their lives to honor--I relinquished my love--the
  life of life. I am sensible I have been condemned for permitting him
  to be so much with me: but what recompence can the world bestow on
  me, for relinquishing the society of a real and tender friend? Common
  attachments, the shadows of friendship, the issue of chance, or
  fantastic likings, _rashly cemented_, may as hastily be _dissolved_:
  but mine has had the purest virtue for its basis, and will subsist
  whilst vital breath in me remains. My affections are founded on those
  amiable qualities, which are seldom united, and therefore but little
  liable to be displaced. My partiality is founded on esteem: take away
  the cause, the effect will cease. The dread of the world has never yet
  withheld me from following the bent of my own inclinations, and the
  dictates of my own heart, not the dread of censure ever influenced my
  conduct.

  Your mention of his continued attachment is highly flattering, and
  very pleasing--There you touched the tenderest springs of my heart,
  bring me down to all the softness of my sex, and press upon me a crowd
  of tender, lovely, ideas--

  If the consciousness of good-will to others, though inactive, be
  highly delightful, what a superior joy have I not experienced, my
  dear friend, in exerting this disposition, in acts of beneficence!
  Is not this the supreme enjoyment in nature? It is true, the great
  works I have carried on, the encouragement I have given to learning,
  the manufactories I have introduced into this kingdom, etc. etc. have
  procured me the suffrage of the world, and may transmit my name down
  to posterity. But what flatters me most is, that if I have acquired
  any fame, it is derived from the man I love. My acquaintance with him,
  has been a happiness to my mind, because it has improved and exalted
  its powers. The epithet of _great_, so liberally bestowed on princes,
  would, in most cases, if narrowly scanned, belong rather to their
  ministers. Unassisted by Agrippa and Mecænas, where should we have
  placed Augustus? What is the history of Lewis XIII. but the shining
  acts of Richelieu? Lewis XIV. was indeed a great king; but the Condés,
  the Turennes, as well as the Luvois, and Colberts, had no small share
  in acquiring the glories of his reign. In all situations of life, it
  is of great consequence to make a right choice of those we confide
  in--It is on that choice our own glory and peace depend.--But it is
  still more so to princes, or persons of large property. A private man
  will find a thousand persons ready to open his eyes, by reproaching
  him with the wrong steps into which bad advice drew him; whereas
  courtiers, or those who are interested, approve and applaud whatever
  the prince or the great person does. An ingenious courtier replied to
  his friend, who upbraided him with his too great complaisance for the
  emperor who had made bad verses, which he commended; "Would you have
  me have more sense than a man who commands twelve legions, and can
  banish me?"

  That day my nephew is of age, I shall assign over his estate, and
  acquaint him of his obligations to Lord Darnley, to whom, at the same
  time, I shall offer my hand, if I have reason then to think it shall
  be agreeable to him. If it should not, I shall be mortified, though I
  shall not deck my brow with the plaintive willow. I need not tell you
  how agreeable it will be for me to see you at this place, which is
  considerably improved since you were here last. This day month I give
  a feast, in imitation of the Saturnalia[26]; make me happy by your
  presence on that occasion.

      I remain, with great esteem,
        Your affectionate friend,

                                              FRANCES FINLAY.

Mrs Lee, soon after the receipt of the above letter, came to
Munster-house, where she generally resided during the winter months,
(after her separation from her husband) retiring to her cottage in
Wales, in the summer.

Lady Frances had always a select number of friends with her.
Notwithstanding her passion for music, she kept the performers in their
own line; and though she venerated the liberal sciences, and contributed
so largely to their cultivation, their several professors only waited on
her by invitation: by this means she had it always in her power to suit
her company, and never to be intruded on; as the best things are irksome
to those whose inclinations, tastes, and humours, they do not suit.

I have already mentioned Mrs Norden, who had the care of Lady Frances's
education, and who now continued to reside with her: this Lady's
seriousness was happily contrasted with Lady Eliza's sprightliness,
while Lady Frances's scientifical knowledge was agreeably relieved by
the strokes of nature observable in Mrs Lee--who declared she had never
read, or studied, any more than to assist her decyphering what was
incumbent her _to understand_. 'I hate your wise ones,' said she, 'there
is no opinion so absurd but it has been mentioned by some philosopher.'
She is nature itself, without disguise, quite original disdaining all
imitation, even in her dress, which is simple but unaffected. She
plays most divinely on the fiddle. Her genius for music is sublime and
universal. She holds the fiddle like a man, and produces music in all
its genuine charms, raising the soul into the finest affections.

An aunt and sister of Sir Harry Bingley's were also much at
Munster-house. Miss Bingley was of the same age with Lady Eliza: to
the charms of a regular beauty she joins all those of a cultivated
mind, together with a disposition replete with candor, and a turn for
ridicule; two things rarely joined together--as a calm dispassionate
love of truth, with a disposition to examine carefully, and judge
impartially, with a love of diverting one's self at other people's
expense, seldom meet together in the same mind. Mrs Dorothea Bingley is
a maiden lady of fifty, possessed of a large independent fortune, which
she proposes to bestow on her niece. She was in her youth very handsome:
but having lived all her life in the country, she derived all her ideas
of love from the heroic romance. To talk to her of love was a capital
offence. Her rigour must be melted by the blood of giants, necromancers,
and paynim knights. She expected, that, for her sake, they would retire
to desarts, mourn her cruelty, _subsist_ on _nothing_, and make light
of scampering over impassable mountains, and riding through unfordable
rivers, without recollecting, that, while the imagination of the lover
is linked to this _muddy vesture of decay_, she must now and then
condescend to partake of the carnality of the vivres of the shambles.

Those of the other sex who were mostly at Munster-house, were, Lord
Darnley, Sir Harry Bingley, Sir James Mordaunt, etc. etc. etc. Great
marriages had been proposed to Lady Frances; but she had ceased long
to be importuned on that head. When Lord Munster was of age she gave a
splendid entertainment to the neighbourhood, which finished with a ball.
The day after she shewed her nephew the state of her affairs, when she
succeeded to the estate: and that, exclusive of the buildings, etc. etc.
she had already doubled it: that the perpetual burdens she had entailed
on it, did not amount to one quarter of the advanced rents, which would
continue to encrease: that she had put aside for Lady Eliza's fortune
fifty thousand pounds, and an equivalent sum for herself, and then
with great pleasure resigned the remainder to his Lordship, who she
was happy to find so worthy of filling the place of his ancestors. She
at the same time acquainted him with her motives for concealing her
intentions in his favor, and that, had she seen him addicted to any
irregularities, she would not have assigned over the property so soon
to him--as the law of this country does not interfere like that of
France, where, if a person, before he attains the age of twenty-five,
wastes his fortune by anticipation, or other means, and is in a fair
way of ruining himself, and, perhaps, his family; the government
interposes: guardians of his estate are appointed, and his person may
be detained in custody till he arrives at that age; but _there_ the
jurisdiction stops. The acknowledgments of Lord Munster are easier to
be conceived, than expressed--he concluded by saying, 'he hoped Lady
Frances would always consider Munster-house as still her own, and make
it her principle residence!' She smiled, and looking to Lord Darnley,
said, 'Having my lord performed my duty to this family; it is now in my
power to make myself happy by conforming to your wishes--Sixteen years
ago, I had singly an engagement to fulfil; but I have now a breach of
it to repair.' Lord Darnley's joy may easily be supposed great on this
occasion, who had maintained for Lady Frances, for so long a time, an
uninterrupted attachment.--They were married a few days afterwards.
Never did Phoebus gild a more auspicious day; never did Cupid inspire
two lovers with a higher sense of each other's merit; and never did
Hymen light his torch with a greater complacency, than to reward that
constancy which remained invincible in Lord Darnley, without even being
supported by hope.

The part Lady Darnley performed would have been difficult for another;
but the club which a man of ordinary size could but lift, was but a
walking-stick to Hercules.

No one enjoyed this wedding more than Mrs Dorothea Bingley. A sixteen
years courtship corresponded entirely with her ideas of the right and
fitness of things. She harangued her niece and Lady Eliza on this
subject, telling them that Lady Darnley is the only woman she knows
in this degenerate age, that has acted up to the propriety of the
ancients--that she respected the sublimity of her ideas. She was very
desirous of her niece's marrying a Mr Bennet, because he made love
in heroics, was inebriated in his science, and thought all the world
considered him as a Phoenix of wit. Miss Bingley would often reason with
her aunt on this subject? 'Of what use in the world (said she) is an
erudition so savage, and so full of presumption?'

          One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed,
          Does all desert in sciences exceed.'

                                                             SHEFFIELD

But Mrs Dorothea always insisted that he was a classical scholar, and
a fine gentleman! The niece declared he was a Pagan, and ought to have
lived two centuries ago, as he spoke a language she did not understand!
'He may be learned (said she) but he has no passion!'

'No passion (replied Mrs Dorothea) how comes he then to write such fine
letters?'

'The fine letters (replied Miss Bingley) show memory and fancy, but no
sensations of _the heart_! lovers who make use of extravagant tropes
are reduced to that expedient, to supply the defect of passion by the
deceitful counterfeit of hyperbolical language. The passions of _the
heart_ depend not on the deductions of _the understanding_--but it
was necessary he should have a _Corinna_, because Ovid had _one_; and
he makes me inconstant, although I never gave him any encouragement,
because Gallus's favourite run away with a soldier. He seems to be
intimately acquainted with the history of Cupid and Venus, but knows
nothing _of love_: and would be sooner applauded for writing a good
elegy, than have his mistress smile on him.'

Mrs Dorothea told her, that she was exceedingly perverse, but she would
give her leave _to talk_, as she had the power _to do_.

Miss Bingley said, 'Since Mr Bennet was so much in her good graces, she
made no doubt but he would pay her his homage, on the smallest hint,
would transfer his affections--as the foundation of his passion was _the
same_ for _both_, built on that of her _mansion_, would _grow_ with her
_trees_ and _increase_ with her _estate_----Increase, you know, my dear
aunt, is the end of marriage; and your fortune is better than Medea's
charm, for that only made an old man young again; but your riches will
make a young man enamoured of an old woman! He will swear you are not
only wiser than Minerva, but fairer than the Paphian queen! Though you
are old, your trees are green; and though you have lost the roses in
your cheeks, there are great plenty of them on your pleasure-grounds.'

Mrs Dorothea with great good-humour laughed at her niece's sallies,
saying, 'You remember what Martial says;

          'Fain would kind Paula wed me if she could:
          I won't, she's old; if older yet, I would.'

'But seriously, niece (said she) you will never make a choice that I
shall so much approve of--he has so much wit.'

Miss Bingley replied, that all the credit he has for wit is owing to
the gratification he gives to others ill-nature: and said she would be
very happy to accommodate herself to her aunt's wishes; but was not upon
such a religious strain, and so desirous of canonization hereafter (if
sufferings can make a saint) as to marry a man of his character, that
she might have her mortifications and punishments in this life: but
at the same time would faithfully promise never to marry any man she
disapproved of.

There were great rejoicings for some weeks at Munster-house:--at which
time Lord and Lady Darnley set out for their estate in Dorsetshire,
and Lady Eliza accompanied Lord Munster to London. As a correspondence
commenced at this period between the parties I have already introduced
to the reader, the sequel of this history will appear from their
letters. I shall only observe, that Lord Munster's figure was remarkably
agreeable, his address engaging; he first attracted, and then commanded
the admiration of all who knew him. On the slightest acquaintance with
him, a most exact regard to all the proprieties and decencies of life
were observable in his conduct; and such an evident desire to oblige,
and to make all about him easy, as became a good mind and a liberal
education. An agreeable chearfulness made his conversation as lively
and agreeable as it was useful and instructing. But the discerning eye
of friendship could discover that he was not happy, and that delicacy
to the feelings of his friends restrained him from giving way to an
uneasiness, which it was too apparent he laboured under. His general
behaviour bore the genuine stamp of true politeness, the result of an
overflowing humanity and benevolence of heart. Such qualities very
justly and forcibly recommend, lying obvious to almost every observer;
but to the more discerning, a nearer view of him quickly discovered
endowments far above the common standard. He had, in truth, endowments
of mind to have honored any station.

As Lady Darnley's breast glowed with that exalted fervent charity
which embraces the wide extended interests of men, of communities,
of the species itself; it is easy to conceive how her heart exulted
at finding her nephew so deserving of all she had done for him. But
though she felt the greatest satisfaction at his being so conformable
to her wishes, and his fortune so adequate to his beneficence; the same
sensibility rendered her wretched for the evident melancholy in which
he was plunged. Her social affections ever awake, even on those whose
objects lie beyond the nearer ties of nature, on many occasions gave
her most painful sympathetic feelings; so deeply was she interested in
the fortunes of all with whom she had any connection. How then must
she mourn to observe, that, notwithstanding the possession of every
advantage of person and wealth, her nephew was miserable!--If men
would but consider how many things there are that riches cannot buy,
they would not be so fond of them--for all the outward advantages Lord
Munster had, were, to a man in his situation of mind, _landscapes_
before a _blind man_, or _music_ to one that _is deaf_.

Delicacy kept Lady Darnley from interrogating her nephew on the subject
of his grief; sensible that the remotest desire _from her_, must amount
to a command _to him_. She only, at parting, insinuated the happiness
it would afford her to see him ally himself suitably to some lady of
merit: and, as Lady Eliza was to accompany him to town, requested him to
moderate her liveliness, and to be a careful observer of her conduct.

'I never see (said she) a single man, who hath passed middle age in
celibacy, where no particular security arises from his profession or
character; but I think I see an unsafe subject, and a very dangerous
instrument for any mischief that his _own_ parts may _inspire_,
or _other men's_ may _prompt him_ to: As to other achievements of
virtue, a distinction _ought_, I think, to be _made_; because, in
common acceptation, there is a variety of things which pass under that
name, and are generally applauded, which, properly estimated, would
not _deserve it_. A regard to posterity hath carried arms, arts, and
literature, further than any other motive ever did or could. Who is so
likely to be influenced by this regard as they who are to leave behind
them the darling pledges of their affection, in whom they hope to have
their names continued, and all the fruits of their study, toil, and
exploits, abiding and permanent?' Lord Munster assured the Countess,
that he would ever think it his glory to conform to her wishes in ever
respect.


                        END OF THE FIRST VOLUME



                               VOLUME II


Soon after Lord Munster's arrival in London, he wrote Lady Darnley the
following letter.

                    From the Earl of Munster to the
                          Countess of Darnley.

  'My Dear Aunt,

  Over powered as I am with a weight of obligations, I should think
  myself highly wanting to my own feelings, were I in any one instance
  in my future life to leave you dubious of my gratitude, or the earnest
  desire I have of conforming to your wishes.

  You have, my dear Madam, expressed your desire I should marry;
  but that, my dear aunt, is impossible at present. But I revere that
  state: men who laugh at a serious engagement, have never known the
  allurements of modesty when blended with affability; nor felt the
  power of beauty, when innocence has increased its force. This has been
  my case, and my heart is already a prey to a hopeless passion. But it
  is necessary to carry you back some years, in order to give a recital
  of its commencement.

  The amiable character of Mr Vanhagen, my landlord at Rotterdam, you
  are already acquainted with: his humanity and benevolence inspired me
  with the greatest respect. The advantages his countrymen have over us,
  are their industry, vigilance, and wariness: But they in general exert
  them to excess, by which means they turn their virtues into vices.
  Their industry becomes rapine, their vigilance fraud, their wariness
  cunning. But my worthy landlord possessed all the virtues.

  He had in the early part of his life resided much at Venice, and
  brought from thence the economy and frugality which distinguish them
  in their private families, their temperance, their inviolable secrecy
  of public and private affairs, and a certain steadiness and serenity
  to which the English are supposed to be utter strangers. His long
  residence there, made him well known to the duchess de Salis, whose
  distant relation he had married.

  This lady had resided some years at Rotterdam with her family.
  She was only daughter to the Count de Trevier, was heiress to a
  large fortune, and possessed exquisite beauty, good-sense, and
  every accomplishment that was likely to preserve and to improve the
  authority beauty gives to make it _indefectible_ and _interminable_.
  But the duke, her husband, unfortunately was soon satiated with the
  regularity of her virtues: His affections could not long be preserved
  by a woman of her amiable undisguised character. When custom had taken
  off the edge from his passion, he endeavoured to rouse his torpid
  mind by a change of object. That vivacity which the tender passions
  impart to pleasure, was a powerful incentive for him to indulge them.
  His heart found fresh delight in gallantry, to which he was naturally
  prone: a dangerous delight, which, habituating the mind to the most
  lively transports, gives it a distaste to all moderate and temperate
  enjoyments: from thence forward the innocent and tranquil joys which
  nature offers, lose all their relish. His sophisticated mind made him
  blind to the merit of his wife, who loved him tenderly.--She felt most
  severely his neglect, and contracted insensibly a settled melancholy,
  which served the more effectually to alienate his affections from
  her. She became miserable:--and no temper can be so invincibly good
  as to hold out against the siege of constant slights and neglects.
  Misfortunes she had strength of mind to support, and death she could
  have encountered with greater resolution than the displeasure and
  peevishness of the man she loved. Wherever there is love, there is a
  degree of fear--we are naturally afraid of offending, or of doing any
  thing which may lessen us in the esteem of an object that is dear to
  us: and if we are conscious of any act by which we may have incurred
  displeasure, we are impatient and miserable, till, by intreaties and
  tokens of submission, we have expiated the offence and are restored to
  favor.

  By the duchess's earnest solicitude to please, she destroyed her
  own purpose, and her obedience, like water flung upon a raging fire,
  only inflamed her husband's follies; and therefore, when he was in
  an ill humour, the duke vented his range on her. He did not care
  _how_ often _he quarrelled_ with, or, to speak more properly, how
  often he _insulted_ her; for that could not be called a quarrel
  wherein she acted no part but _that of suffering_. But though his
  displeasure was grievous to her, yet she could bear it better than
  his indifference--for resentment argues some degree of regard. But
  whilst she was breaking her heart for him, he passed his time in
  gallantry--though his affections were always the satire of a woman's
  virtue--the ruin of a woman's reputation.

  A favourite mistress, by pursuing a different plan from that of the
  duchess, secured his affections. She kept alive his ardour by her
  caprices. _Affectation_ always exceeds the _reality_. But is not the
  extravagance of some men's fancy to be pitied, who lodge all their
  passions in a mistress, a dog, or a horse, which but in general do
  them no service but what they are prompted to through necessity or
  instinct? Art and cunning are _unknown_ to a woman of virtue, whose
  conduct is determined by her principles, whose anxiety alone is
  excited by affection.

  After five years, in which the duchess had a son and a daughter, and
  in which she had experienced many of the _vexations_, but few of the
  _satisfactions_ of a married state; the duke left her, and resided
  entirely in Paris with his mistress. She retired to the country, to
  a family-seat of her father's, and devoted her time entirely to the
  education of her children, and that of a young lady (of great beauty
  and fortune) whose mother with her last breath bequeathed to her care.

  She from time to time wrote the duke letters, expressing great
  resignation, and such a tenderness for him as she thought might have
  power to touch his heart. "I am obedient to your wishes," said she, "I
  will not urge, with one unwelcome word, this unkindness--I'll conceal
  it--If your heart has made a choice more worthy, I forgive it--pursue
  your pleasures--drive without a rein your passions--I am the mistress
  of my own mind, that shall not mutiny--If I retrieve you, I shall be
  thankful--If not, you _are_ and must be still _my lord_."

  To letters such as these she never received any answer! as the
  charms of a woman's eloquence never have any force, when those of her
  person are expired (in the eyes of her lover I mean): it might be
  perhaps as easy to persuade a man to dance, who had lost the use of
  his limbs.

  I shall pass over the first ten years of her retirement, as they
  furnish nothing more than the unwearied attentions she took in
  employing every means for the instruction of her son, daughter, and
  ward. I shall only observe, that the regularity of her conduct gained
  her the esteem of every one. She was a friend to virtue under any
  denomination, and an enemy to vice under any colour. She established
  an institution for the provision of the infirm and destitute. This
  was constructed on that wise and excellent plan, that excludes the
  undeserving from participating in the charity, and extends only
  to those who, from their real necessities, are proper objects of
  benevolence.--At that period she was advised to take her son to
  the capital. But she wisely considered that the education which
  commonly attends high birth or great fortune, very often corrupts or
  sophisticates nature; whilst in those of the middle state she remains
  unmixed and unaltered. I have somewhere read; _Jamais les grandes
  passions et les grandes vertus ne sont nées, & ne se sont nourries que
  dans le silence & la retrait. L'homme en societé perd tous ses traits
  distinctifs: ce n'est plus qu' une froide copie de ce qui l'environne.
  Voilà pour quelle raison on nous accuse de manquer de caractere:
  nous ne vivons pas assez avec nous-mêmes, & nous empruntons trop des
  autres_.

  The duchess procured for her son's tutor, a very respectable man,
  who was at the utmost pains in forming his morals, and improving his
  understanding; while so many of the degenerate nobility in great
  cities are trifling away their time and their fortunes, in idle
  dissipations, in sensual enjoyments, or irrational diversions, and
  making mere amusement the great business of their lives. Happiness
  and merit are the result, not so much of truth and knowledge, as
  of attaining integrity and moderation. Many ridiculed the duchess's
  plan of education, of debarring herself from those pleasures and
  enjoyments her youth, rank, and beauty so well intitled her to: But
  she often observed it would be the height of imbecility to judge of
  her felicity by the imagination of others; considering nothing under
  the title of happiness, but what she wished to be in the possession
  of, or what was the result of her own voluntary choice. Women of the
  world counteract their intention, in so assiduously courting pleasure,
  as it only makes it fly further from them. They will not understand,
  that pleasure is to be purchased, and that industry is the price of
  it; to reject the one, is to renounce the other. They are to learn
  that pleasure, which they idolize, must now and then be _quitted_ in
  order to be _regained_. They have tried in vain to perpetuate it,
  by attempting variety and refinement. Their fertile invention has
  multiplied the objects of amusement, and created new ones every day,
  without making any real acquisition. All these fantastic pleasures,
  which are founded on variety, make no lasting impressions on the mind;
  they only serve to prove the impossibility of permanent happiness, of
  which some women entertain _chimerical expectations_: but the duchess
  was too rational to make amusement her principal object. A woman that
  is hurried away by a fondness for it, is, generally speaking, a very
  useless member of the community: A party of pleasure will make her
  forget every connection: and she is often sick without knowing _where_
  her complaint _lies_, because she has nothing _to do_, and is tired of
  being _well_.

  The duchess had loved her husband passionately. If any person had a
  desire of ingratiating themselves with her, they had only to begin by
  him: To praise, to please, or admire him, opened to them a reception
  in her heart. But our best virtues, when pushed to a certain degree,
  are on the point of becoming vices: She soon found she was to blame,
  in dedicating herself too fondly even to this beloved object. She
  exhausted her whole sensibility on him, and in proportion to the
  strength of her attachment, was the mortification she endured in being
  abandoned by him. But had not even this been her fate, the extravagant
  excesses of passion are but too generally followed by an intolerable
  langour. The woman who wishes to preserve her husband's affection,
  should be careful to conceal from him the extent of _hers_: there
  should be always something left for him to expect. Fancy governs
  mankind: and when the imagination is cloyed, reason is a slave to
  caprice.

  Women do not want judgment to determine, penetration to foresee, nor
  resolution to execute; and Providence has not given them beauty to
  create love, without understanding to preserve it. The pleasures of
  which they are susceptible, are proportioned to the capacity and just
  extent of their feelings. They are not made for those raptures which
  transport them beyond themselves: these are a kind of convulsions,
  which can never last. But there are infinite numbers of pleasures,
  which, though they make slighter impressions, are nevertheless more
  valuable. These are renewed every day under different forms, and
  instead of excluding each other, unite together in happy concert,
  producing that temperate glow of mind which preserves it vigorous,
  and keeps it in a delightful equanimity. How much are those of the
  fair-sex to be pitied who are insensible to such attainments, and who
  look upon life as gloomy, which is exempt from the agitation of unruly
  passions! As such prepossessions deprive them of pleasures which are
  much preferable to those which arise from dangerous attachments, the
  duchess knew how to make choice of her amusements, and _improved_ her
  _understanding_ at the same time that she _gratified_ her _feelings_.
  Life to those who know how to make a proper use of it, is strewed
  with delights of every kind, which, in their turn, flatter the senses
  and the mind; but the latter is never so agreeably engaged as in the
  conversation of intelligent persons, who are capable of conveying both
  instruction and entertainment. The duchess preferred the conversation
  of _such_, to _men of the world_; being sensible she had every thing
  _to gain_ on _one side_, and every thing _to lose_ on _the other_.

  The Baron de Luce resided in the same part of the country. He was a
  man of great gallantry, wit, and humour. He judged it impossible that
  a woman in the bloom of beauty, possessed of the united advantages
  resulting from rank, riches, and youth, should retire to an obscure
  part of the world, and sequester herself from (what he judged) the
  pleasures of life, without being _compelled_ by her husband or
  _prompted_ by some secret inclination which she wished to conceal.
  Determined to unravel this mystery, and to amuse himself during the
  time he staid in the neighbourhood, he tried to insinuate himself into
  her good opinion--but without giving any offence she avoided entering
  into his plans. He still persisted in his intentions, judging, as he
  wrote well, the duchess would be glad to enter into a correspondence;
  but he found nothing in the reception she gave him that was for
  his purpose, _to embellish the history of his amours_. But what he
  undertook at first from vanity, became at last sufficient punishment
  for him. The more he saw of her conduct the more his respect
  increased, but which instead of making him relinquish his _intentions_
  (from a conviction of the inefficacy of the pursuit) made him persist
  _in them_, as he _then felt_ the passion which at _first he feigned_.

  The duchess knew the predicament on which she stood; but as _the
  hatred_ of men of a certain character is _less_ pernicious than _their
  love_, she gave orders never to admit him into her presence. The good
  or bad reputation of women depends not so much upon the propriety of
  their own conduct, as it does upon a lucky or unlucky combination
  of circumstances in certain situations. Some men calumniate them
  for no other reason, but because they are in love with them. They
  revenge themselves upon them for the want of that merit which renders
  them despicable in their eyes. This was the case with the Baron; he
  insinuated there were reasons which he knew that rendered it highly
  proper for the duchess to live in the manner _she did_, speaking
  in a _style_ which conveyed more than met the ear! The people he
  addressed greedily listened to what seemed to bring the duchess more
  on a footing with themselves; a thousand stories were circulated to
  her prejudice (though innocence itself): Thus if there be but the
  least foundation for slander, some people believe themselves fully
  authorized to publish whatever malice _dares invent_. But there are
  no enemies more dangerous to the reputation of women, than lovers
  that cannot gain the reciprocal affection of their mistresses. These
  reports were confirmed from another cause--A lady of fortune in the
  neighbourhood became much attached to a man who resided with the
  duchess as her son's tutor; he was ingenuous, sensible, and much
  respected. She offered him her hand, and as she possessed a handsome
  fortune could not conceive how he could decline that happiness. As
  he was constantly at home, agreeable to the stories that had been
  circulated, she concluded at once (and then affirmed) he was a
  favourite of the duchess.

  Self-love is of the nature of the polypus; though you sever her
  branches or arms, and even divide her trunk, yet she finds means to
  reproduce herself. In consequence of the information the duke received
  from this lady, who wrote to him in the character of an anonymous
  friend, he left Paris and his mistress abruptly; and, to the great
  surprise of his wife, came to--. He accosted her in a distant, but
  respectful manner.--Nothing gives so sharp a point to one's aversion
  as good-breeding--The duchess, unconscious of having given him any
  occasion of offence, was highly delighted at his return, flattering
  herself with a return of his affection. And as she considered him the
  aggressor, received him graciously, insisting that no mention should
  be made of past transactions; assuring him that she still retained
  the same love for him, and as she regarded him as the first of human
  beings, had perhaps been too sanguine in expecting his constancy,
  as so many temptations must occur from his superiority to the rest
  of mankind. She thought he was but too amiable--that his very vices
  had charms beyond other men's _virtues_. Adding that (grievous as
  his neglect had been to her) yet she had never done anything that
  could reflect upon his honor! He heard her in a sullen humour;
  his inclinations _were revived_ by remarking, that time, instead
  of _diminishing_, had _added to her charms_: this increased his
  resentment, and he answered, that the worst a bad woman can do, is to
  make herself ridiculous; it is on herself only that she can entail
  infamy--but men of honor have a degree of it to maintain, superior to
  that which is in a woman's keeping. Had she had a mind to retaliate,
  she might easily have said, that a man of honor and virtue which, in
  themselves indeed, are always inseparably connected, are but too often
  separated in the absurd and extravagant opinions of mankind. For what
  a strange perversion of reason is it, to call a person a man of honor
  who has scarcely a grain of virtue! She only observed, we are indeed
  civilized into brutes; and a false idea of honor has almost reduced us
  into Hob's first state of nature, by making us barbarous. Honor now is
  no more than an imaginary being, worshipped by men of _the world_, to
  which they frequently offer human sacrifices. He told her she needed
  not _be troubled for her minion_: and retiring to rest, left her quite
  at a loss to account for his conduct.

  It is not sufficient we know our own innocence; it is necessary, for
  a woman's happiness, not to be suspected.

  For unfortunately after she has been once censured (however falsely)
  she must expect the envenomed shafts of malice ever ready to be let
  fly at her, and that in the transaction of any affairs that will admit
  of two interpretations (to avoid the worst, and enjoy an unblemished
  reputation). It is not enough to govern herself with propriety, there
  must be nothing that will carry two interpretations in the _accidents
  of her life_: A woman must therefore be necessarily always guilty,
  when innocence has need of many justifications. Happy are those who
  are not exposed to such inconveniences!

  The Duke most injudiciously next morning publicly dismissed the
  object of his jealousy, and, by his want of prudence, confirmed every
  thing that had been falsely alledged against his innocent wife, who
  continued ignorant of it for some months.

  When acquainted with it--The less ground she saw for the reports
  against her honor, the more courage and greater resolution she had
  to condemn them. She thought herself unfortunate to have lost the
  merit of her innocence by scandalous reports which she thanked Heaven
  she had not incurred by her guilt: and was so far from slighting the
  probabilities that might confirm opinions founded against her, that
  she by no means thought herself in the same situation with others,
  who had never _been contemned_, and that consequently she was not at
  liberty to act on some occasions as _they might do_.

  How many women _err_ from the obstinacy of people in defaming
  them--they give up the point, despairing of success in conciliating
  the esteem of a world who never _retract censure_--It is not with
  detraction as it is with other things that displease by repetition:
  Stories that have been told a thousand times, are still new when
  revived to the prejudice of another. The duchess bore all these
  calumnies with patience, _which_ was never yet a _solitary virtue_:
  like an angler she endeavoured to humour the duke's waywardness,
  flattering herself that her study to please would conquer his
  disagreeable temper; and that if she could not become a pleasing wife,
  she might at least be thought an agreeable companion, a serviceable
  friend. Hope was the only blessing left us, when Pandora's fatal box
  let out all the numberless evils which infest these sublunary regions.
  But she was at last obliged to resign all ideas of submitting longer
  to his caprices. He became jealous even of his menial servants; and
  she could speak to no man without incurring his suspicions; which
  produced to her the most mortifying scenes. Like that conqueror of
  China, who forced his subjects into a general revolt, because he
  wanted to oblige them to cut their hair and their nails, he reduced
  her to form the resolution of leaving him, because (as he represented
  it) _he had dismissed a servant_. But it was in reality his temper
  and abuse that occasioned it--and when she was under the necessity of
  taking that step, she rather let the world judge amiss of her, than
  justify herself at her husband's expense. No condescensions on her
  part could affect _him_, as daily experience convinced her, that from
  a consciousness of the part he _himself had acted_, he could never
  _love her_. Are there not many occasions in life in which it would be
  reasonable to say, _I conjure you to forget and forgive the injury you
  have done me_?

  They at last parted amicably: she came to Rotterdam with her family,
  and there I contracted an intimacy with her son, who was an amiable
  young man about my own age. There I first beheld the lovely Adelaude,
  Countess de Sons, the duchess's ward: the first time I saw _her_,
  and the charming Julia, I know I had _a heart_; until then I was
  insensible--These young ladies were instructed in all the arts of
  Minerva; Julia was skilled in music; but the countess's voice was,
  accompanied with the lyre, more moving than that of Orpheus. Her hair
  hung waving in the wind without any ornament, which the duchess had
  taught her to despise: her motions were all perfectly easy, her smiles
  enchanting! Without dress she had beauty, unconscious of any, and
  thus were heightened all her charms.

  The marquis enquired what I thought of his sister, and her fair
  friend? I answered, "They were charming," and asked if it was
  possible he had resisted the charms of the beautiful countess? He
  replied, "I will own to you, my dear friend, I have not: Adelaude
  is formed for love; my heart is naturally susceptible; she has been
  my constant companion: he must be something more, or something less
  than a man (a god or a devil) who hath escaped, or who can resist
  love's empire.--The gods of the heathens could not; Jupiter, Mars,
  Mercury, Apollo, their amours are as famous as their names: so that
  sturdiness in human nature, where it is found, which can resist,
  argues plainly how much the devil is wrought up in the composition.
  But if my sensibility had not been so great, yet so many opportunities
  she has had to engage my affections, could not fail of rivetting
  me her's for ever," "You are beloved then" said I hastily. "Yes,"
  replied he, "Adelaude calls me her dearest brother; but entertains
  no ideas beyond that relation; and I am fearful of letting her know
  the extent of my sentiments, lest it should render her constrained in
  her manner to me; and the charming _naiveté_ of her behaviour forms
  the charms of my life! The marks of that innocent affection, which
  first attached me to her, have hitherto been looked upon as a childish
  play: and as no one has troubled their head about the consequences of
  it, I have taken care to profit by the liberty allowed me.--You make
  me no answer!--Wherefore this gloomy silence, your dejected air, and
  languishing looks?" I pretended an indisposition, and left him under
  the greatest oppressure of spirits; I loved, I adored the charming
  Countess! judge then of the horror of my situation.--

  How many sacrifices could I not willingly have made to friendship!
  My passion I thought was indeed the only one I could not make: how was
  it possible I should? but convinced of the happiness of my rival, what
  did I not suffer? I saw a pair of happy lovers, suited to each other;
  I thought it would be safe to alienate her affections; and considered
  myself only in the light of a dependent on your bounty: in such a
  situation, had my friend been uninterested, could I hazard addressing
  a young lady of the countess's rank and fortune? I became melancholy
  and _distrait_. Many people, and particularly those who have no idea
  of that delicacy of passion peculiar to susceptible minds, looked on
  me as a particular kind of a young man. To please such persons, I
  must have devoted my time to them: you will easily conceive then, I
  could well enough bear the want of their good opinion. Such become the
  artificers of their own misfortunes, by the false idea they form of
  pleasure, and they philtre (if I may use the term) their own sorrows.

  It was what is called pleasure, that sunk into ruin the ancient
  states of Greece; that destroyed the Romans, that overturns cities;
  that corrupts courts; that exhausts the fortunes of the great; that
  consumes youth; that has a retinue composed of satiety, indigence,
  sickness, and death. But _my passion_, as much as a _dislike_ to
  their _manner of life_, secured me from _their dissipations_. The
  constant endeavours I used to suppress an inclination I could not
  overcome, had a fatal effect on my constitution--I was threatened
  with a consumption!--This I carefully concealed, lest your kindness
  should have urged my removal from a place, which I could not determine
  to quit: though I carefully avoided the sight of those who were
  interesting to me in it.

  At this time the marquis received a peremptory command to rejoin
  his father. He came to me in the greatest distress: "How", said he,
  "can I resolve to leave the countess?--She is now beautiful as an
  angel, exclusive of her immense fortune; to remain single cannot
  possibly be long in her power, for her beauty must necessarily strike
  every eye, and charm every heart. But I will go and unburthen myself
  to my father; her riches and rank will insure his approbation. You,
  my friend, alone are acquainted with the secret of my heart. See
  the lovely Adelaude often; to you I confide the secrets of my soul.
  Farewel."

  The marquis set out, and soon informed me that his father would not
  yet hear of his marriage, and had insisted on his immediately joining
  a regiment in which he had procured him a command: It was in time of
  war; his honor at stake, and love was subordinate to his glory. The
  susceptible mind is capable of enjoying a thousand exquisite delights
  to which those are strangers, whose pleasures are less refined; but
  what chagrin, what regret, what pain does not so delicate a passion
  bring on the heart that entertains it? _Quand on est né trop tendre,
  on ne doit pas aimer_, says some French author. But the sufferings
  of my friend could not equal mine; the object of my passion being
  daily before my eyes heightened my inquietude. The general characters
  of men, I am apt to believe, are determined by their natural
  constitutions, as their particular actions are by their immediate
  objects. The innocent marks of partiality she honored me with, made me
  in constant fears of acting dishonorably to the marquis. The duchess
  fell soon after into a languishing illness, which in a short time put
  a period to her life: The duke came, but _too late_, to receive her
  last breath. He at first appeared inconsolable for her death; but
  his grief insensibly decreased, and softened into that mournful and
  tender regard, which a sense of her merit, and his own unkindness
  to her, could not fail of exacting from him. Disgusted at an union,
  which had caused him (from his own errors) so much uneasiness, he
  formed a resolution carefully to avoid entering again into a similar
  engagement. But he saw every day before him the lovely Adelaude: he
  loved her; it was perhaps impossible for him to do otherwise. He
  declared his passion; but was rejected: The countess told him her
  affections were engaged! Next day I received the following letter.

    From the Countess de Sons to the Earl of Munster.

    My Lord,

    I am well aware of the delicacy which prescribes certain
    observances to our sex. But there is no rule in life which must not
    vary with circumstances. Come to me this evening: Julia will be with
    me--Adieu.

                                                       ADELAUDE de SONS.

  I went--Abashed at the step she had taken, the cheeks of the lovely
  Adelaude glowed with the most lovely red; her eyes sparkled with
  the brightest lustre; while the loves and graces hovered around her
  charming form, and fluttered on her breast--Love, almighty love,
  preceded her steps, when she approached me. Heavens! how quick my
  heart beat at that instant with pleasing hope! I endeavoured to speak
  to her, but hesitated and trembled. After a few moments' expressive
  silence, I desired to know what commands she meant to honor me with?
  She was greatly confused, but at length told me the dilemma she was in
  from the declaration of the duke's passion. To support my politics, I
  began and talked of my friend.

  She told me that his partiality was no secret to her, although he
  had never disclosed it, but that she rejoiced at his absence, as it
  would enable him to triumph over a passion she could _not return_.
  Surprised at this declaration, I should have been wanting to myself
  not to improve it. But love only can give an idea of those pleasures
  we enjoyed in each other's company with reciprocal tenderness.
  But _it_ affords few sweets that are not dashed with a mixture of
  bitterness. Happy moments! how soon ye fled! a sad remembrance only of
  that delightful interval left behind. Ah no, it is impossible I should
  ever forget that day in which she first confessed those sentiments for
  me my heart had long divined, the assurance of which, nevertheless,
  gave me inexpressible transport. But when I reflected on my friend,
  and that of my depressed circumstances, it gave a sudden check to
  my joy. My sighs, my tears, made known to her the distress of my
  heart! I could only utter the name of _my friend_, and wrung my hands
  in despair. She soothed my uneasiness. "This is the fatal stroke I
  feared" said the gentle Adelaude; "this is what my foreboding heart
  presaged. But your interest does not interfere with his, for whom I
  never experienced any thing more but that of a _sisterly affection_."

  I then acquainted her with my dependent situation: that I should
  be hurt at allying her so unsuitably, though had I had the wealth of
  worlds it would have been hers. She told me her estate was sufficient
  to enrich me: that the duke talked of leaving Rotterdam; she dreaded
  being in the power of a man so impetuous, who would stick at nothing
  to gratify his passions; and that she would place herself under my
  protection. Infatuated I was, not to comply with her request! My
  friend's woes wounded me to the quick: false honor determined me to
  write and inform him of the state of the affair, previous to my
  taking advantage of her inclination for me. I wrote instantly to the
  marquis; but a few days after the duke set out for Italy with his
  family. The night before their departure I saw the countess. "Thou
  must go," said I, "and with thee all my joy, my happiness, my only
  hope--Go, and take with thee all my heart holds dear, all that is
  left for me is despair. Reason will resume its empire over love, and
  you will forget a poor unfortunate, who hath nothing to offer but the
  most pure and ardent affection; an affection in which consists all the
  happiness of his life."

  "Ah, my lord," said she, "forbear to speak a language so injurious
  to your merit and my sentiments. Can I cease to love you? Can I forget
  you? No! whilst my heart beats it will be yours, and yours only--I
  will preserve myself for you, and nothing can ever make me forgetful
  of the engagements I have made with you."

  The conflict of contending passions had tortured me so much, that
  I confess, I was rather relieved, when they set out, and when it was
  out of my power to have realized the charming scheme the countess had
  suggested to me. What forbearance did it not cost me? Nothing is more
  common than for men to declaim against those things which they are
  not in a capacity to enjoy: Diogenes said to Aristippus the courtier,
  as he passed him in his tub, "If you could content yourself, as I do,
  with _bread_ and _garlic_, you would not be the _slave_ of the King of
  Syracuse:" "Are you," replied Aristippus, "if you _knew_ how to _live
  with princes_, you would not make such _bad cheer_."

  Perhaps the circumstances of age, health, and fortune, vary the
  taste, and regulate the appetites of mankind more than reason and
  reflection.

  But everything conspired to render the sacrifice I had made a _great
  one_ to _friendship_. I soon received the following letter from Julia.

      "My Lord,

    The countess is so closely watched, that she cannot write. Would
    to God you had followed your inclinations! We are going to Sweden:
    follow us, if possible, and repair the error you have committed. I
    am fearful she will be constrained to choose another husband. Adieu.

                                                     JULIA de VILLEROI."

  Upon the receipt of this letter I went to Sweden; but could hear no
  tidings of those I pursued. I became quite melancholy, and seldom went
  abroad, but could not refuse being introduced by the Baron de R---- to
  the Queen Dowager, who is an exalted character: she is sister to the
  reigning King of Prussia, is the avowed protectress of letters, and
  encourager of merit: and during her husband's life possessed an almost
  unlimited influence over affairs of state; but at present leads a more
  retired and secluded life. She is perfect mistress of Latin, as well
  as the modern languages.

  The present King of Sweden at the age of twenty-six changed the
  form of government, without blood or difficulty. Sweden can boast
  of her two Gustavus's, the first and second; nor are her Christina,
  or her Charles, unknown to fame. In what country is not the name of
  Peter celebrated, the greatest legislator that modern times have seen?
  Hearing no tidings of the duke's family, I made out my northern tour.
  In Denmark the sun of genius has not yet blazed from a throne, and
  shed a temporary lustre on the surrounding darkness; if we except
  the celebrated Margaret de Waldemar, to whom history has given the
  epithet of the _Semiramis_ of the north, who united under her reign
  all the kingdoms beneath the polar sky, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden.
  There are, however, two favourite monarchs of Danish story. The first
  of these was Christian IV, who was the opponent and competitor of
  Gustavus Adolphus, but with far inferior fame. The last was Frederic
  IV. This prince loved the arts, and made two visits to Italy, one
  previous to his ascending the throne, and one after it. During a
  carnival at Venice, he resided in that city, and in one evening is
  said to have won, at the card-table, a bank worth one hundred thousand
  pounds sterling, which he immediately presented to a noble Venetian
  lady, in whose house this happened, and whose whole fortunes were
  involved in this game of chance: All the company were in masque.

  I cannot omit mentioning the literary merit of the ladies in
  Denmark; which has already been taken notice of by Lord Molesworth,
  who says, that Tycho Brahe's sister, and especially Dorothea
  Engelerechtie, may contend with the famous poetesses of the ancients.
  The lady Brigetta Tot has translated Seneca the philosopher into the
  Danish tongue, with all the elegance any language is capable of, and
  has conspired with our ingenious countrywoman Miss Carter[27], to
  shew that the most rugged philosophy of the stoics must submit, when
  the fair-sex is pleased to conquer. But I forget who I am writing
  to--Thanks to your extensive reading--I have nothing to tell you that
  has been written and published before. I shall only observe, that I
  met with many ingenious men abroad who held the English cheap. I can
  account for this in no other way, than that they form their judgment
  of us only by the _philosophical transactions_. Absorbed in deep
  melancholy, on account of my ignorance of the fate of Countess de
  Sons, I went little into company, but applied myself constantly to
  study: I amused myself in painting; the cataract of the river Dahl
  is the subject of one of my pieces. The tremendous roar of these
  cataracts, which, when close, is superior to the loudest thunder; the
  vapours which rise incessantly from them, and even obscure them from
  the eye in many parts; the agitation of the river below for several
  hundred yards before it resumes its former tranquillity; and the
  sides covered with tall firs; form one of the most picturesque and
  astonishing scenes to be beheld in nature's volume.

  Wrapt up one day in the contemplation of this scene, Lord Ogilby
  whom I became acquainted with at Upsal, approached me under an
  apparent agitation of spirits. We lived much together, but I had
  observed him very absent, and missed him several evenings. My Lord,
  said he, near this place resides all that my soul holds dear: I am
  in love--in love, to a degree I never felt till now. I am myself
  astonished at it. But blame me not until you see the object of my
  affections. He said, that he had been charmed with a young woman's
  figure and beauty, and that she appeared to be possessed of the
  greatest modesty, prudence, and good humour. He finished his
  panegyric with saying, _how happy will that man be who first inspires
  her gentle heart with love_!

  I accompanied Lord Ogilby (who remained silent) for about a hundred
  yards, when we approached a cottage.

  A window being opened, he said to me, There, my Lord, you can see
  her without being observed. I looked, and beheld a most exquisite
  Beauty. She was of a fair complexion, had fine full blue languishing
  eyes, which sparked through the long lashes of their beautiful lids,
  and expressed, with the most innocent simplicity, all that an insipid
  coquet attempts in vain. When she perceived we looked at her, it
  heightened the vermilion on her cheeks, through the consciousness that
  they betrayed the extreme sensibility of her heart; and if even the
  rest of her person had not been equally engaging, yet the bewitching
  sweetness of her countenance alone would have intitled her to be
  ranked among the first class of pleasing Beauties.--A beautiful boy
  of about two years of age, whose hair flowed in natural ringlets like
  her own, was playing beside her while she was making some artificial
  flowers. Her dress was a brown camblet jacket and petticoat clasped at
  the breast.

  Upon perceiving us she arose, and received us with the greatest
  politeness--It was easy for us to conceive she had been accustomed
  to genteel life. She acquainted us that whatever honor we might do
  her in condescending to come into that poor cottage, yet she must for
  the future desire we would not repeat our visit. As it was entirely
  contrary to her plans, and to those views which determined her to
  retire to that place. There appeared in her a timid bashfulness;
  but as this seemed to proceed from the fear of _my friend_, who had
  been importunate lover, and was a proof of the purity of her heart
  instead of an awkwardness, it appeared a grace. Yes, I repeat it,
  this bashfulness appeared in her quite engaging; for as the shade in
  a beautiful picture, it served to set off the masterly strokes of the
  piece. Lord Ogilby assured her in my hearing, that he had no views but
  which were highly honourable, that if she would give him her hand he
  would make her his wife. "I am one of those, said he, who have ever
  despised the common prejudices of mankind, particularly in the affair
  of love. A fine person, a graceful carriage, an amiable disposition,
  are all the titles or wealth I should look for in a woman. You
  possess all these advantages, and to them add the greatest delicacy
  of sentiment--so many charms compensate for the want of those other
  qualifications the injustice of fortune has deprived you of."--"Hymen,
  my lord, answered she, can have no joys for me, and I am sure will
  never light his torch on my account; for I have fountains of tears
  which would soon extinguish it!" What was my surprise to discover
  this beautiful girl (for her age did not appear to exceed eighteen)
  so accomplished, that she could read the Iliad of Homer, the Georgics
  of Virgil, the inimitable Cervantes, and the plays of Terence, in the
  original languages, with great ease! She was a _Hebe_, with the head
  of a philosopher, the knowledge of a divine, accompanied with all the
  exterior accomplishments the most finished education could bestow.
  As we found her fond of reading, we carried her a book of periodical
  papers then just written at Vienna. The next time I saw her I inquired
  if she approved of it--she replied she was no judge; but that she
  apprehended humour in writing chiefly consists in an imitation of the
  foibles or absurdities of mankind; so our pleasure in this species of
  composition, arises from comparing the picture with the original in
  nature, which she had no opportunity of doing.

  In the works of our own countrymen we have frequent opportunities
  of making this comparison, as the originals are generally before us:
  But when we read the productions of foreigners, as their portraits are
  copied from manners with which we are not sufficiently acquainted,
  they must often appear forced and unnatural. There is a cast of
  humour, as well as of manners, peculiar to each country; and this
  is what makes every nation give the preference to its own humorous
  subjects. Nor is this preference ill founded, since the several
  drawings are made from originals widely different from each other; and
  as in portrait-painting, the value of the picture is enhanced by our
  connections with the person who sat for it; so here we must approve
  those pieces the originals of which we are best acquainted with. The
  language of humour is also in every country different from that used
  upon common occasions, which makes foreign satire an exotic of too
  delicate a nature to bear transplanting.

  I was not surprised at my friend's situation; nothing I _then_
  supposed could have secured my own heart from her attractions but its
  being pre-engaged. All the great heroes, the scripture worthies in
  particular, have had their _Delilah's_, to whose bewitching charms
  they have _one and all yielded_; reluctantly some, and fondly others;
  _these_ proving their wisdom, and _those_ their folly; since _there is
  no enchantment against beauty_, nor any thing it cannot enchant.

  But notwithstanding my predilection in her favor, prudence suggested
  to me that my friend's passion might hurry him into an improper
  connection. I therefore inquired particularly concerning this lovely
  woman. I found she had resided there fifteen months, having brought
  with her a maid, and the child whom we had seen: that soon after her
  arrival she had disposed of some valuable effects; and that she had
  employed herself since that period in making artificial flowers, which
  her maid carried to--and disposed of them: that it was with great
  pleasure they observed she was now much more cheerful than she had
  been at first. That she was very regular in her conduct; never saw any
  person, nor went abroad but for divine service or a little air and
  exercise. This account served only to increase my friend's passion. He
  left nothing unsaid, nothing undone, to convince her of his sincerity;
  but she remained inexorable! We were there one day; when I took the
  liberty of remonstrating with her on this subject: She was affected,
  and said, "My lord, you distress me greatly; but at once to relieve
  myself _from your_ friend's importunities, and to prove _to you_ how
  unavailable _his_ pursuit _is_, I must be reduced to the humiliating
  detail of _my sorrows_: then, pointing to the lovely boy, she added,
  that cherub calls me _mother_, although his cruel father has not given
  me the name _of wife_: let this, my lord, render you unsolicitous
  concerning me."

  Lord Ogilby, though struck at the intelligence, assured her, that
  she was infinitely superior in his eyes to women of the world, who
  vainly flatter themselves, that, while they appear _not_ to be
  conscious of their errors, mankind never discover _their follies_!
  that he respected her candour, he would be a father to her lovely
  boy, and, by his tender faithful attachment, atone for her former
  disappointment. She said every thing a sensible heart could feel on
  the sense she had of the honor he did in addressing her on such
  honorable terms, in the strange situation he found her in; but added,
  her heart might break, but that in breaking it must be the entire
  property of Sir Harry Bingley!

  I am very sensible, my lords, continued Miss Harris, that the
  foibles of those to whom we are indebted for our existence, though
  open to the attack of all the world beside, ought to be sacred to us.
  But it is incumbent on me to paint my father's character, in order to
  inform you of the origin of my misfortunes. He was the younger son of
  a family of distinction, had received every advantage of education,
  and had travelled all over the world; which he himself said had
  divested him of many narrow prejudices! But this was not sufficient
  for him--he must triumph over reason and nature. He was too wise to
  adopt the opinions of his fore-fathers, yet at the same time too
  indolent to establish any of his own; and as he lived without system,
  he made present convenience the rule of his conduct. His virtues
  consequently were _accidental_--but his vices _habitual_. A clergyman
  that kept him company countenanced _his errors_, and confirmed _my
  belief_, that religious duties were only an _imposition on the
  vulgar_. I am sure, my lord, you must agree with me in thinking that
  _immorality_ in a _clergyman_ is as unpardonable as _cowardice_ in
  a _soldier_. _One_ flies from the foes of his _king_ and _country_;
  the _other_ justifies the _enemies of his God_. My father married
  a young lady of large fortune. She had received a very religious
  education, and had too much sensibility not to be exceedingly wounded
  at his infidelity. He told her it was very well she thought as _she
  did_--that all capacities cannot command a sufficient degree of
  attention to pursue the intricacies of philosophical speculation;
  neither if they could, are they endowed with proper powers of
  perception to discern and judge for themselves. As these must
  necessarily be governed by prejudices, if you remove them, you leave
  such weak objects without any principle _whatever_.

  My mother answered, that the apostles were no _meta-physicians_: nor
  did their blessed master teach them any thing that should make them
  so. Wherefore she contented herself with their plain instructions,
  finding much more satisfaction from them than she did from any human
  writers, especially those who use so many and so nice distinctions,
  tending more to _puzzle_ than _enlighten_ the understanding, and
  having little effect upon the heart to make it better. It is to me, I
  own, (said she) no recommendation of any cause, that the abettors of
  it are obliged to have recourse to _abstruse terms_, and especially
  when they introduce such terms into any system that pretends to be
  Christian. I admire no scholastic phrases, or terms of art, when
  applied to a doctrine which is matter of revelation only; and wherein
  neither schools nor arts have any thing to say further, nor can say
  any thing more clearly or more certainly than what God hath said. I
  am far from commending any imposition upon men's judgment, or any
  dictating by one man what is to be believed by another! But here my
  father interrupted her; and, in a passion, made use of terms delicacy
  prevents a repetition of--adding, neither _man_ nor _woman_ should
  dictate or make a fool of him! That religion, etc. etc. varied in
  different countries, as he had often observed something in the
  climate, soil, or situation of _each_, which had great influence in
  establishing its particular mode of superstition. Thus in Syria they
  worship the sun, moon, and stars, as they live in a flat country,
  enjoying a constant serenity of sky; and the origin and progress of
  that error may be traced in a certain connection between those objects
  of worship considered physically, and their characters as divinities.

  Thus the pomp and magnificence with which the sun is worshipped
  in Syria, said he, and the human victims sacrificed to him, seem
  altogether to mark an awful reverence, paid rather to his power than
  to his beneficence, in a country where the violence of his heat is
  destructive to vegetation, as it is in many other respects very
  troublesome to the inhabitants. Superstition, since the world began,
  has consisted of every particular, which either people's _fears_ or
  their _follies_, either the _strength_ of their _imagination_, or
  the _weakness_ of their _judgment_, or the _design_ and _artifice_
  of their _leaders_, taught them to _embrace_, in order to please any
  being, or order of beings, superior to themselves, whom they made
  the objects of their religious regards. My mother answered, that the
  unbeliever changes nothing of the design of God, when he dares to
  rise up against him--He ever enters into his plan, where the evil
  concurs with the good, for the harmony of _this_ world, and the good
  of the _next_. I need not, my lords, tire you with an account of
  these particulars, further than to mark the difference of my parents
  characters--these arguments recurring often, in the end produced such
  contentions, that it impaired my mother's health--she died, and left
  me under the guidance of a father, _totally unfit_ for that _important
  trust_ He endeavoured to impress me with his sentiments of religion,
  etc. If I imbibed his ideas, could I be blamed for it? Is it not
  injurious and ridiculous to censure others for thinking in the same
  manner we ourselves should have done under the same circumstances?
  For if we do not consult our reason (which in matters of religion
  is prohibited us) the capacity and credulity of individuals are
  different, in consequence of their diversity of temperament,
  education, and experience. And it would be still more absurd to
  reprobate the rest of mankind, for not believing what we ourselves
  do _not_, nor can be made _to believe_. But to return to my father:
  About a year after my mother's death, when I was only eight years old,
  he set out for Italy, and returned home inebriated with a love for
  antiquity--He could sit all day in contemplation of a statue without a
  nose, and doated on the decays with greater love than the self-loved
  Narcissus did on his beauty. Sir Harry Bingley did me the honor to
  address me; but my father, on his first proposal, would not hear of
  it; he wished me to marry a brother antiquarian, who was desirous,
  among other pieces of age and time, to have one young face be seen to
  call him father. My lover told him, he would pray to Heaven to have
  merit or deserve me--He returned, "When your prayer is answered, renew
  your suit; but if you stay till then, you must have spectacles to see
  her beauty with." Had Sir Harry appeared to him like a Sibyl's son,
  or with a face rugged as father Nilus is pictured on the hangings, it
  would have been otherwise. But the qualities, which recommended him
  _to me_, produced the contrary effect on _my father_.

  Signor Crustino, whom he favored, had presented him with books,
  that he said were written before the Punic war; and some of Terence's
  hundred and fifty comedies that were lost in the Adriatic sea, when
  he returned from banishment.--There were powerful inducements--He
  commanded me to marry him: I expostulated, but without effect. Had
  Sir Harry Bingley been old in any thing, even in iniquity, I believe
  he would have shown him some respect. Had he not, said he, the
  indiscretion to betray weakness, even to myself? did not he mention
  that his _old_ rents produced one thousand a year; but that he had
  made _new_ leases, and doubled them; and by the sale of a gallery of
  pictures had paid his father's debts? O such preposterous folly! he
  values more his gold, than whatever Apelles or Phidias have invented!
  "What is more honorable than age?" said he: "Is not wisdom entailed
  on it? It takes the pre-eminence in everything: antiquities are the
  registers, the chronicles of the age, and speak the truth of history
  better than a hundred of your printed commentaries!" It was in vain
  I pleaded a contrary opinion; my tears had no power to mollify his
  stony heart. I was ordered to prepare for my wedding; which I was
  determined, at all events, should not take place. In the mean time
  Sir Harry Bingley's passion was increased by the difficulty of
  obtaining me, as the lovers of the fair Danäe desired her more when
  she was locked up in the brazen tower. He was importunate with me to
  elope: inclination pressed hard on one side, duty on the other; I was
  torn with contending passions: my distraction was increased by the
  preparations for the marriage feast. My father took his bill of fare
  out of Athenæus, and ordered the most surprizing dishes imaginable.
  But I was reprieved by a most extraordinary accident--He was possessed
  of a couple of old manuscripts, said to have been found in a wall, and
  stored up with the foundation: he supposed them the writing of some
  prophetess--They were, he said, of the old Roman binding: And though
  the characters were so imperfect, that time had eaten out the letters,
  and the dust made a parenthesis betwixt every syllable, yet he was
  inconsolable upon discovering he had lost them; and suspected his
  brother antiquary of the theft, _such_ generally being very _adroit_
  on _pilfering_--Words arose on the subject; they parted in wrath;
  my father declaring the marriage should not be celebrated. Signor
  Crustino next day wrote a mollifying letter, intreating his acceptance
  of several other manuscripts, which he said were dug out of the ruins
  of Aquileia, after it was sacked by Attila, King of the Hunns.--But
  he returned them with indignation, and took to his bed, where he
  remained nine months in a very lingering condition--then died--leaving
  me a prey to the oppressive insolence of proud prosperity.--It is that
  only which can inflict a wound on the ingenuous mind.--These are the
  stings of poverty! Misfortunes never create respect: dependence of
  course meets with many slights--On such occasions, some show their
  _malice_, and are witty on our _misfortunes_; others their judgment,
  by sage reflections on our conduct; but few their charity.--They
  alone have a right to censure, who have hearts to assist: the rest is
  cruelty, not justice[28].

  I found that my father's collection of curiosities, for which he
  had expended all his fortune, did no more than pay his debts. On this
  occasion all my acquaintances forsook me. A rich aunt was the only
  person who recollected such a being existed (my lover excepted).
  She afforded me help, but more as if she had been giving _alms_ to
  a _stranger_, than _relief_ to a relation. How few are acquainted
  with the art of conferring favors in that happy manner that doubles
  the value of the obligation! If in doing good, people consulted the
  circumstances and inclinations of those they oblige--if, instead of
  shocking their self-love, (inherent in us all) they knew how to take
  advantage of it, with as much address as the flatterer employs to
  gain his ends, the empire of morality would long ago have extended
  its bounds, and the numbers of its adherents would have greatly
  increased.--This is the more easily done, as the _distressed_ think
  any mark of attention shown them by the _wealthy_, _a real favor_--But
  _neglect_ in general is the _portion_ of the _necessitous_--and
  _outrage alone_ employed to recover _the guilty_.

  Lord Ogilby could not help here, with some warmth, asking where Sir
  Harry Bingley was all this time. Miss Harris bowed, and resumed her
  story. "Alas!" said she, "the Marquis of M---- his uncle, on whom he
  had considerable expectations, insisted on his marrying Lady Ann
  Frivolité--and though he absolutely declined this overture, he thought
  in prudence, he ought to defer for some time entering into another
  engagement until he could bring his uncle to hearken to it."

  My necessities increasing, relying entirely on the honor of my
  lover, I permitted him to conduct me to a seat he had in a remote
  part of the country--It was a frightful dismal house surrounded with
  yews and willows, whose different forms recalled to my ideas Ovid's
  Metamorphoses, and made me sometimes ready to bemoan the fate of
  unhappy lovers converted into evergreens by the supposed enchantress
  of this dreary mansion. The house had been long uninhabited: by the
  blackness of the walls, the circular fires, vast cauldrons, yawning
  mouths of ovens and furnaces, one would conclude, it was either the
  forge of Vulcan, the cave of Polypheme, or the temple of Moloch. The
  hangings of the apartments were indeed the finest in the world; that
  is to say, which Arachne spins from her own bowels. But the affection,
  the tender respectful behaviour of my lover was _everything to me_.
  He said he made no doubt but the marquis, when convinced of my merit,
  would approve of his passion! Unwilling to see him continue in so
  delusive an error, I told him there was little probability of reviving
  the golden age in his family; or, hoping that the benevolence of his
  own heart would become epidemical, was an illusion! that relations or
  parents saw things in a very different light from their children; as
  the sentiment of the former arose from cool reflection, and as those
  of the latter commonly resulted from the caprice of an irregular
  imagination, or the violence of an impetuous passion, which prompted
  them to act sometimes in direct opposition to the salutary advice
  of their best friends.--He replied, that granting that were even
  the case--the Marquis of M---- could not live for ever--but that no
  power on earth could induce him to sacrifice his happiness; that he
  had a _competent_, though not _great_ estate of his own--and would
  marry me directly, if I chose it, or would take the most solemn oath
  imaginable, to do it as soon as circumstances rendered it prudent
  with safety. I consequently rejected agreeing to his proposal: I
  could not bear the idea of my lover's running the risk of losing a
  family inheritance on my account; though a possibility of possession
  altering his sentiments, never entered into my imagination. We
  remained three months together, the happiest time of my life: Happy
  moments, how soon you fled, never, never to return!

  Miss Harris here blushed and stopped; we encouraged her to proceed.
  With some hesitation, she added, At that time my lover's importunity
  prevailed; I resigned myself to his wishes. I had his solemn promise
  he would ratify our engagement at the altar; and my father had
  instilled notions into me of marriage being only a civil institution:
  he had often said, that the marriages among the Israelites were not
  attended with any religious ceremonies, except the prayers of the
  father of the family, and the standers by, to beg the blessing of God.
  We have examples of it in the marriage of Rebecca with Isaac, of Ruth
  with Boaz. We do not read that God acted the part of a priest to join
  Adam and Eve together, only that of a father to the young woman, in
  giving her away--_For he brought her to the man_: We do not see, he
  used to say, that there were any sacrifices offered upon the occasion;
  that they went to the temple, or sent to the priests. So that it was
  no more than a civil contract. I also knew the present custom in
  Sicily and in Holland. Thus I justified myself _to myself_, though
  not effectually; but I was willing then _to believe_ what I _wished_;
  as no inconvenience _to myself_ could equally affect me in its
  consequences, as my lover losing his fortune on _my account_, which
  made me decline marrying him at that time. And I firmly relied on his
  honor, whom from that time I considered, and shall do, as my husband.
  With this difference--if a woman survives her husband, after some
  time set apart for decency, there are many circumstances may combine
  to render a second attachment eligible. But one who like me has
  evinced a weakness must be more exemplary in every other part of her
  character, and more tenacious in her conduct, least the _particular
  affection_ which occasioned _her error_, should be imputed to her as a
  _depravity_. The event will prove, how requisite it is, for the good
  of society, that certain rules should be established, the infringers
  of which ought to suffer, for the good of the community.

  The effect of our passion was soon evident in my person--but sorry
  I am to relate, grieved to repeat it--he left me; and at a time
  when I expected every minute to become a mother; without affording
  me one single line to _comfort_ or _relieve_ my mind from a state of
  distraction, little short of madness. I was at last told he had been
  obliged to set out on confidential business to the continent! Alas, in
  what way did I lose his confidence? His _glory_ was dearer to me than
  my _own life_; and had he told me of the circumstances, I should have
  _urged_ his _departure_, instead of wishing to _protract_ his stay.

  I was in despair for his unkindness! Had my steps been strewed with
  flowers, had I been possessed of every outward accommodation wealth
  could bestow, alas, how unavailing would all these advantages have
  been to me! but in my situation, oppressed, afflicted, and surrounded
  with mortifications, ignorant even of the means of my future support,
  and that of his child, how dreadfully were my woes increased! This
  mark of his inattention redoubled my grief. An assortment of flowers,
  plants, etc. arrived after his departure, which only served to remind
  me of the happiness I had proposed myself from their cultivation in
  his company: but I could not live by their scent, like a Dutch damsel,
  nor was I descended of Cameleons that could be kept with air. In my
  despair I refused all kind of nourishment; but a worthy girl who lived
  with me, recovered me from this _reverie_. If you are resolved, madam,
  (said she) never to eat a morsel more during your existence, your
  behaviour at present is very consistent; but if you design ever to do
  so, believe me that this is the best time you can possibly do so for
  yourself, exclusive of your child, who must suffer with you. The last
  argument was a prevailing one--I enquired for food, and eat greedily.

  I was soon afterwards delivered of a lovely boy--I took him in my
  arms--each feature depicted his beloved, though cruel father! He has
  since been my only solace, comfort, and happiness--were I hunted out
  of society, and were I to meet with every species of abuse on _his
  account_, he would be infinitely more interesting to me than all that
  the world could confer upon me.

  After two months, during which time I flattered myself I should
  hear from Sir Harry, though my hopes proved too sanguine, I removed
  from his house--I cared not where I went, if distant from a place he
  could discover me in, at a time when his capricious passion might
  bring him back to me. Many unfortunate women, in such a situation,
  give themselves up (as Ariadne did) to Bacchus, from the day they are
  deserted--But a superior education taught me better. My maid's brother
  was a captain of a ship; I agreed with him to bring us to this place.
  My child justified my keeping a few valuable trinkets Sir Harry had
  given me, which I should otherwise have returned--I set out, and,
  philosopher-like, carried all my possessions about me. These trinkets,
  and industry, have hitherto supported us--I revere virtue, though I
  have unhappily swerved from the established rules of virtue _in my
  country_--but I have the same warm affection for virtuous people, the
  same tenderness for the unhappy, and the same regard for those whom
  prosperity hath not blinded!

  Lord Ogilby replied, Sir Harry Bingley must have been nursed among
  rocks, and suckled by tigers, to have used you thus! But you, even
  now, would prefer being the object of his licentious passion, rather
  than to become my virtuous wife! Miss Harris bowed, and replied,
  I flattered myself, my lord, that I had, though not without great
  confusion to myself, made you acquainted with my character--I
  therefore am highly superior to the inference you have indelicately
  made. I shall owe my future innocence to the sense I have of my
  lover's perfidy; as the sore wound the viper gives, the viper best
  cures. But my unfortunate circumstances exclude my ever thinking of
  any other of the sex: All the rest of mankind _are_, and must remain
  to me _a distinct species_. I would much rather die a thousand deaths,
  than that my heart should have once conceived such a thought! I have
  imprinted him in my heart in such deep characters, that nothing can
  rase it out, unless it rub my heart out. Although he has left me to
  be for ever miserable--may he be blessed--and may the fair-one whom
  he selects to be his happy, happy wife, love him the hundredth part I
  did! In this cottage will I remain! here dedicate my life to industry,
  to procure for the child of the man I love, the means of food and
  education: and when the great God calls upon me to offer up an account
  of all my deeds, I _cannot_, _do not_ believe, I shall be found very
  defective in what his justice will exact from me. Though I lament the
  error I fell into, and am now convinced that we can have no distinct
  notions of human happiness, without the previous knowledge of the
  human constitution, of all its active and perceptive powers, and their
  natural objects: therefore the most natural method of proceeding in
  the science of morals, is to begin with inquiring into our several
  natural determinations, and the objects from whence our happiness
  can arise.--This, my lord, I have carefully done--my resolution is
  consequently fixed. Lord Ogilby again said, Madam, let me still
  intreat you to consider--If you have any hopes of his return, of all
  old debts, love, when it comes to be so, is paid the most unwillingly;
  and all you get by your constancy, is the loss of that beauty for
  _one lover_, which independent of my proposal to you, would procure
  you the vows, sacrifice, and service, of _a thousand_! She renewed
  her thanks for his lordship's good opinion; added, she entertained no
  hopes such as he had suggested, and must only beg leave to add, before
  she concluded, after entreating we would conceal his name, that it was
  not only a partiality for his person, but admiration of his character,
  that must bind her for ever his.

  Lord Ogilby consigned a sum of money with her maid, that in case
  indisposition should interfere with her plans, she should still
  encounter no inconveniences.

  I should not, my dear Aunt, have detained you so long with this
  story, did I not know your friendship to Sir Harry Bingley--I
  founded his sentiments, he is still fondly attached to this lovely
  woman--Honor, and a responsible situation, obliged him to leave her at
  the time, and his letters miscarried by the sudden death of a friend
  he entrusted them to. No part of my life, said he, can I recollect
  with so much satisfaction, as that which I spent with my lovely wife,
  for _such_ I shall ever consider her. I reflect on the supposed
  injuries she thinks she has received from me, and I lament I know not
  _where she is_ to make her every reparation in my power. Immediately
  on my arrival, I went to the place where I had left her--but no trace
  remained; she was fled, and had carried along with her the fruit of
  our affection. I have been fatigued with inquiries to no purpose--and
  conclude her dead; perhaps with grief for my supposed ingratitude.

  Without letting Sir Harry know I was acquainted with his story, I
  discovered every thing from him I wished; and had the pleasure of
  hearing of his present independent fortunes, which put it in his power
  to realize the truth of his professions to Miss Harris. I sent off a
  courier to her--she is now on her return to England.

  But to return to my own affairs--I went to Italy, but could hear no
  tidings of the Duke de Salis; was only informed, that his son, after
  some irregularities inherent in youth, had made a very good figure in
  the army, but for some time past had not been heard of--Nor was it
  known to what place the duke had retired. To amuse my chagrin, I went
  one evening to masquerade at Venice, in the time of the carnival, and
  fell in chat with a very agreeable young gentleman and his sister.
  They politely hoped our acquaintance would not cease at the end of the
  ball, and solicited a continuance of it--with this I very cheerfully
  complied. I went--and am mortified to betray my weakness to you; but
  truth obliges me to confess, that notwithstanding the pre-engagement
  of my heart for the Countess de Sons, yet I could not resist the
  attractions of Mademoiselle de Querci: my passion for her commenced
  the first moment I saw her; and her charming behaviour hourly
  increased it. She was majestic in her appearance; and in her were
  combined all the qualities that can make desirable the woman I adore.

  The more I saw her, the more was her empire confirmed over me;
  but still dubious of the Countess's fate, and conscious of my
  pre-engagement, honor kept me silent. I had every reason to flatter
  myself my address would have been acceptable, but my passion was
  subordinate to that sense of honor my former obligations subjected
  me to. It is hard to account for the motions of the human heart, or
  trace the little springs that give rise to its affections--numberless
  latent accidents contribute to raise or allay them, without our being
  sensible of their secret influence. Thus situated, I came to England
  at your request. The uncertainty of the Countess's fate renders me
  wretched, while, to confess the truth, Mademoiselle de Querci haunts
  my imagination. But _your_ felicity alleviates _my_ uneasiness--as
  your joys or sorrows must ever be reverberated on the heart of

      Your ladyship's obliged
        And affectionate nephew,
          MUNSTER.'

  From Lady Eliza Finlay, to the Countess of Darnley.
                                                                 London.

    'My Dear Aunt,

  This is a place I often wished to come to, but the peaceful
  satisfaction I have had in your company makes me in vain find it in
  your absence--everything I see, everything I hear, is so contrary
  to reason, that, without diverting one's self of that quality, it
  is impossible to be pleased with any thing, though the novelty may
  engage one's attention at first. All here appear to adopt the reigning
  ideas, and fashionable pursuits, with as much pleasure as I feel in
  conforming to the principles which your kind instructions and edifying
  example have implanted in my mind. They do not, however, appear to
  me to be happy, and, like comedians (who are not diverted with the
  amusement they occasion) regret being condemned to communicate a
  pleasure which they do not partake, and lament not having received,
  from a different education, other tastes, other talents, and other
  manners. I connect myself as little as possible with them; as in
  epidemic distempers we are only secure whilst we escape the touch
  of the contagious person; and with respect to wounds of the mind,
  they are like those of the body. These extravagancies I might,
  perhaps, some months ago have considered in a less serious manner,
  but the evident melancholy in which my brother is, shews me the
  vanity of everything in this world--So handsome in his person, so
  accomplished in his manners--possessing everything the world places
  a value on--and yet too apparently wretched. The Marquis of P----,
  Lord Sombre, and his other friends, endeavour in vain to rouse him
  out of his _reveries_.--You are possessed of such philosophy, that
  you may look upon this matter in another light; as for me, who have
  _strong passions_, and that inseparable companion of them, _weak
  reason_, I cannot help being seriously alarmed. My beloved brother
  has undoubtedly some secret cause of disquietude--he sighs at times
  as if his heart would break! This affects me very sensibly; I never
  was so unhappy in my life; besides, I have not my dear Aunt to give
  a friendly check to my extravagance of spirits, so am afraid of
  hazarding anything.--Every person looks formally at me. When your
  friend the Duchess of W---- introduced me to Lady Charlotte Sombre,
  she said she pleased herself with thinking what a harmony would arise
  between us; for in the character, said she, I drew _of her_ to you,
  she only sat _for yours_. Lady Charlotte is very agreeable, lively,
  and entertaining. Lord Sombre, I fancy, is what you would esteem a
  superior character; he is noble, and has a soul; a thing questioned
  much in most of the gay youths whom we converse with. He appears to
  have fine feelings--I intend to be on my guard before him--a man of
  true taste and delicacy prefers the smile of the soul, to noisy mirth.

  Lady Charlotte is addressed by Sir Alexander French--he told
  her, his love would be eternal! That is, said she, neither to have
  _beginning_ nor _end_. Sir Alexander is a very great coxcomb, she
  therefore gives him no encouragement; and amused me with an account
  of him--her brother checked her, and said there is an ostentation
  in these kind of confidences, which he was mortified to observe in
  her--that at least she should respect a man she had rendered unhappy,
  and who had almost lost his reason on her account. She replied, it
  were indeed a trifling sacrifice, were it even so, as he had so little
  to part with, that it made the loss inconsiderable--love, said she,
  never makes such a bustle in hearts like his--his is a _laughing_, not
  a _melancholy_ Cupid. She has the charms of an angel, and dresses with
  the greatest simplicity, regarding the colour and make of her cloaths,
  rather than the quality.

  When Lady Charlotte shewed me the _Arcadia_ of my mother's
  painting[29], all the tender passions were up in my soul: I requested
  to be left alone, and bursting into tears, I partly relieved the
  emotions of my heart--Lord Sombre surprised me in this situation--I
  was too much agitated at first to return him an answer to some
  obliging things he said, but at last made an apology for my weakness!
  His Lordship told me, the sensibility I testified confirmed him in the
  high ideas he entertained of my character. He then expatiated to me on
  a subject very agreeable, _my mother's virtues_. That the gentleman
  who educated him had been well acquainted with her--who said,
  that good sense and genius were united in her, and that by study,
  reflection, and application, she had improved her talents in the
  happiest manner--having acquired a superiority in thinking, speaking,
  writing, and acting--and in manners, her behaviour, language, and
  understanding, were inexpressibly charming.

  The discourse of people here, my dear Aunt, appears to me
  malicious; their civilities feigned; their confidences false; and
  their friendships resemble a rose, which pricks the hand of him who
  smells it. Every animal seeks its food, digs itself a hole, or builds
  itself a nest--sleeps--and dies. It is a melancholy reflection that
  the greatest part of mankind do _no more_. The employment which
  distinguishes them most from other animals, is the care of cloathing
  themselves, and their enmity to each other--the first of these
  engages the attention of millions of the younger people in this great
  city--while the more aged employ themselves in the last. Although
  pride is observable in a peacock and a horse, passion, in a tiger,
  gluttony in a wolf, envy in a dog, laziness in a monkey, and treachery
  in a cat, yet one does not find, in any animal whatever, falseness to
  their own species.

  A love of play, and building, are the characteristics of this
  age--our sex imitates the other as far as they can in the former--and
  having no _terra firma_ for the latter, and not contented with the
  ancient custom of castle-building, erect fabrics on their heads three
  stores high. The rage of building is so great, that nothing can check
  their ardour in it, although it has been the ruin of many individuals;
  and there are at present (it is said) fifteen hundred uninhabited
  houses in the two parishes of Saint Mary-le-bone and Pancras. Though
  the fortunes of most individuals are decreased in value by the rise
  of the prices of provisions, and other articles of expense, yet the
  houses, good enough twenty years ago, are now judged inadequate. Among
  many other reasons alledged for this, every woman of any tolerable
  fashion requires a room for her wardrobe: what formerly could be kept
  in a chest, occupies the space of a large apartment, as gowns (on
  account of their trimmings) cannot be folded.

  In short, my dear Aunt, all seem to walk in a vain show, and the
  curls of _the head_ are more attended to, than the sensations of _the
  heart_.

  I hope Mrs Dorothea Bingley is become more reasonable than to wish
  to force my dear friend's inclination to marry a man she detests.
  Don't you think, my dear aunt, that marrying to increase love, is
  like gaming to become rich; they only lose what little stock they had
  before.

  My brother desires his respectful compliments to you, as I beg mine
  may be acceptable to your Lord; and I ever am, with the greatest
  esteem,

      Your ladyship's affectionate,
          And obliged niece,
              ELIZA FINLAY.

                From the Countess of Darnley to
                       Lady Eliza Finlay

      My Dear Niece,

  As in my present situation[30] I am interdicted from writing--I
  shall only indulge myself in a few words to you. The civilities you
  have received from all friends give me great pleasure. Brought up
  in the lap of friendship, I am not surprised, that upon your first
  emerging into the great world you should feel the coldness of the
  common address of strangers. It is possible those very accomplishments
  which delighted your fond aunt and friends, _interested_ for your
  welfare, procure you the envy of _uninterested observers_. But if
  any one denies you the praises your merit claims, betray not any
  mortification at their want of candour, as your sensibility would
  afford them a malicious pleasure.

  I have ever made it a rule, before I vexed myself about people's
  appearing to slight me, to consider the character of the person, and
  to discover the motives of his acting; and I very often found it was
  with no design to affront me, but that the party was so humoursome as
  even to be insupportable _to himself_. I have so long indulged myself
  in the society of a few friends I love, that I am but ill suited
  for the world, as anything unreasonable _vexes me_, and the want of
  sincerity _offends me_. Mrs Dorothea Bingley continues to persecute
  her niece on account of Mr Bennet! Nothing appears to me so barbarous.
  I feel myself the happiest of women, and of wives, and enjoy my
  felicity with a double _goût_, by reflecting upon the restrictions
  I put on my inclinations for so many years. And I am perfectly
  convinced, it is not until women have got over their early years, that
  they can taste the delightful pleasure of loving and being beloved.
  But no felicity is perfect in this world, and I find my joy allayed
  from the observations I made on your brother's apparent melancholy. To
  see you and him happy, and properly allied, are circumstances I still
  must look forward to with great anxiety. I am very apt to believe man
  a much greater machine than he is generally supposed to be. "Whoever
  (says Dr Johnson) shall inquire by what motives he was determined on
  important occasions, will find them such as his pride will scarcely
  suffer him to confess; some sudden ardour of desire, some uncertain
  glimpse of advantage, some petty competition, some inaccurate
  conclusion, or some example implicitly reverenced."

  Such are too often the causes of our resolves. Rousseau says, if
  you would understand the men, study the women--I myself think that
  it is difficult to know what a man's conduct will be, until you are
  acquainted with his wife's character, particularly when he enters into
  that connexion at an early period of his life.

  My best affections ever attend you and your brother, in which my
  lord most sincerely joins.

                                                        FRANCES DARNLEY.

            From Miss Bingley to Lady Eliza Finlay.

      'Dear Madam,

  Agreeable to your desire I write you a long letter in hopes of
  making you laugh (for your letter to me gave me the vapours, you
  appeared so serious, so unlike yourself)--it is probable I may not
  effect my intention; but it will be a proof to you of my affection.
  My aunt has been even rude to Sir James Mordaunt, told him that
  he need not presume on my partiality for him, that I had nothing
  to say in regard to disposing of myself--that he must _treat with
  her_. He answered her with some heat, that he had no idea of modern
  marriages, where their lawyer is the priest that joins them; and the
  banns of matrimony are the indentures, land and ring--That in short
  he had no notion of treating for a wife as he would buy stock of a
  broker--that if she chose to give me her fortune, it _was well_--if
  not, we could live _without it_! lovers you know, my dear Lady Eliza,
  are always philosophers!--Your fortune, answered my good aunt, won't
  be a superfluous maintenance for a family, and you shall not have a
  shilling of mine! Very true, returned Sir James; but where content
  attends a competency more is _unnecessary_.

  I hope, said she, you are in the court party and may get a pension?
  Sir James told her he was not; but if he were it would be worse
  for him, as the principles by which the court govern themselves
  are literally these: The man who has trumpeted their merits for
  years, cannot on any provocation assume an opposite character,
  without impeaching his judgment and proving the instability of his
  attachment--Our enemies it is wisdom to buy; but our friends will
  either be firm in our cause from motives of interest, or silent
  sufferers from motives of pride--Therefore, said he, good madam,
  laughing, I mean to rise by being _in the opposition_--as most of the
  great men have done before me! but, turning to me, said, I never yet
  opened my mouth in that celebrated assembly, but to give utterance to
  an occasional little monosyllable: But I may improve in time.

  My aunt detains Mr Bennet for hours together, as Aristæus held
  Proteus to deliver oracles, judging I shall be charmed with his
  learning and oratory; but I should like him infinitely better if
  she would imitate Dulness, who kept the Muses in the Dunciad to
  silence them. But for this eternal teazer's _presence_, and your
  _absence_, (which by the by increased my consequence) I should have
  enjoyed the races very much. Mrs Damer, on whom nature has bestowed
  an understanding greatly superior to her form, confesses you are
  handsome; whilst Miss Maydew, who has no other ambition than that
  of attracting applause by the charms of her person, allows you good
  sense. We seldom withhold the applause which is due to virtues or
  accomplishments for which we cannot value ourselves.

  As to news, Mrs Trevors is parted with her husband: she put the poor
  man out of all patience by her sameness of character: If he made an
  observation, she assented; if he altered his mind, she gave a nod. She
  was always the same tune, the same object, that is to say _the same
  woman_. Perfectly agreed, no quarrels indeed subsisted between them,
  but they _fell asleep_. Water freezes only in stagnation. Indifference
  hung over them like a cloud, and irksome passed the hours, which might
  have flown with a swift pace, perhaps, had they been passed with your
  humble servant.

  The world would have been already laid in ruins if the elements
  that compose it did not maintain it by their discordant concord. If
  water did not resist fire by its coldness and humidity it would have
  reduced all into ashes, and having no further nutriment would have
  consumed itself. I will not lose Sir James's heart from this cause.
  Diversity of opinions shall quicken our conversation--Opposition shall
  not be wanting on my part to cheer _his heart_, and make his time pass
  _agreeably_. An accommodating temper is all a man ought to expect
  in a wife; more than this is disgusting--I am very apt to believe
  that though a man of spirit would not suffer his wife to dictate to
  him, yet he would as soon talk to a parrot, or be the companion of
  a monkey, as of one who is his eccho on every occasion. It is very
  possible with some men to be _too good_. But there are no rules
  without exceptions; for was my husband very perverse I would (follow
  the late example of the _Premier_[31] with the Opposition) revenge
  myself on him by agreeing in opinion with him, which would oblige him
  to commence hostilities with himself if he meant to _continue the
  dispute_.

  Our ancient neighbour Lady Ogle married the other day a young ensign
  in the guards, although you know she has more diseases than Galen
  ever wrote of--at every cough resigns some of her teeth, and every
  night screws off her leg--scarcely has her own nose, and by the course
  of nature ought to have kneeled in marble, or lifted up her arms in
  stone twenty years ago. In apology for her conduct, she says, it was
  merely to procure herself _a friend_. But as experience does not
  coincide with her ladyship's expectations, I should marry Mr Bennet,
  to _get rid of him_, were it not for my penchant _elsewhere_. I look
  upon all these romantic notions of Platonic, or spiritual love, as
  highly ridiculous. Our passions were bestowed on us for wise purposes.
  When precepts of virtue are strained too high, they are either
  impracticable or become vicious in their consequences.

  The captain, _her friend_, is contriving a _visto_ through some
  _woods_ on _her estate_, to pay _his debts_; she tells every body,
  however, that he is not only possessed of _all the graces_, but an
  independant fortune. The next heir to the estate happens to be of a
  different opinion--his picture of captain Plume is _all shade_, hers
  _all light_. The former awkwardly imitates the style of Rembrandt, and
  with a dark pencil loves to describe hideous wrinkles and deformed
  features--but the latter artfully copies the taste of Titian, and
  brightens the canvas with all the lively glow of colouring. Perhaps
  if light and shade were properly blended together, we might behold
  a real likeness.--I don't like him. I mistake much if he is not
  conceited--you know I pretend a little to be a physiognomist as well
  as a botanist. In the natural world the external form of plants afford
  us a hint for a conjecture of their virtues. Almost all the plants of
  the same kinds are of the same virtues. The poisonous plants, natives
  of our soil, are hardly a dozen, and these are characterized even to
  the eye by something singular or dismal in the aspect.

  When I wrote you I was jealous of Sir James's attentions to Miss
  Ords, I did not wish to be understood _au piè du lettre_--She has a
  vacant countenance, her youth only renders her _passable_. Her wit
  is not picquante, nor her manners alluring. She can answer _yes_ and
  _no_, with tolerable success, nay sometimes hazards further: and when
  she goes to a comedy does not intreat the company to instruct her
  _when_ she should laugh. Her father lives _en Prince_: like Lucullus,
  he _plundered all Asia_ to assist him _in house-keeping_. Sir James
  was very lively in his usual way--She said she did not like puns, and
  had never made one in her life--I could not help answering--It's my
  opinion _you never will_.

  You ask me if I have got no more lovers? To talk ingenuously with
  you--no; I know not what further inconveniences such an acquisition
  might put me to: and as it might probably happen (not on _my account_,
  but for my _aunt's acres_) I have whispered my passion for Sir James
  Mordaunt as a secret to Mrs M----; so you need not doubt but it has
  spread. She is an antiquated virgin, who endeavours to make chastity
  atone for the want of every other virtue. She wanted me sadly to
  ask her some question; I mortified my own curiosity, to punish her
  propensity to detraction.

  Lady Dun is at last expired, notwithstanding the prayers of the
  faithful. Had she lived any longer, her _piety_ must have ruined _her
  family_ by her total want of economy, as she did the reputation of her
  neighbours by scandal.

               _Can so much gall in holy breasts reside?_
                          Boileau's Lutrin. Canto I.

  I met the following story lately in an old book; the writer appears
  to have been a person of great judgment, and not in _the least_
  given to credulity. He relates, that a certain man who had a wife
  that made this world his purgatory (though, according to the _common
  acceptation_, she was _virtuous_ and prudent) happening to die some
  little time after her, he went to paradise, as soon as the breath
  was out of his body, as a reward for his patience in this world;
  being come to the gate, he knocks, the good man St Peter opens the
  door, and desires him very civilly to walk in, and take what seat in
  heaven he pleased. The husband stopped a moment to recollect himself;
  and then asks St Peter, Whether or not his wife was there? The good
  Saint answered in the affirmative: upon which the honest man, without
  staying for any thing further, takes to his heels and makes for the
  road to hell; rather choosing to renounce heaven, than be in the same
  place with his dear rib, whom he was well assured would, out of the
  abundance of her virtue, make heaven as great a hell to him, as she
  had done this earth.

  I must now, my dear friend, tell you what sincerely grieves me. My
  brother equals _yours_ in melancholy: before he went abroad, no man
  whatever had better spirits; but now, although he does not complain of
  any particular disorder, yet is he always indisposed--ever wretched,
  constantly sighing and lamenting. This affects my spirits much: "_my
  heart is not of that rock, nor my soul careless as that sea, which
  lifts its blue waves to every blast, and rolls beneath the storm!_"
  But truth obliges me to confess that I cannot go on with my admired
  poet as--"_The virgins_ have not as yet _beheld me silent in the
  hall_!" No, no no, it is not come to that yet! I relieve you from my
  company--be sensible of the obligation--let me hear from you soon, and
  believe me,

      Your ladyship's
          affectionate friend,
              H. BINGLEY.'

            From Lady Eliza Finlay to Miss Bingley.

    'My dear Harriot,

  Many thanks for your agreeable letter, your _gaieté de coeur_ always
  pleases me, _Vive la bagatelle!_

  But, my dear friend, I am uneasy at your aunt's persisting in
  her persecution of you on Mr Bennet's account. He seems to me to
  be a person rather created to fill up a vacuum in nature, than to
  perform any active good in it. His want of sensibility is sufficient
  to prepossess me against him--There are in the occurrences of a
  married life so many trials of a man's humanity that he whose want
  of tenderness might pass unobserved had he continued single--must
  often appear a very monster considered as a husband. May you be
  blessed in that state with the man of your heart! I agree with you
  that opposition, carried on without violence, gives a dignity to our
  condescension; but we must not carry this too far or we may counteract
  our design of preserving the heart we have gained.

  To manage men requires more dexterity than to win them, as the
  consequence of most _love matches_ evinces.

  You ask a thousand questions, having never been in London yourself,
  on account of your aunt's apprehensions of a disease she had not the
  resolution of giving you at an early period of life[32]. I told you
  that you must not expect any characters from me, as I was always an
  enemy to detraction, and few there are that merit commendation. Let
  us, my dear friend, regulate our _own conduct_, rather than condemn
  that _of others_: but as I cannot refuse you anything you ask (though
  I may wonder at your asking) I will suppose we are chatting over a
  dish of tea, and giving our opinion of a gown or a cap, and will tell
  you who suits my taste, or who my reason contemns, with as little
  meaning as if I talked of the gown and not the woman: and this I the
  more readily do, as I know you will not betray the confidence I place
  in you.

  The truth is, however, I am perfectly astonished at the strange
  characters this town abounds with; and stupified (_if I may_ be
  allowed the expression) with what I have heard: but, as Shakespeare
  allows Desdemona to speak after she was smothered, you will permit me
  to write though I have lost my understanding. And as it was the choice
  of certain great men to be intelligible, it is probable my present
  state of mind will lead me to imitate them. But on second thoughts, my
  being not _au fait_ to the subject may perhaps make me excel in it.
  Men often expatiate _best_ on what they _least understand_, by the
  same rule that people in general are contrary to what they would seem.

  The Mantuan Swain lived constantly at court: Horace wrote in
  celebration of a country life when he resided in Rome: and it is well
  known travels, voyages, etc. to every part of the world have been
  written in London. Why should I not then, Eliza Finlay Spinster,
  attempt delineating manners, which I have really seen? My scruples
  would intrude--that perhaps I am not sufficiently informed, as I have
  only resided here a month; but these vanish on the recollection that
  I must certainly be in the right in the above position--Otherwise,
  could it be possible for Mr Blacklock[33], a poet blind from his
  birth, to describe visible objects with more spirit and justness,
  than others blessed with the most perfect sight? Could certain
  orators, famous for their _extravagance_, harangue on _economy_--Or
  the learned at Venice employ father Piaggi to copy the manuscript
  found at Herculaneum (though he is unacquainted with Greek, the
  language they are written in)--Or could our own countrymen, the
  _learned_, _judicious_ body in Warwick-lane, refuse to admit to be
  their associates in the science of _Æsculapius_, any but those who
  have studied where--_medicine is not taught_? After such precedents
  as these, it is clear I cannot err, in informing you of what--_I
  know little about_. Besides, it is an established rule of prudence,
  on the contrary, never to commit yourself by talking or writing on a
  subject the world gives you the credit of understanding, as you have
  _nothing_ to _gain_ but _much_ to _lose_. This consideration no doubt
  induced one author[34] to omit in his tragedy _morality_, which should
  be the ground-work of every fable, and deterred another[34] from
  acknowledging providence, though it so eminently presided, and was so
  conspicuously displayed in the miraculous escapes made in the voyages
  he wrote of. This being premised, I will now begin boldly to _relate_
  many things I cannot _comprehend_.

  _Miss Ton_ accompanied me to the opera; I was amazed at the height
  of her head, and how her chair had failed to crush the fabric of
  feathers and frivolity which rose above each other! I could not think
  she had flown, though she was composed of cork and feather; and
  willing to be informed how she had managed it (as ignorance, you know,
  is reprehensible) I ventured to ask her the question. She returned me
  a look of contempt (as if to pity my ignorance) saying, she always
  took care to prevent a misfortune of that kind! When I go to court,
  said she, as heads are wore lower[35] there--I fit like your old woman
  upon the seat of the chair, which is convenient enough on account of
  one's trimmings, but when I go to the opera, where _fancy directs_ and
  _fashion prevails_, I say my prayers the whole way--that is to say,
  I kneel _on the bottom of the chair_. I admired her ingenuity; only
  observed, I hoped it did not fatigue her knees so much as to prevent
  her from going to church next day! O, not in the least, said she;
  but I always go to the drawing-room of a Sunday! except when I go to
  the Chapel-royal--_the closet there_, indeed, that is no bad public
  place--nobody but people of fashion are admitted, and it is really
  sometimes very amusing! The truth is, if one liked church very much,
  there is time enough to dress afterwards; for it is not _the rage_
  which a certain set to go to the drawing-room until your old-fashioned
  people are coming away. Oh the dear delight of meeting these dowdies
  on their _retour_ home to their spouses and family dinners at _four
  o'clock_. Then we make such glorious confusion! I took the liberty of
  saying that I thought the respect due to their Majesties had induced
  every body to be in the drawing-room previous to their appearance!
  Oh, not at all, child, said she--except your _formal ones_! But
  why, said I, madam, need you go to court of a Sunday, why not of a
  Thursday as well? Of a Thursday! Nobody goes of a Thursday! Pardon
  me, replied I, the Duchess of W---- introduced me on that day! That
  may be, replied Miss _Ton_, her Grace is very old, wrinkles make her
  religious--but none but such, or courtiers, go of a Thursday! I again
  took the liberty of telling her that it had also been a very full
  drawing-room--Then, said she, it must have been the Thursday after
  the birthday--or some particular day; for otherwise few of a certain
  set, who understand _the rage_, would go. The _rage_, said I, madam!
  I am again at a loss; did I hear you right? O, perfectly well, said
  she; the _ton_, was formerly the word, but _the rage_, has lately
  been adopted from the French! (It is to be hoped, that the Parisians
  will also, from their late partiality for _English Gauzes_, _Silks_,
  _Linens_, _etc._ induce us to adopt _them also_, instead of too often
  procuring these articles from France.)

  Forgetful of the imprudence I was going to commit--I told Miss
  _Ton_ her prayers had proved ineffectual--her largest feather
  was snapped in two. Is it possible! exclaimed she, and reddened
  prodigiously.--Shocked at the blunder I had made, and pitying her
  weakness, I gave her my bottle of Eau de Luce; and not caring to
  hazard any further on so interesting a subject, lest it should hurt
  her nerves, I turned the conversation to what was more indifferent--a
  sister of her's, who _had died in child-bed a fortnight before_.

  (This, my dear friend--to philosophise--no abstract evil exists;
  for whatever calamities human life is subject to, their evil depends
  merely on our own sensibility.)

  Sir Timothy Clinquant rejoined us. He is handsome, has a good
  opinion of himself, and is no stranger to the art of flattery. She
  lamented to him the accident of her feather. From a knowledge of
  human nature, that nothing pleases so much as to have a defect of any
  kind turned into a beauty--he assured her the feather being broke
  gave it an air of negligence so perfectly adapted to the _contour_
  of her fine face, that he could not be convinced, but that she
  _accidentally_ on _purpose_ afforded it _that grace_. Thus was she
  restored to good-humour.--I can tell you little of what I saw; Miss
  Ton's head intercepted my view of the stage: _her rage_ of going late
  having prevented our getting any other but end seats, and she sat
  before me. In the reign of Queen Elizabeth there was a law made to
  restrict the growth of ruffs: I wish our legislators,[36] who, in this
  accommodating age, do sometimes condescend to bestow their attention
  on trifles, would take the size of heads into their consideration. Mr
  Walpole observes, in his anecdotes of painting in England, that in the
  reign of the two first Edwards, the ladies erected such pyramids on
  their heads that the face became the center of the body.

  An eminent physician has declared, that more deformed children have
  been brought into the world this last year than for twenty years
  before, on account of the ladies stooping in their carriages--One
  thing I am certain of--it makes them contract a habit of frowning,
  that furrows their foreheads.

  A fine lady is the least part of herself, and is every morning
  put together like some instrument. Dress is the subject eternally
  discussed. Gulliver tells us, that the sages of Laputa, having
  substituted things in place of words, carried along with them such
  things as were necessary to express the particular business they
  intended to discourse on.--Were this the case, it would be a great
  relief; but alas! they do no more here than propose the subject. But
  to return to the opera--Miss _Ton_, in telling me who the people
  were, said they were _horrid creatures_, that is to say, censorious or
  _awkward_, because _not of her particular set_.

  But what was my surprise to perceive her familiarly afterwards
  whispering to one, curtsying to another, telling a third how
  unfortunate she had been in not being at home when she did her the
  honor of calling on her! I could not help testifying my astonishment
  at her conduct!--She laughed, and said--I am civil to those people, as
  the Indians worship the devil--_for fear_. Besides, said she, the last
  Lady has a rich brother lately come from India. In days of yore women
  married for a title, a fine seat, etc.--A title is very agreeable,
  but a _fine seat_, the very idea of it gives me the vapours! I would
  rather marry a London justice than a lord lieutenant of the county. It
  did very well formerly (when people were so dull as to be able to bear
  their own thoughts) to live moping at an old family place; but manners
  are _now_ too much improved for _that_: and a nabob's cash, without
  the appendages of the seats of his ancestors, will suffice to carry
  me one season to Spa, another to Tunbridge, etc. etc.--In marrying a
  nabob, there is a moral security of never being buried in the country.
  I am no _devot_, but I believe there is such a thing as conscience;
  and, as few of these continental heroes can bear to listen to their
  silent monitor--it induces them to lead _exactly the kind of life I
  like_--to _exclude reflection_!

  I answered, that she was too severe; I made no doubt but that a
  man may get rich across the Atlantic, without wounding his honor,
  and all the finer feelings of humanity by peculation and extortion,
  which leaves the possessors more wretched than pale-eyed poverty with
  all its whole train of meagre haunts. To change the conversation,
  I said, so madam, I find you intend to marry. Yes, said she, _to
  be sure_--But I hope in god I shall have no children to _spoil my
  shape_. I cannot here refrain from telling you a circumstance I saw
  occur myself. We dined at Lady ----'s; I observed a lady change
  colour--Mrs. ---- whispered to her, that ladies in her situation (for
  she appeared with child) were apt to be _indisposed_. She seemed hurt
  at the supposition, and denied any thing was the matter with her!
  As by the conversation it appeared she had _already had children_,
  I was at a loss to account for _her conduct_. Colonel H----, her
  husband, appeared very uneasy--an inquisitive look of kindness, a
  tender affectionate concern, were strongly depicted on his manly
  countenance--his anxiety appeared to me to proceed from that fond
  attachment arising from loving another better than one's self. I
  entered into his ideas, contemplated her happiness, and as he is not
  a very young (though agreeable) man, the apparent attention he paid
  her confirmed me in what you know was always my sentiments, that
  _such_ make the _best husbands_. Desirous of relieving his anxiety by
  contributing to her ease, I begged she would permit me to accompany
  her to another apartment. As her uneasiness had greatly increased--she
  was under a necessity of accepting my offer--and fainted as soon
  as she got into Mr. ----'s library. The alarmed and fond husband
  followed, who intreated a maid might be called to cut the lacing of
  her stays. He was much affected, and, addressing Lady Charlotte Sombre
  and me, said, There, young ladies, lies a victim of the fashion!
  Before I brought her to this town--she was the delighted mother of
  three fine children--but these fond sensations are now lost in the
  trifling consideration of a _fine shape_; and though in the last month
  of her pregnancy, she has a vanity in flattering herself she cannot be
  thought in _that situation_! The lady was carried home, and we heard
  next day she had been delivered of a _still-born child_.

  Lord Spangle asked Miss _Ton_, how soon she got to bed the other
  morning? Not, my Lord, until eight--you know we did not sit down to
  dinner until twelve at night. Not until twelve at night! said I. No,
  returned she; you know nobody dines till after the opera: it was
  _Danzi's_ benefit; all the world were there, and there were many songs
  _encored_.--Dinner was ordered by eleven; but Lady Peccedillo was not
  at the opera--her monkey died, and she had not nerves for seeing Lord
  ---- who is always there, and who she esteems the direct image of her
  dead favourite. Her hair-dresser was ordered at ten, but disappointed
  her--and dinner was retarded on her account. Pray, said I, at what
  time did you sup? Why, we sat down to cards at two o'clock, played
  until six, then went to supper, and parted half an hour after seven! I
  find, said I, that the people of the _ton_ reckon the time according
  to the _Mosaic_ custom, where the evening and the morning make the
  day. But pray, madam, what becomes of your servants all this time? I
  hope you only appoint them to attend you home? Servants! Lord, Madam,
  nobody thinks of their servants! I do not see myself what business
  servants have to sleep _at all_! I can do very well with three hours
  sleep, and I expect next winter to bring myself to two[37]!

  You say that lady and Mrs. ---- have been lately abused, even
  by their own friends, that is to say--those they associated most
  with--Would you know the reason? My dear friend, they have left off
  play, at which they generally lost considerably. The first of these
  ladies, from unavoidable misfortunes, altered her plans in life: the
  last, from a different cause--Her family remonstrated, her husband
  frowned; but they remonstrated, and he frowned to _no purpose_! Her
  luck turned, her passion increased for that dangerous amusement, yet
  she took a resolution, and would _play no more_.--She who was before
  set down as an agreeable acquaintance, was now deemed capricious, and
  the eyes of her card-playing acquaintances, who were before _blind_
  to her _real imperfections_, became now _scrupulously attentive_ to
  her _imaginary errors_. Many various conjectures were formed for the
  reasons of her conduct--many allegations made that she had formed _an
  attachment_, or was deterred by _spouses's directions_! To clear her
  at once from these imputations, neither of which (be they _crimes or
  virtues_) she has a mind capable of--The truth is--she has beautiful
  teeth--and accidentally read Mr Tolver's book, where he considers the
  passions as internal causes of their diseases.

  _Errors_ proceeding from the _sensations of the heart_, are not
  _those_ of this age. I was told there had been a long attachment
  between Lady ---- and Colonel ----. I deplored, I pitied her! He is
  now abroad in a dangerous situation! What anxiety, what wretchedness
  must she not suffer! How surprised I was to find--she never misses
  _a public place_. The Duchess of W---- was much amused at my
  simplicity--Formerly (said she) if a woman had the misfortune _to
  love where_ she could not avow it--decency induced her carefully
  to conceal her weakness--but now it is _quite otherwise_--The soft
  sensations find no admittance into their sophisticated hearts--though
  they have no objection to a man of fashion _in their train_.--And a
  certain set of _the ton_, or _the rage_ go so far as even studiously
  to afford an appearance _of what_ in reality never entered into _their
  imaginations_!

  I think I hear you say, how strange! But everything is so I think
  in this place. I met Lady Bab Cork-rump the other day: My dear Lady
  Eliza, said she, I love a comedy of all things; pray let us go to one
  soon. I am disengaged next Thursday--That is very lucky, returned I; I
  have _a box that evening: it is our favourite play_; and _Mrs Abington
  acts_!--That is _delightful_, said she! And, added I, it is a charity
  play for the dispensary of the infant poor--upwards of twenty-six
  thousand children have been relieved by this humane institution
  since its commencement nine years ago. Lady Bab heard the above
  impatiently.--It is a charity play, you say, madam!--I don't know, I
  believe my brother expects some friends from the country. I suppose it
  will be no disappointment to your ladyship if I _don't go_?--O, not in
  the least, said I--Thus the idea of _Charity_ makes a fine lady shrink
  (as if it were contagious) into herself, and prevented Lady Bab from
  going to a place her inclination otherwise induced her to.

  Lady Bab seems to have a great partiality for Sir Hugh,
  our neighbour--Since he got his fortune--his riots are
  generosity--carelessness, the freedom of his soul--his prodigalities,
  an easiness of mind proportioned to his estate. He quarrelled the
  other day with Captain Essence on her account; and I was alarmed to
  the greatest degree for the consequences! she laughed at my fears,
  assuring me there was no kind of danger in what I apprehended. The
  gentlemen, said she, have renounced the conduct of heroes. The custom
  of wagers is the happy succedaneum, and prevents much blood-shed. Thus
  matters of dispute are left in _tranquil doubt_, until the period
  arrives for _its_ no less _tranquil decision_. It turned out as she
  said; Captain Essence wagered with Sir Hugh, that _the new club in
  Saint James's Street would be the ruin of Lord ----, before the old
  one vis-à-vis had knocked up General ----_.

  I have spent so much money on _bagatelles_, that I cannot help
  regretting the expenditure of what if otherwise applied might have
  produced such beneficial effects.--But if we commit some follies,
  we are sufficiently kept in countenance by the other sex. Modern
  story tells us the late King of Poland was so much captivated with
  forty-eight china vases, that he purchased them of the late King of
  Prussia at the price of a _whole regiment of dragoons_.

  You know, my dear friend, how many elogiums have been bestowed on
  Lady Darnley, on account of the aids she afforded for the disquisition
  of the particular genius's which distinguished the young people, to
  prevent a misapplication of the talents of the rising generation. "Is
  it not by a misapplication of talents," said one, "that our present
  mortifications arise? Many a man miscarrying in one profession, would
  have succeeded happily in another. Hence we see so many heads applied
  to what requires thinking, which might have been applied to their
  country's good in the manner of the ancient use of _battering rams_,
  and have been run against stone walls _without the least danger of
  being hurt_.--If the mechanic should invert all the principles which
  compose the knowledge of that science; if he should assign the wheels
  to be the principle of motion, the spring to run round and be moved,
  the weight to vibrate and regulate, and the pendulum to urge; would
  not all mankind deride such a machine, because it could not perform
  its office? Is not this the unhappy case of this country at present?
  have not our enemies taken the advantage of it?"

  But to leave politics--which I owe to the observations of an
  old gentleman, who has too much reason to be chagrined with the
  procrastination in the conduct of public affairs, as it has affected
  the interest of his private family--I am most sincerely concerned on
  account of your aunt's apparent obstinacy in favour of Mr Bennet.
  Parents, imagining that years _impart wisdom_, which have only
  _altered tastes_, are apt to be arbitrary in their determinations,
  and dress in the furs, which become the ice of old-age, the glowing
  blood of youth. But do not, my dear friend, barter your happiness for
  splendour. I suppose (but do not take my supposition for an oracle)
  that it is not likely I shall every marry--If I do not, my fortune
  shall be yours; being ever most affectionately

      Your sincere friend
          ELIZA FINLAY.

                From the Earl of Munster to the
                      Countess of Darnley.

      My dear Aunt,

  Since I wrote you last, I walked one day in the city. A _black man_,
  _well dressed_, fell down in the street: as none was near, I run,
  took him in my arms, and carried him into a house of refreshment,
  where I immediately procured him assistance. Upon his recovery he
  acknowledged his obligations to me, and said, that but for me he must
  have died:--and at the end of the lottery of life, our last minutes,
  like benefit tickets left in the wheel, rise in their valuation. I
  accompanied him home, where I saw his wife; who, though as black as
  the collyed night, is as ingenious, sensible, and agreeable a woman as
  can be found among the daughters of England. He inquired of her for a
  friend; who arriving, to my inexpressible surprise proved to be the
  Marquis de Villeroy, but so emaciated that the eye of friendship could
  not behold him without shedding tears--he knew me at once, and ran to
  my embrace--This, said he to the black gentleman, is Lord Munster, my
  friend, the companion of my youth.

  After the joy we mutually testified at meeting, I could not help
  testifying my surprise at the alteration in his person! My Lord,
  replied he, I will acquaint you with the most extraordinary history
  that ever occurred to any one. Upon the receipt of your letter, I
  made no doubt, in the first impulse of passion, but you had betrayed
  me; I suddenly left the army, and travelled day and night until I
  took shipping for Rotterdam. On my arrival at that place, I found my
  father had left it; and was also informed of the honorable part you
  had acted, and that I had falsely flattered myself with the Countess's
  affection. I lamented your misfortune and my impatience, as on
  reflection I was sensible of the imprudence I had committed in leaving
  my post--I was determined, however, not to lie under any imputation
  of cowardice--I returned to--waited on the general officer--acquainted
  him with the real truth, obtained forgiveness of my fault, which
  was afterwards looked upon in a proper light, as I had the good
  fortune to distinguish myself soon after in two engagements. Upon
  our being ordered into winter-quarters, I obtained leave of absence,
  and was resolved if possible to discover to what place my father had
  retired; for although my love was hopeless, I flattered myself still
  with having it in my power to rescue the Countess de Sons from his
  _tyranny_, and restore her _to you_.

  My servant one day, with a face of joy, communicated to me that he
  had learned my father lived at a house near Marseilles. He heard this,
  he said, from a brother, who had an intrigue with one of the Duchess's
  maids.--Is the duke then married? said I.--Alas, my friend, said the
  Marquis, I am sorry to inform you, the object of your affections fell
  a victim to my father's designs--he compelled her to give him her
  hand!--I found he had turned the Countess's fortune into cash and
  jewels, on which he lived, being desirous of concealing the place of
  his abode, jealous to the last degree of her being seen! With this
  view all his servants _were females_.

  Notwithstanding these precautions, his domestics talked of his
  peculiarities; which occasioned interrogatories concerning his funds
  of expense. These the inquirers soon discovered were in specie in
  the house: this determined them to rob him. My servant's brother,
  who was courting the Duchess's maid, informed her _of me_; next day
  received a letter from my sister, who promised to admit me one night
  into the house, where she directed me to come in disguise with my
  servant!--Thus was I made a tool of by these ruffians: they meant
  to effect the robbery by _my means_; and if detected, flattered
  themselves they would be pardoned _on my account_! At the time
  appointed I went; Julia let me in, leaving the door open for my
  servant. She was beginning to inform me of all their distresses, when
  our ears were assaulted by an alarm-bell!--in an instant the house
  was filled with people; I heard my father say, Where is the rascal
  who calls himself my son? My servant, upon being discovered, had
  informed him, that I had hired him and his three companions (whom he
  had introduced into the house) to murder and rob him, and to carry
  off the ladies! It was in vain I assured him to the contrary; he would
  not hearken to me; he recollected how much I had been in love with his
  charming ward; he upbraided me with my wickedness, and perhaps did
  believe me guilty.

  This affair, I make no doubt, has been misrepresented in the
  world--we have no true histories, but such as have been written by
  those who were sincere enough to relate what they experienced, in what
  relates to themselves.

  I was seized, and carried to a dungeon until my trial; when, without
  a hearing, I was condemned for life to be a galley-slave, and sent
  for that purpose on board the gallies at Marseilles. The labour of a
  _galley-slave_, is become a proverb; nor is it without reason that
  this may be reckoned the greatest fatigue that can be inflicted on
  wretchedness.

  Imagine six men chained to their seats, entirely naked as when born,
  sitting with one foot on a block of timber fixed to the footstool;
  the other lifted up against the bench before them, holding in their
  hands an oar of an enormous size. Imagine them lengthening their
  bodies, their arms stretched out to push the oar over the backs of
  those before them; who are also themselves in a similar attitude.
  Having thus advanced their oar, they raise that end which they hold
  in their hands, to plunge the opposite in the sea; which done, they
  throw themselves back upon their benches below, which are somewhat
  hollowed to receive them. But none but those who have seen them labour
  can conceive how much they endure: none but such could be persuaded
  that human strength could sustain the fatigue which they undergo for
  an hour successively. But what cannot necessity and cruelty make men
  do? Almost impossibilities. Certainly no galley can be navigated in
  any other way, than by a crew of slaves, over whom a _comite_ may
  exercise the most unbounded authority. No free man could continue at
  the oar an hour unwearied: yet a slave must sometimes lengthen out
  his toil for ten, twelve, nay, for twenty hours, without the smallest
  intermission. On these occasions the _comites_, or some of the other
  mariners, put into the mouths of those wretches a bit of bread steeped
  in wine, to prevent their fainting through excess of fatigue or
  hunger, while their hands are employed upon the oar. At such times
  are heard nothing but horrid blasphemies, loud bursts of despair, or
  ejaculations to Heaven; all the slaves streaming with blood, while
  their unpitying taskmasters mix oaths and threats, and the smacking of
  whips, to fill up this dreadful harmony.

  At this time the captain roars to the _comite_ to redouble his
  blows; and when any one drops from his oar in a swoon, (which not
  unfrequently happens) he is whipped while any remains of life appear,
  and then thrown into the sea, without any farther ceremony. The
  _Diable Boitteux_, in order to make _Cleofas_ sensible of the happy
  condition of an inquisitor, tells him, Was not I a Dæmon, I would be
  an inquisitor? Were the devil to become a mortal, he would incline to
  be the _comite_ to the galley-slaves at Marseilles, whose hearts are
  inlapidated by cruelty.

  How these slaves are fed, to enable them to support such enormous
  toil, may be judged from the following account.--When it was necessary
  we should take some refreshment, the captain ordered _the dogs to
  their mess_. He only meant by this, that we should be served with
  beans, the usual food allowed us. These are indeed most intolerable
  eating, and what nothing but the most pinching hunger could dispense
  with. They are ill boiled, with scarce any oil, a little salt, and
  all to be eaten out of a capacious cauldron, not the cleanest in the
  world, as may easily be conceived.

  I was never so hungry but that I preferred eating my portion of
  bread dipped in vinegar and water to this mess, which even offended
  the sense of smelling. However, these, and twenty-two ounces of
  biscuit, are all the food allowed for a galley-slave. Each of the crew
  receives four ounces of this beverage; that is, provided none of it be
  secreted before it is brought upon deck, which is not unfrequently the
  case.

  I once had the curiosity to count the number of beans which
  a brother slave had got for all his portion, which amounted to
  just thirty; and those of the little black bean, commonly called
  horse-beans. We did not even commiserate one another. To pity, we
  must be acquainted with the sufferings of our fellow-creatures, but
  not feel them. When we know by experience what pain is, we pity those
  who suffer; but when we ourselves are in pain, we then feel only what
  we ourselves undergo. In every station, subject to the calamities of
  life, we allow to others that share of our sensibility only which we
  have no occasion for ourselves. People in ease, people in affluence,
  may think otherwise, but it is not _in nature_.

  Dreadful as this was, I have always thought death a punishment that
  was no way adequate to the crimes of some public villains who have
  been punished with it; and I am certain the most cowardly among men,
  would prefer it to being a galley-slave. We are condemned to death by
  nature; the sentence of the law, and the hand of the hangman, only
  anticipate a few months or days; but to be daily wishing for death, as
  a friend, to relieve us, and to be debarred of all means of meeting
  him, is such a quintessence of wretchedness as would, I believe, make
  all mankind keep a strict guard upon their actions, that they may
  avoid falling into it.[38]

  From this infernal state of existence I was delivered by Mr Worthy,
  who is a slave-merchant--he saw, and pitied my distress--he had
  accidentally saved the life of one of the ruffians who had assisted in
  the attempt to rob my father. This man afterwards, upon his death-bed,
  acquainted his good master of my situation, who promised to release
  me. This was effected by his giving a large sum to the captain and the
  _comite_. The secret was told me; it was agreed I should pretend to
  faint, and appear insensible; when I should be thrown into the sea as
  dead--This happily succeeded.

  Nothing can be more unjust than to confine the instance of humanity
  within the narrow circle of a few European nations. The noble, the
  generous, the humane dispositions are diffused throughout all nature,
  and exert their engaging force wherever a body of men subsists. Virtue
  and vice are mingled in all societies: we have savages in Italy; and
  there are worthy men amongst those we call savages. Christians do
  often those things which a modest heathen would blush at, and, while
  they boast of their religion, are strangers to the common laws of
  humanity. It should be the boast of a wise man to despise nothing that
  he is not well acquainted with, and to do justice to all mankind, of
  whatever country or complexion.--Virtue, like the rays of the sun,
  shines over the whole habitable globe, enlivens the moral, as that the
  material world, and exerts its benign influences from the _scorching
  equinox_ to the _frozen poles_. We feel its force; all communities are
  bound together by its magnetic influence; and without it the nations
  of Barbary would be covered with devastation, and no more inhabited
  than the scorching sands of its inhospitable deserts.

  Mr Worthy no sooner cast his eyes on me, and perceived my sorrow,
  than pity, tenderness, and compassion glowed in his countenance; his
  eyes moistened with generous sympathy, and the first word he spoke
  convinced me that he already felt _all I had suffered_. But there is
  no pleasure so transporting to him, as to be in any way instrumental
  in making any of the human species happy.

  I acquiesced in the justice of these sentiments--and could not
  sufficiently admire the fortitude which had supported the Marquis
  under such unheard-of trials! And as our sense of many high
  enjoyments, both natural and moral, is exceedingly heightened by our
  having observed or experienced many of the contrary evils; he bids
  fair at least to be contented, when he looks back to the horrors he
  has escaped. The poet says,

          The heart can ne'er a transport know
          That never felt a pain.

  It may easily be conceived the Marquis is most anxious to inquire
  after his family--but gratitude to Mr Worthy has made him accompany
  him to England.

  When I seemed to compassionate his sufferings, his gratitude assumed
  a grateful humility; but the moment I appeared the least inattentive
  to his misfortunes, his countenance collected such an air of dignity,
  as not only reproached my seeming want of sensibility, but reminded
  me also, that his sufferings were not the consequences of guilt, nor
  could in the least degree lessen his greatness of mind.

  I find Mr Worthy has a law-suit depending; when that is settled
  he is to accompany my friend to Italy. He appears to me a very
  acute, sensible man;--we were talking the other day of the
  disturbances at Madras, and of the strange conduct of the people
  in Leadenhall-Street--He said it put him in mind of Anacharsus's
  observation to Solon, as they were returning from a public assembly,
  'That he could not help being greatly astonished to find, that, in
  their deliberations, it was the _wise that spoke_, and that _fools
  that decided_.' I believe, in public assemblies, this will be found
  generally to be the case, where party governs, and the most powerful
  cabal is generally composed of the least rational.

  I attend these dear friends everywhere. The Marquis is an _amateur_,
  and his taste will be highly gratified, when at Munster-house, to view
  the prodigies of _your creation_--he is a descendant of the Medici
  family: consequently highly charmed with the character of the Countess
  of Darnley. But this is a subject, I am incapable of entering upon--to
  praise exquisite merit is perhaps the most difficult part of polite
  writing, and which I have no talents for; but which if I possessed, I
  should tire you with what few other ladies ever yet was--_their own
  praises_. But I will yield to none in what I value myself upon, being
  truly and affectionately.

      Yours
          MUNSTER

The Marquis de Villeroy became much enamoured with Lady Eliza, whose
compassion for his misfortunes had so far softened her heart in his
favor, that she listened to him first with complacency, afterwards with
tenderness, and at last with the most lively interest. Congenial souls
soon form an union. She acknowledged her partiality for him, but that no
predilection whatever could induce her to leave her country and friends.
This opinion was greatly strengthened by the idea she entertained of the
inconstancy of mankind, and the little regard they pay to women after a
few years possession.

The Marquis thought his renouncing his native country would be too
great a sacrifice to be offered at the altar of the Graces. Yet the
idea of parting with Lady Eliza was what he was unable to support.--She
told him it would be in vain to think of making her soften the rigour
of her decree; for it proceeded from a firmness, which nothing could
conquer! for, from all her observations in life, no love ever lasted
long enough to make it worth while to sacrifice every thing else to
it; the _Paradisiac_ vision of eternal constancy having long vanished
from these sublunary regions:--and that unless he would reside in
England--she never would be his!--A sigh, which stole from him, conveyed
to Lady Eliza the height of his despair--his embarrassment and dejection
increased her regard for him, while it awakened a tender commiseration
for them, believing herself entirely the cause of them. She therefore
thought it incumbent on her to endeavour to remove them by every
attention in her power.--In consequence of this consideration in his
favor, she strove to look cheerful, though she was not a little hurt at
finding it absolutely necessary to reject so amiable and deserving a
man.

The Marquis, perceiving that remonstrances would be ineffectual,
took his leave with a heart distracted by grief, perplexity, and
despair! Being naturally of a restless, gloomy disposition, and of
violent passions, in his despair he thought his adventures had been so
extraordinary that he was doomed to be wretched! and formed a resolution
of laying violent hands on himself: and the more he meditated on his
situation, the more strongly was he confirmed in his precipitate
resolution. Yet, as the instinct of self-preservation is one of the
strongest in our frame, it inspired him with a counter-idea, that of
renouncing Italy; this only acquiescence being requisite to recommend
him to Lady Eliza, without whom his life would be a burthen. He
communicated his intentions to Lord Munster, who apprised his sister of
this proof of the Marquis's attachment for her.

Flattered to the greatest degree at the strength of his affection,
she promised to give him her hand on his return from Italy--where he
must necessarily go, to prove the identity of his person, and to take
possession of his fortune.

The Marquis made immediate preparations for his journey, and soon set
out, accompanied by his friend Mr Worthy, Mrs Worthy accompanying Lady
Eliza to Munster-house--Soon after their arrival Lord and Lady Darnley
rejoined them with their little son, her ladyship being too tender a
mother to leave him behind her, or to commit him to the care of any but
herself. The tender brain of _Newton_, or _Alexander_, altered in their
infancy by a small compression, or slight commotion, might have rendered
the first stupid, and the other a wise King--Yet people in general,
though emulous of obtaining wealth for their heirs, commit them to the
care of uninterested hirelings. Sir Harry Bingley, his aunt and sister,
and most of the parties already introduced to the reader, assembled at
Munster house to spend the summer.

Mrs Lee had rejected every overture from her husband for a
reconciliation, whilst his health and fortune lasted--but to a mind
like hers, misfortunes cancelled every injury--His fortune ruined,
his health impaired, he plunged deeper and deeper into every species
of excess. This soon brought him to the greatest distress, and he was
so much reduced as to be in want of the common necessaries of life.
Mrs Lee, upon being informed of his deplorable situation, immediately
converted that villa in Wales, of which there has been a description
given[39], into money, paid her husband's debts, and accompanied him at
a wretched hovel, to which his poverty, the consequence of his crimes,
and infidelity (_to her_) had reduced him.--There she continued, shewing
him every attention until his decease; when she came with Lady Darnley
to Munster-house.

Lady Eliza soon received the following Letter from the Marquis de
Villeroy.

  Madam,                                                       Venice.

  On my arrival at this place, I found that, on the report of my
  death, my father had consigned over his estate to a near relation
  of mine--who knew me at once, though so emaciated, and has acted in
  the most honorable manner to me. My father has retired to La-Trappe
  in France: thither my duty must lead me, previous to the happiness I
  shall receive in throwing myself at your feet.

  Were I disposed to draw the most engaging _portrait_ imaginable,
  I could easily find a subject; but as you may possibly wish for an
  intimate acquaintance with the original, I shall omit the attempt,
  since it would be difficult for you to obtain it from that principle
  in human nature which makes us strangers _to ourselves_.

  I shall detain your ladyship no longer, than to request you will
  inform my friend, your brother, that I am mortified to be unable to
  deliver his letter to Mademoiselle de Querci--no such person can be
  found.

  Need I paint that passion I have given you such proofs of?--No;
  all descriptions would fall short of my feelings. I will ever yield
  to every wish your soul can form; you are entirely absolute, unless
  you should attempt impossibilities, amongst which I reckon this as
  the greatest--for me to breathe a moment without being entirely and
  inviolably yours.

      DE VILLEROY.

It may here be, perhaps, proper to inform the reader of what perhaps his
own sagacity may have made him anticipate--The Duke de Salis had neither
been able, by intreaties or threats, to compel the Countess de Sons to
marry him, though he had given out that she had; this induced him to
keep both her and his daughter closely confined. It has been already
related, how he had consigned over his son as a house-breaker;--when
he found him condemned to the gallies--like the cruel inconsistency
of an _Admiral's[40] judges_--he laid himself under the necessity of
declaiming the equity of his own sentence--and when he found the decree
against his son was inevitable--unable to bear the reproaches of his
inward monitor, and listening to the whispers of a gloomy disposition,
he became almost frantic--In this situation of mind, torn with the
agonies of grief, he became more careless of his ward--and the Countess
and Julia escaped from him--After his conduct to his son--they trembled
lest in some act of despair he should on some future occasion equal the
past scene, which _chilled them with horror_--The Countess was seized
with the small-pox, which altered her features considerably, without
impairing her beauty; this circumstance facilitated their eluding all
search after them from the Duke, as Julia wore men's clothes; and they
supported themselves by the sale of jewels.

The intelligent reader now perceives, that Mademoiselle Querci and her
brother, were no other than the Countess de Sons and Julia, whom Lord
Munster had met at Venice.

When the Duke de Salis retired to La-Trappe, the Countess de Sons
appeared, and took possession of her fortune. She had remained
constantly and sincerely attached to Lord Munster was flattered by his
attentions at Venice, and found her esteem increased by the regard
he paid to his pre engagements; but would not at that time discover
herself, fearing that she only flattered herself that he saw her
with the eyes of affection, and lest the small-pox had made _such_
an alteration, as might change his sentiments. Upon the Marquis de
Villeroy's arrival in Italy, she was highly charmed to receive a letter
from Lord Munster addressed to Mademoiselle de Querci, and determined to
accompany him and Julia to England; but this was carefully concealed, to
render the discovery more pleasing.

In the mean time, the family at Munster-house passed their time most
agreeably, though Lord Munster, Sir Harry Bingley, and Mrs Lee, (who
knew nothing of Mr Villars) often were melancholy and _distrait_.

Lord Munster made great preparations to celebrate the anniversary of
Lady Darnley's wedding-day: on which occasion a number of buildings
were added to those already mentioned on the pleasure-grounds--As all
the best artificers were on the spot, these were executed in the ablest
manner. One temple he finished without the inspection of any one.

On the morning of the masquerade, walking out with Sir Harry Bingley,
he told him he should be glad to have his opinion of it. In this temple
was painted the _cataract_ of the river Dahl, which he had drawn on
the spot[41]--the cottage where Miss Harris resided--and herself at
work, in the same way in which he saw her, with her lovely boy playing
beside her (Miss Harris had permitted Lord Munster to draw her picture,
and he had fortunately taken an exact likeness)--Sir Harry Bingley
started at beholding it, and exclaimed, 'It is her, it is, by Heaven,
it is her! What artist drew the picture? it is, it is herself!'--he
then sunk almost motionless in a chair!--Lord Munster carelessly
answered--'Bingley, are you mad? That picture _cannot_ concern you; I
painted it from life! Where did you see her? Answer but that question,
and I am gone, gone that instant; the world should not detain me!' 'It
is, it is, my Lord, the lovely woman I told you of. But her graces
were yet more charming still than her beauty! an external glare of
beauty may _captivate the eye, and ravish the sight_; but it is the
graces that win the heart, that powerfully attract every faculty of a
kindred mind!--I loved her, and was beloved! She loved my person, not
my fortune. Her tenderness, her affection were my only joy!' 'Why then,
replied Lord Munster, did you leave her? but make yourself easy on her
account; she can be nothing to you; I expect her soon in England.'--'In
England!'--'Yes, Sir, in England, I fancy by this time she is married
to my friend Ogilby.' 'Lord Ogilby!' 'Yes; he was passionately in
love with her: she absolutely refused him; but it is not likely,
possessing such beauty, such perfections--slighted by the author of her
exclusion from every dear and valuable claim in society, relations,
friends, reputation, and protection--that she should continue deaf to
the earnest solicitations of _another_, who can restore her to these
advantages--such a man as Ogilby, a tender lover, who would sacrifice
his time and fortune to her, and who promised he would be _a father to
her boy_.'

Sir Henry's senses appeared suspended.--He at last repeated,
'Distraction, madness, fury! But, by the great God of Heaven--he shall
not be a _father to my boy_!' The agitation of his spirits rendered
him almost unintelligible: Lord Munster could only understand that
he intended to set out directly--he therefore dissuaded him from
it--telling him, that if he refused staying that day (on which he
meant to mark his respect to Lady Darnley) that he must renounce his
friendship for ever! 'My Lord, returned he, I honor, I love you; your
virtues demand the first, your amiable engaging qualities the last;
but were you God instead of man you should not detain me!--A few hours
may render her the wife of the happy Ogilby! There is damnation in
that thought!'--As Lord Munster had contrived an agreeable surprise
to Sir Henry--and Miss Harris and her child were actually arrived,
and concealed at Mr Burt's, who had taken a separate house, for
retirement,--it was necessary he should detain him; and as he had forgot
to ask where there scene represented _was_, he availed himself of that
circumstance, saying, 'Since, Sir, I cannot command your _complaisance_,
I may at least enforce your _obedience_, for you know not _where_ to go,
without I tell you--and my lips shall be sealed up _for ever_, unless
you pass this night here--If in the morning you choose to set off, I
will instruct you in every particular.' In the time Lord Munster was
enjoying Sir Harry's happiness--some of his friends were equally engaged
for him. The Countess de Sons and Julia, the Marquis de Villeroy, Mr
Villars, and Mr Worthy, came to London before the masquerade--Mr Villars
wrote to Lord Darnley, acquainting him privately with their arrival, and
it was agreed in return they should all make their appearance on that
occasion.

This entertainment was executed equal to the munificence and taste of
Lord Munster--and as it was given entirely in honor of Lady Darnley,
the principal objects in his arrangements had a reference to her. Never
was parental affection more fondly evinced, never was filial gratitude
more entire.--It has been already observed, that nothing was ever more
elegantly planned than Munster Village, the farm adjoining, and the
pleasure-grounds which lead to the house: in the farm you wandered from
variety to variety; buildings of great utility and much fancy, groves
inspiring different sensations, from the lucid summits that wake the
mind to gaiety, to the dark brown or _clair obscure_ of trees crowding
their branches together in the vale, which possess the soul with
home-felt contemplation.

Above three hundred of the nobility and people of fashion in the
neighbourhood were invited. Lord and Lady Darnley, Lord Munster, Lady
Eliza, and Mr Worthy, were the only people unmarked. They received the
company in the temple of Minerva, which faced a fine piece of water,
on which there is an island. The river represented the Styx[42], the
island Elysium, and Charon ferried over passengers. His boat landing,
the names of Demosthenes, Aristotle, Pindar, Plato, Apelles, Phidias,
and Praxiteles, were announced to Lady Darnley--They were all dressed
in Grecian habits. Demosthenes, in an elegant harangue, acquainted her,
that the wise Minos had indulged them in their request, of taking that
opportunity of doing homage to her superlative merit, and to return her
thanks for reviving their memories in the encouragement she gave to the
arts and sciences, as under her patronage the Muses had made Munster
Village their capital seat. He then expatiated on the advantages she
had procured to society--the influence of the philosophic spirit in
humanizing the mind, and preparing it for intellectual exertion and
delicate pleasures--in exploring, by the help of geometry, the system of
the universe--in promoting navigation, agriculture, medicine, and moral
and political science. Lady Darnley (though totally unprepared, being
ignorant of her nephew's plans) made a very ready and polite answer,
returning them thanks for the honor they did her, which (she said) as it
could afford them no other _pleasure_, than that of _obliging_, rendered
the obligation greater. Demosthenes replied, that great geniuses are
always superior to their own abilities.

Some time after Charon was observed to land some passengers in Roman
habits; they proved to be Cicero, Lucretius, Livy, Virgil, Horace, Ovid,
Varro, Tibullus, and Vitruvius. Cicero advancing, made Lady Darnley a
speech similar to that of Demosthenes--as like thoughts will be ever
born of the like subjects, by people who live in corresponding periods
of the _progression of manners_. In such cases some considerable
_similarity_ of expression may be occasioned by the agency of _general
principles_. Lady Darnley made a gracious reply, intimating her small
merit, and the apprehensions she felt that physical causes might impede
her good intentions; that her powers had been limited; but that she was
far from thinking with Boileau, that wherever there is a Mæccenas, a
Virgil or an Horace will arise, (curtsying to these gentlemen.) Cicero
observed to her the happiness she enjoyed in living at a _period_
distinguished by men of such shining abilities in every department!

Lady Darnley answered, that he honored her countrymen very much: that
she acknowledged we have at present very able men in every department;
but that in morality she was afraid we have refined more upon the
_vices_ of the ancients than _their virtues_, and she could not help
questioning whether there was any minister, magistrate, or lawyer, now
in Europe, who could explain the discoveries of Newton, or the ideas
of Leibnitz, in the same manner as the principles of Zeno, Plato, and
Epicurus, had been illustrated at Rome[43].

He thanked her for her polite compliment, and retired with his
companions.

They were succeeded by Italians, who were announced Lawrence de Medicis,
Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian, Ariosto, and Tasso. Lawrence de
Medicis expressed his happiness from having been permitted the honor
of paying his respects to her, and admiring the works of her creation,
and complimented her in the name of his friends for the encouragement
she had afforded the arts.--She said, the applause of the worthy is too
valuable to be received with indifference; but still modestly declined
the praises bestowed on her, saying, she had endeavoured to follow
_his_ example, although the imitation was _a faint one_; and that the
only commendation she aspired to was from _the attempt_. That without
her assistance, she made no doubt, if physical causes did not prevent
it[44], that the society for the encouragement of arts, manufactures,
and commerce in London, is well calculated to diffuse a spirit of taste
in this nation--a society, which, without neglecting what tends more
immediately to the improvement of agriculture, and the necessary arts
of life, gives the most honorable encouragement to those which are
elegant and ornamental. Had such a society been instituted fifty years
ago, London, perhaps by this time, would have been the grand seat of the
arts, as it is the envied seat of freedom.

Michael Angelo, that celebrated restorer of the arts of painting,
sculpture, and architecture, expressed how infinitely he was charmed
with Munster Village[45].--'What is really beautiful, said he, does
not depend either upon fashion, or times; there may be _different
ways_ of expressing things in different ages; but there can only
_be one_ of conceiving them properly.' The temple, in which they
were, was adorned with the paintings of Raphael[46], copied by an
able artist. Lady Darnley, pointing to these, (and addressing him)
said 'There is proof how much we fall short, how faintly we copy
originals!'--Raphael replied, that her ladyship did him much honor;
the pieces she had selected, had met with the suffrage of the public;
but that, in his own acceptation, _the cartoons_ were the best of his
performances--which he apprehended a juster prevailing taste at present
condemned: Otherwise the father of his people, approved of by Minos--so
good so indulgent a prince to his subjects--would not lock them up
from public observations.--Lady Darnley was here quite at a loss; she
blushed, hesitated, unwilling either to refuse her sovereign _taste_ or
_philanthropy_!

Lawrence de Medicis perceiving her situation, in pity of her confusion,
retired with his company.

Charon again landed a groupe of figures; their dress declared them
English, of the reign of King Charles II--They proved to be the Duke
of Buckingham[47], Sir William Petty, Mr Dryden, Mr Locke, Mr Waller,
etc. The Duke addressed Lady Darnley with that polite address peculiar
to himself in his age, and which has since been sedulously studied, to
the prevention of qualities which it should only be the harbinger of--he
expatiated on her merit; that she had obliged the whole nation, as every
one individual might receive improvement or pleasure by her means.--Lady
Darnley returned him a most gracious answer, still intimating her
apprehensions, that the arts perhaps were not likely to thrive in this
soil, where our pursuits, opinions, and inclinations, vary with the
weather--that the declension of letters after the reign of Charles
II. but too fully justified her opinion.--The Duke answered her, that
indeed that was the common and received opinion, and that the reign she
mentioned was the Augustan age in England; but that he had the honor to
assure her, that a just taste was by no means then formed.--The progress
of philological learning, and the _Belles Lettres_ was obstructed by
the institution of the Royal Society, which turned the thoughts of men
of genius to physical inquiries.--To that body we were indebted for the
discoveries relating to light, the principle of gravitation, the motion
of the fixed stars, the geometry of transcidental qualities; but that
it was left to her ladyship to revive the agreeable arts, for which her
name must be handed down to posterity with honor.

The following dialogue ensued between Charon and a Beau.

  Beau.--I have seen all parts of the world, and should like to take
  a view of Elysium, being rather tired of this side of the Styx.

  [48] Mercury to Charon.--He is too frivolous an animal to present to
  the wife Minos!

  Charon.--Minos, Sir, knows nothing of _the graces_--but if you
  please I will row you to the infernal regions.

  Beau.--With all my heart, I believe I shall meet more people of
  fashion there[49]; but, good master Charon, in what way shall I pass
  my time?

  Charon.--If you are fond of doing nothing (a favourite passion with
  many fine gentlemen) Theseus will readily resign his seat to you: or
  if it is your genius, like many others, to choose to be,

            '_Though without business, yet in full employ,_'

  you may join Sisyphus, or accompany the Danaides.

  Beau.--Neither of these will suit me; _idleness_ is _insipid_, and I
  _detest business_! But are there no public places?

  Charon.--O! yes; great variety: each person in that place pursues
  those inclinations, whereby he had been swayed, or had rendered
  himself remarkable here on earth.

  Beau.--There are fine women then, of course?

  Charon.--As to women, no seraglio in the world comes up to it; as a
  part of whatever the world, since its creation, has ever yet produced,
  of lovely and enchanting amongst women are there assembled.--There
  you may view and gaze, with admiration, upon Helen, whose bewitching
  charms were so destructive to the family, the city, and the empire
  of King Priam.--On each side of her are Galatea, and Bressis, Lais,
  Phryne, and thousands more--There also you may behold in all their
  charms, in the full lustre of attraction, and decked in every grace,
  some of those happy fair-ones, whom the greatest poets, so lavish in
  their praise, have in their lays immortalised; such, amongst many
  others, are the Corinna of Ovid, the Lydia of Horace, the Lesbia
  of Catullus, the Delia of Tibullus, the Licoris of Gallus, and the
  Cynthia of Propertius.

  Beau.--I will go; I am enchanted with the idea of seeing these _dear
  creatures_.--But I will shiver the wheel and distaff of the Destinies
  against the wall, and spoil their housewifery--I'll take their
  spindle, where hang the threads of human life like beams driven from
  the sun, and mix them all together, kings and beggars! But hark'ee,
  master Charon, is there good music? I cannot do well without music!

  Charon.--There are all kinds of concerto's and opera's, both vocal
  and instrumental, executed by the very _best_ of the Italians, and
  the most celebrated voices from every part of the world. There are
  various pieces performed in all languages, and in all kinds of taste,
  for the universal satisfaction of the audience. Those who have a
  taste for ancient music, will be more gratified than they can be in
  Tottenham-street[50]. They will hear with admiration the gentle flute
  of Marsius, be ravished with the thorough-bass of Stentor, and expire
  with delight at the thrilling note of Misurus's trumpet.

  Beau.--All this is charming; but what sort of a table is kept?
  One cannot altogether live on _love_ and _music_, though one must
  _languish_ and _expire_ without them, as well _as with them_!

  Charon.--If you are fond of good cheer, you have nothing to do but
  to pay a visit to Tantalus. Are you thirsty? The Styx, the Cocytus,
  and the Phlegethon present their waves to your acceptance.

  Beau.--I should indeed rather prefer the nectar of the Gods--but as
  I shall not stay long (for I make it a rule never to stay long in a
  place) water may suffice!

  Charon.--It would have been as easy to have escaped from the
  Labyrinth of Dædalus, as the infernal regions!

  Beau.--I have always (though as wild as March, and inconstant as
  April) been a favourite with the fair! Ariadne procured for her
  Theseus a means of escape.

  Charon.--I make no doubt, from your conversation, that you are not
  only the favourite, but the blessed Adonis of all the women: but
  _that_ will avail you nothing. Lucifer, the unpitying Lucifer, though
  you should promise to offer him every day three hundred bulls in
  sacrifice[51], would not lend you even one of the smallest of his imps
  to help you to get out.

  Beau.--Did not Hercules escape from it, and carry Cerberus along
  with him? Did not Æneas (with the assistance of the golden bough, and
  led by the Cumæan Sybil) take the same journey to pay a visit to his
  father? Why may not I, like Orpheus, go to visit it while living?

  Charon.--Orpheus was particularly indulged, and Eurydice restored to
  him on account of his charming voice, and the delightful music of his
  lyre! You have no such pretensions. But Alecto, Megara, and Tysiphone,
  will receive you graciously and open the gates of _Tartarus_ to you.
  The least of your exploits will entitle you to their attentions:--they
  are too good, too reasonable, too indulgent to require from you the
  very great pains you have taken, through the whole course of your
  life, to recommend yourself to them.

  Beau.--Let us go then, old boy! I will try what a little flattery
  will do with them! I can _say with Cæsar_, I wonder what fear
  is!--(Aside) But my heart plaguily misgives me for _all that_! but in
  my circumstances I must change for the better; my money is gone; and
  as I never gamed, I cannot expect the _club_, _or the waiters at the
  club_, to make _a subscription for me_!

Two peers and a baronet applied to Charon, to ferry them over to
Munster-house: but Mercury again interfered, telling Lord C----d that
although he had been thought in the world not to have been _sans quelque
goût_ in the _belle maniere_, and had been an encourager of the _Belles
Lettres_, yet as Minos only permitted them to come back to the world (in
the present case) to do honor to superlative feminine merit, none but
such who had paid a proper respect to the sex in their life-time could
be indulged in that pleasure. But if he would burn his book (wherein he
depreciates women, and considers them only as the toys of dalliance)
in _the fiery billows of Phlegethon_, he would intercede for him with
Minos. This the peer rejecting, his brother the baronet intreated to
be permitted to go in his stead; but Mercury reminded him, he had
pulled down a house built by Inigo Jones, and therefore could have no
pretensions to taste!

Lord L----n was ferried over by himself; and after paying his
compliments to Lady Darnley, returned; when the following dialogue
took place in Elysium between his lordship, and the other peer above
mentioned.

Lord C----d.---- Your lordship may believe that I could have no great
pleasure in seeing a woman's follies: I was only desirous of inquiring
what they are doing at home, or in America? Did I desire to punish an
enemy in the severest manner, I would inflict nothing worse upon him
than to oblige him to listen to all the follies in which he has no
share, and to be witness to gaieties in which he cannot partake. My
heart was never dilated by the amplitude of generous principles; nothing
was ever interesting to me, but in proportion as it contributed to my
_own_ particular _gratifications_. Curiosity now however prevailed with
me to attempt going to discover in what way they are going on, being
apprehensive of the consequences of the measures formerly adopted.
Whoever would deprive men of their natural rights, is an enemy to
the race of men; and he that thinks it can be effectuated without
universal mischief, is a stranger to the ways of Providence; the
most invariable rule of which is, That nothing contradictory to its
original laws shall ever be accomplished, either of a physical or moral
nature, without bringing ruin on that people which has instituted it.
How few are capable of distinguishing the good and pernicious effects
which will follow the instituting a new law, before it is enacted! To
remedy present evils, they make a law which brings greater mischiefs
along with it, though imperceptible to their shallow capacities. No
two understandings on earth are more different than a judicial and
legislative; many men enjoy the first, who have not the least emanation
of the second. When a law is to be founded, which depends on the first
principles in human nature, there genius only can effectuate any
discovery of truth; the mind must dart forward into futurity, from
the principles which it knows in human nature: a genius of quite a
different kind from that of distinguishing between right and wrong in
any particular case. The first only can form the legislator, and plan
laws of utility and public good, the latter decide of the consequences
of them when they are made. The one capacity is the most rare, most
excellent and beneficial blessing bestowed on man; the other to be found
in almost all mankind, or attainable by habit, yet useful when confined
to its proper sphere of action, and not permitted to rove, with the
imagination of the superior _few_, amongst the regions of exalted
genius.

Lord L----n.---- It is not enough, my Lord, that the English are a
_miserable_, they render themselves a _ridiculous_ people: And, after
all the noise the brawlers make in the lower house, they only fight the
battles, aid the wishes of the Americans, and exalt the triumph of the
French! In private life it is reckoned a good expedient, for the sake
of an easy, quiet life, to be patient and submissive under what are
supposed _necessary evils_: but I differ so much from this maxim, that
I am convinced those will ever be _trod upon_ who _creep_; and that
certain submissions derogatory to a sense of honor in an individual or
the nation, never _prevent the blow_, though it may be _protracted_ for
a reason, in order to lay it on with a redoubled force at a time our
strength is weakened, and that we are debilitated by our mortifications
and a sense of the submissions we have made injurious to the honor of
an individual or the pride of the nation. It is a mortifying area, but
must have its place in the annals of this disgraced kingdom, whilst
extravagance and every species of gaieties daily increase.

I am sorry to acquaint your Lordship, that the publication of your
book has given in England the same wound to morality and business
as the publication of _the spirit of laws_ has given in France to
the monarchical constitution. The English study nothing now but the
_Graces_. Procrastination is the _ton_, because any thing _abrupt
is ungraceful_. The increase of manners has always been thought as
imperceptible as the hand of a clock, which though in constant motion
cannot be distinguished in _that motion_. But your book has occasioned a
more rapid change: your countrymen having exchanged the _armour of Mars_
for the _amours of Venus_, their _greatness of mind_ and _magnanimity_
for _trifling pursuits_; and, instead of speaking forcibly in the
senate, they whine a tale of love in the ear of their mistresses: having
descended suddenly, like skilful musicians, from the _forte_ and the
_pomposo_ to the _pia_ and the _pianissimo_. Refinement will bring us
back to barbarity--far be it from me to suppose such an event can happen
suddenly; but in the course of a few years, I make no doubt, as a man in
days of yore that could read _had the benefit of clergy_, so will a man
be esteemed an able minister, or an expert negotiator of business, if he
can write a pretty sonnet--or dance a good minuet.

Lord C----d.---- The graces, my lord, I still say, the graces for
ever--and as to dancing, can there be any science more useful for a
minister to learn--to figure _out_ with a good grace, never to _lose
time_, and not even to nod, instead of _sleeping a century_?[52]

Two other passengers applied to Charon to ferry them over the Styx,
Homer and Ossian.

Mercury told Charon that he might carry Homer to Olympus, and place him
with the Demigods; but he could not be permitted to go to Munster-house,
for the same reason Lord C----d had been rejected: But Ossian had a just
claim to that indulgence.

The Chief of other years being landed, addressed Lady Darnley as
follows:

  Ossian.----I have escaped from _the narrow-house_[53]! I have
  crossed _Col-amon_[54], O daughter of Munster, to behold thy glory.
  My joy returns as when I first beheld the maid, the white-bosomed
  daughter of strangers, _Moina_[55] with the dark blue eyes: But
  _Crimiona_[56] should be thy name, for thou art the guiding star of
  the women of Albion, who mark no years with their deeds! Time rolls
  on, seasons return, but they are still unknown. Vanity is their
  recompence; and when their years shall have an end, no grey stone
  shall rise to their renown! But the departure of thy soul shall be a
  stream of light! A thousand bards shall sing of thy praise; and the
  maids of harmony, with their trembling harps, shall relate thy mighty
  deeds!

  Thy son, when the years of his youth shall arise, will raise the
  mould about thy stone, and bid it speak to other years! The joy of his
  grief will be great! Like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant
  and mournful to the soul. He will say, 'she will not come forth in her
  beauty, will move no more in the steps of her loveliness: but she will
  be like the rainbow on streams, or the gilding of sun-beams on the
  hills! She has not fallen unknown! Her fame surrounded her like light;
  her rays, like those of the sun, cherished all on whom they fell. Her
  wealth was the support of the needy; the weak rested secure in her
  halls! She softened at the sight of the sad; her blue eyes rolled in
  tears for the afflicted; her breast of snow heaved for the oppressed;
  and the moving of her lips assuaged their grief!--O sons of Albion,
  may you behold her son, like the _halo_ of the _rainbow_, exhibit _the
  same_ though _fainter colours_!'

  Lady Darnley.--Father of heroes, dweller of eddying winds, thy
  praise gladdens my heart! My soul is exalted, my fame secured, by the
  voice of Conna[57]! Thou hast been a beam of light to latter times, as
  thy mighty deeds have been remembered, though thou hast long been a
  blast!

  Thy renown grew only on the fall of the haughty; thy foes were the
  sons of the guilty; but thine arms rescued the feeble!

  Thou wentest forth in echoing steel, and conquered the king of many
  isles: He brought thee his daughter Oina-moral, as an offering of
  peace. She was gentle as the evening breeze; her hair was of a raven
  black, and her bosom vied in whiteness with the _Canna_[58] on the
  Fuar-Bhean[59].--And though thy locks were young, yielded her to the
  hero she loved[60]! But like unto Cathmor[61] of old, I perceive the
  sound of thy praises is displeasing to thine ear!

  Ossian.--Just praise, like the water of a _clear fountain_, was ever
  pleasant to my taste; but I never rejoiced in unmerited applause,
  resigning that _muddy joy_ to the sons of later days!

  It is true, O daughter of Albion, that, surrounded by the valiant in
  arms, I conquered the king of many isles--that he presented the maid
  to me in her loveliness as an offering of peace! She purpled the morn
  with blushes as she approached, and scattered such bright rays, as the
  sun might have dressed his beams with for that day's glory! But she
  had given her heart to another, and met my eyes of love with sorrow!
  In thrilling notes vibrating from her inmost soul, she conveyed to me
  the pangs of her heart! 'Breaker of the shield (said she) give ear
  unto the voice of mourning, attend to my tale, of woe--a tale, which
  though thy eyes of steel are used more to strike fire than shed a
  tear, must have that power to move thee.'

  My parents had seen many returning seasons with their springs,
  but no offspring of theirs arose. My mother lamented a disgrace,
  scarce known amongst the daughters of Caledonia. She consulted the
  cunning-man of the rock: He said, 'Daughter, be of good cheer; take
  the son of thine adversary that is low, rear him; thy piety will be
  rewarded; thou shalt have a daughter whom thou _must give him to
  wife_!' When she declared this unto my father (as she was stricken in
  years) there immediately ran a smile over his face, like the little
  ruffling of water when a gentle breeze breathes upon the surface of a
  lake; but he adopted Tonthormid, and some moons after I came forth as
  a flower; but as the bud, hit with an envious worm ere he can spread
  his sweet leaves to the air, or dedicate his beauty to the sun, dies,
  so shall I soon fly away as a shadow. Not the white down that decks
  the silver swan is more unlike the sooty raven's back, than my lover
  from the rest of his sex. Bred up with him, my first accents were
  attuned to love; he took delight in my infantine caresses. Time ran
  on with its years--My father corrected my tenderness; and I became
  sensible of my error as soon as I was conscious of my feelings.
  Tonthormid also, from our inequality of fortune, tried to suppress his
  passion, judging what was then a lambent fire, would soon blaze into a
  flame! True love, like the lily of the vale, is fond of concealment;
  but, as the fragrancy of the one occasions its discovery, so does the
  concealment of the other prove its reality! I loved and was beloved;
  my father saw, and approved our passion. A succession of moons had not
  frozen the genial current of his soul, nor repeated shocks blunted all
  its tenderest sensations--But we were ignorant of his intentions. When
  he appointed us to meet him at his cave of contemplation, the heart of
  Tonthormid palpitated with fear, mine with hope--we had a considerable
  way to go, but _remained silent_!--we walked through a pleasant grassy
  walk, shaded with rows of lime-trees, at the side of which ran along,
  in plaintive murmurs, a crystal brook, on the side of whose mazy and
  translucent stream were planted bushes of various kinds, with birds in
  high harmony on the sprays.

  Arrived at the cave, my father announced to my lover that he must
  prepare to accompany him to battle! Aghast he stood, silent as the
  midnight hour, unmoved as the statue of despair! The venerable Chief
  reproached him for his coldness.

  'Alas! said he, the din of arms is no more offensive to my ear than
  the murmuring of falling waters, the vernal breeze sighing through the
  leaves, or the melodious song of the evening nightingale; but if we
  should fall in battle, what will become of this lovely maid?'

  My father, swearing by the great Loda, promised I should be his--if
  we conquered--but reminded him, that

  'Love should be the zephyr, not the whirlwind of the soul!'

  Tonthormid was all rapture, while every line in my countenance,
  witnessed my satisfaction. We were restored to that unexpected
  tranquility of spirits, which naturally follows a great dejection in
  most minds, when the first pangs are somewhat abated--not unlike that
  stillness in the sky which is sometimes observed when two opposite
  and gentle winds have just overcome one another's motion--or like the
  tide at the moment of high water, before it has received the contrary
  direction.

  They set out, receiving my caresses, intermixed with smiles and
  tears, like an April sun shining through transient showers. They met
  the foe, _conquered_, and _returned_.

  The feast of shells was prepared, the maids of mirth attended with
  their harps, and the rising sun would have beheld me Tonthormid's! The
  virgins envied me in the hall, my steps were strewed with flowers, and
  I was happiest, where a thousand are happy. The subtile air was calm
  from mists, and water with her curled waves swept the bounded channels
  of the deep; the nightingales were heard in the grove, and soothed
  my soul with tender tales of love; not a breeze breathed through the
  trees; all nature was still, as if it paid homage to our passion. But
  oh! my summer's day was soon turned into winter's night! Ah, soul
  ambition! which like water-floods, not channel bound, dost neighbours
  overrun!--fell violence leaped forth like thunder wrapped in a ball of
  fire! Thou camest with thy men of steel; I beheld thee from the clefts
  of the rock; terrors turned upon me, like an earthquake they shook
  my trembling heart! they still pursue my soul as the wind. My joy is
  withered; my welfare has passed away like a cloud; my comforts have
  been like winter suns, that rise late and set betimes, set with thick
  clouds, that hide their light at noon!'

  Thus sang the maid in her grief, like the _Lus-cromicina_, bending
  in pensive silence, a beautiful flower drooping in the shade, wanting
  the beams of the sun to revive it. She soon perceived my heart was
  not made of brass, or carved from the stony rock. Hope animated her
  weakened spirits, whilst the dignity of her soul irradiated every
  feature; the blush of modesty stole over the cheek, and the graces
  dwelt on her coral lips. Sweet as the dew from heaven her lovely
  accents fell, and moved me. She proceeded, 'I see my tears have
  mollified thy heart! If fame tells true, never over the fallen did
  thine eyes rejoice, and thou knowest the herbs on the hill![62]
  Restore me then to the hero that is low; my tears will refresh him,
  as the dew of the morning doth the green herbage!--He mocked at fear;
  never retired from the foe, or was ever vanquished, but by the son of
  Fingal! Glorious is it to thee, O hero! great will be thy renown; thou
  hast subdued the first of men!

  Were the earth his bed, a rock his pillow, his curtain heaven,
  with him alone could I be blessed! From a rock that weeps a running
  crystal, I will fill his shell cup. I'll gently raise his weakened
  body[63], and the murmur of this water, instead of music, shall charm
  him into sleep; and whilst he sleeps my cares shall watch to preserve
  him from the beast of prey! The fern on the heath, if cut a thousand
  times, represents the same figure--so is the image of my love engraved
  on the inmost core of my heart! I hold the _thread_ of his peace: can
  I forget its delicate texture, or that it is warped with _those_ of
  his heart? I could grow to my hero like ivy; but like the aspenleaf
  I tremble, like the sensitive plant I shrink back at thy approach!
  Thou mayest swim against the stream with a crab, feed against the wind
  with the deer, but thou canst never possess my heart! Love for him, or
  grief, are the only passions that can fill the heart of Oinamoral! But
  thou mayest go forth in echoing steel and increase thy glory--or the
  hearts of a thousand other virgins, will beat an unison to thy sighs,
  and return thy passion!'

  Thus sung the daughter of many isles; her trembling harp was turned
  to mourning, and her lute into the voice of them that weep. My heart
  was never wrought of steel, nor hewn out of the rugged pebble; but
  she would have extracted honey out of the rock, and oil out of the
  flinty rock! My heart was _tender_, though my _arm was strong_! I
  resigned her to the man of her soul! But I had the supreme delight of
  exhaling the falling tear from the cheek of beauty, as when the pearly
  dew on the surface of the narcissus, and the snow-drop evaporates at
  the kindly instance of the solar ray. Had I been deaf to her tale of
  woe, I should have merited a cold chill to extinguish my flame, as
  if a _thousand winters_ contracted _into one_, scattered their snow
  and froze the very centre! No praises can be due for refraining from
  barbarity, unknown till the sons of refinement came into the world!

  Lady Darnley.--A great mind is ever tenacious of even the shadow of
  a favor received, but loses the idea of a benefit conferred--In what
  way, O first of men! shall I welcome thy approach? Wilt thou partake
  of the feast of shells, or be honored with the dangers of the chase?

  Ossian.--Chase was never to me such sport as the battle of the
  shields! But this is a tale of the times of old, the deeds of the days
  of other years; manners alter with times, as the earth by the seasons.
  Let the sons of Albion listen to the voice of Conna, 'Never search for
  battle, nor fear it when it comes.'

  Ossian retired, and a hangman from the assizes told Lady Darnley,
  that she had ruined his trade; for, all the poor of the country-side
  being employed in manufactures, etc. they had no inducement to steal,
  theft being the necessary consequence of idleness[64].

  The hangman retired; and Lady Darnley was addressed by a few women
  in tattered robes. Making an apology for their dress, they said, it
  was her ladyship who had condemned them to those unseemly garbs. She
  inquired, In what way she was culpable to them? They answered, By
  not only promoting industry, which was highly detrimental to their
  interests, but also procuring by her munificence theatrical and other
  entertainments for mankind, which completed their misfortunes, as
  it rendered ineffectual their allurements:--that they might formerly
  (out of the profits of their industry) have purchased annuities,
  like other eminent personages in the age, and _lived comfortably_
  on the _distresses of others_; but that they had always too much
  conscience, and too great and generous souls for that:--that they
  were now reduced to the alternative of removing from that part of the
  country, or starving where they were; and, preferring the first to
  the last, they had determined to go to Birmingham, where, under the
  auspices of the magistrates[65] of that place, they would have a good
  chance of succeeding in their profession; as it had always been found
  that recreations of some kind are necessary, and that if innocent
  amusements were denied, mankind would have recourse to the other.

The Goddess of Folly, with her cap and bells, approached Lady Darnley;
who, smiling, asked her what had procured her the honor of her company?
She answered, That being excluded at all other times from these regions,
it induced her to come then, where she flattered herself, for one night
in her life, not to be ridiculed; as it is only Absurdity that laughs at
Folly. Her ladyship replied, That none indeed were entitled to smile at
another's weakness, who are conscious of their own.

Miss Bingley, by her aunt's request, was in the character of a pastoral
shepherdess, and affected to by vastly coy, and a great huntress. She
said she wielded the crook and the javelin with equal dexterity; and
that though she was terrified at the voice or appearance of a lover, yet
she made nothing of lopping off the head of a wild boar, or of thrusting
a spear into the jaws of a lion. She was pursued by (James Mordaunt as)
a pastoral lover. Lady Darnley told her that such swains are mighty
good-natured, and never do any mischief to any _but themselves_; a leap
from a rock, or a plunge into a river, being their usual catastrophe.

Lord Munster walked away with Sir Harry Bingley, and shewed him, on one
of the back grounds a cottage similar to that represented in the temple
above-mentioned. They advanced, and saw Miss Harris, and her lovely
boy playing at her feet. Sir Harry fixed his eyes, and with a peculiar
wildness exclaimed, Sport not, my friend, with my sorrows!--Lord
Munster assured him of the reality; but he almost swooned away at
the discovery, and was perfectly enchanted with his lovely boy. Every
explanation taking place to their mutual satisfaction, Mr Burt being
in the secret, and some more friends, the ceremony was immediately
performed, and Miss Harris was introduced that very evening, as Lady
Bingley, to the family at Munster-house.

Lord Munster, leaving this happy pair, joined Lord Sombre; two ladies
passed by them, one in a habit similar to that Mademoiselle de Querci
had wore at the masquerade at Venice: the other had assumed the figure
of Diana. Struck with their majestic appearance, they followed them. The
mask of the latter dropped, as if ashamed to conceal so much beauty.
Lord Sombre stooping, instantly restored to her the _unfaithful_
guardian of her charms. The lady, covered with that agreeable confusion
inherent to the sex, apologized for the trouble she had given him! He
replied, he could not but acknowledge that it was a trouble to him to be
the instrument of depriving the company of the sight of so much beauty.
That, Sir, replied she, may be your opinion; but my intention is to see,
and _not be seen_. But a lady, replied his lordship, who represents
Diana, would appear more in character if she could consent not _to be
concealed_, nor to hide those beams of brightness which were designed
to be the light of the world. Sir, said she, if I must support my
character, it is not at all the less in my power because my mask is on,
being still the moon though in eclipse--but my intention of appearing in
the character of Diana, was to keep Actæon at a distance.

In the mean time Lord Munster had neither seen or heard the above
conversation, the whole powers of his soul being absorbed in attention
to the lady first mentioned. But what were his emotions, when he knew
the well known voice of Mademoiselle de Querci! She told him, that she
believed he was the gentleman who was still denominated at Venice _Il
Febo del Inghilterra_! He told her, it was impossible he could have
any pretensions to so flattering a distinction; but intreated to know
whether he could believe that he had the happiness of addressing the
woman he adored, whom from motives of honor he had been induced to
suppress his passion for, but which scruples on his part he had been
relieved from since that period? Mademoiselle de Querci (for it was she
herself) answered, that every apology he could make for his infidelity
to the Countess de Sons, would only lessen him in her esteem, as, to
her certain knowledge, she was still single, and fondly attached to
him. Had it been otherwise (said she) my Lord, I should have cheerfully
_consented_ to what I must now refuse, as I never will act in opposition
to the interest of the Countess. Lord Munster, flattered at her coming
to Munster-house, asked if she was perfectly sincere in the favourable
hint she had given him--that nothing but his pre-engagement would have
prevented her from according herself to his wishes? She answered, I
desire, my Lord, you'll not judge me by your country-women; for, from
what I have heard of their characters, there is no well-bred woman who
ever makes any pretensions to _sincerity_. Does not every body say what
they do not mean, and promise what they never intend to perform? and yet
all of them, to a single woman, will compliment the justness of your
remarks.--In Italy we are more sincere; and I now have the honor to
assure you, that nothing at present occupies my thoughts, or interests
me equal to your fulfilling of your engagements with the Countess de
Sons, whose constancy for you demands on your part every return. In
saying this, a sigh escaped Mademoiselle de Querci, which took refuge in
Lord Munster's bosom--while her blushes raised hopes which her tongue
denied confirming! Her lover felt a severe struggle between love and
honor.--The most severe misfortune to a virtuous man is to be in such a
state that he can hardly so act as to approve his own conduct. But his
distraction was increased, in finding Mademoiselle de Querci had taken
advantage of his _reverie_ to retire, with a composure that deceived his
vigilance, and an address which prevented his distrust.--He went every
where in pursuit of her, but she eluded his search.

A magician with two enchanted knights addressed Lady Eliza, who (I
have already observed) was dressed as a slave attending Mrs Worthy. He
told her he would unfold her future fate, and, if she would retire to
a place of privacy, he would convince her, and the queen she attended,
that he was very well skilled in the science of astrology. Lord and
Lady Darnley; Lord Sombre, Lord Munster, and Mrs Lee begged leave to
accompany them. The two knights accompanied the magician, who he said
must remain enchanted until they were released by the hands of their
fair mistresses. After several magical incantations, he told Lady Eliza
many things concerning the Marquis de Villeroi, and Mrs Lee of Mr
Villars. But he astonished Lord Munster more particularly in telling
him he was a _perplexed lover_--but assured him that he would be soon
relieved from his anxiety; and that perhaps that very evening would
terminate his adventures, and render all the present company joyful!
Could you do this, replied Lord Munster, I would swear you had more wit
than Mercury, or his son Autolycus, who was able to change black into
white!

In the mean time two ladies appeared: They were majestic in their
persons, and very magnificent in their apparel. The magician, addressing
himself to the company, said, if it was agreeable, he would give
them ocular proofs of his art. They answered, By all means! He then
presented one of the enchanted knights to Lady Eliza, the other to
Mrs Lee, and Lord Munster to one of the ladies who had just appeared
(in the mean time Lord Darnley had prevented the admission of other
company.)--He then desired them all to unmask. The agreeable discovery
this produced is not easy to give an adequate idea of; as the magician
was no other than Mr Worthy; the enchanted knights, the Marquis de
Villeroi, and Mr Villars; and the Lady Mademoiselle de Querci.--Mr
Worthy then, addressing Lord Munster, said, Your perplexity, my Lord,
now ceases:--This Lady is the Countess de Sons (whose smiles confirmed
her previous conversation with him that evening.) He made his suitable
acknowledgments: whilst Lord Sombre was enchanted to discover, in the
Countess's companion, his lovely Diana, who had changed her dress,
and proved to be Julia, sister to the Marquis de Villeroi, and justly
admired by all who saw her: Her shape was as fine as the statue of the
Medician Venus, of as fine a complexion as the Leda of Corregio, with a
sweetness of expression that would have made Guido paint no other face,
if he had been alive.

The masquerade finished, which had afforded so much amusement, and
conferred so much happiness on the parties. Lady Bingley was received
by Lady Darnley with the utmost complacency. It is the imperfection
of _human_ goodness to make its conscious worth an argument of want
of mercy to those that are deficient: but Lady Darnley had thoroughly
studied the most useful of all sciences, human nature, and was ever
ready to make allowances for its defects. She was the more attentive
to Lady Bingley, on account of her peculiar situation; while in the
effusions of her gratitude there was a dignity that commanded as
much respect as if she had been conferring a favor beyond that she
acknowledged. Her relations, who abandoned her in her adversity--when
alone true friendship can prove its superiority over its shadow,
_worldly civility_--were now eager to pay their compliments to her.

Mr Villars was the only person who appeared unhappy at this time. Mrs
Lee had been hurt at never hearing from him since her husband's death,
and was confirmed that his present appearance was occasioned more from
a concurrence of circumstances than from his own particular desire or
inclination.--It was in vain he urged, that his having absented himself
from England was occasioned by her refusing to see him previous to her
husband's death; which circumstance he had been unapprised of, previous
to his meeting the Marquis de Villeroi at Paris.--She answered, That he
had neither been a lover that had the tenderness, nor a friend that had
the generosity to interest himself for her; though he must have been
sensible of her partiality, from the pains she took to avoid him:--that,
concerning the strange event that had occurred relative to her husband
and him, she had never taken any pains to justify herself; and she
thought people in general were to blame that did so; for satire is
generally levelled against persons, not vices, as there are few who wish
to punish what does not put them out of humour, and they make a personal
affront the pretended defender of virtue. If a woman, therefore, would
_preserve her character_, this is the effectual way _of losing it_,
and if she has _none to preserve_ she need not tell _all the world_
so.--'But (said she) as I must now decline your proffered hand, the
offer of which does more honor to your generosity than the acceptance
would to my prudence, I shall now disclose my sentiments to you without
any disguise:--I was married to a man, whom I could not look up to with
a consciousness of his superior understanding or worth; his treatment
of me was injurious; my feelings I with difficulty suppressed: my quick
apprehension of injury, and my partiality for you, made me indulge an
inclination that aggravated to me the horrors of my situation.--I loved,
and was utterly incapable of divesting myself of a passion, which,
although often dangerous, is always delightful.--I was punished for my
temerity; the calumny I met with, I justly incurred, from the appearance
I had subjected myself to. When I parted from my husband, I would on no
account see you--you went abroad; your caprice now brings you back; you
judge it equitable, perhaps, to restore me to that world I relinquished
on your account--but time has conquered my partiality, and, after my
former experience in that state, I cannot help shuddering at a contract
which nothing can dissolve but death. To me it is terrible to reflect,
that it is a strangely unequal conflict, in which the man only ventures
the loss of a few temporary pleasures, the woman the loss of liberty,
and almost the privilege of opinion.--From the moment she's married she
becomes the subject of an arbitrary lord; even her children, the mutual
pledges of their affection, are absolutely in his power, and the law
countenances him in the use of it--and a woman finds no redress for
the indelicate abuses of an uncivil, a passionate, and avaricious, an
inconstant, or even a drunken husband--from matrimonial decisions there
is no appeal.'--Mr Villars said every thing to justify himself, adding,
that the most candid mind will sometimes, under certain circumstances,
deviate from itself; but it is the property _only_ of narrow minds to
persist in prejudice against conviction.--As the quarrels between lovers
are the renewal of love--these differences were soon settled, agreeable
to their mutual wishes.

Mr Burt testified great joy at the celebration of the nuptials of his
grandson--That good man died the next day, without any complaint, with
a smile of complacency on his venerable face. In an age where men
of letters seem so regardless of morals--in an age where they have
endeavoured to persuade mankind, with but too much success, that the
virtues of the mind and of the heart are incompatible--let them cast
their eyes on the character of Mr Burt--When they find so many virtues
united in a man, whose understanding was both sublime and just--when
they find a man of his penetration to have been a strictly moral
man--they will then, perhaps, be convinced that vice is the natural
effect of an imperfect understanding.



                               FOOTNOTES:

[1] See the Fifth Commandment.

[2] Pliny recommends ridicule as an admirable weapon against vice. It is
surely better here employed, than as Shaftesbury recommends it, for the
test of truth.

[3] _Tribuna_, a term applied to a building quite round, or such as
consists of many sides and angles, as the famous room within the great
Duke's gallery at Florence: sometimes it is applied for a building,
whose area or plan is semicircular, as the section of a cupola.

[4] The reason polite literature is more cultivated in Paris than
London, is on account of the university libraries, and academies of the
former.

[5] The Chinese are said to adapt an admirable piece of policy; the son
is always of the father's trade, which makes them admirable artisians.
May not this be the cause of the small progress the arts have made in
that part of the world, and of the dull uniformity and want of taste
that distinguishes all their works?

[6] The enormous taxes the Spaniards lay on manufactures are the ruin
of trade, which would otherwise flourish; and the people are reduced,
by that misconduct in their rulers, to purchase from their enemies
things they themselves could produce, if the artificers met with proper
encouragement.

[7] Mr Wilkes, in the motion to refer to the consideration of the
committee of supply the petition of the trustees of the _British
Museum_.

[8] Dr Richard Terrick.

[9] Dr Robert Lowth.

[10] We may quote from the Zendavesta, a wise and benevolent maxim,
which compensates for many an absurdity. He who sows the ground with
care and diligence, acquires a greater flock of religious merit than he
could gain by the repetition of ten thousand prayers.

                                                _Zoraster's Institutes._

[11] See Voltaire's Hist. of the age of Lewis XIV.

[12] Vid. Vopiscus in Aureliano.

[13] Tacitus Annal. II. Flav. Vopiscus in vita Taciti Imperat.

[14] Ælius Lampridius in vita Heliogabali. Primus Romanorum holoserica
veste usus fertur, cum jam subserica in usu essent.

[15] Procop. de bello Goth. p. 345.

[16] See Duhalde's description of China.

[17] In opposition to this, noblemen and men of fortune bred at the
Dublin University, are excused from learning morality, as they can
graduate without any skill in that science; the professor making no
doubt, but that honesty necessarily springs up with nobility. The same
University refused Swift his degree of _Batchelor of Arts for dulness
and insufficiency_, but he at last obtained it _Speciali gratia_.

[18] This Lady Frances entertained no fears about: A French author
justly observes, _Jamais on ne prend les vices d'une condition au
dessous de la sienne: L'enfant du riche, par un sentiment d'orgueil,
hausse les épaules sur les defauts du pauvre._

[19] The Empress Catharine II, whose name will be immortal, gave a code
of laws to her empire, which contains a fifth part of the globe; and
the first of her laws was to establish universal toleration. In France
foreign protestants are admitted to all the rights of natives after
working for a certain time in the manufactory of the Gobelines. The same
policy has been adopted by the Spaniards.

[20] Ruben's pictures are _a toleration of all religions_. In one of the
compartments of the Luxemburgh gallery, a cardinal introduces Mercury
to Mary de Medicis, and Hymen supports her train at the sacrament of
marriage, before an altar, on which are the images of God the Father,
and Christ.

[21] As both are against nature, she in the end will get the better of
them. The modern philosophers of Sweden seem agreed that the waters
of the Baltic gradually sink in a regular proportion, which they have
ventured to estimate at half an inch every year.--Twenty centuries ago,
the flat country of Scandinavia must have been covered by the sea;
such is the notion given us by Mela, Pliny, and Tacitus, of the vast
countries round the Baltic. Adria, that ancient and famous city, which
gave its name to the Gulph is now but a pitiful half drowned village.

[22] See Gilbert's treatise on the Court of Exchequer, chap. 2.
well worthy the perusal of those who would be acquainted with the
foundation of our constitution: also Mr de Lolme's book on the English
Constitution, which has been mentioned in both houses of parliament, and
has been commented on, and quoted by, the most celebrated writers of
every party.

[23] See Bacon on government.

[24] I lately met with the following story, which affected me very
much, and which I give in the original; it elucidates, that a return
of affection seems absolutely necessary to the existence of the human
heart. 'Un homme respectable, après avoir joué un grand rôle à Paris,
y vivoit dans un reduit obscur, victime de l'infortune, et si indigent
qu'il ne subsistoit que des aumônes de la paroisse; on lui remettoit
par semaine la quantité du pain suffisante pour sa nourriture; il en
fit demander davantage; le curé lui écrit pour l'engager à passer chez
lui; il vient. Le curé s'informe s'il vit seul; et avec qui, Monsieur,
repond-il, voudriez-vous que je vécasse? je suis malheureux, vous le
voyez, puis que j'ai recours à charité, et tout le monde m'a abandonné,
tout le monde! Mais, Monsieur, continue le curé, si vous êtes seul,
pourquoi demandez vous plus de pain que ce qui vous est necessaire?
L'autre paroit déconcerté; il avoue avec peine qu'il a un chien: le curé
ne le laisse pas poursuivre; il lui fait observer qu'il n'est que le
distributeur du pain des pauvres, et que l'honneteté exige absolument
qu'il se defasse de son chien. Eh! Monsieur, s'ecrie en pleurant
l'infortune, si je m'en défais, qui est ce qui m'aimera? Le pasteur
attendri jusqu'aux larmes, tire sa bourse, et la lui donne, en disant,
Prenez, Monsieur ceci m'appartient.'

[25] Chap. of St. Mark. XVI Chap. of St. Luke. VII Chap. of the Romans.

[26] Which was upheld in Heathen Rome, about the time we keep our
Christmas.

[27] Miss Carter translated Epictetus

[28] Francis the First of France, who had heavily taxed his subjects,
when told the people made very free with his character in their songs,
answered, 'It would be very hard if they were not allowed _to sing for
their money_.'

[29] See Vol. I. Page 47.

[30] She expected to lay in every day.

[31] In the conciliatory Measures proposed concerning America.

[32] The difference in the degrees of danger between suffering a person
to take the small pox in the natural way, and communicating it by
innoculation, is upon the lowest computation estimated _thirty_ to _one_
in favor of innoculation.

[33] Mr Blacklock may, in reality, be regarded as a prodigy--He is a
man of a most amiable character, of singular ingenuity, and of very
extraordinary attainments.

[34] Both clergymen.

[35] In compliment to the Queen, who has too much good sense to approve
of what is ridiculous.

[36] Witness the purchase of a collection of antique and Etruscan vases,
by the public money--and their enacting a lottery for toys.

[37] Thus do many women sacrifice their healths, without considering
it is in vain to conquer nature. Man can subsist but for a determinate
space only asleep or awake--by continual watching the incessant motion
of the fibres would destroy their organic elasticity, and prevent their
future reparation; and by continual sleeping, though the fibres are not
fatigued, the nervous fluid would be gradually exhausted by the action
of the organs of life, and would never be repaired.

[38] All misdemeanors are punished, among the Danes, by servitude in
chains a longer or shorter time.

[39] Vol. I. Page 165.

[40] Admiral Byng; on which occasion the following verses were made,
which I now present to the reader.

We the court-martial now begin to sicken, And find at last that we
are conscience stricken. Sad suppliants in Byng's behalf we come, And
humbly crave you would defer his doom! Bound by our oath, we cannot yet
make clear What 'twas we meant, nor _never_ shall, we fear. We found
him guilty, and we found him not; We wish'd him sav'd, yet wish'd him
to be shot. But as at land, so did we find at sea: If we did one, the
other could not be. Save him, great chief--your royal mercy show! Shoot
him, dread chief--let royal justice flow! Relieve our consciences with
pitying eye, And grant that Byng may neither live nor die!

[41] See Vol. II. Page 52.

[42] Elysium, Minos, Mercury, Charon, Styx, &c. are here necessarily
introduced. If they should offend any pious or critical ears, I shall
defend myself (as has been done before) by the solemn declaration which
is always annexed by the Italian writers to works where they are obliged
to use such expressions: '_Se havessi nomenato Fato, Fortuna, Destino,
Elysio, Stigé, Etc. sono scarzi di penna poetica, non sentimenti di
anema catolico._' If I have annexed Fate, Fortune, Destiny, Elysium,
Styx, &c. they are only the sports of a poetical fancy, not the
sentiments of a Catholic mind.

[43] By Cicero.

[44] According to the Abbé de Bos's hypothesis.

[45] Those in the shades are supposed acquainted with the transactions
in the world.

[46] The pictures were, the Parnassus of Raphael--and the school of
Athens, which is a most glorious performance, and worthy the hand of a
divinity--The first is in the hall of Constantine at Rome, and contains
no less than twenty-eight figures--two of which in particular, the one
representing Justice, and the other Meekness, are incomparable--They
were the last things he executed before his death--They contain all that
is excellent in painting, whether we consider them in the beauty of the
composition, the noble gracefulness of the characters, the uncommon
greatness of the style of the draperies, or the wonderful force of
colouring, light, and shade.

[47] He was sent over as Ambassador extraordinary to France on
the King's restoration. He was received at that court with great
distinction; which seldom considers more than the external appearance.
His Grace possessed _all the graces_. Lewis XIV, then in the flower of
his age, said he was the only _English_ gentleman he had ever seen.

[48] Deities interfere when they please--unseen by mortals!

[49] I Corinthians chap. i. v. 26.

[50] A concert established there in 1776.

[51] Horace, lib. ii. ode 14.

[52] Alludes to a circumstance that passed in the house of commons.

[53] _The narrow-house_, the grave.

[54] _Col-amon_, a narrow river.

[55] _Moina_, a woman soft in temper.

[56] _Crimona_, a woman with a great soul.

[57] Ossian is sometimes poetically called Conna.

[58] _Canna_, a sort of down, like, but whiter and shorter than cotton;
it is very common on the hills of the highlands. They have attempted
to spin it, but it was either too short, or the fingers that made
the experiment too indelicate--Nothing can exceed the purity of its
whiteness.

[59] _Fuar-Bhean_, cold mountains.

[60] Livy has justly raised the praise of Scipio, who restored to her
lover the Celtiberian captive; which has been the favourite topic of
eloquence in every age and every country. The author cannot think it
merited such commendation, as to have acted otherwise would have been
mere brutality--but if granted so liberally to Scipio, it cannot be
refused to Ossian.

[61] Cathmor is represented in Ossian's poems, as lying down beside a
river to have the sound of his praises lost in that of a water-fall.

[62] The Highlanders are peculiarly intelligent in understanding the
virtue of plants in curing wounds--The regularity of their lives
precludes all diseases, such as are incident to old age excepted.

[63] Tonthormid was supposed wounded by Ossian.

[64] In the years 1759 and 1760, when we were at war with France, there
were but twenty-nine criminals who suffered at Tyburn. In the years
1770 and 1771, when we were at peace with all the world, the criminals
condemned amounted to one hundred and fifty-one.

[65] Who opposed a licensed theatre there last year.



                            List of corrections


 Page 7: Inserted single quotation mark
    But,' said she

 Page 13: changed mens to men's
    conduce to men's happiness

 Page 13: changed interefere to interfere
    I did not interfere when my father was concerned

 Page 14: changed an to and
    I feel the greatest respect and tenderest regard

 Page 17: changed melanocholy to melancholy
    informing her of the melancholy catastrophe

 Page 24: changed estabishments to establishments
    rightly forming two establishments

 Page 26: changed porcelaine to porcelain
    for a porcelain manufacture

 Page 28: changed equisite to exquisite
    and of _exquisite classical taste_

 Page 32: changed prosterity to posterity
    Latest posterity must hear with astonishment

 Page 36: changed to to too
    wrong inclinations become too confirmed in us

 Page 38: added period
    neglect there studies which raised their fathers.

 Page 41: changed pesonal to personal
    a personal acquaintance with foreign climates

 Page 43: changed stile to style (two times)
    Piccini's comic style
    the serious style of Sacchini

 Page 43: changed excells to excels
    who excels on the hautboy

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    buildings, manufactures, schools, etc.

 Page 49: changed senitments to sentiments
    The liberal sentiments you express

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    and there be a mutual consent for separation.

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    if it be not of the number of the virtues,

 Page 57: changed supereme to supreme
    Is not this the supreme enjoyment

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    who now continued to reside with

 Page 62:   changed moritifications to mortifications
    that she might have her mortifications

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    ne se sont nourries que dans le silence

 Page 70: changed ne'est to n'est
    ce n'est plus qu'une froide

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    nous ne vivons pas assez avec nous-mêmes

 Page 71: changed to to too
    dedicating herself too fondly even to this beloved object. She

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    Thus if there be but the least foundation for slander

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    that his very vices had charms beyond other men's _virtues_

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    The Duke most injudiciously next morning publicly dismissed

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    I have not: Adelaude

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    Wherefore this gloomy silence, your dejected air, and languishing
        looks?"

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    the sides covered with tall firs

 Page 86: changed artifical to artificial
    that period in making artificial flowers

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    produced the contrary effect on _my father_.

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    There were powerful inducements

 Page 95: changed philsopher to philosopher
    I set out, and, philosopher-like, carried all my possessions about
        me.

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    no quarrels indeed subsisted between them

 Page 104: changed aggreeably to agreeably
    and make his time pass _agreeably_.

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    In every station, subject to the calamities of life

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    the crimes of some public villains

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    many of the contrary evils

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    The Marquis, perceiving that remonstrances would be ineffectual

 Page 128: changed captivte to captivate
    an external glare of beauty may _captivate the eye, and ravish the
    sight_

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    I will instruct you in every particular.'

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    Mr Dryden, Mr Locke, Mr Waller, etc.

 Page 136: changed wil to will
    what a little flattery will do with them!

 Page 140: changed they to thy
    as thy mighty deeds have been remembered

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    though thou hast long been a blast!

 Page 146: changed pasied to passed
    two ladies passed by them

 Page 146: changed similiar to similar
    one in a habit similar to that

 Page 147: changed decieved to deceived
    with a composure that deceived his vigilance

 Page 148: changed colon to period
    (whose smiles confirmed her previous conversation with him that
    evening.)

 Footnote [10] on Page 31: changed Zendavsta to Zendavesta
    We may quote from the Zendavesta

 Footnote [18] on page 38: changed bauffe to hausse
    hausse les épaules sur les defauts du pauvre.

 Footnote [22] on Page 40: changed acqainted to acquainted
    those who would be acquainted with the foundation

 Footnote [58] on Page 140: changed is to its
    Nothing can exceed the purity of its whiteness.





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